Chapter Text
Otto Octavius opened his eyes into a hazy, cold darkness. He felt weightless, suspended in murk. The edges of his coat were illuminated in wavering orange light from somewhere behind (or perhaps below) him. He was underwater, he realized vaguely as he reached a hand out in front of him. His mechanical arms, too, felt strangely light, even though he knew they must be dragging him down. The sensors in the claws told him that one of them was caught in something, a framework of twisted metal.
He hadn’t known exactly what to expect after he was pulled back into his own universe. His best guess had been that he’d find himself back in the warehouse, with his claws around Peter Parker’s neck and the fusion reactor burning bright before him like a miniature sun. Now that his mind was his own again, he could see that it would fail just as the first one had. But he’d had a plan anyways, for when or if he was sent back. First release Peter, of course. Say he’d had a change of heart (it would be easier than explaining the whole other universes thing…). And if the reactor had already become self-sustaining by then, stop fusion by injecting enough iron into it to grind the reaction to a halt. And that’s how you kill a star, he’d say with a grin.
But the light below him must be the fusion reactor. Somehow, it had ended up in the river. Maybe the iron hadn’t been enough, and he (or more likely Parker) had opted to try and destroy the reactor by cooling it down. Which, of course, led to the next question; why was he in the river along with it?
And you, Doc Ock… Flint Marko’s words came back to him. You drown in the river with your machine. Well, it looked like Marko had been right.
The arms were weighing him down, caught in the frame of the reactor. But somehow, the whole situation didn’t feel so bad. In fact, it was strangely peaceful, even as he drew in lungfuls of water. Feeling strangely detached, he went limp and let the weight of the arms drag him down. Darkness was crowding around the edges of his vision, or maybe it was the light from the reactor, finally going out.
No. A sudden burst of resolve flooded through him. I’m not dying this easily.
He forced his limbs into motion. His organic reactions felt sluggish, like he was moving through molasses, but the mechanical arms still responded fine. With a twist, he wrenched the trapped one free and plunged the others down, searching for anything solid.
After a few moments of flailing, one of his claws closed around something, a beam from the warehouse or maybe part of the reactor. He pushed away from it and up towards what he desperately prayed was the surface. A moment later, his head broke through into cold, clear air.
Otto coughed and gasped, his lungs burning, even as the forces of the river and the weight of the actuators threatened to drag him back under again. His eyes stung, but he forced them to stay open.
The sky above him was inky black, the banks of the river vague and unfamiliar. But just up ahead, a low bridge crossed over the river. That was his chance. There were metal cables sagging down from the underside of the bridge, part of some support system maybe, or just a symptom of neglect. As the river carried him beneath the bridge, he lashed out with the actuators and caught hold of a cable.
He clung to it with all his might, coughing up river water as the current tried to tug him away again. But he grabbed hold of the cable with a second claw, and slowly, slowly, inched along it towards the shore.
Finally, his feet touched solid ground. Otto kept a hold on the cable just in case, even though the river was calmer here, swirling gently around his legs like it hadn’t just tried to kill him. He’d emerged from the water under the shadow of the bridge, and as he made his way towards the bank, he stumbled over several clumps of refuse. His coat hung heavy over his shoulders, completely soaked, and curls of sodden hair stuck to his forehead. His sunglasses were gone, probably lost in the river.
When he finally reached the bank, he collapsed against the base of the bridge, his airways still feeling like someone had stuffed them with razors. The taste of the river lingered in his mouth, no matter how many times he coughed and spat and wiped his mouth on his unhelpfully sodden sleeve. God, he didn’t even want to think about what might be in that water. It’d be some miracle if he didn’t get sick after this. Actually, he thought, shivering, That’s assuming I don’t freeze to death first.
The night air wasn't that cold, at least not unreasonably so for early fall, but soaked as he was, Otto was soon shivering uncontrollably and feeling more than a little sorry for himself. He had no idea what part of the city he was in, how far the river had taken him, or even how much time had passed in this universe since he’d left it. And more importantly, he had no idea what he was going to do next.
He’d seemingly been washed pretty far downriver, though not all the way to the bay. The towering lights of the city had shrunk into the background, and been replaced by industrial warehouses and stacks of shipping containers along the edge of the river. The bridge that had saved him appeared to be for industrial use too, though given its dilapidated appearance it didn’t seem to be particularly important. All in all, uninviting surroundings. But at least he wouldn’t have to worry about any bystanders calling the police about a man with four metal limbs welded to his back emerging from the river in the middle of the night.
He was probably quite the sight, dripping and pathetic in his waterlogged trenchcoat like a big dog left out in the rain. The actuators rested limply on the ground, meekly waiting for commands that Otto was too tired to give. He reached down to feel the jagged stump at the end of the damaged one, where the claw should have been, and an uncomfortable jolt ran through his nerves as he brushed one of the exposed sensors.
Lapdog. Norman’s voice- no, the Goblin’s, echoed in his mind. Otto pushed it away impatiently. He had more important things to focus on than the half-hearted taunts of someone who was, by now, long dead.
When he’d first seen Nor-the Goblin on the bridge, he’d firmly refused to believe it was really him. It had been easier than the alternative. But then the boy, Peter (Otto still had a hard time thinking of him as Peter Parker), had brought him in, and Otto had been forced to admit that the man gazing in at him from the other side of the cell really was Norman Osborn, alive and breathing. Otto still hadn’t quite figured out how to feel about that.
