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His bare feet padded noisily, quickly, along the sidewalk. The January air was cold and unforgiving, maybe even more so than the streets of Manhattan were. He couldn’t stop running. His calves ached, like he was being burnt alive. Pain blistered through the soles of his feet as they scraped against the rough pavement, sharp and searing. His heart was pounding, each beat thumping through his chest like it was trying to break free.
His cheeks were rose red, his breathing ragged. His shoulders oscillated rigidly, a nerve-pinching pain burning through his muscles as his arms swung back and forth relentlessly beside him. The cold air nearly blinded him as it fanned into his eyes, which were blown wide with gut-wrenching fear. His chest rose and fell quickly yet painfully, his skin laced with blackening bruises. He pushed forward, adrenaline coursing through every fiber of his being. He was exhausted.
He couldn’t stop running. His life depended on it. He knew the sound of footfall behind him wasn’t his own. No, the footfall was theirs. The monsters. He was so close. The street lights blurred in streaks of gold and a hazed orange as each step felt like he was treading against a current of fresh molasses. His vision became foggy, the golds and oranges fading together into a hazy blur. Not now. He ran as his legs began to quake from sheer exhaustion. His knees nearly buckled from underneath him and he stumbled. Once he heard footsteps getting closer, he took off. He couldn’t give up now, not when he’s this close.
Each breath he took stung his lungs, which felt like they might shatter under the pressure. His calves screamed, every muscle begging to rest, but he couldn’t stop. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. What if they caught up to him? What if he fell? What if-
Then, there it was. In the distance. A soft glow. The faintest light breaking through the darkness of the endless void. He finally reached the front steps as he collapsed, desperately pounding on the front door.
“HARLEY!” Peter sobbed, banging on the door.
He willed himself to stand, he could hear them getting closer. The monsters. He jiggled the door handle, to no avail. He rammed himself into the door, doing anything he could to get his boyfriend’s attention. He finally heard footsteps, quick ones, but not those of the monsters that were still actively pursuing him. The door swung open, Peter’s legs giving out from underneath him as his eyes finally fixated on Harley’s. Harley caught Peter as the younger boy stumbled into his arms.
Harley’s eyes widened as he took in the sight in front of him. Peter. His body was covered in bruises from head to toe and he was bleeding. He was noticeably lacking a pair of shoes and socks. Even the bottoms of his feet were bleeding. Harley moved, helping Peter up and into the house and shutting the door behind him. Only for Peter to attempt and scramble out of Harley’s hold.
”Woah, woah. I gotcha, I gotcha. What’s goin’ on?”
Peter sobbed. He couldn’t get any words out. He was exhausted. All of his energy went towards accepting the oxygen that his lungs so desperately needed. Harley furrowed his eyebrows in concern as he held his boyfriend protectively, combing his hand through Peter’s sweaty, coagulated hair.
“Pete. You’re scarin’ me a little,” Harley whispered. To say ‘a little’ was definitely an understatement.
Peter finally found the energy to mutter, “lock,” he gasped, “the door.”
“Okay, okay,” Harley leaned over to the deadbolt to turn it to the right, locking it.
Peter sighed in relief, lying his forehead on Harley’s shoulder, taking a deep breath in. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to muster up the courage to tell Harley what was happening. The monsters would be here any minute.
“Harls,” he paused, “they’re coming. They… they chased me. All the way from… from Midtown.”
“Who chased you?” Harley whispered, cradling Peter’s head with one hand and holding him close with his other arm.
“Eli and Tessa.”
“Your foster parents?”
Peter nodded, shuddering when the sound of their footsteps recalled themselves to his memory. Harley exhaled shakily, holding Peter as tightly as he could against his chest without worsening his injuries.
Soon, it wasn’t just a memory, but reality, when Peter heard their footsteps once again. Peter shrieked, trembling in his boyfriend's arms.
“PETER! OPEN THIS DOOR!”
Peter’s body shook, out of pure terror and out of exhaustion. Harley stood up, holding Peter’s limp form against him, keeping him safe and protected in his arms as he quietly walked towards the back of the house towards where he left his cell phone.
“OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR! I’LL KILL YOU!”
Harley tensed when Peter whimpered, horror radiating off of his battered body. Harley laid his right hand on the back of Peter’s head, massaging his scalp and carding his fingers through his brown curls. Peter was hardly holding on, which Harley knew that meant Peter was working his body far too hard. Harley set Peter down on the kitchen counter and used his hands to cover his boyfriend’s ears.
“You lay one finger on him, and you’ll be leavin’ this street in a body bag!” Harley yelled.
