Chapter Text
Peter panicked a lot, he knew that. But at least this time it was justified. Seeing his picture on the big screen like that, being exposed as Spider-Man … being made out to be a murderer. He couldn't even begin to imagine what the hell was going on right now. His head was full of horrible scenarios, which grew in number by the second.
He looked from the big screen with his admittedly awkward picture to the people around him. A few of them stared back, squinting at him or just with their mouth agape in shock. He needed to get out of here, and fast. As Peter turned on the lamppost, he heard sirens in the distance. Maybe, probably someone reported him and the police were on their way to catching him?
Peter shot his webs at the nearest building and pulled himself up in the air, swinging away from the horrendous scene as fast as he could. He needed to get home, to get away from the streets – but what good would that do him? Everyone knew who he was now, and it wasn't too hard to find out where he lived. He needed to get to aunt May as fast as possible and think of … something!
He almost crashed into his bedroom window, climbing through it and not really caring how much noise he made. Hands shaking, Peter pulled off his mask and stormed into the living room. Aunt May was on the phone and turned to look at him right as Peter came panting inside.
"There you are!" She yelled, one hand still holding the cellphone to her ear and her other arm outstretched to pull Peter in a tight hug as soon as he was close enough. "No, Happy, he's here. He's … he's not safe, is he?"
Hearing the panic in May's voice was worse than feeling it himself, Peter decided. He never wanted to worry May, he just wanted to keep his neighborhood as safe as possible. He had the means to, so it was just natural to step up … it being twisted around like that and making him out to be a horrible person was never something that occurred to Peter.
He could faintly hear Happy's voice through May's phone, telling her to stay calm and he would talk to Pepper where the safest place could be right now. Peter started shaking. Or maybe he had been the whole time and only now noticed, pressed close to May and fists clenching her shirt. "What am I gonna do now?" He asked quietly.
"It'll be fine." May stroked his hair. "We're getting through this."
And Peter wanted to believe her, he really did. It was just so … surreal. His fight or flight instinct was locked in panic and he wanted to run away as far as possible, somewhere where nobody had even heard of Spider-Man or would recognize his face. Tears welled up in his eyes and made them burn. Hadn't he gone through enough? The summer wasn't even over and he got into one trouble after another, messing up everything he touched.
Peter practically jumped as he heard his own cellphone ring. He let go of May and fished it out of a hidden pocket he had taken the liberty to include into his suit. It wasn't Ned's ringtone, and sure enough the picture on the screen didn't show MJ. Peter frowned as he answered.
"What the fuck, Parker?" Harley greeted him in a flat tone.
Peter blinked the tears away and tried to sound as calm as possible. "Hi there," he greeted back, but his voice cracked and gave away his confusion and panic and all the other messy feelings inside him.
"No, seriously, what the hell is going on in this fucked up city of yours?" Harley continued without even acknowledging that Peter had said something. "You know, I keep tabs on all of you. It's just a little hobby and usually, it doesn't yield much. But the past week, you called me – no, wait, I called you in all of three European cities and then you're on the news for supposedly committing first-degree murder. Care to explain?"
Peter's wide eyes searched the living room floor for an answer, then looked up at his aunt. On the phone with Happy, probably to do some damage control. His friends thinking … well, something. And Harley rambled on and on about all of his failures. Peter's barely held-together facade cracked. "I'm sorry," he practically sobbed into the phone. "I didn't … I didn't do anything they said I did. I messed up, yeah, big time. But I'd never –"
"No, the question wasn't if you would," Harley interrupted him. "You wouldn't. Everyone who knew you for five seconds could see that. The question is why someone would fuck you over this bad. You must have done something right, I guess. Being quiet and compliant doesn't get you haters."
Peter wiped away the tears with his free hand. "Yeah, well, that doesn't do me any good now, anyways."
He didn't even know what he expected Harley to do or say. Sure, they had become some kind of … acquaintances? Maybe even friends? After the funeral where Pepper introduced them, they kept in touch. And Harley had been worried after the water elemental showed up in Venice, and he was fuming that Peter put himself in that much danger in Prague. And having to explain everything after what happened in London on the way to the airport was weird, to say the least. But it felt good to talk to someone who had experienced some of this himself, even if Harley had been way younger than Peter was now. Sometimes he thought Harley had been much smarter at ten than he was now at sixteen. And maybe he adored the guy way more than was good for him, even though Peter stuffed those kinds of thoughts into the back of his mind most of the time.
