Chapter Text
Even with his enhanced hearing, Peter couldn’t seem to process the words “I’m so sorry for your loss” as he asked for his aunt at the hospital. Even with his heightened vision he couldn’t see past the tears that streamed down his cheeks. Even with his super strength he couldn’t push away the people dragging him out of the waiting room.
Peter didn’t know he had to choose what pieces of china and which silk throws he had to sell to make up for May’s overwhelming debt. He didn’t know that they wouldn’t have enough money to have a proper funeral for her, and it was his decision to rather take out money from his college fund to pay for one or settle for the basics. He didn’t know that he had to cancel her Netflix account because it wasn’t included on their expenses.
Peter wasn’t prepared to go through her clothes and choose which ones to donate and which he wanted to keep of hers. He wasn’t prepared to rummage through and hoard all of the scrapbooks, ratted up hoodies that used to be Uncle Ben’s but lost all of his scent, and cookbooks she never got to using. He wasn’t prepared to hold the urn filled with her ashes, the scent amplified in his super senses.
Peter cried until he was numb. He let the familiar emptiness wash over him, withdrawing himself from the world. It was summer vacation so it wasn’t like he had school to force himself to go to. He just had the silence, the aching pain in his heart, and the Spider-Man suit to distract himself from the real world tasks that Peter Parker had to deal with.
Harley didn’t know his life would be catastrophically fucked in that hospital. He knew his mother was dead and his nine year old sister was clutching onto him like a lifeline, her tears soaking into his hoodie. He knew he had a math test tomorrow that he didn’t care about or study for, but he didn’t know his life would change so drastically in just a week.
Harley’s dad had left them when he was six, so he wasn’t in the picture to rescue them from this tragedy. He knew the social service department was coming into the hospital to put them in a group home together ‘cause even if they lost their mother they had each other and that was okay.
But then Harley lost Abby too.
He got shipped out to New York and she went to a foster home in Boston. Seven hours by metro away. They had given him some BS about him being 18 and almost out of the system so it wouldn’t matter anyway. They stuck him up in an apartment with a roommate because he had signed some paper he didn’t read, and he was an adult so he should be able to take care of himself.
It was a load of BS. All of it.
When the two had been approached about a new system that the foster care was testing, they both figured there was no reason not to. Another thing to keep themselves distracted. They expected something like around the facility jobs, community outreach, but they weren’t expecting a proposition that would change the rest of their lives.
In theory, putting two orphan teens in an apartment to be flatmates seemed like a great way to make a new friend who supported you and understood your struggles on a personal level. It seemed like it would build character and let the almost-adults prepare for the world outside of foster care. Even though foster care aids youth up to 21 years old, most “age out” around 18, which made Peter and Harley the perfect demographic. It seemed like these two bright teens -- the rare breed of teen who studied engineering in their free time -- would click. But things aren’t always what they seem.
Harley kept up the pleasantries when the departmental lead of this new experiment led him to the apartment in Queens. He eyed his flatmate with a critical eye. From what he could tell, he was overwhelming smiley for someone who apparently was orphaned only weeks prior.
“Hi. You must be Harley. I’m Peter. Parker.” The curly haired boy held out his hand for Harley to shake, a dopey grin plastered on his face.
“Howdy-doo, Peter. A pleasure makin’ your acquaintance.” He shook his hand, taking note of his firm grip.
“Is that a Tennessee accent?”
Harley, taken aback, nodded. “Yeah. Born an’ raised in Rose Hill, Tennessee. How could you tell?”
“O-oh, well Miley Stewart is from Tennessee and it’s just such a distinct southern accent…”
“Miley Stewart? Like Hannah Montana?”
The smaller boy froze, eyes wide, face going red from embarrassment. “N-not to say that there aren’t other Tennesseans who are iconic influences in the media but Hannah Montana is just such an icon on and off the screen. I mean Miley Cyrus did have her off years with We Can’t Stop but really she was just trying to shake off her Disney persona…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Harley cut him off. Peter took a deep breath in and silently nodded in response.
“So,” the departmental lead began, “we will be checking in on weekends, and then we’ll check in every other weekend. We’ll just be doing some routine checks on your progress, your adaption to the new lifestyle, etcetera. We’ve brought all of your belongings which you claimed here. The ones you opted for storage is in a unit on Jamaica Avenue. If you need anything, you have my number.” And with that, she promptly left, leaving a lingering silence between the two teens.
“So, how do you want to decorate?” Peter asked, breaking the tense air.
“I really don’t care. I don’t want to look through those boxes right now.”
Peter nodded, completely understanding. “I can do it? If you want? I need something to do, and I can mix and match our furniture, see what works, see what doesn’t. I’ll just uh…” Peter could tell he didn’t care. “I’ll just do that, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sounds great.” Harley didn’t do much to mask his boredom.
