Work Text:
Peter crouched by the cluster of jack-o’-lanterns. “I dunno, Ned, I think we could do better.” He smiled. Ned inspected the pumpkins, apple cider in hand.
“I think so, too. We’ll have all our faces coordinated, obviously.”
“Obviously. Star Wars theme this year?”
“As if anything else would be worth it.”
The two grinned at each other. MJ rolled her eyes, in that fond-but-above-it-all way that she had. “C’mon, losers, the hayride’s on its way.”
Peter and Ned hopped back into line with MJ. “What are you gonna carve this year, MJ?” Peter asked as the three clambered onto the ride.
“Something witchy.” She shrugged. “I’ll get one of those gnarled, warted pumpkins and see what I can do.” She gave Peter a small smile. “My house is the neighborhood’s haunted house this year. Those kids won’t know what hit them.”
“Try not to scare the kids, MJ,” Ned piped in.
“They don’t have to come in.”
The ride jostled them, but it was relatively short. Peter hopped out before the ride had stopped completely. He grinned at his friends, impatiently waiting for them to join him.
They strolled through the pumpkin patch, more on the edges of the field, away from the running—and tripping—children and their exasperated parents. Peter and Ned looked for large, bright orange pumpkins with flat faces for carving. MJ, true to her word, looked at the lumpy ones, green and orange mixing on bumpy surfaces. She made sure to tell her friends whenever she found one that looked like it had a nose. Peter laughed.
As they neared the tree-line, MJ looked past Peter, over his shoulder. “That’s pretty creepy looking,” she stated, voice bland. Peter turned to see an archway of twisted tree branches, leading into the forest, bark bleaching as it traveled. “I dare you to go in.”
Ned frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “This is, uh, private property, and—”
“If Peter’s too chicken to check it out—”
“I’m not!” Peter straightened his back and jutted out his jaw. “It doesn’t even look that creepy.”
MJ shrugged. “Looks to me like someone cursed it. You think the trees are dying further back or is that just how they look?”
Peter made a face at her. “I think it’s just a normal forest. I’ll be back to tell you that it’s totally normal. Not creepy or cursed at all.”
MJ smiled, small and smug. “Sure,” she said. “See you soon.”
Peter picked his way around the few rows of pumpkins between him and the woods. “Cursed,” he muttered. “Why would they be cursed? That’s—”
He stood in front of the archway. Tree branches wove together along the top and knotted and blocking most of the pale autumn sun. The trucks grew nearly-touching. Peter shivered.
He stepped into the tunnel the trees created. He pulled his jacket tighter around him. He glanced over his shoulder, MJ watching him expectantly. Peter rolled his eyes with a scoff and started walking.
The tree trunks paled as he walked, until a forest of bone surrounded him. The green of the leaves, in contrast, looked over-saturated, surreal. Peter’s footsteps quieted—brown, dead leaves no longer under his feet to be crushed, the sound instead replaced by the softness of moss under him.
He frowned. The murmur of the pumpkin patch, its people, its tractors, faded. The babble of a nearby stream drew his attention. He followed the sound.
The woods opened into a clearing. The stream cut through it. A small cabin stood at the center. A clothesline displayed drying clothing. A stack of logs piled by the door.
Smoke rose from the chimney.
“See, MJ, not cursed at all,” Peter mumbled. Really, it more looked from a fairytale. He walked up to the cabin door. And fidgeted. Maybe he should just—but curiosity ate at him. Who would live in the woods of a farm, no car or driveway, no mailbox—
Someone who didn’t want to be bothered.
Peter flushed. He turned, to walk away from the house, to head back to his friends, to the pumpkin patch.
Someone—about his age, blond, arms stretching his sleeves, stared at him, eyes wide, and almost dropped the deer lugged over his shoulder.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you, I was just—curious, and I’m—”
“How long have you been here?” the stranger cut through Peter’s rambling.
“Uh. Not long?” He frowned. “Again, I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just surprised to see someone out here, I’ll just go—”
The stranger nodded. “You need to leave, now, you—” He ran a hand through his hair. Curls. Peter couldn’t help but follow the movement— “Okay. How long have you been in the woods?”
“I just said—but—what’s it to you?”
“I’m trying to help you, you just have to—” The stranger sighed. “The sun hasn’t gone down, right?”
Peter furrowed his brow. “I’ve only been here maybe ten minutes.”
