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Peter pulled on his mask, the interface waking up and calibrating as he moved through the apartment to find the other half of his suit. “Doc Ock’s at it again,” he said to Harley, but paused when he noticed his boyfriend already suited up. “What’s it with you?”
The faceplate wasn’t on yet, so Peter could see Harley’s grimace as he shook his head. “Plasma,” he said. “He’s causin’ a mess at the Macy’s on 34th.”
Plasma was some new threat who seemed intent on taking down Iron Lad and Iron Lad alone. Harley had never been able to find his alias or any name he went by, so he just started calling him Plasma. He was pretty sure the guy couldn’t speak. And though he worried, Peter knew his boyfriend’s gauntlet blasts were more equipped for the dark energy the guy emitted anyway, so he didn’t mind.
“Yeah, for some reason I think Doc Ock is just picking a fight.” There was his suit, half underneath the couch, left there from a previous evening. Peter pulled it on, wrinkling his nose at the smell, but tapped the spider so it clung to his body.
“Lookin’ good, sweetcheeks,” Harley said, and Peter imagined he was smiling underneath the metal plate. They headed for the rooftop stairs, matching pace.
“Yeah, yeah, kiss me when this is over. What do you want for dinner tonight?”
“I was thinking Italian?”
“Cool, I think my guy’s closer to Carmine’s anyway. I’ll swing by and grab some after, alright?”
“Let’s rock and roll, baby.”
Both men exited out the top of the building, Iron Lad flying into the air heading south while Spider-Man leaped out to the west. He could just see Doc Ock’s metal tentacles gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. There were people gripped within his extra limbs, and Peter’s eyes narrowed in fury as he sped toward him as quickly as he could, snapping his webs to give him more air time, pushing forward, leaping over buildings and weaving in between narrow streets.
“Doc Ock!” he called, perching on top of a streetlight, looking up at the green and silver man. “Let these people go. They haven’t done anything to you.”
“Let them go?” Peter tensed, remembering this familiar dance from the other times he had tried it. He jumped into the air, shooting a web at the person furthest from him before the villain could speak. “If you insist.” He opened all his claws with a snap, each person trapped within the four limbs beginning to fall.
Peter breathed a breath of relief as one person hit the roof with a thud but began to scramble away, focusing his attention on each of the other three. He yelled, “Grab on!” as he shot multiple quick strings of web to the falling people, twisting it each time to flick around their wrist or waist to catch them. He took a nosedive to grab the last person, pulling them all together in one lump. Then, with a free hand he somehow found, he managed to snap a web up against the side of a building to lower them to safety. “Sorry about the mess, ladies and gents!” he called as soon as they touched the ground and he could pull back from them. “Gotta take care of some rotten fish.
“Actually, octopi are mollusks,” the portly man said, and Peter just narrowly avoided a metal arm as it came in contact with the brick wall by flipping off of it and swinging himself up to the building across from the man. “The least you could do is call me the correct name, bug boy. C’mon now.”
Peter leaped and dodged his way through the four appendages flying at him, doing his best to web anything together that he could. It worked for a few seconds before the man was able to yank his extra limbs apart. One cut at Peter’s arm as it flew past him and he hissed as it scraped into his suit, but he focused on getting past the limbs and punching Doc Ock in his sneering, smirking face.
Something grabbed him by the back of the suit and threw him off the building, hurtling downward in a free fall before Peter was able to get his bearings and yank himself back up. As he popped up above the city skyline, he caught sight of black bursts of energy and a golden figure swerving in the air. Spider-Man took a leap toward Doc Ock again, flipping over him to land a strong kick at the back of his head. The man used his extra limbs to stabilize himself against the push, and looked back at him with a strangely excited expression.
“Listen, Spider-Man, as fun as this has been, I’ve got some matters to attend to that you, unfortunately, can’t be around for, at least for a bit.”
“Want to let me in on your evil plan early, Doc?” Peter didn’t stop trying to lunge at him, kicking his legs out from under him before he was grabbed at the ankle and tossed into the air. He clung to the side of the wall and looked back at the scientist. “Save us both some trouble?”
The doctor laughed. “Oh, no, this is one you need to be in the dark for. Speaking of dark, I believe it’s time we begin.” He tapped his ear, an earpiece Peter hadn’t noticed before. “Yeah, you can stop now. He’ll be easy to take care of anyway.”
