Spinning out about things that haven't happened
Harley knocked on his door the next morning a little after nine. He had a bag swung over his shoulder, and he was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. Peter wondered if he thought he was the one who needed to keep his identity under wraps, but welcomed him regardless.
“We can split up,” Harley suggested, once the door was shut and they’d settled in. He’d showered and changed into clothes he hadn’t slept in, and he’d pulled on jeans and rewrapped his chest before the other boy walked in. Harley lay on the floor, his arms behind his head and his legs propped up on the bed, directing Peter as he held up hoodies to his chest. He’d been standing around long enough that his hair had dried and his shirts were being vetoed one after the other. “I’ll make sure the coast is clear on the outside and you’ll just need to find a way out. Maybe someone will open a window for you?” He waved off another crewneck that Peter showed him, and he was pretty sure Harley was just messing with him at this point.
He turned all the way around, rifling through the closet and finding a well-worn graphic tee, a pun about telekinesis written on it with a shitty screen-print image underneath. “I don’t think even an open window will stop FRIDAY from blabbing. We need to find a way to shut off her cameras, only to a specific area, though,”
“What about the roof?” Harley suggested, sitting upright as Peter emerged, pulling a flannel through his arms and flattening his hair again. It was getting long—long enough that he was considering buying a razor and going to town. “There’s a few different parts of the building where no one would be looking. You could climb down and all we’d have to do if shut off the two or three sensors up there,”
“Huh,” Peter snapped a finger at him, beginning to pick his way through the clothes strewn around from his impromptu fashion show. “That’s probably our best bet. We just need to find a way to tap into FRIDAY’s feed,”
“And how to override her cameras,” He glanced up to Peter, who didn’t seem too concerned, and his brows furrowed. “Oh you sly dog, you know how to hack her, don’t you?”
“Well,” Peter sat on the edge of the bed, to the left of where Harley’s feet had just been. “Not exactly, but I did hack into a Stark-made suit once, and Tony has a pretty consistent coding style for most things. Plus, my friend Ned was super into, uh, totally legal programming, and I’ve been doing my own work on technical code. For my suit,” He gestured vaguely to the pile of fabric hanging over his desk chair, the lenses of his mask staring back at them from the corner of the seat.
“Peter,” Harley muttered, poking his knee. “You are so cool right now,”
Finding a car at the compound was easy, they didn’t even have to leave the building. They hunkered down to the steps in the entrance, leaning into the railing and gazing at the rows of Stark brand cars. Harley wanted to go for something flashy, one of the convertibles with red paint and a loud muffler.
He said something along the lines of “If you’re going to sneak out for the first time, we need to make a statement,”.
Peter gave him a face, thinking about telling him about how he snuck out to defeat the Vulture, and just how much of a statement it had made in the eyes of Tony Stark. Instead, he pointed towards an older model, from the earlier 2000s, some type of station wagon.
Harley gave him a sour look. “That’s not flashy at all!”
Peter tried not to be too mad at the rise of volume in his voice, glancing above them briefly, knowing how closely FRIDAY was watching them. “I’m not a flashy guy,” He shrugged.
“You wear red and blue spandex,” Harley reminded him, deadpanned, and Peter breathed a laugh.
“Okay, I’m a little flashy, but I don’t wanna get busted before leaving the parking lot,”
Once they’d agreed on the car (which took a good thirty minutes of bickering before Harley relented), they just needed to find the perfect way to get out of the building.
The closest computer was in the lab, which complicated the whole ‘avoiding Tony like the plague’ thing. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to get anywhere just with a general wifi connection, and he needed something plugged in and manufactured by the Stark-brand. Harley offered to scope out the room ahead, but Peter waved him off. If Mr. Stark was in there, then their plan was foiled before they’d even started.
As soon as they reached the glass windows looking into the lab, Peter was hit with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. Tony hadn’t lied when he said they’d used the same blueprints to rebuild. Harley tugged on his sleeve, the smallest downturn of his mouth the only indication of his concern. There were three figures on the further end of the room, away from the work desks, so Peter squared his shoulders, and they entered.
