"Alright. It's time to get down to business. If we want to find this kid, we're going to have to narrow it down. Finding one speck in a city of millions will not be an easy task, but he's target number one. Failure is not an option here, you understand?"

On the wall sat a lone corkboard, a single picture of Peter Parker stuck into the center. A map of Queens hung beside it along with some scribblings in red pen on the lower right corner. A printed photo of Delmar's was pinned to the map.

"So, first thing's first, we have to plot his last known whereabouts." A finger jabbed at the photo on the board. "The media storm started with a single picture taken two months ago at a local Queens hotspot called Delmar's Deli Market on 57th street." From there, the hand drifted to a second picture, this one of Peter sitting on the curb with Tony Stark, sandwiches in hand. "There, the target was spotted with one Tony Stark and subsequently bailed when media attention became too erratic. But this is where is all started."

The picture was ripped from the board, held tightly in a firm, sweaty grasp. "Logic dictates it should also be where we start, right?"

Silence followed the question. No answer was needed.

"Now-

"Harley! I made pizza rolls for lunch - you want some?"

The teen jolted, photo slipping from his grasp and fluttering to the dusty hardwood below. Harley huffed, floorboards creaking as he stooped down to snatch up the photo and jabbed it back onto the corkboard - the only thing of note in the otherwise empty room.

"Mom! I'm in the middle of an investigation, here!" The shitty apartment was so drafty he barely even had to yell for his voice to be heard between the paper-thin walls. Not that he paid them much mind as his eyes drifted back to his "Board of Evidence", as the piece of loose-leaf paper stapled to the top of the board stated proudly.

"Well, your sister's going to eat them if you don't and I don't want to hear you whining later about how your hungry and-"

"Mom! Would you please? I have more important things than pizza rolls to think about right now!"

"...So, you don't want any?"

. . .

. . .

. . .

 

---

 

"Like I said-" Harley took a bite of the roll and turned to face the corkboard once more, stepping over a box of packed bedsheets. "-this Delmar's is our first and only lead. And if this place is a normal hang-out spot for our target, then it makes sense that the locals will have some information on him, you think? How often he stops by. Who he hangs around with. What color shirt he usually wears that will be easy to spot with a pair of binoculars from the nearby bushes." He finished off the roll, wiped the crumbs on his shirt and paused. "This seems kinda stalkerish, huh?"

He turned towards his partner.

Twitchy the guinea pig licked the bars of his cage before letting out a sneeze.

"You're right. It's probably fine."

With that, Harley stepped around another piles of cardboard boxes and grabbed his baseball hat from the air mattress on the floor - a temporary bed, his mother promised. Through the walls, he could hear his sister stomping around and whining about how her room was too small to fit everything along with the quiet voice of Greg trying (and failing) to placate her.

"Finish those off for me, will ya?" He said, gesturing towards the plate of cooling pizza rolls next to the cage as he made for the door. "And maybe start unpacking some stuff, you freeloader. Geez."

Twitchy listened to the door close, blinked at the plate and promptly fell asleep.

 

---

 

Two days and a few more pizza rolls later found Harley flopping onto the air mattress with a frustrated groan.

"We're not making any progress here, Twitchy," he muttered, banging his head against the uneven, lumpy mess of rubber fabric that had been his bed since their arrival into the city one week ago.

Apparently, the straight shot from Tennessee to New York wasn't straight enough for the moving company to not get lost. With all their stuff.

"Nobody on the street has seen him and they're starting to give me funny looks." He pursed his lips and sat up, reaching for the backpack laying against the plaster-speckled wall. 'We're going to have to become more discreet," he muttered, sliding a pair of cheap, heart-shaped sunglasses onto his face.

Through the lenses, the drab, empty walls of the bedroom were tinted a rosy-pink. It wasn't the worst room Harley had ever seen. Smaller than his old one but bigger than he'd expected it to be. The apartment as a whole was...interesting, though. Greg had mentioned something or other about inheritance and a long-lost uncle or cousin or some shit, but whatever the case, it explained how a low-level police gruff could afford a place in Manhattan.

(Granted, most of the cars on the street were missing their tires and a man on the corner tried to sell him some crack pipes yesterday, but still.)

A muffled thump in the other room made Harley lazily crane his neck towards the door. Outside he could hear his sister whining again, probably begging for the hundredth time for them to go back home, a now daily occurrence for her since their arrival.

The teen lifted a hand and pushed the sunglasses to rest on the crown of his head. He could understand why Lily - neighborhood sweetheart, Girl Scouts leader, most popular girl in fourth-grade - was so pissed. Maybe for the exact same reason why he wasn't.

Lily had things to return to in Tennessee. Her brother didn't.

He sniffed, casting one last apathetic glance around the room before shrugging his shoulder and pushing up to his feet. "Well, we're not making any progress by just sitting on our asses, huh, Twitchy?"

He snuck a glance at his phone and made note of the time before his eyes drifted towards the contacts button. He hesitated for a second longer before sliding it into his pocket. Twitchy - cunning bastard that he was - must have noticed the pause.

"What's that? Why don't I just call Tony and ask him to introduce us?" He scoffed, throwing the cage a scornful glare. "Where's the fun in that, Twitchy? I'm disappointed you'd even suggest such a thing."

The guinea pig stared at him, a trail of drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

An obvious sign of shame.

"Nobody said friendship was easy, Twitch," Harley sighed as he crouched down and pulled his backpack closer, yanking it open and pulling out a pair of walkie-talkies. "If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to find this bastard and make him love me."

Twitchy blinked. Harley assumed in approval.

"Harley! Did you take my walkie talkies again?!"

"No!"

 

---

 

"Goldilocks to Papa Bear. Come in Papa Bear."

A mop of golden hair popped out of the bush across the street from Delmar's, a fresh pair of binoculars held against his face. Pressed between his shoulder and cheek sat a walkie talkie. "Still no eyes on the target but at least nobody's shooing me out of their stores anymore." Harley grinned, fingers tapping against the binoculars as he adjusted the lenses. "We're invisible."

He heard a cough, glancing to the side at the old woman sitting on the park bench beside him. She blinked at him.

"Sup?"

He ducked back into cover and pulled his backpack close, peering inside. He pressed the walkie. "Supplies are low. The batteries on this thing are almost dead and this bush is starting to give me a rash. But we persevere, isn't that right, boss?"

The fuzzy static on the other end was cut off for just a second by the sounds of close-up snuffling and the wet sounds of a guinea pig's breathing.

Confirmation.

Harley nodded and poked the binoculars back through the leaves, settling on the entrance of Delmar's across the road. "I'm not going to give Tony the satisfaction of never letting us meet. That asshole might have kept me in the dark for this long, but that stops now." He scratched at the prickling red spots dotting his forearm. "There's a good reason he didn't tell me about this kid, right Twitch? Cause he would have told me...otherwise."

He watched a man exit the bodega with a fresh pair of cigarettes. His fingers tightened around the walkie.

Harley and Tony had an...interesting relationship. They weren't exactly close, but he liked to consider the man a friend. A billionaire, superhero, eclectic friend, but a friend nonetheless. Aside from the occasional Captain America meme, their line of communication was pretty sparse. Harley would update him on stuff maybe once or twice a month and Tony would complain about his teammates and how loud his Tower constantly was.

It was certainly an unorthodox relationship, but one Harley could say he very much appreciated.

What he did not appreciate was Tony's complete and absolute silence on this new kid.

(Or more, his complete and absolute silence on everything.)

"He's been quiet recently," he murmured softly after a few minutes of silence had passed and no newcomers had approached the bodega. "I figured it was all that Accords shit, Avengers stuff, whatever. He's busy. I get it. But this? This is different. This is...secrets."

Harley swallowed, finger pressing harder against the buttons.

"Why wouldn't he tell me about this?"

The static that followed this time was not as comforting.

But before he could dwell any longer, a flash of movement caught his attention and he quickly zeroed back in on the binoculars, body jostling against the leaves as he caught sight of a new group of teens approaching the bodega. One chubby Filipino boy who was animatedly going off about something with a big grin on his cheeks, a tall girl with dark caramel skin and a mess of curly hair that framed her chill smile, and-

He choked on a wad of spit and excitedly began to bounce on the balls of his feet. "Twitch- ah, Papa Bear, whatever! Visual is a go. We have eyes on the target. Repeat. We have eyes on the target!"

He quickly shoved everything back into his backpack and tucked his knees to his chest before bursting from the bush with a flourish and a roll along the grass - with a round of applause from the grandma on the bench. He stumbled up to his feet, shook the twigs from his hair and threw the backpack over his shoulder, eyes locked on the lanky, pale skinned boy with messy brown hair.

He tightened the straps on his bag and smirked, reaching over his head and pulling the hood of his jacket up.

"Time to get some answers."

"Good luck, son."

"Thanks, lady!"

 

---

 

Saturday - June 11, 2016

Ridgewood, Queens - 63rd Street

12:55 PM

 

- 2 HOURS LATER -

 

The kid, Peter, stared at him with wide eyes and a face that could only be described as 'stupefied' as his mouth gaped and his arm jittered with the rigidity of a plank board. It seemed to take a second for him to process that Harley still had a grip on his hand, but once it did, he jerked away with a surprising amount of force for such a little guy, hastily backpedaling towards the other two kids.

Speaking of, Harley cast the extra teens a glance, taking note of the curious, deer-eyed stare of the chubby boy and the calculated, suspicious glare of the girl.

"W-wait." Peter's face contorted from a look of shock into one of confusion, brows knitting together as his lips twitched. "What are you talking about? Why…w-why were you following us? That's like…really creepy." He took a pause. "No offense."

"No, by all means, offend away." Harley shrugged off one strap of his bag and swung it around to face him, unzipping the latch and digging a hand inside. "You'd probably be pretty creeped out if you knew what was in this backpack. But to answer your question, I was looking for you. And just for the record, you're a hard kid to track down." He pulled out a crumpled pad of paper and a pencil. "Hypothetically speaking, how open are you to the idea of creating an itemized schedule of your daily habits, including but not limited to snack breaks and mid-day naps."

"I don't…take naps?"

Hasty scribbles.

"Got it. Keep going."

He heard Peter let out a murmur of unease and suddenly Harley found himself face to face with a pair of smoldering dark eyes and a mound of curly black hair.

"Why were you looking for him?" Scary girl said in a low tone that somehow still held enough skin-prickling intensity that Harley actually had to take a step back. He smiled.

"Hi. You're scary. So, uh…." He leaned back and very carefully edged around her, turning back to look at his main source of interest.

The cameras hadn't captured how small Peter Parker would really be in person. Harley had at least two or three inches on him; not to mention how skinny he was, like his sister's friends from ballet camp – fit and dainty with not an ounce of fat.

In fact, nothing about him really screamed flashy celebrity status. His wavy brown hair was messy and unkempt, styled in a way that said he'd probably spent a good while trying to comb it down before giving up halfway. His clothes weren't designer or custom, either. In fact, on his shirt was a cartoon of sodium and chlorine ions exchanging punches, the words 'Stop! That's a salt!' written along the top.

Harley's lips quirked into a grin. "I just wanted to talk to you."

The three teens hesitated for a moment, heads turning and faces contorting into mirror images of confusion and suspicion as they locked eyes and passed around the same question.

"…About what?"

Harley blinked, a second of time in which the question bounced around the walls of his skull and echoed off of the nothingness inside. Because-

"Okay, I'm gonna be honest right now. I…didn't really think that far ahead."

Blank stares.

Well, two blank stares. One pointed glare.

"In my defense, our moving company is on the brink of a lawsuit and a rat crawled into my mattress last night, so I'm running on like 2 hours of sleep and 3 hours of sitting in bushes that I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to. By the way, do you know any good lawyers that specialize in stolen property and/or gross incompetence?"

Now, it was three blank stares.

"Okay, I think we need to go," the girl muttered as she shoved past him and grabbed the wrists of both boys, all but dragging them back towards the street.

Harley swallowed something between a laugh and a grunt of surprise as he darted in front of them and held out his hands with a smile. "Alright, alright, I'm just messing around with you. Kinda. I'll take those lawyer recommendations if you've got'em. But the truth is just that…well, I'm friends with Tony."

Parker's face flashed at the sudden name drop, brows furrowing and lips parting with a shock he obviously hadn't expected. Similar looks of dismay appeared on the faces of Parker's friends, the three of them sharing another fleeting glance in the tense silence that followed. Finally, Peter turned back around, frown deeper and shoulders stiff. "What?"

"Tony. Stark? You might know him? Pretty unremarkable, almost not even worth mentioning. Anyway, I see on the news that he's waving around a new kid that apparently isn't his? Is that the story you guys are going with?"

"I…uh-"

"Right. So, obviously, the smart thing to do would have been to text him and ask for details about you." Harley reached into his pocket and pulled out an earflap beanie, sliding it over the top of his head as he spoke, ignoring the pointed stares of the three other teens currently sweating in the summer heat. "But I pride myself in choosing the path of most resistance and decided to come see you for myself. And let me tell you, you are not at all what I was expecting.

