(does it almost feel like) you’ve been here before

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/39076302.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Iron Man
(Movies), Doctor Strange (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Relationship: Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Harley Keener
& Stephen Strange, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony
Stark
Character: Thor (Marvel), The Avengers - Character, Other Marvel Characters,
Peter Parker, Harley Keener, Tony Stark, Stephen Strange
Additional Tags: Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Fix-It, Time Travel, Getting
Together, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure,
Stephen Strange Acting as Harley Keener’s Parental Figure, Angst with
a Happy Ending, Found Family, the avengers are a bunch of self-
sacrificial assholes, and Peter and Harley are about to be inducted,
Peter Parker Needs a Hug, hand-wavy science, Stucky if you squint,
Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Whump
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of as the dust settled around us
Collections: Irondad Must-Read Fics, My Marvel Favs and Rereads, Best fluff and
Angst
Stats: Published: 2022-05-18 Completed: 2022-06-25 Words: 25,897
Chapters: 7/7

(does it almost feel like) you’ve been here before

by honeycombclaire

Summary

And then, Harley adds, “There’s a catch.”

Peter’s heart sinks a little at the words. Of course there is. “What is it?” he asks, even
though he really doesn’t want to know.

Harley hesitates, before telling him, “If we succeed at bringing them back, we’d never be
able to see them again.”

Everything in Peter’s brain comes to a screeching halt.

aka, when Harley Keener suddenly reappears in Peter’s life, claiming he has a way to get
Tony back, Peter dives headlong into Harley’s dangerous, desperate plan — even if it
means sacrificing the one thing Peter longed for more than anything else.
Notes

This was a long time coming, and I only just now managed to get it written down, so.
Hallelujah. This is a fix-it fic to soothe the pain this franchise has brought me, with a side
of Parkner and a heavy dose of Found Family.

This is an endgame fix-it fic, and in this universe, No Way Home/Multiverse of Madness
never happened and will never happen. Because Peter Parker deserves nice things. And
because I started writing this before No Way Home and Multiverse were released.

Here’s the usual disclaimer that I do not own Marvel, the plotlines to the movies, shows,
and comics, nor any of the characters used in this fic. This is a work of fiction.

Title from Bastille’s “Pompeii”

Rated T for swearing, mild violence, and brief suggestive content.

Hope you guys enjoy!

unbeta’d
 Chapter 1

Peter didn’t even know Harley was living in New York.

So when Peter sees him for the first time, dressed in similar robes as Doctor Strange, his face grim
but determined, and a strange, pale scar on the apple of his left cheek, of course the first thing Peter
blurts out is, “How long have you been in New York?” Because what else would he say right now?
Nothing beneficial, that’s for sure.

Harley doesn’t seem at all offended by Peter’s idiocy. He just says, “A while,” and nothing more.
It’s obvious that he’s been around Strange too much.

“You look, uh,” Peter stutters, words failing him as always, “real. Human-like, um. You are…
actually here, right? Not in that weird ghost-form?”

Harley’s lips quiver, just for a split-second, into what looked like a smirk.

This is their second time meeting in person ever. Tony had mentioned, years ago, before Thanos
popped onto their radar, of a potato-gun kid he met in Tennessee way back when. He told Peter that
the kid was brilliant for his age, a lot like Peter himself, and that he wanted them to meet one day.

And then, he had immediately backtracked the statement, claiming with a face full of horror that
them meeting would absolutely lead to something getting destroyed. Absolute chaos, he swore. He
then warned that they should never, ever, be in the same room unsupervised, if it were to ever
happen.

If only Tony could see them now.

They’d met for the first time at Tony’s funeral. After the arc reactor floated away from shore and
the adults swarmed each other, Peter and Harley both sought reprieve under a tree and away from
everyone. They never spoke, but they stuck by each other the rest of the day. If one of them
moved, the other followed.

Harley had been the one to reach out a few weeks after the funeral. They didn’t text often, but if
one of them sent a message, the other always responded.

Their first time meeting face-to-face was at one thirty in the morning two nights ago. Peter had
been sound asleep in his bed when his spider-senses had woken him up, and had found a
translucent, floating half-body surrounded by shining, mirror-like crystals.

He’s glad he had his room soundproofed once he started getting nightmares after the war was over,
because he would have woken May up with his shrieking.

“What the fuck?” Peter had shouted, grabbing his web shooters off the nightstand and trying to
web him up on instinct, but they went right through the figure and landed on the wall behind it.
“Harley?”

“Hey Peter,” was what he said instead of answering his question, and it was the first time Peter
had actually heard his accent. Harley was the epitome cool, like he wasn’t half of a body floating
in the air. “I need your help.”

Harley only had a small amount of time he could be there, so their conversation was short and
quick. He had told Peter where to meet him, some pier in Brooklyn, and had said, with the most
determined look on his face: “I know how to get Tony back.”

And Tony had talked about this kid. At one point, Peter had actually found Tony casually tinkering
with old, spare parts of one of his previous suits. It was black and red instead of red and gold, and it
was smaller in the way that Peter’s suit was, and Peter knew immediately who it was for.

Tony never got to finish it.

So the next day, when Peter was able to comprehend the discussion that he had with Harley, he
knew that Tony trusted Harley with his life the same way that Tony had trusted him.

Peter had tried to find the blueprints for the time machine, during a manic fit of despair right after
Tony’s funeral, but FRIDAY had already destroyed them.

If Harley thought he had a way, Peter was going to damn well hear it out.

So he’s here, standing on a creaky metal pier in Brooklyn in front of the actual Harley Keener, who
claims he can get Tony Stark back.

He thinks Tony would have a hernia if he saw them right now without context. Probably with
context, too.

“That was my astral body,” Harley corrects with a gentle southern accent that doesn’t match the
fancy robes he’s wearing. “And yeah, it’s really me.”

Peter feels so very lost and so very out of his element here. He wipes his palms on his thighs one,
two, three times, then sticks it out towards the other boy. And because he is Peter Parker and has
absolutely zero social skills, he says, “We should build a potato-gun together.”

To Peter’s pleasure, Harley’s cheeks get a little darker in the dim of the night as he blushes, a small
smile creeping onto his face as he slowly reaches out and shakes Peter's hand. It’s warm and strong
and slots easily into Peter’s. “Glad my legacy has lived on.”

It makes Peter laugh, something soft and breathy. It’s nice, being around Harley — someone who
was close with Tony in a way that the Avengers, and even Pepper, never were. Pepper lost her
husband, and the Avengers lost their friend, but Peter… he lost Mr. Stark. Words can’t explain
what it feels like, but Peter thinks that Harley doesn’t need words, because he feels it, too.

Silence lingers between them for a few passing seconds, filled with awkwardness and an electric
charge. Peter can’t stand it.

“What you said, about being able to get him back—” he says, “I’m gonna need a lot more
explanation.”

Harley nods, squaring his shoulders. The easy, lightheartedness in his body language disappears,
replaced instead with a cool mask of seriousness.

“I’ve been working as Doctor Strange’s protégé for the last year,” he begins. Peter already finds
himself reeling at the news. It’s been a little over a year since Thanos was defeated, which means
that Harley must have stayed in New York after Tony’s funeral.

Peter refuses to ever admit that it stings, just a little, at the fact that Harley never told him he was
no longer in Tennessee, and that he never offered to hang out.

“My family was Dusted during the first snap,” Harley continues. “I came to New York in hopes
that Tony might take me in, but I never made it to his place. Something was pulling me in a
different direction — some kind of force. And it led me to the Sanctum.”

Peter soaks in every word he’s hearing. He remembers how Strange, in the Soul Realm, was
worried that no one was watching over the Sanctum, because Wong arrived shortly after they did.
He had no idea Harley was in the Sanctum while he was trapped.

“The Sanctum called to you?” Peter asks in wonder. “Dude, that’s so cool.”

Unlike Strange, who would have rolled his eyes at Peter’s awe, Harley smiles a little, pleased and
proud of himself.

“Very cool,” he agrees. “But I had no idea what I was doing there. But it was a shelter with food
and water, and for some reason I felt like I needed to stay. So I did.”

Peter has always wanted to go to the Sanctum. He’s never been before, but he imagines that it’s
awesome.

“To make a long story short,” says Harley, “I read the books in Strange’s library, and taught myself
some of the basics of the mystic arts.”

Peter’s eyes bug out of his head. “What? By yourself?” At Harley’s bashful nod, Peter adds,
“Dude, that’s like— incredible. Even Doctor Strange had a mentor, and he’s like, the most
powerful sorcerer in the universe.”

Harley’s reddened cheeks get even darker. “Yes, well,” he sputters, clearly taken aback by Peter’s
awe-struck praise. “You can learn a lot in five years of solitary.”

He clears his throat, trying to regain his professionalism. “When Strange came back, he agreed to
be my mentor. He’s been teaching me ever since,” Harley explains. “And now, I think I’ve found a
way to get Tony back.”

Peter rolls his lips on an exhale. “Why does this sound like you’re about to say something insane?”

Harley doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he states, “I’m going to use the Time Stone to send us
into the past.”

Peter blinks at him, mouth dropping open like a gaping fish. “Because you were going to say
something insane,” he says, stunned. “Are you crazy? Do you know how deadly that thing is?
How are you planning on doing it? How are you planning on getting it? I thought they were
destroyed—”

Harley holds up a hand, effectively silencing Peter from spilling out more questions. His face is
calm, but pinched in agitation. Peter shuts his mouth with a loud click.

“I know that it’s dangerous, but I’ve done endless amounts of research on the Time Stone, as well
as everything I could get out of Strange without raising suspicion,” Harley remarks. “I’m fairly
certain I know how to use it.”

Peter grimaces. “Only fairly?”

Harley ignores him. “I’ve already gotten the stone,” he continues. He looks a little sheepish when
he says, “Don’t ask me how I got it. All you need to know is: I’ve got it.”

Peter’s mouth once again falls open. He feels like the air has been sucked out of his body. He never
wanted to see those awful stones again. “Oh my God…” he whispers.

Harley winces. “No matter your decision, you keep that piece of information to yourself,
understand?”

Peter nods hurriedly, and he sees Harley’s shoulders slump slightly in relief.

“Look,” Harley huffs, running a hand through his tangled hair. He looks a little less put together
than he did at the beginning of all of this. “Right now, my plan is to use the same spell Strange
used back when he fought Kaecilius in Hong Kong— do you know anything about that?”

Peter shakes his head.

Harley grits his teeth. “All right, okay, basically it’s— think of it as me physically rewinding the
past back to the present, but we stay in place,” he explains. “But it doesn’t matter. I’ve got a plan,
and it can save not just Tony, but the others that died, too.”

Peter feels his breath catch in his throat. He knows that a lot of people died — Gamora and Vision
and Loki, to name a few. Natasha’s face flashes behind his eyes, her fiery red hair bouncing around
her face as she teaches him how to spar, calls him Baby Spider and pats him on the back.

“But I need your help,” Harley’s voice draws him back in. “I need a second person for my plan to
work. Everyone else would refuse and tell me it was too dangerous. They’d take the stone and
we’d never get them back.”

Peter can hear the red flags popping up the longer Harley speaks, but none of them are enough to
cover the roar of his blood at the thought of being able to bring Tony and the team back.

“When you say dangerous…” Peter trails off.

Harley grimaces and puts a hand on the back of his neck. “The spell itself isn’t life threatening,” he
explains. “The problems are the basic risks of time travel, but also, primarily, having two Time
Stones in close proximity to each other. I have a way to work around that, but it’s still hazardous.”

Peter mulls it over in his head. He can’t even begin to imagine the kind of problems that might
arise from two identically-powerful Time Stones existing at the same time.

“How are you going to keep the Time Stones from blowing up the universe?” he questions.

Harley only replies with, “Magic.”

Peter doesn’t like the ambiguity of the statement, but his spider senses aren’t going off, and he’s
beginning to tremble a little inside of his ribcage.

Harley Keener, the once ten year old kid who hid Tony in his garage in Tennessee, has now
somehow found a way to go back in time, without a time machine, and save Tony’s life.

The one thing Peter has lost the most sleep over for the last year, Harley has figured out. Using the
mystic arts.

He’s so close. They’re so close.

And then, Harley adds, “There’s a catch.”

Peter’s heart sinks a little at the words. Of course there is. “What is it?” he asks, even though he
really doesn’t want to know. The catch wasn’t the danger of two Time Stones existing at the same
time?

Harley hesitates, before telling him, “If we succeed at bringing them back, we’d never be able to
see them again.”

Everything in Peter’s brain comes to a screeching halt. “What?”

Harley closes his eyes, pain flashing across his face. It helps Peter, a little, reminds him that Harley
is suffering the same way Peter is.

“The Spacetime Continuum is a fickle thing,” Harley elaborates. “We would be physically existing
in a place where we don’t belong.”

Peter furrows his eyebrows. “Isn’t that what they were doing, when the Avengers time traveled?”

“Yes, but they weren’t going to stay,” Harley explains. “They used the machine to get back to the
present using an exact time. I can’t do that. I have to move time myself. That’s fine if I can have
something to move, like the past. But the future we’re going to create will be incredibly different
from this one. I can’t pull the future to us if it hasn’t happened yet.”

Dread is starting to fill the inside of Peter’s stomach. “Okay,” he says slowly, trying to make sense
of what he’s hearing, “so why does that mean we can’t be around them when we bring them
back?”

Harley sighs. He looks tired, like he’s spent every waking moment figuring this out.

“When the Avengers met their past selves, they left,” he answers. “We can’t leave. There would be
two of us existing at the same time, permanently.”

The dread in Peter’s stomach turns into lead, and it drops down through his gut. There can’t be two
Peter Parkers. He doubts that whatever plan Harley has for the dual Time Stones will hold up in
that situation.

Harley’s right. They’d never get to be with the people they bring back. They’d never get to be with
anyone.

Peter’s eyes sting when he realizes that also includes those outside of the Avengers — MJ and Ned
and May. He’d never see them again.

But.

No one but he and Harley would know. They would still have their Peter. They would be able to
bring Natasha back to Clint, and the sister of hers that she briefly told Peter about. They could
bring Gamora back to Quill — the real Gamora. Loki and Heimdall back to Thor. Vision back to
Wanda. Tony back to Pepper.

And Morgan— Morgan would have her father again.

He and Morgan have gotten so close since Tony’s death. She’s practically a little sister to him, and
she’s attached to his hip whenever he’s around. It’s like each other is all they really have left of
Tony, and they cling to it.

But Morgan wouldn’t need to cling to him anymore, because she would have Tony back.

And how can Peter be selfish and say no to this? Tony gave his life to save everyone. The least
Peter can do is risk his life to bring him back. To bring everyone back.

Peter has so many more questions, but the only one that comes out is, “Do you really think it will
work?”

The apprehension vanishes from Harley’s eyes in a flash. He looks so much like Tony, the way he
sets his jaw and tilts his chin determinedly.

“I think we have the best shot we’ll ever have,” says Harley.

And that settles it, then, so he holds his hand back out to Harley as he straightens his shoulders and
squares his jaw. “I’m in.”

The grin Harley gives him is positively wicked. His palm claps against Peter’s when he grabs it,
giving their conjoined hands one firm shake.

Peter holds on tight, just a little while longer. Harley’s fingers are trembling when he squeezes
back.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Summary

The plan is put into action

Chapter Notes

I watched Endgame once and refuse to ever watch it again, so just ignore if some of
the finer details are off.

Also, take the time travel talk and time stone powers with a grain of salt, as I am an
English major and therefore have no idea how quantum physics works. I’m claiming
canon divergence and fic-author privileges.

Thank you and please enjoy :)

They meet two days later at the Sanctum. Strange and Wong are both out for the day on business,
and have apparently left Harley in charge while they are away. It’s the perfect time to iron out their
plan.

Peter was right — the Sanctum is awesome.

He’s gaping ridiculously the entire way through as he follows Harley up the stairs and to his room.
He feels like he’s just stepped into a medieval castle. Or Merlin’s home.

Peter nearly stops in his tracks.

“Was Merlin real?” he asks when they’re safely locked away in Harley’s room.

Harley sits on his bed and gives Peter an unimpressed stare. “Not according to any of my readings,”
he replies.

Peter feels a little put-out at that. “Oh.”

Harley rolls his eyes and pulls his legs criss-cross. “We should get to it.”

