Chapter Text
Jumping from their bedroom window and running through the bad part of Queens was one of the most exhilarating and terrifying experiences Peter has had in his short life.
Never would Peter have thought that he would be running from his foster home with Harley by his side. There was a weird feeling of excitement that came with it. They were on their own now. No Mr. Westcott telling them what to do, no older boys to push and shove him around. They were on their own, but anything was better than living with the crazy drunk that was Mr. Westcott.
He’d only go back kicking and screaming.
When the adrenaline from being on the run cut out, and Peter stopped being able to recognize his surroundings, they slowed to a stop. Peter shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around him and fiddling with the zipper. The cold had been refreshing at the beginning, but now it was biting at him, freezing his fingers and turning his nose a bright, Rudolph red. The water from the freshly made puddles on the street seeping into his sneakers, causing his shoes to make a gross squelching noise as he walked. His backpack holding his meagre amount of belongings was starting to pull down on his shoulders, Peter hefting it up every once in a while to find some relief.
The puddles were lining the street, shimmering from the glow of the streetlights. Peter could see his reflection in them. Kneeling down he poked at the puddle causing the reflection to ripple. Peter smiled. He looked like a normal kid. He could be a normal kid out here. Not a scared kid from a foster home. Not one of Mr. Westcott’s charges.
A car horn blaring startled Peter from his thoughts. His head jerked up to see a pair of headlights coming straight at him. Peter froze. He knew the car wouldn’t be able to stop in time. He knew it would hit him if he didn’t move, but he couldn’t. His legs wouldn’t move, he froze.
“Peter!”
Peter felt a hand grab hold of his backpack and haul him out of the road, falling to the ground on the sidewalk as the car sped by, splashing him and his rescuer with muddy puddle water. Peter wiped the water from his eyes and looked back, breathing heavily, to see Harley doing the same. Peter took Harley’s offered hand to stand up.
“You need to be more careful Pete.” Harley grabbed the zipper of Peter’s coat and zipped it up, then tugged his bag back up on his shoulders, adjusting the straps from where they slipped down.
Peter gulped and nodded, shuffling closer to Harley’s side and grabbing the strap of his bag. That was way too close.
Needless to say, Peter made sure to look both ways before crossing the road after that.
-
“Harley, are we lost?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“…no.”
Peter groaned, pulling Harley to a stop by tugging on his backpack strap. He still hadn’t released it since the ‘almost getting ran over’ fiasco. “I’m tired, when are we gonna stop?” Harley sighed, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of the street they were currently on.
“We’ll stop once we find somewhere to stay for the night.” Harley said. He turned around to check on Peter, the other’s shivering having gotten progressively worse in the hours they’ve been walking. Harley knows they need to stop soon, that Peter’s smaller-than-average body can’t handle much more, but he needs to keep him safe. That’s his priority. Harley drops his bag, tugging off his jacket and holding it out to Peter. Peter frowned in confusion. “Put it on.”
Peter shakes his head. “You’ll get cold,” he protested weakly. Harley rolled his eyes and tugged at Peter’s bag until it fell off his back, then laid his coat over Peter’s shivering frame.“I’ll be fine.” Harley hauled his bag onto his shoulders, then picked up Peter’s. “‘Sides, you're smaller, you’ve got less body heat.” Peter smiled and mumbled ‘thank you’ as he slid his arms into Harley’s larger jacket, zipping it up over his own. He could already feel the extra warmth from the new layer.
They walked for a little while longer before Peter had to stop. “Harley, can we please stop?” Harley turned to Peter, ready to explain all of the reasons that that was a bad idea, but stopped. Peter looked dead on his feet. His shoulders slumped, eyes drooping, his legs looking like they were going to crumble right under him.
Harley sighed. “Sit here. There might be a directory over there somewhere. I’ll go look and come right back for you, okay? Don’t move.”
