Work Text:
He doesn't mean to jump in front of Peter like that. He could blame it on sentimentality from high school, or the fact that he still held some level of fondness for Peter, but the truth was Harry never wanted him to die. Spider-Man? Sure, maybe before when he still thought he killed his father. But this? No, absolutely not like this.
Sharp blades sinking into his chest and torso is not a pleasant sensation, Harry thinks. It hurts like hell, and he can feel the blood oozing from the wounds in real time. The ground is cold, and Venom's piercing shrieks make the current pain he's in right now so much worse. Venom just won't go down—until Peter's banging metal pipes together and god, Venom won't stop screeching. The symbiote viciously tears away from Eddie, almost melting into the ground by the time the grating noise of the pipes do it in.
Voices are muffled now. Harry can't tell what's going on. Peter's talking to someone, not sure who, but Mary Jane's been at his side for who knows how long. Whatever she's been saying doesn't register with him. It isn't until Peter finishes his long-winded statement of closure and forgiveness—Peter's always been so goddamn forgiving—that he rushes over to Harry.
"God, Harry… don't try to move. Just… we'll get you help. I promise," Peter's eyes are welling with tears, even though it's obvious he's trying to stay strong in front of Harry.
"No. Pete, it's fine," Harry tries to smile, reassure him in some way but Peter's not taking to it.
"What? Come on, don't be like that. We'll go to the hospital, get you fixed up, and you'll be back in no time. Trust me," Peter insists. All Harry can do is try to convince him things will turn out okay, that this was for the best. "Don't do this."
"Stop," Harry takes a sharp inhale. "For what it's worth, you're my friend and what happened between us doesn't change that. Okay?"
Peter hesitates for a moment. He clears his throat, clearly trying to distract from the tears falling down his face. "Best friend, you mean."
Peter's a massive dork. Of course he'd say something like that. It shouldn't come across as a surprise to Harry, but it pierces deeper than the actual daggers Venom has for nails. Best friends. Harry lets out a humorless laugh—or an attempt at one considering his lungs are actively giving out on him.
"Yeah. Best friends."
Harry thinks that's enough said. Peter's gotten enough closure for the night. He's supposed to ride off into the sunset now, get married to Mary Jane and continuing saving the city that loves him so deeply. That's all anyone could ever want. Harry's fading now and it's nice, quiet compared to the assault on his ears that took place mere minutes before. Dying for your best friend's not such a bad way to go.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
The harsh lighting of the hospital room brutally attacks Harry's vision. He's confused at first, unsure if what he's seeing right now is actually real. The familiar, sterile smell of disinfectant accompanied with the steady beep of the heart monitor is what makes Harry aware that he's alive.
For a moment, he's angry. This wasn't supposed to happen. Sacrificing himself for Peter was the only way he could see this ending. Why couldn't Peter respect the fact that Harry had finally done the noble thing? Or at least he could have given Harry the dignity of dying after saving his life? It was humiliating. Harry thought he'd be past that, but residual feelings of his last fight with Peter still linger in his mind.
Harry looks to his left—the side of his properly functioning eye. Peter's asleep on the chair beside the bed, holding a bouquet of flowers in one of his hands that's definitely about to slip out. Suddenly, the anger slips completely out of Harry's body. He sighs, which unfortunately wakes Peter up.
"Harry?" Peter's eyes widen as if he weren't expecting Harry to wake up before him. All Harry does is stare at him through a half-lidded eye. The brightness of the room is still too much on him."My god, you really scared me back there. How're you feeling?"
"Pete."
"We got here just in time. The doctors said a minute later and it would've been too late. It's miraculous how fast they can work, you know?" Peter rambles in the way that he does when he's trying to avoid a confrontation. "We're lucky."
"Pete."
"They said recovery won't take long. After they discharge you, you'll just have to rest up a lot at home and make sure you're not doing anything strenuous. Easy enough, right?" Peter tries for a smile, but he can tell Harry isn't necessarily thrilled by this information. "…Sorry."
"Why'd you save me?" Harry asks. He finds he isn't able to project his voice the way he wants. The quiet exhaustion of it only makes Peter's eyes soften with worry and pity. Harry hates that look so much. He can't bear to be in the direct line of fire.
"You really think I'd just let you die like that?" Peter chuckles. "Must've hit your head a few too many times."
"Wow. Funny, Pete." Harry deadpans. Seems like Peter still retained his wit from the symbiote suit.
"When I asked you for help, I didn't mean that. Sacrificing yourself and dying isn't how you help me out. I care about you, Harry."
"Not like I did you many favors the past few years though, did I?" The corners of Harry's mouth quirk up. "I wanted to. Why couldn't you have just let me save you and be done with it? You left me in a weird spot here."
"You've got me and Mary Jane, don't you? That's somewhere to start," Peter furrows his brows. Harry shakes his head.
"Who I was before my father died… I'm not sure if he'll ever come back. It's stupid. I know what he really thought of me, but trying to avenge him gave me purpose or somewhere to let everything out, at least. I don't know what to do now that I'm not actively trying to ruin your life, I guess," Harry swallows thickly.
