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Chapter Text

Harley woke up first, not that he thought Peter would wake up first. The boy had just been shot. Somehow they shifted during the night and he now had an arm full of Peter Parker who was snuggling into his chest like he was some kind of teddy bear. He wasn’t sure whether or not to wake him up, but when he shifted slightly the younger teen groaned and slowly opened his eyes. He seemed confused as he looked at Harley’s chest and then slowly looked up at the older boy.

“Harley?” his voice croaked with the question, but he didn’t sound alarmed.

“Hey sugar, how ya feelin’?” Harley asked gently as he awoke.

Peter groaned in response as he unthinkingly burrowed his head into Harley’s chest again to block the light from his eyes. “Not very good.”

‘Yeah, figured as much.” He leaned over to his bedside table and pulled out a bottle of Asprin. “Here. Take two of these. It’ll take away some of the pain.”

Peter shook his head and whined. “Is not gonna do anything.”

“Peter, they’ll make you feel better.” 

“No they won’t.” Peter responded as he buried his delirious head under his blanket. 

“Yes, they will! They’re pain killers.” 

“No, I’m not like you.”

Harley rolled his eyes. What the hell was that supposed to mean? “I know you’re not hungover. But you’re still delusional.” 

“Noooo,” Peter whined again.

“Fine. I’ll leave the bottle here and when you stop acting like a big baby, you can take them. I’ll get you some water.”  Harley got up and huffed before starting out of the room.

“Hmm, thanks May, love you.” Peter hummed.

As Harley turned around Peter was already asleep. 

.-~*~-.

When Peter awoke again, he was much more aware of his surroundings than before. Harley sat at his desk, as if he had been waiting for him to wake up.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

“How long was I out?” Peter asked.

“Well you went to sleep around 3, and woke up at 9, but went back to sleep until now which is…” He looked at his watch. “12:13.”

“Awesome. I’m late for work.”

Harley held up his phone. “I called in to Luigi’s and told him you couldn’t make it. Said you got a bad stomach bug.”

Peter relaxed in his sheets. “Thanks.”

“So you wanna tell me how you got shot?” Harley finally asked.

“Not really.” Peter took out his phone and began scrolling through his notifications.

“Peter, I just saw probably the most disturbing and traumatizing thing in my life. You said a lot of whack shit last night.”

“I’m sure I did,” Peter said casually, not looking up from his phone to avoid Harley’s gaze. 

“See? You can’t say things like that. It makes it seem like you’ve gotten shot before.”

“I have gotten shot before.” Peter said, cursing at himself internally for letting that slip. “And last night I was just angry. I wasn’t paying attention and I got shot. I was being stupid.”

“That’s not stupid! That’s scary!” Harley told him.

Peter peered up at him. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t do it again.”

“It’ll probably happen again. Lot’s of guns in New York. Lots of opportunities to get shot.” Peter shrugged.

Harley looked at him baffled by the contextless statement. “Okay, you see, things like this don’t just casually happen in Rose Hill. Sure we’ve got guns, but they’re for gunnin’ deer.”

“You see any deer in the city?”

“Exactly!” Harley sighed as he looked down at his hands. Even though they were clean, he still felt the blood creeping under his nails.

“Nails are the hardest to get the feeling out of,” Peter told him softly. Harley looked up as the other boy was gazing at his hands too. “You can never get it out, no matter how much you try.” 

“Peter…”

“I’m sorry you have blood on your hands, Harley. That’s not something you should have to deal with.”

“You shouldn’t either…”

“I have a cuticle pusher that can scrape it out from under your nails. It’s the best I can do. I’m sorry.”

“How do you know what to do?” Harley was almost afraid to ask.

Peter didn’t answer for a while, but broke the silence by stating, “a lot of experience.”

The two went back to their own worlds, Peter scrolling through his Instagram and Harley just watching him. He almost jumped up when Peter tried to pull himself out of his bed.

“Don’t get up!”

“I’m fine,” Peter retorted.

“You just got shot !”

“Yeah, I know. Stop making a big deal of it.”

“It is a big deal!” Harley exclaimed.

“Okay fine. But I’m hungry.”

“You sure you should eat? It says online that food can be a shock to the system after excessive blood loss,” Harley said hesitantly.

“Harley, I swear to god I will get up and make myself something if you don’t.”

“Fine, but no Pediasure. Or anything high calorie. I don’t want you puking. I think we had popsicles…”

“Yes, fine. Anything . Please, I’m starving!” 

Harley hesitantly left Peter and rushed to the freezer, scrambling to find the Otterpops he hoped he hadn’t finished. Sighing in relief, he grabbed the treat to return to Peter’s room to find the teen standing and stretching.

“What are you doing?!”

Peter waved his hand dismissively. “I’m just stretching. My legs were starting to get sore.”

Harley rushed to pull Peter back to bed. “Maybe because there’s a bullet wound in one of them!”

“Stop being such a nervous nellie. I’m fine.”

Harley, knowing he couldn’t reason with Peter, gave up and watched with second-hand pain as he stretched.

.-~*~-.

 “Peter... I know you just got shot…” Peter groaned at it being mentioned again. “...and I know we haven’t been on the best of terms but…” Harley hesitated.

“If you’re gonna ask something, ask it before I go to sleep. I’m tired.” 

“Again?”

“Never lost so much blood without a transplant.”

“Jesus, Parker you...“

“Ask or forever hold your peace, Keener.” he stated simply.

“How would you feel about a kid?”

Peter looked at him with a raised brow. “Is this a marriage proposal? Because usually you don’t start with asking for kids.” 

Harley shook his head. “No. It’s my sister. I wanted to gain custody rights over her. I have to ask you first. I know this is bad timing, but I was supposed to get back to the foster care people by the end of the weekend.”

Peter looked unsure at him, his tone almost apologetic. “Harley… you just pulled a bullet out of me. And I’m sorry to say, but that’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened between us.” Peter took a deep breath as he tried to figure out how to word his concerns. “We can barely keep ourselves from falling apart. We can’t keep a kid in conditions like this, especially when you and I... it’s not fair to her.”

Harley slumped and sighed. “You’re right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

.-~*~-.

Peter looked up from his book to turn to Harley who was still sitting at his desk, turning away so it didn’t seem like he had been looking at him the entire time. “I was thinking Thai. Does Thai sound good to you?”

“You shouldn’t be eating so much after the blood loss. We’ve talked about this,” Harley rebutted.

“I’m a hungry guy! Growing boy.”

“I can get you another popsicle…”

“Come on. Doesn’t broccoli sunshine sound really good right now…”

“God damn it, Peter, I can’t do this anymore! I can’t just act like this is… is normal! I can’t just pretend that you didn’t almost die in my arms last night. I can’t just push aside the fact that you were bleeding out while I sat there helplessly. I can’t just act like I wasn’t scared to death that I couldn’t do anything to save you. I can’t... I can’t let you just go out doing God knows what at night and find out that I have to patch up another bullet hole. Whatever this is you do, it has to stop.”

Peter shook his head. “It’s not that simple, Harley.”

“Then make it!” He exclaimed exasperated. “Please. I can’t know that I just let you go out and get yourself killed every night when I could’ve done something to stop you.”

“There’s nothing you can do, Harley. This is my life.” Peter got up to get his own Thai food but Harley grabbed his arm.

“No. You’re not getting out of this that easily.” Harley didn’t even know why he felt the need to prove himself to Peter. Maybe it was mix of his desperation to get Abby back or his fear that his recklessness was getting Peter into deadly situations or just his deep subconscious care for Peter, but he knew that he wanted to fix what he had started. Or maybe it was because he didn’t want someone to die because of him again. “I know we... I know we haven’t gotten off on the right foot, but I want to be better. I want us to be better.”

Peter took a deep breath. “It’s not that easy, Harley. You can’t just do a 180 and just expect me to forgive and forget. You’ve made these last months hell. You’ve pushed me deeper into a hole I couldn’t get out of. You’ve said things you can never take back and never make up for. You’ve shown me the person you are, and it’ll take a hell of a lot to prove to me you aren’t that person.”

“But you’re saying there’s a chance. You’re saying that you believe there is that person.”

Peter sighed. “That’s not what I said.”

“But that’s what you mean.” Harley pauses and looked around Peter’s room. As the curly haired teen stared bewildered at what the taller boy was scheming, he watched as he dragged his desk out of his room.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Harley went to his room and struggled to drag his mattress through the door and into Peter’s room.

“Harley, what are you...”

“I’m going to be sleeping in your room from now on.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. “You’re gonna what now?”

“I can’t trust that you won’t sneak out and do whatever it is you do, so I’m going to sleep in your room. I’ll go to bed after I know for sure that you’re asleep, and I will have my ways to wake myself up if you try to sneak out while I’m asleep.”

“Harley you don’t...”

“No, Peter. I have to. I’m trying to be better, and you should too.” He struggled to pull the mattress.

“If this is about Abby...”

“Of course this is about Abby!” He let go of the mattress but grabbed it as it fell. “But it isn’t all about her. You have to stop this self-destructive path you’ve set yourself on because you’re hurting others along the way.”

“Do I look like I give a flying fuck about how this affects you? Last time I checked, I’m the one with a bullet hole in my leg!”

Harley sucked a sudden breath in. “Your leg. We have to change your bandages.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “No! No. I’ll do it myself. I know how.”

“But you have to disinfect it and clean out the wound and…”

“I know, Harley. This isn’t my first rodeo,” he mocked.

“This isn’t a time for joking. Let me help you.”

Peter didn’t want to say no. Of course most of his being was rejecting Harley, but something in him wanted to just give in and let him take care of him. However, he knew that his enhanced healing factor would raise many questions, so once again he pushed Harley away and limped to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it.

Alone with the deafening silence broken by the muddled chatter of his thoughts, Harley allowed himself to feel. For the first time since his mother’s funeral, since Abby was separated from him, since the traumatizing night prior, he let himself cry. He let himself be overwhelmed with the chest tightening pain and tremors of anxiety and head pounding pain. He let himself sob as he wiped away warm tears from his cheeks. He let himself finally let the world catch up to him.

He went to his old room, and slammed the door, really wishing that he hadn’t just moved his bed into Peter’s room. He pressed his head against the wall and covered his mouth as he gasped for air. He let the hurt of his loss take over, no temporary high to mask his pain. He was feeling again, and he didn’t know if he wanted to feel. He didn’t know if he wanted to drown it away with a bottle of vodka or just let the moment take over. For the first time in months, he was Harley Keener: Tennessee mama’s boy, not Harley Keener: player and party animal. He was feeling again, and he didn’t know how to stop.

Something made the hairs on Peter’s arms raise as he re-applied the bandages, and he didn’t know what. Peter didn’t even think, he just followed it, not even putting on his suit because whatever caused it was so close. 

It was in Harley’s room.

“Harley?” he knocked. He heard a breath hitch with his enhanced hearing. He smelled the sweat through the door. It wasn’t a lot, but he had enhanced senses. “It’s… it’s Peter. I’m gonna get some Thai food.” He paused. “Do you… wanna come?” He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but his premonition was dying down, so whatever he was doing was right.

It took a moment, but the door opened, revealing a much more hesitant and disheveled looking Harley.

“I’m not stopping you from eating, am I?” Harley leaned against the door frame. “Or going out?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

Harley sighed. “Fine. Lemme get my jacket.” Harley said going back into his room as he grumbled. “Gotta make sure you don’t get shot again.” Peter giggled a little, he didn’t know why. It wasn’t funny.

“You know,” Peter said as he and Harley walked down the street, Peter in a pair of crutches he always kept handy. “I never had anyone actually see me after I get shot.”

Harley looked at him warily. “That’s depressing,” he said and muttered under his breath, “and worrying.”

“I guess.” Peter shrugged. “But I never thought about what would happen if someone did . I didn’t think anyone would care outside of May.” Peter tried to say casually. Harley looked at him again, this time with sympathy. Peter continued, ignoring the pang in his chest. “I didn’t think how someone would feel if they… if they ever actually looked at it,” he admitted.

“I just don’t know how you have nearly no reaction to it.” Harley scrunched up his nose a little.

“I guess I’m desensitized to it.” Peter shrugged.

“If it happens that often, don’t you think you should change something?” Harley asked. “You could get seriously hurt.”

“I wanna ask why you’d care, but I guess you don’t want a dead body in your bathroom at 4AM,” Peter tried to joke lightly.

“It’s not just that,” Harley whispered.

Peter realized they needed a tone shift, something to get Harley’s mind off of whatever was on it. “What are you thinking of getting? No, wait. Let me guess. You seem the summer roll type.” He paused as he thought. “And… pad gra prow.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had Thai food before.”

Peter gave him a wide, toothy grin. “You’re in for a treat.” He grabbed the taller boy’s hand and tugged him into the restaurant, not letting go of his hand as he ordered, only realizing the position as they went to sit down. “You’re not allergic to shellfish, are you?”

Harley shook his head. “Just blueberries.”

“Blueberries? Really?”

He shrugged. “It’s uncommon but its possible. I also get mild reactions from most pitted fruits.”

“That explains why you don’t eat healthy, then,” Peter joked.

Harley hit his arm softly. “I eat more vegetables than you Mr. I Only Eat Carry Out And Pediasure.”

“Carry out can be very nutritious.”

Harley raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Well, my chinese takeout has great sources of protein.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, protein that has been fried twice and covered in soy and salt.”

“Irrelevant.”

Harley smiled. “Okay, what else?”

“I get kabobs at that middle eastern place down the street. Great veggies.” Peter responded, now teasing him with his tone.

He nodded. “That’s a good start. And?”

“Omelets and chipotle bowls at Lite Bites.”

“You know I make a pretty mean omelet?” Harley suggested.

“I bet you put weird shit on it like mushrooms and tomatoes.”

He gasped dramatically. “How could you think that mushrooms and tomatoes ruin an omelet when they are the key ingredients?”

Peter scoffed. “They taint the omelet if anything. It overpowers the taste. I prefer the simple cheese, ham, spinach, and bacon.”

“Not even any caramelized onions?”

Peter stopped. “Of course you like caramelized onions! Next you’re going to tell me that you like bell peppers.” Harley didn’t respond. “Ugh, you do!”

“You’re the picky eater here. Not me.”

“Well we’re here.” 

Peter watched with a giddy smile waiting for Harley to try his food, and smiled even wider as he watched him close his eyes and savour the taste. “Good, right?”

Harley nodded. “Really good.” As there was a tense silence as the two ate, Peter’s overall demeanor shifting back to the guarded hurt, Harley put down his food and looked to him. “I’m sorry, Peter.  About everything. Especially about last night. I wasn’t in a good headspace and I just… I let it out on you.”

“Honestly, Harley? I don’t know if I forgive you yet. We aren’t there. But I appreciate the apology,” Peter admitted.

“That’s enough.”

Chapter Text

Things didn’t go as smoothly as Harley had hoped. Even though they had their moments of undeniable bonding over something no normal two roommates would, it didn’t erase their past. So, no matter how much Harley worried and cared about Peter, he was still proving it to him, and himself, that he was making an effort to become better. He knew Peter wouldn’t let the months of neglect, arguments where he crossed the line, and his entire asshole demeanor go. So, the only thing he knew how to do was to slowly ease into the new normal.

He started small.

“Hey Peter?” he said out loud as they both worked on their homework in the new shared office.

“Yeah?” he responded half interested.

“I was thinking since you’re trying to gain more weight, there were alternatives to Pediasure since I’m sure the taste isn’t the most enthralling after a while. I’m kinda a cook myself, and I love to try out new recipes, and I know that my meat and three really helped with your fast metabolism, so I was thinking if you wanted, I could cook for you more and I mean, not only would it help with your diet but would give me a reason to cook more?”

Peter looked to with an incredulous look. “I mean, that’s fine with me.”

And so for dinners, Harley would fill the apartment with delicious aromas of eggs, garlicky quinoa and potatoes, beef roast adorned with roasted nuts, amazing smells and tastes Peter had never had living with Aunt May. And, for the first time in a long time, he felt full and healthy after a meal. He didn’t feel heavy or weighed down from processed foods and fried junk, but a clean meal that was filled with enough proteins to make him ready for a good patrol.

Too bad he couldn’t go on patrol.

Peter really appreciated the sentiment that Harley was trying to protect him, but it had been a week and Queens needed someone to protect it more than he did. So, he tried to sneak out.

“Where are you going?” Harley asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Peter froze, having barely opened the door. “Oh, uhm… out?” Peter said pointing to the door.

Harley raised his brow. “ At 9PM?”

“I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” He pushed.

“Why do you care?” Peter snapped back.

“I want to know when you’ll be back because I… I wanted to know if…” he looked around the apartment for an excuse, “if you were going to clean the living room tonight.”

“Uhm, no, I can’t. I’m going to… my…. uhm… on a date!” Peter said, giving himself an odd look by the terrible excuse.

Harley raised his brow at the boy’s style of clothing which seemed too casual for a date. “In jeans and a t-shirt?”

“Well, I’ve been with them a long time.” Peter shifted his feet back and forth. “I’m going now. Bye.” He left quickly as Harley shook his head.

The next morning, Harley had to take a double take when he looked at his roommate. “Peter, where did you get that?” Harley asked, pointing to the offending black eye that glared back at him.

“I told you, I was out.” Peter replied curtly.

“You’re girlfriend gave that to you?” Harley asked concerned.

Peter stood upright with his back straight. “ Girlfriend?”

“You said you were going on a date, I assumed with your romantic partner.”

“Romantic… oh yeah, but-”

“What was her name? MJ?”

“MJ isn’t my girlfriend.” Peter said as he moved past Harley to get to the fridge. “She is my friend that is a girl. Not my girlfriend, my romantic partner is-”

“Abusive.”

Peter whirled on the older boy. “He’s not abusive!”

“ He? They’re a guy?” Harley asked with a raised brow as Peter’s eyes widened. When Harley had said that he had a romantic partner, he didn’t realize he was thinking of a taller guy with sandy hair and teal blue eyes hidden by thick rimmed glasses. 

“Y-yeah. He’s not abusive. I mean he’s not perfect but…” Peter looked at Harley and smiled a small smile. “He’s enough.” He turned back to the fridge as

Harley bustled over.  “What do you mean by ‘enough?’ Like is he hurting you?”

“No, but he’s a huge pain in the ass.”

“Then who is?”

Peter sighed. “Look, Harley. I’m not getting hurt by my… boyfriend. He’s a great guy and even if he drinks a lot, he would never hurt me.” Peter realized this was getting convoluted for someone who technically didn’t exist. 

“He drinks? That can’t be good.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“You drink! Harley, it’s my business who and what I get up to. If I get hurt, it’s my fault…”

“Don’t blame yourself,” he interrupted. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s my business what is and isn’t my fault. I know you’re doing this whole ‘fix others so I can avoid fixing myself’ thing, but this isn’t your problem. I’m not your problem.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt anymore,” Harley admitted. 

“Then you should start with something you can control. Yourself.” He grabbed his keys. “I have to get to work now. Please clean the kitchen before you go to work.” And then he was gone.

As Harley entered the workshop, he dumped his stuff next to his chair and let out a big groan.

“Hello to you too,” greeted Tony.

“I don’t know what to do. It’s like he’s completely hot and cold. He shows up with a bullet wound , won’t admit that his boyfriend is beating him , and then makes me realize that I too have been hurting him for months! And no I haven’t hit him or anything but I’ve been a complete and utter asshole for no reason and I don’t know how to take it back.”

“Okay slow down. So he was shot?”

“Yeah he was.”

Tony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t Karen notify me?” he muttered.

