Looking into the mirror, Harry thinks he can finally see the traits his dad saw in him for so many years. Sad, unimpressive, and not trying hard enough. If his dad weren't trying so hard to be "better," Harry might've been worried that he'd take one look at him, shake his head, and say "Absolutely not," and send him packing back up to his room. Tail-tucked between his legs and head bowed in shame.

To be fair, he really hadn't put much effort into his costume this year. Normally, he'd spare no expense. A cool outfit designed just for him, tailored perfectly for his height and build, and maybe a hairdresser to make sure he looked the part - there was no slacking for an Osborn, even if it was just for a Halloween party.

But Harry wasn't feeling it this year, and his effort had gone as far as looking up 'Halloween costumes' on his phone and going with the first thing that popped up. So, nice dinner suit, plus gelled hair, plus cheap plastic fangs equals the most hastily thrown together vampire costume to ever grace this holiday.

Or, his body, at least.

Despite the clear evidence of his failure, he spent a few more minutes slicking his hair back with another layer of gel and using his fingers in the areas that refused to behave. He was locked in battle between a Superman hair curl or simply combing it all back, before deciding it was good enough and tossing both the comb and the near-empty gel bottle into the sink. He wandered back into his messy room and grabbed the suit jacket left sprawled at the end of his bed.

Pulling it on, he examined himself in the body-length mirror, arms spread into a half-hearted "well?" pose. As formerly deduced, it was the crappiest costume he's ever worn.

His stomach squirmed and he fought the urge to fidget. The rich part of his brain was embarrassed to go as something so...cheap. Especially to his own party. His costumes were supposed to be a lot more tailored and unique than this, and he's always enjoyed showing them off at parties. A few times, on those blue-moon days, he even convinced Peter to go in a costume that had been tailored to him too.

But Harry was too tired to indulge his inner Richie Rich and it became nothing but an after-thought as he shrugged at his reflection and grabbed his phone. There was one message from MJ letting him know she was on her way, and a glance at the clock told him guests would be arriving any minute.

A chill swept over him and he shuddered, and for a moment Harry thought his anxiety was manifesting into a physical sign that he should call the party off, consequences be damned, when another breeze wafted through the room and he followed it to the open window. Shivering again, he quickly closed the panes and tugged the curtains over it for good measure. Through the slit in the curtains, he stared at the fading sun as it climbed down buildings and submerged itself into the horizon waters. Every day it was getting colder. Winter was practically on their doorstep.

Honestly, out of all the seasons, Harry quite enjoyed winter. The snow, the holidays, the warm drinks. And it gave him an excuse to wear his many scarfs and coats. But lately, it's just been a cold blanket over his shoulders, foreshadowing the lonely months to come. At least, the lonely months they used to be, before he had friends to actually spend the holidays with.

"Stop it," Harry muttered, shaking his head. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about that tonight.

Making sure the window was locked, he nodded once - firm and determined - and left. He made sure to lock the door behind him. He hadn't done that the first time he threw a big party, and had walked in on a very enthusiastic couple getting it on in his bed. An experience he preferred not to experience again.

He learned his lesson. If he couldn't stop them, they could take the guest bedroom, but his room is off-limits. Norman's room and office were normally locked, especially when they had guests, so Harry didn't need to worry about his dad's room being invaded too. Gosh, he would never hear the end of it if it did.

He trotted downstairs, smoothing the lapel of his suit as he did a last minute check over the food, the theater room, and every other inch of the penthouse that would soon be crawling with Midtown students and whoever they brought along with them. Another ding from his phone told him that MJ was almost there. The ding of the doorbell told him the first of his guests had arrived.

Harry took a breath and softly ran a hand over the top of his hair.

I can do this.

Everything was going to be fine.


Fine.

Everything was fine. Perfectly fine. The best it could be.

The snack table was full, the guests were having a good time, and Harry was definitely not avoiding any and all social interaction.