“Good. You need to leave.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“No. No. I don’t mean ‘get off my lawn’ you-need-to-leave, I mean you’ll get stuck here if you don’t—if you’re not out by sunset. Okay? So, just—” The stranger closed his eyes. “Okay. Hi, I’m Harley, I’ve been here since summer of ‘93, you need to get outta here before you get stuck too.” He opened his eyes. “Make sense?”
“I’m Peter,” he said, mostly on autopilot. He blinked. “And, uh, no offense, but what the fuck? Like, did you just say … stuck? Like, not allowed out of the woods, kind of actually like a fairytale, stuck?" He stared at—Harley—and choked on a laugh. “You’re kidding, right? Like, haha, this is how you keep people from telling anybody that you've set up a probably illegal residence in the woods?”
Harley looked up at the sky, like he was praying for patience, which, really, was rich, considering he was the one to say the crazy, patience-testing thing in the first place. “If you really don’t wanna see your friends and family ‘gain, sure, stick around ‘til sunset. Maybe it’ll come quicker this time.”
“Am I supposed to have any idea what you’re talking about?”
Harley smirked. “No. That’s kinda the point, sweetheart.”
“You’ve ... been stick here since 1993?”
“Yup.” Harley walked past Peter, deer still over his shoulder—oh, with a bow too, and a quiver at his hip—but Peter might’ve seen a—flinch? A wince? “Lay it on me. How long’s it been?”
“… twenty-six years.”
Harley’s feet scuffled against the ground as he stuttered a step. “Damn. Abb’s probably got little ones of her own by now, then.” He shook his head. “Give me ‘nough time to skin an’ trim this for saltin’ an’ get it set up in the cellar an’ I’ll try to get you to the edge of the woods.” His accent—Southern—thickened, and Peter lowered his eyes. Could someone fake that kind of grief?
“… You say that like I didn’t walk only ten minutes to get here.”
“You say that like it’ll only take ten minutes to get out,” Harley mocked. “You gotta work to get outta here. Easy comin’ in, next to impossible comin’ out.”
“No way.”
Harley shrugged. “Try walkin’, then. Forest might spit you right back here, or you’ll just end up lost, but you sure as hell won’t be gettin’ out in ten minutes.”
“That’s impossible.” Peter snorted. He turned and started walking out of the clearing. “Have fun with your deer.”
“Have fun gettin’ lost.”
Peter scoffed and walked the way he came. Accounting for the slight turn he’d taken, he headed for the edge of the woods. “No, MJ, the woods aren’t cursed, there’s just some weirdo longer guy who lives by a stream and thinks you get stuck in here if you’re in the woods past sunset,” he grumbled. “And the next time you dare me to go in somewhere, you’re coming with me, so that you can deal with this kind of person yourself.”
He stomped through the woods, expecting to hear the crunch of dead leaves soon, to see the trees darken from their bone-white to a more normal brown-gray.
The stream's babble grew louder and he stepped into the clearing.
Peter scowled. He must've gotten turned around somehow. He walked back into the woods, determinedly putting one foot in front of the other, walking in a straight line—which had to taken him out of the forest.
He walked back into the clearing.
Peter kept walking out of the clearing, into the woods, and then back into the clearing—Harley came out at one point, hands bloody, and smirked at Peter as he rinsed in the stream. Peter scoffed and turned back into the forest.
Sometimes, it took two minutes for Peter to walk back into the clearing. Sometimes, ten. Once, what felt like half an hour dragged on, and Peter swore he could almost hear kids’ screaming and shouting, adults trying to get and keep their attention—only for whatever murmur he thought he could hear to be replaced by running water.
Peter glowered. Harley sat on his porch expectantly. “You’re not gonna get out goin’ like that, darlin’,” he said. “The woods want us to go together.” He shrugged. “Or they wanna keep you. Kinda a coin toss.”
“That’s not how it works though,” Peter insisted. “The forest can’t want anything! It was a ten minute walk here, so it should be a ten minute walk back!”
Harley nodded, sitting on his porch, two packed rucksacks beside him. “Should be,” he agreed. “But it ain’t. So, you gonna keep this up ‘til the sun goes down, or are you gonna let me help you?”
“How’re you going to help?”
Harley shrugged. “The woods keep bringin’ you back, don’t they? It’s gotta be for some kinda reason.” He smiled. “I’m kinda the only chance you’ve really got, darlin’.”
“I’m not your ‘darling,’” Peter grumbled. He looked back at the woods. Sighed. “All right. Fine. If you’re willing to help … not like I’m in much of a position to say no.”
“Sounds good. Grab a pack.”
Peter grumbled, but he did as he was told. He swung one of the rucksacks over his back as Harley did the same. “So how’re you gonna get out?”
