Promise to be there this time?
He went out as Spider-Man, eventually, but nothing seemed to give him the same thrill as it used to. Maybe it was because he’d literally been to an alien planet; maybe it was because he’d watched the man who’d made his suit die. He patrolled, swinging between small crimes and assisting a few people with directions, cats in trees, and groceries. He found himself taking more breaks, pausing on rooftops and trying to calm his breathing. His chest was too tight, and it was just so hard to fill his lungs all the way. He rubbed at his collar, avoiding the spider in the center of his chest and resting his palm there. His heart was beating, but too quick. Everything felt like too much. But he continued.
Sometime during the night, a mugger got a good swipe at him, and he wandered around a bit with a hand to his bloodied ribs. The guy hadn’t even had the courtesy to leave the knife in, so he applied pressure, grumbled about having to fix the tear in his suit, and he headed towards the Tower. He saw the light on in the lab, so he climbed up to that window and crashed to the floor.
FRIDAY must’ve opened it for him, but he was too busy peeling his mask off and pressing his face directly to the floor to hear if the AI greeted him. It took him a moment to realize that if the lights were on, that probably meant someone was in the room. He was too tired to think about it critically; he deserved a little bit of time to just lay face down, right? It felt good on his cheek and the open, oozing wound on his side. Harley found him, because apparently he was the one in the lab, and there was a strangled sort of noise that escaped his throat. Peter shifted to blink at him with one eye.
“Are you alright?” He asked, alarmed.
Peter unglued himself from the floor, immediately pressing a hand into his aching side to replace the weight of the tiles. “Peachy keen,” He groaned, and raised his free arm to give him a thumbs up.
“I’m pretty sure you’re bleeding,” Harley argued, a constant thrum of fear at the edge of his tone. “Not sure if that’s your typical level of normal or if you’re lying to me.”
“Don’t think about it too hard,” He insisted, and made a few futile efforts at standing. It probably didn’t enlist much confidence to his whole ‘I am fine’ routine, but he certainly tried his best. The other teen seemed surprised, standing awkwardly for a couple moments and just looking at him. Peter looked right back, and eventually Harley jumped into motion, rushing away and returning with a big first aid kit. Peter pulled himself into the nearest chair, pulling at the fabric that was sticking to his skin around the wound, already trying to close by itself, still bleeding sluggishly into his hands.
“I can do it,” Peter offered when Harley dragged a chair over, and he looked back at him like he was crazy, so he obediently pulled his suit down to his waist. His hands were a little shaky, so Peter grabbed a cotton swab and started trying to clean off some blood against his stomach.
“So,” Harley began, conversationally, his eyes glued to Peter’s side, gently beginning to dabbed at it with disinfectant. He tried to keep any grunt of pain to a minimum, but the few short exhales he made didn’t seem to reassure the other. “You’re Spider-Man. That’s…nice to know?”
“I thought you already knew,” Peter admitted, trying not to feel too embarrassed, keeping perfectly still as the other boy inspected his wound. They’d talked about spending time with Mr. Stark, about the project they’d worked on and how he’d trusted both of them to tinker with his Iron Man armor. He was almost positive that he’d mentioned his web shooters, and no one had told him to not tell him, so Peter had just assumed he knew.
Harley lifted a shoulder, half-shrugging as he pressed gauze against his abdomen. “I mean, I guessed. I am a certified genius, and I know pattern deductions, and it made sense but…” He glanced up at him, quickly, almost shy. “Spider-Man was kind of my favorite superhero. The more time I spent with you, the more…I tried to come up with a different guess.”
Peter nodded along. “Yeah, I’m not very impressive once you get to know me. I’ve been told I’m best admired from a distance. A safe distance. Where you can see me backflip but don’t have to hear my jokes.”
“No,” He shook his head vehemently, his cheeks red. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that…” He seemed to think for a while, chewing on his lips and staring at Peter with an odd type of sincerity. “It’s nice. To know you without the mask. To know you close up. Not from a distance where I don’t have to hear your quips.”
There was a warm feeling that developed at the words, seeping into the back of his neck and the tips of his ears. “Oh,” Peter replied, very intelligently. “Well. Oh. Thank you.”
Harley's eyebrows shot up, and he was smiling again. “For what?”
“For…liking me?” That didn’t sound right, so Peter tried again. “It’s not everyday I get to know I’m someone’s favorite superhero. Makes me feel cool.”
“You are cool,” Harley said, his voice soft, and Peter looked at him, surprised. “I mean, your jokes are kind of bad, but you’re cool. To me,” He added.
“I think you’re cool, too,” Peter poked at his freshly bandaged side, smiling at the other boy as he slipped his suit back up his shoulder. He slipped a finger through the hole in the fabric, wiggling it a little and thinking about how long it would take to sew up. “Do you want to see me climb up the wall or something?”
Harley’s eyes sparked, and he closed the first aid kit. “I mean, if you’re offering…”