"I mean, Tony's all…Tony. You know, charisma and charm and deep-seated turmoil hedging on mental instability. And you? Well…" He paused, quirking a brow as he leaned closer. "You might check that last box. I'm not sure yet. Any childhood traumas I should know about?"

"Where should we start?" Ned muttered under his breath, followed quickly by a yelp of pain as MJ stomped on his foot.

Peter barely had time to spare the two of them an annoyed glance, for suddenly Harley was in front of him again, barely two inches away. He winced and tried to stumble back, only for the taller boy to begin circling him like a showman inspecting his latest model car.

"The papers said you were fourteen, right? You look younger. And smaller. And like you've never eaten a burger in your life cause damn, my dude. You really need to fatten up." He jabbed a finger into Peter's side, the boy yelping before swatting his hand away. Harley straightened, mischievous grin lifting his freckled cheeks.

"Anyway, Sparky. That's not the point. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

Peter seemed to be having a hard time keeping up with the plot, and honestly, Harley couldn't blame him. He wasn't exactly going slow, nor was he making this a very easy-going encounter. After two days of searching, he figured he'd have come up with a better method of explaining himself. But he supposed when faced with no plan whatsoever, he'd fallen back onto his default setting ever since he'd met Tony Stark two years ago:

Absolute pro-level bullshitting.

"The…fuss?

"Yeah." He sniffed and shrugged a shoulder. "I don't care about the media shit or whatever. They're always humping Tony's leg. But he's been playing this very close to the chest. Close enough that I didn't even know about you until you started popping up on my Twitter page."

Harley stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall, face drawing into a frown. "So, I figured there was a reason for all the secrecy. And honestly, I was hoping for something a bit more exciting. Like, you're actually a robot or an alien disguised as a human and Tony's trying to fly you under the radar cause the government's trying to steal your eyes. He seems to associate with a lot of those, so it wasn't that much of a long shot."

He pouted. "But no. You just seem like a run of the mill tweenage nerd with more bullies than chest hairs. I mean, your face just screams 'Defenseless Geek: Steal my Lunch Money!"

Scary Girl scowled. "Hey-"

Harley lifted his hands in peace. "Nah, man. It's cool. No judgment. Never say a punchable face isn't also a likeable one. But that's all I got for you. No ulterior motives. No genius plans obviously. I just wanted to meet you." He tilted his head and broadened his cheeky smile. "Finally."

Parker held his stare, big brown eyes catching a few glints of the overhead sun beating down against them. He shifted his weight again.

"That's…it?"

"Sorry to disappoint. It's a habit."

Parker looked like he was trying to find something to say, but the words seemed to lodge somewhere in his throat, for he ultimately remained silent, wringing his hands together like a wet rag.

He seemed nervous. Which was interesting, for if anybody should have been nervous, it'd be Harley. Three against one and he was almost assuredly coming across as a complete and total idiot. But no. The Parker kid looked extremely uncomfortable, continuing to shuffle back and forth on his feet like he suddenly couldn't keep still. But while his movements and mannerisms were certainly one of anxiety, his eyes were…different. Nervous, sure. But there was a hint of something else there. Something harder in that gaze as he scanned Harley up and down, a meticulous, analyzing stare. It wasn't outright hostile, but it was intense. Searching.

Harley swallowed the lump that had suddenly form in the back of his throat and turned his gaze away. Right into the absolutely hostile look of Scary Girl.

"Alright, Creeper. So you're expecting us to believe that you're BFFs with Tony Stark?"

"Well, I wouldn't say BFFs, but I do occasionally text him while I'm pooping, so I guess that suggests a certain level of closeness." He straightened the strings on his hat and gave the pom-poms a little flick.

Scary Girl watched him with a despondent glare and twisted on her heel, not even bothering to keep her voice down as she spoke. "Okay, this is ridiculous. Has Stark mentioned this guy before? Like ever?"

Parker shook his head, bringing his arms to fold overtop his chest. It almost looked defensive. "Definitely not. I'd have remembered…" he glanced over and watched Harley lift his phone and take another selfie with him in the background.

"…something like this."

"Right. Then why are we even wasting our time with this?" She placed her hands on her hips and turned back towards the newcomer who was now scrolling through various filters. "You're just trying to get some exclusive for your shitty Tumblr blogs, aren't you?"

"No, but I am considering posting this on my Facebook wall. I only have like ten pictures on my page and they're all of guinea pigs." He reached for his shoulder and grabbed the straps of his backpack, sliding it into his hands. "Besides, if Tony spends his time with you, then it's very unlikely you're stupid. Cause his tolerance for that is limited to people with a first name of Steve and a last name of Rogers."

(From the corner of his eye, he could have sworn Parker's face cracked a little smirk.)

"So long story short, I wasn't expecting you to just believe me right off the bat. Hang on." He plopped the bag down on the ground and began to rummage through its contents, the other teens not so subtly craning their necks to get a better view. Only to rear back as Harley jabbed a pair of binoculars their way.

"Hold this."

Peter barely had time to grab it before a walkie talkie was being thrown into his arms.

"And this."

"Dude. You were seriously stalking me, weren't you?"

"Scientific observation." He pulled out a badge. "Here we go."

The other kids crowded around Peter as Harley handed him a laminated company badge, the logo Stark Industries printed along the bottom lines in sleek, stylized letters. Just like Peter's.

"Oh, and I also have these." He pulled up his phone's gallery and scrolled, flipping it around for them to see. "Took them a few years ago. I've only been to the Tower once and I've already been kinda banned."

"What for?" Chubby boy said.

"Let's just say you should steer clear of any experiments involving kerosene, whip-its, and the communal bathrooms."

Again, uneasy glances were exchanged before Scary girl snatched the phone and brought it closer for the three to see. Harley remembered taking those photos: close-ups of Tony's sleeping, drool-coated face laying passed out on the kitchen counter with Harley himself throwing a peace sign in the corner of the shot.

That was from back in the day. Before Tony and him had really cemented the fact that their relationship was much more manageable (read, less destructive) from long distance. The possibility of serious physical injury was much lower when the two of them were apart.

But never zero.

Ergo, the whip-its incident of 2014. AKA, the reason Stark Industries no longer had automated hand dryers in their bathrooms.

But back to the topic at hand-

Harley almost had to stifle a laugh watching all three teens peering suspiciously at his phone screen, like bomb squad officers inspecting a lone duffle bag in an airport terminal.

Parker didn't take his eyes off the picture as he spoke, voice low, leaning his head towards Chubby Boy. "What do you think?"

Chubby Boy narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, reaching out to enlarge the picture. "I don't know. Seems legit. Right lighting. Proper shadow placement. But you can do anything with good photoshop nowadays. Don't you remember that picture I made of us in seventh grade? The one of us and Han Solo playing Twister on the Death Star?"

"Oh yeah. That was good."

"Right? I think I still have it."

"Focus." The girl muttered, giving them both little flicks to the head. Peter broke his staring contest with the screen and the others followed suit, Harley slipping his phone back into his pocket as Scary Girl tossed it his way.

Parker lifted his eyes back towards Harley, but he seemed to be having hard time maintaining steady eye contact, for his gaze kept flicking back and forth from his face down to his hands.

"You…you said it was…Harley, right?"

"Want me to spell it again?"

"No, I-" He let out a huff and ran a hand through his hair, letting his palm rest against his forehead. "I'm just confused. Are you like…good friends with Mr. Stark?"

Harley shrugged, reaching into his pocket to pull out a stick of gum, tossing the wrapper over his shoulder before popping the candy into his mouth. "Well, I've never really tried to label it before, but sure. Let's go with that."

"Okay. Then…why has he never mentioned you before?"

The words weren't accusatory. Just confused.

Scary girl quirked a brow. "Because he's lying. And a creep. And he doesn't actually know Tony Stark."

Now those were accusatory.

"You seem very tense. Is she always like this?"

"Yes. And you didn't answer my question."

Harley blew out a bubble, Parker wincing a bit at the snap of the gum as it popped. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall. "Honestly, my guy,…I'm not sure. Tony's a bit of a paranoid recluse sometimes, especially with sensitive shit. At first, I assumed it was the Accords taking up all his time. But that was before I knew you were a part of this fiasco, so now I'm inclined to believe you have something to do with it."

Parker reared back at that, eyes widening. "Me?"

Harley lifted a brow and frowned as his arms folded over his chest.

"Yeah. He wasn't just secretive with you. He didn't tell ME anything either. In fact, he didn't tell the world anything until you were shoved into the limelight." He took a step closer, jutting out his chin as he spoke, southern accent weighing a little heavier on the ends of his words. "I watched that conference. I know that internship story is bullshit. A) because he hates interns more than using actual pencil and paper, to the point where I'm not sure he even remembers how to write. B) because if he was starting an internship program, I refuse to believe I wouldn't have been his top candidate. And 3! C? Whatever. He'd never take a recruit from his competitor."

He pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes in thought as he walked closer. Parker, in response, stumbled back. Harley clicked his tongue, pressing the gum against the inside of his cheek.

"He can spew whatever excuse he wants about giving you a fair shake and letting your work speak for itself, but I know him. I know he wouldn't just trust a stranger like you. That's not his style." Apparently, those two to three inches made a lot of difference, for it almost felt like he was towering over this kid now.

"There's something more going on here. Something that's got him acting all secretive.

"Something that's got to do with you."

He could almost hear the creaking of Parker's jaw, the line of sweat trickling down his temple as he finally met Harley's gaze and narrowed his eyes in slight defiance. Behind him, he noticed Scary Girl and Chubby Boy exchanging glances with each other. Nervous. Knowing.

Harley swallowed and straightened back up, giving a stiff shrug of his shoulders. "Or maybe he just forgot to mention me. I don't know, I like to think I'm not very forgettable." He smirked and gave Parker another once-over.

"You on the other hand, I can totally get why he forgot to mention you. Not a robot. Not an alien. No magic eyeballs. You don't seem very remarkable. Not enough to keep his attention at least, which makes sense if you're nothing but a loser turned glorified coffee boy."

A look of hurt flashed across Peter's face and the cocky smirk playing on Harley's lips instantly faltered. Because that had come out much harsher than he'd intended, even if it wasn't exactly meant as a compliment.

Nervous habit, he supposed.

 

("What's his name?")

("Who?")

("The kid that bullies you at school.")

 

Harley would be the first to admit it. Meeting Tony Stark had made him into a bit of an asshole.

Oh, he didn't blame Tony for it. Far from it. Watching Iron Man in action – standing up to bad guys, fighting off pros with nothing but a few well-timed tricks and some quippy one liners? It'd changed something in him. Enough for him to finally get sick and tired of the knuckle draggers that shoved him in trash cans every week.

When your hands are handcuffed behind your back, you use what you can. For Tony, and later on for Harley as well, that meant his brain. More specifically, it meant his mouth.

It took some practice, some stuttering messes of insults that landed flat and earned him a few black eyes. But eventually, Harley was weaving together silver-tongued comebacks that not even the dumbest of the meatheads could stand up against. It became a spectator sport among the halls. Which idiot would try to take him on that day? And what soul-crushing comment would Harley throw to make him stumble off with his tail between his legs and his ego shattered?

It was safe. It was entertaining. And it came with one hell of a side effect, something his sister had put fairly eloquently some months later.

("Harley, why are you such an assface nowadays? No wonder you don't have any friends!")

He couldn't really blame the kids at school. Who wants to be friends with the guy constantly making the football team cry and the teachers pull their hair out? The guy who's always making backhanded comments and annoying little quips? The guy who's always ready with an insult before you can even begin to think of one to spit at him?

Little baby Harley with dorky sweater-vests and Newton-themed backpacks had built a dam, a solid wall of filters and compliance and forgiveness. The bullies had cracked it. Tony had given him the sledgehammer. Now he was the kid that bullies feared. The kid that everybody feared.

It was safe. It was entertaining.

And it was isolating.

Nevertheless, Harley was used to it. Was used to the dirty looks and the muted whispers and the dismissive glares. And at the very least, the kids at school had reputations to maintain. They couldn't go around showing how much Harley's words upset them, at least with no more emotion than it took to flash a middle finger and the occasional curse word.

Peter Parker had apparently not gotten this memo. For he had no issue showing the clear hurt across his face, dejected frown now pulling at his lips.

Harley was not used to it. And he really, really didn't like it.

Because Peter Parker was not a six-foot-tall football star. He wasn't a dismissive teacher or a hostile classmate. And he wasn't who Harley was really mad at.