Harley walked to the edge of the clearing, first beside the stream, and then turning directly to his left. “Focus on not hearin’ the stream,” he called, waving Peter over.
“What?” Peter asked, frowning, as he stopped beside Harley. He rolled his eyes.
“Focus on not hearin’ the stream as we walk. In fact, really, just try not to think ‘bout it. It’ll probably take you a while to get used to it, but I should be able to handle it ‘til you figure it out.”
“Don’t … hear the stream.”
“I know, sounds crazy, but the whole forest is like that, so, really, judgin’ me on figurin’ out how it works is counterproductive.” Harley started walking out of the clearing, the stream to his back.
Peter tried to focus on the sound of their footsteps, on the sound of his own breathing, of tree branches swaying and knowing into each other, but—how could he focus on not hearing something. “… What did you do with the deer?” he asked to distract himself.
“Skinned it. Trimmed most the fat off, organs, stuff like that.” Harley looked over at Peter. “I’ve got it salting for now, I’ll smoke it in a bit more than a month.”
“So you’ve been surviving out here on your own for twenty-six years?”
“Doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. Sometimes, someone like you comes ‘round. I lead ‘em out. Go back to huntin’ deer an’ growin’ crops.”
Peter frowned. “Sounds lonely.”
Harley shrugged. “It is what it is. At least I’ve got a roof over my head an’ plenty of food.”
“… and you can’t leave?”
“Been stuck far past my first sunset.” Harley kicked a stray stone. It didn’t make it far, the moss stopping its skittering. “So I just get the rest of y’all out when I can.”
“When you can?”
“Forest isn’t always nice.”
“… anyone else ever gotten stuck?”
Harley shrugged. “I dunno how big the woods are, but … I reckon so.”
“Anybody you tried to help?”
“… yeah. A girl, once. Bit older than me. Wanda.” Harley shifted his hold on his pack. “She got stuck. Couldn’t get to the edge in time.”
“What happened to her?”
“Dunno. She … went off, after. On her own. I don’t blame her. She … had a brother she was tryin’ to get back to. All each other had left, from what I gathered.”
“… ‘s not your fault. That you couldn’t get her out.”
Harley frowned. “Feels like it, sometimes.”
“… if I get … stuck, could I stay with you?” Peter forced a smile. “I’m from the city. Wouldn’t know what to do with a deer if one stood stock-still in front of me.”
“Sure.” Harley gave him an equally forced laugh. “I’ll show you all the tricks.”
“Thanks.”
A thick silence fell over them. Peter gnawed on his lip. What if he did get stuck? What if he couldn’t get out in time? What would happen to him? Peter took a deep breath. He couldn’t think like that. Harley was helping him. He’d get out. It’d all be all right.
Peter looked up at the bright sky. They had until sundown. How big could the forest really be?
He shouldn’t have asked. His legs ached like they’d been walking for hours—except the sun hadn’t moved and the trees were still bone-white.
“I think we’ll stop and rest for now,” Harley said. Peter, with a sigh of relief, collapsed against a tree.
“How long have we been walking?”
“Hard to say. Maybe ‘bout four hours. Get some sleep. We’ll try to walk longer afterward.”
Four hours should’ve put them at almost sunset. He, Ned, and MJ hadn’t gotten to the pumpkin patch until about two. Peter frowned. “Why is it still so bright out?”
Harley shrugged. “Time’s weird here. I’ve mostly lost count, but … sunset might be up to an ordinary week off. Makes for weird sleepin’ hours.”
Peter gawked at him. “A week?”
“Yeah. But, trust me, we’ll probably need every walkin’ moment we can get. So rest up now. We don’t wanna lag behind once you wake up.”
“How could—”
“Really, darlin’, you’ll stay up far too long worryin’ ‘bout questions like that right now.” Harley sighed. “Try to nap Ask me while we walk, yeah?”
Peter frowned. “Fine.” He leaned against a tree, arms crossed, and closed his eyes. Physical exhaustion overtook mental confusion, and Peter drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
He awake to the soft crackle of firewood and the smell of meat roasting. He opened his eyes, bleary in the face of bright day and sore muscles.
“Hope you’re not vegetarian, darlin’,” Harley said. Peter watched as he stoked the fire beneath—
“Is that a rabbit?”
“We don’t wanna eat too heavy before we walk,” he said, in lieu of an answer. “I packed some stuff like dried fruit and nuts for while we walk. Extra waterskins, too.”