Peter nodded, plopping down on the sidewalk with a breath of relief. He grabbed his backpack back from Harley and set it by his feet.
As Harley walked off, Peter pulled his knees into his chest, hugging them tightly to try and stay warm. Peter knew this whole ‘running away’ thing would be hard, but it had barely been five hours and he already just wanted to crawl into a warm bed.
Peter jerked as a loud smash came from the other end of the street, followed by a laugh. There was a building a few blocks down, and it seemed to be the only sign of life on the entire street. Light poured from the open door in flashing colours, accompanied by music and laughter. There were a few people milling about outside. Peter could see someone stumbling and pointing at another person on the ground under a broken window, which must’ve been the source of the smash he heard.
Maybe they can give us some directions, Peter thought. He looked back at the direction Harley left in, then shrugged and stood up, approaching the building. Yes, Peter was breaking Harley’s strict instruction, but these people might be able to help them.
A woman noticed him first. She walked towards him. She was very tall and she walked strange, slow and swaying like a cat. She was scantily clad, but what she didn't wear in clothes she seemed to be trying to make up for with makeup.
She stopped in front of Peter, inhaled around a cigarette and then perched it between too-long, polished nails. She stooped down to look at him.
"What's a sweet little thing like you doin' all alone out here?"
Tendrils of smoke curled from her red lips as she spoke. Peter wrinkled his nose at the harsh smell of her breath and took a step back, tugging on his sleeve.
"Are you lost, darlin'?" The woman batted her eyelashes at him.
"Y-yes," Peter said, "I was hoping maybe you- you could give me some directions?"
She trailed a finger down his cheek and Peter shivered, not all from the cold. This lady reminded him of Mr. Westcott, and that was a bad sign.
"Poor thing, all alone out here. Why don't you come inside, sweetie?"
"I- um, no thank you," Peter stammered, "I mean. Um. I'm fine. Thanks."
"Oh, but a little kitten like you shouldn't be out in the cold all alone. Come inside."
Did this lady not know the meaning of no thank you? Before Peter could protest again, he felt a hand on his shoulder. This hand was comforting, and familiar.
"He's not alone," came Harley's voice from behind him, and Peter relaxed. As long as Harley was there, he would be ok. Harley tugged him back gently, situating Peter behind him.
“So the kitten’s got a friend with claws,” the lady drawled. Peter scrunched up the fabric of Harley’s jacket in his hands.
"We're leaving now, thank you," Harley clipped. He took Peter's hand from his coat and steered him away.
Once they were out of earshot and Harley had made sure they weren't being followed, he tugged on Peter’s hand, pulling him to a halt. ”What was the one thing I told you not to do?"
Peter hesitated. "Move."
"And what did you do?"
"I moved." Peter's shoulders slumped. Harley let out a breath, then threw an arm over Peter’s shoulders.
“Come on, I think I found an abandoned complex we can stay the night in.” Peter smiled up at Harley with a nod.
“Thanks Harley.” Peter said sincerely.
“No problem.” Peter shook his head and nudged his elbow into Harley’s side.
“No, I mean thank you, for keeping me safe. That lady really gave me the creeps.” Harley snorted and ruffled Peter’s hair.
“Of course, Pete.”
-
"I remember this place," Harley said wistfully. His face softened for a moment, but it was gone so quickly that Peter wondered if he imagined it.
They’re standing outside a corner store, built into the walls of the city like patchwork. It's been well taken care of, but it's an old building, and the windows are stained and the neon sign above flickers.
"We all came here once," Harley explained when he saw Peter looking at him curiously, "me, Ross, Adam, and Miles. Skip took us here and we all got sandwiches. It was my birthday. That was before things got...bad."
A burly man appeared in the windows and switched the open sign to closed.
"That's our cue," Harley muttered.
They make their way to the alley out back just in time to see the back door close. Peter reached for the sliver of light, the warmth that streams out, until it disappears. He missed being inside.
