Peter tiptoed into Tony’s old lab, barely able to hold back a grin as he watched Harley working intently on some device. He moved closer, adjusting his steps to avoid any loose cables and tools scattered on the floor. Right when he was about to reach Harley’s shoulder, Harley said, “You’re about as quiet as a bull in a china shop, Spider-Boy.”
Peter deflated. “Hey, I totally had you!”
“Sure, you did,” Harley replied, smirking as he set down his tools. “Now, help me with this mess.”
They started organising the parts in an attempt at cleaning, but it quickly turned into a competition. Harley insisted that Peter was arranging things the “wrong way,” and Peter argued that Harley’s method was “a mess disguised as organisation.” It wasn’t long before they were throwing crumpled paper and mock-insulting each other.
“You’re hopeless,” Harley said, rolling his eyes after Peter accidentally knocked a screwdriver to the floor.
“Me? You’re the one who’s messy!” Peter retorted, laughing as he grabbed a rag and flicked it at Harley.
Without warning, Harley retaliated by grabbing a nearby spray bottle and giving Peter a light misting. “Oops. Just trying to cool you off, Webhead.”
That turned into an all-out mock battle until they collapsed into laughter on the floor, surrounded by the mess they were supposed to be cleaning. As they caught their breath, Harley noticed Peter’s hand trembling slightly, and his laughter quieted. He thought about asking, but the moment seemed too light to break with heavy questions. Instead, he grabbed Peter’s wrist, steadying his hand. “Dude, we’re not cleaning up this time. I call it the winner's privilege.”
Peter snorted. “Fine, but next time, you’re so cleaning up.”
---
Peter and Harley walked down the busy city sidewalk, debating what toppings to get on their pizza. Harley argued for pepperoni and extra cheese, while Peter campaigned for something “a little different” with pineapple: “The superior topping.”
Just then, Peter noticed movement out of the corner of his eye—a shadow flickering in an alleyway, and the atmosphere shifted. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead as he stared down the dark passageway, memories of too many fights, too many shadows in too many alleys, rushing back. His spider-sense tingled, a warning like a web tingling when a fly lands in a web. His eyes locked onto the alleyway where his prey was.. His hands shook. He clenched his fists, ready for a fight.
Harley was mid-sentence when he noticed Peter had gone silent, his expression distant and tense. Without making a big deal of it, Harley stepped in front of Peter, effectively blocking his view of the alley. He kept his voice casual, lacing it with playful sarcasm. “Hey, you zoned out, so now you’re paying for the pizza.”
Peter blinked, his gaze coming back to Harley’s face as he processed what was happening. Glancing at the alley, no one was there. His senses calmed. Harley grinned, exaggeratedly patting his pockets. “Yup, all out of cash. Guess it’s your treat.”
Peter finally managed a small laugh, shaking off the chill. He’d been slipping back into the past, but Harley’s teasing tone had pulled him back to the present. “Fine,” Peter replied, smiling weakly. “But if you make me pay, I’m ordering pineapple just to spite you.”
“Oh, you’re asking for a fight now, Parker,” Harley shot back, nudging him as they continued down the street. Harley didn’t bring up what he’d noticed in Peter’s expression, sensing that he’d helped without making it a big deal—and that was exactly what Peter needed.
---
Later that night, Harley was up tinkering with a small gadget when he heard the creak of the door leading to the rooftop. He looked up and saw Peter stepping out, his shoulders slumped. Curiosity and concern piqued, Harley grabbed a spare hoodie and followed him.
Peter was sitting on the edge, staring out into the city, lost in thought. Harley hesitated before joining him, sliding down beside him on the cold rooftop floor. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked up at the stars.
After a few minutes, Harley broke the silence with a random fact he’d read somewhere. “Did you know that technically, there are about 500 visible stars to the naked eye? Just random dots, but each one is a sun in another galaxy.”
Peter looked over, cracking a tiny smile. “Thanks for the astronomy lesson, Einstein.”
“Just thought you could use a distraction,” Harley replied with a shrug. “Guessed I’d do you a favour and nerd out a little.”
Peter let out a sigh, his smile fading. “It’s… It’s hard, Harley. Sometimes, it feels like it’ll never be enough. All the people I couldn’t save...”
Harley nodded, staying quiet for a moment before answering. “I get that. Tony felt like that a lot. Like no matter what he did, it didn’t change the mistakes. But you, you’re doing everything you can—and a lot more than anyone else would do.”
Peter looked down at his hands, which had started trembling again. Harley reached over, putting a steady hand over his. “It’s okay, Pete. You don’t have to be okay all the time. But you’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere.”
They stayed out there until the first hints of morning, Peter feeling just a little lighter with Harley by his side.
---
The next day, Harley showed up at Peter’s apartment with a brown paper bag full of odd items. Peter raised an eyebrow as Harley began laying them out: earplugs, a fidget cube, a small scented candle, and even a tiny notebook.
“What… is all this?” Peter asked, perplexed.
