Chapter Text
Once his companion managed to console his racing heart and catch his breath, he stood, setting his eyes on his rescuer who stood not far from him.
The boy looked positively dreadful, skin so pale it was practically translucent, eyes wide and yet unfocused, as if he stood there in a complete trance. His breathing was unsteady and rushed, ragged inhales, hardly releasing any of what he took in, and try as he might, he simply could not take in enough air to relieve that suffocating feeling. His chest heaved as he choked, curling in on himself, fingers digging into his arms so harshly as to induce bruising.
That man has died.
He had died.
Was it his fault?
He had hit the man. He had held back and yet still sent him hurdling towards the wall. That sickening crack as the impact occurred, replayed again and again in his head.
He had held back.
He had tried to control it.
Was he truly so much of a monster that even a restrained hit could kill a man?
He stumbled back, colliding softly with a wall, the sensation of which inciting a flinch from the boy, everything a reminder of what happened, of what he had done.
He sank down slowly, unevenly, legs giving way below him. An animalistic sound of despair escaping his lips, choked yet restrained, somewhere between another gasp and a cry.
He couldn't breathe.
He couldn't.
Muffled sobs escaped him, broken and pathetic as he fought the emotions welling beneath the surface.
His hand flew to grip the fabric of his hoodie, fearing his very heart may implode. Only to rip his hand away moments later upon realising that it looked just like that man did before he….
It was all too much. Far too much. He couldn't take it.
It was too loud, his ears rang, as though dealing with the fallout from an explosion. It hurt, the sound high pitched and deafening and horrifically painful. Everything surrounding him was fuzzy, the ringing in his ears blocking out all else, the rest of it practically static, blaring and disconcerting. The few sounds that managed to escape through hit him like blows to the head.
He remained there, unmoving, head hung, gaze upon his hands, palms upturned and fingers curled upwards. They looked like claws, horrifying, disgusting claws. Weapons really, weapons capable of causing true horrors.
The hands that had - he had… That man…
Another despairing sound fell from his lips, harrowing and excruciating, the guilt coating his each utterance, his each movement, his each breath.
He flinched the moment a hand landed on his shoulder, head flying up, eyes wild and terrified as they fell upon the boy, the one who had remained with him despite sharing in his fear.
The taller boy slowly sank down, crouching in front of him, trembling hands trailing down to grip at his biceps. At first a little too tight, loosening slightly in response to the other’s wince. Blue eyes bore into his, concern shining bright, silent reassurance wordlessly communicated to him.
The boy's eyes raked over him, using his grip to move him slightly, side to side as to regard any potential injuries, focusing on the quickly darkening skin spreading across his cheek, red and painful and angry.
Despite all that the boy was doing, Peter remained unresponsive. With his hazy vision he could see the boy's lips moving, but no word he uttered broke through the deafening sound filling his ears. He stared blankly at the boy, eyes fluttering as he tried to remain alert.
“H-y, yo- ok-ay? Wh- name? Hey! - Can - he-r me?”
It felt like he was underwater, any sound muffled, the occasional garbled segment of a word escaping through - although predominantly incomprehensible.
In growing concern, the teen shook him, a little too hard again this time, drawing a discontented groan from Peter. Concern coated the teens expression as he shook him with more urgency, voice growing louder and finally managing to break through the barrier, shaky and anxiety ridden.
“Hey! Oh god- are you okay? Just- just nod if you can hear me- if you can understand.”
The words were blurted so fast they seemed to fade into one and it took more than a few moments for Peter to fully process them, his eyes remaining hazy yet fixated on the boy in front of him, scarily so. He was practically staring and yet his eyes remained unfocused, as if looking right through the boy.
Peter felt as though his body was not his own, every movement a chore, even attempting to nod took it out of him, head bobbing back and forth clumsily, expression remaining unchanged.
“Oh! So you can hear me! That’s- that's good! I- I uh- I don’t have much experience medically, well uh- none actually, but if you tell me what hurts I might be able to help”
The boy's words came out hurried and panicked, voice wavering for a moment, hands hovering over Peter as if bracing himself to do something in his aid but clueless as to what exactly.