"Come on," Harley nudged him.
They open the bin where today's leftovers had just been dumped. It had been almost a week since they ran from Mr. Westcott, and the food they brought ran out days ago. Since then they’ve discovered that nobody likes to hand out food for free, unless it's in a dumpster.
Peter tried not to think about how gross it is. They're getting desperate now, and Peter is hungry, so it's not too hard. Being hungry hurts, and Peter doesn't like it.
"Keeping up the birthday tradition," Harley said sourly, munching on sandwich crusts.
"Today's your birthday?" Peter asked.
"Tomorrow," Harley shrugged, "but whatever. It's not like it matters.”
Peter looked down at his own dumpster bread. Harley didn’t open up a lot when it came to taking about his past, especially the stuff that happen in Mr. Westcott’s home. But when he did, it made Peter consider Harley. Was he always so closed off? Was he always so brash? Sure, he didn’t really behave that way towards Peter anymore, but anyone else, he acted way older than fifteen years.
He felt kind of bad honestly. Harley not only had to take care of himself on the streets, but now he had to watch over Peter. And by the sounds of things, Harley’s life didn’t seem too bad before Peter was dropped off on Mr. Westcott’s front step and screwed everything up.
Glancing back up at Harley who was leaning over the dumpster again, only coming up empty with a disgruntled look, Peter decided he would make up for ruining Harley’s life.
Even if it meant starting small.
-
“Get back here, punk!”
Peter gasped, dodging the meaty hands of the sandwich shop owner that reached towards him, twisting out of the way and making a run for it out of the back door of the bodega. He jumped over the lazy cat sleeping on the back steps, and slammed into the other side of the alley. His breath was knocked out of him. Peter looked back, yelping as he saw the burly owner coming straight for him.
Pulling away from the wall, gummy worms bag crushed in his hand, Peter ran to the mouth of the alley and turned left, running as fast as his little legs could take him. Peter shrieked as he felt a hand tuck out from the next alley he was passing, grabbing his arm and hauling him into the dark. A hand was placed over his mouth as his back was pressed to someones chest. He struggled for a second, only stopping when he heard Harley’s voice softly shush him.
The two boys stood still as the angry shop owner ran past them, shouting expletives as he went. Peter was wheezing, trying to get a breath in when he felt Harley’s hand uncover his mouth, only for the mouthpiece of his inhaler to be shoved in place instead. Harley pressed the button and Peter took a deep breath in, holding it, then letting it out when his inhaler was removed.
“What did I say about stealing, Pete?” Peter pulled away from Harley’s chest, turning around and leaning against the opposite brick wall, crossing his arms with a huff. Harley looked at the hand holding the pack of gummy worms and sighed, shaking his head. “Pete…”
“Don’t ‘Pete’ me. You do the same thing! You steal from shops all the time.”
“Yeah, but it’s different. I’m older, and I know how to not get caught.” Harley flicked his forehead then turned, walking further down the alley. “I can’t believe you almost got yourself caught over a bag of gummy worms.”
Peter frowned, looking between the bag and Harley’s retreating form. “I got them for you.”
Harley stopped, turning back to Peter. “What?” Peter walked forward, giving him a shy smile and holding out the bag of gummy worms.
“You said yesterday that today was your birthday so… happy birthday Harls.” Harley looked at the bag silently. He couldn’t believe this kid. Harley shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, pulling Peter into a hug.
“You’re unbelievable.” Peter looked up with a cheeky grin. Harley scoffed, pushing his hand at Peter’s face and shoving him away. “Come on, let’s get going.”
Leaving the alley, Harley pulled open the bag of gummy worms and offered it to Peter. Peter’s eyes lit up as he grab one, stuffing it in his mouth and humming appreciatively. He hasn’t had candy in so long. Harley chuckled and took one himself.
