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Harley was never, ever, ever doing something nice for anyone ever again.
Ever.
Even if someone offered twelve billion dollars with no consequences, he wouldn’t take it. Maybe even if someone was dangling his boyfriend over a vat of radioactive acid.
More specifically, he was never stepping foot in that kitchen if his life depended on it. Now that he looked at it, he couldn't help but think just how screwed he was if Pepper ever found out.
The day had begun just as well as a house of Starks could.
Morgan had peed in her bed after another recurring nightmare. She’d walked out into the hallway at three sharp, and stared at him with a look - guilty but in that ashamed, not-so-guilty toddler way. Like it was embarrassing but worth it to watch him strip her soiled sheets like a zombie running on energy drinks and spite.
Actually no, if he could remember, she’d stared dead in his eyes like a creepy little doll and had the gusto to smile.
He’d heard the footsteps creeping forward, the eerily smooth click of an open door. In his delirious state, he’d passed the noises as a dream.
Meanwhile, the girl stood in the doorway, posing like a demon had consumed her tiny little soul.
“Harley,” she’d said, baring those thin, evil little teeth. Although at first glance it sounded anxious, he could hear the smugness dripping from her tone.
Harley had sprung up, body snapping like he’d seen a ghost. She didn’t move. Not even roll her shoulders or yawn.
“Morgan?” He whispered, voice wavering. It barely made a sound, still crackly and fresh from having just woken up.
She hummed sadly and brought a thumb up to her mouth.
“Hey, no, it’s fine,” Harley assured and pulled the comforter off. Cold air hit him like a flurry of snow, so much so that he stiffened up instantly. “I’m comin’, just stay there.”
Before, he’d usually shake Peter. For a guy who was on edge for every second of every day, if he hit a deep, good sleep, he was passed out for the entire night.
It had also been their deal if Harley wanted Peter to stay in that bed for more than six hours (any less and he’d handcuff Peter to the bedframe) Harley had to take the Morgan nightshift - dealing with whatever shenanigans she got caught in past nine.
He shoved his feet into ratty slippers and shuffled like a rotting zombie towards the little girl. With a short nod, he ushered her out of the room and shut the door.
“Wet bed,” she mumbled softly, looking away. Her lip pouted out as she sucked on her thumb.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Harley murmured. He tried to smile but all that returned was a half-assed grimace.
Morgan nodded but began to suck harder on her finger.
“Take your thumb outta your mouth,” he said, voice gruff.
Her expression faltered, eyes glistening with tears.
Harley’s heart dropped to his ass.
“No, no, hold on,” he sighed, jaw tightening. He was fighting against God himself to keep his voice calm. “Don’t cry, please, it’s just that your mom don’t want you doin’ that.”
Morgan nodded again as they shuffled towards her room, the tiredness chasing Harley like a revving sports car.
—
After half an hour of back and forths and even a downright refusal from Morgan to return to bed, Harley had finally gotten back to safety beside his log of a boyfriend.
When he was finally serenaded by the song of a thousand strangled birds, he awoke from his slumber.
He’d dragged his feet, trying to brush off the weight of exhaustion curling in his chest.
By now, Pepper was usually up and making breakfast. She was a morning person. One of those crazy people that wore yoga pants for fun and rose at five thirty to do a completely unnecessarily long shower routine and go for a walk as the sun rose.
At this hour, sometimes Harley caught her in the hallway.
Pepper would look for a beat too long at the framed family photo, eyes attached to Tony like if she stared hard enough he’d resurrect through sheer will. She tended to have that effect, even if dead was dead. Harley wouldn’t be surprised if her glare alone could bring back the dead.
It always made his heart tear a little. It had been a year since his passing. Harley could still feel Tony’s absence, even if it was intentional. Tony’s presence was nothing but ever-growing and even after his death, his soul seemed to chase them around.
That was another thing.
Tony’s urn rested on the kitchen counter - yet another priority, as if they didn’t have enough. In a state of stress, Pepper had decided Tony’s current urn wasn’t nice enough. They were due to replace it, because that was what rich people could just do. But clearly life had just gotten away, just like most priorities in the house tended to when you were surrounded by billionaires.