"Sorry," he was suddenly saying. "That was…kinda mean. Shouldn't have said that. I, uh…I don't know why he didn't tell me about you, but it's not your fault, I know. I'm just, uh…kinda new at this. Oh, not the whole 'talking to people' thing. I'm used to that. It's just the 'talking nicely' part that's kinda tripping me up. I feel like I'm not doing too terribly cause you're not crying yet, which is…I mean, it's good! That's always a good thing. Not crying. Unless you're into that sort of thing, in which case more power to you, ya know? I just….um… Okay."

This was a yikes.

This was a full-on yikes moment.

He pulled out his phone and snagged another selfie.

Might as well capture it on film.

Peter Parker's look of hurt quickly morphed into the same telltale look of confusion and disbelief that had been characteristic of their entire conversation till that point. Harley was actually starting to like it. Especially since the slight suspicion that had been radiating was beginning to dwindle as well.

"Peter."

They both turned towards the voice, Scary Girl placing a hand on Parker's arm and motioning with her head for him to step away. Her expression did not look as hostile as before. The irritation was now mingling with twitches of concern.

She pulled Peter further back, Chubby Boy approaching as well to form a small, tight-knit circle. (In the back of his mind, Harley noted the purposeful way both Chubby Boy and Scary Girl formed a quasi-barrier between him and Parker.)

He took that moment to suck in a breath, nearly choking on the wad of gum still lodged in his mouth. He spat it onto the ground and turned to lean his shoulder against the crumbling brick wall beside him, the bumpy scraggly surface felt even beneath his jacket.

Harley kept his eyes trailed on the ground, tracing the patterns of dirt, cement and trash mingled across the alleyway surface, taking note of the little flecks of cigarette buds, candy wrappers, and strewn leaves. The trash wasn't new. That much was the same as Rose Hill. Nothing but cigarettes and empty beer bottles as far as the eye could see. Even the smell wasn't too different: garbage and stale food mixed with chewing tobacco and smoke.

But the noise. The noise was something he'd definitely have to get used to. Barking dogs, bluegrass and the faint cheering of football floating out from the local bars was the anthem of Rose Hill. It wasn't exactly peaceful, but it was…familiar, in a sense.

Behind him, past the mouth of the alleyway, Harley could hear the cars stalled in traffic, the roaring of their engines and the anger of their horns. The TV screens in the convenience stores, the radios leaning against building walls, the air conditioners hanging by threads against apartment windows.

And the people.

Peddlers on the street corners. Dog walkers. Pedestrians. Construction workers. Cops. It was impossible to see the ground beneath anybody's feet, a sea of movement and heat and sweat.

Rose Hill was a shithole, sure. Harley would rent a billboard and proudly display that fact for the world to see. But at least the people were…small. Familiar. You could never turn a corner without seeing a face you knew.

And for the longest time, Harley had always imagined it to be suffocating, like a crowded can you can't escape from. But at least in Rose Hill, people knew him. Sure they weren't his biggest fans, but they knew his name. And they knew when he wasn't around. Did they celebrate it? Probably. He'd be a bit offended if they didn't. But they knew him. They accepted him as one of their own. Just another sardine in the can.

Now he was alone in a big, crowded ocean with fish that wouldn't hesitate to swallow him up if given the chance. Nobody here knew his name. Nobody knew his face. And they certainly wouldn't miss one single sardine.

The thought was…unsettling.

Which was why, when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he pulled it out to see a message from his mom – "Just got back. Where are you?", it took a second for him to find the words to respond.

 

"Making friends."

. . .

. . .

. . .

"Hopefully."

 

"Peter, you can't be naïve right now, alright?"

The slight lilt in tone was enough to catch Harley's attention and he zoned back into the present. He kept his head down, but his ears perked to listen in.

"His arguments are weak, Stark's never mentioned him for whatever reason, he follows us around the city, he has 'photo evidence' that could very easily be altered," Scary girl paused, jaw tensing as her brows knit together. "So far, I've seen nothing concrete that proves he's actually telling the truth. I mean, don't you think his name would have popped up in casual conversation? At least once in the past four months?"

'Four months?' Harley noted. 'They've only known each other four months?'

Peter glanced away, biting his lip unsurely. "I…I guess. That badge looks real, though. Only people who've been to the Tower have those access passes."

"Another thing he could have photoshopped. I'm sure there are templates online."

Chubby Boy tilted his head, giving a little shake to Peter's shoulder. "Could you text Mr. Stark? Ask him about this?"

This was apparently something Parker had already been contemplating, for his response was quick. "I don't know, Ned. What if this kid is lying and I send his picture to Mr. Stark? I'd basically be admitting to being dumb enough to believe whatever anyone on the street says to me. Not only is that super dangerous, it's also like, incredibly embarrassing. And I don't think I can handle that."

"Come on, dude. He wouldn't shame you for that!"

Harley pursed his lips and cleared his throat, lifting a finger into the air. "Hi, yeah. He most definitely would shame you for that. Like, one hundred percent."

Ooo, now he'd upgraded to two pointed glares.

"I'll just be…over here. Continue to secretly talk about me."

Scary Girl rolled her eyes with a huff but quickly zeroed back in on Parker. "Peter, listen. More than likely, this kid's just looking to jerk us around with some story that he knows someone famous."

"But-"

"Don't you remember all those tweets and posts we were going through after the press conference? How many people were claiming to know you? How many were claiming to be your best friend? All to get their five minutes of fame? Do you not remember how cranky Ned was?"

"Cranky," Chubby Boy parroted with a scoff. "I was indignant. How dare they think they can just replace me like that?"

The girl ignored him and stepped closer to Peter. Harley noticed her hand come to rest on his shoulder, a softer, more subdued gesture than what he'd seen of her previous. When she spoke, her voice mirrored this change. "The point is...people will say anything, do anything to get even a little bit of attention. How do we know that's not the case now?"

Parker hesitated for a second before turning his gaze back over to Harley. The blond-haired boy met his stare with one of his own, dark green eyes meeting light brown. He felt his heart start to beat a little faster as the silence thickened, skin prickling in anticipation.

"But...what if he's telling the truth?"

"What if he's not?"

Come on, Harley could hear ringing in his head. Take the bait. Don't listen to her. I'm not crazy. You just have to-

"Are you actually going to trust him?"

And the second those words were spoken, the second Harley saw Peter's eyes flash and darken, was when his heart sunk down into his stomach and the hope he'd been holding onto quickly faded.

Because the answer was obvious.

He watched Parker shift his stance, shoulders tightening and back stiffening as he swallowed one last time and turned towards Harley. His expression was one of hesitancy, though it was quickly being overshadowed by resolve.

"I think we should go."

Harley bit the inside of his cheek and forced a smile, rubbing his hands together as he tried to uselessly grasp onto a hint of obliviousness. "To the Tower? Great! I don't know about you, but I'd love to give that guy a piece of my-"

"No. I mean...we should go." Peter's brows furrowed, eyes darting back towards the other two teens now squaring up near his shoulders. Neither of them looked particularly hostile anymore, more uneasy than anything else. Distrustful.

"I think we're done with this conversation. Thanks for sharing with us, but...um..."

The girl tensed her jaw. "We don't believe you."

Harley dropped the façade and felt his smile follow suit. "But I-"

"Please." Peter took a step back, reaching out his hands to grab onto his friends' arms, gently dragging them back as well. "I'm sorry for wasting your time but I don't think we should drag this out any more than we already have." He did look surprisingly apologetic as he lifted his eyes and met Harley's gaze once more.

"Just...go home. Leave us alone."

They started to turn, started to make for the alleyway entrance once more. Harley felt his heart spike as they departed, a sudden and unexplainable twinge in his chest that made his feet move to follow. "Wait-!"

"You'd better not follow us anymore," Scary girl threw over her shoulder. "I have a taser and I've been dying to try it out on someone."

"But I can prove it!"

"Yeah right! Peter only has one best friend and it's me. No matter what Twitter says!"

Parker placed a hand on Chubby boy's shoulder and turned to look back as well. "Look...i-if you're really telling the truth then just...call Mr. Stark. He'll straighten this all out."

Harley clenched his fists, giving a little shake of his head. "I...I can't!"

"Of course he can't. His phone number's not on Google."

"No! Because he won't stop ignoring me!"

The others made to keep walking.

Peter didn't.

Peter stopped in his tracks.

And turned back around.

Harley immediately felt his face cringe, whole body tensing as the words burst out of their own volition. He clenched his jaw, eyes darting across Peter's face as he felt his cheeks heating and his teeth sink into his lower lip, willing them shut again.

But the damage was done. The others two had stopped walking. They were all staring at him now.

He stuttered, brain sputtering to come up with something to say, a quip, a joke, a way to backpeddle and unsay it with a laugh and a wave of his hand like Tony would, like he was kidding, like he just didn't care.

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

But he did care.

He cared a lot.

 

("What's his name?")

 

Scary Girl and Chubby Boy were still near the mouth of the alleyway, looking back at them, gazes flickering between him and Peter. But Harley's eyes weren't on them.

If he'd said something so vulnerable back home, so…open, the kids at school wouldn't hesitate to dogpile him, using any hint of emotion against him in the most vulgar of ways; pointed jabs, merciless mocking, an endless hallway of teasing and misery for daring to show a hint of weakness.

But Peter was not staring at him with contempt and scorn. Instead his gaze was…softer. Thoughtful. His eyes were strong, boring into Harley with a gold-tinted intensity that continued to make his skin bubble up with goosebumps. But the hostility was gone, replaced instead with a look Harley couldn't describe. It was searching, piercing, like he was looking for something, waiting for something.

A response.

Harley gave him a sigh instead.

(Inside his pocket, his phone lit up with a message.)

 

("Good luck!")

 

"He…he doesn't even know I'm in the city. Even though I texted him about us moving states months ago." He reached for his backpack again and pointed towards the state patch sewn into the side: three white stars enveloped in a red and blue circle. "I'm from Tennessee, in case the accent wasn't stupid enough. We just moved in like a week ago, a few blocks down the street. The old Tennerman building?"

"I know it," Peter said softly.

"Right, well…" He glanced down towards the ground, slipping his hands into his pockets as he gave a half-hearted shrug. "I thought he'd be thrilled with it. I mean, we're not as close as two people can be, but I figured we could always change that. You know, we'd get to hang out some more, screw around in the lab, maybe make a mess or two, but…" He swallowed, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"But he never even responded. And he hasn't for six months now."

The other two were approaching now, coming to stand behind their friend once more. Harley noted Peter's stare, how it never once strayed from him, not even as Scary Girl brushed her arm against his, like she was signaling their presence, silently voicing their support. Harley swallowed at the sight, chewing on his tongue for a moment before he sighed and leaned his back against the only thing behind him: bricks. Dirty ones at that. "I thought it was because of the Avengers splitting up. Even in little old Rose Hill news like that spreads. But, I guess it's cause he was busy with…someone else."

He lifted his eyes again, met Peter's gaze. The boy stared back in silence, brows furrowing as his lips turned downward. Harley could only hold it for so long before the embarrassment became too much and he glanced away, rubbing at his cheek with a nervous grin. "God, this is so lame, but he's kinda like…the only friend I have so…it really sucks not having him around to talk anymore."

It was a bit harder this time, swallowing the lump in his throat. He reached up and yanked the hat from his head, fisting it in his hand as he began to fiddle with the balls of string dangling from the end, if only to give his eyes somewhere to look besides the faces of the three teens in front of him.

"Look, man. I promise I'm not jealous of you or anything. That takes way too much effort, and I just really don't feel like making any more enemies. So, I thought...why not make you a friend instead?" He gave a shrug and a half-hearted smile.

"We both already have a lot in common. At least, I think we do. I just assumed that anyone dumb enough to make friends with Tony Stark had to be as weird and nerdy as I am. And judging by that shirt of yours, I wasn't too far off the mark."

That actually got a small smile out of Peter.

"And…I get that you don't trust me. It's cool, I get it." His eyes twitched. "Tony…apparently doesn't either. And that's…that's okay too. I don't blame you for it. You actually seem pretty cool, but what do I know?" He smiled again, felt it forcing his cheeks to stretch in an unnatural way.

Peter did not smile in return this time. He didn't say anything, really. Just kept staring at Harley with that calm, silent stare of his, pensive and still.

The silence lingered for a few seconds longer before Harley felt his feet shuffling and his hand coming to play with a strand of hair by his forehead, a nervous habit he thought he'd kicked months ago. "So, uh…this was kinda embarrassing, but I…" He glanced towards the alley entry and jerked an awkward thumb towards it. "I'll just…go, then. Um…sorry for bothering you. And for stalking you – err, for observing you, or, uh…" He sighed and ducked his head. "Never mind…"

He kept his head down as he sidled past the group, not wanting to see the looks of scorn and mockery that were no doubt beginning to appear. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and tried to will a look of apathy and nonchalant casualness to his features, but he could feel the frown pulling at his lips, a pure admission of disappointment he couldn't hide, echoed in the way his chest ached with a thrumming stab of sadness.

Fresh start, huh? Yeah fucking right.

