Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rough hands shoved Harley through the confined space. Before the boy could get his bearings, the closet door slammed shut behind him. In an instant, the world outside was muffled to a dull murmur. He sneezed, the smell of old clothes and dust filling his nose.

His claustrophobia took over next.

The darkness was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on him from all sides. His chest tightened, the air thick and unyielding. A small voice emerged from the back of his mind, telling him that this was just a closet, that he could handle it, but the shadows grew claws, digging into his skin. His breaths grew shallow, and his throat constricted. Not only were the walls of the closet squeezing in, squeezing the life out of him, the walls in his windpipe were tightening too.

The scent of dust and mothballs was growing suffocating. The air that slipped through his bloated gullet made him want to choke. His eyes stung with tears he refused to shed. He reached out blindly, his fingertips brushing against the rough wood that was the only exit to the grave he’d been sealed in. The panic in his stomach grew like a beast in his chest, demanding to be let out.

Harley’s choked breaths turned to gasps of fear. He slammed his hand against the closet door desperately in a plea for escape.

Letting out a whimper that grew into a full-on wail, he collapsed to the floor. His knees curled into his chest tightly. He needed warmth. There was none. He rocked back and forth in his tiny, trembling cocoon in the corner of his prison. Tears streamed down his cheeks, unchecked, mixing with the snot that bubbled from his nose.

He was pitiful.

Harley shut his eyes, as if by willing the world away, he could escape the crushing blackness. His sobs grew in volume, echoing off the walls and came back to his ears as the cries of a trapped animal. His thoughts swirled in a chaotic dance of fear and despair, each one a knife twisting in the mental wounds he bore.

Harley managed to form a sentence through all the pain. “This… this wouldn’t be happening if Dad hadn’t died,” he whispered, his voice quivering with emotion.

Before his father had passed away, Bella had been a different person entirely. A kind woman with a pair of green eyes filled with love and warmth instead of the cold, angry fires they burned with now. She’d hold him close at night, sitting on the couch with him and his father, whispering sweet nothings into his ear that made him feel like the most important person in the world. There’d been laughter in their home. Music, joy, love.

But after the funeral, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, and the months into years, something within Bella shattered.

The laughter turned into an empty silence, the warmth into a cold void. The music became the sound of bottles clinking in the night. The love in her eyes was replaced with a hatred so intense it could have burned a hole through Harley. The look in those eyes said, ‘How dare you look like him. How dare you exist?’

She reeked of drinks more each day, her eyes grew redder, her faces more haggard. Her fists grew more likely to fly, and Harley grew more adept at hiding bruises beneath his school clothes. And now, here he was, curled in the corner of a closet, letting out an endless stream of bodily fluids. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt safe.

The very essence of her being had curdled, turned into something dark and twisted, unrecognizable. If Harley’s dad was alive to see what the love of his life had transformed into, he’d be horrified.

* * *

An hour dragged by, and Harley remained crumpled on the closet floor. The only accompaniment to his sobbing was the tick-tock, tick-tock of the grandfather clock outside the tight walls narrowing closer and closer every minute. The cold hardwood floor beneath him was unforgiving, and every shiver that racked his body was a grim reminder of his solitude.

The shadows grew taller and more menacing, twisting into monstrous shapes that taunted him from all sides with imagined threats. Imagined.  

The only real things in the closet with him were the clothes and the rat in there with him. He tried to focus on good memories, but they were overshadowed by the relentless dread living in his heart. The whole time, he kept his eyes tightly closed, not wanting to give the fear the satisfaction of seeing his tears. He floated in the limbo, waiting for freedom. Surely it would come eventually… right?

Then, just as suddenly as the darkness had claimed him, the closet door was torn open, and the world outside rushed back in, a blinding beacon of brightness. The light sent painful stabs into his eyes. He instinctively flinched away from it, curling up into an even tighter ball, which he didn’t even think was possible until that moment.

The only sound was two ragged breaths mingling. He waited, afraid to move. Even though he’d escaped his purgatory, the Big Bad Monster was still alive and thriving.

When Bella’s hand clamped down on his arm, his heart sank. He knew that grip. It meant pain, it meant fear. It meant no escape. She yanked him to his feet and dragged him from the closet. He allowed himself to be pulled along, his legs moving almost automatically.

He didn’t look at her, keeping his gaze on the floorboards as they creaked underfoot. The path they were going down ended at the basement door. Harley was glad his head was downcast. Otherwise Bella would see his smile.

Truthfully, the basement was a sanctuary for Harley. A place he was able to explore, hide in blankets, make forts, pretend to be safe, but most importantly, be seperated from Bella by an entire floor and locked door. Being sealed down there was a good thing.

Letting out a snarl, Bella flung the basement door open with a force that sent it smashing against the wall. The boy cringed at the loud noise. 

She pushed Harley through the opening, her talons digging into his skin. He stumbled, propelled over the edge of the top step. He felt himself falling, the cold, hard floor rushing up to meet him. Time slowed as he plummeted down towards the ground. He waited for the harsh impact. He waited to die.

He couldn’t survive a fall like that… right? Or was he panicking?

Harley reached out instinctively with his left arm to brace for the fall. His body hit the cold, cement floor with a sickening thud, the impact sending shockwaves of pain through his being. His ribs got bruised, and he banged up his knee, but his arm took the blunt of the fall.

He screamed in agony, not able to focus on anything beside the pain. The world around him swam in a sea of black and white dots. He heard the door slam shut, the lock click into place, and Bella’s cruel laughter as she left him to wallow in his misery.

His arm was burning. Harley was sure it was broken. The basement wasn’t his safe haven now. It was the deepest pit of hell.

He lay there, sprawled across the ground, panting heavily, trying to gather the strength to drag himself away from the stairs.

Breathe in, ignore the ache, breathe out. Breathe in, ignore the ache, breathe out. Am I going to die?

Slowly, through the intense hurt, he managed to get to his feet, using the nearest wall for support. He glanced down at his limp limb. It was definitely broken. The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through him. What was he going to do?

He knew what he wasn’t going to do. Sit around bawling like a pathetic baby. He refused. He was going to be strong. Harley took a deep breath, fighting back tears. He was going to find something to fix his arm. He knew his mother wouldn’t care if he was in pain. In fact, she’d probably enjoy it.

So.

Harley had to rely on himself and his own resources. He stumbled through the basement, his gaze darting around the gloomy space. There was an old first-aid kit down here somewhere…

After what felt like an eternity of wandering, his eyes fell upon the faded red cross on the side of a plastic box shoved in the cupboard under the stairs. There it was, the first-aid kit he’d used countless times before to patch up his bruises and cuts. Every time his mother forced him to go buy groceries, he’d spent a couple bucks on restocking the kit.

He pulled the box out with his good arm. The weight of it was a comforting presence. ‘You will be fine, kiddo,’ it whispered to him. He settled down cross-legged on the floor with the medium-sized container.

Harley took a deep, shuddering breath and flipped open the latches, lifting the lid off with a trembling hand. Inside, the neatly organized contents gleamed like a treasure trove. “Sooooooooooo, maybe I won’t die from my injuries after all.” He laughed hollowly, trying to lighten the mood.

Carefully, he rummaged through the first-aid kit, managing to keep his posture straight and lean over the box to pull out the various medical resources. His heart raced, not just from the pain, not just from adrenaline, but also from the realization that he could fix this on his own.

Call me Doctor Harley Sawyer, I s'pose.

He scanned over the contents, pulling out a roll of gauze and a few bandages, laying them out on the cold cement. The basement was eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of the furnace.

He got to work, tearing the bandages into strips using his bare teeth, because of course there was nothing better, and wrapped each one around his shattered arm. Each twist and pull brought a sharp, biting pain, but he gritted his teeth and bore it.

His eyes searched the dimly lit room, spotting one of his many bedsheets, hanging from the makeshift fort he’d built in the corner. That would make a good splint. He managed to crawl over to it, Harley’s body protesting every inch of the journey.

