Archive of Our Own

"How many reps are you gonna do?" Cooper asked, sounding bored as he sat next to Harley on the bench press. 

Harley grunted as he lifted the dumbbells above his head and lowered them again. "A scout from Notre Dame is gonna be there at the game." 

"And you need to keep bulking up? Dude, if your shoulders get any wider, people will start mistaking me for a toothpick whenever I'm next to you." 

Harley grinned up at him. "Start?" 

"You're an asshole," Cooper said, laughing loudly. 

"Mr. Barton, watch the language!" The coach supervising the gym after school said. 

"Sorry," Cooper said, sheepishly. "Alright, come on. Gwen's waiting for us and you still need to shower unless you want to stink her out of your car." 

"Me, stink? Never." Harley said before putting the weights back on the rack. Cooper wiped them down with his towel while Harley wiped the sweat off his face. 

"Dude, do you remember how bad we used to stink out your Pops' truck when he'd pick us up after practice?" Cooper shook his head, chuckling at the memory of it. 

"How could I forget how badly you reeked?" Harley joked, grabbing his gym bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “I think the smell is still in the vents.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Cooper laughed as they shoved each other through the locker room doorway. “You’re so not invited to my house tonight,” Cooper said. 

“Are you kidding? Lila will definitely let me in the house. She loves me.” Harley started stripping down to his boxers, throwing his dirty clothes in his bag and pulling out his shower sandals. He’d have to remember to bring these clothes home tonight for Steve to wash or else he’d probably be better off throwing them out the next time he tried wearing them. 

“Lila doesn’t love you. She loves Peter. There is a huge difference.” Cooper laid on the bench between the lockers. “Maybe if you were cuter or more approachable, you’d steal more people’s hearts.” 

“I think you’re the one that needs help with the cuteness factor. I’ve had offers from quite a few girls to join me at prom,” Harley said, stepping into the shower after pulling off his boxers. 

“Accept any of them yet?” 

“Nah,” Harley replied, working quickly to wash himself. He had to be home for dinner, and he still wanted to play some video games at Cooper’s house before then. “We already promised Gwen we’re going stag together.” 

“Going stag? Who even talks like that anymore besides Uncle Steve.” Cooper chuckled. 

“Shut up. You’re just jealous that you’re not going alone by choice.” 

“It’s not my fault you said no to Aleena Hill last month.” 

“Aleena wanted to sleep with both of us,” Harley reminded him, even though he knew Cooper was teasing about Aleena. After she said that, Harley and Cooper had spent the rest of the party hiding near Gwen. Good thing they could joke about it now.

“Just because you’re too insecure to be compared to a guy like me doesn’t mean you gotta be such a downer. I think it would have been fun.” 

Harley finished rinsing all of the soap off of himself before shutting the water off. “Fun is definitely a word for it. I don’t think I’d call it the right one.” 

“I really don’t blame her for wanting a little bit of both of us.” Cooper shrugged his shoulders, still staring up at the ceiling so Harley could get dressed. Cooper continued to go on about his appeal to girls while Harley finished getting changed. He just barely listened to what he said. 

“Are you done?” Harley asked, running a hand through his wet hair. 

“For now, I guess.” Cooper stood up. “Now, hurry up. Gwen texted me almost five minutes ago saying she's by the car waiting for us.” 

Harley smiled at the mention of her name. He hadn’t seen her a lot today because of the schedule rotation. “Is she coming over for games?” 

“I think so. She said she wants to make you cry,” Cooper said casually. “I told her if she wanted to do that, all she had to do was burn your collection of Twilight books.” 

“At least I’m past the reading level of Captain Underpants.”  

“Aw, come on. No need to bring Peter into this,” Cooper replied, their banter always so easy. 

Even despite the fact they were joking, Harley couldn’t help but defend his little brother though he tried to sound as casual about it as possible. “Hey, that kid’s gonna be working in NASA one day, and he’ll be taking care of me after my many concussions as the result of a long football career.” 

“Is that what you really wanna do?” Cooper asked, his voice no longer teasing. He was being serious. “You wanna play football all your life?” 

Harley already knew the answer to that. He didn’t need a therapist or a guidance counselor to him figure out that he didn’t want to be an offensive tackler for the rest of his life. But the only scholarships he had so far were from schools looking for him to play football for them, and that promised a free ride to school. It could also lead to a great paying job after school if he was good enough for the NFL. 

“If I get these scholarships, how can I say no?” Harley said, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Quite easily,” Cooper told him. “You tell Notre Dame to fuck off, and follow some other dream. Like music, maybe?” 

Harley furrowed his brow as they stepped out of the school, his head feeling cold because of his wet hair hanging on his head. “A music career won’t pay any bills.” 

“Oh, and football will?” 

“I’m being scouted, Cooper,” Harley said. “That’s gotta mean something." 

"It means you're a good player. Not that you're forced into this for the rest of your life." Cooper huffed, sounding frustrated. "Gwen would totally agree that you belong somewhere else. Something you'll actually enjoy." 

Harley stopped walking towards his car when Gwen was waving them over. "Don't tell Gwen." 

"What?" 

"Don't tell her I'm not happy doing football," Harley practically begged him. "She'll never let me hear the end of it." 

"Rightfully so!" 

Harley stared at him, silently pleading him to drop it. He knew there was no hiding anything from Cooper, but maybe he could spare Gwen.

"Harls, she's gonna know whether I tell her or not. She knows you too, and she knows you're forcing yourself into this role." 

"It's a full ride...and Notre Dame, Coop. Pops is always so proud at my games. I don't wanna let him down." Harley felt his shoulders sag slightly.

"He knows you, Harley. He'll know you're not happy." 

"No, he won't," Harley said, holding his hand up for he and Cooper's secret handshake. "And neither will Gwen. Secret to the grave." 

"Dude." 

"Dude." 

Cooper sighed and smacked their hands together, starting their handshake. "Fine. But don't say I wasn't against this from the start when you're 40 and miserable."

"At least I'll have your shoulder to cry on." 