It's awkward saying that to Peter considering everything he did to do so, but he feels obligated to be open with him. That's just the problem though. Harry's always worn his heart on his sleeve. His father always ridiculed his lack of focus and sense of urgency, insisting he be more like Peter. Harry had tried everything but it just wasn't enough. Every rational part of Harry screamed at him that it was never worth it, not for someone who couldn't care less what happened to him. Despite that, he still craved his father's approval. Now that he'd been dead, there was nothing to prove. Even beyond death he couldn't do anything for his father—couldn't be like him or amount to the achievements his father had either.
"For what it's worth, you were doing a decent job at ruining my life," Peter gives a half-hearted smile.
"Thanks."
That conversation could've been worse. Honestly, Harry's so doped up on pain meds that his capacity for being more than slightly irritated at Peter isn't functioning. Peter can tell, it's obvious, because he seems more relaxed as of now than tense. The feeling of limbo hasn't left Harry yet, but he's too tired now to deal with it. He lets himself drift off again even with Peter still in the room.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
Harry gets discharged a few weeks later. The doctors say he's lucky enough to have recovered so fast, but only he knows it's really the injections working overtime. Not that he'd ever be taking them again. In fact, he's not really sure what he'll be doing now.
Peter volunteers to help him get situated back home. At first, Harry just wants to be left alone but Peter doesn't take no for an answer. He knows what Peter's trying to do—ease him back into their old dynamic and try to make things back to normal before Harry had remembered everything. It was nice then, hanging out with Mary Jane and Peter like nothing had happened, but the missing resentment and vengeance that had taken its roots in him made him listless.
"I'm fine, you know. Seriously. I can't stop myself from healing fast even if I tried. What would I even do anyway?" Harry says.
"If you're not constantly injecting yourself with… whatever that was, don't you get withdrawals?" Peter raises an eyebrow.
"Come on, it's not like I was doing drugs."
"Same difference. It's like a steroid, isn't it?"
Harry huffs a laugh. "Whatever. I'm through with that. I'm not doing any of that shit anymore, so you don't have to worry about me."
Peter glances around, looking for something to say. His eyes land on the easel by the couch, and suddenly they light up. Harry knows the look. He mentally prepares himself for whatever Peter's about to say.
"You're painting again?" Peter asks the lead-in question.
And Harry lets himself fall for it, knowing full well what Peter's trying for. "That was from when I was a temporary amnesiac. Thanks by the way. Ignore it, it's not getting finished."
"You're not half bad, Harry. Don't sell yourself short."
"Sure." Harry rolls his eyes, smiling a little.
"Really, you should keep going with it. It could be really good for you, you know?" Peter waves him off.
There's an awkward moment of silence before Harry settles back into reality. Everything's off. This charade of trying to return to whatever normalcy they had previously—if there was anything of the sort since Harry's father died—is over. Harry knows it, knows they can't just act like best friends. Whatever that means.
Back when Harry was sure Peter would never talk to Mary Jane or even get a girlfriend at all, they would sometimes practice on each other so that by the time Peter did get one, he'd be ready. At the time, Harry thought of it as helping Peter out. He needed a push in all areas of life—whether it was getting to talk to Harry's father or complimenting Mary Jane's outfit—otherwise he'd get absolutely nowhere in life.
Neither of them ever said out loud what the practicing made them feel, but it was obvious they felt something considering it wasn't just a one time thing. Now, Harry realizes there obviously were (are) feelings involved, but he never had the confidence to revisit it. When they're alone like this, it's as if Peter remembers too. The way he shifts around, trying to decide whether or not to make a move and act on his own feelings, Harry notices it all. He's just not sure if Peter himself is aware.
"…I'm fully recovered now. You don't have to be so nice anymore."
"What?" Peter's still trying to act like he doesn't know what's going on, but there are cracks in his feigned expression. For being Spider-Man, Peter Parker is one of the least confrontational people Harry has ever met.
"Don't make me say it, Pete. You know what I mean," Harry sighs. It's pretty self-explanatory, anyway.
"If this is about Mary Jane, we're fine now. Not fine as in we're back together, but… things are just fine. It was a long time coming, wasn't it? You saw how Mary Jane and I were. We could never really get on the same page," Peter explains.
Harry can't help but raise an eyebrow at Peter's casual tone. "You guys were attached at the hip every time I saw you two."
"I thought telling her about Spider-Man would finally clear up all the misunderstandings we used to have. Instead, I think it made things worse. She knew why I would be late or miss her events, which made her feel less important, I guess. And then everything with the symbiote… Anyway, we're not really taking things anywhere. I think we both have some figuring out to do," Peter shrugs.
The information is equal parts irritating and relieving. On one hand, Harry's efforts to break Peter and Mary Jane apart were only the tip of the iceberg for them as a couple. On the other? That's not really something Harry wants to address yet.
