Thiswas going to be all one chappie ('Secrets,' that is),but FFNwon't have it. Too long. Soit's two parts.

DISCLAIMER: That one word says enough, I think.

Secrets, Part II

"Holy crap," Harry repeated in a whisper. Wide brown eyes stared at the door Peter had fled through. It was unbelievable. Peter needed help getting the lid off a new jar half the time. Yet less than five minutes ago he had sent the biggest, toughest goon in school flying down the hall.

Logic hit Harry like a lead brick. Peter was probably upset about hitting Flash. Probably horrified at his own actions and berating himself. But I can't leave. I'm on the verge of flunking out. The shocked look on his best friend's face came to mind again. Screw school. Pete's WAY more important. With that thought in mind, he ran out of the school to track Peter.


Somewhere downtown

MAN! I can't believe I hit Flash. That wasn't the right way to deal with him. What're Aunt May and Uncle Ben gonna say when they find out? Then Peter wondered with amusement, What, besides 'Holy crap,' does Harry have to say about it? Probably "Go Pete! You finally stuck up for yourself!" He's always supportive.

Peter sighed. He had a headache, from sticking to the wall upside down for so long. He'd been hanging there for a good five minutes. This wierd new stick-to-the-walls power was kinda cool. To end his headache, he stopped crabwalking along the wall and sat up. His hands immediately went flat to the wall, to keep him from falling.

Maybe I could become a superhero for the city. I could call myself 'Post-It Man.' Peter laughed. He suddenly leapt upward, on an instinct. And promptly gaped in wonder when it sent him up the five remaining floors to the top of the building.

If he could do that... surely gaps between buildings would be no problem. "WOOOOOHOOOOO!" Peter whooped as he leapt across his eighth or ninth gap. He had lost track at four. After another five or six rooftops, he stood still on one for a few minutes to catch his breath. Then he remembered why he'd run off in the first place. The white stuff that had shot out of his wrist in the cafeteria. The heightened senses and reflexes that had allowed him to beat Flash. Well, that and this sudden new strength that he had.

Sounds kind of like those super-spiders the scientists were working on in the lab we visited for that field trip yesterday, Peter mused. He gasped. I got bit by a spider there! One was missing when we left. I got sick last night. Then this morning I wake up and I have muscles. That spider that bit me must've been the missing super-spider! HOLY COW!

After a while, Peter figured out how to control his webbing. Then he spent the rest of the day practicing web-swinging from building to building.


The Parker house

"I dunno, Ben. I've looked at all of Peter's usual haunts, and even a bunch of places I'm not sure he'd be at, but I can't find him anywhere." Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He could only imagine that Pete must be more torn up about hitting Flash than he had even guessed. That doesn't mean he should worry the hell out of all of us. He's in for an earful, Harry mentally grumbled.

"We're all worrying too much. Peter will come home, and he'll be just fine," May said for the umpteenth time as she continued pacing. Almost as if on cue, Peter burst through the door.

A grin was set on the face of the teen who'd been the topic of the other three's conversation for the past twenty minutes. "Hey everybody! What's up?"

Well, thought Harry wryly, at least he's back. But what's he smiling about? I thought... aw, hell. Greet him first, lecture him second, and ask him later what he's grinning about. "Peter--" Harry was interrupted by Ben's exclamation of "Glad you're back!" and May's simultaneous, teary exclamation of, "We were so worried about you!"

Harry raised his voice to be heard.

"JESUS, Pete! Where've you been? Ben and I looked everywhere for you and couldn't find you! You really had us freaked with your disappearing act. For sanity's sake, don't do it again!" Harry rambled. All three Parkers stared at him.

"Whoa. Did I miss something? I expected a lecture from Aunt May and Uncle Ben, but from you, Harry?" Peter's eyes danced in amusement. Harry had the grace to blush. A broad grin crossed Ben's face as his large shoulders shook with laughter. May smiled and shook her head as she went to put on a pot of tea for the fourth time that night. It was something she did to keep busy. She had done it earlier after Harry had rushed in saying that Peter had run out of school and he couldn't find him. May didn't like to worry, so she kept busy instead. "Sorry I worried you. I needed to think after I hit Flash earlier. I guess I just lost track of time."

"Well, we're just glad you're back, safe and sound. But like Osborn said, don't do it again," Ben replied. "And tomorrow, you and I need to have a talk about that fight you started." Before Peter could say he hadn't started it, Ben had disappeared into the basement that doubled as his workshop. No one but Ben was allowed down there. He was very protective of his tools. Especially the power tools.

Alone with his friend, Peter noticed the quizzical look on Harry's face. "What?"

Harry shook his head. "Where were you? We looked everywhere."