With trembling hands, he grabbed the sheet and folded it into a makeshift splint, securing it to his arm with (you guessed it) more bandages. Overall, the fabric felt rough and cold against his skin, but it provided all the support he needed. Getting the job done was the top priority. Comfort came second.

Once the splint was secured, Harley took a moment to catch his breath. The pain was still there, dialed from a horrible pounding to a mild ache. He wasn’t letting an ache get the best of him. He rubbed his temples, trying to ignore the throbbing behind his eyes.

Think, Harley, think. What do you do next? You can’t lay here forever. He needed a plan. But what was there to do? He couldn’t just stay in this basement prison, not like this. Heck, he couldn’t stay in his home like this!

Harley’s thought raced, the weight of his predicament pressing down on him. She broke my arm. That was farther than even he’d ever thought she’d go. So what was the limit? How bad would his situation get if he stayed with her?

His mind conjured images of a grim future spent in this house of horrors, each day a fresh hell at the hands of the person who should’ve loved him the most. He saw himself, grown tall and gangly, with shadows under his eyes and a perpetual look of fear etched on his face, still trapped in this cage she called a home.

He saw her fists flying, heard her shrill voice shouting at him, day after day. And in the darkest corners of his imagination, he saw his lifeless body, discarded like a read newspaper. 

The reality hit Harley hard. If I stay here, she’s going to kill me. Not just with her fists, or her punishments, but with her apathy, her cruelty, her need to replace the love she’s lost with rage. Of that he had no doubt.

He didn’t want to die. Nobody deserved to die because of their own parents. So, he took a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs to the brim, and held it. For a moment, his heart stopped in his chest, and the world grew still. Time paused.

In those moments, Harley made a decision. One that would change his life. Forever.

He wasn’t going to die. He was going to love. He was going to live.

He was going to run away.

* * *

Harley passed the next few hours in the basement, drinking Pepsi from the various bottles he’d stashed in his fort. Sure, it was slightly flat (and fairly warm for a soda stored in a cold basement), but the sugary fizz provided a spark of energy that he desperately needed.

Each sip helped him focus on the task at hand: staying up until midnight, when he was certain Bella would be asleep. He’d need his wits by then, and caffeine was the only thing he could come up with to assist him with that need. Time ticked away, each minute feeling like an eternity. He kept his mind busy coming up with his escape plan.

Harley's plan was far from flawless. It was all he had, though.

• Step One: Wait for Bella to sleep. He'd studied her patterns over the years, and she had a habit of crashing into a drunken slumber around ten. But just in case she stayed up late, he would need to wait until midnight. Which, again, was fine by him. It meant he got to drink down a ton of Pepsi and let his mind wander over his escape plan.
• Step Two: Guarantee Bella goes to prison. Once he was upstairs, he’d grab a pen and paper to write a little note explaining why he'd ran away. The furnace was his chosen hiding spot. If Bella came looking for him, she wouldn't notice the paper... he hoped. However, the police investigators would. Which was exactly what he was counting on.
• Step Three: Stock up on supplies. When he finished writing the note, his next job would be to pack. He’d need money, obviously. And food, definitely. Water too. He’d grab his father’s old water bottle from the kitchen cabinet under the sink. 

It was deciding upon a weapon where he struggled. Despite the obvious appeal of wielding a knife, Harley couldn’t shake his fear of them. They were sharp, they could cut deep. In a moment of clarity, he settled on a fork. It wasn’t as intimidating, but if he had to, he knew it could still do some damage. The kind of damage needed to survive, not to kill. The thought of harming someone, even in self-defense, made his stomach churn, but the thought of having protection helped it settle.

Anyhow…

• Step Four: Run to the train station. Harley was very careful to think through the various modes of transportation he could use, and a train was the most safe. If he chose a taxi, the driver would ask too many questions. An airplane was too risky. There were so many questions that could be asked. Plus, if Harley got airsick he would draw far too much attention to himself. A train worked out better. He could lie to avoid any trouble. Lies such as 'my mom is going to the bathroom,' or 'my dad is sitting in the car up ahead'. There were flaws, yet his odds were the greatest if he chose the train.
• Step Five: Leave the train and start a brand new life. Harley hadn't thought of where he'd be going exactly. He'd cross that bridge when he reached it. After his train stopped and he got off, his mind would get to work on forming a plan for what came next. The vast world outside offered various opportunities. Certainly one of them would be perfect for a runaway boy.

The grandfather clock upstairs rang twelve times, each chime resonating through the house like a gong announcing midnight. Harley knew it was time. His heart racing, he slowly and quietly made his way up the basement stairs. At the top of the stairs, he paused, listening for any signs of life from Bella. Hearing only the soft snores of her slumber, he tiptoed across the cold floorboards, the plastic first-aid box tucked under his good arm.

The air grew warmer as he approached the kitchen, the smell of the dinner Bella made and didn’t eat lingering around him. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should go to the fridge or the cabinets first.

He decided to go for the fridge first. Quietly, he opened it, the light illuminating the room. He grabbed a few items that would last him the trip, such as canned foods and water, stacking them on the counter. He repeated the process with the loot he got from the cabinets.

Snatching his backpack from its spot by the table, he yanked out the various homework assignments inside and shoved in all the nonperishables. During his rush, he dropped a canned soup onto the floor.

He stopped breathing, waiting to get caught, but Bella’s snores remained constant, to his relief.

Harley approached the silverware drawer, sliding it open. His gaze glided over the utensils, landing on the fork. His eyes flicked over to the knife, a small voice in the back of his head urging him to do something else.

I can end it all right here, right now. I can take the blade and slide it gently across Bella’s neck. Her snores would stop, and then… silence. It would be so easy. The hatred and fear that had been his constant companion would vanish in a crimson spray. Then he could leave, knowing there was no chance of her finding him.

His hand hovered over the cool metal handle, trembling slightly. He didn’t move to pull it out. Harley’s moral compass swung back into place. He couldn’t do it. He’d be no better than her. He’d carry the guilt with him for the rest of his life, and he didn’t want to be haunted by the ghost of a mother he’d killed. 

He didn’t want her to die… okay, okay, maybe he did, a little. What he meant was he didn’t want her to die as much as he wanted the memory of her to die. He picked up the fork and turned away. Before he wrote the note, which had apparently become his last priority, he needed to get Bella’s wallet.

Moving like a ghost, Harley tiptoed to the coat rack by the front door. His eyes scanned the hanging garments, searching for the familiar neon orange of Bella’s favorite jacket.

There it was, a beacon in the darkness. He could see the black box hanging out from one of the pockets. He took a deep breath, his hand shaking as reached for the wallet. It was sticking out just enough for him to snatch it without making noise. The leather felt greasy in his hand, but he didn’t care.

The smell of cigarettes and stale liquor wafted from it, but he ignored that too. He needed the cash inside. He’d earned it through all his suffering. He deserved it more than Bella did, at least.

He stepped away from the coat rack, then into the moonlit living room. He sat at the edge of the couch, the worn fabric sticking to his sweaty palms. With his good hand, he pulled out the cash and placed it in his backpack. The wallet was heavier than he'd thought, filled with credit cards and a few handfuls of crumpled bills. With his funding out of the way, all he needed now was paper and a pen to write his note.

* * *

Harley read over the note one last time.

‘To the police, I'm Harley Sawyer. I had to leave. You may ask yourselves why. I can answer that for you. Because my mother, Bella Sawyer, is a monster. Ever since my father died, she has hurt me in every way imaginable. Physically and emotionally. Tonight she broke my arm. I can't take it anymore. I'm running away. She has hurt me so much. If she tells you otherwise, she's lying. She's a good liar. You must believe me. Please, believe me. And don't worry about me. I'm going to start a new, better life now.’

After placing the note in its proper place, he took one last look around the room he’d called home for so long. His heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, but he knew he couldn’t let the sadness consume him. "Y’know, I think I know what the most pitiful part of this whole ‘runaway’ business is. I feel more sad about leaving behind a basement than I do my own mother." 