It feels weird, not having any blueprints or maps or physical plans laid out in front of him. Harley
wants to leave no trace of their plan, so nothing is written down. The only thing that could give
them away is if someone found the Time Stone that Harley has carefully hidden.

“Here’s the plan,” Harley starts. “I’ll spell you so that you aren’t affected by the time manipulation.
Then I’ll take us back in time to the final fight.”

He looks at Peter, eyes hard and serious. “You can’t get distracted. I know you have some PTSD,
and I get why, but we have a limited amount of time to do this. You can’t waste it.”
Peter thinks he should be offended, but he isn’t. He gets it. He knows it’s going to be difficult,
seeing Tony alive and making his usual battle quips, like the past year hadn’t happened. He knows
seeing Thanos again will strike cold terror into his body. He knows the stench of the battlefield is
going to make him gag. He’s got to gear himself up for it all.

“Once we get there, it’ll be up to you to get the gauntlet away from Thanos and Tony,” Harley
continues.

Not unkindly, Peter asks, “What will you be doing? Dealing with the two Time Stones?”

Harley nods. “I have to use my magic to prevent time and space from collapsing from the power of
the two stones,” he explains. “You’ll be practically on your own.”

Peter doesn’t like that, but Harley can’t help that. He’s got his job, and Peter has his. He’s going to
keep the gauntlet away from Tony if it’s the last thing he does.

“I need you to think,” Harley says, “because I have hardly any idea who all was there: out of
everyone, who has the best chance at surviving the snap?”

Peter lays back against the headboard and thinks. He immediately eliminates all of the humans,
like Rhodey and Sam. There’s Hulk, but he’s already snapped once before. He probably wouldn’t
be able to survive a second time. Captain America and Winter Soldier are superhuman, but human
nonetheless, so that’s a no-go as well.

He runs through the mental list of people in attendance. For a moment, he considers Captain
Marvel. She’s incredibly powerful and was able to, for a moment, absorb one of the stones’ power.
But she’s made of so much energy, snapping would probably suck it all out of her, which means
she would die in the process.

He thinks of Wanda, who (in his opinion) is the strongest Avenger of them all. But while her
magic is ridiculously powerful, she’s still human. She might be able to survive, but Peter isn’t sure
he should take that chance.

Peter clenches his eyes shut as he thinks back to the snap. The gauntlet was in shambles after Hulk
snapped, so it wouldn’t fit small hands, and Tony drew the stones to him so that they would fit his
suit’s arm gauntlet. Who else would be able to do that?

And then, it hits him.

Thor.

Thor was never in the right mindset to snap, too busy beating himself up and grieving over the loss
of Loki. But if Peter can find a way to convince him that snapping will make everything right
again, if he can somehow clear Thor’s mind enough to be mentally fit enough to make the snap
successful, then Thor would have no problem surviving it.

He’s a god. He’s gone head-to-head with the Reality Stone like it was nothing, back when it was in
the Aether. All six stones will hurt like a bitch, and possibly knock him out of commission for a
couple days, but there’s no way it will kill him.

So Peter confidently says, “Thor,” then prays that he can get through Thor’s thick skull enough to
succeed.

Harley nods, trusting Peter without a second thought. “All right. Once we arrive, your job is to
immediately steal the gauntlet and take it to Thor. Make sure that Past You doesn’t see you. We
don’t need any kind of conflict or setback. It’s easier to just stay low.”

Peter thinks that’s a good idea. He knows that the world didn’t implode when the Avengers went
back in time and accidentally ran into their past selves, but they used a time machine. Harley will
be using the raw power of an infinity stone. He has no idea what the repercussions in their case
might be.

“You said we could save the others,” Peter reminds him. “How do we plan on doing that?”

Harley scratches at a small pimple on the side of his temple. “Not we,” he clarifies, “Thor. If you
can get him to somehow connect to the Mind Stone, when he snaps, he can dust Thanos and
resurrect the others that were lost.”

He levels Peter’s look of excitement with a stern glare. “But he has to be thinking about doing both
of those things in a single snap, and he has to be connected to the Mind Stone,” he tells him, “or
else it won’t work.”

Peter nods, soaking up everything that he can. “Connect to the Mind Stone, destroy Thanos and
return the dead, single snap. Got it.”

Harley eyes him critically. “Once we’re sure Thanos is gone and we’ve saved who we needed to,
you immediately come back to me,” he orders. “Remember how I said you can’t live in the same
time and place as Past You?”

At Peter’s nod, he continues, “Well I have to get you out of there ASAP, before they notice us. I’ll
make us a portal to take us far away from New York. You’ll need to hold onto me to make sure the
portal doesn’t slice you in half.”

Oh. This. Peter feels his heart clench at the reminder that they’ll never see anyone again. He takes
a long breath in through his nose. It will probably be easier to stomach in the moment, when the
panic of making sure Tony and the team are safe is overriding everything else.

“Where will we go?” Peter asks.

“To one of Tony’s abandoned safe houses in Malibu and throw them off our trail,” Harley tells
him. “After that, I have a small cottage set up in Wyoming. They’ll never find us out there.”

Peter frowns. “But won’t Doctor Strange be able to track your Time Stone?”

Harley shakes his head. “Not after you destroy it. That’s why we’re going to Miami first.”

Anxiety floods through Peter’s body. “Me?” he asks, eyes bulging out of his head. “Why me?
Why not you?”

Harley snorts, sending Peter a dubious look. “Seriously? Peter, I’m going to physically rewind
time, then I’m going to have to force apart the Space-Time Continuum to stop the two Time Stones
from creating a giant black hole, and at the same time, I have to create a portal to get us out of
there.”

Peter sees Harley’s face get paler the more he talks. “I’m going to be exhausted,” Harley admits.
“I’ll most likely sleep for an entire day afterwards. It’s going to take weeks to get my strength back.
I won’t be able to destroy the stone. You have to do it.”

Peter shudders at the thought. He eyes Harley worriedly. “Are you sure you’re strong enough to do
all of that?” he questions. “That seems like a lot. I doubt even Doctor Strange could do that.”
Harley shrugs. “The human body is capable of incredible feats when in life or death situations,” he
dismisses. “I’ll be fine.”

Peter isn’t so sure.

“Is there any way I can learn to make a portal?” he asks. “If I can do it, that takes some of the
strain off of you.”

To Peter’s surprise, Harley actually starts to smile a bit. “That’s kind of you, Peter,” he says, “but
we don’t have the time.”

Peter frowns. “But you taught yourself the freaking mystic arts. Enough that Doctor Strange
thought you were powerful enough to train you. Is it really that hard to make a portal?”

He winces at how his words come out, but Harley doesn’t look like he takes offense to it. “It took
me months to teach myself how to make a basic portal,” he explains. “It took Strange six months,
and that’s only because he got stuck on Mount Everest in nothing but some thin robes and was
barefooted.”

Peter whistles before he can stop himself. “No wonder he takes everything so seriously.”

Harley laughs at that. It’s more of a chuckle, but Peter still counts it. “You don’t know the half of
it,” he grins. “Remind me to tell you about his time with Dormammu in the Dark Dimension.”

They’ll have time, Peter thinks. They’ll have lots of time to tell each other crazy stories when
they’re spending the rest of their life in a secluded cottage in the mountains of Wyoming.

Harley seems to come to the same realization when Peter does, because they both fall into a heavy
silence. He remembers that Harley is making a massive sacrifice as well. If Peter recalls the
timeline correctly, Harley didn’t actually meet Strange until after the Battle of Earth. If they go
forward with their plan, Strange won’t remember Harley at all.

Peter doesn’t know if that’s better or worse than his situation.

But Tony gave up everything, Peter reminds himself. Giving up their presence in Peter’s life is
hardly a price to pay compared to what Tony did.

It doesn’t really feel like it now. Right now it just feels unfair. But it will be worth it in the end.

“What do I need to do for you,” Peter asks, “once you faint?”

Harley gnaws on his bottom lip as he thinks. Peter tries very hard not to track the movement. He
fails.

“When we first get to Malibu, there’s not much you need to worry about,” he says. “I can go a day
without food and water, and I’ll make sure to eat enough that morning. You just have to make sure
the stone is safe and that I don’t fall and crack my head open when I collapse.”

Peter grimaces at the image that paints.

“Mainly, you need to find a way to turn off FRIDAY’s intruder warning,” he tells Peter. “I don’t
think she’ll be able to tell the difference between you and Past Peter, so there shouldn’t be any
problems. Either way, we’ll only be there for about a day.”

Peter furrows his eyebrows worriedly. “Do you think you’ll be able to wake up in time?”
Harley shrugs. “I assume so. But if something goes sideways while we’re there, I’m trusting you to
keep us safe until I can wake up and portal us away.”

Peter feels his heart rate kick up a notch. That’s a lot of responsibility, protecting himself and an
unconscious person who is the sole factor in their escape plan from the Avengers and their entire
army — especially in the wake of such an intense war.

But Peter is nothing if not determined, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do everything in his
power to keep Harley safe.

“Once we’re safe in Wyoming, I’ll be in and out of consciousness for a few weeks,” Harley
informs. “I have wards put up around the cabin so no one can get in.”

He pauses, and something akin to horror fills his face. “Please tell me you know how to cook.”

“Uh,” Peter blinks like a deer caught in headlights. “I’m passable?”

Harley looks wary, but there’s not much either of them can do about that. “I’m so glad I thought
ahead to put a recipe book there beforehand.”

Peter grins sheepishly. “Hey, it’s not my fault my aunt does all the cooking.”

Harley snorts, but it’s less amused than it was before. “Well, you’re about to grow up real quick,
Peter Parker.”

The heaviness in the air from earlier seeps back into the space between them. “Yeah,” Peter agrees,
resigned. “Can’t wait.”

___________

They decide to do it at night, to avoid the risk of people seeing them. Peter wakes up with a
stomach full of lead the morning that they’re supposed to put their plan into action.

He steps into his suit, then puts regular clothes on top of it. His backpack is stuffed with his most
treasured items, a first-aid kit, and a bunch of clothes to make it seem bulky.

He hugs Aunt May tightly before he leaves, claiming he’s going to spend the night with Morgan at
Pepper’s. He hates lying to her, but she’ll never have to find out. What she doesn’t know won’t
hurt her.

He hesitates for a moment longer, tucking his face in the crook of her shoulder even though he’s
taller than her, taking in the comforting arms around him and the sweet smell of her flowery
perfume, like he did when he was little.

“I love you, May,” he murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears back. He doesn’t want to
raise suspicion, even though he probably already has.

“I love you too, Peter,” she smiles when they pull away.

Peter soaks in one more look at her, before turning and walking out the door. His pocket feels too
light without the weight of his phone, which he shattered under his foot and tossed into an alley
earlier that morning.
For Tony, he thinks as he makes his way towards the destroyed Avengers Facility.

Harley is already there, standing in front of the rubble. There’s a small portable camping light at
the base of his feet. He’s not looking at the rubble, but Peter can see the way his shoulders are
tense and his face is tight. Peter pointedly keeps his eyes away from The Spot.

He used to come here all the time, the month after Tony died, as if it might give him answers, or
spit Tony back out. He knows the exact location of where Tony died. Peter used to be able to see
him there, his body unmoving and his eyes unseeing.

Peter continues to have nightmares, and they’re all centered around Tony’s lifeless eyes.

Oddly, Peter feels something warm bloom in his chest when Harley sees him coming, when he
sees Harley’s muscles relax.

“You okay?” he asks when he gets close enough.

Harley gives him a humorless smile. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he questions, eyes glancing
around uneasily at the pieces of bricks and metal. “You were here.”

Peter shrugs. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay,” he admits. “You have the right to be traumatized
too, you know. Even if you weren’t here for it.”

Harley snorts, blue eyes glimmering with a touch of amusement. “‘The right to be traumatized.’ I
don't think anyone wants that right.”

Peter’s lips wobble into a smile as he leans forward and gives Harley’s shoulder a playful punch.
“Whatever,” he says. “You know what I mean.”

Harley’s body sways with the followthrough of the punch, and it’s then that the moonlight catches
the smooth green surface of the Time Stone resting inside the Eye of Agamotto. Peter’s breath
hitches in his throat.

“You remember the plan?” Harley asks, and okay, right, they’re getting straight to business. Peter’s
heartbeat quickens inside of his ribs.

“Gauntlet, Thor, grab you, don’t die,” he recites, like he has been for the entire day.

Harley nods. “Don’t forget to make Thor connect to the Mind Stone,” he reminds Peter. “That’s
the only way to bring everyone back.”

Peter squares his shoulders, setting his jaw determinedly. “I promise.”

Harley stares at him for a moment, before suddenly reaching out and putting a hand on his
shoulder. “I don’t know a lot about the Mind Stone,” he says. “Don’t beat yourself up if Thor can’t
bring them back. If we can save Tony, that will be enough.”

Peter doesn’t want to think about what will happen if Thor can’t bring them back. He’d get Thor’s
hopes of seeing Loki again up for nothing, as well as Peter’s. He’d fail Natasha and Vision — and
God, poor Wanda. Losing Vision absolutely crushed her.

But this is for Tony. They might not be able to save the others, but they can save Tony. As long as
Thor snaps instead.

“I’m going to start,” Harley warns. “It’s going to feel weird, but as soon as it’s started I’ll spell you
so that it doesn’t affect you. Don’t take off your outer clothes until I’ve stopped the time warp.”

Peter doesn’t ask why Harley can’t just spell him before. It seems less complicated that way. But
he’s sure that Harley would if it were possible.

When he gives Harley the go ahead, he closes his eyes and tells himself, this is it.

There’s a weird, warped feeling in his chest, like when he’s in a car and it comes to a stop faster
than his body can slow down. Something is pulling him from the inside, and he feels himself
moving. His head swims with dizziness, a heavy sense of deja-vu making his mind fuzzy.

It all eases in seconds, and when he opens his eyes, arms sprawled out to keep himself balanced, he
finds Harley right in front of him, the stone inside the Eye glowing a bright, fluorescent green.
There are green bands hovering over each of Harley’s wrist, spinning in opposite directions.

Peter lifts his eyes to their surroundings, and his mouth falls open. Everything is moving
backwards. Cars are driving the opposite way, planes fly backwards across the sky, squirrels and
chipmunks skitter the other direction. Time is rewinding itself.

A year goes by faster than Peter expected. He knows they’re getting close when he watches, almost
detached, as Past Peter comes to the rubble every day, and then a funeral procession drives
backwards down the road.

Harley pulls him behind a massive pile of rubble, big enough to keep them out of sight. They’ll
stay there until Harley pulls them into the middle of the battle. Peter strips out of his outer clothes,
revealing his Spider-Man suit, and tries not to focus on the blur of the world moving around him.

“Good to see you again, Peter,” Karen greets him, and immediately covers him in the Iron Spider
suit.

“You too, Karen,” he says, and wonders if this will be the last time he’ll hear her.

The sky gets pinker, and then redder, and between one blink and the next, Thanos’s ship has been
put back where it was when it crashed into the Facility.

“Look away,” Harley says, and Peter does. He dips his head towards Harley’s chest and closes his
eyes. He leans into the touch when Harley wraps a consoling arm around Peter’s shoulders.

He can hear Pepper crying, and then the scramble of feet, and Peter’s breaths speed up when the
haunting, horrifying sound of a snap rings through the air.

Tony, he thinks. That’s Tony. He’s right there.

Harley’s arm disappears, the sounds of fighting pick up again, and then the weird, off-putting
whirring sound that comes from the time warp when it ends.

Peter’s eyes flutter open, and he finds himself face to face with the Eye of Agamotto. The Time
Stone is brighter than Peter has ever seen it glow. Harley is standing with his arms outstretched, his
face set with concentration. The green bands are gone from around his wrists, but his hands are
flaring bright yellow and there are hot sparks shooting out from his fingertips. Around them, the
sky is dark. He’s back at the Battle of Earth.

“Go!” Harley shouts, and Peter forces his mask over his face and leaps into the fray.
 ___________

Peter has the gauntlet.

He’s not entirely sure how he got it in the first place — everything got a bit fuzzy once he jumped
headfirst into battle — but he’s got it, clutching it in both of his arms as he ducks out of the way
from an incoming missile and hides behind… something. His brain is too busy scrambling to really
pay attention.

