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Chapter Text

Spider-Man tugged MJ away from the rumbling fusion reactor, dropping her as gently as possible onto the floor. Looking up frantically at the masked hero, she saw no expression as he yelled;
“Run!”
He was taken down by a beam, thrown from the man who’d kidnapped her. Some weird instinct told her to stay and see what happens, but her brain trampled the idea - what, and die faster? She ran from the collapsing structure and out onto the street. Small metal objects zipped past her, back the way she came from, and nearby streetlights groaned as they bent in that direction. MJ didn’t stop running, she wasn't an idiot. By the time she reached her building, out of breath and feet aching, the city seemed to have calmed, the air filled with only the regular commotion of New York at night; Spider-Man had saved the city once again.

‘SPIDER-CRIMINAL’ plastered the front page of the Daily Bugle the next morning.
“Huh.” John Jameson Jr sounded annoyed as he scanned the article.
“Your dad again?” MJ asked as she sorted through the stacks of wedding invitations yet to be distributed.
“I just don’t get it.” John shook his head. “Spider-Man saves the city and yet he’s called a criminal because he didn’t let that octopus guy die.”
MJ stopped, her hand hovering over the envelope addressed to Harry Osborn.
“The octopus… is still alive?” She frowned, remembering the cold grip of the heavy metal claws squeezing around her.
“Yeah… dad’s mad because Spider-Man didn’t turn him over to the cops.”
MJ’s frown deepened.
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“I guess he might have escaped from Spidey? I don’t think he’d let him go on purpose, although dad would disagree.” He noticed MJ’s expression and shifted towards her, brow furrowing in concern. “Do you want to talk more about what happened?”
MJ sighed. “He’s a hero. I know your dad won’t listen to me, but surely he’d listen to you.” She paused. “You mean when the octopus guy took me?”
“Yeah.” He put his hand on her shoulder and she leant into it gratefully. “It must have been awful. It’s good to talk about these kinds of things, so they don’t get bottled up inside, and I’m always here to listen.”
“I- I don’t know. Maybe later.”
“Okay, let’s change the subject for now. Didn’t you go have lunch with your friend Peter? Are you sure you don’t want to invite him?”
MJ looked at the floor, Peter’s answer to her question still fresh in her mind. “Do you love me or not?” “I… don’t.”
MJ buried her face in John’s shoulder, closing her eyes. She frowned a bit, guilt digging into
her gut like a knife, or perhaps the claw of a metallic arm.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.” She said, voice a little bit muffled by the fabric of his shirt. She took a deep breath and pulled back to look him in the eyes, praying to every god she knew that he’d understand.
“I…” She began, feeling a little reassured by the gentle presence of John’s hand on her shoulder.
“I used to have the biggest crush on Peter.” She admitted. John’s eyebrows lifted a little but he didn’t pull away.
“I mean I was in love with him.”
“Oh.”
“But… it's different now. He doesn’t like me. Things are weird. That’s why I don’t want to invite him.”
“But do you still like him?”
“I don’t know. But I do know that I love you, and I want us to be together.”
“Alright.” John nodded. “Thank you for telling me. Why don’t you drop these last few invitations off?”
MJ knew he needed space. She picked up the invitations and went out to hand-deliver them, and give John a little time to think.

The front door of the Osborn’s fancy penthouse was open a jar when MJ approached it. She gently pushed on the door, and it swung open to a messy entryway. MJ tentatively stepped inside, over some shards from a broken vase and a pillow with its feathery guts spilling from a jagged tear. Nervously, she picked up an iron stoker, wincing at the weight.
“Harry?” She called, wielding the stoker as well as she could and inching through the house. MJ had seen him briefly a few times since his father’s accident, and he had seemed alright. She quickly became guilty she hadn’t actually checked in on him. He obviously wasn’t doing well. She shivered at the cold wind blowing in from the open windows, silk curtains billowing through the quiet house. It felt a lot bigger than the last time she’d been here with Peter, when the house had been filled with light, laughter and loud music echoing through every room. Now it felt cold and empty, as if something sinister had been here. “Harry?!” She tried again, hearing a noise of affirmation from the living room.

The first thing MJ laid eyes on was the large portrait of Norman, his calculating gaze glaring right into her soul. She shivered a bit before turning, eyes scanning over the tattered chaise lounge that looked like some wild animal had attacked it. “Harry!” She cried, spotting her friend hunched over the chaise. His shoulders tensed at her voice and his head lifted.
“Harry, was Doctor Octopus here?” MJ asked, worried. Harry turned slowly, and Mj spotted the dagger clutched in his hand. Her eyes widened a bit as she looked around, connecting the dots and realising Harry had done most of this. Harry sank from his knees to the floor, turning fully to face MJ.

“He was.” Harry spoke quietly, MJ noticing the glass in his other hand, clenched just as tightly as the dagger was. She took a deep breath, scared both of and for Harry.
“He took the tritium.” Harry seethed, his eyes glancing over to the chaise he’d been leaning on. There were some pieces of wire on either side that looked weirdly discarded.
“Spiderman was here too.” Harry spoke quietly, sinking down onto the chaise. “You know he’s the reason my father’s…” He trailed off and looked up at the imposing portrait of Norman, watching the two like some ginormous, disapproving eagle.
“I uh,” He shifted, turning the hilt of the dagger over in his hand, and MJ barely breathed. “I had him. Spiderman that is. I could’ve killed him.”
MJ tilted her head, trying to offer a cautious smile. “But you didn’t, and he went on to save the city!”
Harry huffed, plunging the dagger into the fabric an inch from his leg. “Yeah.” He frowned, standing up and staggering over to MJ, patting her shoulder before moving past her.

“Anyways, I assume you’re not just here to check up on little old me.” He reached for a near-empty bottle of something strong-smelling and tipped it into his glass, which definitely did have ice in it at some point in time. MJ carefully took it from his hands, putting it away in his cupboard only to turn back and find him opening a new bottle.
“Harry,” She said, confiscating this one as well. “I came to ask if you’d come to my wedding.” She placed the envelope containing the invitation down on a coffee table, before turning to her friend. “But I also want to offer you help... you don't seem to be doing too well.” She tried to choose her words carefully but it still came out sounding wrong. Harry’s expression softened.
“Thanks MJ.” He lifted the envelope from the table, opening it to scan the details on the invitation. “Of course I’ll go to your wedding. Congratulations, by the way.” She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off, his voice turning colder, reminiscent of his father.
“I don’t need your help.”
“But Harry-”
“MJ, please.” His jaw was clenched, signalling he was about to fly into a temper.
“Okay.” MJ said, somewhat timidly. “But if you need anything, you can call me.” She didn’t wait to hear his reply before heading out of the penthouse.

The door shut with a click behind MJ, and Harry stared at the spot she had been. Shaking his head, he glanced down at the invitation. It was the least he could do to go, MJ had been his best friend other than Peter - oh god. Peter. Peter had tried to kill his dad. God no, he couldn’t think about that right now. It was all he’d been able to think about since he’d ripped that damn mask off his best friend's face. MJ was getting married! And he was invited - an honour considering when he had dated MJ their relationship had ended a little rocky due to her liking Peter - agh, Peter, Peter, Peter, he couldn't escape him. He put the invitation down, turning around and running his hands through his hair. Peter. Pete. His best friend. Peter Parker was Spider-Man. His dad could have died. He should have died, it was a miracle he didn’t. But now he was lying in some hospital bed, comatose - maybe forever - because of Peter Parker. A little voice in the back of his head that sounded eerily like his father's sneered, “Kill him, Harry.”
Harry shook his head, closing his eyes.
“I- I can’t. He’s my best friend.”
“Don’t tell me you’re too weak. You must do it. Prove yourself!”
Harry’s fists clenched as he felt a cool draft breeze past his shoulder, almost like a cold hand. “No! You don’t understand,” He hissed, placing his drink down and shakily picking up the dagger.
“Oh, I think I do. I know you Harry. Think about what the Spider-Man did. What Peter did! He ruined us, Harry.”
“He ruined you.”
The voice spoke, louder, right behind him.
“Harry!”
He whirled around with wide eyes to see not his own reflection in the mirror but that of his father, glaring into his eyes. Norman's top lip curled as he leant forwards, almost through the glass of the mirror, shouting “AVENGE ME!”
“NO!”
Harry’s scream was punctuated by the dagger that he thrust into the mirror, shattering the glass and soaring into a dark and unfamiliar passage beyond.

The room was suddenly quiet. The breeze still fluttered through, cold but not malicious. Harry stepped into the passage, still reeling from the visions of his father. Brought on by all he’d had to drink tonight, he assured himself. Not real. Cobwebs floated down from the rafters, and the wooden planks he walked on creaked ominously underfoot. A light flickered on and he jumped back, nearly crashing into a wall of - holy shit - grenades. Looking around the now illuminated space he saw all kinds of tech, presumably from Oscorp. A glider, these grenades, blades, and other weaponry. Perhaps a little collection of his fathers. When Harry was younger his dad was often overcome with bouts of paranoia, so it wasn’t a stretch that he might keep weapons close by. But, looking closer… he spotted signs of disturbance. Someone had been in here recently. There were cobwebs cleared from certain areas that were free of dust, suggesting something had been removed not long ago. Too recently to be his father. And Bernard hadn’t been in for a while either, at his own request. An uneasy feeling built in Harry’s stomach. He scrambled to his feet and backed towards the entrance. Was he not even safe in his own home? Paranoid, he tripped backwards over the edge of the mirror - the entrance to, whatever this was - hissing in pain as a shard of broken glass dug into his hand. His father’s words echoed in his head as he stared at the rows of weaponry and a shaft of light illuminated the edge of the glider. ‘Avenge me.’

Chapter Text

Otto Octavius was basking in the beautiful New York sunset, mentally preparing himself for his journey back through the multiverse. He looked over at Norman, who had keeled over behind the Spider-Mans… Spider-Men? A part of him hoped that they might return to their own universe, not separated by timelines, so he would have a chance to see his old friend alive again. From his limited understanding of the multiverse, it seemed unlikely, though he could hope.

The next thing he knew, he was fading into the fabric of reality, only to materialise next to the fusion reactor. His life’s work, falling apart and on course to bringing the city down with it. He heard Peter yelling “Run!” And turned towards him. As the masked figure got closer, Otto recognized the suit as belonging to the Spider-Man he knew. This wasn’t where he remembered vanishing from, a few seconds before, in fact. How did that work? That made no sense to any of the known laws of time and space. His distraction lasted long enough for spiderman to fly feet first into him, knocking the two of them through the rotted floorboards and into shallow river water. Peter punches him in the face several times, and for a moment he’s too stunned to react.
“Peter!” He called and Spiderman hesitated, feeling to make sure his mask was still intact.
“Dr. Octavius?” Peter frowned. “How did you know it was me?” Otto didn’t have to answer as Peter came to his own conclusion that he must have guessed from his voice. Peter tore off his mask to reveal a face Otto had seen only minutes ago, but much younger and much less tired.
“We have to shut it off!”
Oh. Yes. This must be where it ended.
“Tell me how.” The doctor shook his head automatically, the idea of destroying his creation seemed wrong.
“Look at what’s happening!” Peter begged. He was about to say something else but Otto cut him off.
“Yes… it must be drowned in the river. It’s the only way.” Maybe it was the machine that killed him?
“I can destabilise the support… But it’d take me down with it.”
“No,” Peter spoke with confidence. “I’ll get you out before it collapses.” His tone lightened a bit. “Come on Doc, it’s not like I’m busy saving anyone else.”

And so he escaped the watery grave he had been condemned to, with a little help from the Spider-Man. Watching the giant glowing orb sink beneath the murky surface pained him, but as he turned to Peter and saw the relief on the young boy’s face, he smiled a bit.
Peter frowned, turning a little awkwardly to Otto. “So uh, I kinda have to turn you into the police now. Yanno, legally and everything.”
Otto frowned, his extra arms tensing behind him. “But… I’m in control now. I’m not a felon…” Had he robbed a bank? Oh yes, the memory came back clearly now. “I destroyed my life’s work.”
“-That you manufactured with what I assume is illegally obtained tritium.” Peter raised a shoulder apologetically. “I mean, if it helps, I can give you a five-minute head start?” He offered, and Otto chuckled a bit at the boy’s attitude before wrapping him in a hug, mechanical arms and all.
“Oh, it’s good to see you again, my boy.” He smiled, hesitating before adding, “Make it ten.”
Otto then turned and gallivanted off through the dark streets by the river as Peter watched him go, a little confused at what he had just said. He glanced down at his watch before shrugging and going to get a sandwich.

Dr. Octavious was at a loss. He couldn't go home, he was a fugitive now. And he didn’t really have anything for him at home now anyway, the painful memory of Rosie’s death crept into his mind like a mold, and he sank down to place his feet on the ground. How could he have done all this? Was he really a villain like all those others? It’s not like he wanted to turn all of New York into lizards. Yikes. He wasn’t a metahuman made of sand or electricity. He wasn’t a goblin - oh shit. Norman. Norman had been taken through the multiverse from way earlier. Had he survived? Worry flooded Otto’s brain as he looked around on the street, where passersby paid him no attention. His mechanical arms were mostly camouflaged in the night sky, so he assumed it was a combination of that and the absolute narcissism of every person ever in New York. Was the goblin still at large? Was he dead? Was he alive? He had to know. He had to talk to his friend. Who would know where he was? He had a butler, didn’t he? Barry, or Bernard or something. Yes, and fortunately, Otto just happened to know where Bernard lived.

Bernard opened the door to his house after a rapid knocking had woken him from his sleep. He squinted at the figure in his doorway, all shadowy and mysterious.
“Hello, Bernard.” Otto spoke, leaning the slightest bit forward so the inside light could illuminate his face.
“Dr. Octavius!” Bernard blinked in surprise, a hint of fear flashing across his decrepit features.
“Lower your voice, Bernard.” Otto chuckled, his arms lowering him closer to the ground in an attempt to seem less threatening. “I’m looking for Norman?” He asked, the slightest bit of hesitation straining his voice.
“Well, sir, you’d be looking in the wrong place. He’s not here.” There was a bit of confusion in the old man's voice like he should know where Norman was and it was strange of him to ask.
Otto frowned, not sure if this was promising or not.
“...He’s not?”
“No sir,” Bernard shook his head slowly. “I believe he’s still at the hospital. You know, where he’s been for the past two years?”
The words felt foreign.
Otto recalled Norman lying deathly still at the foot of the statue of liberty the last time he’d seen him. Perhaps the journey through the multiverse hadn’t revived him, and in doing so saved his life. He would ask Peter about it, but as it seemed, Peter was currently trying to put him behind bars. Otto tilted his head. Surely the butler was aware of Norman’s… alter ego.
“Does Harry know about…” He trailed off, thinking about how to phrase this delicately. Bernard got a pained look in his old eyes.
“No.” The butler shook his head. “The old suit and everything are behind a secret door in the penthouse,” Bernard confided, probably a bad idea, but Bernard seemed a bit dull. “It looks like a mirror, on the wall opposite the painting. I’ve been meaning to remove it, but Harry sent me home this morning and ordered me to stay out. I only hope he doesn’t discover it… his father never wanted him to know.”
Otto frowned at the past-tense Bernard used to describe his friend.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because,” Bernard sighed. He frowned. “Why am I telling you this? Here. Let’s both forget I just said that.”
He stared at the old man in disbelief. He hadn’t been quite so incompetent the last time they had met. Perhaps someone should keep an eye on his health.
Bernard yawned and Otto felt a mounting discomfort with Bernard's behaviour. Otto left, mildly guilty he hadn’t done anything for the man.
“Farewell!” Bernard called before happily retreating inside. Shaking his head, Otto went off, now with renewed purpose.

As Otto approached the building that housed the Osborn penthouse, he spotted Harry Osborn wandering down the street. His hair was mussed and he looked a little unsteady on his feet, but he was heading right for the building. ‘Shit.’ He thought, launching himself onto the side of the building and climbing up as stealthily as he could while still being speedy. It was difficult to not break through the bricks with the heavy arm claws, but by using the fire escape he was able to climb relatively efficiently. Vaulting over the edge of the penthouse balcony, Otto took a second to catch his breath. He shook himself off before very carefully moving towards the mirror Bernard had told him about. It was able to be pulled open from the side with a claw, and he lowered himself onto his feet and folded the mechanical arms behind him to fit through the narrow tunnel.

Coughing a bit from all the dust, Otto carefully picked up the somewhat distasteful mask of the goblin. There must be more than one, as Norman had left one in the other universe they had temporarily been stuck in. He collected as much as he could that could identify Osborn as the goblin. Not being able to carry all that much he carefully chose the most directly incriminating things. The sound of the front door opening caught his attention, and he quickly fled, closing the mirror-door-thing behind him. He leapt onto the ceiling, arms suspending him just out of view of Harry, who stumbled in the door, placing a shopping bag down on the counter. He frowned a bit, looking around before shrugging and pulling some mac and cheese and a couple of expensive-looking bottles out of the bag, which he then discarded. Otto held very still, his arms clutching Norman’s equipment for dear life. Harry’s shoulders tensed and he turned to the picture of his father with an indecipherable expression.

Otto winced, feeling he was intruding on something but also hoping Harry would leave the room or something. Luckily enough, Harry growled in frustration, taking a swig from one of the bottles before retrieving a silver-handled dagger from beside a chaise and tearing into it. He left the room and, as concerned as Otto was, he also had to move. Peter would probably be onto him by now, especially if he had gone by Bernard’s house who- apparently couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He clambered out of the opened windows with the gear, ignoring the sounds of destruction behind him. Hopefully, this meant that the remnants of The Goblin could be burned, and Harry would never suffer the discovery of his fathers secret.

≁လ≁

Peter Parker liked to consider himself one of the good guys. Maybe even a hero. Not a stalker, or a spy. And yet here he was, in the back row of MJs wedding, disguised as one of the caterers. Well actually, he was a caterer. He was taking a one-time catering gig with the company as they were understaffed today. He needed the money to pay rent - Mr. Dikovitch was really getting on his ass about that. As well as that, he spotted his boss J Jonah Jameson in the crowd - of course, MJ was marrying John Jameson, JJ’s son - although JJ didn’t seem too happy about it. Peter supposed it was more to do with the fact that weddings were expensive than anything else. He wasn’t technically supposed to be here, he was pretty sure MJ had purposefully not invited him, but she was one of his best friends and to be honest, he was a bit sad that she hadn’t invited him to her wedding. Yeah, all that weird stuff had gone down between them, and he hadn’t seen her since he’d saved her from Doc Ock’s weapon. And of course, to her, that had been Spider-Man, so it did seem a little like Peter had been avoiding her since he told her he didn’t love her. The fact was, they just couldn’t be together. MJ had been kidnapped twice now. Peter didn’t want to put her in that kind of danger again. She deserved to be with a nice guy that actually had the time to go to her plays and be there for her. Plus, she was literally engaged to him. It wasn’t like Peter was going to tear them apart. Maybe Spider-Man wasn’t supposed to have love. Peter was yanked out of these depressing thoughts by the sound of obnoxious lip-smacking and some loud rap music leaking from the man next to him’s shitty headphones. As in, right next to him. He pulled the front of his cap down in case they recognised him, but the blonde man just turned and slapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Some wedding, huh?” He asked. Peter blinked at him, affronted by his abrasively loud greeting.
“Shhh! It’s about to start.” Peter tried to keep his voice low.
“Pssssh, I wouldn’t be surprised if that chick ditched!” People began casting looks their way. Peter pulled his cap down even lower.
The man offered his hand out to Peter. “Hiya! I’m Edward Brock Jr, photographer for the Daily Bugle.”
Peter frowned - hold on a second, that was his job!
“Oh yeah? What are you doing photographing this wedding?” Peter asked defensively, neglecting to offer his name
“Ha. Hey, you’re that Peter guy, right? My ah,” Eddie chortled a bit. “...competition. Well, don’t worry, I’ll take this job off your hands, and you can go find another job at the homeless shelter, where you already spend most of your time!” Brock cackled at his own joke, which to his discredit, was not that good and didn’t really make sense. Peter cast a nervous glance up to where John was standing with his best man expectantly.
“Uh, nope. That’s not me. I’m not Peter.” He whispered, glancing nervously towards the back. Brock raised an eyebrow, loudly proclaiming,
“Yes you are, I saw Jameson yelling at you the other day-” He was cut off by Peter's hand over his mouth as he clearly had not heard the music start and the venue go silent over - was that Eminem? - blaring in his headphones. He shrugged, moving Peter's hand to begin talking again, but JJ furiously gestured at him to get his camera.
“Oh!” He said, fiddling with his camera as MJ entered and began down the aisle. Peter tilted his head away hoping the small commotion from the man next to him wouldn’t draw MJ’s attention, though her eyes were fixed on her husband-to-be.