But it was irrelevant anyways. The fact that they’d met again had been a fluke, a one-in-a-million joke of the cosmos. Hell, from what Peter had told him, that might not have even been the exact Norman who Otto had known, just a very similar someone from a very similar universe. Regardless, Otto was back in his own universe now, one in which Norman Osborn had died years ago.
I wonder if the others all made it back home.
Speaking of which, he needed to figure out where the hell he was going to go next. Oscorp was out of the question, as was the warehouse he’d been using to build the second fusion reactor, assuming it was even still standing (the place had been mostly metal, and if the reactor’s magnetic field had destabilized again…).
Of course, there was always his penthouse, the one he’d shared with Rosie. He could return to his own bed, to the little well-stocked kitchen, to the grand steel-framed windows overlooking the street below and the giant philodendrons clustered in every corner (Rosie had always loved plants). But of course, none of it would be the same, not after what had happened. A shudder ran through him, from more than the cold this time.
No, he couldn’t go back there. And anyways, it was highly possible that the police might still be looking for him. Returning to his place of residence would be the height of stupidity.
Regardless, it wouldn’t do him any good to stand here freezing his ass off. He’d allowed himself his moment of self-pity, and now it was time to start doing something about it.
So Otto started walking, following the riverbank back the way he’d come. He had no clue where he was going, but there didn’t seem to be many other options available to him. And it was better than huddling under a bridge.
The city that never sleeps really was an apt name for New York. Even at this hour, the sounds of music and shouting and distant sirens echoed from the surrounding neighborhoods, and the skyline glowed with light pollution, each building outlined in neon and glittering with a million lit windows. Down here by the river, though, what little light reached the bank was dim and murky. It was easy on his eyes, at least.
As he wandered, Otto passed by dark shapes that might have been anything from trash bags to human bodies, tucked away against the cement wall that separated the riverbank from the industrial plants. He made sure not to look too closely at any of them.
After an indeterminate amount of time, the bank began to get narrower, so Otto scrambled up onto the cement wall and continued along the top of it. After a little while, he passed by what looked like a lumber yard, filled with vast piles of cut wood half-covered by tarps. Aside from the gentle flapping of the tarps in the breeze, there was no sign of movement.
As far as places to hide out for a night, it seemed safe enough. And even if it wasn’t, what could possibly be a threat to him now? Otto let the actuators curl into a defensive position, snapping them in the air just to remind himself that they were there. He was still acutely aware of the missing one (it was Flo), but three working claws were more than enough.
Otto dropped down to the other side of the wall, letting the tentacles absorb most of the shock. Still, his tired muscles protested, and he winced as a jolt of pain ran through his back.
The yard was dark and shadowy, but Otto could still see well enough to spot a gap between two tall piles of boards, large enough for him to fit into while still being relatively concealed. Spending the night in a lumber yard… he thought wryly as he made his way towards it, pulling a tarp off a smaller pile of lumber as he went. You’ve really reached rock bottom, Octavius.
The gap turned out to be larger than he’d expected, mostly sheltered by overlapping boards and with enough space that he could almost stand without hunching. Almost. Breathing in the damp sap-scented air, Otto squeezed into the shelter, actuators curling around themselves to make room.
He could spend a few hours here, until sunrise at least. Maybe tomorrow he’d be able to come up with a better idea of what to do next.
He’d started shivering again, and it occurred to him that both his outer coat and the lighter coat he wore under it were still heavy with water. They would only make him colder, so he eased both coats off his shoulders, untangling them from the actuators and replacing them with the tarp, which he wrapped around himself. It might not be much, but at least it was dry, even if it did smell like wood chips and dirt.
Otto tossed both coats over a board that stuck out a bit by the entrance to his makeshift shelter, in the hope that maybe they would have dried a bit by morning. There was a heavy-sounding clunk. Otto frowned. He dug through the folds of damp fabric until he found the pockets, sifting through a few gold coins (the last of the money from the bank robbery), and then his fingers closed around something larger. Round, about the size of his fist, and despite its trip through the freezing waters of the East River, still gloriously warm to the touch.
Heart beating faster, Otto pulled the miniature reactor out of his coat pocket and held it up. It pulsed with a blue-white glow so bright that Otto had to squint against its glare, wishing he still had his sunglasses. When he’d taken the device off of Max Dillon, his only thought had been of stopping the man. But afterwards, as he’d stared into its glow, he’d started to consider the device’s true value. It was a stable, self-sustaining energy source, a hundredth of the scale of his own failed fusion reactor and yet it produced enough energy to run entire buildings, not to mention turn Max into a nearly unstoppable force. The power of the sun, in the palm of his hand.
So naturally, he’d slipped it into his pocket. It had been too much of an opportunity to pass up, his life’s goal manifested so perfectly. In the chaos of the battle against Norm- Green Goblin, and his subsequent trip back to his own universe, he’d mostly forgotten about it. But now that he was home, with the device safe and intact…
Maybe I can still realize my dream. Maybe Rosie’s death won’t have to be in vain.
He would need resources, of course. Tools and equipment, a place to work, not to mention money. But he would make do. He always did. And then maybe, just maybe, he could begin to atone for the harm he’d caused.
Otto curled up on his side, leaning against the boards and tucking the tentacles mostly under himself as some meager protection from the chill of the concrete. He could hear something crawling around inside the wood pile, rats probably, and his back was definitely going to feel worse tomorrow, but he was too tired to care much about either of those things.
He kept the reactor covered by the tarp, but held it close against his chest, feeling its warmth through his turtleneck like an ember. Slowly, despite the pain and the chill in his bones and the ever-present background noise of the city, his eyes drifted closed.