A/N: So I saw the latest movie and I have to say, I really loved the way Harry Osborn was portrayed. And it kind of got me thinking about other possible scenarios that could have happened in the movie if things had been different. So even though I fail at updating anything, and I really can't guarantee any fast updates right now, I couldn't help but start a new story. This is just the prologue, so it's a bit short, but the next chapters should be a lot longer. I'm actually really excited about this story, because there are so many directions I want to go and definitely it will not be limited to the realm of Spider-Man alone. If you like where this is going, please let me know and, if there is a lot of interest, I will definitely try to update faster. I hope you like it!

Please don't read if you have seen The Amazing Spider-Man 2 and you don't want to see spoilers!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything TASM-related.

Prologue

The tension was palpable in the room as Harry Osborn stared at the one person who could save his life, the traces of his mask of congeniality fading with the unexpected rejection from Spider-Man. Suddenly he let out a laugh, derisive and filled with a sudden understanding of supposed hero's motives. "What do you want, money? Name your price, Spider-Man, and it's yours. However much, I don't care. I've got plenty."

"I don't want your money, Harry," the masked man said softly, trying to get him to see how dangerous his request was. He had hoped to deter Harry away from this gently, but Harry seemed determined to believe that this was the only way to cure himself.

"Everyone. Wants. Money," Harry rasped out, voice deepening with anger at the deception. He had been around people his entire life who wanted his money. Fake friends, girlfriends, authority figures—anyone he had ever come in contact with had always had an ulterior motive. There was only one person he had ever met who had never shown any interest in his money, only in him, and he wasn't about to believe that Spider-Man was the second. "Don't lie to me, Spider-Man! How much? Just say it!"

Peter Parker closed his eyes with his own sense of frustration at his inability to help. "I'm sorry. I can't help you."

"Yes, you can!" Hand tightening around the glass, Harry glared at him. "You can save me. I just need a little bit of your blood."

"It's dangerous, Harry. I can't give you that. I'm sorry."

He was sorry? Harry's whole body was shaking as he viciously tossed his drink at the other man. It was even more irritating when Spider-Man barely even moved and still dodged it with ease, clearly unperturbed by the rich boy's temper. The glass shattered against the wall, and Harry let out a hiss of pain when a shard slashed through the side of his cheek. Touching the wound with one hand, Harry tried to cajole him again, words more of a threat than a request as he glared at him. "Help me. Please."

His heart sank when Spider-Man remained firm about his position. "I can't do that."

As Spider-Man turned away to leave, Harry couldn't help the words that burst out. "Peter was wrong about you! You're supposed to help people! You're just a fraud!" He wanted so badly to grab him, to force him to give him what he needed, but he wasn't foolish enough to believe that he could take on the vigilante.

His words though had an unexpected effect on the wall-crawler. Spider-Man had frozen in his spot, one step away from leaping out the building. The man behind the mask seemed to be debating something intensely inside his head. Turning back around, Spider-Man spoke urgently. "Please, Harry. Just be patient. There has to be another way to cure you."

Harry scowled, his hope raised for a second before his words had dashed it again. "There is no other way, don't you see that? I need your blood. I need your help." He was ashamed to realize he was on the verge of tears. "I'm dying, Spider-Man. You're supposed to be some kind of hero right?" He let out a weak, pained laugh. "Then save me."

He was surprised by the vehemence in Spider-Man's voice. "I want to, Harry! I do, but this isn't the right way!" His eyes narrowed, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.

"Do I know you?"

Spider-Man brought up a hand as if to rub the back of his head, before remembering that he was wearing a mask. Finally, he strode forward as if to say something, then stopped and began to turn away. "I have to go."

"Do I know you?" Harry repeated, more suspicious now. At first he hadn't noticed, but the more he heard the vigilante's voice, the more certain he was that Spider-Man wasn't just some stranger who was refusing a perfectly reasonable request.

The man was silent, back towards him. He suddenly turned back around, shaking his head slightly as if he wasn't sure what he was doing. "It's—It's me, Harry…" And before Harry's stunned eyes, the red and blue crime fighter removed his mask, revealing the young, tired face of his closest friend.

"Peter?" He looked shell-shocked, arms hanging limply by his sides. His eyes narrowed and he lunged forward, grabbing onto his friend's shoulders. "It's you? You're Spider-Man?"

Peter looked solemnly back, unfazed. "Yeah. It's me."

A flash of vulnerability flitted across his face before Harry recovered his mask of rage. "You're…" He took a gulp of air, Adam's apple bobbing as he tried not to react. "You're supposed to be my friend, Peter. Why? Why won't you help me?"

"It could kill you, Harry."