It took a lot out of Peter to not get annoyed, sure he knew the boy meant well, and in his place he'd probably do the same. Regardless, the sound of his voice truly was grating on him, with his probable concussion it was like nails on a chalkboard.
Peter huffed at the boy's incompetent attempts to check him over, wincing when the boy reached towards his cheek to examine, clumsily swatting the hand away before shaking his head.
The boy's eyebrows furrowed in turn, almost bewildered at the refusal, hesitant, as if dealing with a creature that had just bared their teeth.
“No… you don't want me to help? Or no it doesn't hurt?”
All he received was a half-hearted shrug in response, awkward and uneven; seeming to savour his left shoulder given the other was the one that took the majority of the impact when he was thrown through the alley like a ragdoll.
In the absurdity of it all, and the confusing response of Peter, the mystery boy huffed out a small chuckle, breathy and halfheated, the type that slips out even when not appropriate. A shaky smile dared to cross his face, as he shook his head slightly at the boy before he moved to accompany him, sitting by his side against the wall, concealing a pair of trembling hands in his pockets.
“Okay then. Well that's your choice, but if you actually are injured, don't stop yourself getting treatment just because you snuck out”
Peter's eyes narrowed as he whipped his head to face the boy, immediately regretting that choice when it exacerbated the pounding in his head. He scrunched up his face as he made a low noise, somewhere between a cry and a moan, moving to lean his head back against the cold brick. After a few necessary moments taken to compose himself, he opened his eyes again to look at the boy, who appeared both worried but also smug, having guessed right. Peter groaned again, voice weak and a little strained as he questioned.
“How’d you know?”
In response, mystery boy's lips quirked up a little more on the right side of his face, sly as a fox as he huffed out a small laugh once again.
“What, you think I don't know what it looks like? You're running from something, otherwise, you would've called someone by now.”
He readjusted himself, moving to face him, sitting with one leg extended, the other bent upwards so that he could rest an arm on it, feigning a sense of casualness, or normality despite it all. He seemed to have full focus on Peter, eyes sharp and focused, intense in a way that made him squirm just a little. As he studied Peter, his tongue pressed to his cheek before he came to a conclusion on his analysis.
“Let me guess; shitty family?”
His grin only widened at the shock he saw on his companion's face, enjoying the validation of being consistently right and despite the situation, his tone carrying a note of teasing, although bittersweet.
“I know a broken soul when I see one. No normal kid would be running about alleys in New York at this time if they had a perfect little family at home.”
Upon seeing Peter recoil a little at his family life being put under the microscope by a total stranger, he relented just a little, sighing as he leaned his head against his hand.
All I'm saying is that I get it. With my asshole of a dad, the farther I am from him, the better, trust me.”
That managed to elicit a little smile from the boy, lips quirking upward slightly, momentarily relieved by the fact that someone understood.
Sure, Ben was amazing, and the man had been there for him through so much the past few months. He had been through it all before, that was without a doubt, but for him it was in the past, he didn't have to live with it every day. Even when he did go through it, he wasn't burdened with the additional pressure of a huge secret.
It just wasn't the same at all.
Momentarily, he dared think of talking to this boy, establishing a connection or camaraderie before he lowered his eyes in shame, feeling like he'd just been stabbed in the chest.
What was wrong with him?
How could he possibly sit here thinking about himself at that moment?
Had he forgotten what had just happened?
What he had done?
That feeling of pure guilt, pure crushing existential dread overcame him once again. It's as though something tremendously heavy has placed itself atop his chest, making a point of stamping down on his windpipe, choking him, leaving him spluttering once again as he tried to regain the ability to breathe.
Shaking hands came up to his face, dragging upward and into his hair, fighting the soft locks, as he tried to ground himself with the pain, but it offered no signs of success, no signs of slowing the panic that coursed through his whole body.