Peter watched Brock set his camera up facing - JJ? Brock began to snap away some glorious angles of the old man - the slightly yellow lighting really brought out his bald spot - and Peter sneakily slipped out of his seat. JJ needed the pictures of the wedding. Brock clearly thought he was doing something by only photographing JJ. If Peter got the shots of the wedding that JJ needed, he might get rid of this ‘competition’. He couldn’t lose his job. He needed that money. Getting a photo of John Jameson next to the priest and MJ floating up the aisle, he crept closer to the altar, moving from pillar to pillar and pondering how to get a close-up without MJ seeing him, and, y’know, kicking him out. His eyes landed on a potted plant with a tangle of leaves.
“Yes!” He whispered, slipping his portable camera out of his jacket. He always kept it on him just in case. A good photographer is always prepared. He knelt behind the pot plant as the couple said their vows. There was no way he could get the leaves out of his shot. He’d just have to incorporate them.
“I do.” MJ proclaimed. “Then I now pronounce you husband and wife.” said the budget rent-a-pastor. “You may now kiss the bride.”
The flash of the camera gave Peter away, although luckily for him everybody was focused on the bride and groom, who beamed at each other and broke apart as the venue started flooding forwards to offer congratulations and warm embraces. Peter stood slowly, eyes fixed on the best shot that he had got. The damn leaves were on either side, though neither the bride nor groom was obscured, and the longer he looked at it the more he liked it. The leaves provided a nice frame, and with the added illusion of the cardboard backdrop JJ had begrudgingly purchased, they looked like they were outside somewhere magical. Peter smiled to himself, pocketing his camera and looking up only to lock eyes with Harry Osborn, who was staring right at him.

The two kept eye contact for a long moment. Harry had the same intense glare as his father, it burned into your eyes and Peter was getting uncomfortably warm under it. Suddenly Harry spoke. Peter couldn’t quite hear him over the wedding guests, but he was pretty sure he said “You.” He made out what followed, which was, “I’m going to kill you, Peter!” Whether he was joking or not, Peter started backing up. Harry strode towards him with murder in his eyes. Peter sensed this was his cue to leave.

Peter walked into the Daily Bugle, passing the usual bustling workers who waved at him in greeting. He offered them little smiles, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Harry wasn’t following him.
“Hey Peter!” Betty Brant’s cheerful voice woke Peter out of his anxiety, and he turned to smile at her.
“Hey, I’ve got a photo for JJ.” He said, waving his camera as if to prove his point.
“Oh, he’s busy-” Peter had already gone in and was witnessing Brock get verbally berated by Jameson.
“These are the worst pictures I’ve seen in my life!! If I wanted shit on my desk I would get a bird! Or a very small child!!” Brock somehow didn’t lose his nerve.
“Well actually sir, I figured the best newspaper editor of all time would appreciate some photos of him for his paper.”
“You’re fired!”
“He’s not employed here, sir.” Someone helpfully provided.
“He’s not?” In which case you’re hired, Broke.”
“It’s Brock sir, and thank you-”
“You’re fired! Get out!”
“Sir,” an employee ventured, “These are the only photos we have of the wedding.”
“Actually…” Peter inserted himself into the conversation (how'd that get in there?) He placed his photos down on the table.
“Hmm.” Jameson flicked through them. “I’ll give you $200.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Brock watched the exchange, speechless.

Peter strode out of the daily bugle, ignoring Brock following him yelling,
“You’re dead, Parker! Do you hear me! You’re dead!”
Glancing over his shoulder, Peter shrugged.
Two death threats in one day. Just another Wednesday for Spider-Man. As he was heading out of the doors, he brushed against someone and felt his spider-senses tingle, a little chillier than usual. He frowned, focusing on crossing the road before turning around to take a closer look at the person. His eyes widened as he recognised Harry, who turned and offered him a charming smile and a wink. Peter went to lunge forward but a passing bus cut him off, and when it had finished blocking Peter’s vision, Harry was gone. Peter shivered, looking both ways before nearly getting run over by a couple of police cars. He ducked into a public bathroom to pull on his Spidey suit before heading off in the direction of the sirens to do 90% of their job for them.

Eddie Brock was fuming. Peter Parker, a man that had shown up to his job wearing a fucking tracksuit branded to some catering company, had just swiped the money and the job from him. “God!” He exclaimed, punching the wall of the Daily Bugle’s reception. He wasn’t very strong and yanked his stinging hand away. “Ow,” he whined before turning around. “I hate him so much! I could just kill him!”
A man in a long coat raised an eyebrow at Eddie, who cleared his throat and leaned against the wall.
“Uh, hey.” He nodded at the man, who frowned before disappearing with his newspaper.

Chapter Text

Harry didn’t mean to bump into Peter at the Daily Bugle, but he should have considered it a risk, seeing as Peter worked there. He tried to maintain his cool demeanour as he offered Peter a wink, but as soon as the man was obscured from his vision he ducked behind a corner breathing heavily. He was supposed to kill Peter and he could barely look him in the eyes. He was out at the Bugle to get a newspaper, a back edition that could only be found at the Bugle HQ itself. It had run an article on Spiderman that he was rather interested in pursuing, to learn a little more about what he might be up against. As if he didn’t know Peter better than he knew himself. It was stupid, but here he was anyways. After he had picked up the paper from a desk, having ordered it on the phone earlier, he came across a blonde man clutching his hand in pain, yelling about Peter Parker and wanting to kill him. Interesting. The man noticed him and quickly tried to hide his tears.
“Uh, hey.” The emotional man tried to sound cool, but his voice cracked a little. Harry raised his eyebrow, somewhat confused to this man publicly announcing his desire to kill Peter Parker.
“Isn’t that supposed to be your job?” whispered a voice in the back of his head. His father’s voice. Or was it his own? No, it couldn’t be his father. His dad was still at the hospital. It wouldn’t make sense for him to be here, and he wasn’t hearing voices. That was crazy. And Harry wasn’t crazy. It wasn’t real. He could prove it. He could go and see his dad right now. It had been a while since he’d been by to see the old man, so he had to go, for the sake of familial relationships. But also just to make sure Norman was still dead to the world and not creeping around somewhere, haunting his thoughts.

The hospital was rather busy when Harry arrived, but no more so than usual. He passed a woman getting wheeled past on a stretcher with burns up and down her arms, who was babbling that Spiderman had swung her out of a building that had been set on fire. Harry frowned, turning to a small television in a waiting area, which was displaying what he assumed was the accident, as Spider-Man was on the screen. A couple of leather-clad guys were fighting spiderman, one of whom ducked out of the way as spidey somehow swang a whole tanker truck, which careened into a nearby building. Some lady narrated his heroic-ness as he swept into the building and began rescuing citizens, but if he had stayed out of the way the building probably would still be intact.
“You’d be doing the city a service,” The voice cooed to Harry, who shook his head and continued in the direction of the long-term-care ward.

Norman Osborn was not quite as threatening when he was lying helpless in a hospital bed. It made him seem painfully human, not really the commanding overlord that Harry had grown up with. Just a man after all. Here he was, subdued, powerless, and yet still somehow imploring Harry to kill his best friend. This whole situation was very complicated for Harry. Norman wasn’t exactly winning any dad of the year awards, but he was still his father. The only time he’d ever told Harry he was proud of him had been the last time they’d spoken, and he’d only said I love you to him twice in his whole life. But he kept those moments very close in his memory. The most recent of those had been an ordinary day in the life of 16 year old Harry.

Peter was trying to explain his science homework to him, and he was happily watching Pete ramble without really paying attention to a word he was saying. Sadly their time together was cut short by Norman arriving home from a business trip far earlier than usual, (he sometimes wouldn’t return for months), and Harry was forced to rush Peter out of the house, determined that his friend did not meet his reptile of a father. “Come on Harry, I’ve gotta meet your dad eventually,” Peter had said, holding a couple of books in his arms and pushing his glasses up his nose. Harry smiled fondly before scooting his best friend out of the fire escape.
“Shut up you massive nerd,” He ruffled Peter’s hair, glancing over his shoulder as Norman called his name. “Not today. Get out of here!”
Peter had grinned up at him, chuckling before heading down, calling over his shoulder,
“Bye Harry!”
Harry waved before ducking back inside, closing the door and clearing his throat as his dad walked in, holding the completed homework and advanced ion diagram Peter had left behind.
“Harry,” Norman was, for once in his life, smiling a bit. “Is this yours?”
“Uh… Yeah.” Harry said, not wanting his father to think he needed help with his homework.
“Hmm.” Norman nodded. “Not bad. So is the new school going alright?” He had never really expressed an interest in how Harry was settling into the public school, still upset with him for his last expulsion from some prestigious private academy.
“It’s ok, I guess.” It wasn’t great. The kids there all knew he came from money, and they took that as a personal offence. But he had met Peter, a little nerdy-looking kid that would listen to Harry complain about his dad and explain things to him over and over again without annoyance. So, he supposed, it wasn’t all bad.
“Look.” Norman set the homework papers on a coffee table. “I know these past couple of months haven’t been great for you. But I promise it’ll get better.” He gave Harry what might have been his attempt at a comforting smile, although it came off as more of a grimace. Something must’ve put him in a good mood because he’d never have said anything close to this otherwise.
“You’ll get through it.” He assured putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I love you, son.”
Harry looked up at his dad, feeling his heart swell almost out of his chest as he took in the almost-pride shining in Norman’s eyes.

The very touching moment ended abruptly when Norman's phone rang. He picked up and nodded along to someone on the other end.
“That’s brilliant news,” he stated as he wandered out of the room, leaving Harry with the work Peter had done for him and a warm heart.

“Can I help you sir?” asked a nurse politely. Harry started, having been completely absorbed in his thoughts.
“Uh, no, no thank you.” He watched her bustle off, full of thoughts and emotions he didn't quite understand. His father had loved him and could have seen that Harry was worth his pride if he'd only had a little more time. One reflection became increasingly clear. Spider-Man had tried to take everything away from him, and for that, he had to pay.

≁လ≁

Brushing the soot off the side of his mask, Spiderman swung through the streets until he got to the roof of the conveniently tall building next to his apartment. He hummed to himself, slipping out of his spider-suit before tucking it into the deceitfully large pocket of his jacket that he pulled on with the rest of his clothes. He’d started just leaving a box of his clothes tucked upside down to the roof of the stairway entrance because he came this way so often.

“Phew, that was a doozy.” He muttered to himself as he wandered down the stairs and got into the elevator. He would’ve swung straight into his bedroom window, but with his current stressful situation regarding Harry potentially trying to kill him and the uneasy feeling that had been following him for a little bit, he didn’t want to risk it. He sighed as he pressed the ground floor button, humming to himself as the elevator leisurely descended. He tapped his fingers and cracked his back. Ouch, that could really be a problem in the future. On the ground floor, Peter wandered out of the elevator and a couple of feet to his building next door. He snuck in as quietly as he could, hearing loud polka music coming from the apartment across from his and relaxing a little bit. He opened his door, wincing at the loud creak and the subsequent clamour behind him. Mr Dikovitch’s door opened and his head popped out, a little ‘kiss the chef, is me bitch’ apron tied around his waist.
“Rent?” He asked.
Peter ducked into his room quickly, ignoring the banging on his door.
“Rent!” Mr. Dikovitch yelled, before grumbling to himself and retreating.

Peter got a chill when he stepped through the door, shifting a bit uncomfortably. He couldn’t pinpoint what the feeling was or where it was coming from, and that made him uneasy. He sat on his bed, telling himself he’d stay awake and alert just in case whatever was making his skin tingle appeared. Exhausted from his last mission, he was asleep within the minute.

As Peter’s eyes fluttered closed, a little black blob of alien slime wriggled through the window that was not quite closed and clambered up the bedpost. It was not something of this world and crept up onto the sleeping man’s chest in an unusual manner. Unbeknownst to Peter, the slime began to diffuse through his suit and into his body, coming back through to cover it in a viscous black suit, gripping his arms and wrapping itself around his neck. By the time Peter woke up, there was nothing he could do to stop the symbiote from closing over his face.

MJ was a bit suspicious when spider-man showed up in the early morning, at her window in a dark spidey suit.
“Hey.” He said.
“Spiderman, I uh, I can’t see you anymore.”
“...What?”
“I’m married - to a man that I love. And I don’t want to ruin that. I hope you can understand.” MJ bit the inside of her cheek, feeling a bit bad for rejecting the hero’s advances, but she’d made mistakes and hurt people in the past; she intended to be loyal this time around. It had messed up her relationships with both Harry and Peter, and she didn’t want that to happen with John. Oh god, Peter. She hadn’t heard from him in a while, what if he was in some kind of trouble?
Spiderman cocked his head at her in confusion. He wasn’t here to hit on her. What?
“Hey Spiderman,” MJ began a bit worried. “You haven’t seen my good friend Peter Parker, have you?”
Spiderman crouched on the windowsill, chuckling a little.
“Oh my god. You’re so stupid.”
MJ blinked, a little taken aback by this comment, because okay, that was rude.
“Um, you know what? I have seen Peter! But don’t you worry, precious Peter Parker won’t be seeing you ever again.”
Now offended and worried, MJ took a couple of steps back. “What do you mean?”
Spiderman neglected to give any more information, simply turning off into the night and springing off somewhere else, but not before dropping an audacious farewell of “See ya, chump.”
MJ stared after him, muttering a couple minutes later, “Oh my god. Spiderman kidnapped Peter!”

Peter Parker was having the time of his life. Well, arguably he was only half Peter Parker right now, and the Venom symbiote was mostly in charge, turning him into some kind of… bully. He waltzed into the Daily Bugle, pushing right past Eddie who was talking with JJ Jameson.
“And that’s why I’d be a good fit for the staff j- ow!” He glared at Peter.
“This is why you’d be a good fit?” Peter looked at the freshly printed paper Eddie had placed on the desk that appeared to show a photo of Spider-Man fighting police, with the headline MENACE PROTESTS ARREST. Peter scanned the page and learned he was being accused of trying to assist Doctor Octopus in resisting arrest. Peter was mildly disappointed that the police had finally caught up with Octavious, but he couldn’t think about that now.
“Hmm, that's weird. I’m sure I’ve seen that picture before.” Peter said with raised eyebrows.
“Oh isn’t that it?” He pointed to an enlarged front page hanging behind JJ. It was from a few months back, when Spider-Man had saved some kids from a flooding campground with the headline: SPIDER-MENACE APPEARS AT SINKING SUMMER CAMP - COINCIDENCE OR PREMEDITATED?. He was in the exact same pose as he was in Brock’s photo, which now seemed clearly fake. Jameson blinked a few times.
“Are you telling me,” several staff members filtered into the office to watch Brock get yelled at, “that we have to print a retraction?”
“Sir,” Brock pleaded, “It’s not what you think!”
“Get out!”

“Eddie, you can’t keep borrowing my money. My dad already doesn’t like you as it is,” A pretty blonde that Peter assumed was Eddie’s girlfriend was arguing with Eddie.
“Gwen, c’mon, I-”
“You said you could make this job work. Hell, I thought the same thing about us.”
“Gwen, you’re not serious! I’ll find another job! I-”
Oops, Peter thought. Ex-girlfriend. He grinned, getting an idea. He quickly brushed his hair into an emo fringe.
“No, Eddie. I’m sick of you treating me like I’m your mother.”
Peter stepped between the two of them, suavely knocking them both over. He quickly caught Gwen, apologising for his clumsiness while Brock groaned on the ground behind him.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” He asked this Gwen woman who blinked up at him, a little in shock and confusion.
“Um, yes. I’m uh, I’m okay.” She cleared her throat and Peter lifted her back up, letting go of her.
“Say, Gwen is it? Would you be interested in coming to dinner with me tonight?” Peter asked, kicking Brock behind him who had begun to protest. Gwen glanced down at where Eddie had clutched his shin in pain before looking back up at Peter.
“You know what, I’d love to.” She smiled, pulling a little notepad out of her pocket and scribbling something down.
“Here’s my number,” she smiled, brushing her fingers against Peter’s. Peter smiled charmingly. If there was one thing he loved, it was being rude to rude people. Eddie stared at the exchange in disbelief.
“Pick me up at 8?” Gwen asked, and Peter nodded before dancing off down the street. Gwen took one more, slightly pitying, glance at Brock before heading home. Eddie glared off after Peter, who stopped into a tuxedo store and came out all smug-looking doing a stupid little dance.
“That’s it.” Brock sneered. “I’m gonna kill that guy.”

Chapter Text

“A Jazz bar? I’ve never been to one of these before.” Gwen Stacy and Peter were seated at their table.
“You’ll learn to love it,” Peter assured gallantly.

Edward Brock watched their exchange from a nearby table, seething with anger. This little nerd needed an ass-kicking that he wouldn’t forget. From yet another table nearby, Harry Osborn sat with a glass in one hand and his state-of-the-art flip phone in the other. He re-read the message that MJ had sent him (from John’s phone because hers was still being shipped overseas).
‘Meet me at my work at 9:00, I have something important to tell you.’
He mused over the message, wondering what could be so important that MJ wanted him to visit her work. She had been rather disappointed after getting fired from her show, and though John had helped her through it she was still a little upset about having to work as a singing waitress. Even with John’s prestige and name, money was always held very tightly around the Jamesons. So, here he was, at a jazz bar - yep, a jazz bar - waiting to be told this important news.

“Hey.” He was pulled from his thoughts by MJ, who stood next to him. He gestured to the other chair at the table.
“Oh, thank you, but I can’t sit down right now, I’m about to go up and do a number. But afterwards, I’ll tell you everything.” She stepped back before quickly adding, “It’s about spiderman!”
MJ swept off and headed for the stage. Harry watched after her, interest now piqued.