He glances over to where Harley is hidden. His arms are still out and the Eye of Agamotto is still
glowing. He looks okay, but Peter can hear his rapid heartbeat, the way his blood thunders through
his veins. He sees Harley’s face getting red from exertion, and Peter knows they’re running out of
time.

Thor. He has to find Thor.

He locates him on the other side of the battlefield. Thanos’s creatures are getting absolutely
obliterated by Thor’s hammer, but there’s so many of them. Peter glances around, making sure Past
Peter is far away from them, before he whispers, “Karen, turn on Enhanced Combat Mode.”

“Activating Instant Kill,” Karen replies, and the legs of the Iron Spider impale four of Thanos’s
soldiers.

He uses one arm to swing over to Thor while the spider legs take out incoming soldiers. Thor is
surrounded, so Peter swings and kicks away the soldier directly in front of Thor. Immediately,
Thor swings his hammer down and sends a rocket of an earthquake through the ground, sending
the soldiers flying.

“Thank you, young spider!” Thor booms, then whips around to sucker punch another one in the
face. Thor finally looks at Peter, and his face goes slack in shock when he sees the gauntlet in
Peter’s arms.

“I don’t know how long until Thanos realizes I’m the one who has the gauntlet,” Peter says
hurriedly, “but you have to do it. You have to snap and get rid of him.”

Thor shoots a small herd of soldiers with lightning, rolling his eyes at them annoyedly, then turns
back to Peter. “I cannot,” Thor tells him. “Look at me! I am in no shape to use it.”

Peter manages to suppress his exasperated groan. “But you can! It has nothing to do with shape,
Thor, and everything to do with meaning,” he explains. “You’re the only one who could possibly
survive this. It has to be you.”

Thor shakes his head sadly. “I could not even save my brother,” he frowns. “I cannot save the
others. But I can fight.”

“No!” Peter yells, and without thinking yanks meanly at Thor’s beard. Thor shouts in pain, then
outrage, but Peter glares at him and talks over his protests. “You’re a god, Thor! An Avenger! You
don’t get to throw in the towel because you’ve lost some self-confidence. That’s not what a hero
does. A hero fights because that’s what he has to do, because that’s what saves people.”

Thor stares at him warily. “Peter…”

“Loki would mock you if he heard your ‘giving up’ speech,” Peter snaps.
Angered, Thor points his hammer at him. “I would do anything to have Loki mock me again,” he
says with a cracking voice.

“Then get him back!” exclaims Peter. “If you can connect yourself to the Mind Stone, not only can
you snap Thanos out of existence, but you can reverse the previous snap and bring Loki back!”

Thor’s hammer falls to the ground. Another earthquake trembles through the earth, knocking over
the soldiers around them. “What did you say?”

Peter glances around to see how much time they have left. Not a lot. He can feel it in his bones that
Thanos is close by. Too close.

“Connecting to the Mind Stone will give the snap the power to enact your greatest wish: to bring
Loki back. Loki and the others,” Peter tells him. “Natasha, Vision— everyone . And it will dust
Thanos at the same time.”

He grabs Thor’s arm with one hand, squeezing as tight as he can. “You can get them all back. You
just have to believe that you can.”

Thor glances between Peter and the gauntlet held in his arms. Peter looks around nervously. “Any
day now, Thor. We don’t have much time.”

Thor rips the gauntlet out of Peter’s arms and yanks him forward by one of the Iron Spider legs,
hiding Peter behind him just as Thanos barrels into view. Thor swings his hammer and hits Thanos
right against the jaw, sending him stumbling backwards momentarily.

In a flash, Thor shoves the gauntlet onto his arm. He glances behind his shoulder to look at Peter,
eyes begging for reassurance.

“You can do this,” Peter promises. “You’ll see your brother again, Thor. You’ll see them all
again.”

“I will see them all again,” Thor repeats. He turns back to the battlefield and closes his eyes. The
Mind Stone starts to glow, but Thanos is getting back to his feet and stomping back over to them.

Panicked, Peter starts shooting webs at him, wrapping them around his feet and his legs in hopes of
making him fall. But Thanos is too strong, and with every step, he breaks the webs around him.

Peter ducks even more behind Thor, chest burning as he desperately holds his breath. He hears
Thor yell, getting louder and louder with his rage, and the heart-stopping, deafening sound of a
snap.

Peter leaps out of the way just as a blinding light surges across the battlefield.

There is stillness.

When the light dies down, Peter peeks out from his hiding spot. At first, nothing happens.
Everyone stands in place, stunned at what Thor has done.

Then suddenly, one by one, Thanos’s soldiers begin to disintegrate.

No one moves except Thanos, who roars irately and tries to lunge for Thor, but he collapses to his
knees when his feet slowly turn into dust. He reaches towards Thor, who is doubled over, but his
arms disappear before he can grab him. In a wave, purple turns to brown.
And then, Thanos is gone.

Thor is on his knees, chest heaving from the pain. He shakes the gauntlet off, the stones
obliterated, and Thor’s arm is covered in dark grey scarring. It’s bad, but it’s so much better than
how Tony looked when he snapped, which means that Peter chose correctly.

He looks around the battlefield as the soldiers continue to disintegrate, now four by four. A few
people cheer in excitement, others hollering in relief. He turns to his right, and there’s Loki,
standing with his knives out and looking incredibly confused.

Hope bursts through Peter’s chest, and his eyes whip around the area, looking for the others. He
catches Gamora — the real Gamora — pushing her way through a throng of people. Vision floats
down onto the ground, landing perfectly on his feet. The stone is obviously still gone from his
head, but it doesn’t seem to matter, for whatever reason, because his head is whole again. He’s
there, and alive, and embracing Wanda.

And there’s Natasha, standing in the middle of a group of soldiers that are dusting into nothingness
around her.

They’re back. They’re all coming back.

Peter’s eyes find Tony. He’s still in his suit, but his faceplate is lifted. He’s grinning, hovering in
the air as he watches the scene unfold, and he’s alive. Thanos is gone and Earth is saved and
Tony’s still alive. They did it.

Peter feels his eyes sting with tears. He takes a step forward, ready to do some kind of flying tackle
into Tony’s side, and then—

And then Peter — Past Peter — swings into view.

The gravity of the situation comes crashing back to him. Anguish floods his body like a tidal wave.
The tears fall out of his eyes for an entirely different reason, but he doesn’t have time to cry about
it. He’s almost out of time.

He runs off in the opposite direction, away from Tony and towards Harley, no matter how badly he
wants to turn back. He catches Loki hurrying over to Thor in his peripherals, and he knows deep
down that the Avengers will be just fine without him.

Peter rounds the corner where Harley is hiding, and just in time. Harley looks ready to collapse.
His face is red and sweating and his hair is damp from it. His chest heaves as he gasps for air, and
there are veins bulging on his forehead and his neck. His eyes are pleading with Peter to tell him
that it’s time.

“He’s alive,” Peter swears, then wraps his arms around Harley from behind. “It’s done.”

Harley grits his teeth as he flexes his fingers and begins creating a portal. Yellow-orange sparks
flicker into the air, spinning as Harley cuts space open. He cries out as he forces the portal to open
while keeping the Continuum from collapsing in on itself. Peter holds onto him tighter.

The portal opens. Inside, Peter sees a modern-style sunroom, with tiled floor and large windows
overlooking the ocean, with white furniture. Dumbly, Peter thinks to himself that they’re about to
ruin that couch.

With a mighty grunt, Harley heaves the portal forward until it swallows them. They’re instantly
teleported into the fancy sunroom, but Peter doesn’t have time to look around, because Harley is
closing the portal, dropping his hands, and collapsing right into Peter’s arms.

Inside the Eye, the Time Stone stops glowing.

 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

There’s a rush of euphoria that floods down Tony’s spine as he watches the battlefield. The dust
from Thanos’s army has completely disappeared from the air. The field smells like dirt and smoke
and blood, and the air is hot from the fires. Tony is drenched with sweat inside of his Iron Man
suit.

But his ears ring with the sounds of elated cheering and hollers of victorious relief. Somewhere, he
can hear Wanda cry out, “Vision!” and manages to find them in the crowd just as she leaps into his
arms. The Mind Stone is no longer attached to his forehead, but he’s alive and breathing all the
same.

Tony wraps one metal arm around Pepper as they hover in the air together. Just below them, Clint
full-body tackles Natasha to the ground. Tony’s heart clenches at the sight of her.

“Mr. Stark!” he hears across the battlefield, and just manages to catch Peter’s form swinging over.
“We did it!”

For a moment, Tony thinks his body flickers, like a light starting to burn out, but Tony blinks and
the kid is as opaque as ever. He sees an orange spark floating in his peripherals.

“We sure did,” says Steve through the comm in his ear. “Good work te—”

He never gets to finish his sentence, because Tony hears someone call out, “Hey, punk!” before
(what sounds like) Steve gets taken down to the ground.

Peter gets over to him eventually, dangling from one of his webs attached to a large piece of debris
— what used to be the Facility. Damn, it’s gonna cost so much money to rebuild all this.

Peter grins at him, pulling back his mask to reveal his sweaty, slightly bloody, but no less beaming
face. “We won, Mr. Stark!” he exclaims, breathless.

His form flickers again.

Tony opens his mouth to say something, but Peter interrupts him with a laugh and a soft, “We
really won.”

And then, Peter fades out of existence.

Tony has never felt elation drain out of him so quickly.

_______________

Like Peter promised, he makes sure to catch Harley when he falls so that he doesn’t crack his head
open. Harley is light compared to Peter’s super strength, so he easily hefts him up bridal style and
carries him over to the couch.
As expected, FRIDAY is immediately activated.

“Intruder alert,” her feminine AI voice echoes through the house. “Please state your name.”

Peter doesn’t think Tony has actually been to Malibu since the Mandarin incident. He doesn’t
know if Tony ever used his Miami safehouse. So, Peter has no idea if the house’s AI is calibrated
to recognize Peter. He hopes that this is the same FRIDAY as the one in New York.

“Uh, Peter Parker,” he says, voice tilted up in question. “Spider-Man?”

There’s a beeping sound, and then FRIDAY greets him with, “Welcome Peter.”

Peter lets out a relieved breath. He does a quick glance down at Harley — yep, still unconscious —
and says, “FRIDAY, activate lockdown. And don’t tell Mr. Stark that we’re here.”

“Activating Barn Door Protocol,” FRIDAY confirms. Immediately, the blinds shutter closed and
the windows lock tight. The whirring sound coming from the A/C shuts off, and the lights go
down until there’s only a gentle dim.

“I am supposed to contact Mr. Stark immediately if any protocols are initiated,” the AI announces.

Air hisses from between Peter’s teeth. “I know, but you can’t!” he exclaims. Harley doesn’t move
from the outburst, dead to the world.

“It’s for safety, from, uh, Thanos,” he lies. He’s not sure if FRIDAY has been updated on the battle
yet, if she knows that Thanos is gone, but it’s the best he can come up with. “Hiding out until Mr.
Stark gives me the ‘okay.’ We can’t risk Thanos knowing where we are.”

There is silence as FRIDAY processes his explanation. Peter swallows nervously, fist tightening
around Harley’s arm, ready to grab him and run if she doesn’t accept his excuse.

To his relief, she merely responds with, “Okay, I will not alert Mr. Stark until it is safe to do so.”

Peter exhales roughly. He feels a little dizzy. He’s unsure if it’s the shock from saving Tony,
portaling to the other end of the country in a matter of seconds, or his blood pressure being way too
high. Probably a mix of all three.

“I’ll let you know when it’s safe to tell him,” he says, knowing that he’ll never tell her.

“Yes, Peter,” she replies, then switches off.

He falls back against the couch, covering his face with his hands, and after a second thought he
deactivates the Iron Spider so that he’s left only in his regular spandex suit. He’s tired, and he’s
scared, and he thinks he might throw up.

He hones in his hearing to listen to the gentle thumping of Harley’s heartbeat. He clings onto it,
trying to get his own heart to calm down and match the beats. He feels tears sting his eyes, the past
few hours too overwhelming. His senses are in overdrive, heightened from the battle and from the
constant paranoia that he has from being in an unknown safehouse.

He wants Tony and Aunt May, but he knows he can’t have them.

What he wants right now, more than anything, is to go to the cabin in Wyoming, safely away from
the Avengers, where he can’t mess up their success, and where he can lay in the dark and silence
and let his senses level out.
But he can’t have that right now, either, so he does the one thing he can do: he gives into his
instincts and crawls over Harley, protecting him from anything that might hurt him in the night. He
tucks his face into Harley’s neck where the light is gone and the only smell is Harley’s sweat.

He’s still in his suit, but he doesn’t care. There’s a ringing in his ears that Peter knows is tinnitus.
He grits his teeth at it, but focuses on Harley’s heartbeat, steady and strong under his hand, and lets
it drown out the ringing and lull him to sleep.

He's not sure how long he's out for, but when Peter wakes up, his pillow is moving.

He wrenches open his eyes, confused, ready to fight his pillow into submission and call out a good
morning to May, but then his pillow makes a pained kind of groan, and the memories of yesterday
come flooding back.

Peter jolts upwards, nearly losing his balance and falling over the back of the couch. He manages
to catch himself and heave himself up over Harley before the man below him opens his eyes.

“Pete?” Harley asks, voice low and raspy. Peter can tell that it’s not just from sleep, but also from
strain. He remembers hearing Harley cry out as he got closer, as Thanos disintegrated and people
started coming back. He must have been in a world of pain.

Something ugly and protective washes over Peter at the memory of Harley’s cry.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he whispers. He’s not as oversensitive as he was before, but his spider-sense is
still running, knowing they won’t truly be safe until they reach Wyoming. “How are you feeling?”

Harley shifts so that he can sit up a bit, and his face twists in pain as he moves. “Like I just pushed
the Space-Time Continuum apart,” he huffs, managing a weak smile.

Peter smiles right back at him. “Funnily enough…” he teases gently, sitting back on his haunches
so that Harley has some space. He can see all of Harley now, including the Eye of Agamotto
hanging at his sternum.

“We should probably deal with that,” he says, pointing to the stone.

Harley grimaces at the idea of using more power, but he nods nevertheless. Peter helps him sit up,
watching with a careful eye as Harley winces and grabs the side of his torso. A flash of fear rips
through Peter. Did Harley get hit? Was he hurt?

Harley seems to ignore whatever pain he feels. “You know how Strange has the Cloak of
Levitation?” he asks. When Peter nods, Harley says, “It’s called a Relic. Most mystic arts
practitioners have one. Mine is an axe. You’re going to use it to destroy the stone.”

Before Peter can respond, Harley moves his hands together and circles them around, doing some
sort of magic summoning motion. Before his eyes, molten yellow magic forms in a cylinder
between Harley’s fingers. He slowly pulls his hands away from each other, stretching the cylinder,
until the top begins to widen.

Harley then wraps both hands around it, and the yellow shape solidifies into a shiny grey color, and
an actual axe is clutched in Harley’s hands.

Peter stares at it with a gaping mouth. He ignores the pulse of arousal that jolts through his body in
favor of saying, “Woah,” like any normal, functioning human with a perfect 4.0 GPA.

“This is the Axe of Angarrumus,” Harley tells him. His voice sounds weak and tired. Peter can tell
that he’s just drained most of the energy he gained while he slept. “It will disappear once the stone
is broken. Hurry.”

He holds it out for Peter to take. Peter continues to stare dumbly at it. Harley wants him to wield it?
This priceless, ancient Relic that chose him. Can Peter even use it? Is it like Mjonir?

Peter’s spider-senses go off as Harley’s arms start to shake. He lunges forward and grabs it just as
Harley’s arms give out.

Nice going, Parker, he scolds himself. The axe is a good weight in his hands, but nothing that his
strength can’t take.

And then, Harley dips his thumbs under the Eye of Agamotto, lifts it over his head, and hands it to
Peter. Neither of them mention the way Peter’s hands tremble as he takes it.

He slowly sets the Eye down on the floor, careful not to touch the stone. He’s going to do it. He’s
going to destroy it.

Right now.

Right… now.

“Shit!” Peter exclaims, throwing his arms in the air in frustration.

He paces back and forth, muttering angrily to himself. He can do this. He’s got to. It’s not safe,
having an infinity stone exist. The others are destroyed — or at least, destroyed to the point that
only Harley and (probably) Strange can access them. This is the last one. A duplicate. It has to go.