"If I have time to step away from my supermodel wife," Cooper told him with a grin.

"Oh, I'm sure that's definitely in your future." Harley rolled his eyes as they came to a stop by his car. 

Gwen had her hair pulled back in a bun she used normally for dancing with two strands curling on either side of her face. Her eyes dance between the two of them for a moment. "Why were you two handshaking? Did you find another dirty magazine to read in Peter's treehouse?" 

Harley was well past his embarrassment of sexual behavior with Gwen. She knew it all, and he and Cooper had no shame in sharing. "That was one time." 

"Yeah, and we got busted. And grounded." 

Harley nodded his head towards Cooper in agreement. 

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Deservedly so. What if Peter had found them?" 

"We didn't keep them there," Harley defended. "We're not stupid. I don't want Peter seeing them." 

"Yeah. The kid would probably cry if he saw a pair of boobs," Cooper said, throwing his backpack in the backseat where he was going to be sitting. 

"Just like you did?" 

"I did not cry!" 

"Uh huh. Sure." Harley rolled his eyes, opening Gwen's door for her before walking around to the other side. "You're just bitter that magazine is all the tits you'll ever see." 

"Harley." 

Harley shot off a quick, "Sorry," to Gwen before hopping in the car and turning to face Cooper in the back. "Maybe one day you'll see real breasts." 

"I've seen real ones before, dickhead."

"Your mom's don't count." 

"But your mom's do. She even let me suck 'em last night." 

Gwen sighed heavily as they continued their normal banter. Harley knew she was used to it, and if they really bothered her, she'd tell them to shut up. 

"Did she give you her latest STD from the dealer down the street too?" 

"Yup," Cooper said, not missing a beat. "I'm trying to catch 'em all." 

It was decided Cooper won when Harley let out a loud laugh. "Oh, is that what Ash was looking for?" 

"Sure was. I've just got one or two left. Chlamydia and syphilis." Cooper was grinning too when Harley glanced at him in the rear view mirror. 

"I'm sure Harley can give you any you're missing," Gwen grumbled. 

"Woah. My dads gave me the talk. I know to wrap my willy before gettin' silly." Harley winked over at her and she slapped his arm. 

"I regret not taking the bus." 

The bus was always late, smelled like old egg salad, and took forever to get home. And yet, Harley still believed her statement. 

"You know what you don't get on the bus?" Harley asked, glancing at her with a smile as they drove down the neighborhood streets towards Cooper's house. 

Gwen just raised her eyebrows, staring back at him. 

Harley silently handed her his phone that was plugged into the aux cord. "Have fun playing DJ." 

She grinned as she took his phone, typing in his lock code (0810). He didn't need to peek at his phone screen to see what she was searching his saved Spotify albums for. 

"Oh, come on! She's gonna put on--." 

Taylor Swift started playing before Cooper could finish complaining, and Gwen sang along, "You're on the phone with her girlfriend; she's upset. She's going off about something that you said 'cus she doesn't get your humor like I do." 

Her voice reminded him of Peter's-- it wasn't very good, but she sang with passion and her voice felt like home. So it was easily one of his favorite singing voices in the entire world. Probably better than Taylor, herself. (Maybe). 

Gwen continued singing while Cooper groaned in the backseat. Honestly, Harley didn't want Friday's game to come because that muse having a college scout looking at his games meant college was coming and that meant these days of driving home from school in the car with his best friends were coming to an end. 

The thing was…Harley didn’t want them to end. He wanted these days to last forever. 

Harley drove a little slower as if that would slow down time with them. Unfortunately still, the song changed just as fast.

Harley gasped as he finished another sprint down the road. Peter was sitting on the ground, covered in chalk dust as he colored on the sidewalk. He looked up when Harley stopped right in front of him. He had a hopeful smile that Harley had to ignore. "You wanna draw with me now?" 

"I can't, Gizmo. I'm training." 

Peter huffed with an angry pout. "You're always training!" 

"It's grown-up stuff. You wouldn't understand," Harley told him as he got ready to start his next run. 

“I’m not a kid anymore. I’m old enough to know you’re being irrational,” Peter declared, his mature attitude was so out of place with his chalk piece in hand and the dust covering his superhero t-shirt. He was a strange mixture of an old soul and a young heart at the same time. 

“Irrational is a big word for you. Do you even know what it means?” 

“It means you’re doing something stupid and it doesn’t make sense,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. 

“How does training not make sense, smart ass?” Harley challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“First of all, that’s a bad word.” 

“First of all, I don’t care.” 

“Second of all, your game is in two days. Running now won’t really help you. And you already know that because Papa taught you how to train.” Peter put his chalk down and wiped his hand on his shirt, giving Spider-Man a yellow streak through his face. 

“You don’t know how football works.” 

“I know practicing too much before a dance recital doesn’t help. Gwen told me so.” Peter stood up, rolling his eyes. “I think you’re just scared.” 

The scariest part of those words coming from his baby brother’s mouth was that he was right, and they both knew it. “No, I’m not, Peter.” 

“You’re trying to bury your emotions and distract yourself from how scared you are.” Peter tilted his head, studying Harley while Harley’s heart began to race. It was like Peter was reading his mind. He wondered if he was that obvious or it was just Peter being weird like he usually is. 

“I’m not scared.” 

“Yes, you are. You know, Doctor Gates says that it’s okay to be scared and to distract yourself from it, but ignoring it completely doesn't make it go away.” 

Harley wanted to snap at him for being a nosey little shit, but he knew that Peter had more in life to be scared about than Harley had ever had. So he couldn’t tell Peter he had no idea what Harley was going through because he was just a kid; Harley was afraid of a college not liking his football skills when Peter was afraid of strange men coming too close to him in public. Inviting a scout from the nearby community college over for dinner had been an entire thing because there had been a strange man in their home, and they hadn’t done enough to warn Peter for him to prepare himself. He had handled the night well enough, but he was miserable the entire time until Tony excused the two of them to Peter’s room and Steve finished the night with Harley and the scout. 