Peter nodded and yawned, still waking up. “Not vegetarian,” he mumbled. He looked up. “Any clue how long we’ve got?”
“’Bout four days. It might change on us, but if it keeps steady—yeah, four days.” Harley stuck a knife in the rabbit. The fire sizzled as something—oil? Fat? Water? Peter didn’t know—dripped from the meat and into the flames. Apparently satisfied, Harley removed the spit and divided the meat onto plates. He handed one to Peter. “Not gonna taste the best—left my spices and shit back in the cabin—but it shouldn’t be bad.” He handed over a knife and fork, too.
“… did you make all this stuff?” Peter asked, examining the plate. Wooden, looked hand-carved and stained and—
“Yeah, most of it.” Harley shrugged. “’S been a while, y’know, and I needed—I didn’t wanna just survive here. I needed stuff to do with my hands, an’ the guy before me, Quent—uh, he knew a lot. Showed me some real useful stuff.” He stabbed his knife into his share of the rabbit. “Bon appetit.”
“The guy before you?”
“Don’t press it.” Harley stared at the ground. “Please.” Peter watched the somber—hurt?—look on Harley’s downcast face.
“Sorry …” he said. “I won’t push. But … if you want to talk, I’ll listen.”
Harley snorted, dry—sharp—and humorless. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Peter doubted he would. They ate breakfast in silence. Peter watched as Harley put out the fire and packed up.
“Let’s keep goin’.”
They walked.
And walked.
A couple hours later, Harley tossed a bag of trail mix at Peter. “Today’s ration,” he quipped, a small grin on his face.
Peter picked at it as they went.
He started to hear various animals chatter in the wood. Birds chirping. Squirrels rustling. He saw a deer or two, once, in the corner of his eye.
“How do you catch stuff out here?” he asked. “It’s like it all stays purposefully out of sight.”
“Just gotta know where to look, I suppose.”
“… will you teach me> If—if it comes to that?”
“’Course. Gotta pull your own weight somehow,” Harley tried to joke. Peter smiled, but flat silence dragged on between them.
“We’ll get you out,” Harley said. “Don’t worry.”
Peter hummed. “Right.”
“Why don’t you tell me ‘bout yourself? What’s life like in … 2019, you said?” Harley’s voice nearly cracked. “What’s goin’ on in the world?”
“Well … there was an alien invasion in 2012.” Harley whistled. “Uh … you remember when Howard and Maria Stark died in ‘91?”
“Yeah. Was all over the news.”
“Tony Stark took over after. Actually became a superhero in 2008. Saved my life at a tech expo in 2010.” Peter smiled. “He took me on as a student intern a couple years back. I don’t think he realizes he saved me way back when? Anyway. I start college next fall, so I’ll be doin’ more stuff remotely, but—for now—I help in the lab, sometimes with Dr. Banner, too. Sometimes, they’re both off on a mission or to speak at some event and I get run of the lab.”
“Blow anythin’ up?” Harley teased.
“Only sometimes. Usually on purpose.” Peter grinned at Harley and shrugged. “DUM-E’s always on fire control, so it’s all right.”
“Leave fire safety up to somethin’ called ‘Dummy,’ right, good plan.”
“Well, I haven’t blown up yet, so it’s not that bad.”
Harley hummed. “Sure it’s not.”
“Shut up! I’m responsible,” he laughed.
“Your actions say otherwise.”
“You’re the teenager who lives in the middle of nowhere all by yourself,” Peter contested. Winced. “… sorry. I know—”
“It’s fine. You were teasin’.” Harley gave Peter a smile. “’Sides, I think that shows how responsible I can be. I haven’t died an’ I also haven’t fermented any alcohol yet.”
“Yet.”
“Okay, so I just found some wild fruit to try growin’. If they take root an’ grow well, I’ll see ‘bout figurin’ out how to make a distillery.”
“Wow, you can cook, carve, farm, hunt, build … is there anything you can’t do, or did you walk right out of an issue of Outdoor Life?”
Harley shrugged. “Haven’t found anythin’ yet.” He smirked. Peter laughed.
“You’ve got the skills, the smile—the arms. You must’ve had all—all sorts of girls fawning over you.”
“What can I say, people love the Southern charm.” Harley smiled, tight-lipped. “But, uh … actually … I don’t really … got for that—sort of person. If you, uh … if that’s not a problem?”
Peter furrowed his brow. “Uh … what? You—oh. Uh. No, it’s not. Well, for some people it is, but—gay marriage was legalized in 2015. In the US. And. Uh. Me too. Well, I mean, I—I like both, really, but—um. You know.”