“What?” Harley asked, confused.

“Nothing. Other business I need to attend. So did he tell you why?” Tony asked this both because he was concerned for Peter’s identity and because he wanted to make sure the kid didn’t spill anything by accident to a civilian.

“No he didn’t. He was super cryptic about it.”

Tony nodded. “Okay. And the abusive boyfriend, did he say that he was being abused?”

“Well no. But he comes home every night bruised and beaten and then covers it up the next days because the marks are always gone by morning. He’s probably using foundation to not be questioned by anyone, but he can’t hide it from me because he lives with me.” 

Tony knew for a fact that those were from patrol and they were gone because of Peter’s enhanced healing factor, but he played none the wiser. “And that last thing. You said you hurt him?”

Harley paused but nodded. “I’ve not been the best person since Mama passed away. I know you don’t see that side of me but… I was out of control, Tony. I know I need to stop but I don’t know how.”

“Right. Your drinking problem. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.”

“I-I swear I was going to stop but the buzz always takes away the pain so easy and it’s hard to not just get lost in the fog.”

Tony took a sharp breath in. He knew that feeling. He knew exactly what that felt like, and he knew it was hard to let go. “You have to stop thinking about the now when you get there. You have to think about the good for the future. Think about the hours you’ll waste while you drink or party or all of that shit. Think about the intelligent brainstorming you lose while you’re intoxicated. The moments in the now you’re missing because you decided to let loose in the moment because you couldn’t handle feeling bad anymore. You lose the bad in that moment but you lose all of the good you could’ve made if you would’ve pushed past it yourself. Don’t lose your life to meaningless good and find the real stuff.”

“You’re right,” Harley admitted after processing his speech.

“Of course I’m right. I’m Tony Stark.” He paused and softened. “But I wasn’t always this Tony Stark. The Tony Stark I used to be let mindless pleasures distract himself from the real world. That Tony Stark took the easy route and made weapons of mass destruction instead of making a real change. Don’t be him. Don’t let it control your life. You control your life.”

“I’ll try to be better.” Harley said and Tony found himself repeating what he said to Peter earlier.

“Don’t try. Be.”

Chapter Text

It had been the third night that Harley could tell that Peter had snuck out while he was asleep when he finally realized that he couldn’t stop Peter, even if it was what was best for him. With bruises adorning his body, hardly concealed by his sweatshirts, and half healed slashes in his sides (that Peter had accidentally revealed when he was reaching for the cereal on the top shelf), Harley couldn’t help but stare at Peter trying to figure out how he could help him. Building up his confidence, he approached Peter who sat on the couch criss-cross-applesauce with a mixing bowl full of Honey Nut Cheerios.

“Peter.” The brown eyed boy looked up to him, mouth full of the sugary cereal. “I can’t tell you to stop going out, but I think I know how I can at least help you defend yourself.”

Peter had to hold in a laugh at the notion. “Harley, I think I can defend myself.”

“Can you? Because... “ Harley took a deep breath trying not to overstep his boundaries. “I just want you to be safe. And to have that in your back pocket if you’re ever in the position where you need to. We live in New York and bad stuff happens; you’ve obviously proved that to me. So, just, will you take up my offer?”

Peter sighed. “We already talked about this whole self projection of self improvement, Harley…”

“No. It’s not that.”

“Then find a way to fix your problems before you start fixing mine.”

“Why can’t I fix my problems while I help you with yours?”

Peter knew he wouldn’t be able to turn Harley down. His stubbornness was both one of his strengths and the most annoying thing about him. “If I agree to your self defense lessons, you have to agree to get sober.”

“Done. Already working to do that.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. “And what have you done to do that?”

“I haven’t had a drink in four days,” he stated

“That’s good. How are you feeling?”

He hesitated. “Fine.”

“You’re fine? Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Well from my brief research about alcohol withdrawal, the first weeks entail body destabilization like shakes, sweats, and nausea and spikes in depression. Have you experienced any of those symptoms?”

Harley, knowing fully well that his hands hadn’t stopped shaking for hours the night before, he had to sleep in just his boxers because he was soaking his sheets in a New York October, and had been felt nothing but a vast emptiness that he tried to mask with distractions, like helping Peter, to make up for his numb nothing he felt, responded, “no. I’m fine.”

“Harley, you can’t get better if we don’t have communication.” Harley didn’t respond. “Yeah. Crazy concept, right? Communication? Something we haven’t had for the last, what? Four months? But that’s something that healthy people have to do. So, have you felt those things?”

With a long pause, Harley finally responded, “yeah, I have.”

Peter gave him a sad smile. “Four days is a step. That’s what this is going to be. A lot of small steps to reach one big goal.”

Harley nodded again. “Enough about me, though. When do you want to start our lessons?”

“Well, I don’t have a shift at Luigi’s today. Do you want to do it after school, or do you have your whole internship thing?”

“I don’t. After school sounds good.”

“Good.” He gave him a thumbs up.

“Good.”

Peter watched, holding back a smile, as Harley struggled to push the couch out of the way to clear the living room. Sighing, he pretended to struggle too as he barely pushed the couch and moved it out of the way.

“Huh. Two horses pull the cart, you know?”

Peter shook his head. “No, Harley. I really don’t.”

“Okay. Well now that we have some room, let’s start with the basics. Do you know athletic stance?”

“I have been in a PE class more than once in my life, Harley.” He got into the stance.

“Good. Now put up your fists so that you have them ready at two different angles, one more towards the face and one more towards the sternum of your opponent.” Peter followed his instructions, trying not to correct his technique, though he desperately wanted to. “Okay, now the first thing I’m gonna teach you is blocking. Let’s just test your reflexes first.” Harley threw some weak punches that Peter slowly dodged, well slowly for him considering his built in premonition. “Okay, good. I’m gonna go a little more sporadic and faster.” Again, Peter dodged the hits but purposely let Harley hit him sometimes even though his Spidey Sense screamed at him not to. “We’ll have to work on that. Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Not even feeling a bruise coming from that.”

Harley smiled, thinking that he had made some sort of impact. “Now you try to throw some punches.” Peter threw punches the way he knew how to, quick and specific. The kind that would be a medium strength and precise blow to any bad guy that would easily send them flying back without breaking their spines. “You’re not using your full force. Here.” Harley went behind him and wrapped his arms around him to position them, not realizing the intimacy of the action at first. “You just uh you let the force come from your core so it is full force.” Peter let a full forced punch out, the unlocked strength that he always held back for safety coursing through his arm and to his fist. “Exactly! Like that.”

“That was a great tip.”

Harley nodded. “Well you’re just learning. It’ll take you a while, but you’re a natural. You’ll pick up on this quick.”

Of course, this was a two sided coin, and as much as Peter and Harley were on rocky terrain, and Peter didn’t fully trust this “new and improved Harley Keener,” but he knew that guy on the roof, and he saw the person behind the wall, and he knew that getting him sober could bring him back. He didn’t know why he cared or even why he was putting so much effort in a guy that days ago had been the bane of his existence, but that was Peter Parker. Trying to find the best in people who may not deserve it. Forgiving those who didn’t earn forgiveness. Wanting the world to be better than it had proven itself to be. 

So, he started with the obvious. He told Harley to take out every single beer, vodka, and alcoholic beverage and set them on the island.

“Sure feels like the prohibition.”

“It sort of is,” Peter said with a light chuckle, but still maintaining his seriousness.

“This should be it,” Harley stated simply.

“What about that bottle of limoncello that you got from…”

“From that rich Italian girl I hooked up with? I regifted it.”

Peter snorted. “To what friend?”

“Not a friend. A college guy I was trying to impress.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Did it work?”

Harley shook his head. “Good makeout until he socked me in the face and stole my wallet.”

Peter laughed. “Harley Keener not on his game? I would pay to see that one.”

“You wouldn’t believe it, but Harley Keener is more off his game than on it.”

“I think I would believe it.” The light, comedic air dissipated as they remembered why they were gathered around the sink. “I’m gonna dump the hard liquor. Okay?”

“I think I’m gonna go in our room.”

“Are you sure? It could be a metaphor to a step forward.”

He shook his head. “I think I’ve had enough metaphors for the night. I’m gonna hit the hay.”

With a sad glint in his eye, Peter nodded. “Okay. I’ll do this for you, then.”

Harley didn’t want to leave Peter, especially when he was doing everything for him, but he couldn’t stand to watch as that part of his life went down the drain. Literally. He could hear as the bottles clinked when Peter set them in the recycling bin and it almost pained him. It’s for the best he kept reminding himself. He turned to face the wall as he let warm tears stream down his cheeks silently. He didn’t know why he felt so emotional about something that was destroying his life. Maybe because for a while, it had been his savior.

It was the thing that made him fit in, that made him feel like there was a constant in his hectic hurricane that was his life. It was something he could always turn to when he didn’t want to feel. It was an escape, a euphoria of nothingness that was the perfect go to when he was feeling too much. And that was his problem. He didn’t want to feel. He didn’t feel like it was fine to feel because he had always been “big brother Harley Keener.” “Man of the house Harley Keener.” “Harley Keener that knew all the answers.” He couldn’t let himself not know what would happen next, so he took control of everything he could. But now, it was like all of the control was gone. Everything was up in the air and he didn’t know what his life was going to be anymore. He didn’t remember how to be the old him. He didn’t know how to be a new and improved Harley Keener. There were too many unknowns, and he was scared.

There was a light knock on the door.

“Harley?” he heard Peter’s soft voice call out. “How does a cup of hot chocolate sound?”

Wiping his eyes, he nodded as he sniffled. “That sounds really nice.”

“Whipped cream?”

“And caramel drizzle,” he joked, still trying to compose himself.

As Peter returned with two hot mugs, they both sat on his bed, sipping silently. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Harley shook his head. “Not yet.”

Peter just nodded and took another sip. “Okay.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked him in return.

Peter shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Okay.”

And that’s all it was. It was okay. Them drinking their hot chocolate in each other’s presence. It was a step, and that was enough.

Chapter Text

He thought it would be easy. It should be, right? It was just stopping something he had only started in June. It was just a habit, a nuisance, a self inflicted obligation that he just had to get rid of. But his body didn’t know that.

His body didn’t know how to quit. It had only been five days, but it didn’t know that the alcohol wouldn’t be coming back to wash away the pain. His body didn’t know how to manage the ache in his heart, the stabbing headache pounding in his temples, and the tumbling twist in his stomach when there wasn’t the dull throb of the numb miasma of inebriation to distract him. 

But damn him to hell if the temptation was too much because a bottle of beer sounds good.

“Peter?” he called out to the boy who worked on homework.

“What’s up?” he responded without looking up from his AP lit essay.

“I really want to drink.”

Peter turned around. “Oh.” He stood. “You stay here. I’ll get you a glass of wine, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

Harley, now sat in the dimly lit room, began to sweat and shake as he waited. He was relieved when Peter returned with a hefty glass. “You didn’t hold back.”

“Of course not. I don’t expect you to just quit cold turkey. That would torture you. I won’t hold back just yet, but the longer you cut your drinking habits, the more you’ll get used to the smaller portions. It’s mediation on your drinking, not just getting sober.”

Harley smiled softly. “Thank you, Peter.”

“It’s the least I can do. I mean, with you teaching me how to defend myself.” Peter felt insincere, but Harley was trying his best.

“We’re gonna get better and we will have each other to ensure that. Right?”

Peter nodded. “Right.”

Harley took slow sips of his chardonnay. He hadn’t savored a drink in months, maybe because he wanted a quick fix. He never lingered on the taste and the slow buzz. For once, the alcohol solved his problem, but it was in his control, and this felt so much better.

“How about you keep sipping and we do something to get your mind off of everything?”

“Like what?”

Peter hadn’t thought that far. “Well, we have the Wii.”

“Really?”

“It could be fun!” he tried to reason. “I have other games than Just Dance. Like Wii Sports…”

“Too much movement.”

“WarioWare…”

“No, thank you.”

“Karaoke…”

“Oh. I could go for some karaoke,” he finally decided.

Peter grinned. “I’ll plug it in.”

“You didn’t tell me it was Disney karaoke.”

Peter chuckled. “What did you expect? Country?”

“Well, no. But these songs are like ten years old.”

“Maybe because the game is ten years old. Come on. Let’s pick a duet.”

As they scrolled through, Harley groaned. “The only duet I know is Wouldn’t Change A Thing from Camp Rock 2.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t think we won’t crush this song.”

“I don’t think we will crush this song,” he replied monotonously.

Peter nudged him, trying to keep the mood light. “Live a little.” He selected the song. “Do you want to be Demi or Joe?”

“Joe, obviously.”

Peter smiled. “Perfect.”

Harley cringed as Peter’s tone deaf voice began to hoarsely sing out the opening to the song. Peter almost got distracted by Harley’s ease at perfect pitch and warm tone, their voices definitely not balancing each other out. Peter’s voice cracked endlessly as he switched to falsetto, the chorus leaving the two teens giggling while Harley effortlessly belted.

The night was left with many laughs as Peter failed to belt out Demi Lovato’s “Remember December” and Paramore’s “Ignorance” and Peter smiling softly as Harley serenaded him with Justin Bieber’s “One Time” and Owl City’s “Fireflies.” 

“Well, we have the rest of the night all to ourselves. Is there anything else you want to do?”

He thought about it. “I could really use some sugar. Do we have any ice cream left?”

Peter checked the freezer and shook his head. “Nope.”

“Do you think there are any shops open now where we could get some?”

He chuckled. “We can go see.”

Harley noticed that Queens was different in the nightlife. There was a different energy. It wasn’t as angry, people honking their horns less and not yelling profanities on the sidewalks. He noticed that there was a serenity to the different songs coming from the shops they passed on their walk and the light beaming through the windows. He noticed how the sky was almost empty, no stars to fill it, just the moon shining down upon them. It wasn’t better than Tennessee, it was just different.

“Max and Mina’s opens at 9:30, and that’s just a couple blocks more.” Peter explained. 

“I haven’t really gotten a good look around Queens yet. I’ve been pretty cooped up in the apartment.”

“Cooped up? Is throwing parties every weekend not entertaining enough?” Peter joked a little bitterly.

“The parties were never for me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questioned.

“I mean, when I’m the guy that throws parties for a bunch of strangers who just want a quick fuck and bottle of booze, then I’m just that. Someone they use for a good time. I don’t know the people who come over. They’re just faces who come and go without leaving any mark on my life.”

“Sounds pretty shitty on your part.”
He chuckled. “I guess it does. I was just trying to be something.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I just… when I came to New York, I didn’t want to be Harley Keener. I wanted to be the kind of guy people liked. Not the one who was dork who makes potato guns in his garage. Not the one that got ostracized for wanting to take a guy to the drive-in theater. I wanted to mean something.”

“And you thought this was the way to mean something?”

He sighed. “I thought. High school was always about parties and rebellion in the movies. That wasn’t me. It never was. I mean, look at me. I don’t look much the type.” 

And Peter did. He took a good look at Harley. His hair wasn’t slicked back with gel, no tight t-shirt hugging his torso, instead his hair was in messy curls as he wore a sweatshirt a little too big for him, the sleeves almost reaching his fingertips. Without his contacts, his bulky glasses made him look approachable, almost friendly. Very un-Harley. “I guess you don’t.”

“You didn’t know me back in Rose Hill. I was nothing. Now I’m party animal, lady killer Harley Keener. The guy people hit up for a good smoke or a trashed hookup. I’m popular, and I’m in a school that matches my intellect, and I’ve got an amazing internship and yet..  I kind of… sometimes I wish I could be that guy. The guy who just had to worry about what college he wanted to go to and what he was going to get his little sister for her birthday. The guy who could go to the junkyard and repair and resell old engines. The guy who wasn’t an alcoholic with a dead mom.”

Peter stared at him, the two now standing in on the sidewalk in silence. “You can’t go back. No matter what you do, you can’t get back what has already happened. But, you can take the things that happened in your past and apply them to your future. You can still be that person. You will never be the same, but you can be better. Don’t limit yourself to the person you used to be. You’re bound to change the older you get. Don’t let that change be your downfall.”

Harley nodded. “You’re right.” Something felt familiar as he talked to Peter. The way he reasoned the issues almost was a sense of deja vu to Harley, but he couldn’t place his finger on what it was.

“Do you still want ice cream? We don’t have to still go. We can just go back to the apartment.”
Harley shook his head. “No. We’re almost there.”

“Pesto? Who wants pesto ice cream?”

“You’d be surprised what sort of umami goes well with sweet.”

“Mhm… then explain to me how grass flavored ice cream would ever work?”

Harley sighed. He knew Peter didn’t understand the complexities of the culinary arts, however he too didn’t quite understand the menu. Corn on the cob? Pizza? “How about you just settle for a safe chocolate cupcake flavored one.”

“Ugh. Don’t patronize me, Harley.” He paused. “But that does sound very yummy.”

He approached the counter. “One chocolate cupcake and a butterfinger cone. Thank you.” He pulled out his card to pay but Peter grabbed his hand.

“I can pay for mine.”

Harley shooed him away. “It’s my treat. Especially after what you did tonight. It’s nothing.”

With a huff, Peter complied, and happily nibbled at his frozen treat. “I’ve got to admit, the walk was worth it.”

Harley smiled softly at the shorter boy. “I have good ideas sometimes.”

He scoffed. “I’m pretty sure going out was my idea.”

“But the ice cream was my idea.”

Peter shook his head. “Whatever.” He held in a smile as the two walked in comfortable silence and it almost felt normal. Maybe this could actually work. Just when things were feeling secure, Peter’s Spidey Sense went off. He could hear from the block down that there was a scream. “I’m so sorry, Harley, but I… I have to go.”

Harley furrowed his eyebrows. “You what?”

“I can’t explain but I… I have to go. I’m sorry.” Without more explanation, Peter ran to the danger, leaving Harley standing alone in the crowded New York street, confused and clueless.

Peter couldn’t help but be distracted, not only because he was suitless as he fought off the usual mugger, but also because he had left Harley. He barely knew his way around the city, and though he had Google Maps, it was a dangerous city and he wouldn’t forgive himself if his absence would lead to Harley getting hurt. So, he weblessly restrained the bad guy with just a slash to his cheek until the police arrived and the woman ran away, hopefully safely. 

When he entered the apartment, Harley sat on the couch, his head snapping towards the opened door. “You’ve been gone for half an hour. I didn’t know where you were. I thought something had… and then I came home and you still weren’t back and I… are you bleeding? You are! You’re bleeding. God, Peter. What were you doing?”

Peter decided it was easier to tell the truth than keep hiding it from Harley. “I heard a woman getting mugged. I couldn’t just standby.”
Harley let out a breath of disbelief. “A mugging? Really? That’s the story you’re going with?”

“I was!”

“Peter, you could barely keep up with my basic self defense yesterday. You’re trying to tell me that you fended off a mugger barehanded?”

“...Yes?”

He sighed. “Fine. You’re not going to tell me where you went. Now, come on. Let’s get that cut cleaned up.”

Peter felt his cheek and could tell that the cut was already healing much faster than he wanted Harley to notice, so he shook his head. “I’ll do it. You go to bed. It’s been an a… an eventful night.”

Harley hated that their night had to end this way, but he knew that with Peter, he wouldn’t get more of an explanation, so he accepted the ominous mystery and the two parted ways for the night. Peter cleaned the gash in a silence so painstakingly different from the laughs that had erupted in the apartment just hours before and Harley tried to fill the void with music in his headphones, but nothing would sound the way Peter’s sad attempt of a ballad did. He may be oblivious, but he knew there was something about Peter that he couldn’t stop thinking about. He was growing on him, and that was scarier than what they had been before.