Harley smirked, handing Peter the fidget cube. “It’s called the ‘Spidey Survival Kit.’ Or, as I like to call it, a bag of stuff to chill you out when you need it. I know Tones made you special spider-safe equipment, but these are for the times it is hard, but not blocking all senses hard.”
Peter turned the fidget cube over in his hand, giving Harley a puzzled look. “And you think this is gonna help?”
“Well, you won’t know until you try it, will you?” Harley replied, waggling his eyebrows. “Now, when you’re feeling tense, focus on something here. The cube for fidgeting, the notebook for writing out what’s on your mind, and if all else fails, this candle smells like ‘calmness,’ apparently.”
Peter rolled his eyes but pocketed the items, touched in a way he didn’t show. Harley didn’t try to push him to use it, either; he just left the bag on Peter’s nightstand with a casual, “Trust me, sometimes these things help. Even if they seem ridiculous.”
---
Later that week, after a long, exhausting day, Harley burst into Peter’s room, declaring, “Movie night. No superpowered freaks allowed, except us.”
Peter agreed, letting Harley stack up an assortment of the worst superhero movies they could find. By the third one, they were both in tears of laughter as Harley made snarky comments about every trope and awkward CGI effect.
Halfway through the marathon, as they took a break for snacks, Peter sighed, glancing down. “I miss when things were… simple, you know? I don’t remember the last time I watched a movie without thinking about something lurking in the shadows.”
Harley didn’t dismiss his confession or try to lighten the moment. Instead, he quietly replied, “I get that. There are days I wish I could just be normal too. But look, Pete, we’re in this together. Neither of us has to do it alone. I may not have spider senses, but the media is always there, and as your older brother, I will protect you.”
Peter nodded, appreciating Harley’s sincerity, and even dared to let himself relax a bit more for the rest of the night. They laughed, talked about anything and everything, until they both drifted off with the TV still playing. Harley’s presence was like a quiet reassurance—a reminder that Peter wasn’t alone, even when things were hard.
“Oh, and you are only a few months older, you knob.”
“Older and wiser either way.”
---
Peter was hunched over his laptop in the workshop, tuning out everything around him as he tried to crack the latest code Tony had left him. He had almost figured out the sequence when a sudden blast of music erupted from his headphones, drowning his thoughts in a mix of screeching rock and bizarre farm animal sounds.
“What the—” Peter ripped the headphones off, his heart racing.
Behind him, Harley leaned against the door, biting back a laugh. “Guess you don’t check your headphones before putting them on, huh?”
Peter’s face turned bright red as he put two and two together. “You did not.”
“Oh, I did,” Harley said, grinning widely. “That’s what you get for booby-trapping my toolbox last week. Took me an hour to get all that glitter out.”
Peter tried to look serious but couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Alright, alright, you got me. But this means war, Keener.”
Harley’s eyes gleamed with excitement, and he crossed his arms. “Bring it, Parker.”
Over the next few days, the Tower turned into a battle zone of pranks and counter-pranks. Peter stuffed a fake spider in Harley’s pillow, which led to Harley nearly blasting the thing to pieces with a modified Nerf gun. In retaliation, Harley rewired Peter’s suit so that it blared Baby Shark at max volume every time he activated his web shooters.
Peter was mortified when the “Baby Shark Incident” played out in front of the entire Avengers team, all of whom erupted in laughter. Even Bucky had cracked a rare smile, and Tony had dubbed Peter “Web Shark” for the rest of the week.
But Peter wasn’t going down without a fight.
One morning, Harley woke up to find that Peter had replaced every single one of his T-shirts with identical, neon-green shirts printed with “#1 Fanboy.” Harley walked into the kitchen that morning, wearing the shirt and looking unimpressed.
“Really? Fanboy?”
Peter shrugged, hiding his laughter behind a mug of coffee. “It suits you, don’t you think?”
Harley narrowed his eyes, a smirk creeping across his face. “Oh, you’re dead, Parker. Just wait until I get my hands on your suit next.”
The pranks continued, each more ridiculous than the last. Eventually, though, the “wars” reached a natural ceasefire when Harley ended up duct-taping Peter to the ceiling as his grand finale. Peter was laughing too hard to be mad, and once Harley cut him down, they both collapsed on the couch, catching their breath between fits of laughter.
As they calmed down, Harley looked over at Peter with a hint of warmth in his grin. “Hey, it’s good to see you like this.”
Peter raised an eyebrow, wiping away tears from laughing so hard. “Like what?”
“Happy,” Harley said simply, his voice softer than usual.
Peter blinked, surprised by the sincerity in Harley’s tone. “Thanks, man. Means a lot.”
Harley shrugged, playing it off, but Peter could tell the feeling was mutual. For all the pranks and chaos, they had each other’s backs, no matter what.
---
It was late—too late for anyone else to be in the Tower’s common area. Peter was sitting on the couch, curled up, his knees pulled tightly to his chest. His hands were shaking as he stared at his phone screen, the news headline blaring out from the brightness in the dark room: "Accident Downtown, Spider-Man Saves Dozens in High-Rise Rescue."
