Chapter 3: How can I help?

Thanks so much for the great reviews! I know Harley isn't a popular subject like Peter but I love him.

Guest asked if there would be discipline in this story and my answer is no there won't.

Tony's POV:

Harley was most definitely not okay. The young teen had been here three weeks, and while physically he was nearly completely recuperated, mentally I knew things were far from fine. He was making a grand effort of acting like everything was good, but I was far too used to living with traumatized people who were experts at hiding their pain. Compared to the Avengers and me, Harley's acting skills were mediocre at best.

His ability to evade and put off conversation, however, was on par with me.

Or, it might be because I wasn't willing to push. I had always hated when the Avengers or even Pepper would push me to talk about things, so I hadn't been able to bring myself to do the same thing with the boy.

Whatever the reason, I hadn't been able to extract from Harley more about what had happened or what he was feeling than the first day we'd spoken. I mean, I got it, I really did. Talking about painful shit hurt. It was embarrassing and it brought up emotions one didn't want to deal with, but I also knew that keeping all that crap inside would only make things worse in the long run.

Getting Harley to talk or even relax was nigh impossible, though! I thought Peter was stubborn and dedicated, but he'd definitely met his match in Harley. Peter could be reasoned with. Peter toed the line with his limits, pushing at them every now and then, but Harley leaped over them. If I wasn't keeping such a close eye on the genius, he'd work himself until he passed out. It was frightening watching him, because it was like looking in a mirror—a mirror of my past, that is.

My time with the Avengers, and then mentoring Peter had drastically changed my work habits. Being babysat by a team of heroes first, and then wanting to be a good role model, I'd started to learn some moderation. I made sure I ate at least twice a day and slept every day. Since the fiasco with the Accords, I'd even cut the drinking after one awful night of alcoholism had led to me breaking into Pepper's hotel apartment and falling apart into a sobbing mess. Completely humiliating, but I guess it had led to us talking and getting back together. Anyways, that situation coupled with once again trying to be a good role model, I'd cut out the alcohol.

I knew I was a different man than the one that had met Harley years ago. When I'd met the kid, I'd been an utter mess, suffering from nightmares and anxiety attacks. I hadn't been the nicest or most appreciative man, flippantly dismissing Harl's comment regarding his father's abandonment, and keeping him at arm's length. It hadn't seemed to bother him one bit, and over the years I'd learned it was because the kid was just as much a smart mouth as I was. I regretted my actions now, how I acted and that I'd allowed Harley to get in harm's way. He'd acted admirably, though, literally saving my life.

My respect and appreciation of him was what led to me gifting him with his own personal lab. Time went on and the respect increased, but with it came a certain fondness or affection. I just didn't realize that's what I was feeling, not until Peter, that is. Peter brought out a, uh, paternal side of me, and as I was attempting to digest that, I also realized that I'd felt these feelings before. I'd felt them any time I'd speak with Harley.

It was quite the revelation to me. Honestly, it had hit me hard to realize that I didn't just care about one kid, but two. That without realizing or intending to, I'd started to care for and mentor two brilliant boys. They'd somehow managed to wiggle their way into what I thought had been a walled off heart. Sneaky little brats.

Pepper and Rhodey said they were good for me, and I mostly agreed. Except for the constant worry, stress, and grey hairs, they were great company. Smart, funny, kind-hearted, and everything I wished I could've been. I saw a bit of myself in both of them…well, maybe more than a bit in Harley's case now. The more time I spent around the kid, the more I saw myself, and that was concerning.

I'd tried talking to him. I'd tried getting him to talk, but nothing worked. He didn't want to hear about my concern and understanding, and he didn't want to talk about anything to do with emotions. Again, just like me.

Why couldn't he be like Peter? The spiderling was so much easier to deal with, especially since I'd gotten to know him better. Peter may take my biting sarcasm and smart mouth in stride on a normal day, but when he was upset, he'd shut down. That was always my first clue that something was wrong. I'd ask, and he'd automatically deny, but once I dropped my walls and outright showed my concern and desire to help, the hero was putty in my hands.

He yearned for my affection, both verbal and physical. The teen was so tactile, and always brightened when I put an arm around him, ruffled his hair, or hugged him. That's just the kind of person he was, and even though I wasn't, I'd long since gotten over my aversion with touch…at least with him. I was more than happy to offer the boy a hug if it'd bring a smile to his face.