He sniffed and wet his lips, fingers tracing the edges of his phone. He'd forgotten to save the apartment address into his notes tab that morning, what with his rush to get out the door, which meant he'd probably be spending the better part of the afternoon wandering the streets. Not ideal. But it was either that or calling Greg to come pick him up, and the idea of sitting in a car with the guy not-so-subtly trying to play nice with his Poindexter-good-guy-schtick sounded even worse.

Maybe he could ask someone to point him in the direction of the shittiest apartments on the block and work off of-

"The couch in the lab."

Harley stuttered in his step, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he whirled back around, almost unsure if he'd heard right. Was that-?

"The one he keeps in the back corner of the room," Peter said again with a set jaw and a hard look in his eyes. His fists were clenched and his posture was stiff and straight, lips turned down into a determined frown.

"What color is it?"

Harley blinked. Stared at the kid for a moment before glancing over towards the other two teens standing a few paces away. They were both looking at Peter with the same perplexed looks on their faces.

Obviously they had no idea what Peter was talking about.

…But Harley did.

It took him a moment to see it, took a second for it to really sink into his head. But it was there, a small little fleck gleaming in the kid's eyes, a subtle lean of his posture, angled towards Harley.

Searching.

 

Waiting.

 

A chance.

 

. . .

 

"Green."

 

. . .

 

Peter smiled.

…Harley did too.

"More specifically," he continued, "the ugliest puke green you can imagine. There's a…chocolate stain on the right armrest that I left there last time I visited two years ago."

Peter's shoulders bounced a bit. "…Mr. Stark likes that stain. Says it makes the couch uglier."

Harley let out a breath, a cool breeze of air that flitted right past his lips, easy and light. He chuckled, the lump in his throat dissolving into pieces, the tingling of his skin settling into calm. He could see it in Peter too, the easing of his stance, the softening of his muscles.

The tension dissipating.

"You know the only reason he bought that couch, man?"

"Cause Pepper kept nagging him about falling asleep in the lab." Peter said.

"Yeah, so she insisted that he at least buy something for him to sleep on when he'd inevitably pass out. So, of course, Tony being Tony, he wanted to make her regret forcing his hand. Ergo, ugly-ass couch." Harley smiled and tilted his head. "Does she still complain about that thing?"

Peter's eyes crinkled as his smile widened. It was a soft thing, not flashy or cocky in any sense, but shy and quiet. Just like the kid himself.

Harley liked it.

"Every time she sees it."

He gently pursed his lips and turned his head towards his friends, both of whom seemed to have lost the plot entirely.

"He's telling the truth."

Scary Girl balked, rearing back as her eyes widened and her face twisted in disbelief. "Seriously? You're sure?"

"He didn't get that from Google."

She narrowed her eyes, posture stiffening as she angled her shoulders and folded her arms before turning another calculated stare his way, sharp and untrusting. And for a second, Harley was worried she would protest some more, push hard for the deception angle again and persuade the others to flee. Peter believed him, sure. But his friends-? If they were anything like the kids back home, they would need a lot more convincing than-

"Fine. But what the hell is Stark doing that he keeps hanging around random teenage kids, huh?"

…Or not.

Harley, deciding not to question why they seemed to believe Peter's word so wholeheartedly and look a gift horse in the mouth, slipping a carefree smirk back onto his face, popped his hat back on and tilted his head. "Okay, well when you put it like that, it does sound kinda sketch. But for the record, we met on accident."

"So you didn't follow him into a dark, dirty alleyway like some creep?"

"More like he broke into my house in the middle of the night. Equally as stalkery. Much more illegal."

And…the stares were back. Perhaps it was time to start getting used to those.

Chubby Boy lifted a hesitant finger into the air. "I think this calls for further conversation?"

Harley watched as both the big kid and Peter turned their attention towards the girl, gazes eager and hopeful, like two kids begging their mom for sweets. She looked at them both with a similar maternal look of exasperation and defeat before rolling her eyes and waving her hand. "Fine. Let the Creeper talk."

Peter blew a sigh out from under his breath and leaned towards Harley, throwing him an apologetic look. "Sorry," he whispered.

"I've been called worse." He glanced towards the ground and kicked at a stray can near his foot, watching it bounce across the dirt. "So, you guys wanna do this here, or could we go someplace with a little less Hepatitis? Or is this just the New York aesthetic?"

There was another second of silence where the trio exchanged glances before Chubby Boy shrugged. "Delmar's?"

Scary Girl huffed and started towards the entryway, tossing one last pointed stare Harley's way. "Whatever. I got my eye on you," she muttered before stalking off, Chubby Boy hot on her tail.

"MJ, come on! Don't be so grouchy! He's not a psycho, this is good news!"

"You need to up your standards, Leeds. You're almost as bad as Peter."

Harley blinked, watching them continue to bicker as they walked off. Peter came to stand beside him, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he tilted his head and pursed his lips.

"That's Ned and Michelle, by the way. We call her MJ."

"Don't you even THINK of calling me MJ, Creeper!"

"…Michelle it is, then."

Peter turned towards Harley, strands of wavy brown hair dipping towards his eyes as he angled his head down. Now that it was just the two of them, he seemed much more unsure of himself. "So…Harley, right?"

"Yeah, like the Davidson."

"Huh."

They started for the street, walking in tandem as the sounds of the bustling city began to grow in Harley's ears, gnawing and loud. Though perhaps not quite as overwhelming as before. He drummed his fingers against the straps of his backpack and resisted the urge to glance over at the kid by his side, willing the excited smile on his face to revert back into flippant disregard.

It was much harder to conceal this time around, though.

"So…when we're all done here, you wanna go yell at Tony with me?"

. . . .

. . .

"Yeah."

 

---

 

Saturday - June 11, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

03:34 PM

 

Tony vaguely remembered it. A drunken interview in 2004, around the same time as the presidential campaigns between George W. Bush and John Kerry. He couldn't quite remember the details of it, just the taste of two hundred dollar whisky, the smell of cheap perfume, and the heaviness of Rhodey's subsequent disapproving stare. From what he remembered, or more likely, what Rhodey had relayed back to him the morning after, he'd apparently gone on to proclaim that politics were stupid, Bush was a cuck, and that he'd made a better candidate than any of them based solely on the fact that he already had a few sex tapes swimming around, so 'if that's not full disclosure, then I don't know what is.'

He remembered Obadiah being furious.

Even more so when he ended up with over half a million votes as a write-in candidate and came up as third place runner up.

Why was that memory important?

It wasn't, really. He just liked to brag.

Also it reinforced just how 'not his thing' politics was.

So how the hell had he ended up here?

"No, no. I'm not saying that detainment centers for the physically enhanced aren't needed. They most certainly are. What I'm saying is that 24-hour full-body restraints and round the clock artillery surveillance is edging a bit too close to 'Soviet-style torture club.' And last I checked, your boys on Capital Hill still get antsy whenever someone wears the color red."

Tony paced back and forth across his office floor, phone digging into the side of his cheek and the top of his shoulder. He reached over towards his desk and dug through the pile of manila folders strewn across, various markings of 'confidential' stamped against the paper. He pulled out a fresh packet from one of the bottom stacks.

"I - look, this is going to have to be a case-by-case basis, sir. I have plenty of tech that we can use to start developing holding cell prototypes, but - No. I'm not just trying to get a business deal, Jesus. You really think I need your money? Just... look, you guys wanted my attention and now you have it. And now that I'm reading over some of the regulations you're pushing, you're going to start wishing I'd kept ignoring this shit."

Rhodey, his own phone pressing against his ear, sidled past Tony and reached for a different folder. Across his face was the same exasperated look of complete and total annoyance. "Sir, requiring the implementation of tracking measures of any type doesn't just constitute an extreme violation of an individual's constitutional rights, it also goes against the Mutant and Enhanced Civil Rights Bill that was just passed in New York state. I - you know as well as I do that other states are getting ready to ratify similar laws in their own jurisdictions... Sir, enhanced individual's have rights too. And that includes the right to privacy. Passing a bill on this level would have exactly the same social and legal ramifications as forcing people to wear 'I have HIV' buttons 24/7. Demanding DNA samples, identity cards, and tracking devices puts us over a line we do not want to cross."

He shut the file in his hands and tossed it across the room at Pepper. She aptly whisked it out of the air with her free hand, phone held in the other as her fingers whizzed against the keys and the Bluetooth speaker in her ear buzzed with noise.

"New York has a plethora of superheroes doing honest work around the city" Her phone pinged again as another bout of emails came through. "There have been no cases of rampant property damage exceeding the average that uniformed officers rack up each year. Need I remind you that the Avengers did not have government permission when they saved New York from an extraterrestrial attack? I...yes, Mr. Stark is highly on board with the sponsorship program currently in the works. Each 'undocumented' superhero working locally within a certified city district would be required to have a regulated, 'on the books' hero sponsor to take responsibility for their actions and behaviors."

She grabbed a sticky note from the back of the folder and crumpled it up, tossing it in Tony's direction as he continued to yammer away with his own call. It bounced off his shoulder, causing him to jerk his head in her direction and place a hand over his phone.

"Will Mr. Stark be at the next Accords meeting to discuss this plan?"

He gave a wave of his hand and immediately went back to his own call while pulling another file from the stack on his desk.

"Yes, he will. Now about those AI regulation documents, when are we expecting to roll those out?"

Tony slapped the file back down on the desk and made for the door, the others remaining as they continued to sort through the pile and subsequent phone calls each pertained to. "Look, go ahead and pencil me down for that meeting on the 21st," he said as he stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. "And make sure you have a valid cell signal cause I'm not flying all the way to Belgium just to sort this out." He rolled his eyes at the indignant voice on the other end. "Not that it's any of your business, but I can't exactly leave the country right now. I don't have enough frequent flier miles saved up yet. But so help me, you are not ratifying this latest addendum. Keeping detainees in a drug-induced coma? What kind of crack are you guys smoking over there and more importantly, are you willing to share?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his second phone, navigating to the calendar and scanning the dates. "Yeah, yeah. Alright. I'll be seeing you darling. Love ya." He slid the phone from his shoulder and dropped it into his hand, hitting the end call button right as he let out a sigh two-hours in the making. "Prick."

The door slid open behind him, Rhodey sticking his head out a second later. "Hey, what's your position on the mandated mutant registry?"

Tony pressed a tongue against the side of his cheek and threw him a look.

Rhodes raised a brow in defense. "Just making sure. Don't wanna assume. Now come on, we need you back in here."

He drifted his eyes back down to the phone in hand and shook his head. "Give me a sec, Rhodey."

Despite the rampaging wall of Accords provisions they still had yet to review, Rhodey wasn't so distracted that he didn't notice the strain that had now entered Tony's voice. It wasn't the same 'bored out of my mind' sigh that he'd been leveling at them since that morning when they'd first brought in the newly delivered files. This was different. Different enough to get him muting the call on the other end and setting his phone down.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just..." he lifted a hand and brushed it against his temple, muffled groan working its way through his lips. "Torres gave me a number of an old contact of hers. Works for the Department of Children and Family Services."

It was almost instantaneous, the sudden shift in atmosphere. Tony watched Rhodey's shoulders stiffen and his eyes fill with a solemn concern that had been missing for the better part of the two hours they'd been working.

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing. Technically, I'm not meeting with her at all. This is happening off the record." He glanced back down at his phone, checking for the last stamped message she'd sent him confirming her location for the meetup. South Queens. 35th street. Grey Buick LeSabre. He scrunched his nose. He didn't even know they still made that brand anymore.

"Hopefully, she'll be able to give me more information on how to approach this, what I need for a stronger case, if I even have a case. Who knows? Maybe I already have enough to convince them to do a seizure without Peter's testimony. Regardless, I need more insider info on his case."

"I thought you already had access to his file."

He rolled his eyes. "Barely. Half of it hasn't been updated in years. Their record keeping isn't exactly stellar and I can't hack into what's not there."

"I thought we don't use that word anymore."

"Sooo..." He threw the man an annoyed glower. "I need copies of his paper files. I need to know what they're doing about his case. And I need to figure it out without raising any alarm bells. Which is why I can't exactly go through the official channels." He glanced down at his phone a second time. "Hey, who's the last guy you knew that owned a LeSabre?"

"Uh...I don't know. Johnny Trent? Sophomore year. Ugly red thing, I think."

"The one that blew up in the parking lot at the Dallas tailgate?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm. Anyway, point is, I really need to take care of this. I'm supposed to meet with her in about 2 hours and I wanted to go through the evidence file I already have on hand." He lifted his head and stole a disparaging look towards the office door. Through the glass, he watched Pepper lean up against his desk, phone pressed against her cheeks, polished nails tapping against the mahogany surface in her telltale 'I'm tired of talking to idiots' sign that she usually reserved for him. His frown deepened. "Look, I know we're swamped here, but-"

Rhodey held up his hands. "It's alright, man. We'll handle it."

