Peter Three freezes when he sees him. He goes still, his attention entirely on the person flying past.
On Harry.
His eyes are bloodshot and his teeth are sharpened into fangs. Black runs through his veins. His hands tremble as he crouches on his glider, his gaze frantic.
It’s been seven years since Peter’s seen his former best friend, and now here he is, plucked straight from their fight all those years ago. The day Gwen died , a voice inside him whispers. The day he killed her.
Does he really have the right to fully blame Harry?
He had for years because it was easier that way. He didn’t have to think too long about his own failures—not only of being too slow to catch Gwen—but also failing to cure his childhood best friend.
And maybe it was unfair to hold Harry accountable for his later actions. While his own arrogance and desperation drove him to do questionable things at first, from the moment he was injected with the venom, he wasn’t the same.
He’s so transfixed on Harry and spiraling into his thoughts that he doesn’t see the lizard monster barrel straight into him. He yelps and narrowly dodges Doctor Connors' claws, but in the process loses his footing. He desperately tries to cling onto the railing, but it’s a futile attempt. Peter feels himself falling the next moment, the wind howling around him as he plummets.
(All he can see is Gwen falling, screaming for him.)
He recovers from his brief panic and immediately shoots his arm out to fire a web. Someone catches him before he can get to that. The air is knocked out of him as he’s slammed against the scaffolding. His reflexes kick in and he webs himself to the railing. He’s breathing hard, gaze darting around underneath him. When he looks up, Harry is floating on his hovercraft in front of him.
He’s not making any move to attack Peter, only staring at him as his hands twitch. He almost appears… conflicted, at war with himself. Peter’s breathing eases. “Harry?” he attempted softly. He reaches out a hand—which he’s acutely aware is a stupid move—but thankfully he’s not blown to bits because Harry abruptly flees the scene.
Peter doesn’t move for a while after that. He’s not sure how much time passes as he stays there, frozen with the whiplash of having your past coming back to haunt you.
Eventually, Peter Two swings over to him, a reminder of the urgency of the situation. “Hey, bud! What’s going on?” he shouts over the noise of the fighting.
Peter Three shakes his head. He’s not leaving without curing Harry, now that he’s been granted the chance he’d be stupid to pass it up, but he has other priorities at the moment. “Later,” he cries back. The other Peter nods resolutely and tosses him the cure for Doctor Connors.
He launches himself into the air with Peter Two close behind him.
*
“What do you mean there’s another one ?” Peter Two groans.
They’re surrounded by their newly cured ‘villains’ in Doctor Strange’s dungeon (who has yet to make a reappearance) when Peter Three decides now might be a good time to bring up the extra universe hopper. They’ve gathered around one of the small tables, eating the rice cakes Ned brought (courtesy of his Lola).
Doctor Connors and Max are unsubtly staring at Peter Three as they eat. He suspects for wildly different reasons; one out of uncomfortable awe and the other in… well whatever Doctor Connors' feeling right now. He’s very consciously avoiding their gazes.
“Who is it?” Peter One asks quietly. Peter Three feels particularly guilty for bringing it up now, little Peter looks beyond exhausted. His shoulders sag and his face is creased with worry. MJ hugs his waist, bringing him close to her. Peter Three has been sneaking looks at her all night, the memory of her weight in her arms still so vivid. (He saved her.)
His eyes flutter shut. “My best friend, Harry Osborn.”
That gets a reaction out of just about everyone, minus Peter One and his friends who look exceptionally confused. Everyone else recognizes the name Osborn, but Peter Two and Norman look especially distraught by it.
“Harry?” Norman murmurs.
“He’s not our Harry, I’m guessing,” Peter Two tells the older man. He appears pained as he speaks. Grief flickers in his expression, so much so that he eventually turns away from Norman, focusing on Peter Three.
He swallows thickly. “No, I’m sorry. Did he…? I mean, was he also…” he trails off, looking at Peter Two helplessly.
The older Peter nods slowly. “Yeah,” he says in a barely above whisper. He doesn’t elaborate, probably for Norman’s sake.
“Then I think you understand why I need to save him,” Peter Three says firmly. “It’s partly my fault that he turned out this way.” His voice breaks towards the end. Peter Two squeezes his shoulder.
