Peter tried to focus all day, after the incident in the front office, with little success.
He ran through a brief orientation with Dr. Reynolds before she had taken him to one of the classes to shadow the teacher he'd been assigned to help. The girls had looked up at his entrance, a few waving at him, to which he waved back, awkwardly. The teacher, Ms. Leigh, was young but had a stern hold over the class. They sat quietly while she talked, enlisting Peter's help to pass out sheets of paper containing science problems for the students to work on, before they'd taken a seat behind the desk. Ms. Leigh had put on some quiet, classical music while they girls worked, just loud enough to keep them from overhearing her while she talked with Peter.
"So, you got recommended for this position?" She asked pleasantly, while beginning to pull out a stack of papers to grade. Peter pulled his chair up closer to the desk and she handed him half the stack, placing the answer key between them to make things easier.
"Yeah, my professor told me to apply. Apparently, she and The Dean have history." He said absentmindedly, still thinking about his encounter with Morgan and Pepper. Ms. Leigh hummed and nodded.
"Sounds about right, this place is notoriously hard to work at. And most kids your age don't want to sacrifice their weekends to keep an eye on the wild child-types that roll through on the weekend." Peter huffed a soft laugh at that, his mind immediately going back to Morgan. He wondered where she was, currently. The fact that she was at the school on the weekend to begin with was indicator enough that she'd managed to land herself a detention, and if the conversation he'd overheard between Dr. Reynold's and Pepper had been any indication, she had done something pretty mischievous to get pulled in for Saturday school. "What's your professor's name? I may have met them before." Peter glanced at her, but she continued grading the papers without looking up.
"Dr. Olivia Otto." Ms. Leigh paused at that and looked towards him with her eyebrows raised.
"You mean the Olivia Otto?" Peter quirked an eyebrow but nodded.
"Wow." She tilted her head and blew out a breath. "That's kind of a huge deal. She's, like, a major keynote speaker every year. You must have really impressed her. From what I understand, she never recommends people. Let alone students your age." Peter wasn't entirely sure why the comment made him uncomfortable. It wasn't as if she were doubting his qualifications per se, but something about it bothered him.
He had thought it was odd, when she'd approached him during the volunteer lab he'd signed up for a few weeks earlier, and told him she'd had a job for him. But money was money, and he hadn't thought much else about it except that it would help him with rent. Maybe he should have. He hadn't known her long at the time, and he still didn't really know her to begin with, but things had fallen into place a little too easily. He wouldn't have thought that, had it not been for Ms. Leigh's comment.
Was something bigger at play? Something he wasn't aware of, even now?
Was Morgan involved with this coincidence, too? Clearly, she'd been attending this school for a while now, though he wasn't entirely sure how long, having not been in her life for the past three years. But had she had a hand in making this job fall into his lap? He knew she was smart, smarter than most adults, even, but how the hell would she have managed that? Did her flyer have something to do with it?
"I'm Marnie, by the way." Ms. Leigh said, continuing casually, her words pulling Peter from his distracting thoughts. "I don't think you're much younger than me, so it'd be weird if you called me Ms. Leigh. Plus, I think they have you with me for the next few weeks, unless something comes up. So, I can be your insider, if you want." She winked conspiratorially and Peter smiled awkwardly.
"That'd be nice. Thanks, Marnie." She smiled at that but let the silence between them resume as she focused back on the papers under her hands. They sat quietly for a while longer, and when the lunch bell rang, she invited him to eat with her in the teacher's lounge. He'd declined, and instead made his way out to the courtyard to eat, wanting to be alone with his thoughts so he could figure out how to proceed, now that he knew for certain Morgan remembered him.
There was a small copse of willow trees, planted in a circle by the pond, and no one else seemed to be out in the cold January afternoon. He didn't mind the chill that much, having had the foresight to wear a sweater and a coat. He'd brought a book, but he didn't plan on reading, in all reality.
He'd finalized a plan, while grading the papers.
One that Morgan would probably never forgive him for, but he knew would work in his favor. He had to make sure she wouldn't want to see him again, no matter what. And the only conclusion he had come to, the only thing that would convince her to leave him alone, was if he acted like he didn't know her.
He knew it was going to hurt.
That much would be obvious to anyone with eyes, but he couldn't risk putting her in any more danger than he already had, when he'd accepted the job. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to her.
He had stayed away from everyone for three years. He kept his inner circle small; so small it couldn't fit anyone other than himself, anymore. He didn't date, didn't allow himself to get close to people who held the potential for friendship, and kept all interactions outside of those when he was Spider-Man to a minimum. He already worried about how quickly he and Harley were bonding after only a few days of living together, he couldn't be worried about Morgan coming back into his life, too.
Being Spider-Man meant more to him than almost everything else.
But Spider-Man was dangerous, for anyone that cared about him. May had paid the ultimate price for it, and he didn't think he'd ever forget that. Her words still rang in his ears, anytime he put the suit on.
With great power, comes great responsibility.
She'd known, in those final moments—before the light faded from her eyes and before she'd drawn her last breath—that some things were bigger than everything else. She'd made sure to tell him that. Peter knew he couldn't let her die in vain. She'd known what he could do, and she'd had the purest of hearts. She'd died, doing what she believed was right: helping others. She hadn't had to. She could have simply given up, like Peter had tried to that very day. Maybe she would have still been alive, if she had. But she had been so adamant that they had a responsibility to do good. Even at the expense of herself.
Three years later and it still wasn't a lesson Peter was going to forget anytime soon.
Because of it, because of her sacrifice, he couldn't give up being Spider-Man. He had a responsibility to use his capabilities for good. She'd told him as much, as she'd lay dying in his arms. As much as he wanted to be with the people who loved him, who knew him to his core, he knew it was too dangerous. It was why he'd asked Strange to make them all forget.
He couldn't give up Spider-Man, but he also couldn't bear the burden of someone he loved getting hurt, again.
