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Before everything got complicated Harry had found himself, yet again, turning up to a party alone. It didn't last long, of course, as Flash Thompson invited him inside and took Harry's simple "hey," as an invitation for him and his cronies to flock by his side while Harry proceeded to the punch bowl. Harry would need that definitely spiked punch to help make the night easier, especially considering Flash was the most annoying person Harry had ever met. Flash was like the human embodiment of nails on a chalkboard or someone scraping the tines of their fork on a plate. The only reason Harry interacted with him was that they were on the football team together. Harry played center and was hoping to, soon, steal Flash's resident place as quarterback."You don't want me there." Is what Peter told him when Harry had brought up the idea of going together. That was back on Tuesday. Harry had been lazing on Peter's bunk-bed, his feet hanging over the edge. Harry had to stop himself from complaining about the shitty mattress, he knew how he would sound. Bad. Even if what Harry was really complaining about was how unfair it was that Peter had to live like this. Ants infesting the kitchen, black mold in the bathroom, bunk bed the uncle had said was once in the evidence locker at his work (that the blood had been washed out of!), Peter missing out on all the numerous scholarships and summer camps he'd won because he couldn't fill the financial gaps of said programs with his own money. The shitty mattress that was less comfortable than a bed of nails.Harry tried his best to help, but he had never gotten his friend to accept many gifts. Peter's birthdays were always a stressed affair when Harry tried to shove the biggest things he could manage onto Peter before the boy could properly complain or decline. Last Christmas Harry was elated that he'd convinced Peter to come shopping with him for one nice winter coat. By the end of the day, he successfully crammed in a new set of sheets, a computer, and a space heater into the trip. Peter had been so angry he refused to talk to Harry for a week but Harry still considered it a massive win. Now it was simply a waiting game before he could hoist the memory-foam mattress and deluxe chemistry glassware set onto Peter."Those people are boring, Peter. Why wouldn't I want you there?" Harry asked him."Okay. Listen..." Peter looked away from what he was reading, some sort of scientific journal he'd dug up online, (Organic chemistry, it's about ants, Peter told him, probably knowing Harry would forget, anyway, and it's from a library in Washington, Michelle let me borrow her old library card,) and turned towards Harry. Peter was debating his response."I'm listening," Harry urged."Okay. I don't want to go to a party where I'll be an outcast. I won't have a good time. All your other friends either bully me or don't know me, meet me, and then bully me too. I've learned my lesson."Ah, yes. Harry knew the lesson Peter was referring to. His infamous first party-party (As in not a sleepover with Harry, or Ned, or a decathlon trip.) Harry had been so happy he had finally convinced Peter to show up to something. Harry was determined to create an image, even though they had yet to formally start their freshman year yet. But, with Peter there, the process would make him less likely to punch a hole in a wall so he'd begged until Peter relented with the promise of multiple boba tea trips. Peter had arrived wearing a hoodie and jeans that one girl called "a bold choice" when Harry had asked her in an attempt to assuage Peter's jitters. Harry, on the other hand, had worn nice clothes. He had been particularly fond of boat shoes and v-neck sweaters at the time. Peter called it his "Yacht club chic". He had never been particularly supportive of Harry's fashion choices- in his opinion the strange and impractical cuts of clothes should've stayed on the runway or, better yet, the dumpster. (It was a week after this party Harry ended up changing his look again, reverting back to bomber jackets, turtlenecks, and the other shifting designer pieces he had a walk-in closet full of. He had been brought up to make an impression and, even if it might have made sense to care less about his appearance to spite his father, he couldn't help himself from doing just that.)Peter tried to have fun but quickly got anxious as Harry started interacting with strangers. Harry kept trying to involve the other boy in the larger conversation, even as the crowd kept building. And Peter certainly tried, but it was painfully obvious how young, awkward, and different he was to the other teenagers. Eventually, a few juniors and seniors had come over as different people broke off in their own conversations and groups. Eventually, Harry ended up talking to, and wanting to avidly get away from, a junior girl. She was spending too long ranting about yogurt flavors and had so many piercings she looked like a bloated voodoo doll."I like it." is what the junior told Harry, waving a hand over the sleek cardigan Harry had one of the maids iron before they came. "It looks good on you, and it's sort of a reverse conversation on like... the rich. Like a reflection."Peter snorted into his cup of punch as he took a sip. "Um," he coughed, "Sure. Yeah."The girl turned her head, "You have something to say?"Peter nodded, and, with sudden confidence, probably because he'd been wanting to tell someone his joke all night, said "I think it's pretentious. I mean the belt? The striped socks? When you add the yellow sweater? He looks like Spongebob." "I'm sorry, what?" The girl took her time in dragging her eyes over Peter, head to toe. Making it obvious age was squinting and scrutinizing what she saw. The tangled bird's nest of hair and caterpillar eyebrows, his coke bottle glasses, the fading periodic table hoodie, the dirty sneakers. "Listen." she said, "I don't know who let you in here. But you can't exactly say anything about fashion considering... well, you're an ugly little freak and all..."Peter's face fell quicker than Harry thought possible, changing from the first thing that had almost looked like a smile since Peter had arrived to something more akin to fallen ice cream cone on hot pavement. "So go talk to someone else."Harry has always regretted not punching that girl for several reasons. She had two lip piercings and it made her look like a vampire had lost its teeth trying to get away from her, which was dumb enough in itself that Harry wanted to pull her hair out. She talked down to him. Didn't laugh when Peter said he looked like Spongebob, which was just true enough to be hilarious.She called Peter ugly. That pissed Harry off the most. Sure, Peter had always been short, gangly and anemic and in recent years he'd shot up like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree into a zit-covered mess that wore some of the worst pieces of clothing Harry had the horror of laying his eyes upon. (Usually, the boy's wardrobe consisted of raggedy jeans or khakis that swarmed his legs into formless sticks and graphic t-shirts with bad science puns and Star Wars references.) Harry knew Peter wasn’t particularly handsome in the traditional sense… at least, not yet. Harry hypothesized that when Peter got older, managed to fill out