Spider-Man Imagines I

Stay Away From Me (Part Two) | Harry Osborn [JF]

You didn't stick around to find out how the fight between Peter and Harry ended. You didn't dare stay near the apartment building you'd called home for three years. Just like everything else in Queens, it was ruined.

You called your parents and they picked you up. You told them only the basics; a villain had found its way into your building and Spider-Man had fought him. You weren't harmed. You were okay.

Your parents lived on the far end of New York City, where they could enjoy the city without being in the depths of it. It was your first home.

You slept in the backseat of their car, your jacket around your shoulders. With your head resting against the back window, you allowed yourself to feel like a child again.

Anything to keep your mind away from whether Peter or Harry were hurt.

...

For the first few days, you were angry. You were livid at Harry for being what he was and, on top of that, heartbroken that he chose the path he was on. He picked that life instead of you. You could have helped him with the death of his father, but he didn't want you to.

It didn't take too long until the anger melted and was replaced with worry. The worry left you biting your nails and drumming your fingers against your arms as you watched T.V. blankly and waited for time to pass.

Soon they would call.

It took several days before you received a call you had waited over a week for. When your mother yelled from the kitchen that MJ was on the other line, you bolted for the receiver. You took it from her and cradled the phone under your cheek.

"MJ?"

"Hey," she said sweetly. "How are you?"

"I'm... fine," you replied. Your hands were shaking. "How is Peter?"

"Everything is fine," she said, confirming your suspicions of her knowing his secret as well. "Harry is in the hospital. He's hurt pretty bad."

"Oh God," you breathed. Your heart sank.

What was the last thing you said to him? How did his face look as you uttered those final hateful words in his direction? Did his dreams of marrying you shatter in those moments? Is that how he lost the fight? Did you even want him to win?

Your heartbeat was in your ears and your vision was blurry. You turned away from the kitchen counter, where your mother was chopping potatoes for dinner, and pressed your shoulder against the wall.

You sniffed. "Can you, uh, can you tell me how bad it is?"

"___, his heart wasn't beating when Peter brought him in," she whispered.

Your legs almost gave out.

You pictured him there on the table, chest bare and still. The boy you loved being shocked again and again as doctors frantically tried to put life back into him.

"They were able to get him stabilized but there hasn't been any other news." She paused. "We didn't tell you because we didn't want you to be scared. And if he had... not made it, we would have told you."

You squeezed your eyes shut so tight that it hurt. "H-How is he now?"

"He's been unconscious for a few days," she said. "I uh... I don't know much else, truthfully." She paused and made a sniffing sound. When she spoke again, it was clear that she had started crying. "Peter and I are here at the hospital now if you want to talk to him."

"Okay," you whispered. You twirled your finger around the chord that anchored the phone to the wall.

"Okay. Here he is," she said.