Multi-tool
Peter ignored the blood. There was too much, he ignored it.
“H’rly?” He choked. “H’rly!”
He could see the slow rise and fall of his brother’s chest, but that didn’t necessarily mean Harley would be okay, he needed medical attention, more than even Peter did.
Peter could make out a small, rectangular lump in Harley’s pocket. He craned his neck, hope bubbling up in his throat. Harley was the type of kid to always keep something useful on him, and in this case, it was the small engraved multi-tool Tony had gotten him for his sixteenth a few years back.
Peter felt the legs of the chair he was still taped to scraping against the tiles. He jerked his weight to the right and braced himself as he swung down to hit the floor hard. He grunted, looking up to see if the noise had roused his brother. “H’rly?” He tried again, waiting for a response that didn’t come. How hard had he been hit?
Peter could feel the blood slicking the tiles congealing in his hair, knotting it up into a sticky, bloody mess while he shuffled as close as he could to Harley. He whimpered quietly when he saw the gash against the crown of his brother’s head. He would need stitches. At least the bleeding had stopped though.
Peter experimentally stretched out his hands, his fingertips just brushing the seam of Harley’s pocket. He grunted through the gag, shuffling a hair closer in hopes of reaching something which could get him out of the damned chair.
He slipped a finger into Harley’s pocket. He felt the brush of a leather wallet against his fingertips, then the smooth surface of metal. He groaned, straining himself viscously in order to get a solid grip on the multi-tool pocketknife. Peter’s eyes flickered back to Harley’s chest, he shuffled even closer, his head practically resting on his brother’s ribcage as he slowly used two fingernails to drag the knife from his pocket. Mgghm! The knife slipped, the weight falling from Peter’s fingers and clattering against the bloodied tiles.
He exhaled through his nose, his head dropping against Harley’s torso in defeat. He groaned, tilting his head further downward so his forehead rested just above Harley’s heartbeat. Slowly, he began to stretch again, his fingers only inches away from the blade. He huffed through the gag, grating his teeth against the scratchy fabric as he finally managed to get a solid grip on the handle.
----
“Ahh uhhghh, hhng…”
The first thing Harley registered was the sharp, piercing pain that coursed through his skull. “Ughh, ah, ow… shit.” He moaned; his hands felt like bricks as he lifted them up to gingerly probe at the back of his head. He felt a clotted mess of blood, his hair stuck down over the wound where the pain radiated from.
His entire skull vibrated with an unrelenting ache. There was a warmth against his scalp, however, so that was nice. He could feel fabric shifting over his head.
“Harley?” Someone mumbled from above him. He looked up, meeting wide brown eyes. “Oh my god, thank fuck!” Harley grunted as Peter leaned down to pull him into a hug, his arms looping around his neck as his face buried deep into the crook of Harley’s neck. “I didn’t know if you… I – I just, there was so much blood and you weren’t responding to anything and I thought… I thought –” Peter’s breath hitched, and his voice wobbled dangerously.
“I’m sorry,” Harley managed, lifting up an arm to wrap it around Peter’s shoulders. The positioning was awkward, but the more comfort he could provide, the better.
He was splayed out across the three-seater couch in their living room, there were bloodstains that looked like they had been smeared from the kitchen across the creamy carpet. Peter’s hands, hair and shoulder were covered in Harley’s blood. A multi-tool sat on the coffee table, it’s dark brown handle coated in dried blood.
One side of Peter’s face was swollen and crusted with older blood. His lip was split, his hair hung low beneath his ears and the black eye was almost closed. “What h –”
Peter shook his head quickly from where it was still rested against Harley’s shoulder blade. “I know,” Harley mumbled, “but I have to know what happened.”
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Peter panicked. “He just, I don’t… Dad left, then there was this guy on the answering machine, then he was at the door…” Peter took a breath, his shoulders shook. “I didn’t know what to do,” he choked out.
