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It was simple. When Peter couldn't sleep he would open YouTube, find a science podcast and fall back asleep to the ramblings of whatever field sounded most peaceful at that time. He didn't have someone to call and calm him down. He could barely trust his own mind with pulling himself together. So, podcasts. Nice, calming, only occasionally incorrect and did the job where no one else could. Except...
Harley Keener was in a brown leather chair, smirking at Peter through the thumbnail. Tim Knott's 'Knott That Simple' was Peter's favourite to fall asleep to, the flickering alarm clock on the other side of his apartment was taunting him about the fact he would have to wake up soon. This was the quick fix he needed. But Harley's face was all he could focus on. His hair had gotten darker since Peter last saw him, his fringe more obviously swept to the left and that small, mischievous, smile was bringing his mind back to things he couldn't have anymore. Even with his face semi-obscured by the microphone, Peter could trace the freckles and smile lines by memory alone. It was the feeling that Harley was looking at him directly that gave Peter real pause. It was impossible, for obvious reasons, but that look was one that had been shared with him so many times. The small tug at one side of his cheek, as though to hide it from anyone but Peter.
He threw his phone to the side, instead choosing to lay staring at the ceiling, willing his mind to shut up about everything. Just like all the times before, it wouldn't.
+++
It took him 2 weeks before he caved. His crappy fast food job had let him leave 2 hours early and now his brain was restless. His GED practice work was left half done on his desk, he'd watched the other 2 episodes of 'Knott That Simple' that had come out since Harley Keener's face had graced his screen, he was totally prepared to never watch it for his own sanity. Then in the most recent episode there'd been the smallest conversation, not even on the topic of biomedicine like the title had implied.
["So, Keener ever hear from that guy? What was his name... Underoos?" The guest, Brian, asked innocently. He just happened to be completely unaware of the absolute turmoil he was now putting one Peter Parker through.
"Nah, he said it was a long shot when we talked after but he was doing everything he could to try and reach out," Tim replied. He reached over for his own phone, showing the guest something on there.
"Poor guy," Tim continued, "He's not let his phone leave his side once, think he's done at least 6 shows begging for this guy to reach out."
Peter had to use all of his self-control not to scream, cry, or do anything until he knew exactly what they were talking about. The hole in his chest, the absence of his entire life, he knew if he yearned too much to be remembered it would swallow him whole.]
The episode was over an hour long and Peter knew he didn't want to sit through it, but he also knew if he missed even one second he'd never be able to let go of the fact he could have skipped something important. Life changing, even.
In the end it didn't even matter that Peter thought he might miss something. Harley's southern charm had drawn him right in from hello, like it had a million times before.
Because- Peter remembered. Before Beck, before his life had turned so royally upside down not even magic could fix his problems, Harley had been there. In texts, video calls, scribbled post-it notes and whiteboard doodles. They'd workshopped together in the lab and made sure they became nuisances to Tony from the moment they met. He'd been slightly gone for him from the moment they'd first locked eyes, first handshake... Peter had shown Harley everything he was, so many times, and now he was there. On a podcast. The podcast he had told once Harley was his favourite sleeping aid. Apparently one of 6 shows Harley had done to find a mysterious someone, with the nickname his psuedo-dad used to call him.
Peter kept staring at his phone. Just willing the time to move faster, to verify that this loneliness that had plagued him for so long could be fixed.
Harley was reclined in the seat, ankle hanging over his knee with a hand on the mic stand. His other hand was tapping restlessly on his raised foot. Peter wondered if this was it. If his name, any version it, would tumble between bitten pink lips. Was there any combination of the English language that would dispel the abject misery of being alone?
"So... the big topic," Tim led, "You won't inherit Stark Industries yet."
"I refused to. Said to Tony I wouldn't even entertain it until the world was right again," Harley smiled. Peter was a ball of anxiety, a knot growing in his chest that refused to be willed away.
"And the world being right looks like?" Tim questioned, raising an eyebrow in Harley's direction.
"There was this kid- we were both kids. 17. In Tony's lab. I, uh, can't imagine running SI without him." A dry chuckle, a glance at the camera. "Underoos I know you listen to this, my number never changed...Or use Karen, you're out there somewhere, darlin', and I need to hear your voice real bad."
