The week leading up to the trial was a nightmare. Peter was stressed out of his mind and finding it increasingly difficult to balance his life, Spider-Man, and Harry all on top of each other. He knew that Harry would always win out in the end, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel guilty about not doing his regular patrols around the city.
Peter had taken to texting Gwen when things got to be to much. He liked to think she knew a bit more about the situation than he did, even if she'd only been a bystander and he had been in the thick of it. There was just something about her natural empathy that made him want to lean on her more.
May was also trying to balance a lot and it was showing. She'd developed a new habit of coming home after her shift at the hospital and crashing on the couch, not even making it to her room before she passed out. She started bringing home more takeout, saying she just didn't feel like cooking that night. Peter could see through her: she was just as exhausted as the rest of them.
But, out of all of them, Harry was taking it the worst. Ever since that night, the night this had all happened, the commanding presence his father had instilled in him had shrunk into something Peter could barely define as living. He wasn't eating anymore. He had no energy to even get out of bed, let alone attempt a conversation. Peter could see, even as it was happening, that Harry was slowly shutting everyone out. He didn't talk unless it was short one-or-two-word answers, he spent most of his time curled up in their shared bedroom, and his phone hadn't been charged in days. He just laid there, alone in the dark, starring at things only he could see.
Peter was worried sick about him. How could he not be? He'd loved him since they were little boys and that love had never faded. Now, to see the boy he loved trapped inside his own personal nightmare? If it was hell on Peter, he couldn't imagine the kind of internal anguish Harry was going through.
(๑•﹏•)
The trial was 7 days away.
Peter had woken that morning to a terrified scream ripping through the apartment. It was normal, at this point, and Peter detested how accustomed he'd grown to it.
Another night meant another nightmare and another nightmare meant another panic attack. Peter had anxiety, he always had. If you thought about it, his spidey-sense was basically just ridiculously heightened anxiety! He'd never been thankful for it before this, but now he thanked whatever deities were out there that he knew just how to calm someone down.
It took a while before Harry would let him touch him, but when he did he leaned into his side heavily. Tears were tracing thick lines down his cheeks and he was biting his lip to keep from crying out loud.
Peter pulled him closer and rocked them, waving Aunt May away when she cracked their door open to check on them.
"We're okay," he whispered to her.
Her brows were pinched and her face was worried, but she gave a sad smile and nodded before shutting the door behind her. She loved Harry as if he were her own son and it wasn't any easier on her to see him hurting like this than it would have been if it was Peter.
Peter soothed his partner back to sleep with little comforting words and kisses. He held him in his arms, still rocking even after he'd fallen asleep. He didn't realize that he did it, most nights. He just kept on rocking, needing to do something to keep his mind off the hopeless feeling that was encroaching on his thoughts every day.
(´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)
The trial was 6 days away.
Harry didn't want to fall asleep. If he slept, then he'd have another dream and he'd keep Peter up. He'd done far too much of that over the last few months.
He didn't want to sleep, but he was absolutely exhausted. He thought he could feel the tiredness seeping into his bones, clutching at every muscle and joint, refusing to let him have any semblance of peace.
And he hurt. It was more than just a lingering ache, it was a full-bodied agony that seemed like it was trying to consume him from the inside out. He didn't tell Peter, he couldn't. There was nothing the other boy could do. This type of agony didn't come from something that can be fixed with ibuprofen and a kiss. No, this pain was from the weight of his treacherous memory.
Before it had gotten bad and he was still mostly in shock, Harry hadn't felt it. Now, as his very mind turned against him, he felt everything. He could feel his lungs constrict as they tried to breathe, he could feel the crushing guilt of what he'd put Peter and May through as they stuck by his side, he could feel the roiling self-loathing burning deep inside of him, and if he tried hard enough, he could still feel the numb tingle spreading throughout his body as the drugs grabbed hold.
And it hurt. When it wasn't him, it was easy to say that it's never the victim's fault. It was easy to think that sometimes bad people take advantage of innocent people but those people are still innocent. It was easy to believe that he'd never try and blame himself, he knew it wasn't his fault.