Tony gave the man a look of gratitude that didn't quite match the sheer relief that fluttered in his gut. The Accords had been shoved to the back of his mind for the longest time, his attentions mainly focused on the teenage-shaped headache now constantly throbbing behind his temples. It wasn't coincidence that the first day Peter decided to leave the tower to spend the day with his friends was also the first day in almost a month that Tony had been able to completely focus on the Accords.

Not that he blames the kid. If he had to choose between delegating finances for the latest version of the council's detainment plans, complete with shock collars and tracker chips, or listening to Peter gush about the latest season of Great British Bake Off while they worked on adding a fireworks button to Tony's latest suit, he'd happily choose the latter.

The Accords were important, sure. Peter's opinions on why British cooking competitions were vastly superior to their American counterparts? Even more so. And while Tony might have felt more than a little guilty leaving Rhodey and Pepper with the brunt of the remaining phone calls still waiting to be put on hold, this was Peter they were talking about. The Accords could wait. He couldn't.

Case in point-

"Sir, Peter has returned from his outing and is requesting your presence in the lab."

Both men craned their necks towards the ceiling, Tony's brows furrowing as Rhodey smirked, patting the man on the shoulder. "You go handle that."

"What's he doing back so soon?" He glanced down at his watch. The kid should have been out for another 3 hours. Enough time for him to sneak out, meet with Torres' informant, and return with some Thai.

"Maybe he got tired?" He called as Tony turned and began to make his way towards the elevators.

"He's a teenager. He doesn't get tired. Last week, he stayed up till 3am reading Power Rangers fanfiction. I should know. He read it to me while we were working in the lab."

"Seriously?"

"Judge all you want. Jason deserved that character development."

It didn't take long for the elevators to shoot him up to the lab floors, Tony checking his phone one last time as another set of emails popped up on his screen. Ross, Ross, coupon for Arby's, Ross. He slipped it back into his pocket and strode into the room. He caught sight of Peter standing by the main work tables, arms folded over his chest. Tony looked away before he could notice the frown on the boy's face.

"Hey, kid. Can't stay long. Pepper and Rhodey are drowning in some paperwork that I should probably be helping with but am most certainly going to continue ignoring. So, if we could make this quick-"

The words died in his mouth as the chair next to Peter spun around to face him. And the freckle-cheeked, green-eyed look of mischief that gleamed back at him was one he'd recognize anywhere.

Because fuck that look.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Harley said with a cheeky grin. "This won't take long at all."

 

---

 

"From what we've been able to gather, their main base seems to be near the top of the mountain, guarded by around 60 heavily armored guards with even more near the foot of the hill. We still don't have confirmation on how many are inside, but we need to prepare for a small army to confront us. We'll have to place our heavy hitters near the front to break through that line so Natasha and Sam can get through and extract those files. Then we can- Tony, are you listening to me?"

Steve's voice echoed throughout their meeting room, the rest of the team turning away from the projector with their upcoming battle plan and instead focusing in on the head of the table, where Tony currently tapped away at his phone, humored smirk on his face. He waved a hand.

"Absolutely, doll-face. Continue your war plan. It's 5 stars."

He didn't even bother lifting his head, too busy reading the texts that were now coming through in rapid-fire.

 

---

 

(Not my Drug Dealer)

 

2:23 PM

Tony.

Oh god.

I'm dead.

I've left this world.

Mourn me.

 

. . .

 

2:23 PM

What happened?

 

. . .

 

2:24 PM

So before we begin, in case my mom ever reads these messages, i want to make it clear that i was NOT smoking. I come from a pure Christian household and the thought of staining my body with such evil substances has never once crossed my mind.

 

. . .

 

2:24 PM

Okay.

What were you NOT smoking?

 

. . .

 

2:24 PM

Weed.

Top quality too. Cost me 80 bucks

 

. . .

 

2:25 PM

Anyway, some of my mom's batty book club friends were walking down the street towards me and i didn't want them to see me...NOT smoking, so i darted into the church cause it was right there and-

 

. . .

 

2:25 PM

They were having a funeral.

A fucking funeral.

For a dead man.

I crashed a funeral.

With my not-weed still sticking out of my mouth.

 

. . .

 

2:26 PM

Harley oh my god.

 

. . .

 

2:26 PM

They all just stared at me!

I had no idea what to do or say and i was so nervous so i just said-

"we having a party? Cause it looks pretty dead in here."

 

. . .

 

2:27 PM

HARLEY

 

. . .

 

2:27 PM

I PANICKED!

 

---

 

"Tony."

He jerked his head up and cast a quick glance around the room, noting that Steve had now gone quiet and the presentation was now done. Everyone was staring at him again.

"Hmm?"

"Anything to add?" Steve muttered through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Yeah. What's a good apology gift for crashing a funeral?"

. . .

"Asking for a friend."

 

---

 

It took a second. In fact, it took many seconds for Tony's brain to catch up with what his eyes were seeing because it almost looked like Harley Keener, 15-year-old delinquent and long-standing pain in Tony's ass, was sitting and spinning in his desk chair in the middle of his private lab, balancing a pencil on his upper lip.

It took even longer for him to find his voice.

"Harley?"

"Look at that. He remembers my name. I was really debating wearing a nametag."

It sure sounded like Harley.

"I...wh, uh...what are you doing here?" He blinked a few times but the image remained, the kid remained, stopping his spin and folding his arms under his head.

"Right now? Debating what I should have for dinner tonight." Harley turned, fixing his gaze on the other teenage boy in the room and - Peter. Good god, he was with Peter? And the Tower hadn't imploded yet? Tony's head was already starting to hurt.

"Hey, did they ever end up building any Taco Bells nearby? I wouldn't mind a Postmates delivery."

"There's a new one on 21st street."

"Sick. You want anything?"

"I wouldn't mind a chalupa."

"Hey-"

They both turned towards him and Tony had to try very hard to keep from losing his voice again from the sheer shock of seeing Harley in person. How long had it been? Was something wrong?

"Um, hello? Yeah, hi. Does someone wanna catch me up here?" He said with a fold of the arms, trying in vain to mask his surprise in apathetic snark. Harley grinned again, that same Cheshire troublemaker grin that always seemed to get Tony in hot water with someone: his teammates, Harley's parents, the occasional Sheriff's Department.

"We're staging an intervention. Just know we're only doing this because we care about you."

Tony sighed, the telltale familiar twinge of annoyance and exasperation building inside of him.

Definitely Harley.

Instead, he turned towards Peter, the one teen who might actually give him a straight answer. The boy tilted his head as he looked at Tony. "I found him. Or more, he found me. And my friends. After stalking us for two blocks and cornering us in the back of some alleyway."

"Is that not how you're supposed to make friends?"

Peter took a step forward, brows furrowing a bit and face pulling into his signature I'm not mad but I'm definitely concerned look that Tony was growing accustomed with. "Speaking of friends, not that I don't love meeting yours, Mr. Stark, but uh...what the heck?"

Okay, so maybe he was a little mad.

"How many other teenagers do you know on a personal level?"

Harley scoffed. "Better not be any more or I might actually start getting jealous."

"Okay, just-" Tony put up his hand, silencing both of them before pointing at Harley. "You, y-you just...be quiet. And you." He turned towards Peter. "You come over here."

He stomped his way over towards the corner of the lab, being sure to keep Harley in his line of sight as Peter trailed behind him. Once they were far enough away to suggest a certain level of privacy, he turned towards the kid and cocked a brow, hands landing on his hips.

"What happened?"

Peter shrugged, giving a little shake of his head. "Like I said, he found me and my friends while we were walking. Said he was friends with you, which MJ was very eager to disprove. But seeing as how you're not currently calling the police on trespassing charges, I'm willing to bet my gut was right and you DO know him."

Tony felt his face curl uneasily at the pointed disapproving look Peter shot his way.

"I, err...yeah."

"Right. Well, he wanted to come back to the Tower with me to confront you and honestly? I was right there with him." The frown deepened and Tony actually found himself shrink a little under the stern glare Peter was fixing him with. "Four months and you never told me about the random kid you're supposedly text buddies with?"

"He's more of a scam caller than a text buddy."

"Mr. Stark."

"Okay, okay," he sighed, making a mental note to fill Pepper in on how much she was rubbing off on their little intern. Cause he had her scolding tone down pat. "Look, I'll admit, I probably should have brought him up in passing one of these days, but I figured we already had plenty of stuff on our plates without bring up any past...anomalies. Plus, he's supposed to be 900 miles away!" He raised his voice on those last few words, shooting a pointed glare in Harley's direction.

The brat winked at him and threw him some finger guns.

Tony rolled his eyes and focused back in on Peter, who had apparently still yet to be convinced for his frown remained, albeit with more confusion than annoyance now. The billionaire rested a hand on the boy's shoulder, giving a little pat as he spoke."I wasn't trying to keep this from you, Pete. Honest. It just...never crossed my mind that you two would ever meet. I guess I just assumed he was a part of my life you'd never really interact with."

Peter stared up at him for a moment, big brown eyes raw and curious as he studied the man before him. Tony was used to it now, the second of silence after he spoke where Peter would scan him up and down to determine the authenticity of his words. He wasn't offended by it as he might have been months ago. It was just the kid's way of reassuring himself.

Finally, the teen gave a little nod of his head and spared a little glance over Tony's shoulder at the kid across the room. "Well, you apparently assumed wrong."

The man sighed. "Uh-huh. And I'll get to that. So right now, I need to talk to him alone and make sure I'm not harboring an underaged fugitive cause that's really not going to look good for me."

"I'll vouch for you. You've been a wonderful captor. Even let me go outside and all that."

"Alright, smart-ass," he muttered, flicking the kid's forehead. Peter swatted his hand away with a smile. "Just head upstairs for a little bit. I'll call you down later and answer whatever questions you still have, like why I bother with teenaged nuisances."

"Everyone needs a hobby."

"Yeah, yeah. Go on."

Peter smiled, giving a little nod before making his way towards the door. He stopped short however and turned back around in the doorway, eyes finding Harley one last time. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before giving a shy little wave. "Um, bye Harley. It was...interesting. Meeting you, I mean. But nice...I think? Yeah."

Harley, seemingly unfazed by the boy's stuttering, gave a little two-fingered salute. "See you around, Sparky."

Tony cocked a brow at the name but didn't say anything, the two of them just watching as Peter turned and left the room, leaving nothing but the awkward silence that followed.

That, and the pointed glare that instantly landed on Harley as Tony whirled around and fixed the kid with a hard stare.

"What's up, pookie?"

"Don't start, Keener. Instead I need you to tell me what the hell you think you're doing here or I swear I-"

"Oh, don't bother with the threats, Tony," Harley said with a roll of his eyes, the carefree smirk from before sliding off his face in a heartbeat as he swung his legs and stood from the chair, stuffing his hands into his pockets and throwing the man a sullen stare. "We both know you never follow through."

His tone was sharp, harder than before, missing the friendly bounce he'd used on Peter. Tony blinked, taking a second to stare the kid over. How long had it been since he's last seen him in person? Two years? Longer? He'd certainly grown, nearly the same height as Tony now and certainly a good few inches taller than Peter. His hair had lengthened, stretching down to the base of his neck and the baby fat that had curved his face was beginning to recede, leaving a sharp, pointed jawline and angled cheekbones.

He certainly looked like a teenager now.

"And you can unclench your asshole. I'm not on the lam nor did I hitchhike across state lines to get here," he said as he turned on his heel and spared a bored glance around the lab. "Nobody's that desperate to see you, so get over yourself."

Certainly sounded like one, too.

It was hard to miss the subtle scorn lingering on his words, mirrored in the stiffness of his movements and the tenseness of his posture. Tony narrowed his eyes. It might have been a while since he'd last seen him, but he knew enough about Harley to know when he was acting strange. Well...stranger. And Tony had basically patented this particular brand of passive aggressiveness.

"Then...how are-

"How am I here? Well, I actually formulated a very succinct little explanation for you regarding that exact question." He sniffed and began to pat himself down. "I just can't...seem to remember...where I put it. I think it was...oh yeah! It was in that text I sent you four months ago. It was one of the maybe...three hundred that you never responded to!" Now he was spinning on his heel and fixing Tony with a tight glare.

And Tony, bless his heart, couldn't hold back the contemptuous scoff of disbelief that escaped his lips.

Because apparently this was what his life was now.

"Harley are you kidding me right now? That's what you came all the way here for?" He nearly choked on a puff of exasperation and shook his head. "I haven't heard from you in months!"

Harley curled his nose in irritation and leaned back, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in annoyance. "Okay, we're playing that game, huh?" He pulled out his phone and tossed it to Tony, watching it bounce off his chest and into his awaiting hands. "You can see for yourself, hotshot. I've basically been talking to a brick wall for the better half of this year!"