Not on the rooftops, thought Peter. "Oh, all over."

"You okay, pal? You seemed pretty upset after the fight today."

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Okay. I'm gonna go home and get some rest," Harry said. "See you at school tomorrow."

"Yeah. G'night Harry."

"Good night, Peter."


Damn but I feel guilty. I've never kept a secret from Peter before. And now I'm hiding something big. My father hit me. God. Never thought I'd be a victim of child abuse. Can't tell anyone though. Not even Peter. He'd try to get help, and that can't happen. If it did, it'd ruin my dad, which would ruin Oscorp, which would ruin the countless people who work for Oscorp. And that would ruin a lot of families. I'm selfish at times, but not that selfish.

He was driving home. He pulled his Honda into his driveway and turned off the car. God I'm dreading this. Dreading entering my own home. Weird.

He got out and headed for the front door. The distance had never seemed so long. The front door had never looked so foreboding before, either.

His hand stopped about two inches from the doorknob. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and braced himself. He hoped he could reach the safety of his room unscathed. He flung open the door, closed it as quickly as he could without making too much noise. Then he made a mad dash for his room. But when he reached the staircase he had to go up to get there, he saw his father halfway up the stairs. Norman was coming down.

Suddenly Harry knew what it was like to be a deer caught in the headlights. His mind was screaming at him to do anything but stay still. Problem was, his limbs seemed to be out to lunch. He couldn't move. He felt the color drain from his face, and instinctively he held his breath.

Then his dad was in his face. "Where have you been?" he snarled. The only thought that formed in Harry's head was an image of a box of Tic Tacs. "After all I've done for you, you ran off this morning! Can't a father spend some time with his son?" His heart was a drum, pounding in his head so that he couldn't think. "HUH? CAN'T HE?" All that went through Harry's mind was memories of other times with his father. Norman smiling. Norman laughing. Norman crying at Emily's funeral and on their anniversary, and on the anniversary of her death. There weren't any memories of him being mean and violent.

Except this morning. What changed? What made him snap? Was it me? Was it my bad grades? Was it me not being the perfect son, and making us the perfect family?

At least Harry was thinking somewhat coherently again. His thoughts were cut off, though, by the fist that went flying into his stomach. He doubled over in pain. The breath he'd been holding earlier was knocked out of him when Norman hit him, and Harry desperately gulped down air. His lungs didn't seem to work though. He couldn't seem to get any air. Tears burnedin his eyes. For lack of air. For the pain in his stomach. For his father changing so much so rapidly. In two days he's gone from kind but strict, to cruel and spiteful.

Why? Why has he changed like this? Why does he hit me? Why do I deserve this? Do I deserve this? Harry's mind rambled.

"Weak, Osborn, you're weak! Get up. Get up! Fight!" Norman growled at him. Harry stayed down, and Norman waited amoment. That moment felt like a lifetime. Finally, he growled, "You're not worth my time. You'll never get anywhere in life if you aren't willing to fight for yourself."

He dealt a harsh kick to Harry's ribs before walking away.

I'm going to feel that tomorrow. Not that I don't now, Harry groaned inwardly, feeling dazed. He got up and walked to his room, holding his aching ribs and stomach.


Norman's study

"How could you treat my son like that?" Norman wailed to his counterpart, who was reflected in the mirror.

Said reflection walked toward him, tilting his head at an angle like a child observing his butterfly collection. "You mean, how could you treat our son like that," it corrected him.

Norman was mortified. "No! I'd never treat my son that way!"

His counterpart gave him a sick, twisted little smile that seemed to speak on its own. A smile that spoke of torture, pain, death, and a thousand other sadistic things. "Ah, but you and I are the same person. I am you, and you are me. Besides, I only exist to give you what you want. You simply wanted the little brat to pay for making you look bad, for not keeping with the public persona you wanted him to have. I gave you what you wanted."

"No! No! I never wanted to hit my son! Never! I would never hit Harry!" Norman choked back tears, gripping his armchair to keep from falling down where he stood.

"But you wanted him to pay! And the little brat is going to pay. In spades!" The reflection cackled. Then, to convince Norman, "Remember how he always dresses, like a ruffian? How he always gets bad grades, never makes a lick of effort? How he's always so disrespectful?" The crowning question, "How he told you not so long ago that he hates you?"

"Yes. Yes, yes. Harry's been anything but the perfect son. But should he really be punished this way? Isn't there a way to correct him without hurting him?" Norman replied.

"No. Those ways never work on people like him. Like the people at Quest. All they understand is who hits hardest," his counterpart replied scornfully.

"O-Okay. Whatever's necessary, then." Norman's lips moved afterward in a soundless apology that Harry would never hear.

TBC...