“What are you talking about, man?” Peter asked his question, but his confusion was only multiplied when a dark void opened up under the man, swallowing him completely with a slight click.
Peter looked around, but he felt no sign of warning. Then he looked to his right, where Harley was fighting and caught sight of a flash of silver metal.
“Oh, shit,” Peter cursed, swinging down to that side of the city as quickly as he could. As he got closer, he could see Harley - one thruster damaged, getting support from the calves - weaving in and out of the approaching limbs. The glow in his right hand shuddered dangerously whenever he attempted to use a blast, and Peter knew they had to finish this quickly.
Plasma switched targets suddenly, ceasing to fire bursts of dark energy at Harley and, instead of flying toward Peter, passing overhead Doc Ock and immediately shooting a dark pulse at him. Peter flipped out of the way, even going so far as to do a cartwheel across a building to avoid the blast. In the movement, Doc Ock has slipped toward the other hero, who was pursuing the dark-clothed villain.
“Hey, I think you lost your guy, you want him back?” Harley’s voice came through the commlink, and Peter couldn’t help but smile at the voice.
“Hey there.” He twitched out of the way of another blast, mind working to configure a plan to get close to the villain. He shot a net of webbing at the next pulse, but it disappeared inside the void, which both worried and intrigued Peter. “How do you feel about ramen tonight instead of Carmine’s?”
“Yeah, that’s closer anyways,” Harley agreed breezily, but Peter could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “Ready to wrap up? Maybe we can go see a movie tonight.”
“Copy that.”
In hindsight, maybe they let their guard down. Maybe they weren’t taking it seriously enough, maybe they should have been a little more focused.
In the end, the result was the same. Peter could hear the intake of Harley’s breath to fire off another piece of banter before three tentacles shot up, curling around each of the suit's ankles and once around the middle, catching Harley with his hands at his sides.
Peter yelled, rushing to get to Harley, but panic clouded his spider-sense.
The darkness was all-encompassing, covering him, swallowing him, and then Peter was on a rooftop, his vision fuzzy.
“Shit! Shit, how do you fight him I can’t get these things off me! Sp- shit, ow!”
Peter’s head snapped up, rolling backward to avoid another dizzying blast. He tried to shoot webs at the man himself, but he just put out more energy to block the webs. While he dodged, he caught sight of Harley, watched the tentacles squeeze around both his ankles until the thrusters sparked out and Harley began to pitch forward, stopped only by the squeeze of the third arm around him. Then, they all let go.
Peter jumped forward on instinct, only to be caught in the back with another pulse. He cried out, hearing Harley’s yells match his in his ears as he fell.
“Hh- Iron Lad!” Peter shot out two webs, one to a streetlight and the other reaching out to his boyfriend. Harley’s backup thrusters on his hands were enough to keep from plummeting, but his maneuverability was compromised, and as such, the web only just stuck to his suit before the metal tentacles had grabbed Harley again, this time around a wrist and then the opposite leg. Peter could hear the mad scientist cackle, sending a rough shiver down his back as he watched Harley frantically try to blast at the metal that yanked him in different directions. Peter jumped, swinging toward Doc Ock to attack him while his extra limbs were occupied.
His spider-sense stung, a presence from the side. So Peter was forced to twist out of the way to avoid a tackle mid-air from Plasma, shooting a web at his face and catching him off guard.
“Oh, fuck, my wrist. I think- ow, shit, it- ghhk!”
Jumping off another wall, Peter looked just in time to see the third tentacle around Harley’s neck. Pieces of his suit were cracked, smoking, falling off and onto the street below.
A choked yell cut by the press of the metal arm. Peter could hear it twice, once in his mask and then again out loud.
Peter swung out toward him, shooting a web at Doc Ock’s face. Another tentacle came out, grabbing him at the middle and pushing him up against a wall, slamming him back against it again and again. Peter forced himself out of the claws, though his head was dizzy and his stomach was nauseous. There was only a moment to recover before Plasma was zooming upward toward him again, filling his vision with dark blasts that rattled his head, leaving him feeling like it was in his lungs, down his throat, consuming him.