But every time Peter looks at it, shockwaves of fear run through his system. The stones have
brought so much pain. They have ruined Peter’s life completely and unforgivingly, and Peter is so
damn scared to go anywhere near this one.

“You can do it, Peter,” Harley’s voice drifts from the couch. He sounds utterly exhausted, like he’s
fighting to stay awake. He probably is. “This is it. You can end this.”

Peter closes his eyes and sucks in a shaky, tearful breath. The stones have brought nothing but
agony, and Peter won’t let this one survive.

“I believe in you,” says Harley.

Using all of the strength that he doesn’t have, Peter heaves the axe up into the air and, with a
broken yell, swings the axe down.

The Eye and the stone inside shatter instantly. It sends a powerful wave of energy through the air,
knocking Peter off of his feet and sending the furniture skidding across the floor. Peter holds onto
the axe as tight as possible.

Dazed, he sits up and holds his head, then turns to Harley. He looks alright, if not a little ruffled,
hands gripping the back of the couch and a stunned expression on his face. But he doesn’t look
hurt.

Consoled knowing that Harley is fine, he looks to where the Eye is sitting. It’s in five pieces now,
like a broken mirror. With a quivering lip and tears streaming down his face, Peter warily shuffles
over to what’s left of the Eye.
The stone is obliterated. All that remains of it are dark green dust particles. There is no glow, no
magical pulse, just dim green specks.

Peter sniffles and glances down at the axe. “Thanks,” he says.

He feels a gentle wave of magic flow through the axe, almost like a response, before it blinks out
of existence.

Eventually, Peter stops sitting and staring at the destroyed stone and gets to work. He gathers up
the particles in a blanket, separating them on the off chance that they somehow fuse back together.
He goes to one side of the room and stands in front of one of the windows.

“FRIDAY, deactivate lockdown protocol,” he commands.

The lights turn back on, the blinds fly up, and the locks on the windows click open. Peter lifts up
one of the windows and sticks the blanket out. He beats the blanket into the air, sending the
particles floating out into the breeze. He tosses a couple of pieces of the Eye in either direction.

He pulls his hands back in and locks the window, then crosses the other side of the room and does
the same thing with the rest of the particles and Eye pieces.

With the stone destroyed and the Eye gone, Peter feels a little more relaxed. He whirls around to
face Harley, who is watching him with tired, watery eyes and as big of a smile as he has the energy
to make.

“It’s over,” Peter breathes. “They’re safe.”

He’s crying before he can stop himself, and Harley opens his arms towards him. Peter goes to him
immediately, crawling onto the couch and wrapping his arms tight around Harley.

They did it. Tony is back, and everyone is okay.

He’ll never see them again.

He barely has enough sense to tell FRIDAY to erase all video and audio logs since they arrived,
knowing they’re about to leave, before Peter blubbers into a tearful mess.

Peter sobs openly into Harley’s chest, but he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. He feels a
wave of magic wash over him — the same kind of lurching that he felt when Harley portaled them
off the battlefield — and Peter knows that they’re in Wyoming.

Harley’s arms come around him, clutching him so tightly that it knocks the wind out of Peter, and
then they’re both crying, holding each other on the couch in the cabin — their cabin, their new
home — until Harley tires himself out and falls asleep again.

Peter lays there with Harley tucked in his arms, with his face pressed into Harley’s hair. He
wonders what Tony is doing right now. If Thor has left Loki’s side. If Wanda has let Vision out of
her sight. If Natasha is on her way to the Barton farm to see Laura and the kids that Peter definitely
doesn’t know exist.

He wonders if May has hugged Past Peter, who is no longer mourning the loss of a father figure,
but celebrating the greatest victory of the century.

He holds onto Harley, just a little bit tighter.

 _______________

Harley is still out a few hours later, so Peter heads off to look for the kitchen. Harley probably
won’t wake for a good few hours, but it gives Peter something to do. The recipe book is there on
the counter, and the first thing he flips to is a recipe for spaghetti. His stomach growls at the
thought of carbs.

He finds boxes of noodles and cans of tomato sauce, among other canned and boxed items, in the
cupboard. The spaghetti takes about a half-hour to make. Peter makes a ton, because he’s starving
and needs a lot of calories, but he saves plenty for Harley. He wraps it up and sticks the pot in the
fridge, which is surprisingly full of fresh fruits and meat. He’ll reheat it later, whenever Harley
wakes up.

After that, he doesn’t know what to do. There’s no television or computer, no internet access, a
safety measure to ensure that no one can track them. He got rid of his phone before they left. He
looks around, taking note of where everything is. He walks the entire cabin, then walks it again.

The third walkthrough, he finally registers the bathroom with running water. He immediately
jumps in the shower, eager to finally get out of his suit and scrub off all the blood and grime from
the battle.

He feels better once he’s showered and clean. He puts his suit in the sink so that it doesn’t get
stepped on, double checks that it’s shut off so no one can locate it, then exits the bathroom. He
doesn’t look in the mirror. He doesn’t want to know what he looks like right now, and he’s not
about to torture himself over it.

He realizes that he doesn’t have a towel right before he steps into the hallway. Peter listens, but
Harley is still asleep, so he has no qualms about walking around naked. He checks the closet in the
hallway and finds an entire shelf of linens and towels, another shelf of blankets, and another shelf
filled with card games and board games.

Peter wraps one of the towels around his waist, then grabs a few of the games and blankets while
he’s there. He carries his stack of treasures back to the sunroom. Harley remains asleep, chest
rising and falling with his breathing. His hair is disheveled and his face is the most at ease Peter
has ever seen. He smiles at the sight of him.

He sets the items down on the coffee table, going to grab a blanket to lay over Harley, but now that
he’s closer, Peter can see that he still has some dirt and blood on him from the battle.

And that just won’t do at all. Harley will shower once he has the strength to stand, but after
everything he’s done, he doesn’t deserve to rest covered in filth.

Peter grabs his backpack that’s been abandoned on the floor and makes a beeline back to the
bathroom. He first changes into one of the pairs of clothes in his bag. Then grabs a cloth from the
drawer by the sink and turns the tap on, getting the cloth nice and wet with warm water. He turns
off the tap, grabs a dry cloth from the same drawer, and heads back to Harley.

Peter perches on the coffee table, leaning forward slightly so that he can reach. He starts with his
face first, gently wiping away the dirt and tacky sweat stuck to his skin. He scrubs a little at his
hairline, then folds the cloth so that it has a clean side again as he moves to Harley’s neck, and then
 his hands.

As he’s drying Harley off with the dry cloth, he remembers the way Harley held his side, like he
was in pain. Worriedly, Peter carefully examines the injured side. He doesn’t see any blood on his
clothes, and there are no tears in it like there would be if he had been cut or burned.

Still concerned about the possibility of internal bleeding, Peter carefully unwinds the sash around
Harley’s middle and lifts the tunic up. He keeps his eyes firmly on Harley’s torso and doesn’t let
them wander, gently prodding the area Harley had held. There are no bruises, not even a small one,
and nothing indicative of internal bleeding. Peter chalks it up to a pulled muscle, and lets his
shoulders sag with relief.

He lets his fingers linger for a few seconds, letting them splay out across smooth, tan skin.
Harley’s got muscles hidden underneath those fancy robes, firm and sculpted from years of
training.

Peter swallows, mouth suddenly drier than the desert.

He snaps out of it, pulling down the tunic and rewrapping the sash. He turns, grabs one of the
blankets he snagged from the hallway closet, and drapes it over Harley’s body, pulling it all the
way up around his shoulders. He tucks the sides in a bit, working more on instinct than conscious
brain function.

Once he’s satisfied that Harley is comfortable, Peter sits down onto the floor at the base of the
couch and pulls the other blanket around him, leaning against the front of the couch. After the few
hours of sleep he got before, and the way the hairs on the back of his neck are still upright with
uncertainty, Peter tells himself that he should stay awake. But he closes his eyes to blink, and he’s
out.

Chapter End Notes

Teenagers. They think they know everything. But sometimes they manage to miss the
tiniest little details.

also come visit me at honeycombclaire on tumblr if you’d like to drop by and scream
about the MCU with me
 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Stephen stands in the back corner of the meeting room, watching the Avengers that are talking
amongst themselves where they’re seated around the table. Stark has gathered them all here,
claiming he found video footage of the Battle of Earth that was taken on a camera in his suit.

Stark has been in a tizzy since his kid disappeared. Stephen remembers the look of horror on
Stark’s face when Peter Parker’s grinning, energy-filled form faded out into nothing right before
his eyes.

It was nothing like being dusted, not a side effect from Thor’s snap. Something else happened to
him, and Stark hasn’t slept since the kid vanished.

That was three weeks ago.

Stephen has stuck around since then, portaling to and from the Sanctum and Stark’s emergency
bunker. Stark has already begun the process of rebuilding the destroyed compound, but for now,
the Avengers are sticking close to each other and quietly recuperating away from prying public
eyes.

There’s something wrong about this whole situation, deeper than the mysterious vanishing of
Stark’s ward. He remembers the feeling of defeat and sadness, and then out of nowhere it cracked
itself away and triumph had snapped into place. Like someone had connected it.

Which is impossible. Emotions can’t connect like puzzle pieces. Stephen has a hunch that it’s got
something to do with the Continuum, but he can’t figure out what.

Even worse than that was the odd, carved out feeling inside of him. He can’t think of what it could
be.

He considered, for a time, that perhaps it was the fact that he no longer had the Time Stone or the
Eye around his neck for the first time in years. But that doesn’t seem right either. He’d taken the
Eye off before, and it never felt like this.

Like something was missing.

Something was off during the Battle of Earth. The atmosphere was buzzing with dangerous energy
levels, and he remembers how the Time Stone had been crackling and sparking wildly. None of the
other stones had been acting that strange.

And then Peter Parker faded into the air right before their eyes, and Stephen knew that something
else was at play. Something strong.

He just can’t put his finger on what, and it’s eating him alive. It has to have something to do with
the stones. It has to.

It’s the reason he’s been staying with Stark and the team so much. He likes the comfort of his
Sanctum, but he almost feels worse when he’s there. Every time he steps inside, it’s as if someone
was taking a melon-baller to his chest.
It’s aggravating, knowing that something is wrong and having all these pieces to prove it, but
having none of them fit together to form the big picture. He has no idea what’s going on. He just
wants his chest to stop aching.

“Figures you’d put cameras on your suit,” Colonel Rhodes snorts, “so you can go back and watch
yourself in all your glory.”

He and Stark have been attached at the hip almost as badly as Stark has been with Pepper and
Morgan.

“You said it, not me,” Stark quips, connecting a bunch of cords with shaking fingers. He’s had one
too many cups of coffee today, as usual. Stephen can’t remember the last time he actually saw
Stark sleep. Or blink.

“What exactly is on the tape, Tony?” Banner asks, watching his friend nervously.

Sergeant Barnes huffs. “Some fucked up shit, probably.”

“I haven’t watched it all the way through yet,” Stark answers as he waits for the video to load up.
“FRIDAY told me there was footage on my suit-cams dating from the Battle. Dropped everything
and called you guys.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Captain Rogers tells him, face stoic, yet somehow encouraging. He’s
standing beside Sergeant Barnes, the two of them pressed shoulder to shoulder.

Stephen briefly recalls the hell the two of them have been through over the course of a century. He
knows a trauma response when he sees one.

“Whatever’s on it, we survived it,” says Captain Rogers.

Stark’s jaw ticks. “Peter didn’t.”

“That’s not your fault,” Romanoff argues.

Stark opens his mouth to retort, but he slams it shut when the video finally loads and starts to play
on the holographic screen.

The video is ten minutes long. The first few are of Stark fighting. The glow of the stones fade in
and out of view as the gauntlet gets bounced around from person to person. Thanos is just as
horrible as he remembers.

The noise is awful, and quite a few of the Avengers flinch.

It’s the two-minute mark that Stephen’s world spirals downhill.

The scene starts to shift, like a rewinding VHS tape. The video blurs with how fast things are
moving — and Stephen has seen this before. Where has he seen this before?

The scene clears and sharpens. The fighting continues. But something is different.

Off in the distance, nearly imperceptible, are two small figures hiding behind a large piece of
debris that weren’t there before. They’re young, from what he can tell, and they look like males.
One of them is dressed in similar robes to that of a mystic arts practitioner.

And then Stephen’s entire body locks up in shock. Because hanging from around the neck of the
latter is the green glow of the Time Stone.
“That’s the Time Stone,” he announces.

“That’s impossible,” Wilson says. His voice sounds tight. “I’m looking at the stone on the gauntlet
right now.”

He’s looking at the gauntlet on the other side of the screen, currently back in the hands of Thanos.
But Stephen can see the other stone on the other side of the battlefield.

“Strange is right,” Captain Rogers agrees. “There’s… there’s two.”

One of the boys jumps into the battle, suddenly dressed in a suit that looks just like—

“That’s— that’s Peter ,” Pepper gasps.

“But Peter’s over there,” Barton frowns, pointing at a spot on the screen where Spider-Man is
swinging over to Stark.

“Shut up! Everyone shut up!” Stark shouts, pressing impossibly closer to the screen. He’s
muttering something to himself, but Stephen can’t make sense of any of it.

Video Stark shouts something at his AI, tells it to pull up. The video changes angles as Stark rises
in the air, and the boys are hidden by a giant piece of debris (most likely a piece of the Facility),
but Stephen can still see the glow of the second stone in the corner. Video Stark must not notice,
must be looking at the other side. The glow is almost out of frame.

They watch in an odd sort of fascination as two Spider-Men swing in and out of frame. But their
Spider-Man is fighting whatever comes at him. The double looks like he’s on a mission, and is
headed directly for the gauntlet.

He gets it, after an impressive tousle. He disappears out of sight.

“He brought it to me,” Thor tells them. “He told me that I could stop Thanos and bring everyone
back in a reverse snap if I could connect to the Mind Stone.”

Barton furrows his eyebrows. “Bring everyone back?” He glances around the room.
“Doppelganger Spider-Man told you how to bring everyone back? How did he know?”

Stark glares daggers at the god. “Why didn’t you mention that sooner?”

Thor’s response of, “It did not seem relevant,” gets drowned out as everything starts to click into
place. The blur, the duplicate Time Stone, the second Spider-Man.

How did it not connect before?

“Peter went back in time,” he says, mind reeling. Stark slams his hand on the pause button and
whips around to look at him. His eyes are wild.

“He did what? ”

Stephen shakes his head. “That blur wasn’t a video malfunction. That was time shifting . That kid
right there,” he points to where the leg of the other boy is just peeking out from behind the debris,
“has a Time Stone. I’ve done the exact same spell with it before, when I needed to reverse time.”

The entire group stares at him with stunned, somewhat panicked faces. Stephen ignores them. “The
spell is incredibly dangerous, and only a skilled practitioner can do it without basically
combusting,” he informs. “If that kid reversed time, and Peter was with him, it means they’re both
from the future.”

For a moment, no one moves. He knows that everyone is thinking the same thing that he is. If
Peter and this kid went back in time to give the gauntlet to Thor, that only means something terrible
happened in the first timeline.

They were living in an alternate timeline. Holy shit.

Slowly, Stark turns back around and, with a trembling hand, presses the play button. The video
resumes.

In the next minute and a half comes the snap, the dusting of Thanos and his men, and the
reappearance of those that had been lost before and during the battle. Thor is out of frame, but Loki
fades into existence and runs to the upper corner, presumably to where his brother is.

Stephen isn’t watching him, though. He’s watching the Spider-Man doppelganger.

He comes tripping out of the corner — the same corner that Loki went to — and is tearing ass
across the battlefield to get to the kid he came with.

He disappears behind the debris for a few seconds, and then both boys stumble into view.
Doppelganger Spider-Man has his arms around the kid, who’s now fully facing the camera as
Video Stark lowers to the ground.

And real-life Stark gasps, because, “Oh my God, that’s Harley.”

No one seems to understand except for Pepper and Colonel Rhodes, which means the kid isn’t a
hero the Avengers are familiar with.

Stephen doesn’t know who he is, either, but he’s wearing mystic arts robes and has the Eye of
Agamotto, even though Stephen knows he’s wearing one of his own during the battle.

Something scratches the itch in the back of his brain when he sees the boy’s face. This is the thing
— this kid, right here — that’s had Stephen off-kilter for weeks.

