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@inhcursed
Independent, canon and headcanon based Harry Osborn from The Amazing Spider-Man 2 movie, as written by Sparrow (she/they, 25+).
Established October 2023.
See here for guidelines, muse info and content warnings
Blogroll: @inhcritance (Insomniac Harry Osborn) @unsundcr (Lahabrea - FFXIV)
His eyes opened and Peter hadn't fully realized they were closed in the first place. Lifting his head was a struggle to be able to look at Harry, to take a moment to process the words that formed the question. That formed a promise, and one that didn't fill him with any sense of unease. It was a night of firsts, he didn't think he'd given Harry this much trust since he'd first gotten back to New York from Europe. Before they were anywhere close to where they were now, a whole other lifetime ago, before everything felt messy and complicated and even dangerous. When it was broken glass and egg shells, memories that were so warm they could burn now instead. Peter missed things before, he wondered if the offer to help him get somewhere else was Harry keeping the thin truce they had or if it was all he would show of missing it too.
The question was too hard, too painful, of one to try and work out an answer for. Not there on the ground of an alley in the middle of the night. It was better to focus on the other one and Peter closed his eyes with a bare turn of his head before looking at Harry again. Dazed, weak, and vulnerable and knowing it, "I don' wanna punch you..." and it was true. He didn't want to throw a punch at Harry for helping him, Peter didn't want to fight with him at all. Not now, not tomorrow, or next week. Couldn't think of a reason to, even when it felt like he should be able to. When others would maybe even offer suggestions of why. Five years worth of them.
Peter couldn't think of any. Looked at the obvious ones and couldn't find a reason to want to, couldn't pull it out of himself. He just glanced at the backpack and tried to move to grab it. Wasn't like he could put it back where he'd gotten it from, he'd only gotten worse while sitting there and didn't think Harry would appreciate him passing out and falling a second time.
|| @inhcursed ||
He would not appreciate having him pass out a second time, for all he knew it was more likely than not. For all he was certian, this time, it would not be Peter being obtuse or obtrusive, but him simply being exhausted and half dead, and it was going to take all of Harry's patience to keep some things as they were.
It was not easy, to care like this. He could not even fully, comfortably say this was caring, when he was keeping away from memories of the past as if they were going to burn him if he looked at them too steadily... but for now, he could believe Peter was in no condition to punch him.
"Then off we go." Was all he said, as he reached for the backpack, made sure it was properly closed, and then put it on one shoulder before reaching out to pick Peter up and carry him. Glad that the venom and Ravencroft had at least given him enough strength for this, as he made sure Peter was steady in almost a bridal carry before starting to walk, keeping away from streets and staying to alleys.
"I will appreciate it," he said, as they walked, knowing it would still be some minutes until he got them there, "if you keep quiet about the place. I don't have that many safe houses and they are a bother to replace." He added, mostly to try and keep Peter awake, trying to keep his steps steady so as not to jolt him too much.
@localwebslingers
A barely there and distant sounding laugh left Peter without thinking about it, "Probably, wouldn' blame them for it...I feel terrible." and probably looked at least as bad, if past experience was anything to go off of, "Be clos'd by now anyways, wouldn' matter. Still the best place in Queens to go." his eyes felt heavy again. Struggling to keep them open without the dull pain brought on by the steady, methodical feeling of something being pulled through him as he was being stitched back up. Literally. The edges of the wound still stung and throbbed with every, rapid beat of his heart which did something. The rest of him was still cold though, making him want to curl in on himself and a shiver was barely repressed. That was bad, right? Feeling cold and tired and clammy, having trouble thinking.
That meant he needed to get home, needed to be somewhere safe before he could black out and where he could recover. Where it was warm, and there were bandages and a bathroom nearby, where he could afford to be unconscious without worrying that he was.
Peter didn't notice when his eyes started to slide closed again, "We still order from them, me 'nd Aunt May. When we can....I can still remember trying to pick out what movies we wan'ed to watch when we got back to the house. Standing in line for the buffet 'nd sure we could stay up late enough to watch all of 'em. Don' think we ever did though..." he always woke up to the TV already off on the floor, if it wasn't one of the times they finally went up to his room where it was more comfortable. Still trying to stay up late, eventually failing at it, not caring that they did by morning. This felt like some messed up recreation, trying to stay awake longer than they should when it was so late. Where instead of snacks and talking about whatever came to mind there was blood and a tense agreement to be around each other for now. It felt miles away from where they had once been.
"Miss it..."
|| @inhcursed ||
It didn't surprise Harry that Peter did not feel well, and it did not surprise him, in truth, that he missed easier, gentler days. Harry certainly did, when he had spent so long missing a home that had never really existed. But that was memory, and that was trust, and that was the cost of it all.
Nevertheless, he would not admit it. Not when Peter might be almost dozing off, and having Harry need to consider just how to avoid him wasting all this effort, and Harry needed to be the one making choices.
He did remember quite well the evenings doing so many activities that his father would have considered beneath his station. And now, look at them. Was crime considered adequate, was being an escaped prisoner any good? He pushed it all away, for now, and regarded Peter, consideringly, cautiously. And then, let out a small sigh.
"If I pick you up, will you try to punch me?" He asked him, in the end. "I know of a place nearby. It'll be the two of us alone, I promise."
Not that he expected the promise to matter, but Peter wasn't making it home like that, and leaving him here would be a mere waste of time.
@localwebslingers
Looking at Harry should not have been the kind of challenge that it was. It shouldn't have felt easier to stare at bricks and try to focus on them while not really being focused at all. Like it was just the best thing for Peter to keep his eyes on for the moment, the safest thing for him to focus on as he tried to keep his thoughts together despite the way everything blurred and bled into each other. He knew it was the blood loss, just like the cold was, just like the nausea and the clammy feeling covering his skin and the fight to stay awake. Slowly he turned his head, felt the world slide and blend around him, until he was able to focus on Harry instead, who didn't look half as angry as Peter would have thought he would right now, "....w'll you promise?" if it was a no, he would have deserved it probably, and Peter would just live with that too.
