So, this plays out in 2020. Peter is 19, Harley is 18 and it takes place in the OSAH universe. Both Peter and Harley are in college (not MIT, I have them both ending up attending Columbia in the OSAH universe).
Yet another distracting Harley plot bunny that wouldn't shut up until I wrote it. I was iffy about it, because it's really close in premise with the previous one, but I really wanted to so I wrote it anyway :P
I'm working on another story with Peter and Harley but in a different AU (not OSAH), after a request by Vampirequeen666 on AO3. That should come to you soon as well and will depict a very different dynamic than the one established in OSAH between my new favorite pair of bros.
More notes at the end of the chapter talking about this story and the repetition of the theme.
Hope you enjoy!
"Yeah, see? Right here. Don't these look like teeth to you?" Peter tapped the puzzle piece with the dinosaur's toothy smile.
Morgan looked up at him, scrunching her nose. "Not really. Teeth look like this," she informed him, baring her teeth and tilting her head upwards to show Peter.
"Yeah, true. But these, here, are dinosaur teeth. Not even, actually," Peter trailed off eyes squinting. "They're the impression of dinosaur teeth, but that's not the point. Don't you think this piece would fit just right…"
"What's impression?" Morgan asked, looking at Peter with excited eyes. She loved learning new words. Especially from Harley. Harley's new words were the best and made everyone around her gasp and yell out his name when she repeated them. But Peter's were okay, too.
Peter smiled at her, but before he could explain, his phone started ringing. "Give me a sec, nano-Hulk," he told her, ruffling the three-year-old's hair and standing up from where he was sitting next to her on the carpet.
Glancing at the caller ID, his brow furrowed when he didn't recognise the number. "Hello?"
"Don't say my name!"
"Uh… Dude… Shouldn't you be…"
"Ssssh! Pete, you gotta listen first and speak later. You know, like, let the words marinate in your brain, man. Feel the vibes before you let 'em out into the universe to create their ripples. Like, make sure those ripples are good vibes, you know?"
Peter closed his eyes and struggled to keep his face neutral. Morgan screaming and banging her water bottle on a puzzle piece that refused to cooperate with her gave Peter the excuse he needed.
"Yeah, give me a sec, it's a little loud in here," Peter said, plastering a smile on his face, when Tony looked up at him from where he was drinking his coffee and reading the news on his Starkpad.
Peter walked casually out of the living room and into Tony's office, closing the door behind him.
"What the hell, Harl? Are you high?"
"Real high, Pete. Floating cotton candy kind of high. You think Pepper would make us cotton candy for lunch? That would rock..."
"Where the hell are you? You said you'd be here by ten, and it's almost noon," Peter snapped.
"What has Pepper cooked? Is it good? I'd kill for some of her lasagna right now... Lasagna, man. With chips. And pickles. Damn… Sucks that I'll miss today's lunch. It all sounds delicious."
"Harley, get your shit together! Where are you?" Peter started pacing now, in an effort to vent his rapidly building frustration.
"I'm in a bit of a situation…"
Peter paused his pacing, eyes closing in an attempt to keep his temper in check. Harley's words —'in a bit of a situation'— for some reason sounded vaguely familiar. And definitely ominous. "Where, as in where on this earth, Harley," he clarified.
"New York, man. I'm in New York, just like you. Two brothers from another mother in the Big Apple… It's like destiny, man."
"I know you're in New York, jerk! You live here," Peter hissed.
It wasn't the first time Harley got high, and Peter doubted it would be the last. But he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable with how often this was happening as of late.
"You little idiot, couldn't you wait to get baked after we were done here? What is this? You're having it for breakfast now? Red Bull with a side of weed?" Peter accused keeping his voice quiet not wanting to risk Tony overhearing.
"Yeah, basically… But listen, I won't make it today, that's why I called..."
Peter cut Harley off before he started trailing again. "What do you mean you won't make it? We all reworked our schedules and dropped everything to make today work so that you could be here! And you're bailing because you couldn't not get stoned?"
Harley had avoided the weekly Sunday lunches for three consecutive weeks now. Which is why Pepper rescheduled to Saturday when Harley had called Tony saying he couldn't do this Sunday either. Peter had bumped into Harley a couple of times at school during these three weeks and they had grabbed dinner together twice, but Harley was trying to keep some distance. That much was becoming obvious. Wondering what possible situation could be that hard to reschedule or get out of, Peter waited, fingers rapping against Tony's desk.