"Underoos?"
"It was what Tony called him, contact name, lab plaque. God forbid anyone but Tony call him that, old man would flip," Harley's smile this time was a bit more genuine, but Peter could still see the way his eyes were getting glassy.
"And his real name?" Tim prodded.
"If he's still out there... I'm not gonna say it. If- when. When he texts me, I need that assurance, that it isn't some random person getting my hopes up."
Tim nodded before clapping his hands, clearly wanting to move the section along. "Well, Underoos if you're out there, I hope you're listening."
Pete saw Harley nod before adjusting to face the camera properly. "I miss you, sweetheart."
He paused the video and let the rattled breath he hadn't realised he was choking on release. Because that wasn't a casual name drop, the statement was clear. Peter wasn't just remembered, he was missed, Harley wanted him there by his side, like Peter hadn't just spent the year since everyone forgot him trying to rebuild his life piece by piece, working through the raw grief of losing everyone he ever knew to get a semblance of who he used to be back. Harley didn't just want to make sure he was okay, he wanted Peter in that high tower, just like he always used to be.
He looked in his desk drawer for his old phone. The Starkphone Tony had given him before- before. When life was pulling on a spider onesie, swinging from rooftops, hanging out with his friends on the weekend and only occasionally causing trouble. The background was still him, Ned and MJ. He couldn't bring himself to change it.
It was dead, Peter was amazed when the charging symbol flickered on the LED screen, even more amazed when eventually his old phone background stared back at him. There were plenty of random notifications but the ones that stood out were clumped together at the top, like a holy trinity of his dreams.
Harley Keener's name was on top of all three.
"Tony woke up, doesn't remember you but I won't let him forget that easily lol"
"Where the hell did you go??? The only person who thinks I'm not losing it is Morgan"
"I will find you Parker."
His phone finally caught up properly, and the rest of the texts Harley had tried to send all came through at once. They were infrequent, seeming to be whenever Harley was trying to hunt him down.
"Saw Spidey today, I really wish I'd shouted your name."
"Morgan keeps saying she 'misses you 3000' - Tony and Pepper got us psychologists"
Update after update, small things, big things. He scrolled to his birthday and couldn't hold it anymore. In the middle of everything was a confession.
"Happy Birthday."
And then, that night,
"You were the love of my life. I've spent every day since you went missing regretting not telling you that."
Water dripped onto his screen, tears rolling down his face, because there it all was. Harley remembered him, missed him, at some point probably mourned him - like he was some kind of ghost. Peter almost wishes he was a ghost, his reality was so much worse. He wasn't dead, he was here, two feet on the ground. He'd lived 18 years with joy, friendships and all these memories that he'd had to lock away, do away with for everyone else's safety. If he was dead it wouldn't matter, but he was haunting Harley in a god damn spider costume while he'd assumed no one else remembered him. No one was meant to remember him.
He stared at his old phone for a beat longer. Willing his thumbs to type anything into the empty chat box before giving up and taking his normal phone. He typed in Harley's number and still hesitated. There was nothing there to stress him out, no long unanswered thread of messages to intimidate him. Yet the words still buzzed incessantly.
Love of my life.
Sweetheart.
Peter had to text that number, because there was hope blossoming like roses in his lungs, thorns catching in his throat and all. He couldn't lose when he was this close. This chance that he had been given to fix everything that had felt so wrong was slipping through his fingers, but he didn't even know where to begin. He had too many things he wanted to say at that moment, he could call, show up at SI, anything. Before he let himself guess again he willed his hands to do anything.
Tell Morgan I also miss her 3000
Before the bile in his stomach had time to rise to his throat he threw his phone in the corner of his room and gasped for air like a drowning man. His nerves were completely shot, his body was running on an adrenaline rush Peter hadn't dealt with since he had to team up with his alternate selves. He could only hope that message was enough.
+++
It hadn't actually taken long for Harley to register Peter's absence. Tony was in a coma, the rest of the Avengers were off doing their own thing, Happy was mourning May. None of them had so much as mentioned Peter, which immediately struck Harley as odd.
They were definitely busy though, and Peter was probably mourning too, so Harley left it well alone.