Despite the blandness of his suit, a few compliments found their way to him and being the courteous host he was, he thanked them, returned it with a compliment of his own, and scurried off before he could be roped into a long-term conversation. He supposed the suit itself cost more than most of the costumes he saw, but the fangs were barely 5 dollars and were so uncomfortable he threw them away after 10 minutes of wearing them.

When he and MJ went on a supply run, he'd seen a whole row of Spider-Man costumes all neatly stacked and folded in various sizes. As MJ rummaged through plates and utensils, Harry meandered his way to the costumes and took a few minutes to rifle through for one of his size. It was a cheap costume, the fabric loose and the weblines peeling off; the mask lenses were a cheap plastic that you could barely see out of. Still, he'd tucked it into their shopping cart and had brought it all the way to the clerk desk before chickening out and quietly telling the clerk he wasn't buying it after all. MJ hadn't said a word, but he could feel her eyes on him, and when they'd left the store, she looked like she wanted to say something. But in the end, she just turned away, face pained, and helped him load the bags into the limo.

Now, Harry wondered if he'd feel better wearing that costume. Keep a little piece of Peter with him, and all that. Maybe find some slip of courage in that brightly colored onesie that could see him through the night.

But there a few cheap Spider-Men and Women milling through the crowd, and just seeing them made him want to puke. Besides, tonight, he was supposed to be taking his mind off Peter and the symbiotes and everything associated with them. Dr. Kafka said he should try to enjoy himself, and he was trying, even if it tasted too much like betrayal to forget about Peter.

But, she had him promise her that he was going to at least try, and Harry still had enough dignity to keep a promise. And things seemed to be going well.

He was at the door greeting guests like the polite host his dad always wanted him to be, when a familiar face shuffled into the room, hands stuffed in pockets and shoulders hunched, and Harry surprised himself with the genuine grin that spread across his face.

"Hey, I'm glad you could make it," he said to Flash, who looked as though he'd just returned from a war. He hadn't put much thought into his costume either. Actually, Harry wasn't sure he was even wearing a costume at all. It was just a shirt, a pair of jeans, and his old Letterman's jacket. Aside from the bags under his eyes, he looked as if he'd never left Midtown.

It was all the more surprising when Flash perked up.

"Oh, hey," he sounded tired too. Shuffling, he shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pocket and cast a glance over the room, "Yeah, MJ sent me a text so I thought it'd be a nice distraction-" he winced at his own words, "not like a distraction distraction from, like, everything. It just seemed like a nice breather from….everything...you know?"

Harry nodded, clapping a hand on Flash's shoulder that he hoped wasn't too forward. They've never really been friends. In fact, for years, he's never even liked Flash, not since hanging out with Peter and watching his friend get bullied by the other boy. But Flash had changed. Even before he got the symbiote and became Agent Venom - Harry tried not to shudder at the reminder and quickly let go of Flash's shoulder - he'd become more bearable. Attempting polite conversation, steering away from his aggressive habits, and even trying to become "friends" with Peter. Tensions had run high between them during their Hydra mission, when Harry had bonded to Anti-Venom, but any hang-ups since then had drained out of Flash.

"Well, happy to have you," Harry said, actually meaning it. "I'll be honest, it's kind of nice to see a familiar face that's involved with...you know, the other things." At mention of those "other things," Harry glanced around to make sure they weren't being overheard and whispered, "Uh, how are things going, by the way? I heard about that fight downtown."

Flash grimaced and looked away, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah that was...a whole thing."

Harry waited patiently for him to go on but Flash seemed at a loss, and he looked down, disappointed. "I get it, you probably don't want to talk about it. Just...enjoy yourself, I guess. Franken-Weenie is playing in the theater room."

Harry meant to scurry off but Flash caught him by the elbow, "Wait," he hesitated, "You're...you're Peter's best friend so you deserve to know what's been going on, I just..." deep sigh, "There's a lot of stuff that's been going on. Heavy stuff. If you really want I can-" whatever he was going to say was interrupted by someone yelling "FLASH!" and they both looked across the room where Kong and the rest of Midtown's athletic crowd were barreling their way towards them having spotted their long-lost star-athlete.