"Bailing… You see, dude? We're attuned. Connected. That's why I chose you. That's why I called you. I need you to bail me out."
Peter blinked. Once. Twice.
Oh.
That kind of situation.
As if being stoned wasn't enough, the little shit had also landed himself in jail. Freaking little Terror!
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Peter asked incredulously, his expression storming over with worry and frustration. "What did you do? Are you alright?"
"Don't hurt my feelings like that, Pete. I mean, what does that even say about you? So little faith in me. Your absolute certainty that I've done something wrong, and only then worrying about my well-being. Not cool prioritization, dude!"
"Oh, you don't like my prioritization? Maybe I can hang up then and you call Tony, see what his prioritization will be in this particular situation," Peter snarked.
"Shut up! No, please, dude...you need to come save me. My intimidation factor is way lower than I thought it would be where incarcerated people are concerned… It's like, I'm supposed to be this tough guy, you know? But in here I am like a puppy in a sea of big, scary dudes. Help me out, man! I'm counting on you to be my superhero with a bail bond."
Peter let out a breath.
Harley chuckled.
"Get it? My superhero? Get it?"
"Damn it, Harley! Where do they have you?"
"Ah, wait, they have it here somewhere. Uh… It's 264 Ivy Street, Manhattan."
"What else? Bail?"
"Only 1000 dollars. The kind officers said they were lenient 'cause it's a first-time offense. I tried to tell them I had been arrested for street racing once before, and they got pissed, man. Like, mega pissed. But then they looked it up and found nothing. And I told them Tony Stark paid the cops to keep it off the record, but they didn't believe me… So sad. So little faith surrounding us."
Peter shook his head, exasperated. "I won't even comment on that 'only'. Nor your utter stupidity to bring the racing incident up. What did you do?" He dared to ask next, doubting cops in New York went around arresting people just for being stoned.
"Forgot my helmet and then I got on my motorcycle to come to you guys…"
"And they booked you for that?" Peter asked, eyebrows raising. Then, realizing what Harley had just said and the state he was in, his jaw clenched as his frustration boiled into anger. Freaking stupid Dipshit.
"No, they pulled me over for that. Then they asked me some questions and sorta figured out I was high. Apparently, smoking pot is only legal if you're 21 and even then not when riding a motorcycle without a helmet. Like, these three things combined totally increase your chances of being arrested instead of just being fined. Who would have thought, right?"
Peter rubbed his forehead, trying to process everything. "I can't believe you. Dude, this is too stupid even for you."
The thought of Harley riding his beast of a motorcycle all the way to Sand Point, stoned as crap, without a helmet made his head spin. Even if Harley survived the trip, he wouldn't have survived Tony.
"I'll figure out an excuse and come get you," Peter said a few seconds later.
"Thanks, man. Thanks, brother. I owe you, dude. Big, big time. Like… If you ever need me to bail you out? Done! If you need an alibi? Done! Like, you're the real deal, man. Oh, and dude, bring snacks. Like, anything. I'm starving."
"Just hang tight, alright?"Peter grumbled, before hanging up the phone with a frustrated groan. Now what? Exiting the office with as calm a face as he could muster, he headed toward the kitchen, where Tony was now talking with Morgan. She was perched on top of the kitchen island, hands crossed over her chest, a scowl on her little face.
"It's okay to feel angry, baby. We all do. But do we smash our water bottles on the item or person that made us feel angry? No, we don't," Tony coached her.
Morgan sent her dad an annoyed look but didn't comment, simply huffed angrily.
"Now, remember the exercise Mommy and I showed you? How we can pretend our fingers are candles and we blow them out when we're feeling mad?"
"Daddy, that's stupid," Morgan pouted.
Peter snickered, earning a glare from Tony.
"Nuh-uh! Stupid is a Harley word. Can you think of a Mommy word to use instead?"
Morgan scrunched up her nose in thought. "Maybe the one Mommy says when you and Harley and Petey make things explode…"
Peter's head tilted to the side interest peaked.
Morgan's brow furrowed even more in her effort to recall the word she was looking for. "Uhm… Mo… Mor… Mormonic," she exclaimed when it finally came to her.