His gut told him so much was wrong, but even when Tony did wake up he acted like Harley was having a psychotic break. Pepper, Tony, Rhodey and even Happy acted like Peter never existed. He'd checked everything he could, the labs, Peter's old room. It was all there even when his name wasn't. Tony couldn't even remember why the SI tower had a room full of Star Wars posters, soldering equipment and a spare bed. It didn't matter though, any mention of the name Peter made the room icy with tension. Tony was adamant he didn't have a son of any kind, Happy insisted he would've known if May had adopted a kid, especially a teenager. Harley's only sympathiser was Morgan. He texted Peter's old number every day, waiting.
He'd seen Spiderman, watched him swing across the New York rooftops. His voice when he taunted muggers and robbers had been more hollow, and Harley definitely noticed when a hit took longer to recover from. But when he waited, saw Peter drop into an alley and uncover just his mouth, Harley knew that it was Peter.
So he kept texting.
He pushed Tony to think harder about the things that didn't make sense. Why would Spiderman use Stark tech if Tony had never worked on his suits? Why did Tony know May Parker if he hadn't known about Peter? The one that worked was grim.
They'd been at the dinner table, Morgan was in bed. Tony was continuing to deny Peter even had a chance of existing, so Harley did what he knew best. He kept pushing.
[Peter had told Harley a long time ago about what it felt like to disintegrate. A late night with ice cream, cherries and Harley's brain begging just to confess right there. If he wanted to he could've grabbed Peter's hand and whispered to him all the things he'd been burying deep within him.
"Dad was there," He whispered, "I wouldn't let him go. I just-"
Harley rubbed his shoulder lightly, not wanting to draw attention to the hitch in Peter's voice.
"It hurt so much, and all I wanted was Aunt May, but she wasn't there. He was still Mr Stark then but I just really really didn't want to die alone."
"I'm sorry you went through that," Harley murmured in his ear, "And I'm so glad you came back."
Peter didn't say anything, just put his head to Harley's shoulder and cried silently.]
Tony didn't react to remembering Spiderman dying well. Harley would have felt guilt but between the psychologists, the constant arguments, the disbelief, he was just happy to have an actual adult in his corner. Even if it meant dealing with Tony becoming a recluse in his lab for a week.
Without Tony's belief he would have never been able to swing the idea of a small press tour with PR. And that's when he realised. Living without Peter Parker was one thing, living when he felt so close was a type of hell. His phone was always fully charged, on loud, just in a constant state of waiting. The longest 2 weeks of his life were spent waiting. Walking around like he was missing a limb. Because the closer he got to finding Peter the more he forgot that Peter wasn't here yet.
He'd scribble dumb comments on lab whiteboards and wipe them off before anyone would see them, he'd circle lab reports that no one else was going to review. He was in this awful limbo. And yet Harley knew, given what he knew right now, that somewhere out there Peter was probably having it much worse.
+++
He didn't look at his phone for a whole day. He pulled a double shift before offering to clopen and by the time he'd managed to get into his apartment at 4pm the next day he'd completely forgotten about his phone being left to rot in the corner of his apartment. It was somehow still alive showing Peter the bright green bubble that he knew meant he had an unread text. He picked it up, looking through random apps before finally hovering over his texts.
The unknown number simply replied "If you aren't him this is a sick joke."
So Peter did the only thing left to do. He pressed call.
+++
"You've reached the voicemail of Harley Keener, please leave a message after the tone."
"Hey Harls, I know you've got questions. I have answers, promise. Just in case you think I'm still lying, my name is Peter Parker. My birthday is August 10th. The first time we met you told Tony Stark that he should've warned you that I looked like that but you didn't know I could hear you at the time-"
+++
When Peter came home the next afternoon, his door opened suspiciously smoothly. His suit was actually in the drier, and his mask was in the bottom of his bag, so to say he thought he was completely fucked is an understatement.
Nothing was taken though, and there wasn't anyone with a gun when he walked in, which was a bonus. He finally cast his eyes to his well worn sofa, and smirking back at him was a face he thought he'd never see again, feet kicked up on his couch cushions and laying in wait for him.
"You know, you can say hello properly 'stead of staring," He commented. Peter shook himself out of it and immediately dropped into the waiting arms of Harley Keener. "I missed you so much."