Clint Barton was signing quickly at Dr. Banner, talking along with the gestures but something must’ve happened to his hearing aids because his voice sounded garbled and too loud. There was a girl standing next to him, a quiver slung over her back and gloves held in one hand. She looked like she was wearing her own super suit, black and purple, but Peter didn’t know her well enough to assume it was anything more than an elaborate outfit. She looked over to them as they crept to the computer, Peter taking the chair and Harley crouching next to him.
Bruce nodded to them as they entered but was otherwise occupied so it was the perfect time to get up to no good. If only that girl wasn’t staring.
“I can do this quick but not inconspicuous,” He muttered to the boy at his elbow.
“Don’t worry,” Harley said. “I have a plan,”
His plan, as it turned out, was to open a tab in the browser and look up a YouTube video of Markiplier. Peter sat back in the chair, his fingers slack against the keyboard, watching as muted captions went by, explaining the game he was about to start playing. He didn’t spare Harley the incredulous look he was wearing—he wasn’t sure if he had the energy for it. He shrunk the tab, shaking his head slowly, and began searching for access. It was tedious, finding the right points to wiggle into, his fingers flying across the keys as he ran through the familiar coding style. He’d only glanced at what Ned had been doing, all those years ago, but he’d had to pick up some skills of his own since he’d been…
There was a quick shuffle of feet, and Harley sprung up from the floor, clicking onto the forgotten YouTube tab and smiling tightly at whoever had approached. Peter tried not to feel too irritated at being interrupted, his hands frozen above the row of numbers he had been about to input. He turned to face the girl from before, who seemed curiously amused at the two gazes locked on her.
“Hello,” She greeted, friendly but still trying to peek at the screen of the computer, past the glare from the sun at the angle where she stood. “What are you guys up to?”
Peter opened his mouth to give a vague reply, but Harley beat him to it, the words tumbling out of his mouth quickly. “Nothing! Nothing at all!” He leaned awkwardly against the table, hands under chin, and shot Peter a look searching for approval. He face-palmed.
“Is that Markiplier—”
“Yeah,” Peter said, before Harley could, his jaw clacking shut. “We’re in here because I don’t have a computer and…well, it has a better screen than his phone,”
She hummed, moving around to the back of his chair, on the other side of him than Harley. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail, but when she leaned forward it slipped over her shoulder a bit. Peter knew she was giving him a critical look, glancing at Harley and then back to the screen.
“His videos are definitely more entertaining at full volume,” She commented, then kind of snickered to herself. “Also, next time you’re doing something sketchy, try full-screening the tab. It’ll cover up, y’know, the lines of code in front of the homepage,”
Peter heard Harley half gasp, half squeak, a startled, “What?” falling past his lips.
“That would probably make sense,” He agreed, nodding his head and trying not to feel too embarrassed.
The girl held out her hand, and she must’ve put her gloves back on because three of the fingers were covered, leaving her pinky and thumb exposed. “I’m Kate,” She said, and Peter shook her hand.
“Peter,” He replied, and then tilted his chin past his shoulder. “That’s Harley. I like your suit, are you like Hawkeye’s intern?”
“Intern?” She scoffed. “I am Hawkeye. Or…I guess, close enough, right?” He shrugged, and she knelt down, placing her elbows on the table, a more relaxed version of Harley’s stature. “So what are you guys even doing? Are you trying to steal Tony Stark’s credit card information or something?”
“We’d have better luck stealing it out of his wallet,” Harley grumbled under his breath, but then grinned. “We’re hacking into the security cameras. It’s Peter’s first time sneaking out,” He was whispering, but even admitting the words so close to Bruce made his adrenaline spike.
“Never said it was my first time,” Peter muttered, but the two were otherwise occupied, staring at each other with mixed levels of excitement.
Kate looked a little impressed, and her brows curved into a mischievous line. “I can help,” The two boys exchanged a glance, and she rolled her eyes. “I have a car you can borrow,”
Kate told them to look for a black Chrysler New Yorker, she didn’t have the keys but apparently the windows would still be down. Peter wondered if they would be stealing from Clint rather than Tony, but she waved off their concerns, stating that it wasn’t really his car either, and it had been sitting there once the windshields had been replaced. He also wondered why the windshields would need to be replaced, but before he could ask the question, he had finally tapped into the security feed.