It had been a rough night. The building had been unstable, filled with thick, acrid smoke. He could still smell it, even though he’d showered twice to get rid of the stench. He could still hear the children crying, feel the weight of debris pressing against his back, crushing his chest as he held up the crumbling ceiling just long enough to let the family escape.
He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories, but the darkness only intensified them. Flashes of faces, of panicked voices, of dust and concrete scraping against his skin, filled his mind.
“Hey, Pete?”
Peter jolted, his eyes snapping open, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. Harley was standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed in concern.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Harley said softly, holding his hands up in a peaceful gesture. “Just saw the light on.”
Peter shook his head, trying to regain control. “It’s… it’s fine. Just, uh, couldn’t sleep.”
Harley didn’t ask any more questions; he just came over and sat next to Peter on the couch. “Rough night?” he asked gently.
Peter nodded, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance. “Yeah… yeah, something like that.”
They sat in silence for a while, the quiet of the room heavy, but somehow comforting. Harley reached out and placed a steadying hand on Peter’s shoulder, his grip grounding.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Harley offered. “Or… we don’t have to. I can just sit here.”
Peter took a shaky breath, his eyes still trained on his hands. “Sometimes, I… I can’t shake it. It’s like I’m back there, in the rubble. I can hear everything, smell everything.” His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard, struggling to keep his composure. “And I just… I feel like I’m drowning. Like I can’t get out.”
Harley gave a small nod, his hand staying steady on Peter’s shoulder. “Yeah, I get that. When my mom and I lost our house, I used to wake up thinking I was still stuck there. Smoke, ashes, everything.”
Peter looked at him, surprised by the admission. Harley offered him a small, understanding smile.
“It’s not easy,” Harley continued. “But you don’t have to do it alone, okay? I mean… we’re kind of family now, right?”
A lump formed in Peter’s throat, and he nodded, swallowing hard. “Thanks, Harley. I don’t say it enough, but… thank you.”
Harley squeezed his shoulder, his expression warm. “Anytime, man. You’ve got me. And hey—next time you’re feeling like that, just call. We can stay up and eat a ridiculous amount of junk food, or talk, or sit in silence. Whatever helps.”
Peter managed a small, grateful smile, his breathing evening out. Somehow, just knowing Harley was there, someone who understood in his own way, made the weight on Peter’s chest feel a little lighter. He wasn’t alone in this—and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to get him through the hardest nights.
---
Peter and Harley were locked in a fierce battle on the Tower’s giant TV, controllers in hand as they focused intensely on the screen. The Avengers had been kind enough to gift them some downtime, and both of them had instantly decided that tonight was perfect for a no-holds-barred gaming tournament.
“Alright, Keener,” Peter taunted, grinning as his character narrowly dodged one of Harley’s attacks. “Better bring your A-game. I’ve got the lead, and I’m not letting up.”
Harley narrowed his eyes, his tongue poking out in concentration. “We’ll see about that, Web-head. You may be good at saving the city, but this is my territory.”
They kept at it, neither willing to back down, their banter escalating as each tried to throw the other off his game. Peter managed a combo that nearly wiped Harley’s health bar, and he couldn’t resist a triumphant cheer.
“Oh, come on!” Harley groaned, throwing his head back. “How did you even do that?”
Peter grinned, shrugging innocently. “Years of intense training, my friend. Can’t slack off when you’re competing against a certified genius-slash-hero.”
“Certified pain, maybe,” Harley muttered with a smirk. “Guess it’s time to pull out the secret weapon.”
Before Peter could respond, Harley suddenly jabbed him in the ribs, making Peter yelp and lose focus. Harley took advantage of the distraction, pounding the buttons as his character landed a devastating blow.
“Cheater!” Peter exclaimed, laughing as he tried to regain control. But it was too late. Harley had managed to secure the final hit, winning the match.
“Yes! Victory is mine!” Harley jumped to his feet, striking a pose and pointing dramatically at Peter. “Bow down to the real genius!”
Peter rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the grin on his face. “Okay, okay, I’ll admit it. You got me with that one.”
Harley flopped back onto the couch, beaming. “I told you—Keener is king of the controller. Just wait until I teach you a few things. You might actually stand a chance next time.”
“Oh, next time, huh?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow as he reset the game. “Careful what you wish for, because now I’m on a mission.”
They played round after round, the Tower filled with laughter and the occasional groan of frustration. Eventually, they were both sprawled on the couch, exhausted but grinning like idiots.
“Thanks, Harley,” Peter said, after a few moments of comfortable silence. “For tonight, I mean. I haven’t laughed this much in ages.”
Harley gave him a sidelong smile. “Anytime, Pete. Someone’s gotta keep you from getting too serious. Otherwise, you’ll turn into Stark.”
Peter chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, you’re doing a pretty great job of it.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while longer, just enjoying the peace and each other’s company. As far as Peter was concerned, moments like these were priceless—a reminder that, despite all the chaos and responsibility, he had a friend who would always be there to keep him grounded and, more importantly, make him laugh.
“I am glad we met Keener. You aren’t half bad.”
“Me too Parker, and you are alright, I suppose.”