A note before this fic gets underway: obviously there will be spoilers for Spiderman 3 This fic is inspired, in part, by a recent announcement by one of the actors that: "It turns out I may not be completely dead."

That being said, this is going to be an eventual Peter/Harry fic. Don't like it, then you don't have to read it.

For those who do want to, however - enjoy. And a last comment: occasional thoughts from Peter are in Italics.


The light of the moon reflected off of the tops of the trees and the breeze rustled their leaves. Above the slight rush of the wind, a scraping noise could be heard; there were none there to hear it, however. It was far past the cemetery's closing time and even the most dedicated mourners of the dead had left for their homes.

The scraping suddenly gave way to pounding, attracting the attention of a nearby squirrel. The animal pattered over to the soft earth, then dashed away in fright when it was suddenly disturbed from beneath. A hand, scratched and bloody, protruded and scrabbled for purchase as if trying to pull itself up.

Before long another hand followed, desperately shoving the sod aside. A torso rose from the violently splintered remains of what had been a coffin and took deep, gasping breaths of the damp night air. His lungs burnt from the sudden exertion and he felt disoriented and weak. Shuddering from the chill he dragged the rest of his body out from beneath the ground and stood on shaky legs.

Stumbling towards the streetlights lining the nearest road, the figure brushed dirt off of himself. The still that surrounded him was interrupted by one faintly whispered word.



Peter Parker slid into his desk and did his best to concentrate on the lecture that Dr. Connors was giving. It had been a month since the events that had so abruptly shattered his life, a month of self-doubt and agitation and loneliness. He kept wondering whether he ought to have done more, whether he should have gone to Harry sooner before it had been to late, tried harder to break free from the bonds with which Venom had lashed him.

Every thought he gave to the subject eventually seemed to insinuate that it was his fault. He halfway believed it.

To make matters worse, life had failed to revert to anything close to normal; instead it plodded along at an awkward pace. Gwen had been silent towards him, despite working with him, ever since the incident in the club. Mary Jane had attempted to restart their relationship, but even he sensed that it was half-hearted. She was still having no luck and he was still lauded, but now all the praise felt empty in a way she couldn't imagine.

He had failed when it had counted most.

The lecture concluded but he barely noticed and didn't stop to talk to Dr. Connors afterward. Instead, he headed straight back home to his apartment and buried himself in work. There was nothing else to do, after all; just work at school and wait for crime to happen, over and over again, with brief bouts of sleep and lukewarm dates interspersed in between. It was depressing when he thought about it, so he attempted not to as much as possible.

He had just started on the reading assignment Dr. Connors had given when there was a knock at the door.

"Peter?" Ursula's voice could be heard through the thin walls.

He sighed and stood from his chair, jostling the door open with some force. The gangly girl stood on the other side, her eyes wide and frightened.

"Peter, there's someone here who's asking for you..." She said in a timid voice that verged on terror.

Opening the door wider, Peter saw a figure plodding up the stairs behind her and stepping out of the shadows. Ragged and streaked with dirt, still scarred - though not as badly as I remembered - panting and exhausted, stood the figure of Harry Osborn. He stretched out a hand to the shocked brunette.

"Peter..." He reached and tried to smile before abruptly collapsing.

"Harry!" Peter sprang forward and caught the other boy in his arms. "Call an ambulance!" He directed Ursula who jumped in a panic then fumbled with the phone. Peter knelt down and cradled the body, wiping dirt off of his face and hair off of his forehead. The body was warm and he could feel the blood pulsing beneath the skin.

It looked like Harry. It sounded like Harry. He wanted very much to believe it was Harry. But experience had taught him to be wary of tricks at every turn and so he suppressed both his joy at seeing Harry and his fear that it might not be him for the moment.

Instead, he satisfied himself with a brief flicker of hope as the interminable minutes ticked by, waiting for answers to the myriad questions that weighed on his mind.

If it was Harry - oh please let it be Harry - then how, exactly, had it happened?

And what would it mean for both of them if he was back?


And there you have it. More answers will come next chapter and more problems as well.

As far as the announcement for the 4th movie goes, I'm hoping (against most fan sentiment that I've seen thus far, actually...) that it is Harry. After all, yes, his death was touching. But barring a reintroduction of Flash Thompson or something, is interaction limited to MJ and Aunt May really going to be that great? Secondary, 'good' male characters are important too.

Regardless, if you liked this fic or have suggestions, please review. It is appreciated.