"The Right Question" Deleted Scene
(This was written before a certain someone decided that dramatic self-sacrifice was the best way to deal with the Spider-man reveal instead of an argument. I'm too fond of the Osborn Angst TM which it contains to delete it, so here it is.)
Harry didn't even know what time it had been when he went to bed. He'd been too exhausted, mentally and physically, to so much as bother to change out of his clothes. All he knew about what time it was when he woke up was that it was light outside and his phone was ringing.
He flipped it over, saw the caller ID, and answered immediately only to hang up, put it on vibrate, and drag himself into the shower. He was...considerably less sore than he'd expected, given the fact that he'd climbed the stairs all the way up the damn Oscorp tower, which was probably thanks to the suit's healing function, but he was still tired and achy. Sleeping in your clothes was never a good feeling even when you hadn't spent the evening being electrocuted.
When he got out of the shower, he poured himself a glass of scotch. He shouldn't have been drinking in the morning, certainly not before breakfast, but what the hell did it matter? He was dying anyway. Even if he managed to get Oscorp back, all that would do was give him something to occupy himself while he died.
Slowly.
Horribly.
Turning into a thing like Norman had been, with green, scaly skin and pointed nails, until he had to hide himself in the dark behind curtains because anyone who saw him would rightly recoil in horror. It was all very well for Aunt May to say that it was your impact on those who loved you that lived on after your death; she had people who loved her.
People didn't love Harry. What was it about him, he wondered, that made everyone push him away? It had started with Norman, but it hadn't stopped there. Did they somehow sense the disease that was crawling through his veins, waiting to turn him into that horrible creature that still lived in his dreams? Did they know that there was something wrong with him?
He stepped out onto the balcony and looked out over the city he'd helped to save last night. That should have been a happier thought than the last, but it was soured by the reminder of Peter. Peter who'd sworn they'd be best friends forever when they were ten and Harry was shipped off to boarding school. Peter who had promised to be there for him after his father's death. Had hugged him.
Peter who had lied to him. Peter who was Spider-man, who could save him, but refused to.
Harry turned away from the view and choked on his drink, because Peter was standing on his balcony.
"You didn't answer the phone," Peter said plaintively, tugging off his mask.
"Why would I?" Harry asked.
Peter just looked at Harry with big, sad brown eyes. Harry wanted to punch him in the face. "Come to see what I'm turning into?" Harry asked, well aware that he looked terrible.
"No," Peter said. "Harry, my blood wouldn't save you."
Harry scoffed and turned away, reaching for the decanter.
"But I know how to make an actual cure."
Harry froze. "What?" he asked. "What are you saying?"
His hands were shaking again, and he put down the glass before he dropped it.
"I know how to make a cure that will work," Peter said. "The spider bite gave me my powers because my dad used his DNA on the spiders, so when he disappeared, nobody could continue his experiments or use the venom for anything – if they tried, it would just poison them. But he backed up all his notes, somewhere nobody would find, and I bet, with my blood, we can reverse engineer what he did and make a cure that will work for you."
"What? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I only just found out," Peter said. "My briefcase full of junk turned out not to be junk. It was the key to my dad's backup lab. C'mon. Put some shoes on, I'll show you."
