Part II of The Mistakes We Make

Peter opened his eyes.

Well I'm not dead.

He jumped up off the floor and slammed his head into the ceiling.

"Damn!" He yelled, twisting around so that he landed in a crouching position on the floor, dust falling like snow around him. He looked up to see a dent in the ceiling.

"Peter, are you alright?" He heard a voice call from downstairs.

Peter felt the top of his head, no blood, no bump. He felt fine.

I feel awesome.

"Yeah, I'm good." He called.

"Okay, but watch your language."

"Yes, Ma'am"

Peter pulled off his old clothes from yesterday and got ready for school. He pulled a shirt over his head and bent to grab his shoes only to hear a loud rip.

"Wha?" Peter felt around to find that he had completely ripped open the back of his shirt. He took off the tattered remains and caught a look at himself in the mirror. "Holy shit." He breathed.

I look awesome.

No longer was he a skinny awkward-looking teenager. He was covered in lean muscle, completely toned. He looked at his alarm clock, he was running late. Grabbing another shirt, he carefully put in on and dashed down the stairs.

"Whoa!" said Uncle Ben as Peter zipped by.

"I'm going to be late, I'll see you later!" Peter called, racing out to the front door.

Uncle Ben looked at Aunt May.

"Looks like something put a spring in his step." He said. May nodded and turned back to her newspaper. "Do you need a ride to the doctors later? I can always switch sifts."

"No, no don't worry," May said "Anna Watson from next door is taking me."

"Alright, good. Just come home right after you're done okay." He kissed her forehead and grabbed his coat. "I'll see you tonight, love."

Peter jogged towards the bus stop but suddenly he didn't feel like using public transport, he felt like running. It was so easy now, it was as if he had been carrying around a hundred-pound weight for seventeen years and now someone finally took it off. He powered one foot before the other and pushed himself forward. He leapt over a fire hydrant and dodged around a streetlight as he continued his dash. The scenery around him should have been a blur, as fast as he moved, but everything was in perfect clarity.

I feel invincible!

Peter turned a sharp corner and started across the street. A horn blared to his right and time suddenly slowed down. He could sense the car coming and instinctively propelled himself up into the air. He spun like a gymnast to touch down lightly on the ground.

Except it wasn't the ground, and it wasn't even down. He was perched on the vertical, flat side of someone's duplex . He looked at where his feet and hands touched the wall. He looked at the ground twenty feet below him and at the passersby, who were staring up at him, pointing and shouting.

What the hell is this?

Peter dropped to the ground and ran, away from the small crowd that was gathering. He tore off down the sidewalk and came to a stop only when he had put five blocks between him and where he'd almost been roadkill. Funnily enough, the first thought into his head was:

I'm not even tired.

He stepped into an alley and leaned against the stone wall. Holding his hands in front of his face, he could see no difference, they were just normal hands. He examined the wall across from him and on a whim, he leapt to it, clinging to the surface. He pulled one hand up, then a leg, another hand, another leg. Over and over again, faster and faster until, Peter's hand grabbed onto the top ledge of the building and he hoisted himself up. He stood high above the street with the wind whipping at his hair. He raised his arms above himself and yelled to the clouds.

"Flash Thompson can suck it!"

Peter got to school at around fourth period. He burst through the front doors smiling like no one walking into Midtown ever had. He checked his watch.

Just in time for lunch.

He found Harry sitting in their usual spot on the bleachers, however there was someone new sitting in Peter's spot. A someone with long dark hair, talking quickly and with great fervor.

"Uh, hey Liz." Greeted Peter as he approached the pair.

"Hey," Liz Allen responded, barely sparing him a glance. She turned back to Harry. "So tonight?"

"Sure why not-" Harry began, but Liz was already standing.

"Great! I'll see you tonight." Liz trotted down the bleachers without another glance, dark hair swishing like a horse's tail. Harry watched her long after she was gone.

"I think I'm in love."

Peter plopped down next to him.

"What was that about?" He asked, momentarily forgetting his bizarre morning. No one, let alone girls, talked to him or Harry of their own volition.

"Liz's parents are out of town this weekend so she's having a party tonight. I think the only reason she invited me is cause I can get booze." He explained, rather glumly. He looked at Peter seriously. "You should come too."