from not being constantly sick, and figure out the real-life application of haircuts, he’d be gorgeous. But, even if he never did, that didn’t matter to Harry. He thought Peter was adorable anyway. His favorite person.Harry had tried for months to bring back Peter's reluctant bravery, but the entire experience had left Peter, who was already extremely wary of busy social situations and parties, scarred. Staring up at the top of the bunk bed where someone else's initials were haphazardly carved, Harry scoffed. "They are not my friends, Peter.""So, let me get this clear." Peter said, taking his glasses off to massage his fingers into his forehead, "You want to take me to my bully's really, really fancy mansion, so he can rub in the fact that I live in," He threw his hands up, "this and hang out with a bunch of people that worship you. In the meantime, you hate all these people and all these people hate me."Harry hummed, bringing his hands to his chest as if in deep thought. "Yes.""Good for you.""Ugghhh," Harry whined, kicking his feet back into the bed and whining in the back of his throat, "Come on! What else are you going to do?""I plan to be a good student, start my procrastinated English essay, and eat May's Friday Fish Sticks that night. So." Whining into the air again and arching off the bed he was hoping that, though it was unlikely, he could annoy Peter into giving in. Peter gave no reaction. Harty flopped back down with a loud huff, "Peter. Come on. It's not procrastinating if you plan to do it. Plus, it's due Monday. You'll have the entire weekend.""Hm. You're right. Maybe I'll hang out with my other friends." Peter said, returning to his computer."What other friends?" Harry pouted, "Come on. You know you're not allowed.""If you say that again I'll think you're serious, so maybe watch the douchebaginess there a bit?" Peter warned him, "You know though... You could come hang out with us instead of the party you're going to torture yourself with.""Your friends hate me. They all think I'm a pretentious jock.""Which you are." Peter reminded him, deadpan. "and that's okay. We don't have to like each other's friends." Peter said with a satisfied smile on his face. When their eyes met it was obvious they both knew Harry had been defeated, "I still don't get why you go to those dumb parties though. If you hate them so much.Knowing he'd been beat, Harry didn't bother to answer for fear of letting the hurt and sore loser come out in his voice. He just gently traced the heart on the top of the bunk bed with his finger.So, Harry was in a sour mood that Friday. That's why he'd rolled himself a nice joint and smoked it in the car before driving to the Thompsons' house. He'd forgotten to roll the windows down and blinking out tears from his eyes when the smoke filled them. He had needed something strong to efface the urge to punch said smarmy bastards as they ranted about the annoying kids on the decathlon team. Flash, lucky for him, had not yet mentioned Peter in front of Harry- everyone knew Harry had what they perceived as a 'pity-induced-soft-spot' for the boy.Most of the night passes without incident: Harry socializes flawlessly, loosely, easily flitting in and out of faces, barely managing to remember names, but usually doing fine regardless.The alcohol, loud music, and weed bring him out of his head enough that he finds himself dancing and laughing with a girl for fifteen minutes or... However long it was. He gets her number but is more focused on not throwing up to really care about her. She's unimportant.Though, for all he could tell, he'd been talking to her for hours, or maybe five minutes.He barely processes the layout of Flash's house. but Harry recognizes a few things. Mainly that it's more like a bachelor's pad than a family home. What with the open floor-plan, and the impersonal penthouse feeling. Littering a corkboard by the door is a nude calendar of chicks with cars and numerous pictures of a man, presumably Flash's father with different women flashing their breasts. One of them has him in a full military outfit.Harry realizes there's no kitchen table when he searches for one. Several pool chairs. A brimming alcohol cabinet. Obvious money. No kitchen table. Maybe Harry should feel more empathetic, considering he knew exactly what an abusive, or at the very least broken and neglectful, household felt like.He couldn't bring himself to care. It was all just funny to him right now. He felt like laughing."You know that kid Ned Leeds?" Flash asked. It took Harry a moment to realize the question was directed towards him. He had been busy staring down at the inside of the bag of Cheetos in his hand. He'd been watching the green reflection of the string lights on the walls and the glo-stick bracelets on the shiny material.Ned was one of Peter's friends. Harry had met him, once. Peter had invited him over in an honest attempt to get his two best friends to meet and bond over a video game without considering how competitive Harry always got. Another thing Harry had fucked up. Big surprise.Harry knew Ned went over to Peter's place a lot. They had saved up for and built several massive star wars legos sets together. Peter had kept the death star, and Harry greatly desired to kick it into oblivion. He didn't, because he was better than that. Ned and Peter were also teammates for at least three of the competitions Peter had entered. They'd won one of them together with some sort of robotic prosthetic."Yeah," Harry answered Flash, "What about him?""Well, today he..." Flash started laughing, "oh... Sorry, I..." He kept laughing, the inane chortling gaining in volume as a few others joined him. In on the big joke, apparently. "You tell the story man, you're better at it," Flash told his friend, smacking him hard on the back of his shoulder-blades.The friend was Kong. As one of the defenders on the team, he fit the stereotype of a football player. Harry wasn't particularly small, his father is 6'4" and his mother, even, had been 5'11", but compared to Kong he looked like a child. With the shaved head and tattoos poking out from under Kong's shirt the seventeen-year-old looked way too old to still be in high school."Well, me and Flash were skipping Ms. King's class," Kong starts, sounding quite proud of himself, "We're waiting it out in the bathroom. You know, the visitor's one near the gym because the fire alarm is busted in there. I hid some vodka and my vape pen in my bag, so we're just having a good fucking time. Then it's almost the end of the period and I hear this noise all of a sudden, Just the sound of two things hitting each other, like a CLASH. and I'm like... whatever. But then there's this little moan and then a super loud shriek right after. I'm pretty sure it's a girl. I'm not sure though because it's super faint but I can tell it was, like, loud in the other room. first, I'm thinking someone's jerking off and something went wrong. It's still hard to hear and I ask Flash if he heard it and he said yes so I mean obviously we've got to go check it out.""Like it's probably just some scrawny kid beating his micro-dick in the middle of the gym and it'll be hilarious if we catch him."
Wishing he was a turtle, Harry finds himself deeply unhappy with the fact he can't stick his head back into a shell and hide away. Or, at least, avoid this conversation. He's staring past Kong, to the wall, and making his discomfort as obvious as possible, but it's not working.
