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Chapter Text

Traveling through dimensions was rather like having the floor pulled out from underneath your feet, sudden and jerking. He’d felt the wizard’s spell wash over him (and he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that there were wizards and magic in other worlds), then the other universe faded away and it was like falling, falling back into his body, into a crumbling building on the river. He went from cool and dry to soaking wet, and oh right, the reactor was about to tear apart the city.

And there was Peter. His Peter. Young and fresh-faced and serious. He was speaking.

(It’s good to see you, he’d said a few minutes ago, twenty years in the future, and he’d said it like he was seeing a ghost.) 

“Sometimes, to do what’s right, we have to be steady, and give up the things we want the most. Even our dreams.”

Peter had given up so much already – his dreams, his reputation, and he’d lost them through no fault of his own, not like Otto. Otto wouldn’t let him lose his life, too. He’d been contemplating this since Marko mentioned his demise in the other world – how to avoid it, and then, once back in control, how to shut down the reactor if sent back to the same moment.

He was still coming up blank, except for one solution.

Otto smiled, releasing the boy. “You’re right. You’re right, Peter. I was a fool.”

The young man’s blue eyes widened with surprise. “Dr. Octavius?”

“It’s me again,” Otto assured him. “You’re right,” he said again. “We have to…we have to destroy it.”

“Tell me how,” the young man demanded.

“It can’t be shut down. It’s self-sustaining now,” Otto said quietly. They’d passed that threshold.

“Think!” Peter said desperately, and it was the fear in his voice that ultimately sealed Otto’s decision.

“The river. It has to be drowned.” Peter immediately turned to take action, only for a metal hand to seize his wrist. “I’ll do it,” Otto said firmly. “Get out of here. Get your friend to safety.”

Peter started, quickly coming to the same conclusion Otto had. “What about you?”

He forced himself to smile, reassuring and controlled. “Go help your friend. Then you can come back for me.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. He didn’t want Peter thinking he’d failed when Otto didn’t survive. But he had to spur him on to get the girl out. But first…He didn’t think so, but he had to know. Just to be sure.

“Do you remember, Peter?” he murmured.

The young man looked confused. “Remember…what?”

So, their extradimensional experiences were not synchronous. It hadn’t happened for Peter yet. Very well. Maybe Peter would still know one day.

“Never mind. Go on, get out.”

And with that, he started towards the machine.

The sun. Their sun. Even knowing how destructive it was, he couldn’t help but think that it was beautiful. He’d poured his everything into it; it seemed fitting that it would claim him in the end.

He glanced back, just once, a little reluctant. He didn’t want to die, not now, not when he’d just found so much else to live for. But he thought this might be best, in the end.

To his surprise, Peter was still looking at him, and from his furrowed brow he could tell Otto had been lying to him.

Otto smiled, just a little, trying to convey everything there hadn’t been time to say: I’m sorry, thank you for everything, don’t blame yourself.

And he turned back and reached for the huge metal emitters.

Three claws found purchase, and one…slid limply off. The head of one of his actuators was still missing. Severed, by a deranged Norman Osborn. And of course, he could feel the inhibitor that the little Peter had made still working, muffling the cries of the machines as he forced them to violate their programming and destroy their work.

The changes made in the other universe still held here. Which meant he still had…

The disk. Sleek and deceptively heavy. A self-contained fusion reaction, the little Peter had explained, achieved through the ionization of an element not yet discovered in their own world. He reached for it, mind racing. Maybe there was another way out of this after all.

His own reactor used sympathetic frequencies, self-perpetuating, to exponentially increase the energy output in never-ending growth. But if those frequencies were disrupted, the reaction would shrink and die. There had been no way to do so before, but now –

It was still risky, but not quite so blatantly suicidal. When he opened the device, the output of the smaller reaction, no longer contained, would disrupt his own. It would briefly go into overdrive, expand, and then implode into nothingness as it ran out of fuel. There was a good chance he’d be charred to a crisp, but it was either certain death or just the high probability of it.

