Peter: Oh boy where do I start. I think he's the definition of great leadership and the symbol for true American heroism. Y'know I have a 1973 Captain America action figure? It was my uncle's and it's still pristine in the packaging!
Tony: Okay, okay, great. Just making sure because I'm... thinking of being romantically involved with him. So, just checking that's cool with you
Peter:
Peter: He's not good enough for you.
Tony: But you just said—
Peter: Where is he. I'll knock some sense into him. He isn't to be trusted with your rusty old heart
Tony: Okay, ouch. But Pete... anddd he's gone
Later:
*Peter and Steve arm-wrestling at the kitchen table, Peter promptly winning and smashing through the wooden surface*
Peter: Now you remember that real good old man, and maybe we won't have any problems
"Hey, kiddo. Are you alright?"
Morgan slowly regained consciousness, blinking several times as a strange orange light assaulted her senses.
"You with us? Well, it's just me actually. You with me? I don't know your name so I'm just gonna call you kiddo for the moment. Don't try to speak, just let yourself adjust for a minute. Or five minutes. Or ten, it's not like we're going anywhere."
~
Morgan Stark falls out of a tree. When she wakes she meets a mysterious person who looks strangely like the boy in her Dad's photograph.
ooo “will you still be here tomorrow” with whatever marvel ship ur heart desires pls and thank you 🥺 (-thompsborn)
Thank you @thompsborn!! This was a toughie to figure out what to write about but I ended up going a little angsty followed by good old fashioned comfort 💖
11. Will you still be here tomorrow? - parkner
Read on AO3
It’s cold. That’s the first thought Harley has as he wakes up. The second is pain. Deep in his bones, aching and stiff and forever. He’s always felt like this. He was born in pain and he’ll die in pain. Alone and cold in the dark.
He groans as he sits up, cringing at the scrape and clatter of his chains as they drag on the concrete. He wiggles his fingers but he can’t feel them—whether because of the cold or how he was laying, slumped at the base of one of four walls that makes up his cell, he doesn’t know.
It’s only a matter of time now. He can feel himself slipping. He’s spending less time awake and what little time he has been is jumbled and fuzzy. Soon. Soon he’s going to close his eyes and forget how to open them again.
Soon.
Soon…
…Soon…
With a gasp, he resurfaces from the black to the clanging of his chains. They’re so loud. He wants the noise to stop. Stop. He grabs at them with hands he can’t feel, attempting to still them, to quiet the racket, but it persists. Crashing! Booming! They’re oddly still despite all of the—
The wall at his back shudders and his chains— No, not the chains. Something else is making the noise, far away but drawing closer. A battle maybe.
He wishes he knew the ending. The heroes ought to win. The best stories end with the heroes winning, even if they lose some things.
He wishes that…
He wishes…
Wishes…
A series of pops, harsh and forceful, bring him back this time. They’re close now. Much closer than before. His heart swells with hope for the first time in… a long time. It’s hard to track time here. Time doesn’t exist in this cell. Only dark and cold and pain.
Once more is all he needs. Just once and he can rest. Once and he’ll go quietly. Just so he knows what happened. One more time so he can tell him that’ll he’ll survive this. It’s all he asks.
Bang!
He blinks blearily at the open doorway across from him and the figure in white scrambling towards him with a gun across its torso.
“No,” he mumbles. No, this is all wrong. The good guys are supposed to win. This isn’t right at all. Don’t they know anything?
The figure grabs his arm and yanks, babbling something too fast for him to follow. He jerks back and cracks his head against the wall. He cries out. Pain. It’s all he knows. It’s all he’s ever known. He was born—
The white figure vanishes and in its place is a different figure, a familiar figure made up of red and blue.
“Harley?” He drops to his knees and takes in the manacles around his wrists and the chains embedded deep within the wall.
“Hey baby,” Harley croaks. He tries to smile but it hurts. Everything hurts.
“Oh my God, Harley,” Spider-Man gasps. Peter. That’s his Peter under there. “Can you stand? We have to get you out of here.”
Harley hums. He’s not sure if he has legs. He used to. He used to have them, but that doesn’t matter now.
“Naw. ‘S okay though. I only asked for one.”