“Of course, man. We got this far, we’re not about to stop now,” Peter One reassures, as weary as he sounds. “We’ll head back to the lab, but we kinda need to know what happened to him.” He gestures at himself then at MJ and Ned.
“Yes, what happened to the young Osborn?” Doctor Connors asks. There’s a hint of resentment in his tone which instantly spurs on Peter’s defensiveness.
“He’s not like his father, Doctor Connors,” he defies. He grants Norman an apologetic glance, “No offense Mr. Osborn, just, you know different universes-” Norman waves him off. “Right, anyway. There was one thing he did share with his father.”
Doctor Connors’ mouth presses into a thin line. “His illness, I presume.”
“He wanted my blood, Spiderman’s blood because he was absolutely convinced it would cure him.”
“Oh goodness no, that would—”
“I know,” Peter Three cuts him off. “I refused, of course, but he managed to get his hands on his father’s research.”
“I remember,” Max suddenly says. He appears wistful. “Poor kid got fired from his own company.”
“Oscorp?” Peter Two asks incredulously. “How?”
“Let’s just say that every single member of his board is an A-grade asshole,” Peter replies bitterly.
Doctor Connors clears his throat. “Peter, that should be an easy enough fix. The spider bite affected you this way solely because of Richard’s DNA. However, if we use the blood of a relative of his, we might be able to sort of… reverse engineer your blood to act as a cure.”
“A relative?” Everyone turns to Norman.
The older man stands a little straighter, “I’ll do it. Different universe or no, I’ll always give my son what he needs,” he rasps. Peter Three gives him an approving look.
“Well, first we’ll need to test if variants have genetic compatibility.”
“We can just test our blood!” Peter One tells the two other Peters excitedly. He looks around mouthing something to himself as he points at each of them in turn. “Between us, we’ve got like six scientists! This will be a total piece of cake,” he says eventually.
Peter Two smiles at them. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
*
As it turns out, Peter One's right. Like he said, with six scientists in the lab, things tend to go pretty quickly. Even so, Peter Three can’t help but feel anxious. The ease with which they’re making the cure is making him on edge because it means that if anything will go wrong, it’s gonna go wrong when they have to actually administer the cure. Right? Right ?
“That’s stupid,” Peter Two supplies helpfully as Peter Three tells him just that. They’re waiting for something to heat up, sitting around calmly and talking amongst themselves. Peter Three for his part, opted to pace around the lab restlessly with the other Peters eventually joining him, watching as he burnt circles into the floor.
“Shut up,” he shoots back halfheartedly at the older Peter.
“No, I’m serious. For such a smart guy, it looks like logic isn’t your forte,” he snorts. His expression softens. “It’s gonna be okay, man. You’ll get your Harry back.”
“So will you,” Peter One adds. “Since Mr. Norman Osborn’s cured, that means your Harry’s gonna be okay too, right?” His eyes are bright as he speaks. Peter Three smiles. This Peter’s been through so much at his young age, yet he continues to do good. The weight of his burden hasn't turned him bitter and resentful.
( Can you say the same for you? he thinks.)
Peter Two smiles too, a tired but earnest smile. “Yeah… he’s gonna be okay. Thanks to you, kid.” He punctuates his sentence by ruffling little Peter’s hair, which turns into a short-lived hug.
“We found him!” Max announces loudly, startling everyone, as he and Flint enter the lab. They’d left a few hours ago, leaving the actual scientists to deal with the cure as they attempted to find Harry.
Peter jolts at the news. “Where?” he instantly questions. He leans on the counter, drumming his fingers against the surface tap tap tap.
“A few people told us they saw flashes of green and smoke down near the abandoned Roxxon warehouse,” Flint recounts.
“We checked it out and, sure enough, your buddy’s there. He’s having fun destroying the inside right now so we figured we’d leave him alone until we come back with the cure.”
“We have to go now! Who knows when he’ll leave. This might be our only shot,” Peter Three says quickly, already picking up and fastening the web-shooters he’d taken off earlier.