"But, anyway, it gets louder once we leave the bathroom and now I can hear some voices. I don't recognize them, but now I know there are more than two people and I'm so glad we were a little buzzed because otherwise, I would've just left it alone but I'm drunk enough that I don't care. Like, what if it's some hot chick and her girlfriend?"Ah, yes, Harry thought, because alcohol was what made them lose their conscience. "Flash is like, 'yo, we should go through the side door that leads to the little hall with the water fountain and shit- you know what I'm talking about- and whoever it is won't see us' and that was like a stroke of genius. Cause I got a picture before they saw us. And I mean you could hear them as soon as you open the door like, there was this guy sayin' 'maybe we need to go the nurse!' and the girl with him was like "just pull!' and when we get to the entrance to the court it's fucking Ned Leeds and some ugly blonde chick from their nerdathon crap. The best part: His lip is stuck in her braces and they're stumbling around."
At this Kong does a terrible impression of the events, throwing his hands up and wobbling from side to side with a constipated expression. He wails, a high-pitched 'ohhhh noooo!' And the hoard of guys surrounding them chuckle along. Kong takes a moment to collect himself before he continues, "I mean he's so fat and he's shorter than her so she's like on her fucking tippy-toes like 'stop moving!' and he's just like 'it hurts!'"Harry can smell the old spice deodorant and cheap cologne when Kong leans towards him to keep talking. He doesn't quiet down in the closer vicinity. If anything, he gets louder and he ignores Harry's polite request to say it not spray it- trying to get him to back off. "I started taking a video and it was just in time. Fatso loses his balance and falls on his back. I swear I hear a crunch. And he's screaming and crying cause his lip hurts and the girl comes with him. She fucking bounced on him, dude. I swear."Kong digs his phone out of his shirt pocket and opens it. "Come on, you have to watch."Harry laughed. He didn't want to watch. He did. It was hilarious. Then the video looped and he watched it again. And again. And again. And then Kong put his phone away. Harry didn't punch him.On the way back to his house, starting one of the worst crashes he'd had in weeks, he couldn't help but think. Peter was probably going to bed now, full on fish-sticks and hot chocolate. But, earlier, he'd likely been fretting about the ripped surface of Ned Leed's lips as Han Solo said something cute to Chewbacca in the background. Maybe Peter had been talking about his spider-web shit and Ned was tinkering with their robot arm and then they both stopped when Ned hissed and rubbed his tongue at the sore spot. Peter would help. Get them ice cream sandwiches, rub circles on the boy's back: gentle and consistent pressure.He needed to pull over. Desperately. His vision was blurry, his head careening as if he'd already crashed the car.So, in the mood of good decision making, he stepped on the gas instead and imagined hitting Kong and Flash with his car. How they'd be too slow to react and crumple under the tires. Their blood would smell like vodka and mint Juul pods. Harry imagined himself standing in the middle of the road, absolutely directionless. Maybe he'd just be so unfortunate he wouldn't die the first time and he'd have to back the car back up. Feel his skull under the rubber. Listen to the sounds.Drive far away without thinking too long about it.*When he thinks back, he realizes it was good that things changed so much. For several reasons. And, if he had to pin the catalyst: it was that dumb field-trip he had begged his dad to host, to make Peter happy, and convince his science teacher to be a bit more forgiving. Or, maybe before that, it was Peter wanting the field trip and begging Harry and his science teacher giving him 68% on a radiation quiz. Harry was fascinated, that is to say: distracted, with watching Peter smush his face up against the glass, eyes wide as he took in the Oscorp labs. The tour had moved away from the quiet cubicles and safer stations where the students were allowed to touch the equipment and talk with the scientists. They'd moved on to where they could only watch the labs and their occupants through floor-to-ceiling windows from an elevated hallway above. Peter was just as excited, if not more, by the equipment and math on whiteboards he recognized than by the hands-on presentations and lollipops from the human resources manager that had made the rest of the class happy.It’s refreshing because, here, Peter is carefree. At school Peter is usually stressed- and Harry knows that even at home Peter’s financial situation and doctor visits is a source of abundant worry. Here, Peter was smiling among all the tech and scientists rushing around like bees from place to place. Harry was watching Peter's face, the grin splitting his freckled cheeks, and it made Harry happy when he looked down at Peter's hands eagerly clenching the temporary Oscorp ID he had been issued. Peter was clutching so tightly that Harry was afraid the plastic would crack in half. Harry's eyes went upwards and fixed themselves to a single spot: watching Peter's lips as he whispered energetically, accompanied by an insistent pointing through the window, about all the applications of a certain machine Harry had seen before but didn't know the name of. "Harry, I know you hate your father- and I know he’s the human equivalent of a pile of dirty dishes but... listen... He wrote a damn good paper on nanotechnology." Peter gives a dreamy sigh and points one last half-hearted finger through one of the windows which melts into an open-palmed drag over the surface, "Oh man... just imagine... He’s got so many good scientists working here, especially in the chem stuff. I mean, Stark industries might have my heart, but you guys beat them in chem, and not just weapons either...” "Peter, don’t let my dad hear how wet you are for Stark industries. He might try to brainwash you.” Is what Harry tells him, pulling Peter away from the window to try to catch back up with the tour group with a reminder that they were supposed to have lunch next. It takes a bit of tugging but, eventually, Peter relents and they continue walking. Peter whips his head around from side to side. “Can he hear me?” “He’s always watching Peter,” Harry says in a bad imitation of Monsters inc and gestures to one of the cameras on the ceiling as they pass it. At Peter’s concerned look he adds. “I’m kidding. But, seriously. Don’t let my dad see you eyeing the labs- he’ll strongarm your perfect little brain into an Osorp white coat before you can cry for help.” "Bluh," Peter says "Your dad is scary."“Definitely. Last week I heard him on the phone with someone and he was most definitely threatening their family if they didn't get him some lab reports by Wednesday or something."Peter hums, “that’s… nice.”