So, he sat in the courtyard, and he waited for the inevitable.
She'd found him faster than he'd expected, and he wondered (not for the first time) if the universe simply liked to play cruel jokes on him. It certainly felt that way, most of the time.
"Peter?" Her voice made his heart stutter in his chest, the tone so familiar, yet so different all at once as it registered in his ears. He took a sharp breath and turned slowly on the small bench. Morgan was behind him, her eyes bright. It was going to hurt to be the one to take that light from her eyes. He didn't know how she knew who he was, and what all she remembered, but he found he sort of hated Stephen Strange in that moment. This was something that wasn't supposed to be possible. He was positive no one else knew who he was, so why, of all people, did he allow his sister to remember him? He pushed his thoughts down, looking Morgan up and down and tilting his head as he tried to school his expression into blankness.
"I'm sorry." He said, looking at her as if they'd never met before. His mind and body knew differently, running through a litany of memories that burned as they seared through him.
Morgan, meeting him for the first time, after Tony's snap. Five years old and already smart as a whip, though she couldn't quite grasp that her dad was never going to come back. After the funeral, with his mind so rattled by the events of the day that his hands shook as he tucked her into bed and told her he'd be back later that week while Pepper watched them sadly from the doorway. Talking over cheap hamburgers as she observed him with those intelligent eyes, eyes that no six-year-old should have yet, eyes that knew too much; had seen too much. Showing her his passcode to the lab to use in Tony's sudden, aching, absence; and later his own. Making forts in the backyard of the lake house, watching the stars as Peter pointed out different constellations to her, explaining the night sky and the history the cosmos held there.
He took a shallow breath, pushing all of that down. He swallowed hard, ready to put the final nail in the coffin.
He would remember her, for as long as he lived. Of that much, he was certain.
But he couldn't be responsible for something happening to her. He'd lost enough already, and so had she. This was the only way he could protect her, now.
"Who are you?" He asked, trying not to choke on the words.
Morgan's face dropped, and Peter could practically hear his own heart crack in two at the sight of the immediate hurt on her face. The noise was so loud, he was surprised she didn't comment on it. Instead, she reeled away from him, her hand slipping off of his shoulder as she took a few stumbling steps back, her arms raising to wrap tightly around herself as she watched him, warily.
"Are you okay?" He couldn't help it, asking her, the distress so clearly visible in her small frame he almost broke down right then and there and told her the truth. But he couldn't do that. She was so young; she didn't deserve this. He didn't know if he'd ever forgive himself for what he had to do, but he prayed that one day she would; that she'd come to understand the choice he had to make to protect her.
"You're joking, right?" She asked, her voice coming out sort of squeaky, like someone on the verge of tears. She loosened her iron hold on herself to stare defiantly up at him, hands dropping into clenched fists by her side. "You know who I am." She shook her head, brown hair swishing around her shoulders. Peter's chest ached. "You have to." Her voice dropped to something so soft, Peter wasn't sure any normal human would have heard it.
But his abilities made sure that he did.
"No, I'm sorry, I think you're mistaken." He said, trying to keep his own voice even. "I'm Peter. I'm a new teacher's aide here. Today's my first day."
"Shut up." Morgan said, her brow furrowing sharply. "Just shut up. I know who you are, Peter. I know you know who I am. You wouldn't have run that first day, after seeing my flyer if you didn't!" She pointed at him, all the accusation and righteousness of a nine-year-old who had been dealt a bad hand, held in the gesture. Peter tried not to let the fact that she'd seen him his first day register on his face. Morgan carried on, taking over the silence with no regard for his lack of an answer. "You do not get to act like I am something to be forgotten! You're my brother and we've already lost dad! How do you not remember?" Peter's chest ached at the way her voice shook, and it took everything in his willpower to not immediately give in; to grab her and hug her; to hold her so tight he was certain neither of them would breathe for a long while after. Instead he simply watched her as she continued to stare at him, her small face pinched in determination. It was the same expression he'd seen Pepper wear many times before and he was struck with the uncanniness of it. But when he still didn't relent, simply steeling his own resolve to watch her as she lost her cool, she crossed her arms over her chest once more, letting out a long exhale, befitting of a pre-teen whose patience had run incredibly thin. "Fine." She said, narrowing her eyes. The sight reminded him so sharply of Tony, that look such a stark reminder of the man they'd both lost, that it suddenly hurt to try and breathe. But he refused to drop his gaze, trying to stand his ground against the force of the nine-year-old genius. "If you want to pretend like you don't know me, you do that. But I just want you to know, Peter Benjamin Parker that I am going to prove it. I'm going to make sure everyone remembers you. And you can't make me stop." She didn't wait for a response, turning on her heel and marching away, right as the bell that signified lunch had ended rang across the now empty courtyard. Peter let her go, making no attempt to chase her down.
He felt like an asshole.
God, he was such an asshole.
Fuck.
He had known Morgan long enough to know she was a force of nature; one that didn't go back on her word, even when she'd been six years old. He had no doubt that hadn't changed in the past three years, especially after her outburst. If she was that determined to know and remember him, there wasn't much he would be able to do to stop her, especially now that he no longer had the resources he had once had, ones that would prevent her from doing just that.
Maybe it was time to try a different approach.
He dreaded the idea, knowing it was a last-minute resolution, but it was the only one he could think of after her little spiel. He'd avoided it for three years, successfully having kept his profile as low as he could while still attempting to keep New York safe. He avoided streets he knew would make him run into people he'd known before, stayed away from places he knew Ned, MJ and the likes frequented, and it was all about to be for naught, if Morgan held true to her word.
There was only one other option, to make all of this go away.
It was time to go see Strange.