“Is he gone?” Harley asked seriously, pulling back from the hug to crane his neck. “How did you –”
“He’s coming back, and I used your pocketknife.” Peter answered quickly. Harley could see the red irritation marks across his wrists from the tape. “I don’t know when, probably soon,” Peter whispered, his fingers picking at his cuticles anxiously.
“I’m calling Dad,” Harley said firmly.
“No! No, no – don’t, Harley please.” Peter begged, straightening up and rushing around the side of the couch to where Harley was attempting to sit up. “He said he wanted Tony – he was coming here for Dad! If he doesn’t give a shit about hurting us, what’s stopping him from hurting Dad? Please, please can we just… just wait until we can get the cops here, I don’t want Dad getting hurt.”
“I… he said he was here for Dad?” Harley asked apprehensively, looking up at Peter with worry gleaming in his eyes.
“Yeah, he left the message f – for Dad, he asked for Tony… he wanted to come inside and wait for him. He s – said he needed money.” Peter took a shuddery breath, his fingers reaching out to grip Harley’s wrist as he once again tried to stand up from the plush couch. “He said Dad had wired him money a month ago, and now he wants more.”
“Dad wouldn’t wire someone money if they were the type of person to hurt someone like this,” Harley argued, reaching up and hovering two fingers over the bruised mess of Peter’s face. His younger brother batted the fingers away gently.
“Yeah, well he’s gonna come back and hurt us more eventually,” he murmured. “I don’t want him to hurt Dad too,” he admitted.
“Look, we’ll call the cops now and then we ca –” Harley was interrupted by the sound of tires rolling over the gravel in their driveway. Peter whimpered quietly and grabbed Harley’s hand with a vice grip.
“He’s back,” Peter hiccupped. “Harley.”
The front door slammed, the smell of cigarettes and nicotine made Harley wince, Peter squeezed his eyes shut and let a tear slip out across his cheek. Harley frowned, he gently lowered Peter down against the cushions of the couch as he forced himself onto his feet. “Shh, shh, please,” Peter begged. Harley picked the pocket knife up from the table, wrinkling his nose as semi-dried blood oozed across his palm.
The front door slammed, Peter jerked to his feet and rushed past the living room doorway and pushed Harley back against the opposite wall. “He’s gonna hurt you,” he hissed under his breath. His smaller hand curled around Harley’s and tugged the knife away. The two of them could hear the click of plastic as Ronny took Peter’s card back out of the discarded wallet in the kitchen.
Peter was shaking, Harley could feel every individual tremor. What the hell had this guy done to get his brother this terrified?
“Pete?” Ronny called from the kitchen. So, he’d seen the blood stains leading to the kitchen then. Harley’s lip peeled back into a snarl and his eyebrows lowered darkly. “You’re playing a risky game, boy.”
Peter’s hand tightened over the knife as the squeak of shoes on tiles and squelch of blood seeping into carpet echoed menacingly. He could see the man’s shadow, and there was roughly eight seconds before he’d be able to see Peter and Harley from around the corner.
Harley fisted a hand in the back of Peter’s shirt, tugging him closer. Peter’s back pressed against his brother’s torso, the knife shaking in his unsteady fingers as Harley held his breath, eyes trained on the slowly approaching shadow.
When Ronny finally crossed the doorframe, he was only inches away from the two boys. His and Peter’s eyes met, and there was nothing but desperation and aggression that shone back at Peter. The man surged forward, his teeth bared as Harley threw an arm over Peter’s chest and wished he could sink back into the wall. Peter closed his eyes, crying out softly as the smell of smoke hit his nose with vengeance.
There was a rough jerk, a gasp muffled by Peter’s exhale and Harley’s grunt as he was pressed back against the wall. A weight rested against Peter’s chest and he pulled away from it, the knife clattering to the floor. Ronny’s eyes were wide, his lips parted slightly as Harley tugged Peter to the side and pulled him into his chest, his eyes buried away against his neck.