“No.” Harry shakes his head, “It’s not.”Harry pulls Peter by his elbow down the hall until the other boy complains about the fact that Harry’s legs are too long and Harry lets go so the two of them walk at a more leisurely pace. Peter huffs about being out of shape and Harry rolls his eyes and pats Peter’s back. “I told you,” Harry says “you should’ve picked me up on my offer to get you a gym membership.” Peter makes a disgusted face “What?” Peter asks him, “And be healthy? Nah. Not my uh… my cup of tea. Plus, you know I have baby lungs. I couldn't even if I wanted to.” The way they are going is unfamiliar, as in, Harry doesn’t think he has been in this part of the building before. It’s mildly alarming but… not really at first. The renovated used-to-be-Stark-Tower (which Norman bought because he has issues and wanted to show Tony Stark how massive his dick was) is larger, and still mostly unexplored. Not even for lack of trying. Harry had attempted to learn the layout more than was necessary, but with so many floors, the one quick executive elevator ride up to the penthouse was more than tempting. As Harry and Peter walked further, the wide windows and view of the workers had petered out into blank grey walls, with a few metal doors. It looked like some needed access codes and had what seemed to be an eye scanner. Even the security cameras were less abundant. Harry and Peter keep walking, hoping they’ll catch up with the tour group, but by Peter’s increasingly anxious looks over towards Harry, Harry thinks they both know that they’re lost. This is cemented once they come to the end of the hall in the form of a plain wall with no labels.Harry watches as Peter's brow visibly furrows and he looks around. “I’m preeetty sure we lost the tour group, man.” “Huh,” Harry says, “so we did.” “That.” Peter says, taking a sharp inhale and “Is a dead end.” “Another astute observation, captain obvious. ” “You don’t sound as worried as you should be.” “Ahem, well,” Harry shrugs, “My dad does own the building.” Peter rolls his eyes, “Ahem, Well, it’s still a school trip for me. Man, Ms. Damiani is gonna be pissed.” “She’s always pissed at me.” Harry reminds him. “She’s not so bad. Kind of like an angry chihuahua.”“Well, I’m not you and I’ve never gotten in trouble. Ms. Damiani loves me. I almost won ISEF with her.” Peter looks around again and clicks his tongue. “Yes. Yes. Everyone knows you’re a teacher’s pet and all of the school staff are hatching a secret plan to lock you up in the trophy case next to your second-place ribbon.” (Peter grumbles a slight should have been first and, ignoring him,) Harry says, “What are you looking for?” “Is there a map anywhere? There should be a map, right?” Peter asks. “Ah yes, the very conveniently placed and easy to follow map of the secret labs of an international weapon manufacturing company. I believe it is...” Harry points to a random blank section of the wall. “Right here. Ah, look!” Harry claps his hands “Right there, it says ‘you are here’.” Peter punches his shoulder. “Shut up.” It doesn’t hurt, but Harry still feigns a deep pain and leans heavily into Peter as he clutches at his shoulder. “Ow! Is this what I get for helping? I mean I did a great job of finding this thing... It’s even color-coded. Look! It says ‘Tour Group Here’ in big bold print... We better go get them.” “God, you’re such a dick. I genuinely don‘t know why I’m your friend.” Peter huffs and starts walking back the direction they came. “They probably just went through one of these doors. They told us to go to the front of the building if we got lost.” “I could text someone in the class.” Harry offers, and at Peter’s nod and motion to do so, he pulls his phone out of his pants pocket. “Huh, that’s weird,” Harry remarks after he opens up his phone. “No signal.” “What? Let me see.” Peter says and Harry hands his phone off. “Oh, come on! Not fair! We’re in a super high tech lab and they don’t have signal?" Peter grumbles and gives Harry his phone back. “Alright. Let’s go to the front.” Harry grabs Peter’s arm and jerks him back. “Look, they probably went through a door, right? Let’s just try them out until we find them.” Peter immediately says, “No.” Then, as Harry starts to head for one of the doors, he folds his arms around Harry's waist and tries to pull Harry away from the mysterious doors. “No. No way, that is such a bad idea for so many reasons. I can find so many holes in that plan it’s like swiss cheese. Come on.”Harry ignored Peter, and pushed through the weak resistance in favor of testing out the doors one by one until he found one that wasn’t locked. On the fourth one, it worked. Harry hadn't actually expected that to happen, as it was mostly a ploy to annoy Peter, but it's a welcome surprise. Now, all he needs is a computer and he could blow Peter's mind... “Peter. I own the building. What’s the worst that could happen?”“Okay,” Peter slams his hand over Harry’s and pulls the door closed. “We already established your dad is genuinely terrifying, and you want to go around opening up mysterious doors in his creepy laboratory?” Harry swats at Peter’s hand until the boy pulls it back with a squawk. Harry pushes the door open before he can recover.Behind mysterious door number one was… drumroll… darkness. Harry felt for a light switch on the wall as he felt Peter’s arms loosen from his efforts to pull him away. It took him a minute, extra time was added when he had to try a few switches first. He waited, hearing different machinery start up and stop as he experimentally tried each switch before the lights finally came on.“Oh,” Harry says, “well that’s a bit anticlimactic.”Harry only walks a few steps into the room, followed by Peter who timidly stays half behind him. The lights come on in stages, slowly illuminating what seemed to be just another lab, a few meticulously clean lab stations with equipment neatly placed upon them. Shelves in the back with an alphabetized filing cabinet, safety equipment lining the walls, and a bunch of assorted metal machinery that surprise! Harry didn’t recognize and didn't look at long enough to try and guess. Peter inches out from behind him, with a timid, “Huh."Harry sighs. “You think they’ll have a map on the computer?”Peter shakes his head. “No. No way. Why would they? And, anyway, we are not going to mess with their stuff. I don’t... “ Peter trails off and flails a hand in the direction of some strange machinery “I don’t even recognize some of this equipment.”“Well.” Harry says, moving forward despite Peter’s resigned groan when he does, “Not to brag or anything, but I have yet to recognize a single piece of equipment since we’ve been here, so…”“Fine.” Peter says, “Go look for a map on the computer- we both know I can’t stop you and that there won’t be one.”“I will do that.”“So do it.”“I will.”Peter puffs out his chest and gives a final, ‘Good!” before he goes grumbling to look at another part of the lab.Harry laughs under his breath. Peter whips his head around and asks him, “What?”