“What? One what? We only have a little time to get you—,”
“One more. Kinda stupid now that I think about it,” he slurs. His tongue is like a block of wood in his mouth but slippery. “M’be shoulda asked for two.” He forces the corner of his mouth to shift up into an almost smile. He wishes he could see better. He wishes Peter wasn’t wearing the mask, but he can’t complain. “Just glad I got the one.” He puts a numb hand over Peter’s and pats it while his chain shriek at him. “You’ll be okay, darlin’. You’ll be okay.”
Then he stops fighting the darkness like he promised he would and it takes him.
~*~
The first thing Harley feels when he wakes up is surprise. This wasn’t part of the deal. The second is a familiar warm body beside him and he thinks, ‘Screw the deal.’
Moving still hurts but not as bad as before. The soft mattress certainly helps and there are at least ten pounds of blankets keeping the cold away from his bones but he can turn his head freely and when he does he finds Peter curled beside him scowling at his phone. Harley doesn’t say anything, he only drinks him in, but Peter must feel his gaze because he looks up and their gazes meet.
Two. He got two after all. At least two, he tells himself, joy swelling in his chest like a balloon.
“Hey,” he croaks when Peter fails to speak. First time for everything, huh? It takes an insane amount of effort but he manages to free an arm from under what he now sees is only three blankets. He brushes the back of his fingers against Peter’s cheek and is surprised when the chains don’t make a sound. Right, because they’re gone. He feels weird without the weight of them pulling against his every movement. “Missed you,” he tells Peter. It’s the understatement of the century but he doesn’t have a speech prepared considering he didn’t think he’d get this far.
“I—,” Peter clears his throat but his voice is still tight and for the first time Harley notices the red around his eyes and his pale pallor. “I’m not talking to you.”
“Oh?” he asks with a levity he doesn’t feel. He wants to wrap Peter up in all of these blankets and never let him out of his sight again. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”
Peter glares, eyes glassy, then hides his face by pressing it against Harley’s chest. He says nothing.
That’s okay. He rests his hand on the back of Peter’s head and comforts himself by playing with the over-long curls at the nape of his neck. Talking this much has already taken a lot out of him. He doesn’t want to sleep yet. He wants to stay here with Peter at his side, basking in the warmth of him, the novelty of getting to hold him again after he resigned himself to never having this again. To never having anything again.
Despite all of his determination, he’s on the brink of sleep when Peter says, “You gave up.”
He hums in agreement and Peter sits up, propping his elbow on the bed so he can look Harley in the eyes as he says, “I saw you give up.”
He takes Peter in. Three. He got three more when he only asked for one. At least three. “I know,” he says.
“You know?” Peter sits up fully. It’s a tight fit in the bed but Harley isn’t going to complain about all the ways Peter is shoved against him, even if his knees are bony. “That’s all you have to say? Why didn’t you fight, Harley?”
He shakes his head. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“What deal? What are you talking about?”
“You know, the deal. I… It was to see you one more time so I could make sure you knew what happened to me and—,” He swallows, recalling the relief he felt when he realized Spider-Man had arrived. Not for himself. Not for rescue. “And so I could tell you that you would be okay.”
“You almost died, Harley!” Peter exclaims, tears pooling in his eyes.
“I know. Why d’you think I made the deal?”
“No,” Peter says emphatically. “No, not there. Here. You had hypothermia and you were dehydrated and— and— bruised all over but you wouldn’t wake up. You should have but you wouldn’t and you know what the doctors said? They didn’t know I could hear them but they said that sometimes when someone goes through a trauma like you did, they don’t want to come back. They don’t want to fight anymore. You— You quit on me, Harley.”
He lets out a shuddering breath and the tears break loose, running down to his chin before dripping free.
“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t think he can sit up or he would and he’d hold Peter the way he wants to. “I didn’t think… The deal was—,”
“The deal,” Peter spits. “What a garbage deal. Seeing me one more time? That’s it? What a waste of a death wish.”
“You think I started with one?” Harley demands, his temper cresting to meet Peter’s. “You think I didn’t run the gamut on everything else I thought I couldn’t miss out on before I settled on the single most important thing I absolutely couldn’t bear to leave without doing? I was dying, Peter.
