Summary: [Future fic] How life should be less about competition and more about enriching oneself through those he meets.

Burp Rags (or How Life Isn't a Competition)

"Run this by me one more time," a young man with auburn hair requested. An infant he held snuggly in his arms was sitting on his lap.

"I thought I made it clear enough from the first telling," the other young man with brown hair replied. "But OK…"

"Whew! What a day as Spider-man!" the web-hero exclaimed as he soared across the noisy city. He crawled his way around a sturdy wall. He went through his skylight windows and entered his bedroom. He always sought for a space towards the top for his residency. Some apartments had required himself and his neighbors to scale the numerous, worn-down stairs. Sometimes there was no working elevator. However, acting as a superhero, he needed the grand height. He pursued the elevated altitude for comfort of his departures and arrivals in a coat of darkness.

Standing in the place he called home, he removed his sweaty red mask. His body had changed since high school. He had grown taller. His brown hair was shorter. His chin had developed. But he retained his hopeful blue eyes. All that growth required him to rebuild and resow his costume. He kept the iconic design.

His living room was nothing like the one he had back in Forest Hills. For one, nothing matched. There was no theme of colors or styles. Pieces of kitchen equipment and furniture clashed. They've been salvaged from refurbished shelves, yard sales, and second hand stores. Worrying about the fashionableness of his belongings didn't bother him. Peter only wished for fresh food in his fridge and a coffee maker that wouldn't break down after brewing every other cup.

Though he had improved his tactics in facing criminals, it was a rarity so much had been going so well. He could easily locate his foes' whereabouts and dodge their obvious traps. Relishing his feelings of accomplishments, he removed his boots and gloves. "Gonna end the day with a nice, hot shower and—"

Black and white vehicles swerved in front of the building. The police had arrived. Their blaring sirens had announced their grim presence. Their red and blue lights flashed through his blinds. His quaint room flooded with those same foreboding colors.

Peter turned his head in the direction of the uproar. He became alarmed. "Cops? Here?"

A terrified thought crossed his mind. "They musta spotted Spider-man sneaking in!"

Despite his heroic work and association with S.H.I.E.L.D., not everyone approved of the web-head. He looked down at himself. He still wore his red and blue outfit. He had to quickly conceal his other identity. His eyes searched around his unorganized apartment. He found a duffel bag. Taking his costume, he stuffed the boots, gloves, and mask inside. He then snatched his equipment that made his webbings. He could hear feet pounding against the creaky stairs. He heard neighbors opening their rented rooms to find out what the commotion was about. They were now in front of his door.

"New York City Police!" one officer yelled. "Open up!"

"Just a minute!" Peter pleaded. Fortunately, he left his burgundy bathrobe on a armchair. He snatched it and placed it over himself. He noticed a moth hole that exposed his blue color. But he had no time to bemoan the tear, for he had to answer the door. He tried to place on a dazed yet composed expression. As he saw the men in uniform in front of his doorway, he noticed other officers speaking to his neighbors as well.

"Your landlords have been arrested," the police informed. "You will need to leave the property immediately."

Peter concluded, "Luckily I had time to keep my costume and snatch my web making chemicals. It seems like all chemists are automatically faulted as drug makers. Never mind my bona fide degree from Empire State University."

"So as Spider-man," Harry began. He moved his son Stanley around as the baby grew fussy. "Even he didn't know his landlord was a criminal?"

"The couple was arrested for stock fraudulence," the brunet explained. His eyes landed on the innocence of the newborn. "White collar crimes can be harder to notice compared to those carrying empty burlap sacks with the monetary symbol on them."

"And with them arrested, the police seized the property? And forced all tenants to move out?"

"At least until the courts can decide how the building was owned and maintained in the first place. It's all considered to be a crime scene right now. A little paranoid, if you ask me."

"So what you're saying is…"

"…I need a place to crash."

The two young men looked at each other.