Harley watched as Ronny stumbled back with a wet gargle. A hand was pressed tight against his upper abdomen, a few inches below his heart. “Uh – ugh…”
“Oh my god, o – oh my god,” Peter wailed. His arms wrapped around Harley’s shoulders as his entire frame began to shake with heaving sobs. He could no doubt hear the sounds of the man collapsing over the carpet behind him. “H – Harley, Harley!” He cried, his knees giving in as he finally turned around despite the hand trying to keep him facing away.
“Don’t,” Harley pressed, tugging Peter back to his feet as a bead of blood rolled down Ronny’s cheek and he finally went still. “Outside, we’re going outside,” he urged.
“I – I killed him, I killed him, Harley…”
“It was self-defence,” Harley mumbled, helping Peter limp out into the driveway. “And to be fair, he ran into the knife.” Peter choked out a laugh, tears dripping down his cheeks as he finally crumpled into a mess of tears and snivels. “My phone’s in the car,” he said gently, leading Peter to the backseat and making sure he wasn’t going to hyperventilate and pass out.
He shakily dialled emergency services and gave a brief synopsis of what had happened, he was told an ambulance and cop cars had been dispatched. They’d be at the address in eleven minutes. He thanked the operator, hung up and kneeled down in the gravel to try and soothe his currently panicking brother.
“They’re gonna arrest me,” Peter said brokenly. “I killed someone, I stabbed him.”
“It was self-defence, Peter,” he repeated calmly. “You’ll be okay. There’s security audio, an eyewitness, plenty of evidence – plus, I don’t think Dad’s lawyer will have any issues covering this case. Easy win for him.” Harley smiled lopsidedly, but his eyes said concern.
“I just, h – he… and I –” Peter whined, his hand shot out to grip Harley’s upper arm, his nails dug in tightly. “I – I… ‘nhal’r. H’rl…”
“Shit, yeah. Yeah, okay,” Harley breathed. He fumbled to his feet and opened the glove box in the front seat. “Okay, Pete you gotta try and calm down,” he coached, yanking the inhaler out from beneath a bag of spare change. “Here, hey,” he pushed the inhaler into his brother’s hand, touching his knee and squeezing his spare hand gently. Peter pressed down and gasped as his chest constricted. “There you go,” Harley mumbled, “don’t panic. Just breathe.”
“S’rry,” Peter coughed. Harley rubbed his shoulder in small circles. In the distance he could hear sirens. It took two minutes to drive up the hill to get to the house. “Come with me,” Peter wheezed, “if – if they arrest me.”
“They aren’t going to arrest you,” Harley said sternly. “They’re gonna get us medical attention and mark the area as a crime scene.” Peter watched the flashes of the sirens as they climbed up the hill, some of the lights reflected in his brother’s eyes.
The familiar crunching of gravel encouraged Peter to snap his head up, his white-knuckled grip tightened over the inhaler. “You’re okay, they’re here to help,” Harley assured him.
The ambulance rolled in first, Peter could see the vests of the EMT’s through the two back windows. Two patrol cars pulled into the drive and made him tense up. Harley stood up, holding his hand in the air and watching the EMT’s pouring out. “Help him first,” he half asked, and half told.
Peter managed to stand shakily from the backseat, and Harley watched as he was led into the back of the van.
“My brother, h – he hit his head. He was unconscious for over an hour, there’s a gash.” Peter explained. Harley was guided onto the spare stretcher as the police went into the house.
“It’s not too deep, you’re lucky,” one of the EMT’s said, “you won’t need stitches. But you will need to ice it and I’ll give you some bandaging.”
“Okay, thanks,” Harley muttered. He was busy watching Peter being cleaned up on the edge of the step-down from the ambulance. One of the EMT’s was wiping away the mess of blood to assess the damage while the other unfolded a shock blanket and draped it around his small frame.
