Chapter Text
He hears the slap coming before he feels it.
“Doc Ock-” Peter begins, but before he gets to say anything, he feels a palm collide to his cheek once more. Ouch. Peter doesn’t cry out from the pain, though. Instead, he smirks, quip already ready on his tongue like his quips usually are.
“I’m flattered that you settled for me, don’t get me wrong – but aren’t the Avengers a better option? For, y’know, publicity?” Peter says, watching Doc Ock go back to setting up what seemed like a camera.
Which, great. Just what he needed. A recording of… well. Peter isn’t sure just what Doc Ock is gonna do to him, or what he’s gonna record, but he assumes it’s gonna be bad.
(It’s always bad.)
(The threats of torture and death beforehand had been bad enough, really.)
Doc Ock grunts, “Shut up, Spider.”
Naturally, Peter doesn’t shut up, “Also – I get that you’re trying to impress me here, with the, uh… are those mechanical legs? Or are they, like, something else?” Doc Ock doesn’t respond. Figures.
“Whatever. Anyways, whatever it is, it’s freaky, man. Like, I don’t think that’s natural? You should totally get that checked.” And he’s met with silence once more. Great. Just, awesome. Splendid.
In his head, Peter goes through similar words to distract himself from everything that’s going on.
Awesome. Astonishing. Wonderful.
(He loses count after the words magnificent and wondrous.)
When Doc Ock is done setting up the camera, he turns to Peter, a sly smile on his face. He seems almost giddy, Peter thinks. And, in Peter’s experience, a giddy villain is a crazy villain. Great.
“You see this camera? It’s linked to a billboard in Times Square, as well as all the most important news channels.” Doc Ock looks smug, and takes a few steps towards him, smile still etched upon his face.
Peter immediately feels the hairs on his neck shoot straight up, and thinks, oh shit.
Doc Ock lets out a small laugh, and tells him, “I bet they’re all excited to know who the… man… behind the mask is. Don’t you?
Peter splutters out, “Uh, no, I don’t think so, no. Jesus, why do you think I wear a mask? I’m hideous, Doc. Disfigured. Honestly, I thought you’d understand, since your hair is… well, you know… like that.” He rambles on, and decides that he’s not going to show him any fear.
(And, if he’s stalling him slightly by doing so? Well, then that’s just a bonus.)
“What are you-”
Peter sighs dramatically before interrupting him, “Your hair is hideous, Doc, is what I’m trying to tell you.”
Doc Ock growls, “Oh, you little piece of- it doesn’t matter! You’re just trying to distract me!”
(Well. It would’ve been a bonus. If it had worked.)
“What? I’d never- Doc Ock, why would you ever think-”
“My name is Doctor Octavius, and you will treat me with the respect I deserve!” he yells, and sets off one of his metal arms to hit Peter across the face. Peter groans slightly at the impact. The hit hurts, stings even, but Peter doesn’t let the hurt show on his face. He’s not going to break.
(He won’t. He won’t. He won’t.)
He can taste the blood in his mouth, warm and iron-like, and spits it out. Peter groans once more, and he does it dramatically, because what else can he do but keep on a mask? “God, that’s disgusting. Is this how you treat all your friends? Holy cannoli.”
“We are not-! No matter.” Doc Ock hisses, and strides up to him. Without a warning, he rips Peter’s mask off of his face.
Peter instantly panics, “Holy shit-”
(Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!)
(This is it, Peter thinks. This is how my world ends. This is how my life ends.)
He locks his jaw, tries not to let any emotion show on his face. He knows he’s failing, though – his lips are trembling ever so slightly, and his heartbeat beating is loud enough for everyone in the world to hear.
(He’s not made of iron, like Iron Man. He’s not a soldier, like Captain America. He’s not a spy, like Black Widow.)
(He’s just a boy, scared for his life, trying to survive in a world full of pain and terror.)
Doc Ock doesn’t say anything. He just stares at Peter, and jots down notes on a notepad whilst his eyes analyze him. He taps his chin, and breaks the silence by saying, “Interesting… So, the Spider-Man is nothing more than a Spider-Boy, hm? Very interesting indeed…”
Peter takes a deep breath, and tries to regain some of his courage, “That’s rude, y’know… just because I look young? Really? You’re gonna give me a nickname based on that?”
“Oh, you-”
“Also, if you think I look like a boy, doesn’t that make you a pedophile? Like, since this is a date and all- wait, this is a date, right? Or have I been misinterpreting your signals?”
Doc Ock grits his teeth, “Shut your-”
Peter cuts him off and rambles on, like he tends to do in uncomfortable situations, and decides to ignore the increasingly murderous glare that Doc Ock is giving him, “Oh my, I’ve really been- I’m so sorry! See, that’s why I mentioned the Avengers earlier! They’re a much better option, for like, just about everything! I’m not really date material, you see- but I’ve heard that Thor is a surprisingly nice guy, despite his... thundery-ness. Hah. Get it?”
“SHUT UP!” Doc Ock roars, and a metal leg slashes across Peter’s face. It stings, and Peter can’t help but let out a small hiss at the pain that he’s now feeling on his cheek.
“I bet this’ll make you shut up, annoying brat.” Doc Ock growls whilst he places his notepad on a table (What is it with Doc Ock and growling? That seriously can’t be normal) and then briefly leaves the room. While he’s gone, Peter lets his composure fall slightly, lets his face show what he’s really feeling.
He’s putting on a show for Doc Ock, after all, and not the camera.
When he comes back, he’s dragging something – no, someone.
Peter holds his breath, and sits up straight.
(He holds his breath, and his heart along with it.)
The person Octavius dragged in had long brown hair, already greying slightly. It was clear that it was a woman – that much he could tell. She’s wearing something that Peter feels like he should recognize, and it makes the anxiety he’s already feeling inside grow.