The bass intro to MJ’s song rang through the bar, and the chattering quieted. She was about to begin singing when a jazzy piano riff cut her off. Neither Harry, Eddie, Gwen nor MJ could believe their eyes when they saw none other than Peter Parker seated at the piano. He turned to the audience and his four most stunned onlookers were coincidentally lined up, so they all thought he was addressing them when he whispered:
“This one’s for you.”

Gwen blushed and beamed.
MJ recoiled, affronted and offended.
Harry blinked, cheeks heating.
And Eddie?

Eddie was furious. He leapt from his chair, knocking it over, and marched right up to the stage, hollering,
“I’ve got something for you, you little bitch!”
Peter was a bit surprised, and barely dodged the fist launching straight towards his face. It probably would’ve hit him if not for A) his spidey senses tipping him off and B) the alien symbiote inside him lurching his head away. He began throwing punches back at Brock, the only thing keeping Brock alive was Peter’s internal struggle with the symbiote.

Harry watched them fight, not sure whether to be concerned, relieved or amused. It had always been his job to defend Peter in fights. It wasn’t as if he had been all that good at fighting either though. He slowly dissociated from the moment, instead casting his thoughts back to a similar situation involving him, Peter, and Flash Gordon.

The high school hallways were relatively choked as they often were, and Harry had been on his way to his locker after a pretty intense geography lesson. He heard a commotion coming from up ahead, but even with his height, he couldn’t see over most of the students' heads. “S’cuse me,” He’d muttered, pushing his way as politely as he could through the other students. “Move please,” he raised his voice a bit when he could make out more of the clamour from just around the corner.
“What are you gonna do Parker?” Flash’s voice drifted over the chatter, followed by a sinister-sounding chorus of “Ooooh!”s. Harry shoved more urgently through a pack of freshmen who were standing around and rounded the corner to a ring of students chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
From inside the circle, Flash Gordon laughed. “Come on, guys. Parker couldn’t fight if he wanted to, isn’t that right Peter?” He hissed, his fist making a nasty thud against Peter’s side.
“Hey Flash!” Harry pushed his way to the front of the group. “Cut it out.”
“Or what? Oh wait, don't tell me. You’ll get your daddy’s lawyers to sue me.” It was the same jab every time. Something about his father and lawyers. Harry was immune to it at this point.
“I mean it.” He stood his ground, glancing at Peter to make sure he was okay.
“Looks like the trust fund brat wants some too!” Flash chuckled, before considering what he had just said.
“And uh, when I say ‘want some’ I mean a pounding!” He didn’t seem to hear this one, and the crowd went from a confused silence to cheering him on.
Harry sighed reluctantly before putting himself between Flash and Peter.
“Harry.” Peter groaned from behind him. “What are you doing?”
“Shhh, I got this,” Harry responded, sounding much more confident than he felt.
“How cute.” Flash sneered. “Not that you’re cute. You’re not. I mean uh, the rich bitch and the poor little nerd. A couple of nancies.” Harry definitely heard a couple slurs being shouted from the crowd, so that was nice.
“Harry you don’t have to,” Peter pleaded from behind him. “I can take it.”
“Peter, shut up.” Harry said before punching Flash in the face. It made a very satisfying crunch and stung his fist a little, though he didn’t let it show.
“You’re gonna pay for that.” Flash said with a sneer.

Harry and Peter ended up in the gym bathrooms, which smelled funny because a class had just been in here, but it meant that it would be empty for at least another hour. Peter was leaning back against the wall with his shirt off and Harry was rummaging around in the first-aid kit he’d swiped from the nurse's office. “What did you do?” Harry asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.
“Nothing!” Peter protested, wincing a little when Harry brushed a sterile wipe over an open cut on his side. “Well, I got an A+ in Chem.” At Harry’s quizzical expression, Peter elaborated. “Flash uh, Flash didn’t, and I guess he wasn’t too happy that I did.”
Harry shook his head frowning.
“How did he know what you got? It’s not like Doctor Paterson goes around advertising that.”
Peter didn’t meet his eyes, so Harry reached up to turn Peter’s attention to him, looking into his eyes. “I won’t be mad,” he promised. Peter sighed and closed his eyes.
“They were going through my bag, looking for lunch money.” Harry made a noise of disgust and Peter cracked a grin. “I know right? Real cliche.”
Harry let himself smile a little before refocusing on securing a large bandaid over the wound.
“Look, don’t you get into a situation like that again without me, okay?” He said, eyes fixed on the plaster he was carefully applying. Peter winced as some alcohol trickled from the bandage and over his waist. Harry brushed it away before returning his hand to apply pressure to where the band-aid was. He looked up to where his best friend was watching him carefully, an unreadable expression on his face. They sat there for a bit, neither speaking but both understanding.

“Thanks, Harry.” Peter eventually said quietly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Harry’s expression hardened. “Yes, I did. You’re my closest friend, Pete.”
Peter nodded, looking away. “Yeah. I guess.”
Harry desperately tried to think of something to cheer him up.
“Hey, do you wanna come over after school and help me with my maths homework?”
Harry didn’t need help with his maths homework, but he knew Peter would love to talk about advanced calculus for hours. “Stormin’ Norman’s in London, so you can stay the night if you want.”
“Really?” Peter brightened immediately at the prospect of staying at Harry’s. The place was gorgeous, and the company wasn’t too bad either (except for that butler, the guy was so nosy).
“I’d love to!” He beamed. “I gotta let my Aunt and Uncle know, but that sounds awesome! Don’t worry, I got this semester of calculus down already, I’m sure I can explain it much more clearly than Mr. Berksley.” He laughed.
“Alright. We gotta go though, I think I hear someone coming.” Harry helped Peter up and they rushed out the door.

The fond memory was ruined by a present-day chair hurtling directly towards Harry’s face. He yelped and ducked out of the way, allowing it to crash into Gwen Stacy who exclaimed in surprise before being knocked out. Harry sprung up and ran to MJ, who was dangerously close to the action (you’d think she’d move out of the way) although the action seemed to have started and ended quite quickly. Brock had got his ass beat and was sitting on the floor groaning. Peter chuckled and leant over, spitting:
“You're trash, Brock” before retreating backstage. Harry looked after him before turning his attention back to MJ, who was still processing that Peter could play the piano. Nothing MJ could have to say about Spider-Man could have enticed him to stay in that bar a second longer. He exited the bar unnoticed, everyone gathered around where a paramedic had been called for Gwen Stacy.

Chapter Text

Funky jazz blasted from a nearby open venue as Peter swaggered down the street, shooting finger guns at every passing stranger. His snappy new suit received lots of looks from passersby - some impressed, some disgusted, some a little turned on. From a high balcony, Harry watched this spectacle unfold with a grimace. Peter’s sudden personality change perplexed him. He wasn’t the loveable dork that had befriended Harry in high school, that was for sure. But he supposed that must be what Peter wanted. To overcome the person he had been, to outgrow the loser who’d always needed protection in the form of Harry. Peter didn’t need that anymore though. He’d made something of himself, built himself from the ground up. Dad would approve of that, Harry thought bitterly, remembering his fathers praise for Peter’s self sufficiency. As if he had ever had a chance to be as good as Peter was in his fathers eyes. As if he hadn’t tried.

Maybe he had made a mistake, back in high school, by assuming Peter was weak and needed his help. After all, he seemed to be doing fine right now. Hell, back then Flash had kicked the shit out of Peter if he had so much as looked at MJ, who happened to be Peter’s neighbour (and Flash’s girlfriend) at the time. Now it seemed, Peter was out womanising everyone on the street. Maybe Peter had never been weak. Had he just kept Harry around all those years as a human shield? Most likely - and for his money. Of course. How had he never seen it before? Peter had needed him for his wallet and some weird semblance of protection, he’d never liked Harry. How could anyone? All he was was a weaker shadow of his father. Peter didn’t need him anymore. He had money and confidence now. He didn’t need that from Harry. God, how could he have been so stupid? How could he have possibly believed that Peter felt the same way as him? That their friendship actually meant something to the other? So stupid. He could see it all now - their friendship was never two-sided, Peter just used Harry to get his money, to get MJ and to get through high school alive. Peter had never - could never like Harry for who he really was.

A part of him reasoned that this was outlandish, but for the most part he only saw himself sitting alone by the window, useless and failed. Weak. He shook his head, trying to disperse the voices. He wasn’t. He wasn’t too weak to do things for himself, and he wasn’t too weak to kill Spiderman. It’s not as if Spiderman cared about him.

≁လ≁

Geared up with the weapons and tech from his dad’s secret alcove, Harry strapped his boots to the hoverboard he’d never tested. Well, after dusting it off, it seemed to be in good condition for two years of disuse. The resemblance it bore to the Green Goblin’s glider didn’t occur to Harry - why should it? That random terrorist hadn’t been heard of in a couple of years and was presumed dead. Edging out of the window, Harry looked down at the dizzying stretch to where cars honked stories and stories down. Taking a deep breath and focusing on his fierce need for revenge on Spiderman, he tipped himself off. Free falling, the wind was cool in his face. He would call this a moment of clarity, but he thought his anger was already providing that for him. He was going to kill Spiderman. Harry swung around and the engine on the glider kicked in, shooting him forwards. After the initial shock, a little smirk grew on Harry’s face. Oh yeah. He was gonna enjoy this.

“Ooh, that really isn’t your colour.” Peter tutted disapprovingly at Dr Connors, who looked down at his usual brown coat sadly. He quickly looked back up angrily at Peter.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you Parker, but this attitude has got to stop.”
“I missed the part where that’s my problem.”
Dr. Conners quickly strided away, looking down at his coat with a crestfallen expression.

Peter flipped his fringe carelessly, shrugging. His Spider sense went off a little late, distorted by the symbiote within him, so he was completely unprepared when Harry smacked right into him and lifted him off the ground. Harry immediately started laying into his ex-best friend, punching him while he struggled in the air. Peter thrust his legs into Harry’s stomach; who keeled over but kept a steady balance on his glider. Peter twisted until the grip around his throat loosened slightly, at which point he shot webs into one of the fans of the glider. Harry growled in frustration, spinning the now-lopsided glider to slam into Peter, who slung a web onto a nearby building and tried to swing out of the way of Harry, who crashed into the wall right next to him. Peter was knocked loose from the wall. He shot webs into the air desperately, but he still wasn’t used to his enhanced strength from the symbiote, and too disoriented to hit anything, as he fell down towards a deserted alleyway.

He hit the ground hard. Harry was quick to follow, although his flight on the glider was becoming increasingly dangerous. He broke away from it as he got closer to the ground, and ran over to Peter, pinning him down.

Harry reeled back his arm, the blade attached to the gauntlet unsheathing with a sinister metallic scrape. He positioned the edge against Peter’s throat and held him still with his knees, before taking a big swing, swerving at the last second to plunge the blade deep into the ground, less than an inch from Peter’s neck. Hands shaking, he sat back and gazed down forlornly. Peter’s eyes travelled from the weapon that had nearly impaled him up to his best friend’s face, confusion clouding his eyes. Harry breathed out, eyes brightening a little.
“I-” He stammered. “I’m sorry, Pete.” He frowned, seemingly trying to gather up his thoughts.
“You… I don’t know if you remember but- uh, well I don’t know how to say it. We…” Harry trailed off, unable to convey what he meant. He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly very warm.

“Uh.” Harry’s brow furrowed and he closed his eyes. “Look. Peter.”
Peter frowned up at him, something foreign in his eyes that went unseen by the taller man.
“I want to kill you, to make you pay for what you did to my father. God I really want to. But the truth is, Peter, I can’t.”
Peter cracked his neck, narrowing his eyes a little as Harry looked at him without seeing him. If Harry’s vision hadn’t been so blurred with the prospect of tears, he may have noticed the alien smirk gracing his best friend’s face.
“I can't… because…” Even after a thousand nights of thinking it, saying it out loud still seemed like making it true. Peter (or not-Peter, as it was,) raised his eyebrow, chuckling.
“Oh, this is too good.” Harry’s moment of emotional vulnerability allowed Peter to regain his bearings, and he got up to stand over his friend, still on the ground, who stared up at him in confusion. A lot of what Harry was trying to say hadn’t yet been said, but Peter was a smart guy. Peter was also a nice guy usually, but today it was the words of his symbiote-addled mind that came out.

“What, you love me? That’s embarrassing, even for you. If only your dad could see you like this, yikes.”
Harry’s look of hurt morphed a little into rage at the mention of his father. “You took him from me!”
Peter raised an eyebrow, kicking Harry’s ribs to send him back onto the concrete with a wince and a hiss.
“Stings, doesn’t it?”
“He loves me!” Harry spat hatefully.
Peter laughed maliciously. “No. He despised you. You were an embarrassment to him.”
Harry seethed, too stunned (and winded) to speak. Peter - no, this couldn’t be Peter. Could it? - cocked his head and donned a venomous smirk at Harry’s heartbroken expression.

“Look at little goblin junior. Gonna cry?” The mention of the goblin wasn’t heard by Harry, who blocked out Peter's words in disbelief that it was his friend who spoke them. Peter looked condescendingly down at him and said,
“Get real, Harry. Nobody will ever love you. And guess what? That includes me.”
That was followed by what was no doubt another scathing bully remark, but all Harry heard was his heartbeat swelling in his ears as Peter walked away.

He must have sat there for a while, because it was beginning to cool off when his phone rang. It was a surprise it still worked after the battering it had taken.

“Hello?” Harry answered, a little confused because he couldn’t remember who he had in his contacts under ‘stupid idiot’.
“Sir?” Bernard’s voice crackled across the line.
“Bernard.” Harry greeted quietly. “What do you want?”
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you some good news.” The butler creaked. “Your father was released from the hospital this morning. He’s at the penthouse, resting up.” Harry blinked.
“No.” He whispered, feeling his stomach sink.
“Well, yes sir.”
“Th-thank you.” Harry hung up the phone. Could he really go home now? His eyes were red from crying and he was dishevelled from the short tussle. How would Norman feel if this was the first impression he got of his son after two years? Well, probably extremely disappointed, nothing out of the ordinary there. Harry wiped his face with his sleeve before getting up and steeling his nerves. Time to go see the old man.

Norman was at the Penthouse when Harry got there. Harry winced as he saw the half-cleaned hallway. He would’ve done more since he’d lost his temper if he’d known Norman would be back. He could hear his father’s voice coming from a separate room. Harry honestly couldn’t tell how he felt about hearing him again.
“Uh-huh.” Said Norman, who was on the phone when Harry walked into the room. “Spiderman, eh?” the words weren’t even spoken to him and yet simply hearing the name sent a spear into Harry’s heart.
“No, no, no problem at all.” Norman assured. Harry wandered closer to him in a bid for his attention.
“Dad?” Norman removed the phone from his ear.
“I’m on the phone, Harry.” He picked it up again. “Oh, just my son … Yes, he is doing well, thank you for asking.”
Harry wasn’t doing well. He could feel tears springing to his eyes again and his stomach ached with despair. He needed some words of affirmation, and Peter, who had always been so ready to offer them, had created the need for them.
“Dad.” He pleaded softly.
Harry needed him now, but in classic Norman Osborn fashion, his father simply glared at him in annoyance.
“Not now Harry, I have to bail a good friend out of jail. Go to your room or something.” He waved a hand dismissively. It was like he’d never left, and as much as Harry had longed for this moment, it stung him with a familiar pain. He went to his room as instructed, collapsing down on his bed. Peter didn’t care.

Peter didn’t remember.

If he didn’t remember, that meant it hadn’t meant anything to him. Something so insignificant to Peter that had meant the world to Harry - the moment his life had really changed, that Harry began to grasp some semblance of who he was. Not his father, him.

17 year old Harry flopped onto his bed letting out a frustrated sigh. Peter glanced over from where he was fiddling with something science-y at Harry’s desk.
“What’s up?” Peter asked. Harry didn’t respond, shifting to face away from his best friend. There was quiet for a bit before Harry felt the mattress dip a little beside him. Peter, sprawled on his back beside Harry, observed his best friend a little worriedly.
“Is it because of MJ?” Peter asked. “Because I really am sorry she asked me to the dance. You know, she probably wanted to go with you and was just too shy to ask.”
Harry picked at a loose thread from his duvet, still facing away.
“Are you gonna go with her?” He asked, trying to be cool.
“Well, not if you don’t want me to.” Peter’s voice was amicable.
At this Harry rolled to face his friend, frowning.
“Pete, you like her. You should go.”
Peter shrugged.
“Well, yeah, but you like her too.”
Harry looked away again. “...yeah.”
Peter smiled a little lopsidedly. “It’s just a stupid dance. Do you even wanna go at all?”
Harry shrugged in denial. “But going alone would be even worse than ditching,” He muttered.
Peter tilted his head at his friend thoughtfully.
“What if you came with me?”
“W-what?”
Harry turned again to where Peter was watching him curiously. Harry was suddenly very aware of how little space there was between them and shifted back, hoping he wasn’t blushing. That would be weird. He cleared his throat. “Ah, but uh, what about MJ?”
Peter shrugged. “She’s a pretty girl, Harry. Someone else will ask her. She’ll be fine.”
“You, wanna go to the dance with… me?”
“Well don’t sound so shocked about it.”
“You would pass up going with MJ - Mary Jane Watson, who you’ve liked for, like, ever - so you could go with me.”
“Yeah,” Peter grinned. Even though they were lying down he still had to look up at Harry, which made Harry smile.
“But…”
“Harry, it’s fine. I want to go with you.”
Harry blinked, still processing this information. Peter watched him expectantly, repeating the question Harry hadn’t heard. Peter asked again;
“Do you want to go with me?”
“Heh, yes, of course!” Harry hesitated. “What about your um, your dream though?”
Peter raised an eyebrow, clearly not remembering what he’d told Harry when the spring dance had first been announced.
“Y’know, to get a pretty date,”
“You’re a pretty date.”
Harry looked down to where he was fidgeting with the blanket again, flushing slightly.
“And um, y’know.”
Peter blinked up at him. Okay, he had to remember this. There was no way he didn’t.
“And have your first kiss?” Harry spoke in barely a whisper, refusing to look at Peter.
“Oh yeah, that dream,” Peter mused.
“Sorry if that can’t come true anymore.” Harry rolled onto his back. “You should go with MJ.”

Exasperated, Peter took Harry’s head in both of his hands.
“Harry.” Peter said.
The patient Peter that could explain the same content over and over without noticing why Harry wasn’t learning. The stupid Peter that didn’t realise Harry was doing fine in all of his classes and didn’t actually need any tutoring. The same Peter that would go to the dance with Harry instead of the girl he liked just because he didn’t want Harry to be alone.
“I want to go with you.”
Harry watched Peter, unblinking.
“...and… the kiss?” Harry whispered, guilt churning in his stomach along with… something else. Peter cocked his head, scrunching his nose the way he did when he was thinking.
“Well, I guess we could do that.”
Harry couldn’t speak, only watch with wide eyes and slightly parted lips as Peter hesitated and then leant forwards.

That moment was simultaneously the best and worst moment of Harry’s life. The best because whatever nerves had contorted his stomach unravelled like fireworks, and Peter’s hands were in his hair, and his arms were around Peter’s waist and everything was better than anything he could’ve dreamed of. He could hear nothing but his heart and feel nothing but Peter. Peter was soft and kind and just so very… Peter.

It was the worst because it ended.

