Peter followed Harry inside, into the private room where Norman Osborn lay propped against a bank of pillows, IV lines running from his arm, monitors quietly tracking each shallow breath.
“Peter.” Norman’s voice was weaker than Peter had ever heard it, but he still managed something like warmth.
“Thank you for coming.
You’ve always been a good friend to Harry.” “Of course,” Peter said, pulling a chair closer.
“What happened, Dad?” Harry asked again — clearly not for the first time, judging by the tired edge in his voice.
“You still haven’t told me.” Norman’s eyes flicked briefly to Peter, then back to his son, and he let out a slow, tired breath.
“I’ll give you two a minute,” Peter offered, starting to rise.
“No.” Norman’s hand lifted slightly off the blanket, stopping him.
“Stay.
Peter, you’re like a son to me.
I think you should hear this too — because it’s going to affect Harry, and I’d rather you understand what he’s facing.” Peter sat back down slowly, exchanging a glance with Harry, whose face had gone pale and uncertain.
“Our family,” Norman said, each word deliberate, like he’d rehearsed saying this a hundred times and still hadn’t found an easier way to say it, “has carried a genetic disease for generations.
It causes total genetic collapse in the body — the cells simply stop reading their own instructions correctly, and everything unravels from there.
Modern medicine has no cure for it.
No real treatment, even.” He paused, gathering himself.
“It can strike at any point in a person’s life.
I was fortunate.
Mine didn’t show itself until I was older.
That’s the real reason I started Oscorp — biotechnology, genetics, all of it.
I’ve spent my whole career quietly trying to find a cure for myself.” Harry had gone very still.
“And for you,” Norman continued, looking at his son now.
“Because one day, Harry, this will very likely affect you too.” The room went silent except for the steady beep of the monitor.
“What does it actually do?” Peter asked quietly, when neither Harry nor Norman seemed able to.
“Genetic collapse,” Norman said again, quieter now.
“The body simply stops functioning correctly at a cellular level.
It can happen at any age.
That’s why I’ve had Harry’s health closely monitored since he was young — regular checkups, bloodwork, everything, trying to catch any early sign of it.
Trying to find something, anything, that could at least delay it.
Give him something closer to a normal life, for as long as possible.” Harry’s face shifted slowly from confusion into something like devastated recognition.
“That’s — that’s why you had me checked every week.
I never understood why.
I used to think you just didn’t trust regular doctors.” “I’m sorry I never told you,” Norman said.
“I didn’t want you carrying this before you had to.” Peter sat with all of it, feeling the weight of the room pressing down harder with every passing second.
Harry’s mother was in a coma at home.
Now his father was here, in a hospital bed, telling him the same disease that had put her there was something Harry might have to face himself one day.
Peter could only imagine what must be running through Harry’s head right now — and it hit him, uncomfortably, that he’d spent the last week so consumed by his own secret double life that he hadn’t noticed how much his best friend had quietly been carrying this entire time.
The doctor came in not long after and gently suggested Norman needed rest.
Peter and Harry stepped out into the hallway, and the moment the door clicked shut behind them, Harry’s composure broke completely.
“I already live every day scared of when my mom’s going to die,” he said, voice cracking, tears finally spilling over.
“And now — now he could just leave too.
Any day.
Without any warning at all.” He was properly crying now, and Peter pulled him into a hug, letting him have it, saying nothing for a long moment.
Then something settled in Peter’s mind — quiet, certain, immediate.
“Harry,” he said.
“Do you trust me?” Harry pulled back slightly, confused.
“What?” “I’m asking if you believe me.
If I tell you I’m going to do everything I can to help — do you believe that?” Harry studied him a moment, and nodded slowly.
Peter led him back inside.
Norman was still awake, blinking tiredly toward them as they came back in.
“I need everything you have,” Peter said.
“All the research.
Every file on the disease.
