Chapter Text
It was always strangely quiet when a battle had been won. Sure, there were the news reporters, the mumbles and cries of the crowd, the sirens in the distance growing louder as they approached, but it was all like white noise in Peter’s ears. Without the rush of blood in his ears, the wind whipping past him, or the crashes of things breaking around him, he might as well have been in his university library.
At that moment, all Peter could think about was Harry. Harry, who had thrown himself into the fray despite all odds. Harry, who had sacrificed himself to save the day, the foolish bastard. Harry, who was now bleeding out on the cold, hard ground, his head cradled carefully in MJ’s lap like he was only trying to sleep, like it was promised that he’d wake up in the morning.
Peter hardly remembered the trip back to Harry’s house. He gently set his friend down on one of the couches, avoiding the one he’d set Norman on all those years ago. He hardly believed in omens anymore, but at that point, he’d take all the divine intervention that the universe would allow him.
MJ stood aside, face still as stone. Gone were the tears she’d shed earlier, when she’d first found her way to Harry’s side. Hope was dangerous in situations like this, but so was mourning. So she stood there, occasionally meeting Peter’s eyes, but otherwise watching silently as the private doctors swarmed around and began to do their work.
It was a long, arduous night. There were times when Peter was sure it was the end, but no tears threatened to spill. He had to make it, he had to. The chances were slim, and even as the doctors continued to do their magic, Peter watched as his best friend’s face grew paler and paler, like more life was draining from it with every passing minute.
Still, somehow, he pulled through. Harry managed to survive the night. It soon became the least of their worries.
MJ finally tapped out once he’d been stable for an hour. She’d watched him like a hawk would as he laid there breathing in and out, chest heaving less with every breath he took. She gave Peter a long look before retiring to one of the other couches, falling asleep almost instantly.
Peter kept the vigil for the rest of the night. He drank in every moment, basking in the quiet sounds of his friends softly sleeping, like it was just a sleepover and nothing more. Long gone were the days when things were that simple, but so long as no one woke to protest it, the. Peter could pretend for as long as he desired.
It was restful in its own way, watching over the two. Peter knew his body was nearing its limit. It felt like it had been weeks since he’d last slept. Still, the longer he stood there, perched in the corner of the room near the window where the streetlight flooded in, the more he felt like he’d just woken from a pleasant nap on a sunny afternoon.
The sun eventually made its entrance, showing up late to the party as if the clouds in front of it were parked cars blocking its way. Still, it dared to shine on, sending in slivers of light through the cracked blinds that slipped across the floor.
At this point, Harry stirred. Peter was by his side before he’d had the chance to open his eyes.
“Wh…Peter?” Harry mumbled, struggling with the words.
Peter managed a smile. “Good morning, Harry.”
Harry started to laugh, which quickly turned into a cough. He shut his eyes again, his head rolling over to the side. “I just had such a weird dream.”
Before he could elaborate any further, sleep claimed Harry once again. Peter’s smile dropped, but inside, his heart grew a degree warmer.
MJ woke up a few minutes later, rubbing at her eyes and smearing whatever was left of her makeup from the day before. She almost resembled a raccoon. “Peter?”
Peter slowly walked over to the side of the couch, leaning against its arm. “Yeah?”
MJ sat up slowly, turning around to take a look at Harry. She then looked back at Peter, a worried expression replacing her previous sleep-content face. “Has he been awake yet?”
“Only for a minute,” Peter told her. “He’s alright. I think he needs his rest for now.”
With a huff, MJ slumped back against the couch. She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed at them a bit with her hands. “It’s cold in here.”
“I think he usually keeps it that way,” Peter said, not that he would know. He could count on one hand how many times he’d been in that very room since everything had happened all those years ago. It was a shame, he thought. Harry had been his best friend. Now, looking over at his sleeping form, he hardly recognized the person laying there. It could take years to rebuild what they’d had.
MJ looked at Peter for a second, almost like she was studying him. There was a ghost of a smile on her lips. “What are you thinking?”
Peter sighed, shrugging. “Just about how much has changed.”
She was quiet for a minute. Peter could almost see the gears turning in her head. Then, she met his eyes and said, “Maybe it’s for the best.“
Peter barely registered the words. He folded his hands. “What do you mean?”
MJ closed her eyes, sighing deeply. “Maybe it’s time we start again. From the beginning.”
There it was, the solution to everything. It was agonizingly simple, the way she put it. Of course, why not just start over? Why not put everything that had happened behind them? Wipe out all of the good times, the bad times, the times when Peter had laid awake at night begging the powers that be to give him a do-over, just one more chance to set things right. Maybe, just maybe, they’d finally listened to his plea.
Now, watching MJ watch Harry, Peter felt like it could really happen. He had another shot at everything. It wouldn’t undo what had been done, but if in their eyes, it wiped his slate clean, then it would be no different than if he’d traveled back in time to the day that damned spider had bitten him.
Still, starting over meant getting to know them all over again. Did he really know anything about them anymore? MJ still had that same, sweet smile and those beautiful eyes that sucked him right in, and Harry still had his humor, his integrity, his drive to do right by those important to him. They were like paper cranes in Peter’s hands. One wrong move, and they’d be nothing but crumpled remnants of their former selves.
Maybe he was being too harsh, both on himself and his friends. They were strong, both of them. They could handle themselves even if Peter tried to tear them apart again. Still, he wouldn’t. He knew he wouldn’t dare to put himself before them ever again. Even if it killed him, Peter was going to do everything he could for them, even if it meant disappearing from their lives forever, or letting them each punch him in the face as many times as they liked, or even just sitting and listening for once instead of letting his big mouth get in the way. He would do anything.