Chapter Text

As Harley entered the compound, swiping his ID as usual, he had more of a pep to his step. Maybe it was the calm before the storm, but with his moderation and his week clean, he felt confident. 

“Morning, Tony,” Harley greeted.

“Hey, kid. You’re just in time. I’ve got a new project for you.”

“Hope it’s nothin’ to do with the end of the world.”

“Ha ha. No, I actually need you to work on some new prototypes for the new Mark. Could you get started on the base armor?” Tony asked casually.

“Yeah, sure. I could use a break from my usual anyways.”

“How’s your whole…” Tony trailed off. He wasn’t one for sentimental talk, which Harley knew.

“It’s as good as it can be. I haven’t drank more than a half a glass of wine in the last four days total, and my roommate he’s…” he smiled bashfully at the table. “He’s great. He’s really great.”

“You guys finally getting along then?” Tony asked, genuinely curious.

“He’s not the guy I made him out to be. I was really projecting my problems with myself onto him, and that wasn’t fair of me.”

“How so?”

Harley, not looking away from the hologram blueprints projected in front of him, shrugged. “He’s just… I get why he’s not giving me a chance because I haven’t really given him a chance. And I’m pulling this crazy 180 on him and he’s putting up his walls because he doesn’t trust it, and I get why he doesn’t. I haven’t been the warmest to him. But now I see he’s just so… he’s so him. He sits with me through the shakes and holds my shaky hand in physics when I’m feeling anxious for no reason and even though I see him sneak out every night because I don’t sleep with the insomnia, we have this silent agreement that we are trying to get better. On the off chance I see him shirtless around the apartment, I don’t see his body littered with bruises the way it used to be. He’s making an effort to keep himself safe and I’m making an effort to get clean and I don’t know, maybe it’ll be enough for us to finally… for Abby to finally move in. Maybe we can have our happy ending and that’ll be enough.”

Tony inspected Harley’s expression. “Is it something more than that?”

Harley’s head shot up to face him. “No! No. Of course there isn’t. He’s just… he’s a good roommate and maybe we are friends now. I don’t know.”

“Sounds like a good kid.”

“He is. Yeah. He is.”

“And how are you holding up? With everything else?”

“What else is there?” He asked, trying to keep a light tone.

“You know what I mean.”

“It’s goin’, I guess. Each day it gets easier but at the same time, each day it gets a little harder.”

“I understand,” Tony said softly.

“I’m sure you do.” Harley’s eyes went wide. “Shit, sorry I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s fine. I know what you meant.”

Harley adjusted his focus on the blueprints. “This one’s really different than your other designs. Rebranding?”

“You could say something like that.”

“Not gonna lie, I’ve been waiting to get my hands on one of your newer designs. There’s just something so thrilling about working on the Iron Man suit. The taste I got of it back during the Mandarin thing I just… it’s like nothing I’ve ever worked on before.”

“It’s because I’m a genius,” Tony bragged.

“And because I was ten years old who worked with broken garbage.”

“That doesn’t invalidate my intelligence.”

He laughed. “Whatever you say, old man.”

After working in silence, except for the rock music blasting above, for hours, the two busy bees were interrupted by FRIDAY.

“Boss, Karen is calling due to “Baby Boo-Boo Protocol.” Would you like to call in?” she asked.

“Sorry, Harley. I have to take this. Would you mind stepping out for a moment? You can go grab us another mug of coffee from the kitchen.”

Harley nodded stated a simple “will do” before exiting.

“Okay, FRIDAY, call him.”

“-o, no Karen seriously I’m fine…”

“Hi, Spider-Man,” Tony stated, unamused.

“Oh hey Mr. Stark! So uh funny story. So I was totally being safe, have been a lot safer especially since you found out that I hacked Karen to hide the old Scraped Knee Protocol, but really I’ve been making an effort to not get too hurt on patrols…”

“Get to the point, Parker,” he pushed.

“Right. So there was this old lady, right? And she was walking with her cane and stuff and it totally got caught in one of those gridded grate things on the sidewalk and it like totally fell through but the cane part was holding it up and this lady couldn’t bend over to get it, you feel?”

“Uh-huh,” he said, not understanding where this was going.

“So then I pulled it out for her and was like “here you go, mam” and she was like “thanks so much, Spider-Man! Would you like a caramel?” and I was like “boy howdy would I?” and so I got this super buttery caramel from this lady which was like super nice.”

“Peter, get to the point.”

“Right right. So then I was just sucking on this caramel, you know? And so then this bad dude showed up right after and was trying to rob this same old lady down the block, but now I have this caramel in my mouth and I’m fighting off this dude, and I’m like totally choking at this point, and I’m so focused on A) getting this lady her purse back, B) not choking on this caramel in my throat, and C) beating up this bad guy, that I barely notice this lady throwing her cheating boyfriend’s stuff out of her window. So now I’m giving back this old lady her purse, still sort of choking on that caramel, but at this point it’s kinda dissolved, and this bag of stuff falls on me. Of course it’s not enough to like knock me out, but the swiss army knife lodged into my head does hurt.”

“ There’s a knife lodged into your head?! ”

“Totally fine, Mr. Stark. Barely hurts, don’t even think it’s hitting my brain or anything, it was just a small swiss army knife.”

“I’m getting you right now,” he said, getting up and putting on the Iron Man suit.

“Seriously, Mr. Stark. It’s totally fine. I’ll just take it out…”

“Don’t you dare take that knife out of your skull, Peter Parker. You could have serious brain damage and the knife being in there could be the only thing holding back the full effect, let alone adrenaline. I am getting you. Now keep talking so I know you’re still okay and there aren’t any obvious disorientation or communication issues.” He began to fly to his coordinates.

“Okay. So today in English we were reading the Crucible which is just so wack because like this girl uh what was her name?”

“Abigail?”

“Yeah! Abigail. So like Abigail is like a wicked good actress and she is like “oh shit” -- uh I mean shoot -- she’s like “oh shoot I feel so cold” and all the liar girls are like “so cold so cold” and everyone is like “omg this is witchcraft” and everyone who knows it’s not witchcraft and she’s a total liar is like freaking out like “oh no, she’s got everyone under her thumb” no wait that’s not the saying. Under the palm of her hand? No that’s like the palm of my hand. Or is it the back of my hand?”

“Under her thumb is right.” Tony still had five minutes in his flight, nerve-wracked on what might happen to Peter in those five minutes.

“Okay so like Abigail totally has them under her thumb, and it’s like so wild. I didn’t really get all of it because I’m more of a science guy than an English guy, but from what my teacher explained to us, it was super crazy. We are gonna watch the movie when we finish the book and the actress who played the main character in that super old movie “Heathers” plays Abigail and I’m super excited to see her in it.”

Tony increased the speed in his boosters. “That’s great. Tell me something else.”

“Oh! So funny story. My roommate… I told you about him before? Harley? So basically he was making dinner last night and he made this parmesan and breadcrumb encrusted salmon or something which like first of all, how do we even have the money to buy salmon at all, and it was so good. It felt apart in my mouth and it was, dare I say it, moist, and the top actually made me like salmon. Okay but here’s the funny part. So I didn’t realize that there was a skin and so I totally took a bite with the skin and I was just chewing it for like an embarrassing amount of time and I was kind of superstrengthing my bite because I thought that I just got a tough piece and that’s what salmon is supposed to be like, but Harley was just laughing like “that’s the skin, Peter” and I was like “oh crap” and I awkwardly spit it into my napkin . I think it was funnier in the moment but I thought it was funny.”

“Mhm. Tell me more about your roommate.”

“Oh, Harley? I don’t know I mean like he’s gotten a lot better but like it’s like this whole thing because you know how he used to be and now he’s just not like that anymore and it’s just weird because like how do you just stop being one way and start being another way? But like obviously he didn’t just start being one way because when I talked to him as Spider-Man, oh don’t worry it was like totally safe like totally identity concealed, no way that he would know it was me conversation, and like he was like that with Spider-Man so I think a part of me believes that this is real, but then also like the part of me that has been getting the other end of the stick for four months is like ‘hey, Peter, uh this is the same guy who threw up on your favorite pajamas and knocked half of your Aunt’s ashes out of her urn at a party.’ And like I know that ashes given to you for urns are actually like totally from a vat of premade ash because the funeral business is just a scam mooching off of your tragedy and obligation to honor your lost loved ones, but still like, those are her ashes, you know?”

“I hear you, kid.” Tony got eyes on the red and blue cladded hero.

“I’m tired. I think I’m gonna lie down for a little bit.”

Tony saw Peter beginning to descend to the ground, swooping in just before the knife could get lodge farther into his skull.

His paternal instincts were kicking in as he anxiously watched the operating table that Peter’s unconscious body rested. Tony’s mind was underwater even when the doctors assured him that there was minimal, most likely no, brain damage and his super-healing was already taking care of the damage. The only thing that he could think was Peter. The two were never as close as they could be. They were cordial and they talked and he definitely cared about him, but tonight he realized that if he died, it’d be more than just him feeling the guilt of his death, but the empty hole that he would leave in his life. He filled his life with stress and anxiety but he also made his heart warm with pride when he got an A on a test or saved a life. Peter was never not a damaged kid, but no matter what he did, he lived life. He saw the way life beat down him, but Peter Parker took two steps forward every step he fell back from. He was honored to have had even a miniscule effect on the person that Peter Parker was today, but he knew he didn’t.

He knew that it was all Peter. It was Peter who was Spider-Man, not the suit that he made for him. It was him who was pushing past another loss. It was him who was beating death in a damn hospital gown. It was him who brightened other’s lives when his life was dim. And maybe that’s why he didn’t get too close. Why he hasn’t made more of an effort to get to truly know Peter and get involved, because Tony Stark disintegrates everything he touches. This wasn’t his story. This was Peter’s story. 

But there was the main character of this story, lying on the operating table, his heart rate steady, his brain apparently not bleeding out on the table, with a man who hopes he could count as a mentor holding his hand for dear life, praying that he was okay.

“Boss, Harley is still waiting for you in the lab.”

Tony was violently thrown back into reality. Still not fully there, he responded, “tell him that I got caught in a meeting and will be back as soon as possible.”

“Will do.”

“Send him the next part of his Mark.”

Harley, bored in the lab, had finished the two parts of his suit he had previously been assigned, as well as finished both his and Tony’s coffees.

“Mr. Keener? Boss has just sent you the blueprints.”

“Fuckin’ finally.” He examined the hologram. “Well that makes no sense. This mechanism would have too much tension in the bending points. FRIDAY, is this right?”

“That would be a test that Boss has implemented to make sure you’re on your full game. Good catch.”

He shook his head. “Of course he would.”

Tony didn’t respond for the rest of the night and Harley had finished the full suit long before he was tired. So, he called it a night and headed to his room to retire for the night.

Peter woke up after a few grueling hours of recovery from surgery, and Tony felt his heart stop when the young teen wasn’t making coherent sentences.

“Does he… did the knife get too far? Did he get brain damage?” It pained him just to ask, but he had to know.

Dr. Cho smiled reassuringly. “He’s just coming back from anesthetics. You don’t usually see him out of surgery, but he’s always like this. Don’t worry, Tony.” Before he could interject, she continued, “we will keep an eye on him, but I assure you, with his healing factor and the progress we are already seeing, he will be perfectly fine.”

And after another couple hours, Peter was fully conscious again, his first words being. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry Mr. Stark. I totally didn’t mean to bother you. I’m so sorry to take up so much time in your day. I didn’t realize how long that would take.”

“Peter. Kid. It’s fine. I’m not missing anything, I promise.”

He sighed in relief. “Are you sure? Because I’m sure you have much better things to do than sit around in the med bay waiting for me to wake up.”

“I did it because I wanted to, Pete.”

Peter, a little stunned, just nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

The rest of the night was spent debriefing Peter on how to recover safely and Peter droning on about everything him and Tony needed to catch up on. It was an uneventful night to end an eventful day.

Chapter Text

“Ugh, we’re out of everything. We don’t even have any spinach!”

Peter looked up from his book as he laid on the couch. “Then let’s go grocery shopping.”

“Together?” he asked, less questioning and more hopeful.

“Yeah, sure. I have stuff I want and haven’t written a list so I’ll just go with you.”

Harley held back a grin as he grabbed his grocery bags. “What were you thinking for supper?”

“It’s up to you Mr. Master Chef.”

Harley shook his head. “I’d hardly say I’m anywhere near master chef material.”

“Well considering you make padachew crocumbooch in your free time…”

“Pate a choux croquembouche,” he corrected.

“Dude, why can’t you just say cream puff tower? That’s what it is.”

Harley threw on a leather jacket. “Because it has a name!”

“Which could easily be simplified to cream puff tower.”

“Come on.”

Peter wasn’t sure what he had expected going grocery shopping with Harley. Two separate carts just to avoid the awkward small talk but end up getting two of everything? One cart and the grueling bicker as they decide what brands to choose? He didn’t expect it to feel a sense of calm domesticity as they discussed baby arugula or spinach and as Harley told Peter that “six bags of cool ranch Doritos is unhealthy” and “a bag of seasoned nuts are a healthier, protein packed alternative that would be better for him.”

When they approached the flower section, Harley picked out a bouquet of lilies and added them to the cart. 

“Why did you choose lilies?” Peter asked, his voice soft.

“They were my Mama’s favorite. I didn’t even think, I just… when I would see lilies on sale, I would always buy them. She liked to have them around.”

“They were May’s favorite, too.” Peter paused, looking at the flowers and Harley. “You don’t like talking about your mom.” The only time he ever talked about her was with Spider-Man, but never to Peter.

“Each day I… it’s like everything reminds me of her. And I just have to make new memories with those things or I’ll always just look at them and think of her because at the end of the day, I can’t just avoid them forever. I guess that’s the same way with talkin’ about her. I can’t just never talk about her if I ever want to move on. And that’s what we’re doing, right? Self improvement. Getting better. So maybe I should start to talk about her.”

“Is that what you think you need?”

“We’ve been in denial for too long, Peter. We need to move on.” Peter didn’t have a response. He just stuffed his hands into his pockets while his lips pursed tightly. “No matter how poor we got -- and that was pretty poor when you live in a single parent household in Rose Hill, Tennessee -- Mama would always make us a good meal. We may not have had clothes that fit right or enough money to hire a real professional to fix our leaky pipes, but when I would get back from replacing those rusty pipes, there would be a nice meal on the table. Cooking was the only constant she had, and I guess that’s why she did it so much. And I guess… that’s why I cook so much too. Because then at least all that knowledge isn’t going to waste.”

“I really enjoy your cooking,” Peter said meekly.

“I’m glad.”

“I’ve said it before, but May wasn’t a chef. Her and I both. We were never well off either. She would try to make food for me that would… she would try to cook, but it came to the point where we were going to evicted from how many times we set off the fire alarm, and we just settled for cheap takeout or microwave dinners. Even though I had a fast metabolism, I had a very unhealthy relationship with food because we didn’t have the budget to get enough food for me to feel full. I’d fill up on stuff that was filling, yes, but not necessarily the best for my body. It was a lot of rice from our rice cooker and pastas and all of the carbs because at the end of the day, I’d work them off so it didn’t matter if it was healthy.”

“But?” Harley asked when Peter cut himself off.

“But now I’m starting to realize how I shouldn’t have done that. You saw how I’ve been drinking Pediasures. It was the only thing that could satisfy my hunger. But now there’s you and your delicious healthy food and I feel… maybe I would’ve felt better in a lot of ways I had actually taken care of my body.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m reckless. And I… in some ways, I don’t care about what happens to me. I do everything I can to fix everyone else’s problems, to be a her… to be the person that people need, but I’ve never been the person that I need. I didn’t eat well because I didn’t even consider bothering May about my diet. I felt disgusting day after day and hungry all the time because I never ever thought about asking if we could budgeting in better proteins. And it’s not even that. I let myself ache for hours because I don’t like to tell people that I am in pain and it’s because I’m a burden and that would just be bothering them. I mean the amount of time I’ve had to get a bone rebroken and reset is bad. Really bad. Sometimes I think too much about what people will think, and not enough about what I need, and I never end up reaching out.”

“Deep shit,” Harley stated simply, earning a laugh from Peter.

“Yeah, I guess. Sorry I’m like oversharing, aren’t I?”

Harley shook his head. “That’s what this is. Oversharing. Because what could two orphans possibly be dealing with? Nothing, I’m sure.”

Peter chuckled again. “Right.”

“You don’t have to talk to me. I said we need to move on, but we don’t have to move on this second.”

“Do you think we will ever be able to move on?” Peter interjected, pained.

“I don’t know. For me this is… this is different than the other loss. Sure I never had a father and I… I lost grandparents but I… I never lost someone like…”

“Someone who was actually there?”

“Someone who actually loved me.” Throughout this conversation, they were still wandering the grocery store, picking up things on their list, but Harley stopped. “My grandparents were old fashioned. They didn’t really appreciate a faggy grandson. Mama was the only one who backed me up when everyone around me told me that what I was was wrong. She supported cleaned up my cuts from when the schoolyard bullies would throw punches. She would yell her head off at the neighbors who cursed me out. She protected me in ways that I couldn’t always do for myself. She was this rock in the raging river that was my life, unmovable, constant, and impenetrable. But all of a sudden, I remember that she’s not invincible. One moment she’s there and then she’s not and it’s… then I have to be the one who is the rock. Not for the queer stuff, obviously, but for everything else. I had always been the man of the house, but that meant more of the whole “making money” and “mowing the lawn” sort of stuff. Not the whole, being a parent. Now all of a sudden, there’s just me and Abby and she’s… I keep telling myself that she’s all I got, but I’m not all she’s got. She’s got her foster home, and her friends in choir, and that boy that every girl in her class has a crush on, and all of a sudden, I’m not part of her world anymore, but she’s my whole world.”

“You know, maybe we could bring her up to New York? For Halloween or something? I know it’s pretty last minute since it’s this Thursday, but it could be nice for her to come spend some time with you? She could get a four day weekend up here with you, you could show her around, it could… just so she can see your life here.”

Harley smiled fondly at the concept. “Yeah, that would be really great. She’s been wanting to see New York.”

“We’ll have to fix up the apartment so she has somewhere to sleep. Maybe we can finally get to redecorating.”

“Like I’ve been trying to get you to do for the last four weeks?”

Peter held his hands up defensively, “hey I’m a busy guy and you have a horrible sense of interior design.”

Harley scoffed dramatically. “I think I am rustic chique.”

“Do you want to go to the storage unit and finally make the apartment feel more us than just me?”

Harley tensed at the notion. “I haven’t been there since…”

“Me neither. But we, moving on and all that, right? Maybe it’ll be good for us.”

“As long as I get to see some baby photos of you,” Harley joked, still shaken up by the idea of going through all of his old stuff. 

Peter grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be here too. I’m doing it too.”

So there the two were, silently standing at their storage unit, the key burning a hole in Harley’s hand as they stared at the door. 

“Should we just…” the sentence trailed off as he said it, not knowing where it would go.

Peter took the key from him. “I’ll do it. Just rip the bandage off.” And suddenly the key was burning a hole in his hand, him unable to do it either. He felt Harley’s hand grab the key over his hand.