Harley picked up his cell phone with one hand and used his other arm to hold Peter upright against him. Harley dialed 911 with a trembling hand and held it up to his ear. The phone rang twice before an operator picked up.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I’m gonna need police here, fast. My boyfriend’s foster parents are tryin’ to kill him.”
“You said they’re trying to kill him?”
“Yes, I said ‘kill him.’ If someone doesn’t deal with this soon then I will.”
“We’re sending four officers right now. Do you need paramedics?”
“Yes, quickly!”
BANG.
Peter flinched, curling into Harley’s chest like it was a shield as the pounding of the door made the house shake. Harley’s arm tightened around Peter, clutching his phone closer to his ear.
“They’re tryin’ to break in, how close are they?”
“We have two cars approaching your location now, sir. They’ll arrive in two minutes, paramedics in four.”
“Okay, okay,” Harley exhaled shakily.
His worn, gray t-shirt was stained with blood, sweat, and tears. Peter’s blood, sweat, and tears. Peter could feel his body giving up on him. He needed water. Jesus, he needed food. God only knew that last time he’d been allowed food.
“WORTHLESS SON OF A BITCH!”
Glass shattered near the front door. Harley jumped and Peter’s body tensed, somehow more frozen that he had been moments earlier.
Harley moved, wasting no time as he picked Peter up and b-lined towards his bedroom in the back of the house. He held his phone next to his ear, tilting his head to the right to hold it against his shoulder.
Harley barely registered moving, his arms locking around Peter’s limp frame as he carried him through the house. His phone was slippery in his sweat-slick grip, pressed to his ear so hard it might crack. He could barely breathe.
“Sir,” the operator said, voice sharp, urgent, “the police are on scene.”
Relief nearly knocked the air from Harley’s lungs. But it wasn’t over. Not yet.
“Stay quiet and hidden,” she continued, “if they breach the house, do not hesitate to defend yourself.”
His pulse pounded in his skull, “okay, thank you, ma’am.”
His voice was thin, raw from screaming. He hung up and turned, his breath catching as he saw the lights through the window. Red and blue bled through the glass, flickering across the walls like a silent warning. A sharp crash from the front of the house sent his stomach lurching.
They weren’t stopping. Harley held Peter tighter against his chest, his heart breaking when Peter yelped. Because to Peter, they were in the house. They were going to kill him. He had to run, right? But he was exhausted and running hurt-
“Pete. You’re safe. Ain’t nobody touchin’ you, sweetheart.”
Harley’s pulse raced as he held Peter, hearing the pounding on the door growing louder with each second. Peter’s breathing was shallow, his head drooping against Harley’s shoulder, too exhausted to fight anymore.
“Pete, stay with me,” Harley whispered, his voice strained.
Then the door splintered. The harsh shout of the officers sent a jolt through him. Harley flinched but didn’t budge. They were here. They were finally here.
Peter's heart hammered in his chest. The weight of his body pressing against Harley’s felt like the only thing holding him together. He tried to lift his head, but his vision was blurry, his limbs like lead. He could barely process the noise, the shouting, the crash of glass, the pounding at the door. It was all too much. For a moment, he thought maybe it was a dream. Maybe it had all been some nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. But Harley’s arms, strong and unyielding, were real. And the voices outside were real, too. He knew that was safe. But he didn’t feel safe.
“NYPD! BACK AWAY FROM THE DOOR! PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!”
For a moment, everything froze. All Peter could process was the overwhelming fear that coursed through him. Everything was quiet, just for a moment, before a sickening crack bellowed through the house. Peter curled into Harley as the southern boy cradled Peter’s head with his hand, like doing so could protect him from the horrors that were just outside.
“You’re safe, darlin’. It’s over now.”
Peter barely heard him as his ears rang. His heart pounded against his rib cage as police officers restrained Eli and Tessa, who let out loud, panicked protests.
“You’re under arrest for the alleged abuse and attempted murder of a minor. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law…”
Peter felt a fleet of air leave his lungs, but he didn’t feel relieved. His hands clenched into fists against Harley’s shirts, his body still rigid, his mind still stuck in fight or flight mode. He couldn’t believe that it was over. Not yet. A knock on the bedroom door made him jolt.
“Sir? This is Officer Nelson with the New York City Police Department, you’re safe to come out now.”
Harley hesitated, yet his arms didn’t loosen, didn’t even twitch, as he held Peter against him.
“You ready, sweetheart?” he whispered.
Peter didn’t respond. His breathing was shallow, his body motionless except for the occasional tremor that would roll through him. Harley exhaled sharply through his nose, pressing a kiss to the top of Peter’s head before shifting to lift him into his arms. Peter made a weak sound of protest, but Harley just whispered, “I gotcha,” before carrying him toward the door.