“Calm down, Mr. Parker. We need to think about how we’ll approach this. I imagine if he's anything like our Green Goblin, he’s somewhat of an escape artist,” Doc Ock reasons calmly.
Peter sits down reluctantly. He drums his fingers again and holds his head in his other hand. “What do you suggest then?” His tone is provoking but the scientist is completely unbothered.
“Nothing too elaborate. I only think that while our depowered friends keep civilians away, we could trap your friend—”
“I don’t want him to get hurt.”
“Of course, but with three spidermen and these,” his mechanical arms snap on cue. “We’ll have no problem harmlessly incapacitating them.”
Peter Two jumps off the counter he’d been sitting on and claps his hands together. “Right, here’s what we’re gonna do.”
*
Peter Three swings himself onto the roof of the building. He’s alone, for once. Except not really. He straightens, feeling the night breeze trickle by. His heightened senses immediately pick up the quiet sound of footsteps, feet scuffing against cement. When he looks down, he sees a red silhouette weaving through the streets.
The other Peters are never far away.
He crawls his way across the walls of the warehouse. It's an eerie setting. Most of the windows are smashed and the paint is peeling off the walls. The neon sign that reads ROXXON is half-lit, the light flickering in and out. Peter enters through one of the broken windows, hissing when his arm grazes the sharp glass. He wrinkles his nose, there’s a very unpleasant smell wafting through. It stinks of mold and humidity only a withering building like this could give off.
He pads silently down the long bleak halls. Eventually, he comes to a metal catwalk overlooking a vast room. Once upon a time, it would’ve hosted the bulk of Roxxon’s inventory. Now, Harry Osborn is standing in the middle, hunched over himself and muttering unintelligibly.
Peter holds his breath as Harry’s gaze sweeps over where he’s crouching on the catwalk, shrouded in shadows. He exhales when he looks away. He watches out for the signal that the others are in position, which comes in the form of webs being shot soundlessly at the roof. He nods.
In perfect synchronization, they each shoot a web down at Harry. They jump down and tug at their webs, restricting his movement as they keep his limbs restrained. As he struggles against his binds, flashing them a feral grimace, Doc Ock is lifted in by his tentacles. Two of them clasp Harry tightly, lifting him just enough for his feet to hover above the ground. “Peter!” the doctor cries and tosses him the cure.
Peter Three runs over and webs the syringe over to him. He launches himself over. He pulls out the syringe as he approaches his best friend slowly like you would a scared animal. “Harry?” he asks gently.
“Peter,” he growls in response. “I’m going to kill you,” he says like an oath. His eyes glow green, wide and feverish. It’s the first coherent sentence he’s said since he got here. The serum appears to have an increasing effect as his sanity deteriorates more and more.
Peter feels like there’s something stuck in his throat because he doesn’t know what to say. He stands there like an idiot, well aware that the others are waiting for him to stick that damn cure in.
His grip around the syringe tightens until his knuckles go white. “Harry…” His eyes are starting to get misty and tears prick at his eyes and he’s definitely not about to cry. Oh fuck, too late. “I’m sorry, Harry. I was trying to protect you but—I didn’t realize what I let happen.” His voice wobbles as he speaks and his chest feels painfully tight.
Harry doesn’t say anything, he just glances at him then bows his head. Peter inhales sharply. He’s reminded of what he’s here to do and he’s about to administer the cure, when mid-movement, his spidey senses go haywire. That's when he picks up on a distinct metallic glint.
“Harry, NO!” he shouts and he doesn’t have time to move out of the way as the bomb activates. He’s sent flying by the force of the explosion and he hits the concrete floor. His whole body screams in pain as he scrambles to his knees. He’s pretty banged up from the fall, but the explosion itself was pretty tame. He blinks blearily, unable to make out Harry, Doc Ock, or the other Peters. The bomb must’ve doubled as a fogger because a thick green mist now fills the room.
After taking a moment to figure out he wasn’t inhaling mustard gas or something, he jumps to his feet. The fog is dissipating and he can finally make out everyone else. His heart is caught in his throat as he sees Harry on his glider, armed with his arm blades and heading straight for Peter One who’s only just reacting. Peter Three’s frozen in fear and all he sees is Gwen. Gwen. Not again. He can’t lose anyone anymore. Harry, please.