I snorted at that thought. Who'd have thought such a simple thing like a smile could bring me such joy? Any time Peter was upset or hurt it was like I was physically injured. My heart would ache and my stomach churn, the urge to make everything better hitting me hard.

It was the same with Harley, although I'd never been able to do much for that boy except listen and provide advice. I just didn't know the kid enough, and I was realizing that he'd probably kept a lot from me. Yes, I knew about the bullying, but I never knew how bad it was. He'd insist it wasn't physical, but I never quite believed him. Even if it wasn't physical, though, I knew all too well how much hurt words alone could cause. Harley had never asked for help or advice, though. He'd only wanted me to listen, and so I'd listened, honestly unsure of what advice I could even give. He'd also told me about his mother's issue with alcoholism, again, only wanting me to listen. I'd offered to get her into rehab, but he'd outright refused, looking horrified at the suggestion before insisting things weren't that bad. I knew even then that I shouldn't have believed him, but it was the easy thing to do when I was here unable to do anything to help.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised then that he didn't want to talk.

I'd never pushed for him to talk so much, though. I'd let things go all those other times, unlike now where I was actively asking. I'd attempted the same techniques I'd used with Peter, being open and honest, but he'd responded with discomfort and confusion. Again, I had to remind myself that I wasn't the same man he'd met. Our relationship wasn't like my relationship with Peter. Yes, I mentored both boys, but we'd met under different circumstances.

Harley had met a broken, sarcastic man in desperate need of help. I was simply Tony, the very human and flawed mechanic. Harley was as sarcastic and smart-mouthed as me, and we teased each other all the time. We'd worked together on many projects, most recently being Rhodey's mechanical legs, so he was used to me treating him like an equal. He wasn't intimidated by me in the slightest, so he was never careful with what he said or even when he contacted me. He once forced me up at 3AM because he had an idea that I just needed to hear, and even when I cursed him out of sheer exhaustion, he'd just told me to shut up and stop being a baby. That'd been the night he'd designed a rudimentary prosthetic arm that would react to human thought and even allow for feeling. It was leagues ahead of anything in production and was the main reason I'd later brought him in to help out with Rhodey.

Anyways, Harley knew and was used to a different Tony than Peter. Yes, I'd gone to Peter for help, but he'd been a boy who'd hero-worshipped me. I was Tony Stark and Iron Man to him, and even though he'd lost his hero-worship by now, he still had an enormous amount of respect for me. I mean, he still called me Mr. Stark and was constantly afraid of being a bother. I had to continuously reassure him that I wanted to help him and that I enjoyed his company. We worked in the lab together, but he was always hesitant when it came to offering help or god forbid, a suggestion. The young hero was as brilliant as Harley and had amazing ideas, but he was always so embarrassed to show me anything unless it involved his spider suit. He never felt what he created was good enough to warrant my attention, let alone praise.

Harley oozed self-confidence, real and/or imagined and you knew when he was in the room. He was loud, brash, and spoke without thinking. He was charming, and since he allowed us to buy him clothes, he always made sure they were matched and impeccably neat, unless in the lab. His hair was always perfectly styled, and he had one of those 100-watt grins that I knew would turn the head of many young women if the boy ever went out…Yes, I realized that I'd pretty much described myself.

Peter lacked self-confidence. He was quiet and unassuming until you got to know him, at which point he became extremely excitable and talkative. He had way too much energy and took to literally bouncing around the room to get it out of his system. His talking or rambling would be about anything, but he was always very careful not to offend or interrupt. He was extremely polite and kind-hearted, willing to help anyone with anything whether in his suit or not. He became nervous with people he didn't know. He loved his shirts with science puns, his worn jeans, and scuffed shoes. His hair was always a mess of curls, but he didn't care.

I do have to add, though, that Peter's hero persona, Spider-man was different as well. He was still polite and kind-hearted, but unlike Peter Parker, Spider-man was confident in everything he did. He was never afraid to question me or offer his own suggestions, and he always recounted his missions with pride. He also had a sense of humor and quick wit that usually left me in stitches when I would watch recordings. One of my goals was to combine both personas into one.

The boy's differences continued even in their interests.