When Peter finally managed to get home, after a grueling day of self-doubt and memories that hurt too much to focus on for too long, he was greeted by the sight of Harley dancing in his boxers with only May's frilly, old cooking apron and knee-length socks covering the rest of him. He did however, sport a pair of over the ear headphones and long rubber gloves as he slid across the faux hardwood floor, singing into a sponge with his eyes closed. He didn't notice Peter at first, too busy belting out the chorus of 'Sympathy for the Devil' by The Rolling Stones, right up until Peter let the door slam shut behind him. The other boy jumped and whipped around, pulling one headphone off of his ear, as he quirked a brow at Peter, like it were his fault that he'd walked into the display before him.
"Oh. Hey, Pete." He said, grinning and lifting his non-soap-covered free hand in a casual wave, as if the sight of him half naked in their kitchen was completely normal. "Sorry, I didn't think you'd be home for another hour." Peter glanced at his socks, dark against his pale, skinny legs and back up at Harley's face, suppressing a grin. It had been a shitty day, and the memory of Morgan's betrayed expression was surely going to haunt his dreams if he finally managed to trick himself into falling asleep that night, so the sight of Harley doing mundane tasks while half-dressed and completely unembarrassed, was a welcome distraction.
"Should I expect this every time I get home?" He asked, dropping his satchel onto the floor, and turning to hang up his keys.
"Nah," Harley said, one shoulder lifting in a half-hearted shrug. His brow furrowed as he reconsidered his statement. "I'd say maybe 55% of the time? I don't know, depends on how late work keeps me." Peter laughed at that, unable to help it. He couldn't remember a time in recent years he'd had such a casual interaction with another person, and it felt so mundane and normal that he couldn't help the sudden rush of endorphins it gave him, especially after the day he'd had. Harley's grin widened at the sound that escaped Peter, and his eyebrows rose even higher. "Damn, Parker. I think that's the first time I've heard you laugh. Are we on track to become best friends?" He wiggled his eyebrows at the suggestion, but Peter's breath caught in his throat. He sobered quickly, and the loose smile he'd gained suddenly tightened. He looked away from Harley, clearing his throat as he walked into their small kitchen. He grabbed a water out of the fridge and heard Harley shuffle awkwardly behind him. "Sorry, man." Harley said after a minute. "I don't know if I overstepped a boundary or something…"
"It's fine." Peter said, turning back towards him, trying to turn his smile into something more genuine. Harley's expression told him he hadn't been successful. "Sorry, I'm just…" He frowned, trying to figure out how to explain. "I'm not a good friend to have around." He said, finally, biting his lip. Harley's face morphed into an expression Peter couldn't quite place, and his hands landed on his hips as he assessed Peter.
"That's not a real thing." He said, decidedly. Peter knew he looked doubtful, but Harley gave him no time to dispute the statement, carrying on with confidence to prevent any sort of verbal interruption. "People who are bad friends always think they're the best. They sing their own praises. You, Peter Parker," He pointed the sponge at Peter, his face suddenly morphing into an extremely determined expression, "you, are what I like to call an overthinker. You're probably a great friend. Good friends don't think they're great. But they care about the people in their lives." Harley looked him over and Peter tried not to feel self-conscious as the piercing blue of the other boy seemed to look right through him. "I think you'd be a great friend. But I think you're afraid to let people get close to you. I haven't figured out why, yet. But I will." Harley winked at him before he made his way into the kitchen, casually returning to washing the dishes as if he hadn't just announced his intent to learn all of Peter's secrets.
Peter shifted uncomfortably in his spot by the fridge but took a long sip of water as he considered what to say. Before he could could a word in edge-wise though, Harley started talking again.
"I was thinking about making some grilled cheese for dinner tonight. You want one?" Peter felt like he was going to get whiplash from the number of times the other boy was changing the subject, so he just nodded mutely. Harley glanced at him before winking again and turning back towards the dishes. "Dope. We should make roommate dinners a regular thing. Can't befriend you and learn all your secrets if we don't have regularly scheduled bonding time, huh?" Peter stared at him.
"Um… I don't think—" Harley let out a dramatic sigh at the start of Peter's sentence.
"C'mon, Parker. I don't bite. Plus, I haven't seen you have a single person over, since I moved in. What harm could one little friend do?" Peter's lips twitched in wry amusement as Harley wiggled his eyebrows in dramatic fashion. More than you can know. He thought, but he just shook his head and let out a soft breath of air.
"Harley." He said, quietly, looking down. "Listen, you seem really great—"
"Geez, Parker, are we breaking up or something?" Harley stopped washing the dishes and crossed his yellow-gloved arms across his frilly-apron adorned chest as he leaned against the counter while interrupting Peter for the second time. "I'll have you know; my boyfriend is going to be so bummed to find out my roommate is a Debbie Downer."
"Your boyfriend?" Peter asked, quirking a brow. He hadn't heard Harley mention a significant other before, let alone seen anyone else in their apartment, but it had only been a few days since Harley moved in. The other boy nodded casually.
"Yeah, his name's Harry. I invited him over for dinner next week since he's in town for business with his dad, and so you guys could meet. But I figured you and I should get to know each other a little better before I try to introduce you to each other. It's always awkward trying to make people bond when you don't really know one of them, you know?" Peter stared at him, dumbfounded.
"Ah." He finally managed to say, his brain still trying to catch up. "O-okay. Yeah. Fine. We can do roommate dinners for a little while. But Harley, just so you know, I'm really not big on friends and shit." He shook his head. "I don't have a lot of time. Wish I did, but I've got to focus on some other stuff right now." It was an excuse he'd used before, when his last lab partner had tried to befriend him, and it had worked at the time. He didn't think Harley would be fooled as easily.
Harley assessed him again, looking like he wanted to argue, but ultimately just nodded. "Alright Peter." He said simply, instead. He resumed his task of washing the dishes, slipping his headphones fully back over his ears. "Dinners at seven," he called as Peter began to make his way to his room.
Peter hesitated but waved his acceptance back.