"What do I do now?" Peter asked, not sure if it was directed at Harley or at May.
"You need to calm down, and cut back on the caffeine a little," Harley said as if he had been waiting for that question.
"Stop worrying," May answered at the same time. She directed Peter on the couch and sat down next to him. "Happy's figuring it out. You're gonna be fine."
Peter stared at the wall next to the TV. He didn't believe May's words for one second, and Harley wasn't helpful, either. "I need to get out of here, right?" He said while putting Harley on speaker. He wasn't sure if he could continue to hold the cellphone with the way his hands were shaking, so he dropped it on the coffee table. May took a look at the screen before leaning back and putting her arms around Peter again. Peter grabbed her arms with both hands and let himself be rocked just the way he liked as a kid. "I mean, I couldn't possibly stay here. If people believe all that, and they're gonna come for me, and then you're here, too …" He choked on the dark turn his thoughts had taken.
"Happy's coming over," May said and Peter could feel her stroking his hair. "I won't let anything happen to you. Or me, for that matter. If push comes to shove, you could stay at the Aven…"
"Please don't say Avengers compound, because they still haven't finished rebuilding it," Peter interrupted her softly. "I don't have anywhere to go where I wouldn't put any of you in danger."
How long until the police showed up to arrest him? How long until anything else happened and destroyed his life for good? What if it didn't even hit him directly, but hurt May or his friends? Peter screwed his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears at bay.
"Hey, Parker," Harley said all of a sudden. "Ever been to Tennessee?"
*
Peter's first time on anything resembling a plane had been on the spaceship that took them to Thanos' planet. Which, quite frankly, hadn't ended well for him. And then again on his way to Europe, which … hadn't ended well, either. Peter wondered what sort of things waited for him in Tennessee with Harley, though he found it hard to imagine that he would ever hurt him. Then again, Peter didn't know what to believe anymore.
He told MJ and Ned as much as he returned one hell of a lot missed calls and about a thousand texts from them, wondering where he was and if he was fine. Sitting with his legs up on the seat in the quinjet, May and Happy opposite him while the plane was on autopilot, he typed away and told them he was okay. And didn't disclose his location, just like Happy requested.
Peter: sorry, can't tell you anything else
MJ: why not?
Ned: you're worrying us
Ned: what's gonna happen now?
Ned: are you a fugitive??
MJ: you can't ask people if they're fugitives
MJ: you never know who's listening in!
Peter frowned at the last question. "Am I a fugitive?" He repeated quietly, not really sure how to answer this. Technically, the Sokovia Accords were still in place as far as he knew, though Peter doubted they held real power anymore after everything that had happened. And not disclosing his identity should have put him on a government list or two, anyways. Then again, he wasn't up to date with stuff that was way over his pay-grade – and he didn't even have a Spider-Man Patreon or Ko-Fi.
"Technically, you're not even an adult, so nobody can hold you responsible," May answered and looked so sure of herself, Peter really wanted to believe that.
Happy shot her a frown. "Technically, people believe he's a cold-blooded murderer, adult or not."
"But I'm not!" Peter protested, putting his phone away. "I would never –"
"Hey," Happy held up both hands. "We're not the ones you need to convince."
"He doesn't need to convince anyone." May scowled. "Except this fake reporter, and he certainly doesn't count." Her expression softened as she leaned forward and put a hand on Peter's knee. "We just need to wait a little until everything dies down and then you can explain yourself."
"It'll make you more suspicious that you ran away first, though," Happy interjected, which prompted May to slap his arm lightly. "I'm just saying the truth! Have you ever met someone like Thaddeus Ross? He's still pushing for the Sokovia Accords to be reinstated."
"He doesn't need to hear that right now!"
