Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The last time he had seen the kid, it had been right after May’s funeral. He hadn’t gotten his name in their short conversation, but his face was one he couldn’t forget. Although that was strange in itself because Happy was usually not the best at remembering faces. (It was why he needed everyone wearing badges in Stark Tower for security).

This kid, however, there was something about him…

The big brown eyes, curls peeking underneath his winter hat…he looked like any other kid.

So what was different about him?

“You’re staring.”

Happy wasn’t even in the kid’s eye range, let alone within a seeable distance. He walked closer until he was standing right next to him. “Not at you.”

“Sure.” The kid said, with a lot of ease, as if they weren’t strangers. Happy, oddly enough, felt that same comfort shared between their quiet company. “Is that today’s paper?”

Happy pulled out the paper that was tucked underneath his arm, careful not to spill his to-go cup of coffee. He wasn’t sure of the actual date, but he had just bought it from a small coffee shop in Queens. So it had to display today's date. He glanced at the top of the paper. “December 19^th.”

“Anything fresh on Spider-Man?”

Before everything, Spider-Man had been on the front page a lot; the light they cast him in depended on the publisher. Anything from The Daily Bugle and its affiliates always had a field day with the stories they spewed. Happy never bought those, so he knew if he found any, it would be good news.

“Hmm…oh, he saved a bunch of dogs from a fighting ring. There’s a cute picture of him carrying, like, seven out at once.” Happy smiled at the picture.

“I’m sure Jameson had a field day with that one,” the kid said, though there wasn’t much humor in his voice. He sounded more weathered by life than even the cankiest of old timers in his bridge club.

“I don’t read his crap,” Happy replied. “It’s a bunch of shit. Spidey isn’t one of the bad guys.”

The kid was quiet, so Happy continued. He loved talking about the part of his life that most people didn’t know about it— the superhero part. It had gotten him more than one conversation started up with a pretty girl at the bar. Of course, that had been before May. Never after her, either.

“I used to see Spider-Man a lot. He was always working with Tony— Iron Man.”

Just as he guessed, the boy perked up in interest.

“Iron Man was his mentor, you could say. He was showing him the ropes and wrapping him in as much bubble wrap as he could. I never knew him under the mask, but Tony did. He was the only one. Spider-Man, despite the name, was young. He needed the guidance and the protection. Nobody was more protective of him than Tony. He basically hired an entirely new department in the legal division to handle all the cases with The Daily Bugle.”

“He did?”

“Oh, yeah. After the team broke apart, Tony was lost…” Happy trailed off, realizing that he might know a little bit about how Tony felt in those dark days. It made a lot of sense now. “That kid gave him something to live for. When he dusted…there were days I thought he’d give up.”

“But he had a family,” the kid said, and Happy almost forgot he was sharing his thoughts with another person. Talking to him felt easy. Easier than that therapist Pepper signed him up for.

“Sure, he did. And Spider-Man was a part of it.”

For a long moment, they were both quiet.

Happy took a few sips from his coffee and began flipping through the paper until he found the part he and May used to open first every morning— the comics and the puzzles. He read through some of the clues, looking for one he could solve easily. He hadn’t looked at one of these since May’s last morning with him.

She was sitting at the table, pencil in one hand and her mug in the other. “Friendly, Neighborhood Web-Slinger,” she said in the voice that Happy knew she had already figured out the answer, but wanted to share it with him as well.

“Oh, this is a hard one,” he replied, setting her breakfast plate in front of her. “Does Deadpool fit?”

She laughed as she began to fill in the boxes with her pencil. Happy sat beside her, pushing aside the half-built Lego set out of his way as she wrote SPIDERMAN. 

Happy was pulled from the memory by nothing other than his own bewilderment. He didn’t own any Lego sets, and neither had May. And any set that Morgan built stayed in the Stark cabin. Why did his memory have a giant Lego set on his kitchen table? “What the hell…”

“Hard clue?”

“Huh?” Happy was still stuck in his memory, trying to decipher what the hell that meant. Where did a Star Wars Lego come from, even in his memories?

“You look confused," the boy clarified. "Is it a hard clue?”

Attempting to shake away the foreign memory, he cleared his throat. “Uh, I’m not too good at doing these alone. My girlfriend…May…she always figured out the tricks behind them.”

The kid smiled, just barely. “I bet you helped out, too. She was never good at the Jeopardy clues. The ones that are sometimes the randomest of facts that you’re sure no one on this entire planet knows.”