“Maybe we can do it together,” Harley suggested. Peter nodded silently, both of their weak strength putting the key into its lock. As they pulled the door up, Peter couldn’t help himself but start crying by the smell, warm tears streaming down his face as he quietly sobbed. Harley was again frozen, also overwhelmed by the familiar smell. Despite the other’s things also being there, Peter could pick out the distinct scents of cheap detergent, Yankee candle, and Febreeze in the boxes. May always Febreezed everything, thinking it was close enough to cleaning when something like a cardboard box smelled bad. Peter drowned the scent of her from the boxes with Febreeze, but it poked through with his super-smell. The smell of vanilla and lemongrass, the cheap perfume that would ingrain itself into her clothes, everything that was undeniably May. And then there was the faint scent of Ben. The scent of sandalwood and whatever Calvin Klein cologne that he got on sale at the mall. Their scent lingered in their apartment, but after months of living there, it was simply Harley and Peter. But this? This was her. This was them.

Harley just stared at the boxes and glanced at Peter whose shoulders shook as he sobbed, covering his face embarrassed. Neither of them were as ready as they once thought they were, but there was no turning back now. As Peter slid down the wall, curled into a ball as he cried, Harley wandered into the dark room, opening a box labeled “kitchen.” He smiled nostalgically at the pots and pans that she had taught him to cook with. The burnt omelets, the overcooked pastas, all of the memories that he couldn’t bare look at when he first moved in with Peter. He didn’t particularly like May’s stainless steel, but it was better than the memories ingrained in his mama’s favorites.

Peter, sniffling and wiping his eyes, found himself opening a box that read “May’s Bedroom.” He wasn’t prepared to open the box with just her sheets and bedding, the ones that she had to buy after Ben had passed since she would cry every night when she would go to sleep when she smelled him on the pillows. Peter didn’t get that because he never slept in the same bed as someone he had lost, but just smelling her beddings now, he got it. He understood.

Harley had now opened another box filled with pillows. He turned to Peter and softly said, “I think these would look nice on the couch. Don’t you?”

Peter glanced over to the blonde, fists death gripping the soft fabric in his hands. “Yeah. They would compliment the brown really well.”

Harley stared at the pillow a little longer, the back slightly stained from when he and Abby ate spaghetti on the couch when there was an Equestria Girls marathon on TV. 

Peter, after he shoved the comforter into its respective box, opened another, finding the box that he had thrown all of hers and Ben’s clothes into. Ben was always a much bigger man than Peter, and when he did wear his old sweatshirts, they would make him look even smaller than he already was. But he couldn’t help but still wear the oversized college tee that Ben had grown out of and gave to him as a sleep shirt. There was something so special to keep his memory in the tattered, forever stained, white tee. May’s clothes smelled like her too. Of course they did. He smiled as he looked at the dress that she had gotten at the thrift store for such a bargain, that she wore the day she asked for a promotion. He rubbed the fabric of her favorite sweater in between his hands, remembering how much he loved to hug her when she wore the fuzzy angora. He took a sharp breath as he pulled out the shirt that she wore the day Ben died. The shirt that she never wore again because of the memory. 

The two dug through the boxes for what felt like hours, reminiscing silently, until Peter finally broke the silence. “I think I’ll… I’ve got my box of things I want to take back. I went through everything but if you…”

“No,” he interrupted. “I have everything I want to bring back too. And I have an empty box if we want to take anything back here.”

Peter just nodded quietly, picking up the box with ease. There were just simple things like photos, scrapbooks, journals, all the things he could look through for the first time in the comfort of his apartment. Harley had everything from pillows to cutlery to Abby’s old bedsheets.

As they walked to the subway, Harley broke the silence once again. “I was thinking Abby could take the couch while she visits. We could take off the back cushions so its big enough for her.”

Peter nodded, something he seemed to be doing a lot. “That sounds good.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harley asked softly.

“It just hurts.”

“Yeah. It does.”

Peter gripped the box a little tighter, but not enough to make a dent. “I just almost… I almost forgot. I forgot what it felt to feel like she was there. To smell her and have all of her things there but her not in it. It’s like there’s this missing piece to all of these things and maybe I’ve been a little desensitized to all the things around our apartment and I almost forgot that they were hers, but all of this? It was hers. It was theirs.”

“Me too. I think I kinda… we made new memories with all the stuff at the apartment, so they don’t feel like theirs. But all of this was just…”

“It was like being with them again.”

“We don’t have to do this today, Peter. We can…”

“No. Abby is coming, and I want the apartment to be ready. I want to make a good impression.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Okay.”

Peter was an enigma, the way he flipped a switch and forced his feelings away. Though he was distracting himself by taking all of the decorations off the walls and placing them in a pile, he didn’t seem distracted at all. He seemed to be so invested in the task that Harley couldn’t believe that less than an hour ago, he was breaking down.

Harley helped Peter move their beds so that they were finally perfectly in their respective sides of the room, which was quite easy when the two of them did it together. The two moved the desk in their room to Harley’s old room to make a shared office space. They made their beds and they bickered about whose candleholders to use and they made a bed for Abby and everything felt… it felt like them. It didn’t feel like Peter and Harley, but it felt like Peter and Harley. 

“Peter?” Harley called.

“Yeah?”

“I found a cast iron pan in Mama’s things and I have a lot of recipes that I want to try with it. Do you… do you want to help?”

“Are you sure you want me to help? I usually screw things up in the kitchen…”

“I’ll do all the hard stuff. I just need you to cut some tomatoes and mozzarella. Save me some time.”

Peter nodded as he followed Harley to the newly decorated kitchen filled with new (old) pots and pans. 

“You know how to use a knife, right?”

I know how to get knives out of bad guy’s hands and web them against the wall without the knife cutting through the webbing. “Uh, not really.”

“Okay, come here.” He set out the cherry tomatoes and knife. “Show me how you would cut it.” Peter sliced the tomatoes slowly and uneven. “Okay. First of all, you have to curl your fingers so you don’t chop them off, alright? Here.” He took Peter’s hand in his and molded his fingers into the right form. Harley, his arms still around Peter as he stood behind him, took the knife. “When you’re cutting you want to do it like this.” He demonstrated the motion. 

Peter nodded, his face a little hot from how close the two stood. “Like this?” He tried his best to replicate what Harley had just shown him.

“That's great. They don’t have to be perfect.”

Peter nodded again, proud of his work. “How many tomatoes should I cut?”

“Just a few. The rest go in whole. The mozzarella needs to be medium size cuts, like this.” He sliced an example piece.

Peter liked the way that Harley bobbed his head as he hummed while he cooked. He liked the way he bit his lip and squinted his eyes as he focused on his marinating or cutting the chicken. He liked being in the cooking zone, smelling the balsamic and brown sugar.

They had a good meal that night. They didn’t say much, but they didn’t need to. They had said enough for one day.

Chapter Text

Peter entered through the window from an early patrol, confident in Harley’s absence knowing that he was gone at work doing whatever he did that he couldn’t disclose to Peter. However, he was unprepared to be greeted by a small, unidentified child sitting on his bed as he took off his suit.

“Oh! You must be Harley’s roommate. Peter, right?”

Almost speechless, Peter stammered, “uh yeah! Harley! Child! Bedroom! In here! Now!” 

Harley sauntered into the room casually, eyeing Peter curiously and looking back and forth between the two. “What in tarnation’s goin’ on in’ere?”

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“My sister is in town. Remember? I went to pick her up this mornin’? Ringin’ any bells?”

Peter nodded, suddenly realizing his lack of clothing, and pulled on the first sweatshirt he could find. “Yeah. Totally slipped my mind.”

“Enjoyin’ my sweatshirt, darlin’?” 

Peter, panicked, began to pull it off. “S-sorry do you want me to not wear it? Because I totally won’t if you don’t want me to…”

“Nah, it’s okay. Keep it. On. Not keep it in general.” Abby laughed making herself known to the two boys.

“Oh! Child, sister thing… hi. I’m Peter?” the shorter teen rambled as he pulled a pair of pajama pants on, making Abby laugh.

“Yeah I know. I’m Abby!” she replied cheerfully. “I like your costume! Are you wearing that tomorrow when we go trick or treating?”

“Costume?” Harley and Peter asked at the same time looking down at the suit.

“Yeah, are you gonna be Spider-Man,” Abby paused for emphasis, “for Halloween?”

“Halloween… yes!” Peter said quickly. “I’m Spider-Man for Halloween, that is what I planned. Yes.” he nodded frantically.

“Pretty shoddy costume. Don’t look anything like it. Did you get it from Party City or something?” Harley critiqued.

Peter nodded again. “Yup! Got it at uhhh Stan’s Costume Shop. Great deal. No refunds.”

“We’re gonna be matching!” Abby exclaimed excitedly.

“Hm?” Peter asked, still distracted by the situation.

“I’m gonna dress as Spider-Man too! He’s like my favorite superhero ever!”

Harley chuckled. “Don’t even get her started.”

“Oh can it, Harley. Why wouldn’t I rant forever and a half when he does the stuff he does? Just on my way here I saw him help an old lady cross the street, get a cat down from a tree, and do a backflip off of a building before thwippin’ away.”

Peter, blushing profusely and trying to hide his excitement in the presence of a fan, responded, “he is pretty great. He does a lot for Queens.”

“And he’s got the best ice-cream flavor,” Harley stated matter-of-factly.

“Strawberry isn’t a real ice-cream flavor!” she interjected.

“Oh here we go again.”

“It’s not! It’s basically a sorbet.”

“Strawberry sorbet and strawberry ice-cream are completely different things.” Harley 

“They’re both strawberries!”

“But sorbet is more of an ice based treat and ice-cream is cream. Hence the cream in ice-cream.”

“Whatever.”

Peter smiled softly as he observed their sibling banter.

“Where are the pumpkins?” Abby asked, cutting off the argument.

“I’ve got them in the kitchen, ready for carving. What do you want to do?” Peter asked.

“Daring Do! From My Little Pony!”

Peter gasped. “You like My Little Pony too?’

“Too?” Harley questioned.

“Of course I do! Who’s your favorite pony?” she asked, excited

“Scootaloo. Big scoot fan.”

“Oh, do you do scooter parkour too?”

“No, it’s actually because when I started watching, I could really relate to her.” He thought back on how he resonated with her lack of flight as a pegasus and inability to find her place through cutie mark.

“Well I like Daring Do because she’s awesome,” she stated firmly.

He laughed. “Well we can definitely do that. Do you have a template?”

She nodded furiously and ran to her bookbag in the other room.

Harley crossed his arms over his chest. “My Little Pony, huh?”

“Hey! Don’t knock it ‘til you try it. It’s comforting and mindless entertainment.”

“Oh believe me, I’ve seen every episode. At least a million times actually. Abby would never stop watching it and because of that, I never stopped watching it either.”

“Well who’s your favorite pony?”

He rolled his eyes, but grumbled a quiet, “Big Mac.”

“Because you are Big Mac!”

Before Harley could refute, Abby came running in with the paper. So, with cautious handiwork, they carved the pumpkins, hands slimey from the seedy innards and thankfully, no cut fingertips. Harley popped the seeds into the oven, some with honey and others with garlic salt, causing the apartment to swirl with the different scents. They giggled as Peter chased Harley around with gooey hands, Peter squealing as Harley held his waist and tickled his torso so Abby could douse his face and hair in pumpkin.

“This is unfair! You guys have sibling power. I was destined to lose.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Peter. We won fair and square.”

“It was two to one!” he exclaimed. “Well, I’m gonna go take a shower. I don’t want to reek of pumpkin guts all night,” Peter said lightheartedly. As he exited, Abby washed her hands quietly.

“So,” Harley started, “I was thinking we could do some sight seeing tomorrow. Go to a haunted house, if you want, we can take the metro to go to the Halloween festival in Central Park and we could grab a bite at Ellen’s Stardust Diner. The waiters perform while you eat.”

“I just want to be with you, Harls.”

He softened. “Well then we’ll just stay here in Queens. Don’t want to waste your time sitting on the subway for an hour.”

“Are you going to invite your new boyfriend too?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he replied quickly, his face flushing.

“Why not?”

“It’s just not like that,” he responded.

“Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t like me like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re just friends, Abs.” He sighed, knowing her curiosity was never-ending.

“But do you like him?”

“Of course I like him. We’re friends.”

“No, do you like like him?”

He hesitated. “No. I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“Why?”

“Because being old like me means that things are complicated.”

“Well, don’t hold water. I see the way you look at him. You haven’t looked at someone like that. The only time I’ve seen you look at something with that much love is when you looked at me or Mama.”

“It’s not like that, Abby. Him and I… we’re just… we have what we have and that’s that.”

“Don’t let him slip from your fingers while he’s still fresh grain in the field because soon, it’ll be winter, and that grain will be outta season.”

“I hear ya. But really, it’s nothin’. Peter’s great, but we both got a long ways to go.” He shook his head. “How’s a movie sound? We could watch Halloweentown. I know you love that one.”
Abby, knowing she couldn’t convince him to talk more, nodded. 

When Peter came out of the shower, he was about to greet the Keeners when he saw Harley and Abby asleep on the couch, Harley’s arm protectively over her. Peter silently grabbed Harley’s comforter from his bed and laid it over the snoozing siblings.

“Good night,” he whispered to Harley before heading off and staring at his ceiling for a while.

.-~*~-.

“Oh God! Oh my God! Holy f…”

“Language! There is a junior mint, Peter.”

Abby laughed. “This isn’t even that scary, Peter.”

In all honesty, Peter wasn’t good with haunted houses. Of course his Spidey Sense wouldn’t detect these actors as any form of threat, so being so defenseless left him feeling as vulnerable as if he were performing a speech in his underwear. He relied on his Spidey Sense to tell him when the unexpected was attacking him, but it wasn’t picking up at all -- because they weren’t real attacks -- leaving each and every jumpscare a genuine surprise that he couldn’t suspect.

However, the worst part of it all was that, despite his deep desire to, he couldn’t grab Harley when he was scared, in fear that he would crush his bones with the sudden grasp. So, he was tightly hugging himself because he had also crushed his Starkphone into a crumbled mess (sorry Mr. Stark), and was flinching at every zombie, vampire, and rogue man with chainsaw.

As they exited the haunted house, Harley grabbed Peter’s shaking hand, trying to give him something else to focus on than his nerves. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

Peter nodded weakly. “I haven’t been to a haunted house in a while.”

“Harley! Harley! Can we get mummy corndogs?” Abby called out, tugging on his flannel.

Harley looked to Peter with concern, which Peter responded by mouthing, “it’s fine.” He turned to Abby with a big smile. “Let’s go get ‘em.”

.-~*~-.

Peter couldn’t help but stare at Harley. The way he was with Abby was something he had never seen from the teen: undivided attention, raging compassion, and pure protectiveness. He held her hand when they crossed the street, Abby insisting that Peter too holds hands with Harley so they all stay together. He wiped the ketchup off of her chin and braided her hair when it was getting in her face and held her up when she couldn’t see above the crowd. 

Peter let Harley have his time with his sister, a time that was few and far between, until they got back to the apartment.

Harley pulled Peter off to the side. “Hey, would you mind distracting Abby for a little bit? Since this is her first Halloween without Mama, I wanted to at least do something special for supper. Maybe help her with her costume. That’s what Mama would do.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “You want me to… but your mom…

“She likes you. It’ll keep her mind off of things.”

Peter nodded in understanding. “Okay.” He turned to Abby who was flipping through channels on the TV. “Hey, Abby. Do you want to get some cool photos in our Spider-Man costumes? I know some pretty cool tricks.”

Abby jumped up in excitement. “Like what?”

“Well, I can do this…” Peter did a standing backflip into a side aerial.

There was a pounding on the floor from beneath them. “Hey, asshole! Stop fucking jumping!” 

“Well, maybe we’ll have to go outside for me to show you some tricks.”

Peter didn’t help Abby get her costume on, but he did run in when she screeched in distress.

“Abby, what’s wrong?” He asked, bursting into the room, Harley following soon after.

“I can’t find my mask! I didn’t pack it! I can’t believe this!” 

Harley and Peter let out a breath of relief, glad that she wasn’t hurt. Peter hurried to the chest sitting at the foot of his bed. “I don’t know if this’ll be enough for you, but this was mine when I was your age.” He pulled out his old Iron Man mask. “I got saved by Tony Stark while wearing this, so you’ll have to be careful with it. It’s got a lot of sentimental value.”

“And hey, you like Iron Man too. Now you can be dressed as both of your favorite characters,” Harley added. “And… we’ll be matching.”

“You’re going as Iron Man?” Peter questioned.

“I happened to have made something for the occasion.” Peter raised an eyebrow expecting more of an explanation. “But, you’ll have to wait to see it.”

Abby groaned as Peter and Harley looked into each other’s eyes for too long of a time. “Peter, get your costume on so I can see you do more tricks!”

Of course, this wasn’t something he wanted to broadcast to the curious, entertainment-hungry New York streets, so they went behind the alley between buildings (completely safe for Abby, not one that was filled with crime.)

Peter did a couple of aerials, handsprings, and walkovers, all of which Abby applauded excited. They took a picture together, both doing handstands against the brick wall, and then one of Abby doing the splits, and then one of Peter doing the splits. He cheered her on as she did a cartwheel and a firebird and they headed back inside to grab Harley before heading off to trick or treat.

“We have to eat dinner before we go,” Harley stated, still not in his costume.

“Ugh, but Harley. I have so much candy to eat!” she exclaimed.

He shook his head. “You need a balanced meal before you can go and feast on teeth rotting sugar. I’m at least getting some vegetables in ya first.”

She tossed her head back and groaned. “Fine.” She impatiently scarfed down her bacon wrapped mummy meatloaf, pumpkin croissant, and ghost kabobs, before practically vibrating in her seat with anticipation. “Okay! I’m done! Let’s go!”

Harley, letting out a hardy belly laugh, nodded. “Let me go get changed, and we can go.”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows as he heard a familiar clang and whir in the other room. His eyes went as wide as saucers when Harley emerged in a full Iron Man suit.

“Where did you get that?” He exclaimed, confused.

“I made it myself,” he responded nonchalantly.

“B-but, how? No one has ever replicated the Iron Man suit.”

He shrugged again. “How about instead of blabbering, we got get us some candy?”

Abby cheered once more, completely unbothered by the feat before her. She turned back to the stunned Peter and grabbed his gloved hand. “Let’s go! Come on!”

Abby enthusiastically dragged Peter and Harley around the apartment complex, bumping into the scarce amount of children who also lived there. Peter was slightly on edge being in full suit, fearful that someone may recognize him, but everyone was more focused on Abby’s politeness and cheerful chatter. She insisted that the people at the doors give her big brother and his boyfriend (yes, she said that, and yes, Peter was blushing profusely the first couple of times) candy as well.

When they arrived back at their apartment, they all had heavy plastic pumpkins, which Peter had ended up carrying for both himself and Abby. As he plopped the bright orange buckets onto the island, Abby promptly grabbed hers and dumped it on the floor.

“Time for candy trading!” Abby declared.

“What’s that?” Peter asked.

“It’s when we all get our candy and lay it out and trade for what we deem fair until we all have the candy we want,” she explained.

“Abby is allergic to nuts so she trades all of her cross-contaminated treats for fruit based ones…”

“Which Harley avoids just in case they have natural flavoring.”

“But now that you’re in the mix, the trading will be even more complicated. Usually it’s just a fair tradeoff of chocolate to fruity, while Mama would take all the ones neither of us wanted.” Harley’s demeanor diminished for a moment at the mention of his mother, something he didn’t casually do often.

“I can just take the candies you guys don’t want,” Peter offered.

“But that wouldn’t be fair trade!” Abby rebutted.

“Sure it would. I don’t need the sugar anyways.” He scanned his bag full of candy. “What candies are the ones you deem unworthy?”