Peter burst out in laughter, while Tony, trying hard to keep a straight face, closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. "I think it's Bluey time," he announced cheerfully after getting a grip.
"Yaaaay! Bluey!" Morgan squealed.
Tony set her down on the floor, and watched her happily trotting to the living room, where Friday had already started playing the show on the large TV screen.
Peter approached Tony and patted his shoulder. "I think you handled that very well," he teased.
"And I think you'll find yourself scrubbing dishes by hand if you don't fix your face," Tony shot back, though his eyes were equally amused with Peter's.
"Yeah, that's not gonna happen. Listen, something came up with a friend. He's really upset and needs my help… I couldn't say no to him. I'll do my best to go in and out super fast and maybe grab some dinner with all of you instead of lunch."
Tony's face grew concerned. "What friend? Do I know him? Is it Ned?"
"No, another guy from school. I really need to run. You think you three will survive Harley without me?"
"We always survive both of you seperately. It's when you're together we're struggling," Tony reminded him. Despite looking disappointed he wouldn't spend the day with both his boys, he waved a dismissive hand. "Go be a good friend. We'll be here when you're done. I hope the Terrorist won't take too much longer."
"I'm sure he'll be here any minute," Peter retorted with a forced smile, marveling at how he had managed to avoid lying this far. "See you tonight, Dad. And don't let the kid's brain entirely melt with the blue horror show. You know it only gives her torture ideas."
"Beat it, webhead," Tony said, grabbing his coffee and walking to sit next to Morgan. "What is your brother talking about, nano-Hulk? Bluey rocks!"
"Good afternoon," Peter greeted the woman behind the glass of the NYPD's reception desk. At her bored look and lack of verbal response, he continued awkwardly, "Uh, I'm here to bail out Harley Keener."
Eyeing Peter up and down, the woman simply nodded before picking up the phone in front of her.
"Name?" she asked.
"Peter Parker, ma'am," Peter replied, trying to keep his tone neutral, annoyed with her unprofessional attitude.
Eyes drifting to inspect her fingernails, the woman then spoke into the phone pinned between her ear and shoulder. "I have a Peter Parker here to bail out a Harley Keener… Right, sending him in."
Hanging up the phone, she gestured with her head to the large archway that led to a cubicle-fillef room a few feet away. "Find officer Lakes and he'll see you through filling out the paperwork. Back of the room to the left."
"Thank you," Peter smiled. Following her directions, he looked for Officer Lake's desk, and once he reached it, he cleared his throat.
"Good afternoon, officer," Peter said as pleasantly as he could. "I hear you have some paperwork for me."
Lakes looked up from his computer screen and studied Peter for a second. "Please sit, Mr. Parker," he gestured to the chair in front of his desk. Gathering a few forms, the man gave them to Peter.
"Mr. Keener has made quite an impression already. Never met anyone speaking so much in my life. Even high as a kite, he's going on and on. Needless to say, we're more than eager to get him off our hands, so if you make sure you fill all these up and we complete the payment procedure within the next thirty minutes, we might be able to release him today."
"Right on it," Peter quipped and started filling out the forms as fast as possible. Once everything was filled out, he handed it to the man, who then started inputting some data on his computer.
"So you are Peter Parker, bailing out…"
"Harley Keener," Peter answered.
"Who is to you..."
"Uh, that's a bit complicated. He's sort of my brother, but technically not… Long story. Just… Jot me down as a friend," Peter stumbled on his words.h
Te cop eyed him suspiciously at that, but seeing everything checking out and not giving a particular shit about who would relieve him from Keener's presence, he continued.
"Keener's date of birth?"
"May 14th, 2002," Peter answered, pleased with himself for thinking to have Karen remind him of this bit of information while driving here. Peter watched the officer clicking and typing away on his computer at an annoyingly slow speed, and resisted the urge to start cracking his fingers in anticipation and impatience. After another five minutes, a printing machine behind officer Lakes came to life, wheezing out several papers. Peter watched the man stacking them together and getting up.
"Follow me," Officer Lakes told Peter.
"Can I see Harley now?"
"No. You need to pay the bail and then the payment has to be processed and confirmed. Then you sign the release papers, and we can start the release process."