A dinner a week wasn't going to kill him.
Right?
Harley had grown up in a house where everyone shared.
Up until the First Snap, he'd shared everything with Ariel. His room, his bed, his toys, his bathroom. Everything. And as such, he couldn't help but create an idealized version of how living with a roommate would be, having watched plenty of shows like Friends and How I Met Your Mother to base his future life on. But Peter didn't seem to fall into any of the categories of quirky best friends meeting and forming life long friendships in New York. And yeah, technically Harley had found him on purpose (well, sort of), but he'd sort of expected Peter to at least make an effort. Every time Harley felt like he was getting close to learning anything of significance about the other boy, it seemed like Peter would catch on and quickly shut him down.
Needless to say, dinner had been an awkward affair.
Harley learned that Peter was exceptionally good at asking questions while simultaneously avoiding answering any that were thrown at him. Frankly, after their awkward conversation in the kitchen, he was surprised he'd even come out of his room to eat, but Harley didn't plan on looking a gift horse in the mouth.
Instead, he did what he did best: he talked.
"Yeah, everyone thinks it's taboo to talk about, but I think more people should. It keeps things interesting, learning who survived The Snap, and who didn't." He shrugged and took a big bite of the grilled cheese dipped in tomato soup, sparing a glance towards Peter, who was wolfing his dinner down as if it was the first thing he'd ever eaten in his twenty-one years of existence. Peter seemed to feel him staring and looked up like a deer caught in headlights. He took in Harley's expression for a moment before setting the sandwich down on the plate that sat on the small coffee table and clasping his hands in his lap as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Harley tried not to wince at the sight.
Every time he tried to chip away at the intolerably high walls his roommate had built around himself, he only seemed to be met with another brick slotting into place. He wouldn't even tell him how his first day on the job was, instead having muttered something indistinguishable under his breath before digging into his food as he avoided eye contact.
What was his deal?
Harley wasn't sure he'd ever know.
"Sorry, dude." He said when Peter remained silent. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He tilted his head and ate another bite of his grilled cheese before gesturing vaguely towards the plate with a shrug. "Some people eat fast. And don't like to share personal things. No biggie." He glanced towards the tv, the news playing softly in the background. They were doing a piece on Spider-Man, and shaky phone camera footage showed a masked bandit of some sort of trap, webbed to a streetlamp, dangling upside down with a note attached to the webbing holding him in place. Harley pointed at the tv, grinning around a mouthful of bread and cheese. "Now that guy? That's a guy I'd like to have a drink with." He knocked lightly into Peter who coughed, hard, choking on the sip of water he'd taken.
Harley did wince, this time.
He couldn't seem to stop putting his foot in his mouth, no matter how hard he tried not to.
Peter cleared his throat and spared him a glance. "Yeah. Um. Yeah, he seems pretty, um," he cleared his throat, and Harley had a feeling he'd walked into a subject he wasn't necessarily meant to bring up, "…interesting." Peter finished lamely. He stood suddenly, brushing invisible crumbs off of his sweater. Then, he grabbed his plate off the small coffee table and woodenly made his way into the kitchen, as Harley stared after him.
Harley frowned and stood up to follow. Peter glanced at him as he leaned against the fridge, crossing his arms over his chest, and settling his eyes firmly on the other boy. Peter avoided his gaze as if it held the plague while he began washing his plate, but his shoulders were a tight line of tension. Harley could practically feel the discomfort radiating off of him.
"Alright, Parker." Harley said, waving a hand in the air with a dramatic flourish. "Spill the beans."
"W-what?" Peter's plate clattered in the sink as he dropped it, but he was quick to rectify his mistake, snatching it up again as his ears turned a burning red. Harley didn't really know what to make of that, so he kept talking instead.
"What's the deal? You don't like Spider-Man?" He waited, but Peter just kept his eyes downcast, pressing harder as he scrubbed at the plate, presumably putting every ounce of energy he could muster into completely ignoring the question. Harley persisted, regardless. "C'mon, dude, what's up, for real? All you've done the entire time I've lived here is avoid me like I'm carrying an infectious disease. Now we can't even have a normal conversation about superheroes? We live in New York. Where the Avenger's fucking formed, dude! That shit is cool! Admit it!" He quirked an eyebrow, and noticed how white knuckled Peter's hands had become. His gaze flicked towards his jaw, which was clenched. Harley frowned, opening his mouth to back down and apologize for clearly overstepping another boundary he hadn't even known existed. He was really struggling to get a read on the other boy, and it bothered him that he couldn't figure out why.
They both jumped when the sudden crack rang through the apartment air. Harley's eyes shot to the plate that had previously been in Peter's hands, which now lay in shattered pieces under the running faucet. The water below Peter's hands suddenly gained a rosy hue, and Harley realized, with a start, that Peter had managed to cut himself on the broken porcelain. "Oh, shit, dude, are you okay?" He scrambled forward, but Peter stepped back from him, mechanically holding his wounded hand and reaching for a wad of paper towels as the water continued running. Harley moved again, ready to try and help him wrap it, but Peter jerked away before he could get close enough to be any sort of assistance.
"I'm fine." He said sharply, his brown eyes guarded. Harley couldn't help but feel like every move he was making was the wrong one. Peter continued to eye him as he began tearing the thin paper towels into strips with his teeth. Harley's frown deepened but didn't move to help him again, unsure how he'd react after his previous attempts had been shot down. Peter finally dropped his gaze from him as he began to wrap the cut with practiced ease.
Like he'd been bandaging himself up for years.
Interesting.
"I don't like to talk about myself, Harley." Peter said, after a moment, his voice quietly controlled as he tucked the loose end of the paper towel into the makeshift bandage he'd made, tying it off to where it was neatly folded, the movement a muscle memory; like he'd done something similar a hundred times before. He clenched his fist tightly and returned to ignoring Harley, clearly not waiting for a response as he stared down at the broken plate in the kitchen sink, the water still running. He blew out a breath and shut the water off with his elbow. He spared a glance back towards Harley, who remained frozen to his spot by the fridge, waiting. For what, he wasn't exactly sure.