“Well. Here goes nothing,” he muttered, and used the deceptively strong smaller claw of an actuator to prise apart the sleek metal.

It resisted at first; it had obviously been built to withstand exactly what he was attempting. But there was a certain petty pleasure in knowing his technology was superior in some way, even if it was destruction. There was a satisfying snap, and then the ionized energy flooded freely into the air.

The effect was instantaneous. The artificial star began to wobble dangerously, before turning a brilliant crimson-red and bloating almost past the boundary of the emitters. The heat was unbearable – the actuators were impervious, but he wasn’t. He closed his eyes, feeling his skin blistering, but he gritted his teeth and held on. He had to see this through, or the reaction would just stabilize again.

After what felt like an eternity of agony, the rumbling lessened, the massive force of the reaction beginning to shrink and die. It was imploding out of existence now, and taking the ruins of the building with it, walls, ceiling, and platform collapsing into the dark river.

Otto braced himself, knowing what was coming and knowing there was no way he could get away in time. The wood beneath his feet shattered, and he was plunged into the water, sinking with the remains of his life’s work.

He could hear the actuators shrieking in the back of his head, terrified, before they went silent – the submersion had shorted them. So, he would die alone. Fixing the inhibitor hadn’t been enough to change his fate.

That was alright. The little Peter had healed him for his final moments; he would die as himself, and he had been able to do some good for his own Peter. That alone made it worth it. And maybe one day, his Peter would be pulled into another universe and get to meet him again.

Maybe Rosie was waiting for him.

With that thought, he closed his eyes, ready to let his battered body rest.

***

Peter landed on the concrete dock, Mary Jane clinging to him, and set her down gently. Even bruised, soaking wet, wide-eyed with rubble and debris in her fiery hair, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“…I think I always knew it was you,” she smiled, and she seemed to light up the darkness around them.

“MJ…”

“ - You do love me,” she finished for him. “I know.”

He trembled, hearing aloud the words he’d kept inside almost his whole life. This woman made him weak in a way no one else did - but she’d made him strong too. “I do. I always have.” He reached for her pale hands. “Listen, you have to run. Get the police, ok? I’m going after Octavius.”

He knew Octavius intended to die. And if he hadn’t been able to get Mary Jane away in time, Peter might have had to let him. He didn’t want to think about that possibility.

She gripped his wrist, blue eyes hard. “Peter. Don’t get yourself killed for him.”

“I won’t,” he promised, and he meant it. They were both going to survive this.

He swung back to the crumbling marina, knowing he could count on her, and looked around desperately for Octavius. The reaction seemed to have grown more intense – it was now red-hot, and he could feel the heat of it scorching his cheeks even from this distance.

But no – as he watched, it began to shrink; and there was Octavius, holding some small glowing white device Peter had never seen before. Whatever it was must be disrupting the sympathetic waves, cutting off the feedback loop. The reaction was dying now, out of fuel, but it had still destabilized too much of the surrounding infrastructure. The machine, the platform, and the walls around them were collapsing into the river, and taking Octavius with them.

Peter jumped down into the water as the wooden support beam he was perched on began to shudder and crumble. The whole building was disappearing now, and there was no sign of Octavius.

The actuators were lightweight, but they weren’t designed for use in water, and they would sink like any other metal, dragging him down. Peter gulped in a breath, realizing what he would have to do and bracing himself, and dove in.

***

The prolonged submersion had shorted the actuators; their glowing white eyes were blank and lifeless, their long metallic bodies trailing limply behind them as Peter dragged Octavius to the remains of the wooden pier.

The man himself was still and unresponsive even as Peter pulled them clear of the river, water trickling from between his lips.

“Doc?” he pleaded weakly. Why didn’t he know what to do in situations like this? “Doc, come on, wake up –“

Oh God, don’t let him be dead, please don’t be dead, wake up –

“Doc? Dr. Octavius?! Otto!” He was begging now, he couldn’t have saved him for nothing, why was he so useless -

Otto shuddered and coughed up stagnant river water, dark eyes fluttering open.

