Chapter Text
“H-Harls.”
Peter’s voice was soft and broken.
“Peter… Oh my god, Peter…” Harley choked on a sob just hearing his voice.
“I’m s-sorry.”
The tiny whimper made Harley’s panic surge.
“Pete, are you okay? Please tell me you didn’t mean that letter. That was all bullshit, right? I can’t let you go, I won’t. Let me help you, please, just let me help you!” His voice broke into sobs. “Pete, please… answer me.”
All he could hear was heavy breathing.
“Harls…” Peter whispered again, barely audible.
“Yes, yes, I’m here. I’m listening. Talk to me, Peter.”
“I love you… I’m sorry.”
“What… what did you do?” Harley asked, already fumbling for his motorcycle keys. “Peter, what did you do to yourself?”
There was a pause. And then,
“Blood.”
A sickening thud.
The line went dead.
Harley froze. That word, “blood” was all it took.
He shoved the letter and his phone in his pocket and bolted.
By the time Harley reached the lobby where his motorcycle usually sat, the front tire was flat.
“Fuck!” he cursed, kicking it and running a hand through his hair in frustration.
There was no time. He flagged down a cab, shoved every bill he had into the driver’s hand at the end, and sprinted into the Tower.
Thank god Natasha had once given him badge clearance.
“Hi, Mr. Keener,” FRIDAY greeted as he swiped in.
“FRIDAY, take me to the penthouse, now.”
As the elevator shot upward, Harley’s anxiety tightened in his chest like a vice.
The penthouse was eerily silent and dark.
Harley didn’t hesitate. He ran.
Peter’s bedroom door was closed, but unlocked. Harley’s hands shook as he pushed it open.
And froze.
Peter lay on the bed, completely still. Blood soaked through the sleeves of his white T-shirt, spilling onto the bright yellow bedsheets, deep red against pale skin.
Harley’s breath caught in his throat. He slapped a hand over his mouth as his vision blurred.
“Peter…”
Terrified to even touch him, Harley inched forward and pressed two fingers to Peter’s neck.
A pulse. Barely.
He was alive.
“Wake up… what do I do, what do I do now?” Harley whispered, helpless. “FRIDAY? FRIDAY, are you there?”
No response.
He didn’t dare leave Peter’s side. Instead, he dialed the only person he could trust, Natasha.
It was almost 3 a.m. when Natasha’s phone rang. She and Steve were both light sleepers, but the sound still startled them.
“Harley?” Natasha answered groggily. “Is everything okay?”
“Peter,” Harley’s voice cracked through the phone. “Please, he… he needs help. I’m in his room. Please. He needs medical attention, I don’t know what to do please come.”
The call cut. Natasha was already pulling on clothes, dragging Steve with her.
“FRIDAY,” Steve asked as they stepped into the elevator. “What’s going on with Peter?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers. I have no access to Mr. Parker’s room.”
“What the hell?” Natasha muttered under her breath.
When they reached the penthouse, nothing could have prepared them.
Harley was on the floor, holding Peter’s limp body in his arms. His pale blue T-shirt was soaked in blood.
Steve froze for just a second. Then, without a word, he lifted Peter gently, trying not to look at the blood-stained blade on the floor.
He ran straight for the MedBay.
Natasha stood frozen in the doorway.
That was her nephew. Her Peter.
The same boy who once ran around the Tower with stickers and science projects and silly nicknames.
The same boy who used to call her Auntie Tasha.
She had noticed something was wrong. They both had.
But they brushed it off as teenage moodiness.
Now?
Now he was barely alive.
Would he ever smile again?
Would he ever say her name again?
Would he even survive?
Her thoughts broke when she heard Harley’s sobs. He was curled on the floor, hugging his knees, rocking slightly.
Natasha walked over and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Kid.”
“Ma’am, please don’t send me home,” Harley begged. “Please, I want to stay with him.”
“I’m not sending you anywhere,” Natasha said softly. “You just need to breathe. I’ll get you some water, okay?”
Harley nodded, still shaking.
When Natasha returned several minutes later, Harley was no longer crying.
He stood by Peter’s desk, holding a small stack of envelopes.
“I think he left these… for all of you,” he said quietly.
She handed him the glass and took the envelopes. There were three.
One addressed to her and Steve.
One for Harry.
One for Tony and Pepper.
She nearly broke seeing the messy handwriting.
“Can we go now?” Harley asked, his voice hollow.
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Thanks,” Steve murmured as Natasha handed him a coffee and sat beside him in the waiting room.
“Are you going to read them?” he asked, eyeing the envelopes in her hand.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “I’m not ready.”
“Where’s the kid?”
“Said he was calling his mom.”
“I’m just glad he found Peter in time.”
“But we still don’t know if he’ll survive.”
Steve’s voice wavered, his eyes wet.
Natasha didn’t know what to say.
Steve was usually the one with hope. She was the cynic.
But right now, she didn’t have the heart to speak.
Just then, Harley dropped into the chair beside her, burying his face in his hands.
“You okay, kid?” Steve asked gently.
“Oh, I’m feeling fucking fantastic,” Harley snapped, voice raw with sarcasm.
Steve flinched.
Harley immediately looked up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean”
“It’s okay,” Steve said softly.
“No, it’s not,” Harley muttered. “I wasn’t fast enough. If I’d been quicker, maybe…”
“None of that,” Natasha cut in firmly. “It’s not your fault.”
“I love him,” Harley whispered, voice breaking. “He told me he loved me. Told me to forgive him and let him go. But I can’t. I love him. I can’t let him go.”
“Then don’t,” Natasha said. “Hold on. He’s strong. He’s always been strong.”
Harley just nodded, clinging to her words like a prayer.
MedBay
When Tony and Pepper arrived, they looked like they’d aged ten years in ten minutes.
Pepper was crying before she even reached the door.
Tony looked pale, panicked.
“Nat! Where is he?” Tony barked the moment he spotted her.
Before Natasha could answer, Harley stepped into view. His eyes darkened as he saw them.
“Where’s my baby?” Pepper cried, her voice shaking.
Harley stared at her for a moment, something bitter rising in his throat.
“Oh, now you remember you have a son?” he said coldly.
Tony’s expression hardened. “Watch your tone, Mr. Keener.”
Harley turned, eyes blazing.
“Well, Mr. Stark good news: he’s not dead. Not yet.”
“But you should know… exsanguination is a bitch.”