Peter had legit excuses to be scared that he was actually learning to deal with at therapy, whereas Harley was being dramatic about a ballgame and quit therapy after a year because he told his dads he was okay. Which was right-- he was because he had a great supportive family, and he was okay. He was. 

“Harley?” 

Harley jumped when Peter was suddenly in his face, his big brown eyes full of worry. “When did you get over here?” 

“While you were thinking.” Peter was reaching for Harley to lift him up, and while he was still tiny, Harley had trouble picking him up easily now. It broke his heart. Harley would probably go away to school for one semester, come back and Peter would be even bigger. 

Harley turned around and lowered himself to the ground so Peter could jump on his back. “Come on, Gizmo. One more lap and you can join.” 

Peter jumped onto his back, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist. He still weighed almost nothing. Even Lila was heavier when she begged for piggy back rides. He was small but not small enough.  Harley didn’t understand why his doctor was so obsessed with getting him to grow more. He was perfect just like he was. 

“Run, Harley! Run!” 

Harley enjoyed the moment of Peter’s giggling and let that be the distraction from the shitshow around him. Peter had a tight grip on Harley, and he knew he wasn’t going to let go for anything, but Harley still held on tightly. 

As if he held on tight enough, maybe Peter would stay on his back forever. He'd be by his side no matter where Harley went.

Because after Harley accepted his college offer, Peter wasn't coming with him. Especially if Harley got a scholarship from Notre Dame, that was all the way in Indiana. That was far from his friends, family, and Peter. Harley had never been so far from Peter. The last time he had gone longer than a day without seeing his little brother was years ago when one of their fosters-- Harley couldn't even remember their names anymore-- had locked him in the closet for three days. 

Once he was in college, he could go weeks without seeing Peter. The thought was terrifying. 

A little hand on his cheek broke him from his thoughts as Peter asked quietly, "Why are you crying, Harley?"

"I'm not," Harley said, though he now realized it was a lie. "I'm just sweating a lot."

"No, but--."

"I'm fine, Peter," Harley snapped a little too harshly.

Peter kept a secure hold on him despite the silence he fell into. He stopped wiping the tears from Harley's face as he was carried back towards their front door. 

Harley dropped him by the porch and said, "Go get ready for dinner. I'm gonna put your chalk away."

Again, Peter argued, "I'm supposed to clean up my own messes." 

"I'm helping you. You're welcome. Go clean up for dinner." Harley gave him a little shove towards the door and watched Peter hesitantly walk up the stoop and go inside. 

Harley waited a moment in case Peter tried coming back out, and then he turned around and ran. He ran laps around their block until Tony called to tell him dinner was getting cold. Even then, he said he wasn't hungry and he ran some more. 

He didn't stop until the sun came down and Harley didn't have to see the drawing Peter had done outside the house on the way inside. His heart didn't need another reminder of what he was losing. 

Harley's nerves only grew as the game came closer. He knew that would be the case, but he still wished maybe he'd grow a little braver instead. 

The night before the game, Harley was in bed, waiting for his body to let him fall asleep when there was a knock at his door. "Hey, pal, you sleeping?" 

Harley could have stayed quiet so Steve thought he was, but he couldn't do that to Steve. Maybe to himself either. "I'm up." 

The door opened and Steve popped his head inside. "Hey, I didn't think you'd still be awake. Dad said you went to bed a while ago." 

"Couldn't fall asleep," Harley told him, sitting up in bed. 

"I bet you're excited for tomorrow," he replied, walking into his room with a big grin. 

"I guess…" Harley's voice was quiet as he tried to keep it from sounding terrified instead. 

"Are you worried about it?" Steve sat down next to him on the bed, his brow furrowing. Harley could sense the concern rolling off of him in waves. He wanted Steve to take all of his worries away. "Because you know you'll do great out there." 

Harley's shoulders slouched as he stared down at his lap. He had a feeling this conversation wasn't going to be the conversation to ease his real worrying. Not that it was Steve's fault if Harley didn't tell him why he was really worried. 

"Are you worried about Notre Dame not liking you?" Steve asked, giving him another chance at an out. 

Harley opened his mouth as his mind whirled. 

I'm worried about hating what I do. I'm worried about not being able to provide. I'm worried about losing this safety I've finally found.

I'm terrified to let you down.

"Yeah." 

Steve put his hand on Harley's shoulder. "You've already got good schools asking for you, Harley. Notre Dame is a damn good school." 

All the way in Indiana. 

"But you've got the local school, a school in the city, another out of state. You're a good player, kid. They're tripping over their feet to sign you." Steve was still smiling, hopeful that he'd be okay with that reassurance. 

And Harley couldn't let him down before the game even started so he nodded his head. "Yeah. I guess so." 

"I don't care which school you go to," Steve told him, and of course, he didn't care. He had Peter staying home with him. It didn't matter how close or far Harley went. "Whatever you choose is the right choice for you." 

But what if it wasn't? What if he made the wrong choice? How was he even supposed to start trying to make his choice? 

He had a few short weeks before his decision needed to be finalized, and he had no idea what he wanted to do. He knew he needed to do something that would be good for his future, and football seemed like it made the most sense. Especially financially. 

"I just...don't wanna let you down," Harley said, finally being honest with Steve. 

Steve wrapped an arm around him with a chuckle. "Oh, Harley, you won't. I know you're gonna kick ass tomorrow at this game. I'll be cheering loudest. No matter what. But I know Notre Dame is gonna fall in love with your skills. You don't have to worry about letting me down. You're gonna be great." 

And maybe, Harley was a great football player, but there were so many other ways to let him down. 

"Thanks, Pops." 

"You're tense as fuck," Cooper told him as they walked onto the field for their next play. 

"I'm fine," Harley replied, though he knew Cooper was right. He could fuck up a play if he was too tense, and ruin the game for everyone. "I won't fuck up. I'll protect you." 

Cooper was the quarterback, and that was his job. He needed to protect him and his blind spot. Harley wasn't going to let anyone come near him. Especially if any scouts want to see Cooper playing because he was just as good, if not better than Harley. 