Peter pressed his face into Harley’s shoulder, closing his eyes tightly. He trusted Harley to keep him safe, but his mind couldn’t trust that he was safe.
“We’ve just gotta check him for injuries, then we’ll get out of your hair. I figure you’re not looking to give a statement tonight,” a paramedic said, looking at Harley sympathetically.
Harley nodded, “no, sir.”
The paramedic nodded in understanding. He stepped forward, a gentle hand extended, “let’s at least get him cleaned up, alright?”
Harley hesitated, holding Peter the tiniest bit tighter. Peter was hardly responding as it is, his grip holding feintly onto Harley’s t-shirt. His breathing was shallow, his body was cold. The thought of letting someone else, a stranger, take care of Peter, even just for a second, made Harley’s stomach twist.
Despite that, Peter needed help. Harley was not going to do anything to hinder that, especially right now. He nodded, silently following the paramedic to his living room couch where two additional paramedics were waiting.
“Alright, can we check him over here?” He asked, looking at Peter’s weakened form first, then making eye contact with Harley.
Harley nodded, yet promptly said, “that’s fine, but I’m not lettin’ go of him.”
“Understood,” a female paramedic replied as she carefully walked up to Peter.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she began, “I’m Sarah, I’m here to help, okay?”
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, tighter than they had been before. His body tensed as he pressed himself further into Harley’s, wanting nothing more than to just disappear, to be cared for and for Harley to keep him safe. He wanted nothing to do with this situation, he needed it to be over.
”You’re alright, darlin’. Ain’t no one hurtin’ you. Not while I’m here.”
Slowly, Peter uncurled himself from Harley’s chest, making eye contact with Harley. Harley’s eyes were full of care, with love. But Peter could see past that. He could see how terrified Harley was. Harley flashed a toothless, nervous smile. Peter had to be strong for him.
He turned his body sideways and pressed the right side of it into Harley’s chest, allowing the paramedics to look at his injuries. Peter laid his head under Harley’s chin, which prompted Harley to place a kiss on Peter’s forehead.
“Okay, what’s your name, honey?” Sarah asked, looking into Peter’s frightened eyes.
Peter shivered before whispering his name to her.
”Alright, Peter. Could you tell me where you're hurt?”
Peter hesitated before looking up at his boyfriend. Harley immediately understood, directing his gaze to Sarah.
”The bottoms of his feet were pretty banged up earlier. He ran here with no shoes on. He’s got some pretty nasty bruises on his back and on his legs. He has, uh,” Harley’s eyes began to well up with tears, “blood is his… in his hair. I’m not sure where that came from.”
“Okay, thank you, sweetheart. Let’s check on your head, okay? I won’t touch anything without letting you know first.”
Sarah approached Peter and Harley, slowly and carefully, then kneeled down to Peter’s eye level.
“Is it okay if I take a look at your head, Peter?” She asked patiently.
Peter hesitated, then nodded. Sarah stood up slowly, hovering her hand’s over Peter’s hair, being careful not to get too close to Harley’s face.
”I’m going to touch your head now, is that okay?”
Peter nodded, closing his eyes tightly. He subconsciously held his breath, which Harley took notice to.
“Deep breathes, baby. You’re almost done,” he whispered.
Once Sarah had finished looking at Peter’s scalp, she removed her latex gloved hands and took a step back.
“Alright, sweetheart. Your head is going to be okay, you’ve just got some nasty scratches, but nothing worth stitches. Just be gentle and keep an eye on them. Can I take a look at your feet real quick?”
Peter nodded again, lying his forehead on Harley’s shoulder. Harley laid a hand just under Peter’s neck, rubbing his back with his thumb. Sarah knelt on the ground, pausing to ask Peter if it’s okay for her to touch his ankles. He nodded, letting out a relieved sigh once she’d let go.
“Everything looks alright, Peter. Just make sure to put some neosporin on your scratches and ice your bruises. You’ll be back in shape in no time.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Harley smiled.
“Of course. Officer Nelson left his business card on your kitchen table. Just give him a call within the next couple of days so Peter can give a statement.”
Harley nodded, “will do. Have a good rest of your night, Sarah. Thank you.”
Within minutes, the paramedics left along with the police. Harley took a deep breath, holding Peter close. Eli and Tessa were gone, too. It was over. Peter began to cry, his tears soaking Harley’s gray t-shirt.
“Shh, you’re safe. It’s over now, sweetheart. It’s just you and me,” Harley whispered, his own tears finally falling as well.