Flash's face brightened, "Hey, can I come find you later? We can talk then, I just-"

Harry smiled and stepped out of Flash's way, "Sure."

Flash beamed and without another word or glance, strode over to his old friends, getting pulled into a rowdy succession of thumping backs, greetings of "THE KING RETURNS", and the bro-est of bro hugs. It was endearing and soft coming from such a large burly group. It made Harry's heart pinch.

Trying not to look too glum, he tracked MJ down in a corner. She was wearing a hastily put-together business suit, a smidgen of make-up, and a tight bun pulled up in her hair. She was his future "tax attorney" or so she'd said when Harry asked. He had poked at her creativity until she brought up his tasteless vampire ensemble, and decided to let his teasing die a graceful death. Right now, she was harboring an impressive stockpile of chocolate, and whatever she was mumbling under her breath cut off as he sidled up next to her.

"So, how's it going party-boy?" she asked, popping another chocolate candy into her mouth.

"It's not...bad," Harry said, rubbing his arms, "Kind of tired already, but" he shrugged, "I guess it could be worse. No one's asked me about my dad or the lawsuit yet, so that's cool."

MJ hummed and gave him a smile, "Hang in there, alright. The party will be over before you know it, and we'll spend the rest of the night cleaning it up."

He snorted, "Yeah, can't wait...to call a cleaning crew. I'm sorry, do you actually expect me to clean this up?"

MJ laughed, "With how you handled that mop last time, no, not really. But it was funny to see your face."

"Hey, it's not like you were going to clean it up either," he laughed, bumping shoulders with her. "Unless you want to, which by all means."

"Ha. No thanks. I'll pass."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Harry leaned against the wall and exhaled, trying to forcefully shove his exhaustion out through his nose. Despite the rules of etiquette and the years of experience with dinner parties and social events, Harry didn't know what to do with himself half the time. Hosting a party was doing nothing but providing a numb distraction from the shitshow that was everything else. Kind of like the holiday itself, he supposed. He was dressing up and pretending things were different, that their reality wasn't the normal, terrible existence they all thought it was. He could handle this new existence. It was easy. Say hello here, greet someone there, endure small-talk, make up an excuse to get out of the conversation, bump into someone else - rinse and repeat.

"Mm, hey do you have any more of those little chocolate balls? The ones that melt really fast in your mouth? With smooth chocolate inside?" MJ asked. Her plate was empty.

"You already ate them all?"

"What? I'm hungry and this is the good expensive kind."

Harry rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips. "Yes, I have more. But it's the last of the stash, so consume it wisely. Be right back."

He found the bag in the kitchen, shoved in the back of one of the cupboards stocked with extra candy and food. He poured a generous amount into MJ's plate, and in doing so, wrinkled his nose in disgust. He wasn't fond of chocolate anymore. Not since his symbiosis with Venom. During their time together, he'd come to realize that the symbiotes' aggression and hungry desires were more or less sated with chocolate. He didn't know why, and was sure there was some logical sciencey explanation behind it - or maybe Venom just really liked chocolate - but as long as it kept the symbiote calm Harry didn't care.

Consequently, just being close to chocolate made him want to barf. Its' smell, its taste, its texture, it brought too many bad memories. It had seemed every day he was shoving a chocolate bar into his mouth, or sucking on the same chocolate balls MJ was asking for now, just to keep Venom calm. Especially when his chest seized with near uncontrollable bouts of anger and there were days he worried that Venom would burst clean out of his body like some monster in a horror film. The only reason he even had the treat around was because this was a Halloween party and it was a crowd favorite.