Happy was good at those. He loved it when she shared a clue of some random director from a movie that only a quarter of the population had ever heard of, let alone seen. He could answer those Jeopardy clues, as May called them. The kid was correct: she relied on him for those answers.

But as far as Happy knew, she never did crosswords outside of the kitchen. So how did this random kid know that? And how did he know how Happy fit in her puzzle-solving routine?

“How’d you know that?” Now, Happy was staring. Studying. He was good at being suspicious, almost overly so. But his reads of people were rarely wrong. Yet despite the number of red flags against this kid, Happy looked at him and felt not even a shadow of a threat. The idea was honestly laughable. 

The kid’s already pale face went paler. “Uh, May…she loved doing them at FEAST. I used to visit when Spider-Man was there…she did them once or twice. I helped her out sometimes with those clues.”

Happy’s shoulders sagged. Maybe he was just too paranoid. What the hell did he have to be suspicious of this tiny little teenager that spent his free time visiting the grave of a woman he barely knew? “Yeah…sorry. Times are just…weird.”

“You want to share the big one?” The kid asked, gesturing to the paper in his hands, giving him a chance to let things be normal again.

“Sure." Happy felt like he was the main character of a Twilight Zone episode as he brushed fresh-fallen snowflakes off his paper. "‘That guy from that movie’…or a hint to 12, 21, 33, and 41 across.” Happy didn’t need to count the squares because they filled up the entire line. “15 letters.”

“Oh, wow. Is it Wednesday already?” The kid chuckled, wrapping his arms around himself as a cold wind blew through the air.

More than one tear marred the dirty coat that barely hung on him, sleeves too short, shoulders stretched tight. It looked as if it had lived three lifetimes before the kid had even begun his. He didn't even have a pair of gloves or a scarf to defend his skin against December's sharp bite. Happy didn't know this kid, but he knew that he had been his; there was no way in hell he was going outside so unprepared. 

So, what sorry excuse for a family let this tiny kid tempt Jack Frost with a sure case of hypothermia?

Before he could stop himself, Happy asked exactly what he wanted to know. "Do you have family around in the city?"

Happy had never claimed to have tact, but even without it on his resume, Stark Industries still hired him.

The kid cleared his throat, averting his eyes from Happy. "Uh, yeah."

There were a million thoughts to unpack in those two little words, and Happy had no idea where to start. Unfortunately, the kid beat him to it. 

“Well, uh, I’ve gotta get going." He fidgeted in his spot for a moment, as if he wasn't convinced he wanted to leave. "Good luck on the puzzle.”

The sudden announcement of his departure seemed anything but genuine; Happy had been using crappy excuses to get out of emotionally dangerous territory a lot lately, too. So he had no business calling out this kid on his. “I didn't mean to upset you," Happy apologized, meaning every word of it, for once in his life. The hold this id already had on him was terrifying to say the least. 

“No. It’s fine. It’s not you— nothing— I just gotta go.” The kid jerked his hand over his shoulder and was out of sight before Happy could even process his stammering of words. As he left, Happy spotted yet another tear in the jacket, this one fraying near the hem at the back.

It reminded him to check the donation closet back at FEAST. He was probably a Men’s small; Happy could have a nicer jacket pulled out to keep on the side. Maybe Happy could give it to him the next time he saw him at May’s grave. That is, if he came back.

He’d come by twice already that Happy knew of; what was stopping him from visiting again? He wondered about the details of the kid’s relationship with May and how they had come to grow so close. The mystery surrounding him was intriguing. It was rare for May to make such a connection with someone and not share it with Happy in the last few months of their dating.

Now alone, Happy stared back down at May’s site. “You always did find the weird ones,” he said softly. “You two must have been really close for him to visit you again. But…I don’t think I’ve seen him before this…” 

That was the reality of the situation, and Happy knew that; he never forgot a face. But something about it felt like a lie. There was more to this kid than just being a kid May had helped at FEAST. 

“He was important to you, wasn’t he?” Happy asked her quietly. Of course, a kid like that would be. She always had a soft spot for children, perhaps because she had once longed for a child of her own—a longing left unfulfilled. 

Happy frowned as something sharp flickered in his chest, a pang he couldn’t name. It felt almost like déjà vu, almost like nostalgia—but the memory never came, only the yearning. His mother had slipped into dementia before she passed, and for a moment, he wondered if this was how it started.