Harley slung his backpack over his good shoulder. The house remained eerily still, save for the occasional groan of the steps on his ascent. He approached the front door, his breaths shallow and quick. It was now or never.

With trembling hands, Harley turned the doorknob, the metal cool under his sweaty palm. He slipped out the door, and out into the night.

* * *

Harley let out a pent-up breath. He had been walking for what felt like an eternity, his left arm aching with every step. The makeshift splint was doing very little to ease his pain, but he pushed through, his eyes locked on the distant promise of the train station. 

His adrenaline kicked back in when he finally saw it, a beacon of hope against the early morning sky. The silhouette grew more distinct with each step, the lights of the station flickering like distant stars. It was the first time he'd felt a semblance of relief in hours.

As he stumbled closer to the train station, the reality of his journey so far began to sink in. His legs felt like jelly, and his lungs burned from the cold night air. He took a moment to lean against a lamppost, the metal cool against his cheek. He looked down at his trembling legs, and with a wry smile, murmured to himself, "Guess I overestimated my endurance." 

The words brought a spark of humor to the grim situation. Despite the ache in his thighs, and calves, and… well, despite all the aches and burns in his body, he straightened up, drawing from a deep well of determination that had been buried under layers of fear and doubt. He had come this far, and he wasn't about to let his body betray him now.

"Hmm... arm broken, held in a makeshift splint. Heart rate above the average, symbolizing an adrenaline rush. Legs... feeling like they've run a marathon, despite me being nowhere near that fit. And let's not forget the dehydration. I put too much food in my bag, and far too little water." Harley thought, his mind racing as he mentally cataloged his weaknesses. "But, I'm here. That's something, right?" He took a deep, shaky breath and pushed away from the lamppost, willing his legs to carry him the last few hundred feet.

The sound of the distant train's whistle pierced the stillness of the early morning. His heart leaped into his throat. 

Is that the one? The one that’ll bring me to freedom? His mind raced. I can't miss my golden opportunity. I just can't. He forced his legs to move faster, his breaths coming in short, painful gasps. The fear of his mother's wrath if he didn't escape her, if he was brought back to her, fueled him more than any hope of a better life. The pain in his arm was a constant reminder of the reason behind his desperate flight.

Now that he had more motivation, Harley's feet seemed to find new strength, propelling him forward. Each step sent a jolting pain through his broken arm, but he clenched his teeth and ignored it. The bag he’d brought banged against his side, growing more insistent with his increased pace. The rhythm of the pack against his side matched the beating of his heart in his chest. 

With his good arm, he clutched the bag tighter to his body to taper down the insistent smacks, feeling the comforting weight of the supplies he had managed to grab.

Harley dashed into the train station, the warmth from inside wrapping around him like a much-needed blanket. His eyes darted around the bustling area, searching for the departing train. He spotted it at the far end of the platform, a sleek beast of steel and glass. 

The whistle blared again, and he realized that the time was now or never. As he approached the boarding area, a firm hand gripped his shoulder. He froze, heart in his throat, and turned to face a burly guard with a stern expression. "Young man, you can't board without an adult," the guard said gruffly.

Panic flooded through Harley's veins. He stared at the guard, his mind racing a million thoughts at once. What should I say? What should I do? He hadn't anticipated this. His heart hammered against his ribs, and his mouth went dry. 

The guard's grip tightened slightly, and he felt his hope slipping away like sand through his fingers. His eyes darted to the clock above the platform. The train's departure was minutes away. "Please, I-I've got to get on that train," he stuttered, desperation coating his voice. His broken arm, still cradled in the makeshift splint, throbbed painfully, reminding him of the urgency of his escape.

Just as the guard opened his mouth to respond, a figure emerged from the early morning shadows, striding towards them with purpose. "Oh, thank goodness! There you are, son!" A stranger called out, his eyes filled with feigned relief as they landed on Harley. The guard's gaze shifted from Harley to the newcomer, his expression softening slightly.

Harley's eyebrows raised in surprise. The man, who was dressed in a casual shirt and khaki pants, had a warm smile that seemed genuine, but Harley's instincts told him to be wary. He searched his mind for any recognition, but came up empty. The guard looked from Harley to the man and then back again, his grip on Harley's shoulder loosening slightly.

The stranger stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the guard's. "I'm sorry, sir," he began, his voice calm and authoritative. "It's been a bit of a hectic morning. I'm his father, Elliot Ludwig. We had a bit of a... miscommunication, and I was worried sick when I realized he was gone. We're moving out of town today, and he was supposed to wait for me at home." He paused, his eyes flickering to Harley for a brief moment, silently willing the boy to play along. 

"It seems he had the right idea, though, the smart cookie," he added with a forced chuckle, giving Harley's good arm a gentle pat. His touch was surprisingly comforting, and Harley immediately relaxed. He was saved.

Harley forced his face into a look of relief that wasn't entirely feigned. "Dad!" he exclaimed, hoping his voice didn't crack from the lie. The guard looked at Elliot and then at Harley, his sternness giving way to a paternal look of understanding. 

"Well, you've had quite the scare," he said, his grip on Harley's shoulder loosening completely. "You better get on that train before it leaves, son." He nodded at Harley before turning to Elliot. "And you, sir, better keep a closer eye on your son."

"Thank you, officer," Elliot said gratefully, his voice filled with relief. "I will, I promise. I'll never let him out of my sight again." He turned to Harley, his eyes filled with a gentle warmth that was unfamiliar to the boy. "Come on, let's get you on that train." He took Harley's bag and slung it over his shoulder, guiding him through the boarding gate. The whistle blew again, a shrill warning that time was running out.

After they boarded the train, the urgency of the situation slowly began to wane. The rhythmic clanking of their shoes against the metal floorboards grew softer as the train started to glide away from the station, leaving behind the cold, unforgiving town that had been Harley's cage for so long. He could feel the weight of his fear and exhaustion lifting, replaced by a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, his suffering was over. 

Once they were seated, Harley's eyes searched Elliot's, looking for any hint of malice or deceit, but found only kindness and understanding. With a quiver in his voice, he managed a soft, "Thank you." It was the first genuine smile he had felt in a very long time.

Elliot returned the smile with one of his own, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're welcome, kid," he said, his voice gentle. "I could see it in your eyes, the fear and the desperation. I knew you needed help, and I couldn't just stand by and let you face this alone." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of water, handing it to the boy. "Here, take this. You look like you could use it."

Harley stared at the water bottle with a mix of confusion and gratitude. How did Elliot know he was thirsty? He hadn't said a word about it. But his parched throat didn't care about the mystery; it demanded relief. With trembling hands, he took the bottle and twisted the cap. The cool water was heavenly; it flowed down his throat, soothing the ache and filling his empty stomach with a comforting weight. He gulped it down greedily, feeling life return to his body with each swallow.

The kindness in Elliot's gaze never wavered as he watched Harley drink. When the bottle was almost empty, he spoke gently, "So, can you tell me what you're doing here all alone, Harley?" There was no accusation in his tone, just a quiet curiosity.

Harley studied Elliot, trying to gauge his intentions. The man's empathy was palpable, and Harley felt a rare stirring of trust. With a shaky exhale, he began to recount his tale, the words spilling out in a rush. 

"My mom... she's not... she's not a good person," he choked out. "I had to leave. She hurt me." He glanced down at his arm, the makeshift splint a silent testament to his words. "I can't go back. She'll do worse next time, I'm sure of it."

Nodding solemnly, Elliot's eyes searched Harley's, filled with a gentle understanding that seemed to reach into the depths of the boy's soul. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, Harley," he murmured. His voice was a soothing balm on the raw edges of Harley's fear. "But you're safe now, at least for the time being."

After a few moments of silence, Elliot started speaking again. "You know, I run a program for kids like you, who've got a spark, a special something that deserves to be nurtured. It's called the Young Geniuses' Program. We're a family of sorts, all working together to create a better future." He paused, watching for any flicker of interest in the boy's eyes. 