But it was. It was his fault and the traitorous voice in his head screamed along in agreement. He could have done more, he shouldn't have let his stupid pride get in the way of leaving that blasted party, he should have stood up for himself, he should have seen that Tiffany was bad news, he should have, he should have, he should have. But he didn't, so it has to be his fault.
Peter was at his desk, uploading a photo he'd taken for The Daily Bugle into the editing program. It was a nice picture, one of Central Park.
Harry watched him from the bed on the opposite side of the room. He watched as Peter fiddled with the lighting, playing around with different photo settings, as he worked to get it newsworthy.
He wanted to reach out and hold him, to be held by him. But he didn't. He couldn't. Peter was good, the best man Harry had ever known, and all Harry did was corrupt. He didn't want to taint Peter, didn't want to drag him down into his own misery.
So he stayed silent and just watched. He didn't deserve anything more.
(´;︵;`)
The trial was 5 days away.
Gwen had never seen Peter this stressed. It was true that they'd only really known each other for a few years, but they'd become best friends almost instantly. She didn't want to brag, but she was pretty sure she knew Peter like the back of her own hand.
She went over to his apartment quite often, just to check up on him and make sure he wasn't driving himself insane. In all the times she'd visited, she'd only seen Harry once or twice. Just from those brief glimpses, she spotted what seemed like dozens of discrepancies between the dashing boy Peter had described to her so often and the one now standing in front of her.
He was thin, thinner than could possibly be healthy. His cheeks were hollow and the clothes he wore hung on his frame like they would a walking skeleton. He never made eye contact, always keeping his eyes downcast. His shoulders were slumped and his feet dragged, complete exhaustion evident in every movement he made.
It hurt her to look at him. She couldn't- No, she didn't want to imagine what Peter was going through and she didn't even want to think about what Harry was feeling.
Gwen knocked on the door of the apartment, the bouquet of flowers she'd brought held tightly in her hands. She heard footsteps approaching before the door swung open.
Peter smiled at her and beckoned her to come in. May was sitting at the table, her head in her hands, but she looked up as Gwen entered.
"Gwen!" She exclaimed, "Oh, it's so good to see you again!"
Gwen smiled brightly at her. "Hello, May," she said happily, "I've brought you all a house warming gift!"
May stood and took the offered flowers, setting them down on the table before pulling Gwen in for a hug. "We missed you, sweetie," she whispered.
"Mmh," Gwen murmured, "missed you too."
May pulled back and began asking all sorts of questions. How's Laurel, how's work, can I get you anything, how are you staying busy- normal things people ask. Gwen answered them all, just relieved to be there, speaking with May again.
Peter stood behind them, smiling, as his aunt prattled on about something or other. Gwen shot him a poorly disguised look that clearly asked how are you doing?
He shrugged, the smile slipping a little bit. He slid the chair beside her out, seating himself next to her. Aunt May smiled at them, nodding as if she knew when the two wanted to talk. She quietly excused herself to go do something else, somewhere else.
Peter sighed, letting his head fall against her shoulder. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and gave him an awkward/seated side hug.
"I hate this," he muttered, "I hate everything about this."
"Yeah, so do I," she said.
"Thanks for being here, Gwen," he said, pulling away from her. He rested his arms on the table and let his head fall on top of them. "You're amazing."
"Well, I'm not going to say you're wrong," she smiled, "but you're pretty amazing too, Pete. You've got a lot on your shoulders right now and I've gotta say, you're handling it pretty well."
"Oh, is that what you call it?" He shook his head, still resting on his arms. "No offense, Gwen, but I think this-" he gestured to himself, "is anything but 'well'."
He was right, mostly. If Harry looked like a skeleton then Peter looked like a zombie. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in thick black circles. His curly hair was mussed, like he'd run his fingers through it hundreds of times. His fingernails were bitten down to the quick, most of them wrapped in Band-Aids when they started bleeding.
Still, he was holding up.
She left a few hours later. There had been no sighting of Harry, but she'd left with a smile on Peter's face so she counted it as a win.
Small victories lead to the winnings of wars, after all. They were going to win this war, there was no doubt in her mind. She didn't want to think of the fallout or the casualties.
(･ัω･ั)
The trial was 4 days away.
