Work Text:
“This project is worth forty percent of your grade, so be very vigilant with deadlines and make sure that you are putting in equal amounts of work. The program you will be using for your prep work will track changes and show who was typing what, so if you want to get credit for your work, you must be the one typing it. Because of the lack of productivity exemplified last quarter when I allowed you to choose your own groups, I will be assigning your groups.”
There was a collective groan.
“You complain now, but when you aren’t wasting hours of work time goofing off and distracting your peers and actually turn in something that is worthy of a good grade, you will thank me.”
Peter drummed his fingers on his thigh, wincing slightly as his jeans grazed his bruising skin. His temples were throbbing in an incessant pulse, a pounding in his head that he couldn’t seem to ignore. He heard too much. He heard the blood coursing through his veins and the sound of his eyelids opening and closing as he blinked. He couldn’t think.
“Peter?”
He looked up lethargically.
“You’re going to be paired with Harley. Make sure to get in touch outside of class since he’s absent today.”
Peter sunk down in his seat. Great.
Everyone knew that Peter and Harley were high school sweethearts. They were crazy for each other. They took cheesy photos together and went on countless dates and were practically conjoined by the hip. When talking about them, you’d most likely say “Peter and Harley.” They were madly in love.
Were.
Peter? Well, as much as it hurt, he still loved Harley. His heart was still tethered to his, hopelessly and undeniably. His lips still curled at the thought of the feeling of his head rested on Harley’s chest as his fingers carded through his hair with a gentle massage. His chest still felt tight when he remembered the feeling of his warm, chapped lips on his. His eyes still prickled when he reminisced on all of the wonderful moments they had.
But those moments were no more and Harley was no longer his and now he had to face him for months as they worked on the biggest project of the semester.
Harley had changed after they broke up. He was cold, harsh, and isolated. He cut off any ties he had with Peter, including all of his friends (that used to be his). He had been skipping school like it was nothing and Peter could’ve sworn he saw him smoking in the courtyard.
It was a messy breakup. It was two weeks from their two year anniversary and a week before homecoming. Harley was harsh. Said he didn’t want to be with Peter anymore. That he needed space and that Peter wasn’t good for him. He said that his secrets were burdening him and that he had too much baggage. He said that there was no future for them.
It was a messy breakup, and Peter hadn’t really gotten over it yet.
But there he was, standing outside of Harley’s apartment that he had been to millions of times, tattered backpack hanging off his left shoulder, staring at the door.
He hesitantly knocked on the door, shoving his hands further into his pockets.
As Harley opened the door, Peter’s breath caught in his throat.
“Finally. You’re late. As per usual.”
“Your apartment isn’t exactly the most convenient walk from Midtown,” Peter retorted.
“Whatever. Let’s just get started.”
Just as Peter had gotten settled at the dining table, laptop and papers laid out, Harley stood.
“Let’s go to that diner down by that antiques shop. I could go for some hamburgers while we work,” Harley said.
“We should really focus on the research…” Peter said.
“Don’t hamburgers sound good? I think they sound good. Let’s go.”
Before Peter could refute, Harley was already grabbing his bomber jacket and heading out the door.
“Harley. Harley! C’mon. You have to take this seriously. This could tank our grades,” Peter said impatiently.
“Well, I don’t do good work on an empty stomach. So let’s go fill it! C’mon. You love burger joints.” Harley cringed at his choice of words.
“Do you promise we’ll actually talk about the project when we are there?” Peter asked.
“Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.”
Peter held back a grin. That used to make him smile.
Harley kept walking. “If you don’t hurry up, I’m leaving without you!”
As the two walked, Harley’s hands were stuffed in his pockets, his eyes wandering around the city as they leisurely strolled.
“Can we hurry this up a bit? We’re wasting perfectly good working time,” Peter said.
“Enjoy the view, Peter. It’s a lovely day. You were the one who always said the city had a life of its own. I think I’m really seeing it.”
Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes and cursed at the way his heart stuttered at the sentiment.
As the two neared the diner, Harley stopped, taking deep, ragged breaths.
“You alright?” Peter asked.
“Long walk,” Harley said breathlessly.
“We’re almost there,” Peter said pointing at the diner that was just a few stores away.
“Just give me a second,” Harley said coarsely. He raised his arms above his head and took deep breaths in, but only began to cough, the feeling of blood rushing up his throat. He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it, quickly folding and disposing it before Peter could see it. “Okay. I’m good. Let’s go.”