But maybe forgetting everything he had lost wouldn’t be the worst thing.

Chapter Text

After Tony passed, Happy had lost almost twenty pounds. Since May’s passing last month, he had lost just under thirty. Remembering to eat more than one meal a day was hard to do when he was barely remembering to breathe.

He probably would be down 50 pounds if it weren’t for Rhodey and Pepper. They still invited him to Sunday dinner and every night in between. To Happy, it was insane. Getting out of bed was hard enough; how did they expect him to shower, dress, and drive the 4 hours it took to get to the cabin upstate?

(Since getting to know the kid by the grave, getting out of bed wasn’t as hard as it once was. Preparing and eating breakfast was still out of the question, though. Unless his cup of black coffee counted.)

Today was Sunday, and by the time he rolled out of bed, it was almost noon. If he was going to make it to dinner tonight, he was going to have to get going soon. Especially because he wanted to stop and bring flowers to May before the drive, and lately, those trips were longer than normal if he was lucky enough to have company. 

And he usually was on Sunday afternoons.

This Sunday afternoon, it was abnormally warm for January in New York. Happy didn’t need his winter coat, and instead, a Spider-Man sweatshirt was more than enough to keep him warm. It had been a gift from Tony, and they had laughed like it was some inside joke…but Happy couldn't remember the joke, if there ever was one. What was so funny about him wearing Spider-Man merchandise? He liked the guy well enough, but really didn’t know him all that well.

Losing memories of Tony was hard to accept, although it would be impossible not to. He had over a dozen years' worth of memories of Tony, but he was starting to have too many without him. What if one day he forgot the way May said his name, like he sometimes forgot Tony did?

Happy’s feet trudged through the melting slush as he approached May’s stone. He wondered if he’d start to see his own footprints embedded in the lawn, hidden underneath the snow. There would definitely be a spot marked at her grave— two spots.

Today, his grieving buddy had beaten him to their spot. He was standing with his hands tucked in his pockets, and his shoulders hunched as usual. As always, he knew Happy was there before he even made a sound near him.

“Hey, Happy.”

Another thing: Happy couldn’t remember telling the kid his name. But they’d seen each other here more times than he could count on his hands recently, and he figured he must have told him his name at least once.

Unfairly, Happy still didn’t know the kid’s name. But most of the time, the kid was weird about sharing or even talking. He never liked to talk about his own life, and Happy was worried that even asking about his name would be too much prying.

“Hey, kid,” he murmured back, stopping just close enough so that they could hear each other’s voices over the chill in the air. “I almost forgot the sun existed until today.”

“Maybe the birds will come out again. I miss them.”

“What birds? Pigeons?”

“Yeah. Them.”

“The world could be rid of all those winged rats, and that still wouldn’t be enough.” Happy huffed. “They always seem to know right when I get my car washed and then shit on it.”

“Well, with an attitude like that, I’d probably shit on your car too. If I were a pigeon.”

Wrinkling his nose, Happy told him, “You’re never allowed in my car.”

The kid fell silent— well, his mouth did. But his stomach didn’t get the memo and rumbled loudly. He covered his stomach loosely but didn’t say a word. Happy glanced over at him, trying not to care. If he stared too long or too hard, Peter left.

In fact there were a few things that made the kid leave abruptly. Staring too much and asking too many questions were definitely the easiest ways to make the kid run. He had learned that the hard way the first few times.

But if the kid was hungry…

“Are you—?”

“Did you know pigeons only have one hole down there for everything? All the tracts lead to it. It’s called a cloaca.”

Happy blinked. “Thanks for sharing that.”

“Just in case it ever comes up in a crossword clue.”

“I’m still trying to crack the clues on ours,” Happy told him with a sigh. Usually, it didn’t take long for Happy to work through a puzzle, and if it did, he honestly just tossed it and replaced it with another. He couldn’t let go of this one for some reason.

He had it tucked in his back pocket, always ready…for what, Happy really didn’t know. He pulled it out, skimming through the clues that he only ever thought about when he was here with the kid. “‘That guy from that movie’…or what 12, 21, 33, and 41 across are hints to.”

“What’s the first clue— 12 across?” The actually sounded interested and not just humoring Happy. Maybe he was still just trying to distract Happy from the fact that his stomach was still rumbling, almost violently.

“1983 triple-dog dare victim.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Happy countered.

