Chapter 23
Peter picks at his bacon, his lips pulled down at the corners. Harry doesn’t have the stomach to eat, looking to the side with yearning that MJ didn’t have that audition and could stay to provide some support.
“You’re sure I died?” Peter sounds nervous as his teeth shred the thick meat like a knife gliding through butter.
Harry shivers at the memory, fingers clenching down on the wood of the table with enough force to make the polished, enamel coated wood splinter. “It’s hard to forget having someone’s brains splattered onto you.” He swallows whatever it is that’s trying to escape his stomach. “They split your skull clean open. I could see…”
“Oh, shit.” Peter sets his bacon down, his free hand rubbing small, anxious circles into the wood of the table, following the spiral of one of the planks. A frown crosses his face as his pitch black eyes, eight voids across the lines of his cheeks, consider Harry. He appears shaken, that idea is rather impossible to deny, but there’s some other emotion on his face. Jealousy? But why would he feel any envy of Harry at this moment? “Maybe I just… repressed it. Or getting my head split open messed up the part of my brain that would be remembering that.”
“Did you forget anything else?”
Peter purses his lips, head tilting back slightly as if moving on a hinge. “I don’t think so. Repressed it, then.” He shrugs, like the idea is nothing to concern himself with.
It’s hard not to be completely bewildered. “How are you so calm?” He utters, taking in the sight of Peter’s relaxed shoulders and unbothered demeanor, a state he can’t replicate if he tried.
A wide grin spreads across Peter’s face, his many, many eyes glittering. “I don’t know! I feel great? It’s like I can finally think clearly and I finally know what I want and there’s no longer anything tying me back from trying to get it. It’s sort of awesome.” His fangs glint, an odd look filling his eyes that makes Harry feel like a cornered rabbit when it’s directed onto him. “Maybe dying like, subconsciously reordered my priorities so I know what I want now.” His tongue wets those sharp teeth.
“Right.” Harry swallows, his throat dry, pulling his eyes away from Peter’s mouth. He’s getting distracted.
Peter pushes his half finished plate of food away from him, his expression suddenly contorting into something like a child rejecting vegetables, utterly disgusted by the food he’d been picking at, throwing his head back with a frustrated groan.
“Are you alright?” Harry asks with some caution.
“I’m so hungry!” Peter snaps, standing so suddenly his chair topples over and beginning to pace. “And eating isn’t helping. It just tastes like dirt and makes me hungrier.” His head jerks towards Harry, the feeling of his eyes freezing Harry in place, turning him into that cornered rabbit all over again. “It’s all disgusting.” He gestures wildly to the massive array of food. “I was cooking for hours just to find something that helped. And it just feels like my body is rejecting all of it.”
“You’re acting really erratic.” Harry finally finds the courage to say.
Peter freezes. “I am?” His shoulders fall slack, his eyes going wide and apologetic, looking almost like an eight eyed puppy with its tail between its legs after destroying a piece of furniture. “You look a bit scared. Sorry.” He rocks on his heels. “Everything feels so clear and obvious now and it’s great. Except for that. It’s making me really pissed off and I don’t know why.”
“I think I still prefer this to when you had that alien goop in you.”
Peter smiles a bit as he reaches for a glass, filling it with ice and water. “Me too. I don’t feel vengeful and bitter and like I’m gonna hurt people this time.” There’s a bit of hesitation with the last phrase. He takes his overflowing glass of water and chugs it, repeating the process two more times before he refills it and comes to sit, ignoring the fallen chair he’d once occupied and taking the seat directly beside Harry, inching closer and closer until Harry feels a bit like if he moves an inch he might accidentally wack Peter with some part of his body. Peter inhales deeply. “Are you wearing cologne or something?”
He jerks away subconsciously. “No. Why?”
“You smell different. Sort of sweet.” Peter leans into the space Harry had gained. “It’s good, though.” He reaches up, the soft but slightly sticky pads of his fingers trailing against some of the more distinct lines of Harry’s scars.
Harry wishes he could bring himself to pull away, but his skin is warm with life, gentle with affection. “Peter…” His tone carries a warning.
Peter’s smile disappears. “What?” His head cocks. “I’m single now. You said you were upset about that.” He continues, shifting further and further into Harry’s space like a fox teasing its prey.
And those words feel like the fox has sunk its teeth into his neck, powerful jaws crushing his throat and snapping his spine. He is rendered suddenly aware of the frigid state of his body, the warm tones and the company beside him meaningless. How can Peter be so obsessive and yet so careless with how he feels? “Peter,” he says, praying Peter doesn’t dig his teeth deeper. “Why do you think I was angry you were making moves on me while you had a boyfriend?”
“Because it’s cheating?” Peter cocks his head. “Or… did you not realize I would have left him if I knew we could be together? Because I would have.”