I want to see it.” Norman looked confused, but something like cautious hope flickered behind his tired eyes.
“Peter, I’ve been researching a cure for twenty years.
The top minds at Oscorp have been working on this longer than you’ve been alive.
I don’t think—” “I know all that,” Peter cut in gently.
“And I’m still going to try.
I can’t just sit around and watch my best friend and his father suffer through this without at least trying to help.
If I didn’t try, what kind of friend would that make me?” Norman and Harry both stared at him, something raw and startled passing between them at the sheer conviction in Peter’s voice.
Then, without warning, Harry pulled him into a hug.
“Thank you, Peter,” he said, voice thick.
“Thank you.” Norman watched the two of them for a long moment, and something in his exhausted face finally softened into something like relief.
“Peter,” he said, “even the fact that you’re willing to try — that alone means more to me than you know.
I’ll give you everything you need.
Every file,every data ,every resource and every bit of progress we’ve made over the years.
Even if you don’t succeed, this family will always be in your debt for trying.” Peter just nodded, quietly overwhelmed himself.
Norman called for his secretary and instructed her to give Peter full access — every research file, every medical record, whatever he needed.
She arrived a few minutes later with a tablet already loaded with files, and Peter scrolled briefly through medical reports and research summaries before looking back up at Norman.
“Okay,” Peter said.
“I’ve got a basic understanding.
I have somewhere to start.” He hesitated.
“Are you going to stay here at the hospital?” “My organs have already started failing, slowly,” Norman said.
“But I have some time left.
I was planning to transfer back to the mansion anyway, to be with my wife.
Why?
What are you thinking?” “If you can,” Peter said carefully, “transfer to Oscorp instead.
I’ll need you close by — within arm’s reach, so I can actually run tests and work with you directly.
Can you do that?” Norman hesitated, clearly torn — he wanted to be with his wife, not confined to another lab.
“You could have her transferred there too,” Peter added.
“I already looked at her file.
The move shouldn’t cause her any additional risk.” Norman considered that a moment, then nodded slowly.
“Alright.
We’ll arrange it.” Harry, sitting quietly on the small couch by the window, let out a long breath once everything had been finalized.
He walked Peter outside once they were done, promising to start working on the treatment plan first thing tomorrow.
They reached the bus stop, and Harry lingered there with him a moment.
“How confident are you, Peter?” he asked quietly.
“Not very,” Peter admitted.
“But I have to at least try.” Harry’s voice went heavy.
“Thank you, Peter.
Thank you for always being there.” Peter just punched him lightly on the shoulder.
“Don’t get emotional on me.” They both laughed, some of the tension finally breaking, and Peter headed home.
Once home, Peter spent a long while scrolling through the data on the tablet Norman’s secretary had given him, weighing whether to go out on patrol tonight.
He decided against it, setting the tablet aside for the night.
At dinner, he asked May and Ben if he could stay at Harry’s for the coming while.
They exchanged a glance, clearly concerned, and asked what was going on.
Peter explained as much as he felt comfortable sharing — that Harry’s father didn’t have much time left, that he wanted to be there for his friend through it.
Both of them softened immediately, nodding in understanding.
“I’ll still come home at night,” Peter added.
“I just want to be there for him during the day, however long this takes.” They agreed, and Peter went back up to his room, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with physical effort.
He lay there, running through everything that had happened that day — Felicia’s missing father, MJ’s situation with her own dad, and now Harry’s father slipping away in a hospital bed, his mother already lost somewhere in a coma she might never wake from.
And Gwen, he thought faintly.
Well.
Gwen’s just been Gwen, steady as ever, through all of it.
Somewhere in all of it, his mind drifted, unbidden, to his own parents — faces he barely remembered anymore, more feeling than actual memory at this point.
A single tear slid down his cheek before he even realized it was happening.
He let himself feel it, just for a moment, and then closed his eyes, already thinking ahead to the work waiting for him tomorrow.