Tony stared at the kid for a moment longer, brows knitting in confusion and aggravation because this was seriously not something he was planning on dealing with today, before he huffed under his breath and glared down at the phone in hand. It took a second to pull up the contact info and sure enough, he had to scroll for a while through the walls of text that had gone unanswered. Days upon days of random notes, stupid memes, crappy jokes - everything they usually talked about.

He tossed the phone back onto the workbench and reached into his pocket, ignoring the annoying sound of Harley's foot tapping against the linoleum. He pulled out his own StarkPhone and brought up the messages, voice hard. "The last text I have from you is from four months ago. All the way back in February."

He paused, eyes blinking down at the date plastered at the top of the screen.

February.

The 22nd.

He hesitated for a second before glancing further down at the last few messages.

 

. . .

 

Let me know how that UN meeting goes! Saw it on the news, you and your super friends have new rules to play by, lol!

Vienna right?

Where is that again?

 

. . .

 

Austria, idiot.

What do they teach you in school these days?

And they're not my friends.

They're workplace nuisances.

 

. . .

 

"Ah, shit..."

"What? Been on airplane mode this whole time?" Harley muttered.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, growling under his breath at the stupidity of the situation he now found himself in and at the bare hints of a headache working under his eyes. "Cool the snark, would ya? I get enough of that from the mirror." He shambled his way over towards his work bench and plopped down into a chair, neck lolling from side to side as he tried to relieve the sudden stiffness while simultaneously trying to remember when the last time he'd updated the settings on the security network was. "I...apparently there was a bit of a communication error between my darling dear network system and I."

Harley folded his arms over his chest, not looking at all appeased. "Meaning?"

Tony held his silence for a moment, staring down at his phone screen and taking in the last few messages he'd sent Harley. Four months...had it really been that long? It couldn't have been. They weren't exactly the talk-every-day kind of people, but four months was...

"Look...I'm sure you remember the Accords, right?"

A wave of the hand and an exasperated look in response.

"Right, well after that whole thing with...my team, I was getting hounded left and right. News reporters, journalists, conspiracists, politicians, investors, business partners, I'm pretty sure I even had a couple Kennedys blowing up my DMs at one time."

The teen clicked his tongue and leaned up against the table behind him, eyes sharp. Voice sharper. "Point taken. You're a popular bitch."

"Point being," Tony retorted in reply, "I had to set up a vetting system because our networks were literally crashing from the amount of messages, calls, meetings, what have you. The entire company email server had to be shut down for a week after the team split. And I had to start filtering out all the calls and texts I was getting that weren't critical. Ergo, anyone and anything that didn't have the power to put my ass in jail should I not respond within two to four business days."

It had been a long month of work, he remembered. In the early days after meeting Peter, on the nights his internship didn't run, he remembered how hectic the Tower would be. Back when Secretary Ross was a full-on steak knife in his side rather than the pesky thorn he was now. Back when not a single floor of the tower was devoid of alcohol in one way or another. Tony even remembered stocking some bottles in the medicine cabinet, right behind the Tylenol. Extra-strength variety, he'd called it.

Back when each day, each morning, each breath he took was a roll of the dice.

Tony pursed his lips and spared a glance up, taking note of how Harley stared down at the floor by his feet, arms still folded tight, eyes hard and thoughtful as he listened, brows furrowed. The billionaire looked away and swallowed, trying to ignore the flare of guilt that suddenly rang in his chest.

"And I think you might have been swept up in that."

Harley's face twitched but he didn't say anything in response. His eyes gleamed with a hint of something, but Tony couldn't really make out what it was. Relief? Anger? It was hard to tell what with the kid still refusing to look at him, staring down at the floor as his fingers tapped against his arm. Tony watched him, watched the subtle twitches of his face, the knitting of his brows and the downturned angle of his lips.

It was amazing how much Peter had started to rub off on him, in more ways than one - case in point - the way he could now take note of each and every detail in a persons' face, their posture, their tone. Reading every little clue. Every subtle hint. Peter was right. You could have an entire conversation just by watching the way a person breathed.

It was another few seconds of silence before Harley finally spoke. The anger in his eyes may have subsided slightly, but the irritation in his voice had not.

"...Four months and you didn't notice that I was suddenly radio silent?"

The guilt in his chest bubbled and Tony swallowed with a stern frown. "In case you haven't noticed, kid, I've been a bit busy here," he muttered. "I got a lot on my plate at the moment."

"Yeah. I met the appetizer an hour ago."

He instantly tensed, taking note of the additional hints of bitterness creeping into the teen's voice and quickly felt his body go on edge. He took a breath, straightening up in his seat as he narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. "Peter doesn't have anything to do with this, so don't even start that."

Harley scoffed and jumped down from his spot on the table. "No, you know what? Let's keep on him. Cause the cold shoulder from you isn't even that out of the ordinary the more I think about it. You've always been a douche. That's nothing new. What's new is this kid you're so suddenly obsessed with." He chuckled, the sound cold and mocking. "You're Tony Stark! You don't do kids!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means the first time I met you, you called me a pussy and demanded I make you a tuna sandwich."

"...Fair enough. Go on."

Harley rolled his eyes and waved a hand. "Anyway, this story about some 'internship program' you made up is one hundred percent false, isn't it?"

Tony gritted his teeth. "I-"

"Yes it is, don't even try to deny it!" He watched Harley pace back and forth in front of him, his movements wild and expressive, just like the kid himself. So unlike Peter, he realized.

"In the years I've known you, I've learned that there are a few things in this world that you feel an unreasonable amount of hatred towards. Peppermint-scented hand sanitizer, guys who look and sound like Steve Rogers, and interns."

The teen pursed his lips and jutted his chin out with a snide sense of confidence. "And if I were a billionaire asshat who was thinking of starting an internship program I know I'd hate, the very least I'd do is select an applicant I already know and can work semi-well with. Which is exactly what you didn't do cause guess what?" The sarcastic snark of his voice fell away, leaving bare anger in its place. "I didn't know anything about it!"

"That's what this is? You're mad I didn't pick you?"

"I'm mad that you keep lying to me!"

Tony jolted a bit at that and furrowed his brows but didn't respond. Harley held his stare for a second longer before turning away with a growl of frustration. The billionaire took a breath, felt himself beginning to get annoyed but tried to push it back down. If there was anything he'd learned from Peter, it was that rising to a teenager's anger was never a good move.

"This kid isn't your intern. And you hid your involvement with him for as long as you could. And there's a reason for that, isn't there? Probably a stupid reason but a reason nonetheless."

But goddamn did this kid love to push his buttons.

"Is he your son?"

"No."

"A spy, then? Keeping tabs on your competitors?"

"No, listen-."

"Is he another alien?"

"Harley-!"

"Is he an Avenger?"

"Enough already!" Tony stood from his seat as he finally began to raise his voice. Screw it. This wasn't Peter he was dealing with. He didn't have to tread carefully with what he said or how he said it. Harley could dish it out. And he could certainly take it right back. "My business with this kid is exactly that: my business! Meaning it doesn't have anything to do with you so go ahead and stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong!"

Harley reared back, looking like all the world had just offended him. He clenched his fists. "Are you serious right now?!"

"I couldn't be more serious right now!"

"I'm just trying to-"

"No. You know what?" Tony lifted his hands and pushed the chair back, stepping around it as he turned towards the door. "I'm done with this conversation. I don't know what you're doing here but we're finished."

"Tony-"

"I don't know why you're so concerned about this."

"Listen-"

"I know teenagers are hormonal and egotistical and whatever, but this shit doesn't involve you in the slightest. And you have absolutely no say in this matter!"

"I know. That's not what this is-!"

"I don't even know why you're angry. I mean, why would I tell you about all this shit in the first place, Harley?!"

"Because I'm your FRIEND!"

Tony stopped, both his jaw and his footsteps locking in place as he quickly whipped around, ready to continue the argument based on the tone of voice Harley had used. This readiness died when he saw the teen's face however.

When his words finally began to sink in.

Harley wasn't clenching his fists in anger anymore. He wasn't doing anything in anger anymore, for there didn't seem to be any left. Instead, he let out a frustrated huff and awkwardly rubbed at his arm, shuffling his weight back and forth between both feet as his face scrunched and his cheeks reddened, not with rage, but with…embarrassment?

Tony straightened up and felt his own anger drain away.

"And I figured...as your friend, you'd want to tell me." Harley's voice was softer now. Less sure of itself. Very unlike his usual manner of speaking. "I mean, if I suddenly found a new billionaire buddy to start hanging around with, you'd be the first person I'd tell. A) because I'd love to watch you get all jealous, and B) because...there's no one else to tell."

The teen seemed to hesitate for a second before letting out a sigh. And with it, the rest of the fight also seemed to leave his body, for he quickly leaned back up against the work bench from before, pressing his hands into the cold metal steel as he stared down at the floor.

"Look, I know we don't really run in the same circles and if things in the past had worked out...differently, you and I wouldn't even know each other. But we do. And for the most part...I'm glad we do." He kept his gaze on the floor, but Tony could see the small smile beginning to work onto his face. "I like having you around to bounce ideas off of, joke around with. I don't need to hold anything back with you cause you can take it just as well as I can. Hell, my own mom probably doesn't know me half as well as you do at this point."

He lifted a hand and ran it through the strands of golden hair falling around the edges of his face. "And I get it, okay? I'm a kid who doesn't know what he's talking about. But that doesn't mean I don't have anything to say." He lifted his head at this, face taking on an almost wounded look. "And it doesn't mean I don't have any good ideas."

Tony held his gaze for a second before letting out a little breath, shoulders loosening as he softened his stare. "I know you do, Harley," he said gently.

The teen's lips thinned, jaw tensing for a second as his fingers fiddled with the edge of the table. "So...why didn't you tell me anything?"

He said it quietly, void of any accusatory tones, ringing with only an echo of hurt.

And maybe once upon a time, Tony wouldn't have cared. He'd probably have shrugged the kid off and waved him away, disregarding the sad look in his eyes and the dejected tone of his voice as not-his-problem and refocusing back in on whatever inane shit he'd have planned.

But that was before he'd met Peter.

And that was before he'd learned just how weighty his words could be to a teenager looking for approval.

He watched Harley continue to fiddle with his fingers, purposely keeping his gaze anywhere but on Tony and the billionaire almost kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. Harley had always been a pretty open kid, even when he was younger, never shying away from saying exactly what was on his mind. It was one of the things Tony respected most about him. But the one thing he was always purposely vague about was his social life, specifically school and the kids back home. He never mentioned friends, aside from the occasional self-deprecating joke about having none.

(Which Tony was beginning to realize weren't so much jokes as they were statements of fact.)

It wasn't much of a surprise, honestly. People like him, like Peter - they never really had much luck when it came to the social aspect of life. Science, mathematics, all of that came as easy as breathing. Navigating interpersonal waters was a much rougher sea to sail. And the red cheeks and flustered fidgeting of the kid before him reminded him all too well of the nagging ache that came with it.

Tony was Harley's only friend. And he'd been ignoring him for months.

He wasn't jealous. He wasn't angry. He was lonely.

The billionaire swallowed and slowly walked back over towards the work tables, grabbing the chair from before and taking a seat once again. "This is a lot more complicated than anybody knows, Harley. And you were right about one thing. You're a kid. A stubborn, annoying little shit of a kid, but a kid nonetheless. And I don't want to be wrapping you up in my bullshit."

Harley didn't get angry at this, didn't even turn to argue. Instead, he just sniffed and scratched at his cheek, throwing the man a small smile. "Come on, Tony, don't give me that. You know bullshit's my specialty. I get that from you. "

The man paused for a second before huffing and slowly cracking his own small smile.

"Look, it's not like you need to come to me for answers," the teen continued, hopping down from his seat on the table and walking over. "I'm just the dumbass you vent to and share stupid memes with. And I like being that. I know I don't have the answers nor am I pretending I do. You have plenty of responsible adults to turn to for that. And honestly, if you're coming to a teenager like me for advice, then there's definitely something wrong with you."

Tony rolled his eyes.

"I'm just here to...I don't know, make things a little easier." He reached the table and grabbed the chair opposite Tony, slowly sliding down to face him. When he looked up, his smile was softer this time. Genuine. "Cause that's what you do for me. Make things...a little easier."

Tony said nothing at that. Just took note of the smile on the kid's face and felt a strange sense of pleasure at the sight of it. The man hesitated for a second longer before rapping his knuckle against the table below and leaning back in his chair, absentmindedly pulling out his phone again. He brought up the settings for the vetting system and quickly removed Harley from the block. Immediately the phone began to vibrate with the barrage of messages beginning to flood through.

"Damn. Two hundred messages. You're one clingy boyfriend."

"Fuck off. Sorry for being worried about you, dipshit."

Tony smiled, shoulders bouncing a bit as he chuckled. "...It's good to see you, Harls."