But was it still so bad? Thoughtfully, Harry picked one of the wrapped candy's up, rolling it around in his palm a few times before unwrapping it. It really has been a while since he's eaten one, maybe it's gotten better? He popped it into his mouth before he could chicken out and rolled it around on his tongue. The taste seeped into his taste buds, warm and sweet, and everything seemed alright for the first 5 seconds. But then Harry's chest seized and with the taste came the ghost sensations of something crawling through his skin, wrapping around his body like an invisible snake, and weighing on his brain. He could almost hear a hiss in his head and the taste soured on his tongue. He rushed to the sink and spit the glob out, rinsing his mouth out from the faucet.

Nope, it was still horrible. He would be officially cutting chocolate out from his diet. Face pinched still, he wiped his face with a towel and picked the plate back up, this time as if it were piled with bugs and worms.

He quickly passed it to MJ the moment he found her again, and brushed his hands on his jacket to get rid of any lingering residue.

It was another hour before Flash managed to pry himself from his old teammates and slide up next to them in the corner they were hiding in. MJ put her plate down, eager to hear what he had to say, and they both listened with bated breath as Flash retold the events from the last few days. From getting the call that Peter was sighted, rushing down there to help, the ensuing fight, and losing Peter in the sewers. It wasn't as gratifying to hear the entire story as Harry hoped it would be.

Flash finished it off with a frown as he fiddled glumly with a button on his jacket. They all stood in silence, soaking it in.

"But you guys are still looking right?" Harry finally said, "You got people checking the sewers?"

"Of course. They're organizing teams, the first one was sent out just tonight. I'm scheduled to head down there tomorrow."

"Can we come along?" Harry asked, gesturing to himself and MJ, "I can get my suit from my dad, we can-"

"You'd have to bring it up with Connors," Flash interrupted, not unkindly, but not quite gently either, "We...look, we need as much help as we can get, but even we weren't prepared for that fight and the Academy has been training together for a while. How long have you been wearing that armor?"

Harry scowled and looked away. Honestly, he hasn't worn it since his dad took it from him, and even then, he didn't have much practice with it.

"I can help," he insisted, arms crossing defensively, "I don't want to just sit here and wait for something to happen. Maybe…maybe I can get through to Peter if I just see him. Like he did for me. I've got to at least try."

Flash glanced to the side as he considered that, and quite suddenly Harry was struck with how much he'd grown since joining the Academy. The old Flash probably would've blown off Harry's suggestion with a laugh and a snide remark. But this Flash was more thoughtful and focused, and he looked it too. He's always been a large guy, but there'd been a boyish look about him, whether it was smug and gloating, or fanboying over whatever new battle Spider-Man had swung his way out of. But he looked older now, and tired. Harry couldn't quite place how, or why. It was like Flash had stepped into a new pair of shoes, or was wearing a new cologne. Whatever it was, he definitely wasn't looking at the same Flash Thompson who bullied kids for fun, or even the Flash Thompson who'd been trying to befriend those same bullied kids.

Harry wondered when he had changed.

"That could work," Flash admitted slowly, but tentatively, as if he didn't want to get Harry's hopes up, "But even if we did, we'd have to be careful about it. Even his team couldn't snap him out of it. I'm…I'm not sure if Peter is really in there anymore," he admitted this meekly, almost shame-faced, "Not with the way he was fighting."

The thought that Peter had been washed out by the symbiotes put a shadow over Harry's face, "He is," he said firmly, "I know he is."

Flash looked almost pained, but humored him with a tight smile, "Yeah…yeah, I'm sure you're right."

The silence stretched on and gradually Harry's shoulders slumped. Was he being too naïve? Too stupid? Was Peter really still in there? Harry knew how overwhelming one symbiote could be, so how could anyone fight off three at once? Maybe Peter wasn't in there anymore. Would if the symbiotes had twisted his mind beyond recognition?

No, he told himself firmly, He has to be alright.

Harry had experience with the symbiotes, and he knew how much they could affect you. He's never been strong, not like Peter, or MJ, or Flash. He was weak, and he knew that. A loose thread that could be picked off in a moment, and if a loose thread like him could come back from the symbiotes, then Peter DEFINITELY could. There was no mistaking it.

