Chapter 1
"Peter? Oh my God, Peter."
Harley sounds panicked, uncharacteristically so, his voice higher and more shrill than usual. Which, yeah, Peter understands; he supposes he'd be stressed too if someone first called him, announced that they'd apparently been attacked and that they were promptly going to bleed out from an injury they couldn't remember getting.
See, this is why Peter hates talking to people on the phone, because he's just so damn bad at it. He should've just had Karen send Harley a text instead, though looking back Karen had been very pushy about wanting him to call someone, citing 'serious injuries'.
He dares to glance down at his abdomen, and almost throws up again at the sight of the blackened flesh and the slow pulsing of blood down his skin. God, burns suck. He can't even remembering receiving such an injury, only waking up in an unfamiliar alleyway, his stomach throbbing with pain and his leg all sorts of broken, not to mention feeling his very likely concussion.
This is really bad. He knows that.
So, of course, Karen had been very insistent that he call someone, which he understands. But it had taken frankly a shameful amount of time to decide exactly who to call.
May was out of the question from the outset. He absolutely cannot do this to her after everything she'd gone through with his parents, and then Ben, then all of the various horrible injuries he's sustained throughout his Spider-Man career. That also made Happy out by proxy, because he would certainly tell May now that they were dating.
(Peter still struggles not to shudder childishly at the thought.)
He'd briefly considered Ned or MJ, but their lack of a driving license had made them non-starters fairly quickly. Johnny had been another option, but Peter isn't entirely sure where the other boy is right now. He's been off world for a few days and he's supposed to return either today or tomorrow, but Peter hadn't been about to call and tell him that he's grievously injured, especially if Johnny isn't close enough to do anything about it. That had left only two other people.
He'd opted for Harley immediately because the idea of calling Tony like this, after the argument they'd just had - well, he's glad he doesn't have to call the man.
(God, but he wishes he could call Tony. All he wants is for him to swoop in with the suit he's supposed to be retired from, hold him close to his chest and stroke his hair.)
"Peter, please, you gotta say something, man. You can't just go silent on me."
Oh, right, Harley. Still on the phone. Waiting anxiously. Right.
"S-sorry." He's finally able to whisper back, his voice catching painfully in his throat. If the world would just stop spinning for a hot minute, he'd be very grateful.
"No, that's not - don't apologise. Just tell me what's wrong and where you are so I can come get you."
Where he is. Does he know where he is? He's not even sure how he made it here if he's being really honest. There's a notable gap in his memory between leaving Stark Tower at 10pm, still fuming with anger, and now, 2:12am, according to Karen. What the hell could have happened in four hours and twelve minutes for him to have wiped out quite so hard in an alleyway?
He peers around, head pounding as if it's about to split open, and only then notices the warm, sticky substance coating the left side of his face. He lifts a shaky hand and runs his fingers over the stuff as lightly as he can; his hands come away red.
He knows he should be scared. He thinks he is scared, somewhere beneath the layers of pain and confusion he'd woken up with, but he can't work up the energy to feel much at the moment. He should take a nap. That might help. Unfortunately, just as he's about to close his eyes for some well-deserved sleep, a voice speaks softly in his ear.
"Peter, would you like to me share your location with Harley Keener?" Karen asks gently. Come to think of it, he's sure she's never sounded this concerned before. Is it even possible for an AI sound concerned? She's certainly pitching her voice quieter to accommodate for his concussion, so maybe it is.
Right. Location. He manages to grunt, "Um, yeah - location. With Harley."
"Location has been sent."
"Thanks, K." Peter whispers, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
"Okay, you're actually not too far away. Maybe fifteen minutes. I'm coming now, Pete. Don't fall asleep, okay?" Harley's talking again, but his voice sounds fainter than previously. Probably not a good sign. "How injured are you - oh, Karen? How - "
Harley falls silent without warning, for long enough that Peter begins to feel some semblance of fear, his heart dropping into his stomach. Then, Harley swears sharply under his breath and Peter suddenly hears the sound of a car accelerating.