He let out a hysterical laugh, still not quite able to believe that Peter was the illustrious Spider-Man, pulling away from him to gesture to the room, landing back onto the couch carelessly, legs sprawled out against the cushions. "It could kill me. It could kill me. You keep saying it, and I keep telling you…" He closed his eyes, long eyelashes brushing against each other, as he breathed out the next words like an admission. "…Peter. I'm dying. Everything is killing me." The cocky demeanor vanished back into desperation as he clutched at his face. "Please, please, please, Peter. I need your blood. It's the only way."

"You don't know that—"

"The hell I don't!" With a thrust of his arm as he sat up, he sent the remaining glasses on the table flying, shattering against the side of the room. Standing back up with manic energy, Harry was turning red as he grabbed onto the edge of the table and shoved it over, kicking over any object that got in his way as he marched back up to Peter, panting. Their noses were almost touching, calm brown eyes meeting sharp, glowing blue. Harry spoke softly now, almost a whisper of breath from his mouth to Peter's as his heart rate slowed again to normal. "This is my one chance, Peter. Are you just going to let me die, when you could save me?"

A gloved fist clenched and a vein tightened visibly on the superhero's neck as he tried to remain the calm one. "I want to help you, Harry. But this isn't the right way. We need time. Give me time, we can find a cure together."

"I don't have time," he hissed lowly. His voice grew deeper, more gravelly as he struggled not to lunge at the boy who held the cure to all his ills in his hands. "I thought you were my friend."

Peter stared him straight in the eye, his own voice soft. "I am your friend. Please, Harry, believe me. I want to help you, but we need a plan. You can't just stick a needle in me and draw blood. We might not be compatible. Dr. Connors—"

"Dr. Connors was weak. A fool. And I—" he laughed harshly, drawing himself up as straight and strong as he could. "I won't succumb."

Peter continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Dr. Connors tried to cure himself, and ended up mad, almost turning all of New York in lizard-men."

"Then I'll turn all of New York into spider-men," he said carelessly, waving a hand mockingly towards his friend's direction. "Or should I say, Spider-Man? It worked out so great the first time."

"This isn't a joke, Harry!" Peter snapped, finally losing his temper. "I got lucky. The potential mutations that my blood could cause…or just kill you outright—the possibilities of failure are staggering! I want you to live. I want you to be okay, you know?" He dragged a hand down his face, trying to find some semblance of balance. His voice was muffled behind his hand, the words reluctant to meet the air. "I already lost my parents…Uncle Ben…I can't bear to lose you too."

The paler boy hesitated, taken off-guard by the raw pain in his voice. "Peter—"

"Please, Harry. Please, give me time. We can find you a cure, together. One that won't kill you or drive you insane in the process." This time it was Peter who grabbed Harry by the back of his head, making eye contact as he brought their heads close together, foreheads almost touching. "Please let me help you."

His light blue eyes shifted back and forth across Peter's face, as if trying to find answers. They stood there for a few tense minutes, Harry clearly torn between his intense need for an immediate solution and his closest friend's desperate request. Finally, his shoulders dropped from their defensive hunch and he let out a long sigh of defeat, pulling slightly away from his friend's limp grip to run a hand through his hair. "All right, Peter. We'll do it your way. One month. But!" he said quickly, wanting to put down his own set of rules. "If we can't figure out another way by then, we try my way."

He shook his head, not satisfied with the offered time limit. "Give me six. We need time to research the disease, to see the historical pattern. And we're going to need equipment."

"Peter," Harry said mockingly. "I'm Harry Osborn, remember? We have all the equipment in the world at our disposal. Two months."

"Six," he said stubbornly. "I'm not kidding; I need time. I want to help, but if we're going to find a viable solution, we're going to have to do this very thoroughly."

Harry shook his head, half bemused and half irritated. "You really are something, Peter Parker. Fine. Six months. You'll have all the necessary equipment and files on my family's medical history at your disposal." He snorted, shoving Peter lightly in the shoulder, the first semblance of normalcy since Peter had taken off the mask. "You better feel honored, Parker. My family's history is not something we show just any schmuck off the street. It's practically as classified as the president's choice between boxers or briefs."

Rubbing his shoulder lightly, Peter managed a grin. "Uh yeah, very honored. Thanks."

There was an awkward pause as the casual air fell away once more. For the first time, neither knew what to say to the other with the reveal of Spider-Man and Harry's impending death hanging in the air.

Peter glanced at Harry, who was unashamedly studying him back, and concern flickered across his face at how pale and fragile his childhood friend looked, the shy smile of a boy unused to a friendly face completely hidden behind the cold armor of a man used to people lying to his face. He had always been a little off from everyone else and had always been proud of that, but now Harry held himself tall and tight as if he could shatter at any moment. "You're…" Peter cleared his strangely thick throat. "You're going to be all right, Harry."

Harry merely looked at him with his light blue eyes, jerking his head down slightly in what could have been agreement. But the words were clear in his gaze.

I'm putting a lot of faith in you. Don't fail me, Peter.