Chapter Text
The sun was bleeding out over Rose Hill, Tennessee, turning the whole damn place gold and orange, like it was trying to make up for being boring as hell the rest of the day. Harley Keener’s garage was a disaster zone—half-built drone guts on the bench, a potato gun in pieces, the floor littered with screws and shit he’d probably step on later. It smelled like burnt solder, gasoline, and a little bit like desperation.
He was hunched over the drone, hands black with grease, tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration. Only thing louder than the whir of his soldering iron was his own brain, running a mile a minute. He should’ve been thinking about school—he had a math test tomorrow—but instead he was wondering if he could swap out the engine in his mom’s old Chevy before she noticed. Small town, small dreams, right? Except his dreams never fit in Rose Hill. Not really.
His phone buzzed, rattling against a wrench.
Harley didn’t even check the screen. He tapped it, and with a low hum, a flickering blue hologram of Tony Stark sprang up above the bench, arms crossed, smirk in full effect. It glitched once, briefly distorting his jaw and then reassembling it—Harley barely looked up, just wiped his hands on his jeans and leaned back in his chair.
“Yeah, what?” he said, not bothering to hide the attitude.
Tony’s hologram raised an eyebrow. “Whoa, easy there, Keener. You look like you just blew up your own garage. Again.”
Harley rolled his eyes, grinning despite himself. “Give it a week, Stark. You know I can’t resist a good explosion.”
“Atta boy. You still breaking shit, or have you figured out how to actually build something that doesn’t explode?”
“Depends. You want it to explode, or you want it to work? I can do either, but you gotta pick one. And by the way, it's called 'creative destruction.'” Harley flicked a loose wire off the bench.
Tony’s smirk deepened. “You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that? I should’ve left you in that garage with your potato gun.”
“Yeah, but then who’d you call when your fancy tech craps out? Face it, Stark, you’re stuck with me.”
Tony leaned forward in the projection, elbows on a virtual surface that didn’t exist in the real world. “As if I could forget my favorite mechanic. I wouldn't have made it this far without you. Well, maybe I would've, but with a hell of a lot more headaches.”
Harley chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. I still remember you blowing stuff up every time I turned around. Some genius you are.”
“Smartass. You know, I could use you in New York. Some of my interns are so careful, it’s like they’re afraid of getting their hands dirty. Or, you know, dying.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I like breathing air that doesn’t smell like burnt plastic and billionaire cologne,” Harley said, but his voice softened just a bit. “Besides, you’d miss having someone to roast you.”
Tony grinned. “Please. You think you’re the only one? I’ve got a whole building full of nerds who think they’re funny. But you, Keener, you’re special. In a pain-in-my-ass sort of way.”
Harley snorted. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Stark.”
There was a pause, just long enough for Harley to realize he was actually grinning like an idiot. He glanced around the garage—his world, his mess, his rules. But lately, even with all the chaos, it felt like he was just spinning his wheels.
The garage door creaked, and Harley didn’t even look up. Only one person in the world could make a door sound that judgmental.
Lucy poked her head in, nose wrinkling. Her eyes flicked to the glitchy projection. “Jesus, Harls, it smells like you’re building a bomb in here. And is that Stark again? Tell your hologram to stay out of my room this time.”
He shot her a look over his shoulder. “It’s called innovation, Lucy. You’d know if you ever tried anything besides TikTok dances and burning toast.”
She rolled her eyes. “Mom says dinner’s ready. And if you track grease onto the floor again, she’s gonna lose her mind.”
Harley grinned, tossing his wrench onto the bench. “Yeah, yeah. Tell her I’ll be there in a sec. Gotta finish saving the world. Some of us are trying to invent the future.”
Lucy snorted. “Yeah, well, the future smells like ass.”
He tossed a rag at her, missing by a mile. “You’re just jealous you can’t build a drone out of spare parts and dumb luck.”
Lucy rolled her eyes again. “Right. The world’s dying to see your potato gun 2.0. You done blowing up the mailbox yet?”
He wiped his hands on his jeans, smearing the grease even worse. “That was one time, and the mailbox had it coming.”
She just shook her head, already halfway out the door. “Whatever, genius. Wash your hands, and just try not to set the house on fire before dessert.”
Harley watched her go, then let his eyes drift to the window. The “Welcome to Rose Hill” sign at the end of the street looked extra pathetic in the sunset, like it knew nobody wanted to stay. For a second, he imagined it replaced with the New York skyline—Stark Tower, bright lights, a city that didn’t know his name yet.
Tony’s hologram flickered slightly, then came back sharper, voice lower and more serious now. “Harley, you’re wasting your talent in that backwater town. I’ve got a project coming up—big one. It could be a game-changer for you.”
The words stung, even if there was a grain of truth to them. “Hey, don't be a dick,” Harley shot back, his voice tight. “I've lived here my whole life, you know.”