So, Tony Stark sat on the bench and watched smugly over them forever like the narcissistic asshole he was.
Things took a turn just after lunch however, when Harley had retired from the lab and pulled himself up the stairs like a dragged puppet.
Peter had apparently gone Spider-Manning again. In where? The woods? Who fucking knew. Maybe he was connecting with the creature-side of his DNA. Meeting the non-dead relatives.
Pepper pressed her thumb and index finger into the bridge of her nose - she’d seen enough of this to merely find it exhausting to see Peter lying on the floor like a pathetic wet cat.
Morgan was crying because she was a six-year-old with emotional regulation issues.
Peter lay on the floor like a dying cockroach. He looked like a lunatic.
Harley sighed. Of course he was dating the plucky little asshole who couldn’t help but save anyone, including mail people that tripped over their own feet and cats who weren’t even stuck in trees - just there to ragebait innocent Spider-Idiots.
If Harley had his way, he’d superglue Peter’s ass to the wall to show him how it really felt to be trapped in a spider web.
He looked between Peter and Pepper, before scrubbing at his face. “I’ll help him,” he muttered quickly, dropping onto his knees.
“Is Peter okay?” Morgan blubbered, wiping a thick glob of snot from her nose.
“Peter,” Harley began hesitantly, “is fine. He’s just a great actor. Real expressive.”
A flat sound came hurling from the ground. “Hey, ‘m gonna fudgin’ web you up- ”
Harley scowled. “You ain’t even able to walk. Shut up.”
“You shut up,” Peter replied pathetically, eyes blinking like they’d been glued shut with taffy.
Pepper hummed, taking Morgan’s hand before the child launched herself at Peter. “Sweetie, take a deep breath.”
Peter’s spine practically levitated from the ground.
Harley watched Pepper’s lip twitch.
“Okay, I’m gonna help you, stickbug,” Harley moved to scoop Peter up.
“Not a stickbug.”
“Mayfly,” Harley falsely corrected.
Three minutes later Peter had his head in the waste bin, gagging like someone was ripping out his gut from his throat.
Peter blinked. “Okay, to be fair, I had to help the- “
“The guy didn’t need your help. You didn’t need to crawl through the trash heap.”
“He was confused!”
“You’re goin’ up against braindead fuckers who have the balls to go commit crime in broad daylight,” Harley’s scowl deepened.
“That’s what makes it fun,” Peter said, before dipping his head back into the waste bin.
—
The rest of the day had almost gone as average as it could’ve. Harley had managed to chip away at his coursework - a fair dent, if he may add. Peter had been hibernating in a web nest like the freak of a creature he was, slowly getting out the words to Morgan’s favourite book. Morgan lay underneath, curled in a beanbag.
Pepper had made dinner, and the four of them sat around the table like a happy little family. The only time of the day when they could be remotely civilised, even with Peter’s abnormal food portions and Morgan’s habit of eating nothing but chicken and spring beans.
So of course, it couldn't have gone any better when Morgan declared the unfathomable at ten in the evening, genuine seconds before her departure for the night. They’d all been watching a movie and time had slipped away fast enough for the clock to tick closer to midnight without anyone’s awareness.
By the look on Pepper’s face - pure, utter horror - Morgan had been bouncing off the walls for two hours in her horrible trend of procrastination, something she’d inherited from her father.
Harley watched Pepper’s eyes roll so far back into her head that they almost dropped out of her skull. She hadn’t even tried to hide it. Morgan still stared back with that nefarious, toothy grin.
“Tomorrow’s the bakesale,” she quipped, clapping her hands. She turned expectantly to her mother, the baker of the house, and gave the woman her biggest, saccharine smile. “Mommy, what have you made?”
Harley watched the blood drain from Pepper’s face for just a beat too long.
“I… ”
“I’ll do it,” Harley said too quickly. The light seemed to wash back into Pepper’s face within half a second.
Peter seemed to notice too, head whipping towards him at the speed of light. “Huh?”
Morgan looked between them with a quizzical smile.
“I said, I’ll do it,” Harley reaffirmed as if maybe repeating it would make him more sure. Even if the idea of baking cookies at ten in the evening was just as tempting as shooting himself.