Harry asked the obvious question. "You won't be staying with M.J.? I know things didn't go well for you after your break up—"

"She's actually in L.A. interviewing a movie cast. The script calls for something between Spider-man, Mysterio's former appearance, and a damsel in distress. Nope. She's way out west."

"Well…" Harry trailed off. He knew his buddy was in a tight bind. His eyes gazed down towards his child. "I do have the space."

"I don't need to take Stanley's nursery," Peter insisted. "You know I'm cool lying about on the couch. It'll just be until I find someplace new. The courts are gonna tie up those apartments forever. I wouldn't wanna worry Aunt May with a temporary setback. And I'll be sure to be extra quiet if I gotta leave or come inside during the middle of the night."

Smiling, he placed his finger below the baby's curved chin. "Can't let this growing guy miss out on any of his beauty sleep."

Young Stanley recognized the attention he was receiving. He replied by gurgling. A tiny stream of drool began leaking out. Peter quickly withdrew his finger. Harry, unfettered by the bodily function, reached for a tissue on a stand next to the couch. He carefully dabbed his son's face. The baby curved his bitty lips upwards as he glanced up at his father.

Harry smiled back before returning to the main subject. "And that's why you ended up in front of my apartment, bag in hand? Heh, you're lucky I was home and could talk to the doorman before he charged you with trespassing."

"I know he'd seen me before—when I entered through the front, not the windows as Spider-man. But I guess having my bag and claiming I was here for a sleepover was suspicious."

"Not all doormen share your weird sense of humor."

"I like to think of it as unique."

Before the two men could continued their dispute over a proper label, young Stanley made his presence fully known. He bent his torso as he tried to reach for the polished ground. Harry set his son down. The baby eagerly lowered himself to his hands and knees. Little Stanley began to crawl around the baby-proofed apartment. He acted like a bulldozer. Instead of swerving around his toys, he clambered over them. Nothing was stopping him from getting to his destination. Wherever that may be.

Once Harry was free of the weight, he began to stretch his arms. His affectionate attitude disintegrated. His bright expression disappeared. His eyes appeared droopy. In its place was fatigue.

Peter, having a chance to settle after his ill-starred ordeal, noticed the dullness. He had seen a similar trait in himself after his action-packed day as Spider-man. He understood, however, the different sources. Concerned for his buddy's well-being, he asked, "You OK?"

"Yeah," Harry replied in a stale demeanor, "just long hours."

"At Oscorp?"

"Not only there. Before Oscorp, gotta watch over Stanley. During Oscorp, gotta watch over Stanley. And after Oscorp—"

"Gotta watch over Stanley?"

"Yep. I can set my hours for my office at Oscorp. But the job of a parent never stops. Don't get me wrong. It's not just being used to it. I could never imagine life without this little devil." Harry's eyes fell towards his son. A small smile grew on his face once more.

Peter grew relieved.

((It's great to see Harry care so much about his son. He's really managed to see past that terrible break up between himself and his ex-fiancée Lily Hollister. Road bumps can pass by unnoticed. A person's true qualities come about with how he deals with those hurdles.))

"So what's your charging station?"

"The fridge," Harry replied. "I just need an energy boost to keep me going. You want something?"

He stood up from the couch. Giving his legs a stretch, he walked towards his sub-zero French door appliance.

Peter followed. He paid attention to where he was stepping. Purposefully, he took a mini leap as he tried to bypass the crawling infant, who babbled disjointedly as he focused on his own world. Spider-man carried talent in avoiding traps. But he always alerted himself for bystanders of all ages.

The owner of the upscale machine took out an energy drink can. It was one of many that stocked the chilled shelves. "Chasing after Stanley all morning, this is what I need."

Peter asked, "I don't suppose you also have a coffee maker that works, do you?"

"You want a single cup? Or a big pot for later?"

"Nothing that will spill into the night. Can't fight crime if I'm all jittery."

