Chapter 4
Harry jogged through the city streets.
He passed the window of a tech store, the televisions blaring out bleak news.
People were protesting the police. They were mad-- who would have thought that Spiderman would have died at the hands of the city he tried so hard to protect?
They couldn't believe Spiderman was dead.
Harry couldn't believe Spiderman was dead.
More than that-- he couldn't believe Peter was dead. Peter, who had helped him pass high school chemistry. Peter, who had cried with him when his mom died. Peter, who always let Harry spend the night when he showed up out of the blue, and never asked why. Harry shook his head. He couldn't--- no, not right now.
Harry cursed Spiderman. He cursed himself. For a brief moment it had felt like nothing had ever happened-- like Spiderman had never existed, and Harry had never turned into, into this thing, and it was just them: just Peter and Harry.
And Peter was dying.
And it was Harry's fault.
He shook his head.
His phone buzzed. A phone call from the supply guys. They didn't care about what was on the news-- they wanted their money.
He let the call go to voicemail.
He'd stopped taking the serum. It wasn't a choice, really. He'd run out. Not that Harry couldn't have barged downstairs, shook the guys in R&D until they made more. But then there would be questions. No, he'd stopped taking the serum. Woken up cold. Shook. Weak. Miserable.
It wasn't just thee serum's fault.
He stopped at the corner, panting. The sandwich shop had been shut down and barred up since crime rates had skyrocketed-- Harry wouldn't be surprised if they'd been broken into once or twice since Spiderman had disappeared.
He opened his phone to listen to the voicemail.
"Hey, Osborne. We know you're getting our calls. We need our fucking money, man. You promised it to us a week ago, and we've got bills to pay. If you don't pay your damn bills we'll sue, I swear to god."
He deleted it. A problem for tomorrow.
There was another voicemail-- one from Peter (actually, there were tons of voicemails from Peter. When Harry found out about him being Spiderman-- god, that felt like years ago-- he called a dozen times, left a thousand voicemails that Harry hadn't deleted yet).
This one was new.
Just to hear his voice again, Harry thought.
What a silly idea. Why wouldn't he just call Peter?
Oh right, he was mad at him. He hadn't been picking up his calls lately. Maybe Harry should go over, smooth things over.
He pressed play.