Who: Harry and Peter. What: Serious talk. When: Immediately following these texts. Where: Harry’s penthouse. Rating/Warnings: Low / Mention of illness and death. Status: Complete.
Harry had been pretty unsettled since waking up that morning. His dreams hadn’t been exactly all that nice. As much as he and his father didn’t get along, he didn’t want to have to see the man (even a dream version of him) that sick. Because the reality was that, yes, Norman Osborn was quite sick and, yes, he didn’t have a lot of time left, and, yes, Harry knew there was a possibility he could be sick, too. Dreaming that conversation, dreaming of his father dying, had been an unwelcome thing.
So upon waking and learning that Norman’s condition had somehow worsened faster than expected had made Harry’s blood run cold. He noticed, too, that the tremors in his hand seemed to be more present. He didn’t want to end up like Norman Osborn. Not in the dreams or in real life. Harry knew he was going to have to go to New York for a few days, so he called Peter to tell him about everything straight up. They were best friends, Harry should have told him sooner, he figured. He paced until he heard the elevator door open and went over to greet his friend.
Peter wasn’t sure what to make of the text messages Harry sent him. All he knew was that he was concerned. Harry didn’t sound like himself, so of course Peter was going to go try to see him. He was going to try to figure out what was going on, but if Harry didn’t want to talk either he wouldn’t push. Even if it seemed like he needed to. Badly.
The ride to Harry’s penthouse seemed like a long one while Peter tried to over analyze a text message in vain. Only did he put away the phone when he arrived and waited impatiently for the elevator. “Hey Harry.” He tried for a friendly greeting, but the concern was in his eyes. He never was good at lying.
Harry smiled, only just a bit, once Peter was there. He was never very good at talking about his feelings or anything - a flaw he’d learned from his father - but Peter at least made him feel more comfortable. “Hey, Peter.”
He motioned for his friend to follow him, and then sat down in a big leather chair as he ran his hands over his face. “How are you?”
This was different. Peter wasn’t sure why or what was going on, but there was tension in the air. It subdued him a little. Caused him watch his friend with suspicious concern. Something was going on. Peter was usually good at reading people, even if he didn’t always react properly.
“I’m fine, what’s going on Harry?” Straight to the chase, he really wasn’t good at the small talk when it came to worrying about friends.
“I don’t know.” It was an honest reply. Harry sat up a bit and shrugged, looking at his hands before looking at Peter. “Okay. So I had some of those messed up dreams. And in them, like here, my dad’s sick. On his deathbed, actually. And he tells me that his disease is hereditary.” Harry put his hands on his knees, because even at the words one hand had begun to tremble.
“So here, in real life, dad’s been sick for ages. It’s no secret. I woke up this morning and got a message from his assistant saying that his condition had worsened and … I don’t know. They don’t know.” It wasn’t so much that Harry was sad to lose his father. Norman’s presence had never been strong enough in his son’s life to impact it. What Harry was anxious about was taking the reigns of the company, and, well - “But whatever he has, I know I have it, too. They did tests on me when I was younger for it. I don’t know if it’s going to … I don’t know.”
Harry was acting strange. More than usual really. Of course Peter was going to worry. Harry was basically his best friend, and if he was honest he didn’t have many friends at all. He’d like to keep the small amount he did have close. “They don’t know what?” He watche him suspiciously, but at the same time trying to be compassionate for him. Harry had been there when his folks had left, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to be there for him when he was needed, but he couldn’t do that if he didn’t have the information.
“I know. I’ve read, and I’m sorry Harry..You know if you need me I’m around..” He hoped he didn’t have to say it, but it seemed like the right thing to put out there. “Is it hereditary?” That was the last thing he wanted to hear. He didn’t want to think his friend had been suffering as well.
“They don’t know if he’s going to survive this round.” Harry said it flatly. It was strange for him to be worried about his dad. He wasn’t even sure if he was worried about Norman, or if he was just scared about what this would mean for him. At Peter’s question, he took a pause.
“Yeah. Mine’s been pretty dormant, I guess. It’s sort of been … Now and then I know it’s there.” Harry ran a hand down his face. “When I dreamt about it, my own condition seemed to accelerate. I know it’s stupid, but I’m scared about that happening here.”
Peter didn’t know what to think about Harry’s dad, he was more concerned with his friend if he was honest. Maybe it was single minded, but Peter often did think that way when something huge occupied his brain. This was definitely huge. “I’m sorry man..” It was stupid. It was all he could come up with aside from stepping in and giving him a hug. Which he of course did as well.
Harry was his friend so of course he wanted to try to make him feel better, he just wasn’t sure how. “Anything I can do? Maybe I can start up a research party or something?” He didn’t want his friend to worry. “Or netflix..yeah, we can netflix.” Distractions could also be thing.
“Yeah, thanks.” Harry just smiled a bit. “Netflix sounds good. I can totally do Netflix.” He got everything set up on the larger than necessary television, then tossed the remote to Peter. “Find something you like. I’ll go see what I have for food lying around here.”
He took the remote from his friend and flopped over on his couch. "All right buuut if I find Bill Nye on this thing you know what we're watching. " He teased, though he was anyway staying to go over in his head everything he knew about his friends condition. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to try to help him somehow.