"Would you like to come with me, Harley? I can give you a place to stay, an education, and a chance to be part of something amazing."

Harley's eyes widened in astonishment. A place where he'd be accepted? A chance to learn and grow without fear? This kind of opportunity was something he had only ever dreamed of, a fairy tale whispered in the darkest corners of his mind. The hope that had been smothered by fear and despair began to flicker back to life. "Really?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "You'd do that for me?"

"Really," Elliot smiled, the warmth in his eyes unmistakable. "You see, Harley, I believe that every child is a unique gift, filled with potential. And from what I've seen in you, you've got a spark that deserves to shine." He leaned back in his seat, his gaze never leaving the boy's face. "But you don't have to decide now. Take the time you need, think it over."

The words echoed in Harley's mind, each one resonating with the hope he hadn't dared to let himself feel for so long. His eyes searched Elliot's face for any trace of deceit, but all he found was sincerity. The train's gentle rocking lulled him, offering a sense of safety he hadn't experienced in years. The decision wasn't hard.

"I'd love to go!"

Chapter Text

Harley yawned, his eyelids drooping. They were growing so heavy… it was hard to hold them up. He leaned his head against the cool train window, the rhythmic clanking of the wheels against the tracks pulling him into a half-conscious state, stuck in between sleep and awake.

His slowed thoughts drifted to the cast on his arm, a constant reminder of the fear and pain that had pushed him to run away from home. Then, it traveled to other places… happier places… it was so strange, to be thinking about nothing at all, and yet he was thinking about everything… hmm… it felt harder to think straight.

The gentle sway of the train car was so soothing, too. Soon enough, Harley’s sight was completely overtaken by darkness. He hadn’t slept last night, or… whenever… hmm, it was getting harder to think straight… he was so… tired…

…

…

…

A sudden jolt startled Harley out of his doze. He jerked upright, his heart thumping loudly in his chest, and found Elliot staring down at him, a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, champ,” the man said with a warm smile, “we’re here.”

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Harley glanced around the train car, momentarily disoriented. He cleared his throat. It seemed his voice was a tad scratchy from the nap. “How long was I out?” He severely hoped he wasn’t making a bad impression on the man who’d offered him a chance at a better life. What if one of the qualities Ludwig was searching for in his recruits was the ability to stay awake for a long time?

“Not very long,” Elliot assured him. “We arrived at the station a few minutes ago. I didn’t want to wake you; you looked like you needed the rest.” He gestured towards the luggage rack. “How about I grab my stuff while you get up. We’ve got a few stops we need to make before we go to Playcare, so we must make haste. Today two other volunteers will join us.”

“Do you… do you meet and bring every kid to Playcare?” Harley asked. The idea of Elliot Ludwig, the founder of such a grand place, personally escorting each child to their new home made him feel both special and insignificant at the same time. After all, what made him so special? So deserving of a millionaire’s attention?

Elliot chuckled, a sound that resonated with warmth and understanding. "You bet, Harley. Each child is unique, and each one deserves a personal touch. It's one of the perks of being in charge - I get to make sure every new genius feels welcome. Does it sound cheesy? Yes. But it is also true. Isn’t that more important?"

He finished gathering his belongings and offered a hand to help Harley with his backpack. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. First, we rent a car."

The duo disembarked into the bustling crowd, the cool morning air a stark contrast to the stuffiness that had resided in the train car. Harley clutched his broken arm closer to his chest, paranoid it would get hit in all the chaos.

“Do you want us to stop at the hospital? We can get your arm checked up on by a professional if you want-”

“No thanks.” Harley offered Ludwig a huge, faux smile. “I… I’m fine.” In truth, he did want a professional to check on his arm, but he didn’t want to waste time. The image he was currently projecting already was weak enough. He didn’t want to make it any more pathetic.

They reached the vehicle rental booth, and Elliot began to fill out the necessary paperwork. While Elliot worked on the rental agreement, Harley couldn't help but let his mind wander to the other children they were going to meet. 

Would they be like him, scarred by the cruelty of their pasts and eager to find refuge in a place like Playcare? Would they be brimming with excitement and potential, untouched by the darkness that had followed him for so long? Or what if he wasn't enough for them? What if he didn't fit in?

Harley found himself biting his bottom lip, his eyes darting around the bustling station. His heartbeat sped up as a cold sweat began to form on his palms. The anticipation of meeting these other geniuses filled him with a sudden, overwhelming dread. Would they see the bruises? Would they know what he'd been through? Would they even care? Would they pity him, or hate him, or not want to be around him? All the questions were too much for him.

Elliot, noticing Harley's unease, gave the paperwork a final flourish and turned to face him. "Alright, young man," he said, slapping the countertop with the flat of his hand. "The paperwork is done. Time to make your first friend!"

* * *

The journey to the first stop was a blur for Harley; his thoughts were a tumultuous storm of anticipation and fear.

The car pulled up to an unassuming house nestled between two towering oaks, their branches casting dappled shadows across the yard. Elliot's eyes remained on the road, his voice a gentle rumble as he spoke. "This is the first home we're visiting. It's where one of the newest members of our little genius family lives. Try to keep an open mind, okay?" 

The tension in Harley's body was palpable as he nodded, his heart hammering in his chest like a drum. The car door swung open, and the scent of freshly cut grass wafted in. Elliot stepped out, his movements fluid and purposeful. 

Harley followed suit, his legs feeling like they were made of gelatin as he approached the house. Hey, that counts as fluid, right? The paint on the building was a sunny shade of yellow, but it couldn't warm the icy grip of anxiety that clutched his heart.

He glanced down at himself, suddenly self-conscious of his appearance. The bruises, the cast, the shabby clothes - it all painted a picture of an unloved orphan, never chosen, always ignored. Harley felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment, and his eyes darted around for any sign of the other child. He hoped they wouldn't see him as a charity case, a sad little boy with no hope except for the pity of a kind stranger.

As they approached the cheery yellow house, Harley's anxiety grew to unbearable levels. The door was a gateway to the unknown, a symbol of all the fears he was about to face. Each step closer made his heart race faster. 

The doorbell was a bright orange, cheerfully out of place with the rest of the home's subdued palette. Elliot's hand hovered over it, waiting for Harley's nod before pressing it gently. The chime echoed through the house. The sweet sound didn't bring Harley any comfort; it only heightened his anxiety.

The door swung open, revealing a boy with unruly black hair and piercing brown eyes. The stranger's nasal voice squeaked with excitement when he spotted the new faces. "Oh boy, two weirdos to whisk me away from this boring old place!" He stepped out, his scrawny frame belying his overbearing personality.

"I'm Ben." Ben looked Harley up and down, his expression one of unabashed curiosity. "What's with the screwed-up arm?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries or sympathy.

Instantly, all the anxiety washed out of Sawyer. And in its place irritation flooded his body. Harley's eye twitched involuntarily at Ben's bluntness. He hated people like Ben, who seemed to feed on the misery of others. His voice was tight as he replied, "I had an... accident." 

He didn't owe Ben an explanation. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the anger rising in his chest. Even though he hadn't said much yet, Harley already was fighting the urge to punch Ben's smug face.

Ben took notice of the annoyance flickering across Harley's face, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He leaned in. "Oh, I bet it's a good story," he said, his voice nasally and smug. He couldn't resist poking the bruised bear. "Maybe it's something heroic, like saving a kitten from a tree?" The question hung in the air, taunting, and he waited for Harley's reaction with a huge grin.

The boy’s jaw clenched, but he held back his temper. He didn't want to start off on the wrong foot, or make their relationship more hateful than it had to be. "Something like that," he murmured, trying to keep his voice even.

Elliot, seemingly unfazed by Ben's behavior, clapped his hands together with a cheerful smile. "Ah, Ben! I'm so glad to finally meet you!" He stepped between the two, effectively cutting off any further banter about Harley's injury. "You know, I've been looking forward to this day ever since I read your application to the Young Geniuses Program. Tell us, what's the most amazing thing you've discovered in your research lately?"