"No, Harley. I don't care about the game. I don't want you getting hurt." Cooper studied him as they started to go towards their positions. "You seem distracted." 

"I'm fine," he repeated. "You'll be fine." 

Cooper sighed as they waited for the play to start, and after only a moment on the field, Harley broke that promise to Cooper. 

He was distracted. His reflexes were just a little too late. He turned to tackle the guy coming straight for Cooper and he got hit a little too hard the wrong way. 

He went down...and it went dark. 

When he opened his eyes again, Cooper was above him. His helmet was off and the black streaks under his wide eyes were smudged. He was saying...something. His mouth kept moving, but he couldn't quite make out what he was saying. 

Then his coach was there too, trying to shove Cooper away. Harley didn't want Cooper gone though. His head followed Cooper's movement and he felt a wave of nausea immediately try to drown him.

The words started coming in as he managed to call Cooper's name. His coach was yelling something urgently as more people came, though these people looked like medical professionals. "C-Coop." 

"I'm here, Harley. You're okay. You're awake again. You're talking. You're okay." 

Harley felt far from okay. He hurt like hell, and he could definitely throw up the lunch he had a few hours before the game. He also wanted to cry because they kept pushing Cooper away, and he didn't want Cooper gone.

He lost sight of Cooper and he didn't want to cry in front of everyone. He could handle this pain. It wasn't too bad. He just needed Cooper back. Why was Cooper gone? 

The rest started to get blurry after Cooper wasn't there to focus on. He was put on a stretcher and there were a lot of people around him. Cooper didn't come back, but suddenly, Pops was there. Pops was above him as they loaded him into an ambulance. 

He was crying. "It's okay, pal. I'm right here." 

Harley nodded his head, but that was a mistake because after that, he threw up. He threw up all over himself and Pops' hand that was on his chest. Pops didn't even flinch. He used his clean hand to wipe Harley's chin while other people started cleaning the sick off his chest.

Harley couldn't stop the tears anymore because he had just thrown up all over himself and Pops, and he felt like he could do it again. "'M sorry." 

"No need," Pops told him, his eyes full of tears. "I'll take care of you. Just keep your eyes on me, okay?" 

"I'm tired," Harley mumbled. He wanted to sleep all of this pain away. 

Pops hesitated, looking over to the doctors and one of them said, "He's fine to sleep. We'll wake him every so often to keep our eyes on him." 

Pops looks like that was the last thing he wanted to agree to, but he did anyway. "Hear that, kiddo? Rest if you need to. Papa's right here. You're okay." 

"Cooper?" 

"He's alright. He was there for you first. He watched you until I could get there." 

"Protect…" 

"Yes. He protected you." 

Harley grunted. No. Harley was supposed to protect him. He was the protector. Not the other way around. He didn't know how to say any of this, so he settled on a soft whine, "Papa." 

"I'm here," Pops replied immediately. "Stop worrying about everyone else. Let yourself rest. It's okay." Pops rubbed his hand gently. "You're okay." 

"I wanna sleep." I want it to go away. 

"I'll be here. Promise." 

Harley woke up to throw up. There were hands on his head and under his arms and something was shoved underneath his mouth, so the sick made a loud sound when it came out. 

It took too long for him to stop reaching as he felt a hand running his back and Tony's voice cooing gently, "That's it, bubba. Get it all out." 

Harley thought he was done until he needed to throw more up. A startled cry bubbled out of his throat as he retched with his eyes squeezed shut. 

"You're okay. You're almost done," Tony whispered, pressing a kiss to his head. 

When he finished, just as Tony promised, a warm cloth wiped his mouth and chin as the now full bowl was pulled away. 

The hands holding him up by the armpits let him lay back against his bed, though his bed was inclined to make him sit up. 

"It's alright. See? All done." 

Harley opened his eyes to see Tony sitting besides him, giving him a small smile though there was nothing but worry in his eyes. "What happened?" 

"You got hurt during the game. You were unconscious for almost a full minute." Tony brushed some hair from Harley's face. "You've been in and out since, though this is the first time you've really been coherent." 

Harley looked around the room, the obvious hospital room, and saw Steve sitting on his other side. When their eyes met, he finally spoke, "How're you feeling, pal?" 

"Like shit," he croaked. "Is Cooper okay?" 

"See for yourself." Steve moved in the chair he was in and Harley saw Cooper laid out, asleep on the couch against the wall with Peter asleep on top of him. Cooper was big enough and Peter was tiny enough that they looked pretty comfortable. 

"How long has it been?" Harley asked, noticing that Cooper was not wearing his football jersey. 

"Few hours." 

"What did the coach say?" 

"Your coach?" 

"Notre Dame." 

Steve spoke ago with a frown, "Harley...that doesn't matter right now."

Harley felt a panic rise in his stomach, making him feel more nauseous than he already was. What did Steve mean Notre Dame didn't matter? Of course, it did! "The coach saw me mess up. He's not going to want me." 

"I think we should wait to see what the doctor says about the injury first," Tony said carefully, as if he was afraid of the reaction he was going to get. 

"Tony," Steve said with warning. 

"I'm being realistic. It's something we have to talk about," Tony argued. "He got hurt, and it could be something we need to make sure he doesn't risk hurting all over again." 

Steve was proud of him playing. He wanted him to play. Playing ball would be a good career. He could support a family. He could support Peter, just in case. 

"It's going to be fine," Steve told him. "There's no need to worry until we know what we're dealing with." 

Tony didn't argue that. 

"I'll go get the doctor now," Steve said, standing up. "I'll let him know that Harley is awake." Before he left, he squeezed Harley's hand gently and gave him a smile. 

Harley watched him leave, wondering if Steve was going to hate him if he couldn't play. He'd probably hate him if he knew he didn't want to play. 

"You know he'd be proud of you no matter what you did." 

Harley looked away from the door that had just shut behind Steve. Tony was staring right at him, something in his eyes that Harley couldn't place. "What?" 