“Yeah, smartass. And look where it's gotten you,” Tony replied, frustration creeping into his voice. “You could be doing so much more.”
Harley's grip tightened on his pliers. He knew Tony meant well, but the man just didn’t get it. “I know, Tony. It's just... There's a lot here. My mom, my sister, school... You ever think maybe I’m not ready to bail on all that?”
Before Tony could answer, a loud crash came from the projection. The image jolted as a blur of limbs and lab gear tumbled into view, followed by a very familiar voice.
“Peter! Jesus, kid, you trying to get yourself killed? I’m not explaining this to May!”
The mention of Peter Parker—Tony’s golden boy—sent a little stab of jealousy through Harley. He’d never met the guy, but he’d heard the stories. Tony talked about him like he walked on water.
From the background: “It’s fine, Mr. Stark! Everything’s under control! Don’t tell May about... whatever this is!”
Tony’s projection turned, clearly annoyed. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Then, back to Harley. “Sorry, Keener. Had a little ‘incident’ in the lab. Where were we? Ah, yes, you hauling your ass to New York—”
“Listen, Tony,” Harley cut him off, suddenly feeling drained. “I’ve gotta go. Something’s come up at home. We’ll talk later, alright?”
The hologram paused for a beat, flickering slightly. Tony’s face softened, but the disappointment was there. “Alright, Keener. Do what you’ve gotta do. But remember, you’re too damn good for that place. Don’t waste it. And think about that project I mentioned – it could open doors you’ve never even dreamed of.”
The projection dimmed and vanished with a quiet hum.
Harley stared at the space where Tony had been, then at the drone, then at the faded New York posters on his wall. For a second, he let himself imagine what it’d be like—leaving Rose Hill, working with Stark, building shit that actually mattered. But the feeling faded, and all that was left was the sound of the crickets outside and the weight in his chest, heavy as a goddamn engine block.
He picked up his tools, hands shaking just a little, and tried to lose himself in the work. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that his whole life was about to get flipped upside down, whether he liked it or not.
The late afternoon sun was already throwing long-ass shadows across the cracked driveway as Harley killed the engine on the Chevy. The quiet in Rose Hill was the kind that could drive a person nuts—too still, too familiar, like the whole town was holding its breath and waiting for nothing to happen. He barely had time to yank the keys out before his phone went off, that obnoxious ringtone Tony had set himself, just to be a pain in the ass.
He groaned, “Goddammit,” under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. The last thing he needed was another round of Stark-brand pep talk.
Lucy was already halfway out the passenger door, backpack slung over one shoulder, when she caught the look on his face. “You good?” she asked, eyebrow cocked.
Harley forced a smile, but it was the kind that fooled exactly no one. “Yeah, just—Tony again. Go inside, I’ll be there in a sec.”
Lucy shrugged, used to this routine by now, and let the screen door slam behind her. Harley watched her go, then thumbed the phone to his ear, letting out a sigh that felt like it came from his bones. “Hey, Tony.”
By the time he finally made it inside, the kitchen was still warm from the oven and smelled like garlic bread, but Harley barely noticed. He dropped into a chair like he’d just run a marathon, phone still in hand, staring at it as if it might bite him, or suddenly solve all his problems if he glared hard enough. His head was a mess—New York, Stark Industries, the idea of leaving, the idea of staying. It all circled in his brain like vultures.
He muttered, “Shit,” and ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots in a futile attempt to dislodge the thoughts. Nothing helped. The ache in his chest was a constant, like he was missing out on a life that was happening somewhere else, to someone braver.
“Earth to Harley!” Lucy’s voice cut through the fog, sharp and relentless. She waved a hand in front of his face, looking at him like he’d grown a second head. “You look like you just got dumped by a girl you never even dated.”
Harley snorted, not looking up. “Yeah, well, maybe I did. Or maybe I’m just haunted by the ghost of my own bad decisions.”
Lucy hopped up onto the table, legs swinging, giving him that look that said she saw right through his crap. “Tony again?”
He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Tony again. The man’s relentless. You’d think he’d have better things to do than bug me every damn week.”
Lucy grinned, swinging her legs. “What’s he offering this time? A jet pack? Free pass to blow up his lab? Or your own Iron Man suit with a built-in sarcasm filter?”
Harley rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “He wants me to move to New York. For real this time. Big project, big future, blah blah blah.”
She raised an eyebrow, all mock-serious. “And let me guess, you told him you needed to check with your parole officer first?”
He laughed, just a little. “Yeah, right. I told him I had to see if Mom would let me out past curfew.”
She rolled her eyes, arms crossed. “Don’t bullshit me, Harley. You’ve been doing this dance for months. You think I’m dumb?”