“Well I even though I get all of the nut free ones, I don’t pra-tic-u-larily like the hot tamales or suckers.” 

“And I can’t stand whoppers, marshmallow based things, or mint based things.”

“And then neither of us like the non-candy items…”

“Like pretzels or gums,” he finished.

“Well lucky for you, I happen to like all of those,” Peter fibbed. 

“Are you sure? Because those are like loser candy,” Abby said.

“Well I’ll be a loser with my loser candy. It’s okay,” Peter responded.

So, with the Girl vs. Monster soundtrack blasting on their speakers, they sorted and snacked on their sweet treats. Abby’s sugar rush was short lived as she promptly collapsed on the couch in exhaustion. 

Peter and Harley retreated to their bedroom, warm mugs of cider in hand as they both sat on Harley’s bed.

“This was nice,” Peter said softly, cautious not to wake Abby in the other room.

“It was. I was worried that since this is the first without her that she’d… but she’s taking it like a champ.”

“She’s really great,” Peter said. “Really. She’s an amazing kid and I can see that you have something to do with it.”

“Because of the age difference, there’s always been some adoration from her side. I was always her big brother, the only guy in her life since our dad wasn’t around. It was a big role to live up to but I guess I did it because she’s… I’m just proud to say that I had even the littlest contribution to the person she has become now. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, for her to have the world, and even though I can’t give her the world, I can try my hardest to get as close to it as possible.”

“You’re a good big brother.”

He smiled bashfully. “Thanks.” He made a face of discomfort that Peter couldn’t quite interpret.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Oh yeah. It’s just the apples. They make my lips tingly. Feels like anaphylaxis.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. “Do you need Benadryl? Or your epi? Are you going to be okay?”

Harley laughed, quickly restraining his volume. “It’s fine. It’s just a minor reaction. Nothing severe.”

“Why did you even drink the cider if you’re allergic?”

“Because it tastes good."

Chapter Text

“So, how are we feeling today?”

Peter’s eyes didn’t meet his therapist’s, his gaze instead focused on the bright purple playdoh in his hands. “Things have been better.”

Seeing that he wouldn’t elaborate, she asked, “how so?”

“I’ve been safer on patrols I think. Been more vigilant I guess.” His therapist was the Avenger’s personal therapist, one who had signed various NDAs to keep their secrets.

“That’s good. That’s progress. What else?”

“I’ve been eating better. My roommate has been making me healthy meals.” Peter smushed the perfect ball he had sculpted between his hands.

“And has that helped your mood?”

“Yeah. I guess it has.” 

“You mentioned in our last meeting that you were going to go through your old things. How did that make you feel?”

“It felt… it felt like water in my lungs, her scent overwhelming my senses. It was like she was there, I mean, all of her stuff was there, and it all smelled like her, so I just… it felt like she was there.”

“But she wasn’t.”

“Yeah. And so I… I guess it just was hard to get that last memory of her. And soon I know those are going to lose her scent too until they just… there just isn’t the scent of her in anything anymore. And I guess I just… it hurts.”

“Because you don’t want to lose her again.”

“Yeah.”

“And how are things with your roommate? Have things resolved at all?”

“I think they have. A little bit. I know I’m too forgiving and that’s something you told me is a good thing, but I also think that it’s gonna hurt me too. Because like, if I forgive him, then does that mean that I think what he did was okay?”

“Forgiveness sometimes isn’t forgiving what they’ve done, but accepting them for efforts to remedy it and make change.”

“And I should do that?”

“Sometimes you have to decide what you need. If holding that grudge and not letting him in is shielding yourself from what you interpret will be a cycle of toxic behavior, then that is right for you. However, if you find that he has proven himself worthy of your forgiveness, then it’s also your call to do so.”

“Yeah.”

She pushed her glasses up her nose. “Tell me about your week.”

.-~*~-.

Harley didn’t pry when he had heard Peter crying quietly as he watched TV in the family room. The boy with the tear-stained cheeks had passed out after his breakdown, and curled up cramped on the couch. Harley, knowing that Peter would be sore if he slept that way, went to him, baffled by his weight once more as he carried him to his bed.

Tucking him in, he retired for the night as well, not wanting to wake the teen. He found himself lying on his side, watching the brown haired boy who slept restlessly, thrashing and twitching in his slumber. 

Without thinking, Harley was rushing to his bed, running his fingers through his curls. By the time Peter had calmed down, Harley had fallen asleep, awkwardly positioned on the side of his bed, his back leaned against his bedside table. He may have woken up with sore muscles, but at least Peter didn’t.

.-~*~-.

“Hey, do you have the allen wrench?”

Harley, not looking up from his paper, muttered, “next to the solderer.” Peter nodded, grabbing the tool silently. Harley, still distracted by his painting job, grabbed his mug and took a sip. Peter jumped as he gave a startled gag.

“What’s wrong?”

“Paint cup, not coffee cup.” Peter examined the two mugs, very similar in appearance, both filled with dark brown liquid. 

“I’ll go get you some water.”

.-~*~-.

“Oh, Harley!” Peter exclaimed.

“Yeah?” he asked with a soft chuckle.

“I made you some iced tea. I know that’s a big southern thing, and I was boiling a kettle anyway, I just figured ‘why not?’” He grabbed the plastic pitcher from the fridge.

“Wow, that’s really thoughtful of you. I’ve been havin’ a hankerin’ for a good cup of iced tea ever since I got here to New York. All y’all’ve got is the kind with sugar packets or the ones that come in cans.”

Peter vibrated excitedly as he handed him a glass. “Well I hope it meets your standards.”

Harley happily took a sip and hid his disappointment and disgust as he gulped down the monstrosity. “What type of tea is this did ya say?” 

“It’s licorice root. Really helps with sore throats on a cold day, but it’s good iced, right?”

Harley nodded, politely taking another sip. “Yup. Real great.”

.-~*~-.

Peter had been staring at the formulas in his notebook for hours, scribbling nonsense in splotchy pen. Harley too had been with him, working on his AP Lit essay quietly as he sat his own desk on the other side of the room. The only difference was, Harley had at least taken a bathroom break.

“Peter,” he started, tapping his shoulder. “You haven’t eaten since lunch. How about you take a break and get some food in that belly of yours.”

“Not hungry,” he mumbled, still scribbling on his paper. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled.

“Come on now, busy bee. You can take a little time for some honey.”

“Bees make honey. They eat nectar,” he responded monotonously, still engrossed in his paper.

“Actually, they eat the nectar to produce honey to store for the winter that eat later through their honeycomb storage.”

Peter hummed in response, nibbling on the already chewed up pen. Sighing in exasperation, Harley stomped (not actually stomped; his neighbors would not appreciate that) to the kitchen and grabbed the leftover dinosaur chicken nuggets that Abby demanded him to get and threw them in the oven. By the time they were finished, it had been half an hour and Peter was still staring at his paper, glassy-eyed. 

“Hey, darlin’. Brought you something to munch on.” Peter didn’t respond. Harley brought the nugget to his mouth, and Peter mindlessly took it in his mouth and chewed as he wrote.

And that’s how it was. Harley kneeling next to his chair as the younger teen unknowingly filled up as he hyper focused on his web formula. Harley carried Peter’s tiny figured to his bed when he passed out at his desk, and made sure that he was tucked in well, the way he would for his little sister. He leaned in to kiss his forehead, habit of the routine, but stopped himself. 

“Good night, Peter.”

.-~*~-.

“Is it cold in here?”

Harley nodded. “Yeah, it is a little chilly.”

“Can you turn up the AC?”

“Jace is coming tomorrow to fix it, remember?”

Peter groaned. “Right.” Before he could get up, Harley handed him a blanket from under the side table. 

Peter looked to the blanket in confusion. “Whose blanket is this?”

“Oh, I got that from the storage unit.”

The bewildered teen ran his fingers over the soft sherpa. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah, she liked to make quilts. The pattern on the outside is made of all of my middle school club tees.”

Peter examined the designed. “Battle of the Books?”

“It was a competitive book club. We read the selected pieces and competed against regional teams on trivia.”

“Ha. Nerd.” He pointed to another shirt. “And what about Odyssey of the Mind?”

“It was a creative problem solving thing. Your team was assigned a creative problem and you solved them and presented your solution with a creation.”

“Like what?”

"Well my eighth grade year we made a carnival set with only soda cans and performed a skit.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh a skit. What a thespian.” He held up the quilt. “Let’s see what else it on here. Science Olympiad, science club …”

“Don’t give me that look. Weren’t you in any clubs when you were in middle school?”

“Well, yeah,” Peter grumbled.

“Like what?”

“It doesn’t matter!” He turned to the TV. “Look, our movie is back on. Commerical’s over.” As he draped the blanket over his body, Harley grabbed it too, taking the farthest side so he and Peter weren’t shoulder to shoulder.

They inched closer as the night went on.

.-~*~-.

Harley sat on the roof of their apartment, feet dangling off the side as he stared into the horizon. He had barely noticed the presence of the person who sat next to him.

“What are you doing here?”

He looked to Peter whose brown eyes were laced with concern. “I took today off.”

“I meant up here.”

Harley looked away, eyes locked on the sky. “She would’ve turned forty-three today.” 

“Oh.”

“She really liked the sunset. There was a window in our kitchen and she would look out the window while she cooked us supper. She said there was something special about sunrise and sunset. It was reassuring she said. That it was something that always stayed the same no matter what day it was. No matter how tough the day you had, at least the sun would always set, and the next mornin’ it would rise again. On her birthday, we would have picnics in our backyard and watch the sunset while we ate. It was just somethin’ special to her.”

“I like the sunset. Sometimes I come out here and I look at the sunset and just feel the breeze against my face. It reminds me I’m alive.” Peter sat next to Harley.

They didn’t say anything after that. As the pinks and orange painted the sky, Harley rested his head on Peter’s shoulder, silent tears soaking themselves into his grey t-shirt. Peter didn’t make any sign that he noticed or minded. Instead, he grabbed Harley’s hand and rubbed his thumb on the back of his hand. 

When Peter was certain he had fallen asleep, he carried him back to the apartment.

.-~*~-.

It may have seemed like nothing to a bystander, but Peter was flabbergasted as he saw the basket of clean clothes on his bed. Harley, a teen who was infamous for hogging the dryer, had done his laundry without any prompt.

Sure, they weren’t folded and were probably getting wrinkly as they cooled in the basket, but it was the thought that counts.

Peter went to throw them back into the dryer to fluff, and he passed Harley who was engrossed in his government textbook.

With a soft smile, he threw one of Harley’s hoodies into the dryer, bringing it to him when it was done. The blonde relaxed as he slipped on the warm fabric, closing his eyes in content.

.-~*~-.

“Harley, you have to stop baking.”

Harley, a counter full of cookies, brownies, and homemade ice cream in front of him. “What do you mean?”

“What even is all of this?”

Harley looked down, as if he was only now registering how much food he had made. “I’m making a milkshake.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “You need all of that to make a milkshake?”

“Rose Hill has these Ultimate Brownie Milkshakes, and I’m really craving one, and since it is now instilled into me to get very bad cravings, I figured satisfying this one is much easier than my alcohol one. I just need the last few touches…”

“This isn’t all of it?”

Harley shook his head. “I’ve still got the marshmallow fluff, oreos, whipped cream and Nutella.”

Peter paused for a moment, weighing his options, but sat at the counter and said, “well make me one while you’re at it.”

It was almost sickening watching Harley rim the cup with marshmallow fluff and oreos and then fill the cup with Nutella, homemade oreo ice cream, and then top it off with whipped cream, brownies, ice cream cookie sandwiches, and more whipped cream.

“This isn’t going to kill me immediately, right? This much sugar isn’t going to stop my heart or something?”

“Says the guy who ate a whole Halloween bulk bag of candy in one sitting.”

Peter raised his hands up. “In my defense, I had an essay to write, and I needed the boost.”

Harley slid the drink to him. “Soup’s on.”

Hesitantly, Peter took a sip, his eyes wide as saucers. “You’ve made a grave mistake, Harley Keener.”

“How so?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

“Because now I’m hooked.”

.-~*~-.

It’s not like Harley hadn’t seen Peter shirtless. There was that one night he’d love to forget (though he was a bit distracted with the adrenaline and the panic and the bullet wound), but really, Peter was a modest guy. He wore baggy sweaters even in the summer heat with an occasional loose graphic tee. So, when he entered the bedroom with just a towel on his hips, his abs out, still glistening with water, Harley was indeed gawking.

“Sorry, forgot my clothes,” the other boy muttered as he grabbed a pile of clothes on his bed and scurried out of the room. 

“Well, I’m fucked.”

.-~*~-.

It was no secret that Harley had trembling hands; it was a common side effect of his alcohol withdrawal, and something his body had incorporated in his daily anxiety. Some days were better than others, and he knew that. The days when it was bad, he opted to write his notes on his computer knowing that his handwriting would be chicken scratch. If he had a test that day, he would have to write holding the pen with two hands just to steady himself. 

Peter had taken notice to it, unsure of how to aid the struggling teen. It wasn’t until one day that he was trying to cook dinner, a ceramic knife in his shaky hand, that he decided that he couldn’t stand by and watch what could be a detrimental mistake.

Unsure of another solution, Peter grabbed his left hand, squeezing it just enough for him to focus on the pressure. He placed his other hand on his occupied one, his body pressed against his back. Relaxing under the touch, Harley continued to chop the vegetables silently, not addressing the position, instead just directing Peter when to move with him.

When Peter pulled away, his hands had settled. Harley looked to him gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Sometimes you just need something to bring you back to Earth.”

.-~*~-.

Harley didn’t notice that his sweatshirt was gone until he saw a sleepy eyed Peter walk in the kitchen, rubbing his eye with a sweater pawed fist. 

The taller boy sipped on his coffee amused as his eyes followed the brunette around the kitchen as he sat down at the counter and started to slowly place eggs that Harley had freshly made for him in his mouth. 

“Nice sweatshirt.” Harley smirked but instead of being bashful about it, Peter burrowed into the fabric, most likely too sleepy to care at the moment.

“‘s comfy.” Peter answered in an almost a daze. Harley started to chuckle.

“Looks better on you anyways.”

.-~*~-.

“That’s a look.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that this is peak Tennessee fashion.”

“I gotta admit, the overalls and the bucket hat is pretty cute. You should dress like this more often.”

Harley and Peter had agreed that a step they needed to take was to talk about their past with fond memories instead of dwelling on them with sadness. So there they were, on their couch, reminiscing. 

“Okay, I definitely need a backstory on this picture.”

Peter shifted in his seat to face Harley. “My aunt told me that when I was a baby, I would eat everything off of the floor, so like crumbs and lint and many more things that should not have gone into my mouth. Then when I got old enough to reach the counter, I would stick my fingers in the butter jar and eat straight butter…”

“No!”

“Yes! And my parents could apparently always tell because they could see the finger marks. Anyways, that’s the backstory of this picture.”

Harley examined the photo of four year old Peter looking guiltily at the camera again with the new context and laughed. “Caught in action.”

Peter paused as he ran his fingers over the last photo. “My parents really liked this photo apparently. Ben loved getting candids, and when we were all together, he took this photo of me helping roll the meatballs.”

“Were you any good?”

“No,” he said with a chuckle. “They were lumpy and tiny because my tiny hands could only do so big. But they were good in my pasta and at least in this photo I seem pretty proud of my work.” He smiled sadly. “I wish I could remember more. All we have are the cassettes and the stories May told, but she always embellished and then I was creating these fake memories in my head that fit what she told and I just… sometimes I forget what they were like and I… I feel guilty?”

“You can’t help not remembering. You can’t control your memory.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s just, I don’t know, I’ve lost so much and it’s like I’m losing them the older I get.”

“You’ll never fully lose them. You’ll always have the impact that had on your life and the ways they shaped you into the person you are today.”

Peter’s eyes flickered to Harley’s lips, but they locked back to his eyes. Not now. “I’ve got to see those Easter photos of you and Abby.”

.-~*~-.

Harley was rummaging through his box of spare scrap metal when he came across it.

It was a small metal robot in the vague shape of a dog designed to bring tools. Fiddling with some of its wires, its bright blue eyes began to glow once more.

“Hey buddy,” Harley greeted. The robot turned its head at him. “You know, you’re pretty cute.”

Before he knew it, Harley was hunched over his workbench, giving it all new commands. He hadn’t realized it had been hours until Peter knocked on the door.

“Hey, I got us some Greek food from down the street since you’ve been so busy in here.”

Harley looked up, a smile already on his face. “I have something for you actually.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Harley motioned for him to come closer. “So this is IRONDOGG, intro-graded retrospective omniscient nuisance designed on grey goose. Don’t worry, I wasn’t drinking now, but I was when I first made him. He is a little buddy to keep you company while you’re working. He can bring you whatever you put in his system to recognize and he also has a heater to mimic animal touch and will sit on your lap if he senses you’re feeling distressed.”

Peter’s mouth went agape. “Harley, I… I don’t know how to thank you.”

Harley handed him IRONDOGG. “Here, test him out.”

The two played around with the robot and its skills, but when they went to test its heating capabilities, the metal dog burst into flames.

After a lot of screaming, a lot of fire extinguishing, and an apartment wide evacuation, Peter grabbed Harley’s hand as he anxiously and guiltily wrung out his hands.

“I loved it, Harley. Thank you.”

.-~*~-.

Maybe it was the way that Peter laughed and shook his head at the ground when he joked about thermodynamics. Maybe it was the way that Peter’s voice was so different with him than it was at school, soft and gentle and filled with so much raw emotion, raw Peterness. Maybe it was the way that Peter stuck his tongue out while he focused or scrunched his eyebrows when he was listening intently or hummed in delight whenever he would make him a new recipe. Maybe it was just Peter being the same way he had always been and Harley was finally not blind.

Whatever it was, Harley knew he was fucked. He knew he was fucked because he was falling for him, hard, and this guy who had stolen his heart had a boyfriend. An abusive boyfriend that he stood up for too much, and one that Harley couldn’t do anything about.

He felt bad. He felt bad for falling for a taken guy, and he felt jealous that he got all these moments with Peter and yet he wasn’t enough compared to this mystery boyfriend. He felt helpless that he couldn’t save Peter and he felt worried that his boyfriend would go too far, farther than he has so far. He cared about Peter. He… yeah just cared about Peter. Nothing else. 

Right?

.-~*~-.

“You’ve been with a lot of women, right?”

Tony set down his screwdriver and turned to Harley. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been with a lot of people too, but it never mattered. It was always a one time thing. So I mean, you have Pepper, and that one mattered, so what do you do when there’s someone and it’s not a one time thing? What do you do when it actually matters?”

“I’m not sure if I’m following.”

“I just, it never mattered! When I would meet someone we would just, you know, and now I don’t want to just do that. I want to hold him and love him and spend who knows how long with him. I want to raise Abby with him and I want to drink hot chocolate with him and I want him to love me back.”

“Who?” Tony finally asked.

“Peter.”

Tony didn’t respond. No. He couldn’t respond. There was no possible way he could’ve responded. 

“So what do I do?”

“Honestly? There’s nothing you can do. Pepper was a fluke in my life. My love for her hit me in the face like a freight train and if you would’ve told me in 2008 that she would be the woman I was settlilng down and having my life with, I wouldn’t have believed you. It’s hard to settle down when you’ve been going for the mindless pleasures for so long, but just the fact that you are willing to take the step to do more shows that you really care for him. It shows that it’s not nothing and he’s more than that.”

“So how do I tell him?”