"Peter, what the hell? Karen just sent me your vitals - I don't even... what happened? Are you - Jesus, man..."
Peter has definitely never heard Harley this rattled before. In the two years that they've known each other, the two years that they've become brothers, Harley has always been so collected, so sure of himself and what he wants to say, with no regard for the consequences. But now it's like his mind and his mouth are completely disconnected, and his brain's struggling to comprehend whatever it's processing.
"Wh- what's wrong?" Peter asks anxiously, voice catching.
Harley makes an inelegant noise of disbelief that Peter really isn't impressed by. "What's wrong? Are you seriously asking me that? You're - what - Jesus, Peter. You look like you took on an army and lost."
Peter frowns. "I think I'd be dead if I lost to an army."
"Peter, you - ugh. Now is not the time for that, idiot!"
"Rude."
Harley growls under his breath in the way he only does when someone is driving him utterly insane or when he's really, really afraid. Like when Peter had gotten shot the day before his own 17th birthday - which, by the way, not cool - or when Tony had been so panicked by the aforementioned bullet wound that he'd almost had a heart attack. Which hadn't been fun at all and was definitely all Peter's fault, but who's keeping score, right?
Harley had behaved similarly then to how he is now: stressed, clipped tone, no time for quips or banter - a massive red flag for him - and a general lack of eloquence that he normally masters.
Oh, so this must be really bad, then.
Peter peers down at his abdomen again to further inspect the damage, perhaps to reassure himself that he's not injured too badly, that this is like all the other times he's hurt. All he needs a quick bit of surgery and then he'll be fine.
But the wound appears no less grotesque upon second viewing. In fact, the longer he stares at it the more nauseous he feels, and he's honestly not sure if that's the concussion or the terrifying burn he's sporting.
Jesus, it hurts. It hurts so bad. The pain hadn't quite registered until now, what with the general confusion of waking like this and the distraction that is Harley, but now it suddenly increases tenfold in a way that makes him grit his teeth and fight not to cry out. His adrenaline must have crashed, and now the pain's rushing in to fill the void.
He tries to suppress his cry of pain, but, to his horror, the tail end of it manages to tear out from behind his teeth.
"Peter? What happened?" Harley sounds, if possible, more frantic than before.
"No, I - Jesus, ow - it just hurts. Like - a lot." He grits out, hardly noticing the tears that begin to slide down his cheeks. He's scared all of a sudden, truly scared. He's in utter agony and all he can see is the grim darkness of the alleyway he's in, no warmth around or other people in sight, just the vaguely wet ground and the looming presence of the brick walls that surround it. God, he'd give anything for someone to give him a hug right now, to stroke his hair and tell him he'll be okay.
Before he realises, he's sobbing. Not loudly, but in the way of someone trying to hide their tears, with small, shuddery sobs that rock the body. Every movement hurts but he can't stop.
"Peter? I'm - I'm coming, okay? 11 minutes, man. Just, please - " and dammit, Harley sounds choked up as well, and Harley never cries. Peter realises how he must have sounded to the other boy, talking fine one minute and then in tears the next.
"S-sorry. I - I..." Peter tries to reassure him, but he's sobbing too hard to get the words out. He hasn't felt this young in a while, all of eighteen years old, hasn't felt as if he needs an adult to come and save him and hold him close.
(It's moments like these that remind him of Ben, the most steady and comforting presence he's even known, who would know exactly what to do to assuage Peter's fear.
Sometimes Peter wonders how Ben felt as he died, whether he had felt at all reassured by his nephew's presence or whether he'd been as terrified as Peter is right now. God, he hopes not.)
"No, don't apologise. It's not your fault. Okay? I'm ten minutes away, just hold on."
"O-okay." He can hold on. He has to. 11 minutes isn't even that long. Right?