May was worried. She'd been awoken by screams from her nephew's room every night since the last countdown started.
She checked on her boys every time, without fail, making sure they didn't need her. They never did, but she just needed to reassure herself that they were alright. Well, she wouldn't say alright- they were all pretty far from alright at the moment- but that they didn't need any immediate medical attention.
She had laid awake for plenty of sleepless nights, worrying herself into a tizzy over those boys. First she discovers that her nephew is a masked vigilante (he still doesn't know that she knows), then he comes home with a boy she remembered well, one that Peter talked endlessly of (even if he didn't remember how many times the name Harry Osborn had been brought up in a conversation) who had apparently been hurt badly by someone he was supposed to trust.
She wouldn't say that Peter was open, but he didn't have to be. She had raised him and she could read him like an open book. He was more emotional than most boys, more willing to accept and show what he was feeling. She liked to think that it was Ben's influence more than hers. He'd been like that, too.
She was still awake, lost in thoughts of her husband and what he would do if he were still here. She liked to imagine how good he'd be with the boys, knowing just what to say to soothe their worries and their pains.
Another scream. She sat up, her heart rate elevated. May swung her legs off the bed, making her way to the door. They may not need her, but she just had to check.
She shuffled down the hall, flicking the light on as she went. She could hear her nephew whispering but she couldn't make out what he said. She heard the muffled sobbing of his partner and the bed springs creaking as she pictured Peter gathering the other into his arms. He used to do that to her after Ben died.
She knocked lightly on the door before cracking it open and peeking her head inside. The room was dark, save for the hall light spilling in past her legs.
"Peter?" She whispered. Just in case.
"We're okay," came the expected response.
She nodded, wanting to hold both of them close to her and shield them from what was to come. Neither of these boys deserved the pain they were going through.
She gently pulled the door closed and sighed, resting her head on the wood.
Oh, Ben, she pleaded, watch over them.
Ó╭╮Ò
The trial was 3 days away.
Tiffany Michaels was fuming. None of this should be happening to her! She shouldn't be on house arrest, she shouldn't have a patrol car parked outside her parent's house, she shouldn't- Gah! She shouldn't be in this mess!
She knew she was going to win this stupid trial, her daddy had promised her that. As long as she did what she was told the people would believe her and side with her. Besides, everyone always believes the girl.
She was sat at the window seat in her room, looking out over the vast acreage of her family's estate. When it came to the New York hierarchy, Norman Osborn and Tony Stark might be at the top, but the Michaels' were close behind.
She groaned, thumping her head down onto the window. She could see the patrol car behind the hedges that marked the edge of the property. She flipped it both birds. Even knowing the officer couldn't see her, it still made her feel better to disrespect that authority.
She threw herself to her feet and stomped over to her door. If that stupid boy hadn't barged in, right when things were getting good, then none of this bull would have ever happened. She could be living it large in the Osborn mansion, with insurance that her privileged life couldn't be taken from her.
"Tiff!" A voice called to her from downstairs.
"What, daddy?" She called back. She was pouting as she made her way down the flights of stairs.
"Come down and talk to your attorney, baby girl."
Immediately, her whole demeanor changed. Her shoulders drooped and she lowered her head, looking up at the world through her eyelashes. Her steps became heavy as she rounded the last banister and laid eyes on the expansive living room.
"Hello, Miss Michaels," her attorney, a young-ish looking man, stood and held one hand out for her to shake.
She looked up at him and bit the inside of her cheek, making a few tears well in her forest green eyes. "Hi," she whispered timidly. You have to know your audience, after all. She reached out and hesitated before shaking the proffered hand.
"Please," the man said, "Take a seat." He cast look at her father, who was hovering right over her shoulder. "You can stay as well, Mr Michaels. As your daughter is still a minor, there does need to be some sort of parental presence."
The attorney began to get down to business, explaining why he was there and what he did.
He was explaining how he hoped the case would go with the evidence they had when Tiffany interrupted him.
"I- I have something to say," she said tearfully. The attorney, who's name was Douglas, looked at her and nodded encouragingly.