Ben leaned in conspiratorially, as if about to share the world's darkest secret. "Well, Mister Ludwig," he began, "I've been studying the psychological impact of social hierarchies on group dynamics. It's all about who's the alpha and who's the omega. Some folks, they just aren't cut out for the top. Take a look at Harley here," he said, gesturing to the taller boy. "I bet he's one of those people, right?" Ben's gaze was unwavering as he met Harley's eyes, a challenge in his stare.

The atmosphere grew taut as Elliot's eyes narrowed slightly, his smile never faltering, but the warmth behind it dimming like a fading star. "That's quite enough, Ben," he said firmly. "Everyone at Playcare is equal, and we treat each other with respect. Now, if your belongings are ready, we can go."

Without missing a beat, Ben shot a smug look at Harley before pivoting on his heel and disappearing back into the house. It was clear that Ben enjoyed pushing buttons. Harley wasn’t going to enjoy the next few hours. But hey, at least Elliot's firmness had managed to put a temporary damper on his antics. A few seconds later, Ben came back out with a small suitcase, the wheels squeaking on the sidewalk as he confidently advanced towards the car, shouldering Harley on the way.

Elliot's gaze followed Ben as he sauntered towards the car, the suitcase trailing behind him. He turned to Harley, giving the boy an apologetic look. "Why don't you go wait in the car, Harley?" he suggested, keeping his voice low so that Ben couldn't overhear. "I'll be right out after I grab the paperwork from Ben's parents. I know you and Ben aren't exactly the happiest acquaintances in the world, however, I'd like to remind you that most kids you'll meet at Playcare will be amazing. Just because we didn’t start strong doesn’t mean everyone you meet will be a jerk." 

With a gentle pat on the back, Elliot urged Harley towards the rental car, his eyes never leaving Harley until he was safely inside. Then Elliot turned and stepped through the open doorway into the house.

Ben finished putting his bag into the trunk with a thud and slid into the back seat, his eyes gleaming with a hint of malicious amusement. Harley sensed the next jab coming from a mile away. "So, Harley, how many licks does it take to get to the center of your depression?" Ben quipped.

Harley rolled his eyes and stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge Ben's attempt to provoke him. "You're not funny. Seriously, of all the insults you could’ve tossed my way, that’s your worst?" He kept a neutral expression on the outside. Inside, his heart raced, and he felt his fists tighten around the strap of his seatbelt. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Just ignore him, he thought, he's just trying to get a reaction. Harley's mind drifted to the comforting images of the books he'd read, the stories where the heroes faced their fears and came out on top. He could do that too.

Ben leaned over the seat, his face getting uncomfortably close to Harley's. "Oh come on, Harley, don't be like that. I'm just trying to break the ice." His grin was wide, but there was something cold in his eyes that made Harley's skin crawl.

The car felt smaller with Ben's presence. The boy was crawling around under Harley's skin, like an invasive bug in need of a good swat. He turned slightly to face Ben, his voice measured and calm. "I'd rather not play your games. We're going to be spending the next few hours, maybe even days, together, so maybe try being a bit more... welcoming?"

Ben leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you trying to command me?" He scoffed. "You think you're so tough with your fancy arm candy? You're not fooling anyone, Harley. That calmness is just a mask for your fear. I can see it in your eyes. All doubt and sadness. So, what's your tragic backstory? Did your mommy and daddy not love you enough?"

The dam of Harley’s patience broke. “Why don’t you mind your own business?!” He whipped his head around to face Ben. “You don’t know anything about me!”

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Harley," Ben said, his grin widening. "I know enough to see that you're just a scared little boy who thinks he's going to get a second chance at happiness. But let me tell you, you're not fooling anyone. Not even Mr. Sunshine out there." He jerked his thumb towards the house.

On cue, Elliot emerged from the house, the door swinging shut behind him with a gentle click. He strode towards the car with a spring in his step, a small stack of papers in hand. He wore a serene smile, as if he wasn't aware that some level of a heated exchange had just taken place. "Alright, you two," he announced, his voice a welcome interruption to the tension that had thickened the air inside the car. "We've got everything we need from Ben's parents. Time to hit the road!" He slid into the driver's seat.

Ben raised his hand from the backseat like he was in a classroom. "Oooh, I have a question," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How many more stops are we making before we get to our 'happy little genius commune'?"

Elliot glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting Ben's for a brief second before refocusing on the road ahead. "Just one more, Ben. And she's not all that far from your place. We're close already."

Ben leaned forward, his curiosity piqued by Elliot's mention of 'she'. "A girl, huh?" he said, his eyes gleaming. "Is she going to be like, a hot little genius or something?"

Elliot shot Ben a stern look in the rearview mirror. "Ben, remember what I said about respect. We're all about intelligence and kindness at Playcare." He turned the car onto a quiet street, lined with quaint houses. "Her name is Stella. She's a very bright girl with a passion for psychology. And yes, she's quite lovely, but I expect you to treat her like the brilliant individual she is, not just a face to flirt with."

The car turned, tires crunching over gravel, onto a long, winding dirt path that seemed to lead into the very heart of a mystical forest. Trees whispered secrets as they drove by, their branches reaching out like welcoming arms. At the end of the path, a vision appeared, a sprawling marble mansion that seemed to have been plucked from the pages of a fairytale. Its grandeur took Harley's breath away, his eyes widening in wonder as the car approached the towering structure.

Ben whistled loudly. "Wow, Stella must be loaded, am I right? This place is like a palace! Who are her parents, royalty?" The boy pressed his face against his window, which made his nose smush against the glass disgustingly.

Harley felt his nerves jangle like live wires. The mansion looked like a place where people didn't have broken arms or bruises. A place where children didn't have to run away from their mothers. If Ben, who had come from a middle-class, loving family, was mean, how bad would Stella be?

Or she could be nice… and easy on the eyes, if Elliot’s to be trusted.

Elliot pulled the car to a smooth stop in front of the magnificent mansion. Before they could even get out of the car, the grand double doors swung open and a couple emerged. They'd clearly been waiting, watching through the windows for the car to arrive. The man had a stern look, while the woman was a picture of elegance and poise, her gaze scanning the car's occupants.

Elliot stepped out of the car, his movements as graceful as ever. He walked around to open the passenger door for Harley, offering him a gentle smile. "Manners maketh man. Stella's parents are kind, but they expect respect." The woman's gaze lingered on Harley's cast, a flash of concern crossing her features, but she said nothing. The man's stern look didn't waver, his arms folded across his chest. 

"Mister and Misses Greyber," Elliot announced. "These are two other recruits who'll be going to Playcare with your daughter."

The woman, Misses Greyber, offered them a warm smile that seemed to soften the edges of the intimidating mansion. She stepped closer. "Welcome, boys," she said, her voice a soothing melody that made Harley's shoulders relax slightly. She turned to Elliot, her smile never leaving her face, yet her eyes held a seriousness that spoke volumes. "Elliot, before we go inside, I need to inform you of something."

“Yes?” Elliot’s eyebrow arched upwards in surprise. It was the first time Harley had seen the man taken off-guard.

"You see...," Misses Greyber began, "I haven't yet had the chance to tell Stella about the Young Geniuses Program. I... signed her up myself," she confessed, her eyes searching Elliot's for any sign of disapproval.

Elliot's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his usual calmness returned.. He gave her a reassuring nod. "It's alright, Misses Greyber. It's not uncommon for parents to make the initial step. The important thing is that she'll be there, and she'll have the opportunity to thrive." The woman's shoulders visibly relaxed, and she took a deep breath.

Ben had managed to remain quiet for longer than Harley was expecting. Alas, it appeared he'd reached his limit. "So, is she gonna have some sort of nerdy celebration when she discovers she's been enlisted into the 'Gifted and Talented' club?" His lips curled into a sneer.