Further guilt towards the situation surges through him. “It’s not just that.” He says, feeling hollow. “But in regards to the cheating… in a way, yes. I’m trying to be better, Peter. I don’t want to be the other guy again. Because what happened with MJ was wrong of me, Peter.”
“But that’s how we’ve always done things.” Peter protests, eyebrows knit together. “When MJ dated you, she kissed me as Spider-Man. And that wasn’t a big deal. And she was exploring me as an option while she was with John. And she kissed you while she was with me. And I kissed Gwen while I was with MJ. It’s… MJ wouldn’t do something like that if she knew it was wrong, wasn’t it? I thought…”
He shakes his head, fingers prodding at where he’d made the table splinter. “Peter, we've all done things we knew were wrong.” His voice is hollow.
Peter shakes his head firmly, confidence in his words. “But not like that. We all had reasons to do what we did.” He insists.
“And you think she doesn’t?”
He opens his mouth, then hesitates. “I thought, since she was the one who’d dated the most, that that sort of thing was just how people did things.” He shifts, pursing his lips, uncomfortable in the face of wrongdoing all three of them share fault in. “I thought that was normal.”
“No, you didn’t.” Harry doesn’t expect himself to say it with so much confidence. “If you did, you wouldn’t have been so angry about me and MJ.”
Peter goes quiet, shifting in his seat. His jaw sets as he finally leans out of Harry’s space, fingers picking at the fabric of the chair. His fangs click against each other as he repeatedly snaps his jaw open and shut. The compulsion to defend his actions practically radiates off him. “But I didn’t really feel anything for Gwen. I was honest about that.”
“That’s not how it felt to her.” Harry replies, attempting to squeeze some moment of eye contact from Peter.
“You kissed MJ while she was with me!” Peter says rapidly, just as much convincing himself as Harry. “And you only like guys. So it meant nothing, didn’t it? It’s like that. Except I was like… MJ-sexual right then. It meant nothing because it wasn’t her. That's what it’s like for you.”
A fraction of the wood sticks into one of Harry’s fingers, a fragment so small his attempts to pull it out are fruitless. “But you were still unhappy when you found out.” He says. “And it doesn’t make it right. Hell, it probably makes it worse that I knew and I was playing with her feelings like that.”
The discomfort in Peter’s posture only increases. His eyes dart over to his phone, slowly realizing the cruelty of abandoning a long term partner over text. “Oh.”
“And even on the other end of that,” Harry continues. “It doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt for me, right now. And probably for MJ. I couldn’t know if you were being honest about that or just lying in a particularly flattering way to excuse an affair. An affair in which you’re using me as your mistress. I kept thinking about trying to find his number and telling him. Because I felt guilty. I knew it was wrong to not tell you to stop entirely. To let you sleep with me. I was angry when that happened, you know. I told myself I was just showing you what you were missing by being unwilling to actually commit to me.” He sighs. “I was lying to myself. I just wanted your attention and wanted to excuse it to myself.”
“You thought you wanted to show me what I was missing?” Peter echoes slowly, speaking every word with care like he’s learning it for the first time. “You wanted my attention? ”
A thin smile crosses Harry’s face, strained. “It hurts to find out that someone you love deeply started dating someone who looks like you right after you died.”
“Oh.” Peter swallows thickly. “I didn’t…” He pauses to gain some semblance of composure, breathing deeply and carefully controlling his face. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not the only one you should say that to, you know.” He doesn’t expect himself to sound so calm. It feels like the pressure inside his chest has finally been relieved just in the act of saying even a fraction of what he’s kept pressed down into his heart or spoken only in the lonely echo of his head out loud.
Peter nods firmly, his entire body stiff. “You’re right.” There’s words upon words that Peter chooses to keep unspoken, a fact Harry finds himself somewhat grateful for. It’s the first time in years he’s felt Peter’s really listened to him. In a way, it’s just odd behavior on top of Peter’s already odd behavior. Just odd in an entirely unexpected and far less frightening way. “…I don’t want to date him, though. Not really.”
“Don’t.” He says simply. “But you should really tell him the truth.”
Peter seizes up a bit at that. “Isn’t it better if I don’t? What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him?”
“Because that went so well with me.”
Peter casts a light hearted glare in his direction, his face lit by rays of morning sun. “You’re so mean.” He sighs. “And pretty. And tall.”
He chuckles to himself a bit at that. “I mean that, though. Don’t hide things.”
Peter begins to rock in his chair, studying Harry intently, one hand raising towards Harry’s. His movements are wooden. “I still want you.” He states bluntly.
Harry’s hands retract to his lap and remain there despite the wounded look on Peter’s face, his head tilting to enjoy the sun on his face through the windows. “No.” He says simply.
“But why?” Peter’s hands twitch like an insect dying in a spider’s web, his lips pulled into a steep frown. “We did the talking thing like we’re supposed to. Got it all out in the open.”
