Title: Hold On To Me

Author: IndigoNight

Summary: Peter is dying, he has nothing left to live for, but one man isn't willing to let him go.

Feedback: Yes please, yay reviews!

Pairing: Harry/Peter

Disclaimer: I do not own Spiderman or the characters I'm just borrowing them for fun.

Spoilers: Nope, not really

Rating: PG-13 for somewhat graphic gore.

Warnings: Slash, don't like, don't read

Author's Note #1: Hehe, so funny story. I actually posted this story several days ago, however, in a brilliant moment I accidentally clicked Superman, instead of Spiderman, a mistake, which was ever so politely pointed out to me. So now the problem has been rectified and its where it belongs.

Author's Note #2: So, this doesn't really fit into the movieverse timeline, and I haven't read the comics, so its AU movieverse I guess, I dunno. But, I had the idea, so I wrote it. Please review and tell me what you think.

Enjoy!

'What the hell are you doing?' Harry asked himself for about the millionth time as he walked down the hospital corridor. It was late and there were few people about, but Harry didn't care, he knew exactly where he was going.

He entered the dark room silently, stopping just inside the door. Inwardly he cursed himself as he gazed down on this still figure in the hospital bed, as he gazed at the man he both hated with a passion stronger than hell's fire, and loved with something even deeper.

'You shouldn't be here,' his mind growled at him, but he'd been unable to stay away. After Mary Jane had called him, sounding frantic that afternoon, he'd been able to think of nothing else.

Suddenly, Peter stirred and jumped, waking with a start. "H-Harry," he said, blinking blearily at him, "What are you doing here?"

Harry didn't answer Peter's question, instead he walked nonchalantly over and idly fiddled with a bouquet of flowers sitting near the bed. "You should be dead," Harry said after several long minutes of silence, "I saw the car that hit you, it's a mess. No one should have been able to survive that. How did you do it?" He turned his head to look at Peter, his face revealing nothing but curiosity.

Peter frowned at him, but shrugged, "Will power," he said, "I'm not ready to die yet. There's something I still need first."

But before either of them could say anything more a nurse appeared in the doorway, glaring at them.

"Sir, what are you doing here?" she demanded, "Visiting hours ended a long time ago. Mr. Parker needs his rest."

Harry glanced back at Peter, but bowed his head, "Sorry," he said, and left without another word.

8

The next day Peter checked out of the hospital with nothing but a broken arm and a rather bruised head. Anyone who saw the wreckage of the car, which had mysteriously dropped out of the sky directly toward poor Parker's head, would swear it was a miracle.

But Peter said nothing about it. He went back to his life as usual.

Hardly a week passed and Peter was on his way home. Night had fallen and he hummed absently to himself as he drove. Then suddenly, before he had time to register what was happening he was flying through the air.

He gasped in pain as he was slammed roughly into a wall, chunks of brick breaking away. He blinked, shaking his head to clear it, and watch as his scooter collided with the same wall he was sitting in on the ground nearly three stories below.

He barely had time to collect himself when he was once again flying through the air, this time landing on the rooftop of the next building over and skidding along a good ten feet.

Peter struggled quickly to his feet, but he had was barely standing again before a blow directly across his face sent him stumbling back again. He recovered himself, swings blindly with his good arm, he felt it connect, then a slimy claw grabbed it, twisting it back behind him almost before he was aware it was happening. He choked back a cry of pain, kicking out in an attempt to free himself.

The only response he got was a foul chuckle in his ear before thick, black, slimy webbing had wrapped itself around his knees, making his legs buckle. The same web bound his good arm to his back while his attack slunk around to face him, clutching his broken arm.

"Oh, dear, dear, dear," Venom hissed, a malicious grin revealing all of his pointed teeth, "Poor Spidey can't defend himself?"

Peter growled angrily and tried to launch himself at Venom, but the dark being simply sneered at him, tightening his grip on Peter's broken arm until the cast shattered, covering both of them in bits of plaster. Peter gasped at the pain shooting through his arm, strong enough to make black and red dots dance across his vision. Venom laughed, increasing the pressure, right over the spot where the bone was broken.