"He-" she paused and turned to her father for supposed comfort, finding only pride in his eyes. "My ex, that- that worthless piece of trash-" she didn't have to fake the venom on her voice here. If Harry had just done what he'd been told- "He b-beat me."
She let out a quiet sob and turned to her father, burying her face in his chest. Her hair covered her face and she let herself smile.
A comforting hand was placed on her arm and Douglas promised, "Don't worry, Miss Michaels. Your truth will be told. He won't ever be able to hurt you again."
(个_个)
The trial was two days away.
Laurel Ammadeio was nervous. This certainly wasn't the first time she'd gone to court and it wasn't the first time she'd be called as a witness.
It was, however, the first time she'll have been to court with a loving girlfriend who knew her full story. She was nervous and almost ready to break down as the situation she'd been placed in began bringing back all kinds of bad memories.
No, this wasn't the first time she'd been to court, because the very same thing had happened to her. It had only been a few years ago, she'd only been 14, but her skin still crawled when she thought about it. She remembered what it was like those first few months afterwards. The depression, the blaming herself, even the postpartum as she miscarried the bastard's baby.
She'd told Gwen, of course she had. She'd tried to keep it a secret but Gwen had questions that couldn't be answered unless she knew... So she told her. She'd half expected Gwen to pack her things and run, but she was forever grateful that she had underestimated her girlfriend.
Laurel had known that what had happened to her could happen to anyone. But until that party, she hadn't met anyone else like her. When her and Gwen had gotten home from the hospital, she had cried and cried, almost making herself throw up with the force of all the emotions bombarding her all at once.
She was sad at the idea of someone else suffering, angry at the animals who'd done it, overwhelmed with all the memories she'd tried to force away. But underneath it all, all those raging emotions, she had been struck with the truthfulness of the statement, "You are never alone."
Laurel shook her head, pushing away the memories beginning to encroach upon her consciousness. She didn't need a breakdown right now, she needed to finish making her lunch.
Gwen, her goddess, entered the kitchen with a bowl of ice cream in her hand.
"That's not a healthy lunch, babe," Laurel laughed.
Gwen smacked her with the spoon. "Oh shut up, you," she giggled, "there's too many emotions right now and I'm on my period! Leave me with my chocolate, you fiend!"
Both girls laughed heartily, Gwen with the spoon sticking out of her mouth and Laurel with her floppy white bread sandwich. Laurel stood on the bar stool and bent over the counter, grabbing a spoon for herself before shoving her plate away and diving in to the chocolate ice cream.
Gwen chortled and spun around, making Laurel chase her, spoon waving in the air like a maniac. Laurel eventually caught up with her, grabbing her around the waist and burying her head in the curve of Gwen's shoulder.
"Oh!" Gwen sighed dramatically, "You've caught me, my fair maiden! My heart and ice cream are yours for the taking!"
Laurel sighed a breathless laugh, letting go of Gwen who promptly fell flat on the bed.
"Come join me, my queen," she said, patting the bed next to her.
Laurel smiled at her girlfriend and took her offer, letting her body collapse bonelessly next to the blonde girl. The two dug into the ice cream for a few minutes before they both had to stop to let the brain freeze subside.
In the silence that followed, Gwen turned to Laurel. "Are you nervous?"
Laurel closed her eyes for a second. "How can I not be?" she asked, "I mean, the last time I did this I had just lost my baby. There's a lot of memories here for me, Gwen."
"I know," Gwen murmured softly, "I know." It was quiet before she said, "I'm proud of you, you know that?"
Laurel turned on her side to face her. "Care to elaborate?" She said with a weak smile.
"You're going through this again, but this time it's for someone else. You've told me how hard it was for you to go through this last time." Gwen extended a hand and Laurel took it, feeling her girlfriend begin to rub comforting circles into her skin. "It was hard for you last time and you've chosen to do it again, for someone else now. I'm so proud of you for that, baby."
Laurel could feel the tears beginning to gather at the back of her eyes. "Thanks," she whispered. She didn't even know it, but those were the words that she'd needed to hear.
Gwen leaned up on her elbows and pressed a chocolatey kiss to Laurel's lips. Her lips and breath were cold, but Laurel didn't care. She smiled into it.
The trial was tomorrow... But they were going to win.