“Nothing.” Harry says, “Just, you, going off to explore and mess with things when I remember you very explicitly telling me not to.”Peter blushes. “Sue me.” He says, “I’m a hypocrite. I saw lab equipment I didn’t recognize and I was curious.”Harry smirks at his friend and continues to one of the laptops. He tries two that end up being personal computers before he gets to the third one which has an Oscorp login. He didn’t have one, but he had memorized his father’s newest one last week when he went to mess with the man’s computer settings. Lucky for him, it still works and the computer opens fairly quickly. Which is strange considering it usually took a little longer when the login hadn’t been used on a specific computer before. Harry is surprised, again, when the screen comes up with more files than he remembered ever seeing on his father’s office computer. Unfortunately, Harry doesn’t recognize any of the names on the files. He scrutinizes a couple, but they all seem to be abbreviations or codes of some kind and he can't extrapolate anything from the names alone. “What the hell…” he whispers under his breath. He clicks on one of them, titled simply: S-1. It opens to even more massive collections of files. Another: 1945, or maybe he should click the 1969 that's so tempting. It takes him a good while before he finds something that isn't a dead-end and, three clicks into one of the run-offs and he finds a document. He is disappointed to find most of it hidden under black lines but Harry recognizes the name Parker at the top.“Yo! Peter!” Harry calls to the other teenager who nearly hits his head on the machine he’s got himself half-stuffed under, scrutinizing a control panel. “Come over here.”Peter grumbles as he stomps over to Harry and the computer he’s at. “I think your dad has freakin’ cryo chambers dude.”Harry narrows his eyes, “What? Oh- weird. Who knows what he’s up to? Come look at this. My dad has a bunch of shit on this computer for some reason, and your dad’s name is on it.”Peter scoffs, “No way.”“Look.” At his urging, Peter leans over Harry’s shoulder to scan the document and reaches around him to grab the mouse and scroll. The rest of the paper is also mostly redacted, leaving stray and therefore meaningless words swimming in the black lines.Peter hits the bottom and withdraws his hand “It’s cool. I didn’t know he worked with Curtis Connors.. but I can’t see anything cause it’s all redacted. With all the stuff blocking the meat of the text it’s just gibberish.” Peter leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Weren’t you supposed to be finding a map.’“Oh. Yeah.” Harry goes to the cloud on the computer where he knows his dad has a map of the building saved and pulls it up. “Huh.” Peter says, “So there is a map of the super top-secret building.”Harry turns his chair around to face Peter, “And it’s color-coded.”Harry turns back around and the two of them search on the map for their location. They both agree that they were on level fifty-six, but in searching the floorplan they can’t find the exact lab they’re in. Peter offers up an explanation in the way that these must be new rooms- added after Harry’s dad bought the building from Stark Industries. They look new, so Harry concedes that must be it. Harry doesn’t feel the need to tell him that his father wouldn’t update the maps without a reason.Even as Peter and he figure out the general route to the cafeteria, Harry finds his eyes edging down to the still open files on the taskbar. He knew his father was shady. A criminal, who probably held more government secrets, and not just American, than Harry would care to suspect. Also, his dad was just generally an awful, narcissistic hypocritical and probably abusive. But, this was weird. Harry didn't know what the worst was but he suspected it. Harry didn’t like when he found himself getting invested in things like this. He knew he was being an idiot: it was none of his business what his dad did. Harry just needs a smoke and a burger and a long run and he'd forget about all of it, anyway.Peter finds a pen and begins jotting the route down on his hand. Harry grabs the mouse and opens up the massive collection of files again ready to ask Peter to help him sort through them.Harry is violently interrupted by his curiosity as he hears Peter shriek. Harry swivels around, eyes wide, and is unsure how to react when he sees Peter shake his hands frantically, trying to fling something off of them.Harry watches something fly off, the ungraceful trajectory headed straight for his nose, and though he tries to move, the unidentified flying object still lands on his face. It crawls , Harry yells. Harry smashes his palm into his face in an attempt to grab it. It is a spectacular failure and he's sure that one day he'd laugh thinking back on this now. But, for now, it's not funny when his head snaps back with the force of his own smack and he feels it crawl to his neck. He jumps up and out of the chair, twisting his arms behind his back to try and catch it as it slips under his sweater collar into the divot between his shoulder-blades.But it was already too late. It was only after the spider bit him that Harry manages to crush it through his clothes, causing its now mangled body to crumple like a paper ball, slide off his back from underneath his shirt, and hit the floor. “Fucker!” Harry yells, “He bit me!” and then, in a moment of regretful fury, slams his shoe down into the insect carcass before he has the time to identify the species or even think about doing so.Both Peter and him are panting and they share a look of panic when their eyes meet each other.“Uh. I’m fucking starving.” Harry says, moving on as a method of not dealing with what just happened. Still standing, he closes the open windows and shuts down the computer, “Let’s go get some pizza or something.” Peter hums and follows him out the door. Harry slams it shut behind them, no intention of return, already wiping the memory from his mind.*In the days that follow, he will never really know exactly what happened. He eats a burger which goes down alright, but the pizza he eats for dinner comes up wet and violent. Figuring whatever it is will pass by morning, he attempts to go to school. He leaves early when he almost passes out in Algebra. He doesn't care about missing school, his shitty grades had stranded him in classes with idiots, anyways. He is a bit bothered by the fact that he'll miss football practice and make the coach angry. Like he could control being sick.Really. Really. Sick.Almost passing out, even if it sounds bad, was probably the least painful, or alarming symptom in his opinion. It was one he had first attributed to low blood sugar or dehydration. It gets so much worse as he feels himself actively deteriorate on the car ride home and on his painful staggering journey up to his room with the help of a staff member.His brain felt like it had been replaced with hot cactus needles. Or, maybe, a balloon that someone was actively trying to blow up bigger than his skull would allow. He swore he felt his head cracking open. Harry attempted to communicate this with the worried maid that was flitting her hands over his face and promising to run for cold water, Adderal, and his father. He knew his sentence didn't come out right when the woman guided him into bed, swore in Spanish, and whispered fearfully, "Ay, Dios mío. No stroke. Please. Do not have a stroke. Please. Please."He resisted the temptation to laugh until she left the room. But the laugh doesn't last long. He breaks off the chuckle with an involuntary gag, and swallows the vomit that rose up to the top of his throat. He pulls a face at the taste it leaves.He never cared to examine this ceiling so thoroughly before. He never expected he would ever do so. He saw small holes where he had thrown his pocket knife and darts into the smooth drywall. He had thought it was too