“I could feel my body shutting down with me stuck inside it and all I could think about was what if you never found me? I can’t tell you how many times I woke up surprised I was still here and thought, I need to hang on a little longer so Peter knows. So he doesn’t have to wonder. Peace. A little peace of mind was all I had to give and it cost me everything to get it to you. So don’t—don’t call me a quitter. I would never quit on you.”
A sob bursts from Peter’s lips and then another. “Harley, I was so scared.”
His flash of temper vanishes as quickly as it came. “I know. Honey, come here. I’m sorry. For all of it, I’m sorry.”
Peter curls over him, burying his face against his neck as he shudders and gasps.
He presses a kiss to Peter’s cheek and clings to him as tightly as his fatigued muscles can manage. ‘Thank you,’ he mouths silently. He thought it was a deal with the devil but either that wasn’t the case or the devil is a hopeless romantic.
The adrenaline rush he got from arguing is fading quickly and taking his remaining energy with it. As Peter’s sobs subside and his eyelids grow heavy he says, “Sweetheart, I’m gonna sleep again. Will you still be here tomorrow?”
Peter sits up and mops his cheeks roughly with his shirt as he says, “Of course.” He threads his fingers through Harley’s hair and leans close. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Harley stares up into his warm dark eyes. Four. Wow, how did he get so lucky? At least four, he reminds himself. At least. “I’m expecting number five now.”
“Five what?”
“The fifth time I get to see you again.”
A funny look graces Peter’s face. Like he wants to laugh but it hurts. “You’ve been counting?”
“Yeah. All of them.”
“Oh, your count might be a little off then. This is the fourth time you’ve woken up.”
“Wha— Really? I don’t remember anything.”
“It’s okay. You were pretty out of it. It’s been a long… Well a long two months, I guess.”
“Two months?” Harley echoes. “That’s how long they had me?”
Peter’s expression pinches into a very familiar one. “I’m sorry it took so long. We had to—,”
“Hey, let’s not go there, okay? I know how you are, Pete. You did everything you could and you got to me as fast as possible, probably faster than what should be possible knowing you. I’m just surprised is all.”
“How long did you think it was?”
He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to remember the way it felt. As though no time was passing at all. Like he’d always been there and always would be. Life before was less memory and more dream.
He shakes his head. “It felt like years,” is all he says. The need to sleep nags at him. He refocuses. “Tomorrow, or whenever I wake up, it’ll be eight times?”
“Yeah.” Peter smooths his hair from his forehead. Harley closes his eyes and basks in the gentle touch. “See you tomorrow.”
“Can’t wait,” Harley murmurs. He drifts to sleep to the feel of Peter’s hand in his hair, anchoring him, reminding him of what he needs to come back to.
“Dean,” Sam stared at the cellphone Dean held up, eyes watering at the broken female voice that echoed from it. “It’s been three months, I haven’t found you, I’m sorry. Sammy... Sam got real broken up, Dean. I just - I’ve always been alone, ya know, and then - and then you two come along totin’ shotguns and threatenin to kill my pack.” her wet laugh told them both that she was crying, something that ate away at both brothers. “Anyway, uh-” she coughed, cloth rustling as she no doubt wiped at her face. “Kev called, he uh, he escaped Crowley. I got him, he said he tried gettin a hold of Sam but… well, I - I’m sorry, Dean.” the message clicked off, Dean played another. “Hey, Dean, it’s Maxy again, I just, I - I don’t know why I’m leaving these, hoping you’ll come back and here them. If, if you do I uh, Kev and I went around. You’re not in Hell again, so that’s good, I woulda stormed the gates and beat Lucy black and blue, no matter how attracted to him I am.” she laughed nervously but Sam was holding his hand to his face in shame and horror.
He had forgotten about Max. He had forgotten about their half-sister, he had forgotten about Kevin.
“Dd,” Dean looked away so he could close his eyes tight at the cry his sister gave through the message. “Dd, I miss you. You’re not in Heaven, and neither is Cas. I almost got smited, smote? Whatever, they almost made me into angel dust, and I don’t mean the drug, for even asking. Where are you, Dean… where are you?” the next message played immediately after that. “I uh, dropped Kevin off with his cousin, Kira today. She’s a Kitsune and is going to learn how to control it with some Skinwalkers, they’re pretty badass. It was his idea, must hate seeing me try to find you. I uh, I learned how to use my magic pretty good, who knows… maybe, maybe when we see each other again, it’ll be me saving you.”