Harry chuckled at the last line. Having known the one behind the tights since high school, he grasped the predicament. He pulled a drawer of instant coffee. Reviewing his friend's situation, he then complimented, "You've handled it all—in your own bizarre way—pretty well. It's been some time since I last placed on my Patrioteer uniform. Being a S.H.I.E.L.D. student was great, but…"

"Hey, I'm not downplaying you," Peter stepped in. "You have your responsibilities. You're placing your son first."

With his numerous hangouts at the spacious apartment, the brunet knew his way around the well-stocked kitchen. He had crawled around as well when the web-head needed to stop by during the night. He grabbed himself a mug, one that was part of a completed set. It was also cleared of any water spots or dark rings.

As the gadget warmed up, Harry saw his son in the reflection of the chrome handles. He turned around, ensuring Little Stanley was staying out of trouble. He also watched for his safety. Living in the spacious apartment, it was only himself and his boy. The setting reminded him of something familiar, another father and son who were on their own.

"To burn the midnight oil," Harry brought up. "Dad told me he would drink coffee. Black."

Peter lightly chuckled as he heard the anecdote. He had seen pictures of Harry as a child, so he could easily imagine a younger Norman. He laughed back, "No sugar? No cream? No caramel or chocolate syrup drizzled over whipped cream? Or a glare from the baristas from trying to pay for a small mocha in change?"

"He was in the same boat as you. He almost had nothing growing up." Harry soon became quiet. The last line had him reflecting. He had always been surrounded by materialism—the biggest TV sets, an arrangements of videogames and equipment, fancy artwork, classy dishes, stylish clothing. Becoming distant, Harry added, "His home did have some nice things. He lived off of credit as a boy growing up. It was important for my grandpa to keep up the luxury lifestyle even with Oscorp crumbling."

Peter listened to the back story his friend openly shared with him.

((I can look back at all those exquisite ride shares I got from the Osborns' limo with the posh interior and heated seats. I had seen the executive offices in their company and the lavish home supplies in their penthouse. Despite all that my best friend had owned, I never used Harry for his last name like many of our old classmates did.))

He replied, "All the material comfort an Osborn has grown accustomed to rings a bell."

Lost in his story, Harry continued, "Sometimes I can't believe what Dad had to go through. He didn't let anything get in his way. I know of his old philosophy and desire to showcase a proud man… A proud man who could provide for his family. "

His blue eyes turned away from the warmed up mug. They cast themselves on the beautiful curtains, the finely detailed furniture, the ethereal flooring—everything but the youngest Osborn. A proud man had provided physical amenities. Yet it was the emotional ones that were lacking for years. The marks were made long ago. But because they were made so early on in life, the scars remained. It was being aware of their presence and the challenge of not allowing it take control.

Peter caught his long-time friend eyeing his own home, like he was looking for something. "Harr…"

The apartment owner realized he was being addressed. The eyes belonging to his guest stayed on him. His orbs were filled with concern. Their good friends were aware of the proud man who ran Oscorp, overcame his Goblin persona, and became Iron Patriot. The blue eyed brunet knew the other story of Norman Osborn, the one between a father, a son, and their broken bond. Harry realized what he had doled out. He hurriedly defended his stance. "I don't mean anything by it! You know things have gotten better. These are just stories he's told me when I was a kid. I swear I'm not in competition with him!"

He then changed his composure. He retained his somber but removed any pity. He corrected, "Dad had so much to deal with—rebuilding Oscorp, raising me alone, and still grieving over my mom's death. I know it was all hard on him. And he did it by himself."

Peter was aware of the unyielding love and respect Harry held for Norman. He also knew of the trials his best friend had undergone. He firmly reminded, "Don't sell yourself short. Some of them were his choices. Re-building Oscorp was one. Never getting re-married was another. You have other issues. Like, still trying to make time for Normie."

Harry became quiet upon hearing the name of his first son. The young boy had moved to the suburbs along with his mother Liz Allan, Harry's ex-wife. The distance between a suburb and the city was great. Finding methods to see Normie beyond Oscorp and Stanley was stressful.