But Flash looked doubtful and MJ was picking at her food glumly, and if Harry stewed in that silence any longer, he was going to snap.

"Excuse me," he said, as politely as he could manage, "I'm going to go get a drink. Need anything?"

They both shook their heads and he left. He wove through the crowd, narrowly dodging a group who wanted to pull him into a game of Jenga, and found himself back in the kitchen. He pulled a can of soda from the fridge, popped the top off, and took a long drink, enjoying the sharp burn down his throat. He wondered if it was like this for alcoholics. Loving the burn and the buzz, craving it, and hoping it might give you a distraction from everything else. He wondered if he could get the same relief with beer. Maybe it'd be better.

Before he could give it anymore thought, a girl meandered next to him, holding a red plastic cup that she sipped from on occasion. Harry wondered if someone had brought alcohol to the party. It wouldn't be the first time.

She leaned her back against the counter Harry was next to and swished her drink around, looking at it with pursed lips. Harry stood there awkwardly, not wanting to start a conversation, and not sure how to leave without looking like a jackass. He took another gulp from his soda.

"Nice party," she finally said, not bothering to look at him. "Real…festive."

"Um…thanks," Harry mumbled. He really hoped she wasn't going to flirt with him, or give him her number. It's happened plenty of times in the past and he still didn't know how to navigate situations like that. He always felt too awkward and uncomfortable. He never knew what to do with his hands.

The silence stacked on and with each minute Harry was certain this was WORSE than being blatantly hit on.

"So, is there anything I can-" he started, but was interrupted.

"You're not going to get away with it."

Harry froze. Blinking rapidly, he recoiled from her, eyebrows pinching. "Uh…excuse me?"

"You, you're dad. What you guys do. You're not going to get away with it."

"I…don't think I know what you're talking about."

She huffed, and this time looked at him. She gave him an unimpressed once-over, "You don't even know who I am, do you?"

"Am I supposed to?" He winced as soon as the words left. It came out a lot snootier than intended.

Her lips pursed as if tasting something sour. "Guess not. Shouldn't have expected you to care anyway. Not in your line of work. That's on me."

"My line of work? What are you talking about? Who are you?"

She took another sip from her drink, "Haley Darrin."

Lightning struck him. A bolt that zapped through his veins and made his spine snap straighter. Darrin. He knew that surname. He saw it on every news channel covering the lawsuit against his father.

"You're Charles Darrin's daughter?" The guy that was suing his dad for employee endangerment.

She nodded, "That's me."

"Oh…" Harry looked away, feeling more uncomfortable than before, "I'm, uh…yeah, so…." What did you say to the person whose dad was suing your dad? Norman hadn't advised him in this area of communication. "Sorry?" He offered, "About what happened to your dad."

Haley snorted, "You're a lot like your dad. Well, from what my dad's told me, at least."

Harry blinked, "Oh?"

"Yeah. Empty apologies. Throwing money at problems. Not giving those you've hurt a second thought."

Harry felt as though he'd been slapped, "I – excuse me? I don't even know you. I – "

"Your dad 'apologized' to my dad too. Back when he'd almost crushed him falling into his own building. He apologized, but my dad said it didn't sound sincere. Sounded more like it was something he was expected to say. You know, he could've killed my dad, and all he did was give him a bonus. As if that would make it all better."

"What does any of this have to do with me?" Harry demanded, setting his soda down a little too aggressively. "I haven't done anything to you."

She looked at him with narrowed brown eyes, harboring a hate that burned so hotly Harry could almost feel his skin burning. It was hatred towards him. Why? He's never talked to her before. What could he have possibly done to earn this?

"I was there when you and the Parker kid were going through that break-up of yours. You know, that party you threw to make him jealous."

It was such a rapid change in topic it left Harry floundering, "I – me and Peter were not – we weren't - and I wasn't trying to make him jealous." The last bit was a lie, even if he didn't want to admit it.