Peter pulled back, offering Harry a little smile.
“There.” He smiled softly. “Dream come true.”
In that moment Harry swore he melted. This was what all of the songs and the poems and all the shit he’d previously had no interest in was about. It’s hard to believe that he couldn’t see this before. He wanted to tell Peter that he’d never had anyone that knew him like Peter did, or that made him feel the way he did. He wanted to give him the world then and there.

After that, they went to the dance, they hung out with MJ and neither of them addressed it ever again. Harry’s heart had torn itself up and rebuilt, determined to bury this memory forever.

As Harry lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, he remembered why this was buried so deep. He didn’t want to admit how alive he’d felt that day, and on top of that came the pain of pretending nothing had happened, the dull pain of denial that had resided in the back of his head for the past five years. Despite all that he allowed himself to indulge in the memory, burying himself in his blankets that took the familiar shape of a crying child.

Chapter Text

“SPIDER-BULLY TERRORISES NEW YORK CITY!”
The headline plasters copies of the Daily Bugle over an incriminating-looking shot of black-suit Spider-Man crouched above a burning farmer’s market. In the bottom corner a little credit boasts ‘photograph by Peter Parker.”
JJ was not usually a celebratory man, as that would require needless money to be spent on stupid things like champagne, but when Peter Parker had marched into his office and demanded the staff job, brandishing a clear picture of Spider-Man’s threatening new branding, JJ was feeling generous.

MJ wrapped her arms around herself as she quickly walked to the Bugle. Ever since Spiderman had told her that she’d ‘never see Peter Parker again’, she hadn’t felt safe. Though she was reluctant about it - she knew there was one person that would believe her suspicions about Spiderman.

“Shut up! Get out of my office!”
The door to JJ’s office slammed shut and a short, angry-looking blond man rushed past MJ, furiously jamming in his headphones. MJ shook her head and knocked on the office door.
“What is it?” JJ shouted from inside. MJ poked her head in.
“Um, sir? It’s about Spiderman.”
JJ sighed, slamming down his coffee cup.
“All right, come in. Make it quick!”
MJ bustled over and sat down.
“Ah, Mary Jane. What is it, has John lost his phone again?” JJ grumbled.
MJ shook her head. “Actually, I think that Spiderman… kidnapped my friend.”
JJ’s head snapped to face her, headlines already popping up in his mind. ‘Spider-abductor’, or maybe ‘Kidnap-Man’, he thought gleefully.
“Um, he actually works here, Peter Parker?”

JJ frowned. Peter had just been here 10 minutes ago… but he wouldn’t put this past the Spider-Menace.
“Are you sure?”
“I think so. Spiderman told me that I’d never see Peter Parker again. He seemed very threatening.” She sounded genuine. JJ scratched his chin. He’d like to think he wasn’t usually one to publish rumours… But perhaps he could say that the spider threatened to kidnap Parker. That wasn’t too much of a stretch. He nodded at MJ.

Betty Brant’s head popped around the corner.
“Mr. Jameson, escaped convict Flint Marko has become some kind of sand meta-human, they’re calling him the Sandman! Leeds wants your permission to cover this story?”
“Shut up!” JJ barked. “Who cares?! The Spider-Menace has kidnapped one of our own!”
Betty frowned a little.
“Sir, don’t you think we should cover something other than Sp-”
“Shut up! Get out!”
After Betty’s abrupt departure JJ turned back to MJ. “Don’t worry, we’ll get this information out there.” He smiled.
“Oh, no, I just was worried and-”
JJ cut MJ off with an ecstatic laugh. “Business is booming!” He balanced a cigar in his mouth and made a shoo-ing gesture. “Go talk to one of my reporters. It looks like we’ve got a story on our hands.”

≁လ≁

Harry was curled up on top of his sheets, crying silently so as not to distract his father from his precious phone calls. There was a gentle knock on his door.

Shit.

He didn’t want fucking Bernard to see him like this. He sat up and tried to wipe his face of all signs of tears. Once he felt he’d done a satisfactory job, he lounged back as casually as he could on his bed.
“Come in.” He said, attempting a steady voice. He was startled when his father entered the room.

Fuck.

“What do you want?” Harry immediately regretted his contemptuous tone as Norman turned to him with a frown. Harry expected to be lectured, but instead his dad just pulled up the chair from Harry’s desk, sitting down somewhat awkwardly.
“So.” Norman ventured, clearly uncomfortable. “How are you?” He didn’t wait for an answer before changing his question to “Are you okay?” He scowled, seemingly upset with his inability to ask his son a question. This was… unexpected.

“Why do you want to know?” Harry’s suspiciousness was justified, as it was rather out-of-character for his father to express genuine concern about how Harry was.
“Is it too much that I just want to know how my son is doing?”
Harry could sense annoyance rising in his fathers voice, but it was gone when he spoke again.
“Harry, I’ve…” Norman fidgeted uncomfortably. “I’ve missed you.” He looked at his son with a cautious expression. The genuine tone of his voice surprised Harry.
“Well yeah, I've missed you too, dad.” Harry lay back on his bed, allowing himself to relax a bit, though hesitantly.
“I’m sorry that I haven’t been in your life for the past two years,” Harry scoffed at the statement.. It had been a lot longer than that.
“Or before that.” Well, at least he was self aware.

“I’m sorry for that. In light of, ah, recent events-” Norman frowned. He supposed his time as the goblin and the trip through the multiverse had been two years ago. It felt like only yesterday.
“Or I guess not-so-recent for you. I want to be a better father to you.”

Norman had always been semi-conscious of his emotional negligence of the boy, but his head had always been so full of other things, and he never really could bring himself to try harder. It was strange. Only when the goblin had been meddling with his mind was he able to realise that Harry meant a lot to him, as he had become increasingly afraid that his actions as the Green Goblin might bring some harm to his son. Then he’d been to a whole different universe. One where Harry simply didn’t exist. That absence had left him with the horrible thought he may never see his son again. So he had to try to make things a little better. He had to try to do for Harry what he had failed to do for Harry’s mother. Therefore - much to his discomfort - here he was, trying to console his clearly distressed son.

“What happened?” Norman asked gently. Harry was a little unsure whether or not to share the events that had transpired with his father. On one hand he needed to talk to somebody about it, but on the other hand Norman might fly into a homophobic rage or something. He was unpredictable like that. Eventually Harry decided that if his father was going to make an effort with him, he might as well try to meet him halfway.
“There’s this, uh, person.” If Harry avoided gendered pronouns there was less risk of getting hate-crimed by his dad. “I… uh, I really liked them.” He looked down, embarrassed.
“And she died?” Norman guessed.
“...No?”
“She likes someone else?”
“No. Well, I don’t know. But that wasn’t it.”
“Hmm. Well, that about outsources all of my relationship experience then.”
“Good to know, dad.”
“Continue though.” Norman nodded encouragingly.
“Thanks.” Harry felt a little calmer. “I think that h- they hate me. They said that,” He took a breath and desperately tried to stop tears from slipping out of his eyes. “They said that I was an embarrassment to you-” he sniffed, “th- that no one will ever love me, including them.” He quickly wiped some tears, hoping his father wouldn’t see him. Fortunately he was too busy trying to figure out a more tactful response than just saying ‘what a bitch, kill her’.
Norman tilted his head as a familiar little voice came creeping in. Actually, that wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Do you want me to kill her for you?” Norman asked. Harry looked at his father’s face, taking in that he was fully serious. Harry frowned down at his hands, missing his father scowling and telling himself to shut up. He looked back up at his dad, biting the inside of his mouth. Did Norman think he was too weak to do anything for himself?
“No. He’s my best friend.” Anguished, Harry stared over at the wall to avoid his father’s gaze.

Norman was thrown into a sudden state of distress after suggesting to kill whoever had broken his son’s heart. Kill her? He knew better than to think it was just paternal instinct. But if he heard voices that meant that it could come back. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t let that happen. He was better now, he had to be. They’d cured him. The room suddenly felt too small. He couldn’t be around Harry like this. Couldn’t let him know anything was wrong. Norman hurried out, saying something about going to get milk from the store.

Harry sat up, eyes widening as Norman rushed out. Oh no. What had he said wrong? It dawned on him that he had said ‘He’s my best friend’: not only had he revealed the gender of his emotional antagonist, he had also said his best friend. Norman knew he only had one friend.

Was he going to disown Harry? Was he on his way to hurt Peter for making Harry like this?
This was all Harry’s fault. He stood, pulling at his hair in frustration. Should he run after his dad and try to stop him? God, he felt so useless. He tugged on a clean-ish dress shirt, not bothering to do it up before striding into the kitchen. Harry halted in shock upon spotting Dr. Octavius, sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying a nice cup of tea. He was pretty sure Otto hadn’t seen him come in, but it was hard to tell because the doctor was wearing sunglasses indoors, as he often did.

“What are you doing here?” Asked Harry, his stress momentarily replaced with confusion.
“Hello Harry.” Otto smiled, not seeming too surprised.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in jail?” Harry demanded, remembering their last interaction, in which Harry had given Octavius some tritium in exchange for Spiderman.
“Not anymore.” Said Otto happily. “Your father actually bailed me out.”
Harry backed up a little, putting more space between himself and the man with four menacing metal arms.
“But aren’t you like,” Harry reached behind him for the knife block. “...crazy?”
Otto chuckled a little at that. “Well, my boy, I think we’re all a little crazy at times.” At Harry’s expression and proximity to the knives, he pulled his sunglasses off with one of the metal arms.
“But if you mean am I still a hostile force, or a danger to you, no.” He looked quizzically at Harry. “Is everything alright?”
“Uh…” Harry had known Dr Octavius for a long time, since before his mother died, but those times he hadn’t been almost responsible for blowing up the city. Harry hesitated before rummaging in the cabinet for something to drink. Otto looked at him disapprovingly when his hand moved past the teabags and towards the alcohol.

“How old are you?” Otto asked.
“Relax, doc. I’m an adult.” Harry scoffed, pulling out an expensive whiskey and a glass. He could’ve sworn he heard Otto mutter something under his breath, and looked up from where he was pouring generously. “What was that?”
Otto raised an eyebrow before sighing.
“I said it looks as if your father hasn’t been a very good role model to you.” Harry laughed.
“Tell me about it. I told him about how this person broke my heart and he offered to kill them for me.”
Otto looked somewhat taken aback.
“He offered to kill a child?”
“Peter’s not a child.”
“Peter?” Otto paused before tilting his head towards Harry with a knowing grin. “Peter Parker?”
Harry was too stunned to speak. How could he be that stupid?
“.......no?” he tried.

“No? Who’s this Peter then?” Otto was still smiling, some of his mechanical hands making something behind him in the kitchen.
Harry blinked, internally scrambling for a way out of his predicament.
“Um. Peter….a,” Harry said. “Petera, is uh, this girl. That I know. Who is a girl.”
Otto watched Harry with a fond smile. “You’re a lot like your father, you know.” Harry didn’t exactly see that as a compliment seeing as his father was a nasty bitch.
“I’m sorry to hear about that.” Otto added.
Harry’s eyes widened. “About what?”
“That you had your heart broken.”
Harry shrugged, looking down at his glass. “Yeah, it’s um,” He cleared his throat. “It’s whatever.”

Otto’s mechanical arm in the kitchen retracted, one claw confiscating Harry’s glass and another replacing it with a mug of hot chocolate. Harry stared into the warm steam coming off it before glancing up to an equally warm look in the doctor’s eyes. Harry wrapped his hands around the mug and muttered a quiet “Thanks.”
Otto sat back in his chair and regarded the man in front of him.
“Harry, if I may,” He began, looking to the former for permission to continue. He could tell that Harry was having a bit of a bad day and thought it may cheer him up to have some semblance of guidance. Harry nodded wordlessly.
“I don’t think your father has been doing a very good job of parenting you, so if it’s alright with you I’d like to try. Just for a minute,”
Harry looked at him and though he was in college, Otto saw a scared young boy sitting across the table from him, clutching a hot drink like a lifeline. Very slowly, Harry nodded.

“I would like to make one thing very clear with you, Harry.” His tone was serious but kind. “The only thing wrong with you and Peter is that he hurt you. Nothing else.”
“Oh,” Harry wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this. It wasn’t a criticism that required an apology or an order that required following. He hoped Otto could understand how much this meant to him, under all his confusion and bravado. It was nice, but it felt wrong to appreciate it. Did he really deserve it? Otto inclined his head a little.
“And I just want you to know that I’ll be here if you need me, okay?” He asked. Harry’s eyes prickled a bit and he sniffed. He’d already cried once today and that was once too many. He felt a cool, but not threatening, metal claw rest gently on his shoulder.
“It’s all right.” Otto said kindly. Harry brushed his eyes hurriedly.
“Thanks doc,” Harry got out of his chair, shooting Otto a grateful smile. “I’ve gotta go fight Bernard,”

Otto watched after him with a little frown, unsure whether the comment had been serious or not. As soon as the door shut behind Harry, Otto dialled Norman on the phone. After a couple rings, Norman answered.
“Otto? What do you need?” He sounded appropriately tired for a man who was supposed to be resting and recovering from a coma.
“Norman, I just spoke to your son.” He said with a false cheery tone.
“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention he was home. I hope he didn’t bother you…?”
“He seemed rather distressed, poor kid. Really should have had a supportive parent around.”
“...I sense I have done something wrong.”
“Well Norman, darling,” Otto began. “I think your parenting has not been up to scratch - and before you say anything about being comatose for the past two years, I’m not just talking about that. In fact, if you don’t start doing better, I’m going to have to parent him for you.”
Norman was quiet for a minute. Eventually he replied;
“Oh, ok.”
Otto shook his head, frustrated. “Norman, do you remember the last thing you said to me before we returned to this universe - our universe?”
Norman hesitated. “That I wanted to see my son again?” he paused. “Yes okay, I see what you mean, and I still stand by that. However, I feel like you’d probably do a better job looking after him anyway, and I really just want what’s best for him, so this way everyone gets what they want.”
“You mean you get to avoid your responsibilities as a parent?”
“Yes, exactly. I do,” his voice quietened a little, “I do love my son, but you know that I’m not really great for him… so he’s probably better off without me anyway.”

“Hey,” Otto spoke softly. “Norman, don’t say that. I know the two of you have had your… issues in the past. I’m not going to tell you that’s not your fault or that you shouldn’t take accountability. I think you should acknowledge those mistakes.”
Norman listened, nodding along in the grocery store where he was waiting behind some poor person haggling with the cashier. Having recovered from the initial panic of hearing the goblin back in his head, he had realised he actually did need some milk, and went to get some. This turned out to be a very stupid descion from him as he was exhausted having just woken up from his coma and all that, and he’d really rather be having a nap right now. He shook his head and refocused on Otto’s voice.
“I do however think that you need to understand that you deserve a good relationship with your son, and if you work for it you can achieve it, okay?”
Norman nodded before remembering that Otto couldn’t see him, quickly verbally agreeing.
“I’ll do my best.” He said, confident with this statement even though his best wasn't that good.
“Norman, I won’t parent for you, but if you want my help I’d be happy to parent with you. You have to learn to be present in Harry’s life.”
“Alright.” Agreed Norman. He didn’t really feel like getting lectured on his parenting right now. Of course he knew his friend was right, and he wanted to try to do better for Harry. He was going to do better. Just not right now. Maybe after he'd gotten some sleep.

Otto took the moment of quiet to think about Peter Parker. Whenever he had spent time with Peter, the boy hadn’t shut up about his two best friends, Harry and MJ. In fact, now that he thought about it, Peter Parker really wasn’t the type to break someone’s heart. Sure, he might not have felt the same way as Harry (though something made Otto doubt that), but Peter Parker was definitely not the kind of guy to be rude about a rejection, and most definitely not to Harry Osborn.
“In fact, I’ve got a parenting exercise for you,” Otto mused. He heard a grunt of acknowledgement from Norman and continued, “You and I are going to have a little chat with the boy who hurt your son.”
“...the what?”

Chapter Text

Peter Parker was swaggering down the street. His shirt was buttoned a little too low, and his confidence was probably a little too high. He flashed finger guns at some middle aged mother, who covered her kids eyes. Norman and Otto watched with bewilderment.
“I don’t know about you, but that,” Otto gestured with one of his mechanical arms, “is not the Peter Parker I know.” Norman shrugged.
“People change.”
“Yeah, but not like that. I mean, what is that?” He pointed to Peter tripping some grown-ass man over and then saying; “Watch where you’re going, chump,” before cackling and continuing on his merry way.
“Something’s definitely off,” Otto frowned.
“Watch out, he’s coming this way.”

Peter waltzed up to where the scientists were standing in the mouth of an alleyway, looking them up and down, unimpressed.
“Ew, who let you two out of the freak show?” He snarked, seemingly not seeing Otto’s arms, just commenting on their faces. Norman frowned. Did Peter not recognise them?
“Peter.” Octavius had confusion in his voice. “We need to have a discussion.”
“You should've thought of that earlier.” Peter said.
“Thought of what?”
“Good riddance.” Peter sidled past them, dancing back down the street and up the steps of the Daily Bugle. Norman frowned, turning to Otto.
“...What now?” He asked. Otto nodded, a little frown of determination gracing his face.
“Well, we’re not giving up that easily, Norman. I know where Peter lives.”

≁လ≁

The Daily Bugle was, as usual, filled with the furious shouts of J. Jonah Jameson.
“What the hell were you thinking, Brock?”
A journalist leaned over to Betty Brant. “Didn’t they fire that guy?”
“Oh yeah, but ever since Peter got kidnapped by Spider-Man,” Betty nodded at the man's disbelieving expression. “We’ve been down a photographer, so Mr. Jameson hired Brock again.”
The journalist nodded, and they went back to watching the exchange along with the rest of the office. Somebody passed around a box of popcorn.

“Sir, in my defence, he said I wasn’t allowed to see his daughter, the love of my life Gwen Stacy.”
“Don’t care! I was never one for romantics! They’re stupid and expensive!”
“Sir, I’m just trying to say-”
“Shut up! You attempted to physically assault-”
“-Kick the ass of” Brock mumbled.
“-Captain Stacy of the NYPD, do you understand how this looks on my business! On top of that, you lost! To an old man!”

“Sir, it won’t happen again-”
“I don’t care! You’re fired!”
Brock was pretty desperate. “Sir, please, not again-”
“Get out!”
Eddie left JJ’s office with his head hung, hanging back to eavesdrop on Betty Brant who leaned into the office.
“Sir, what about our photographer? Without Brock or Parker, we don’t have one!”

As if by magic, Peter Parker waltzed in the doors. The staff of the Bugle parted before him like the red sea. Eddie watched on in dismay as Peter made his way through the office like some kind of glorious saviour. Eddie scoffed.
“Parker!” Jameson sounded relieved, and if he were anyone else, he would’ve sprang up and hugged Peter.
“You’re back! And just in time - I need an insider story on Spider-Man! You know him, you’ve been at his mercy! Care to give me a headline article?”
“I sure can, Mr. Jameson.” The charming smile he’d been flaunting for the past few days seemed a little weaker than usual, but Jameson paid it no mind.
“Just gotta go on a bathroom break?”
Jameson nodded. “Of course! Anything for a victim of Spider-Man helping to make me some money!””
Betty Brant caught Peter’s arm as he was headed back down the stairs towards the bathroom.
“Where were you really, this past week?” She questioned, not for one second about to believe that he had actually been kidnapped by Spider-Man. Peter shrugged, moving to the side so that Gwen Stacy could squeeze past.
“Here and there, took a trip to the coast,” He responded before she let him go. Betty smirked after him as he continued on. Maybe she’d have to ‘get kidnapped by Spider-Man’ for a week - she deserved some time off. Behind her, Gwen Stacy slapped Eddie Brock across the face.