"Your father is proud of your football skills because it's you. It wouldn't matter if you were playing hockey, baseball, football, or chess...it wouldn't matter if you were the best or the worst. Pops would be cheering the loudest in the entire stadium because you are his son, and he is so proud of you no matter what you do." 

Harley stared back, so desperately wanting to believe those words completely. "He loves my games. He says I'm good and I'll get into any school playing like I do." 

"Because you will. I'm not going to lie, Harley, you're very talented. But he would love anything he got to see of you. He loves being your dad, and being your biggest fan is one of the best parts of being a dad." 

There were so many things that Harley wanted to say that he just didn't quite know how to muster into words. He knew Tony would be patient with him along the way. "Football is good for me. It helps with my issues."

"Hey," Tony scolded gently. "Don't say it like that. But you're right. Football was there to help you learn to regulate your anger when you first started learning how. But now you've got so many other outlets that you don't need to rely on football."

"I've got scholarships."

"Harley, I want you to tell me the truth. Do you want to play football?"

Harley's honest answer was immediate, "Yes." 

Tony sighed. "Let's try this again. Do you want to play football for any purely selfish reason?"

Harley no longer had an instant answer. 

"That's what I thought," Tony said, leaning back slightly. "You're not planning on playing in school for yourself. You're doing it for him." 

Harley didn't want Tony to know because Tony would definitely tell Steve, and then Steve would feel guilty. "I'm a good player. This is what I should do." 

"No. What you should do is whatever will make you happy. And I know a few other things that make you happier than football. One thing especially that is more therapeutic than football ever was."

Sighing, Harley said, "I can't have a music career." 

"Why not?" Tony asked, leaning in close again. "You're a great singer and a great guitarist. Notre Dame can find another tackler. But there is oy one voice that sounds like yours." 

"Singing as a career is impractical. That won't pay the bills." 

"And maybe football won't!" Tony argued, though not harshly. 

"It already is. It's paying for my college bills. I can't just ignore that." 

"Yes, you can! We can find other majors! We can apply for music schools. The price doesn't matter. We have the money. Please take advantage of that." Tony was practically begging, but he didn't understand why Harley couldn't just accept that. Their childhoods had been very different. The evidence showed itself in weird ways. 

"I'd be stupid to give this up," Harley's voice was as weak as his argument.  

"No. It's stupid to mold your future around something that doesn't make you happy. You don't need to worry about money. You don't need to worry about Peter. You don't need to worry about Pops. You need to only worry about yourself."

Harley had never done that before. He fixed his mind even know how to worry about himself first. 

"There are other kids out there that would kill for this spot. Don't you think this spot should go to someone that really wants it? Maybe it should go to someone that financially needs the scholarship?"

Harley felt the fight leave his body as his shoulders slumped. "That's not fair. You're guilt tripping me."

"No, you do that yourself. I'm just using it to my advantage," Tony replied smugly.

So maybe Harley didn't need the financial help. And maybe football wasn't the way he controlled his anger. But there was still one thing that Harley couldn't deny. "He's so proud of me at my games. What if that ends after I quit? I'm losing so many other things. I don't want to lose that. I can't."

Tony held his head and leaned in so close. "He will be proud of you no matter what. You could add two and two, and he'd still fawn all over you if you discovered a new number."

"I'm not Peter," Harley said, rolling his eyes. Peter was the perfect angel in Steve's eyes. Harley was definitely not. He had a lot of making up for, and he probably always would. 

"No," Tony agreed with a chuckle. "You're not Peter. But Pops still loves you and believes you are the best thing since sliced bread." 

Harley rolled his eyes. Everyone knew Peter was not only Steve's favorite, but everyone's favorite. Not that Harley blamed them. Peter was perfect and could never do wrong. Literally. Harley was not the same, so he didn't care that Peter was the favorite. He was Harley's favorite too. 

"He'll be proud of you no matter what. In fact, I think he'll be even prouder of you if you do what you want to do. You stand up for yourself and what you believe, and we'll all be so proud." 

Harley took a deep breath. "I...I don't know what I want to do." 

"And that's okay!" Tony was quick to tell him. "You can take generic classes while you still figure everything out. You can even take a gap year." 

"How do I go from a full ride to Notre Dame to...nothing?" 

"You'll find your way. You'll find the spot you belong in. Football isn't it, bubba. You don't have to force it. You deserve to be happy. I want you to be happy." 

"Will Pops be mad?" Harley asked in a shaky voice. "If I don't want to do football." 

"No," Tony reassured him quickly. "He won't be mad at you." 

"Don't tell him." 

"I won't. It's your news to tell him when you want to," Tony reassured him.

"Don't tell him at all. Don't coach him how to react when I tell him." Harley didn't want Steve to be told how to react. Harley wanted his genuine reaction. 

"I won't," Tony promised. "But it's going to be okay."

Before Harley could question that again, the door opened to his room and Steve stepped inside. His eyes immediately latched to Harley and some tension in his shoulders disappeared. "Hey, pal, you're still up." 

"Yeah," Harley croaked, wishing he wasn't. "I'm still up." 

"Good. Good." Steve couldn't take his eyes off of Harley, even as he gestured to the doctor behind him. "I brought a friend to check on you." 

Harley didn't hate doctors like Peter did. He never really went as a kid, so there was no childhood trauma-- for once. The only experience he had with doctors was when they saved his brother twice. Plus there was that time he had his appendix out, but that didn't comfort him as much as Peter being helped did. 

"Good evening, Rogers-Stark family. How are we feeling?" The doctor was all smiles as he walked in, holding his clipboard. 

"Evening?" Harley questioned. "How long has it been?" 

"Too long," Steve said, looking nervous. The only times Harley ever saw him nervous was when he or Peter was hurt. 

"I'm sorry," Harley said sadly. 

"No. Don't apologize," Steve said quickly. "It's not your fault. We're just glad you're awake." 

"That is definitely a relief," the doctor said. "I'm gonna check some vitals and see how you're doing." 

While the doctor moved around the room, checking the machines and his clipboard. Harley couldn't take his eyes off of Steve. He hated the weight of this secret.  