Peter shuttered, struggling to cling to consciousness. No! his mind screamed at him, No! I can't die, not yet, not until…

"No!" he yelled aloud. With a sudden burst of strength he leapt to his feet, breaking the webbing binding his knees and rammed his knee into Venom's stomach, making the evil being double over, loosening his grip on Peter's arm.

Peter wrenched himself back, out of Venom's reach, preparing himself for his adversary's next attack.

It came within seconds. One punch, two, try as he might Peter couldn't bring his arms up fast enough to defend from them. Pain was still rippling through him, making it difficult to move at all.

Then suddenly, the solid rooftop beneath his feet had disappeared and he was falling… falling… the asphalt of the street rushing towards him alarmingly fast. His arm shot out reflexively as he tried to shoot his own webbing to break his fall, but the pain made it impossible to concentrate.

No, he wouldn't die, not yet, he couldn't die yet.

Barely feet from the ground his web at last shot out, catching on the nearest building and slowing his fall, before breaking. He crashed down, hard, onto a parked taxicab, he heard the crunch of metal as the roof of the taxi caved in beneath him. Pain tore through him, starting from his arm and shuddering though his entire body.

Then there was another crunch and there was more foul, stinking black web creeping across the taxi toward him. He tried to get up, to continue fighting, but a perfectly aimed punch to his broken arm left him powerless.

He refused to give up though. As countless blows rained down on him from all directions he struggled to remain conscious, mind working desperately for a way to save himself. All the while I can't die, not yet, keep fighting, I can't die yet revolving around in his mind.

8

Harry threw back his head, smiling to himself as the wind ruffled his hair. He loved flying. He swerved in and out around the tall buildings and through dark alleys on the glider he'd found in his father's lab. It helped him clear his mind, as though the wind and soft moonlight would make everything clearer, easier.

It didn't, but at least while he was in the air he could forget for a little while and let the night air wash him clean.

He was just turning around to return home when he heard a car alarm begin to go off. That wasn't unusual, but the sound was followed by grunting and muffled cries of pain. Unable to resist he redirected his course to see what all the commotion was about.

Hovering far above the fight he was surprised to see a dark, loathsome looking creature attacking… Peter!

Harry dove, without even thinking one of his explosives was in his hand and flying toward the creature. It dodged the explosive by luck, then glared up at Harry, still flying toward it, and hissed darkly. Harry was prepared to through another one when it turned and fled, disappearing into the dark of the night.

Harry was considering going after it, when Peter groaned and instead he dropped down next to the wounded man.

"Peter?" he called. The man was a mess, completely covered in blood, his already broken arm lying at an odd angle, "Peter? Can you hear me? Peter!"

Peter groaned again, his eyes flickering open and closed as he struggled to focus them. "Harry," he breathed at last, realizing whom it was leaning over him, and far too tired to react properly.

"Come on, Peter, stay with me," Harry coaxed, his heart pounding in his chest as Peter's own beat fluttered and hitched under his hand.

"I'm dying," Peter muttered distantly, his head rolling loosely on his neck.

"No, no you're not," Harry insisted. Damn it, was he crying? "The paramedics will be here any minute. Just hold on until they get here."

Peter didn't respond. His breathing hitched, a small trickle of blood beginning to form at the corner of his mouth.

"You can't die, anyway, remember? Remember, there was something you had to do first, you told me that the other day. So you can't die, right?" Harry was talking very fast, not even fully aware of what he was saying. He was simply trying to keep Peter with him.

"That's right… I have too…" Peter muttered, a crease forming between his eyebrows as though he was trying to remember what it was he needed to do, "I need…"

"Yes, Peter, what do you need?" Harry asked quickly. Hold on, his mind was screaming, Hold on, Peter.

"I need… your forgiveness," Peter whispered. His pain-glazed eyes were roving, as though trying to find Harry in the darkness that was closing down over them.

"What?" Harry asked, taken aback by surprise.