Tony shrugged. “There is no guide for the right ways. You gotta figure that one on your own.”

.-~*~-.

Peter came home exhausted. Before Harley could even get a word out, he collapsed into his arms, bawling into his shirt.

Shocked, Harley tighted his grip around the smaller teen, giving him all the time he needed. He led him to the couch where he just cried, the sound of his earth-shattering sobs tugging at Harley’s heart. Harley didn’t take notice to the healing bullet wounds in his shoulder and the long stab wound that he didn’t know he was putting pressure on as he wrapped his arms around Peter. All he knew was that he needed to protect him from whatever was hurt him. 

Peter couldn’t talk about the little boy he couldn’t save that night, but Harley held him as if the world depended on it.

Peter tired himself out, drained of tears to shed. Harley didn’t want to disturb him, so he let him rest on his lap as he crooked his neck to fall asleep too.

.-~*~-.

“So, what exactly is this new mark for?” Harley questioned casually as he tightened a bolt.

“It’s for the new generation, I’ll just say that,” Tony said vaguely.

“Sounds nice. I think the dimensions are a little off though. They’re a little tall in the interior. You won’t fit in it well.”

“It’ll fit just right, believe me.”

“ Boss? Karen is having me inform you of Mr. Parker’s arrival due to, and I quote, “so I don’t have to ever walk into Ms. Potts and him making out on his workben…”

“Thanks FRIDAY, that’s enough. Are you sure you got that right? Today isn’t lab da…”

“Hey, Mr. Stark! Hope you didn’t forget that you changed my lab day. I brought the sui…” Peter’s eyes met Harley’s. “Harley! You…” He stuffed something that Harley couldn’t recognize into his bag, still looking at him wide-eyed. “What are you, you’re here and, uh, hi?”

“Peter, I mentioned that I had a personal intern, right?”

“Yeah! But I thought it was like me, you know? Another, you know, with the…” he made gestures with his hands that Harley also couldn’t decipher. 

“Nope. Actual intern. When exactly did I say we were having lab day today?”

“Well after the uh we went to the restaurant,” stopped a mob bombing in a local pizzeria, “you said that you wanted to do some work on my…” he moved his eyebrows and motioned towards his torso. “And you told me to come today so that I can go back out.”

“Right. Because you have…” patrol. 

“I’m sorry, what exactly is going on ‘ere?” Harley blurted out.

“Peter is another one of my interns. He works on a different department than you.”

Harley raised an eyebrow. “What about Luigi’s?”

“It’s for a grant, actually. He funds my research,” Peter explained

Harley nodded slowly, still not fully following. 

“Well,” Tony interrupted, trying to clear the air, “Peter, will you meet in my other lab with the things applying to your project, and I’ll be right there with you?”

Peter gave him a quick thumbs up and scampered out of the room.

“So you know Peter.” Harley said, drawing out his words.

“Yes.”

“And I’ve been—”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve known—”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t—”

“No.”

“Tony! Why didn’t you say anything?” Harley asked exasperatedly. 

“Because I knew it wasn’t my place!” Tony exclaimed, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Or because you got a kick out of knowing the full story when I didn’t like a fly on my wall.”

“You just trusted me so much to tell me all that, and I knew you’d stop if you knew I knew.”

“But I’ve been talking about him for months! You knew I hated his guts and you didn’t think to correct me or intervene?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t like getting involved in things.” Tony sat. “Things happen for a reason, and when I get involved, things go haywire.”

“They don’t go haywire .” 

“You have no idea.” He glanced at the door. “I have to go help Peter with his project. I’ll be back soon.”

“Whatever.”

“Oh don’t go all moody teen on me now.”

“Well, I am a moody teen!” He yelled back as Tony exited.

When Peter entered the lab, Peter was quietly entering schematics into the holographic keyboard with his suit laid on the table.

“Couldn’t wait?” Tony asked.

“Just thought I’d get out of your hair as quick as possible. I’ve done it before anyways. Not a problem.”

“Pete…”

“No, it’s fine. Really, Mr. Stark. I just I… I don’t know. I just didn’t realize you were keeping stuff like this from me.”

“I wasn’t keeping this from you.”

“Really? 'Cause I kinda vented about it a lot. You could’ve, I dunno, said something about it.” Peter sagged his shoulders, frustration coming and going in his tone.

“Why are you so wound up about this, Pete?” Tony asked gently.

Peter looked away. “You’re…” the only adult in my life that’s alive and I still trust. “I trust you…” because I lost everyone else and I don’t want to lose you too.

“It’s a two way street, Parker.” Tony sighed and crossed his arms but not defensively. It was his resting position. “You don’t think getting shot and almost dying in your bathroom is something to tell me about?”

Peter bit his lip. “I’m gonna be late for patrol.” 

Before Tony could respond, Peter turned away and left quickly.

.-~*~-.

“Did Mr. Stark ever say anything about me?” Peter asked out of the blue.

After the whole “both shared their deepest darkest secrets and unrequited, pining feelings for each other to Tony” debacle, they were both a little on edge, not because of anything that the other did, but the possible knowledge that the other may have had.

Harley shook his head. “No, he hadn’t mentioned you at all.”

Peter let out a breath of relief. “Yeah, same here. About you I mean. He hadn’t mentioned you to me not me to me because that would be weird if he talked about me to me but I mean he does do that sometimes because have to talk about my project but he wouldn’t talk about me to me about the things I talk about to him about y…” he stopped abruptly.

“Can we maybe just forget this ever happened? Since I mean it, it doesn’t change anything right? At least not between us?” Harley proposed.

Peter nodded, lips pressed together to keep himself from spilling anything else.

“I didn’t realize how much I love our talks until we didn’t have them, and honestly? I really need help with projectile motions.”

Peter laughed. “How about we go do that then.”

.-~*~-.

“Do you want to come see the fall play with me?”

Peter looked up from his book. “Why?” His eyes widened. “Not that I don’t want to! I’d love to. It’s just, Midtown Theatre isn’t really the best.”

“Well after I was in High School Musical I realized how much work it takes to make a show. I decided that even if I wasn’t in it, I’d always support it.”

“Alright. When is it?”

“Tonight.”

Peter looked down at his pizza stained t-shirt and over-sized sweatpants. “You couldn’t have given me more of a heads up?”

“Less time for you to cancel.”

“Okay, fine.” He threw on a Midtown sweater and jeans. “What even is our show?”

“It’s called Nevermore. Some sort of Edgar Allan Poe thing. I’m pretty sure that Noah from our physics class is playing Poe.”

“Is that why he dyed his hair and grew that horrible mustache?” Peter asked with a chuckle.

“That indeed.” Harley held out his arm. “Shall we go?”

Peter interlocked his arm with his. “We shall.”

Chapter Text

Quarter one had closed and Harley had ended with a miraculous straight B report card despite being hungover ninety percent of the time, but in these recent weeks in school, he had really been making an effort to actually try. However, with his academics on par, his social life was dwindling. He was no longer “party animal, people pleaser Harley Keener.” His last party, though he didn’t announce it, was indeed going to be his last party of the sort for a while, if not for the rest of his career at Midtown High. He tried his best to be cordial with his past hookups looking for a quick fuck and gave quick nods to the people who posed as his friends but really just loved the illusion of a person that he created. He realized the only person he wanted to be with was Peter, and though he would never explicitly tell Peter that, he unthinkingly was heading towards his locker.

Pausing in his tracks, he saw a dark haired, scrawny guy was pushing Peter into his locker. “Come on, Parker. Are you glad you finally sucked enough teacher dick to get top of the class?”

“Hey!” Harley barked, trying to sound as intimidating as possible. “Back off.”

“Who do you think you are?” The guy asked, trying to seem more dominant in his body posture but his eyes fearful and timid.

“It doesn’t matter who I am. What does matter is for you to back off.”

“Fine. Whatever.” He turned to Peter with what could only be described as a condescending smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Harley rushed to Peter, putting his hand on the smaller boys very toned arm. “Are you okay?”

Peter nodded. “It’s fine. Flash is just like that.”

“Flash? That’s his name?” Harley asked, putting the name to memory.

“Don’t worry about him. Or me. He’s really harmless,” Peter tried to assure.

“That didn’t seem harmless, Peter.” He responded, still concerned.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s just… he’s Flash. That’s just how he is. And if it’s not me then… I don’t know.”

Harley frowned. “Peter are you…” The warning bell cut him off.

“I really have to get to Calculus.” He stated before scurrying away.

What was that?

Harley’s day went by in a blur and he was only snapped back to reality when he entered the lunchroom and spotted Peter laughing as his friend was trying to catch grapes in his mouth. He didn’t realize that once again he found himself gravitated towards Peter. It had been a long month of sitting around people he didn’t quite connect, sitting in silence as they were braggarts about their weekend endeavors or what their weekend endeavors would be. Maybe today was just the day that he wanted a change in pace, but whatever it was, he was there, standing at their table, the three staring up at him.

“Uh hi. Can I uh… can I sit here?”

Peter hesitated and looked to his friends. “Uh yeah, sure. Go ahead.” There was a seat open next to Peter as he sat across from his friends that Harley knew to be Ned and MJ from Peter’s descriptions and stories he often mentioned.

“I’m…”

“Harley. We know,” Ned stated.

Of course he knew. Despite their last month together, Harley was sure that Peter’s friends were protective of the sunshine boy, especially from the big bad roommate. 

“Did your friends kick you out?” MJ asked monotonously but teasing.

“No I just uh… I just needed something new.”

“Fun,” MJ responded with a very brief smile.

There was a long awkward pause, Ned still looking to Peter with a look that Harley could only identify as best friend telepathy. MJ sketched in her book and Peter was using his eyebrows a lot as he responded to Ned’s message. Harley didn’t notice that he was wringing out his fingers tightly, his knuckles sore from how hard he was pulling. Peter, well versed in Harley’s nervous tics, grabbed his hand and gave it a strong enough pressure to pull him back to Earth. Harley softened, feeling his thumb rub against the back of his hand.

“Can you guys believe that we’re having a pep rally tomorrow?” Peter said, trying to start a new conversation.

“I don’t even know why we have them. We’re not exactly the biggest cheerleader and sports team school,” Ned replied.

Peter shrugged. “At least our marching band is good. I heard the colorguard have a really good routine for it.”

“Of course you keep up with the colorguard,” Ned joked.

Harley furrowed his brow. “Why is that something Peter would do?”

“He was in band until sophomore year. He was quite the band geek,” he teased.

“I’m pretty sure everyone at this school is some kind of geek or other,” Peter said, sinking into his seat slightly. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I was the lead in my school musical in Rose Hill.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. “No.”

“I auditioned for extra credit because our theater teacher doubled as an English teacher. I didn’t expect to nail the role.”

“What was it?” Ned asked, genuinely curious.

“I was Troy Bolton in High School Musical,” he mumbled.

“No! You were Troy Bolton?! You have to sing us something now,” Peter insisted.

Harley’s eyes darted around the group and he sighed. Clearing his throat, he began to sing. “We’re soarin’, flyin’. There’s not a star in heaven that we can’t reach. If we’re trying yeah we’re breakin’ free.” Harley shook his head. “Okay that’s enough.”

The table erupted in cheers from the three teens. “That was awesome!” Ned exclaimed, completely forgetting his grudge he was holding on Harley.

MJ turned her sketchbook around to show a scribbled doodle of an uncomfortable Harley. “I like to draw people in crisis.”

After lunch, Harley took his seat next to Peter in Physics, giving him a sheepish smile and found himself actually paying attention to the lesson, something he found himself doing a lot more the longer he was sober, hands folded the way he used to in Rose Hill.

“I know you all have been waiting for this, so here it is. The fun stuff! The second quarter project.” The class groaned. “You and your lab partner will be making a mousetrap car together. They must be original, made together , and constructed with no outside help. You can use the internet for inspiration, but believe me, I have seen everything that is on the web, so you cannot just plagiarize a design and expect me to give you an A. This is a STEM school and I expect Midtown quality. You can use the rest of class to brainstorm with your partner. This will be due in two weeks.” 

“This should be easy, right?” Peter asked.

“Yeah. Easy peasy.”

He had self manufactured goggles that accommodated his super-sight. He fabricated web shooters and ultra-elastic, durable, adhesive glorified string while not getting caught making it in chemistry. He hurled himself off of buildings with his overall understanding of projectiles and angles. So, why was making this Goddamn mousetrap car so hard?

“Come on, Peter. This is simple mechanics. The axle obviously has too much friction!”

“Well sooorry that I’m not an auto-mechanic who studied car skeletons all my teenage life.”

“I thought you were a genius.”

“Yeah, a biochem genius. Give me some resin and I’ll mold you a car.”

“Isn’t resin a distilled gas?”

“Are you questioning my ability to work with Resin?” 

“This is supposed to be just a simple mousetrap car. Axle, wheels, base. This is all about its aerodynamics and design.” Harley threw his pencil onto his desk.

“But how are we supposed to get six meters in fifteen seconds with wooden dowels and CDs?” Peter questioned.

“That’s how you make mousetrap cars!”

“We can’t just carbon copy what every middle school science website tells you to make on YouTube. Half of this grade is on creativity.”

“Okay. We can’t have engines, which is my specialty, so that’s off the board. What else could we possibly do?”

Peter took a moment to think. “We need to think about this at a smaller scale. This isn’t a full scale car, and we can’t think it is. It’s a mousetrap car, and that means we need to think of it more as a mechanism with wheels powered by a mousetrap. Right? So we need a thin base, a friction-less axle, and sturdy wheels with traction.”

“Right right. SI has a 3D printer. I could probably get some sheets and wheels from that?” Harley proposed.

“That would be awesome!”

“Oh, and we can’t overuse the mousetrap without overworking the mechanism. We need to make something that adheres the mousetrap to the base that is lightweight enough to not weigh down the car but also is adhesive enough to keep the mousetrap on while simultaneously un-adhering itself in enough time for us to replace the mousetrap.”

A light bulb dinged in Peter’s mind. “I think I have something. Give me a sec to find it.” He exited the office and rushed to his room, taking some of his solution that he now manufactured in bulk courtesy of Mr. Stark.

“I have this uh… it’s a superglue that I made and it was originally going to be used for uh… well I was thinking biomedical, but it could be used for this. It adheres a wound temporarily and dissolves after a few hours. It’s really tough and stays tough for about two hours.”

Harley’s eyes widened in amazement. “Peter this is… that’s amazing. What did you manufacture it with?”

Peter chuckled awkwardly. “That’s uh… it’s top secret. Can’t release my formula in case you want to take it for yourself.” He winked to make it seem like a joke.

“Alright then. Let’s get designing, and then we can see if it actually works.”

After hours of blueprinting and prototypes, Peter declared that they needed to take a break.

“What do you want for dinner?” Harley asked.

“We’ve got a pizza in the freezer,” Peter suggested.

“Fine. But we’re having a salad with it.”

As the two sat at the island, sipping on their mugs of hot chocolate, Harley was running his finger on the rim of his glass as he watched Peter scroll through his phone.

“So Flash. Is he… are you guys… is that your boyfriend you mentioned?”

Peter’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s… I mean… I don’t want to assume… you just…”

“Oh. We’re not together. My boyfriend and I actually… we were…" He sighed. "I never had a boyfriend.”

Harley almost dropped his mug. “What?”

“I kinda said that to get you off my back? My uncle got killed during a mugging when I was fourteen and that sort of opened up this thing in me that wanted to save people. It started with making myself a target for bullying at school so no one else would have to get bullied, but then it spread to the streets. Usually I just create a distraction so the person getting mugged can get away and then I take the beating instead. I always find myself pulled to places like the alleys of gay bars to make sure that people like that are always getting saved but I…” don’t reveal too much, Peter. “But yeah.”

“Peter. You could’ve died. No. You should be dead right now. How the hell have you survived? Before we started our lessons you could barely throw a punch. What have you done when someone had a knife? Or a gun? O-or… holy shit. You just… and you… but you…”

“I know it’s a crazy. And you don’t have to believe me right now, but it’s true,” in a way, “so, yeah.”

“But you…” Peter’s phone interrupted Harley with a specific tone that specifically meant “Spider-Man Business.”

Hurrying to the other room he said a quick, “sorry, I have to take this,” and answered the call. “Hello?” 

“Suit up, kid. We’re going to Boston.”

Chapter Text

The mission flew by and went definitely smoother than most of their missions. Alien tech retrieved, bad guys webbed up and delivered to the police, and hidden bad guy bunker left dry of weapons. When Tony offered him a ride back to New York in the quinjet, Peter assured him he would catch the metro after he visited a friend. Tony left with a simple “your loss” and cordial pat to the shoulder that had become less and less awkward the more Tony ended their conversations with it.

So, on a quest to give a surprise visit to Abby, he swung around, getting a deep breath of Boston air, searching for Harbour Elementary. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to change back into his civilian clothes when he had noticed Abby getting pushed around by a group of boys. He was appalled as his super hearing picked up the transphobic slurs leaving the mouths of these fifth graders.

“Hey!” He called out. Upon seeing the superhero, the boys dispersed rapidly. “Are you okay, civilian of Boston?”

“Oh stop playing around, I know it’s you, Peter.”

“Peter? Who is this Peter you speak of? I am the one and only Spider-Man. That is my birth given name.”

“Your mother named you Spider-Man?”

Peter cringed. “Yes?”

“Come on, Peter. You can walk me home and I can show you my actual Spider-Man stuff.” With that, she pulled him by his gloved hand, and guided him through the bustling streets of Boston.

“Who were those guys?” He asked.

“Oh, they’re just some jerks in my class. I wasn’t always Abby. I used to be Adam. But one day, I realized that I didn’t want to be Adam anymore. Harley helped me discover this side of me, but the people at this new school aren’t the most accepting. It took me a couple months to grow out my hair, so I still looked like a boy for a while. There’s not many people who accept me for who I am so I just keep my distance. I read books at recess instead of playing with everyone, I sit alone at lunch, and I don’t take the bus. That’s just how it is.”

“Abby, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, silly,” she replied light-heartedly.

“I know what it’s like to be that ostracized… uh… kid who everyone ignores and picks on, and I know it’s not fun. You don’t deserve to be treated that way just over what gender you identify with.”

She squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. It’s just how it is. One day, I’m gonna move in with Harley in New York and then all of these mean bullies will be gone, and I can just be Abby.”

Peter’s heart pained. He knew the deciding factor on her forever family was him, yet he didn’t know if he had been stalling on it because he didn’t entrust Harley with the responsibility, or if he himself wasn’t ready. Things were working between him and Harley. They were both getting better. Peter’s therapy sessions had uncovered more deeply rooted attachment issues, PTSD symptoms, and depressive states, and Harley had been clean for almost a month. Were they ready? Was he ready? Or was he so content with the way things were looking for him and Harley together that he hadn’t even considered adding a new element to their relationship? Was his own selfish desire to have Harley to himself distracted him from the real reason they were doing all of this?

“Peter?” 

He looked to the younger girl. “Yeah?”

“I said we’re almost there. But there’s an ice cream shop on the long way if you want to take it. I can text Sharon and tell her we’re going.”

He smiled. “Yeah I’d really lo…” His senses were heightened to eleven. He knew there was some sort of danger, so unthinkingly, he pushed Abby out of the way and felt two tranquilizers enter the nape of his neck. His vision blurred into darkness, and he lost consciousness filled with anxiety, not because he had been found as Spider-Man, but because he knew that whatever would happen to Abby would be his fault.

When he awoke, he found himself to be restrained by a metal too strong for even his super-strength to combat. He was relieved to find that Abby was next to him, untouched and unconscious next to him, tied loosely.