“The year is ancient. I thought you might want a chance to show off your wisdom.”

“Okay, first of all, 1983 is not ancient. Second of all, I’m not 1983’s Wikipedia page just because I was alive that year.”

“Uh huh, sure. Well, you’re lucky I am. 1983 was a great year for the movies…Risky Business, The Outsiders, Episode VI…and finally, A Christmas Story.”

Happy just stared at this absolute mystery of a kid. “How do you know that?”

“I run a Letterboxd account in my spare time.”

Happy nodded his head as if he had any idea what a letter box was. He was a moment into humoring the kid when he realized he had said: Episode VI. Did any casual fan refer to Return of the Jedi as Episode VI? Happy didn’t have much experience in casual conversations with random people about Star Wars, but if he were going to take a bet on it, he’d bet no.

Before he could think of how weird the question might be, he asked, “Do you have a Star Wars Lego set?”

Once the words left his mouth, the kid’s face paled to a scary shade of white. “Uh. Yeah. Once Upon a Time.”

Happy stared at him, and there was a scratch in his brain almost intense enough to make him sneeze it out of his head. There had been a Star Wars Lego set in that memory of May. But how would that have anything to do with this kid when he didn’t even know his goddamn name? 

“What are you thinking about?” The kid asked, breaking the silence. His voice sounded vulnerable in a way he hadn’t ever heard in their few conversations.

Telling the kid that he was 40% sure he had some sort of weird waking dream about him didn't seem like a good idea. If the kid had any street smarts, he’d run away and never look back. And losing this kid was not something Happy really wanted to have to go through. He'd already lost enough. 

So, he cleared his throat and avoided any overly-emotional topic. Hopefully.

“Honestly, I was thinking about this really good shawarma place. My best friend got me hooked. You got any plans, or do you wanna join me for lunch? My treat.”

The disappoint on the kid’s face was too deep for Happy to comprehend. The way his shoulders dropped and a light in his eyes actually extinguished. Happy didn’t understand what caused it, but he wanted to figure it out. There was too much that he needed to learn. 

Did it have something to do with that Lego set? Or Star Wars? Or even shwarma? That damn 62 across?

“I’ve got to go. But thanks.” The kid made a face like he was chewing on rocks and smelling a mountain of dirty socks at the same time. “I guess I’ll see you around then.”

“I hope so,” Happy said, maybe too quickly. “This puzzle isn’t going to solve itself.”

“12 across is Flick,” the kid told him.

“What?” Happy asked.

“The kid that got dared to stick his tongue to the pole by his friends.” The kid gestured to the paper, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder. He looked tiny in it, like a kindergartener on the first day of school. “It was a triple-dog dare.”

Happy glanced down at the newspaper, and sure enough, it fit perfectly. “Oh. Thanks, kid. I didn’t find much time this season to watch any holiday movies.”

“Yeah, neither did I.”

“Maybe next year,” Happy said, hoping to give the kid some of the same hope. Maybe next year, this grief would hurt a little less, and they’d feel like they were wading in this muck instead of drowning in it.

“Did Morgan ever have a Star Wars Lego set?” Happy asked that night when he was helping Pepper clean up after dinner.

She paused her dish washing to frown. “No. I don’t think she’s even seen the movies.”

“Why do I keep thinking about them?” Happy asked aloud, although he knew she wouldn’t have the answer.

“Do you wanna watch one?” Rhodey asked, and it sounded just as desperate as Happy knew it was. They were always trying to get him to stay longer and come over more often. “I saw a boxed set in the den last month. Collector’s Edition, even.”

Happy’s frown deepened. Didn’t they realize something really fucking weird was going on? “Tony didn’t really like those movies.”

“No,” Rhodey agreed, but he didn’t share Happy’s concern. Like where the hell was all this Star Wars shit coming from?

“Why are they here?” He pressed.

“Who knows,” Pepper put her rag down, now done with the dishes. “But I see it’s really bothering you, huh?”

“Don’t you guys feel like something is off? Something is missing?” Happy sighed, feeling like he was slowly going crazier by the second. Now, it was more than just memories popping up.

When Pepper answered, Happy knew she wasn’t really understanding his question. He could tell by the way her face softened and her voice pitied him. “Yeah. I’ve been feeling that way too, Happy.”