elegant. He remembered that in Peter's apartment, they also had a smooth ceiling... but Peter always complained about his thin shitty ceiling. Peter wanted one of the bumpy ones with soundproofing so he didn't have to constantly hear his neighbors fighting or fucking or playing awful music louder than should be allowed.In Harry's room, smooth was just a fashion choice.Harry considered himself pathetic for that. He hated the fact that he was a trust-fund kid, usually surrounded by other preppy rich kids at some awful party because, fuck it, Harry was an asshole too. He constantly imagined himself in someone else's shoes. He desperately threw himself into the reverie of life for where, maybe, people would applaud him when he accomplished something. He wouldn't have to be compared to his father or, worst-case scenario, be expected to thank the man when it happened. As if his father had done something, anything, to attribute to Harry's success.Ah! Speak of the devil and he appears, walking up leisurely to the edge of Harry's bed in designer Italian dress shoes. "Your chosen sleeping position is not ideal," Norman says. Norman is wearing one of his nicer suits, Harry recognizes that it, too, is Italian and tailored. The suit probably wouldn't have a tag if Harry checked, it was that fancy.Harry had collapsed onto the bed from where he'd been sitting up, so only the upper half of his body was on the mattress. Sideways. He wondered when that happened. It must have been long before he's started counting dart holes on the ceiling. After the maid? He wasn't sure, his head was pounding.Acutely aware he looks awful, even in his designer clothes, he feels like shit, too. He can feel a fever building up underneath his skin and the sweat rising as a thin pale sheen. "Fuck you," Harry tells his father, weakly flipping him the bird. "No hello? No 'how are you feeling?' Just- just a measly 'you lay down wrong'. Like there's a bad way to do it. God, you're the fucking worst.""I can assure you, Harry," Norman says, grabbing Harry's legs from where they're draped over the side, "I am not God. Nor do I believe in such idiocy." With that declaration, he throws Harry's legs up onto the bed. Harry groans with the force of the action as it rocks his entire body and makes his stomach twist."Gentle!" he yells, "I'm fucking sick. You're gonna make me projectile vomit all over your silk sheets or whatever. Dick-bag."Norman raps Harry upside the head. It's not hard enough to hurt bad, but enough so Harry shuts up for a moment. "I know you're sick Harry. That's why I came to see you. I'll admit I thought you were lying about it, but you look like shit.""Really? Did you have to leave some important meeting? Is that why you're in the suit? I hope you did."Norman doesn't say anything in response to this, but Harry can see his lips tighten and considers it a win. "This might surprise you but I'm fifteen now, dad," Harry tells him, "If you're not in here to say something, I can take care of myself.""Are you going to vomit?" Norman asks him."Yes. Probably." Harry tells him, "Why do you care?""I don't want you vomiting on the sheets." Norman explains, "Of course, it's not expensive for me to buy more but... They are nice sheets.""Jesus." "I'm serious. I have no intention of letting you ruin perfectly good sheets. I can help you to the bathroom if I must but, as you can imagine, I'd rather not. Now, up."Harry pushes his arms under his shoulders and pushes himself half off the bed. He whips his head to the side to look at his father with indignation. Even if he regrets the action when it makes his head spin, he waits until the dizziness starts to reside to continue speaking. "I thought you cared about my well-being.""You are the one that threatened me with your bodily fluids all over silk sheets. I'm very glad I never gave you that cashmere blanket for your birthday.""You got me a cashmere blanket and didn't give it to me?""You would've ruined it. Up." Norman gives him an expectant look and Harry makes his best effort to get out of bed. When he stumbles Norman catches him and throws the boy's arm around his shoulder, giving him support and getting him to stand up straighter. His hazy mind wanders as Norman mostly drags him, and not too kindly, towards the bathroom. He drops Harry in front of the toilet. "Gee... Thanks." Harry groans, pulling himself towards the porcelain bowl."You're very welcome. You do realize I could've gotten anyone to help you do that and I did it myself.""You know," Harry drawls, eyes on the standing toilet water "I probably would've appreciated it had it been anyone but you." Harry can't imagine this is helping his stomach any: watching the water, ever so slightly, ripple with the force of something happening somewhere that Harry would never know about. The smell of lemon cleaning products, his father's aftershave. Oh, God, His Father. His father and his oppressive presence filling the space behind him. The dull sound of machinery, plumbing running through the walls, people mulling about everywhere around him in this ludicrously massive skyscraper his father chose to live in. Like their old, ludicrously massive skyscraper wasn't enough. Usually, he wasn't so in tune with this sort of stuff. But, he supposed, he usually wasn't paying much attention. His senses seemed to be completely overloaded. The good lighting in the bathroom was probably too good- the brightness made the white lid of the toilet seat like a hot glaring iron on his eyes and he shut them with a hiss.Norman folds the sleeve of his suit to take a look at his wristwatch. "I have a meeting in ten minutes, so I have to go.""You're the best, pops," Harry says, laying his cheek down onto the seat. His sweat immediately starts to pool between his skin and the cool plastic."I don't care for your sarcasm," Norman says, delivering a kick into the small of Harry's back. Harry barely processes it, it's just another sensation that blends in with the unbearable heat that's boiling under his skin. His sweat is now starting to seep through his shirt and into the seat of his jeans. Harry has the building urge to strip off every piece of clothing but is stopped by his spite when he considers moving any single body part of his ever again."If your sickness persists I will call for a doctor. For now, we will wait it out."Harry thinks he responds though he is not sure what he says. The words spill over themselves in the air and the streams of white cascading in his vision. He throws up.Harry doesn't remember much after this. He knows that he eventually pulls himself up and tumbles into his bed and darkness. There are brief flashes of consciousness, a burning pain everywhere, his bones feeling like they'd turned into to masses of tangled string and someone had let a cat at them, clawing rabidly. He was cotton turning into fake cobwebs. A Halloween decoration. Delirious.Harry remembers one time. Him running to the restroom, twisting the pretentious curly gold doorknob so hard that it seemed to pop out of place. He didn't remember shutting the door so he knew someone else had been there. Bending over the toilet bowl, vomiting the nothing in his stomach, then stomach acid, and dry-heaving for a bit, waiting for his throat to stop convulsing.Collapsing on his floor, not his bed. His body seizing up, contracting like a