In place of the refusal was a question and for a few, dangerous moments, he closed his eyes. Trying to judge if he could sit upright without the help now, and not just be tempted to just leave them closed instead. To let himself stop fighting to stay awake against the cold and the tired and the pain, and instead sink into that blissful unawareness that was waiting for him. Taunting and inviting. Harry still being there, trying to help him keep it together despite the risk of being caught if he did, and the uncertainty of what would be waiting for him in that unaware state, were what helped Peter pry his eyes open again. To prompt him to slowly turn towards his side to make it easier to press his hand against the building supporting him and push. Fighting to get himself upright.
He ignored his arm shaking with the effort, the way the stitches pulled slightly and the world felt too thick. If he could swing across New York with broken bones and bruised insides, he could sit in an alley with stitches in his side.
Unfocused eyes slid back to Harry when he finally gave an answer, seeing another exhaustion reflect back at him. Peter managed a bare nod and tried to make himself focus on staying upright but felt he drop in his shoulders. The twisted knot buried under the nausea releasing just slightly. Just enough to relax knowing that at least if that really did happen, if Harry did finally get what he wanted, that at least his Aunt May wouldn't have to suffer more for it than she already would, "Thanks..." he told himself not to linger on why Harry looked so tired, to not try to focus on him and make sense out of it. That it had been a long night and only made sense that anyone would start to feel it by now.
Peter let his head lull against his arm and felt his eyes starting to close again, blurry and dazed and set on the first aid kit now as he grasped at loose strings to try and hold onto and keep awake with, "...you remember the Chinese food place Uncle Ben 'nd Aunt May used to take us to? 'S still open, haven' even remodeled the inside."
|| @inhcursed ||
It had been a promise, for all it had not been stated clearly, and Harry was not sure if he'd have done it anyway, if he'd have had that kindness in his chest anyway, when his chest only felt mostly hollow these days. But it was a promise given, and so a promise that would be kept. He had little else but his word, these days, and apparently a vigilante that he might have to carry somewhere safe tonight. Not May's place, of course, not like this, but where?
Common sense, he knew, as he was finally done with the stitches, and Peter's exhaustion and helplessness were as clear as they could be, would be letting him here, and letting him hope for the best. But that would be a waste of time, and a waste of work.
And, as he regarded Peter, and carefully set aside the supplies that were bloodstained, away from the clean ones, and closed the pack again, he forced himself to nod. Because he remembered the place, in the hazy, far too sharp way he remembered the days before he'd left, when he'd been young and naive and maybe even happy.
"Yes, I remember." He replied, with the quiet momentary sharpness of an omitted 'of course I do'. "But you're in no condition to go and sit there, right now. They'd call an ambulance on you."
And really, it was foolish in the extreme. But it didn't surprise him Peter was hungry now, all in all.
@localwebslingers
Somewhere, he was aware this wasn't the time to be asking questions like that. Or maybe there would never be a good time for it, maybe it had to be one of those things that just needed shoved into another box. Pretend that it wasn't actually there in the first place so they could step around and try to keep going. Harry had been willing to answer him though, even if it was vague and simple, so Peter nodded, "More than I don't." he admitted, voice soft and feeling like it was coming from further away than it should. He kept his eyes on the bricks, finding a crack and following it, trying to find something solid to focus on that wasn't just the feeling of stitches being placed, "Sometimes all of it, sometimes just part of it, or it changes...I can always still hear it when I wake up. C'n see whoever was there last."
If it was Gwen, hanging there lifeless and blank. Sometimes with her eyes closed no matter how many times he begged her again to open them, sometimes open and staring and him and Peter could swear it was worse then. Having her look at him but be so far away at the same time. Sometimes it was Harry, sneering and laughing or glaring and squeezing tighter and tighter. He looked different now, Peter still wasn't sure what to think of it, but it remind him of growing up together, not nightmares, "....'s harder when I'm awake for it though." he managed, the bricks were making him tired, he wanted to sleep. It was cold and he wanted to pull the clothes over himself rather than put them on and just lay there to sleep. For as long as he could.
"...c'n you promise me something?" he still couldn't look at Harry, maybe he should, but Peter was too scared of which one he would see if he did, "If you do kill me, or some'ne you send does, don' tell Aunt May what happened? Don' tell her why you did jus'....don' tell her that."
|| @inhcursed ||
For a while, he simply let Peter talk. If he was talking, then Harry didn't need to worry about him fainting on him, or worse, and it left him being able to worry about the stitches, and on making them hold for as long as necessary. Which wouldn't be long, in truth, but Harry was loath to do things haphazardly. It also helped that working with his hands let him focus, and calm himself down, and not think about the nightmares. Much less about the serum, and the days leading towards it, and the way he hadn't been able to trust his hands. And yet, no amount of focusing could have prepared him for Peter's question, for the way it was asked, for the way Peter would not look at him. And that angered, yet another spark to the simmering embers in his chest, to the way he was revenge and schemes and fury all coalesced into a man.
He didn't think he could remember when he'd last been anything else. Maybe now, when he was trying to patch up someone, instead of plotting how to get rid of him. And heavens, he was tired.
It had never stopped him before, and it would not stop him now.
"If you are going to try and wrangle a promise like that from me," he settled for, in the end, voice a sigh as he finished the last of the stitches, "the least you could do is look at me while you do."
And he considered it, for a long moment.
"Now, can you sit up on your own?" He asked Peter. "I'm going to bandage the wound over the stitches so that you don't look like an extra in a horror movie." He added.
And meanwhile, he considered the question. But the answer was easy, wasn't it?
So very few people had ever been kind to him without wanting anything in return.
"I can do that. And I will make sure she's... she's safe, and kept away from all this mess." He settled for. Tired, and exhausted, and showing it. "Now, be helpful, we're almost done."