Peter barged into the bathroom, breathing heavily. He didn’t actually need to pee, he just had a growing discomfort where the symbiote was lodged in his brain. Everything was too loud. It was this damn suit, suffocating him under his ‘civilian’ clothes. He had to get it off. It had changed him. He had hurt people. He was so busy leaning over the sink he didn’t notice the rush of a sniffling man into a toilet stall behind him. It wasn’t until the symbiote started shaking due to the loud crying and Eminem blaring out of a shitty phone speaker that Peter even realised he wasn’t alone. Nasally lyrics shouted along by a blubbering stranger echoed around the bathroom walls, the room’s acoustics amplifying the sound and it was so loud, too loud, too loud! Peter tore desperately at the slime on his skin that was convulsing in the shit-storm of noise coming from the cubicle and it slowly tore apart and away from him, writhing in pain until finally Peter shook the last of the slime from his hands and onto the bathroom floor. He watched the little thing crawl over the tiles. While that could be a potential problem for later, he was exhausted from a week of fighting that thing, and he shook his head thinking to himself, ‘I miss the part where this is my problem’. He quickly turned and ran out of the bathroom.

Meanwhile, back in the bathroom stall, Eddie Brock was bawling his eyes out. This just had not been a very good week for him at all. All because of Peter Parker. Little did he know, his week was about to change big time.
“What the-'' Some black slime grabbed his ankle. He flinched at the cold and slimy sensation, screaming and dropping his phone in the toilet where Eminem continued to play, just more muffled and a lot bubblier.
“OH MY GOD!!” He shrieked. “SOMEBODY HELP ME!! I DON’T KNOW HOW BUT I KNOW THIS IS PETER PARKER’S FAULT!! OH WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK!! HEEELLLLPPPPPPP!!” The slime crept into his mouth and he shut up, going cross-eyed in terror. Eddie burst out of the bathroom stall, the last of his face being encapsulated by some strange black mask, which then bubbled back below his skin and he cracked his neck, eyes whitening before returning to their original colour with a renewed hunger. He stared at his reflection, catching a shadow of something foreign and - almost hot? The newfound power bubbled hotly under his skin and he cocked his head, preparing to abuse this power.
“I’m going to kill Peter Parker.” He grinned, a drop of black goo glistening on his cheek before retreating again.

≁လ≁

Peter made his way up the stairs to his apartment, exhausted. He’d just expelled an alien from his body and mind, nearly been in a car accident and hadn’t been to work in a week so hadn’t been paid. Oh, and Mr. Jameson was expecting him to do a full report on how the evil Spider-Man had kidnapped him (Peter wasn’t even a reporter). His day was not improved by the obnoxious holler from the bathroom behind him.
“Rent!” Echoed through the door and Peter hurried into his apartment before Mr. Ditkovich could burst out of the room with his pants around his ankles.

Closing the door behind him, Peter almost let out a sigh of relief until his spider sense went off. Slowly he turned around to see both Doctor Octavius and Norman Osborn standing in his kitchen with folded arms and menacing glares. ‘Goddammit,’ Peter thought, mentally preparing himself for a fight. Surprisingly, neither of them made a move towards him, Octavius only gestured to Peter’s kitchen table with a mechanical arm.
“Take a seat,” The doctor spoke, not intending it as a suggestion. Peter was on high alert, unsure of how to proceed. Would he just sit down at the order of one of the most dangerous villains he had ever encountered? He supposed they were on good terms now, but Octavius’s glare seemed to contradict that. Very carefully, he sat at the table, poising his hands under the table to shoot webs if either of them suddenly attacked.

Otto pulled up some chairs for himself and Norman, and they sat down, regarding Peter in a fashion similar to how Uncle Ben used to whenever Peter came home late. They glared at him with the strictness of parents, maybe. Peter didn’t really have any experience with that.

“So. Peter. Let’s try this again” Peter felt very uncomfortable under Otto’s stern glare. And a little confused. Had he spoken to them recently? He’d been so far within the clutches of the symbiote these last few hours it was difficult to remember.
“Something has come to our attention. Hasn’t it?” He nudged Norman, who nodded a little stiffly.
“Yes.” He agreed. “Parker…”
They must be here to kill him. Surely. Why else? Peter leaped from his seat in preparation for a strike.
“When was the last time you spoke with Harry?” Norman looked disapprovingly up at Peter. Confused, Peter sat slowly back down, suddenly feeling worse. A fight he could handle. But they wanted to know about Harry?

Oh no, Harry. Peter couldn’t remember a lot of his time with the symbiote, but recalled his last interaction with his friend clear as day.
“Well the last time we spoke, it was a bit of a fight.” Peter began. Norman looked ready to fight Peter from this statement alone, but was gently pushed back by a metal arm. He resorted to giving Peter a menacing look.

“In my defence, he attacked me first. Sir. Sirs.” Peter was unsure how to address the criminals, but he supposed a respectful route was best, so as not to further anger anybody.
“He attacked you, you say.” Doctor Octavius kept his tone neutral as he spoke. “With what intention?”
“Well, uh, I believe his intention was to kill me.”
“But you aren’t dead?”
“Yes. He spared my life.” Peter felt guilty at the recollection. Harry had spared his life, but all he could think about at the time was himself and his symbiote.
“He spared you? Interesting.”
“And how did you repay him, Parker?” Norman spat. Peter looked down, feeling horrible. He did not expect that he’d be being held accountable for his actions by two people who had committed many heinous crimes.

He frowned a little, glancing up at the two. “How do you guys know about this? I thought you,” he pointed at Otto, “were in jail, and you,” he looked confused at Norman, “were comatose?”
Octavius leaned towards him.
“Just answer the question, Peter.” But Peter didn’t want to answer the question. This reminded him of the time he’d come clean to Aunt May about his indirect involvement in Uncle Ben’s death. It had been a much more difficult confession, but in a way it had been a lot easier considering Aunt May didn’t have a track record of murder. (At least, that Peter knew of)
“Look, I said some things I shouldn’t have.” The silence that followed was a clear prompt to continue. “I was like ninety percent sure he was going to tell me he loved me, so I said that was… embarrassing.”
Norman scowled and gave his head a vigorous shake, probably dismissing homicidal thoughts. Peter waited a moment before continuing.
“I said that I would never love him. Or maybe that no one would ever love him. I don’t remember.” His shame was clear in his words. “But I didn’t mean it! It was a mistake.”

Norman regarded him with piercing eyes. “Peter,” He began, leaning back. “I haven’t been a very good father to my son. But you know that. You know I once pictured you as the young man I hoped he would become. But seeing you now… I don’t know how I could have ever thought to value you above him. He’s my son. I love him, and anyone who hurts him, I want to hurt back.”
Otto shot Norman a warning expression but Norman placed a hand on the arm across his chest, which relaxed slightly.
“I’m not going to do that, because I’m trying to get better at handling the- my… anger.” Norman tripped on his words a little to avoid the mention of the goblin.
‘What the hell is going on,’ Peter wondered, rather baffled.
“Instead,” Norman leant forwards and his gaze turned icy again. “I’m going to ask you why.”

Peter regarded Norman, still a little confused. About the whole situation and the question.
“Why?” He repeated.
Norman’s voice didn’t raise, but his glare deepened as he stared Peter down.
“Why,” Norman continued, “you made that mistake. What you possibly could have meant to say that wouldn’t have rendered my son upset enough to come to me.”
There was pain evident in Norman’s voice, and clearly he didn’t want to be a last resort in Harry’s life, despite it having been his fault that that was what he was. Peter could sense guilt coupled with the anger and protectiveness wavering from the scientist’s words.

“Sir, you have to understand that I would never say those things. I was under the influence of this alien-symbiotic thing.” Peter frowned, getting distracted. “Actually, I don’t know where that is right now. I should go and look for it before it hurts anyone else, I-”
Peter was cut off by Norman slamming his hands on the table in frustration.
“Answer the question first! How do I know you didn’t mean what you said? That you didn’t want to hurt him?” He demanded, Otto watching the exchange silently. Norman looked almost feral and Peter was a little scared if he was being honest. But how could he convince Norman that he was telling the truth? That the mere thought of saying those things tore him up with more than just guilt and regret? How could he say how he felt? It was obvious he needed to think of an answer quickly or risk a rematch with his angry adversary.

“I would never have said any of that myself, and you should know that. You should know that I would never willingly hurt him!” Peter’s emotions boiled within him, but he knew he was right, and it had to be understood. He would never hurt Harry. And he would never let anyone else hurt him.
“I could never do that because I l- care about him! More than you ever have.” Peter glared across at Norman, who had completely dropped his menacing air, and instead stared at Peter, shocked. But Peter knew he still didn't understand. He just couldn’t think of the words to convey how very much he cared, how he would do anything for Harry. Most of all he was angry that anyone could ever believe he would want to hurt him. He couldn’t keep himself from lashing out.

“Ironic that you suddenly care so much about him.” Peter felt strangely defensive. “It’s been me who stood by him all these years, trying to ease the pain that you caused. I was the one who he always came to when he was upset, usually because of you or at least because you were never around” Peter didn’t realise he’d stood during his small rant. He carefully returned to his seat, not regretting his words. It was simply the truth. Peter knew that Harry had always seen himself as the one protecting Peter, but on a much deeper emotional level, it had been Peter looking after Harry since the day they met. For Harry's main antagonist, his father, to insinuate that Peter was out to hurt Harry… it made him so unspeakably mad and frustrated.

Norman sat back, defeated. He avoided Peter’s eye, hit by the truth within his words. Meanwhile Dr Octavius was looking at Peter with a very knowing smile that Peter didn’t like. Peter uncomfortably shifted his focus back to Norman, who had a sad, faraway look in his eyes.
“Peter.” Doc Ock spoke softly but sternly.
“Yeah?”
“I think you should apologise to Harry.”
Peter glanced over at Norman, before speaking quietly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Osborn. I didn’t mean all that.”
Norman nodded, and it could’ve been the light, but he looked incredibly old in that moment.
Doc Ock smiled, clapping metallic claws on Norman and Peter’s backs. “Ok, now let’s go find Harry before he does something stupid.”
“You’re probably too late for that.” Peter quipped with a fond little smile.
“You’re coming too.” Otto informed him.
Peter frowned, the thought of seeing his friend after their last encounter twisting in his stomach like food poisoning. He supposed he was going to have to make this right though, because he had hurt Harry, one thing he had promised Harry (and himself) that he’d never do.
“Wait, right now?” Peter asked. Otto looked at him, somewhat exasperated.
“Yes, now. Come on.” A large metal arm scooped Peter up into the air, to which he thrashed alarmedly for a moment, before realising he wasn’t getting released and calming down. Norman had been picked up too, and he merely hung dejectedly in the air as Otto carried them out of the door and down the stairs. Mr Ditkovich couldn’t believe his eyes.

- One hour earlier -

Harry kicked a pebble down the street, frowning to himself. The voices of his father and Otto battled in his head, like a little angel and devil on either of his shoulders, his dad weighing on the arm connected to his hand clutching a half-drunk bottle of gin. He knew his outward day-drinking was extremely unbecoming of him, but he couldn’t care less at this point. His dad, sporting a malicious grin, tugged his attention one way.
“You can do it. Come on, show that little bitch who’s boss!”
One of Otto’s arms reached over and smacked Norman, begging Harry,
“No, you just need to talk to him. If you feel angry, try and take some time off before you see him because you know you’ll just hurt him.”
“Yes! Hurt him! Hurt him like he hurt us!” The little Norman cheered. Harry frowned and shook his head, trying to disperse the little hallucinations - was that what they were? No, probably just figments of his imagination.

He hated how tempting his father was sounding. He knew it wasn't really his father. God, not this again. He’d just seen his dad. He needed to talk to somebody, and he couldn’t exactly go to Peter. Breathing out shakily, he tried to clear his head for a second. Who could he talk to? Who would listen to him (that wasn’t his father, Peter or a stupid butler). Oh wait! He turned on his heel and headed to MJ and John’s. Even with Harry’s… complicated relationship with MJ, she was his best friend other than Peter. She’d understand - she liked Peter too for a while. Harry only cringed internally hoping she wouldn’t hold anything against him for getting jealous whenever she and Pete would hang out without him. Why would she? Harry tried to calm his nerves and stop overthinking, speeding up a little bit. He would drive, but he had a little too much alcohol in his system for it to be considered legal.

Meanwhile, Eddie Brock was waiting in the foyer of John and MJ’s house. He figured, if JJ wouldn’t listen to him now, he’d probably be a bit more interested in what Eddie had to say if his son and daughter-in-law were in Eddie’s possession. He liked the new strength coursing through his veins. He could do anything now. The only problem was that the two of them were out for the day, so instead of the people he was actually looking for, he got a lost-and-slightly-intoxicated-looking man.

Harry entered the building and was met with a short blond man who looked awfully familiar.
“Uh, is MJ home?” He asked. The man raised an eyebrow.
“No, she’s on a date,” he responded in a tone that may have been sarcastic. In Harry’s drunken state, he completely forgot that MJ was married and his fists clenched.
“With Peter?” He asked, doing a terrible job at keeping his hurt out of his voice. Just his luck - he’d come to talk to MJ about Peter, but she was off enjoying his requited love somewhere. The man tilted his head, an unpleasant glint in his eye.
“Peter Parker?” The man clarified. Harry swore under his breath, muttering something about murder. The man leaned forwards, clearly interested.
“Say, you’re not too happy about this, are you?” He asked, Harry responding by glaring up at him with bright eyes.
“Wanna get revenge on Parker with me?”
Harry looked up at the man (who was shorter, but Harry was lower down on some stairs), trying to think of where he recognised him from. Slowly, the little Norman on his shoulder nodded Harry’s head up and down for him. The man beamed.
“Great!” He exclaimed, sticking out his hand. “I’m Eddie Brock.”

Ohhh. He was that guy that fought Peter in that jazz bar. Harry squinted a little, asking, “Aren’t you that guy that fought Peter in that jazz bar? He kicked your ass,”
Brock frowned.
“Let’s just say I’ve had a little… upgrade since then.” Brock grinned, black slime closing around his face to form a terrifying mask of sorts. Harry blinked, shaking his head a little. He’d seen uglier faces (Bernard).
“Sure man.” He said. “That’s a cool goo thing.” He pointed a little shakily at Eddie’s face, before smiling playfully.
“I’ve got some cool stuff too. Wanna see?”
“Hell yeah.”

The Osborn’s penthouse was still a mess. Some job Bernard was getting paid for, jesus. Harry opened the secret alcove behind the mirror, pulling out his favourite weapons and, of course, the glider.
“Sick dude,” Eddie grinned, fiddling with a pumpkin bomb. “What does this do?”
Harry snatched it off him before he could detonate it. Eddie whined in protest at its confiscation.
“Don’t touch that.” Harry instructed, fiddling with his blade gauntlets.
“Oh my god, what if those had like a flamethrower in them?” Eddie poked at one of the gauntlets, nearly getting impaled. Harry turned to him a little annoyed.
“Are you sure you’re up for this Brock?” He asked, to which Brock shrugged. He rummaged in the cabinet and handed Harry a drink, raising an eyebrow and responding,
“Are you up for this, Osborn?”
Harry accepted the drink wordlessly, before frowning. “Did I tell you my name?”
Eddie shook his head. “Nah, but it’s everywhere.” He gestured to Norman’s many scientific awards plastered on the walls. Harry sighed, bitterly reminded of his life's failure. Great timing.

A couple of minutes later, Harry had gathered his favourite parts of gear he owned, and Eddie proudly handed Harry one gauntlet.
“Throw the flame at me!”
Harry stared at him in bewilderment. “What?”
A protective shield of goo formed in front of Brock. “I said, do it!” Brock taunted.
Harry sprayed flame, melting a bit of goo. Brock’s laugh turned to a pained yelp, and a section of the slime detached, bubbling on the ground before going limp. Eddie shook out his arm which the slime was retreating into, mirroring Harry’s wide-eyed expression.
“...I guess we don’t like fire,” Eddie observed. Harry nodded, staring at where the little puddle of slime on the floor was, well, dead.
“There’s something else you should probably know about Peter,” Harry spoke hesitantly.
“What, that he has a small dick? I could have guessed.” Brock shrugged.
“No, actually,” Harry frowned. “He’s Spider-Man.”
Eddie stared at him.
“...you’re joking, right?”

Before Harry could respond, Eddie shushed him, tilting his head as if listening to something far away.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” He said, tone changing from goofy to serious. Harry turned to where the man had once stood, a tall black alien watching him instead impatiently.
“I said, let’s go!” Brock repeated before leaping out of the window. Harry frowned, but carefully mounted his glider, following Brock a little unsteadily into the night.

Not a minute after their departure, Otto, Norman and Peter clambered in through the large open windows. Or, more accurately, Otto clambered in, carrying Norman and Peter. They both probably could’ve got there themselves, but they weren’t going to deny a free lift. Otto dumped Peter unceremoniously onto the ground, carefully placing Norman on a couch.
“Thank you dear,” Norman smiled, standing up and dusting himself off. Peter got up from the floor, grunting a little at the special treatment. He looked around, and not seeing Harry, began to wander about looking for him. After a quick search, he returned to where the others were.
“He’s not here.”
Norman shrugged. “Well, he could be anywhere. Have you tried calling him?”
Otto picked up Harry’s phone from a side table.
“Ah,” Norman said, frowning in concern. Otto looked between Norman and the open, mostly empty liquor cabinet, wondering if he had noticed or was going to connect the dots. He heard Norman half-heartedly say, “Oh no,” and followed his eyeline to where Peter was standing by a mirror.
“Hey, I found a secret door? Do you think it’s important?”
Otto leaned back into the couch cushions proudly.

“Actually, I took everything incriminating out of there. There’s nothing that could be traced to the Green Goblin in there.”
Norman smiled a little gratefully, still wincing at the name. Peter’s brow furrowed, and he added, “I never told Harry, y’know.”
Norman gave a stiff nod in thanks.
“Hey, there is some stuff in here though!” Peter called, his voice echoing from where he’d poked his head into the secret alcove. “Looks like stuff’s been taken pretty recently,” he continued. Norman and Otto exchanged a worried glance before getting up to investigate. Otto looked around, knitting his brows at the shelves of missing pumpkin bombs , weaponary and - the glider was gone.
“He was on a glider before, when he attacked me,” Peter said quietly to Otto, who nodded.
“It may have been the one Norman used to use,” Otto mused.