The teen hummed in response, but didn't reply with any snarky comment like he usually would at any displays of affection. It was obviously something he needed to hear, so much so that he couldn't afford to taint it with jokes.

Jesus. When had teenagers gotten so complicated?

"So, you never told me what you're doing here in the city." He waved a hand at his phone. "And I'm definitely not scrolling through this mess to find out."

Harley sniffed and leaned back in his chair, propping one leg overtop the other. "You remember that guy my mom was dating a while back?"

"No."

"Great. Well, they got hitched."

Tony leaned back in his own chair, cocking a brow as a crooked smile worked onto his face. "Seriously? When did that happen?"

"Five months ago, give or take. They'd been dating in secret for about a year. Didn't tell me and Lily until they started to get real serious." He sniffed and flicked at the puff ball hanging from the ends of his hat. Tony made a mental note to ask about it later. "Anyway, he got a job down at the precinct on 23rd street and he wanted us to come with him. So…here I am." He shrugged. 'Honestly, it's whatever. Beats Rose Hill any day of the week. More crime. More drugs. What a place to raise a family."

Tony squinted his eyes and scratched at his chin. "Oh, wait, wait. Is this the same dorky deputy you told me about?"

"That's him."

"Heh, police officer for a stepdad, huh. Am I to assume you're always on your best behavior around him?"

Harley scoffed and let a devious smirk slide onto his face. "I'm a model child."

 

("…a model of perfect behavior.")

 

Tony stiffened. He felt the air in his lungs seize with one sudden breath, lodging somewhere in his chest as the memories of that conversation flooded through his head. The smug grin. The burning glare. The stiff, unfettered rage that had burned in his chest. Parker's eyes.

Those dark, empty, black eyes.

It's not like that.

Relax.

Everything's fine.

("There's nothing, Mr. Stark. Everything's fine!")

Peter's fine.

Harley's fine.

He'd have said otherwise.

He'd-

("Please just drop it, Mr. Stark! Please, I-! I can't tell you!")

"Tony?"

He jolted, the lump in his throat, sliding down with a sickening thud as he blinked back into reality and focused in on Harley once more. The teen was staring at him with a twisted grin, questioning and curious.

"You spacing out on me? Geez, I didn't know I was that boring."

He took a breath, took another as he noticed the slight shiver of his hand under the desk. In that split second, he did another once-over, another stare, another scan of the kid before him. No bruises. No shifting or fidgeting. No guarding or winces. Nothing outright. Nothing obvious.

Breathe.

"This guy…what's he like?"

Harley, who had taken the second of silence to glance down at his phone, gave a little humored huff. "Why?"

("I…I need to know how to keep you happy…")

"…Just curious."

Harley tapped around on his phone and gave a one-shoulder shrug. "He's…pretty unremarkable, honestly. Tall, skinny, looks like a high school math teacher that gets bullied by his own students. He even wears sweater vests on his days off. Unbelievable."

Tony gave a little nod, took another breath, hot and muggy. He kept his gaze firm on Harley, watching his movements, his posture as he spoke. "Is he nice?"

"Hmm?"

"To you…"

("…He was just so angry.")

"Is he nice to you?"

Now Harley looked up, lowering his phone as his brows knitted together. Tony tried to keep his face casual, tried to keep his voice light. The shake in his hand lessened slightly but did not disappear completely and he suddenly had the strong desire to go and find Peter, if only to lay his eyes on the kid and assure himself that he was still alright.

It was obvious Harley had noticed the change, if only in the way he hesitated a second before finally replying. But he thankfully didn't comment on Tony's strange mannerisms. "Sure, I guess." He seemed to ponder for a moment before letting another loose smile slip onto his face. "It's funny, actually. It's obvious the guy's trying to get on my good side, taking an interest in my hobbies, bringing me home subs after his shifts, the whole stepdad thing. He's pretty terrified of me, which I'm not too upset about, but…"

He paused, seemed to think about something for a second before the smile on his face morphed. It wasn't forced, Tony noticed. Wasn't even strained. In fact, it almost looked resigned. Accepting in a way. "But yeah…he's a good guy. Makes my mom happy and my sister basically adores him, so yeah. Could definitely be worse."

Tony stared at him, watched as the kid seemed to think over his words for a second before turning his attention back down to his phone. He knew what to look for now. Knew the tells and the signs, the subtle keys and clues that could give something away. Peter was a pro at hiding them, but Tony knew how to fish them out, knew when the kid was lying about something big.

Harley wasn't showing his tells. Which meant Harley was telling the truth.

Which meant Harley was safe.

Which meant Tony could breathe again.

He let the puff of air softly escape through the side of his mouth before giving a little nod of approval. Harley seemed to notice this from the corner of his eye and leaned back in his chair once again, tilting his head in jest. "Sounds like Mr. Stark's gotten a little overprotective. Can I count on you to back me up if he ever steps out of line?"

The billionaire ran a hand through his hair and let out a little sigh. "Not that I'm condoning the use of Iron Man as your personal attack dog, but sure. Let's go with that."

"Awesome. I'm definitely threatening him with that when I get home."

"What did I just say?"

 

---

 

It didn't take long to show Harley the latest improvements around the lab and everything that had changed in the two years since he'd last visited. The expansion on the second floor, the improvements to the arc energy cores, the latest suit models and the plans for the newest upgrades. In fact, it probably took longer to drag him away from Dum-e and U, both of whom were very happy to see their old friend and accomplice in mischief again.

"Damn, this kid's way smarter than me, isn't he?" Harley said as he stared at the mini arc reactor Peter had made months ago, eyes gleaming with interest as he stared through the protective glass. "Fourteen, right? Is he in college yet?"

"Nah, still in baby school just like you. Probably finds it just as boring as you do." Tony didn't turn as he spoke, gathering together a few files he'd left out on the spare work benches in the corner of the lab. He kept his ears perked for the sounds of any stray explosions, though. Could never be too careful when Harley was in the lab.

"Remind me later to show you some of the latest blueprints the kid and I are working on. We've hit a bit of a dead end and a fresh pair of eyes never hurts."

"Ehh, I don't know how much help I'll be. You two are leagues ahead of me when it comes to this shit." Harley gave a shrug. "Besides, I've been getting more into the earth sciences recently."

"Seriously? Since when?"

"Since I got a guinea pig and had to do two weeks of research just to figure out how to keep him alive."

Tony rolled his eyes and used the toe of his foot to pull out the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. "I'll hold my tongue for now, but you know how I feel about the 'fleshy sciences'. Just keep it away from me and we'll be all good." He slid the files into place, pulled out a fresh pack, and slammed the drawers shut, wiping his hands on his shirt as he turned and walked further into the room. "Regardless, come look at these designs anyway. Maybe I'll be able to corrupt you back onto the path of good science and away from the rat poking, rock polishing, waste that is Earth Sciences. God, I can't even say it without grimacing. God, this must be one hell of a guinea pig to move you to…kid?"

Harley didn't respond. Didn't even turn around to acknowledge him, for his eyes were drawn to something on the far wall. Tony furrowed his brows and strode over, slowing in his pace as his eyes finally caught sight of what the kid was so focused on.

In the back of the lab sat a little nook tucked into the corner, complete with an ugly green couch, a few pillows and even a mini fridge filled with a few snacks and drinks for whenever he forgot to note the time and missed meals. And hanging on the wall above the couch sat a few framed photos, miscellaneous, ridiculous pictures that Rhodey, Pepper, Happy and even a few of his teammates had hung over the years: The Avenger's News Years party, Rhodey and Tony's MIT graduation, candids of Happy harassing the janitorial staff, and…a frame of him and Peter sitting on a curb outside Delmar's sandwiches in hand and smiles on their faces.

He stopped beside Harley and stared at the photo for a moment. "Forgot Pepper had that thing made"

Harley said nothing, just stood and stared at the picture hanging on the wall. It was hard to read his face, his expression showing nothing but thoughtful curiosity. It was a few moments before anybody spoke again.

"There's a lot you can't tell me about this kid…isn't there?"

Tony hesitated for a moment before stuffing his hands into his pockets. "It's not because I don't trust you, Harley. It's just…"

"-Complicated. Yeah, you said that earlier."

"They're not my secrets to tell," he murmured, gazing back at the smiling photo of Peter chatting away. "And I can't betray his trust like that. It took a lot to earn it in the first place."

. . .

. . .

. . .

"You're a dick, Tony."

"…Thank you?"

Harley turned. "No, I mean…you can be a dick sometimes, but you're not selfish."

At this, Tony turned too.

"Whatever's going on with this kid…you're not doing it for you. I saw those articles online, all those posts from people wondering if this kid's some pawn in a game between you and Parkstem Labs." Harley pursed his lips, the edges turning downward. "I know that's bullshit. I know you wouldn't do something like that. Nor would you be dumb enough to fall for a scam."

He took a breath and slowly turned his head back towards the picture, strands of blond hair sticking out from underneath his hat, tickling his forehead and the tips of his ears. "Whatever you're doing with this kid…you're doing it for him, aren't you?"

Tony shuffled forward, reaching out to grab the bottom edge of the picture and pulling it closer. How long had it been since that photo was taken? Two months? Three? It almost felt like years had passed since those early days. Back when talking to Peter had been so difficult and a simple hello was like pulling teeth out of the shy kid. That day had been different. That day, Peter had been so….happy. Probably for the first time in a long time.

Tony sighed, gently repositioned the frame and plopped down on the musty couch below. "It really is complicated, Harls."

Harley let out a little hum at this but said nothing more. He squinted his eyes at the picture once more and readjusted the hat on his head, yanking down on the pull-strings hanging by his ears and finally folding his arms overtop his chest.

"…What's he like?"

Tony, who had gone to resting his head against the lip of the couch with closed eyes, let out a grunt. "Hmm?"

"The kid." Harley shuffled around Tony and jumped onto the couch beside him, the billionaire huffing in annoyance at the movements. Keener spared it no mind. "I only talked to him for about an hour or so, and that was after I basically ambushed him in a back-alley dumpster, so that kinda sours the experience." He turned to look up at Tony. "From what I gathered, he seemed pretty…shy. Quiet. Very…very different from you and I."

"He is…at first." Tony thought for a moment before resting his elbow on the armrest and waving his hand. "But if you can get him talking, he'll never stop. And he'll amaze you with just how much he knows. I'm willing to be this kid'll be smarter than me in less than ten years. Hell, he might just be smarter than me now and doesn't even know it. And he won't brag about it, either. I can't remember the last time he took a compliment without turning into a stuttering mess, but he honestly deserves every word of it. If you ever see him in action, you'll be mesmerized by just how fast this kid works. And all in his head too. In fact, there was one time where…" he trailed off, noticing the wide-eyed stare of the kid next to him.

"…What?"

"Sorry, I just…need to make sure I wasn't dreaming."

"Why?"

"Cause it almost sounded like you were…bragging about this kid."

He reared back. "What? No!"

"Dude, you sounded just like my mom whenever she shows me off to her book club friends. Oh, my son did this. My son did that. It's funny…" He smiled, staring down at the floor for a second before aiming a sly grin over at Tony. "You really like this kid, don't you?"

Tony scoffed, hoping the sound would mask the subtle heat rising in the back of his neck and the stuttering denials he nearly broke out. "Is that jealousy I sense, Keener?" he muttered with a pointed defensiveness to his tone.

The teen rolled his eyes. "Hardly. I already got one overprotective parent riding my ass. I don't need to add you to the mix. This kid can have you all to himself. Sounds like he needs you more than I do anyway."

The lightheartedness ebbed at that, replaced instead with the heavy reminders of reality that Tony had been forgetting during their chat. He rested his elbows down against his knees and folded his hands together, jaw tightening ever so slightly as he let out a breath.

"Listen, Harls. I don't want you prodding at Peter for information on this, alright? I know how you are. You don't beat around the bush and with me, that's fine. I respect that. But Peter's…different. He won't react well to questions on this."

"Is he violent?"

"No, not at all. He'd probably cry if you killed an ant. He just…"

("Whatever you want. Whatever you want from me, I'll do it. You just have to say it. You just have to tell me.")

"He doesn't know how to say no to people. Not really. And I don't want you taking advantage of that just to fish for intel, okay?"

For the first time in a while, Harley looked upset. Offended. "Jeez, man. What do you take me for? I know I can be a dick sometimes, but I'm not a total asshole. At least not to people who don't deserve it."

"So, why are you a jerk to me all the time?"

"I said people who don't deserve it."

Tony rolled his eyes.

Harley waved a hand in a reassurance and patted the man on the shoulder. "You can relax. I'm not going to hurt your little intern."

"I know you won't. Just…"

"Just being overprotective again." Harley gave a little chuckle, the frown melting into another smile. "It's not a bad look on you, old man."

Tony muttered something under his breath and shoved the kid away, Harley cackling with a devilish grin.

It'd been a while since he'd heard that laugh.

Tony had to admit…he was glad to have it back.