“Well uh, I’m going to make a chore chart. I’ll put it up on the fridge and it’ll be on whiteboard, so we can check off when we do our chores. If you want, you can choose which ones you want to do and I’ll choose mine? Or we could alternate?” Harley looked at him, completely incredulous by his way of getting down to the nitty gritty when they had only just arrived. “You know what? I’ll just pick all the hard ones for me and I’ll put you down for the easy ones for now.” Harley didn’t respond. Instead, he trudged to the room on the left, obviously claiming it as his own, and slammed the door. “Good talk.”
Peter was doing his best to adapt to this new apartment. The May-less apartment. He used his super strength to move the furniture as quickly and quietly as possible, but he found that he wasn’t one for interior design. It wasn’t until Harley had come out of his bedroom had he realized how much he was anticipating his presence again.
“Don’t look at me like that. I just wanted to grab the boxes for my bedroom.” He sauntered to the corner which was left undecorated, boxes stacked high, grabbing the one labeled “Harley’s Bedroom” and promptly went right back to his room.
Peter sighed, realizing he needed a break and the stuffy odor of new apartment needed a more pleasant change. “I’m going to go to the store!” Harley didn’t respond. Peter just nodded, and grabbed two tenners from his wallet and strolled to the local grocery store for a plant to liven up the apartment and bring a sense of fresh, naturality into it.
As he strolled through the bustling streets of Queens, he felt displaced in the place he once knew as a home. May’s favorite thai place, May’s favorite clothing shop, they all felt wrong when she wasn’t there to be with him.
A little shop with a glowing sign in the window display caught his eye. “Luigi’s Fix-It Shop.” A handwritten paper was taped to the other side of the door reading “Help Wanted.”
When he entered the shop, it felt quaint and personable, mariachi music bouncing against the baby blue walls. A man with a thick ponytail and mustache fiddled with a screwdriver and a broken bicycle bell.
“Excuse me, sir? I saw that there was a Help Wanted sign. When are you free for interviews?”
The man smiled kindly at Peter, setting down his tools. “Now is just fine.”
Peter approached the counter and admired the variety of tools he had. Though he was used to high tech gear at Mr. Stark’s, these were everything an everyday mechanic could want. “So, uh I don’t have any experience at a cashier job or anything, but I have lots of skills in mechanical engineering and I can get you a letter of recommendation…”
“What’s wrong with this bell?” The man interrupted.
“What?”
“This bell won’t ring. So what’s wrong with it?”
Peter took a quick look at the item and began moving the internal mechanisms with a pair of tweezers. “The part that causes the actuator to return after it’s pressed is broken.” He grabbed a small rubber band. “Just have to disassemble it and add this for some tension, and tada. All fixed.” He rang the bell.
“No amount of letter recommendations can prove to me your skills. That, however, just got you the job. What’s your name, kid?”
“Peter. Parker.”
The man smiled. “You can call me Luigi.”
So, with a little skip in his step, Peter went to the flower shop, and returned home with a smile on his face.
“What’s with the plant?” Harley questioned.
“They’re gardenias. They’re one of the most fragrant flowers, and I thought they would be a nice addition to the apartment.” Peter smiled sweetly at the bush.
“You haven’t even finished furnishing it.”
“Well, now I will.” He headed over to the unopened boxes. “What are you doing out from your bedroom?”
Harley withheld responding ‘why do you care,’ instead said, “all of that unpacking has made me plum-tuckered out.” He opened the fridge, intending to grab a cold Summer Shandy, when he noticed the abundance of the chidlren's protein shake, Pediasure. “What’s this?”
Peter’s head snapped in his direction, eyes widening as he stumbled to find an excuse. “Oh uh well uh you know I’m a growing boy.”
Harley eyed Peter up and down. “You ain’t growin’ no more, beansprout.”
Peter frowned when he knew his back was turned to the taller boy. “I was thinking since the only food is from my old apartment, maybe we could start getting some food you like? We could go grocery shopping together and I could know what to get you and vice versa.”
“Or,” Harley suggested, “we could just have a list so if you go shopping you get what I need and I’ll get what you need.”
Dejected, Peter nodded, forcing a smile. “Of course. That works.” He considered continuing unpacking but turned back to the teen who had already finished the beer in his hand. “Do you want to order in some take out? I know all the best places in Queens.”
“I think I’ll settle for this freezer meal.”
Peter just nodded again, unsure of what to say. “Well I’ll just… I’ll keep unpacking.”
The night was silent for the both of them, and if Peter thought the silence was tense, he didn’t know what was yet to come.