“Dean, I-” Dean held up his hand as he picked up the other cell and hit play, jaw working to release the tension and anger that had built with each time he listened to her messages.
“You know, I’m used to being alone. Dad always had to work doubles or the graveyard shift and Scott was always doing lacrosse. Then.. then I found out I had two half brothers, one of which loved Curly fries and pie as much as I do.” her chuckle was heartbreaking. “And the other who focused just as intently on something as I do, one who always tried to research everything and cared too much. I don’t blame Samwise because I get it, he told me about the promise you two made but… but I didn’t make that promise, I wouldn’t have made it, and I think you know that. I’ve uh, kind of been ex-communicated from Heaven for entering Hell, they apparently frown on that.” her laugh was wet again but clicked off with a finality that followed with another message. “Hey, Dd. You remember Peter? The uh, the buff ‘were with killer blue eyes? I kissed him and kinda saved him from Hell. You uh, you never got to be in my life and, well, he’s really the only person I’m interested in. I would tell Sammy but I don’t - I’m uh, stupid and I lost his number.” No, his number had been disconnected and he had gotten a new one but never told her.
“Anyway, I’m uh, I’m nineteen now and it’s my birthday. I uh, I know you’re not supposed to actually say what your wish is, but I - I really miss you, Dd. So I wished you were back. Peter says you uh, you might be in Purgatory. If you are - if you are, Dd, you better come back. If you’re missing a hand that’d be okay, we could totally hook you up with an Evil dead chainsaw for an arm.” her laughter was in broken sobs that was muffled instantly by her being hugged by someone. “If you come back, Dd, I’m - I’m not in Beacon Hills anymore. We uh, had some shit go down with some Ghost Riders. They suck. Peter and I, we’re traveling. I - I love you, Dean, and I love Sammy too.” the next message that played was not Max, but it was from her phone number. “My name is Peter Hale, Max calls you every week. She’s been missing for a month. If you’re back, if you come back, you need to help her. Help me. Because if she’s dead, if she dies and you two deadbeat brothers are alive I’m going to skin you and then dissect you.”
“That, Sammy, was last week.” Dean told him without actually looking at him. “Our sister.” and Dean - he couldn’t say anymore - did the only thing he thought was truly smart. He walked out of the cabin, phone in hand, and immediately dialed the number she had used frequently to call him.
“You better be calling because you just got out of Purgatory, found your fucking brother, or are the next of kin to tell me they’re dead.” The man, Peter, answered on the second ring.
“I’m Dean and I did just get out of Purgatory. Where the fuck is my sister?”
Unlike many others, I have never found spiders to be scary, creepy, or gross. The house I grew up in was moderately big, and pretty old. Pretty much all of my female relatives (sisters, mother, grandmother), who lived in the house, were scared of spiders. But my grandfather, who I was very close to as a child, used to say: “A house with spiders is a healthy house. They eat the vermin that might cause damage.” And those words have always stuck with me.
Now, of course, I’m aware that there are some poisonous spiders that can be dangerous, and even deadly, to humans. And I keep a respectable distance from those. But as far as other spiders are concerned, I actually like spotting them sitting in corners of a room in my apartment.
One day, I want to write (or read) a story, in which a (maybe slightly more animalistic) Peter, is at the tower, or the compound, together with the more vulnerable members of the Avengers family (Clint’s wife and kids, Pepper, May, Morgan, you get the gist). The Avengers are at some shindig that required their presence (maybe something PR related, who cares). And some evil dudes want to use the opportunity to get their hands on the family members of the heroes for blackmail purposes or something.
So these evil dudes manage to cut the power, rendering most of the security useless (maybe it’s an inside job and they were actually well prepared to take on Stark’s security system), and while everyone is chilling in the living room, watching a kid friendly movie, Peter’s spidey sense starts tingling. Right after the power is cut off, Friday is non responsive, and there is absolutely no signal to call for help.
And then Peter’s spider instincts are taking over, because someone has breached his home (web) and now there are intruders (vermin) threatening his family.
So he secures everyone in the living room and takes to the vents and picks off the intruders one by one and spins them into cocoons that hang from the ceiling everywhere.