Peter couldn’t stop himself from grinning with relief. “Hey, Doc. You had me worried there for a minute.” He looked pretty disoriented, which Peter supposed was understandable, considering he’d just reclaimed his mind from an AI that was fused to him, been shocked by who knew how much electricity, and then almost drowned, all in the space of about ten minutes. “How are we feeling?”

“…I’ve been better,” Octavius replied with a weary smile, voice scratchy. “But…I’m me again, whatever that entails.” He squinted up at Peter, his eyes straining without his glasses. “You…dove in after me?”

Peter blinked; did Octavius really expect him to just let him die? “Of course.”

Peter became conscious of the wail of police sirens rapidly approaching, and exhaled with relief. Hopefully that meant MJ was ok. He noticed Otto’s dark eyes widen slightly, and he started struggling to rise, only for Peter to place his hands on his shoulders and hold him down. It wasn’t hard; the poor guy could hardly move.

“Take it easy, Doc,” he said gently but firmly. “You were hurt pretty badly. Just…stay here, ok? I’ll help you.”

“Peter,” he rasped before Peter could swing away, “is – is she alright?”

Peter grinned. “Yeah, she’s ok.” He chuckled quietly, attempting to ease Otto’s worry. “She’s faced scarier bad guys than you.”

“I suppose.” Octavius returned the expression, but his was resigned and tight with pain. “Will…will you kindly tell the police I’ll cooperate?”

Peter softened. “Yeah. Yeah, Doc. We’ll work it out.”

As he replaced his mask, he was gratified to see that the cops had thought to bring a prisoner transport van, knowing there was no way Octavius could fit in a normal car. The lead squad car, to his immense relief, contained an officer he knew – or rather, that Spiderman knew.

Officer Davis disapproved of him, and didn’t hide the fact, but Peter didn’t mind – he was fair-minded, practical, and he always tried to give everyone a chance. Nothing else really mattered in Peter’s book.

“Shoulda known you’d be here first,” Davis said as way of an introduction. “You got Octavius?”

“I have him,” Peter confirmed. “He’s by the docks. I sent Ms. Watson ahead – did she make it to you guys?”

“She’s heading to the station right now. We’ll take her statement and let her go.”

Peter exhaled with relief; MJ had made it. He’d go to her as soon as he could. He owed her a long overdue explanation.

“We’ll have to do something about those arms before we take Octavius in,” Davis muttered.

“Well they can’t…really be restrained,” Peter explained awkwardly. “But he surrendered. He’ll come quietly, he told me.”

Davis frowned; not challenging, just questioning. “You believe him?”

“I do,” Peter replied firmly. “I’ll vouch for him. He wasn’t in his right mind before. But he was the one that destroyed the machine, not me.”

“Alright.” Davis nodded. He still looked wary. “Bring him up here. We’ll take him in.”

“He’s hurt,” Peter informed him. “He needs treatment first.”

“Understood.”

Satisfied, Peter vaulted back to the docks where Octavius was waiting. It was hard to tell, but he thought the man looked nervous.

“What did they say?”

“I told them you surrendered. They’ll question you at the hospital.” Peter frowned slightly, noticing something beneath Octavius’ dark, dripping hair as he helped him up. “Doc…did you get a new inhibitor chip?”

“…Yes.”

“When did you repair it? I didn’t see –“

Octavius’ lips twitched in a knowing smile. “I didn’t repair it. You did.”

“What –“

“I promise I’ll tell you everything, Peter. I know I have no right to ask you to trust me-“

“But I do,” Peter interrupted. “I’m gonna want that story later,” he grinned under the mask, “but I trust you.”

He stood to the side as Davis read Octavius his rights and cuffed him (“for all the good it’ll do,” Davis muttered).

The officer nodded stiffly at the actuators when he was finished. “Can you do anything about those?”