“I’m serious. Something more than just the ones we lost…there’s more grief… but I don’t know why…”

There was a lot of grief to go around: Tony, Vision, Natasha, May…even the team was gone. Those that remained were scattered throughout the globe, attempting to live some kind of new life after Tony’s ultimate sacrifice.

But Happy felt more. There was something inside of him that was begging to be free. Something hiding that needed freedom. Happy felt the place where it belonged— where it was missing. But he didn't know what was supposed to fill that hole. 

If he gave in to Pepper and Rhodey and started attending therapy, his therapist would probably tell him it was some sort of effect of losing the two people he was closest to. Well, we didn’t need to pay someone hundreds of dollars to figure that out, and then take notes in a tiny notebook while Happy cried on an even tinier coach.

He needed someone to go back and get the time stone and fix all of life’s shitty endings.

“You’re staying the night, right, man?” Rhodey asked softly, taking seat next to Happy. The gears on his legs whirred as he did. Now that Tony was gone, updates on his braces weren’t always the latest and most frequent.

He didn’t have anything waiting for him at home. Not even a fish. But pretending to be okay any longer would be too exhausting. Weekly dinners were bad enough, let alone sleepovers. “I’ve gotta check on FEAST tonight. Sorry.”

“You have people there that can keep it up too, you know. You don’t have to go every night.”

Except he did because he was waiting to see that kid show up one night. In the first few meetings, he wondered if Peter was a volunteer who had gotten close to May. But after seeing his worn clothing now on his significantly frailer body, he knew that the kid wasn’t a volunteer but probably a guest.

Happy had also been crying lately after the sun had set, the rest of the world fell asleep, and he was left alone with every memory of May and Tony he’d ever known. Nobody needed to know about all the tears he shed.

“I just need to be there. I’m sorry. Maybe another night?” He offered, despite know he was going to raincheck then too. Rhodey and Pepper knew it too. Happy was doomed to spend every night alone for the rest of his life, and he was okay with that. He had to be. 

As if he read his mind, Rhodey whispered, “You’re not alone, Happy.”

And, maybe he wasn’t really. But that kid was.

Happy could fix that. Just maybe. 

Chapter Text

The next few times Happy visited May’s grave, he felt like a man on a mission. It was the first time in a long time he felt needed like this. Ever since Pepper and Tony disappeared to their cabin, Pepper didn't need a bodyguard anymore.

If he itched really hard at his brain, he could remember protecting someone else in their small circle of family, but he couldn’t remember who it was, which was very unlike Happy. His brain supplied him with Spider-Man, but that didn’t make any sense; the guy was a superhero. He thought it had been a kid…a kid that Tony had brought under his wing, but Tony didn’t communicate with any of the interns personally, and that kid he met in Tennessee had never come for a visit before the funeral.

So who the hell Happy had been babysitting was a damn mystery.

Just like the boy at the grave.

Why was his life full of mysteries? Why couldn’t he just grieve like a normal person and never be bothered again?

Because the entire universe, every deity, god, and devil hated him, his phone began to ring at that thought. There were only three people on this earth who still called him: Rhodey, Pepper, and Morgan. He only wanted to hear from one of them, but unfortunately, the cutest little face wasn’t staring back at him when he pulled his phone from his pocket.

He stabbed the answer button with his thumb and brought his phone to his ear. “What?” He practically barked.

“It’s nice to talk to you, too, Happy.”

“I’m busy, you know.”

“I know,” Pepper replied, but Happy doubted she meant it. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re planning Morgan’s birthday.”

Pepper paused, and Happy felt the entire world shatter beneath him. Morgan’s birthday; it would be her first without her father. Why didn’t the world stop spinning after people died? Why did it continue as if that soul meant nothing?

“Oh,” Happy replied, feeling void of any sadness he had expected this day would bring. He checked his watch and wondered if he’d have time to stop at the bar tonight. He really didn’t have to be back home in time for anything else.

Home wasn’t even anything special anyway. Ever since his condo had been blown up in the accident that took May’s life, he had been getting by in a tiny apartment while his insurance company strung him along like a dead fish.

“I know it might be hard—.”

“I’ll be there,” he snapped with more force than he really intended to. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I know.” Pepper’s voice was soft and a little broken. Happy felt like an asshole for his attitude, but it was why he was so pissed in the first place. She was the one who deserved the world’s grace. She was the man’s wife. Happy was just a friend, not even his closest.

“How can I help?”

Her answer sounded only slightly hesitant, like she was only partly afraid of asking too much of him. “She loves your mac and cheese casserole.”

