spider-man oneshots

this is what happens when you write after midnight

okay maybe it is 0.31 right now and I should be sleeping and okay maybe I have requests I haven't started working on but maybe I just had an idea and h a d  t o write it

***

Okay, despite a handful of odd things happening in Harley's life, he could honestly say he never in a million years would have thought that one day, well, night, a stranger would be knocking on his door at two am. But in the it didn't matter what he thought because there he was, running down the stairs at three minutes past two am, going as fast as he could because goddamnit what the hell was going on who the fuck was knocking n o n s t o p on his door at this godforsaken hour. 

"Alright alright I'm coming!" he exclaimed as he reached the end of the stairs. To be completely honest he was more than a little bit scared, but he was also frustrated and tired and– even more scared? 

Behind the door, standing out in the cold, was a brown haired boy with a profusely bleeding cut under his left eye. Or right eye. Harley's left, so the other person's right. 

"I'm sorry", the person said quickly. "Can I use your phone? I lost mine and I don't know where I am and I don't know if they're still after me and I can't feel me arms or my legs or my face." Words left his mouth quickly and pleadingly and Harley didn't know what else to do but let the boy come inside. 

Call it southern manners or charm or whatever the fuck you want to call it, but even if the boy turned out to be a serial killer who was only there to murder Harley and his mom and sister you couldn't blame Harley for having poor manners. The boy was only wearing a thin hoodie, jeans torn at the knees and converse so it was no surprise he was freezing outside. 

"Wow okay hold on yes you can you use the phone, go sit down on the couch and I'll get you a blanket or something", Harley said blankly, mind running fast, trying to figure out what to do, but an instinct told him had to not freak the boy out any more and he was obviously hurt already and Harley was completely lost but he didn't want to wake his mom up. 

He left the boy in the living room and went to the hallway cupboard to find an extra blanket. He returned and saw the boy sitting on the couch, staring at the floor, shaking. Harley didn't know whether it was from the cold or shock or fear or some sort of mixture of all three. He assumed the latter.  

He handed the blanket to him, not missing the way he flinched but deciding not to comment on it. "Here. Um– who are you? And what– what happened?" 

The boy held the blanket close to him and looked and Harley realized he was crying. "I'm– sorry I'm uh Peter. Something happened and I don't– I don't really know what but the next thing I know I'm out there and someone was yelling and I ran and this was the first house I saw. I'm sorry to barge in like this I don't even know if they're following me and you could be in danger", he rambled quickly, panic clear in his voice.  

Harley was trying to catch everything he was saying. "Um, okay", he said. "I'm Harley. Listen, how about you call whoever you need to call alright? You don't sound like you're from around here?" he continued, his tiredness–though rapidly disappearing–making his southern twang even more noticeable against Peter's heavy Queen's accent. 

Peter nodded quickly. "Thank you. Thank you so much", he said. 

"Don't worry about it", Harley said. "There's an old landline phone in the kitchen if you wanna use that or you can use my phone." 

"Can I use your phone?" Peter asked shyly, even though Harley had suggested it. 

Harley nodded and reached into the pockets of his pajama pants. "Here you go."