"I didn't mean… to kill your father…" Peter murmured, at last focusing somewhat on Harry's face, "I didn't mean to… please, forgive me. I can't die… without your… forgiveness."

"No!" Harry said quickly, "If that's the case, then no, I won't forgive you! I'll never forgive you!"

Peter stared at him, his eyes flickering again, his face deathly white, "P-please…" he begged, his voice fading away into nothing.

"No!" Harry just kept repeating, "No! I won't forgive you! I'll never forgive you! Hold on, Peter, hold on for me!" He could hear sirens, any minute now they would be here. He just had to keep Peter with him for a few minutes longer.

"I won't forgive you, I won't," he continued repeating the words all the way through the ambulance ride to the hospital as he clung to Peter's hand, "I won't, I won't."

He paced in the hospital waiting room for hours. Waiting… waiting… the suspense was killing him. I won't, I won't forgive you, don't leave me, Peter, I won't…

At last a doctor appeared, he looked tired, and his pouch-y face was pulled down into a sad frown.

"We've done everything we can for him, Mr. Osborn," the doctor said gravely. Harry gripped the arms of the chair he had at last sunk into so tightly he though they would break under his fingers, "It doesn't make sense," the doctor continued, "We've patched him up fine, but he just keeps getting worse. He's fading, and I can't explain it. Its as though he's just lost the will to live."

Harry paled. No, Peter had to live.

"You may go and see him now, to say your goodbyes." Harry nodded numbly, he stood, barely registering where his feet were taking him.

He walked into the room where Peter lay. The room was sinfully, evilly cheerful, the first fingers of dawn spreading pink and gold across the white-washed walls, and flowers seemed to be everywhere. Hospitals always seemed to have an endless supply of flowers.

Peter himself lay on the bed, a crisp, white sheet pulled up to his shoulders. The sheet hid whatever wounds he had, but for his broken arm, which had been dressed with a new cast and lay on top of the sheet, an eye-smarting neon purple against the white of the sheet. His face was pale under the bruises and the bandages taped to his cheek and over his eye.

When Harry first entered he seemed to be asleep, but he stirred as Harry moved to stand next to him.

He blinked, and a slow, tired smile crossed his split lips. "Hey," he whispered, his voice raw and weak.

"Hey," Harry's mind was whirling, screaming things at Peter, but his lips would form none of the words.

"Thank you," Peter whispered, his translucent eyelids beginning to close again. That was all he had to say, the only attachment he had left to the world, now he could go.

"What are you doing?" Harry demanded roughly, his lips suddenly willing to form the words for him again, "You can't die, I didn't forgive you."

Peter opened his eyes again, and smiled benignantly at him, "But you did," he said, his voice patient as though he was talking to a small child, or someone who was very slow.

"No, I didn't," Harry retorted petulantly.

"You did," Peter whispered, gently taking Harry's hand, that ridiculous smile still on his face, "I can see it in your eyes."

"No," Harry breathed, "No, you can't leave."

"But don't you see," Peter said gently, "Now I can. I can leave now, I'm free. I have nothing left to fight for."

"Then I'll give you something else to fight for," Harry insisted, "You can't leave!"

"What?" Peter asked, "What else is there for me to fight for?"

"Me," Harry whispered, "Fight for me. I love you, Peter, I need you."

"You… love me?" the smile was gone now, replaced by a confused expression.

"Yes, you stupid, idiotic dork," Harry couldn't tell if he was laughing or crying now, probably both. His emotions where simply exploding inside of him and forcing their way out, all at once.

"No," Peter was still frowning at him in confusion, "No you don't. You hate me."

"No," Harry shook his head, smiling now, "I tried, Peter, I did. I told myself that I should hate you, but I never did. I couldn't."

Peter just stared at him in shock.

Harry leaned down, gently stroking Peter's short hair back away from his face, "I love you, Peter," he whispered, "Please don't leave me," and with that Harry leaned down and gently captured Peter's bruised and broken lips with his own.

When at last they broke apart Peter was grinning. "Well," he said quietly, laughter dancing in his eyes, "I suppose I could stick around a little longer."

Harry just laughed, and kissed his love again.