Video Stark moves away, and Doppelganger Spider-Man and Harley leave the frame. In the very
edge, Stephen thinks he sees the familiar yellow-orange sparks of a portal.

“Oh God,” Stark chokes out, eyes glued to the screen. “This is where…”

In the video, Spider-Man retracts his mask and grins at Stark, face covered in sweat and blood, and
then his figure slowly fades into a translucent glow, before vanishing all together.

They listen as Stark starts yelling, calling for Peter, trying to figure out what just happened and
where did my kid go? FRIDAY, answer me!

And then the video ends.

Stark puts his head in his hands. His entire body is shaking like a leaf in the wind. “They were both
…” he says weakly. “I can’t lose… not both of them.”

Pepper seems at a loss, just as broken up by the news of Harley as much as Stark, but then her face
hardens and she whips around to face Stephen. “What the hell is going on?” she snaps. “How were
there two stones?”

Stark rewinds the video and pauses on Doppelganger Spider-Man and Harley. Stephen can’t stop
staring at Harley’s face.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know this Harley kid, or where he learned the mystic arts, or
where he got the stone. Especially if he’s from the future.”

“Give us your best guess,” Captain Rogers says. His voice is strained. “Peter’s a smart kid. He had
to know something about time travel if he went to all this trouble.”

Stephen scratches a hand through his hair as his mind races for answers. “I stand by what I said,”
he manages eventually. “I don’t know how Harley got the stone, but he did, and he and Peter used
it to go back in time and alter the timeline. That’s what makes the most sense.”

“So where are they now?” Thor questions.

“And why did our Peter vanish?” adds Barton. “We’ve existed at the same time as our past selves,
and none of us disappeared.”

Stephen isn’t sure. “I don’t know why,” he remarks. “The stone on the gauntlet exploded, so it
can’t be because of two Time Stones existing simultaneously.”

“I could care less about the stones, Strange,” Stark bites. He throws himself to his feet, his chair
screeching as it slides across the tile. “Where the hell are my kids?”

Stephen remembers the sparks in the corner. “I think they portaled somewhere,” he replies. “I
don’t know where.”

“Back to the future?” the Maximoff girl ponders.

He shakes his head. “You can’t portal as a way to time travel,” he denies. “They would have had to
portal somewhere in the present.”

Hope fills Stark’s face. “So they’re still here?”

Stephen hesitates, then shrugs. “If they didn’t vanish along with the original Peter,” he tells him
honestly.

Stark doesn’t look deterred. “They’ve got to be here somewhere,” he says. “Even if they vanished,
they had to have gone somewhere.”

Carefully, Pepper places a hand on his shoulder. “Tony,” she murmurs gently, “it sounds like what
they went through was… strenuous. Even if they are here, we don’t know that they’re still…
alive.”

Later, Stark will tease him and say it was due to fatherly instinct, that Stephen had a soft side after
all. Stephen will call it connecting the clues, scientifically; but he knows deep down that his
memories came back the moment those words left Pepper’s lips.

Because she was right, wasn’t she? Harley could be dead. Using that spell at all was dangerous and
strength-consuming, but for a kid to perform? Harley was still a beginner, could barely make a
shield, let alone manipulate time .

Wherever Harley was, he probably portaled there so he could die in peace, somewhere with a lot of
trees, because Harley hates the machinery and metal of New York.

He’s from Tennessee after all, with forests and wild animals and open plains used for mudding
spots. Stephen had promised him that one day he would let Harley portal them to Rose Hill, so
Harley could show him—

Oh God. Harley.

“That idiot,” he says, chest caving in on itself like a sinkhole. “That stupid fucking kid.”

Captain Rogers does not comment on his language like he obviously wants to. Instead, he simply
asks, “What?”

“Harley,” he says, gasping like there’s no air. “He came to me in the original timeline. His family
had been dusted. I… I trained him.”

Stark’s face is pale and haunted. “He was here?” he whispers. “When?”

Stephen drags a hand over his face. “The past year, but he arrived at the Sanctum after The Blip.”

He remembers returning and finding Harley buried in a stack of books while he tried to levitate an
apple. “He’d been there the whole time I was in the Soul Realm. He taught himself the mystic arts,
so I agreed to help him.”

Maximoff — her name is Wanda, he thinks? — stares at him, slightly impressed. “You remember
the first timeline?”

Stephen scoffs. “I’m the Sorcerer Supreme, of course I remember the timeline,” he responds. His
head pounds as the memories flood him. “God, it’s all coming back.”

The last thing from the original timeline that Stephen remembers is going to sleep. Harley had been
acting odd that day, and the few days before. He figured Harley was having a rough week, which
wasn’t uncommon after everything he’d been through.

Stephen went to bed deciding to get authentic French food for breakfast the next morning, because
it was Harley’s favorite, but he can’t remember doing that. He can’t remember waking up.

That must have been when Harley and Peter put their plan into action. Harley must have somehow
learned how to rewind time without Stephen knowing. Clever little bugger.

“We must find them,” Thor demands. “Loki and I owe the young spider everything.”

Captain Rogers nods seriously. “No man gets left behind.”

“Ohana,” says Cling sagely.

“I need more answers,” Stark says, beginning to ramble as he starts to pace. “I don’t know why
they didn’t come find us, which implies that maybe they are dead, but Peter’s too resilient to stay
dead for long so I doubt that’s the case. Spiders, man. They’re slippery fuckers.”

“Hear hear,” Romanoff cheers.

“If they’re still here and still alive, which we should assume they are—” Vision speaks up. He’s
been silent the entire time. Stephen almost forgot he was there. “—they’re most likely in hiding.”

“James and I could probably find them,” Romanoff volunteers.

Sergeant Barnes looks momentarily startled at being mentioned, but then he nods. “They’re clever,
but I doubt they could hide from us,” he agrees, then eyes Thor and Loki in the corner, “or a couple
 of gods.”

“Stark, do you have any other angles of that footage?” Stephen asks. “If we can get an inside shot
of their escape portal, it might help figure out where they landed.”

Romanoff turns to him. “This was a pretty meticulous plan, and they’re brilliant kids. They
wouldn’t hide somewhere they know we’d look for them,” she says. “You two should make a list
of all of Harley’s and Peter’s favorite places so we can cross those off.”

“They probably went somewhere comfortable, though, so we should look for geographical
similarities,” Sergeant Barnes adds. “Harley made the portal, so it was his decision where to go, so
we should focus more on his locations.”

Everyone looks at him in surprise. He shrugs, shrinking a little under their gaze. “I’m getting the
hang of this magic thing,” he defends. Captain Rogers squeezes his shoulder proudly, and Sergeant
Barnes leans into it.

“And yet you’re still wary of electric toothbrushes,” Wilson chuckles.

Sergeant Barnes looks dubious. “What if they twist my tooth out?”

“That literally cannot happen.”

“Ladies, save this discussion for another time, please,” Stark interrupts. “Let’s move, people. The
longer they’re out there, the worse the odds get.”

Something ugly twists through Stephen’s stomach. Peter has enhanced healing; Harley does not.
The spell either killed him after portaling away, or he’s still alive and going to be fine.

The team disperses. Thor flies out the window; Barnes, Rogers, Wilson, Romanoff and Barton
move together, but Romanoff and Barton split from the group and head for the elevator while the
others take the stairs.

Banner, Stark, and Colonel Rhodes cluster by the worktop, already beginning to search for more
video footage and start going through Stark’s databases. Pepper whips out her phone.

Stephen takes a deep breath, then turns to Wanda and Vision. “You two are with me,” he declares.

They don’t argue with him. He turns around, swings his arm in a circle, and opens a portal to the
Sanctum. He needs to talk to Wong immediately, and do more research on that time spell. The
reason Present Peter disappeared has to be in the archives somewhere.

He is so going to rip Harley a new one when they find him.

(If he’s even alive when they do.)

Chapter End Notes

So now we finally have a glimpse at how the Stephen and the Avengers are handling
this. Poor souls. They'll find their kids again. (Hopefully)

As always, I'm honeycombclaire on tumblr if you wanna drop by!

 Chapter 5
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The first week or so living in the Wyoming cabin is spent mostly in quiet.

Well, not quiet.

Harley is in and out of consciousness for two days, and when he’s finally able to go more than four
hours without passing out again, Peter realizes that Harley is too weak to talk.

Peter carries Harley to the bedroom so that he’s more comfortable, and puts a bell that he found on
the bedside table for Harley to ring if he needs anything.

The first day is spent in complete silence. Harley is asleep for most of it, so Peter busies himself
with making chicken noodle soup for when Harley wakes up.

It’s… a lot of soup. He loads it with noodles so Harley can get some carbs, cleans out half the
vegetable drawer, and adds just as much chicken so that he gets enough protein.

(The chicken is flavorless. Peter burned the outside of it, but the inside was fully cooked.)

When Harley wakes up, Peter knows he has a small window of time to get some food in him, so he
grabs the biggest bowl he can find, fills it with soup, and takes it to Harley.

After propping his head up with pillows, Peter sits down on the edge of the bed and spoon feeds
Harley the soup until he passes out again.

The next three days occur in similar fashion. Peter wakes up, reads, does some work around the
house, helps Harley eat when he wakes up, reorganizes the kitchen, colors (because Harley stocked
this place up with more coloring books than Peter ever had as a child), and goes to bed. Sometimes,
he takes a bath.

Eventually, Harley wakes up and stays awake for longer. He still can’t find the energy to speak.

But Peter is a chatterbox; he can’t help it. So he fills the silence with his words, letting whatever
comes to mind leave his lips. Most of the time, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, because he’s
not even talking to Harley. He talks to himself, thinking out loud or reading off ingredients to
whatever he’s cooking.

He tries not to, in all honesty. It’s apparent that Harley has a wicked migraine that doesn’t seem to
be going away any time soon. But habits die hard. He can’t stop making noise.

Eventually, Harley gets fed up with his jabbering, so he throws a throw pillow at his head when
Peter is folding their laundry.

They learn that day that Peter’s mindless babbling is an unconscious coping mechanism to keep
himself calm. The pillow barely leaves Harley’s fingertips when Peter flings himself in the air. He
sticks to the ceiling and, without thinking, crawls until he’s hovering over Harley’s frame.

According to Harley, it takes him an hour to coax Peter back down onto the ground.

Even when he succeeds, Peter’s pupils are wide and he can’t stop moving, constantly searching
their surroundings for danger. He crawls on top of Harley protectively, eyes darting between the
door, the draped windows, and Harley.

Harley lets him yap, after that.

Things get easier. Peter still grates on Harley’s nerves, and Peter’s senses are still dialed up to an
eleven. Harley’s getting fed up with not being able to get up, and doing all the housework is tiring
for Peter. But there’s an unspoken agreement between them now, and they don’t get tired of each
other.

Day by day, Harley gets stronger. He stays conscious longer and longer each time he wakes up.
Peter keeps nearby, after the pillow incident, like he can’t bear to leave for more than a few
minutes.

Peter has to help Harley walk to the bathroom, but Harley manages the rest on his own. When
leftovers are gone, Peter asks him what he wants for dinner by giving him the cookbook and telling
him to choose a recipe.

Sometimes he makes whatever Harley chooses, sometimes he makes what he wants anyway.
Harley always gives him an exasperated look when he does that, but he never complains. Namely
because he can’t speak.

All electricity comes from solar panels on the roof, and the water comes from a central line.
Apparently, Harley had snuck some money out of Stephen’s bottomless account through an ATM
and tucked it away for safekeeping.

Peter’s not sure what they’ll do when that money runs out, but he figures that’s a question for
another day.

Halfway through week three, Peter brings Harley a giant plate of French toast and scrambled eggs.
Peter has his own plate (plates, four of them), because his metabolism is way faster than Harley’s
and he refuses to eat any of Harley’s portions.

They’re lying side by side in bed, legs and ankles pressed up against each other. The overhead light
is off but the bedside lamp is on, pitching the room in a dim glow to not upset Peter’s sensitive
eyes.

Peter is rambling quietly about how he used to eat scrambled eggs with barbecue sauce on them,
but his new hypersensitive taste buds refuse to let him, when he’s interrupted by a dull crunch, and
then a weak, gravelly voice that says, “There’s a shell in my eggs.”

Peter blinks. Stares at his plate, confused. God?

“Idiot,” the voice comes again, because Peter said that out loud.

Peter whips his head around. Harley is watching him, unimpressed. He digs around in his eggs
until he finds another shell, then sticks it in Peter’s food. “Eat it.”

Peter continues to stare. That’s Harley’s voice. Harley’s talking.

“What?” Peter croaks out.

Harley shrugs, still waiting. “Penance,” he says simply. His voice is getting airier, already worn out
from its brief use.
Peter blindly shovels the forkful of eggs into his mouth, shell and all. He grimaces as it crunches
under his molars, but he eats it obediently.

Harley doesn’t speak for the rest of the day, but the sound of his voice plays in Peter’s head on
repeat, waiting for the day that Harley gets the strength to speak again so that he can hear it all over
again.

___________

After two months, Harley’s not only speaking again, but he’s walking on his own — albeit slowly,
almost like a limp.

Peter sticks close by him every time he’s up, instincts screaming protectprotectprotect . Harley
never gives him shit for it.

Along with the colored pencils and coloring books are small tubes of paint, so they spend time
together every day on the floor by the white kitchen island and paint it together.

Harley is stronger, but still weak, so he ends up slumping against Peter’s side more often than not.
It sends a warm flutter through Peter’s stomach. Sometimes, he’ll wrap a free arm around Harley’s
back under the guise of adding extra support.

Harley paints a forest scene and Peter paints New York. It’s a small kitchen island since it’s a small
cabin, but they manage to stay on each other’s respective sides.

That is, until Harley steals some of Peter’s space one day. Outraged and entitled to compensation,
Peter steals some of Harley’s space the next day. It takes another two for their artwork to be done.

It’s longer two separate scenes, two mutually exclusive settings. Instead, the city gives way to the
forest around it, connected together by a sidewalk where two people are standing. One cohesive
piece.

Sometimes, when they’re curled up beside each other in the dark of the night, or when Peter is
cooking on the stove and Harley is sitting on the counter beside it, watching, Harley will tell him
stories.

He tells Peter about Strange and Dormammu, about Tony in Rose Hill when Harley was eleven.
He talks about his hometown, about the friends he left behind, about the inspiration to build the
famed potato gun.

In return, Peter tells him about his time in Germany, the incident with the ferry boat, and every
embarrassing moment Peter had trying to flirt, tie a tie, or ended up crying.

Things are peaceful, and without concern, and it doesn’t last long.

“We need groceries,” Peter says when they’re nearing the end of the two-month mark. How they
managed to go this long is beyond him, but Harley’s giant food stock was nearly gone. They
finished off the leftovers from last night, and the fridge is looking bare.

Harley looks up from his book. “There’s a giant wad of cash in the cookie jar on the kitchen
counter,” he tells Peter. “There’s usually a farmer’s market right on the outskirts of town that sets
up every morning. I saw it when I restocked the cabin, right before—”

He stops. They don’t talk about that day. The battle. It hurts too bad.

“That’s probably your best bet,” Harley continues. “There’s also a convenience store, I think, a
little ways past the market, but that’s a bit into town. Those are really the only two options, unless
you want to go to, like, Walmart, or somethin’.”

Peter does not want to go to Walmart.

He doesn’t want to go anywhere, but they have no computer and therefore cannot order groceries
online and get them delivered. He broke his phone, both so that Tony couldn’t track him, and
because he didn’t want to look at the life he left behind.

That phone belonged to Peter Parker, and he’s not Peter Parker anymore. Because Peter Parker
already exists, and is probably living it up with the Avengers right now.

Peter clenches his jaw. No. He’s not going to think about that. He’s done such a good job so far.

“I’ll be, like, forty minutes, or something, hopefully,” he tells Harley, walking out of the bedroom
to find the cookie jar. “Come look for me if I’m not back in an hour.”

He sees Harley salute him as he turns the corner.

He pulls out a few twenties and sticks them in his pocket, then slips on a baseball cap and heads
outside.

He resists the urge to pull up the hood on his sweatshirt, but that would make him stick out, and
that’s the last thing he wants.

It takes him fifteen minutes to walk from the cabin to the market. He doesn’t need to memorize the
way or mark a path. He can hear people chattering the farther he gets from the cabin, so he makes
his way in that direction, and he’ll just follow Harley’s heartbeat back home.