Misses Greyber's gaze sharpened at Ben's snide remark. She took a moment to consider the boy, her eyes narrowing slightly. Then, with a graceful nod, she addressed Elliot. "You and Harley may come inside to meet Stella. I'm sure Harley and my daughter will have a lot to discuss. However, I'm afraid Ben'll have to wait outside. We don't entertain that kind of attitude in our home."

Ben's smug grin slipped for the first time since Harley had met him. "What?!" he exclaimed, his voice rising in protest. "That's not fair!"

Mister Greyber spoke for the first time. "Son, my wife and I don't tolerate disrespect in our house, especially not towards our Stella." He stepped closer to Ben, his arms uncrossing to rest on his hips. "I suggest you be quiet before we have any more problems."

Ben's face flushed with indignation at being reprimanded in such a manner. He didn't move at first, glaring at Mister Greyber with a rebellious spark in his eyes. Then, with a dramatic huff, he spun on his heel and stalked back to the rental car, his shoes kicking up gravel as he went. He threw himself into the backseat, slammed the door shut, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine," he muttered, "but this isn't over."

Harley felt a slight twinge of pity for Ben, but the tension in his chest eased a bit. He wouldn’t have to deal with that jerk for a few more minutes. The Greybers turned their attention away from the car. He followed Misses Greyber, her heels clicking on the marble pathway into their home. 

The door was still open, revealing a warm, golden light that spilled onto the cool stone. He stepped over the threshold with a sense of wonder. Harley couldn't help but feel like he was crossing into a different world- a world where every detail was perfect.

Misses Greyber led the couple through the mansion. The scent of fresh flowers and the faint sound of a piano wafted through the air. The walls were lined with priceless artworks and family portraits, each one telling a silent story of wealth and sophistication. The grandeur was overwhelming, but Harley tried his best not to let it swallow him. 

They reached a grand staircase that spiraled upwards, the railing gleaming with a gold trim. Mister Greyber called out, "Stella, darling, you've got visitors! Come down here!"

Immediately, the sound of rushing footsteps echoed through the room. Then Stella Greyber appeared at the top of the staircase.

Surprisingly, she didn’t dash down the stairs. However, she didn’t walk either. Instead, she threw her leg over the banister, and with a laugh that filled the room with joy, she slid down.

The railing shone with the speed of her descent. Her eyes, a vibrant blue, locked onto Harley's, and she beamed. She leaped off the last few steps and landed lightly on her feet, her blonde hair fluttering around her face like a halo. "Hi!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbly and infectious. "I have no clue why you strangers are here, but it is certainly a pleasure to meet y'all!"

Elliot stepped forward, extending a hand towards her, which she eagerly took. "We're not strangers for long, Stella," he said, his smile warm and welcoming. "I'm Elliot Ludwig, and this is Harley Sawyer. We're from Playtime Co."

Stella's eyes lit up with curiosity as she took Elliot's hand. "Playtime Co? That's the toy company, right?" She tilted her head, her smile fading just a touch as she studied them both. "What's that got to do with me?" She pulled her hand away gently, taking a step back to put some space between them. The question hung in the air, a hint of skepticism in her tone.

Elliot's smile didn't falter. "I started this little project, you see. The Young Geniuses Program is an opportunity for children like you, Stella, to explore your potential in a safe and nurturing environment." He gestured to the mansion around them. "You've had a wonderful life here, but we believe that by bringing together children with extraordinary intellects, we can create something even more extraordinary. You'll be moving into-"

Stella threw her head back and laughed. "That's absurd! I'm not going anywhere! I have everything I could ever want here! Plus, what about my friends? My school? What makes you think I'd just leave all of that behind? Besides, I'm pretty sure my parents would've told me if there was any 'Young Genius Program' that wanted my 'intellect'."

Mister Greyber's expression remained stoic, his arms still folded firmly across his chest. "Actually, Stella, your mother and I have already made the decision. You're going to be joining this program. Your bags are packed and ready to go. It's for the best."

Stella's incredulous expression abruptly transformed into a look of horror and disbelief. "You can't do this!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking. The room grew still, the echo of her words bouncing off the marble walls. She looked to her mother, desperately searching for some sign of doubt or disagreement. She found none. 

"But what about school?" she repeated, her voice rising in pitch. "What about my friends? What will they think when they learn that we'll probably never see each other again!?" Her cheeks grew pink, and then, as if a dam had burst within her, she burst into a heap of sobs. Without another word, she dashed up the stairs, her footsteps pounding a frantic rhythm on the steps until she disappeared into the upper floor of the mansion, the sound of her cries slowly fading away.

Misses Greyber looked after her daughter with a pained expression. She turned to Elliot, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry for her outburst, Mister Ludwig. We didn't want to tell her until the last minute. We thought it would be less... jarring. We expected her to be glad, not-"

Elliot waved her apology away with a gentle smile, his eyes understanding. "Misses Greyber, please, it's quite alright," he assured her. "I've seen this reaction before. It's a big change for Stella, but she'll come around. It's only natural for her to feel scared and overwhelmed. All we need is for someone she can relate to. Someone willing to cheer her up."

Misses Greyber nodded in understanding. “Do whatever you need to.”

Elliot turned to Harley. His gaze was thoughtful, the kind of look that seemed to read the very fabric of one's soul. "Harley, I know this is a delicate situation, but I believe you might be able to connect with Stella the way we need you to. You both have a lot to gain from the Young Geniuses Program. Would you be comfortable talking to her alone? Sometimes, a fellow young mind can ease the transition better than an adult's reassurance. You don't have to if you don't want to."

Harley looked up at Elliot with a mix of surprise and hesitation. He hadn't expected to be handed such a big responsibility so soon, especially not with someone so obviously distraught. But Elliot's faith in him stirred something within him - a flicker of hope that maybe he could be something meaningful. He took a deep breath. "I-I guess it wouldn't hurt to try..."

Elliot's eyes lit up with a proud smile. "That's the spirit, Harley! I know you can do this. You're a smart young man with a big heart. I believe in you."

With a deep breath, Harley managed to summon a shaky confidence that felt alien to him. He squared his shoulders, taking a final glance at Elliot, who offered a firm nod of encouragement. Drawing strength from this newfound paternal figure, Harley began the march up the staircase.

Chapter Text

"H-hello? Stella?" Harley called out tentatively, his voice echoing through the sprawling upstairs of the mansion. The grandeur of the place was unlike anything he'd ever seen, each room a display of opulence that made him hate his own past living conditions even more than he already did. The plush carpets beneath his feet muffled his footsteps as he moved cautiously, his heart racing from nerves.

The corridor was lined with grand portraits of Stella's ancestors, their stern gazes seemingly judging his every move, something that he really didn't appreciate since he had no clue where he was going. He felt like a tiny ant in a museum, insignificant yet surrounded by greatness. 

The air had the scent of expensive perfumes and polished wood, and it was a combination that decidedly didn't make his stomach feel good. His eyes darted around, taking in the opulent surroundings, before he heard a faint sound of sniffling coming from the last room on the left.

He approached the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He took a deep breath, his heart thumping so hard he was sure it was about to break through his ribcage. "Here we go, here we go..."

Nevermind, I can't do this. Harley turned around and found himself face to face with a painting of a very judgmental cow.

Great. Judged by a cow. Of course I get judged by a cow. He swallowed hard. "Dude, don't give me that look! I can't talk to her! She's a girl! And she's crying!" he whispered to the bovine portrait. The cow remained silent, as all cows in paintings are prone to do. Harley took another deep breath and tried to channel Elliot's confidence, pushing down his anxiety. "Okay, fine, I'll talk to her for a minute. Happy?"

With newfound resolve, Harley turned back to the door and gave it a gentle knock, the sound resonating softly in the stillness of the hallway. He waited, his eyes darting to the floor as if expecting it to swallow him up. No answer. He leaned closer, pressing his ear to the cold, unyielding wood, straining to hear any sign of movement.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and he was ear-to-face with one unhappy Stella Greyber. Her blonde hair was a mess, eyes red and puffy from crying. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" She shoved Harley with a strength that belied her appearance.