“Marriage? It gets—it gets legalized?” Harley stopped in his tracks. “Holy shit. That’s—that’s amazin’.”
“Yeah. I mean, there’s still a long way to go, like with adoption, and our current administration is—” Peter winced. “It’s not the best. But it’s really more preoccupied with mutant and immigrant populations right now, so …” He shrugged. “I’m sure a lot is definitely better, but … it’s not all great. I mean. Captain America came back in 2011, only to commit crimes against the UN and, like, 117 countries, so …”
Harley stared at Peter. And laughed. “That—the world really is bizarre, huh?” He shook his head. “Christ. It must get crazier and crazier each year.” He started walking again. “I can’t even imagine …”
“Yeah, I don’t blame you. I couldn’t have imagined it even five years ago, let alone …”
“Twenty-six. ‘S a’ight. You can say it.” Harley smiled. “Unless vampires exist, I’m the oldest seventeen year old there is.”
“Now if only that counted towards maturity.”
“Hey!”
Peter laughed. They chatted back and for for another handful of hours. When Peter felt like his legs had been replaced with cooked noodled, Harley finally said they could break for a bit.
“Are you not tired?” Peter asked.
Harley shrugged. “I’m more used to walkin’ ‘round, I guess. Or just physical activity in general.”
“I do physical stuff!”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Mr. Stark’s been teaching me welding, and other machinery stuff like that. I’m practically a blacksmith’s apprentice.”
“Oh, wow, an apprentice.”
“Don’t mock me!”
Harley smiled. “My bad, dollface. You just look so cute riled up.”
Peter spluttered. His face grew warm. “That’s—I—”
“Relax. I’m gonna catch us somethin’ to eat. Don’t hurt yourself tryin’ to think of a response.” Harley left his rucksack beside Peter, keeping his bow and quiver. “I’ll be back.”
Peter made a face behind Harley’s back. “I’ve got a response for you,” he muttered. “Jackass.”
Still, his chest fluttered a little. Dollface.
Peter dozed until Harley came back, some bird—a pheasant, maybe?—slung over his shoulder.
“You know how to set up a fire?” he asked. Peter nodded. “Cool. Do that while I pluck this thing please.”
Peter watched as Harley tried to suppress a yawn. “You’re so full of shit. You’re just as exhausted from walking all day and then insist on staying awake to catch food as if you didn’t pack rations.” He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
Harley at least had the decency to look sheepish. “I’m fine,” he protested. “Just a little tired. I’m fine, really.”
“Yeah, I’ll believe that when the cows come home. I’ll handle the fire and the bird. Get some rest. And actually do get rest. I have a feeling you sat watch or something last night.”
Harley stared at the ground.
“Are you fucking kidding—did you actually keep watch?” Peter stalked off to collect tinder, kindling, and firewood. Unbelievable.
At least Harley was sleeping when Peter came back. Curled up on the ground, his arms as support for his head. Peter smiled. He set about starting the fire.
It took longer than he would’ve liked to admit, but that just gave Harley more time to sleep.
Peter looked back over at him. He snuffled softly in his sleep, pressed his face against his arms. Peter shucked his jacket—it was warm enough by the fire—and carefully coaxed Harley’s head onto it. Harley shuffled, but stayed asleep.
Peter settled back down, plucking the bird and then putting it on a spit over the fire. He rotated it occasionally, somewhere between asleep and awake.
When the bird looked—and smelled—cooked, Peter tapped Harley’s shoulder. Then shook it, when that didn’t work. Harley awoke slowly, like from a daze, and stared at Peter like he didn’t understand why he was there.
“Mornin’, angel,” he drawled. He rubbed his eyes. Noticed the jacket. “… you put this under me?”
“Looked like you could use it. Now come on, I think the bird is done, but you should check it.”
Harley nodded, obviously still needing rest. He checked the bird—and insisted on cutting it when he deemed it cooked. He split it onto plates again, handing one over, along with cutlery, to Peter.
“We’re taking it easy today,” Peter said after they ate. Harley looked at him with a furrowed brow. “You’re not allowed to drive yourself into the ground just to get me out. So, we stop when I say we stop, and rest for however long we need. Sound like a plan?”
“’M obviously not allowed to disagree with this plan—”
“That’s right.”
Harley glared at Peter. “So do I have to remind you you’ve got ‘bout three days left?”
“You don’t, actually. But, again, your health—and mine—is being put above getting out of these stupid woods. Yeah, I’d rather not be stuck here perpetually, but it’s not the end of the world and then we at least wouldn’t be alone. Health comes first. That’s final.”
