The Amazing Spider-Man of Young Justice (Season 1)

The Belltower

Harry stood by the large, rain-streaked window of his penthouse, his reflection barely visible in the glass. The storm outside matched the turmoil inside him. He gripped the head of his cane tightly, his knuckles white with frustration. The flickering lights of the city below blurred in the rain, but his mind wasn't on the view. His thoughts were consumed with Spider-Man—him.

The symbiote was supposed to save his life. It was his salvation. And Spider-Man stole i from him. 

The image of Spider-Man's face, covered by that monstrous black suit, had haunted him every night since. The venomous jealousy in Harry's chest bubbled up again as he downed another swig of whiskey. It burned, but not as much as the rage coursing through his veins.

Suddenly, a faint sound broke through his thoughts—the familiar thwip of webslinging.

Harry's eyes shot up, scanning the darkened skyline. Sure enough, through the sheets of rain, he caught a glimpse of Spider-Man swinging by. The black suit clung to him, a reminder of the power Spider-Man had taken from him. His blood boiled over. He couldn't just sit here anymore.

With a pained grunt, Harry pushed himself off the window and stormed toward the door. The whiskey glass clattered onto the table, nearly tipping over. He moved quickly, his footsteps heavy with both anger and urgency, but the weight of his illness slowed him down. His body betrayed him with each step—his weakness, his dying condition. But none of that mattered. Not now. Not when he was out there.

Before he could reach the door, the butler—loyal, ever-watchful—stepped into his path.

"Master Harry," the butler said gently, his hands outstretched in a gesture of concern. "Where are you going at this hour? In your condition—"

"I have to go, Bernard," Harry snapped, his breath ragged from both his illness and the boiling anger. "I'm not going to sit here and watch him—"

"Sir, please," Bernard interrupted, his voice filled with compassion. "You're not well.Your father—" He paused, hesitating before continuing, "Your father didn't take care of himself when he should have. Don't make the same mistake."

That struck a nerve. Harry's grip on his cane tightened, his fingers digging into the smooth surface. He didn't need this lecture. Not now.

"I'm not my father!" Harry spat, his voice filled with venom. "And I don't need saving."

Bernard took a step forward, his face etched with worry. "Harry, your father was driven by the same anger, the same desperation. You know where that path led him. Don't let it lead you there too. This obsession... it'll destroy you."

Harry's face twisted with pain and frustration. He knew Bernard meant well, but it didn't matter. Not now. He couldn't stay here and do nothing. Not when Spider-Man was out there, swinging through the rain as if he hadn't stolen everything from him.

Without another word, Harry brushed past Bernard, ignoring the butler's attempts to stop him. The pain in his chest flared as he moved, but he pushed it down, ignoring the physical weakness clawing at him. His only focus now was finding Spider-Man and taking back what was his.

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Spider-Man swung through the dark, stormy night, his mind a whirlwind of guilt and confusion. The fight with his teammates replayed in his head like a haunting echo. Each punch, each shout of pain—it was all his doing. But it wasn't really him. It was the symbiote. The black suit had been twisting his actions, controlling him in ways he didn't fully understand until now. He had to get rid of it.