Peter Two swoops in to shoot a web at Harry and throws him into the wall. He runs to the younger, saying something Peter Three can’t make out from here. He thanks the heavens that at least Peter Two had the sense to act, all the while mentally kicking himself for just standing there.
He looks around. “Where is he?” he cries out to them. They look back, confused.
“He was just there!”
“I’ve got him!” Doc Ock yells, emerging from the last wisps of fog. Harry is flying above him and his mechanical arms shoot out to capture him. But instead of dodging, Harry heads right towards Doc Ock, in the process destabilizing the man. The doctor's tentacles struggle to keep up, failing to catch Harry. Another bomb is thrown at the man's feet, forcing him to pull away and dodge.
Peter’s heart continues hammering in his chest. “Harry!” He cries just as yet another bomb is detonated a few feet away from him. That one sends Peter Two crashing through a window. Peter One runs to pull him up. “Please! Stop!” he begs. He swings up to the catwalk to be at Harry’s level. “I’m sorry for everything, Harry, but please you have to stop this,” he says tearfully.
Harry whips around to see him. Fury blazes in his eyes as his lip curls into a snarl. “ You did this to me, Peter.”
He flies straight towards Peter, slicing blades jutting out from the front of the glider. Peter Three shuts his eyes, balls his hands into fists, and braces for impact. (Why can’t he move out of the way? Why are his feet glued to the floor?)
“Harry?” a feeble voice calls.
To his surprise, Peter’s not dead when he opens his eyes. Instead, he’s now looking at a stunned Harry, unmoving in the air and glancing down at Norman Osborn. The former CEO looks out of sorts in his ratty old clothes and in the middle of an abandoned warehouse. He looks up hopefully. “Father?” Harry asks. He suddenly sounds very frail. Peter barely manages to retain his surprise. Harry managed to recognize Norman even though his actual father looked so different from this variant.
“Not exactly,” Norman chuckles. “But I have a son and his name is also Harry... You remind me a lot of him.”
It’s a wonder Harry hasn’t attacked him yet. Peter almost thinks he’s about to when he lowers himself to the ground and they all tense, but Harry doesn’t move. He just stands there.
Norman seems to take that as his sign to continue. “I don’t know all that much about your father, but what I do know is that I made the same mistake he made. I undervalued my own son countless times and pushed him away. I realize that now, but perhaps too late.” He glances to the ground. “Seeing you just reminds me of both your father and I’s failures. You’re a good kid Harry, don’t let your dad take that away from you now that he’s six feet under the ground.” There’s a twinkle in his eyes and newly found vigor in his demeanor, despite his fragile state.
Harry’s pupils dilate and flicker in and out of white and green scleras. He grunts and claws at his neck, stumbling back. That brief moment of weakness is taken advantage of by Doc Ock, who wastes no time before taking the cure from Peter and using his other arms to tug Harry over. The former obviously struggles but the Peters recover from their stupor to help wrangle him down.
Despite how hard he fights, Harry is disoriented and outnumbered. Between the four of them, they manage with ease to keep him still. The next moment, a needle is stuck into Harry’s neck and the blue liquid makes its way into his bloodstream. Harry roars one last time, an unearthly cry that shakes Peter Three to his core. Harry then curls in on himself, trembling.
He goes limp in Doc Ock’s mechanical arms. The doctor puts him down warily and Peter Three rushes to his friend. He slides to his knees, crouched next to Harry, and checks his pulse. Relief washes over him as he feels a faint but evergrowing heartbeat under his fingers. The cure appeared to work, at least on a surface level. Harry’s face has lost some of its paleness with his cheeks having regained some color. He’s pretty sure the line of tiny fangs in his mouth is gone, and so are the long claws he'd developed. Most importantly, the patches of scab have been erased away, leaving Harry’s silky skin clear.
“Harry?” He shakes the other’s arm gently. The Peters, Norman, and Doc Ock cast shadows on them as they crowd around watching him try to wake Harry. “Harry?” He attempts again.
“No,” Harry mumbles and slowly raises his arms to shield his eyes. “Too bright,” he complains, shifting uncomfortably.