His senses had calmed somewhat in the easy, quiet peace that they have at the cabin; but they’re
still heightened more than before the battle, and as Peter gets closer to the people, his anxiety starts
to swell, and his senses shift gears and kick back into overdrive.

Harley was right. The market is small. There aren’t a ton of people, either. Not enough to hide him,
but enough that people won’t look at him twice. There are no cameras, like there would be at a
convenience store or gas station, and less people, which means he’s less likely to get recognized.

Not like anyone will . But it makes Peter feel better anyway.

He has a small list in his hands, written down on a sticky note. Milk, eggs, noodles, fruit,
bandages.

He gets three quarts of milk, figures he’ll freeze one or two of them until they need it. He gets a
giant thing of mixed berries and a watermelon, then bypasses the stand with the eggs to get the
noodles. He figures he’ll get those last, so he can set them on top of everything.

There are a lot of smells. They’re strong, and the further he gets into the market, the more there
are, overwhelming and all at once. A headache starts up at the base of Peter’s skull.

He grabs the bandages next from a woman who runs some weird organic first aid stand, or
something. Peter isn’t sure.

She struck up a conversation with him, and while Peter would usually jump at the chance to talk to
someone, it just makes him flinch at the sound of her voice, like rocks grinding together, and raises
his hackles. He needs to get back to Harley, get out of the open and somewhere safe.

He’s probably rude, the way he barely speaks to the woman except to say, “Have a good day,” and
practically throws his money at her, shoving the bandages in his bag and hurrying to the stand with
the eggs.

Everything is too loud and too bright, too out in the open. The bills feel like sandpaper under his
skin. His brain has stopped functioning, his body running solely on instinct. His hands shake as he
counts the money for the eggs, messes up, recounts, then messes up again.

His spider-sense isn’t going off, but he still feels scared scared scared.

He ends up throwing the rest of his money at the man, probably paying way too much, shoves the
eggs into his bag, and hurries out of the market. He doesn’t run, no matter how badly his legs itch
to do so. That would be even more suspicious. People would see him.

When he makes it out of the market and away from prying eyes, he takes off.

He runs back to the cabin faster than he’s ever run before. He stumbles through the door,
slamming it behind him. Then he locks the top lock and the lock on the doorknob. He drops the
bag on the counter, running for the windows to double check that they’re locked and yank the
drapes shut.

He wishes Natasha and Bucky were here. They knew everything about hiding. But even worse
than that, he wants Mr. Stark.

He wants Mr. Stark to hug him again, the way he only did once, when Peter first came back from
the soul realm. He wants Mr. Stark’s soothing words talking him down when he gets scared. He
wants Mr. Stark to smile at him, and tell him everything is okay.

“Peter?” he hears Harley call out.

There’s a window in the bedroom. Where Harley is.

Peter hurries into the room, ignoring Harley’s look of confusion as he checks the window and
snaps the blinds shut.

“Is someone out there?” Harley asks worriedly.

Peter squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “Loud,” he chokes out, climbing into bed in the
spot beside Harley. He drags the blankets up over his head, curling into a ball.

He wants to get on the ceiling and hide in the corner, where he has a perfect vantage point, but the
desperate yearning to be as close to Harley as possible wins out.

He hears Harley shut his book. He leaves the bed, and Peter’s heart races in panic, ready to jump
out and follow—

But then the light outside the blankets goes out, except for a faint glow in the corner — their lamp?
— and then Harley slides right back into the bed and tucks himself under the blankets with Peter.
 He lies there, waiting for Peter to do what he needs. So he does, lets his instincts completely take
over. He scoots closer, buries his nose in Harley’s neck to block out everything except the way he
smells, and wraps around him like an octopus.

With shaky-weak arms, Harley lifts his hands to Peter’s head and cups them over his ears. The
world quiets.

Chapter End Notes

A bit of a shorter chapter until we get to the nitty gritty. 2 chapters left!!
 Chapter 6
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“Harleyyyy,” Peter whines from the stove. He’s been alternating between staring at the chicken
baking in the oven and stirring the stir-fry in the pot for the past ten minutes. “I’m bored.”

Harley doesn’t look up from his book as he extends his arm over to the coffee table and burns
another dash into the wood with his magic.

Peter huffs at him petulantly. “Maybe instead of tallying how many times I say that, you should
help me figure out something to do .”

Harley raises a single eyebrow at him, and spares only a second to glance up at him from over the
top of his book and give him a long-suffering look.

“There’s an entire library of books for you to read,” he tells Peter. “I’ve told you that before.”

“I’m not a geek,” Peter says automatically.

The second eyebrow goes up.

“I’m a nerd,” amends Peter. “I like engineering and biochemistry, not novels.”

“What about your comic books?” Harley remarks, ignoring Peter’s comments completely. He’s
looking back at his book.

Peter groans. “I finished them all two weeks ago.” In fact, he read all five comics in a day. He
curses himself for not having better self control.

“I don’t know, go outside and plant a garden or something,” Harley sighs with exasperation.

Peter makes a face at his suggestion. “That’s so lame, I’m not making a—” He stops. “Wait,
actually. That’s not a horrible idea. That would be so much better than going to the market.”

It’s been a month since the market incident. Peter has only gone out once more since then, stocking
up on as much as he could to prolong the inevitable third trip.

Lucky for them, Harley had mostly recovered his strength by then, so he went out for Peter instead.
It didn’t really help Peter’s anxiety. The moment Harley left his sight, his instincts screamed at him
to follow, to keep Harley close by and away from danger.

Peter nearly paced a hole into the floor, and by the time Harley returned, there was a shallow dip
along one section of the floorboards.

Needless to say, the next time a run to the market was needed, they went together.

“We still have to go to get toiletries,” Harley points out.

Peter pouts at him. “Why do you have to ruin everything?”

Harley’s face scrunches up, and a daring look gleams in his eyes. “Oh I do, do I?” he asks.
Carefully, he dogears the page of his book, shuts it, then lifts himself off the couch.
The hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stand on end. He brandishes his giant spoon like a weapon.
“Yeah, I do,” he replies, daring, but his voice wavers slightly. “Don’t come any closer.”

Harley comes closer.

“I mean it,” Peter warns. “I’ll flick soy sauce on you. You’ll smell like a Chinese restaurant all
day.”

Harley smirks coyly. “But you like Chinese restaurants.”

Peter’s train of thought flies out the window. Harley slinks closer. Peter whips the spoon.

Globs of soy sauce fly off the utensil and splat across Harley’s face and shirt. He is not deterred,
however, and lunges for Peter. Peter screeches, taking off in the opposite direction as Harley
rounds the corner of the island.

Peter blindly chucks the spoon behind him, but it misses and clangs against the wall, and then the
floor. The cabin is small, so there’s not much space for him to hide.

Adrenaline floods his body and his senses burst into overdrive. Despite this, he feels no panic,
knowing there’s no real danger, and his instincts sing with the chase.

He goes crashing into the bedroom, scrambling up the wall to burrow himself in the corner right by
the door. He only has to wait a few seconds before Harley comes skidding into the room. He
launches himself off the wall, tackling Harley onto the floor.

Harley shrieks in surprise, clearly not expecting an aerial attack. Rookie mistake.

They go rolling across the wood. Peter barely registers the pain in his knees as they crack against
the floor. Harley shoots a glowing whip of magic at him and Peter goes flying across the room,
slamming into the opposite wall.

Peter laughs brightly and charges, shooting a web to the ceiling and swinging to dodge the whip’s
attack.

The whip wraps around the length of Peter’s arm, dragging him back down to the ground. Peter
rolls with it, somersaulting and colliding with Harley again.

His blood roars as they wrestle, but Peter is always cognizant in the back of his mind to be gentle
with Harley, not use all of his strength, touch protect wrestle pumping through his veins. His face
hurts from grinning like a madman, hearing Harley laugh and squawk as they tousle.

Peter gets Harley pinned eventually. Harley rolls his eyes at the victorious puff of Peter’s chest, but
his smile gives him away.

In one quick move he kicks Peter in the thigh and wraps his ankle around Peter’s, then pulls,
sending Peter careening onto his side with an undignified yelp.

He giggles, though, and tosses one arm over Harley’s torso, dragging himself closer so he can press
up against Harley. He rests his head on Harley’s shoulder, shifting a bit as Harley’s chest heaves as
he pants.

Peter doesn’t feel winded at all. Harley’s heart thunders in his chest, and Peter’s beats just as hard.

“You made a web without your webshooters,” Harley notes, catching his breath.
Peter blinks, caught off guard. Had he? He looks down at his left wrist. Where the base of his palm
meets his forearm is a tiny bump of raised skin.

He slides his right arm out from the space between the two of them and presses the pads of his
fingers against the bump.

He winces a bit. The skin is sore, but it doesn’t hurt too bad. More of an ache than actual pain.
There are a few flakes of dried blood crusted around the opening, but when he tilts his wrist
upwards to look inside, he finds that it’s not an open wound.

He takes a look at his other wrist, and finds a bump there, too.

Curious, he holds out his left arm towards one corner of the room. He presses down on his palm
where his webshooters normally sit.

Nothing happens.

He presses down harder, but no webs come out. He stares at his hand, questioning, then curls his
fingers in more so that they rest higher up on his palm.

He barely presses down before a web spits itself out of the bump on his wrist, sticking to the
juncture where the wall meets the ceiling.

Peter laughs triumphantly, and Harley gives an impressed whistle.

It takes a few minutes for him to figure out how to detach from the web. The bump still hurts a bit,
and the sensitive skin around the opening stings as he pulls away from the web.

The rest of the web slides out of his wrist, almost like slipping out a piece from a Hubba Bubba
gum roll.

“You’ve been acting a little more like a spider these past few months,” Harley mentions. There’s
no accusation or annoyance in his tone, but Peter feels embarrassed all the same.

“I’m pretty sure my powers are evolving,” he confesses. “I think after all the stress and the danger
from fighting the Battle of Earth twice, and leaving everyone behind, everything around us seems
more dangerous. So my senses increased, to protect us.”

He feels his face flush red. He won’t meet Harley’s eye. “Is it… bad?” he asks softly.

Immediately, the fingers in his hair freeze. They cup together, sliding down to cradle the back of
Peter’s head.

“No,” replies Harley, vehement. “Without it, we’d be dead. Tony, too, probably. Your powers
saved our lives, Pete. Don’t be ashamed of ‘em.”

And Peter believes him.

They lay there in silence for a while. Peter feels the last of the adrenaline leave his body as his
muscles relax, and he melts against Harley. Harley curls his other arm around Peter’s middle,
clasping his hands together to hold Peter against him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t think of a plan that ended better for us,” Harley says quietly, frowning. “But
for what it’s worth… if I had to be stuck here for the rest of my life, I’m glad it’s with you.”

Peter stares at him. Harley’s cheeks are red, but he’s smiling sheepishly at him, something like
hope hiding in his eyes.

That’s what convinces Peter to do it — to close the distance between them and press his lips
against Harley’s.

Harley makes a soft noise through his nose, falling into it immediately. His hand comes up to brush
his thumb across the side of Peter’s jaw, then he cups the back of Peter’s head and pulls him a little
closer.

Peter sighs contently, hands fisting into Harley’s shirt as Harley gently moves them backwards
until Peter is flat on his back and Harley is hovering halfway over him.

Harley’s hand is still in Peter’s hair, fingernails scratching across his scalp with precise toe-curling
pressure.

Peter hates living without Tony, without the Avengers and Aunt May. But as Peter goes about
licking the sticky soy sauce off of Harley’s neck, he thinks that if this is what he gets to live like
for the rest of his life, well. There are worse things.

__________________

Tony stares down at the computer keyboard, eyebrows pinched in confusion.

He’s not entirely sure why there are three G’s on the keyboard, but hey. Who is he to question the
new trends?

There aren’t enough words with the letter G in the English language, anyway. Maybe G will finally
get the recognition it deserves.

Tony pulls his eyes away from the holograph and over to the desk beside him. There’s an old,
physical keyboard resting on it.

Sometimes, when Tony is having an extra-bad day (because let’s be honest, every day without
Peter is a bad day), he’ll bring Morgan down to the workshop to keep him company.

She’ll rattle on about a new kids show she’s watching, or talk about what they’re learning at
school. Tony listens with half attention on her and half on his computers as he frantically searches
for any sign of his boys.

She gets bored down here, though, since most of the things in the workshop are too dangerous for
her to touch, so he brought out an old keyboard from his scrap room and let her paint her favorite
characters on the keys.

It’s late, so Morgan is fast asleep, safe in her bed. Tony knows, because he reinstalled a baby
monitor in her room so that he can make sure she doesn’t fade out of existence either.

He already lost one kid — two, technically — he can’t lose his little girl, too.

It’s been four months since Peter vanished. Pepper has taken over the construction of a brand new
Avengers Facility, especially since most of the team has promised to stay in New York for the
foreseeable future.
Until then, Tony has left the seclusion of the safehouse and gone back to his lake house with
Pepper and Morgan. A house Tony always wanted to bring Peter to, but never got the chance.

There’s a room upstairs near Morgan’s. It has never been used, but neither Tony nor Pepper
consider it a guest room. There is a plush Spider-Man nestled between the pillows. Tony refuses to
go in there.

An orange spark of light tints the air as Strange steps through a portal and into Tony’s workshop.
He looks much more put together than Tony, but Tony can see the bags under his eyes.

“Stark,” the sorcerer greets curtly. “Any progress?”

“I’d let you know if there was,” Tony snaps, scrubbing a hand over his face as he looks back to his
holographic screens.

There’s about a dozen screens up across the room. He’s got FRIDAY searching every database he
can legally (and illegally) access, all the footage from every street cam ever, and every online
video or image in existence, hoping for the smallest nugget that will lead him to the boys.

Strange sets down a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “Three shots of espresso,” he tells him.
“Don’t tell Pepper. You were supposed to be cut off.”

Tony downs half of it in one go, ignoring the way it burns his throat. “Thanks,” he says grimly.

“Get some sleep when it wears off, would you?” Strange rolls his eyes. “Don’t make me regret not
bringing you tea and dumping melatonin pills in it.”

Tony waves him off, giving him a wordless, half-hearted promise. Strange doesn’t look at all
convinced, but Tony knows he’s just as desperate to find them as Tony is, which means he’s not
going to argue too much.

Besides, judging by how deep those bags under his eyes look, Tony has a feeling he’s been getting
the same amount of sleep as Tony has. See also: none.

Strange takes a seat on the couch on the opposite end of the room, leaning his head back against
the back.

Tony quirks an eyebrow at him. “Did you come here just to drop off my coffee and become one
with my decorative pillows?” he asks.

Strange snorts, shaking his head. “If I’m bothering you, I’d be more than happy to leave,” he
comments wryly. After a beat, he adds, “The Sanctum is too quiet.”

It socks Tony right in the gut. He doesn’t do well in silence; it’s why he always plays music in the
lab or while working. He also had Peter beside him half the time, talking his ear off.

Even now, without Peter, Tony has Morgan laughing and playing and chattering almost as much as
Peter. He has Pepper talking on the phone all the time, and the My Little Pony theme song that
echoes from the living room TV when Morgan plays it every morning.

Strange has… none of that. Besides Wong (who Tony thinks he’s only heard speak three times in
his life), Strange is completely alone.

“I never realized how quiet my lab was, until Peter dusted,” Tony mentions softly. “I was always
so snappy with him; I don’t know why. But Peter never minded. He was just happy I got to spend
time with him.”

He stares numbly at the tools in front of him. He remembers the way they looked in Peter’s hands,
how Peter was always hunched over his desk, how he mumbled to himself as he fiddled because
the kid was physically incapable of staying quiet for longer than five minutes.

“And then he came back, and there was the battle, and then he was just… gone,” he continues.
“We finally beat Thanos, and Peter just vanishes into thin air.”

Strange — Stephen — gives a dry scoff. “The original timeline was much different,” he tells Tony.
“I can’t understand why they decided to go through with something that dangerous, but— I can
understand why they wanted to.”

Tony shakes his head, running a hand over his mouth. “I always said that getting those two alone
together would be a bad idea,” he mutters, but he can’t stop the small smile that forms.

God, he loves those kids so much.

Stephen makes a noise of agreement. “Harley has the worst stubborn streak I’ve seen since you,”
he admits. “I doubt I helped much.”

Tony smiles at that, pleased.