She gave him a bland look, "Look, whether you two were dating or not, we all knew why you threw that party, Osborn. It was obvious. The whole school could tell you guys were having a lover's spat-"

"We weren't-"

"So, when you threw that party and invited everyone BUT Parker's new friends, we knew what that meant. You were jealous and wanted to make him jealous. Don't even try to deny it."

Harry's cheeks were hot and his shoulders rose in his defense even as he looked away. The can crinkled in his grip, but he took another drink from it, refusing to answer. She took his silence as admittance and continued.

"You threw a hissy fit because your friend was hanging out with other people. Threw money out the window for a party to make him jealous, and in the end, he stayed your 'friend'. If it were me, I wouldn't put up with petty shit like that."

"Yeah, well you're not Peter," Harry sniped back, hackles effectively raised, "And it's none of your business."

She snorted, "The moment you invited the entire school to your house it became our business. We all knew why you did it, but no one said anything because it was a party in a penthouse. You could do whatever the hell you wanted as long as you kept the food and drinks coming. No one gave a damn. Why do you think everyone is here now? Even though Oscorp has been attacked by supervillains more times than any other surrounding building in the past year. Because it's nothing but a big, expensive distraction. Your dad probably let you have this party to smooth things over with the hate the media's been giving him, right? A nice, festive little party for his son and his school."

Harry looked away again. That was why his dad agreed to the party. He didn't want people to think he was going on the defense. People only went on the defense when they had something to be defensive about.

He didn't condone her statement, but he didn't need to.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. That's what my dad and his lawyers thought too."

Harry felt anger creep up on him, something feral and intense that he hadn't experienced since Venom, "Well, good luck winning the case," he snapped coldly, "We have the best lawyers around."

"Oh, I know we're not going to win," she shrugged. Sharp, blunt, and it hit Harry like a battering ram to the face.

"I - what?"

"I'm not an idiot. I know my dad doesn't have a chance in this case. I've done my research. Every single lawsuit against the Osborn's in the last 6 years was put so far under wraps you can hardly find anything about it. It doesn't normally reach the media, it's brushed off as meaningless, and even if the victim does get media coverage, they never win the case. I don't expect it to be any different this time."

Just like that, Harry felt the fight seep out of him like a popped balloon, "Then…then why? Why go through all the trouble?"

"Because we're not going to let some high-horse CEO push our family around. We're going to go down with as much of a fight as possible. Maybe we won't win, but maybe somewhere along the long line of people your dad has stepped on, one of them will get justice. I don't like you, Harry. I don't like you, or your dad, or this stupid company that has been putting my dad's safety at risk."

"If you don't like me so much, then why did you come to my party?"

"Because," she took a glance around the room, "Well, because I wanted to see what it was like. Up here in your little tower. I wanted to see if it's actually worth stepping on low-wage workers to get to all of this," another glance, this time punctuated with a sip from her cheap plastic cup, "It's not."

She turned, giving Harry one last cold look, before leaving.

"Wait," Harry grabbed her wrist, "Why do you hate me? I didn't do anything."

She didn't even bother looking back at him as she yanked her wrist away, "You're inheriting this company, aren't you? Ever heard of the sins of the father? Can't imagine it will be much better in your hands," She didn't wait for Harry to reply.

Harry didn't try to stop her.

He stared at the spot she'd been occupying, feeling suddenly numb to the noise and the dozens of guests filling his home. He could feel their presence like weights pressing against his body, pushing on his lungs, keeping him trapped and breathless. He was trapped and he could fill the walls closing in and his feet were moving before his mangled thoughts could catch up. He shouldered his way through the crowd, not bothering to apologize to those he knocked into, and was wrapping his hand around the stair banister when MJ called his name.

"Harry, there you are. Flash and I were going to - whoa, are you okay?" MJ halted in her steps, looking him over, "You look really pale, what happened?"