Peter sighed. "No, I mean, he's right," he mumbled, but May and Happy started squabbling over technicalities and possibilities and he didn't have any fight left in him right now. Much less any desire to be heard. He wanted to curl up into a blanket burrito, watch trash movies with Ned and MJ and text Harley all evening, anyways.
He should be far more excited to see Harley. If the circumstances were different, he would be. Running up and down the quinjet, fixing his hair, checking in his phone's front camera if there was anything between his teeth, maybe discreetly smelling himself. All the weird things that became completely normal when someone was about to meet their crush. Yet Peter still sat in his seat, not moving at all, until they arrived in Tennessee. His thoughts still ran wild and he internally did the same, but his body was exhausted. He wanted to sleep for three days straight and then some more.
May sighed as the quinjet touched down in the middle of nowhere. At least that's what Peter first thought they were, but it seemed to be a small town. As a New Yorker, this aspect was the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen, screw Thanos.
Apparently, May thought the same. "Are you sure we're in the right place?"
"The coordinates don't lie," Happy assured her, but still went to the cockpit to check. "No, yeah, we're in the right place!"
May frowned and looked at Peter. "Are you sure you want to stay here?" She put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "You know we'll always support you, so if you feel that is the right decision, you can make it."
"Well …" Peter shrugged, not really sure what to say to that. Did he want to be here? Technically, yes. He wanted to see Harley and spend time with him. Did he want to be here for the reasons he boarded the quinjet? Hell, no. But he didn't know what else to do, how to keep his thoughts straight – well, as straight as they could be within a teenager's head who was anything but.
"We can still turn around," May offered.
But Peter shook his head. "I can't. I'd just be endangering you and my friends and I can't have that." To be honest, he didn't know if this was how it worked. Peter had never had his identity revealed to the world before. Maybe there were rules? He didn't know, and until he figured out how to undo it or work with it or whatever, it was best not to take risks.
"Fine. Come here."
Peter stood and immediately got pulled into a tight hug. He wasn't sure for how long this would be the last hug May would give him, so he clung to her to preserve the feeling. Tears welled up in his eyes again, but the moment broke as soon as there was a knock on the door. Peter pulled away, frowning.
The door opened and Harley stepped in, messy hair and run-down clothes, a half-shouldered backpack that definitely had seen better days and a half-smile, and Peter's heart fluttered despite the circumstances. He looked exactly like he did in their late-night Skype conversations, save the energy drinks on his desk and his little sister yelling stuff from outside his room. And by all the gods, real or not, Peter had missed him. His smile felt weak and fake, but he still couldn't help it.
Harley ran a hand through his hair and looked around briefly. "I skipped school for this and all you brought was a quinjet?"
Peter barked out a quiet laugh. "Well, all my other stuff got blown up in Europe."
"I'll have you know this is a million-dollar-plane," Happy said and closed the door to the cockpit. "And we're not exactly on holiday, so what did you expect?"
"Chill." Harley's smile never wavered and he greeted Happy and May with a quick wave of his hand. He stepped up to Peter, who had grabbed his own backpack from under his seat, and put his arm around him. Harley still had at least two inches on him. "I'll take the consolation prize, then."
"You treat him good," May said in that kind of tone she used to suggest she would gladly commit murder and get away with it than let anything happen to Peter. He couldn't help be grateful for all the support and okay, yeah, maybe he quickly rubbed his eyes. What was wrong with him, why couldn't he be anything else than a hormonal teenager in an identity crisis?
"Promise," Harley said and despite his smile, he sounded sincere. "Guess I need to tell mum we're having a guest."
Peter focused more on the weird southern aspect that was even weirder to Harley because he made it sound charming. His words only registered as the guy led him outside the quinjet and they were halfway down what seemed to be a street. Well, more like flattened dirt and Peter could already feel it get into his clothes. He stopped dead in his tracks.
"Wait, you haven't told your mum?"
Harley half-smiled again, then bit his lip. "She'd have ripped off my head. She doesn't do that in front of guests, mostly."
Peter looked down, still feeling the weight of Harley's arm around him. And being able to smell him. Which was weird, because it was a mixture of freshly mowed grass and … motor oil? And maybe some deodorant, which got overpowered by the small-city-smell all around them. And all he wanted to do was hug Harley and tell him how grateful he was, but that would be even weirder than actually being here.