----
“Back in black,” Tony thrummed his thumbs along the outside of the steering wheel. “I hit the sack,” he gently jerked his head back and forth to the beat of the music. “I’ve been too long, I’m glad to be back!” He smiled as he took a turn onto the very familiar road he had driven down and back up so many times, thanks to Peter’s decathlon competitions and Harley’s old Saturday robotics club meetings. God, his neck hurt from all the damn sitting around and discussing things his meeting had entailed. He was almost home, everything would be be fine.
Tony sucked in a breath, drumming his fingers loudly, “forget the hearse, ‘cause I’ll never die, I got nine lives, cat’s eyes!” He flicked the indicator even though the road was empty aside from his car – it was two in the morning, to be fair – and pulled over onto the gravel driveway.
He smiled to himself and briefly considered calling ahead before realising, if it was two in the morning, hopefully both Harley and Peter would be asleep. “Cause I’m back, yes I’m back! Well, I’m back, yes I’m back.” Tony rounded the corner of the hill, sighing happily as he relaxed in his seat at the sight of the familiar lookout to the sea. He was home from that stupid business trip, and nothing was more of a relief to know.
He could see the edge of the drive, the gravel seemed to be red and blue flashes against the white concrete. What the hell? He thought, why were there vans parked in the drive? Had those little shits thrown a house party…?
Then, he saw it. The yellow tape, the ambulance lights, the patrol cars taking up his drive. The music in the car clicked off as he yanked the keys out of the ignition and shoved open the door as the car rolled to a slow stop. “What’s happening?” He called, hysteria bubbling up in his chest like a tidal wave. One uniformed officer standing behind the tape held a hand up. “No, no – th – this is my house. I live here!” He cried, consumed by the rawest panic he’d experienced since New York.
The man squinted at him before recognition seemed to dawn on his face. “My kids,” Tony forced out. “Where are they? My kids were home, they were right here – where are they? Please!” He tried ducking under the yellow tape, but he was met with resistance from the officers. A hand was on his shoulder and there were people shouting ‘Sir, there’s no one inside,’ but it didn’t matter. “Stop, get off me! This is my house; I have a right to know what’s happening!” He yelled, swatting a hand away from his shoulder. He craned his neck to try and see through the doorway.
Maybe it was just a break-in. Peter and Harley would have gone out for dinner and someone tried to break-in while they were out. Everything was okay. Everything had to be okay.
Two paramedics were pulling a gurney out through the front entrance when he phased back in from his brief interlude from the cold grip of panic. The wheels clattered against the stones and they rattled in the same irregular beats of Tony’s heart thundering against his chest. There was a black body bag laid across it, zipped up completely with no nametag.
There was a pitch-black hole carving out his insides and twisting the last shred of calmness Tony might have had as he turned into his own driveway. Lights from the ambulance and police cars swirled around him, his heart was pummelling his ribcage and slowly clawing its way up his throat. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see through the furious tears prickling his tear ducts and waterline, fighting to spill across his face.
“Sir, is this your address?” An officer asked. Tony could see a pen hovering above a half-filled notepad. He nodded wordlessly, still watching the two paramedics guiding the body bag across the driveway. “And you have identification on you?”
“I… what happened?” He asked hoarsely. His throat bobbed as he took a shaky inhale, feeling the dryness in his mouth. “Wh – who…” Tony lifted a finger, gesturing towards the gurney and the dead body tucked away inside the black bag. “Is that –”
“Unfortunately, the body had no identification. We’re working on that now,” the officer explained. Tony choked on his next breath. His chest constricted. It felt like his ribcage was locking down on every fragile organ he had. His next inhale sounded raspy and far from steady.
He ran a hand through the front of his hair, tugging on the strands near the back of his head as he turned away from the house and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Sir,” a man in an EMT’s uniform touched the small of his back to guide him forward, away from the house and towards the ambulance. “Your s –” He began fruitlessly.
“Dad!”
Tony jerked, his eyes opening and taking a moment to adjust to the lights of the emergency vehicles. Something wrapped in reflective, bright, silver fabric rustled. Feet hit the gravel and Tony was met with a weight slamming into his torso. He exhaled on a huff of air he hadn’t realised he had, and blinked before looking down and leaning back to see whatever had wrapped itself around his midsection.