Peter's shoulders suddenly sagged, and he looked like he'd taken on the weight of the world; like Atlas remembering exactly what burden he had to bear. Harley wasn't the most empathetic type, having been burned too many times by too many shitty people to really care about anyone other than his immediate friends and family, but it was almost painful to watch. Like suddenly all of Peter's walls had come crashing down, and he was witnessing a vulnerability that had been kept private for a reason. There was such a rawness to the look, that Harley almost couldn't bear it.
He barely drew in another shallow breath, watching as the other boy looked up, finally meeting his gaze. His brown eyes were endlessly sad, and Harley wanted to know why.
Could Morgan be right?
Had everyone forgotten him, except for her?
She'd been so adamant, when she'd told him about her long-lost brother. A brother Harley couldn't seem to remember. Harley wondered, if he were to be in Peter's shoes (if Morgan was right, and if this Peter was even her Peter, which to be honest, all signs pointed to that, but who was keeping track?), if everyone forgot him, how would he feel? Would he look like he'd taken on a burden he could barely shoulder on his own? Would he be able to bear it? The weight of being so alone?
"My Aunt was killed because of Spider-Man." Peter said suddenly, his voice incredibly soft, startling Harley out of his runaway thoughts. He waited, still frozen in place, afraid that the slightest movement would get that wall of bricks to slam back into place. This was the first time Peter had started to open up to him outside of the night before, when he'd mentioned his Aunt dying to begin with. Harley didn't want to scare him off by saying something stupid. "So. I don't really care to discuss him, or any of the other Avengers. Too many bad memories." He began collecting the pieces of the shattered plate, and Harley jumped into action at his movement, grabbing the trashcan out from under the sink and bringing it to him. Peter shot him a look that held some semblance of gratefulness, but Harley didn't comment on it. Instead, he waited, hoping his silence would prompt the other boy into a continuation of his speech.
But Peter had fallen back into silence, seemingly done for the day.
Still, Harley remained quiet, waiting, hoping that they'd finally gotten somewhere.
Then, finally:
"Thank you." Peter managed to murmur, quietly. "Sorry about the plate. I think it's yours. I'll reimburse you."
"It's fine, Peter." Harley said immediately, frowning. "Don't worry about it. It's not like it was expensive, anyways. I'm sure my mom got it from Dollar Tree or something. I'm more concerned with your hand." He glanced pointedly at the makeshift bandage, but Peter ignored the look. "You should let me get you some disinfectant, at least." Harley gave him a steady look, hoping the other boy would give in and accept the small peace offering.
"Really, Harley, it's fine. It wasn't that deep. Probably won't even scar." Peter said, shrugging and pulling away from Harley's outstretched hand. "And if it does, it can join the collection." He gestured vaguely at himself, and Harley's frown stretched deeper, wondering what he meant by that.
"Peter…"
"Don't, Harley." Peter's voice was a soft warning, sounding like it was on the edge of cracking. Like if Harley pushed one more time, Peter might break again. And maybe not just a plate this time. As much as Harley wanted to really know what was going on, he knew it would be too much. "I've got a meeting with an old friend that I have to get to." Peter said, when he seemed certain that Harley wasn't going to keep pushing it. Harley just nodded slowly, his brow creasing.
"I thought you didn't have friends?" He couldn't help the words slipping out of him, and Peter's sour look only seemed to affirm that he should have kept them to himself.
"I don't. I should say, 'acquaintance.' I'll be back late tonight. Don't wait up." Then, he was turning and disappearing into his room without another word, leaving Harley by himself with only his swirling thoughts to accompany him.
Morgan absolutely loathed when people assumed she was an idiot because she was only nine years old.
Sometimes, she wondered if her dad had felt the same way, when he was her age. From what her mom had told her, they were very similar when it came to their intellect while growing up. On the rare occasion her mom did decide to talk about him, she didn't really talk much about how he'd been before Morgan was born. So, she couldn't be sure, but she had a feeling he'd probably experienced things in a similar, if not exactly the same, fashion she did.
But she didn't think he'd ever had a brother that denied he was his brother.
Peter had tried to hide it, the recognition, but Morgan had known better. She knew he'd felt the same pull that she had, the inexplicable tie that bound them together, no matter how much he might have tried to deny it. They were family. She knew it, could feel it, tugging her towards him, but he'd acted like they'd never met. Like he'd forgotten like everyone else had.
Who are you?
That had stung. He'd really had the audacity to look her in the eyes and ask who she was, as if she hadn't grown up around him, as if she didn't know his exact tell when it came to lying. He always did this little two-step blink; it was how she'd learned to beat him during poker, a game he had taught her when they were first still getting used to each other.
Peter, son of Tony, the firstborn in the Stark clan. Not family by blood, but through something deeper, something that had been forged in blood and fire, in the most literal sense.
Yeah, she was positive he'd been lying when he'd acted like he didn't know her. She could feel it, knew it, in fact, and she'd called him on it. And yeah, maybe she'd been rude about it, but she was not about to let him act like he wasn't her brother. She didn't know what sort of mean game he was trying to play, but she was not about to let him be the one to win it. She'd meant exactly what she'd said, when she'd told him she was going to prove it.
She wasn't entirely sure how she was going to accomplish that, but she'd started to think of something that would work.
"Hey, Mom?" She poked her head into the bathroom, where her mom was pinning elegant, silver hoops in her ears, clearly still getting ready for the Gala she had to make an appearance at. She'd arrived at the school at 4 pm, sharp, earlier that day, just like she'd promised she'd would. Morgan had still been so insulted by her conversation with Peter, trying to process why he would try and lie to her to the point that she'd remained completely silent as they'd driven home for the third time in forty-eight hours. And Morgan had remained quiet for almost the entire remainder of the night, until it had started to get dark and her mom had gone to the bathroom to get ready for her event.