"I…" he tried to say something to ease her concern, anything to avoid a confrontation, but the words wouldn't come, "I've just…I need some air," he managed to strangle out and was leaping up the stairs as Flash materialized next to MJ, concern etched into his face as well. The last thing Harry saw was the two sharing a concerned glance before he sprinted up the stairs, ran down the hall, and slammed into his door. It was still locked, and it took him an embarrassingly long time to fish the key out of his pocket, and even more to fit it into the lock and stumble inside.

Slamming it shut behind him, he locked it again and the sound of the party was immediately muffled. He sagged in relief.

He was throwing this party in hopes of distracting himself from everything that's been going wrong, not bringing it into his home.

Yeah, that turned out great.

How did he not know that Charles' Darrin's daughter went to his school? Did his dad know?

He leaned against the door, letting all his extra weight seep off him. His breathing was hard and panting and the weight of the last few weeks was pushing on his shoulders and chest harder than ever, making each inhale feel like he was being strangled. With trembling hands, he relocked the door. If he was going to have an anxiety attack, he would prefer it not to be a spectacle for his entire high school. Better to keep it locked away and somewhere private, where it wouldn't get recorded and plastered on the internet for everyone to see. That's the last thing the lawsuit needed. Gosh, he sounded like his dad – if Norman Osborn could even have anxiety attacks. He probably paid someone to freak out for him.

Well, at least here, in his own room, he could breathe easier. Without the noise, and the weight of people pressing around him, everything was settling. One hand still clutched the doorknob, but the other he twisted into his jacket to hide its shaking.

Deep breaths. Just like Dr. Kafka showed you. He inhaled deeply, sucking air through his nose, and let it out through his mouth in a quivering gust. Another inhale, another breath, he counted the seconds in his head, and leaned his forehead against the door.

This one wasn't so bad. They usually lasted longer and ended with him on the floor, or plastered in a corner of his room, gasping, and crying, and shaking. Maybe he was getting better at handling them. Or maybe it was just because he was locking himself in his room because he couldn't handle a little confrontation.

Harry growled under his breath, bopping his head against the door. He couldn't keep doing this. Running away when things got a little tight. How was anyone going to take him seriously when he couldn't even make it through a simple holiday party. It was pathetic. No wonder his dad took the armor away. No wonder Flash didn't think he could talk down Peter – the boy hadn't said it, but Harry could read between the lines. He wasn't experienced enough, or capable enough, or strong enough to handle this, and everyone knew it.

A shudder passed through him, making him grit his teeth all the harder. The heat from so many bodies milling in the same room began to wane from him and a cold chill was creeping into its place. Another shudder – or more accurately, a shiver – shook him, this time accompanied by a fluttering in the corner of his eye.

The window was open and a chilling wind was tugging on the curtains.

Harry frowned, tucking his jacket tighter around him as he crossed the room and peered out of the window, breathing in the musty city air. It was dark out, the sun having long-since retired and allowing the lights of the city to become the only source of light in his room - as good as that did. It was chillier outside and the sudden temperature drop brought goosebumps to his skin. The windowpane was cold, but just as he went to pull it down, he froze as his sleeve brushed against the paneling.

There were grooves etched into it. Rough and sharp, as if someone had slashed it with a knife.

Unease prickle under Harry's skin as he knelt to examine them more closely. It was splintered, like something had gripped it too tightly. His eyes dropped and his heart spiked, and his fingers touched lightly at the small cuts on the floor, so indistinguishable he wouldn't have noticed them if he weren't paying attention. His eyes followed their trail into his room, where they disappeared around his bed, and were swallowed up by shadows.

Slowly, Harry stood. A gust of wind drifted into his room again and the curtains swayed, almost silently, and he shuddered.

It was quiet, but he didn't think he was alone.

His feet felt frozen, but he forced himself to take a slow step toward the door, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose as he put his back to the rest of the room. Another step and through the corner of his eye, something moved.

He'd thought it was just a shadow, but now it stood up. Slowly, rising foot by foot until it was towering.