“Oh, hon, you’re amazing,” Pepper smiled, expression entirely genuine. From here, Harley could sense just how tired she was. Her slouched, curved posture. Even if Morgan was actively fighting like a rabid animal against the vibranium-grip her mother held her hand in.
Pepper deserved a break.
“It’s nothin’, really,” Harley assured and plastered the strongest smile on his face.
Pepper smiled again, before moving like a mindless zombie. She dragged Morgan’s hand away, not watching her daughter bound behind with not an inch of exhaustion.
Once they were out of earshot, Peter turned to him. “You don’t want me to help you?”
Harley snorted. “Have you ever made anything that didn’t resemble the insides of Morgan’s Christmas sack?”
Peter shrugged. “I don’t make the coal Pepper gives her, you know.”
“I sure wouldn’t put it past her.”
Peter’s teasing smile fell, eyes soft. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
Harley sighed. “It’s gotta be done, ain’t it?”
“Do you want me to at least keep you company?”
“Why you askin’ me so many questions? Go to bed, city boy,” he laughed lightly, even if exhaustion dragged in his voice. “I’ll try and finish up quick.”
“If you say so,” Peter smiled, kissing Harley on the cheek. “Love you, cowboy.”
“Love you too, Peter.”
So, Harley began to cook. Eyes half-lidded, he measured the ingredients and cracked eggs and mixed and nearly missed the timer go off for when they’d finished baking.
Once he’d finally completed them, he sat back, eyes almost fully shut.
—
Apparently Peter and Pepper wanted to try the cookies so bad that they’d both woken up at the asscrack of dawn.
So, at six, they all sat around the dining room table like a game of Russian roulette. Peter and Pepper salivated towards the cookies like they were bars of gold.
Harley stared at the cookies like they were grenades. He’d collapsed immediately last night, so he had no idea whether the cookies tasted good or like the bottom of a rotting acid tank.
Peter sat on the edge of his seat, fingers curling at the table cloth.
“Don’t wait for me,” Harley smiled weakly.
Peter and Pepper dived for the cookies. Harley followed suite, although at a considerably slower pace.
He held the cookie in his hand. Looked normal. Fair weight. Good consistency.
He took a bite. Chewed.
Something was off.
Peter really tried to hide it. The boy grimaced for a split second but plastered a smooth smile back across his face.
“I’m gonna get some water,” Harley murmured and stood up before his boyfriend could protest, even if he caught the suspicious glance his way.
He stumbled into the kitchen, heart thumping. Once he got there, the problem became increasingly obvious. He nearly had an aneurysm
Harley’s heart dropped to his ass.
No, wait.
His heart dropped so far that it was fucking his asshole in a genuine reminder of just how hard he fucked up.
His eyes flickered across the bench. The urn - the one left precariously on the counter - was open.
Did he do that?
It couldn’t be. No way.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, Pepper and Peter were eating the cookies right fucking now. They were eating Tony.
What was he gonna do? Throw them out? He couldn't throw Tony away.
He struggled back into the dining room, legs wobbling jelly.
“You… you guys done?” Harley asked weakly.
“I like them,” Pepper smiled, yawning.
“Yeah, I bet,” Harley muttered, before realizing his deep mistake. He was not making a sex joke about his dead mentor before his wife.
“Pardon?” Pepper blinked and rubbed her eyes.
“Oh, nope, nothin’,” he did his best to smile. Peter kicked him sharply. He almost yelped.
“You in a rush?” Peter furrowed his brow and pushed the half-bitten cookie straight onto the table.
Harley’s face burned. “Nope. Just want to box them before Morg’s gotta take them,” he said, lying through his teeth.
“Alright,” Peter chirped and shared a smile with Pepper.
—
Harley did his absolute best to forget about what he’d done. Apparently wiping your own memory wasn’t feasible if he still wanted to stay with his boyfriend.
Peter looked up, chewing on his toothbrush. It was early - far too early for a regular get-up but Peter had the long drive back to Midtown for school. “Harley, light of my life, I know you worked hard on those cookies. I can see your eyebags. They’re bruised. Did you punch yourself by accident?”