“How many people am I cooking for?” He asked with a small smile on his face.

“Us four, and I think some of the team.”

“If Clint brings his kids, I’ll probably need a dozen trays. Cooper is getting to that age where he eats his weight in everything.” They had come over a little after Christmas for a playdate because Morgan and Nathaniel had hit it off at Tony’s funeral, of all places.

“They’ll be there. So will Sam and Bucky. Dr. Banner. Scott and Hope.”

Happy waited, but the name never came. So he asked. “And Rogers?”

Pepper was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. Steve, too.”

“You don’t have to humor a relationship with him, you know.” Happy’s voice was quiet. He couldn’t imagine how hard that was to navigate. But Pepper, always the bigger person, didn’t seem to have much of an issue with the man. Happy was still trying to let bygones be bygones after Siberia.

“Tony loved him,” was all she said. And that was that.

Happy didn’t want to talk about Rogers anymore, so he changed the subject. “Is the kid coming?”

“The kid?”

Happy couldn’t answer her question because he wasn’t even sure who the kid was. He hadn’t realized the words had slipped off his tongue until after. “Uh…” What kid was he talking about? “I don’t…know.”

“Are you okay, Happy?” She asked for the millionth time in the last month.

“I have to go,” Happy replied, his heart beating fast. Who the hell was the kid? Why would he come to Morgan’s birthday?

“Happy, wait—.”

He didn’t even wait to double-check that he had successfully ended the call before shoving his phone in his pocket and hurrying into the manager’s office of FEAST. The woman left in charge had been a good friend of May’s; they had worked close together when putting this place together, and she was the best pick to carry it on after May’s passing.

She was organizing a recent donation of socks and gloves when he popped in. “Hey, I’m heading home a little early tonight. You need help with anything before I go?”

Looking up with a smile, she shook her head. “Get some rest, Hogan. You’ve been here way too long.”

Happy nodded his head and left the building, and instead of going to his apartment or even the grave, he made his way to the nearest bar. There he spent the next few hours drinking until last call, and he was kicked out.

The only thing ensuring Happy made it to the grave was the muscle memory he’d built over the last few months. He’d have to pick up his car sometime tomorrow because, as drunk as he was, he wasn’t going to risk anyone else’s life. He barely gave a rat’s ass about his own.

When he got to the familiar stone, he wished he could say that he was surprised to see the kid there, too. But he wasn't. Happy wasn’t quiet as he came to his side and took a seat next to him. The kid had a blanket spread out, so at least he wasn’t sitting directly on the cold ground. Spring hadn’t come just yet, though the ice had melted from their last snowstorm a few weeks back.

“Why’re you here?” Happy asked, hoping it didn’t sound rude. He just wanted to know what a kid was doing in a cemetery at three in the morning. "S'late." 

“Couldn’t sleep,” the kid replied before sniffing the air and then tensing. “Are you…drunk?”

“I don’t know. Probably.” Happy shrugged his shoulders and pulled out a small flask he had hidden in his suit jacket. He took a swig, and the alcohol didn’t even burn his throat. “Yeah. Drunk.”

“Oh,” the kid said, eyeing him, but Happy couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Why?”

“Why?” Happy repeated incredulously. “Maybe because my best friend is dead. The only woman I’ve ever loved is dead. Well, besides my mom. Of course, I loved her, too. But she’s dead too.”

The kid went quiet.

“And the only two people I have left in my life either think I’m going to break under the weakest wind or think I’m batshit crazy.” Happy turned to face him and wagged the finger of the hand holding his flask. “You probably think I’m crazy, too, don’t you?”

“I don’t,” he said immediately, and he sounded so genuine that it made Happy’s shoulders sag.

“I’m just being an asshole,” he said, taking another sip. Then he offered it to the kid. “You want a sip?”

“I’m not 21 yet.”

Happy eyed him, and declared, “No offense, but it looks like you’ve been through enough shit to have lived a million lifetimes.”

The kid smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. You’re right. But…you shouldn’t drink. It’s not gonna fix anything.”

Of course, he was a kid. That was such a kid response.

“How old are you then?”

There was a pause of hesitation before he answered, “17.”

“You’re a kid, kid.”

“17 is not really a kid.”

