Author's Note:

Hi! After recently watching The Amazing Spiderman 2, I fell in love with this (Dane DeHaan's) version of Harry Osborn and therefore was inspired to write this! It is set in the plot of TASM 2 and may contain some spoilers! Please enjoy and review and send me some prompts and I'll see what I can do! Thanks!

For Harry Osborn, seeing Peter Parker again was strange. He'd almost forgotten he existed.

Almost.

There were faint recollections of Peter, the boy he once called his best friend. He remembered his braces, shining silver on the front of his teeth. He remembered his scuffed sneakers. He remembered a few days out together perhaps playing superheroes in the park or collecting snails from the dirt. Then there were the small things like dappled sunlight on the grass or the rain hitting the window next to where they sat together. Perhaps a few words of a conversation would come to mind, nothing that made much sense on its own but he could still hear both of their voices. Those were just a couple of the memories that made Peter's return into Harry's life fantastic, if not a little scary. It was scary but, surely, that is natural when you see your once best friend for the first time in years. You never know who they could have turned into.

Upon hearing his name, hearing that he had come to visit, there was a strange mix of confusion and excitement. Then, to go down and see the face of his old friend was incredibly strange. He was so much older. It suddenly seemed like a lifetime since he'd seen him last. Harry knew that he must have just graduated, much like him. He was basically an adult now. Even through the matured exterior, Harry could still see the boyish, fascinated glint that made Peter who he was, at least in Harry's eyes. He was still the same old Peter Parker, underneath all the distance and all the time that separated them for so long.

As Harry Osborn sat on his blue chair right at the top of Oscorp Tower, he reflected on these memories. They had not even happened that long ago but they were still memories. He remembered the entirety of their conversation whilst skipping stones. He enjoyed that afternoon of stone skipping only two days ago. It was peaceful. There were no fake smiles or judging glances. There were no cameras, no scripted answers, no responsibilities, no Oscorp. It seemed as if, for one afternoon, he was not Harry Osborn – the only son and sole heir of Norman Osborn and Oscorp. He was no longer the face that everyone saw on the news when reports were made about his father's death and about how it was his job to run Oscorp. He was no longer the one sitting at the head of a table at a meeting whilst everyone else butters him up.

No.

He was simply a boy. He was a boy who was skipping stones with a friend. He was a boy who didn't have the weight of an entire company on his shoulders.

They talked about how they were both dumped. Something inside Harry fell just slightly out of place when he brought his father back into his mind. Something within him rejected his name. It hurt him to think about it. He didn't know whether he was upset about his father's death but he doubted it. It could have been a reaction to being so alone for so long – a reaction to being sent away. That seemed more likely but he couldn't be sure. He'd tried not to think about how alone he had been but being confronted with this new situation – being back in New York City – he couldn't help but reflect.

He could not help but reflect on the journey he had to take which took him away, far away, from what had been his home for so long. It took him away from his friends, family and everything he ever knew. He remembered not quite knowing where he was going or when he was going to come back. He'd been told that he was moving away for a little while for his education. He didn't understand what was wrong with his school at the time but he trusted his elders.

That trust did not take long to fade.

He spent years isolated from what he knew. He tried to forget about his past but that didn't stop him from fighting back tears almost every single night, as he tried to sleep, until the age of 15. That didn't stop him feeling like he had been abandoned. He learnt to accept it, however. He learnt to accept that his father didn't want him. That did not make it any easier, though. That didn't make the long nights at boarding school any easier.

It also made coming back to him really, really hard.

All he knew was that when his father's name was mentioned it made his heart sink.

Suddenly, a pain erupted in his neck. He grabbed it and gritted his teeth, trying not to scream out in pain.

Damn this disease. Damn it, he thought as he tried his hardest to suck up the pain. He was glad he'd seen Peter again but seeing him made him realise that he'd have to tell him. He'd have to. There was no avoiding it. He wanted to just hide it but he was scared. He needed to tell Peter. He needed Peter to help him, more than anything. He just didn't know when to tell him, or what to say. Does he just go all out and say it or should it be put lightly? Will Peter even care? All these questions swirled inside his mind until he had the suspicion he was going mad.

God, he was scared.

He knew it was getting worse. It was getting worse by the day. He used to be able to ignore the constant shaking of his hand but it had become so severe now that he could constantly feel it. Every second he could feel it. It was tedious. It didn't hurt but it couldn't stop. Even if he concentrated on it with every fibre of his being, he still couldn't stop its ceaseless shaking. It serves as a constant reminder of his fate.

His fate, his death, scared him more than anything.

He could feel himself falling further and further into illness and he needed someone to catch him before it was too late.