The Eventful Fieldtrip To Stark Industries [And Other Amusing Stories]

Spidey-boy's Secrets: Revealed

[TW: GORE, GUNS, BULLETS]

Ever since Harley moved in with Tony, he's had to come come terms with a whole lot of changes.

For example, he had to get used to never having any peace and quiet. When you're living in the building of a billionaire who's also a New Yorker, you've got to learn to let go of that.

Honestly, migraines have become second nature to him and he's realized that this is probably why New Yorkers are batshit insane.

One thing that Harley didn't have to get used to though, is Peter Parker. He was always frolicking about, you could find him anywhere; bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, and ceiling? We don't talk about that last bit, apparently.

As soon as Harley and Peter met, they were inseperable, nothing to get used to when you click instantly. They spent every moment together and drew the most bizarre prototypes and it was wonderful, they really hit it off.

Another thing he had to deal with was the city's famous web-slinging vigilante, Spider-man, or as Harley liked to call him: Spandex-boy.

They hit it off too, but Spidey's first impression really wasn't as great as Peter's.

"I am so, so sorry for breaking your window," The arachnid hero had begun, only to look down at the floor and sigh, "I'm also really sorry for bleeding all over your carpet," he had apologized.

"Uh, yeah, sure it's cool, what the crap do ya' want, though?" Harley had replied, utterly horrified by that night's strange turn of events, what had previously been him reading a simple comic book had turned into him raising it as a weapon against the spandex-clad weirdo who broke his window and fell into his room.

"I know it's awkward but I really, really need some bandages, like right now, or I'll bleed out and die, and I don't want to die just yet," the hero had muttered while pointing towards his bleeding abdomen, which had been graced with one of the gnarliest gashes he had ever seen in his short life.

"Dude, what is wrong with you." Harley had made a beeline for his medical kit, only to run back towards Spider-man after obtaining it and pulling the almost unconscious boy down into a more comfortable position.

"Thank you I'll do it myself," was all the hero had been able to say before he passed out and did not, infact, do it himself.

Harley had spent an entire night cleaning up the hero's absolutely, revolting, disgustingly horrific wound.

Though it was traumatizing at the time, he does consider it to be a fond memory, it does commemorate the day he met one of the best people in his life after all.

And 'one of the best people' was currently hanging out on his ceiling, helping him complete the physics homework Peter wasn't able to finish helping him with.

"No, Harley, you're using the wrong formula the whole thing's going to end up wrong," the vigilante corrected, pointing at the paper from where he was hanging upside-down.

"But they look the same." Harley held his head in his hands, completely frustrated and impossibly done with life.

"I know Harls, but they really aren't, just take a closer look," the hero began ranting about the subtle differences in the formulae but all Harley could think about was that he had called him 'Harls' which definitely hadn't happened before and Harley didn't think they were that close yet so he's now confused.

"Harls?" Harley questioned while looking up at the web-slinger, immediately putting a stop to his ranting.

"....Yeah?" The hero questioned, his head cocking to the side.