The two boys sat on the living room couch for a long time, Harley’s hold on Peter never wavering. Harley sat there, making sure to keep his breathing even so Peter could follow. He made comforting movements, running his fingers through Peter’s hair or gently running his hands along Peter’s back.
“You’re okay,” Harley whispered, with no response from Peter.
Harley knew he wasn’t okay. The poor boy was still trapped in that place, a place in the darkest corners of his mind where he couldn’t believe that he was safe. He knew that Peter could still hear the pounding on the door, that he could still feel the pavement scraping against his feet.
Harley shifted, gently scooping his boyfriend into his arms. Peter hardly reacted, he just held on as he allowed himself to be carried. Harley carried Peter to the bathroom, where he set him down and steadied him on the closed toilet seat.
“I’ve gotta clean you up, darlin’. It might sting, but I’ll be real gentle, okay?”
Harley crouched in front of his boyfriend, but Peter still didn’t speak. His hands trembled as they rested on top of his thighs, his head tipped forward as if it was too heavy for him to hold up on his own.
Harley swallowed thickly, suppressing his own emotions. Peter needed him to be steady right now. So, he got to work, grabbing a washcloth and running warm water over it, gently starting with the blood in Peter’s hair. He was as careful as he could be, whispering soft praises as he cleaned up the dried blood. Peter flinched a few times, but didn’t pull away.
Next were his feet. Harley’s jaw clenched and his eyes welled with tears when he saw just how raw they were. The skin had been scraped open in places and small cuts covered the soles. Peter barely seemed to register Harley cleaning the cuts and applying neosporin over the cuts before wrapping them with soft bandages.
Peter still hadn’t spoken a word. He was quiet. Too quiet. His eyes met Harley’s, but they didn’t really. Peter’s exhausted gaze went past Harley, through him, even. Peter was here, but he wasn’t present.
And Harley knew it.
“Pete, I need you to come back to me, darlin’,” the southern boy spoke softly, running a gentle thumb over the poor boy’s knee.
Peter looked toward Harley, his lips curling upward into a pained smile.
“I know you’re feelin’ like you’re still runnin’, sweetheart. But you aren’t. You’re here with me, you’re safe. You’re always safe when you’re with me.”
Peter’s lips parted, like he wanted to say something but he didn’t know how. His fingers found his own shirt and gripped the fabric tightly.
Harley made a quick, half-subconscious decision. He took Peter’s shaking hands into his own and placed them on his chest, right over his heart beat.
Peter inhaled sharply. Harley’s heartbeat was grounding, real. His wide eyes met Harley’s, actually met them.
“There you are,” Harley whispered, “you feel that, darlin’? That’s real. I’m real. You’re not runnin’ anymore. You’re not alone.”
Peter’s breath hitched. His fingers tapped against Harley’s chest, trying to ground himself by following the rhythm of Harley’s heartbeat. Peter’s body was still tense, but Harley could see the smallest bit of focus return to his eyes.
After a long moment, Peter let out a shaky exhale, “I’m so tired, Harls.”
Harley nodded, his face scrunching as tears filled his eyes at Peter’s pained tone.
“I know, love. Let’s… let’s get you to bed.”
Peter hesitated, something uncertain in his expression. Harley knew what Peter was going to say before he even said it.
“Will you… you’ll stay with me, right?”
Harley swallowed a lump in his throat before replying, “of course I will. I’m not goin’ anywhere. You don’t gotta do this alone.”
Harley picked Peter up once again and took him to his bedroom. He made sure the lamp in the far corner of the room was on before turning off the ceiling light. He knew that Peter wouldn’t want to be in the dark.
He walked over to his closet, retrieving one of his sweatshirts and a pair of soft pajama pants. He set them down on the bed, along with Peter. Both of their clothes were still covered in blood, sweat, and tears, Peter’s moreso. But Harley couldn’t find the means to care for himself, not now. Peter was his top priority.
“Can we get you changed into some clean clothes, sweetheart? Or you can shower first, whatever you want. I can help you if you need it,” Harley whispered, crouching in front of Peter and stroking a gentle thumb under his bruised eye.
“Um… I kinda just wanna change and then go to bed. Will you still…” Peter trailed off, shaking his head, tears running down his rosy cheeks.
“I’ll stay, baby, I promise. Nothin’ could make me leave you alone, especially not tonight,” Harley replied, cupping his boyfriend’s cheeks with both of his hands and placing a kiss on his forehead.
“I dunno, I‘m just scared to be alone,” Peter whispered shamefully.
“That’s okay. You don't gotta feel alright right now,” Harley replied.
Peter nodded, lying his head on Harley’s shoulder. Harley moved to sit on the bed, maneuvering Peter into his arms.