“I’ll head to the car,” Harley began as they left the room in a rush, saying their thanks to Kate, who promised to keep an eye on the cameras, and shut off the computer once they had made it out. “Are you sure you can scale down fast enough?”
“Please,” Peter said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. He didn’t have his webs, or his suit, but it wouldn’t be the first time he had crawled up the side of a building with just his fingers and feet. “I’ll meet you down there,”
They parted ways, and Peter made it to the roof access without any complication. He paused before opening it, though, praying that he had done a good enough job. His hand hovered over the handle, knowing that if FRIDAY could see him, she would have locked the door before he’d even reached it. He took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and pushed.
He met the summer breeze with a grin, falling into a jog as he glanced around the rooftop, spotting each security camera with little difficulty (with a little help from his enhanced senses). None of them seemed to be following his movements, and none of them had their red lights blinking. He contained a cheer, just barely, and stood at the edge of the Compound. No one was immediately below him, and he easily spotted Harley running across the pavement, his bag bouncing up and down with his strides. All he had to do was meet him, now.
There were at least ten floors between him and the ground, and as soon as Peter swung himself over the side of the roof, clinging with his hands, he realized just how many of those floors were covered in glass. Most of the communal floors were empty, and any public board room or laboratory had shades or some type of tint to keep any harsh sunlight out. However, there was an area, closer to the ground floor, where the hallway led between different sectors of the building.
Peter was more focused on clambering down as quickly as he could while making as little noise as possible, so he hoped no one was paying any attention. He glanced over his shoulder, once, squinting at where he had last seen Harley, hoping that he was out of sight because he was starting the car, and not because of some other issue. He continued his descent.
Eventually, hanging from one arm, he spotted the ground, only a few feet below him. He had made it to the edge just above the wide entryway, pulling himself into a crouch, catching his breath as he watched a few people walk in and out through the doors. Luckily, it seemed like none of them had noticed him, but he waited a few more seconds before dropping full to the ground. He straightened his clothes, letting out a small sigh, and then broke off into a sprint across the parking lot. It wasn’t hard to spot the right car, one of the side mirrors pushed in and the license plate crooked. Harley was sitting next to the car, the driver’s door open, his head pressed to his knees.
“Hey,” Peter greeted, kneeling down next to him and checking over his shoulders a few times. “The car was unlocked, right?”
“Uh-huh,” The boy grumbled, lifting his head and looking utterly devastated. “But there aren’t any keys,”
It took him a few moments to process what was being said, but eventually it clicked, and Peter let out an incredulous little laugh, leaning against the car, mimicking Harley. “It’s alright,” He reassured him, running through everything he knew about the inner workings of a car. His Uncle had been a bit of a car buff, just like he had with camping, and Peter at least wouldn’t sneeze every time he popped the hood of his beat-up Camry.
Harley let out a frustrated huff, looking over at him. “It’s not alright! I put this idea in your head that we would sneak out together, and we’ve made it so far, and I didn’t even think about how we would start the damn thing,”
Peter pushed himself to his feet again, shaking his head. “No, I mean it’s alright,” He reiterated, and Harley’s eyes followed him as he moved past him, urging him to scoot over and let him duck under the wheel. “We’ll just hotwire it,”
“Dude,” He said, and Peter could just barely see his face through the gap between the seat and the steering wheel, already prying up the panel to get to the inside. “This is Hawkeye’s car, we can’t just hotwire it!”
“I mean,” Peter paused, only for a moment, his fingers tugging at the ignition switch wire. “Kate said that it wasn’t technically his car,”
“Dude,” Harley repeated, slack jawed, and Peter pressed the wires together, igniting a spark, and the engine revved to life.
“I think you’d better take the wheel,” Peter told him, slipping out from under the dashboard, the engine rumbling. Harley was giving him the same wide eyed expression he’d been wearing when he’d ducked under. Maybe he wasn’t used to seeing Peter be so impulsive. Maybe he wasn’t as much of a bad boy as he pretended to be.