Her mom raised an eyebrow at her, in the mirror, fiddling with the backing. "Hm?" She called back.
"I know you're still mad…" Pepper shook her head, a small, knowing smile slipping over her lips as she rolled her eyes, somewhat affectionately.
"What are you wanting, Morgan?" She asked, turning towards her and pulling the door open wider, so Morgan was staring up at her instead of at her reflection. Her mom stared down at her in return, eyebrow quirking even higher on her forehead as she took the sight of her in.
"Um…" Morgan hummed, contemplating if now was the right time. She'd waited this long—three years, to be exact—without mentioning him. Would her mom still remember the name? She hadn't ever brought him back up, after first trying to talk to her about him. And she didn't know if Uncle Happy or Uncle Rhodey had tried to ask about him, after she'd tried to convince them, but she could only hope that she wouldn't recognize it. She took a deep breath to steady her resolve and squared her shoulders as she bit her lip. "So, I was thinking…" Pepper watched her, folding her arms under her chest, careful to not wrinkle the silky black dress beneath her slender limbs.
"Morgan, honey, you know I'm still not happy about your detention. Is now really the best time to be asking me for something?" She asked, and Morgan felt her shoulder's slump. She should have waited. But they were here, and she was going to tell her, whether or not it felt right. She had to do this before Peter decided to quit his position at the school.
"ImetsomeoneatmyschoolandIthinkhewouldbereallygoodforStarkIndustriesbutIdon'tknowforsureandIthinkyoushouldmeethimandinterviewhimforaposition." Pepper blinked, clearly trying to process everything Morgan had said, her head tilting as she looked down at her.
"And who is this someone?" She asked, after a beat of silence.
"His name is Peter." Pepper's eyebrows drew together, and she hummed softly.
"Have I met him, before? And where did you meet him?" She asked, fiddling with the backing of her earrings once more.
"No." Morgan refuted quickly, her stomach rolling at the lie that escaped her. She straightened her spine again, trying to act natural. She'd never lied to her mom before. Not with something this huge, at least. Sure, little white lies, here and there, but who didn't? No lie she'd ever pedaled before had ever been of this magnitude. If her plan was going to work, she couldn't break. "He just started at my school the other day." She continued. "He's an assistant, but he's super smart."
"Morgan, why are you talking to the new assistant by yourself?" Her mom's hands stilled as she watched her carefully, and Morgan tried to keep her face neutral as she shrugged.
"I saw him sitting by himself during lunch." She said suddenly rushing to explain to keep her mom from looking too deep into her suggestion. "So, we started talking. He's super smart, mom. I think he would fit in really well at the company." She looked down at her bare feet, wiggling her toes in the soft carper that lined the floor, avoiding eye contact.
"Hm." Her mom sounded again, and Morgan looked up at her meeting the cerulean blue of her eyes; clashing against her own brown. "Morgan, honey, you know that's not exactly how jobs work." She said, after a moment, stepping out of the doorway and gently steering Morgan so that they sat on the edge of her bed. Morgan looked down again, her heart dropping in her chest. "But," she continued, clearly seeing the distress on her face, "maybe you can introduce me to him. If you don't get detention again. Really, honey, what has been going on with you?" Morgan kept her gaze down at the question. "I know I've been busy, but you can still talk to me about whatever's been bothering you, big or small. I know it sucks that we haven't gotten to hang out much, but I'm still your mom, and I love you, and I want you to be able to talk to me." She pushed Morgan's bangs out of her eyes, forcing her chin up to meet her gaze again. "That doesn't mean talking to me just to ask me to give someone a job." She teased, tucking a strand of hair behind Morgan's ear.
"Mom, I'm fine." Morgan huffed, twisting her hands in her lap. Suddenly her mom's hands were covering her own, gently holding them. They hadn't had a lot of mom & daughter, one-on-one time recently. There was some big merger or something going on with Stark Industries and she didn't really know all the details, but she did know it had kept her mom incredibly busy for the past three months.
Which had been exactly what she needed.
For three months she'd worked on her plan, while virtually no one knew what she was doing. She'd figured it all out, almost exactly down to the detail...for the most part. She was going to have to move things up and everything was going to unfold a little differently now, since Harley got himself involved and since Peter had decided to play dumb.
But it would still work.
She was pretty sure.
It had started out simple enough. First, she had to locate Peter and get him to a central location. And for that to happen, she had turned to the one person who she knew would be able to help.
Aunt Nat had been in her life for as far back as she could remember. She'd known there was some sort of rift with her dad and Nat, but they'd never really explained it. They danced around it, never addressing the elephant in the room, but Morgan could tell something had been sort of…off with them, even at the age of five. But no one had ever explained it, and Aunt Nat had stayed close, even after Morgan's dad had died.
Nat hadn't been there for that whole ordeal. Technically, she'd been dead. Or, at least her physical body had been, at the time.
Frankly, none of them could really explain it. Uncle Bruce had done his best, but there wasn't really a scientific angle he could pin down that would give them any sort of real answer.
It was Morgan's first introduction to the fact that some things were simply unexplainable.
After Steve returned the stones, he came back with Natasha. They had been mourning her dad for almost a week, by then. Mourning everyone they'd lost, really. Natasha included. And Morgan had been on the cusp of six at that point, not quite understanding grief or how her dad and Aunt Nat could just be gone, when Steve had showed up on their front lawn, Natasha in tow, that wry smile she saved for those closest to her painted on her lips.
It'd confused Morgan, at first. How could they bring Nat back, but not her dad? It felt like some sort of cruel prank. She'd told Natasha as much, as they'd sat on the porch swing once things had settled down and once Helen had finished a full exam of her, and Uncle Bruce had asked all of the questions he could think of.