After that he restores the power and Friday calls the Avengers, and they race back, fearing the worst, but all they find is wiggling web cocoons, suspended from the ceiling, while Peter and the rest are sitting in the living room, eating ice cream and watching a documentary on spiders.
Could you please write a fic where Pepper is out of town for Valentine’s Day and bummed, so Peter convinces Happy and Rhodey to help him plan a guy’s night for them all?
“Kid got to you too?” Happy greets Rhodey in the compound’s driveway.
“Apparently.” Rhodey laughs as Happy throws the kid, currently bounding up the steps leading up to the compound’s main entrance, a fond exasperated look. “Everything okay?”
“Better be.”
Peter stops them just inside the atrium. “Okay, so this only works if it’s all three of us.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you know what today is?”
Rhodey and Happy exchange looks. “No?” Rhodey answers.
“Valentine’s Day. Do you know where Pepper is?”
“Kid, get to the point.” Happy says, folding his arms like an annoyed grade-school teacher.
“Pepper had to go to that conference thing all weekend and Tony’s bummed out. He’s not answering my calls and weren’t really supposed to hang out but…no one should be along on Valentine’s Day.”
Rhodey signed, scrubbed a hand over his face. “If Tony wants to be alone, he probably just wants to lock himself in his workshop. He’ll be fine.”
“And probably not eat or sleep or function like a normal human being for seventy-two hours until Pepper comes back. We have to help him.”
Happy blows out his breath in a long suffering gust of frustration that sounds like he’s done it again and again. He meets Rhodey’s eyes and Rhodey sighs too. Not like he had much planned for the weekend anyway.
They find Tony tinkering at his desk, AC/DC blasting in the background and FRIDAY’s announcement of their arrival drowned out by the music. Happy walks over to a bank of screens and the music clicks off.
“Sir, Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, Mr. Hogan and Mr. Parker are here.”
Tony’s shoulders hunch over before he swirls in his chair and claps his hands. “Gentlemen! Child! To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Get up. Get dressed. We’ve got plans.” Rhodey gives him his best, Tony Stark, don’t you dare disappoint this kid look.
“Alrighty then.” Tony pops up and walks past them, ruffling Peter’s hair as he goes by.
***
Peter almost has a nervous breakdown about the food. “Wings are awesome. But Pizza’s easy. But then there’s the burgers and shakes from burger loft and-”
Happy yanks the menus out of the kid’s hands. “Don’t overthink it. Order everything. It’ll get eaten. Trust me.”
And so they do.
They order out enough that the delivery people no longer get starstruck after driving up the long compound driveway after security lets them through. They’re usually kids who live in the town closest to the compound of upstate NY and they always have a story to tell and a generous tip once they leave.
“Jesus, kid, are we feeding all the Avengers?” Tony looks presentable again and Peter flushes but looks pleased at his choices. They set up in the game room, a large area as big as the atrium floors up and with a wide variety to rival a Dave and Busters.
There’s also a laser tag/paint ball, trampoline gym. Tony claimed he knew enough children now to update the activities of the compound but everyone knew he just liked beating people in laser tag.
They spent the next few hours playing dance dance revolution (they had blackmail of Happy’s incredible prowess at the game) and guitar hero and an Avenger’s virtual reality escape the room game that made Peter laugh so hard he snorted peanut butter milk shake up his nose.
At the end of the night, when the kid had slumped onto a couch and they sat around finishing up the remains of pizza, Tony nudged Rhodey.
“Thanks.”
“Kid’s idea, not mine.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
Rhodey’s eyes shot over to Peter, who shifted onto the couch and threw his legs over an Spidey shaped pillow.
“There was some Valentine’s Day party some idiot kid threw. He wanted to invite a girl but she said Valentine’s Day was a capitalist scam made to enforce outdated gender rules.“
Rhodey snorted. “Girl’s got a point.”
“Peter just wanted to ask her out. Think he’s bummed.”
“And here I thought this because Pepper went away.”
Tony made a face. “God, I love this kid.”
“He’s a good one.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “No thanks to our influence, huh?”
Rhodey couldn’t help but grin at his friend. “I think it has a lot to do with your influence.”
Tony threw a bunch of candy at him in retaliation.
Hey, are there any give with Peter loving Wade's scars? Liking the texture or otherwise making Wade feel happy and fluffy? Peter making Wade happy is my jam, and I love this blog so much