@localwebslingers
Almost. He had almost died, almost could have bled out on the ground of the building Octavius had been left in, or in the front of the buildings where the police cars pulled up to see him lying there barely alive. There in the alley or one of the others Harry had to half carry him through just so that Peter could stay upright, and that wasn't even counting the fact that he'd been caught after he dropped off the top of a building. Almost died, and all Peter could do was half shrug a shoulder at the fact, "I always almost die." it was just as flat as Harry's own point, and no less true. He'd long stopped trying to keep track of how many times he almost didn't make it back home. How many times May almost never knew what happened to her nephew, or only would when the city recovered his body from wherever it had fallen and finally took off the mask.
He just tried not to think about it much anymore, all the close calls he had and how many around him didn't get their chances to walk away instead when they should have.
"I'm sure you'll get another chance, don't worry." he added then before going quiet for a few more stitches, "Thanks...though...making sure I stayed upright and got out, and the stitches, and trying to catch me and- ....thanks." what else could he say? It would have been easy for Harry to have killed him. Could have just wrapped a hand around Peter's neck again and squeezed, watched it slowly take the second time around while Peter was too hurt and tired from the fight to be able to stand let alone fight him off. Or maybe that waiting blade would have finally found something to stab into after all this time. Make the wound just a little wider, a little deeper, or give it a sister somewhere equally inviting. Could have, and instead Peter felt the needle pierce his skin as another stitch was placed, as his best friend was helping him keep it together for another night, and at some point, his gaze had slipped past Harry and over to the bricks ahead of them.
"....d'you get dreams about it?"
|| @inhcursed ||
He had a hunch he'd get another chance, and he knew that if he really, truly wanted it, pride wouldn't have stopped him. But Peter had saved his life twice already, and Harry was not a being of compassion, he was in no way kind. But he was, it seemed, still willing to be grateful, and keep to some minimal principles.
Or maybe it was just Peter, and Harry was simply as ruthless as he had ever been, for anyone or anything else. "You're welcome." He said, as he kept working. He was almost done, and what else could he say? Certainly not that he'd be there anytime to help, because he wouldn't. He shouldn't, he shouldn't even be doing this.
But Peter had ever been reckless and now it seemed to want to keep being even more so, as he asked a question that, in Harry's opinion, shouldn't have gone anywhere near of.
And truly, what would be the point of lying, of pretending he didn't?
"Don't you?" He sighed.
What else was there to say? Of course he did. It was a coin toss, whether the pain in his dreams would be the serum or the years at Ravencroft.
@localwebslingers
Slowly, the pain eased back into something that was manageable, which was still painful and impossible to ignore but Peter didn't feel another yell welling up in his throat. Instead he forced himself to breathe through it and force himself to relax. At least as much as he was able to as Harry responded to his insistence. It was short, and cold, and unattached but there was something in it that Peter wasn't able to place right away before his mind suggested it might be worry. Or stress, maybe just displeasure at the entire situation. He wasn't sure, and he wasn't sure if he believed that it was really worry, or if that was just blood loss making it easier for a little hope to crawl its way out of the years of violence and nightmares and try to find something stable to stand on.
With some effort and reluctance, he turned his head enough to be able to actually look at Harry, take in the focus he seemed to have in placing the stitches. They didn't feel like there was anything wrong with them but they didn't really feel anything other than pain in the first place. The more he watched, the more unsure Peter was about if that was genuine worry and concern he was seeing. It looked convincing, he wanted it to be convincing. More than anything else in that moment he wanted to believe what he thought he was seeing.
That little, stumbling hope struggled over a sneer and a blade and scraped its knees, and felt like crying. Peter kept his eyes on Harry, "...you can relax, I'm not dying. Not tonight." he let his head lean back on the bricks more, eyes wandering away from Harry, over to the bag, to the open kit nearby. Focusing on the dull gleam reflecting off of the small scissors in it, a far away thought wondering where the light was coming from to cause it, "Besides, we both know you're first in line for it, can't let someone else take your spot." he wanted it to be joking, he wanted to lighten the mood. It felt like admitting to something he didn't want to give a name to, and he kept his eyes on the scissors.
|| @inhcursed ||
He was likely not dying now, after Harry had had to half-drag him to safety. After his efforts to patch him up, for all that he was only doing a decent job at it, and he could only make sure he wouldn't actually die.
"You almost did." He pointed out, tone flat, because he was not so kind as to not point out how close he'd been, when Harry had been there to see it, and when he knew it was a matter of time until he recovered now that his body had been allowed some help.
In another time, in another life, he might have joked about how this all meant all his effort had been for nothing, then. But this was not this life, and all he had was careful stitches, as even as he could make them, and Peter's poor attempt at a joke.
"I am not so prideful I need to be the one wielding the knife." He warned Peter.
He better not joke about killing him with someone who had both the means and the motivation and the perfect moment right then.
"But I do hate wasting my effort."
It was as much a reassurance as he could offer, for the moment.
@localwebslingers
He laughed. Small and disconnected, barely any humor to it and cutting off sharply for Peter to wince as the action caused another sharp, spike of pain before he slumped against the building further, "Sure I am..." he countered, flat and simple. It was just a fact, the years of swinging himself away with broken bones and open, bleeding wounds had proved this was exactly the kind of condition that he was in to patch himself up. It was the condition he had been in more than once, it would be the same condition he was in weeks from now. With or without Harry, and Peter would stumble his way home to do the best he could with the first aid supplies that he had to patch himself up before he could collapse for real. Black out into some form of sleep that was either going to be restful or it wasn't, there was no way to tell until morning.
This was just what his normal was anymore.
Another, reluctant and small bite was taken of the bar, all he could get himself to manage to do at the moment. It would help, it would hold him over until he managed to get back home, however he was doing that, "No yelling....no commentary....maybe I should let you do this more so can work on that bedside thing." it felt like a strain on their truce, their agreement. Already so delicate and tentative. Peter was sure this was a one off, he still wasn't sure why but he guessed he must still have enough use left in him for Harry to consider it worth his time. That had to be what it was, under he help walking him this far, trying to keep him standing, the insistence.