The reassurance is so overwhelming he forgets to breathe for a moment. Then he hits a level of solace he’s never felt before. Peter wants to cry (again). He laughs wetly, “Hey buddy,” he croaks.
Harry’s eyes widen slightly as he looks up at Peter. “Hey Pete,” he says weakly.
Peter suddenly tugs Harry towards him and wraps his arms around him tightly, as if he’d disappear if he let go. Harry tenses but slowly relaxes into the embrace, his head burrowing into the crook of Peter’s neck. Peter has never felt so happy feeling soft breath tickle his neck.
Harry starts to pull away and as much as Peter wants to hold him back, he lets him because his friend’s eyes are brimming with tears. “I’m sorry, Peter. Fuck , I’m so sorry. God I—what have I done?” The tears streaming down his cheeks feel so out of place on Harry, whose expression had always maintained carefully crafted self-assurance and cool.
“I killed her.” Harry’s voice is devoid of emotion as he stares blankly at the floor.
Peter grips the other’s wrist. “Don’t go there, please, Harry. That wasn’t you.”
“But it was me, Peter. I’m the one that injected that serum into my blood.” He sounds strained.
“Then I forgive you,” Peter snaps. Harry’s breath hitches, like he’s holding in more tears.
He takes a deep inhale. “I’ve had so long to think about it. I replayed that night in my mind for years. Do you know what I’ve decided? That I want my best friend back.”
Harry’s gaze is searching as they lock eyes. Peter thinks he sees disbelief in his expression, but the moment after, Harry’s hugging him again. His suit is damp with tears but he could care less.
There’s a sniffle behind them. Peter Three suspects the younger of the Peters at first, but when he turns around, he’s surprised to see that it’s Peter Two. He’s wearing his mask but very obviously crying. “Sorry,” he wheezes when he realizes everyone's staring at him. “Just, thinking about my own Harry, and, how we also get a do-over, and I’m just really happy,” he gestures vaguely with his hands.
“Uh, hey am I hallucinating, or are there more Spider-men?” Harry asks faintly. Peter Three’s a little concerned the poor guy’s going to faint with the onslaught of emotions. He helps Harry up, who’s a bit shaky on his feet and relying on Peter for support.
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, I’ve got time now,” Harry smiles, a rare genuine smile that warms Peter’s heart.
*
When Doctor Strange comes back, the multiverse literally starts collapsing, which is evidently their cue to leave. When Peter One comes to say his goodbyes, Peter Three cries for the millionth time that night. They hug each other tightly, all three Spider-men together. Being Spider-man is an isolating experience, but Peter Three can’t imagine ever feeling that suffocating loneliness again, not while knowing there are two other Peters out there.
Little Peter has faced hardships recently, but if there’s one thing Spider-man can do, it’s bounce back. When he watches Peter One swing away to his friends, Peter Three feels a pang of grief, of course, but also a hint of pride.
As for Peter Two, Peter Three doesn’t have to worry. It seems like the oldest Peter has had his stuff sorted out for a while now. And now, he gets to go back to his Harry too. Peter Three’s not worried because Peter Two has his Harry and his MJ. They part with a last hug and a smile worth a million words.
Strangely, the most moving goodbye is that of Norman’s. When Harry shuffles over to him with uncertainty, Norman squeezes the other into a strong embrace. Peter sees Norman say something to Harry, but is unable to make out what, but based on the small smile it ignites on Harry’s face, it’s something quite touching. Harry returns to Peter with freshly watery eyes.
“Do you know what happens now?” Harry questions from where he’s standing next to Peter. They’re waiting to be sent home, watching the sunrise and bathing in the new light. “Things are gonna be different, obviously. But… different good or bad?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “But hey, no matter what happens, we’ll find each other,” Peter promises. “I didn’t go through all this trouble to lose you, Osborn.”
Harry smirks. “I’ll hold you to that, Parker.”
*
And if they’re blipped out of that universe and Peter awakes in his bed in his shitty flat, hearing the doorbell ring and opening the door only to see Harry and his trademark smug smirk, well then, maybe upholding that promise was the universe’s way of making amends.