"Pete? I need to you to keep talking - wait." Harley cuts himself off, sounding even more serious all of a sudden, if that were even possible. "Wait, I didn't even think - you've called Tony, haven't you? Or Johnny? Like, I'm not the only one coming to get you? Because I can keep you company but they can get you to help faster."
"I don't know when Johnny will be back, so... I didn't call him." Peter murmurs, knowing what's coming next and bracing himself.
"Okay, but Tony?"
Peter remains silent for a good, long moment and Harley swears.
"Dammit, Peter! Why didn't you call him? You know what he's like! Karen, why didn't you tell Tony?"
"I was instructed not to by Peter. I told him it was against my protocol but he was particularly insistent." Karen cheerfully informs Harley, as if she somehow knows what a hole she's digging for him. Traitor.
"Peter, you stupid - God. I - what the hell, man? What are you trying to prove?"
And that's it, isn't it? That's the root of the problem, and Peter knows it. All he's ever wanted to do is to prove himself, prove that he doesn't need the adults to save the day, that he can take care of himself, that he can do the right thing. But Tony just doesn't seem to understand that. Or at least, he hadn't earlier when Peter had accused him of spying on him while he was patrolling, and Tony had grown progressively more cutting as the argument devolved into frustration and thinly veiled insults.
Peter hates arguing with Tony more than anyone else. The man simply has a way of making him feel like a child - a bratty, whiny child - that no one else quite has.
But Peter had really thought he was in the right this time. Tony shouldn't have been spying on him as if he were some sort of child that needs a babysitter while he's out stopping crime and saving people. Peter hates people treating him like he isn't capable, and that's exactly what Tony had done. It's what he's always done, even more so since the Blip.
But now look at him. Lying broken in an alleyway, frightened and in pain. Maybe Tony was right. Maybe he isn't capable. Maybe, maybe, maybe. God, he hates how he acts sometimes, hates his foolish self-confidence and woefully misguided belief that nothing bad can ever happen to him because he's Spider-Man.
The Blip should have taught him to know better.
"I... I didn't want him to come save me." He finally whispers, voice wrecked. "I wanted to prove that... that I could... that I didn't need anyone else."
Harley is silent, though Peter hardly notices through the sobs wracking his body, as hard as he tries to silence them. He was so, so stupid. What if he dies now because of his damned pride?
God, he hurts. He hurts so damn much.
"I was so stupid, Harley." He moans. "Tony was right. I am just a stupid kid."
Harley swears again suddenly. "No, you're not." His voice sounds shaky, like he's holding back tears, which is crazy because Peter hadn't thought Harley even had tear ducts. "You made a mistake, a big one, but you're not just a stupid kid, and Tony knows it. He just says mean things sometimes. Usually when he's angry, though honestly I think it's just a personality trait. It doesn't - God - it doesn't mean that it's true."
Peter sobs again. "But he was really mad this time, Harley. Like the ferry incident, but way worse. God, he's going to be so mad, and disappointed -"
"Peter, he's not going to be mad. He'll freak out because you're - you're -" Harley breaks off and pauses for a long beat, though Peter notices how he skirts the 'disappointment' part. "He'll be angry after we've sorted you out but you know it's only because he's scared. All he wants is for you to be safe, okay?" He pauses again, then says with forced nonchalance: "I'm surprised he hasn't already jetted across the city in his tin can. I thought he got alerts about your health on his watch or whatever."
Peter is silent.
"Oh no. Don't tell me you - oh hell no, Peter. You -" Harley's really starting to sound mad, and that's two people that are mad at him now. God, Johnny would be fuming if he knew so it's probably good that Peter hasn't contacted him. Johnny may be the Human Torch and a human disaster, but he hates it when Peter manages to be even more stupid than him. Harley continues, voice taut, "You disabled it, didn't you?"
"That is correct." Karen responds for him, sounding as if she's enjoying this somehow. Peter hadn't realised an AI could be so pointed in her unspoken 'I told you so'.