"C'mon." Harley pulled Peter a little closer and forced him to continue walking. "I know what'll brighten your mood."
Peter frowned a little, but followed along. The quinjet had touched down right at the edge of the town. Not very subtly, but the view was quite worth it; Peter could see farms and lots of green all around them, and sure, the town looked a little like a run-down Wild Western movie set with a Seven-Eleven, but it was charming in it's own way. Nothing compared to NYC, even though Peter felt one had to hate the city to really appreciate it, but it was Harley's home and for that alone, he was willing to give it the benefit of doubt.
*
Also Harley was right. The garage full of state of the art Stark tech did impress Peter greatly. So much, in fact, that he couldn't help but drop the backpack right at the door and walk through the garage that was even bigger than their living room in NYC. Peter had never been in this kind of room before, much less Harley's own. There was a sofa and a hammock in the corner, which suggested Harley spent more nights down here than was probably healthy for his sleep cycle, and on the couch laid what looked like … some kind of weapon.
"What. Is. This?" Peter pointed, not really sure if it was dangerous or why Harley would have that thing. He frowned, not sure what to make of it, if he was being threatened again or not – which was stupid. This was Harley's place, apart from his and aunt May's apartment maybe the safest place he could be right now.
"Oh," Harley said as he stepped up to Peter and threw their backpacks on the couch next to the … thing. "That's my potato gun, mark VII."
"Your what?"
"Ugh. City people." Harley shook his head, then picked up the gun and showed it to Peter. "It's what it says on the tin. It shoots potatoes."
"What?" Peter frowned. "Why?"
Why Harley laughed, he didn't know. But he looked happy and confident with his … potato gun and Peter didn't want to question it too much. He also shouldn't stare too long, but he hadn't even seen Harley on a screen since he returned from Europe. And to see him live, standing right next to him so close Peter could touch him, was an extra distraction bonus.
"Let's get your stuff upstairs," Harley said, eventually pulling Peter out of his own head again.
Harley's room in the main house wasn't as impressive tech-wise, but filled with his own stuff he freely shared with Peter. The desk was a mess of homework, a Rubik's Cube, and some smaller engineering projects Harley seemed to tinker with, the walls were filled with so many movie posters Peter couldn't even make out what color it was supposed to be and a half-open closet spilled out lots and lots of clothes on the floor where they littered basically everything except the unmade bed. The dark furniture seemed not to be Harley's choice; it wasn't quite his style. But he had made it his own with a few stickers on the bedposts, the closet and even the shelves next to the desk, littered with books and a few DVDs.
Peter only noticed that he was staring while standing in the open door when Harley turned around to him after dumping his own backpack on a small desk chair. "I haven't had time to clean up," he explained while quickly picking up some of the clothes and throwing them into an overflowing laundry basket at the foot of the bed.
"It's fine," Peter said, holding up both hands, "don't worry about it."
He gingerly stepped inside and checked his backpack, pulling out the Edith glasses to make sure they had survived the trip. Before he could shove them back in between what was left of his own closet, Harley had stepped next to him. "You need glasses?"
"Not really, not anymore." Peter shook his head. "They're … a gift from Mr. Stark. I mean, they not just glasses, obviously, you know how he can be, but he …" He trailed off, not quite sure how to explain. Not sure if he even should explain. He'd tried once and got stabbed in the back in the cruelest way possible.
Either Harley sensed his hesitation, or he felt weird talking about this stuff, too. "Yeah, no, I know, Tony left me some stuff, too," he said, patting Peter on the back. "Pepper came around to get it to me. It's …"
"… yeah," Peter nodded, and they fell silent for a minute. "Wait, you called him Tony?"
"You didn't?" Harley looked back at him and laughed. "Well, okay, I tried to emotionally blackmail him, too, and it sort of worked?"
Peter raised both eyebrows. "Explain," he demanded and dropped down onto the bed. For a few seconds, he wanted to curl up into a ball and hug the pillow like he would with Harley if the guy would let him, but instead he kicked off his shoes and made himself as comfortable as possible.