"Figuring out to do, huh?" Harry nods slowly. "But I mean, after everything you—"
"What's the point, Harry? You've paid enough. I mean, you were going to die. Twice, you almost died, and both times were because of me. And I made you blind in an eye. You not listening to me and turning my already-slipping-away girlfriend was a jerk move from you, but I don't know if that means you should be dead for it. We've fought more times in the past two years than I can count, anyway. I'm really, really tired of fighting," Peter rubs an eye tiredly.
Silence for another moment. It's not as awkward or tense as the earlier one, but the weight of the past two years hangs over them.
"Guess that's somewhere to start. Not fighting."
"Yeah, well. Something for both of us to think about," Peter gives a half-hearted smile. "Really though, you should keep going with your painting. All I'm saying is, it might do some good to take up a normal hobby."
"Ugh. If you're gonna act all sappy about that, go home, Pete," Harry waves him off, but they both know he doesn't really mean it.
It's a little nice, after all.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
Peter calls it art therapy. Harry would rather refer to it as just "engaging in a hobby." Semantics aside, Peter's been coming over lately to check in on Harry despite his speedy recovery. Sometimes, he gets phantom pains from where Venom's claws dug into his chest and torso, but that's about it. Physically, at least. He's still in a weird limbo of uncertainty about what to do, but it's a start.
Unfortunately, painting has become kind of relaxing. Watercolors are a challenge, and since acrylic is much more forgiving, he starts with that. Landscapes are more his speed considering he can just think of a calming scene of nature and it'll come out looking nice enough on the canvas. Portraits are trouble—the concept of remembering someone's face and not being able to translate that onto a canvas is not only humiliating but worrying for his own memory.
And Harry won't admit it to Peter, but having him around might be helping too.
"So you did listen to me," Peter admires the finished painting of a forest Harry started a few weeks back. "It looks great."
"I didn't really have anything else to do. But thanks, Pete."
"Now you're being humble?" Peter laughs. "Hey, at least you're doing something."
"Yeah, well. I'm kind of done throwing money at failing science fair projects. Might as well do something that I actually want to," Harry gives him a small smile at the sound of his laugh.
"Would you ever paint a person?"
Harry blinks. "I'm not that good. I—I could try, but I can't promise it'll end up looking like a person."
"Try it sometime. It'd be a good challenge," Peter suggests cooly. Harry almost laughs at how dorky Peter's attempted nonchalance is, but then what he's saying registers in his brain.
"You want me to paint you?"
Peter looks like he's trying to find the words to overexplain himself, but Harry knows him like the back of his hand. For a moment, he wants Peter to squirm and wait anxiously as he pretends to think, but right now, Harry doesn't have that pettiness in him.
"Like I said, no promises on you turning out pretty," Harry grins this time, a similar one to the one he'd always flash Peter in high school.
Peter flushes a slight red. It doesn't slip by Harry, who walks over to where Peter's been sitting on the couch by his easel.
"Hey, did our… practice ever work? You know, with Mary Jane or Gwen?" Harry asks against his better judgment.
How it was possible for Peter to redden even more was beyond Harry. "Yeah—uh, no it was good. I mean, I'm not an abysmal kisser anymore like you used to say I was."
"Pete, it was bad. You bit my tongue I don't know how many times, and you tried using too much tongue too fast," Harry nearly snorts at the memory. "Good thing you got your act together. Told you it'd help."
"Come on, Harry, I'm actually good now," Peter rolls his eyes and nudges him with his elbow. "...If you really want, I'll prove it."
Harry's heart stutters in his chest, and his mouth goes dry. Despite it, he nods. "Well, seeing is believing."
Peter leans in, taking off his glasses and initating the first contact. His lips are soft against Harry's, and his hand's reaching up to cup Harry's jaw. Harry wants to compliment him in a way that's teasing but sincere, yet he finds himself not wanting to speak at all. Peter's kissing him with a tentative want, a quiet desire that he seemed like he'd been holding in for forever. Harry has no choice but to return it with the same fervor, if not more passionate.
Harry pours everything he's felt the past however many years he's held for Peter into this kiss, and it evolves into more from Peter. It's a relief and a little vindicating for Harry to know Peter's wanted this too—that the high school days of practicing kissing a girl were really just an excuse to love each other in secret. For the longest time, Harry was fine with that. Now, he wants nothing more than to keep Peter with him and never let him go. He hopes Peter takes this as atonement for everything Harry's done to him. Maybe it's not enough right now, but eventually, it could be.
When Peter pulls away for air, he's got that dazed look in his eyes that he used to get around Mary Jane. A swell of pride fills Harry's chest at the realization that that look is for him now.
"You're not half bad, Pete. I've gotta commend you," Harry cups the side of Peter's face, teasingly patting it a few times.
"Don't doubt me the next time I say it," Peter swats Harry's hand away. "You should come over sometime. I know my apartment's—well, it's definitely not what you've got going on but at least we should go outside. Don't you get tired of locking yourself in here?"
"Let me focus on painting your portrait, and then we'll talk other plans, okay?" Harry leans back on the couch. "I wanna make sure I get you right."
Harry's sure he's got Peter's face burned into his memory anyway. He just wants to keep him here a little longer—just the two of them in their own little world. That's more than he could ask for.