Finally, a real grin cracked his face, just for a second. “When’d you get so mouthy?”
She grinned back, unbothered. “Growing up with you, what’d you expect? I learned from the best. Or the worst, depending who you ask.”
“Ha ha, very funny,” Harley muttered, rolling his eyes, but there was a flicker of pride there too.
Lucy’s grin faded, and she got that look—part therapist, part drill sergeant. “So, what’s the plan, Harls? You gonna keep dodging him until he sends Iron Man to drag your ass to the city?”
He sighed, staring at the table. “I don’t know, Luce. It’s not that simple. You and Mom… this place… it’s all I’ve ever known. What if I go and I just crash and burn?”
She hopped off the counter, coming closer, her voice softer but still fierce. “Don’t give me that. You’ve been fixing shit and building stuff since you could hold a screwdriver. You’re not gonna crash and burn. You’re just scared.”
He snapped, sharper than he meant to, “Of course I’m scared! Who wouldn’t be? It’s Tony fuckin’ Stark. It’s New York City. It’s… everything I ever wanted, and that’s the scariest shit of all.”
Lucy put a hand on his shoulder, “For the record? I am scared, too. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go.”
He looked at her, really looked, and for a second all the bravado dropped away. “What if I let you down? Or Mom? Or hell, even Tony?”
Lucy rolled her eyes, but there was nothing mean in it. “You couldn’t let us down if you tried. You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re our pain in the ass. And Tony Stark? Please. He’s a billionaire with a metal suit and daddy issues. He’ll survive.”
Harley barked a laugh, the knot in his chest loosening just a bit. “You’re a menace, you know that?”
She grinned, bumping his shoulder. “Runs in the family. Besides, someone’s gotta keep you humble. You got this, Harley. We’ll be fine. Mom and I—we want this for you. We always knew you were meant for more than this town.”
He let out a long breath, the weight of the decision still heavy but not crushing. “I just… I wish it was easier.”
Lucy shrugged, grabbing another piece of bread. “Easy’s for people who don’t want anything. You want something, you gotta fight for it. Or, you know, at least answer the damn phone when Stark calls.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling for real now. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe tomorrow.”
He looked at her, really looked, and for a second the ache eased. The kitchen was quiet, the sun bleeding out over the fields, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and purple. It was the kind of sunset that made Rose Hill feel like the most beautiful, and for a moment, it felt like the safest place in the world.
But in the back of his mind, he was already picturing a different sunset—one from the top of Stark Tower, glass and steel and the whole city at his feet.
She gave him a look. “Don’t wait too long, Harls. Opportunity doesn’t knock forever. Sometimes it just blows the door off the hinges.”
He laughed, nervous and real, and squeezed her hand. The phone sat on the table between them, silent now, but it might as well have been glowing.
A month crawled by, and Harley was still stuck in the same loop—pacing the kitchen like a caged animal, phone in hand, nerves shot to hell. The house was quiet except for the creak of the old floorboards and the low hum of the fridge, but inside Harley’s head, it was chaos.
Jane leaned in the doorway, arms folded, watching him with that look only moms have—the one that says she’s seen every version of his bullshit and isn’t buying any of it. “You gonna wear a hole in the floor, or you just training for a marathon I don’t know about?” she asked, voice gentle but edged with steel.
Harley stopped mid-stride, rubbing his face. “It’s Tony. Still Tony. The man’s like a dog with a bone.”
Jane snorted. “That billionaire’s got a lot of bones, apparently. What’s he want this time, you to build him a rocket car or just move to New York and be his new science monkey?”
Harley let out a half-laugh, half-groan. “He wants me to move. Again. Like he’s got nothing better to do than harass some kid from Tennessee. He keeps pushing, like if he calls enough, I’ll just say yes.”
Jane’s face softened, but her voice didn’t. “And you’re scared. Don’t bother denying it.”
He tried for bravado, but it came out thin. “Scared? Nah. I just don’t want to deal with New York traffic, or some suit breathing down my neck, or—hell, I don’t know—being the only hick in a room full of geniuses. Stark Tower’s probably got more people than this whole town. And I’m supposed to just fit in, like I’m not some grease-stained kid from Rose Hill?”
Jane came over, smacked him lightly on the back of the head. “Don’t bullshit me, Harley. You’re not fooling anyone. Least of all yourself. You’re scared, and that’s fine. Hell, I’d be worried if you weren’t. But don’t pretend you’re not, and don’t you dare use me or Lucy as an excuse.”
Harley flinched, then sighed, voice cracking a little. “I just… I remember what it felt like when he bailed. Lucy was too little, but I’m not. I’m not leaving you two behind. Not for anybody. Not even Tony fucking Stark.”
Jane’s expression shifted, something fierce and protective flickering in her eyes. She crossed the room and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard. “For someone so damn smart, you can be a real idiot, you know that? You are nothing like him. Not even a little.”
