Becoming an official Avenger was incredible, sure, but Peter Parker had a much more immediate crisis to handle: the Midtown High Homecoming dance.
The logistics alone were a nightmare. Captain George Stacy had miraculously managed to clear his schedule to drive Peter and Gwen to the school tonight, which meant Peter had exactly zero margin for error when it came to timing his patrols. He needed to be dressed, prepped, and standing on his front porch looking like a normal teenager, completely entirely free of any lingering Spider-Man complications.
Then there was the Harry situation. Harry had actually managed to ask Liz Allen to the dance, and the sheer terror of his success had sent him into a tailspin. He had begged Peter and Amadeus to help him pick out a suit. Amadeus had promptly declined, leaving Peter to navigate the treacherous waters of a high-end Fifth Avenue department store alone with a panicking teenager.
Sitting on a plush velvet bench outside the fitting rooms, Peter leaned his head back. Thanks to Quentin Beck for doing his whole supervillain routine at eight in the morning, he thought. At least he left my afternoon wide open. He immediately mentally knocked on wood. Declaring New York City "peaceful" was the fastest way to summon a crisis.
His thoughts drifted back to Beck. After Peter had dismantled the illusion field, Beck had surrendered without a fight, but he had absolutely refused to name his financial backer. It wasn't loyalty keeping Beck quiet; it was pure, unadulterated fear. Whoever was funding him was terrifying enough to make federal prison look like a vacation. Given the hardware Beck had been playing with—Stark Industries Orion missiles, S.H.I.E.L.D. surplus LMDs, cutting-edge drone swarms —the suspect pool was remarkably shallow. AIM. HYDRA. The Kingpin.
Kingpin was the most logical target, but Peter had already hacked into the Fisk Tower server rooms and come up completely empty. Fisk was too insulated. To actually touch the Kingpin, Peter was going to need a different angle. Maybe he needed to track down that blind lawyer over in Hell's Kitchen everyone kept whispering about.
The heavy wooden door of the fitting room clicked open, snapping Peter out of his tactical planning.
Harry stepped out, tugging uncomfortably at the cuffs of a vivid, emerald-green suit.
Peter blinked, staring at the abrasive fabric. "Uh. Harry."
"What do you think?" Harry asked, turning toward the full-length mirror.
"I think if you're planning to fight Batman later tonight, it's a solid choice," Peter said, deadpan. "Otherwise, I'd put the Joker cosplay back on the rack."
Harry grimaced at his reflection. "Yeah. I thought the regular suits looked too old-fashioned, but you're right. The green is a lot." He turned around and retreated back into the fitting room.
Peter pulled out his phone, planning to check the police scanners just to make sure nothing was burning down in Queens.
Before he could unlock the screen, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. It wasn't the sharp, agonizing spike of an immediate threat, but a low, vibrating hum of warning.
A man in a perfectly tailored light gray suit sat down on the velvet bench next to him.
Peter didn't need to look up to know who it was. He had filed away the sharp jawline and the engineered, calculating warmth of that smile months ago. Norman Osborn.
"I am very grateful to you, Peter," Norman said, his voice smooth and conversational. "Not only for stepping in and preventing further theft of Oscorp' property this morning, but for being a friend to Harry. He hasn't had many of those growing up."
Peter slid his phone into his pocket. He didn't flinch. He wasn't surprised that Norman knew his identity. If Tony Stark could run the facial recognition algorithms and trace the Oscorp Expo footage back to him, Osborn could certainly do the same.
"Harry doesn't seem to think he needs the Osborn name to make friends," Peter said evenly. "He never uses it."
Norman smiled, a paternal expression that didn't quite reach his eyes. "He's still young. There are many things he doesn't fully understand yet. Much like yourself." Norman shifted slightly, angling his shoulders toward Peter. "I imagine Stark is quite pleased with your performance today. He'll likely invite you to join his Avengers. He'll offer you assistance, funding, upgrades."
Norman leaned in closer. "But Stark Industries doesn't understand your true potential, Peter. They didn't build you. You were bitten by our spider. That was the culmination of your father's life's work, completed by his successors at Oscorp. We created what you became."
Peter stared straight ahead, his mind moving at lightspeed, running the cost-benefit math. Norman wasn't offering this out of the goodness of his heart. This was a pitch. Norman wanted to bring Spider-Man in-house to prove to the world that Oscorp could successfully mass-produce super soldiers. It was purely business.
But from Peter's perspective, the calculation was complicated. Most of the threats currently tearing up New York had some connection to Oscorp. If Peter played along, he might gain the access he needed to dismantle those threats from the inside.
Before Peter could formulate an answer, the fitting room door swung open again.
Harry stepped out. He was wearing a sharp, tailored navy blue suit. He looked up, a smile forming on his face, but it vanished the second his eyes locked onto the bench.
Harry's posture went entirely rigid. His eyes narrowed. He crossed the carpeted floor in three quick strides, physically placing himself directly between Norman and Peter.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked. His voice was cold and precise, stripped of any teenage awkwardness.
Norman stood up smoothly, adjusting his cuffs. "I simply came to celebrate my son finally mustering the courage to ask a girl to a dance," he said, offering a practiced smile. "And to see how your new friend was doing."
"Who I'm friends with is none of your business," Harry said, not raising his voice, but the ice in his tone was absolute.
Norman held his son's gaze for a second before giving a short, conceding nod. "Your new friend seems quite capable," he said lightly. He turned, offering Peter one last, lingering look. "Enjoy the dance, boys."
Harry didn't relax his shoulders until Norman had completely disappeared into the maze of the menswear department. He let out a long, shaky breath and turned to Peter.
"I'm sorry I kept this from you for so long, Peter," Harry said, his voice dropping. He searched Peter's face. "You don't even look surprised."
"I had a feeling," Peter said, shrugging. "I knew you were hiding something, but I figured you'd tell me when you were ready."
Harry looked down at his shoes. "Lyman was my mother's name. She was a real scientist. The kind who actually believed in what she was doing. She would've done it for free, which my father thought was naive and I think was the whole point."
Harry swallowed hard, looking back up with genuine concern. "Did he give you any trouble just now?"
"No," Peter said softly. "You came out exactly when you needed to."
Peter stood up from the bench and tapped the lapel of Harry's new jacket. "The navy suit looks good, by the way. Definitely the best one you've tried on."
Harry turned back to the mirror, adjusting the collar. The tension finally began to bleed out of his frame. He smoothed his hands down the sides of the jacket.
"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "I want to pick my own."