The two found a booth in the back of the diner, Harley wiping the counter down with a sanitizing wipe and Peter trying to focus with all the overwhelming scents blending together.
They fell into an uncomfortable silence as they began to scan the food selections.
“What are you getting?” Harley asked, not looking up from his menu. “I think I’m gonna try something new. Veggie burgers sound good. Healthy. Made with broccoli too. Good for your lungs.”
“Harley. You said we’d work,” Peter said, unamused.
“We will! We will. I’m just skimming over the menu. New dishes to explore. Oh! Heard they’ve got a good strawberry milkshake. Maybe I should try that.”
“You hate strawberry ice cream,” Peter said with a frown.
“People change,” Harley said with a harsh venom in his tone.
Peter clenched his jaw and turned his eyes back to the menu. “I’ll probably just my usual.”
As if on cue, their waitress approached.
“What can I get you boys?” she asked.
“One veggie burger with fries and a strawberry milkshake and chicken tenders and fries with an Oreo milkshake for him,” Harley said before Peter could interject. “You still like that, right?”
Peter nodded, a pang in his chest. “Yeah. I do.”
“Alright. And two waters to go with that?” Harley asked.
“Will do,” she said. “Anything else?”
“I think that’ll be it,” Harley said.
“Alrighty.” And she was off.
“You remember,” Peter said quietly.
“What?” Harley asked.
“You remember my order.”
“Of course I do. It’s not like you’d order anything else when we’d go out. You always said you could tell how good a restaurant was based on their chicken tenders. And I figured they don’t have shirley temples here or you would have to judge that too.”
Peter nodded speechlessly.
“So, the project?” Harley asked.
“Right.” Peter pulled out his laptop. “So, it’s on dystopian themes in the real world so I was thinking we could cover the corrupt concepts of college and the astronomical money that you have to spend to get the education to get a job to pay off the debts you gain from school.”
Harley’s face scrunched.
“Or… not? You don’t, you don’t like that idea?”
“I mean, isn’t that a little safe? It’d be a pretty tame topic. Why not something a little more controversial?”
“Like what?” Peter asked.
“Like how fossil fuel companies lobby politicians to vote against climate change laws.”
“Is that even proven?” Peter questioned.
“There’s speculation.”
“We can’t make a sound presentation on speculation.”
“Well, then it’s not just speculation. It’s trends and patterns and proof. It’ll take some digging to find the sources, but we can.”
Peter sighed. “Well we’ve gotta find at least six for our annotated bibliography.”
“Three and three?” Harley suggested.
“Three and three,” Peter affirmed.
The two got to work.
.-~*~-.
“So, how are we presenting our information? We could do a research paper or a Powerpoint or a speech…”
“Bo~ring,” Harley groaned. “We get complete artistic freedom with this project and you want to do a speech? Cookie cutter much?”
“Fine. What do you suggest?”
“We frame it like a dystopian action short film. Incorporate the statistics into the script and cite it at the bottom of the screen. Plus, we know that you’re fully capable of the physical acting.”
Peter nodded. “That could work.”
“I’ll do the script and you can handle the filming side.”
“Why can’t we collaborate?” Peter questioned. “Both star?”
“I’m not much of an actor,” Harley said.
Liar. You were the lead at your old high school. Why are you lying? “Fine.”
Harley looked down at his shaky hands. “I’ll be right back.” He quickly excused himself and exited to his room.
Peter stared at the door that he slammed with confusion. Figuring he would take his sweet time, Peter continued to organize his information.
When Harley returned, Peter grimaced in disgust. “You reek.”
“Thanks,” Harley said dryly.
“What were you doing?”
“Having a cig,” Harley replied casually.
“You smoke?” Peter asked incredulously.
“Calms my nerves,” Harley stated with a shrug.
“Also gives you a lifelong nicotine addiction,” Peter said unamused. “Seriously. There are those stupid Captain American PSAs for a reason. That shit leaves you with health problems for the rest of your life.”
“Well I don’t give much of a shit about the rest of my life, so how about we drop this?”
“And what is all of that about?” Peter pushed. “I swear, I haven’t seen you in AP Lit for weeks, maybe even months. You dropped decathlon, you stopped coming the the labs, and don’t even get me started on how you completely abandoned all of your friends to play this lone wolf, “I don’t need anyone” schtick. I mean, Jesus, Harley. What happened to you? What… why did you…” Peter stopped. “I mean, don’t you care about college? Your big ten year plan you’ve been making since you started high school? Does that mean nothing to you?”