“You know, Harley could do portals, but he never quite got the hang of making a shield,” Strange
reminisces, grinning a little. “He would get so frustrated. The only reason he slept was because he
knew he’d never make one if he was exhausted.”

Tony watches in an odd sort of shock as Stephen’s face gets a bit red around his cheeks and across
the bridge of his nose, like he’s getting worked up.

“He was so happy when he finally made one,” Stephen chuckles. “Like he’d just won the lottery. It
was one of the only times he and I ever hugged, but he jumped on me, and I let him. Kid deserved
it, you know?”

He sniffles, and looks ashamed to be doing so. “And now he’s strong enough to rewind time. I
can’t believe it,” he gawfs. “I can’t believe I forgot him.”

Tony only hesitates for a moment, before he lifts himself out of his chair and carries himself over
to the couch, taking a seat beside Stephen but leaving plenty of room between them.

He feels a little lighter, talking about this, but it also weighs him down.

Stephen’s words ring through him like he hit his head on the Liberty Bell. He recalls all the times
that Peter tried to hug him, that Peter probably wanted a hug, needed one, and Tony denied him.

Peter took it in stride, never letting it show if it upset him, but it’s upsetting Tony now.

Their one real hug came when Peter stepped out of that portal after five years. But there were
layers of metal between them, and then Peter disappeared, and now Tony may never get to give his
kid the proper hug he deserves.

But Stephen’s story reminds him of one of his times with Harley, and he says, “Back when I was
crashing in Harley’s garage in Rose Hill, he had this idea for a little project. It was nothing more
than sketches, but when I told him it probably wouldn’t work with the design he had, he said that
he was going through with it anyway, because he didn’t know it would fail until he tried.”
Stephen turns to look at him for the first time. “What was the project?”

Tony’s eyes sting with tears. “A helmet with a liftable faceplate, just like on my Iron Man suit.” He
balls his hands into a single fist, elbows resting on his knees to keep him upright. “Said it would
protect him from the bullies.”

Stephen smiles fondly. “He was at your funeral, in the original timeline,” he says. “Peter was with
him.”

Tony’s eyebrows go up in surprise. “Really?”

Stephen nods. “I saw the two of them sitting under a tree together, after the service ended and
everyone was grouping up for the wake,” he explains. “They were off on their own, away from the
crowds.”

Tony briefly wonders if Peter took refuge because of an oversensitivity issue. He can’t imagine
how overwhelming that all must have been for him.

“They weren’t talking, but they were sitting close together,” he remarks. “I don’t think they ever
left each other’s side that day, though I can’t recall them actually speaking to each other.”

He shakes his head sadly. “It looked like they’d both been crying. I think that’s where their
friendship really started.”

Tony winces. He had wanted them to meet eventually, but that was not the way he wanted it to
happen.

“I can’t believe I actually died,” he says on an exhale, then decides that’s too heavy of a thought
and tries to make light of it. “Figures they’d cheat me out of being a hero.”

Stephen obviously doesn’t understand the concept of changing the subject. “You’ve always been a
hero, Stark,” he tells Tony. His voice is more earnest than Tony has ever heard it. “If to no one
else, you were to them.”

A single tear manages to escape the corner of Tony’s eye. He quickly wipes it away to hide the
evidence. “You said we still won in the original timeline, so why—?”

Tony stops. Stares. “You don’t think they went back in time to save me , do you?”

Stephen snorts, sounding defeated. “There’s not a doubt in my mind that’s exactly why they did.”

Tony can’t stop the rest of the tears that spill over at his words. He digs his palms into his eyes.
“Those stupid fucking kids,” he chokes out.

Stephen gives a disdainful snort. “Cheers,” he grumbles. “I don’t even think I have the authority to
ground Harley, but I’m damn well going to, anyway.”

Tony holds his knuckles up for a fist-bump. After a moment, Stephen smiles and bumps him back.

There’s a rapid beep from one of the screens, before FRIDAY announces, “Boss, I found
something.”

Tony and Stephen are on their feet and in front of the screen between one second and the next.
Tony taps on the flashing red screen, then pushes the other screens away so he can enlarge it.

“I have found a system error originating from location 10880 Malibu Point, 90265, Malibu,
California,” says FRIDAY.

Stephen furrows his eyebrows. “What’s there?”

“My Malibu safehouse,” Tony replies. “It used to be a mansion, but after a Mandarin attack
destroyed it, I built a safehouse there instead of rebuilding it.” He heaves out a breath and scrubs at
his face, wiping the tears off his cheeks. “What’s the error?”

“Missing logs, both audio and visual,” she responds. “System alerts indicate that the Barn Door
Protocol was initiated, but all other logs have been erased.”

Tony frowns. “Erased?” A sweat breaks out on his palms. “How is that— what code was used?”

“Code P3P dash 8-1-0,” she answers.

Tony’s heart lurches in his chest. “That’s Peter’s access code,” he tells Stephen, who looks over at
Tony with wide, hopeful eyes. “FRIDAY, override code IM–FE–XY. I want those logs yesterday.”

“Recovering data,” FRIDAY confirms. There is a lapse in silence as her system works, before she
says, “Search complete. Four audio files and two data logs recovered. Security camera video
unattainable.”

A stream of audio files flood onto the screen in front of them. On the one to the left, the screen
goes black, and a string of code appears. On the right screen is a list of protocols, activation codes,
and orders that were given to FRIDAY.

Tony sifts through the files until he finds the one with the earliest time-stamp. HIs stomach twists.
This must have been right after the battle ended.

He says as much to Stephen, who nods. “It makes sense,” he agrees. “I bet that as soon as the
portal closed, the other Peter started vanishing.”

The audio is only a few seconds long. It’s primarily shuffling, but they can hear Peter whispering,
things like “Okay, it’s okay” and “there we go.”

The two of them listen to all four of the audio files. They listen as, they assume, Peter destroys the
second Time Stone and the Eye, and as Peter and Harley cry together.

In another file, they hear Peter trick FRIDAY into not contacting Tony about their whereabouts.
He can’t make heads or tails as to why Peter would want to avoid him, and his heart aches at the
idea that Peter didn’t want to see him.

They listen as Peter whimpers from the pain of his injuries, as he curses in fright about destroying
the stone, as he collapses into Harley’s arms and whispers, “They’re safe,” before suddenly
everything goes quiet, and the file stops.

They’re safe. They’re safe. Fuck. How bad were things in the original timeline?

“It sounded like they portaled again,” Stephen points out.

“Can you figure out where they went?” Tony questions.

Stephen purses his lips in thought. “Maybe,” he says. “I might be able to track the energy signature
from Harley’s magic, but it could be hard depending on how weak he was and how far he went.”

Tony’s jaw clenches. His blood roars through his veins. If Strange can’t find Harley on his own, he
 knows a few people who can help.

“FRIDAY, contact Barnes, Romanoff, and Barton,” Tony orders, voice hard with determination.
“Looks like we’re going to Malibu.”

Chapter End Notes

The finale should be up either next Saturday or Sunday!

Did you catch the jokes in the override codes?

 Chapter 7
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Peter stares at the tiny ‘x’ on the calendar, feeling a little numb.

Yesterday was six months on the dot since The Day. That’s what they’ve been calling it, the few
times it was ever brought up. The day they went back in time. The day they give up everything so
everyone else could live.

Neither he or Harley mentioned it, yesterday, but the awareness of the date had hung in the air all
day, thick and heavy.

Harley had felt weaker, like the knowledge had drained him of energy. He stayed in bed all day,
and Peter stayed with him, only getting up if they needed to use the restroom or if Peter went to
bring them food.

It’s easier to breathe the next day. They spend some time lounging in bed in the morning, cuddled
up together in the quiet. Peter makes them breakfast while they argue over whether or not they
should buy a television.

(“There’s no signal up here, Peter.”

“So? I could probably steal an antenna or something.”

“We don’t need a TV.”

“I’m sick of painting farm animals, Harls.”

“So find something else to do. Wood carve, build a patio, I don’t know.”

“A TV would be so much cheaper than building a patio, don’t you think?”

“But a patio would be nice.”

“… a patio would be nice.”)

Harley spends most of the early afternoon practicing his magic. For a little while, Peter watches
him from the window that looks out into the backyard. They tend to stay away from the front of
the house, on the off chance that someone sees them.

Harley’s fingers curl with precision, orange magic glowing between his hands as he works.

There’s an invisible shield around the house that Harley put up when they first moved in, to protect
the cabin from any attacks or intruders. Every few weeks, he puts more magic into them, almost
like a touch-up.

He looks so focused, jaw set and eyes dark and sharp. His biceps flex as he moves, straining
against the sleeves of his flannel that are pushed up to his elbows. Even from this far, Peter can see
the veins on his hands and forearms bulge.

Peter swallows and turns away, cheeks flushed. Since the night they got together, they’ve fallen
into bed more than once, but Harley never fails to make Peter blush like a flustered schoolgirl.
He glances around the kitchen and living room, eyeballing for something to do, something to
distract him, when he notices that the wood pile by the fireplace is nearly gone.

Immediately, Peter changes into a cooler shirt, ties on his sneakers, then grabs the firewood rack
and drags it outside.

He locates the axe propped up against the back of the cabin, tossing it over his shoulder, and jogs
down to the wood pile towards the edge of the forest.

He can feel Harley’s eyes on him as he passes by. Peter fights back a shiver but can’t stop his
smile. He loves having Harley’s attention on him.

He gets to work immediately, pouring his… frustrations into each swing. The crack of each log
echoes throughout the clearing. His super strength means that the axe slices through the wood with
ease, cracking each one in half with a single swing.

He can hear, distantly, Harley curse and sputter as he messes up his spells, obviously distracted.

Peter smirks. Hook, line, sinker.

Mr. Stark once told him that Steve ripped apart a log with his bare hands like it was nothing more
than styrofoam. Peter is pleased to say that, after some practice over the past few months, he can
do it, too.

When the rack is halfway full, Peter decides to do just that.

When he rips apart his second log and reaches for a third, a glowing orange whip wraps around his
right wrist.

Twenty feet away, Harley is glaring at him, face red and eyes wide. “You’re a little shit,” he says
gruffly.

Peter grins mischievously. He yanks his arm backwards, causing Harley to stumble forward. “It’s
my favorite pastime,” he calls, shaking the whip off his wrist and picking up the firewood rack.

He carries it back towards the cabin, grinning at Harley’s grumbles. He sets the rack down so that
he can open the door, but Harley ambushes him from behind, spinning him around and slamming
him up against the outer wall of the house.

“This is my favorite pastime,” murmurs Harley, before diving in.

Peter hums happily, wrapping his arms around Harley’s waist as Harley basically tries to eat his
face. Harley boxes him in, both hands coming up to press against the wood on either side of his
head.

Harley is warm where their fronts are pressed together, and Peter can hear his steady heartbeat kick
up a notch. He smells like magic, like ozone and the autumn breeze. Peter can’t get enough of it.

Harley bites at his bottom lip, digging his incisors deep. Peter makes a noise in the back of his
throat that Harley swallows, responding with his own pleased little moan in return.

They make out a lot nowadays. Peter can’t get enough of it.

They keep at it for a while, before the wind begins to pick up and Peter starts to shiver. Harley
pulls away at the first sign of the shift in temperature. Peter whines, trying to pull him back, but
Harley stands firm and steps away.

Curse Peter’s inability to thermoregulate.

Harley gives him one last kiss before heading inside, propping the door open for Peter. With a
sigh, Peter lifts the firewood rack again and steps into the cozy warmth of the cabin, kicking the
door shut behind him.

He drops the rack by the fireplace, then heads into the kitchen to figure out what to make for
dinner.

Neither of them ate much yesterday, too nauseous from the anniversary, so Peter needs something
with a lot of calories to make up for what he skipped.

“I’m thinking pork schnitzel,” he tells Harley as he flips through the cookbook, even though
doesn’t even need it anymore. He knows all of the recipes like the back of his hand. “That’ll cover
iron and protein. And then maybe noodles for carbs.”

There’s a knowing smile on Harley’s face when he tugs at a strand of Peter’s hair. “Fruits and
veggies too, Pete.”

Peter grumbles, but agrees. “Salad?” he suggests.

Harley nods. “Make a list and I’ll go out to the garden.”

The garden. Harley’s pride and joy. They made it after Harley suggested it three months ago. They
quickly learned that Peter didn’t have a speck of green in his thumb, so Harley ended up taking
over while Peter stuck to painting and various carpentry projects.

Harley grooms those plants like they’re his children. Peter doesn’t understand it, but hey, whatever
makes his boyfriend happy.

Peter grabs a scratch sheet of paper and scribbles down the ingredients: lettuce, cucumber, carrots,
apples, radishes. He thinks they have some peaches in the fridge to add, and that he can probably
make homemade croutons to go with it.

He hands the list to Harley, who grabs the wicker basket off the floor by the back door, then makes
his way into the backyard and towards the garden.

Peter busies himself with making dinner. With Peter’s metabolism, they go through meat like
nobody’s business, but meat at the market is expensive. He’s been eating more beans to make up
for it, and he’s excited that he can skip them today.

The happy chirping of the birds outside fills the silence. There’s a bird feeder hanging by the
window that Peter put up, so he can watch the birds while he cooks.

It’s something he vaguely recalls Steve doing, once, or hearing about it. Harley brought it home
the day he went out to the market by himself, and Peter had hung it up immediately. It reminded
him of Steve.

And, also, he didn’t feel as lonely since he could talk to the birds while he worked around the
kitchen, but he would never admit that to Harley.

Harley comes back with a heaping basket of fruits and veggies. He starts on the salad while Peter
works on the stovetop.
They step around each other easily, wordlessly asking for things or stepping out of the way without
having to be asked. It’s their own little dance they’ve created together. The evening sun streams
into the connecting living room from the open curtains. It’s a peaceful afternoon.

At least, it is, until the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stand up.

He moves immediately, turning off the stove and grabbing Harley around the middle, tugging him
away from the island and into the corner, where the counter meets the fridge.

“Peter, what—” Harley sputters, but his words choke to a stop when three raps sound from the
front door.

No one has ever come to the cabin.

Peter can’t tell who it is. Their visitor isn’t speaking, so he can’t make out a voice, but Peter can
hear their heartbeat — two heartbeats. One racing, one steady.

“Stay here,” Peter mumbles under his breath, before squaring his shoulders and cautiously
approaching the door. He presses his back against the door and peeks out the peephole.

He’s not prepared to see Tony Stark and Stephen Strange on the other side.

Peter whips his head around to look at Harley with wide eyes. Harley seems concerned, hands
raising on the defensive, but Peter frantically shakes his head and makes various, messy ‘abort’
motions with his hands.

‘Tony and Strange’ he mouths.

Harley’s jaw drops.

Knuckles hit the door four more times, harder this time. Peter jerks at the loud sound, taking a few
steps away. He panics silently for a few seconds, unsure of how to proceed. Harley isn’t much
help, looking too much like a deer in headlights to be any assistance. Peter can’t really blame him.

So he does what he does best in situations sure to bite him in the ass. He straightens up, slaps on a
mask of indifference, then steels himself for the inevitable fallout as he opens the door.

It’s a genuine miracle that Peter is able to keep his face neutral.

Tony and Strange are standing on the porch, practically shoulder to shoulder. Tony’s got his
thumbnail in his mouth, and Strange has his fist raised, as if to knock again.

Peter hasn’t seen Tony in six months, and he feels the earth tilt beneath his feet. He wants to throw
up just looking at him.

Peter never thought he would see either of them again. They didn’t plan for what to do in this
situation. This is going to make or break the rest of their lives; how did they not plan for this
situation?

He knows one thing for sure, though: nothing can risk undoing the timeline.

So he opens the door halfway, keeps one hand tight around the doorknob, ready to slam it shut and
keep Harley hidden away, and asks, “Can I help you?”

He watches panic wash over Tony’s face. He rips his hand away from his mouth, only to shove it
through his hair instead.
“Peter. I’m Tony Stark,” he says. His voice is tight and high in his throat. “Do you remember me?”

Peter’s eyebrows furrow. What does that mean? Did their spell alter Tony’s memories? That wasn’t
part of the plan.

With a swoop of terror, Peter starts to realize that something has gone wrong.

“Where is Harley?” Strange demands, trying to peer around Peter’s shoulder. “Is he here?”