"Your kids are your kids," Peter tried to reason. "What you teach them is up to you. But is that the lesson you want them to take away? Never asking for help? I know I was stubborn when I didn't join S.H.I.E.L.D. at their first offer. Now look at the hero Spider-man is today."

The young man gave his guest a look. "You're still stubborn."

"So are you."

"Yeah, but that's the Osborn spirit. I need that for the world of business."

Peter grasped what was drilling and mining its way into his buddy's mind. Life happens. Thinking for a moment, he found a solution to their current asperity. "If it's fairness you want between your boys, then let me watch over Stanley."

The out of place offer caught Harry's attention. "Hold up, you want to babysit?"

"Hey, I've looked after Normie from time to time, and he turned out alright. Plus, if you need another incentive in letting me stay, it could be my job. You look like you could use a breather about now."

Harry was already prepared to allow his buddy to stay with him until he settled in a new nest. However, Peter wanted to earn his keep. The young man he had known since high school was an honest fellow. Harry sighed. "Alright. You can reap your board looking after him."

Peter turned grateful. He didn't know the length of time he would be out on his feet. He needed to haggle. "How about laundry and shower privileges? My Spidey outfit can get pretty rancid between busting criminals and commuting to and from work."

"We can talk after you change a couple of diapers."

"As long as it's not one diaper for thirty seconds of hot water."

"This is filtered and softened water we're talking about. Makes it easier to clean and better for the pipes. For now, let's go over some ground rules."

"Am I starting immediately?"

"You didn't put in an application. But I'm willing to overlook that." Harry adjusted his tone. He trusted his pal, but his son was top tier to him. "Watch out if you're gonna be holding Stanley. He's going through his drooling phase."

Peter picked up on the shift. He understood the root. He decided to go along in his own way. "I can tell. Just look at all the used tissues."

"Then it's the usual—keep him away from outlets, make sure nothing falls on him, and look out for what he puts in his mouth…" Harry reviewed his list. Looking at his wall clock, his mind came to an important topic. "Oh, and if my dad comes around, be careful."

Peter grew genuinely surprised by the last caution. "Huh? Why? Is Norman still stormin'?"

"Always. But he's sneaky when it comes to his grandkids. He'll snatch Stanley away without you even noticing."

"He is Stanley's grandpa. But that's a challenge I'm willing to take." Peter was aware of Norman's dogged attitude, and Spider-man had worked alongside Iron Patriot to grasp his inflexible patterns. He respected the role a grandparent plays in his grandchildrens' lives. He also believed in respecting the parents' rules.

Harry grew impress with Peter's resilience. He had known the brunet since high school—before Spider-man. The school genius had his own way of pushing himself through his hardships even through adulthood. Harry always respected his dad. His best friend, however, was second on that list. He became relaxed. "I've got some documents to go over. I'll do that after I take a five."

He placed his un-opened drink back in the fridge. He then faced his good buddy. "Thanks, Pete."

"Just point me in the direction of the diaper bag," the guest replied. He was grateful for those who did cheer for Spider-man. But he was always happy helping out a friend.

"Everything you'll need is in his nursery," Harry explained. "It's unlocked. Keep an eye out for how many toys Stanley pulls out. You'll be responsible for putting it all away."

"If it falls under my jurisdiction…" Peter watched as Harry went to his bedroom. He returned to his own mug. It had time to cool off. It was almost cold. As his eyes fell over the microwave, he debated about popping it in there.

((Between Harry's sons, there's this rule of parenting I became familiar with: Moms and dads sacrifice hot food for watching over their children. Speaking of Stanley… ))

His own eyes scoured for the infant. Somehow the child came out of his range. He became alert. His glances swept the porcelain wood flooring. "Stanley?"

He then heard the baby's babbling. He looked towards the corridor and saw him crawling. Little Stanley had begun learning his surroundings. He appeared to be heading towards his father's bedroom, inching his way on his hands and knees. The brunet knew his best friend couldn't be disturbed at the moment. He shot his webs tucked underneath his long-sleeved shirt.