“Why should I give a shit about a future I’m not gonna have?” Harley snapped. He slapped a hand to his mouth. “Shit.”
“Harley. What does that mean?” Peter asked, taking a shaky step to him.
“Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“ Harley, ” Peter pressed. “What does that mean?”
“It’s nothing, Peter. Fucking drop it already,” Harley seethed.
“Harley, please. What does that mean?”
“I have CAM!” Harley shouted. “Okay? I have lung CAM and it’s stage four and I only have a couple more months left.”
Peter retracted back, mind a pure static. “What?”
“Cellulae Apicales Mortiferum. The cells in my lungs are deteriorating at rapid rates and it’s spreading through my internal organs and it’s going to get to my heart before the summer ends.”
“No. You… you can’t… you’re… how can you…”
“Well I am.”
Peter looked up to him with glassy eyes. “So that’s why you… have you been getting treatment?”
“There’s no treatment. It would just be miserable, hospital bed extension of my life. I wanted to have a normal rest of my life.”
“Does Mr. Stark know?”
“God, no. You know he’d… no one knows. You’re not supposed to know.”
“Is that why you broke up with me? Because you didn’t… you didn’t think to tell me? Did you not trust me? O-or think that I would… did you think I would leave you? Because I… I would never… I could never... “ His hands shook. “Harley, how could you… I don’t understand.”
“Peter,” Harley said softly.
“You can’t… no, you can’t. Because I’ve lost four months that I could’ve been spending with you because you broke up with me and now you’re telling me that you’re… that in a few months I’m never gonna… we’re never…” His face morphed into a tight smile, manic laughter ripping through his throat. “Did you know that I used to plan our wedding? In my head, I really thought that one day we’d… and it was a great wedding. Great food. Great venue. Great decorations. It was gonna be fantastic. I thought about the song we’d dance to and the night we’d have after and the things I’d say to you and I… it was gonna be so good, Harley. It was gonna be perfect. And after you broke up with me, I kept thinking about that wedding day. Kept thinking about that future I’d never have with you.
“I wanted kids. Did you know that? I wanted to adopt kids with you. I wanted to have a family with you. And isn’t that sad? Seventeen years old and I’m planning my future like it’s actually something that’s gonna happen. High school sweethearts don’t make it like that. Divorce rates are skyrocketing. But we were Peter and Harley. We were the dream couple. We were gonna go to prom and have a joint graduation party and go to Europe after we graduated. We were… oh it was gonna be great. I wanted our honeymoon to be somewhere great.”
“Peter, are you okay?” Harley asked, concerned.
“But no. It’s not gonna happen. Of course it’s not gonna happen. Why could it… how could it ever… of course not. Of course you have to… because everyone does. Everyone dies. They die too soon. They leave. They… they can never… you’re never gonna… we’re never gonna…” His laughter morphed into sobs as his knees buckled beneath him as he fell to the ground. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”
Peter’s body trembled violently as he took his unlabored breaths. That was until he felt a familiar pair of arms engulfing his body in a pressure he knew so well. He missed these arms. He fantasized about these arms every day.
“I’ve got you. It’s alright. You’re alright.”
“You’re dying,” Peter choked out.
“I know,” Harley said sadly.
Peter buried his face in the crook of Harley’s neck, savoring his scent that he longed for so dearly that was laced with the wretched scent of cigarette. Harley just held on to him, rubbing circles in his back. Peter pulled away to look at Harley.
How had he missed it? His cheeks were gaunt and his eyes were red rimmed with dark bags beneath them. His normally muscular arms were weak and frail, his breath uneven and wheezing.
He’d been so wrapped up in how he felt and he didn’t… how could he not notice?
“I love you,” Peter said, eyes widening as he bit his tongue. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“I love you too,” Harley interrupted. “God, I… I love you so much. And I loved you so much that I didn’t want you to have to see me… like this. Sick. Dying. I wanted you to be able to move on and not have to…”
“You thought I would just move on? After you…” Peter shook his head. “Jesus, Harley. I haven’t even moved on from you just saying you didn’t want to be with me. How could I possibly move on when you…” Peter choked back another sob. “I’m not leaving you, Harley. I’m never gonna leave you. Not while you’re still alive. Not when I can… I’m here. I’m yours and I’m not leaving you.”