For just a moment, Peter wondered if Harry ever actually realized this is what he'd been doing all these years. What both of them had been doing. The fighting, the struggling, the people suited up and pointed at him again, and again. There were others, Tombstone had his own reasons to want Spider-Man dead, so did Fisk, so did at least a dozen other heads of criminal empires around the city. No one could deny guys like Octavius were the ones who hit the hardest though. Were the ones that got the kind of coverage that was talked about for days and he could almost hear the city hold its breath to see if he was going to swing back out again. This is what that looked like, cold and pale and bleeding in an alley in the middle of the night. Trying to catch his breath and realize he actually walked away. Even if he limped, even when he crawled.
He wondered, and then he let the thought go, and barely finished the bite before nearly choking it back out at the next wave of pain. Muffling the yell, pressing his lips together and going tense for a few too long seconds before taking another strained breath, "I'm fine....I'm fine, I can handle it..."
|| @inhcursed ||
It was eerie, and that was all Harry could think about, to see the muffled yelling from the other side. To see the way Peter tensed and know that pain so intimately he almost could feel an echo of it through all the old scars littering his body.
He should be enjoying this, he thought. He should be prodding and poking and making sure Peter would not wake up again, and yet he had chosen he would not, and so he was determined to make sure he'd walk back home. That today, at least, he'd make it out of there.
But it was still eerie, and something in Harry's voice wavered as Peter spoke again.
"Don't get used to this. I'm not about to become your go-to patch-up guy." He warned him.
Because acidity was easier than the alternative, than seeing Peter bite back a yell when Harry was actually trying his best not to hurt him, and Harry was cold and heartless and he'd grown even colder at Ravencroft, and yet he could only hate this.
So he focused again. His hands trembled, for a moment, then he breathed out and decided that no, he would gather himself.
"I know you can handle it. So handle it." He told Peter. And ignored the way his own voice was not as steady as it should.
He was almost done with the worst of it. But in this, even in this, said the quiet voice in his mind that sounded like his father, he was inadequate.
@localwebslingers
With only the vaguest, half interest, Peter watched as Harry opened up the backpack and started going through it. Hearing the rattle of the makeshift first aid he'd basically had to build from scratch because none of the ones in stores actually had everything he needed in one. Expecting that to be pulled out, not what he already knew was a protein bar that had been stashed away for emergencies. It wouldn't be much, it might be stale, but it was a start to something and he reached over to accept it, "I wasn't planning on complaining, they don't need to look good. Just hold things closed for a couple of days." he said, reaching up and pushing the mask up and off of his face. Feeling the cool of the night hair finally hit his skin and guessed it was just as pale and clammy as the rest of him was.
Thankfully he was able to open up the bar itself without too much trouble and glanced at the kit as Harry went through it, "Don't worry, I'm used to being manhandled, I can handle it." he mumbled, taking a bite of the bar. It wasn't stale, or maybe he just didn't notice that it was but it was going to work for now. At least until he could get home, find something else to eat and drink before trying to sleep off the worst of it, "Your bedside manner could use some work though, not sure you're supposed to threaten people for a pain response."
Another bite was taken, halfheartedly, Peter couldn't really say he felt like eating right now and wasn't sure the heavy bar was going to be appreciated by his stomach that had been nauseous from pain and blood loss the last time he was upright. He kept eating it though, in small bites as he watched Harry get familiar with the contents of the first aid kit. It had most of the usual bandage dressings in various sizes, medical tape, disinfectant, a few pairs of gloves he'd managed to actually get a hold of by the looks of it. With the additions of the supplies for stitches, burns, a pair of scissors, and a bottle of painkillers that had been the source of the rattling, "...you don't have to stay."
It felt like a comment he shouldn't be making when Harry was already talking about stitching him up. Like one of those things Peter shouldn't question and just accept and be grateful for. But his voice sounded right there in his throat but felt like it should be further away, the blood loss exhaustion seeping in deeper the longer he sat there not doing anything. Letting his thoughts wander, like why his best friend was suddenly worried about his health and overall condition after five, long years of caring least about that, "If you wanna leave, I've done plenty of my own patch jobs solo by now. Lots of practice..."
|| @inhcursed ||
He didn't have to stay, he was well aware of it. Just like he was well aware of how he didn't really need to save Peter, when he could have gotten rid of him already and saved himself a lot of trouble.
Alas, Peter had already saved his life, and Harry had already decided he was not killing him, and so there was little changing his mind now.
"I have never been accused of having a good bedside manner and that isn't changing now." Was his answer, nevertheless. Almost joke, even now, because something about the situation was distracting him enough for that.
It didn't change how he watched Peter, and his gaze was threat enough, regarding the bar, before he began to actually clear the wound.
"I know I could leave." He said, in his most obvious tone. "But if I were to leave I'd have done it already. You're in no condition to patch yourself."
And seeing his face did not make it easier to patch him up, but Harry was stubborn, and good at getting things done despite his feelings on the matter.
"So eat and don't scream and let me work." He warned Peter. "I don't appreciate the commentary."
But he would still be as careful as he could be. Not exactly gentle, when he was in a hurry, but as gentle as someone like him could be, after so long.
@localwebslingers
The push was followed and Peter was just glad it was careful enough to not worsen his injuries and didn't exactly feel annoyed. At least not as much as Harry could have been for a guy that caught a falling, unconscious vigilante and then was knocked to the ground for it. Peter would continue to take the small victories where he would get them, and managed a tired and strained, "Thanks.." as he moved away and off of Harry. Rather than ignore the dizzy feeling he let himself lay on the ground, half curled and breathing strained as he squeezed his eyes shut, head falling to rest on his arm, to try and breathe through the moment. Let it pass. He didn't manage words to answer Harry but nodded and made a sound that he was at least still awake and listening.
Being moved again was not what he had in mind. Another sound left him, pained and choked as Peter fumbled to get his arms and legs under himself to move over against the side of the building. At least there he was able to prop up and be supported, and it was easier to breathe than being face down against the pavement. It didn't help with much else. His head fell back to rest against the bricks and he tried to just focus, on anything, eyes falling on the opposite rooftop and holding it in his line of sight. That the ground was cold and the bricks were rough and he could still hear distant sounds of the city around them.