"Up bup bup!" he yelled. The white vines stuck to the baby's back. Stanley was then gently pulled away from the room. He slid like a rag closer to Peter, who reeled him like a fish. The brunet bent over and gently scooped up his catch. As older blue eyes peered into the young, round brown ones, little Stanley pulled his youthful features into a scowl.

"Hey!" Peter argued. "Don't go giving me that face! Your daddy needs his rest, too."

Young Stanley seemed to have accepted his fate. Or perhaps his short attention span had him focus on something else.

Peter was aware of his struggles in handling children.

((There's been so many times I felt uneasy around kids, like they're all porcelain dolls. I'm aware of how much my best friend had to juggle. We've had much on our plate even during those carefree years of high school and college—I was struggling to define himself as a superhero, and Harry was learning the basics in running a corporation. We've shared so many pleasant memories. We had double dated. I was with Mary Jane, and Harry was with Liz. The falling outs were unpleasant. But somehow such blissful moments continue to drift into my mind like an old dream…))

His thoughts became interrupted when a small hand smacked his face twice. Returning to reality, Peter saw Stanley staring at him. The youngest Osborn was not fine with someone only holding him. He clearly wanted attention.

Peter pondered out loud, "Will I ever share something as special as a child with someone?"

He felt something bitter stirring in him. He immediately identified it.

"It figures," he grumbled. "I'm comparing myself to my best friend, who was non-stop compared to me by his dad. Harry's got an ex-wife and an ex-fiancée, but he's also got two sons who love him. Meanwhile, I can't even keep a girlfriend, a job, or even a place to live. Even graduating from E.S.U. was such a hassle. One credit short my—"

Feeling the unfamiliar weight in his arms, he recalled whom he was with. "—tushey!"

He looked down at Stanley. Harry had trusted the baby with him. He wouldn't hold something so negative against his best friend. He placed on a caring smile. "Let's go do something stimulating. How about a science lesson?"

He set the baby on the oak-based couch. He rummaged through his saved duffel bag. He pulled out something carefully wrapped. He unraveled what he salvaged. The glasses were a conical flask, a low-form beaker, stirring rods, and test tubes.

"I dunno where you'll be one day with Oscorp," Peter began. "But let's go over the basic tools of the trade."

He held up his items. "This is a conical flask. It's different from a beaker. A flask has the long neck. A beaker has a spout. The little ticks mark a measurement for liquid volume. Because I'm a scientist, these are in millimeters instead of fluid ounces. Each of these help me measure and create my webbings. I prefer the borosilicate glass than stainless steel or aluminum to see my work."

For each equipment, his fingers guided his examples. He pointed to the neck and spout. He held it close enough so the young eyes could take in the shapes. "I was looking to do adhesives and their chemical properties for my grad thesis back at E.S.U. before I took my leave of absence. Your dad, on the other hand, was done after his Bachelor. Now he's the big boss making all the important decisions."

He quieted himself down.

((Normie and Stanley are part of a legacy. They have large, fancy shoes to fill. After Harry and Liz parted ways, she had began her own company: Alcamex. Will Normie be with Alcamex and Stanely with Oscorp once they reach adulthood?))

His eyes fell to the floor as he mulled over the future.

Little Stanley, captivated by the light flashing off the glass, tried to reach for them. His bitty arms with tiny fingers nearly touched the glass.

Peter returned to reality and saw what the child was attempting.

"No, no!" he gasped. He extended his arm away. "Not for babies."

He tried to keep the infant seated while removing the delicate tools. "That's enough science for today."

He set a throw pillows in front of Stanley to act as a fortress in blocking the child's movements. He then placed away his belongings. The scruffy duffel bag currently held his entire life. He hadn't had much time to grab everything from his locked apartment. Standing up, he looked at his means of board.

The baby looked at him.

"Wow, it really has been time since I last did any activity with a baby," Peter remarked to himself. He had trouble adjusting to Little Normie at first. He felt uneasy for even holding the newborn at the hospital. Lacking confidence, he placed one hand behind his head. "Wanna watch some cartoons?"

