#it came from outer space... my beloeved...

[sciderman]

since we're here in osborn hell, here's one of my favourite little chapters from it came from outer space! with one rare appearance from one norman osborn

Peter could throw up. 

With how mad he was, he could tear through concrete like tissue. 

It was everywhere. 

Everywhere he looked. 

Every tabloid. Every sleazy celebrity magazine. Every news outlet. 

Harry Osborn. 

Son of billionaire scientist Norman Osborn and heir to Oscorp, 23rd largest company on Forbes’ Global 2000 list. 

Gay. 

Like it’s such a fucking big deal. 

Harry was being jumped on by everyone. Everyone wanted a ride. Everyone wanted to point and heckle. 

Caught in the act, with some big-name fashion model Peter’s never heard of. 

High cheekbones, and a sprinkle of freckles. Tight cherub-like curls. Legs for days. 

Carved by Michaelangelo. 

Peter burned with envy. 

Peter bit that down, and focused on Harry. 

His best friend. 

Publicly outed. 

The million-dollar photo, printed in every paper.  

Harry’s hand shielding his face. Hiding his eyes from the camera. 

Peter tore the paper to shreds. 

Peter Parker had spent his whole life hiding. 

Harry Osborn didn’t have that luxury. 

Peter had wondered if Harry had even tried. 

Red marks circling his neck, and going about his day. He didn’t seem to care who saw. 

It wasn’t a big deal. 

Spider-man momentarily stumbled over his feet as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop. A beeline to Oscorp industries. 

Harry wasn’t taking interviews. 

In fact, he’d disappeared from the radar all together. 

“Oscorp Industries will not issue a statement at this time, but would like to assure stakeholders that Harold Osborn will step away from the public eye.” 

Typical. 

So fucking typical, that they’d try to bury Harry like this. 

Take everything they’re ashamed of and sweep it under the rug, like it never happened. 

“I need to talk to Harry. Harry Osborn.” 

Peter’s fingers frantically drummed the desk of reception. His heart was racing. Thrumming in his ears. He’d attribute it to the pace at which he swang across the city to get here. All the blood in his head left his limbs numb. 

“I’m sorry, Harry Osborn isn’t here. Can I take a message?” 

“No. No. I’ve tried that already and they don’t –” 

Peter released his grip from the counter when he noticed the faint cracking sound under his fingers. 

“I need to see him. I’m – I’m Peter Parker.” Peter said, unsure if that meant anything at all to anyone. “I’m his friend.” 

The receptionist offered a sympathetic frown. 

“I’m sorry, Mr Parker, but without an appointment I can do very little apart from try to pass on your message.” 

Peter stepped back, throwing hands up in defeat. 

“Thanks.” 

Normally that would be the end of it. 

Peter should just go home and forget about it. 

It’s not his problem. 

Peter backed towards the wide, glass doors of the Oscorp building. 

Before he sprinted, a mad-dash, leaping over the key-card terminal that granted employee access. 

“Mr Parker!” 

His sneakers skid as he made way to the elevators, frantically pressing the button. 

A team of three security guards came on the approach. 

Stairs it is . 

Peter slipped fast to the stairway, racing up the steps, three at a time. 

More cardio than Peter would’ve ever liked to do in one lifetime, and he was still catching his breath from swinging here. But the suit made him stronger. Made his bounds lighter. Pushed him forward, faster. 

He’d lost the three initial security guards floors below – they didn’t have the superhuman stamina to climb a skyscraper. But more guards found him on higher levels, jumping him. 

He threw one against the wall. One sent flying through the door they came through. One backing away, clearly not paid enough to be tossed around a stairwell by an angry 20-something out for blood on a Tuesday afternoon. 

More guards at every level. Couldn’t slow him down. Peter barraged through them unrelentingly. He moved too fast. He lept and dodged, feather-light on his feet. 

One guard knicked him with a taser. 

He didn’t feel it. 

He grabbed it and ran, snapping it in half. He threw it down the stairwell, narrowly avoiding someone’s head. 

He didn’t care what damage he wrought. 

He didn’t care about anything, but reaching the top. 

“Peter.” 

He was greeted as he burst through the doors of the executive level of the Oscorp building. 

Norman Osborn. 

“If you wanted to talk, you need only make an appointment.” Norman said, civilly. “You know we’ll always accommodate you here, Peter. You’re family.” 

Family.

As if Norman even knew the meaning of the word. 

Guards stormed into the room after Peter, grabbing him by the shoulders and arms. As if that was enough to hold him back. 

Peter didn’t startle. In fact, his glare didn’t leave Norman at all. 

Norman looked at Peter with a fascination in his eyes. An uncomfortable fascination that made Peter’s skin – both of them – crawl. 

Maybe it was a common Osborn trait.

The ability to undress Peter Parker with their eyes. 

Peter was too mad to overthink it. 

Too fired up to consider how a lanky 21 year old being able to effortlessly rush past high-grade security in a multi-billion dollar corporate building might raise suspicion. 

“I won’t press charges, Peter.” Norman said, with a perfectly civil smile. 

Peter could wholeheartedly believe he had the teeth of a shark hiding behind it. 

“You’ve always been like a son to me.” Norman continued, “And a brother to Harry. I know you care, so deeply for him. And I appreciate that. We both do.” 

“Where did you send him?” Peter stepped forward. The staff detaining him could barely keep a hold of him. “Where is Harry?” 

“He’s an adult, Peter.” Norman said, in an unbearably patronizing tone of voice.  “He can make the responsible choice to leave for himself.” 

“You didn’t send him away?” 

Peter thought back to that afternoon in 2004. Waving as Harry got into a car that would steal him away to a European Boarding School for the worst years of Peter Parker’s life. 

“He did it of his own accord.” Norman said, coolly. “He had enough reason to.” 

Peter didn’t believe him. 

“It was such a shame to see you two falling out,” said Norman, in patronizing pity. “You were so close.” 

Peter charged at Norman, unable to stop himself. He’d lost all vision. All sense of self-preservation. He’d managed to grab Norman by the front of his suit before he was torn away by security. 

Peter let them pull him back. 

“He’s your son, Norman. You can try to bury him, but he’s part of you.”

Peter delivered the kind of look that only a man who had the power to snap another man in half could deliver. 

“And everything comes to the surface.” Peter spat, as he was escorted away. “Eventually.” 

Norman smiled. 

“I think you might be right about that, Peter.”