“Spit it out,” Harley sighed, stomach tightening into a coiling snake.
“Those cookies sucked ass. You’re not giving those to Morgan’s class, are you?”
Harley’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, um, sorry ‘bout that. Must’ve fucked up the recipe.”
Peter snorted. “I hope not, you can’t give those to Morgan’s classmates. Even if they’re all little brats.”
“Yeah, no, I won’t. I’ll start on a new batch now,” Harley stared down.
“Like, seriously, Harls, did you mistake Tony’s ashes for flour or something?”
Harley stiffened like he’d been shocked by 100 watts of electricity.
“Harley?”
“I’m sorry,” he managed to get out, voice cracking.
“What?” Peter blinked, a curious smile on his face. “Why’d you go all stiff?”
Harley inhaled sharply. Then, as if he was Morgan starting a scene, he cracked. A horrid, broken sound slipped from his mouth as he stared down at his boyfriend.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Tony was in the cookies, Peter, oh my God I couldn’t say anything in front of her but Tony was in the fuckin’ cookies.”
Peter stiffened too.
“Mr Stark was in the cookies?” Peter whispered in horror. “What… how -”
“His ashes, you dipstick,” Harley snapped, before his jaw tightened like a bolt. “Oh my hell I fucked up.”
Peter exclaimed, flabberghasted. “Why did you let me eat that?”
“Pepper was right there!”
“You just ate her husband!” Peter snapped, before pausing. Shock glassed over his eyes. “I just ate her husband.”
Harley began to choke.
“No, no, no, she’s gonna sue us into oblivion.”
“She can’t sue us, she ate him too!” Harley began to sob and pressed his hands into his face to block the burning sharpness behind his eyes.
Peter breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, and I didn’t cook the cookies. Your fault. See you in jail, streetwise.”
“No, no, you gotta help me.”
“How? You want me to regurgitate it and isolate the ashes like some kind of experiment?”
“No!”
“Then what’re you gonna do? She weighs his ashes!”
Harley paused, the blood rushing away from his face. In a small shriek, he looked up at his boyfriend. “She does.”
There was a shrill screech from the room beside.
Peter and Harley scrambled to their feet.
“She knows,” Harley choked. He couldn't swallow, all the air having pulled from his lungs.
“I love you, but this is all your fault.” Peter gave him a half-hearted smile.
—
“Morgan Maria Stark,” Pepper snapped, voice shrill. Peter and Harley stumbled into the living room, equally as shellshocked at the scene.
“Morgan,” Pepper said again, breath suddenly caught in her throat as she stared down at her daughter. Her voice was near shrill and absolutely incredulous. “”What… what are you doing?”
Harley paused. Pepper Potts was never unsure of anything. Meanwhile, Pepper had been rendered utterly speechless by her six-year-old daughter.
Morgan looked up with a toothy, malicious grin. He could see her little demon eyes gleaming with pride. “I’m planting flowers. I needed a vase.”
Harley’s eyes fell to the ground. The urn, once open and gleaming and carrying Tony’s ashes, was rolling across the floor.
Tony’s ashes, however, were spread across the floor like soil.
Pepper affirmed in a broken, wordless sigh. “And you chose that vase because-”
“It was pretty,” Morgan declared, clapping her hands.
“Pretty for a reason,” Harley whispered. Pepper looked up, melting a little when she saw the two boys.
Pepper pursed her lips. “You chose the vase that had dad inside of it.” Her voice made it halfway through before it started to splinter.
Morgan began to blubber.
“Hey, hey, no, don’t cry,” Pepper reprimanded, although her telling-off wasn’t nearly as strong as it usually was.
Harley was nearly close enough to swoop in but Peter moved before him.
“Harley’s cookies suck,” Peter chuckled, bending down. “Tell the school your mom will reimburse for the bake sale. Ten thousand dollar donation. Now, you get changed and bring your clothes back here.”
Morgan nodded fruitfully and sprinted away.
“You okay?” Harley blinked towards Pepper.
“Yeah,” the woman smiled. “Apparently my child is just as much of a shit as my husband was.”
Peter snorted and nudged Harley carefully on the arm.
Holy fuck. What a day.