“Oh no! My rug!” Norman exclaimed from behind them. Peter turned to see Norman staring at a little puddle of black …sludge? Staining his carpet.
“Wait.” Peter rushed over, grabbing a nearby umbrella. Norman protested a little, but Peter shushed him, prodding at the substance. He exhaled sharply, standing up.
“What is it, Peter?” Otto asked.
“That,” Peter gestured at the slime. “That’s part of the alien that was… bonded with me.”
Norman caught on first.
“You think the alien got Harry?” There was something unfamiliar in his voice.
Peter chewed the inside of his mouth. One part of him was telling him not to trust Norman, that Harry only needed him. He shook that part of him out - Norman was worried like Peter, if not as much, Harry was his son and Norman wanted to help.
“Yeah, I think it did,”

Otto watched the two, both trying to keep their worry disguised from the other. He stepped in, trading (what he hoped was) a calming glance between them.
“Well then, we’ll get him back. Think, Peter, when the alien infected you, what happened? Were you still, you?”
Peter frowned. “I- I don’t know. I was still me, but like, the worst possible version. I think Doctor Connors-” Otto and Norman traded a look remembering a human lizard of the same name they had encountered in the multiverse. “-said it amplifies negative traits. Like aggression. So it sort of builds on what's already there, if you get what I’m trying to say.”
“Fascinating.” Otto remarked. Norman was still thinking about lizards.
“And last time I saw Harry, he was pretty aggressive as it was,” Peter said, sitting on the floor.

“So, how do we separate the symbiote from Harry?” Otto asked, glancing over at Norman who appeared deep in thought.
“It doesn’t like loud noises - especially Eminem music.” Peter supplied, remembering how he’d gotten rid of the alien in the bathroom. Suddenly hit with a wave of guilt, he wrapped his arms around his legs. He could’ve stopped the alien, he remembered watching it squelch off and thinking ‘not my problem’, and now, because of him, Harry was in trouble. He felt a cool metal arm awkwardly pat him on the back.
“We can go out and find him?” Doc Ock suggested. “You can talk to him and apologise for saying those things, and we can get the alien out of him.”
Peter nodded, looking at the ground so as not to cry. “Good plan.”
Norman looked up from his thoughts, reluctant to admit that Peter knew his son better than he did, but his concern overpowered his pride.
“Where would we usually find him?” He asked.
Peter glanced down at his hands. “First place to check would probably be my Aunt May’s house. I can go there. We should split up to cover more ground. Osborn, you could check downtown and Otto try the Oscorp offices?”
Otto clapped his human hands together. “Right then!” He smiled. “Let’s get going!”

Chapter Text

Peter Parker was having a stressful day. The only good thing to happen today was he’d managed to pay his rent, much to Mr. Ditkoviches delight. Now he was on his way to pay a visit to Aunt May. More importantly, he was looking for his missing friend, who could be at the mercy of an aggressive symbiote, so he was in his Spider-Man suit in case of a fight.

His spider-sense went off as he rounded the corner to May’s street, sensing somebody’s eyes on him. He turned around just in time to duck out of the way of the man barrelling directly at him on his slightly battered glider. He turned to catch the second attack from the masked assailant, jumping back and straight into an unpleasantly familiar black symbiote. The dark venomous creature picked Spider-Man up with ease, throwing him against the pavement. The uneven concrete dug into Peter’s back as he tried to process what was happening. He sprung back up to combat the onslaught of attacks. One of his assailants, he observed as he webbed them up, was Eddie Brock, although completely covered with that malicious slime. Ah. So it hadn’t gone after Harry. Instead, it was Brock that appeared as a strange black creature. Peter didn’t have too much time to take it in before his other assailant lifted him up into the air on the glider. Oh. Of course. Peter knew that the man fighting wearing a mask could only be Harry. So… Harry wasn’t controlled by the symbiote, but was still working with it? His thoughts were interrupted by Eddie, who grabbed him and slammed him back down into the ground. That one hurt.

J. Jonah Jameson was having an average day. He was strolling down a suburban street when his day got 1000 times better. He whipped out his phone and called the Daily Bugle.
“Betty! Where’s Parker? I need my photographer!”
“Um, Parker’s on time off, I have no idea, sir.”
“Well tell someone to get their ass down here! The Spiderman is attacking civilians!”
Betty sighed on the other side of the line.
“I’ll get Phil Sheldon on it. But sir, the escaped convict Flint Marko is also at large, people are calling him the Sandman-”
“Don’t care!” JJ barked. “Here’s the headline: Spider-Man fights random black citizens- racist-man!”
“...sir we can’t print that-”
He hung up on her and smiled, before getting out of the way of the action. He was going home to put his feet up, and maybe just maybe treat himself to a glass of wine. Well. This just made his day.

Peter yelled as the venom goo tried to wrap around his torso, simultaneously slick and sharp as knives. He sprung off a nearby wall and the alien-arm-things tore through the base of the bricks, recoiling slightly, which Peter used as an advantage to slingshot into Harry, kicking the mask off his face. Yep, definitely Harry. Enraged, Harry attacked Peter with renewed energy, tackling him around the waist and flipping him into the outstretched tendrils of Eddie’s slimy companion.
“You should get that checked out!” Peter quipped before the wind was knocked out of him. The goo retracted momentarily from Eddie’s face who grinned maliciously.
“Oh, I don’t think I will, Parker.” He smirked as if he’d just said something really badass. “Now. Let’s see if it really is you.” Brock pulled off Peter's mask, seeming satisfied when he saw his face. Peter shivered at the hungry look in Brock’s eyes, choosing instead to turn and face Harry.

There wasn’t much Peter could do other than turn between them as the symbiote had completely secured him in a death grip, slowly squeezing him as Harry reeled back his fist and punched his face. And then did it again. And again. Peter spat some blood out as Harry punched him again, clearly only getting more angry. Peter struggled for a bit before resorting to trying to catch his breath. He looked up at Harry, noticing his eyes were shining a bit as he laid into his best friend.
“Harry,” Peter coughed between punches. He watched Harry’s face twitch, his eyebrows drawing together and his punches becoming a bit weaker.
“Please,” Peter begged. He didn’t care if Harry kept hitting him. He just wanted him to understand. “I didn’t ever want to hurt you. I-” He was cut off by a harder hit before Harry retreated, staring at him.
“‘I couldn’t. You know I’d never hurt you like that,” Peter pleaded. Harry’s eyes got wider and his hands loosened a bit. Peter offered Harry a bloody smile, weakly chuckling.
“Hell, I can barely fight you.”
Brock looked between the two of them impatiently before turning to glare at Harry.
“Well?” He demanded, squeezing Peter tightly causing him to cough.

‘Oh no no god no no,’ Harry thought as he looked down at the person that meant the most to him in the whole world.
“Well?” Brock’s voice knocked painfully on the outside of his thoughts, yelling in unison with his father’s voice in his head;
“Finish it!”
He couldn’t do it. He was too weak. Too goddamn soft. But that didn’t matter. He didn’t care, he didn’t want to do it, so he wouldn’t. He wasn’t like his father or Peter. He didn't want to fight. He didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore.
“No,” He shook his head. Brock sighed, smacking him out of the way and continuing what Harry had started.
“No!” Harry restated, grabbing Brock from behind and throwing him as far away as he could from Peter. He immediately then dive-tackled the now-rather-pissed Brock, who was allowing the alien to cover his entire body bar his face.

Peter watched them grapple for a moment.
“Eddie, stop! This isn’t you!” He called, struggling to stand up.
“Oh Peter,” Eddie chuckled as he fought. “I’m the most ‘me’ I’ve ever been.”
Wincing and clutching his stomach, Peter was helpless to stop the alien from plunging a blade-like tendril into Harry’s shoulder, resulting in a pained cry.
“Loser,” Eddie commented, before slamming Harry’s face into the concrete.
Peter couldn’t move, he could only watch and scream at Eddie.
“Stop! Eddie, please stop! You’re killing him!”
Harry lay still on the concrete, the only sign he was still alive being a twitching finger. Brock turned to Peter with a venomous grin, realisation dawning on him. The alien lifted Brock into the air, black extensions of slime hoisting Harry carelessly with him.

“You know what Parker?” Eddie tilted his head and patted Harry’s cheek with a sharp-looking tendril, leaving a thin line of blood.
“This is fun! I’m gonna kill you, and your boyfriend!” He frowned suddenly as police sirens echoed from nearby. Peter sighed, quietly relieved. Fighting on a residential street, someone was bound to alert the authorities.
“The cops are coming, Eddie. Let him go.” Brock looked around, panicked for a moment before his evil grin returned.
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“Eddie, I’m serious.” Peter’s voice was a little strained. “You need to fight this. I can help you. Just put him down.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Eddie shook Harry a little bit, whose head lolled unresponsively. “I’ll tell you what. Right now I gotta bounce. But, I’ll tell you what. Meet me at the clock tower at midnight tonight, come alone, then we’ll talk. And by talk I mean I’ll kick your ass. For good,” This didn’t really make sense but Peter was too panicked to make a wisecrack about Eddie’s logic.
“Eddie,” Peter’s voice broke a little, his usually calm composure completely gone. “You don’t have to do this.”
Brock tilted his head at Peter.
“What was it you told me?” He mused, beginning to back away holding the unconscious Harry hostage. “See ya, chomp.”

Peter watched their retreating backs with pain ringing through his head, as well as his heart. He had watched Harry’s descent into villainy and he hadn’t even tried to help. Obviously, he had been under the control of the alien, but even before that, he hadn’t been as good a friend to Harry as he should’ve been. He recalled a night before Harry had learned that Peter was Spiderman, really the last time Peter could remember himself giving Harry the support he needed.

≁လ≁

“Parker!” Barked J Jonah Jameson. “Why aren’t you getting a photo of this?” Peter assumed ‘this’ meant another old couple dressed in clothes more expensive than Aunt May’s house. High society galas were the worst. The gross exuberance of wealth always made Peter uncomfortable, but apparently, it sold well in good newspapers, so here he was with a camera and a press-pass, photographing some property developer and his wife. He snapped the photo, smiling politely at them before frowning at a familiar figure in the side of the frame. He turned to where Harry was sitting over at the bar. Peter hadn’t expected to see him here, but it did make tonight seem a little better. Smiling a bit, he went over to say hi.
Clapping his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezing a bit, Peter greeted Harry with a cheerful,
“Hey!” A closer look at his friend revealed that Peter might have come into this with the wrong energy. Harry looked miserable and was clutching a plastic champagne flute. He gestured to the bartender to bring some more over and Peter watched him with worried eyes. “Hey, you might wanna take it easy,” He suggested softly. Harry shrugged Peter’s hand off his shoulder, instead swiping the bottle from the bartender and knocking his glass off the table. The bartender raised his eyebrows judgmentally before leaving to serve another customer.

Peter reached over to confiscate the new glass in Harry’s hand, regarding him in concern before speaking. “Are you okay?”
Harry turned to him, eyes glistening with anger and grief. “Pete, my father was just killed by spider-man. Would you be okay?”
“Harry, he isn’t dead.” Peter reminded gently.
“He might as well be.” Harry scoffed. “All because of that… that-”
“Menace!” JJ’s voice echoed from a nearby conversation, probably also about spider-man. Harry lifted the bottle (as Peter was holding his glass) in cheers to that before taking a swig.
Peter looked over his shoulder at where JJ was quite occupied in what appeared to be an argument with Captain Stacy about spider-man, taking a quick glance around the venue to see if anyone was looking their way. He slipped one of his hands into Harry’s, squeezing it comfortingly. Harry didn’t reject this but scowled unhappily.

“You like him more than me, don’t you? Your buddy Spider-Man.” Harry didn’t look at Peter but kept holding his hand under the bar.
“No, of course not,” Peter reassured him.
“Then why won’t you tell me who he is?”
Peter hesitated, wincing at the genuine pain in Harry’s voice. “...Because he hasn’t told me,” Peter lied. He quickly moved on, “Harry, there is nobody in this world that I care about more than you, okay? I mean, I love MJ too, but that’s different.”
Harry huffed a little laugh that didn’t sound very happy. “Yeah.”

“There you are!” JJ clapped Peter heavily on the shoulder. “The mayor just walked in and I need pictures!”
“Uh, in a minute Mr. Jameson. I’ve got something more important to deal with.”
“What could possibly be more important?” JJ didn’t wait for an answer. “Fine. But I want those photos!”
Peter glared after him in annoyance before turning and taking his hand out of Harry’s.
Harry in response turned away, eyebrows flinching. He went to take another drink but Peter’s fingers wrapped around his, turning his palm away and, in fact, turning all of Harry to Peter. What Peter saw as he looked up at his best friend was a mixture of pain, confusion and gratitude, as well as something a little warmer shining from behind the fractured light in his eyes.
“Come on Harry, let’s get you home.”

Harry stiffened a little as Peter helped him out of his seat and wrapped an arm around his torso to support his weight.
“Don’t wanna go home,” He mumbled into the side of Peter’s head. His breath was warm and he leaned on Peter like he was the only thing stopping him from hitting the ground. Peter sighed, hauling his friend out of the fancy venue and out onto the street. He knew he was risking a lot at the Daily Bugle right now, but his priority was currently to make sure that Harry was safe.

When he had finally gotten Harry home, he was greeted by the unpleasant sight of Bernard.
“I can take it from here.” Bernard croaked. Peter looked at him skeptically.
“Fuck off Bernard!” Harry exclaimed, a little muffled by Peter’s hair which Harry refused to move his face out of.
Peter looked at Harry, who was wrapped around him, drooping sadly.
“Yeah I think you should go home for the night Bernard,” Peter suggested, squeezing past the butler while being careful not to bump Harry into any sharp edges. Peter could now understand why Harry didn’t want to go home. The place felt empty and cold. There were several kinda creepy masks hanging on the walls, with eyes that seemed to follow the pair as they made their way over to a couch where Peter could safely set Harry down. Harry relaxed a little before grabbing onto Peter’s hand.

“Pete,” He whispered, sitting upright. “Did you hear that?” He looked around frantically for the source of the phantom noise.
“It’s probably nothing,” Peter said in as calming a voice as he could muster.
“No, I definitely heard something.” Harry turned to Peter, wide-eyed. “Do you think it’s a ghost?” Peter couldn’t help but chuckle a little.
“No, I don’t think it’s a ghost.” He smiled.
“You don’t know that.”
“Look, no ghosts are going to get you while I’m here.” He said, patting Harry’s hair. Harry narrowed his eyes.
“And what about when you leave?” He smirked a little, probably thinking he held Peter in some kind of checkmate, where he couldn’t leave, lest allowing Harry to be attacked by ghosts. Obviously, Peter had no plans on leaving, but he didn’t believe in ghosts.
“I’m staying,” Peter said. Harry nodded with a small triumphant smile. He settled back, loosening his grip on Peter’s hand a little and inspecting his fingers carefully, a frown of concentration gracing his features.

“Hey, Pete,” He began tentatively.
“Yeah?”
“I love you, you know that?”
“I sure do, bud.”
Peter knew that wasn’t the best response, but he was tired. It was sort of late. For now, he curled up next to Harry (it was a really big couch) and let his hand be traversed. He’d come up with something better if Harry ever told him that sober. He sighed and wrapped his free arm around Harry’s waist, the taller one smiling and taking that hand too. He just kind of held them, not tightly as a lifeline, but enough that they wouldn’t fall out of his grip while they slept. Peter smiled a little into Harry’s back, intertwining their fingers while deciding not to think too much into this. And so with the presence of Harry beside him and the warm hands holding his, Peter drifted to sleep.

Chapter Text

Peter Parker was hurt. Harry had tried to fight him twice now and it was all Peter’s fault - he’d hurt him and now Harry was in danger, most likely believing that Peter hated him and would never want to talk to him again. Harry had stopped Eddie from killing Peter, but that was because he was a good person and couldn’t bear to stand by while Eddie killed someone. But what Peter had done to Harry was almost worse - okay, maybe he shouldn’t make that comparison - even so, Peter had broken him just like Norman subconsciously had, and if he didn’t find a way to save Harry, he’d die believing all that shit Peter had said to him, the cruel rejection of his confession. That was something that Peter knew he should be more shocked by, but somehow it didn’t seem out of the ordinary. In fact, his best friend's romantic feelings towards him was probably the least stressful thing that had happened to Peter this week. In a weird way it was almost relaxing. The only real issue with it was that it increased the guilt and the worry that Peter was feeling tenfold. He felt awful because of it. Oh yeah, and the fact that he was bleeding out of his face and having trouble standing.

For the sake of his identity, Peter ducked into a public bathroom to change out of the conspicuous suit, staggering out into the park and leaning against the wall. He knew he should probably go to the hospital, but the urgency of Harry’s situation was pressing on his shoulders with the weight of a building. He didn’t have time for medical attention, he had to plan his next move. The clock tower, midnight. He assumed Harry would have to be there, as Eddie was dramatic like that. Eddie planned to kill him. At least, Peter was pretty sure that’s what he meant by ‘kick your ass for good’. Wonderful. He had to pull himself together; sure, Eddie had the symbiote, but he had faced worse than this before. Doctor Octopus had been almost unstoppable when he was controlled by his mechanical limbs, and Norman had scared everyone shitless when he was the Green Goblin. They had been a lot more terrifying than some theatre kid with a slimy buddy.

Actually, now that he thought about it, where were those two? He needed to regroup and tell them what had happened - maybe they could help him? After all, if they were willing to scold Spiderman for mistreating Harry, surely they’d care enough to save him from certain death at the hands of an Eminem stan. Eddie had said to come alone… But he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed so if Peter brought company that stayed really quiet, he might be able to get Harry out of there safely, get him into the care of Otto and Norman (whom he still didn’t trust completely as a parent, but he figured Otto would whip him into shape). Then, he could get the symbiote off Brock and destroy it for good, hopefully saving Brock in the process and everyone could go home safely. But first of all, he was going to need some help.

Peter, Norman and Otto were back at Norman’s penthouse, standing around the coffee table.
“So, you’re telling me,” Otto frowned. “That this Broccoli guy is holding Harry hostage in exchange for you meeting him at a clock tower, at midnight? So he can kill you?”
Peter didn’t bother correcting Otto on Eddie’s name, simply nodding. “I don’t think I’m in a good enough state to get Harry safely out of harm's way, and he told to come alone but-”
Octavius cut him off. “If you think for one second that I’m going to let you do that alone then-”
“I was actually about to ask for your help.”
Norman nodded, folding his arms. “No problem,” He stated shortly. “You distract him, we’ll get my son.”
Otto smacked him, turning back to Peter.
“You won’t have to fight alone, Peter,” He spoke, interrupted slightly by the sound of a door opening.

MJ poked her head into the room.
“You guys are fighting someone? Well I want to help too!” She demanded.
“How long have you been here listening?” Peter asked.
MJ shrugged. “I think I caught most of it.” She started, taking a closer look at Peter. “Jesus, Peter, what happened to you?”
Norman without hesitation replied, completely unprompted, “He was hit by a train.”
MJ looked stunned.
“...What the fuck? Peter, whatever you’re doing is clearly too dangerous to do without people you trust.” She cast a side eye at Peter’s company. “I’m going to help you.”
Peter winced, not wanting to put her in any kind of danger, but MJ was stubborn and incredibly loyal. He looked to Norman for advice. Upon noticing Peter’s gaze, Norman nodded.