The small, round head turned away. He tucked his fist into his mouth.

"I can't believe how rusty I am when it comes to babysitting," Peter bemoaned. "I'm not ready to have kids of my own. There's no way I'd be a parent who's constantly absent from his kids' milestones. I know my own parents did what they could. I'm grateful for the guardianship I had with my aunt and uncle."

As the young man dipped himself in his own woes, he heard metal clacking. His head perked up. He turned to the direction of the noise. The front door was unlocking. He questioned aloud, "Huh? There's no way a high class robbery would happen during the day, could it? I mean, Harry woulda told me if he had an important client coming over."

He looked towards the baby. "Can't leave Stanley unattended. Definitely can't leave him with my bag of glass equipment."

He scooped up the child. Steadily, he walked towards the door. The bronze doorknob turned on its own. He placed on his guard as he stopped. His expression turned fierce. He would do what he could to protect his best friend's son. When the door opened, he saw a familiar face.

"Mister Osborn?" he blinked.

"Oh, Peter, I see you're here again," Norman greeted casually. Placing away his key into his pocket, he stepped inside. His eyes traveled around the widespread room. He seemed to be searching for someone. "Where is my son?"

The brunet silently observed how Norman appeared to still be in business mode. He questioned why the man stopped by. He couldn't tell if the intention was Oscorp related. He answered, "Harry's in his bedroom. He said he had some things to go over for Oscorp."

"I see," Norman replied. He had relinquished his position as head. He understood he needed to take his life easier if he wanted to see his grandsons grow up. Retirement wasn't for him. He found ways to remain involved.

As Peter awaited for an explanation, he received none. Perhaps the visitation was not business related. Harry had informed him of his continued bond between himself and his own father. Perhaps this was one of those moments.

The oldest of the Osborns heard incoherent noises. He gazed at the youngest. He lowered himself down. As brown eyes familiarized themselves with him, he smiled.

"You want me to take him?" he offered.

Peter recalled what his pal shared. He retained his grip. "I got him. This is how I'm keeping my stay. Long story short, I'm lodging here temporary."

Norman raised himself. He had seen the young man present often. The long-time friend was the second most visited guest after him. Keeping a straight face, Norman remarked, "It's a new generation, Peter. If you are seeing my son, then I can respect that."

The brunet felt his face grow red. "Wha? No! It isn't like that between me and him at all!"

Norman walked past a baffled Peter. Between his frequent visits, he was familiar with the apartment as he was with his own penthouse. His eyes fell towards an end table. He spotted pictures held in wooden frames. The images had rotated between who was in them. Two that had always been present were one of himself and his father, and the other of Harry with his friends from Midtown High—a brunet, a redhead, and a blonde.

A proud man realized his son had led a different life from him. He had once planned a particular lifestyle for that same son. He had learned that arrangements for life were as structured as mud. Harry had been married but eventually divorced. He had a first born son. He then had another son with his now ex-fiancée. He was running Oscorp while he looked after his children. Yet he still managed to keep his ties with his close friends. Some were even from his time as a high school student. Norman understood the two shared similarities. Yet they also had their disparities. Whereas Norman was engulfed with foolish pride, Harry placed his trust in others. He had to admit that his son lived a richer life than he did.

Peter noted how quiet the older Osborn became. He was aware of when Norman was calculating business strategies for Oscorp or when Iron Patriot made his tactics. He could only tell the subject most likely pertained to his only son. Before Peter could ask anything, he felt a warm sensation running down his sleeve.

"Yikes!" he yelped. "Harry wasn't kidding about Stanley's drooling. This little guy could fill an entire science bucket."

Norman returned to reality. He was grateful for the good bond between the two boys. He may no longer wished to have Peter as his son, but he was proud of him just the same. He walked over to the guest. "Go ahead and wash that off."