"You know…if you're looking to get back into the social game, you couldn't ask for a better friend than Peter." He smiled, glancing over at the teen sitting next to him. He reached over and looped an arm around the boy's shoulders. "He's a sweet kid. You'll like him. And he'll like you. He likes everyone." His smile dimmed. "Unfortunately."

Harley didn't seem to notice, for he merely wiggled free of the man's hold and folded his arms under his head before leaning into the couch and shutting his eyes with a content little sigh.

"Oh please. I already like him. Just look at what he's done to you. Kid's practically a miracle worker."

 

---

 

SWOOSH

"Hey, Parker!"

"Gha!"

"Nice room, man. Anyway, books down! You're walking me home cause I don't remember how to get back! So, chop, chop, I'll be waiting downstairs."

SWOOSH

"I…uh…"

SWOOSH

"Mr. Stark! Uh, is this-?"

"Just go with it, kid. I'm borrowing your Tylenol by the way."

"Are you sure? It's the extra strength stuff Dr. Torres gave me."

"Yeah, I know."

SWOOSH

 

---

 

"This is Hunter. Reporting in from junction 32-B."

"Copy that. He's leaving the Tower now. Can't get a visual from inside but they're heading out through the back parking lot. Be advised. Pupa is accompanied by an additional boy. Young. Fifteen, sixteen years old."

"Great. Any info on mystery kid?"

"Working on it now."

"I'm sure we'd know a lot more if we could actually get a fucking camera inside that stupid tower."

"Boss is working on it."

"Well, he needs to work faster."

"Hey-"

"I know. I know. Don't doubt Mr. Big Shot. Whatever….Heads up, Pupa is heading north. Approaching the west-end intersection."

"Affirmative. You're cleared to engage."

"Copy."

"Maintain distance. Keep a positive visual but don't be seen. Not yet, at least."

"...I know what I'm doing."

 

---

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

(You know that feeling?)

(Where the hairs on the back of your neck start to stand on end and your skin begins to tingle? That funny little itch you can't really scratch. Makes your muscles hurt. Like you just finished a marathon. Like you can't breathe.)

(It's that same feeling you'd get when you were a kid playing with your parents things or looking at a cheat sheet while the teacher roamed around the exam room, doing things you knew you weren't supposed to do.)

(Naughty things.)

(The feeling of fear that would shoot down your back. Make you sick to your stomach. Your whole body tensing. Stiff and uncomfortable. Afraid to turn, afraid to look around. Afraid to go through with it.)

(I'm sure you do.)

(Everybody's been stared at before.)

(Everybody knows the feeling of being watched.)

(But I liked to consider myself an expert on the subject.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Because I was always being watched.)

 

. . .

 

"No way…they brought the whole water tower down?"

Harley grinned, taking another bite of the hot dog in hand as he shrugged his shoulders. He maneuvered the food around his mouth as he continued to speak. "Yep. Flooded the whole street and a couple of the nearby businesses. Tony paid for the repair costs, of course. And covered the bill for a new water tower."

Peter nodded his head as the pair walked, ducking under an arm as they maneuvered through the busy New York crowds and bustling sidewalks. He thought for a second before pursing his lips and giving a smirk. "Let me guess. He made it red and gold."

"Complete with a picture of Iron Man's face etched onto the side." Harley crumped the wrapper and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. "At least it matched the school colors."

It was late afternoon. A good while past lunchtime but still too early for the nearby businesses to let out. Peter knew it'd be best to get Harley home before five, though. Even a seasoned veteran had trouble pushing through the homeward bound commuters of a New York sidewalk during rush hour.

"I remember watching the news when all that Extremis stuff happened. I was only…11, I think."

His neck prickled. He rubbed at it.

"God, I still remember the report they made when his California mansion got destroyed. Everyone saying he was dead."

Harley sniffed, stuffing his now free hands down into his pockets as he lazily tilted a head in Peter's direction. "You didn't believe it, did you?"

"I don't think so. I remember being really worried, though. Can't even imagine what it was like meeting him during all of that."

"Yeah, he was a mess. Lucky for him, he had me to save his ass."

Peter smiled, sparing an absentminded glance at the street signs on the corner and quickly orienting himself to where they were. Another block on this street, then a turn at the corner of 31st and Main should get them close to-

 

(DANGER.)

 

. . .

 

(I was five the first time I started to notice it.)

(How everything I said or did…my father always knew before I could say a word.)

 

. . .

 

"You know, I didn't even tell you about how billionaire genius left little twelve-year-old me alone with his multi-million-dollar prototype suit as he went spelunking across state lines. Had it hooked to the same car battery that charged our tractor. I mean, come on! I guess this IS the same guy who built his first suit in a cave so he's nothing if not adaptive."

Harley smiled and prattled on without a care in the world.

Peter really wished he could listen.

How he hated to be rude.

Slowly, he began to scan the crowds. It was easy to tell when he was being watched. Much harder to pinpoint where the eyes were hiding. Where the signal was coming from. It was like trying to find a needle in a pile of broken glass, every inch prickly and dangerous. Who was it? Where were they? How many? One? Two? A group? An army?

What did I do this time?

 

. . .

 

(He knew about Mr. Dickens, my kindergarten class's substitute teacher. A short, balding man with a round face, bushy beard, and flushed cheeks. Knew what he looked like before I could tell him how he reminded me of Santa Clause. He knew about what I brought for show and tell despite my best efforts to keep it a secret. I remember wanting to surprise him. Wanted the whole class to know how cool my father was by bringing in one of his butterfly models. A Lotis Blue, trapped behind an inch and a half of thick glass and sturdy wooden frames.)

(He even knew about the stories I'd eventually tell the janitor, Mr. Jenkins, a small little man with wispy gray hair, round glasses and a kind smile - wild crazed imaginations of a child hopped up on sugar, spinning a tale of a dark, dangerous household with evil creatures lurking beneath the floorboards.)

(I got in a lot of trouble for that one.)

(I also never saw Mr. Jenkins again.)

 

. . .

 

He was acutely aware of Harley continuing to rant beside him, made it a point to keep the teen in the corner of his eye. It was unlikely his father's spies would do anything to him in such a public area. But better safe than sorry. And he was not about to let Harley be an unwitting victim of his father's schemes.

 

(DANGER.)

 

He winced. The ache in his neck intensified, a million burning needles poking through his skin, shooting up his spine, electrifying his very bones.

Where?

Where?

Across the street. Two windows up. Behind them. Above them. Everywhere-

 

(DANGER.)

 

"So, anyway, I don't know where this candy came from, had to be some serious black market shit cause I was seeing time and space when Tony finally calls in and-"

"Sorry!"

Harley jumped. Peter did too when he finally realized the voice he'd just heard was his own. He blinked back into reality and tried real hard to focus his jittering nerves onto the kid before him. He forced a smile onto his face. Didn't have to force the nervousness in his voice. That was all too real.

"Sorry, but I….I just realized I promised Ned I'd pick him up something from Delmar's and they're closing up soon so I need to, uh…I need to…get back there." He made a point of checking his watch. His arm was shaking. "Um…do you think…can you find your way back home from here, or-"

Harley blinked at him, obviously surprised at the sudden jitters. He tilted his head and squinted his eyes a bit before sparing a glance up at the street sign above their heads. "Nah…" he said slowly. "I, uh…I know where I am now. My place is just around this block."

"Good. That's…t-that's good. I, uh…sorry."

 

(DANGER.)

 

(DANGER.)

 

(GET HIM AWAY.)

 

"It's ah….it's alright." Harley was definitely giving him a strange look. The teen hoped he was just weirded out by Peter's nervous mannerisms and wasn't actually suspicious. He couldn't afford to have him stick around any longer.

Maybe he was just annoyed.

Peter tended to do that to people.

He swallowed, forced himself to keep his eyes from drifting over the nearby crowds. "I'm really sorry, Harley. I know I'm…spazzy."

 

. . .

 

(At first, I thought my dad was magic. That he could see and hear everything no matter how far I went or how softly I whispered my secrets. I remember thinking it was cool, at first.)

(Then I remember thinking it was not so cool when Sarah Collins offered me her extra graham crackers and I hesitated, wondering if my father could somehow see into our cafeteria, watching me nearly accept an offering of free food I had not earned.)

( That was also around the time when I stopped talking much in class. When I stopped talking pretty much… altogether.)

 

. . .

 

Surprisingly, the other teen gave a quick shake of his head and held out his hands. "Hey, no. Don't worry abut it." He didn't rush to make a joke as Peter had expected. Though perhaps he had, and Peter had just missed it. His ears were perked again, listening for anything out of place. Anything that wasn't supposed to be there. He turned and scanned the street.

Dogwalker.

Peddler.

Homeless man.

Harley-

"You alright?" The teen asked as he stepped back into Peter's line of sight. His face was twisted into a frown. "You look…nervous."

"I'm fine."

 

(Rule # !#-)

 

He winced.

Harley's frown remained. As did he.

"Are you sure? Cause I can stay…if you'd like."

At this, Peter turned his gaze away from the surrounding people and over towards Harley. The teen was a bit taller than him so he had to tilt his eyes upwards to meet his gaze.

It was soft.

Concerned.

….How strange.

Peter hesitated for a second before giving a little smile. He decided in that moment that he really, really wanted Harley to leave.

 

(DANGER.)

 

Especially if it meant they'd see each other again. Safe and sound.

"I'm…I'm okay. I'm alright. But, um…" he furrowed his brows, angling his gaze towards the ground. This was the part he was not so good at. "We could…we could meet up again…if you'd like. I mean, I don't, um…you're probably busy since you just moved in and all and I…err actually you'd probably prefer to be with Mr. Stark and like, duh, who wouldn't, but um…just…yeah. O-offer stands."

Jeez, Parker. No wonder you only have two friends.

Harley, however, did not seem to mind the awkwardness of Peter's gesture, for the teen gave a big smile before seeming to correct himself, clearing his throat as he wiped away the grin and replaced it instead with a more casual shoulder shrug. "Heh…I guess we can, if you want."

The smile eventually won out and Peter couldn't help but match the look with one of his own. He swallowed the churning in his stomach, curled his toes against the prickling of his skin and gave Harley a wave as the teen turned and began to make his way across the street.

"I guess I'll see you around, Peter Parker. Keep an eye on Tony for me, yeah?"

 

(FIND IT.)

 

(FIND IT.)

 

(WATCHING.)

 

"Right. B-, uh…bye, Harley."

It wasn't until the teen turned the corner and disappeared from Peter's line of sight that he finally narrowed his eyes and pushed through the crowds, pressing his hands into the nearest wall and flattening himself against it.

 

. . .

 

( My dad wasn't magic.. He didn't have eyes and ears everywhere.)

 

. . .

 

(DANGER.)

 

(DANGER.)

 

(EVERYWHERE.)

 

No.

Not everywhere.

Find it, Peter.

 

. . .

 

(He WAS everywhere.)

 

. . .

 

It was getting to be hard to concentrate now. The pounding overtop his skin was beginning to work up to his head, blasting beneath his eyes, chattering his teeth. Whatever was watching him, it was big. And it was deadly. His senses only ever chirped this much at home, down in the labs, under the watchful gazes of the Cons and his father.

 

. . .

 

(In every person I saw, every face I smiled at, every voice I spoke to…he was there. Lurking within them.)

 

. . .

 

He took a breath, ignored the confused, weirded out stares of the people passing him by. They didn't count. They didn't know. Further. Push out further. Listen. Find it.

 

. . .

 

(It's hard to know for sure who's working for him nowadays. Some are good at hiding it. Some are obvious. Those don't stay around for long. He likes the sneaky ones, the ones that don't leave any trace of their existence, the ones you'd never expect to associate with him. A bus driver. A school resource officer. The secretary for the local police department. The neighbor three doors down.)

(A friend.)

(All of them….nothing but eyes. Nothing but ears.)

(Nothing but his pretty little spies watching his perfect little son.)

 

. . .

 

He shut his eyes.

Pressed his fingers into the wall.

And breathed.

 

. . .

 

(I wish I'd known at the time.)

(What I was getting myself into.)

 

. . .

 

Whatever it was, it was cold.

And it was dark.

A looming dread that stained the streets and darkened the skies, corrupting the bodies around him, scratching the building walls, cracking the roads, the sidewalks, the bricks and stones underfoot.

 

. . .

 

(What kind of evil I would face.)

 

. . .

 

He could feel his lungs shrinking, the air crystalizing. A painful burning with each breath, the same cold snap of below freezing weather, where each movement hurts and every blink elicits a wince of pain.

Someone was out there.

 

. . .

 

(And through it all, even to this day, I still wonder...)

 

. . .

 

Something.

Inhuman.

Cold.

Ice.

Monster.

 

 

 

 

 

Where?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Peter opened his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Johanna smiled back at him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(What would have happened if I'd never crossed that street?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(If I'd never met her.)