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[forasecond]

@ callidus » "Make it quick."

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0.01 Luther

0.03 Allison

Harry

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[forasecond]

Chalkboard paint, it's useful.
And a whole wall is bigger than any whiteboard I could get.

--

An address is really all he needs. He knows the place, and it's easy to pop in. No need for Harry to do anything banal like get up and answer a door when he can literally just suddenly exist in the apartment, right?

"What's the occasion?" he asks, eyebrow perked slightly as he settles in one of the chairs in the living room of Harry's apartment. "Did you make a real move on that honeypot scheme of yours you were talking about a few weeks ago?" Mostly, he's joking. But it was one of their more entertaining conversations, to say the least.

[nepotis]

the fucking dust, though. dude.

Henry doesn't flinch when Five pops into existence, being halfway through a glass of whiskey anyway. He just drops his phone onto a side table and gestures with the hand holding the glass towards his liquor cabinet, which is well stocked with a variety of bottles. Harry's priorities when furnishing a new apartment might have been a little bit skewed.

"Help yourself. And no, it's nothing like that. Though I do plan on texting that guy back..." Once he's out of his stupor.

He takes another sip of his drink, flopping sideways onto his couch with an almighty slouch.

"You ever have someone completely fuck you over? Like... You asked them for help and they knew you really fucking needed it, and they were the only person who could give it to you, and they still said no?"

[forasecond]

"Yeah? Keep me updated," the situation is entertaining, at least, if nothing else. He grabs a glass and a decanter of bourbon to pour a generous glass for himself before going back to settle in the chair, glancing over at Harry.

Something has brought this on, he's sure of it, and the almost huffy state of him says it definitely isn't any sort of good news.

Five's eyebrows arch upward at that ask. "That's a pretty specific scenario, but- yeah," he nods a little, mind wandering to that very first meeting with The Handler, and all the subsequent ones after that were essentially 'Just one more job and we'll get you back to your family, Number Five.' Empty promises, just as bad as flat-out denials, maybe worse if only for the false hope it installs somewhere in your chest to hear the possibility.

He would ask the details, but... he thinks if Harry wanted him to know those, he'd have said as much, so instead he keeps it to just, "Who is it?"

[nepotis]

"You'll be the first person I tell."

It's definitely not any sort of good news. Harry gestures wildly with his hands from his half-reclined position, coming close to spilling his drink, then reining himself in at the last second.

"Spider-Man." Five might have heard the name around. After all, there are several versions of the superhero here. "Who I just found out is actually, secretly, my best friend since I was seven!"

[forasecond]

“Better be,” he sounds equal parts serious and teasing at once.

He nods as he sips at his bourbon. He’s certainly heard that name once or twice. “Ah— that stings.” Not the alcohol, but that unfortunate truth. “So, you’re taking the news well.” He can’t be anything but caustic and snarky, Harry, please don’t expect literally anything else from him.

[nepotis]

Harry pushes himself upright, glaring at Five in indignation.

"I found out last month and for the most part have been handling it fine," he argues. But obviously something has changed recently to tip him over the edge. He doesn't want to spill Peter's secret— he does still at least respect his friend that much— so he doesn't want to mention the fact that all the Spider-Men here are also actually all the Peter Parkers here.

"I just— Who fucking does that?! Who fucking lets their best friend wither away and die without giving him the one thing he needs to cure himself?!"

[forasecond]

His eyebrows lift at that: was this what taking everything well looked like, buddy? But he didn’t say anything. His face probably said plenty m.

Five hasn’t forgotten this— terminal disease, no cure, prognosis not good. He’s guessing this means Harry either hasn’t found, or hasn’t looked for, any better alternatives. “Are you sure he can cure you?” Best friend? Either Harry has worse taste in friends than he thought— and hey, Five is one of his inner circle, so maybe there’s something to that thought— or there’s more to the story.

[nepotis]

Harry's looked for other ways of healing himself. Nothing seems to work, at least not permanently. He's looking fine now, all things considered, but that's just because he's fresh off of taking out his frustrations on some random asshole in a back alley. (Which he is not about to admit to, thank you very much.)

"His blood is... mutated or something. Gene-spliced DNA, able to heal itself." There's more to it than that, but 1) saying anything more specific might spill Peter's secret, and 2) Harry's too drunk to really remember the scientific mumbo jumbo about cross-species genetics.

"If there was anything, or anyone, back home that could be used to find a cure... It would be his blood."

[forasecond]

He hums a soft non-committal sound and nods a little. It makes as much sense as anything in the way preternatural human biology does.

"There's probably still plenty of room for something like gene-spliced, mutated DNA to go incredibly sideways, but I get it," he admits with a slight nod. "If you're doomed to die anyway, you may as well give the most radical possibility a shot. It won't make it any worse, right?"

Even if Five might argue there are plenty of things much worse than death.His opinions have no place in this conversation.

[nepotis]

Getting more and more agitated as the conversation goes on, Harry downs the rest of his glass and pushes himself up to stalk over to the liquor cabinet and get a refill.

"I get it. It could have gone horribly wrong. That's not the point. I'm over that now!" He is clearly not over it, given the way he's acting, but whatever. He refills his drink and starts pacing the floor.

"The point isn't whether or not it would have worked. The point is that he lied to me. I told him I needed Spider-Man's blood and he could have told me right then and there that he was Spider-Man, but he didn't. He lied to my face."

[forasecond]

Five is... utterly unphased by the agitation. If anything, it only gets him a flat look at best as he watches Harry get to his feet and grab more liquor from the cabinet. He doesn't comment on the fact that he's clearly not over it, instead he just sips at his own drink and watches him, lets him get it all out, because sometimes that's all there is.

"Answer this-" he says, setting his glass down. "What difference do you think it would have made in that moment? When you were making those demands for Spider-Man's blood- if he'd told you they were one and the same... do you think it would have made you feel better to get the rejection for what you saw as the only potential cure from your best friend, rather than a faceless stranger?"

Five thinks, actually, it would have been ten times worse if he'd known then, instead of finding out now.