“Look who’s awake,” their captor said with a satisfied smirk.

“What do you want?” Peter asked, trying to get to the point so they wouldn’t hurt Abby.

“Well we saw that Spider-Man had made a little friend and we thought, what a great way to make him do whatever we want. It’s like the stars have finally aligned. Spider-Man is separated from his Avenger buddies and he is defenseless. And good ol’ friendly neighborhood Spider-Man would never let us hurt an innocent girl, right?” His henchwoman held a knife to Abby’s throat as he spat out his threat.

“Stop! Don’t do it. Just... what do you want?”

“I want Tony Stark’s phone number,” the main man stated.

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “His phone number? You could probably find that online.”

“Not his business number. His personal number,” he insisted.

Peter still wasn’t following. “Well my phone is in my bag and my password is 197355.”

“You better not be playing games with me, Spider-Man.” He took out the phone and his face lit up like a child’s on Christmas when the password was indeed valid, but was frustrated as he typed on his phone. “You don’t even have his number! Tony Stark isn’t in your contacts.”

Peter cringed. “Oh he’s actually under Tin Can Man”

The man eyed him curiously, but smirked again as he messaged himself the contact and threw back his phone. “Now that I have what I want, I can get rid of you!”

“You’re going to kill us? I gave you what you want!” Peter yelled.

“Oh. No. I’m not gonna kill you. You can go now.” He grabbed the key to unlock the cuffs. “Those are cool right? They fell out of the quinjet when Tony left. It’s like a real life Avengers mission merch!”

“Wait, are you just a fan?” Peter asked, completely confused.

The man scoffed. “A fan? I’m not just a fan. I am the biggest Avengers fan there ever was. And now, with Tony Stark’s phone number I can finally tell him how much I love him.”

Peter felt a wave of relief until he saw the man knocked out by his henchwoman. “What are you doing?” Peter exclaimed.

“He may be a complete dumbass, but we’re not. We’ve got a mutant who has ties to Tony Stark so close that he has nicknames for him, but we’ve also got leverage over the Spider-Freak? It’s almost too perfect.”

“What do you want?” he spat.

“Cash. Lots of it. And we want a one way trip to London, no passports, no strings attached,” she stated.

“And we want some nice Iron Man tech. Especially the shit from your last raid,” the other added.

“I don’t know how I can get that to you,” Peter said, not lying at all.

“Of course you don’t. You’re the useless rookie. We are going to use you as bait. Now that we have your phone, we can just call him ourselves.”

Peter silently was glad his phone had a GPS tracker along with his suit, but his confidence dissipated as he watched them disassemble his phone and short out his suit.

“Now that he can’t find us, how about we give him a little call? Huh?” The woman turned the camera around at Peter as she FaceTimed Tony.

“Hey kid. Did you miss the train? I knew your punctuality would be the death of you again.” He paused as he looked closer at him. “Where are you?”

“Hello, Tony Stark,” the woman behind the camera greeted.

His smile dropped. “Where did you take him?”

“Give it time, Iron Man. You can get your little boytoy back when you do what we say.”

“What do you want?” Tony asked the same way Peter had before.

“Feisty. That’s fun.” As the woman talked to Tony over the phone, Peter took notice of Abby who was beginning to wake up.

 “You know what’s also fun?” Peter kicked up and flipped his chair and broke it into splinters as he kicked his legs apart and broke the ropes restraining his feet. “Playing keep away,” he said as he ran up and rammed his body into the woman who dropped the phone and groaned on the floor.

“Kid, what’s going on?” Tony said in the phone.

“Dah, nothing! Nothing, I’ve got it handled Mr. Stark!” Peter said quickly as he fought off the goons with his hands still restrained by the alien handcuffs. Abby groaned as she was coming more into consciousness.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Tony said, Peter hearing him crossing his arms just in his tone.

“Yeah, I may need a little back up,” he yelled across the room as he made his way to Abby, his tech, and the key for his cuffs behind her. Once he got there he used the keys to unlock himself and strapped on the web shooter as he untied Abby who was finally fully gaining her consciousness and looked at him with big scared eyes.

“Peter?” she asked.

Peter checked her over. “You okay? You okay? Oh my god are you hurt? Did they touch you? Did they-”

“Geez, ya sound like my brother.” She rolled her eyes and giggled a little through her terrified tears that were rolling down her face.

He smiled a little at her. “Okay, okay you...” he was cut off by a gunshot and a bullet barely grazing his back as he pushed Abby out of the way. She  looked up at him with terrified eyes. “We gotta go.” Abby remained frozen out of shock. “Come on!” He picked her up and began to spring, dodging each bullet the captors aimed at them. He made sure that he covered her body with his so they couldn’t hit her.

“Peter are you…”

“Just stay low, Abby. Everything is going to be okay.” With his free hand, he shot two webs at the kidnappers. “Get on my back. Like a piggyback ride.” She followed the commands, hands shaking. “Okay, hold on tight.” He stuck himself to the wall and began to climb, picking up pace as he heard more footsteps. Hurling him and Abby out of the window, he shot a web to the nearest building, tightening a grasp on the girl. 

When they finally got to the safety of a distant roof, Abby climbed off of the teen, breathless.

“I’ve gotta fix my suit, okay? Mr. Stark needs to know where we are so we can get home safely.”

“You’re Spider-Man. You really are Spider-Man,” Abby breathed.

“Yeah, but let’s keep it between us. Yeah?” Peter laughed nervously.

“Okay.” Abby nodded seriously, or as serious as a ten year old could be in this situation. Peter sighed in relief but stiffened again when he felt two little arms circling his waist. “Thanks for saving me,” Abby whispered into his chest. He circled his arms around her fragile head as if it were made of glass.

“Anytime,” he said back to her.

In no time, there was the familiar whir of the Iron Man suit’s thrusters and clank as the suit landed behind them. “You two alright?” he asked from behind the mask.

“Yes! Yes Mr. Stark. Everything is alright.” Peter responded, Abby merely nodding as she still stuck to Peter’s side.

“You get her back home. I’ll deal with those wannabe circus act who kidnapped you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

He gave him a stern look. “We will talk about this later.”

Abby looked up to Peter, still wide-eyed, legs shaking. “So… you’re Spider-Man.”

Chapter Text

“What do you mean you don’t want Thanksgiving supper?”

Peter sighed. “It’s not that. I just haven’t done it since I was a kid. Ben and May and I, we’d just get takeout. May wasn’t much of a chef and neither was Ben. It’s just what we did.”

“But don’t you want that experience? The turkey and the stuffing and the gravy? Peach cobbler and marshmallow sweet potatoes?”

“Oh we did make that!”

“Then you can make it! You can come with me to get Abby and we can all cook together.” Peter didn’t respond. “I know it’s all of our first Thanksgiving without our folks.” He placed his hand on Peter’s. “So we have to be there for each other. Right?”

He nodded. “Right.”

“I’m getting on the next metro to Boston in a half an hour. If you want, you can come along, check out Boston for a little and keep me some company…”

“I’d love that.”

Harley grinned. “Then we’d better get going.”

.-~*~-.

“What was Thanksgiving like for you in Rose Hill?”

Harley looked out the window with a fond smile on his face. “Mama would start brining the turkey the night before which is what I did last night. Then, in the morning Abby and I would skin the peaches for the cobbler. When she was littler she would just do the stirring, but Mama thought it was important to prepare us for the real world, so she taught us to cook every chance she got. When I was younger I would season the veggies, then the next year I mashed the potatoes, then the next I prepared the stuffing. I guess cooking is something that I can hold onto that Mama gave me. That’s why I do it so much.”

“That sounds nice.” Peter smiles.

“What about you?” he asked.

“I guess Thanksgiving was never about the food for my family. It was about being together. May could burn every dish she made.” He laughed softly. “She could burn almost everything, even if it seemed virtually impossible. There wasn’t this special feast for Thanksgiving dinner, but there was this amazing energy. We would blast *NSYNC or Backstreet Boys while we played board games and ate our takeout. Thanksgiving was never about the food, it was about appreciating what we had together. When I first moved in with May and Ben after my parents died, they tried to make Thanksgiving special like my mom did, but they just couldn’t and ended up starting a fire in the apartment and we went to get Chinese. It just became a tradition after that I guess.”

There was a comfortable silence between the two as Harley let his words sink in. “I guess we thought of Thanksgiving as this big thing. The perfect American Thanksgiving to make up for the broken household.”

“‘Broken household?’ How so?” Peter asked and immediately wanted to take back the question as Harley’s jaw clenched. “I mean.. uhm… you don’t need to...”

“It’s fine. My dad was as good as a piece of tire turd on the wheel of a hog.” Harley shrugged nonchalantly to hide the anger in his eyes.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened with your dad?” Peter asked tentatively.

Harley’s breath hitched. “Well, one day he went out to get scratch off lottery tickets. The bastard must’ve won, ‘cause we never saw him again.”

Peter looked to Harley as he tried to decipher his expression. “Did you ever try to find him?”

“Why would I? The man clearly didn’t give a rat’s ass about us.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter finally said.

“Don’t be. I don’t care about a man who didn’t care about me.” He drummed his fingers against his thigh. “Who needs a dad like that anyways?”

“Not you. You deserve more.”

Harley nodded. “I think the closest thing I had to a dad is Tony. We met when I was a kid and he kept in contact. Sent me overly-expensive birthday presents and responded to the letters I used to write to him, and when I got older, he gave me his number and sometimes we’d get a moment to call, usually on important dates, but like my real dad, he wasn’t fully there either. And it’s not like I expected him to be. He’s not my dad and he never will be. And maybe I… I didn’t reach out to him when everything went down because I was already a charity case — poor kid from Tennessee who happened to help him bring down the Mandarin that he responded to to make up for the trauma he caused — and I guess I didn’t want to be more of a charity case. But then he, he was the one that got in contact first. He showed up, gave me a job, lets me talk to him and I guess it… it all worked out.”

“I get what you mean.” Peter didn’t continue.

“You gonna elaborate or…”

“I met Mr. Stark when I was still just a kid and it was all business. But then lab days every couple months turned into monthly visits and then bi-weekly and I guess I weaseled my way into his life. It became less of me making my daily reports on my project that he’s been funding, to him reaching out to me to work on other stuff. Other projects. I could talk to him about stuff rather than my project and he got to know me. I don’t know.”

“No, I get it.”

They sat in a comfortable silence.

“Wait, did you say you helped bring down the Mandarin?” 

.-~*~-.

Abby excitedly ran out of her house, dragging a sparkly pink unicorn suitcase behind her as she rushed to the Uber. 

“Harley!” she shouted excited, jumping into his arms.

“Hey squirt! Miss me already?”

“I always miss you!” She pulled away. “But don’t let that get to your big head.” She pressed her palm to his forehead.

“Guess what I brought you?” He said, his voice over-exaggerated.

“What?!” she asked, fully invested in whatever he had to share.

He opened his palm that he had previously had closed, and placed something in her palm.

“A worm!!” she exclaimed excited.

“A worm?” Peter asked, confused.

“Where did you find it?” she asked, ignoring Peter’s confusion.

“On the sidewalk over there. Has it just rained?”

She nodded furiously. “Yeah! It rained yesterday. I didn’t get to look for worms this morning because I’ve been packing.”

“Well it’s a good thing I found him before someone could’ve stepped on him. Where do you put your worms here?” 

Abby pointed to the fairy garden near the tire swing tree. Harley gave an understanding nod and went to place the worm in the tiny town.

“What’s so special about the worm?” Peter asked Abby.

“It’s bad luck to step on worms, so we make sure that we protect all the worms we find for good luck!”

Peter laughed softly. “Well I’ll have to make sure I’m careful the next time I see a worm.” He paused, making sure that Harley was still preoccupied. “How are you feeling after…” Peter made a vague gesture. “What happened?”

“I’ll be fine. A little scarred for life and scared to ever walk home again in Boston alone, but will be fine.”

Peter sighed. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that. And it’s all my fault.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s fine, Peter. Plus who wouldn’t want to have the experience of getting a free ride on Spider-Man’s back as we flew away from a kidnapper’s bunker hideout?”

“What are you two whispering about?” Harley asked jokingly as he approached the two.

“Oh, we were just saying how ugly you are and how we are totally going to hang out without you,” Abby responded effortlessly.

Harley clutched his heart. “Oh man. You wound me.”

She giggled. “Come on! The driver man is waiting.”

.-~*~-.

“Hey, Abby. Why don’t you tell Peter about your last choir concert?”

“Oh, is it the one you missed the quiz last Thursday for?” Peter questioned.

“That’s the one,” Harley responded, biting into his beef jerky.

“So, we were doing A Million Dreams even though that song is old now but,” she was almost jumping in her seat, “I got the bridge solo! And guess who got the opening solo?”

“Who?” Peter responded, matching her energy.

“Evan!”

“Who’s Evan?” 

“This boy she has the hugest crush on,” Harley explained.

“Shut up! I do not!” Abby exclaimed, embarrassed. “But I mean, after the concert he came up to me and was like ‘that was really good, Abby’ so that was really cool.”

“Oooooo. Evaaaan,” Peter sang.

“No! Shut up!”

“You don’t have to be ashamed, Abs. Every girl likes Evan, right?”

She shrugged. “Well yeah, but Evan doesn’t like any of them back. That’s what made that cool. I don’t even like Evan anymore anyways.”

Harley raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“No! I don’t. We have pen pals now in class.” 

When she didn’t continue, Harley asked, “do you like your pen pal?”

She silently nodded, her face bright pink.

“What’s their name?” Harley asked.

“Her name is Lila. She lives in Missouri.” 

“Ooooooo. Lilaaaaaa,” Peter sang again.

“You’re stupid,” Abby said, crossing her arms and slouching in her seat.

“Well now you’ve gotta tell us about her!”

Abby shook her head. “I don’t have to tell you about anything.”

“I’ll tell you about my crush if you tell me about yours,” Peter suggested.

She considered the offer but shook her head again, sticking her tongue out at Peter.

As Peter and Abby made faces at each other, Harley had zoned out, staring out of the window. Peter had a crush, and for some reason, that disappointed him. Maybe he had been hoping that things could be more with them, but Peter liked someone else and that… he didn’t know. He didn’t know how that made him feel.

What he did know is that his heart fluttered when he saw Peter joke with Abby and he felt a warm rush when he heard him guffaw. 

What he did know is that he had truly fallen hard, and there was no going back.

.-~*~-.

Thanksgiving with the Keeners was more than Peter had ever imagined. It was filled with love and life and laughs. It was Harley slapping the turkey because “it helps the marinate soak,” and secretly snacking on the ingredients as Harley turned away, and ordering Chinese for lunch and jamming to N*SYNC to keep Peter’s traditions too. 

It felt almost surreal, a picture perfect movie moment after months of harsh realities. It was Harley spoon feeding Peter as he cooked to make sure he liked the taste, and the award winning turkey glistening under the fairy lit kitchen, and the tablecloth on their island. It wasn’t just Parker and it wasn’t just Keener, it was theirs.

As Abby went to freshen up before supper, Peter pulled Harley aside. “So, I thought since it’s a holiday, you could have a glass of wine. It’s a special occasion…”

“Peter,” he interrupted. “I don’t want a drink. I don’t need a drink.” 

“You don’t need one?” he asked for confirmation, if just to make this moment last.

He nodded with a smile. “I don’t need one.” No matter how much alcohol had been what took over his life, there was something more intoxicating about the way Peter looked at him. A high when Peter smiled and looked to the floor when Harley playfully flirted or when his laugh rang through the apartment when they tried throw popcorn in each other’s mouths instead of watching the movie on the couch. Something about Peter made drinking feel like the last thing he wanted to do.

“Well come on then. I got some nonalcoholic sparkling cider. White grape since you’re allergic to apples”

“It sounds perfect.”

And that dinner was everything they needed it to be. They all said what they were thankful for, something that wasn’t as hard as it once used to be, Abby with her new life in Boston, Harley with Abby, and Peter with Harley. Their reminiscing wasn’t solemn, but tall tales followed by cheerful nostalgic laughter. It was more than enough. It was them.

After cleaning the kitchen and refrigerating the leftovers, Harley tucked Abby in and collapsed in their bedroom, his back relaxing into his bed.

“Hey, Harley?” Peter called out, knocking lightly on the door.

The blonde sat up, fully intent to listen. “What’s up?”

“So I have this friend…” Peter said clutching the papers to his chest. “He’s a lawyer, and he usually doesn’t do these kinds of cases but he owed me a favor which is a really long story, but I can’t exactly tell you it but really it’s a funny funny story and uh…” He was well aware he was rambling so he just shove the papers at Harley. “I got these. You don’t have to if you don’t wanna, but you said you did, so I decided to take the first step for inspection and...“ 

Harley read over the papers frantically not believing what he was seeing. “This is…” The custody of Abby Keener . 

“Yeah...” Peter mumbled. “Or at least the beginnings of it. It’s actually a rather complicated pro...“ He was cut off by Harley connecting their lips. 

Kissing Harley Keener wasn’t what Peter expected his first kiss to be like. He had dismissed the fireworks and the butterflies, knowing they were what the media built up romance to be. He knew that romance was less passion and more mutual content. He didn’t expect there to be a time stopping moment where it was just him and Harley, the world disappearing as their lips met the others. Peter Parker wished he could be a hopeless romantic, but he couldn’t because love hurts. Love stabs you in the back when you feel secure, and he knew that he couldn’t just trust love.

But kissing Harley Keener was more than what the books said it would be. It was tender. The way Harley’s calloused fingertips rested on his cheek and found its way running through his curly brown hair. It was warm. The rush of heat coursing through his veins, his cracked lips against his, and his chest pressed to his, leaving no room between them. It was exhilarating. The way Harley took control and pushed him to the wall, the way he ran his hand up his back, and found every way to make this moment last. Most of all, it felt safe. The way Harley whispered “is this okay” before he peppered his neck with kisses or moved him to lay down. The way Harley never left his hold as they shared their intimate moment together.

Peter was sloppy and inexperienced, but Harley was patient and understanding. They giggled as their teeth clinked together or as they stepped on each other’s feet. He went as fast as Peter was comfortable with, and stopped when he shook his head no. Even though it wasn’t Harley’s first, he treated it with the same importance and care. He made it the best it could be, even if it wasn’t perfect.

Before it could go any further, there was a knock at the door.

“Harley?” Abby called through the wood.

Out of breath, and sad that the moment had to end, Harley looked to Peter apologetically. He stepped out of the room, helping Abby who was struggling to fall asleep.

Peter stared at the door, a bright smile on his face. When Harley came back in, the moment was long gone, but they both got under the covers of Peter’s bed, Harley’s arm draped over his waist, and they ended their night together.

Chapter Text

Harley Keener was not a light drinker. All of the sounds of the world blur together but everything he sees seems sharper and vibrant. He used to like being drunk because it took away the filter of grey and emptiness that clouded his mind. He danced better. He flirted better. Girls and guys swooned as they grinded to shitty trap music or when he trailed kisses down their bare torsos in the bedroom.

Harley Keener also knew he had to quit. He knew the statistics and the dangers. He knew that he wasted the golden years of his life inebriated. He knew that he couldn’t keep denying his grief with drinks. But, the itch was killing him.

Any other day he would’ve stopped himself. Any other day he would go running to Peter and held his hand and sat through the sweats. But today wasn’t any other day. Today was a shit day.