His eyes jerked back to the door, lungs catching, and he took another step, pretending he hadn't seen anything at all. But the shadow moved with him, mirroring each step, but while Harry's direction was toward the door, he knew it was coming for him.

He took another step and it did too. Its strides longer than his and with each one its presence got closer and closer.

When Harry made it to the door, his hand just wrapped around the knob when a low hiss slithered from the darkness and he froze. Paralyzed. A cold sweat soaked the back of his neck, and with the autumn air still coming through the window, it felt like ice dripping down his back. This time he wasn't able to move, unable to even breathe, as the thing took another step. Its weight creaked under the wood, and every groan of the floorboards made his heart pick up.

It was right behind him, large and looming through the corner of his vision. Another hiss and this time something long, wet, and pink slivered from the darkness, licking the air near his hair, and his heart leapt so suddenly Harry was certain it'd break his rib cage and flee at any moment.

Claws appeared over his shoulders, hovering, just shy of touching. The fingers were different on both hands, one was red and black, and so sharp that when its clawed tips grazed his jacket, he could hear tiny zips from the fibers. The other was large and inky black, with thick fingers that twitched, as if eager to grab him. Near his arms, white tendrils twisted into view, and down at his feet more tendrils curled around his ankles. Reachingfor him.

He knew they belonged to the same creature, but each one was so different he'd believe he was surrounded by three different monsters.

A monster he couldn't move from. A monster he couldn't breathe around. His heart wouldn't stop. His chest was tight and the corners of his eyes prickled hot and wet.

Another hiss, closer to his ear this time, made him make a strangle noise that didn't quite make it past his throat. The innate urge to scream seized him by the throat but it resulted in another strangled concoction of noise that landed somewhere between a wheeze and a sob. He could feel its warm breath on his neck.

This was it, right? The moment he wanted. This was the creature holding his friend hostage. This was his opportunity to talk to Peter, to break through to him, and save him. But Harry couldn't. His words were locked in his chest, so far out of reach he couldn't even see them. He couldn't think to look. Because at the end of the day, he was not the brave hero he wanted to be. He was a coward. A scared, sniveling coward who couldn't look the devil in the face, not even for his best friend.

He wasn't born to be a hero. Because Haley Darrin was right. He wouldn't get away with it, he couldn't escape who he was. He didn't have the genes to be a hero.

Like the door, his fingers were locked. They were frozen blocks of ice fused to the metal. Every joint in his body locked in place, and trying to move was like pushing against a glacier.

The white tendrils were just wrapping around his ankles when a loud knock rattled the door.

"Hey, Harry," it was Flash, "Are you in there?"

MJ was next to him, "We just want to check on you. You weren't looking too good downstairs."

Harry almost sobbed again. Probably would've if his chest wasn't so tight. He wanted to beg for them to save themselves, or yell for them to go away, or plead for them to save him. He wanted to run far, far away and hide, but a niggling thought whispered through his head, the entire Midtown Highschool is right outside this door.

The noise he choked out must've registered through the door because the two went silent.

Someone grabbed the handle and tried to open it. Harry's grip tightened.

"Harry," MJ said again, there was an apprehension in her voice now. He could imagine the gears in her brain grinding, and he loved and hated how well she could read him.

"I'm…fine," Harry managed to wheeze out, but it sounded far from fine. It sounded weak. It sounded helpless. It sounded scared.

The two were silent again. He heard heavy footsteps retreating and MJ's voice next to the door, tight and transfixed, but trying its best to sound soothing.

"Okay," she said, "I believe you. Don't worry. You don't have to come out if you don't want to. Everything is going to be fine."

Everything is going to be fine. Harry told himself, everything is going to be fine. A pair of large hands landed on his shoulders, digging through his suit and into his skin. Everything is going to be fine. White tendrils were wrapping around his legs. Everything is going to be fine. A long, wet tongue grazed the side of his face, trembling with hunger. Everything is going to be fine.

And then Agent Venom crashed through the window.

Happy Halloween!