Hold Onto Me 'Cause I'm a Little Unsteady

Chapter Nineteen

"You don't- You don't remember?"

Peter's doe eyes watch Harley with more trust than he feels like he deserves.

"What- What am I not remembering? Why are we in Tennessee, Lee? Where's Morgan and Dad and Pops? What's going on?" Peter asks desperately. His hands are shaking as he folds them in his lap, pulling his feet off Harley's lap and nearly dropping the plate in the process.

Harley doesn't say anything, can't say anything because how in hell is he supposed to tell Peter that it's been two and a half months since that day. That Peter's missing two and a half months of memory where he was tortured.

He can't tell Peter that. Not when he has so much lost innocence in his eyes. Not when he's staring at Harley like he has all the answers. Not when he's here and present and focused, not the lifeless corpse lying across the couch, nothing more than yes, sirs and no, sirs.

He can't tell Peter and have him fall back into that pit of emptiness.

He can't do it.

"Lee, please," Peter begs, eyes wide and scared, but not the scared that comes with months of torture. Not the scared he was before, unseeing and frightened of everything around him. This is just fear. Plain old fear that accompanies lost memories.

"I can't-" Harley's voice breaks and his hands are shaking as he taps the sequence of Morse Code into his own knee now that Peter's pulled his ankles away.

He blinks hard, trying to keep Peter's trusting eyes and expressive mouth stored in his memories because he knows. He knows that the moment Peter finds out, the moment that part of his brain is triggered into action, it'll all disappear. Peter will disappear into that submissive shell of a person.

He knows. So he can't tell him.

Peter's left hand tugs at his own dirty curls, pulling at the knotted strands like just that will bring back the missing memories. It does nothing but accelerate the rate the tears are filling his eyes.

"I don't remember anything," Peter exclaims angrily, tugging harder at his curls. His free hand flails forward until it catches onto Harley's sleeve, gripping tight to the fabric.

Harley grabs Peter's hand, the one that's in his hair and pulls it away gently, not wanting Peter to hurt himself in his panic.

"Where's Morgan? Is she okay?" Peter asks, hurriedly backtracking.

"She's fine." This is something Harley knows it's clear to talk about. "She's home with Happy and Pepper, she's probably asleep, but she's just fine."

Peter's face drops a little in relief, easing his worries. "And you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Peter. A little tired, but okay. I'm good."

"And Dad and-"

Harley cuts him off, "Everyone's fine. They're taking a shower."

Peter lets out a sigh of relief, head drooping forward a little until he catches sight of his hands. They're nowhere near the worst part of him right now, but he doesn't know that.

There's dirt caked under his nails, blood staining his fingers from what looks like a lot of hangnails and ripped cuticles. His hands are grimy and sort of sweaty, and it makes his whole body feel gross all of a sudden.

"Could I wash my hands?" Peter asks quietly. He's not sure why it comes out so small, but he decides not to question it when Harley's eyes light up.

"Yep, yep, yep. Just wait right here and I'll let Dad and Pops know you're awake and I'll ask about washing your hands... A whole bath might be a better option at this rate, but you gotta start somewhere," Harley rambles, hopping to his feet and letting Peter's hands fall back to his lap.