Caught off guard, Harley stumbled backward, his feet tripping over themselves as he attempted to maintain balance. His body felt like it was moving in slow motion, his brain screaming a silent 'not again!' as gravity took over. The plush carpet did nothing to soften his fall as he landed awkwardly, his broken arm smacking against the floor with a sickening crunch. Pain shot through him like a bolt of lightning, stealing his breath away. He lay there, his vision swimming with stars, trying to process what had just happened.

"Oh my god! What did I do?!" Stella's voice was a mix of horror and panic as she realized the gravity of her actions. She rushed over to him, her earlier hostility forgotten in the face of his pain. "I'm sorry, I didn't know!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with worry as she took in the makeshift splint. Without waiting for a response, she knelt beside him, her hands fluttering over his arm, unsure of what to do. "Do you need a doctor?" she asked, voice shaking.

"I don't think so? I mean, I'm not a medical expert, but I'm sure hitting a broken bone again can't be that bad." Harley whimpered through the haze of pain surrounding his senses.

"It is! You might get an infection, or nerve damage... or compartment syndrome, or pulmonary embolism...  heck, that fall might lead to nonunion! Do you know how serious this is?!" Stella's voice grew higher with every medical term she threw out, her cheeks flushing with a mix of concern and fear.

"No, not really." Harley shrugged, giving Stella a cheeky grin that was a clear attempt to lighten the mood. Despite the pain, he appreciated the concern. And the shift in demeanor. It was much easier to talk to a scared person than a furious one. "I've had worse," he added, trying to play it cool.

Stella giggled nervously at first, her laughter bubbling up like a shaken soda bottle finally released. "You are so ignorant that it's almost endearing," she said, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. The tension in the room broke like a dam, and she couldn't hold back her amusement anymore. Her laughter grew louder, echoing through the grand hallway.

"Almost? Almost endearing?" Harley whined, trying to sit up. His arm protested, sending fresh waves of pain through his body, but he managed to push himself into a sitting position with a grimace. "What does that mean? I'm either endearing or I'm not."

Stella's laughter subsided into a warm smile as she studied him. "It means you're like a kitten that's fallen out of a tree. You're all scraped up and hurt, but you still try to act tough." She gently took his good hand in hers. "You're going to be okay. I'll make sure of it."

Harley's face flushed, and he looked away, not knowing how to respond to her kindness. He'd never help a girl's hand before, and the warmth of her touch sent butterflies spiraling in his stomach. He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to ignore the sudden heat in his cheeks. "Thanks, I guess?"

Stella beamed at him. "You're welcome, I guess."

"So why don't you want to join the Young Geniuses' Program? It's a big deal, you know," Harley asked, changing the subject and shifting his position to ease the pressure on his arm. Stella's smile faded, and she sat back on her heels, looking at him seriously.

"It's not that I don't want to. I just... I don't think it's for me," she said, her voice small. "I mean, I know it's about learning and being with other smart kids, but... I want to study Psychology, you know? Like, I want to understand people, not just math and science. But apparently, it's not part of the curriculum. There isn't one class on it!" Her voice grew stronger as she spoke, passion infusing her words.

"Do you know how important it is to me? I want to be like a... a detective of emotions! To help people understand themselves! The next William James! And they're just shipping me off to learn a bunch of useless crap I'm never gonna use! Excuse me for being a bit upset."

"Hey, I get it," Harley murmured, his eyes meeting hers. "I mean, I want to help people when I grow up. I want to know I've done some good in my life before I die. Unlike you, though, I don't really know what I'd want to do, and to be honest, I don't know if the program will help me figure that out."

Stella sighed. "Is it okay that I'm scared?" she whispered, her eyes searching his for understanding. "I've never been apart from my family for more than a night. And now... now I'm just supposed to leave my home, my friends, my whole life behind and live in a cold dark factory for months, alone with a bunch of nerds I don't know."

"You know me," Harley said softly. "I get scared too. But I believe that we're going to a place that'll be better for us. And we're not alone. We're going together."

Stella stared at Harley for a long moment. Without a word, she flung herself onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck with the force of a tornado. It was the most alive he'd felt in weeks. Her embrace was so sudden, so fierce, it took him by complete surprise. He hadn't felt such warmth in a very long time, since before his dad...

The pain from his broken arm was momentarily forgotten as he felt Stella's warm, solid body against his. Her tears wet his shirt, and he realized that she was sobbing into his shoulder. He patted her back awkwardly, not quite knowing how to handle this situation. But he knew one thing: he wasn't going to push her away.

My first teenage friend, Harley thought to himself as he patted Stella's back, feeling the awkwardness of the situation slowly dissipate. Her sobs grew softer, and eventually, she pulled back, wiping her eyes. "Thank you," she murmured, sniffling.

"No problem," Harley managed to say, his voice a bit rough. He was surprised to find that he meant it. He'd never had anyone to comfort before, not really. And he'd always found emotional people more annoying than anything else. Yet with Stella, it was different. He'd need time to process that.

Stella took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned back, her eyes searching his for reassurance. "What do we do now?"

"I guess we're going to tell Elliot that he needs to add more Psychology classes," Harley suggested with a wry smile. Stella giggled through her sniffles, and the sound was music to his ears. It was the first time he'd made someone laugh since he'd been on the run from his mother.

"It's funny, how you just assume it's that easy to add a new class," Stella said between giggle-sniffs.

"Well, I've got a plan," Harley replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We'll just sneak into his office, hack his computer, and add a full curriculum of Psychology classes. Easy peasy."

Stella's laughter turned into a full-blown guffaw. "Oh, right, because we're totally computer geniuses who can just do that," she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I can't even work the coffee maker in the kitchen!"

"Makes sense. I bet your coffee maker costs a fortune and has, like, hundreds of buttons," Harley teased, his own smile growing wider. "But if you can't hack a computer, how about we just ask him?"

Stella tilted her head. "Y'know what? I think I will ask him. Maybe he'll understand," she said, hope flickering in her eyes. "Come on, I'll lead you over to the living room. I'm sure they'll be there, sitting around and sipping tea, or whatever it is that my parents do when we have a famous guest over."

* * *

Stella was right; the living room was where Elliot was, surrounded by her parents and two other adults, all chatting politely. The room was bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, and the smell of freshly brewed tea filled the air. Harley raised an eyebrow at the sight of the fancy tea set laid out on the coffee table. He'd never seen anything quite so...adult.

"Mister Ludwig!" The room fell silent as all eyes turned to the duo, most importantly the kind, concerned gaze of Elliot Ludwig. "Can we talk? It's important."

Elliot's expression grew serious. "Of course, Stella. What's the matter?" He grabbed a nearby chair and offered it to her, his eyes flicking over to Harley with a questioning look.

Stella sat down, taking a moment to compose herself. "I've been thinking about the Young Geniuses' Program," she began, her voice still shaky but determined. "And I just want to know if there's any chance of me taking Psychology classes. It's what I've always wanted to do, and I don't want to give that up just because I'm going to your factory-whatever-you-call-it."

"What do you mean, 'take Psychology classes'? Are there not any suitable subjects for you in the curriculum? Ludwig, just how are you running this program?" Stella's mother interjected, her voice laced with a hint of accusation. She had a way of speaking that could make even the most confident of souls feel like they were six inches tall.

Elliot held up a hand to silence her. "Now, now, Mrs. Greyber, let's not jump to conclusions. The Young Geniuses' Program is designed to cater to the diverse interests of our prodigies. We want them to flourish in every aspect of their learning journey." He turned his gaze to Stella, his eyes softening. "I understand your passion for Psychology, Stella, and I assure you, we'll see what we can do. Perhaps we can integrate some psychological concepts into the existing schedule or offer it as an elective. Would that satisfy you?"

Stella's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, and she nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, yes!" Her enthusiasm was contagious, and even her father couldn't help but smile at her excitement.

