Harry would've liked to be able to say that, when he saw that creature about to stab Peter with his hoverboard, time slowed to a crawl like you saw in the movies and that he knew what would happen to him before he acted. That would be lie however. Everything happened in a split second, he saw the blades coming towards Peter and realised in that moment, that the one thing he couldn't deal with was Peter dying. Harry's sole thought, when he dove in front of Peter, was that he had to save him, no matter what it took. Getting impaled, by his own hoverboard no less, hadn't exactly been what he'd intended.
Later, as he lay bleeding out in MJ's arms, Harry wondered if it had been worth it. It wasn't until he heard Peter's voice that he decided, given the choice, he'd gladly do the same thing again. Feeling everything slip away, Harry closed his eyes as he sunk into darkness, reassured that he'd finally, finally managed to do something right....
Opening his eyes, the first thought that crossed his mind was that the bed he was currently lying on was distinctly less comfortable than what he was used to. His second thought was that, after bravely sacrificing your life to save that of your best friend, the quality of the bedding wasn't supposed to be a major concern. If this was the afterlife he definitely wanted a refund. Sitting up and looking around, Harry decided he probably wasn't in any sort of afterlife the churches wanted you to believe in. Lifting his shirt (or at least, the shirt he was wearing, it certainly wasn't anything he himself would have chosen to wear) Harry stared blankly at where he distinctly remembered sporting two gaping wounds what seemed like only seconds ago.
He was just contemplating getting up and trying to find out what was going on - and what had happened to his chest wounds, not that he missed them, but it was a bit disconcerting to wake up perfectly fine after dying - when the door opened and a nurse bustled in.
“Awake already, are we Mr. Osborn?” she trilled, “and how are we feeling this morning?”
Harry stared at her blankly for a moment before asking, "Where am I? And what the hell is going on here?"
Smiling in a slightly condescending manner, the nurse replied, "You're at Landel's Institute, you just arrived this morning, dear. You've been... unwell. But don't worry, we're going to have you all better in no time!"
Unwell? Harry frowned. "What do you mean 'unwell'? Last thing I remember was..." Wait, did anyone know it had been him at the construction site? Maybe Peter and MJ had given some excuse for his injuries, to protect his identity?
Watching him a moment, the nurse smiled again, glancing at his face and quickly looking away again. "It's understandable you're a little confused, you've had a rather trying time, so I hear."
Noticing her gaze, Harry raised a hand to the side of his face, brushing his fingers over the scars there. Scowling at the expression of pity on her face, he snapped, "Could you explain just what you mean by saying I've been 'unwell'? Somehow I don't think you mean a bout of the 'flu. The last thing I remember, I'd been stabbed, now I'm fine! Just what the hell is going on here!"
"Now, calm down Mr Osborn, there's no need to shout," the nurse replied disapprovingly. "You're perfectly fine and there's certainly no need for you to get so worked up."
Harry frowned, not sure what to think. How long had it been since the fight in the construction site? Had he gotten amnesia again? A voice at the back of his mind that sounded worryingly like his father's muttered something about selective forgetfulness, but Harry was used to ignoring things that he didn't want to think about.
Smiling once again, the nurse came over and patted his arm reassuringly. "Don't worry yourself too much about what's happened, just focus on getting better. Why don't we start by getting you some breakfast? Maybe getting some food in you and meeting some of the other patients will help you cheer up!" Not waiting for a response, the nurse gently tugged on Harry's arm, leading him out of the room and into, well, wherever he was.
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Later, as he lay bleeding out in MJ's arms, Harry wondered if it had been worth it. It wasn't until he heard Peter's voice that he decided, given the choice, he'd gladly do the same thing again. Feeling everything slip away, Harry closed his eyes as he sunk into darkness, reassured that he'd finally, finally managed to do something right....
Opening his eyes, the first thought that crossed his mind was that the bed he was currently lying on was distinctly less comfortable than what he was used to. His second thought was that, after bravely sacrificing your life to save that of your best friend, the quality of the bedding wasn't supposed to be a major concern. If this was the afterlife he definitely wanted a refund. Sitting up and looking around, Harry decided he probably wasn't in any sort of afterlife the churches wanted you to believe in. Lifting his shirt (or at least, the shirt he was wearing, it certainly wasn't anything he himself would have chosen to wear) Harry stared blankly at where he distinctly remembered sporting two gaping wounds what seemed like only seconds ago.
He was just contemplating getting up and trying to find out what was going on - and what had happened to his chest wounds, not that he missed them, but it was a bit disconcerting to wake up perfectly fine after dying - when the door opened and a nurse bustled in.
“Awake already, are we Mr. Osborn?” she trilled, “and how are we feeling this morning?”
Harry stared at her blankly for a moment before asking, "Where am I? And what the hell is going on here?"
Smiling in a slightly condescending manner, the nurse replied, "You're at Landel's Institute, you just arrived this morning, dear. You've been... unwell. But don't worry, we're going to have you all better in no time!"
Unwell? Harry frowned. "What do you mean 'unwell'? Last thing I remember was..." Wait, did anyone know it had been him at the construction site? Maybe Peter and MJ had given some excuse for his injuries, to protect his identity?
Watching him a moment, the nurse smiled again, glancing at his face and quickly looking away again. "It's understandable you're a little confused, you've had a rather trying time, so I hear."
Noticing her gaze, Harry raised a hand to the side of his face, brushing his fingers over the scars there. Scowling at the expression of pity on her face, he snapped, "Could you explain just what you mean by saying I've been 'unwell'? Somehow I don't think you mean a bout of the 'flu. The last thing I remember, I'd been stabbed, now I'm fine! Just what the hell is going on here!"
"Now, calm down Mr Osborn, there's no need to shout," the nurse replied disapprovingly. "You're perfectly fine and there's certainly no need for you to get so worked up."
Harry frowned, not sure what to think. How long had it been since the fight in the construction site? Had he gotten amnesia again? A voice at the back of his mind that sounded worryingly like his father's muttered something about selective forgetfulness, but Harry was used to ignoring things that he didn't want to think about.
Smiling once again, the nurse came over and patted his arm reassuringly. "Don't worry yourself too much about what's happened, just focus on getting better. Why don't we start by getting you some breakfast? Maybe getting some food in you and meeting some of the other patients will help you cheer up!" Not waiting for a response, the nurse gently tugged on Harry's arm, leading him out of the room and into, well, wherever he was.