So when he had the chance to let it out, he did. 

He waited for Steve to take a seat next to him and hold his hand while the doctor was quiet. He probably could have waited for a private moment, but he couldn't wait anymore. So he shouted, "I don't want to play football!" 

Steve flinched at his sudden yell, and he could see Cooper shift on the couch. He wiped his eyes as Peter continued to snooze. Cooper knew this already, not that he would have cared otherwise. 

"Are you scared to get hurt again? Because--." 

"No," Harley cut him off before he could give Harley a way out of this conversation. "I don't want to play football for school. I don't want to be a football player." 

Steve's eyes widened. "You don't want to play football?" 

"No," Harley continued. "I don't know what I want to do-- I don't want to play football though." 

There was a silence in the room, broken only by the monitors beeping. The doctor cleared his throat. "I think I'm going to step out for a moment. The numbers look good. There's nothing to worry about." 

"That's good," Tony said, the only one that seemed to have their voice. Harley was still holding Steve's eye contact, neither of them had moved. "Thank you for checking on him." 

"Of course. I think taking a break from football is a good idea. Your head could use a break from all that bashing around." The doctor's tone sounds joking but his words are firm. 

Steve still hadn't moved when the doctor left the room. He seemed almost nervous as he looked down at Harley. "Why didn't you tell me you didn't want to play football?"

"I--." He looked over at Tony and felt himself grow a little braver when he saw the smile his dad was giving him. He took a deep breath, looked over at Steve again and said, "I know you really like my games. I never wanted to…let you down.” 

Steve came over to his side in a rush. “Sweetheart…”

Harley looked away because hearing that name in such a gentle tone to him felt so out of place. That was (one of) his Peter nicknames along with his Peter voice. Harley was too old to ever get that. 

“Harley, honey, look at me.” 

The last time he remembered Steve calling him honey was when his appendix ruptured a few months ago. His cheeks flushed as he recalled telling Tony how much he liked it when he had been a little high on the drugs. He hated sharing feelings and emotions, even with people he trusted more than anything else in the world. He trusted them with Peter-- that meant more than anything else ever would. But it still left him feeling vulnerable. 

“Are you going to look at me, or should I move to find your eyes?”

That would require Steve crawling up on the hospital bed and probably his lap. Harley already felt a little squished himself and knew that there was no room for Steve too. Because Steve would do it. Slowly, Harley turned his head to look at Steve again. 

Steve smiled, though he looked nervous still. “Can I tell you something, and can you promise to try and believe it?” 

Harley considered his words and nodded his head. He owed it to him. “Yeah. Okay.” 

“I’m not proud of you because you’re playing football. I’m proud of you because you’re my son.” Steve could probably see the look in his eyes before he could hide it. “Don’t give me that look. I mean it.” 

“I’m good at football. You love football.” Harley felt like Peter, fidgeting with his blanket as he talked about feelings and emotions. This so wasn’t his thing. 

“I love you.” 

“I know, but--.” 

“There’s no buts in this, Harley. Nothing in the world matters. I love you, and because I love you, I want you to be happy.” Steve took a seat next to him, most of the nerves gone from his facial expression. “If you’re not happy playing football, I don’t want you playing it.” 

“But I’m good. It could be a good career if I’m already being scouted.” 

“Is that what you want?” Steve asked. “You want to spend the rest of your life playing football?” 

“Not really, but--.” 

“What do you want to do instead?” 

“Nothing really,” Harley replied, trying to keep up with the rapid fire questions. 

“What do you see yourself doing?” 

Harley grunted. “I don’t know.” 

“What makes you happy, Harley?”

“I need something that will provide for me and my family.” 

“What is fun? What will make you happy, Harley? Close your eyes and imagine a future where you’re doing what you want. What do you see yourself doing? Close your--.” 

“Playing music!” 

Steve smiled at his outburst. “Yeah? Music?” 

Harley’s face flushed. “That’s not fair. You tricked me.” 

“No, I didn’t.” 

He didn’t. “But-- I-- you--.” 

“Harley!” 

“Peter, give him a moment--.” Cooper’s words were cut off by Peter climbing up Steve’s lap to get to Harley. Steve held onto him before he could tackle Harley. 

“Nu-uh. Not happening, little man. Give Harley some space.” Steve pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “He’s still hurting.” 

“Can I give him a kiss? Please?” Peter started fidgeting on Steve’s lap, and Harley opened his arms. “I’ll be gentle.” 

“One kiss and then we’re going to get some lunch,” Tony told him. “I think we have some friends waiting in the cafeteria.” 

“But I wanna make sure Harley’s okay,” Peter grumbled.

“He is okay. See?” 

Harley smiled to cement Tony’s words. He didn’t want Peter to worry. “I’m alright, Gizmo. I promise.” 

Steve leaned him closer so Peter could kiss his forehead without putting any of his weight on him. Peter obviously tried squirming out of Steve’s arms, but he held on tightly. “Squirmies don’t get kissies.” 

Peter frowned and said very seriously, “I’m not a baby, Papa.”

Harley smiled at their little squabble. Peter was going through a determined “I’m not a baby” phase, and in this crusade, Steve was his biggest enemy. He always would be. 

“You’re right. Sorry. Big boy, are you gonna give Harley your kiss or are you gonna make you hold you here longer?” Steve was straining as he held Peter’s weight, but Harley knew he’d do it for as long as Peter asked. 

Peter leaned forward and pressed his lips to Harley’s head, making a loud kiss noise. He pulled away with a smile. “Feel better?”

Harley’s smile softened. “Of course.” 

“Ready for food, bubba?” Tony asked, standing to his feet. He held his hand out for Peter to take as Steve put him on his feet. Tony was much better about giving Peter his space to grow up and be his own person. They balanced each other well, just as always. 

"What would you like, Harley?"

"Some pudding?" He requested with a smile. Peter seemed to grow bigger and bigger every day. Harley hated it. 