Happy leaned in closer, looking deep into his eyes. They were hurting and in pain. “You’re a kid— a little kid who needs a hug. I can see it in your eyes. You got this look that my best friend had— when he was still alive. I met him when he was in his 20s…never knew him as a kid. But every time I looked in his eyes, I saw a kid. Hurting. Sad.”

The 17-year-old kid was quiet, listening intently.

“Even when he died, at the young age of 53…he was still sad. Missing something. Missing something he never could get back. His childhood.” Happy pointed to the kid. “That’s what I see from you. You got no childhood. You deserve one of those, you know.”

His shoulders were tight as he turned back to May’s grave. “I had one. More than most people. Probably more than your friend.”

“No need to compare trauma. Yours is valid. Just like Tony’s.”

“Tony.”

“Yeah, that’s his name.” Happy’s eyes widened. “Is your name Tony, too? Wait— are you Tony from the past? You kinda look like him.”

“You think I’m someone from the past?”

“Weirder things have happened in my life. Purple aliens. Dusting. Rainbow stones.”

“I’m not Tony.”

“So, what’s your name?” Happy figured now was as good a time as any to ask. “Because somehow you know my name, but I must have forgotten yours. I don’t know your name…and usually, I’m great at remembering a face.” He stared deeply at this kid, who looked so familiar. “You sure you’re not Tony?”

“My name is Peter.”

His name didn’t unlock a collection of memories that accompanied the name. It sounded just like any other name. Happy groaned loudly, throwing his head back. “I don’t know it!”

“It’s okay,” the kid— Peter— said sadly. “Nobody does.”

“Well, Peter, it’s nice to meet you.” Happy extended his hand, and it took only a moment of hesitation for Peter to take it in his for a shake. “I’m Happy. And the name is not accurate to my usual persona. I am rarely ever happy and do hate most people. Except you…I think I like you.”

The first genuine smile that Happy had ever seen on the kid graced his face the moment Happy said those words. “Thanks, Happy. I like you too.”

Happy lay backwards, staring up at the sky. If they weren’t in the city, he might have been able to see some stars. “It’s strange for me to just like random kids. I’m usually much more guarded. Especially recently. But you’ve got a stupid face that keeps making me think things. And you’re a good puzzle buddy.”

Peter lay beside him. “Have you finished that one you’re always working on?”

“Nah,” Happy replied honestly. “I don’t work on it unless I’m with you. I like having the excuse to keep striking up conversation with you.”

Peter was silent.

“Did I share too much? I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”

“I’ve never seen you drunk before,” Peter said instead, as if he had ample time to ever experience it. “This is new.”

“Drinking in the middle of the day at a grave isn’t a good coping skill to master. At least now it’s nighttime.” Happy waved up at the sky. “Everyone’s asleep in this shitty ass city. Except for me. I don’t really sleep much lately. Nightmares.”

“I know how that goes.”

Happy’s eyes drifted over to Peter, and he commented, “You’ve been through some fucked up shit, huh?”

“Just a few things.”

“Do you got people looking out for you? People you can trust?”

“Sorta.”

Happy wondered what that meant. He wanted to keep this kid safe forever. “If you ever need anything, you come find me, okay? FEAST or my apartment.” It took a moment to remember where he now lived, but once he did, he recited it to Peter.

“You’re a good man, Happy. Even if you try to hide it.”

“Just trying to be like the people I lost.” Happy shrugged his shoulders, eyes drooping.

“No. You were like this before you lost them, too.”

Happy wanted to ask Peter how he could know what he was like before May and Tony died. Peter had no clue who he was before a few weeks ago. This was just another mystery piling up on Happy. He doubted he was ever going to solve any of them.

He would have pressed Peter for more details, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open much longer. For the first time in a long time, falling asleep didn’t seem so scary. There were no voices in his head yelling or screaming. There was just him and Peter, and the welcome buzz from his alcohol.

With a calming breath, he decided to let his eyes drift closed for a moment.

And when he opened them again, he was in his apartment bed, tucked in securely. He rubbed his hands over his face, groaning at the steady ache behind his eyes. He had no idea how he got here last night, and could just barely remember stopping to see May after the bar closed.

The kid had been there too— not just 'the kid'— his name was Peter!

It felt right but unknown, and that felt wrong.

What was happening to his brain?

He was so lost in his hangover and mind ramblings that he didn’t notice the crossword puzzle opened up on his bedside table with a fresh answer written in a handwriting he once knew well enough but now felt as unknown as the word written in. 

21 across, taste-bud bumps: PAPILLAE.