After a while, Harley helped Peter change into some clean clothes and laid him down in bed. Harley soon followed, opting to sleep in a clean sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. He laid next to Peter, who had ice packs laid on his bruised ribs, holding him close.
“You can fall asleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up,” Harley said, running his thumb back and forth from Peter’s forehead to the bridge of his nose, a tactic he knew would help the poor boy fall asleep.
“I know what you’re doin’, Harls,” Peter slurred, his exhaustion finally catching up to him.
Harley chucked, “doesn’t mean it ain’t workin’.”
Peter tried to let out a laugh, but it sounded more like a choked up sob.
“Sweetheart, you’re breakin’ my heart here,” Harley commented lightheartedly.
Peter shrugged, lying his head on Harley’s shoulder. Harley wrapped his arms around the boy, holding him close.
“Just… scared to sleep. I don’t think I’ll be able to.”
Harley could feel Peter’s bruised body begin to tremble, which broke the southern boy’s heart.
“Darlin’, that’s okay. You had a scary night. It’s okay if you need time to just… hang out,” Harley replied.
Peter’s face scrunched and his back throbbed with pain. He maneuvered himself to be closer to Harley’s shoulder, which the blonde took notice to immediately. He cradled the back of Peter’s head with one hand and held him close with the other. He placed a kiss on Peter’s temple, leaving his lips to lie there.
Eventually, Peter’s breathing slowed, his body loosened up, and his eyes fluttered closed. Harley took a deep breath, readjusting Peter’s ice packs before lying down himself.
“I love you,” Harley whispered, carding his fingers through his boyfriend's hair, “so much, darlin’.”
Peter was finally asleep, instinctively curling into Harley’s side. As much as Harley loved that Peter found comfort in being close to him, it broke his heart that Peter felt so unsafe and so frightened that he searched for that comfort even in his sleep.
———
It wasn’t long before Peter began twitching in his sleep, his facial features forming into those of pain and distress. Harley sat up, a sharp pain pulling on his heart strings. He pulled his hand up, placing it in Peter’s hair to try and provide some sort of comfort.
“Shhh, you’re alright, it’s over now, sweetheart,” Harley whispered, his voice low and soothing.
Harley’s arms were a fortress as he held his boyfriend in them, as if he was trying to absorb all of the anxiety that Peter was feeling in that moment. Peter’s sobs were raw, each one like a knife with a jagged edge scraping at Harley’s heart. Even if it hurt, he refused to let Peter deal with this alone.
Peter’s chest heaved with a sense of uncertainty, the force of his tears causing the poor boy to hyperventilate. Harley knew it would take time for Peter to feel emotionally stable again, and that was okay.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” Peter whispered through his broken sobs, “I was so scared, Harls. I… I thought they were gonna get me.”
Harley’s throat tightened, but he held Peter tighter. His chest ached for the sweet boy in his arms, the boy who gave everything he had for a city that gave nothing back. He leaned down, lying his cheek in Peter’s messy hair, breathing in his familiar scent.
“Hey, none of that. You’re here now, you’re safe. You don’t need to apologize for this, darlin’.”
Peter’s body shuddered, his entire form feeling as if he might crumble under the pressure he was feeling.
“I was running… and I kept thinking that they were getting closer. I was so tired and… I’m still scared.”
Harley cut in gently, “baby, baby. You made it. You made it here, to me. You did exactly what you needed to do.”
Peter’s breath staggered as he exhaled, his eyes screwing tightly shut. He laid his head on Harley’s chest, gripping the southern teen’s shirt tightly in his shaking fists.
“I… what if they come back?”
Harley’s heart sank at the pain in his voice. Peter sounded heartbroken, defeated. Almost as if he’d given up the fight. On top of that, Peter thought that they’d come back. That they’d hurt him.
“They won’t ever touch you again, I swear it. You’re safe with me.”
Peter relaxed against Harley’s chest, the weight of his fears gradually lifting as he basked in his boyfriend’s presence. He didn’t know how to make the pain go away, but for the first time that night, it felt a little bit lighter.
“We’ll figure this out, okay? You’re not alone in this, Pete. You’re with me.”
Peter nodded against Harley, a fragile comfort settling in his chest. As his body finally started to relax, he allowed himself to fall into a deep, exhausted sleep, knowing Harley was there. Keeping him safe.
“Thank you, Harls, I love you,” Peter whispered, kissing his boyfriend’s shoulder as he laid against it.
Harley smiled, “don’t gotta thank me, darlin’. I’m always here for you.”
Suddenly, the situation became so much easier to carry, because Harley was there to carry it with him. And for Peter, that was enough.