Harley kissed Peter’s hair. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too. And you’re never gonna miss me again because you’re not getting rid of me, even if you want to.”
Harley laughed, the low vibrations reverberating against Peter’s back. “Good.”
.-~*~-.
Ned and MJ weren’t exactly happy to find out that Peter and Harley were back together. They didn’t tell them why, but Peter was happy, and Harley was back to his old self, so they accepted it as best they could. However, MJ did threaten to castrate Harley with a rusty broadsword if he were to ever hurt Peter again.
Peter and Harley made up for a lot of lost time. Harley told him everything he had to go through the last four months with his health, and Peter kept track of every symptom, every nuance of his illness, and stored it in his brain.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later did he bring it up again.
They were working in the labs for the first time since they broke up, and Harley was hunched over the desk, deep in thought.
“Harley. I need you to trust me.”
“I trust you,” Harley said with no question, turning his attention to Peter.
“I have some supplements for you to take. It should help you feel better. But you have to administer through the bloodstream. I…”
“Shots? You’re giving me like vitamin shots?”
“Something like that,” Peter said. “It’s just supposed to help with your energy. Make you feel less lethargic.”
“And it’s tested?” Harley asked.
Peter didn’t respond.
“And that’s why I need to trust you,” Harley said, piecing it together.
“I promise that it won’t hurt you. But you have to promise that you will tell me if there are any negative side effects. Anything that makes you feel worse rather than better.”
Harley hesitantly nodded. “Okay. I… I do. I trust you. And I know that whatever that big brain of yours came up with will… you’ve proven that you know what you’re doing. I’ll keep track of everything: my mood, my energy, everything.”
“Thank you.” He pulled out the syringe. “May I?”
Harley nodded again, biting his lip.
Peter gently stuck it into his arm, slowly administering the cool liquid.
“That’s it?” Harley asked.
“That’s it,” Peter confirmed.
.-~*~-.
The first week, there was a rush of nausea and vertigo, but the pressure that he constantly felt when he breathed was subsiding.
Peter and Harley had a Harry Potter marathon and baked cookies.
The third week, the nausea was replaced with excessive diarrhea and the vertigo had morphed into pounding ice pick headaches, but the wheezing had stopped escalating.
Harley finally told Tony and his friends about his illness. There were tears shed and hugs shared.
The sixth week, the diarrhea was gone but the nausea had switched to a loss of appetite. He also gained five pounds despite the lack of food he had been consuming. The coughing of blood was becoming less frequent.
Peter and Harley filmed their short film for AP Lit. Harley co-starred and handled the action sequences just fine.
The ninth week, Harley finally got his appetite back, and he had gained ten pounds total. However, he needed those pounds after his muscles had begun to deteriorate from underuse. The disappearance of coughing blood became the disappearance of coughing in general. Harley felt strong. He felt healthy. He felt great.
Peter and Harley went to prom, and Harley danced for hours. However, he did vomit the five Olive Garden breadsticks he had eaten prior.
The eleventh week, Harley’s deteriorating cells stopped dying. His CAM had ceased to proceed.
“What?” Harley asked, mouth agape.
“Your CAM cells have stabilized,” Dr. Cho said.
“That’s not possible. I’m stage four,” Harley said.
“Well, due to the supplements that you’ve been administering…”
“Wait. You mean my vitamins?”
“Oh, those weren’t vitamins,” she said. “That was a transfusion of concentrated hypermetabolic cells.”
Harley’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“Did you not know?” she asked.
“No. I didn’t.” Harley stared at the floor, mind a blank.
“Well, congratulations, Harley. You’re stable.”
Harley floated out of the medbay and up to the labs where he knew Peter would be.
“Hey, babe. How was your uhmph! ”
Harley picked up Peter, spinning him in the air, before setting him down and giving a hard, teary kiss. “Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.”
“What did I do?” Peter asked with a chuckle.
“I’m stable.”
Peter dropped the screwdriver in his hand, eyes almost popping from their sockets. “What?”
“Your treatment. It stabilized the cell deterioration.”
Peter’s hands shook. “I… I didn’t… it worked?”
“Peter. You cured CAM.”
“Holy shit. I cured CAM.”
EPILOGUE
While Peter revolutionized the medical field before he was even eighteen, they started the new chapter to their lives. They got that joint graduation party they had planned. They got into the colleges of their dreams. They got that perfect little wedding.
Harley got a future. He got his future.