"Oh my God, Peter - ! That's it, I'm calling Tony. Like you should have done a lot sooner."
"No!" He cries, the force of it causing pain to jolt through his body. "Please, don't - I don't want him to be mad..."
"Peter, he's not going to be mad, okay? Well, he might be. No, he will be. But it's because he's scared, remember? Just - don't be so stupid. I'm calling him."
"No, please -"
"Peter, no offence, but I literally don't care."
Peter falls silent, feeling like an idiot, blubbering like a child but in so much pain that he doesn't even care, and now Harley's mad, and Tony's going to hate him and he's going to take the suit away from him and ask to never see him again and -
"Peter, your breathing indicates you are having a panic attack." Karen's voice is gentle, more gentle than she was before. "I must advise you to breathe deeply and slowly, as hyperventilation is likely to aggravate your condition."
He tries, God does he try, but it's so difficult. Everything is so dark and he's so afraid, and he doesn't want Tony to take the suit again, he doesn't want Tony to hate him - through his growing distress, he can hear the sound of Harley ringing Tony, as apparently Tony's cars were just that smart.
Tony, of course, answers immediately and Peter wants to cry all over again when he hears the man's obvious anxiety.
"Harley? Are you okay?" He asks, and when Harley responds in the affirmative, he asks, "Are you with Peter? Is he okay? He removed his tracker again and we had a big fight and now I have no idea where he is - "
"Tony -" Harley cuts him off, voice heavy. "He's, um, not in good shape. I'm about five minutes away but you'll be able to get him to Helen faster."
Tony's silent for one horrible moment, and Peter can practically see the awful expression that covers his face, and the way he reaches to hold his chest as if to prevent it from collapsing under the weight of his own panic.
(What has he done, what has he done -)
"Okay." Tony finally manages to say, though even that sounds strained. "Okay. I'm on my way. Have you - have you spoken to him?"
"Yeah, he's on the phone right now. He can hear you."
"Kid? Peter? Pete, can you hear me?"
Tony? Was that - No. It couldn't be. He couldn't be talking to Peter, could he? Because Peter had messed up so badly, and Tony was going to hate him so much, he probably wouldn't even come to the funeral -
"Peter, I'm on my way, okay? We are going to have words, I can tell you that right now, but you are going to be okay. Don't worry, Pete. I'm on my way... Just hold on. Harley, what's wrong with him? Why isn't he saying anything? Where is he?"
"Hold on, one second." Harley sounds more anxious than Peter's ever heard him, as if he's preparing himself for something awful - such as sending Peter's vitals to their collective stressed father figure. Yeah, Peter wouldn't want to be Harley right now.
Actually, never mind, he'd rather be Harley than himself at this precise moment in time. Everything feels as if it's washing over him in waves, the world fading out and closing in rhythmically, pain ebbing and flowing. He can hardly even see anymore, his vision waning with every passing second as he fights to remain conscious.
"Okay, I've sent you his vitals and location." Harley's voice is deathly serious, no traces of his characteristic humour or ambivalence to be found. There's a noticeable pause following his words, which Peter hardly dares think about, because that route leads to hyperventilation, which leads to aggravation of injuries, which leads to - "I'm only four minutes away." Harley continues, evidently attempting to prompt Tony into speaking.
There is only silence.
"Tony? Tony, did you get that?" Harley stresses.
There is no response. Peter's rough gasps fill the space, loud and ragged and awful.
"Mr Stark?" He manages to choke out, his previous capacity for speech deserting him. The words feel as if they're trapped on the edge of his tongue, forcing their way through a sea of hazy confusion and pain just to be spoken aloud. "M-Mr Stark? Are you... coming?"
"Peter."
He sounds - wrecked. There is no better word to describe his voice. He sounds as if he's the one dying, as if something is being painfully extracted from inside of him and is choking him. Somewhere beneath the agony pulsing through Peter's body, a rush of guilt rears its ugly head. This is all his fault, because he was selfish and childish, and now Tony and Harley are suffering for it, and everyone else is going to suffer for it.