His mouth opened and closed a few times before he thought of something to say. “What, you’re going to tell me that you don’t have your license?” There was a pause, where the bite of his quip lost its edge, and they both looked at each other. Peter coughed into his fist awkwardly and Harley blinked. “Holy shit. Spider-Man doesn’t have his license,”
“Well,” Peter began to defend himself, but a small alarm started ringing, followed by the distant sound of FRIDAY’s voice, alerting Tony of their escape. Peter dashed to the passenger side while Harley dove for the driver's seat. “Long story,” Peter finished, and Harley laughed as he buckled himself in.
“You can explain it to me on the way?” He offered, and they shared a grin.
Harley slammed on the gas, and they swung into reverse, barely missing the row of cars adjacent to them. Peter gripped onto his seatbelt, staring straight through the windshield at the road in front of them, trying to ignore the sound of FRIDAY in the distance. The gate was still open, and there were a few cars driving through it, slow, confused as to what commotion they were entering. Harley was gripping the wheel, all white knuckles and hunched shoulders. He kept glancing over to Peter, in a way he knew was supposed to be reassuring, and they’d smile tightly at each other before he turned back to driving.
Peter didn’t know what he was expecting, maybe an Iron Man suit to land on the hood of the car, lifting them up and dragging them right back, tires screeching. No, he was definitely expecting that, which made it so much more surprising when they made it successfully down the road, turning away from the facility entirely, the tallest building soon disappearing behind trees and pavement.
He didn’t relax until they made it to the highway, reading signs leading them towards the city. Peter felt himself giving vague directions; which roads would be faster, what exit to take to avoid bridge traffic, the speed limits they needed to stick to when avoiding stops. They stuck to the same interstate, and after the first hour, when they still had three-quarters a tank of gas, and no crazed Tony Stark had shot across the sky to reach them, Peter began to let go of his seatbelt.
Harley turned down the radio, eventually, some pop station humming indistinct hits from whichever singer was at the top of the charts. He was laughing a little to himself, his head bobbing to the song, a little off the beat, though. “You can’t drive a car but you know how to swing off the top of buildings using synthetic webs like fucking grappling hooks?”
Peter felt his cheeks get hot, and he raised his hands in surrender. “Man, I live in New York, driving is a pain in the ass,”
Harley snickered, returning his full attention to the road and tapping the wheel a few times, to a rhythm unknown to Peter. “So,” He drawled, after another stretch of comfortable silence, the drone of the radio blending into the sound of cars around them. “Any good places to eat?”
“Yeah,” Peter laughed, leaning his head back to hit the seat. “I think I can come up with something,”
They pulled into a parking garage after circling the same block in Queens for twenty minutes. Harley stuffed the ticket into his pocket and Peter practically dragged him down the road, their arms hooked together. Harley offered him his baseball cap, which he took, and he scribbled down an order on a napkin they took from a churro vendor.
He thought it would be best if he didn’t show his face to a spot he used to eat at, even if it had been a while. Even if it hurt a little. Harley went into Delmar’s just after the lunch rush, and with food in hand they searched for a bench to sit at. They strolled through the nearest park, Kissena, and settled down in one of the few benches free in the shade.
“And then you smush it down,” Peter instructed, and only laughed at the incredulous look Harley was giving him. “Trust me, man,” He took his own bundle of sandwich, laying it on the spot between them and pressing his palms into it, slowly but as hard as he could muster.
The other boy continued to stare at him with raised eyebrows, but complied, glancing down long enough to squash the top piece of bread before taking it into his hands, squinting at Peter one last time before he took a bite.
“Holy shit,” He said, mouthful of bread and lettuce and turkey. “This is the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten,”
Peter grinned, turning to his own food and pausing just before he brought it to his mouth. There was an imprint where his teeth had been moments before, and a tomato was beginning to fall out, but there was something so familiar about it all—the smells of the bodega, the oil that coated his fingertips, the piece of bread that got stuck in his molars.
He hadn’t had one of Delmar’s sandwiches since…well, he hadn’t had one in a long time. There was a weight in his stomach, constant and intense but he knew it through and through.
He’d missed this. He’d missed home.
He took another bite.