He managed to slip away, landing a lucky shot at the man’s face to blind him for a while, and Peter frantically looked around for Harley, who had stopped saying anything in the comms.
Peter looked toward the mad scientist and saw Harley, held by only one appendage now. The lights in the suit weren’t on.
“Karen, status on Iron Lad.”
“He is unconscious, though he does have severe trauma around the throat as well as a fractured wrist.”
Peter cursed under his breath and lunged for his boyfriend, but desperation and fear clouded his thought process once again; Doc Ock was easily able to swing Harley out of his reach, dangling him by one foot, taunting him.
“I suppose it’s time we take our leave now,” the man said. “Would you mind?”
Peter wasn’t sure who he was talking to at first, but then the man behind him managed to rip off the webbing on his face, flying past him. With a flick of his hands, a portal opened underneath all three of them, leaving Peter on the outside.
“You’ll be hearing from us soon, Spider-Man. All of us,” Doc Ock promised. Peter lunged forward again, but there was a familiar click and then, nothing.
Peter clutched against the edge of a rooftop, breaths coming in hard and fast, unable to slow them down. Tears pricked at his eyes, and it was only when he was sure there were no cameras on the roof that he tore off his mask, muffling his sobs into the sweat-soaked fabric.
“Dammit,” he cursed, slamming his fist into the edge of the building, cracking the cement. “Dammit, God fucking- shit.”
It didn’t take long before his despair gave way to frustration, and then determination. He stood up. “Karen, run a scan through all of New York City until you find Harley Keener’s signature. They can’t have gone far.”
He’d find him. Wherever he was, he’d get him back. No matter what it took
_____
Harley came to slowly, eyes blinking open blearily as if he had awakened from a long rest. As soon as he got a glimpse of what was in front of him, though, his eyes snapped open. He opened his mouth to breath, his throat throbbing in pain as he did so.
“My suit.” He was slumped onto the ground, watching as the person in front of him walked slowly forward. “What’d you do with my suit?”
“It was too heavy. Plus, with that thing out of the way it wasn’t too long before I learned your true identity, Harley.”
Harley shivered, swallowing despite the pain it brought. He tried to organize his fuzzy brain, tried to remember what he had been taught about this type of situation. He couldn’t feel pressure on his wrists or ankles, though his left wrist was throbbing, he wasn’t sure if he could move it. He was in the clothes he had worn under his armor, but that was nowhere in his line of sight. Harley really hoped it was somewhere around here because it was really going to set him back if it was all gone. Finally, the name. He flicked his eyes up to the sneering man and managed to push out a “Who’s Harley?”
“Very funny,” the man said. Harley saw two extensions of silver dart out and hissed as they closed around his wrists, dragging him upward. His wrist screamed, and Harley bit his tongue even though every jerk the man-made sent a fiery wave of pain down his arm. His head pulsed at the sudden movement, a headache building in his temple. “But social media does wonders for this type of thing, and I’m going to use you to get exactly what I want.”
Harley winced as his wrists were forced together in the lock of one huge claw, swollen wrist pressed up against his other one. Licking his dry lips, he managed to mumble blearily, “And what the hell is it that you want, anyways?” His feet were off the ground, and it took a fair amount of self-control to keep himself still
“Why, Spider-Man’s true identity. When Spider-Man revealed me as Otto Octavius, it destroyed my life. It’s only fair that I obliterate his life the same way, piece by piece.”
Harley snorted. “Your name is Otto Octavius? You must have been predetermined for this life, Otto.”
“Don’t.” The grasp tightened, and Harley couldn’t help the small cry that escaped him. “Don’t call me that.”
“You got it, Octopus,” Harley shot back, controlling his breathing as it all tightened again.
Otto’s jaw twitched, but he turned toward the far end of the room, a set of monitors. It almost disturbed Harley how his remaining three metal limbs propelling him across the room, slinking across the floor like a set of silver snakes. “Now. It won’t be long before Spider-Man discovers where we are, so it won’t be long at all until he comes to us. We can make this really quite easy on both of you, or you can make it quite difficult for yourself. We’re going to send him a little greeting video, and you can make your choice. Sound good?”
“I’d give you a thumbs up, but I’m pretty sure my fingers would break if I tried.” Harley hated how his voice shook, gave away his terror. No. He steeled himself. Peter was coming. He was sure of it.