“They’re under my control now,” Octavius explained calmly. “The artificial intelligence in them infected my thinking. The part that allows me to maintain my own mind was broken, but Spiderman repaired it.”

Davis glanced at Peter skeptically, who nodded confirmation. He didn’t really know what had happened, but he did believe Octavius wasn’t a threat anymore.

Spiderman’s job was done; now that he knew Octavius was ok, he didn’t want to stick around any longer than he had to.

***

Climbing into the prisoner transport van, Otto felt the telltale shiver all the way down his damaged spine and heard the soft clicking whir as the actuators came back online. They purred in response to his relief; he could have repaired them if they’d really been broken, but he may not have had access to the proper tools for some time. He was glad he’d built them to be both durable and adaptive; besides, their dead weight had been starting to ache his already sore body.

The cops had yelled in alarm and pulled their guns as the previously lifeless machines unfolded gracefully with a slight hiss, but they relaxed when he did not start tearing off car doors. Otto silently thanked God none of them were too trigger-happy. That would have been a fine end to the second chance Peter – both of them – had given him.

“We can’t really bolt those things down,” the officer that he’d seen Peter talking to said sternly, “but at the first sign of trouble, I doubt they make you immune to bullets.”

“I understand,” Otto nodded.

There was a security ward at the hospital, and he was placed there. He wasn’t too enthusiastic about the idea, since he obviously had such a great track record with hospitals. But he didn’t really have a choice either. At least it was a different hospital than the…earlier one. He didn’t think he ever wanted to see that place again, and he was sure the feeling was mutual.

There were five cops with guns at the ready present as the doctors looked him over. It was humiliating, but he was far too tired to care.

“Dr. Octavius, you’re quite dehydrated,” one of the nurses informed him. “We’ll put you on fluids in a bit.”

He nodded in understanding, then remembered, with a pang of sadness, the little Peter’s aunt, offering him water. After being forced out of the apartment, he’d seen on the news that she didn’t make it. She’d deserved a kinder end than that.

“He’ll need to stay overnight,” the doctor who seemed to be in charge – he couldn’t remember what she’d told him her name was - was saying to the cop. “So we can keep an eye on those burns. And we’ll do some x-rays,” the doctor explained, turning to Otto. “Just to take a look at your spine, see if there’s anything we can do.” 

There isn’t, he almost said, but he merely nodded in acknowledgment. Let them do what they liked. At least he could be sure he wouldn’t kill them all this time.

The lights here were too bright for his damaged eyes, and he’d lost his glasses. He was so tired.

The actuators trembled slightly in protest to the scans – he’d made them impervious to radiation, but they didn’t like it – but they were being strangely quiet. Even with the inhibitor, he could hear their whispers on the edge of his consciousness, but now there was nothing. He wondered if they too could be afraid or haunted.

The results were as he expected. His vertebrae were fused by molten metal. All they could do, the doctor explained, deeply apologetic, was sever the actuators at their base, but the spinal connection itself could not be removed. At least not without several surgeries, the outcome of which would be he’d probably never be able to walk again.

Naturally, he declined that option. He was keeping the actuators, too. If he was stuck with the harness, he may as well put the attachments to good use, inconvenient as they might be to everyday life.

Besides, even if they’d developed minds of their own, he was responsible for them. It didn’t seem right to give them life only to take it away.

It was a relief when the medical personnel finally finished looking over him like some kind of exotic scientific specimen and left, saying he should rest. He was stuck with the security, but they did not seem inclined to make conversation with him, something he didn’t mind in the least.

Otto sighed, closing his eyes, bone-achingly weary. He’d almost been killed by Spiderman, sucked into another universe, met a man he’d thought was dead, learned he himself was meant to die, had his mind freed from the AI that had manipulated him for months, fought a guy made out of electricity, came back to his own world, almost burned to death, and then drowned. And then been brought here at gunpoint to be continuously poked and prodded. His spine was still tingly and sore, like it had been yanked every which way by the actuators during the battle in the other universe – which, he supposed, it had. They’d wiped him down for treatment, but he still stank faintly like the river. It seemed to make his sore muscles ache even more, the realization that he’d probably never be able to take a proper shower or bath again.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, let alone slept. It had been a very, very difficult few months.

