~Broken Family~

Twelve Again

Harley hadn't been able to put his finger on it, but something was missing.

His not-mother embraced him with open arms, and then she sat down at the table to work out some last things with the social worker, casually telling Harley to make himself at home. He tossed his backpack on top of his three boxes of possessions he had solely gained from Tony Stark, aside from the box of sentimental stuff he'd kept hidden in his closet. He closed his eyes as the memory flashed across his mind---of he and Gwen sitting on his closet floor in the middle of the night, Gwen's sleep riddled with nightmares and Harley with pain from his slowly dislocating metal rod in his leg. He remembered smiling up at her, watching her blue eyes sparkle as she laughed at a picture of him when he was a baby.

Shaking his head to clear it, Harley limped over to the fridge and slowly pulled it open, the women's voices drifting in one ear and out the other like the easy, gentle rocking of a ship. He scanned the fridge's contents, not seeing any beer, and hastily did the same for the other cabinets.

"Are you looking for the plates?" his not-mother called with a strained smile. "They're over there."

Nodding and trying not to look directly into her eyes, Harley swiped a plate down and started cutting up some apple slices. Sometimes he'd glance up at the two women casually going over paperwork, and Rosa seemed to fidget, like she was getting ready to leave.

His mother reminded him of a monster from one of his favorite childhood comic books. The monsters were shapeshifters; they could make themselves look like anyone they wanted. Using their disguise, they lured their prey in close, thinking they were the person they were pretending to be, and then, at the last moment, they revealed their true colors and bit off the person's head.

He hoped Natalie Lynch had changed her ways and wouldn't bite off his head.

Quietly nibbling on his apple slices, feeling the cold of the floor seep through one sock and the dull sense of a hard floor underneath the other, Harley watched as Rosa picked up her bags, congratulated them, and bade them goodbye.

It was as if a spell had been cast over the house. Harley's mother tried for a smile and he stopped eating his apple slices, suddenly aware of how loud his chewing was.

"How...how are you?" she asked, looking pale. She started wringing her hands. Harley nodded again.

"I'm...good." He coughed awkwardly. "It's...it's been awhile."

His mother nodded, her eyes starting to glisten again.

Oh, jeez, he thought, cringing mentally. Don't cry, woman. Seriously.

"I guess I should start off with an apology," his mother started wistfully, standing up on her twig-like legs and self-consciously brushing off her faded jeans. She wore a fancy top with sunflowers on it that she definitely hadn't owned five years ago.

"I should start off with an apology and a thank you," she continued. "I know I wasn't the best mum you deserved. A horrible one, even. I deserved to have you taken away from me. But I wanted to thank you for giving me a second chance. I ain't never felt more humbled and grateful."

Harley seemed to be able to do nothing but nod. He didn't know what to say. No problem? Seemed kind of shallow.

Instead he smiled, like it was nothing, and stepped over to his things. "Can you help me unpack, Mom?"

"'Course!" His mom rushed forwards and lifted up the nearest box like it was filled with tissue paper, the word 'Mom' seeming to give her Hulk-like strength.

The night went pretty well, until she opened the lid to his box crammed with sentimentals.

She took one look at that photo of Harley and his dad outside on the first day of preschool and seemed to be on the verge of breaking down. She stood, saying that she needed to get a drink of water.

He sighed heavily as soon as she left the small room, glancing around at the faded, ugly green walls. A twin bed with a sagging mattress was crammed into a corner, along with a desk that smelled like it had seen better days and a trash can with some weird junk at the bottom.

He followed her downstairs and found her leaning over the sink, rocking back and forth and crying. Instinctively, he rushed forwards, then halted just out of arms' reach. He was certainly big enough now to protect himself if she... 

Forcefully, he pushed the thought out of his mind. His mom wouldn't hurt him anymore. What did she have to do it with, anyway?

For a brief moment, he remembered the knife he'd used to slice apples in the sink and his pulse sped up. He took an involuntary step backwards and bumped into the wall.

"I'm sorry," his mom whispered, looking up at him through red eyes. "I just...I miss how it used to be. I'm not ready for...for this." She gestured to his lengthening height and then, to his surprise, down at his slightly crooked leg. He felt the tension drop from his face like a deadweight, replaced by utter shock.

"You're--you're 'not ready?'" he choked out. "What kind of excuse is that?"

His mom's lip trembled. "You just grew up so fast, Lee. I wasn't there for...for that. I should've been."

A spike stabbed through his heart at that and he held up his hand. "Please, don't call me that."

That's reserved for my sister. She's not your daughter.

That made his mom's condition worse. She whimpered, buried her face in her hands, and let out a small sob. Guilt started peeling away at the spike still in his heart, but he swallowed and tried to stop it.

His mother wiped her face on her sleeve and turned. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I just need some fresh air." But Harley saw her hand reach into her pocket and pull out a lighter as she walked away.

He found he couldn't hold back a scoff as he heard the door slam, found his arms hugging his chest as despair welled in him. Nothing had changed. He hadn't taken any steps forward after all. He'd come back to exactly where he'd started.

He'd messed up. Big time. Why did he come back here?! Why did he think things would've been different?! Nothing was. The only thing that had changed was that he was an even bigger idiot than he thought he was. And he had pretty low standards for himself.

What would Peter say if he saw him now? He didn't have to think very far to imagine his older brother's criticism. About being grateful that someone had taken him in, not leaving them at the first sign of getting his old life back.

Leaving Tony was the stupidest thing he'd ever done. He'd just made the biggest mistake of his life, and there was no way to fix it. He wasn't brave like superhuman Peter from the ragged streets of Queens, he was a crippled coward from a hillbilly town that wasn't even on Google Maps unless you zoomed in reeeally close.

He couldn't face Tony again after what he'd done.

Rosa's words echoed dully in his mind, making his eyes squint up in emotion and his breathing get just a little more tight.

In three weeks, you're going to age out of the system.

After that, he would be free. Free of guilt, free of ties holding him down in two different states, free of Peter, Morgan, and Sophie's faces haunting him at night.

In the back of his mind, he knew what he had to do. He found his feet making their way unconsciously up the stairs, his hands shifting through his things, finding his backpack, and shutting the back door behind him.

Fighting back tears, he took a deep breath of that Tennessee night air and clutched his backpack straps, hoping his not-mother didn't like to walk around for a stroll while she was smoking and stayed in the front yard.

Hitching up his bad leg, feeling twelve years old again, he jumped the fence.