Peter Parker wasn’t the most social kid in the bunch, but he always had Harry.
He’s four years old, his birthday was a month ago, exactly August 10th. It’s the first day of kindergarten (september 5th, 1967) and he doesn’t know if he should go anywhere. So he’s standing awkwardly while kids introduce themselves and he doesn’t. There’s other kids like him, of course. But he doesn’t want to go to them and they don’t want to go to him. So he waits.
He makes eye contact with a just as boring kid as him, brown eyes, brown hair. His features are lined with baby fat, just like his but slightly sharper.
They become friends. It’s startlingly easy. His name is Harry. They don’t make any other friends though.
Peter Parker meets Harry Osborne father.
Peter thinks he’s an interesting man, slight stubble on his chin with weary lines and wrinkles across his face. He’s young but not too young, old but not too old. He looks nothing special, but the name Osborn itches in his brain. Familiar it tells him.
He decides to go search it up sometime after school.
He learns later his friend’s father is part of an upcoming corporation for science and technology. Peter’s father works for a sister company of theirs.
He decides not to bring up his discovery to either his family (which is just his father and mother and distantly his aunt and uncle) or his new friend, Harry.
It’s 3 years later, March 9th, 1969 on a saturday. His parents left a day earlier to go to their friend’s mothers funeral. Peter is with his aunt and uncle and is currently trying to get his 8 year old hands to properly kneed a pale chunk of dough when a knock on the door is heard. His uncle, Ben, is upstairs trying to properly clean and bandage his finger after getting cut with a cheese grater, of all things. He’s the one who answers the door, with Aunt May at his heels. He opens the door, and standing is two officers with grim expressions and flat ironed navy police uniforms. He frowns and glances back at his aunt, who ushers him back to the kitchen to speak to the officers alone. Peter hangs in the doorway, peaking behind his aunts bright pink apron with small white flowers tied loosely around her waist.
“Hi, you’re the relatives to Richard and Mary Parker, correct?” the left officer said, stiffly. He could practically imagine the furrowing of Mays brows. “Yes, i’m Mary’s sister. What’s with all this?” The officer side eyed the one on the right, who gives a knowing look back.
“I’m afraid to tell you Mary and Richard Parker got murdered by Charlotte Anderson on March 8th.” There’s a moment of tense silence, he only then realizes uncle Ben had been standing and the top of the stairs and listening in when he comes rushing down and hugging Aunt May when she crumbles to the floor in sobs. He only then realized something will change.
He doesn’t know what.
He clenches his fists until they’re white and the nails digging in his skin become painful.
Wasn’t Charlotte the friend they were visiting for the funeral?
Weren’t they friends?
She had pretty blond hair and kind, warm green eyes.
She.. murdered them?
but they were friends.
Friends.
He glances at Harry the following monday and wonders if he will kill him, too.