The hospital bed could hardly be called comfortable, and he had to lay awkwardly on his side with the actuators splayed out behind him and an IV in the arm not cuffed to the bed. He hated being surrounded by people, but he was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

***

Peter knocked on MJ’s door, hesitant and uncertain. He needed to see her, to know she was alright, but he didn’t think he could bear the condemnation in her eyes when she faced him again. He realized with a jolt of guilt that while he knew her address, he’d never actually been inside the place.

She looked tired, but unsurprised as she opened the door. Her smile, weary as it was, was dazzling. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he greeted, drooping a little in relief. “Can I come in?”

“Sure. Sorry if it’s warm in here, I just got out the shower.”

“Yeah, you smell nice.” He blinked, backtracking immediately. That wasn’t why he was here. “Sorry, I still smell like the Hudson…Anyway…are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said quietly. Her eyes were shadowed. “He didn’t hurt me. Are you ok? You got banged around a lot.”

“Trust me,” he chuckled, “I’ve been through way worse.”

Mary Jane pursed her lips. “What about Octavius? Did he make it?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” He grinned in resignation, remembering the bruises the man had put on him. “Octavius is a tough nut to crack. Anyway…” he shrugged sheepishly. “Now you know.”

She smiled, but it seemed sad. “Now I know.”

“MJ, look,” Peter sighed, deflating. “I wanted to be honest with you. So many times. I’m sorry –“

“No, I’m sorry,” she cut him off gently. “I judged you, so harshly, without even asking if you were alright. I should have known you had a good reason for everything.”

“It’s not your fault!” he protested quickly. “I mean, my timing – time management – it sucks! Even before all this! It’s not like I just started letting you down. I mean, if I was you, I’d be fed up too.”

“Yeah, you’ll have to get better at that,” she teased. “But I’m willing to work on it if you are.”

His insides froze. “Mary Jane…you know now why we can’t be together. If my enemies found out about you, and you got hurt, I’d never be able to live with myself. I came…I came to say goodbye.”

“So what?” she laughed harshly. Of all the reactions he’d been anticipating, that wasn’t one of them. “Octavius came after me today and he didn’t even know who you were yet. You honestly think I’m just going to be fine if I pretend like you don’t exist? There will always be risks, Pete.”

“But that doesn’t mean I have to go around making them worse!” He swallowed, remembering Ben. “I’m done tempting fate.”

Mary Jane did not look away. Her gaze was as cold and determined as it had been in the café. “John wanted to stay with me tonight. I told him I wanted to be alone. Because I knew you’d show up in my doorway. And tomorrow, I’m going to see him and apologize and tell him the wedding’s off. Whether you want me or not, I won’t marry a man I know now I don’t love. Peter…” she paused. “Every day, you make the hard choice instead of the safe one. Won’t you let me do the same?” 

Brave, beautiful Mary Jane Watson. He’d been dreading the moment she discovered his identity, even as he’d longed for her to know the truth, because he’d been so sure she would turn away from him. And here she was, standing in front of him, offering to share this life with him despite knowing what might happen if she did.

Somehow, everyone had made it out alive tonight – it was a night for second chances, of things actually going his way for once. And Peter was tired of denying himself the one person he wanted above all else.

“…Thank you, Mary Jane,” he murmured.

And it was easy to forget everything when she pulled him in and pressed her lips to his.

Chapter Text

“Well…here it is,” Peter said awkwardly. “We got all your old stuff and everything.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Otto said sincerely. “I appreciate it.”

It was the first time he’d seen his old brownstone since…before the accident. Peter seemed leery about how he would react, and he didn’t want to make the boy uncomfortable. And it was nice to be in a proper home again; he’d been bounced around between jails for months awaiting trial. They kept finding excuses to move him, knowing he could probably easily break out of any prison if he so chose. In the end, they’d decided to confine him here.