Harley looked up, searching her face for doubt and finding none. “I just—I don’t want to let anyone down. Not you, not Lucy, not even Tony. It’s like… no matter what I pick, I’m screwing it up for someone.”
Jane’s laugh was sharp and sudden. “Harley Keener, you’ve been fixing shit in this house since you were eight. You rebuilt a lawnmower out of a toaster and a bike chain. You think you can’t handle some fancy New York tech? Please.”
He cracked a smile, just a little. “That toaster never did work right.”
“Yeah, but it cut the grass, didn’t it?” Jane grinned, then softened. “Look, you gotta do what’s right for you. But don’t stay just because you’re scared. And don’t go just because Tony’s got a shiny tower and a big mouth. And if you go, that doesn’t mean you’re leaving us behind. Whatever you pick, we’ll be fine. Hell, we’ll probably be glad for the peace and quiet. This place, this family—it’s always gonna be your home, even if you’re off building Iron Man suits or blowing up half of Manhattan.”
He finally let out a real laugh. He wiped at his eyes, pretending it was just sweat. “Thanks, Ma. But… I think I need to stay. At least for now.”
Jane squeezed his shoulder, her grip warm and solid. “That’s your call, kid. Just promise me you’ll keep your eyes open. Don’t let this place be a cage. And if you ever do go, you better call your mother. Or I’ll hunt you down myself.”
Harley grinned, “Deal. And hey, if Tony calls again, tell him I’m busy fixing your damn toaster.”
Jane laughed, shaking her head. “If he calls, I’m telling him you’re grounded. Now go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready, and if you track grease in here again, I’m gonna lose my mind.”
Harley snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too, Ma.”
He watched her head back to the stove, the kitchen suddenly feeling a little bigger, a little less heavy. For now, Rose Hill was enough. But the itch for more was still there, just under his skin.
That night, Harley sat on the edge of his unmade bed, the phone on his desk staring him down like it was daring him to blink first. The whole room was a shrine to every half-finished project he’d ever started—drones, potato guns, busted radios, a car engine diagram tacked to the wall with thumbtacks and hope. For a second, he wondered if he’d ever really leave any of it behind, or if he’d just keep adding to the pile until the house collapsed under the weight of his own ambition.
He ran a hand through his hair, let out a breath that sounded more like a groan, and finally grabbed the phone. The screen glowed way too bright in the dark. He scrolled through his contacts, thumb hovering over Tony’s name, muttering, “Alright, Stark, let’s see if you’re as persistent as your ego.” He hit call before he could chicken out.
It rang. And rang. Harley was about to hang up when Tony finally picked up, voice all smooth and cocky. “Keener. Calling to say you’re finally ready to join the big leagues, or just bored of blowing up mailboxes?”
Harley snorted. “Sorry to disappoint, but Rose Hill’s still got me. I’m not ready to trade in my accent for a Stark Industries badge just yet. Besides, who else is gonna keep the local tow truck guy in business?”
Tony groaned, “You know there are actual restaurants here, right? Places where the fries aren’t just frozen disappointment?”
“Yeah, but where else can I get a burger, a side of judgment, and a sermon about my eternal soul? I’d miss the ambiance.”
Tony sighed, but Harley could hear the smile in it. “You’re killing me, kid. You could be blowing up real tech. I’ve got a whole lab full of stuff just begging for a creative disaster.”
“Tempting, but I’m not ready for the big city yet. I’d probably get arrested for ‘suspicious use of duct tape’ before lunch.”
There was a pause. Tony’s voice dropped, just a little. “So that’s it? You sure? I could always send the suit to ‘escort’ you.”
Harley grinned, letting the sarcasm out full force. “And have the whole town talking for a decade? Please. You’d ruin my reputation as the local disappointment. Besides, if you sent the suit, I’d probably just try to hotwire it.”
Tony actually laughed, the sound softer than Harley expected. “Alright, alright. You win this round. But the offer’s open. Don’t make me come down there and drag your stubborn ass to New York.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep my bags packed, just in case you send the Hulk instead. Or, you know, Pepper. She’s scarier.”
“Goodnight, Keener. Don’t blow up anything I might want to buy at auction one day.”
“No promises, Stark. Night.”
“Night, Keener.”
He hung up, letting the phone drop onto the bedspread. The room was quiet again, except for the distant sound of Lucy’s music through the wall and the hum of the old window unit. Harley looked around at the chaos—his chaos—and for the first time, it felt like it was okay to stay. For now.
But he knew, deep down, this wasn’t the end. It was just the first chapter. The itch for more, the pull of something bigger, was still there—louder now that he’d said no. Someday, maybe, he’d be ready to answer it.
But tonight, Rose Hill was home. And that was enough.