“Alright, I’d rather just skip the theatrics.” Harley hadn’t even realized the man was recording now, and his eyes shot to the monitors in surprise. “So, I’ve got Iron Lad. Or Harley Keener, as it were. Now, like I told your partner over here, we’ve got a few options.” Otto turned his head toward Harley, beady green eyes sparking with cold interest. “What’s Spider-Man’s name, Harley?”
Harley had to laugh. “You think I’m just gonna tell you, like that? Octopus, I thought you were a criminal mastermind, but that’s a pretty dumb way to-”
The claw around his wrists dropped, snapping to his neck in an instant, the three prongs pressing along the side of his throat. Harley gagged on broken air, his uninjured hand coming up to scrabble against rough metal to get an inch of breath, but nothing gave. He drew in a ragged breath, still choking. The pain in his throat increased tenfold
“You have ten minutes to show up here, no mask, no suit, nothing . You turn yourself in, or I turn your partner’s head.”
He drew in a ragged breath, still choking. The pain in his throat increased tenfold as he struggled to breathe, but he forced himself to stay calm despite his rising heartbeat.
Peter’s coming. He’s coming.
The grip on his neck loosened ever so slightly, and Harley was able to suck in a thin stream of air. “God, fuck you, man,” he choked out, pushing on the metal arm. He thought of Peter, of what Spider-Man said. That helped, a little. He felt a little courage come back. “This sucks. I totally had a date planned and everything. We were going to get Italian or something. It was going to be good.”
“Shut up,” Otto growled.
Harley huffed, pushed with both wrists now even though his left hurt like hell. “Just sayin’, you could have used someone different to find Spider-Man. Ruined my night, to be quite honest with you.”
“Shut up!” Otto roared, extending his arm with a flick of his eyes. Harley crashed into the wall, letting out a sharp cry as his head smashed into the concrete. For the first time, Harley briefly caught a glimpse of a window to his right, the fading sunlight outside before he became fully aware of the throbbing pain in the back of his head. He could feel something dripping down the back of his shirt, already beginning to crust in his hair.
Harley stayed silent, and the computer dinged. When Otto turned to look at it. Harley let his shoulders slump, his head hang. Adrenaline was fading after that introduction to the wall, and Harley was beginning to get weary. He just wanted to get out of here.
“It looks like your pal sent us a video back. How nice of him.” Otto sneered. “Let’s watch it together, shall we?”
The grip around his neck tightened again before Harley could say anything else. The feed played, a video of Peter in his suit.
“Yeah, listen, Doc, no can do. I sort of need this guy, so if you could just let him go now, I’ll make sure you aren’t put in the stinkiest cell at Riker’s, okay? Also, sorry Iron Lad, this was meant to be a birthday present but I hope you don’t mind it a little early. Karen, activate the Present Protocol.”
He couldn’t hear Karen’s reply, just barely saw the salute Peter gave along with a wink before Otto was slamming his fist down on the table. “What’s the Present Protocol?”
Harley gestured to his throat, and it loosened, just enough. “How the hell am I supposed to know? He said it was for my birthday!”
“Tell me his name.”
“No. Hey, where the fuck is Plasma?”
“Plasma?” Otto quirked an eyebrow.
“Yeah, the guy with the mask who you teamed up with. Where the hell is he?”
“Oh, Brent?”
Harley’s eyes bugged. “His name is Brent? Seriously? Who is he?”
“Tell me Spider-Man’s name and I’ll tell you about him.”
Harley laughed. “Oh, no, I don’t care that much. Brent is enough information, thanks.”
“Tell me. Spider-Man’s. Name.” Harley wheezed as his airflow was restricted again, but could only shrug.
“What part- what part of “no” don’t you understand, dude?” he choked out, wincing for another meeting with the wall. But nothing came.
There was a crack, a window breaking. Something hit the back of Harley’s palm, no bigger than a quarter on his hand.
It unfolded, covering his right hand in a familiar-looking piece of technology. Harley laughed at the shock on Otto’s face. “So that’s what it is, then.”