Normally, we’d never consider house arrest for crimes so severe, the judge had said sternly. But yours is a unique case, Dr. Octavius.

With the impaired judgment caused by the AI - the Oscorp blueprints helpfully provided by Norman proved he hadn’t been entirely in control of himself - they’d decided to treat his case like substance abuse rehab. He was being allowed to live in his old flat, but he had an ankle monitor and would be subject to periodic visits from a psychiatrist. And since the danger he presented was on his very person, he would need not only permission but accompaniment from his probation officer if he wanted to go anywhere.

Naturally, there’d been dissent. There were plenty of people who felt forcing him to remove the actuators, even if it meant paralysis, was nothing less than he deserved. He wasn’t angry; he didn’t blame them in the slightest. But in the end, it had been ruled unconstitutional to force a procedure.

You’re setting all kinds of precedents, his Osborn-recommended lawyer had informed him with a lazy grin. There’s a lot of stuff we’ll probably have to name after you. Admittedly, not quite the way he’d hoped to be written into textbooks, but hey. He was happy to help.

All in all, it wasn’t a terrible sentence. It was only for three years. Otto secretly thanked God that he hadn’t killed anyone, which would certainly have meant a lifetime of internment. There were cameras in the equipment that proved he hadn’t been conscious for the hospital massacre, but he had been fined almost all his life savings since his technology was responsible. He’d needed Norman to pay the legal fees.

And it was helped along, of course, by the unspoken acknowledgment that there was no traditional correctional facility that could really restrain him or accommodate his needs, at least without resorting to what would be borderline torture, and thank God they hadn’t crossed that line, though there had certainly been calls for it.

Otto was a proud man, and this was humiliating. But he was not so proud that he wouldn’t admit he deserved it. He actually deserved far worse. This way, at least, he could work on making things better.  

“It wasn’t much, Doc,” Peter replied shyly, more at ease now. “We even made some improvements. Accommodations,” he added at Otto’s nonplussed look. “To make things a little easier for you. We had the bathroom expanded so you can actually shower. And I made you a hammock, since you can’t really sleep in a bed anymore.”

“And by ‘we,’ you mean…?” Otto asked to hide how ridiculously touched he was at Peter’s thoughtfulness.

“Mr. Osborn,” Peter explained. “He paid for everything and helped me set up.”

Of course. He almost grumbled that he didn’t need Osborn’s charity, but. Well. He sort of did. Even if his pride was snarling with frustration. He’d been a self-made man before, but he supposed he’d ruined that now.

“I didn’t know you knew each other,” Peter added thoughtfully. “But I’m glad he’s helping you out.”

“Hm.”

“…You gonna be ok here by yourself, Doc?”

Bless the boy’s concern for him. He certainly didn’t deserve it. He smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be fine.”

Peter seemed uncertain. “Well…ok. But let me know if you ever need anything. I hope you don’t mind if I stop by every now and then, see how you’re doing…”

The smile this time was more genuine. “Of course not, dear boy. Your company is always welcome.”

He had no intention of asking Peter for anything. The poor boy had enough on his plate, taking care of his aunt and his girlfriend. Otto remembered all too well the struggles of growing up with financial difficulties and working through college.

“Well, I gotta run. I said I’d pick up MJ from her interview. But I’ll come by soon enough. I want to hear more about the multiverse,” he grinned.

In the end, Otto had had to tell him. The first time they’d been able to speak not surrounded by cops or lawyers, Peter had turned on him, brow furrowed.

“Doc, I gotta ask…one of your arms was missing the end. I know I didn’t do that. You got a new chip, and I definitely didn’t do that. Where’d you get that weird machine from earlier? What…what happened to you?”

Otto had sighed. “Well, Peter…it’s a bit of a long story.”