No more sirens, he wondered if they already had Octavius back in custody. He wondered why Harry hadn't left him there yet to deal with this on his own.
"...there should be a kit," he finally managed, "in the main pocket of the bag." and maybe a change of clothes he could use. Just some pants and a shirt, a jacket if Peter was really lucky. He was having a hard time remembering everything that was supposed to be in this bag but most of them had at least the basic supplies. More cartridges, repair kits for his webshooters, something to eat, and most importantly right now, the first aid kit. Changes of clothes were usually reserved for bags closer to work or school, but if there was some that would make the subway an option to get home. If there wasn't, that meant either swinging or figuring out plan B. For now that could wait, and once he felt like he could move again, Peter shifted and carefully started peeling the top of his suit up to look down and see the dark, red injury and the too-pale skin around it.
"....you ever take home ec class, or did you never have to learn sewing?"
|| @inhcursed ||
The corner was not the safest place in the city, but like so many other things, it would do: it would keep them somewhat sheltered as Harry did whatever he could to make sure Peter would live to see another day. And he was not one to accept defeat easily, not with how far they'd gotten… or he'd gotten them, considering how Peter was determined not to be of much help.
But that was a pettiness and a frustration that he knew he could not afford to entertain. Not as he looked into the bag, and nodded, and finally found what he could recognize as a first aid kit… and clothes and food, among other things that would not be of use right then and there.
A part of Harry wanted to tear apart the clothing for bandages, but he knew that would be counterproductive, especially if they wanted to be in any way discreet. So, he took what little food was there, not that it smelled appetizing, but neither did it look past expiration date, and handed it to Peter.
"I'm a quick study, and it's useful to know." Was all he replied to Peter, at the mention of sewing. "Now, eat something. You'll need it and I don't need you complaining about my stitches."
He had seen enough stitching for a lifetime, and done too little of it himself, but he expected he'd manage the worst of it.
"I'm going to clean the worst of it." Harry warned Peter, matter-of-factly. "If you scream, I will make you unconscious." He warned him. It was not a threat, merely a fact. He didn't have time for idle threats when he was working. "So I suggest you don't, waking you up once was already enough of an issue."
At least there were gloves, and enough disinfectant to do something, and Harry almost wished he was not so desensitized to blood. Even if it was weird that it wasn't his own.
@localwebslingers
Coming back to his senses wasn't just slow, it was lethargic. Thick and heavy and disoriented, in every sense of it. Peter's ears were ringing, his head felt jumbled and too heavy for his own thinking, and he wasn't even sure where his limbs were at first. Only knew that they were there, still attached, which felt like a good thing. In the first few beats that was all he knew before the jumbled feeling in his head started to ease and the pain in his side was a little too eager to take its place front and center stage. That throbbing hot and cold feeling that took another moment to remember was the stab wound, that part of his weakness and disorientation was from the blood loss. That he must have fallen from the rooftop when the movement had been too sudden and too much for his body to handle with all the other strain.
It took a few more moments to realize that he wasn't falling anymore, and that there was no new pain from the sudden, aggressive reintroduction to both gravity and the cement of the ground that had been under him. No faint ringing of metal to imply he'd either struck a fire escape that didn't exist or a dumpster on the way down. He remembered dropping but not falling, didn't remember hitting the ground, but there wasn't enough movement for him to still be falling so where was he? The disorientation started to lessen as Peter managed to pry his eyes open. The sky was still above him, that had to be good. Further away, along with the edge of the building, and he was against something. Half slumped against it and it took him a moment to realize that it not only was softer than the ground, but breathing.
And maybe seriously considering adding another stab wound as reality finally caught up to Peter.
He made a pained sound and tried to move, immediately watched the world start to go dark as his stomach lurched, and gave up on the idea for the moment. Staying put for a few beats as he got his breath that came short and strained. Not good, really not good, and it took longer than he would of liked before he was able to focus on Harry again, "...okay, I'm done making bad choices for a few minutes tonight. Jus'....just put me down somewhere.." he would stand but Peter trusted his ability to do that even less now with how weak he felt. With how bad every part of him felt, "I need to patch up...how long was I out?"
|| @inhcursed ||
He hadn't jumped high, and it was a relief, when the whole force of Peter's weight and his fall landed on him, and Harry found himself grunting -not crying out, not screaming, he would never allow himself something like that again- as he hit his shoulder worse than he'd have wanted. But, he thought, Peter was breathing, and he was on his arms, and he was out cold.
His first thought was that Peter weighed both more than he'd expected and less. The second, that yet again he had him completely at his mercy, and they really had to stop doing that, when Peter was useful but there was a limit to Harry's patience.
And then, as Harry started to figure out how to move him, and how to reach the backpack, Peter stirred, and Harry was glad that at least he didn't have to carry an unconscious Spider-Man anywhere.
"A few seconds." Was Harry's answer, as he pushed Peter off him and yet did his best to, at least, be careful, avoid making his injuries worse. "No more. And you better behave. Can you sit up?" He still asked, before sitting down himself and half-dragging, half-carrying Peter towards the corner, where they wouldn't be seen as he tried to patch him up and make sure he didn't bleed to death.
@localwebslingers
For a moment, not even a sound could be managed for a moment as Peter leaned against the building to acknowledge that he'd even heard what Harry said. Or that he'd been able to focus on anything at all and he squeezed his eyes shut to try and block out some of the feeling and world around him. Both the side of his suit and the glove of his hand pressing against it wet the injury still hurt with every breath and movement. He wanted to sleep, wanted to curl up at home under a pile of blankets and let the world fall away. To hover in blissful unawareness until his broken body could start to mend itself again. Instead he forced his eyes open again, glancing over to Harry, and finally managed a weak sound, "Told you...hasn't stopped me yet."
Harry didn't care, but he needed reassured. Needed to be told that it would be alright. Not because he cared, but because it was important.