Peter loved watching movies while Harley had no interest in movies or TV. Peter enjoyed being in the lab, and could definitely get lost in his work, but he was also okay with leaving. He had friends who he enjoyed hanging out with and had recently gotten a girlfriend. He was even involved in the Academic Decathlon at his school. All in all, I felt Peter was a rather well- adjusted kid considering his own traumas and life as a super-hero.

Harley, on the other hand had never mentioned having friends or being involved in school. In fact, since starting high school he'd been home-schooled, which allowed him to learn what he wanted and at his own pace. The kid would live in the lab if allowed. He lost himself in his work, and always had to be coaxed out for even basic needs like food and sleep. He had no desire to hang out with anyone or go anywhere. His only other interest besides tinkering was drawing. I'd known he liked to draw, but I'd never known how good he was. He had the ability to draw not just a realistic scene like a landscape or person, but to also manage to convey emotion with simple shading. Add any color and it was almost like looking at an actual picture at times. Suffice to say, I didn't think Harley was in any way well-adjusted.

The point of all this exhausting thinking was that I was extremely worried about Harley. He was not okay, and I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to help him, and that scared me. It was so obvious to me that he was suffering, and it hurt that I couldn't soothe his pain. He was hurting this second, and I could do nothing because he wouldn't let me.

Should I force him to speak? Somehow, I knew that wasn't the right option. All it would lead to was anger and resentment. I didn't want to alienate the teen more than I felt he already was. I didn't want him to run away.

I still didn't know why he'd left his foster homes. I had ideas, especially considering Harley had said he hadn't felt safe or liked, but nothing concrete. I wanted to talk to the homes he'd been to, but child services refused to give me their names. I knew I could figure it out if I really wanted to, but I was afraid of what I'd do…or, maybe I was afraid of knowing. I didn't want to know that Harls has been hurt, whether physically or verbally.

Gah! All of this was so damn confusing and frustrating! That boy genius was like an equation I couldn't solve, and I knew it was because I didn't have all the variables yet. I didn't have enough information, so I couldn't figure out what tools I even needed.

Maybe some normality would help. The kid should go to school, shouldn't he? What if I sent him to school with Peter? That way he'd already have a friend.

The ding of my elevator pulled me from my thoughts, and I welcomed the reprieve. Rhodey walked out talking animatedly with Harley, and I felt some of my tension leave me. I'd shared my concerns with Rhodey regarding Harley, and the colonel had volunteered to get the kid out of the house today. I didn't know what they'd done, but from the grins on both their faces, I knew they'd had fun.

"Is that Pac-man?" I asked in surprise as I watched them wheel a large, dusty, broken machine out of the elevator.

"Yeah!" Harley exclaimed, eagerly pulling the machine into the lab. "Rhodes took me to an arcade, and I saw this just chilling in a corner. The owner said it didn't work, so I offered to fix it for free, and then he said that if I could fix it, I could have it! Isn't that awesome? I love old arcade games!"

I grinned widely at his excitement, my heart warming at seeing how elated he looked. I hadn't seen the kid this happy in ages, and even though it still involved tech, it was good to know he had another interest: vintage video games. I filed that thought away, walking over towards my brother in all but blood.

"I don't know how you did this, but thanks, man," I expressed genuinely, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

Rhodey shot me a smug look as he remarked, "I'm just good with annoying little geniuses." I rolled my eyes before watching Harley immediately get to work on fixing the game up. I had no doubts he'd be playing it before the day was over.

"So, how was he?" I asked Rhodey once we were out of earshot.

"A bit defensive in the beginning, but once he realized I wasn't going to ask him any uncomfortable questions, he was his regular self," Rhodey explained. "I got him going when I brought up my legs, and eventually I got around to asking him what he liked to do for fun. He mentioned his little town had an arcade that he loved hanging out at, so I just looked up the nearest arcade to us and bingo. Kid went wild, it was fun."

"Any other tidbits he give you?" I asked, and the older man pursed his lips before giving me a look.

"To be honest, Tones, hanging with Harley was almost like hanging out with you as a kid," he informed me with a nostalgic smile, and I furrowed my brow, unsure if this was a good thing or not.

"In what way?" I pressed warily.

"Well, same brilliance and cockiness, that's for sure," he started off with a light laugh before turning somber. "He's also trying too hard to act like everything is okay, like you were after your parents' deaths."

I let out a heavy sigh. "Any suggestions on how to help him?" I asked hopefully, and Rhodey's responding expression was grim as he shook his head.