spring coil ready to bounce. He never knew what trembling felt like before, but he does now. It's all-consuming and humiliating being unable to control your own body's motion. The pain so vivid he digs his fingers into the carpet and rips chunks of it from the floor. Not lucid enough to think about his father being angry when he sees it. Sweating so much he feels like he's drowning.Convulsing, again, feeling too cold. Feeling too warm. Feeling tired. (So tired). Someone opening the door, hands on his body, maneuvering him into bed.Before everything fades, the feeling of knowing death, seeing her skirting on the edges of his vision, a shadow with no shape. "Harry," it says, "Don't die on me,""Your mother-" it says, "never- not again," it says.Hypocrite. Harry thinks. If death were so concerned about him dying, why is it here, laying him in bed- this coffin. Forcing chicken broth and Gatorade down his throat, knowing it would come back as watery bile.He'd go choking on his vomit. Splendid.Yes. Harry is certain he will die. That's what this feels like. Death. Waiting for vultures to circle upon his corpse. He has lost the lottery this time, now there are hoards of people armed with stones crowding and beating him into submission. Soon enough his cries will be swallowed by the masses, silenced by someone's rock smashing his throat.This is easier to picture than reality: something is destroying him from the inside. Rejecting him. *The room is cool when Harry wakes up. The fan is on high. He can hear it, beating loudly. He thinks someone turned the air conditioning on its highest setting, too. He feels a slight shiver at the temperature. But his discomfort is easily solved by slipping under the covers, without opening his eyes, and pulling his thick duvet up to his neck. Maybe it was the weekend. Maybe it was a weekday. Either way, Harry would be waiting until his alarm went off to do anything. He felt at ease in a way that he hadn't since... well he couldn't remember when.The blankets felt softer against his skin than they had ever been before. He could see through his eyelids, the sun that filtered through his bedroom window.He felt inexplicably lighter, happier. He didn't know why until he realized he wasn't sore at all. His normal perpetual aches and pains had subsided. Then, he thought, they probably just hadn't settled in. He should probably fall back asleep before the world could catch up to him."You're awake." someone remarks, surprised, and Harry shoots out of bed. Immediately defensive, as one is when hearing a stranger in their room. "Oh... I didn't mean to startle you."Harry pries his eyes open. Squinting until he can get used to the light in the room. it's a doctor. The man was skinny, but lean like he used to be much more fit, with high cheekbones, rectangular glasses and a face worn past his real age. His hair was a faded strawberry blonde, worn cropped, and streaked with grey. He wore a plain green sweater, one of the sleeves falling slack where his left arm was supposed to be, and plain slacks. The man also had a lab coat draped over his lap, Harry could see the glint of light catching on his Oscorp ID. "What..." Harry clears his throat when the word comes out rough, rumbling with the leftover soreness and phlegm clogging his throat, "What are you doing here?""Ah, I suppose you don't recognize me, I was on the team that helped to treat your mom when you were younger... or tried to, you know," The man straightens in the seat he has pulled up by the side of Harry's bed and offers his one available hand as a way of greeting. "I'm Dr. Connors, your father called me in here to check up on you. You were quite sick."Harry hesitantly shakes the man's hand. He knows he's heard that name somewhere... he just can't place it. "Oh," he says, "I forgot.""Ah!" Dr. Connors brings his hand back in a badly concealed flinch, and cradles it against his chest, "Strong grip you've got there! Ah... anyway, I can imagine you don't remember very much. You were quite out of it. He, mostly, managed to get you to the bathroom and take some pain killers, but that was about it except for some sports drinks and coconut water. You were barely conscious.""Yeah, I can see you know what you're doing, why didn't I go to the hospital or a real doctor if it was that bad?" Harry sighed, "How long have I been out?" Harry props a pillow up behind him so he could sit up properly. "You've been in and out for two days, including the day you came home from school-" Harry cringes at that, "I'll admit that I was quite worried for you. I was asking your father to call the hospital because I could not diagnose you... I'm not a medical doctor, as you can tell, your father just... does not listen. On another note, I must say, your friend is quite a pleasant young man and... " Connors leans forwards so his elbows are on his knees "I'm amazed by your... miraculous recovery of sorts. I'm very relieved." "HOUSE," Harry says, "Fan, off." The fan clicks off and Harry feels immediate relief as the cold air blowing on him lessens. He's not sure why he's so cold. Maybe this time it is his blood sugar, especially if he's been out so long. "My friend? Is Peter here?" When the doctor nods Harry feels his spirits rise, "Yeah. No. I feel fine. I'm just fucking starving and uh," he looks down at his undershirt and boxers crusted in dried sweat and other mysterious "going to take an hour-long hot shower, I think.""I suppose I will go and tell your father you will be joining him for breakfast, then?"Harry sighed, "I guess. He'll probably ask about the sheets." and he kicked his covers off before standing. He raised his arms above his head and stood on his tippy toes to stretch up before bending at the waist and grabbing his toes, relishing in the feeling of the long stretch traveling through his body."I should probably check if you're okay, at least. It was very rough yesterday and this is all quite sudden..." The doctor said. Harry shooed him with his hand. "You said it yourself, you're not a medical doctor, you're just some guy he yelled at into submission because he doesn't trust hospitals.""Well," The man said, "I'm kind-of a medical doctor. I do some specialized treatments, like with your mother.""I don't care." Harry told him, coldly and sharply at the idiot's second mention of his mother, "Just get out."As soon as the strange doctor scurried from the room he directed the AI in his room to also turn down the air conditioning. They had most likely turned it up due to his fever, but now he had goosebumps littering his skin and the woosh of the air blasting made him want to claw his ears off.The bathroom doorknob is broken when he goes to his restroom. He finds it lying next to the door, dented. He shrugs, supposing that sometimes, especially when one is out of their head and about to vomit, they don't know their strength. He heads to the shower and tries to turn it on. when he initially turns the shower knob, trying to get the water to a nice and steamy temperature, it goes too far too fast and it makes a frightening noise from the sudden jerk. Harry panics for a moment, believing he'd just caused another incident but then he turns it back and it seems to fix itself, for the most part, so he decides not to worry about it. It's not like anyone else uses this bathroom anyway, it was connected