"Yeah? Okay." Peter agreed immediately. His confidence swelling as he remembered what he'd come to tell Harry in the first place.

Should I tell him what happened? Hell, I don't even know what happened. Peter mused.

Harry was talking.

"… Yeah but who am I kidding, with my grades I don't even know if my dad will let me go." He was saying.

"How is your dad doing anyways?" Peter asked.

"I guess he's alright, he doesn't talk to me about his cancer. He spends all his time at the lab." Harry got up.

"Hey, where are you going? I just got here."

"I need to go ask my teacher something."

"Well, I'll go with you."

"No, it's okay," Harry looked at his shoes. "You should uh, meet me at Liz's tonight, okay?"

"Sure, I'll be there."

Harry nodded and walked away. Peter checked the time again.

I got some time before next period, I should get some food. I'm freaking starving!

Wake up Wake up Wake up Wake up Wake up

Norman sat bolt upright, looking around wildly.

What happened?

He touched his head, it was warm and sticky, he pulled his hand away and found it to be covered in blood.

Dammit, what now?

Norman stood up and looked around. He was in the bathroom again. He stumbled to the sink and washed his hand, then grabbed the same towel from last night and wiped his head. Looking in the mirror he found that there was no cut on his balding scalp, no wound at all.

It wasn't his blood.

Behind him in the mirror Norman could see a pair of legs. He turned and found one of his scientists lying in a pool of blood.

"Oh god." Norman turned and rushed from the bathroom. "Help! Someone Help!"

Did someone say, Help?

Norman froze, the entire laboratory was destroyed, prone bodies were scattered everywhere along with wreaked machinery. He stood there his mouth open in a silent scream.

Who did this?

We did this.

Who?

We Norman, We.

Who is we, who are you!?

I am you, you are me. We are we.

Norman pressed his hands to either side of his head, squeezing hard. Tears pooled in his eyes and rolled down his face.

I don't understand. You don't belong!

I belong, you belong, and we belong together.

Norman ran, like a bolt of lightning. Through the door to his private lab, and to the smashed vile on the floor. He knelt there and wept, eyes squeezed shut, in the ruins of his greatest creation.

We are your greatest creation.

What do I do?

What do we do?

Norman stopped crying suddenly. He opened his eyes and looked towards the ceiling and laughed.

"HAAA HAAAA HAAA HAAA HAAAAAA!"

We we we we we we we we we we.

The elevator dinged and Harry Osborn stepped out into the lobby of the family penthouse. He dropped his bag on the polished floor and trudged into the lounge. He found what he was looking for behind the bar. He grabbed whatever alcohol he could carry and took it to his room where he stuffed it all in a duffle bag. The glass clinked together merrily, music to Harry's ears.

Who cares if Liz only wants me for the booze, I'm a man who can deliver.

The sound of the elevator dinging again made Harry jump. He zipped up the bag and carefully brought it up over his shoulder. He stepped out of his room just in time to catch a glimpse of his father disappearing into his own bedroom.

Figures, he doesn't even say "Hi" to me anymore.

Harry looked away from his father's closed door and clutched his bag tighter.

Party time!

Peter wished that his new-found powers gave him the skill to turn invisible.

That would be so nice.

The music was loud, too loud to Peter's newly sensitive ears. A group of people Peter only knew in passing mingled in the center of the room, gyrating against each other to the rhythm of the pounding bass. Peter was against a wall, a drink in his hand. He didn't like the taste of beer, but had taken the drink to be courteous more than anything else.

Where the hell is Harry?

Someone bumped in to Peter and the drink sloshed out of his cup onto the floor.

"Sorry" Said Peter, moving away from the mess. His attacker didn't seem to mind though, nor did anyone else, and the puddle of beer was soon trampled underfoot. Peter absconded to the kitchen to look for napkins anyway, but changed his mind when he saw the door leading to the backyard.

Escape.

A couple sat outside on a bench studying each other's faces and lips with high scrutiny, committing them to their memory. Peter turned away from them and looked at the night sky. He couldn't see the stars, it was too cloudy.

"Some party, huh?"

Peter turned. The girl was standing against the wall, nursing her own bear. Blonde hair, blue eyes, Peter recognized her immediately and his heart leapt into his throat.