"Okay!" Peter took Tony's hand, and dragged him from the room as he told him the quicker they got their food, the quicker they returned. 

"I'm gonna head out for a bit too," Cooper said, standing up. "Gwen's pretty worried, so I'll fill her in."

Harley's heart panged when he heard about how worried Gwen was. He hoped she was here, or would come over now that he was awake. Seeing her always quieted the doubts in his mind. 

Cooper stopped in the doorway. "It's good to see you awake, man. You scared the shit outta me." 

"I remember you being there," Harley told him. "Through it all, I saw you. And it helped. So thank you."

"Of course. I'll be back soon." He nodded his head, and Harley knew he was encouraging this talk. 

Harley knew it had to continue, though he wished they hadn't been interrupted so that it was already over with. 

Steve was not as scared as Harley. Or maybe he was braver. "I think you'd be a wonderful musician." 

"Pops...I was just being dumb. There ain't no way I'll be able to be a musician." Harley shook his head, unable to look away from Steve, even if he wanted to. 

"And why's that?" Steve questioned, pressing like he always did until the problem was solved and the bad feelings were gone. 

"Because it's ridiculous. How is that a career? It's a hobby." 

"So is football." 

Harley rolled his eyes. "No one's coming to me with scholarships for playing the guitar." 

"Not yet. You haven't shared that gift with the world." 

"And I won't be," Harley told him. "It's dumb. Just a stupid dream that won't come true." 

"So was my art," Steve told him quietly. "I didn't think it was going to get me anywhere." 

Harley stopped arguing when Steve started telling his story. He hadn't heard a lot about Steve's story with art, and how he found himself where he was now-- commissioned painter and art therapist for foster kids. 

"I wanted to be an artist since I picked up a brush for the first time, and as a kid, that was an easy choice. But as I grew up and it came time to make important and expensive decisions in life, it suddenly became so much harder." 

Harley knew how hard it was to share pieces of a person's story, so he did not take this information lightly. He made sure Steve could tell he was listening with rapt attention. 

"I convinced myself I was going to be an accountant." 

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Harley laughed. He couldn't imagine Steve as an accountant. "An accountant?" 

"It seemed practical and well paying." Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone else in my family had the same reaction as you." 

It had only been two years of knowing Steve, but that was enough to know a lot about him. "You would have been miserable." 

"I know. My ma told me that every time I brought it up. She pushed art. But art wasn't a career, I had convinced myself. I didn't listen to anyone that said otherwise. Not not my art teachers, not my folks, and not Tony."

"But...you hate math." 

"It sounded like a secure field. Everyone always needs people doing...math." 

Harley smiled. "Really?" 

Steve smiled right back. "It's obvious I didn't take that route, kid. I think it's clear, I had and still don't have any clue about accounting or any math profession." 

"What convinced you not to do it?" 

"My dad passed away." 

Harley felt like an asshole, even though he hadn't said anything wrong. He just felt horrible for even paying. "I'm sorry." 

"Thank you." Steve's smile faded. "He passed in the summer before senior year. I...was a mess. Some days, I still don't know how I made it out alive. I know I owe a lot of it to your dad. He kept me feeling when I didn't want to feel a thing at all." 

"I'm glad you had him," Harley said, unsure of what else to say. Imagining a broken Steve didn't feel real. He was bigger than the mountains and stronger than the waves. A reality where he was anything but seemed surreal. 

"I had him, and I had art," Steve said quietly. "I shut down, and when I couldn't speak or even move, I could draw. So I drew, and I painted, and I cried. I just let what I was feeling inside out on a canvas and washed my grief become something beautiful." 

Harley knew the feeling. He knew the feeling every time he wrote a new song, or even just a jumble of lyrics. It felt freeing to let out his own demons through art. 

"I didn't end up applying to any school on time. I took a gap year that became a few gap years." Steve didn't seem embarrassed by admitting it. Harley had assumed he went to college right after high school just as Tony had. "I followed Tony to Boston and we shared an apartment while he went to MIT. I picked up a lot of odd jobs, focusing on my healing through art, really." 

Harley couldn't imagine his dads, so sure of life and secure in their places, as lost kids trying to find their way. 

"I was between a shift at the pizzeria and a shift at a local bookstore. I was sitting in a park just by this local diner Tony and I met at for lunch every day. I was painting a picture of a bird I had seen that morning, learning to fly, it seemed. He failed a lot, but eventually, he got it. And it was so beautiful." 

Harley wasn't a whiz in English, but it sounded like a pretty intense metaphor for life. Mr. Lyle would be creaming his pants if he heard this in real life and not one of his dumb bools written hundreds of years ago.

"This old woman came up to me once it was finished and offered me $500. Just for the lousy picture of a bird I had painted. Named that one Against All Odds." 

"Why?" Harley asked, his voice quiet as he shared this moment with Steve. 

"Because… that's when I realized I had found my way back to where I needed to be. It wasn't easy, and life threw a lot of wrenches in my plans, but I made it. Just like that baby bird, I flew. Except my wings were never attached to me. They were by my side just as close, supporting and lifting me up through everything anyway."

Harley knew where this was going by the smile on his face. "You have your wings too. You have lots of wings to help guide you to where you need to go." 

"I don't know where that is right now," Harley admitted. 

"And that's okay. You can take a year off or you could start taking your core classes that can transfer easily if you want to change schools." 

Harley chewed on his bottom lip, debating his words before he finally just said it because he had already so much else. "I don't want to go to Indiana. Or Ohio." 

"Okay… we can find other states--." 

"I want to stay here just a little bit longer," Harley continued. "I found...it's nice here. With you and everyone else. I just got it, and I want it a little longer." 

God, this emotions thing was hard. 

"You can stick around here. You can commute or we can find a school close enough to come home on weekends." 

"Can I talk to Cooper? About rooming with him?" Harley knew Cooper didn't have a clue what he wanted to do just yet either. They could do their core classes together. 

"Of course," Steve said. "That sounds like a good place to start. It would be nice to have him with you so the change is a little less scary." 