"So you remember those terrorists and the fake news Tony died?" Harley sat down next to him and if Peter shifted a little so it looked like he got more comfortable but could also sit closer to Harley, well, neither of them said anything about it.
Their experiences getting to know Mr. Stark were wildly different and Peter couldn't help but laugh about the way Harley talked about it. And about what a shitty kid he'd been, lost and alone and still full of confidence and wits, just like today, only now he'd grown more into himself. Peter leaned a little against Harley while laughing and Harley's probably accidental touches didn't go unnoticed, either.
Right up until Peter almost jumped all the way to the ceiling when there came a knock on the door and a girl stuck her head in. She had the same weird brownish-blonde hair as Harley, all up in a messy bun and a similar clothing style to Harley, and the raised eyebrow and the following disgusted face spoke volumes. "Muuum!" She cried out. "Harley has his boyfriend over!"
Peter couldn't help but look down so his blush wasn't obvious. "I'm not," he tried mumbling an explanation, but Harley cut him off.
"Muuum!" He yelled even louder than his sister. "Theo's an asshole again!"
Peter blinked, finally looking up. That was Theodora? As in, Harley's baby sister he constantly complained about? They were so alike look-wise that they could have been twins save for the obvious age difference.
"Muuum!" Theodora shouted back. "He's calling me that stupid name again!" She stuck her head back into the room.
"I've already texted mum," Harley said, which prompted his sister to stick her tongue out at him.
Then she faced Peter. "You gotta be Pete, right?" She came in, an obscure over-sized band shirt tucked into black hotpants and combat boots kicking a jeans out of the way. "Harley's talking about you, like, all the time. Thought you'd look way better from what he –"
She couldn't finish her sentence, even though Peter now was super curious – Pete? – as Harley threw a pillow in her face. "Get out!" He shouted, crawling off the bed and wrestling his sister into a headlock.
"Hey, asshole," she complained and slapped his arm with both palms. "Let me talk to –"
And with that, she was out the door, which Harley shut into her face. He was kind of red in the face, too, but Peter couldn't say why. "Sorry, that's … my sister, I guess."
Theodora banged on the door. "Asshole!" She yelled. "Mum said to come down for dinner! Stop making out, you weirdos!"
Peter put both hands over his face so nobody would notice his blush creeping back up. "I'm so sorry," Harley mumbled. "Just … ignore her?"
"Mhm," Peter mumbled, not really sure what to make out of the whole situation. Maybe Theodora could read minds and wanted to embarrass him? Or maybe she was just a dick to her brother? Anyways, she hit the bullseye more than once and that was a pretty good quota.
Another knock on the door.
"Harley?" A much more mature voice, female too.
Harley turned around and opened the door again. "Is Theo grounded?"
"You should be for bringing over a boy on short notice," the woman said. Her hair was straight-up blonde, probably dyed, but the facial features clearly marked her as Harley and Theodora's mother.
Peter scrambled to stand up, self-consciously tugging at his clothes and trying out a smile which made his face kind of hurt. "Hi, sorry for the short notice," he said, stepping up next to Harley and holding out his hand. "Peter. Uh, Peter Parker. I'm a –"
"Oh, Pete!" The woman smiled and pushed his hand aside to hug him. "Glad to finally put a name to the stories!"
Peter wondered what the hell Harley had been talking about – well, him, obviously, but … he couldn't grasp this concept. Why would he do that? And why would everyone call him by that Pete name Harley usually only used late at night when he was already half-asleep on his desk?
"Feel free to stay as long as you want," Harley's mum said as she finally let go of him again. She still wore something Peter could identify as a waitress uniform. "If I had known earlier, I'd have picked up some more food from the store. Oh, and call me Pam – short for Pamela." She ruffled his hair, then looked at Harley. "And you, clean your room. I can smell your laundry all the way to the kitchen.
Well, at least Peter wasn't the only one constantly turning red in the face today. Harley even seemed kind of embarrassed. Which was unusual; he was so cool most of the time, like nothing could shake him. Now he looked around his room again and then shoved Peter and his mum out of the door, closing it behind him. "Yeah, later. You said dinner?"