Peter slowly righted himself from leaning against the building and managed to move over to the other. Right under where the backpack was and look up at it, wishing not for a first time that it was somewhere easier to get to for things like this, but knowing why it couldn't be either. This was going to hurt, but he couldn't properly climb up the wall right now and he didn't trust himself walking either. Before he could think twice about it, Peter grit his teeth and lifted his arm on his injured side to shoot a web, pulling on it to get himself up into the air. The pain was sharp and immediate, and he all but crashed into the top of the building and curled on himself with the impact before managing to stick to the side of it. Breathing hard, taking the moment to try and just push through it, and reached up to tug the backpack free of the webbing there--
He didn't remember his vision starting to go dark and looking down at Harry on the ground several stories below him. Didn't remember the bag slipping clean out of his hand and dropping back down towards the pavement or the dazed "Har..?" that left him before the world faded out. In the next second Peter slumped, and dropped off the side of the building.
|| @inhcursed ||
It might not have stopped him yet, but it was certainly in the process of stopping him now, with those injuries and that uncertain step and the way Harry knew he was in pain, and suffering.
In another life, he would have cared. He would have not been stomping down on what remained of compassion and humanity in his chest, watching Peter push himself too much. But as matters stood, Harry had long ceased to care, and what hope and gentleness he might have had had long died in desperation and then years in Ravencroft. And so, he watched.
And he'd expected, all in all, for Peter to manage to make his way back down. He'd simply arched an eyebrow at the glance set towards him, then pointedly looking at the ground, before he had to move to avoid a falling bag.
A heartbeat later it wasn't just a bag falling, and Harry needed a moment to really process it. A moment he didn't have. A moment that could be better used, he thought, getting himself rid of Peter once and for all.
This was pride talking, he told himself. This was foolishness, after everything. And then there was the fact that he had never ever caught someone falling.
He did not let himself remember being the one making sure someone else would fall. He couldn't have that, right now.
"You really are determined to make a waste of my efforts today, aren't you?" He growled.
And truly, jumping off after him was not the best idea he'd ever had, but as matters stood, the one way he saw Peter surviving and still being useful was to jump after him and be the one taking the hit, from a much lower height.
He didn't give himself time to reconsider, as he jumped.
He knew he wouldn't have, otherwise. Shouldn't have.
@localwebslingers
If they were lucky, what Octavius did next was actually stay in prison for a few months or longer. With the sound of distant but approaching sirens that even seemed like it was even going to be likely. Peter wasn't sure how long it would actually last but for now he was more than happy to leave it to someone else to sort out. Especially when staying upright was so hard, when wanting to move was just habit and all he could offer Harry's comment was a short, dry laugh with no real humor in it. Just knowing, "Probably not, but it hasn't stopped me yet." how many times had he done just that? Dragged himself up out of bed in the morning, half healed and half broken, to do it all over again. Told himself to walk it off, to sleep it off. Had gotten some more bandages and something to eat and just kept going.
What else could Peter do? Lay down and let people get hurt? There was no one else out there doing this. Helping out, taking on the bigger guys that had powers, or tech, or a really concerning fixation on hunting. The police couldn't handle those guys, it was just Peter out here, there was no one else. No one who could take the kind of hits that he did and still be able to get up and walk away. Even if it was a stumble, New York needed Peter, needed Spider-Man to get back up and keep going.
It just didn't always make that part easy for him.
"I'll be fine." he brushed off, forcing his legs to keep carrying him, trying to lean on Harry less and keep steady on his own. Waves of nausea and sharp pain helping to keep him awake before he nodded and moved to turn them. To change direction, "This is the one, up top." it was dark, and even in the daylight he wasn't sure if Harry would be able to see the bag webbed up by the roof. Just like he'd said, that was the whole point. Wedged under the overhang and secured, a dark grey that would be bland enough to miss and away from the fire escape so no one else could grab it. He just had to make it up there now. Peter pulled away and stumbled over to the building before leaning his better side against it, breathing shaky and strained and everything swam and blurred, "Just give me a minute...I'll go grab it."
|| @inhcursed ||
Fine was not a word Harry would, in any other situation, apply to someone in Peter's state. Someone that needed help to walk, and was still so heavily injured he couldn't have ignored it even if he was absolutely trying to.
But they'd made it there, and Harry was mildly, softly relieved when Peter said they were there. Of course, he couldn't see anything, and it took him a lot of careful looking to discern that no, Peter was not hallucinating, there was a bag there.
Far from any reach he could have on his own, even if he tried jumping, and as matters stood...
"You'll get a minute while I'm making sure you don't bleed out." He told Peter, unyielding. He was not about to let him die now, after all this. "You're just some steps away, don't go fainting now."
And hopefully that would be enough motivation, because Harry was not too sure he could just throw him upwards and hope.
@localwebslingers
An arm wrapped around him. Not just an arm, but Harry's arm, and Peter couldn't think of what to say about it in the moment. It was careful enough to avoid his injury and sturdy enough that as he took a few unsure steps to follow along, he didn't feel like he would fall. All the way across the floor, over to the hole that had been torn through the wall and even then keeping him on his feet. Close enough that Peter could reach over and catch himself when he got through to the outside before he could fall. That time it was Harry, as much as his vision swam and he his legs threatened to drop him, as much as the ringing in his ears drown out everything else for several pained breaths, it was Harry he'd leaned against to get his footing again.
Harry was helping him, actually helping him, and Peter couldn't think of why that was.
A fresh wave of nausea was swallowed back down and Peter gestured with his free arm to the side, "...'s over this way." he managed before starting off. Between the buildings, away from the streets and having to pay twice as much attention to his spider sense, for any sign of trouble. If there was more trouble, "Octavius should be out until the police show up to lock him back up again. Not sure how he got out this time, or how he got the arms again, but he's been laying low for the last few weeks. Only popping up here and there and usually gathering equipment so I guess he's been back to work." making or doing what exactly, Peter had no idea. Wasn't even completely sure where the man had set up this time to do his work from, or how he found out that he or Harry were checking out the place they picked that night. Lucky guess, maybe?