Do you remember anything? Are you in any pain at the moment? What was it like? How are you here, now?
They'd all wanted to know. But Natasha hadn't been able to tell them much.
She'd said it was peaceful. Wherever she'd been, after she'd made the sacrificial jump that resulted in them gaining the stone. Like floating in nothingness. But knowing you were okay. It was quiet. She'd told them. But I wasn't afraid. It was as if I knew everything was going to be okay. I felt like I was going home. Then, it was like the lights came back on. I was falling through space and time, and when I came to…She'd gestured vaguely at herself. I was back. I woke up in a pool of water, next to Steve.
And that had been that.
The only thing Uncle Bruce could determine was that one of two things had happened. They didn't truly know how the Infinity Stones worked. The wizard in the silly robes had given them an explanation to the best of his ability, but there seemed to be no governing, scientific laws that they could use to explain it. Were the stones sentient beings? No one knew for certain. No one had known how much power they really held, not until Thanos had come. Since so little was truly known about them, who was to say how they operated? Certainly not them. Perhaps the stone itself had taken pity on Natasha. As far as they were aware, she was the only person to ever willingly sacrifice themselves to gain its power. She'd done it for others, not for her own benefit. Perhaps whatever greater thing goverened them had decided her sacrifice to be to great and had mercy. But Uncle Bruce was a man of science, and he didn't necessarily believe in some great 'thing' ruling them, let along something that watched their every move that and would have made that sort of decision. That little spiel had led to a really fun conversation with her mom pulling him into another room and whisper yelling something about God and Church that Morgan had pretended to not hear. She had only been six, and frankly, she didn't really know what to believe. It wasn't like they regularly went to Mass or anything. Only on Easter and Christmas, and it had certainly never been at her dad's insistence.
But Bruce had moved on, instead bringing up the rule of the stone. A soul for a soul. Steve and Uncle Clint had told them that was the deal, and they seemed convinced that that was what brought her back. Upon Steve's return of the stone (something they figured had also never happened before, as far as they were aware) the trade agreement was met. The soul stone was willingly returned, and as such, so was Natasha.
Uncle Bruce had leaned more towards the latter explanation too, and they hadn't argued it with him. It didn't have to make sense. All that had mattered was that Natasha was back. She had started visiting a lot more than she had while Morgan's dad had still been alive, once she had returned. She never talked badly about him though, in fact, she was pretty much the only person that would openly discuss him, especially once Peter had been forgotten.
Morgan liked to think they'd gotten pretty close after that.
It's why she'd asked her to do what she'd asked her to do. It was the most important part of her plan, and she really hadn't thought of anyone else to help her with it.
Aunt Nat had been…dubious, at best. She certainly wasn't pleased that Morgan had asked her to hack into her mom's twitter account to direct message Dr. Olivia Otto Octavius, the professor of one 'Peter Parker'. She'd been even less pleased to learn that Morgan had discovered this information by hacking into New York Universities grading system to find him in the first place.
Morgan omitted the fact that Harley had been the one to teach her how to hack. She didn't think Aunt Nat would have agreed if she'd told her he knew, too. In fact, she probably would have immediately ratted her out to Pepper, right then and there. But, for some odd reason, despite Morgan's bizarre, and admittedly somewhat deranged request, she hadn't. Morgan had a feeling it had something to do with the elephant in the room that seemed to haunt Aunt Nat about her dad. There was some unspoken thing that drove her to help Morgan.
And maybe Morgan had known that. And maybe she had taken advantage of it. Sometimes a girl had to do what a girl had to do.
There were two reasons she wouldn't be able to hack into her mom's phone herself, despite Harley's teachings that had eventually landed her the ability to wiggle her way into a prestigious New York school system (weak password or not).
Number one: she had barely seen her mom in the week leading up to the initial meetings of the ongoing merger. They were like ships in the night, between Uncle Happy being the one to drive her to school and pick her up after, and her mom never getting home before Morgan had already fallen asleep and leaving well before she woke up each weekend morning. It wasn't intentional, they both knew it, but it certainly threw a wrench in Morgan's plans to hack in by herself. She simply didn't have access.
As for number two: her mom kept a work phone and a personal phone. Both were heavily encrypted, password protected, and regularly scanned by FRIDAY for security breaches, and Morgan was still a novice hacker. She had started working on her first AI a little while ago, but she was nowhere close to being able to hack a system as complex as FRIDAY, let alone fully understand her code to do so.
Instead, she'd called her Aunt Nat.
The older woman shown up to the lake house in an hour, pulling in on her motorcycle and letting herself in through the front door. Uncle Happy had gone on a grocery run, so it had just been them. Aunt Nat had made her explain, and Morgan, shaking with nerves at finally telling the truth to someone, had.
She told her about Peter, explaining that she didn't know how, or why, but everyone had forgotten him. She was the only person who seemed to remember him, and when she'd tried to tell people, three years prior, no one had believed her. She begged Nat to keep it a secret. She was the only person she'd intended on telling, and she would have been, had Harley not wormed his way in.
Aunt Nat had sat, stone-faced across from her, her red hair braided back from her face, framed only by soft strands that had fallen loose, small lines creasing at the corner of her mouth.
"Let me look into it, first." She'd said. Then, she'd gotten up and left without another word.
And that had been it.
Until she'd called Morgan, three days later and asked her what, exactly, her plan was. Morgan wasn't sure what she'd found that had made her agree, and she didn't ask. She didn't ask, either, what she'd done to get into her mom's phone when Aunt Nat text her three days after that, a simple text that read: 'Done.' She just prayed Nat had remembered to erase all the evidence.
Morgan saw Dr. Olivia in the Dean's office two days after that. She'd done a victorious dance of joy at the sight, pumping her fist in the air and racing to her next class, absolutely breathless as her mind ran a mile a minute, knowing she was that much closer to getting her brother back. Her plan was falling into place.