“Who- who is that?” Peter’s cool façade is slowly crumbling into ash, fading away into the wall behind him.
Octavius smiles. Then, he turns her around.
Peter’s heart stops beating. A hole, growing from the bottom of his stomach, eats and eats until there’s nothing left of him.
(There’ll be nothing left of her, before he turns into nothingness.)
“What- what did you do,” Peter breathes out. He tugs on the restraints, trying to reach for her.
She’s not only not responsive – she’s bloody all over, almost like… no. No. No. He won’t have another parent bleeding to death in front of him. He won’t accept it. It can’t be – it’s not. It’s not. It’s not.
(But what if it is?)
Octavius just laughs at Peter’s abrupt change in demeanor, and drags his Aunt May closer to him.
(It is. It is. It is.)
“WHAT DID YOU DO!” he now roars, the color red filling his vision. He sees red, only red, and it is anger, it is madness, it is insanity.
(In reality, though, the red isn’t anger nor madness nor insanity.)
(It’s only blood. Her blood.)
He tugs and tugs, no real strength behind it, since he feels weak at the sight of her like that.
Octavius grins, “Not so tough now, Spider? Don’t worry – she’s not dead. Yet.”
Relief fills Peter’s lungs at those words – she’s breathing and she’s alive. She’s not dead. She’s breathing, she’s alive, she’s not dead. She is breathing, she is alive, she is not dead.
(He repeats those words inside his head like they mean something.)
(They don’t only mean something, though. They mean everything.)
“So… your… loved ones. That’s what makes you crack? Not threats of torture, not threats of death, not exposure… but her in pain?”
Peter snarls, “Let her go. She’s not a part of this.”
Octavius laughs, “How exciting!” he claps his hands together, “This experiment has certainly proved to be quite effective, don’t you think?”
Peter isn’t laughing, though. He’s not forgotten Octavius’ words about his aunt not being dead yet, heavy emphasis on the word yet.
“I’m warning you, Octavius.” Peter warns in a low voice, no longer in the mood for chatter.
(Afterwards, when he’s had time to reflect, he’ll remember this. He’ll remember the warning, and he’ll remember staying true to his words.)
Octavius scoffs, “You’re tied up. Your warnings do not phase me.”
“Don’t make me say I told you so,” Peter grunts, and then he pulls, tugs, pulls on the cuffs that are keeping him contained. He lets out a little scream from the straining, but he knows the pain of strong metal tight against his skin will all be worth it in the end.
His cuffs shatter, crumbles to pieces like it was made of glass. Peter feels his skin burning with anger, rage and other feelings he’s too scared and angry to think about.
(He’s feeling murderous – he’s not quite sure what to do with that feeling.)
He sees Octavius look at him in shock, mouth agape, not entirely sure what to do.
“You can touch me. You can torture me. You can kill me. But you do not touch her!” Peter seethed.
Peter lunges forward. He punches Octavius, once, twice, thrice, and then he loses count, loses his sense of time. Peter punches him once “YOU-”, twice “DON’T-”, thrice “TOUCH-”, time is lost “HER!”
Octavius, with his metal hands, isn’t completely useless despite Peter’s rage. He manages to use his mechanical arms to drag himself away from Peter. And he’s fast, fast enough to get away from Peter’s grasp.
Peter is faster.
Octavius slithers away, up against the wall, like a real octopus. It doesn’t really work, though. A spider never eats their prey on the floor, after all.
Peter knows he’s at a disadvantage without his webs – and so, he uses Octavius’s best weapon against him. Peter hurls himself towards the wall, like a predator hunting its prey, and goes for the metal arms. He uses his feet to keep Octavius from escaping, whilst his arms hold onto the metallic arms. He rips them off, bends them with ease, and traps a resisting Octavius under them.
Peter lets go off the wall, and lands in a crouch, hand touching the ground slightly. He stands up straight, fire still blazing in his eyes, and walks up to a terrified Octavius.
Peter breathes heavily through his nose, and says in a low voice, “I only have her left. Did you know that? I’m sure you knew that. But you didn’t care, did you? You don’t give a shit. You only care about yourself, and your god damned projects, and about ruining lives, and about taking and taking but never giving back.”
“I- I didn’t-”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Peter bellows as he slams his hand onto Octavius’ neck. He presses, harder and harder until he can feel him struggling to breathe, struggling to keep himself alive.
His face is white when Peter snarls at him, “You do not touch her.”
Peter lets go off his neck, and watches as Octavius wheezes, tries to catch up his breath. Peter lets him have a moment of fake hope, hope that he’ll be spared. And then he does it again.
“Peter, I think it’s time for you to stop.” A familiar voice says, and it’s so faint, so insignificant.
“Shut up…” he says through gritted teeth, hand still choking Octavius.
“Pete… you’re gonna regret this tomorrow.”
“I SAID SHUT UP!”
“May wouldn’t want this, Peter!”
And it’s this, the reminder of his aunt, that makes Peter snap back into reality. He lets go, and watches as Octavius’ head goes limp along with the rest of his body. He hears the faint voice of FRIDAY, saying that he’s only unconscious.
“What did…” Peter looks down at his hands, bloodied and bruised. “I nearly… I almost… I- I could’ve killed him. I nearly- I”
“But you didn’t. And that’s all that counts.” Tony is there, and he slowly takes Peter’s hands, tugs him softly away from the scene. It’s only then that Peter notices the other Avengers are there as well; War Machine and Captain America and Black Widow.
Peter swallows, “I- I- May is-”
“Already taken care of. She's gonna be fine, kid. Just- let’s go home first, alright?”
Peter tries to listen to Tony’s comforting words, but all he finds himself doing is staring down at his own hands, shaking in fear of himself.