"I'll go around and check it out tomorrow..." not that he thought it mattered any to Harry. As long as Octavius had nothing to do with Oscorp, and Peter had serious doubts that was happening, he probably wouldn't care about any of it. But it was talking, and if Peter could still talk, then he couldn't be that bad off even with a massive, bleeding wound. Even if he was.
|| @inhcursed ||
Keeping Peter upright and steady was less of a battle than it should have been, and something in Harry's mind kept not being too certain of whether this was or not too right. Then again, he hadn't used this strength he now had, he hadn't had a reason to, and all he knew is that he was well aware of Peter's weight, and how unsteady he was, and how little that mattered.
Meanwhile, they moved. Carefully, with Harry trying his best not to jostle the wound too much, but advancing slowly enough that Harry was having to bite back worry. And as much as he wanted to tell Peter to stop running his mouth, it meant he was well enough for that, so he'd settle for that luck.
Moreover, while Octavius was far from Harry's trouble... he might end up being Oscorp, and that was worth a hum of interest, as Peter kept talking on and on about what he'd been doing.
"We'll have to see what that madman does next." Was all he agreed, for all he would see if keeping an eye on him was feasible. For the sake of practicality, he told himself, nothing else.
"I don't know if you'll be able to go too far tomorrow." Harry commented, however. Counting not so much the steps as the distance away from their goal, and knowing it was getting steadily closer.
@localwebslingers
“Like I said, not the first time I’ve been stabbed. You get used to keeping talking, it keeps people from worrying.” Peter slipped, still looking back at Harry and trying to clear his head enough to place if the other was actually worried about him or just annoyed that this was the next thing to deal with. If it even mattered one way or the other. It probably didn’t, he already knew that, but he wanted to know anyway. The threat -or was it an offer? It was really hard to tell- of carrying him somewhere only made Peter more curious. More confused. He was most confused that Harry was still there at all, figuring his friend would have cleared out and left him to sort things for himself on his own. To get anywhere to patch up and figure a way home again.
He didn’t know what to think that Harry was still there, didn’t want to let the bloodloss get any fragile hopes brave enough to think it could mean anything.
For another moment he watched Harry before offering a shrug from the arm not keeping pressure. Unfortunately, that was the same side as the injury itself and his hissed at the pull it caused, flinching on reflex, before answering, “You wouldn’t be able to get to it anyways, Har, that’s kinda the point.” he was quiet for a moment before explaining, “People know where to find them and can get to them easy, then they can get taken away when I need them. Change of clothes, food, medicine, first aid, repair kits, webbing…can’t exactly leave that stuff somewhere easy to see or reach to just be gone through, you know? Don’t exactly always have the luxury of stopping home for stuff depending on who’s tearing through town and how bad.” that went for both common criminals and the more powered ones. Or the suited up ones, the ones that Harry had sometimes been the one to point in his direction and set loose.
Even as bad as he felt, he managed to keep that fact to himself. He was too tired to want to fight or argue things like his usual rogue’s gallery and what motivation they might have. Peter swayed slightly and stumbled in place before making a vague, small gesture with his other hand to try and get them towards a door. Or window, ominous hole in the wall that was broken through, he didn’t really care, but they needed to clear out before anyone else showed up and there were absolutely going to be sirens on the way soon, “....it’s on the side of a business office near the roof between it and the next building, alright? Can we please go before the boys and girls in blue show up?”
|| @inhcursed ||
If it kept people from worrying, Harry thought, then it was doing a rather terrible job at it: Harry was not sure he'd admit to himself he was worried, much less to Peter, but he was definitely annoyed at the situation and offered only a grunt in response, regarding Peter and regarding the situation at hand. And as much as he wanted nothing more than to leave, right now, he couldn't do so until he had a direction, and Peter was not forthcoming.
In another life, he thought, carrying Peter would not have been a possibility. Now at least he knew he could, for all he didn't know his own strength just yet. Not when he was too smart to get into a physical battle the vast majority of the time. But he was strong enough for that, and cunning and controlled enough not to shake Peter as he kept talking and not saying exactly what Harry needed to hear.
Even if he did not hold back a faint glare at the mention that he couldn't get to it, because that was not the point, and it wouldn't matter if Peter was unconscious from blood loss by the time they got there.
But then -then- Peter at least gave him something close to an address, and given their position and where they were... Harry nodded, then settled an arm around Peter for support, and nothing more than support, and nodded towards it.
"Now that we know where to go," he pointed out, dryly, starting on his way and offering whatever physical support that was needed, both to get through the hole and to get down, "yes, we can go."
And hopefully not take too long to get there.
@localwebslingers
The tease was heard and Peter only grinned in response, letting the teasing challenge hang there between them. He wouldn't pretend it hadn't been one, and he only laughed as Harry suddenly took off ahead of him without any further warning, "That the best you've got?" he called after before taking off himself. Catching up easily and keeping pace, reaching over to lightly tap Harry on the shoulder that he was there at all but still making sure not to pull too far ahead of him if Peter did. Ultimately letting Harry be the one to decide where they went for now, it was going to be his area for a while, he should get to choose were to go and what to see. Peter just ducked around trees and cleared fallen rocks or rotted logs as they went. Senses lit up one by one as they went and coming to life in a way that made his blood howl.
Smells of dirt and bark and leaves, of prey that smelled predators and fled the area to not risk being seen as a meal. Tasting it on his tongue as it stuck to the back of his throat. It was the sound of the air rushing past and the leaves and fallen sticks along their feet, of bird wings flapping and their own breaths. The sound of his own pulse thrumming along with the speed but no where near bursting no matter how quick the pace was. Every glance along the forest caught the next turn of trees, kept Harry just in the corner of his vision to know where his packmate was during the race. Peter reached out and tagged a tree as they passed just because he could. Hearing the bark crack, feeling it scrape along his skin, smelling the sap. It was life, it was exciting, and even being in the wrong shape for it Peter let himself howl to carry the feeling into the air and to bounce and echo around them.