He had been called out of second block by the loudspeaker, the most humiliating and nerve-wracking way you could be called to the office. Everything he could be called up for ran through his mind, all of the things that could kick him out of the school and strip him of his academic scholarship. Was it the months of partying and drinking? Had it been his subpar report card? Whatever it was, it was eating him alive, almost as much as his urge to drink was.

“Harley Keener?” the woman at the front desk asked.

He nodded anxiously, wringing out his knuckles.

“Your father is on the phone for you.”

Like a chandelier crashing down, he felt his feekle glass walls come shattering around him. Icicles scratching down his skin and roaring rivers rapidly rushing to his face, his eyes went wide.

“My father?” he asked, incredulously.

“Adam Keener? That’s your father, right?” 

Harley’s jaw clenched. To her it was a simple question. A meaningless question with no weight. To him, it was, it was an insult. A questioning of his own morals and core beliefs. “Why is he calling?”

“Said he needed to get in contact with you. Said it was urgent.”

Harley walked to the phone, his legs feeling weighed down by anvils, the cold plastic feeling like fire burning his skin. “Hello?”

“Harley! Wow. You sound so different,” the hoarse voice from the other side of the line said surprised.

“Well that’s what happens when you don’t talk to your son for eight years,” he responded, bitterly.

“When did y’all move to the big apple? Big move considering…” He trailed off. He meant that to say that they were poor, poor after he left them, poor after the main source of income was gone, poor after he became rich.

“A lot has happened since you’ve left,” Harley said, his lip bleeding from biting too hard.

“How’s your mom? Still cookin’ like crazy?”

Harley’s hands balled into fists. “Actually, she’s dead.”

There was a silence on the other side. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“Why are you in New York now? Is Adam with you?”

The audacity. The audacity of the man to come back into his life and act like he gives a damn about him and the child he left as a baby. “No. She’s in foster care in Boston.”

“I can…”

“No. We don’t want your help. We’ve done fine without you and we’re doing fine now,” he snapped.

“Well I uh… well I was calling for something but I…”

“What? What could you possibly be calling me for?"

“Well, this is a little awkward. I work at Oscorp now, I mean, I’m not one of those suits, I’m a custodian there, and I overheard them talking about you being personal protege of Tony Stark himself, which is how I found out you were in New York, and I figured well…

“Well what?” he asked, impatiently.

“I’m tight on cash right now and since you’ve got this big fancy job and you’re living in the big apple I thought maybe you could help your old man out…”

“No. No! You can’t do this. You can’t fucking leave for eight years and come back as if nothing happened! Did you really expect me to just give you money after you, what? Spent all that lottery money too soon too fast and were left broke in the most expensive place to live in the US? Well guess what? You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to come crawling back into my life after you burned every last bridge between us. You filed a divorce, you made me a fatherless child thinking he was never enough because his dad left him, and you never tried. You never tried to mend your wrongs or see if I’m okay or even keep in touch enough to know that your ex-wife is fucking dead, and you expect me to… to what? To give you money? To make you my charity case? Well guess what? That’s not my fucking job. It was your job to be my father and you didn’t do that, so I’m not going to be the son you wish I was.”

“You’re just as much of a brat as I remember, Harley. You know what? You’ll never be more than the little bitchy boy I let eight years ago. You want to know why I left? Sure the money was nice, but it was the gateway to get me the hell out of that shithole of a town, shithole of a family, and shithole of a life. Being tied down to an annoying little shit like you? Thank God I got out while I could, because you are still the little shit I left. You were were never enough to keep our family together. You weren’t enough to make me want to stay or to ever make up for all the bad that you brought to our lives. You were a mistake. You know that, right? We never wanted kids, but you showed up, and you ruined our lives. But, even though you ruined our lives, you’ll never mean a damn thing, because you mean abso-fucking-lutely nothing. You mean nothing to me and you meant nothing to her. Everything you do is worthless because you will never be enough.” He scoffed. “Goodbye, Harley.”

Harley had no words. The woman at the front desk stared at him with wide eyes, obviously having heard the whole conversation.

“I’m going home.” Before she could protest, he was out the door.

He was on autopilot as he rummaged through Peter’s secret stash of drinks and downed an entire bottle of wine. He felt himself relax as he couldn’t feel anything anymore and was just floating on cloud nine.

When Peter entered the apartment, he couldn’t hear much through the walls. Actually, he couldn’t hear anything.

“Harley? You here? You weren’t in physics so I got a little worried.”

Harley tripped out of his room, cheeks tinted pink and eyes barely staying open. He approached Peter and kissed his neck as he wrapped his arms around the smaller teen’s waist, the putrid scent of alcohol from his breath overwhelming Peter’s senses. “Hey darlin’. I missed you all day.”

“Are you drunk?” 

Harley hiccuped, shaking his head that was resting on his shoulder. “Nope. I’m the most sober I’ve ever felt.”

“You’re drunk.” He pulled away. “I can’t believe you’re drunk!” Peter took notice of the now empty bottle in his hand that he could tell was full before it was drank clean.

Harley protruded his lower lip sarcastically, asking in a baby voice, “awe you mad at me?”

“Yes! I am!” Harley’s eyes began to water. “Fuck, Harley. I know you don’t understand anything when you get blackout drunk. Get a glass of water and get in bed, okay? We’ll talk about this later.”

“What’s there to talk about? There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

Peter sighed. “I just don’t get it. I don’t get why now. You were doing so much better.”

“Was I? Or maybe that’s just what made yourself believe because you’re so desperate for a happy ending that you place your ideals of progress onto me.”

“Harley,” Peter said, hurt evident in his voice, “where is this coming from?”

Harley, now taking on a spiteful venom in his tone, continued, “your sunshine shit? It’s bull. It’s absolute bull. You preach for “it always gets better” and “things will get easier” but it doesn’t. Nothing is better.”

“I thought you were making progress…”

“Progress?” He interrupted. “There was no progress.”

“Yes there was!” He rebutted. “You were refusing drinks a-and you said it was almost out of your system…”

“Yeah, almost. But you didn’t care about the wrongs. Right? Just the good, happy end stuff. Where you don’t have to give an actual shit about me anymore. Right?”

“No. Harley, you’re drunk, you should just lay down before you say anything you regret...”

“ No.” He stated, firmer than Peter. “Because you need to hear this. You get on my ass, monitoring every drink I take and yet you still come home after getting your ass kicked. You keep harping about my progress. Well, what about yours? You have to actually make the effort to make change. You can’t just get by with fake smiles and forced positivity.”

“My smiles aren’t fake,” he whispered but Harley still heard.

“Really? ‘Cause I can’t tell! They all look the same to me!”

Tears sprang in Peters eyes as he covered his hands with his ears. “Stop yelling at me!” 

“No! You are just the same as me! You might not be addicted to alcohol but you are addicted to something.” 

“No I’m not!” 

“You’re addicted to the pain. You can stand up for yourself, I’ve seen it! You shouldn’t get as many bruises or cuts as you do — you have the ability to — but you don’t stop it because you know what it feels like to have that release. You go out at night getting into alley fights because you love the rush. You have an addiction too, except your addiction might just leave you dead because you’re such a masochist that’s too much of a pussy to get the job done himself.”

“Harley, please, stop.”

“And you know what? You keep grasping for straws for something but there’s nothing there. And you wanna know why? You want to fucking know, Peter? This?” He gestured between the two of them. “This was never real. Did you really think I gave two shits about this? Because I don’t. I don’t give a shit about this and you and any of this utter bullshit! Because you? And this? And everything you’re doing? It’s nothing. You are nothing! Everything you do is worthless because you will never be enough. ” He took a swig from his bottle and stormed to their room, slamming the door.

When Harley awoke with a pounding hangover, he immediately regretted his afternoon endeavors and knew the actions he couldn’t remember would have consequences.

“You’re awake,” Peter stated, sitting on his own bed.

“Do you have…”

“Advil’s on the table. Like usual.” 

Harley could tell there was a mixture of disappointment and anger in his tone but took the pill silently. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“Peter I…”

“I just thought things would be okay. You know? I thought it was fine. Was that not enough?”

“I don’t know.” Harley admitted.

“You don’t know?” 

“I don’t know! Okay? I don’t know why I gave in this time. I thought I could figure it out. I thought maybe it would go away if I just came home and rested but the temptation was too much.”

“You said we would work together on this, Harley!” Peter raised his voice, tears brimming his eyes. “You promised that you would tell me when you would want to drink and we’d wait it out together. You said that you would quit. We said that you would take it slow, and only drink to get rid of the itch. But you... and you said that you trusted me. That you trusted me to call when you felt you would start drinking again. Why didn’t you... and I come home and find you plastered off the face of the earth, knowing that you didn’t do anything to stop yourself? And you just…” Peter stopped himself. “Harley, you promised. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“I’m sorry,” Harley whispered.

“I just... I just wanted to see you get better. I wanted things to be better. I thought we.. we agreed that when things would start to shape up we could consider the custody case. I thought you were ready. Are you not ready?”

“I’m ready,” Harley responded with certainty.

“Are you?” He interjected. “Because getting hammered on a Tuesday afternoon doesn’t seem like something a responsible guardian of a child would do.”

“Well what do you expect me to do, Peter?!” he exclaimed. “I can’t just snap my fingers and stop being addicted to alcohol! Do you know how shitty it feels when I can’t do simple mechanic work when my hands are shaking from the tremors? Do you know that I have to make shitty excuses in class to go vomit my guts out because of the nausea? Do you know that I haven’t let myself feel for months because whenever something bothered me, I would drown it away with liquor? And now all of a sudden I’m feeling again and it’s eating me alive. I feel like I’m dying every day because my body craves something I can’t give it. So I’m sorry that I’m not strong enough. I’m sorry that I’m too weak to stop, but I can’t. I can’t just stop.”

“You don’t think I know that? Do you think I didn’t know that you would relapse? We both saw it coming, you said it yourself! But not like that! You were never like that!”

“Like what!? Please, tell me,” he started, unamused. “Drunk off my ass and I said some stupid shit like usual? At least I made progress, but of course you don’t see it because my progress will never be enough for you!”

“Oh really? You’re not enough for me? Well yeah, I can tell you one thing. I’ve had enough of this, whatever this is to you. This? Us? It’s done. I am done with you, Harley.”

Harley softened. “Peter…” he went to grab his hand, but he flinched away.

“Don’t touch me!” His voice wavered softly. “Don’t… I’m done, Harley.”

Harley stopped. He had never heard Peter so torn. He had never heard his voice boom and rip in anguish like that before. He had never had a reason to because no matter how much he hurt him with his words, it never meant something real. They never had a real trust. A foundation broken by a misplaced remark. “Peter, please…”

“It doesn’t matter now. You’ve clearly shown me how you feel. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. I’m going out. Don’t wait up for me.” He had an edge in his tone that dared Harley to do anything else. He grabbed his backpack and slammed the door on his way out.  

Chapter Text

Harley heard Peter stumble in from the living room window at 4 in the morning. He saw the light to the bathroom go on through his cracked door and heard the rustling of the first aid kit’s contents. He wanted so badly to go in and help the younger teen, but that was overstepping. They had backpedaled and Harley didn’t feel right chastising him like he would have. 

He waited.

.-~*~-.

Peter left the apartment at 6 each morning, regardless if it was weekend or weekday. Harley knew he was picking up more shifts at Luigi’s; he always passed by it to check in Peter through the window. He’d see the bags under his eyes when he came home from work to change and go out again to wherever the hell it is that he goes. He’d hear Peter enter in the early hours of the morning to crash on their couch. He’d see the bruises and slash marks on the boys exposed skin. 

He didn’t say anything.

.-~*~-.

“You’ve gotten worse than me.” Harley said one day in the kitchen. Peter looked up, a dark bruise smearing his left cheek as he was favoring his right arm over his left while he mixed his scrambled eggs.

“That’s not...”

“My business? It used to be,” Harley said, crossing his arms. 

“And it used to be mine when you drank,” Peter huffed

“One time, Peter,” Harley gritted out and stepped closer. “Just because I make one mistake, doesn’t mean you can totally forget about making progress. Wasn’t it you who said progress wasn’t linear? We both knew I was bound to relapse some time, didn’t we? You said so yourself. We both saw this coming. I cut you some slack, but now I feel like you’ve gotten worse than when we started.”

“I didn’t. I’m not getting worse. You...”

“Then why the are you bleeding all over the kitchen? You haven’t had a bruise for weeks before my relapse.” Harley said and gestured to Peter who leaned back against the counter. “You’ve relapsed, and you aren’t even gonna try to fix it? Where is that Parker pride?” he asked, making sure not to yell, making sure to show Peter his disappointment not through harsh tone.

“I’m fine ” was all Peter could respond with through clenched teeth.

Harley snorted. “I’ve seen when your fine, sugarcube, and this ain’t it.” Harley said, but he didn’t really mean the mirth he used, coming up to gently brush Peter’s bruised cheek gently.

He unconsciously leaned into the touch. “You’re not mad.”

“I’m worried.” Harley admitted.

Peter looked at him for a second and then pulled away. “Whatever,” he said coldly, and walked away.

Before Harley could rebut anymore, his phone rang. Taking a deep breath and resetting his demeanor. “Hey, squirt. Is everything okay?” Harley tensed as he heard a light sniffle on the other side of the line. “Abby, what’s wrong?”

“Something happened.”

“Is it those bullies at school again?”

She shook her head, though he couldn’t see that. “It was before I came to New York for Thanksgiving. I…”

When she didn’t continue, he got a nervous chill. “What happened?”

“I… Igotkidnapped.”

“What?!” Harley exclaimed.

“Spider-Man saved me, it all worked out, but that’s really not why I’m calling you right now.”

“This conversation isn’t done, young lady.” He sighed. “But you’re calling for a reason, so go ahead. I’m all ears.”

“I’m just… I’m so scared. I’m terrified it’s going to happen again, and I keep feeling like I’m being followed and I… he saved me then but he’s not here anymore to save me again and I just… I’m scared, Harley.”

Before thinking about the implications, Harley told her, “I’m going to find a way to get you to New York.”

“You will?”

“I… I’ll figure it out. Okay? All I ever want is for you to be safe.”

“I love you, Harley.”

“I love you too.”

.-~*~-.

Peter wrapped his arms around his knees and squished himself into a corner in his bed in the dark. He put his head down and wept for a while in  the dark. The door cracked open, a little fluorescent glow seeping in.

At first Harley didn’t notice Peter as his head shot up and followed Harley’s movement with puffy eyes. Then, a lamp went on, causing Peter to flinch back at the light a little as Harley yelped and jumped away from him.

“Yeesh, a little warning next time?” Harley attempted to joke before he inspected the younger boy. He noticed that the boy was cradling his shoulder, where he was bleeding. He panicked and went over to him and started to fret over him.

“I’m fine.” Peter mumbled as he leaned away from Harley’s advances. “It was just a light stab wound.”

“Stab wound?” Harley asked in disbelief.

“Light stab wound.” Peter corrected and his breath hitched.

Harley inspected his face. “You’re crying,” he said almost  in shock.

Peter snorted. “Yeah no shit.”

“You’re hurt.” Harley also pointed out.

“I’m not crying because of that.” Peter whispered.

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because Spider-Man is a fucking joke !” Peter snarled harshly. “Can’t even save—”

“No.” Peter looked up at Harley who had went into a dark tone. “No, you don’t get to say that.”

“Harley, I’m allowed to have opinions.” Peter glared at him.

“Yes, but it’s out of place here. You are stabbed and—”

“A girl is dead because he couldn’t save her. You know that, right? He’s not a hero, he’s a—”

“Shut UP! What would you know about being a hero? You’re not one, and until you are, you can can it. Spider-Man risks his life everyday trying to do good. He saved someone I love’s life, and what do you do? You’re ending your own life while instead of saving yourself. He’s trying his best. You couldn’t even get out of the couch today. I bet Spider-Man doesn’t pretend to be okay when he’s not. I bet he faces reality even when it slaps him in the face. It’s not his fault that he can’t save everyone, but at least he’s saving someone .”

“You don’t know that!”

“At least Spider-Man doesn’t sit there and tear other people down when he has a bad day.”

“Oh, what? Spider-Man isn’t allowed to have feelings? He’s not allowed to cry when he can’t save everyone? He’s just supposed to keep moving? Cause that’s what the oh so great Harley Keener’s definition of a hero is.” Peter vented on and Harley wasn’t really sure where this conversation was going, but he was speechless. Peter, evidently wasn’t. “He’s human no matter how much of a freak he is. He still has emotions. You think that just because he’s a superhero, he has all the answers? That he doesn’t feel the crushing weight of his failures everyday? That as the body count keep piling higher and higher the weight on his shoulders becomes heavier, he doesn’t break? He has to live with the fact that he didn’t save everyone or didn’t stop every single robbery, and that he constantly is around the people who’s lives were affected by what he couldn’t fucking do ? Yeah no shit it’s not my fault, but I don’t feel that way!” His eyes went wide. “No wait, I—”

“You?” Harley asked. “You’re…” He looked around the ground and caught sight of Peter’s backpack just as Peter did, and strode towards it.

“No wait, Harley.” He got up and his shoulder ached but he didn’t care about that. He tried grabbing for the bag but Harley was taller than him, and Peter couldn’t effectively reach around him in time.

Harley opened the bag and gasped. “You’re…” He turned slowly around to look at him and gently lifted the suit up out of the bag. “You’re Spider-Man.”

Peter shrunk back a little and took a step away from the older boy. His shoulder wound was still sluggishly bleeding. “I’m… not?”

“You are !” Harley held up the suit as emphasis. “You’ve been...”

“Swinging around the city pretending to be a hero?” Peter said almost with venom. “Or maybe, getting myself nearly killed every night for no real reason. That seems to be a popular one with the Falcon .” He grumbled in distaste.

“Peter…”

“No, say it. Say why I shouldn’t be doing this. I’ve heard it all before. That I’m not a good hero. That I’m too young. Not enough experience. Too weak. Not enough. Seriously. I wanna hear what you come up with now.” Harley looked at him warily. “Please, give me your best shot.”

“You aren’t very supported are you?”

Peter scoffed. “The Avengers think you have to be of legal age to drink to help people,” he said going back to his bed and kneeling to find his first aid kit under his bed. “Well, everyone except Iron Man. But he still thinks kids shouldn’t help people even if they can.”

“But you do, you’re a—”

“I’m not a hero Harley.” he said in a resigned voice.

“Yes you are. ”

“So I still don’t get a say?” Peter snorted and looked down and slid his oversized shirt down around his webbed up wound. And started to peel off the webbing. 

“Peter! This is serious.” Harley said in a scolding tone, kneeling next to him to help and hold up the towels to keep the wound from spilling any more blood than necessary. Peter allowed it.

“Who gives a fucking shit anyways?" he asked, in a slurred sing song. "You said it yourself. Peter Parker is too much of a pussy to get the job done himself. He’s just sitting here, crying. God, it’s like everytime I get my hopes up, they get mugged and shot in an alleyway. Fuck, why am I even talking to you anymore?”

“Peter, please. We need to get you help.”

“Sure, whatever you say, sugar. ” Peter said with a mocking smug grin as he handed Harley the gauze and held the end down to the top of his shoulder as Harley started to wrap it around the wound.  

“No. Nope. That’s my word. Are you okay?” He asked as Peter started to sway a little from his spot on the ground.

“No, I’m Spider-Man.” 

“What the fuck?”

“What? I can say it now.” 

“That’s not... hey!” Harley exclaimed as Peter slumped back into Harley’s chest, unconscious. Scrambling to think, Harley grabbed his phone and called the only person he could. “Tony? I need your help.”