[ During his brief visit at the Winchester residence, Mace had only gotten a glimpse of the kid in family pictures. Hadn’t gotten a chance to ask for his name, either. But then he hears Peter, and a new bell in the back of his mind dings immediately, the light of recognition entering his eyes. The shadows at the corners of Mace’s mouth deepen at astronaut guy, because that’s quite possibly the single most teenaged way of putting it that he can think of, and he nods to confirm that he indeed fits that descriptor. ]

Peter, with the awesome aunt — and uncle. Yeah, ‘course I remember.

[ It reminds him of youngest sister, when she’d learned what he’d signed up for; and with that reminder comes the memory of him teaching her sternly to never, ever go anywhere with a stranger.

Peter has a right to look wary and uncertain, and Mace is — frankly — glad that there had been an initial clear distrust in his gaze when the station wagon had backed up. If it were a summer afternoon, if it were warmer and less ominously deserted, he’d probably be good to walk home on his own. But it’s goddamn frigid out here, and even if the kid’s safely in his winter gear, there’s a stillness to the streets that Mace instinctively dislikes. Strangely empty and quiet.

Like something’s about to happen.

The engine stays idling as he turns sideways to reach across to the passenger door. After a second, it unlocks; and Mace reemerges in the open window, nodding over at Peter to hop in next to him. ]

I’m more than sure. ‘Sides, it’s freezing tonight; can’t leave you outside in this. C’mon, kid, you’re riding shotgun.