Elliot clapped his hands together. "Then I guess it's time to go back to the vehicle!" The suddenness of his announcement brought a flurry of activity. Stella's mother began to protest, but her father gently placed a hand on her shoulder, silencing her with a firm look.

She sighed. "Stella, have a good time. And be careful," her mother said, giving her a forced smile as she handed over a small bag filled with snacks and a packed lunch. Stella took the bag, her eyes watering again, and nodded before turning to Harley.

"Ready?" She whispered to Harley, her voice a mix of excitement and trepidation. Harley nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. Together, they followed Elliot out of the mansion, the grandeur of the place fading away as they stepped into the cool evening air.

* * *

From a train to a car to a plane. I'm going on quite a journey here.

Harley Sawyer sat with his eyes glued to the book in his hands, trying to ignore the dull throb in his left arm. The makeshift splint, a patchwork of bandages and sheets, still remained on. Apparently he'd have to wait to get a real one when they arrived at Playcare. His unruly black hair fell into his eyes, and he pushed it back with his right hand, his eyes never leaving the page.

"How often do you get a haircut, Harley?" Stella's voice pierced through the quiet hum of the airplane engines, her curiosity getting the better of her. She'd been talking to him on-and-off the entire trip- not that he didn't enjoy it.

Harley looked up from his book, his green eyes meeting hers. "Every few months," he murmured, his voice barely audible. He wasn't used to having someone pay so much attention to him, especially someone as cheerful and outgoing as Stella Greyber. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that bobbed as she talked, and her blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

The airplane's relaxation area was designed with comfort in mind, but Harley still felt uncomfortable in the plush chair. Stella, on the other hand, was practically bouncing in her seat, her energy uncontainable even in a confined space. The stark contrast between their personalities was akin to night and day. Harley's shy and introverted demeanor was the perfect counterbalance to Stella's exuberant and extroverted personality.

Not that he thought about it that much.

The airplane's engines hummed a steady rhythm that lulled him into a state of pseudo-contentment, the vibrations resonating through his body and mixing with the occasional jostle of turbulence. Elliot and Ben had chosen to sit in the main area, which Harley didn't blame them for. The relaxation area seemed to be pretty hit-or-miss.

Harley could only get close to comfort, never actually reaching his goal. Much like the train ride, he thought to himself, everything is just a little too... much. Hopefully Playcare won't be like that.

He felt his heart race at the thought of the upcoming change in his life. Playcare was going to be so different from his old home. The very idea of being around other kids like him, in a place that cared for them, was something he had only dreamed of.

"Look at this!" Stella exclaimed, pointing to a page in her magazine. Harley leaned over to see what had caught her eye. It was an article about the latest celebrity drama, something that usually held no interest for him. Yet, he found himself getting drawn into her enthusiasm. Her eyes danced as she recounted the juicy details, and before he knew it, he was actually smiling.

So... perhaps comfort could be associated with the people you're with, not just the place you're in. This revelation hit Harley like a gust of wind, knocking his thoughts off-balance. He hadn't considered that before, but now that he had, he felt stupid. Obviously company changed one's feelings.

Stella's eyes widened. "Oh my gosh, Harley! Did you know that?" Her voice was a symphony of amazement and excitement, her hands animatedly flailing around the glossy page.

"Y-yeah, I guess I knew that," Harley lied, pulled away from his musings. He didn't want Stella to think he was completely out of the loop. Plus, he enjoyed seeing her so excited. Besides Ludwig, she was the only person who had shown him genuine kindness since his father passed away.

Her eyes remained glued to the magazine, and Harley felt his gaze drift to the bandages around his left arm. The break had occurred during his escape from his mother. A cruel reminder of the life he had left behind. He wished he could just rip the bandages off and pretend like he was in perfect health, but he knew it would only make things worse.

"Are you okay?" Stella's voice was softer now, the excitement in her tone replaced by genuine concern. She'd noticed his eyes lingering on his injury.

"Yeah," Harley replied, a little too quickly. He didn't like talking about his life, not with his classmates, not with Ludwig, and definitely not with his best friend. He took a deep breath and focused on the book again. Stella, however, had other plans. She leaned over and placed her hand over his.

The sudden weight of Stella's hand on his sent a jolt through Harley. He hadn't realized she was watching him so closely, and the warmth of her touch was surprisingly comforting. He looked up at her, and for the first time since he'd met her, he saw something in her eyes that wasn't cheerful curiosity or boundless enthusiasm. It was empathy, pure and raw.

"You can tell me, you know," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "I won't judge you."

Harley swallowed hard. He didn't know why, but he found himself opening up to Stella. He talked about the night he had left home, the fear that had propelled him into the cold, the pain that had followed him like a shadow, and his encounter with Elliot Ludwig on the train. Stella's eyes grew wet as she listened, her hand still gently resting on his.

"You... I think you'd be a good therapist, Stella," Harley said, a small smile playing on his lips as he took a deep breath, feeling the weight on his chest lift slightly.

"R-really? You think so?" Stella's cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. "I just want everyone to be happy, you know?"

Before either of them could say another word, Elliot stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the area with a gentle smile. "Looks like you two are getting along splendidly," he said, his voice warm and inviting. "How's the book, Harley?"

Harley looked up from his story, feeling a mix of comfort and anxiety at the sound of Elliot's voice. "It's good," he mumbled, closing the book with his good hand. "It's been giving me practice with only using one hand."

Elliot chuckled and nodded, his eyes warm with understanding. "You're quite the adaptable young man," he said, patting Harley on the shoulder. "I'm excited for you and Stella to begin your new lives at Playcare. It's going to be quite the adventure, I assure you."

The mention of Playcare brought a fresh wave of excitement, but Harley couldn't help but feel a flicker of nerves. Would he fit in? Would he be able to handle the classes, or make friends? The questions swirled in his mind like leaves in a storm.

At least I have Stella, he reminded himself, looking over at her. She was still engrossed in her magazine, but she looked up and caught his gaze, giving him a reassuring smile. That was all he needed.

"I will leave you two to it, then." Ludwig said, retreating back to the main area.

Once he was gone, Stella set down her magazine. "Y'know, Ludwig's kinda... annoying. Like, 'I will leave you two to it'? Firstly, has he heard of conjunctions? I will equal I'll. Secondly, 'leave us to it'? What are we being left to do? He needs to learn logical thought."

Her words brought a sudden, unexpected laugh from Harley. It was a sound that felt foreign to his throat, but it was surprisingly welcome.

"What? Am I wrong?!" Stella joined Harley in his laughter, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. "I mean, come on, it's like he's trying to be fancy, but he just ends up sounding like a robot trying to be human!"

"I think you are being overly dramatic. Elliot's just trying to be formal."

Stella hummed, bringing her attention back to her magazine, which she had spread out on the small table between them. The page was open to an article about a butterfly sanctuary. "Hey, Harley, did you know that some butterflies taste with their feet?"

"I... is that true?" Harley asked, his eyebrows furrowed. Despite himself, he found his curiosity piqued. It was hard not to get drawn into Stella's whirlwind of facts and enthusiasm. She nodded emphatically, her eyes still on the page.

"Huh." Harley took a moment to just absorb the random piece of trivia. The anatomy of a butterfly's foot is probably the last thing I expected to think about today. He leaned closer to Stella. "How do they do that?"

"You think I know that part?" Stella flicked Harley in the nose, making him pull back with a startled yelp. "You're supposed to be a genius too, remember?" She grinned mischievously, her eyes lighting up with a teasing glint.

"Hey!" Harley protested, but his protest was weak, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He brought his right hand up to rub his nose. "You almost broke my nose!"

"Good. Then we could get you two casts to match!" Stella giggled, her energy not dimming even a bit.

Hmm... Harley yet again found himself taking note of the warmth spreading through his body,  just from the sheer presence of Stella. It was like she was a walking furnace of happiness, and he was a cold metal statue slowly thawing in her embrace. Is this what a friend is like?

Yes.

Yes, it was.