He then took Stanley so the babysitter could go to the kitchen sink. Water rushed out of a spout. As Peter washed off the spit, he noticed his arms showing their signs of relaxation. He then realized he was no longer holding the baby. He turned and spotted the oldest Osborn was now cradling the youngest. He mumbled, "Harry was telling the truth about Norman."

As he watched the grandfather enjoy his time with his grandson, he smiled. The scene felt natural, far more than he could say about himself. He decided to seek sage guidance. "Any advice for doing activities?"

Norman pondered. The father and son shared memories. Some had to be recent because of his negative, hard-headed attitude when his boy was a child. Yet some moments managed to remain buoyant in a swamp of unpleasantness. He suggested, "Visiting the city's library or museum. There are free days to consider. Listening to the radio, especially children's stations, can be done in the same room as you study or prepare a presentation."

With recollections coming into play, a smile grew on a face aging with winkles. "I remember when Harry was young we watched TV programs together and enjoyed trips to Coney Island. It's natural for fathers and sons to have different tastes in activities and hobbies. I only hope he liked doing those pastimes as much as I did."

"I did because it was something we did together," a voice replied.

The two saw Harry returned. He appeared refreshed. Small Stanley took notice as well. He began to fidget and placed his stubby arms towards his father. He clearly wanted to be with him. Norman respected that wish and handed the infant over. "Hello, Harry."

"Hi, Dad," the young man greeted back. He was not surprised that his own parent had dropped by. As he accepted his boy, he realized who had been carrying him. He faced the brunet and smirked.

Peter smiled back and innocently shrugged.

Young Stanley squealed delightfully at the reunion, burrowing his head into the young man's shoulder.

Harry was glad to have a brief intermission. Yet he was happier to be back. He chuckled as he held his son. "This little devil hasn't been troublesome, has he?"

"Not at all," Peter insisted. "Just very curious."

((I'm gonna hold back my personal grievance. I gotta admit that taking care of a small life has its quirks and its blessings. If there's one trait I admire for babies, it's their sense of wonderment. Like natural scientist, they ask questions and seek answers. I feel fortunate to have had guardians who had nurtured those traits.))

"That's normal for a baby, right?" he asked.

Norman, as a veteran parent, answered, "Curiosity is important for a stimulating mind."

Harry heard the man's wise remark. He had his plans in raising his children. But he did request consultations from a trusted source. He noted who was currently there with him. He had a father who made him into a strong man. And he had a best friend who had his back. As he saw his support system, he added, "Then I know Stanley's been in the right hands."

The group of men then heard doorbell ring.

"I'll get it," the guest insisted.

He opened the door. He saw an elderly woman wearing a red jacket. "Aunt May? What are you doing here?"

"I'm dropping something off for Harry and Stanley," she replied. She allowed her gray hair to grow into a bob. Her face carried more winkles, but her smile was just as bright and caring as ever. Age didn't stop her fashion sense, either. She continued to wear her fitting jackets and slacks.

"Did you bring it?" Harry asked. His eyes turned bright, like he was expecting something good.

"I did," she answered as she entered. "What do you think?"

Around her shoulder was a bag. Her slender hand reached inside and pulled something out. She unfurled a white cloth. In the corner in gold-color thread were the letters S. O.

"S-O?" Peter read. "Is that for…?"

"Stanley Osborn?" Norman guessed.

"Yep," Harry nodded. "It's his personalized burp rag. And it's exactly what I needed for this little devil."

The aging woman draped the cloth around the young man's shoulder. Harry then positioned Stanley closer to that covered side. The nice piece of fabric soaked his drool.

Norman realized the pattern appeared familiar. "Didn't you have something similar for Normie?"

"Sure did. I commissioned Aunt May to make that one. Now each of the boys has his own. And with his own initials."

Norman quietly watched his son and grandson. He respected how Harry wanted each of his boys to have their own belongings. He could also see that he wanted Normie and Stanley to be treated as individuals, as Osborns, but also as brothers.

The elderly woman watched the young father took pride in his child. She was glad she could bequeath a gift. She added, "I've already had experience making them when Peter was that age."