Then, Tony speaks.
"Pete, of course I'm coming." His voice is incredulous, deeply pained. "I will always come for you, why - why would you think I wouldn't?"
Peter shrugs to himself as best as he can, through the crushing pain in his body. "I m-made you mad. Was stupid." It's perhaps not his most eloquent response, but he thinks it accurately sums up the torrent of whirling thoughts in his mind, despite his physical inability to speak them.
"You're right." Tony replied without hesitation, and it stings. "You were stupid - so very stupid - and, trust me, I am very mad."
Peter squeezes his eyes shut, tears slipping down his cheeks.
"But," Tony continues, and his voice is soft and quiet, as if he's somehow managed to steady himself. "God, Pete, that doesn't change the fact that I will always come for you, no matter what. You are - you... you're like my kid, Peter. And that means that I will always look out for you. Even when you're stupid - especially when you're stupid. It's my job to look after you when you make mistakes... God, Pete."
His voice trails off then, losing momentum, as if his previously acquired steadiness has already faded away with that small speech. All Peter can hear from his end is the sound of Iron Man's thrusters propelling Tony across the night sky, faster than he's ever gone before, a mere streak amongst the glittering stars.
Peter has no idea how to respond, so he doesn't. He's not sure he's able anyway.
Suddenly, he hears tyres screeching - both nearby and over the phone - and he cranes his neck upwards to find Harley pulling up at the end of the alley.
"Tony, I'm here now, so I have to end the call, okay?" Harley fires out, not giving Tony the chance to reply before he turns the car off, throwing the door open and spinning in Peter's direction. He must not see him at first, because he freezes and peers into the alley as if afraid to go nearer, his face visibly pale in the flood of the lamppost beside him.
Peter knows he has to do something, has to let Harley know that he's there, so he summons all of his remaining strength - though it's a colossal effort - and croaks out a weak, "Harley-"
The other boy's head turns towards him instantly, and relief washes over his face. Then, he's running towards Peter, faster than he ever has before, covering the short distance between them in mere seconds. He skids to his knees - seeming not to care about the dirty rainwater that immediately dampens his jeans - and then all the remaining colour drains from his face as he takes in the state of Peter's body.
"Peter, I - oh my God - what..." His voice seems to cut out like a faulty recording in a video, except this is real, because Harley's in shock, he's overwhelmed, he's distressed -
Peter distantly muses that it's one thing to be informed of his injuries, but it's quite another to witness them in the flesh.
"You're gonna be - gonna be okay, yeah?" His voice is wobbling, tears shining in the darkness and carving a path down his cheeks. Peter can't help but sob at the sight, because Harley never cries, and it's his fault Harley's crying, no one else's. "Tony's gonna come and fix it, okay? Like he fixes everything. R-right?"
Peter can't speak anymore, so he instead reaches a trembling hand towards the one he considers his brother. Harley immediately takes it and clutches it tightly between his own, squeezing hard enough to hurt, but Peter doesn't mind. Harley needs the comfort, not him.
"God, I'm sorry, please don't... you can't -" Harley continues, voice splintering now as he begins to weep quietly, on his knees in an alleyway beside his dying brother. "Please."
Peter tries to shake his head, tries to tell him that he's not going anywhere, but time is moving strangely now, somehow elongated while also a mere blink of the eye. He desperately wants to reply, wants to let him know that he's sorry, that he's an idiot, but his mouth isn't working and his vision is slipping between his fingers. He's reminded of the building that came crashing down on him, and of that awful, accursed planet where he felt his body disintegrate into mere dust particles, carried away by the unforgiving wind.
He wants - he wants May, and he wants Johnny, wants Tony, Ned and MJ - but he's glad Harley's here, if this is how he goes.
Harley's still crying, and there's a light blazing towards him in the sky, and Peter's...
Slipping. Falling. Tumbling.
Darkness.
And nothing at all.