So he’d explained, about the altered timeline, about what was originally supposed to happen to him and Norman, about the other two Peters. His own Peter drank it all in, wide-eyed, not interrupting once. All he’d said when the story was finished was well, that explains a lot.

Peter hung back, even standing in the doorway. “I still can’t believe you went to another universe. And there were really…other mes there?”

“There were,” Otto smiled, even though he’d confirmed it about a thousand times already. “Just as brilliant. But more annoying,” he teased.

Of course, Otto hadn’t told him everything. He’d been selective, and given the barest minimum of necessary details. He’d said nothing about Flint Marko or this Peter’s own involvement. No need to spoil the boy’s future. He’d find out on his own eventually.

“By the way, um. Mr. Osborn is gonna stop by in an hour,” Peter added. “He says he needs to talk to you. He just wanted to wait until you were settled in.”

Otto could guess what that was all about. He hadn’t seen Norman in person yet, only talked with him over the phone. “Fantastic,” he muttered to himself after Peter had gone.

***

“I had no idea what my being alive would change,” Norman said rapidly at the kitchen table as Otto handed him a steaming mug of tea. He’d always talked like that when they were younger, barely pausing, veering from one thought to the other. Otto was reminded of all the times he’d just been caught listening to the man ramble over the drawing board at the table just like this one, late into the night. He’d slowed down as they aged, become more methodical and calculating, but he was excited now.

He'd briefly asked how Otto was settling in, accepted his offer of tea, then launched right into it. He’d never been one for preamble, but Otto also figured he’d been dying – ha – to discuss their extraordinary multidimensional experience with someone who had also lived through it.

“I had no idea if we’d each be sent back to diverging timelines, or just alter the existing one. I couldn’t take that chance, so I played it safe. Retired to an advisory capacity, claiming health reasons. Which wasn’t entirely a lie,” Norman added wryly. “Gave the company to Harry. Tried to stay out of the public eye as much as possible.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “I promised Peter I wouldn’t tell anybody who he was, and he said he’d let me go if I stayed out of trouble. And for a while, we mostly just stayed out of each other’s way. Until you showed up.”

He met Otto’s intrigued gaze. “Now that you’re here, that proves we’re all still in the same timeline. I’m glad I was right on the money. What’s it like?”

Otto closed his eyes, trying to make sense of it all. “It’s an odd sensation. I still remember everything that happened before, I remember hearing that you died. But now I also remember knowing you didn’t. The altered memories only seem to come up when something prompts them, though, so it’s not too confusing.”

“Ah. It’ll be worse for Marko and Peter, when they come through.” He looked hesitant for a moment. “You…recognized me, in the other universe. Did everybody know about the Goblin? After I died?”

“No,” Otto murmured. “Rosie and I figured it out. It wasn’t hard to put together that the Goblin disappeared the same time you died, and we recognized Oscorp technology.”

“But you didn’t tell anybody?”

Otto shrugged. “What would be the point? You were dead.”

“…Thank you,” Norman said quietly. “I don’t think you knew, in this timeline. But thank you for trying to help my son. I imagine that’s why you took his contract, in your world.”

“Partly. He’s a lot like you. Good business head on his shoulders.”

Norman smiled his sharp grin. “Is that a compliment, Octavius?”

“Just an observation,” Otto replied coolly, sipping from his mug. “Alright. Take it slowly. You’ve heard my side of events for the two years you were dead. Tell me exactly what changed when you got back.”

“Nothing much, for almost two years, but I was always on the lookout. And then a few months ago, I heard your name for the first time in years. You’d finished the designs for your reactor, and you were looking for funding to start building it. I’d heard you mention the reactor in the other universe, and figured this was something that needed to happen, so I urged Harry to offer you a contract.” Norman smirked. “You weren’t too happy about that at first. But after I promised you we wouldn’t use the project for military purposes, you agreed.”

“So you…you knew what would happen to me,” Otto said quietly. The actuators shivered slightly, perhaps sensing the change in his mood.