"I missed you too," He replied, reeling from the shock of it all. Harley's arms wrapped even tighter around him.
"I keep feeling like if I let you go you'll disappear on me again."
Peter shook his head, making sure Harley was looking at him. "I never want to be alone again. Never."
The touch felt like it was burning him alive. Peter had been existing in a state of non-existence for so long that to be so loved felt like it was going to kill him. Because Harley would never just be still. His fingers were drawing small traces into Peter's back, tiny indiscernible patterns that made him feel the same safety and comfort as dinner in the SI tower, conversations with Aunt May, Happy's stone-faced lifts to school and back. Harley hadn't even taken his eyes off Peter. There was just this silence that floated between them, they had both a million things to say and yet there was this illusion. They'd never have to do it if they both just stayed like this, right here.
It was Peter's stomach rumbling that killed the moment. Getting free food had been a cool bonus of the job but his enhanced metabolism barely even recognised a cheeseburger as sustenance.
"You're doing dinner at the tower," Harley demanded, voice quiet, fingers still traversing the groove in Peter's spine.
"Am I?" Peter asked incredulously. He really, really didn't want to move. He also didn't want to run the risk of seeing people. Tony, Pepper, Happy. The faces that would meet him with snarky comments, bright smiles, protective gazes. His family wouldn't recognise him anymore. He couldn't look at his own dad's blank face staring back at him, even if the universe had given him this one thing.
"Tony said if I," he moved the hand that had ended up resting on Peter's hip to make theatrical air quotes, "This is a direct quote- I just need to emphasise. 'If you don't drag that colossal idiot back the second you see him I'll make the other Stark heir Eugene fucking Thompson.'"
Peter had to hold his breath for a second, because he knew if he so much as moved right now Harley would clock the fact he was on the verge of tears.
Or not, apparently Harley just knew these things about him.
"Sweetheart?" Harley asked, using his free hand to tip Peter's head up properly for them to meet eyes.
"Yea?" Peter tried to ask, but he was very aware of the way it came out completely choked. Because in all of this, this hellish prison of his own making, Peter didn't think he'd get his family back.
"They love you just like they always did," Harley said lowly, "I didn't care how long it took, I knew you needed all of us."
Then, Peter did start crying. Ugly fat tears that he'd held back for so long, this awful bubble he'd found himself in and Harley had just popped it with no regard for just how much it was protecting Peter from how much he'd wrecked himself. He let his sobs shake his body, because right now he was so loved. He could feel it in the way Harley was refusing to let him go, refused to look away as Peter broke down right in front of him. The feeling was making his heart swell after his loneliness had tunnelled a cavern right there.
They subsided eventually, Harley gently wiped the tears away and smiled at him so earnestly Peter felt ready to cry all over again.
"Come on darlin', we need to get you home."
+++
Home is a concept.
Peter knew this. His home had been a million places and yet none at all. He'd had a home with May that he'd always felt like he never deserved, he'd made home from his friendships with Ned and MJ scattered between their houses and school corridors, he'd scraped the semblance of home into his shoebox apartment and acted like it was the same feeling as coming home to a warm hug and good conversation.
But a few months after he'd been rescued found, Peter truly believed that home was here. Waking up in bed with the man that he'd spent years dreaming of, spending his nights with his pseudo-parents and their kid who made him pinky promise to stay forever this time. Taking one day at a time with new breathing space.
He was still missing a lot. There were people he wasn't even sure he'd ever get back, feelings and fears that would never retreat, there were still places where he'd never set foot. But when Harley woke him up by peppering his face with kisses, and Tony told him to stand way back from the frying pan just in case something blows up from proximity, and Pepper always left the breakfast table with a hug and a quick forehead kiss, and Morgan always dragged him away because she needed someone else to sit at her princess tea party again.
He wasn't okay but he would be. He could sleep better at night, he could look at the people he cared about and smile when they cared about him in return. Every night Harley would say it with him like a prayer, this was his home, he belonged here, he was loved. Between each affirmation he'd be kissed and held like he'd only ever pictured in fantasy, his cheeks would bloom rose red and he'd wrap his arms around his love like vines. And then, in the pale moonlight, he'd get the joy of being able to do it tomorrow too.