And then Peter had made it seem like he didn't even know her, practically flushing all of her hard work down the drain with a simple sentence.
"Morgan?" Her mom squeezed her hands tightly, frowning as she snapped her back to the present. "Just saying you're 'fine' doesn't mean you're actually fine. Trust me, sweetie." She took a soft breath and squeezed Morgan's hands again. "Do you know your dad always used to say he was fine?" She said, finally, after a moment, almost an afterthought.
"Really?" Morgan asked, looking towards her skeptically.
"Mhm. Even when he wasn't. You know," Pepper huffed a soft laugh, "you wouldn't know it, with how he acted after he got it, but before he was Iron Man, he obviously didn't have the Arc Reactor." She shook her head, smiling fondly. "And then, after it, when he was first still figuring things out, he had me come replace the core of it because something had gone wrong. I electrocuted him, accidentally." She laughed, and shook her head, again, recalling the memory Morgan had never heard before. "He told me he was fine." She shook her head before resting it gently against Morgan's and humming thoughtfully. "He said it a lot. Sometimes it was true, sometimes it wasn't. You don't always have to be fine, Morgoona." It was a pet name Morgan hadn't heard in a long time. Her dad had always called her that, and later, Peter.
"Peter reminds me of dad." Morgan said quietly, after her mom's words had settled over them.
It was true. Peter did remind her of their dad. For many reasons. For one, he was her brother. Not by blood, but that had never been important to them. He just was. He'd known her dad, and they'd shared a bond so strong that he'd had been willing to die just to get Peter back. She hadn't known, until recently, that his one requirement was that nothing that had happened in the five years leading up to them fixing everything could change. Aunt Nat had told her that. She'd reminded her that she was so important to her dad that he couldn't bear the thought of losing her. Apparently Steve had been the one to tell Aunt Nat that crucial bit of information.
"Okay, honey." Her mom said after the silence had stretched like silly putty between them; malleable and ready for whatever came next. She bit her lip and pushed Morgan's hair out of her face once more, looking down at her and frowning a bit. "If it's that important to you, I'll let you introduce us. I'll take him for coffee, and we'll see if what you say is true." She said, sighing softly. "We could do with more people like your dad." She shrugged, and pulled Morgan closer, loosely holding her in a hug as she dropped a kiss onto her head, her red hair tickling Morgan's nose.
Morgan peered up at her, blinking slowly. "You promise?" She asked, her voice soft.
Her mom smiled, and kissed her forehead.
"I promise."
And so, Morgan began to move fully into Phase Two.
Harley's mother had always said neither hell nor high water could keep him from his sleep.
He was exceptionally good at sleeping through crises. He'd slept through all the tornadoes that had ripped through Tennessee in March of 2017, and his mom had practically had to bang two pans together to actually get him out of his bed and into their bathtub to hide.
It took a lot to wake him up when he fell asleep.
Like, a lot, a lot.
So, when a loud thump sounded from the living room, he almost didn't stir. He did, just enough for the slithering tendrils of consciousness to pull at his slumbering mind and annoy him. The sound of glass shattering, however, annoyed him enough for him to fling the covers almost completely off of himself in his bid to flick on the night light by his bed.
"Peter, what the fuck dude!" He yelled into the suddenly bright air, staring up at his ceiling as he fell back in his comfortable pillows. He was met with what sounded like a body thudding on the ground in the living room in return. "Jesus Christ." He muttered, kicking his blankets fully off of his legs and glancing at the alarm clock on his bedside table. 2:47 am. The red light blinked back, practically taunting him. He groaned and shook his head. Grumbling to himself, he kicked his legs over the edge of his mattress and stumbled to his feet, wiping harshly at his face. He glanced at the aluminum bat in the corner of his room, and letting out a soft huff, went to grab it.
Better safe than sorry.
It was pretty unlike Peter to make such a racket, especially this late at night. He went to bed at nine most of the time, like an old man. Something for which, Harley had teased him about every time. But he was supposed to be out, meeting up with an old 'acquaintance,' whatever the hell that meant. Maybe he'd crashed there, which was incredibly unlikely, knowing Peter. If dinner had been any indication, he was content to be alone. But maybe someone had broken in during his absence. They did kind of live in the bad part of Queens. He'd seen plenty of reports on the news (God, when did he become old enough to be someone who regularly watched the news?) about break-ins and the like. So, if Peter wasn't the one making all the noise, whoever was, was going to be met with a nice face-full of metal.
Yeah, better safe than sorry, for sure.
He opened his bedroom door, bat slung on his shoulder, and peered around the corner towards the living room. The rest of the lights were still off, but Peter's bedroom door was open, revealing that he'd evidently left his lamp on. Harley knew it was in the corner of his room, near the window, and it was barely shining any light into the living room with how far away from his door it was. The light stopped just short of a body, laying prone in the middle of their living room.
Harley sucked a sharp breath in through his teeth, practically whistling as his hands gripped the handle of the bat tighter, his knuckles going white in the dim hallway. He tilted his head and crept forward cautiously, his sock-covered feet making no noise on the faux wood of their floors. He wasn't sure if it was Peter lying in the middle of their living room, or an intruder, and he wasn't about to risk it by putting the bat down. If Peter was sprawled unconscious, then it probably meant someone had knocked him out. And if it wasn't Peter, then someone had seemingly broken in and collapsed on their living room floor.
When he got close enough, he flipped on the kitchen light, and tried to draw another breath of air, though his lungs didn't seem keen to be following the demands of his brain tried to make.
"Holy fucking shit." Harley stared at the figure, crumpled in a pile on the floor, blood leaking from numerous tears in the blue and red of his costumed suit, seemingly completely unconscious. He stepped closer, mouth slightly agape. "Spider-Man?"