“Harley?” He asked helplessly.
“Yeah – yeah,” the teen mumbled. He tightened his hold and pulled Tony into a more compact embrace as his father started to breathe properly again.
“Pete?” He choked, not wanting to ask but having to know. Harley nodded from against his chest, pulling away and wiping his nose on his sleeve. He turned away from Tony and looked across the driveway, raising a blood-crusted finger to point.
Peter was sat on the edge of the ambulance, wrapped in a silver shock blanket like Harley’s. He looked miserable. There was an EMT standing over the gravel, they were bent over the young teen, wiping a cloth over one side of his face. The rag came back stained in brown tinted blood. The EMT put a pack over his cheek, they said something about reducing the swelling that Tony couldn’t quite catch from where he was stood.
Harley had a pack of his own which he held against the back of his head; a shock blanket hung limp from around his shoulders. Harley moved forward back across to the ambulance; Tony followed him hurriedly.
When the EMT stood up and gave the three room, Tony surged forward to pull Peter into his chest. Harley tucked the shock blanket tighter over his brother’s shoulders as he melted into Tony’s hug.
“Dad,” he whispered, letting Tony rest his chin over the crown of his head.
“I thought – I thought one of you had… y – yeah.” Tony admitted, pulling back slightly to drape an arm around Harley’s shoulders and guiding him into the hug.
“No,” Harley assured. “There was a guy,” he said quietly. “I don’t really know.” He sighed, looking down to where Peter still had his head nudged under his father’s chin. “He wanted money.”
“When was this, tonight?” Tony asked, finally pulling away from the hug to make sure Harley was properly holding the ice pack against the back of his head. Harley looked over at Peter, who was staring at his feet guiltily.
“The same night you left,” he explained. “He left an message on the answering machine and then turned up at the house.” Tony tilted his head, rubbing his forehead. “I’m sorry, h – he wanted money, he said you lent him money before and now he needed more, but I said you weren’t home a – and that he couldn’t wait in the house for you just in case he –”
“Shit okay, you’re okay,” Tony fumbled, pulling Peter back into a hug as he noticed the boy’s panic creeping up into an anxiety attack. “I’m so sorry.” Peter hissed when his cheek bumped against Tony’s jacket. “Wha – oh Pete,” Tony mumbled as he looked closely at Peter’s face for the first time.
It was mottled with a dark mess of purple and blue skin, the cheekbone looked like it had been dipped in ink. The jutting bone beneath his eye was swollen, enough so that he struggled to open it fully. There was clotted blood hanging from his hairline, and butterfly bandages stuck over a split lip and a cut above his eyebrow.
“M’ okay,” Peter insisted, probing the inside of his cheek gingerly to stop from wincing as Tony tilted his face side to side, surveying the damage. “Harley’s the one who got hurt.”
“Did not, I’m fine,” Harley argued. He sighed as Tony gently took the icepack away from the back of his head and pushed his hair back to check the gash. He clicked his tongue unhappily and frowned at the two boys.
“He was here for me,” he said stiffly. “I lent him some money not too long ago, but he’s tied up with… I don’t know, with someone, and he owes them a lot.” Tony exhaled; his brow wrinkled as he began to continue on with his explanation. “I didn’t think he’d ever come to the house. He was never supposed to, it was going to be dealt with in private, away from you two. He shouldn’t have known you even existed.” He rubbed his palms together and bit his cheek.
“Dad, what are you trying to say?” Harley asked worriedly, squinting at his father and straightening up. He could read emotions well enough at this point that he could tell Tony was about to say something big.
“I uh… jeez, um…” Tony stepped closer, looking around the driveway and observing exactly how far away all the medical and police staff were from their small huddle.
He turned back to face Peter and Harley, his eyebrows furrowed as he took a deep breath and spoke. “I might… be the leader of the mafia.”