“… I can’t convince you otherwise?”
“Nope.”
“… a’ight, you’re the boss. When do we leave?”
“Sleep for a while longer. We’ll eat some of the trail mix when you wake up and then go.”
Harley grumbled, but not too much, the prospect of more sleep obviously more appealing than being stubborn.
He curled up again. Peter smiled, watching as he relaxed. He was cute, wrapping himself around Peter’s jacket, head tucked close to his chest.
Peter closed his eyes too.
He opened them when he heard Harley moving about. “You should still be asleep,” he said.
Harley froze and looked to Peter, almost guiltily. “You sure you don’t wanna start movin’ ‘gain?”
Peter shook his head. “I’m sure. Now sleep.” He paused for a moment. “Or at least tell me why you’re so eager to keep moving.”
“… I don’t want you to have to get stuck here,” Harley answered. “It’ll be—”
“If you’re about to say it’d be your fault, I swear I won’t move from this spot until sunset, no matter what you do. You’re not the reason I’m in this forest, and you’re not the reason it’s decided to keep me—us—stuck here.” Peter shook his head. “I appreciate the sentiment, Harley, but resting is just as important as walking. Go back to sleep.”
“What if you don’t get out in time?”
“Stop acting like that’s the worst thing in the world that couple happen. Yeah, I’d miss my family and friends, but that’s not worth running you into the ground. I’ll be fine. We’ll work something out, if it comes to it.”
Harley frowned. “But—”
“Go back to sleep, hon. You need it.” Peter closed his own eyes again, but he didn’t fall asleep until he stopped hearing Harley shuffled around.
Peter woke up feeling rested—like he actually slept, instead of only napped. He smiled and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
Harley still slept. Peter let him. He checked their inventory—still plenty of dried fruits and nuts, even if Harley stopped hunting for them. Peter divided rations for the day and made sure the rucksacks were properly packed up again.
The fire had gone out. Peter didn’t see a particular use in rekindling it.
He tried to occupy his thoughts as Harley slept, but he didn’t want to imagine what his friends would be feeling. Both—both probably felt guilty, for daring him to go into the woods, for letting him go by himself. Had he already missed Halloween? How much time had passed? Harley had been in the wood for twenty-six years, but still looked seventeen.
Peter ran a hand through his hair. Maybe MJ was right. Maybe these woods were cursed.
He shook his head. Replaced such thoughts with possible next-projects to work on with Mr. Stark. He stayed lost in his thoughts until Harley woke up.
“You’re looking better,” Peter said.
“I’d tell you the same, but perfection can’t improve.” Harley smirked. Peter nearly choked. Harley laughed. “Can’t take a compliment, darlin’?”
“Not one I wasn’t expecting.”
“Givin’ you a heads’ up would be cheatin’.”
“Can’t have that, can we?” Peter smiled. “Guess I’d better just get used to it.”
“Doll, if you ever ‘just get used to it,’ I’ll have to up my game.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “I—”
“Wanna take the trail mix on the road?”
Peter frowned. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Well-rested and everything. We should start movin’ ‘gain.”
Peter sighed. “Yeah, all right.”
They grabbed their packs and started walking again, the flirty tone from earlier lost. Peter thought through the words, the interaction, trying to puzzle out if he did anything wrong.
Harley kept a respectable distance between the two of them. Peter made no attempt to bridge it. The silence kept Peter’s attention either on his thoughts or on walking—a couple of hours later, he had them stop.
“We can definitely keep goin’,” Harley protested. Peter crossed his arms.
“Maybe if there was more to do than just think about walking, yeah, but you haven’t spoken to me since we broke camp. So we’re stopping here. You agreed to let me pick when we rested. I say we’re taking a break now.”
Peter dropped his pack on the ground and sat down. Harley scowled.
“What’s it matter whether or not we talk? We need to get you outta the woods.”
“Didn’t realize I was such awful company.”
“That’s not what I said an’ you know it. Are you tryin’ to get stuck here?”
“I really didn’t realize that it’d be so bad if you weren’t alone anymore.”
“This isn’t ‘bout me! Don’t you wanna go back home, to your family, your friends, your ‘bout-to-start-college, an’ your internship? Don’t you wanna get back to your life?”
“Of course I do. But in this crazy magical forest with bizarrely long days and moving forest-edges, it almost doesn’t matter what I do, does it? Yeah, I’ll try to make it out, but I don’t want to if it means we’re constantly fighting!”