“Yes, brilliant idea.” He said though no one had spoken. “She can be the distraction.”
“No she will not.” Peter said as Otto whacked Norman a second time - not enough to hurt him but enough for him to complain under his breath. Peter continued,
“But actually… I do have an idea. Do you have an ipod, MJ?”
MJ wordlessly pulled out the ipod John had bought for her as a post-wedding gift - it had over 200 songs from multiple popular artists.
“Peter, are you going to explain why we’re teaming up with these guys?” MJ gestured (a little rudely but completely justified) to the two previously-evil scientists. Otto spoke to defend himself.
“Mary-Jane, I apologise for our last meeting. You have to understand, I was being controlled by an artificial intelligence, but if you choose not to trust me, I understand.”
Norman scowled and tried not to say something misogynistic.
“They want to help, MJ. Would you believe me if I told you they’re… good now?”
“Not really.”
“Look, MJ, Harry’s in trouble. I have to rescue him, and I’m going to take all the help I can get.”
Begrudgingly, MJ nodded in agreement. “Okay,” Peter clapped his hands together before leaning in. “So here’s the plan.”

Peter checked his watch. Five minutes to midnight. He was glad he was wearing his spider-suit, which kept him insulated from the cold night breeze. He stood at the base of the clock tower, nerves slightly calmed by the faint complaining coming from behind him.
“Come on Otto, you have those metal arms generating power! Surely they also generate warmth,”
“I’m not giving you my jacket, Norman.”
Peter shushed them as they got closer.
“Alright.” He whispered. “Dr Octavius, MJ, take the side door, and please try not to get noticed.” They nodded and he continued, “Norman, you stay here and keep watch, I don’t want any surprises tonight. Just stick to the plan and everything will be fine. Let’s go.” Peter began to crawl up the side of the tower. Eddie hadn’t specified he’d be at the top, but Peter just assumed it had the dramatic flair Brock loved so much. He leapt the last couple of metres and landed silently behind Eddie, who appeared busy humming and playing with the little goopy bits of string that were holding Harry upside-down on the inside of the clock. Harry’s eyes widened as he spotted Peter, who cleared his throat.
“Um, I’ve got a reservation for two under the name Brock?”
Eddie jumped in surprise, but quickly regained his composure.
“Ah, so nice of you to join us, Peter.” He smiled, the little tendrils around his face eerily resembling pointed teeth. “I figured this would be a good place for the famous Spider-man to meet his end.” Eddie continued, tilting his head a little and shaking Harry with one of the alien appendages. Harry struggled a little bit weakly before turning guilty eyes to Peter and saying, “Don’t, Pete. I’m not worth it.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Eddie chuckled. “Parker’s here, and now I’m gonna squash him like a bug.”
“Look, just put Harry down and we can talk.” Peter spoke, holding out his hands as if to tame an animal. Brock did not like that.
“You know what? I’ll put him down, but we’re not gonna talk, Parker. I’m gonna kick your little ass!”
Harry was dumped unceremoniously on the ground, where Peter mouthed at him to run before turning back to Brock.
“Bring it on.”

Peter leapt around, dodging the aggressive attacks from the symbiote-Brock complex. Heh, Peter chuckled, like an enzyme-substrate complex.
“Stay still you little shit!” Brock yelled, diving at Peter, the symbiote encasing his whole body.

Harry’s vision was a little blurry from being held upside-down for so long, so he couldn’t make out who was winning or losing. Regardless, he decided he had to help Peter. But before he could move to get up, he felt something cold on his skin. He quickly realised he was being grabbed by a metal arm, and looked around for Doctor Octavius, whom he spotted in the only doorway at the top of the tower. Harry was carefully extracted away from the action and into the stairwell.
“Are you alright?” Otto asked, placing Harry gently down. Harry nodded, blinking a little to get the spots out of his vision.
“Don’t move,” Otto instructed, poking out onto the rooftop to assess the situation. Peter seemed to be taking the alien quite well, perhaps even (as the kids would say) kicking it’s ass. But a frightened shout from somewhere near the base of the tower drew Otto’s attention away from the fight. Peter clearly heard it too, calling to Otto, “Go! Help him! Just make sure Harry’s safe!”
Otto nodded and leapt off the side of the building, extra appendages aiding his somewhat controlled descent. Eddie turned back to Peter as Harry winced, watching helplessly from the top of the stairs as he struggled to regain his bearings.
“I told you to come alone. Guess spiders aren’t very good at listening!” He yelled and flew at Peter, tackling him to the ground before the two fought their way up to the second highest point on the building, under the raised glass roof overhead. That couldn’t be good.

Norman was not too happy about being the lookout. He understood the logic, yes, but it still didn’t seem fair. When he’d been in the other universe, the three spider-men (far too many if you asked him) had ‘cured’ him, per say. This may have reduced his more sinister personality to little more than a voice in his head, but it also took away all the inhuman strength that had come with it. So it made sense that he shouldn’t be in the fight, but it was his son, in trouble, the very one he'd just promised to be a good dad to. Also, him being stuck out here landed him in the rather unfortunate position of being right in the path of a giant… sandstorm? He yelped in surprise as he was swept up in the cloud of dirt that moved in a way he would previously think not physically possible. “Help!” He called, hoping that one of his (though it pained him to admit) stronger companions would hear and rush to his rescue.

Harry heard footsteps behind him and turned to see MJ reaching the top of the stairwell.
“Hey,” She panted, a bit out of breath. He raised a hand in greeting and suddenly she was giving him a hug, tighter than he would’ve preferred but appreciated nevertheless.
“MJ you stay here, I’m going to help Peter.” Harry said as his vision was starting to unblur a bit. MJ shook her head like he was crazy.
“Absolutely not. You stay here. Don’t worry, we’ve got a plan,” She smiled, pulling out an ipod. Harry watched her in confusion. How was an ipod going to help? He should be out there protecting Peter, but MJ planned on helping with a fucking ipod? She patted his chest, offering him a little smile and said,
“Trust me.”
Before Harry could do or say anything, MJ had dialled the volume up as loud as it would go, positioned the ipod for a good echo and pressed play.

Peter was getting his ass handed to him - it appeared that since their last fight, Brock and the symbiote had had plenty of time to make each other’s acquaintance and were now one hell of a team. MJ had better hurry up. As if on cue, some tinny but loud Eminem music blasted out of the stairwell opening. Peter saw the symbiote’s eyes widen, before it fell back onto the floor, hitting its head and lying unmoving. He had to separate it from Brock in order to save him. Before Peter could do that however, he was nearly bowled over by Harry who had run over to hug him. Harry collided into him with a thud, arms squeezed tightly around Peter’s waist. Peter blinked before smiling, hugging Harry back.
“I’m so sorry,” Harry said, burying his face in Peter’s shoulder. After a second he pulled back.

“But also, you’re such an idiot! What were you thinking, endangering yourself recklessly without good cause? Pete, you can’t do that kind of thing, I-”
“Harry,” Peter cut him off, tugging off his mask. “It’s okay. I should be the one apologising.” Harry shook his head.
“I know you didn’t hurt my father,”
Peter’s chest suddenly felt a lot smaller than usual. He struggled to breathe out,
“I’m sorry for saying that nobody would ever love you. That’s a fucking lie and you know it. Hell, I love you.”
Harry raised an eyebrow quizzically at Peter’s language, processing what he just said. “You… love me.”
“Yes.”
“….Like romantically?”
“Yes.”
“Like as in more than friends?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” He stared at Peter mostly in disbelief before repeating quietly, “You love me,”

Peter watched Harry, worry churning in his stomach as he waited. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe Harry hadn’t meant it like that. Oh. This would be really awkward. His cheeks heated up as he prepared himself for a painful and somewhat humiliating rejection.
“I…” Harry offered Peter a tiny but genuine smile. “I love you too,”

Harry leaned in and kissed him, Peter reciprocated immediately and it felt just like it had all those years ago, when Harry had been an angsty teen harbouring secret feelings for his best friend and Peter had been a week away from an insect bite that would change his life. Right now either of them could only focus on the warmth blossoming in their hearts and between their lips. Harry could feel every brush of Peter’s eyelashes against his cheek, and Peter was pleasantly aware of Harry’s hands tightening on his waist. Harry gently pulled away to rest his forehead against Peter’s, taking in the wide blue eyes watching him in awe. He smiled before whispering breathlessly,
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that again.”
Peter grinned, hands steady on either side of Harry’s face, bathing in the beautiful quiet of the moment. This moment was cut short by MJ, who had previously been processing this new development.

“Ummm hey guys?”
They broke apart quickly, turning to MJ with identical flushed faces.
“It’s moving.” Her voice was a frightened whisper as she pointed to the symbiote currently jolting in a rhythmic fashion. Harry frowned.
“Is it… dancing?”
It began to rise, first headbanging, then incorporating some arm movements in time to the Eminem that was still playing from the stairwell. As Eddie got to his feet, his whole body appeared to be grooving to the music. The symbiote mask peeled back to reveal his face.
“Awww yeah.” He grinned, still nodding his head to the angry-white-boy-rap lyrics.
“This is my jam!” He bopped from side to side as he approached menacingly. Peter tugged Harry behind him and MJ retreated back into the stairway quietly.

“You know, as Marshall Mathers once said, now this looks like a job for me!”
Peter got ready to web him up.
“Listen Brock, I don’t want to hurt you. You’re being controlled by a symbiote right now, this isn’t you! It’s amplifying your bad traits,”
“As Eminem also said, I like being bad. It makes me feel good.”
Harry whispered to Peter, “I don’t think Eminem has ever said that.”
Peter nodded. “Harry, get out of here when you can,” Peter whispered, to which Harry nodded. He launched towards Brock, and Harry started running for the exit. Eddie flew towards Peter, but the little grin on his face and Peter’s spider-sense going crazy told him he’d fucked up. But how?

Without warning, a black alien fist soared towards his face. He ducked out of the way and webbed it down, but as Brock’s distorted laugh coupled with the aggressive rap music filled his ears, he watched Brock grab Harry and the symbiote flinging them up onto the glass roof above them. Peter chased close behind, leaving his mask on the ground. The symbiote swung Harry around the tower like a game of tag, Peter close behind.
“Stop struggling, you’ll make this harder.” It hissed at Harry who was twisting around in the air.
“Stop it Eddie, come on!”
Eddie paused, the alien legs stretching up so that he could dangle Harry just out of Peter’s reach.
“Not again,” Harry groaned as the world tipped upside-down. As Eddie outstretched him over the tower's edge the dizzying distance between him and the ground struck him. He closed his eyes in an attempt to avoid a headache.
“You know,” Eddie mused. “I am a bit of a sucker for romance. And you two,” He gestured to Peter with Harry, who clutched his stomach as he was suspended. “You remind me of my favourite romance, written by J. Jonah Jameson.”
“Eddie please, put him down,” Peter begged.
“Pete, let him talk,” Harry coughed, the wind tearing at his lungs.
“Romeo and Juliet. Get it? Because they both die at the end!” Eddie cackled. “It’s funny, because you know what happens to people Spiderman loves?”

Peter’s heart was racing, and he couldn’t take any more of this.
“Eddie, just let him go!” Peter cried. Eddie looked down in consideration before shrugging.
“Okay.”
He let Harry go.

Chapter Text

J. Jonah Jameson was, as usual, yelling at his staff.
“I told you to get those pictures of Spiderman fighting black citizens!”
A couple photographers were cowering, Betty stepping forward to defend them.
“Sir, you didn’t tell us where to go, you just said to ‘get down here’, and on top of that I highly doubt that Spiderman would fight innocent people.”
Robertson piped up, “Last time you saw Spider-man fighting a ‘black citizen’ it was white dude in a ninja suit”
“Shut up! I don’t care!” JJ huffed exasperatedly. “What matters is that we could’ve got a headline if you morons had actually been there! Now we don’t have a story.”
“Sir, please, I’ve been asking all week, we should cover Sandman.” Betty pleaded.
“Alright, fine. Sandman.” JJ scoffed. “Sounds like a day at the beach.”

Flint Marko himself had been blasting down the street as a tornado of sand, not really harming anyone, when a commotion caught his attention. He had flown over to see what was going on, and had somehow ended up in a fight with the infamous criminal Doctor Octopus. He ducked around mechanical arms swatting at him and words that he couldn’t quite make out over the roaring of sand constantly filling his ears. Every time a claw would try to capture a part of him he would disintegrate it. He frowned as Doc Ock shouted at him. He slowly filtered down into his human form, so as to better hear him. Doc Ock lowered himself to his feet, and another man ran over to him. Norman Osborn, Flint realised, the guy that ran Oscorp. What on earth was going on here?
“Otto.” Osborn spoke. “He was in the other universe. He has to be sent there to be cured.”
“But how?” Doc Ock swept a quizzical eye over Flint, who stared on in confusion.
“The wizard. He said that we were there because we knew Peter Parker was Spiderman.”
“I’m sorry, wizard?” Flint cut in.
“Yes, you’ll see in a moment.” Norman assured. “All you need to know is Spiderman's identity.”
“His identity?”
“Yes.” Doc Ock approached him cautiously. “His name is Peter Parker.”
And just like that, in a flash of golden light, Flint was gone. Otto frowned, turning to Norman. “Do you hear that screaming?”

≁လ≁

Peter lunged after Harry just to be yanked back by the symbiote around his ankle. He screamed as Harry disappeared from his sight, Eddie chuckled in glee at Peter’s despair. Peter spun around and tugged desperately at the tendrils around his ankles, kicking and shooting webs blindly.
“Okay, I had to see your reaction to that.” Eddie grinned with a mischievous tone unbefitting of the gravity of his actions. His smile disappeared. “But now I am going to kill you.”
Peter struggled with the symbiote, fighting closer and closer to the edge to try and get to Harry. His heart was in his stomach. There was no way he’d catch him in time. He lashed at the symbiote, completely disregarding his previous attempts to avoid hurting him, for Eddie’s sake. The symbiote and Brock moved as a cohesive and effective unit, blocking Peter’s every strike and preventing him from going after Harry. Peter ripped himself free from the symbiote’s grip, running to the edge to let out an agonising yell before he was dragged back into a fight he would not win.

≁လ≁

Despite the incredibly loud whistling of the wind past Harry’s ears and the tinny Eminem echoing from far above, it was chillingly quiet as Harry fell. He felt as though he’d left his heart up on the roof with Peter, and now it had been forced out of him as he hurtled further and further from what he thought he’d finally won. From a kind of love he’d been trying to achieve his whole life, not just from Peter but from his father. Well, not the exact same kind of love, but love nonetheless, and here he was, literally falling away from it.

The fall felt impossibly long and he guessed he had slim to no chance of surviving. His breath was just out of reach of his lungs and a delayed gasp of shock barely escaped his lips.

Despite the world moving in slow motion around him, Harry didn’t take this time to dwell on the thoughts of how he did or didn’t deserve this. Instead he could only think of Peter, the shock in his eyes when the symbiote released Harry into the greedy claws of gravity, or the pained cry that had left his throat. Harry frowned. Where was Peter? He could only vaguely comprehend the outskirts of the fight above him. He felt like he was in a tunnel. Then it hit him. Holy shit, he was about to die. The sound came rushing to him, Peter’s far-off screaming stabbed into Harry’s ears as his eyes prickled and he squeezed them shut. He didn’t know if he was screaming, or crying, probably both. He was glad nobody could see him.

Something clasped Harry’s arm, which felt like it was nearly ripped from its socket. His descent was stopped abruptly before he slipped out of its grasp, falling a much shorter distance to the ground. Still a little too far. The slam of his head on the ground filled his skull. His whole body was consumed in excruciating pain, but all he could focus on was keeping his eyes open. Close voices came muffled to his ears. A couple of heads entered his blurry field of vision.
“Dad.” He croaked, recognizing one of the faces as his father. “Please, you’ve got to help Peter.” He begged, choking on the words and he could feel a little blood dribbling from his lips. “He can’t fight that thing alone. You have to-” He groaned in pain as he regained feeling in one of his legs that was twisted at an angle it definitely shouldn’t have been. But he couldn’t worry about that now. Peter was in danger. He had to help him, and he realised he knew how.
“The alien thing.” He spoke softer, trying not to move his jaw so much, as it sent jagged pains shooting through his head. “The alien hates fire. Fire kills it.”
His voice faded to barely whisper, hearing his dad mention something about not-giving-a-fuck-about-Spiderman and Harry was his son and needed medical attention. Harry coughed a little, feeling a tear slip out of his eye.
“Please,” He begged. “I-” He coughed out a bit more blood. “I love him,”

“But where are we going to get fire?” Another voice - Otto - asked. Harry uncomfortably offered out his arm, gesturing to a little button on the wrist of the gauntlet. He managed to get out,
“Flamethrower,” before entering a fit of coughing. Norman appeared impressed as Otto carefully took the offered gauntlet, glancing at Norman who cradled Harry’s head in his hands. Harry found he could speak no more, only roughly comprehending an unspoken exchange above him, and his father’s voice saying,
“Go.”

The world was spinning slowly and Harry felt like he was underwater, Norman’s instruction not to move was muffled and echoed. Harry nodded before wincing, letting out an involuntary cry at the consequent splitting pain shooting up his back.
“Hold still,” Norman brushed Harry’s hair out of his face, looking down at him with a solemn expression. “I can’t move you right now Harry, it’s too risky.” He explained. “I need you to hang on for a little bit.”
“Dad?” Harry asked with a little strength he had gathered. “Am I going to die?” He could feel Norman’s hand on his head shaking a little, which meant that his condition was probably not great. Norman squeezed one of Harry's hands in his own, something in his eyes breaking at the fear in his son’s voice.
“I’m not going to let that happen.” He assured himself as much as Harry.

≁လ≁

Peter was losing, and badly. At this point he was blocking attacks, but not attempting any of his own as the weight of what had just happened turned his arms to lead. Eddie rose gleefully to strike what might be a fatal blow, when without warning, with the rising sun behind him like a halo, Otto Octavius appeared over the side of the building, blasting the symbiote from behind with some kind of flamethrower.
The symbiote screeched in pain, stumbling back, and Otto rushed to Peter, helping him to his feet.

“Harry’s okay,” Otto informed before Peter could ask. “Well, he’s alive. He’s with Norman.”
Peter nodded relieved, before Otto continued hurriedly.
“The symbiote doesn’t like fire, heat seems to be its weakness.”
Peter’s eyes widened in understanding.
“Of course!” He nodded. “The symbiote binds to the host like a substrate to an enzyme - the enzyme-substrate complex is the venom-eddie complex! And if the active site where the binding occurs is denatured by heat too intense, it’ll change shape and be unable to do what it’s supposed to!”
Otto nodded, being something of a scientist himself, understanding. “That’s a very good observation, Peter, but here’s another one.”
Otto turned Peter to where The symbiote was getting up, regarding the hole in its flesh with an angry growl.

“Alright Doc, on my signal I’m gonna need that flamethrower.” Peter said, approaching the seething beast. Otto nodded, retreating around its back. It hissed, shooting out a couple tendrils that began to fence with Otto’s arms, while Peter attacked it head on.
“Are you coming out any time soon, Brock?” Peter called, dodging a blade of sludge in exchange for sweeping the leg. It rematerialized and tried to kick Peter.
“I like it in here!” Eddie yelled, face obstructed by the mask. Peter glanced at Otto, who bashed the symbiote on the head before rolling the gauntlet to Peter.
The symbiote whirled to face the Doctor as Peter pressed the button, flames singing the black goo which recoiled and released a foul smell. It hissed, becoming smaller and smaller.
“Eddie, get out now!” Peter called as the goo shrunk to the size of a man. Its white eyes met Peters, where hatred boiled.
“It’s too late,” A voice that was Eddies but with a low echo rumbled. “We’ve already achieved symbiosis. We,” It cried, more goo bubbling as Peter kept his finger firmly on the ‘launch’ button. “Are,” It was little now, almost pathetic to look at. It managed to squeak out “Venom!” Before melting completely into ashes and the occasional toasty crumb.