The man snarled, appendages moving, but Harley was somehow faster. He shot a blast at the arm around his throat, the claws releasing on some kind of instinct. Harley dropped to the ground just as Peter came crashing through the window, kicking down what was left of the glass. Harley shot another blast straight for the man’s face, knocking off his glasses. His arm buzzed, and he saw a warning for three blasts.
“It’s temporary. C’mon, let’s get out of here. I don’t want you in here another second.” Peter’s voice was hard and shaking, nothing like the easy-going voice Harley had heard just minutes ago. Harley grabbed around his neck, and Peter jumped out the window to Otto’s howls behind him.
It took a few minutes of them swinging through the air before Harley realized that he was crying. He could feel Peter against him, breathing in shuddering breaths.
“Apartment,” Peter muttered, voice barely catching on the last syllable. “Need to- to-”
“I’m okay,” Harley said, his tone thick with tears. “I knew you'd come find me.”
They reached the roof, made it inside. They immediately rushed to the bathroom, bandaging Harley’s wrist in numb, practiced motion. Harley could feel his chest splintering, breaking apart from all the emotion within it, but he kept his breathy steady until the bandage was wrapped. As soon as it was, and Harley felt the light press of Peter’s hand along the side of his head, he broke. Leaning into Peter’s touch, the pair of them slid to the bathroom floor, and Harley sobbed. Shoulders shuddering, he sobbed despite the pain in his throat. He felt Peter next to him, sliding down next to him and moving so Harley could put his head in his boyfriend’s lap for as long as he needed while he cried.
“God,” Harley rasped in a shuddering tone, gripping the hem of his shirt over and over again. “That sucked.”
“I know.” He could hear Peter’s tears in his voice, could feel the other boy shaking against him. “I’m so sorry, Harley, I’m so sorry that this happened to you.”
“Well, that’s the life of a hero, ain’t it?” Harley tried, wiping at his streaming tears like it would make a distance.
“No, but this time- this time it was because of me. Doc Ock wanted you to hurt so I would do something for him. This- this was my fault.”
“Hey, hold on.” Harley took a grip on his emotions, sitting up to look at Peter. It was difficult not to lose it all over again at the sight of Peter’s face, blotchy with tears and fading bruises. He was sure he didn’t look much different. “This was not your fault. We’re in this together, right? Partners.”
Peter didn’t meet his eyes, instead casting them down to examine the bathroom tile. “But what if it happens again. He knows your name now, he knows who you are. What if he comes for you again.”
“Then you tell me how he fights, and next time he goes after you or me we take him down together. As a team.”
Peter was quiet for a minute, but when he opened his mouth Harley almost wished he hadn’t.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this.”
Panic gripped his heart, fear like Harley had felt when his thrusters had started to go out. “What d’you mean, sweetheart?”
“What if he had known we were dating? God, you’re- you’re in so much danger as long as we’re together, I don’t know if-”
“Don’t,” Harley warned, swallowing roughly in some kind of attempt to quell his racing heartbeat. “Peter, you can’t decide that for both of us. I chose this. I chose you , and you might come with a whole bunch of extra crazy, but it’s okay, because I know you’ll always come find me. Just like I’ll always come and find you. Okay?”
Peter’s jaw was set, and he still looked hesitant. Harley leaned forward, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. Peter caught his hand and held it there, exhaling shakily against the inside of his wrist. “I’m gonna go out to get dinner,” Peter said.
“You didn’t eat?” Harley asked. He felt a little sick at the way Peter had changed the topic so suddenly but didn’t know how to steer it back. “Peter-”
“Soup sound good? For- for your throat?” Peter stood up, and Harley followed.
“Yeah. You want me to come with?” Harley asked.
“No,” Peter said, too quickly, leaving Harley feeling unbalanced, off-center. “Just… just stay here and rest your throat. I’ll be back soon.”
Harley worried his lip between his teeth. “Okay,” he said at last.
Peter pressed a kiss to Harley’s forehead, but it felt too quick, too practiced, not even real. Harley gripped the towel bar, opening his mouth to say something, anything, but Peter beat him to it.
“I’m gonna get changed. I’ll start some water for you, okay?”
“Yeah.” Harley cleared his throat. “Peter?”
“Yeah?”
“Come back.” His voice shook. “Please.”
Peter gave him a thin smile, and there was a slight nod Harley hoped he wasn’t imagining.
Then he was gone.