Harley nodded his head, staring over to where Peter had been laying. "I've never been away from Peter longer than a few hours." 

"It will be hard at first," Steve said, holding his hand. "But it's going to be okay. You're strong." 

"I don't know…" 

Steve squeezed his hands. "You are. I promise." 

Harley leaned back, closing his eyes with a deep sigh. It was quiet for a moment as Harley calmed his breathing and Steve just held his hand.

"Hey, pal, can I give you a hug?" Steve asked quietly. 

Harley's eyes snapped open. "Yeah. 'Course." 

Steve leaned forward and so did Harley, letting himself be held. Harley was nowhere near as tiny as Peter was anymore; he was closer to Steve's size, even taller than Tony. He didn't know what it felt like to be wrapped up completely like Peter always was, but being hugged by Steve was pretty damn close. 

"I'm so glad you're okay," Steve breathed in a shaky voice. "You went down and didn't get back up. That scared the shit out of me."

"I'm sorry," Harley mumbled, still holding on to Steve just as tightly as he was holding onto him. 

"Dad kept Peter distracted, but I damn near lost my mind running down those bleachers to try and get to you." 

"I'm okay now," he reassured him. "My head hurts like a bitch, but I'm okay. I think...I think I'm done with football for a while." 

"Your dad will be happy to hear that." 

"And you?" Harley asked, afraid of the answer. 

"I'll be happy as long as you are," Steve reassured him, pulling away to press a kiss to his head. 

"Are you just saying that?" 

"You're my son, Harley. You do a lot more than play football to make me proud. Don't worry about me. Just worry about yourself." 

Harley felt his shoulders sag. "Thank you." 

"Don't thank me for being a dad." Steve pulled away. "Or you could thank me by letting me give you hugs more often."

"Peter's hugs are better." 

"I don't compare my babies' hugs. You're both perfect." Steve hugged him again, tighter this time and Harley focused on feeling how good it was to be held by Steve's big arms against his chest before he pulled away as he stood up. 

"I love you, Pops," Harley told him, looking up at him. 

"I love you too, kiddo." Steve's smile was as soft as Peter's favorite blanket. "And as much as I'd love to keep you to myself, I think someone might be a little excited to see you."

"Peter's coming back?" Harley questioned, wondering who else would be so excited to come see him.

"He's still eating his lunch," Steve told him with a small smile. "Someone else was checking in on you a lot when you were asleep. I think she's probably waiting outside the door right now." 

She...Gwen. Gwen was worried about him.

"Can you get her?" Harley asked him. She always worried about him getting hurt during his games. 

"Of course." Steve walked over to the door and all he had to do was stick his head out of the door. Harley saw the smile on his face. "Hey, Gwen. Sorry I hogged him." 

He stepped aside, and Gwen hurried inside. She was wearing a t-shirt of Harley's, the one she was wearing at the game. It was just one of their football team he wore to their fundraisers, but she loved wearing it with a hair elastic tied around a knot by her waist. The knot was untied now, but the wrinkles remained and the shirt looked huge on her. 

"Harley Rogers-Stark, you scared the shit out of me!" 

Steve chuckled as he shut the door behind him, giving them some privacy. He didn't even give Gwen a "language" look, so she must have been really worried. 

"Hey, Gwen…" Harley said, giving her a small wave. 

"You idiot! You weren't supposed to get hurt during these stupid games! I told you!" Her face was red and her hair was as wild as the fury in her eyes. 

"I didn't mean to!" Harley said, feeling more scared of her than the 200lb football player that sacked him. 

She fell to bed, sitting on his leg slightly. Harley didn't mind one bit. "You went down so fast. And you didn't get back up." 

Harley reached out for her hand, taking it in his. They were so small compared to his as he squeezed her fingers gently. "I'm sorry." 

"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen." Her voice was thick with unshed tears. "You terrified me." 

"I'm sorry," he said again. He hated that she sounded so hurt, and it was his fault. She sniffled softly, wiping her nose. "If it makes you feel better, I'm not going to play anymore." 

Her head snapped up, her blond hair bouncing around her shoulders. "What? Are you too hurt?" 

"No," he said, refraining to shake his head so it didn't hurt him more. "I don't wanna play football. I don't wanna go to school for it." 

Her eyes brightened. "You're not going to school for football?" 

"Nope. I'm not sure what I'll do now. But not football." 

She eyed him. "Are you being serious? You're not shitting me?"

"Nope. I don't wanna do it." 

She smiled widly. "What are you gonna do instead?" 

"I dunno…" He said, shrugging his shoulders. "Pops talked to me about art." 

"Art?" 

"My music," Harley said quietly. 

Gwen smiled even wider. "Your music. I like that, Harley. I really really like that." 

"What if nothing comes out of it?" Harley asked. Not trying felt easier than failing. 

"Something will come out of it," Gwen told him. "Who knows what, but you're too talented to not have anything." 

"I don't know...I think I'm gonna start by taking some core classes with Cooper while I figure my life out." Harley had no idea where life was going to take him, but for the first time since he started looking into college he didn't feel scared. 

"That's a good start," Gwen said, squeezing his hand. "I'm really proud of you." 

Harley's shoulders relaxed. "Thank you. It feels...good." 

"Pops is proud of you too," she said, reading his mind as always. "He's proud of you for doing what you want and what makes you happy. We all are." 

"What if I never figure it out?"

"Something tells me your Pops won't mind if you stay in the house for the rest of your life. He'd support you." Gwen laughed, a twinkle in her eyes that he hadn't seen in a while since they started having college conversations. 

"That spot's already taken by Peter," Harley said. "Pops said he isn't allowed out of the house until he's 45. He'll be too focused on him." 

"You think he's serious?" Gwen asked with a chuckle. 

Harley shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. Probably. But as long as he's with Peter, he won't care about the parties Coop and I are totally gonna hit up." 

Gwen rolled her eyes. "I barely survived you two through high school. How will I ever survive college?" 

"Eh, we'll figure it out." 

Gwen kept her hand in Harley's as she stared at him for a moment. "Yeah. I guess we will."