"He obviously needs to talk to someone, but I was never able to get you to talk, so I don't think I'll be able to get Harley to either," he continued. "I can hang out with him and help distract, but the only one with any chance of getting him to open up will be you. He did let one little comment slide out," he informed me. "He said he came to you because you were the only person left that he knew cared about him, and that he knew you'd be able to fix things. Fix what, I don't think even he knows, but he obviously feels you can help him."

I nodded, feeling some hopefulness that Harley knew I cared and had faith that I could help him. That was a good start, I supposed.

"I'll stop by in a few days," Rhodes then said, giving me an encouraging look before leaving.

Walking over to Harley, I smiled as I watched him work.

"Need any help, Gizmo?" I questioned, already knowing his response.

"Nah, man, I got this," he answered distractedly.

"Okay," I replied, going over to my desk and beginning to work on my own tech. I blasted music, glad Harley seemed to enjoy the same music as me. I didn't have to worry about volume with him, either, unlike Peter with his sensitive ears.

Time passed, and before I knew it, I heard a loud exclamation of joy. Knowing instantly what happened, I turned to see Harley happily playing on the antique machine.

"Tony, come over here, you've got to play this!" the boy called out, and I quickly made my way over, whistling appreciatively at the machine. The game still looked in rough shape, Harley only fixing enough components to get it working. Restoration would come later.

"I haven't played one of these since I was a kid," I mumbled, marveling at how enjoyable such a simple game could be.

"Wow, I had no idea these games were that old," Harley remarked with a cheeky grin. "You sure you still remember how to play?"

I gave the mouthy brat a light shove before replying, "Oh, yeah I do. Watch and learn, Gremlin."

Harley and I switched playing multiple times, cursing at each other and the machine every time we lost.

"This things rigged," Harley complained when he once again lost, and I couldn't help but agree. How could it be so hard to navigate a yellow blob through a maze?

"Hey, do you think the arcade has more of these I can fix?" Harley then asked as I desperately attempted to escape the ghosts. Run Pacman, run!

"Maybe," I responded, "but if not I'm sure I could find some for you."

"That'd be awesome, thanks!" the kid responded cheerfully before booing along with me when I died.

"Come on, let's grab some food," I announced, wanting to make sure the kid ate.

"But"—Harley began to protest, but I just shook my head, firmly guiding the kid out with a hand on his shoulder. Speaking of shoulders…

"How's the shoulder pain?" I probed casually.

"Fine, gets better every day," he answered, rotating his shoulder with barely a grimace.

Dinner was just the two of us, and we had a laugh as we attempted to make recognizable figures and shapes out of pancake mix.

"Throw in some red food coloring!" Harley insisted, dumping nearly the entire thing into the mixing bowl.

"Not the whole thing!" I protested, but it was too late, and the majority of our shapeless pancakes ended up red and then purple when Harley thought it'd be fun to add blue food coloring as well.

"These look awful," I commented before eagerly digging in.

"But they taste awesome," Harley stated between swallows, and I was heartened by his obvious appetite. One less thing to worry about, I couldn't help but think.

"Mine taste better than yours," I asserted, causing him to snort.

"Mine at least look like pancakes," he retorted in amusement. "Yours look like pieces of dog s"—

"Hey guys, what's up!" a chipper voice greeted from the open balcony, and we both turned to see Spider-man walking in. He removed his mask and gave us both a smile as he sat himself down at the table.

"Oh man, I'm starving! Mind if I have some?" he asked me, and I gestured for him to have at it. As usual, the amount he ate blew my mind, and he ended up raiding the fridge for more food when we ran out of pancakes.

"I'm heading back to the lab," Harley declared suddenly, and I frowned as I watched him drop his dishes in the sink.

"Hey, enough tech work for today, Harls, alright?" I called out. "Come sit and have a chat with us. Besides, there's something I want to ask you." Harley looked ready to protest, but I simply pointed at the chair he'd just vacated, which caused him to sigh.

"Take a chill pill," I told him with a roll of my eyes, "we're just chatting."

"About what?" he questioned moodily, and I had to withhold a sigh. Peter looked between the two of us with curiosity as he munched on cold lasagna while sitting on top of the counter.

"What do you think about going to school?" I broached, and Harley's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"School? Like school school?" he asked, looking completely caught off guard.