Peter blinks in surprise. He can’t come up with a lie in time, can’t find the words. His heart is
speeding in his chest like it’s part of the fucking Indie 500.

“How—” Harley stutters from his position in the kitchen, “—how do you remember?”

Tony and Strange both perk up at the sound of Harley’s voice, and between one breath and the next
they’re muscling their way past Peter and inside the cabin.

Peter knows that they’re not going to hurt him or Harley, but after so long hiding from them, to
keep them safe, his instincts go haywire at the sight of Tony and Strange so close to Harley —
Tony and Strange in their home.

Harley has rounded the corner of the kitchen island, so Peter throws the door shut and flies towards
him, coming to stand in front of him, shielding him from Tony and Strange.

Both older men falter in their steps at the blatant show of distrust. Peter takes a step back,
sandwiching Harley between himself and the island. A hurried thought crosses his mind that, with
Peter’s newer enhancements, he can grab Harley, sprint to the bedroom, break the window, and
swing them both away, if the situation calls for it.

Harley places a gentle, reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder. Tony’s eyes clock it immediately, but
Strange isn’t paying attention to that. He’s looking right at Harley.

“So you do know who we are,” he says.

Harley shifts so that he’s more at Peter’s side rather than behind, but lets Peter keep him back with
an arm out in front of him. He knows Peter’s freaking out. Harley has always been able to read him
like a book.

“We do,” Harley answers. He’s looking at Strange suspiciously, like he might be an imposter.
“How do you know me?”

Strange makes a noise of disbelief, something between a laugh and a scoff. “I’m the Sorcerer
Supreme, kid,” he replies. “Did you really think your time manipulation would permanently erase
my memories?”

Peter’s heart drops straight into his feet. He cranes his neck to look at Harley, who looks just as
gobsmacked.

“Your memories?” Peter echoes, chancing a glance back to Strange.

Strange gives them a single, curt nod. “From the original timeline.”

The blood runs out of Peter’s head so fast he goes lightheaded. Harley grabs onto Peter’s arm,
digging his nails into the muscle of his biceps. Grounding him. Grounding them both.

Tony crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh yes,” he says. “We found a video feed from the Battle of
Earth. Imagine our surprise when we saw two Peter Parkers and two Time Stones.”

Harley flinches guiltily. Strange barrels on. “Once we put the pieces together, it all came back,” he
explains shortly. “How the hell did you even get a duplicate stone?”

Peter hasn’t asked that question in half a year, but realizes that he never got an answer. He nudges
Harley inquisitively.

Harley grimaces. “You don’t want to know.”

“I think I do.”

“You really don’t.”

“Tell me anyway,” Strange demands. There’s a threat in his voice that makes Peter duck his head
nervously.

Harley’s face goes beet red, but his eyes fall to his feet, ashamed. “I, uh…” he says carefully, “stole
it from another dimension?”

Peter’s jaw hangs open. Strange’s eyes practically pop out of his head. “You did what?” he shouts.

Harley worries at his bottom lip. “Everything worked out in the end,” he remarks defensively. “We
fixed everything. And now that other dimension doesn’t have to worry about Thanos because he
won’t have all the stones, so don’t— don’t yell at me!”

His voice cracks. The room falls silent.

Peter moves backwards, hating that he’s no longer shielding Harley from danger, but knowing
what he needs right now is a sturdy support. He wraps one strong arm around Harley from behind,
giving him something to lean onto.

The hard lines on Strange’s face have softened at Harley’s distress. He drags a hand over his face,
suddenly looking every part of forty years old.

“You’re the reason I’m going grey, kid,” he huffs, exasperated, but his eyes are filled with pain.
“You’re so stupid, Harley. This could have killed you. I could have lost you.”

I did lose you, is unsaid, but lingers in the space between them nonetheless.

Harley shrugs, but there’s an air of guilt around him despite it. “We’d lost Mr. Stark,” he responds,
like that overrides everything.

Because it did. That’s why they did what they did.

“And Natasha,” Peter adds, voice wavering as he remembers, “and Loki, and Vision, and Steve…
and a whole lot of others.” He watches horror twists on Tony’s face as Peter lists the names. He
mimics Harley’s shrug. “Our lives are insignificant compared to that.”

Tony claps loudly, once, and Peter full-body flinches at the sound. His ears ring with it. Tony
looks furious.

“Nuh-uh. No,” he snaps, pointing dangerously at Peter. “Don’t you ever fucking— that’s not true.
Don’t ever let me hear you saying that again.”

Peter blinks at Tony in surprise. Slowly, he nods. He doesn’t exactly believe Tony — he knows
he’s important and that he’s loved, but his and Harley’s lives are a small price to pay for the safety
of the many — but he doesn’t want to upset Tony any more than he already is.

Besides, Peter likes hearing him say that.

“You two need to tell us exactly what happened,” demands Tony. He reaches out, fists the arm of
the couch, and leans against it heavily. “Exactly.”

Peter and Harley exchange a look, but ultimately, it’s Harley that steps forward. (Metaphorically,
not literally. Peter still won’t let him go.)

“After you agreed to mentor me, when you would go off doing, you know, hero stuff, I would
spend a lot of time in the library,” Harley begins. “I came across some of your more… advanced
spellbooks.”

Strange stares at Harley. When he speaks, his voice is somewhat faint. “You read the Book of
Cagliostro, didn’t you? That’s how you learned about the time manipulation spell.”

When Harley smiles sheepishly as his only response, Strange groans. “Harley, I told you to stay
away from those. The spells in there have serious consequences. They’re dangerous.”

Harley shrugs weakly, but not at all apologetically. “You were gone. It’s not like you could stop
me,” he says. “I didn’t even mean to find it. I was just curious as to what kind of spells were in
them.”

Strange opens his mouth to argue, but Harley speaks over him before he can get more than a
couple words out. “I realized if I could just get my hands on the Time Stone, I could use the spell
to reverse time and fix the shitty universe we were stuck living in. And then I remembered another
spell I read about in one of the other prohibited spellbooks—”

“Harley.”

“—so I used it to dimension-jump so I could get the Time Stone,” Harley continues, ignoring
Strange’s admonishments, but looking a bit chastised anyway.

Strange looks about two words away from having an aneurysm right in the middle of their living
room. “Harley James Keener, of all the irresponsible—”

Tony waves his hands in the air, interrupting Strange with a sharp, “Okay, okay, we can scold them
later.” He levels a glare at both teenagers. “And there will be a boatload of scolding, young men.
But can someone please explain to me where Peter comes into all of this?”

Peter feels his chin tremble as Tony’s eyes land on him. He feels like he’s going to faint right there
on the floor at any second. The adrenaline is wearing off, and the fight or flight is easing inside of
him, which leaves him only head-spinning-ly overwhelmed.

“We’d talked a lot after your funeral, so he knew I had powers,” Peter explains, voice as steady as
he can make it. “He needed someone who could fight during the battle and make sure you never
got the gauntlet, destroy the second Time Stone, and then take care of him while he recovered here
—”

“All right, I get it,” Tony cuts him off. “You were a prime candidate. Congrats. Why on God’s
green earth did you agree?”

Peter shrugs, sure that they’d been over this already. “You and almost everyone else were dead,”
he explains. “It was… it was really hard without you, Mr. Stark, living and not having you there
with me. Living while you were dead.”

His lungs squeeze, agony clawing at his throat at the memories. “And Morgan would have
nightmares and cry for you, and you weren’t there so she had to settle for me,” he chokes, “and
Natasha was gone, and Wanda was kind of going crazy after losing Vision, and Sergeant Barnes
always seemed so sad about Steve leaving, and— and it was a wreck, Mr. Stark, everything was so
messed up, and I missed you, and then Harley tells me he’s got a way to get you back…”

Peter sucks in a shaky, gasping breath. “How could I not agree?”

The fight drains out of Tony the way water gets squeezed from a wet t-shirt. He makes a wounded
noise, not bothering to wipe away the tears spilling down his face.

“Kid, God, I can’t even imagine what— I just—” he sputters, visibly trying to get himself together.
“I don’t understand. Why did you leave?” He gazes around at their tiny cabin. “Why did you stay
away?”

Peter tries his damned hardest not to cry as he glances nervously between Tony and Strange,
stomach churning uncomfortably. Harley answers for him.

“Because we’re from the future but stuck in the past,” he explains. “There can’t be two Peters in
the same place.”

A vein pops out on Strange’s forehead. He looks annoyed, but Peter can hear his heartbeat racing
as fast as Tony’s.

“There can’t be two Peters at all,” he argues. “By your explanation, you two should have
disappeared the moment you changed the timeline and decided to stay , not the other Peter. But
you’re still here, because you missed one very important detail.”

Harley furrows his eyebrows, shoulders tensing. Peter holds onto him a little tighter in silent
comfort.

“I don’t understand,” Harley frowns. “How did I miss something? I calculated everything. I did all
the research—”

“But you failed to take into consideration that time is weird,” Strange elaborates. “It’s
unpredictable, because messing with it has hardly ever been done before. There’s no guidebook.”

Tony levels them both with a stern frown. “Something tells me that neither of you know that Peter
from the present vanished the moment the two of you portaled away.”

Peter’s knees give out. He manages to force his legs apart enough to keep his balance, leaning
against the island for support.

He recognizes, in the small part at the back of his brain, that his hands are probably gripping onto
Harley painfully tight, but Harley doesn’t even flinch. Peter does his best to keep Harley steady as
he wobbles.

“He what?” Harley whispers, horrified.

Peter has only seen sympathy on Stephen Strange’s face once in his life, when he stood among the
circle of heroes as Tony died on the battlefield in the original timeline.
Now, he’s witnessing it again, as Strange stares at his protégé.

“The spell put the two of you into the past,” explains Strange. “You used the Time Stone to cement
your place in the past, so the stone got rid of your other selves. You two replaced your other
selves.”

Harley blinks owlishly at them. “Our other selves?” he asks cautiously.

“We checked the records. Apparently you disappeared as well,” Tony tells Harley gently. “The
little old lady who watched you vanish into thin air is very traumatized.”

Strange nods. “After we watched one Peter disappear into thin air, and another Peter escape
through a portal, Stark did some digging. It took a while, but we found some discrepancies in the
logs at Tony’s safehouse in Malibu. We found audio logs with your voices on them.”

Peter lets out a colorful swear word. “I told FRIDAY to erase those!”

Tony blinks at the curse that just came out of Peter’s mouth, then shakes his head. “You can’t
override me from my own system, Underoos,” he admonishes. “Took us forever, but with the help
of our spy friends, we were able to track you down.”

He gives them an unimpressed look, which has absolutely no weight considering his eyes are red
and his face is puffy from crying. “A cabin in Wyoming? Seriously?”

Peter sniffles. “My generation doesn’t even believe in Wyoming,” he says, because it’s the first
thing that comes to mind. “It was a great plan.”

Peter hears the breath whoosh out of Harley’s lungs to the point of wheezing. “Everyone shut up,”
Harley croaks, taking in deep, stuttering breaths. He flails out an arm, off balance, and Peter
catches Harley’s hand with his own.

“You mean to tell me,” Harley says slowly, “that we could’ve stayed?”

A heavy, sorrowful silence falls over the cabin. Slowly, Harley puts about an inch or two of space
between him and Peter.

Peter has to fight the urge to drag him back in, instincts screaming at him that this wasn’t part of
the plan, danger, protect.

Harley tilts his head to look at him, and Peter stares right back.

“Do you know what this means?” Peter asks weakly.

Harley’s eyes are wide and full of despair. “Peter, I’m— I’m so sorry,” he stumbles over his words,
his throat trembling, southern accent slurring as his voice shakes. He turns around completely so
that they’re face to face. “I didn’t— I should’ve—”

Peter lunges forward and tosses his arms around Harley, smacking a hard kiss right on his lips, then
drawing him flush against his chest.

“We can go back!” he shouts, grinning wildly into the side of Harley’s temple. Tears are streaming
down his cheeks like a flood. “Harley, you did it!”

Harley holds onto Peter like a lifeline, shaking in Peter’s arms. Peter feels him slump into his
embrace when he realizes that Peter isn’t angry at him.
And how can he be? Harley got everyone back, and now they get to be with them again.

“This means you’re coming home, right?” Tony asks from the other side of the room, voice
watery. “Because, I gotta be honest, guys, I’ve had too many heart surgeries to deal with all this.”

His hand extends towards them, but then he thinks better of it, and it hangs awkwardly in the air.
He’s glancing between the two of them with wide eyes.

Peter feels a little sheepish about kissing Harley in front of them, but he can’t find it in him to care.

Something in what Tony says makes Harley pause, then gently extract himself from Peter’s arms.
Peter doesn’t mind so much, anymore. It’s safe to be around them. Harley is safe with them.

Harley turns back around and faces Strange, who has been watching them with a sharp eye. He
takes a step forward, then a second, then a third, and Strange crosses the length of the rest of the
room.

When they’re close enough, Harley shakily reaches out and fists Strange’s robes, like a child in
desperate need of consolation.

“We can come home?” he asks, in a quiet, hopeful voice.

Peter hears the silent question, is it home? , and from the way Strange’s face draws up in a
saddened manner, Peter knows that he heard it, too.

“Of course, kid,” Strange assures.

Harley wraps his arms around Strange like a koala, falling into him. Strange, despite his prickly
outward appearance, instantly hugs him back, putting one scarred hand on the back of Harley’s
head, the same way Harley does to Peter.

Peter slowly turns his head around to find Tony. Tony, who is alive and breathing and here, ten
feet away from him with red-rimmed eyes and tacky tear tracks on his cheeks.

Tony, who Peter can finally, safely, be around without the risk of his and Harley’s hard work being
reversed.

Tony, who is alive, and looking right at him.

Peter’s eyes sting as more tears well up in his eyes. “Oh God,” he whimpers. “Mr. Stark.”

Peter watches another tear slip out of Tony’s eye and travel down one of the shiny tracks on his
face. “Hey, kid,” sniffles Tony.

A sob rips out of Peter’s throat. He races across the room, leaping over the couch and crashing into
Tony’s arms.

Tony grabs him immediately, hands scrabbling for purchase on the back of his shirt. Peter’s fingers
dig into Tony’s shoulders, pressing himself as close to the other man as he can get.

A feeling of warmth and safety washes over him. Something calming. Something fatherly. He’s
yearned so badly to have this again, and now that he does, the wrongfooted feeling he’s felt these
past months finally rights itself, deep in the center of his chest.

For the first time in six months, Peter feels like he can breathe again.
 He cries into Tony’s neck, babbling nonsense, soaking in the scent of Tony’s cologne and motor
oil, the soft material of his shirt, the way Tony’s arms cradle him close. Tony’s back to full-blown
crying again, chest heaving and stuttering under Peter’s, his tears dripping into Peter’s hair.

“I am so sick,” Tony sniffles, “of losing you.”

Peter laughs, wet and broken, and tucks his face against Tony’s neck. “Me too.”

The back of his neck prickles as someone approaches. He knows that it’s Harley without having to
lift his head, and it’s Harley’s hand that comes to rub up and down his back. Harley slots himself
onto Peter’s side, hugging both him and Tony.

“Harley, Jesus,” he hears Tony whisper. “You were eleven last time I saw you.”

Peter hears Harley chuckle, feels his forehead dip into Tony’s shoulder as the side of his head
presses up against the back of Peter’s. “I missed you too, old man.”

Tony blubbers into sobs all over again, one of his arms leaving Peter to curl around Harley, holding
the both of them. Strange comes out of nowhere and wraps his arms around the entire group.

It’s a mess of tears and snot and punched-out sobs. Harley has one hand fisted in Peter’s shirt.
There are arms everywhere and everything is a little too hot, a little too stuffy, but he wouldn’t
change it for the world.

He’s got his family back — Tony and Harley, and he can probably say he’s got Strange, too, and
soon he’ll have Morgan and Aunt May again—

From inside the pile comes Peter’s muffled voice: “Oh, Aunt May is going to kill me.”

END

Chapter End Notes

And that's it! Thank you guys for reading and for all the lovely comments and kudos :)

This work is now part of a series! I have an idea for a little set of vignettes post-story
that I might post sometime in the future, so subscribe to the series if you'd like to be
informed of whenever I post that.

Also, I've posted another WIP with bio-dad!Tony, Hydra!SpiderSon, and pseudo-dad
Bucky Barnes if you'd like to check that out!

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