“Why does that matter? If you get out, you’ll never see me ‘gain!”
“Do you really think I want to leave you?”
Harley stared at him.
“Oh, God, you do.”
“Shut up.”
“Harley. Harley, that’s not—I think you’re really cool. Aside from the first bit of time when we’d just met, but, to be fair, you were telling me I’d been put in a magic forest trap.”
Harley almost-snorted. Peter considered that a win.
“I want to get out of these woods, sure, but not because I’m wanting to get away from you.”
Harley frowned. “But you’ll still pick gettin’ outta the woods over me. An’ you should! ‘Cause bein’ stuck here is kinda Hell! But—” He stopped. Sighed. Looked at the ground. “How am I supposed to become your friend, or at least let you become mine—how am I supposed to—flirt with you—knowin’ you’re gonna leave?”
Peter swallowed. “I don’t—”
“Maybe sleep is a good idea.” Harley dropped his pack and pulled out Peter’s jacket. He stared at it a moment before tossing it to Peter. “Sleep well.”
Harley curled up on himself. Peter couldn’t tell if he fell asleep or just stilled and kept his breathing even. Peter stared up at what looked like a midday sky. He didn’t sleep for a while.
He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the smell of cooking meat woke him again. Harley had another rabbit over a fire.
“I slept plenty,” he said, as though anticipating a complaint. “But—we’ve got about two days. We really should try to make the most of them.”
“I—”
“I tried to find some herbs to make the rabbit a little less bland, but I didn’t know if you had any allergies, so I figured better safe than sorry.” He cut the rabbit, handed Peter a plate with a smile. “Epi-Pens don’t exactly grow on trees here.”
Peter sighed. He ate the rabbit as Harley talked, hardly taking the time to breathe, let alone leave room for Peter to cut in.
“It’d be too much of a waste to kill a deer and cook it for just the two of us, but you should try it, if you get the chance,” Harley said as they packed up camp.
“Harley—”
“I dunno if you’ve ever been down South, but deer are considered vermin there. Huntin’ with a bow is allowed year-round, I think.”
“Harley—”
“I didn’t hunt much before comin’ here. Never really needed to, we have the farm after all.”
Peter sighed. He listened to Harley, trying, sometimes, to get him to respond, or at least acknowledge that Peter was there, but—
“Kinda lucky I grew up on a farm, considerin’ how I ended up.”
“Harley—”
“I do miss my sister, though. But I’m sure she got a nice husband—or wife, since that’s legal now—and took over the farm or somethin’.”
Peter couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
“There’s a bunch of stuff I can’t really make out here—no factories to churn out plastic or anythin’—so I have figured out how to write with a quill an’ inkwell.”
“Harley—”
“It’s kinda messy sometimes, but better than not bein’ able to write anythin’ down at all.”
Peter clenched his fists.
“Maybe I could figure out some kind of—”
“Harls!”
Harley jumped.
Peter took his shot. “For the love of God, Harley—Harls—what the fuck? You think not letting me get a word in is gonna—what? Keep us from becoming friends? Are you really—trying so hard to push me away that you’re willing to talk until—you know, I’m not even sure. Until we get to the edge of the woods? Where you think I’m just going to abandon you, as though I’m not gonna try my damnedest to get you out with me? God, you—” Peter dragged his hands through his hair.
Harley stared at him.
“It’s funny, really, that you thought telling me anything you could think of would drive me away, too, as thought I’m not interested in hearing about your favorite memories with your sister, or how smart you are at mechanics and the time you took apart a car to put it back together just to prove a point. You really think any of that is gonna make me okay with leaving you here?” Peter shook his head. “I cannot believe you. That you—” He cut himself off. “Why are you so insistent that I leave without you?”
Harley watched him, blue eyes expressive and looking like even just one more reminder of what he’d lost would break him.
“Well?” Peter prompted.
Harley sighed. Sat down, Peter followed suit. “’Cause that’s how it works here. You gotta—” His voice cracked. “You need two people to cross through. One person to actually go through, but … two different people have gotta be hopin’ they’ll get through. The one’s the person actually goin’ through, but the other …” He shrugged. “That’s me.”
“What? How do you—why do you—”
“The guy here before me? He’s the one who built the main part of the cabin, actually. I just added to it. Anyway, his name was Quentin. Quentin Beck, I think.” Harley laughed, without any humor. “He found me when I wandered in. Told me he’d help me get through the woods and get home. We had two weeks or somethin’ ‘til sunset—he told me that rule, too, that you could only get back before your first sunset.
