What happened

Aziraphale's bookshop had not started out being as uninviting as it was today. No, it had evolved into its current appearance over the years. Not in the literal sense, mind you, but he discovered that time brought with it certain changes that helped to keep away any potential clientele. The bookshop's age certainly aided the effort, as did the layer of dirt on the first-floor windows, so thick that one could barely make out the bookshelves inside if they got close enough to try. He never left the light on in that front room, either, and sometimes didn't even turn it on if a customer was actually desperate enough to wander inside.

Even though his bookshop was now located between a Starbucks and a furniture store, Aziraphale was fairly confident that the number of people wishing to browse his store wouldn't increase very much.

However, all fortresses have their weak spots, and that includes dusty little bookshops. Having the place look as if no one lived there was all well and good, but generally no one was fooled by this when they saw you enter it. Azriraphale was in the process of doing this now. His back to the street behind him, he drew his key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He would have been inside faster had he not used the key at all, but he generally tried to do things the human way, which in this case left him standing outside a good half minute longer than if he had done otherwise.

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The battle was long. Harry had been expecting the advantage, given that he'd been able to surprise
Peter, who had come home unsuspecting. He'd been certain it would be over soon. That he would have his
revenge and the peace that would come with it. All he could picture was his former best friend bruised and bleeding, dead on the hard wood floors. He hadn't concerned himself with worrying about explanations or alibis or any of the other legal jargon. Osborns rarely needed to worry about legal trouble, after all.

And beyond that, nothing mattered. He didn't have the concentration to focus beyond what was right within
his reach.

As he fought, he was aware on some level that he was sustaining injuries, that Peter was better than
expected. He would hurt later. The adrenaline was too thick to feel anything now.

And then, as he moved in to deliver a fatal blow, he heard a resounding 'thud' as something connected with the back of his head, white lights bursting before his eyes before everything faded to black.

"Peter Parker is Spiderman," he murmured to himself as his surroundings came into focus. "I am the Green
Goblin and Peter Parker is Spiderman and Spiderman WILL pay!" he shouted, sitting up and taking in his surroundings, his mind trying to orient itself to just where he was. Not the apartment. Not anywhere near
Peter, from what he could tell. Wildeyed, his gaze shifted around suspiciously, searching for any signs of the bastard, who was no doubt hiding like the coward that he was.

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