Further and further in, until the smells of civilization and humans faded and completely fell away. Until Oscorp was so far behind them it couldn't even hope to loom overhead. Until there was nothing but the forest and the two of them and the freedom that their racing speed could bring.
He smelled the cold and the dampness of water first and reached over to tag Harry's arm again and motioning for him to follow, before pulling a head and veering off towards it. It was less of a river and more of a stream, but it was quiet and a good distance in, and by time Peter slowed and came to a stop, he was panting softly. Breathing laughs in between and looking at Harry with a grin, "Better than when they make you run for gym class, right?" he asked, stepping back and leaning against one of the trees near the waters edge. Loosened up and at ease, taking in the new sound of splashing against rocks and birds he couldn't place somewhere near enough to be heard and far enough that they felt safe despite wolves nearby. It wasn't home, but it was open and it was welcoming. Peter couldn't see any reason Harry should stay out of the area. If he needed to break free and take in something like this for a while, or needed somewhere outside to spend a change. No scents or markings of claimed territory to be found, "How do you feel?"
|| @inhcursed ||
He had not run, before. Not as hobby, no, and not as a necessity, and not as sport. And even if he had, he realized, it would still be nothing in comparison to this: he'd never felt this alive.
It was not just the scents, which should have been overwhelming in their intensity and number but very much weren't, not when he was able to gather their meaning almost instinctively and unserstand where he was, and what lived there, and while he couldn't recognize them he could understand enough. It wasn't his reflexes, either, letting him run fast and know when to jump and where to land and how to duck and turn. And it wasnt the way he felt tireless, with the promise of even more energy as the Moon rose.
It was all that and more, and the way Peter accepted his challenge and Harry felt himself wanting to compete, and barely holding himself from glaring at his experience, at his comfort. At his strength. And yet, the rivalry did not feel sharp, more playful: He didn't know if it was because Peter was pack, or because he was Peter, and he didn't care to find out. He'd rather run, and enjoy, and let instincts and curiosity take the lead, and it took him a moment to even accept Peter's suggestion, so lost as he was in what he felt.
And then they were close to water, and they stopped, and Harry didn't so much come back to reality as be able to focus on all the differences, and on Peter, and how familiar he smelled in a sea of new discoveries.
What a question, moreover, he'd asked.
"I feel alive." He laughed. "And not at all tired."
Just a little bit breathless, yes, but he'd never been able to do this. He should be passing out from exhaustion by now.
"Is this the Moon, or do you feel like this all the time?" He even asked.
He'd be jealous, if he wasn't experiencing it himself now.
@localwebslingers
A vague, noncommital sound was made at what sounded like Harry scolding him. How long had it been since Peter had been on the receiving end of that? Anger and accusations, cold detachment, the hate...that was what he'd known for the last five years. In several ways, Harry was exactly the kind of person Peter should be worried about, some nights he could still feel his friend's hand wrapped around his throat and the weight pressed against him, fighting to keep him pinned down. His eyes always found the knife, sharp and somehow still glinting, pointed right at him as years of childhood memories welled up. Made his chest tighten and seize up as something deep down among them begged and pleaded for him to wake back up. He always did, he always still remembered the feeling.
He almost felt confused that he didn't see that same, heated poison looking back at him now as Harry spoke to him. Disjointed, far away and then right next to him and then farther off again. Why was Harry looking at him like that? Peter squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and immediately regretted it as he managed to answer, "Webbing doesn't keep pressure...it's no good for stuff like this." it could help stop bleeding and he'd done it more than once before. The sting of the webbing against an open wound almost helped, forced him to focus and stay coherent long enough to get somewhere else or let his body start to repair the damage, "I've been stabbed before, trust me, it doesn't work great..." it was a fact, an afterthought, he wasn't sure if it helped.
Did he need to reassure Harry? He was hurt, badly hurt, he should reassure people who cared about him, Peter didn't want them to worry-
.......
....
Peter started to move again, trying to get a little more upright, find his footing. Get cleared out of the area. Octavius was still down, someone was probably on the way and he needed to be gone before they got there. Harry needed to be gone before they got there. He got back to his feet again and leaned heavily on the wall, looking for where Harry had swayed and blended in and out of the background of the rest of the room, "...'m fine, I have a bag in the next block or...three..." where were they again? He needed to get up higher, get a view of the area and remember where the nearest backpack had been stashed away. Just as soon as the world stopped going in and out of focus. Harry was right, he was loosing too much blood and pressed against the injury more.
"There's bandages in the kit in it." he mumbled, forcing himself away from the wall and stumbling before forcing his limbs to work. Trying to keep pressure on the injury as best he could as he did. It probably wasn't fatal, a lot of other ones should have been and hadn't, Peter just tried not to think about it. Ever. That didn't make the blood loss that much better. Another stumbled step and he hissed, pressing firmer to his side and swallowing back the nausea before looking for where Harry got to again before seeing him. More words that had been spoken finally catching up and making sense, "....you're taking me somewhere?" a beat of silence, "....there's not a dress code, is there?"
|| @inhcursed ||
Peter got back to his feet and it took everything in Harry not to shove him down and tie him down if he had to, because right then moving was the last thing he should be doing. Of course, he didn't, because that would not help the bleeding, and might even make the injury worse, and despite any misgivings Harry might have, despite all those years of hatred, there was something that hadn't changed: when Harry settled on a goal, he did not let things such as feelings or niceties get in the way of getting things done. And right then, he'd decided he was keeping Peter alive, and he'd deal with the consequences later.
At least there were bandages somewhere close, and that felt like a better idea than using the clothes Harry wore, because he was no longer exceedingly rich... but the uncertainty about where they were was not ideal, in any way.
And then, unsurprisingly, Peter's inability to run his mouth was still in action even when he was potentially actively dying. He should have known.
"If you're aware enough to run your mouth, you're aware enough to tell me where this bag of yours is." He told Peter. "Even if I have to carry you, and I will if I have to, but you need to tell me now."
Before they both had to walk around covered in blood, which was far from ideal and would attract too many unwelcome eyes.
@localwebslingers