"Any idea how long that will take?"
"Anywhere from half an hour to three days," the man shrugged.
' Everloving peachy, ' Peter thought.
It ended up taking a little over two hours. Peter looked up from the chair he was instructed to wait in, as Officer Lakes walked up to him.
"It's done, Mr. Parker. Follow me, and I'll lead you to Mr. Keener."
Peter felt a surge of relief washing over him. He wouldn't be able to cover for the little shit if he had to spend the whole weekend in custody. Now there was hope. Springing to his feet, he followed Lakes down several corridors and into a large, mostly empty waiting fluorescent lights and chipping paint on the gray walls made everything look miserable and dull. Lakes pointed at a waiting bench, but Peter couldn't sit down even if he wanted to.
His super-hearing caught the sound of Harley's voice from somewhere on his left, and he couldn't help but shake his head at the rude exchange Harley was having with the cop that accompanied him. Peter could tell that Harley was crushing down hard. All joyful, relaxed attitude had evaporated.
A minute later, a door opened, and Harley stepped out, shoulders slumped and his face sour. "Man, it's good to see you. And that's saying something," Harley's red eyes locked on Peter, who was now certain that the little dipshit was indeed mostly sober.
"You damn idiot," Peter grumbled. "Are you alright?" he asked, watching the cop that had brought Harley out taking the cuffs off of him.
"Never better," Harley answered dryly. "My dream of seeing the inside of a cell came true."
"You need better dreams, Terror," Peter retorted, unimpressed.
"And to buy a damn helmet," Officer Lakes added in a dry tone. "Not to mention to not smoke joints before turning 21 and certainly not before riding a motorcycle!"
"I have a helmet," Harley pointed out to the man with an annoyed look, rubbing at his wrists. "You people just had to happen upon me the one day I forgot it. It's really your fault, officer. I've been out there riding responsibly for over a year now. You never pulled me over then."
"Yeah, how dare we only pulling over and arresting traffic law violators," Officer Lakes sneered.
"So what does this mean? He has a criminal record now?" Peter asked, as Harley was presented with a small box in which laid his cellphone and the keys if his motorcycle.
"Yes," the officer replied simply. "He can file for expungement, of course, and follow the legal process for that. And you need to find someone to come take the motorbike within a week. His license is suspended for six months."
"Don't fucking remind me," Harley grumbled, walking to Peter.
"For fuck's sake, Harley," Peter groaned. How the hell would the Terror keep this under wraps from Tony for so long was beyond him.
"We're done here, follow the exit signs. I'd greatly appreciate it if I'd never see you again, Mr. Keener," Lakes dismissed them.
"Oh, come on. You don't mean that," Harley said in a fake-sweet tone. "You know I was the highlight of your day."
The cop mumbled something under his breath before turning his back to the boys and walking away. Peter and Harley walked out of the building, silently, Peter leading the way to the parking lot. Getting into Peter's Mustang, the two of them simply sat there in silence for a minute, the stench of weed and sweat mixing with the car's freshener.
"Dude… What the hell?" Peter asked, turning to look at Harley, who was staring blankly ahead. "I mean… It's one thing to smoke a damn joint every now and then, but getting baked first thing in the morning and riding the bike? Without a helmet? That's reaching a whole new level of stupidity, even for you!"
"Save the disappointment speech, dude. If I wanted to go down that road I'd call Tony, not you," Harley said, eyes stubbornly not meeting Peter's.
"Yeah, well, so much for that. You have to tell him anyway so that he can arrange the expungement. This will be nothing for his legal team," Peter said.
"No freaking way! He can't know about this," Harley shook his head. "I won't file for an expungement. It's no big deal."
"No big deal?" Peter asked eyebrows arching.
"Yeah, no big deal. It's done, it's over, you paid—thanks, by the way, I will pay you back—and now we forget about it."
"Harley…"
"Shut it, Pete. Seriously. I'm not telling Tony and you're not either. Do I need to remind you what happened last time he had to get us out of jail?" Harley asked, shooting an are-you-kidding-me look at Peter.
"No, Dipshit, you don't! I was vividly reminded of the experience while driving here to bail your ass out," Peter retorted curtly.
Harley's lips twitched upwards at the memory. "I gotta say, last time was much more fun. Having company and all. Do you remember Mr. badge?"