The two Parker family members exchanged warm smiles.

Harry smirked, "I hope she used your full initials. Peter Benjamin Parker will look nicer than just Peter Parker."

"Way to be mature, Harr."

The young Parker stood at the double basin kitchen sink. An automatic chrome spout flowed the filtered water. He was washing baby bottles by hand. A film of organic baby formula coated the glasses. He scrubbed and scrubbed using a firm bottle brush. On the counter next to him was Stanley. He innocently sat and chewed on his teething ring. His father was over by his executive desk with his flexure laptop. He seemed content next to his babysitter.

Peter placed the cleaned bottles on the drying rack. In his own apartment he had his own chores to complete. He compounded such ordinary routines alongside his superhero duties. Performing new housework drained his energy in a different manner. He felt like he needed coffee.

"How many of these do you need a day?" he grumbled.

Young Stanley gazed into the annoyed eyes. He understood he was the one being addressed. He gave no reply as he chewed. He stopped. He nonchalantly tossed his toy. It fell on the ground. He began a new stage of throwing whatever he was holding.

"Again?" Peter grunted as he bent down to pick it up.

The head of Oscorp was aware of the developing act. He was close enough to see the ordeal. He chuckled from his spot, "You gotta give him patience, Pete."

"Yeah, yeah." The brunet had a good mind to leave his own desire for parenthood until he was done with school. He plopped the brightly colored ring in the warm water, scrubbed it, and pat dried it. He returned it back to its owner.

Stanley chewed on it for only a second. He repeated the step. This time the ring landed in the sink crowded with other bottles. Water splashed and soaped the brunet's stretched out shirt.

"Hey!" Peter cried. "I know you're doing it on purpose!"

Stanley gave a mischievous smile. Next to Peter was the personalized burp rag. He snatched it and tossed it over the bulbous head. The baby removed his cloth and squealed in delight. The two began a new game.

Harry smiled seeing his pal cheering up. He knew he was bearing through a rough patch. He was proud to know someone who could jump back on his feet.

The phone rang. Because the number belonged to the wealthy Osborn, he answered it. He turned to his guest, holding a grim expression. "Pete, it's the N.Y.C. Police Department. They wanna talk to you."

"Uh, yeah, I gave them this number as my temporary address," Peter explained. "They almost didn't believe me. I figured they needed to reach out to me about my formal landlords."

He looked at himself covered in suds. "My hands are a little busy. Can you place it on speaker?"

Harry complied. He pushed a button on his dial pad and placed down the receiver.

"Mister Parker?" the other line called.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"N.Y.C. Police Department. We wanna talk about something we found in your apartment."

The duo froze.

Little Stanley questioned the sudden silence. Despite his young age, he was already aware of uneasiness. He watched.

Peter and Harry exchanged glances. They pondered if Peter had left something behind, like an extra mask. Or perhaps if the landlords had left something within each of the rented rooms.

"I swear I didn't know any schemes my landlords had plotted!" Peter declared. "I was only a tenant!"

"Actually, since everyone left unexpectedly, we only wanted to know if you needed your underwear back."

End Burp Rags(or How Life Isn't a Competition)

Stanley Osborn, see Amazing Spider-Man vol. 1 #642, 2010.

Norman Harold "Normie" Osborn/Goblin Childe, see Amazing Spider-Man vol. 1 #263, 1985. For Goblin Childe, see Amazing Spider-Man vol. 1 #799, 2018.

Elizabeth "Liz" Allan-Osborn, see Amazing Fantasy #15, 1962. (Properly named in Amazing Spider-Man vol. 1 #4, 1962.)

Amberson "Ambrose" Osborn, see The Spectacular Spider-Man Annual #14, 1994. See also, What if? Dark Reign #1, 2010.

Empire State University, see Amazing Spider-Man vol. 1 #1, 1963.

Author's notes: I'm not sure how often I'll get a chance to post or even write chapters. I'll need to see what my schedule will be like. Thanks for waiting!