to his bedroom and there were plenty of guest's rooms. Even if he had a party, he usually locked his door.After taking a long shower, he walks out to the kitchen. He feels surprisingly aware for someone who'd been bedridden for two days. But even then... Just. Aware. For a normal day. He can see the texture of the walls, the places the staff have missed dusting. Harry felt none of the normal morning grogginess that usually clung to him until noon.He waves it off as finally getting a full night's sleep. Which was good and something he needed considering he's probably about to greet his father and get berated- as if he couldn't just wash the fucking sheets.He turns the corner to enter the kitchen and what greets him is nightmare-fuel: Peter, sitting at the table next to his father, and nervously staring down his breakfast. Someone else has obviously made it. Firstly, because Parker couldn't cook to save a life, secondly, because his father thought cooking was a woman's job or one for the staff and lastly because Peter never would've requested that much food. Harry was pretty sure he never ate that much in one sitting. Not out of purposeful neglect, just because he was always wary of numerous allergies and stomach issues spawned by the ADHD medicine and... all the others.A few times Peter tried to describe his list of medicines to Harry. But, by the time Peter was through, Harry had managed to remember only two off the list that was quite possibly longer than his forearm. By the time Harry learned a few more, he'd forgotten the others. Eventually, Peter just gave up.Of course Peter, by himself, is by no means nightmare fuel. If anything, the boy is dream-inducing, fantasy-making, sunshine, lollipops, rainbows, etc. No, it's the mix of Peter sitting there and Norman at the head of the table staring him down like he's a piece of meat. Norman has always seemed to like Peter, not really because Peter was Harry's friend, but because Peter was intelligent. Peter was the kind of world-conquering, world-changing smart that was a rare gift. The boy pursued it, too, always using his sparse odd job money and birthdays and Christmas to buy and ask for specific scientific publications and equipment. Even if, as the secretly stubborn idiot Peter was, he refused to ask for it from Harry or Norman who had ready access to a mass amount of those things.Usually, Harry was able to provide a buffer and reflect Norman's attentions away, but Peter by himself was usually too nervous to tell Norman to fuck off as Harry did readily.So there Norman was, talking poor Peter's ear off. The latter of which look terrified, when Harry walked in.There's an odd silence when Harry walks into the kitchen, both of the occupants looking up to see Harry standing there in a pair of loose sweatpants and, sue him, one of his many black and white designer sweaters.Peter's the first one to break the tension. While Norman only spares a moment to nod at his son to acknowledge his continuing existence, Peter jumps up from his seat and scampers over to greet Harry, wrapping the taller boy in a tight hug. “Harry! You're okay! I was getting super worried. Your Dad told me your temp spiked to like 106° while I was asleep and he had to call a doctor- Shit, Harry, don't do that again man my dumbass baby heart can't take it. You can't... you can't be sick too! I'm the sick one! Get the dynamic right!"Harry returns the hug tentatively. “Well, now I know how you feel, don't know how you do it.” Over Peter's shoulder, he caught Norman's eyes.Norman stood up and came forwards as Peter released Harry from his hold “I'm glad to see you're okay Harry,” Norman announced, “I was just talking to Peter here about possibly taking The internship with Doctor Octavius. Your friend is a bit of an Otto fanatic. Talked in length about his prosthetic project.” At this, Peter blushed, backing away and back to the table and his plate. Continuing to pick at the eggs and potatoes. It's almost comical how overwhelmed Peter seems. “Maybe you could convince him it's a good opportunity.”Instead of a hug, Norman clamped his hand on Harry's shoulder. “Sit down, I'll get the chef to make you something. Maybe you could help Peter with his plate, he seems a little lost.” Harry was surprised at the fact his father made a joke. That was probably the oddest thing so far. Peter blushes even harder if possible, burying his face in his hands. As Norman keeps walking he calls behind him, “Do make sure he eats, Harry. Growing boys need their food.” Then Harry realizes, of course Norman's joking around, he wants to recruit Peter. It's propaganda. It's fake news. "Please tell me you're not taking the internship." Harry says, coming to pull a chair out for himself and sit down across from Peter, "At least take it with someone who isn't Octavius, or in something more chemical-y. You told me you don't want to do robotics."Harry reaches across the table to steal a piece of toast off of Peter's plate without asking. As soon as the food hits his stomach the hunger pains double and his stomach growls for more. "I hope my dad hurries up.""You know all I asked for was a single bagel. I got two, Plus cream cheese and lox and capers and... all of this." He waves his hand over his plate. "I already had as much as I could possibly handle. You can have it if you're hungry."Without think twice about taking Peter's plate and silverware for himself, he laughs. It's certainly a nice spread- there are poached eggs, roasted potatoes drenched in olive oil and smoked paprika, and a link of pan-fried chicken apple sausage. Organic, fresh, and expensive. Harry consumes it with a swift and ravenous appetite. When he's almost done he takes a break to look back up at Peter, stabbing his fork into a potato wedge. "You never answered my question about the internship."Peter hums. "Okay. Yeah. I'm not sure if I can be a dick to you right now because I showed up here yesterday and I was genuinely scared you were going to die, so I'll say it the nice way. What I do with my life is, sometimes, none of your goddamn business."Harry steals the rest of Peter's orange juice. This time the boy does get mad and tries to steal it back. Harry ignores it. "That's fair. Do what you want, I'm just thinking of you."Peter raises his eyebrows. "Harry, I've been your friend for... how long? I know how you get jealous. I've accepted it. But uh... yes, I'm considering your dad's proposition- I was also talking to Dr. Connors before he left and he seemed interested in taking me on.""That guy? The 'I'm not a medical doctor exactly' guy? You can do better."Peter shrugged, "He seemed fine to me. Plus, he knew my dad. Remember? He was on the thing in the lab that got you all spooked?"Harry slams his fist down on the table. "Damn it! I knew I recognized that name... I should've asked him."Shoveling the last bite of sausage into his mouth, Harry expects Peter to carry the conversation for a moment. When Peter doesn't, an awkward silence spreads through the room. Harry looks back to Peter who is staring wide-eyed at him. "What?" Harry asks.Peter looks down at where Harry's fist has hit the table. It's cracked. The wood has badly splintered in each direction from his hand. Harry pulls his hand back slowly and drops it in his lap."I'm guessing that wasn't there before," Harry says.Peter nods. Shit.