Peter let out a snort and shook his head. "You being a little shit throughout that ordeal stands out more in my memory, honestly. At least you got your holding-cell experience this time around."
Harley shivered at that. "That alone is as strong of a deterrent to never risk arrest again," he informed Peter. "That whole 'are you talking to me?' shit? Ain't working in real life. Especially if you're stoned and sound like a slurring bitch instead of a gangster."
"No! I'm shocked," Peter said sarcastically, trying hard to contain his annoyance at Harley's stubbornness and willingness to hide this under the carpet despite the possible implications.
"You'd better check your phone," Peter suggested next, turning the key in the ignition. "I'm sure you'll have at least a couple of missed calls."
"Shit, you're right." Taking his phone out of his pocket, Harley unlocked it and pulling up his missed calls log, shook his head. "One would think that a billionaire hands full with business, the Avengers, and a three-year-old wouldn't feel the need to call another adult person seventeen times in a four-hour period, right? I mean, get a hunt, man! Whoever you're calling can't talk right now!"
"Seventeen, huh? Yeah, dinner's gonna be fun," Peter smirked.
"What do you mean dinner? No! I'm going home, as in my place! No way am I facing Tony right now after the day I had. And speaking of dinner, tell me you brought snacks…"
"I didn't. No food in my car, you know that," Peter answered dryly.
"Dude, I'm starving! Have a heart," Harley exclaimed.
"Dude, you have the munchies. Get a brain and quit getting baked," Peter shot right back.
"Craphead!"
"Dipshit!"
For a few seconds, the only sounds filling the car were those of the engine and the traffic outside.
"We are going to Tony's for dinner," Peter stated next. "Because Tony and Pepper -not to mention Morgan- look forward to seeing you. And because I think you need to see them, too. Get out of your head for a bit. So, I'll take you to your place for a super quick shower and change of clothes, 'cause you stink, and then we're going home. Now, call Tony."
"Not happening," Harley shook his head.
"Harley…" Peter snapped exasperatedly. "Look, man, in the end of the day we both know you'll do whatever the hell you want. But let me tell you, after seventeen missed calls and a no-show today… If he isn't already banging on your apartment's door, he will real soon! And if it gets there, then good fucking luck!".
Harley huffed, eyes darting from Peter to the road. "But if we just pop up there together, he'll get suspicious."
"That ship has not only sailed, it has explored the galaxy, made contact with freaking aliens and been abducted by intergalactic raiders," Peter retorted.
"Fuck," Harley mumbled, knowing Peter was right.
"I'll help out with explaining and finding an excuse. But you need to call him before he completely loses it and starts really looking for you," Peter added.
"Fine! I swear each day you become more and more like him…" Harley grumbled.
"Only when you're fucking up to this level of unprecedented proportions," Peter defended himself curtly. "You have seriously freaked me out, Terror. I'm getting really worried about you."
"No mushy stuff, craphead," Harley groaned.
"Then get your shit together, dipshit!"
Harley smirked at that despite himself. Turning to look at Peter with a mischievous look, he corrected, "Get my everloving shit together!"
Peter turned to send him an incredulous look before snorting at the memory of Mr. badge's beloved curseword, that Harley had picked up during his and Peter's arrest two years ago.A second later, Peter spoke to the car, "Karen, call Tony!"
"No! Dude, what the fuck," Harley groaned, but the AI's voice sounded over his protests.
"Calling Tony."
"Pete, Harley is AWOL, have you two talked at all today?" Tony asked tensely not bothering with a greeting.
Peter eyed Harley, before answering. "Yeah, I went by his apartment 'cause I was in the neighborhood after leaving my friend's place. He's right here with me. We're coming over."
"Hey, mech'," Harley spoke next, sending a death glare to Pete.
"Harley, damn it! Why haven't you returned my calls?"
"We really need to work on respecting other people's boundaries, old man… If someone doesn't pick up their phone after three times, let alone seventeen…"
"Could be dead for all I know. Or in your case, I don't know, arrested for a felony!"
Harley's face blanched at the man's words, and he turned panicked eyes to Peter, who simply shook his head reassuringly. There was no way Tony knew. Well, there were several ways, actually, but Peter doubted Tony had gone full-on-paranoid-scanning-police-records just yet.