His breaths, the few that escaped him, were sharp, wheezing and unregulated, chest rising and falling sporadically as it washed over him in another wave, pulling him under yet again.
Hands grasped at him. They were tight on his shoulders, clamping down, squeezing softly.
He jolted at the touch, a startled wheeze escaping him, like a gasp when one comes up for air after being deprived of it.
His eyes flew open wide, flicking over the figure in front of him in terror, the boy's expression of alarm mirroring his. His hands move up, prying Peter’s hands from his hair, trying to soothe the boy despite his own state of perturbation.
“Hey! You- you're okay! You're okay! We’re safe- we’re safe - shit uh- what’s uh- five things you can smell- fuck no that’s not right. Hey- just look at me. Look at me”
His hands gripped onto Peter’s, tightly, squeezing in a certain rhythm; one short, another short, one long and then one short. He stared back at the disturbed boy, holding his eyes as long as it took for Peter's erratic breaths to begin to still, softening slowly.
The mystery boy released his hands, instead opting to give him an awkward pat on the shoulder, more unsure now that the initial panic was over. His lips pursed together in a tight smile, the type you give a stranger on the street when they say something odd to you, taking a few moments before speaking once again, his voice wavering, but with a clear of his throat he manages to cary on.
“You- you're good now, right?”
Peter, clearly still shaken - and at that moment additionally bashful given his second breakdown of the night in front of this stranger - merely nodded, his actions and entire demeanour subdued.
The boy lets out a slow, unsteady exhale, returning to his side and flopping against the wall, tilting his head back, the reddening around his neck an indication of clear future bruising, and a nasty looking one at that.
Peter swallowed, head held low, voice hollow and soft when he dared utter a few words.
“I’m… sorry ‘bout that”
The other boy shook his head, continuing to look ahead, flicking over the space for the presence of any threat, calming a little when he observed nothing.
“Don’t worry about it.”
The moment hangs in the air, silence permeating the space until he turns to Peter, those sharp eyes upon him once again.
“If it's the… situation back there you're worried about, don't be, we won't be in any trouble. I won’t tell anyone, and that bastard certainly won't."
Bile rose up into Peter's throat at the boy's insouciant words, but managed to choke it down, although the feeling of asphyxiation remained. The ringing continued, although lower this time, no longer deafening, if it were, he would not be exposed to the words of his companion.
“There was something not right with him- if you could even call him a man. You could see it in his eyes. Pure evil.”
Peter flinched once again, as the image of those crazed bloodshot eyes filled his mind, like a wild bull ready to charge, truly bloodthirsty, but it wasn't just that, Peter could see his eyes just before he- Peter remembered those eyes, they would haunt him, they were desperate and… frightened, oh so very frightened.
“The way I see it, you did the right thing, knocking him across the alley like you did, probably would've killed us both if you didn't.”
Peter shuddered at the words,muffling a whimper that threatened to escape his lips.
There was no justifying what had happened; what he had done.
The force he had used- he hadn't been careful, he'd lost control and he’d-
This was on him.
There was no minimising that.
Still, he offered the boy no retort, just sat there numbly.
The silence weighed on the pair once again, well, as close to silence as you got in New York.
Still, it didn't last long, not with the boy growing inquisitive, or well, more so downright suspicious. He moved, gaze narrowed as he took in the sight of Peter, who despite his newfound muscle, practically drowned in that hoodie, looking just as scrawny as he had pre freaky spider bite.
The boy leaned in, studying Peter, voice low and conspiratorial, as if asking him to disclose a huge secret, which truly he was.
“How did you do that anyway?”
Peter remained still, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek as he stared blankly ahead, hiding the way his stomach dropped at the question, a different kind of dread filling him this time. He was going to be found out, this boy would know he was a freak and he’d find a way to tell his family- and then-
The mystery boy sucked in a breath, smacking his lips just a little. He nodded to himself, moving to sit back against the wall, clearly sensing that Peter was not willing nor able to answer that. He exhaled lightly, barely a chuckle, drawing out the first word, almost teasingly.