"Uh, yeah. School school," I responded, a little confused. "What other kind of school is there?"

"Like building school, where I have to go to an actual location and deal with idiot teachers and annoying classmates," the teen explained, looking rather disgusted. I got it, I honestly did. I remembered how bothersome and annoying regular school was. Hell, college wasn't that much better, but it'd at least provided a challenge at times. Kids were a little more mature also.

"Yes, like an actual school. I know you were home schooled the last year or so, but you didn't graduate high school already, did you?" I queried, hoping he'd say no. I didn't fancy letting the boy go off to college at his age and in his emotional state. Been there, done that.

"No, I didn't," was Harley's reluctant response, and I could tell he was regretting that decision.

"Well, you've got to finish high school, so I'm thinking it might be time to enroll you somewhere," I informed him, hoping logic would win out. "Pete's school is meant for gifted kids, so I know you'd be able to get in, and if you went there, you'd at least know someone," I suggested, not understanding his sudden look of annoyance. It was gone, though before I could question it.

"Can't I just be home schooled again?" he pleaded. "I'm sure I could get my diploma in less than a month, and then I could head to college"—

"Not happening," I interrupted sharply, firmly against that idea.

"Why not?" Harley asked in bewilderment. "What's the point of wasting time in high school when it won't teach me anything?"I rapidly mulled over the right way to phrase this to get him to agree. My mind was suddenly made up, and he'd be going to school whether he wanted to or not, but I was praying to every deity that this wouldn't become a point of contention between us.

"Look, I get that high school can be boring, but it'll be good for you," I argued. "You'll be around kids your own age, which means friends, people you can talk to and hang out with. Also, this school of yours isn't a complete bore to you, Petey, is it?" I addressed the spiderling, hoping he'd be able to help.

Peter looked all too eager to insert his opinion and jumped at the chance to speak. "This school is geared towards kids like us, Harley," he stated, "so there are times that even I'm challenged. The science classes even let us work on our own projects."

Harley frowned deeply, looking as if he didn't believe a single word Peter spoke.

Dammit.

I was going to have to be the responsible adult now. The kid had to go to school. It was the law, and it would be good for him to socialize with kids his age. Not to mention, child services was on my ass about everything, and the fact that Harley hadn't started school was working against me. A fight was being waged to take him away, and all the money in the world wouldn't keep the boy in my care if the state felt I wasn't providing him basic needs, which apparently now included school.

"Listen, kiddo, I know it'll be a big change, but this is going to happen. School is the law, and I really feel this will be good for you. You might even have fun if you let yourself," I spoke encouragingly. "You never know, you might find kids with similar interests as you."

I watched with a sinking heart as Harley's jaw muscles tensed, his eyes narrowing as he turned to me. "Why did you even bother asking what I thought if you'd already made up your mind? Forget it," he added before I could manage a reply. "When do I start?" he asked gloomily.

I wished I could say never. I wished I could just home school him, but every person I talked to and every book I read mentioned that being amongst their own peers would be beneficial to a teen. This would be good for him, and hopefully someday he'd see that. Hopefully, he wouldn't hate me.

"Monday," I answered, which would give him almost a week to come to terms.

"It'll be great, Harley, don't stress," Peter spoke up, giving the angry teen an encouraging look. "I'll be there, and you can meet Ned and MJ. They're awesome, and maybe you can even join one of the clubs. There's a robotics club and an art club you'd probably like, and I'm in the Academic Decathlon."

Harley scoffed loudly as Peter finished talking, dismissively waving away his words as he stood up. "I'm going to find Tasha. Later," he declared, and that never-ending sense of helplessness hit me again.

"Don't you want to hang out and"—I began to ask before he cut me off.

"And watch a movie?" Harley finished blandly. "You know I don't do movies. Enjoy yourselves." And with those pleasant words, the depressed teen entered the elevator.

I couldn't help the loud sigh I let out before burying my head in my hands.

"Are you okay, Mr. Stark?" Peter asked softly, and I noticed his red and blue feet standing before me.

"Yeah, pal," I automatically replied, plastering a smile onto my face. "Why don't you go change and we can watch one of your Star Wars movies."

The young hero looked like he didn't believe me, but thankfully didn't push, just smiling back at the mention of his favorite movie franchise. "Sure thing!"

My smile turned more genuine as I watched him bound away with that endless energy of his. If only Harley was that easy to make happy.