He felt like was climbing the walls again.

"Yeah." was all he could manage.

"I'm Gwen," The girl extended her hand. "Gwen Stacy."

"Peter Parker." He returned the gesture – hands sweaty.

"Do you go to Midtown, Peter?"

"Yeah, so do you" Peter replied, a little too quickly. "I mean, I see you around. You're in the choir!"

Oh god. Peter cringed. She knows she's in the choir, you don't need to say it. What do I do? Can I run-

"Yeah," Gwen laughed lightly, freezing Peter mid-though. "I am in the choir. Peter Parker sounds familiar. Are you with the school paper?"

"I take photos. I'm a photographer."

"Wow, that must be cool."

"If you like to smell like developing chemicals all the time then yes, I'd say it's pretty cool."

Gwen laughed again. Peter melted.

"What else do you do? Besides the newspaper stuff."

"I go to… uh," Peter gestured around the backyard. "Totally awesome parties and do cool stuff."

"This isn't your scene, I guess?"

"No, is it that obvious?"

Gwen held up her thumb and index finger, a fraction of an inch apart.

"Just a little." She said.

"What about you? You seem…" Time slowed down again, Peter's voice trailed off, sounding distant in his own ears. As if compelled by an other-worldly force, he leapt forward and grabbed Gwen around the waist. She gasped, and in one smooth motion, he planted his feet against the wall and propelled the both of them away from where a barrage of paint filled balloons exploded in blossoms of color just where they were standing.

Peter landed in the grass with Gwen still in his arms.

"What was that?" She asked looking at the paint splattered patio.

"So much for that quarterback arm, Thompson. You missed him!" A voice shouted behind them.

Peter put Gwen on her feet and turned to face his would-be attackers. Flash and some of his cronies stood a few yards away with Liz Allen and… Harry.

"Well I won't miss this." Said Flash, stumbling forward, drunk.

"Harry?" Peter asked as he looked at his best friend. Harry was looking at his shoes.

"Hey Parker," Flash was coming at Peter. "Heads up!"

Peter caught Flash's fist easily and in a simple twist, snapped his arm. Flash yelled in pain and fell to the ground cradling his broken arm.

"What the hell!?" Liz ran to Flash's side. "Peter, what the fuck? You freak!"

Peter looked down at Flash, then at Harry who stood mouth and eyes wide open, and finally at Gwen who was eyeing Peter warily and stepping away.

"Get out!" Liz shrieked. "Get out of here!"

Peter ran.

"Mister Osborn, a Doctor Warren is here to see you."

Norman pressed a button on his intercom.

"Send him in."

He got up and strode over to the bar.

Who's been drinking all the liquor?

He fixed himself a drink and faced the door as it opened revealing one of Oscorp's senior scientists, Miles Warren.

"Doctor Warren, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Just a little business proposition." Warren said as he entered the room carrying a briefcase.

"Miles, you know that I don't make dealings within my home, call my secretary and request a meeting."

"Oh no," Said Warren as he opened his briefcase. "You are going to want to see this, right now."

Doctor Warren pulled out a laptop and flipped it open before setting it on the bar. Norman stood next to Warren as he started a video on the screen.

Norman was seen on the laptop, leaping onto a scientist and tearing him apart, before grabbing another and flinging them through the air like a rag doll. He twisted a scientist's neck into an odd shape before upper cutting one into the roof. He was a flurry of white as his lab coat swung around him in a flurry of death.

The security tape! Oscorp gritted his teeth. He knows!

Kill kill kill kill kill.

Norman snapped the laptop in two and hurled the pieces, so they became lodged in the wood paneling of the walls. He turned on Warren

"If you kill me, then my assistant will release this video to the press. Wouldn't everyone love to know what truly happened at the Oscorp Massacre?"

"What do you want?" Norman asked breathing heavily. It was a testament to Warren's confidence that he didn't shrink away in fear.

"An increase in salary of course and also whatever funding I want to whatever projects I want."

Norman gripped the edges of the bar.

"Blackmail! You're going to blackmail me with my own company!"

"This isn't your company any more, Mr. Osborn."

Norman watched Doctor Warren leave, before he uprooted the entire bar and slammed it down, cracking the polished flooring, and sending up a cloud of shredded wood and glass.