“Consider that your payment for that little stunt. And hey,” Harley poked Peter in the shoulder, “I’m serious, no more stealing. Leave it to me, ‘kay?” Peter smiled innocently and nodded, discreetly grabbing another gummy, laughing when Harley shoved him gently into the window of a TV shop.
Harley’s laughing cut out abruptly, looking over Peter’s shoulder at the window. Peter frowned and turned around to look as well, only to be met with his face staring back at him, Harley’s picture next to it. Above the photos in bold lettering was the word MISSING.
Peter backed up from the window next to Harley’s side. The screen was cut in half, the newscaster on one side, and Mr. Westcott on the other, looking distraught. But Peter could tell it was fake, just a charade. Of course Mr. Westcott would report them missing. He wouldn’t let something like this ruin his reputation.
Harley noticed a couple bystanders looking from the screen to them, seeing the recognition in their eyes. A couple was pointing at them, whispers of ‘are those the missing kids?’, and ‘someone call the police’, someone put their phone to their ear, another taking a picture of them.
“Come on Pete, we gotta go. Now.” Grabbing Peter’s hand, Harley started to speed walk away from the store.
“Hey kid! Wait!” Harley turned to see a man holding up his phone, taking a video. “That’s you on the news, isn’t it?” Harley moved back as more people pulled out their cameras. He felt Peter tug on his sleeve. “Harley,” Peter hissed, “what do we do?”
Harley turned and grabbed his hand. “Run.”
The two bolted down the street and ran across the road, ignoring the horns honking and shouts from pedestrians behind them. Peter pulled on the hand currently gripped by Harley.
“Where are we going? What do we do?” Peter huffed. Harley’s head swung, looking in every direction.
Harley tugged Peter so he was running in front of him, cringing as he heard the sound of police sirens in the distance.
“Just, get to the bridge. We can hide out by one of the warehouses along the bank,” He huffed. “And don’t get caught.”
The two kept running, dodging into alley’s when the sounds of police sirens got a little too close for comfort, until they eventually made it to the edge of Queens, the bridge over to Manhattan in sight. Peter’s legs gave out, leaving him to drop to the ground, breathing shakily. Harley pulled out his inhaler and shoved it in his hands, but Peter pushed it back.
“I-I’m fine, just, give me a sec.” Harley nodded, rubbing a hand over Peter’s upper back.
It was silent for a few agonizing minutes, Peter and Harley just now realizing the ramifications of what had happened.
“Harley, I don’t want to go back to Mr. Westcott.” Peter whimpered. Harley grimaced, tucking Peter into his side. He looked out at Manhattan, the feeling of being overwhelmed and so laughably unprepared for this hitting him like a wave in a storm. They couldn’t go back to Mr. Westcott. They couldn’t go back into the system because they would probably be separated, and they couldn’t go to the police. The police would just send them right back to Mr. Westcott. All of these people that Harley and Peter were just supposed to trust would put them in even more danger.
But looking down at Peter, seeing him shivering from the cold, and eyes panicky and scared, Harley knew he had to think of something.
“Let’s just, get out of Queens.” Harley said. “At least if we’re in Manhattan, there’s less of a chance of anyone finding us and bringing us back.” Peter’s shaking grew, his head shifting back and forth. His breathing was picking up.
“We-we can’t just leave!” Harley’s brows raised, surprise evident on his face.
“Peter what-“
“Harley we can’t leave Queen’s. I-I’ve never- I don’t-“ Oh, Harley thought, that’s what this is about.
Peter didn’t want to leave Queens because he’s never known anything else.
“Peter, hey.” Harley ducked, meeting Peter’s eyes and smiling, wiping the stray tears that fell from his cheeks. “Do you trust me?” Peter frowned.
“What?”
“Do you trust me?” Harley repeated.
“Of course.” Harley smiled and stood, holding out his hand to Peter and wiggling his fingers. After a minute of hesitation, Peter grabbed his hand and stood, rubbing his nose with his sleeve and sniffing.
“Let’s go.”