Peter dropped the gauntlet, breathing heavily, before looking up to Otto, who offered out his human arms for a hug. Peter accepted gratefully, allowing himself to let out a little sob into Doc Ock's warm embrace.
“I killed him.” Peter mumbled.
“It’s okay.” Otto assured him, patting his back with a warm human hand. “Besides,” Otto glanced over to where the current puddle of sludge sat. “I don’t think that was your friend any more, you heard what he said. He was part of that thing, and it was part of him. It wasn’t human.”
“We weren’t friends.” Peter grumbled quietly, before falling backwards, exhausted. Otto caught him.
“Let’s get you down from here.” He said, and held Peter safely in his human arms as he climbed back down the tower.

≁လ≁

Harry was lying in his father’s arms, a phenomenon that hadn’t occurred since Harry had been a baby. Not since Emily was alive. Norman Osborn felt that he had endured enough loss in his lifetime. Perhaps he was deserving of it, but that in no way meant that the people in his life had to leave him in such awful ways. Harry was breathing still, his breath shallow and rattling, but maybe not for much longer. His hair was matted with blood that was pooling a little around his head, and his body felt fragile, like the slightest movement might shatter his skeleton. He spotted a familiar redhead exiting the tower and called to her.
“Mary-Jane!”
She turned, eyes widening when she saw Harry. MJ ran over, crouching next to her friend and covering her mouth with her hand.
“Mary-Jane I need you to get help,” Norman spoke sharply, he didn’t know how else to convey the seriousness of the situation. She nodded in response.
“I’ve already called John, he’s bringing his car. It’s faster than most ambulances,” She supplied with a shrug, neglecting to elaborate on that. Norman scowled at her, unable to express gratitude at this moment, and trying desperately to keep his worry and pain from showing.
“I’ll uh,” She looked between them sympathetically before backing up. “I’ll give you two some space.”
Norman watched her go, unable to wipe the unpleasant expression from his face. If he let go of his anger there was no telling what he might do, he might show vulnerability and god forbid he might shed some tears. He couldn’t allow that. He’d been told many times before, never let them see you cry. He didn’t want to start now. Even so, as he looked down at his son, face pale from blood loss and shock, his heart broke. It wasn’t fair that this would happen so soon after he’d promised to make amends. He wouldn’t let it happen, he couldn’t for the sake of either of them. If he lost Harry then he’d be alone. Alone with the voices in his head and Bernard (who knows which was worse). His son was all he had left, and he wasn’t prepared to lose him.

He was interrupted from his depressing thoughts by the squeal of John’s tires pulling up to the curb. Not a second later Octavius came crashing down from the clock tower, having descended in his usual haphazard manner. In his human arms he held the battered-looking Peter Parker.
“John!” MJ cried, running over. “John, we have to get Peter and Harry to the hospital, fast.” John looked around, taking in the situation and nodding.
“Of course.” He agreed, opening the back door before coming back to help the boys in.
“Careful,” Norman snapped, to which John nodded, sharing Harry’s weight between them as they carefully lifted him in, followed by Otto, who gently placed Peter down next to Harry, and stepped back. Norman insisted on going with them of course, and there was one more seat for MJ. Otto watched awkwardly, knowing even if John’s car hadn’t been packed there was no chance he and his arms would have fit in the vehicle. He smiled comfortingly at the group, gesturing for John to get going. He could catch up.

Octavius watched the car go, the dawn sun shining on his face. Good thing he was wearing his sunglasses. He heard a strange shimmering sound, and turned to see Flint Marko looking at him.
“How was it?” Otto asked, offering the other man a small smile.
“Strange, that’s for certain.” Flint eyed him up and down. “You didn’t die. So the cure worked.”
“Yes.” Otto agreed, observing Flint's fully human form, bright in the day's first light. “I wonder what things would have been like if we hadn’t been cured.” The two shared a look before laughing.
“Alright, I have to go see my daughter. It was nice to talk to you.”
“Good luck out there.” Otto said as they parted ways.
“You too, Doctor.”

≁လ≁

John’s car screeched to a halt outside of the hospital, parking illegally. He leapt out of his seat to get the back doors open. Norman had been yelling at him to hurry up for the whole drive, and he was more than a little stressed out. He helped Peter out before Norman exited carefully with his son in his arms. They rushed into the reception, where the receptionist greeted them, noting their urgency. It hadn't been too busy that night so she was able to send some people in right away. Two stretchers were wheeled in, Harry and Peter respectively getting strapped in before they were wheeled hastily towards the ER. Norman and MJ moved with the boys while John followed behind, explaining what had happened to another doctor. Peter’s mask had been pulled back on, but the nurses on either side of him had no intention of revealing his identity. They reached the doors to the emergency ward, where Harry and Peter were rushed into a separate room.
“Temple!” A doctor from inside the room called, and the nurse wheeling Harry turned to Norman and MJ apologetically.

“I’m sorry, you’re going to have to leave them with us while we assess their injuries,”
MJ gestured to Spider-man and the nurse shook her head. “Don’t worry, we won’t tell a soul.”
She nodded gratefully and patted Norman’s shoulder as the doors were shut behind Harry and Peter. Norman watched the doors for a minute, letting MJ and John guide him to the waiting room and into a seat, where he sat staring at the wall worried. He wasn’t really listening to their conversation, but turned a little at the mention of his son’s name. MJ was casually leaned against the vending machine, saying,
“I totally saw it coming, but Harry finally properly told him and guess what! Peter did too! And oh my god John, I swear to god they started making out-”
Norman turned around in his seat so fast he almost got whiplash.
“They what?!”

≁လ≁

Peter was drifting in and out of consciousness, Harry’s voice the only thing tethering him to the world of living. (Well, presumably doctors were helping too)
“Peter.” It was a scratchy whisper, but Peter would know that voice anywhere.
“Harry?”
“Pete, I fell pretty far,”
“Yeah, you did. It’s a miracle you’re still with us.”
Harry nodded, biting his bloody lip anxiously. “Somebody caught me, I think. Or slowed me down at least. It hurt though…” He winced a little. “My head feels weird.”
“Just hang in there,” Peter reassured gently, in pain himself but currently more concerned for Harry. “Stay with me.”
“Pete?”
“Yeah?”
“Am I gonna die?” Pain and fear fractured Harry’s eyes amongst the burst blood vessels staining his sclerae red. “I- I don’t want to die,”
Peter rolled as much as he could to face Harry. “That's not going to happen. You know why?”
Harry blinked in response, eyes shining. Peter continued,
“Because I’m here for you. And I always will be.” He reached over and took Harry's hand, which felt cracked and broken. The extra worry that flooded his heart was calmed when he felt a weak squeeze from his buddy. Uh, well, he wasn’t quite sure what they were right now, but the most important thing was that they were alive, and they were together.

Chapter Text

- Many years later -

Peter took a sip of the tea he was holding, smiling over at MJ who sat opposite him in her and John’s living room. A commotion turned Peter’s head, but it was only the two kids at the kiddie table next to them, already resembling their grandfather J. Jonah Jameson as they yelled angrily about getting the wrong coloured cup. One threw a little plastic cup at the other, resulting in an offended scream. John laughed and politely excused himself, chasing the kids away from Peter and MJ and down the hall. As their delighted laughter faded off into the house, Peter turned back to MJ, who was smiling fondly after her family.

“Hey, remember when we used to date?” MJ mused.
“Oh yeah.” Peter smiled at the memory. “That didn’t go very well,” He chuckled.
She watched him out of the side of her eye, wondering aloud,
“Do you think this could have been us?”
“No.” Peter shrugged. “We just weren’t right for each other.”
“Yeah that’s probably true. It was an emotional rollercoaster. I’m glad we’re still friends though.” MJ smiled
“Best friends. You know, despite everything, we made it work.” Peter agreed. “And hey, you’ve barely ever been kidnapped since.”
“Definite downside to dating Spider-man.” MJ chuckled. Peter grinned, glancing at his watch.
“Would you look at the time! I have dinner reservations, so I’d better be going.”
“Alright. Remember you’re babysitting Wednesday.” MJ said
“I’ll remember.” Said Peter, knowing he probably wouldn’t. “See you soon.”
“Bye Peter!”
Peter smiled before heading down the hallway, calling a farewell to John and the kids, wandering down the stairs. He opened the door, and the next thing he knew the sky was brighter and he was staring up at a fluorescent screen displaying the news that Peter Parker was Spider Man. The panic he felt turned to confusion when he realised the Peter Parker on screen… looked nothing like him?

≁လ≁

Peter arrived abruptly back once the wizard had cast his spell. The transition from the ruins of the statue of liberty to the suburban sidewalk in his own universe was rather jarring. He also realised he was in the spidey suit with no mask, so he quickly ducked into an alley. He collapsed against a brick wall, taking in what had just happened to him. He was actually somewhat unfazed by his multiversal travel, but he had also just been stabbed. So that wasn’t good. Head too fuzzy to compute where or when he was, he reached around for his mask, tugging it onto his face and pulled out his new and already cracked phone, stumbling to the mouth of the alley and looking around while he clicked the first contact that came up. He breathed heavily, eyeing the relatively quiet street as the line rang. After a couple rings, there was a click followed by a voice he hadn’t heard in a while.
“Pete? Hey, how were MJ and the guys?”
Peter sighed, a smile donning his slightly bloody lips. “Harry,” He greeted. Harry paused on the other end.
“Yeah, Pete are you alright?”
“Actually, could I meet you at home? I need some help.”
“Okay, want me to cancel dinner?”
“No, we can still make it. I just have to do some things first.”
“All right. See you in a bit.”

The taxi driver was surprisingly cool about Spiderman getting a ride. Peter had asked for a block away from his house. The taxi driver actually talked excitedly about how Spiderman was his hero, and it was really cool to meet him in person. Peter smiled, nodding along and grateful that he didn’t actually have to say much in the conversation. When they pulled up where Peter requested, the driver insisted that the ride was free, after all Spiderman had saved the city including him so many times. Peter smiled, genuinely touched. It was always nice to see the positive repercussions of what he was doing, even if he didn’t don the costume so often anymore.
“Thanks man,” He smiled, the driver nodding and sticking out his hand.
“No problem Spiderman, I’m Max by the way.”
Peter nodded, beginning to get a little dizzy from the blood loss he’d been stemming in the car with a thick scrap of fabric he’d found.
“Nice to meet you Max, you’re a good guy,”
The taxi pulled away, and Peter hurried down the street.

Harry opened the door to Peter, who looked very much like he was about to fall over.
“Peter, oh my god.” He quickly slid an arm around Peter to support him and helped him over to the couch. “What happened?” He spotted the stab wound, brows furrowing. “Who did this to you?”
“That’s a funny story actually.”
Harry was confused, but grabbed the first aid kit he’d instinctually pulled out of the cabinet after Peter had called. It had become a habit, what with Peter being Spiderman and not really wanting the entire hospital finding out his secret identity. Thus, Harry had gotten pretty good at fixing Peter up, it was something he’d been doing most of his life.
Peter shimmied his top half out of the suit and Harry began treating and dressing the main wound piercing Peter’s torso. Harry frowned, eyeing the edges of the wound and wordlessly offered him anaesthetic.
Peter nodded. “It’s kind of a long story.”
Harry pulled out a needle and thread. “Well, we’ve got time, and you’re gonna want a distraction,”
Peter breathed out of his nose, mentally preparing himself for the familiar pain.
“All right all right,” He huffed. “So do you know what the multiverse is?”

By the time Peter was finished with retelling what had happened he was all stitched up and Harry was staring at him from where he was sitting.
“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”
Peter smiled a little, shaking his head. “You know, if it weren’t for the hole in my torso you were just fixing, I wouldn’t believe it myself.”
Harry nodded. “And my dad did that?”
“The goblin,” Peter corrected.
Harry nodded, chewing his bottom lip and regarding Peter worriedly. “Have you seen my dad since?” He asked, fidgeting slightly.
Peter winced as he leaned forwards, hefting himself off the couch. Harry stood to help him.
“No, I probably should now though. I need to ask him about a few things.”

“I need to ask you about a few things.”
Norman, who had been drinking wine, glanced up at Peter, who had entered and greeted him with this ominous message.
“...Yes?” Norman put down the glass he’d been holding, resting back against a counter and hoping he wasn’t in any kind of trouble. Wow, how the tables had turned since Peter had been a college student visiting the Osborn household.
“So, the multiverse.” Peter began.
“I know the one.”
“Yeah, so um,” Peter watched Norman carefully, looking for any signs of having recently returned, or the goblin lurking. He continued, “You kind of stabbed me… back there… very painful.” Norman furrowed his brow.
“Did I? I don’t really remember, it was so long ago.”
“Uh, no it was like an hour ago.”
Norman’s eyebrows raised after a moment of thought.
“Oh, you just got back now, did you?”
“Wait.” Peter looked at the floor, doing some quick maths. He glanced back up at Norman after not having reached a definitive conclusion. “So when did you get back?”
Norman smiled a little, getting a far off look in his eyes.
“Well Peter, that would’ve been right before my supposed death,”

Peter’s eyes widened as he remembered the incident over two decades ago. The Green Goblin was aiming the glider to stab Peter from behind when he had begun glowing for a second before going limp, comatose. The sudden drop had caused the glider, that might have impaled him, to go right over his head. Peter had taken him back to the apartment that he had then shared with Harry, changing Norman out of the conspicuous goblin suit and into something more respectable. Harry had entered the room to see Spiderman with his father’s unmoving body, and Peter hadn’t had time to explain as he was in a rush to get Norman to a hospital. It had been stressful enough like that, god knows what might have happened if it had been Norman's corpse that Harry had found that day.

“So when Peter 1 said that he didn’t want to send you to your death… that means if we hadn’t made the cures, you would be dead?”
“Yes.” Norman’s response was curt enough for Peter to realise he’d narrowly avoided an ‘obviously’. There was a tense silence, broken by Harry bursting through the door.
“Peter, you can’t just be swinging off to places in the shape you’re in,” Harry panted. “And you could have waited for me, y’know.” Peter smiled a little because Harry looked cute when he was out of breath.
“Sorry.” Peter said a little sheepishly.
“It’s okay, but please next time just walk.” Harry gasped, leaning on a nearby chair and nodding at Norman. “Hey dad,”

“Oh Harry,” Norman smiled, “I’ve been meaning to remind you, this weekend we are going to spend some time together as a family. You, me and Otto, and of course Peter, if he’s not fighting crime.”
“Please stop dragging me on your dates dad, I have better things to do.” Harry rolled his eyes. Norman looked at him suspiciously. Peter spat out his water.
“That’s no way to speak to me, Harry. And you are going. Your life is about to get really busy and this is the only time I have off work, I want to spend it with you.”
Harry nodded, wandering over to nudge his dad’s shoulder with his own affectionately.
“You shouldn’t be that busy at work, this is your last month.”
“I know, I know, but I have to make sure everything's perfect for when you take over, as CEO.” Norman smiled proudly at Harry, who grinned back.

“Dad, it’s okay. I promise I’m ready, and everything’s gonna be great.”
Norman looked at his son, marvelling at the man he had become. Sure, he wasn’t Norman, and he never would be, but that was for the best. Harry was something much better. He was a clever and creative man who could do whatever he wanted with the company when he took over. Norman knew he was leaving his life’s work in good, deserving hands. He put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, which was a bit of a reach because Harry had surpassed Norman in height a good decade ago.
“I’m proud of you.”
Harry laughed awkwardly at the praise, but his eyes shone with gratification.
“And this weekend isn’t a date, it’s quality time spent together as a family. I’d appreciate it if you could be there?”
Harry sighed, standing up and wandering across the room to Peter. “Fine, I’ll come. But if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with my husband, and notice that I didn’t invite you,”
Norman rolled his eyes a little as Harry took Peter’s hand. “Let’s go, we’ve got reservations,”
Norman called after the young - well, not so young anymore - men sauntering out of his house,
“Be safe!” grinning a little amused at Harry’s frustrated groan of “Daad!” That echoed back down the hallway. He was glad that they’d reached where they were today, with Norman’s care for Harry occasionally overbearing a tiny bit. But he was trying to make up for all the years that he hadn’t cared, or at least hadn’t trusted himself enough to act like he cared. He glanced up at the call of his name from another room.

“Hey it’s nice evening, we could walk to dinner.” Peter suggested. Harry grinned, linking his fingers through Peter’s.
“Yeah, I could do with some fresh air. Don’t tell my dad, but things have been a little hectic with the whole Oscorp thing, so actually going out is a good break from the stress.”
Peter nodded. “I know, remember? I’ve been helping you,”
Harry grinned and shoved his shoulder gently. “Yeah, I knew, I was just checking to see if you knew,” he grinned, tugging the man he’d married back to his side as they wandered down the sidewalk.

“Isn’t that your old university?” Harry pointed across the street to where a young woman was taking an evening tour of the campus with her father, who Peter realised was the ex-sandman, Flint Marko. (Presumably) his daughter smiled and her excited chatter drifted through the breeze behind them.
“Peter? Your college?” Harry prompted.
“Oh yeah,” Peter refocused on the conversation. “It is my university. That was a crazy couple of years,” Peter chuckled. His eyes lit up at the sight of a familiar face. “And hey, look who it is!” Peter walked over to an old man who was probably heading home for the day.
“Doctor Connors! I can’t believe you still teach here.”
“If it isn't Peter Parker.” Doctor Connors chuckled, a little raspily. “And no, I don’t still teach here. I’m a scientific researcher these days, working on a bit of a passion project,”

Harry could tell he wanted the younger men to inquire so asked,
“And what’s that?”
“Well, I’ve been observing creatures like lizards, and their ability to regrow limbs. I’m sure you can imagine why.” He chuckled, swinging his right arm that cuts off at the elbow. Harry laughed at the sentiment, but he noticed Peter’s expression had grown suspicious.
“Don’t get any crazy ideas,” Peter joked, although he didn’t sound entirely like he was joking.
“Oh no, no of course not.” Doctor Connors laughed, sharing the same half joking tone. “That would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? Anyways, I must be going.” He hurried in the other direction, and Harry quickly forgot the odd interaction as he and Peter continued on their way.

Harry tugged Peter down the street, urging that they were going to be late. Peter looked around at the lack of civilians dotting the sunswept streets before dropping Harry’s hand, instead picking him up bridal style. Harry exclaimed a little - the strength of Peter’s deceivingly small frame never ceased to surprise him - before laughing and allowing Peter to swing them a couple of blocks downtown. Yeah, it was dangerous, but as the sun setting glinted over the horizon of New York City, Harry knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Peter kept his eyes on his trajectory, but said “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”
Harry was a little confused as to where this came from, but he smiled nonetheless, trying to think of a sentiment to one-up Peter’s.
“Well, I would too. I’d die for you,” Harry tucked his head into his husband’s shoulder. Peter laughed.
“Are you joking? I’d never let that happen. Wouldn't that be crazy?”
“Yeah, can you imagine?”