“I don’t know if I trust you.” He says simply. “And a lot has happened to me since I died. A lot that’s changed me and shaken me and hurt me. I don’t know if I’m the person you love anymore. And I don’t know if I’m ready to be with someone.”
Peter's shoulders fall, the torn suit beginning to fall off them. “So… we both love each other and we’re just going to do nothing with it? We aren’t going to try?”
“Didn’t say that.” He raises his hands. “Baby steps. I just need you to move slow. You’ve broken my trust quite a bit. I’m not ready to let you all the way into my life in one move.”
Peter sighs. “We tried that before just platonically and things kept breaking down.”
“Simple solution to that. Stop controlling me.” Harry’s eyes are trained on Peter like a hunting osprey, carefully measuring his reaction.
“I’m not controlling—“ There’s something distinctly… off about the way his expression twists in the seconds after he cuts himself off. Uncanny and foreign to the Peter he knows. “Okay, maybe I am. But that’s not always a bad thing if it keeps you safe. It’s my responsibility as Spider-Man. And that overrides being someone’s friend or partner.”
“I’m not giving up my agency for you.” He says firmly. “I can date Peter. And maybe Harry can’t date the Spider, but the Mantis can. But listen, me or the Mantis, you or Spidey, the one thing I can’t do is give up my free will to please you.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. I just need to know you’re safe.” Peter’s spine slowly curls downward, his arms laid onto his thighs like a Greek statue. “This is my responsibility with the powers I have, but this life can mess someone up pretty badly. Physically and mentally. I have nightmares of things that happened years ago.” His eyes grow wet as his voice trembles like a leaf. “It’s my responsibility, my promise to Ben. I owe it to him. It doesn’t have to be yours.”
He reaches, squeezing Peter’s forearm. “You don’t realize why I do this, then.” His voice is so soft he almost can’t be heard. “Peter, after everything I did, I want this chance to make up for what I’ve done. To take my father’s and my own mistakes and make something good out of them. To do something worthwhile with my life after I wasted my existence over pettiness and meaningless things the first time. I was given this second chance for a reason, like you think you were given your powers for a reason.”
“There are other ways to do that!” Peter cries out immediately, grabbing Harry by the shoulders with fervor that makes him flinch. “You died for me, isn’t that enough to redeem yourself? And-and there are other ways to help people, especially with your money. You don’t need to put yourself at risk. There’s other reasons you could have this chance!”
“If that was the case, I don’t think I would have ended up with the ability to heal from losing entire limbs.” Harry pulls Peter’s hands from his shoulders. “And regardless of that, this is my choice, not yours.”
Peter lets out a raw, agonized noise. “I just want things to go back to normal. Before everything collapsed.”
“I think for that to happen, we’d both have to hang up our suits.” He squeezes Peter’s hands. “And I don’t think normal is ever coming back. The person I was when things were normal… he’s gone. He’s the one who died. It’s out of reach, everything that I was then.”
“I hate that.” Peter spits bitterly. “There’s an easier way. I can see it, even if you can’t. I’ll show you some day. I’m not going to just accept that everything is terrible forever and do nothing about it just because it seems impossible for things to get better.”
That stings. Fuck, that stings. He doesn’t know if he can hold together the shattered pieces of the mask that makes up who he used to be, and knowing that Peter would be repulsed by it if that facade truly shattered… that cuts deep. “I don’t think things have to be bad forever,” his voice shakes despite his efforts to prevent it. “The good would just be different.” It’s as much a question, a plea, as a statement.
“I don’t want different!” Peter exclaims, punching the table so hard he leaves massive cracks in both the wood and in Harry. He goes slack, the tears finally beginning to fall. “I just want it all to feel okay again.”
Before Harry can go to provide an attempt at comfort or break down himself, a window shatters across the house. His mouth hinges open to speak, only for Peter to be running to the hazard—or perhaps running from his pain—as he should perhaps expect by now. And, like always, he is left to only follow, caught in a whirlwind that howls too loudly to even hear him speak in reply.
The windows to his father’s old study, the room Harry despises despite the way it always draws him in and strings him up on fishing hooks, have been shattered, pieces of glass adorning the carpet like a deadly glitter in the hands of a child. The mirror that obscures the hidden room has been pushed to the side, but, unlike the blot of red and blue that rushes to see what’s been stolen.
But that’s not what catches Harry’s eyes. What does are the eight curling, winding streaks of something clear and viscous that stain his carpet, forming a trail into the secret doorway. He crouches, dabbing his fingers into the substance that remains atop his carpet rather than absorbing into it, his fingers coming away coated in a thick liquid that forms strands to cling together when he pulls his fingers apart. An odd, scentless clear mucus, by his assessment. Like something you’d find coating the skin of an aquatic creature like an eel or cephalopod.
Peter stumbles out of the room, ripping cobwebs off his clothing. “Harry!” He calls, snapping him to attention. “One of the vials of the performance enhancers is gone.”