“He taught me how to hunt, how to fish, to salt, smoke, and preserve meat. Taught me how to get back to the cabin, if I ever got lost.” Harley sneered. “I ate it right up. My—my dad had left when I was four. I hadn’t—he played me. Real fuckin’ well. Had me convinced he was a friend, that he wanted what was best for me—
“He said he’d go first, check to make sure we’d gotten there in time, so I could go home. I didn’t even have to try to convince myself. I was—I was so sure he’d come back. But he didn’t. He didn’t, and I—I figured it out. Two people have to want one person to make it out.”
Peter blinked at Harley. “So … every person you helped get out …?”
Harley crumpled. Leaned against a tree. “… I didn’t want them to have to get stuck here, too.” He closed his eyes. “Get why I’m so ‘insistent’ now? Only one person can leave. An’ I’m not makin’ you stay here. Ever.” Harley wrapped his arms around himself. “… an’ I gotta make sure I want you out more than I want you here.”
“Oh, Harley.”
“I thought—if I could keep us from—I dunno, becomin’ friends—it’d be fine. But you—you laugh at my jokes an’ flirt back an’ say you’d stay with me if you got stuck—how was I—how am I supposed to not want that?” He pressed his forehead to his knees. “I’m sorry. I—I want you to be able to leave, I promise, I just—”
“Harley. Harls. It’s all right,” Peter reassured. “How about we break for a bit, yeah?”
“Sunset’s in—less than a day, really, we should—”
Peter sat next to Harley. “We’re resting. You don’t get to argue.” He knocked a knee, gently, against Harley’s. “Sound good?”
Harley mumbled something into his knees. Peter smiled.
“I’ll count not hearing it as not an argument.” He closed his eyes and dozed.
Woke up with Harley’s head on his shoulder, and his head resting on Harley’s.
Peter hummed, content. Closed his eyes again. He waited until he felt Harley stir to move. “Good morning,” he murmured. Harley looked at him like he’d been wounded.
“Last day,” he replied.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Peter said, even though he knew it was true too.
They ate trail mix instead of looking for something to hunt. Peter kept brushing his shoulder against Harley’s.
“Let’s get goin’,” Harley said. Peter sighed, but followed him.
They walked side-by-side, though Harley set the pace quicker than previous days. (If Peter could call them that.) The sun hung obviously lower, flickering between the bleached tree trunks. Sometimes, it would catch on Harley’s hair.
It glinted like gold.
Peter watched either Harley or the ground as they walked. Harley stared directly ahead, refusing to look at Peter even when he tried to take his hand.
Peter sighed.
Their next steps crunched.
Peter jumped. Harley grinned, just about crowed with joy. The trees weren’t bone-white anymore, but darkening to gray. “C’mon, there’s not much time,” Harley urged, now taking Peter’s hand—to pull him towards the rapidly approaching tree-line.
He could hear the shouting of children, somewhere in the distance.
The tunnel of trees opened before them. The sun hung in the trunks of the trees, stooping low towards the ground. Peter stopped, staring at the pumpkin patch he could almost see through the trees.
“What’re you waitin’ for?” Harley asked. “You made it! You’ve got to go!” He tried shoving PEter towards the tunnel, but he wouldn’t budge.
Peter bit his lip. Glanced at the sun. He shook his head and turned to Harley.
“Do you trust me?”
“Pete—”
“Do you trust me?”
Harley stared at him. “Yes.”
“Peter grinned. He surged forward, taking Harley’s face in his hands. Harley closed his eyes, tipped himself forward, leaning down.
Peter pressed their lips together.
Everything went still. The sounds from the forest, from the pumpkin patch, froze. The sliding light of the sun paused. All that existed were Harley’s lips, soft against his, and his cheeks, warm beneath his touch.
“Come with me,” Peter whispered into Harley’s mouth. He could taste his hesitance. “Trust me.”
Harley took a slow breath. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”
Peter grinned. Took Harley’s hand—just as the sun began to move again, as the world made its noise again—and dragged him through the tunnel.
Bright light blinded the two of them. The sun hung in the middle of the sky. Children screamed and shouted and ran, some crying when they tripped on a vine.
MJ and Ned stood exactly where Peter left them. Ned stared in open surprise at Peter and Harley. As Peter walked them over to his friends, he saw MJ’s quirked brow.
“You really went far in those woods, huh, Parker?” she teased. Peter smiled.
“You’ve got no idea.” Harley snorted behind him. “Ned, MJ, meet Harley. We’ve got a hell of a story to tell you.”