"The dipshit just partied too hard last night, Dad. He was sleeping. I'll have to agree that we do need to work on you respecting boundaries, to be honest. And you know how much it pains me to agree with Harley."
Harley sent him a thankful look for the interjection and backup.
"Partied too hard?" Tony asked then, his voice gaining an edge.
"Yeah, I was working on my term project till 3 am and then had company over," Harley said, finding his usual cockiness.
"Oh, that kind of partying," Tony said, sounding a bit calmer now.
"Yeah, the boozy kind of partying is happening tonight, being Saturday and all," Harley quipped.
"Such a pity you'll miss it. I'm devastated. You two have already given me a headache and you're not even here yet. Just get your scrawny asses home. I'm ordering pizza."
"Double cheese," Peter reminded Tony.
"Triple pepperoni," Harley demanded. "And a Red Bull! No actually, make them two!"
"Vegan cheese, triple tofu, matcha decaf tea it is," Tony listed, before ending the call.
Harley smitked and turned to Peter.
"Thanks, man."
Peter sent him a glance before returning his eyes to the road.
"Just make sure you get it together, Harl. It's one thing to pull crap here and there, and it's another to drive a motorcycle high as a kite without a helmet. Whole other level, Terror. And getting baked so often… You need to pull it together, man. Or I swear to Thor, I'll hand your ass to Tony myself!"
Harley took it all in and nodded. "I will."
"You sure everything is alright?" Peter asked next. "You know you can come to…"
"No mushy stuff," Harley exclaimed, averting his eyes and fixing his gaze outside his window.
"Harley…"
"Dude, stop! I know. And everything is fine. Now shut up."
Peter glanced at him and decided to let it drop for now, entirely uncertain if the dipshit was telling the truth or not.
"Wanna listen to something cool?" Peter asked next.
"If it's another weird-ass 12-different-genres-combined alternative crap song… No, I don't."
Peter smirked before saying, "Karen, play Godzilla."
Harley turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. "Eminem? You? In your car?"
Peter shrugged. "He doesn't entirely suck. This song is cool."
Harley watched Peter attempting and miserably failing to rap along the lyrics. His face turning concerned he asked him in his best Peter-impression, "Peter… You sure everything is alright? You know you can come to…"
"Man, stop!" Peter cut him off with a smirk, causing Harley to smile at his play of the song's ending lyrics.
Peter felt some of his tension dissipating upon seeing Harley relaxing and speakers blasted with the beat of the track and the boys, heads bobbing, hands tapping, throats humming, gazed on the road ahead.
So, I know it's the second story on the same premise, though different on many levels. Honestly this story was harder to write than one would think, because it touches on things that have happened with one of my real-life loved ones. Not with an easy, happy-ish ending like this one, either. Themes of weed-consumption (drug use in general) and incarceration are something that come up for me from time to time, probably because the experience of seeing someone I love go through it did a number on me. I still tried to keep this more lighthearted. Wasn't in a mood to make this too long or too intense. Just wanted to give you some insight as to why I'd write a "similar" story so quickly after The Fast The Reckless The Furious.
Additional notes: I know the whole release and bailing out process is likely not particularly accurate. I tried not to go into detail not only because it doesn't serve much plotwise, but also because I don't know the ins and outs of how things work in the States (European person here). I did research it a lot and I know that getting someone out within a few hours on a Saturday doesn't always happen and that the duration of the proceedings can greatly vary depending on jurisdictions, offenses and other circumstances. Forgive any inaccuracies. This was a story I just felt like writing and does not aim to realistically represent legal processes.
If you're still reading this, do leave a comment and tell me if you enjoyed it or what was your favorite line/part of the story. I love your thoughts and look forward to reading them :)
Have a great week!
P.S.: I'm still into my frantically-listening-Eminem-all-day-long-frenzy. The song Peter plays in the end is Godzilla (feat. Juice WRLD) from Eminem's album "Music to be murdered by". It's insanely good and even more insanely fast. The last seconds of the song blow my mind every single time. Conveniently, it was released on 2020, and like I've said before I have the headcanon that Harley is a huge Eminem fan, so this is Peter's subtle way of trying to make his brother feel better after a shitty day, by playing the new song of his favorite artist. But seriously, if you haven't listened to it, go for it!