“Okay then, not going to answer. That’s fine, guess I do owe you after the whole saving my life thing”
The quiet, somewhat tranquil wordlessness returned between the pair as they sat, but it wasn't long before his companion grew restless and stood, pacing, not moving at any point more than a few meters from him.
Peter traced him as he moved, for the first time actually seeing the boy, quickly realising that he bore a resemblance to someone familiar. His eyes were light and sharp, hair messy, although in that ruffled, distressed kind of way from which you can tell it usually is neat - much unlike Peter's unruly locks. The clothes he wore were tattered and mucky from the events of the night, but it was clear they were expensive; trousers perfectly tailored and shirt the perfect length to be neatly tucked.
It was when he turned and the light caught his face, that it dawned on Peter.
He knew that face.
He knew that boy.
Fuck.
Peter took a moment, taking a breath, reassuring himself that even if he recognised the boy, this boy wouldn't know him.
He went unrecognised everywhere he went; at home, at school, even at those charity galas he'd go to as a member of the Stark family.
Nobody knew him.
Everybody knew his family of course.
But nobody knew that he was one of them.
He was going to be fine.
He would not be recognised.
“Uh - so, I know this is inappropriately timed and like- not at all necessary to ask given the current situation but…do I know you?
Double fuck.
Peter looked up at the older boy - yes he knew that for a fact now - swallowing anxiously, mind going blank as he tried to conjure up any excuse, any excuse. He didn't manage any more than a shake of his head, hoping to dissuade the boy from his investigation.
He shifted under his gaze as the boy continued to study him as though he were a puzzle missing a piece, taking in every little detail and trying to uncover the one thing he was missing. The boy began pacing again, though this time not straying far at all, chewing mindlessly on the nail of his thumb as he thought.
“No- no I’ve definitely seen you before.”
The boy leaned in, bending at his knees to get on eye level with Peter, hovering right there as he picked apart his every feature meticulously, carefully.
“Have- have I seen you before at a gala or like an event or something?”
Peter winced at that, after all the boy was on the right track, in fact, he was hurdling towards Peter at full speed.
In response, Peter offered nothing at all, but the boy continued his pursuit, question after question with no response until he eventually huffed, switching tactics.
“Maybe it'll be easier to say if you know who I am first”
He extended a hand out for Peter to shake, smile shifting to something pointed and perfect, almost rehearsed in utterly immaculate fashion.
“I’m Harry, Harry Osborn. What's your name?”
A stare off occurred between the pair, extending on for what felt like forever, Peter's expression blank and unamused - concealing the fact that all alarms are blaring internally - and Harry, cool and collected, raised a brow at the boy teasingly. Peter huffs, relenting, struggling to even force the words out.
“I’m… Peter”
“Just Peter?”
“Just Peter" is all he received, through gritted teeth.
Harry grinned, stepping back, hands up in mock surrender.
“Well, just Peter, I need to go home before I'm found missing, and I’m not leaving you here like this, so how ‘bout I walk you where you need to go?”
It's then Peters turn to scrutinise the boy who stands opposite him, extending a hand once again. His lip jutted out in a slight pout as he weighed his options.
On one hand; after all he’d gone through that night, he didn't think he was ready to walk the streets alone, and even though Harry played it cool, Peter could see through his demeanour to the same desperation for companionship and hesitation to go unaccompanied.
On the other hand; he’s Harry Osborn, the son of the man his father loathes, - actually that also could be put in the positive category - who his brother also hates, - once again positives - who… seemed nice enough.
He'd stayed with him through it all, checked up on him - albeit clumsily - pulled him out of a panic attack and not once pushed Peter too far in his pursuit of answers, despite how clearly eager he was to find out. He was kind - rough around the edges and a little too sharp at times - but kind nonetheless.
Having momentarily weighed his options, Peter settled upon his decision and reached up, taking the hand offered to him and allowing the boy to pull him up. The pair fell into step with one another, hurriedly heading through the streets towards their respective abodes.