Harry woke again late in the morning. The doctors took his vitals, nodding approvingly at the results, then left him in peace once more. He sat up slowly, laboredly, like even the slightest movement hurt him. It probably did, Peter thought to himself. He rushed to Harry’s side, holding out his hands in a futile attempt to get his friend to take it easy. It was useless, in the end, as Harry managed to prop himself up into a sitting position with a huffed breath or two.
“Fancy seeing you two here,” he rasped, voice cracking with every syllable.
MJ smiled. Peter only looked at him, begging himself to say something, anything. A million thoughts were running through his head, and any one of them would have sufficed. What were you thinking? How are you feeling? What the hell is wrong with you?
Thank you for saving my life.
“You gave us quite a scare, you know,” MJ said, softly, with no other hidden meaning behind it.
Harry snorted, then broke into a coughing fit. “Sorry. I’ll try to avoid that in the future.”
MJ leaned forward, clasping her hand over his. “You saved me. You saved all of us.”
“I had to,” Harry said, like it was obvious.
“‘No,” Peter told him, firmly. He didn’t hesitate when he reached forward to take Harry’s other hand in his own. It was cold and clammy, and it all felt wrong.
“You didn’t have to do anything,” Peter said. “None of it.”
In a way, it was his own way of saying thanks. He was sure he’d somehow find it in himself to show his appreciation in the proper way, once Harry was back on his feet. In that moment, though, it seemed too cheap for Peter to say those two simple words. That was the problem. Nothing between them, the three of them, could ever be simple. Peter thought back to MJ’s earlier words, her suggestion that they all start anew, and he let go of Harry’s hand.
“Do you need anything?” He asked, like he was only running to the bodega during a late-night study session.
Harry shook his head with a quick jerk. “No, no, I’m fine. Really.”
Peter dipped his head. “Somehow, I don’t believe that.”
“Trust me,” Harry told him, voice low and far too weak. “I’m fine.”
MJ gave his hand a quick squeeze, then she pulled back. “I’ve gotta run. That stupid cat won’t feed herself. Will you two be okay for a few minutes?”
Peter glanced over at Harry. He was already fighting off another bout of sleep, he could tell just by looking at him. Then, he nodded to her. “We’ll be fine. Be safe, alright?”
MJ headed to the door, grabbing her coat from the rack. As she shrugged it on, she said, “He’ll be okay, right?”
In his makeshift bed, Harry had fallen fast asleep. It had been as quick as flicking off a light switch. As he watched the heaving of his chest, he sighed.
“He has to be,” Peter said, and that was that.
MJ left, leaving Peter alone with his own thoughts and the soft sounds of breathing coming from where Harry laid beside him. Peter leaned against the cushions, close enough to touch, but he kept his hands pressed against his sides. He stood there for what could have been hours, never moving, never faltering. It was the least he could do. For as long as he was in this condition, Peter vowed that he wouldn’t leave Harry’s side.
It was a sterile sort of silence. Sure, Peter could hear the ever-present sirens and car horns in the distance, the occasional hushed words of the doctors on standby, but none of it was louder than the sound of his own pulse in his ears, that liquid heartbeat that ticked on despite everything. That rhythm belonged to Harry now, he realized. He was now the conductor of Peter’s fragile, yet persistent symphony, should he choose to take the stage.
Harry didn’t stir until MJ was back. Even then, it was maybe half an hour before his eyes fluttered open again. He groaned as he shuffled around, like he was trying to stretch but the pain was stopping him. MJ was by his side already, hand gently resting on the bedspread, close to his hand but not quite touching it.
With a grimace, Harry sat up a bit. “So, what happens now?”
“You rest, Harry,” MJ told him. “You’ve been through a lot.”
Harry closed his eyes with a sigh. “What did the doctors say?”
Peter stood up straight. “Not much, at least not to us. Do you want us to go fetch them?”
“Please,” Harry said, slumping back down. “Find out who’s in charge. I want to know what they have to say.”
MJ gave Peter a glance. “I’ll go get them.”
With that, she was off again, slipping into the corridor. The sounds of hushed voices, one of them belonging to her, trickled in through the cracked door, but all Peter could focus on was Harry, who was staring at him with those questioning eyes.
“What really happens now?” It didn’t sound like a question, not with the way he said it. His voice dropped in pitch at the end of the sentence, as if he already knew the answer, but he wanted Peter to say anything else.
“Considering the Hippocratic Oath, I think it’s safe to say that what happens next is whatever you want, Harry,” Peter said in what was meant to be a reassuring tone. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d come across in that way. He wasn’t quite sure of anything anymore.
Harry closed his eyes, but his face was still alert. He made a strained sort of expression. “Sure would be nice if things really worked that way, Pete.”
Something inside Peter twisted into knots at the sound of the nickname. It was so innocent, so fond, so knowing. He sometimes forgot that Harry had once known him better than practically anyone else, even Aunt May. They used to tell each other everything, from the smallest details to the deepest, darkest secrets. That was back when the stakes were lower, yet every struggle they’d faced had felt world-ending back then. Peter couldn’t afford to long for those days anymore.
“Why can’t it work like that?” Peter asked him, knowing there were a million different answers to his question. Harry gave him a sideways look, but he didn’t say anything.
MJ came back in with none other than Dr. Curt Connors following behind her. He was holding a clipboard in his hand as if all Harry needed was a simple checkup. Peter clenched his fists.
“Ready for the results, Mr. Osborn?”
Harry sat up, wincing at the movement. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Peter wanted to excuse himself, but the words never left his lips. He just stood there, eyes shut tightly as Dr. Connors began to speak.
It was going to be a long day.