“Yes,” Norman replied flatly, unapologetic. “I did. And I had to let it play out. If I didn’t, we know now the wizard’s spell would still have brought the original version of you, and then you’d get sent back here with your tentacles to a world where the accident never happened and you had no idea about Peter? Now that we know it’s still the same timeline, I don’t even wanna think about that paradox. It would be too confusing for you, not to mention everyone who knew you, if you suddenly appeared out of nowhere with your little murder machines.”

The actuators hissed in indignation, but Otto wasn’t listening. For a moment, all he could see was red, and he had to fight very, very hard not to strangle the life out of Norman.

“So you just let Rosie die.”

Now Norman looked a little guilty, for the first time tonight. “I had no idea that would happen. I’m sorry, Otto. I’d have changed that if I did, I promise you that. She was my friend, too.”

Otto sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, the rage gone as quickly as it had come. He knew the blame for his wife’s death was still squarely on his own shoulders. It wasn’t Norman’s fault. “Alright. Go on. What happened next?”

Norman grinned in what Otto guessed was supposed to be a sheepish way, but he still looked a little too pleased with himself. The man didn’t have a sheepish bone in his body. “Well I…maybe put it in your ear that Spiderman was the reason the demonstration failed.”

Otto blinked, stunned by Norman’s audacity. “That was risky.”

“I know,” he explained, “but I thought I knew what I was doing. I’d been preparing for dealing with this ever since I saw you in the other world. While we worked on your chip, I asked the young Peter about everything you said and did, trying to piece together as much of what happened as I could so I wouldn’t change too much when we got back. He told me you’d mentioned his girlfriend, so I knew you met Mary Jane at some point. And the parameters of the spell were that you knew about Peter. I tried to ensure that still happened.

“You went after me for the tritium. Thanks a lot for dangling me over the edge of a building,” he grumbled, and Otto smirked to himself, remembering the event in an odd, disconnected way as Norman said it. The actuators had enjoyed that night, whichever Osborn it was. He thought it was probably best not to mention that it had been Harry originally.

“I agreed to give it to you,” Norman went on, “but I told you to bring me Spiderman first. That he’d sabotaged you, and wasted my money, and I wanted revenge. Not sure what it says about your opinion of me that you believed that,” he said in mock offense, “but I’m willing to let it go. I told you that you could find him through Peter Parker, and guessed that you’d take Mary Jane.” He shook his head. “I thought for sure that was when you’d find out about him. Imagine my surprise when you brought him to me still masked. Evidently, you didn’t care about his identity. I had no choice but to give you the tritium. Lucky for all of us I was keeping tabs on you, and knew where you were rebuilding the reactor. I was able to send Peter after you in time, and everything worked out, but hell, I thought I’d ruined everything for a while there,” he laughed.

“Didn’t Peter wonder why you’d sent me after him?” Otto inquired.

Norman waved a hand airily. “I played it off. Told him I thought I was playing the hero, that I was driving you right into his hands. ‘Oops, I thought you could take him and I didn’t need to tell you Octavius was coming? My bad.’”

Otto chuckled, amused in spite of himself. “He actually believed that?”

“No,” Norman said slowly, thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think he did. I’m sure he thought it was an underhanded revenge play. He’d never really trusted me. But he wouldn’t do anything to me without proof. He loves Harry too much. He’s a smart kid, but he’s damn merciful.”

“He is,” Otto agreed quietly. Maybe a little too merciful for his own good.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Norman recovered quickly. “You told him about the multiverse, and that I was there. I’ve talked about it with him. He knows now.”

“So, Norman Osborn, chessmaster?” Otto teased.

“Norman Osborn, master of guesswork and sheer dumb luck, more like,” his friend retorted with a self-deprecating scoff.

“Norman, really, I appreciate it,” Otto said sincerely. “Helping me through all this. By all rights, I should be in some government black site, vivisected or locked up for the rest of my life.”

“It’s the least I could do, Otto,” Norman replied with uncharacteristic trepidation. “It’s not fair, that you’re stuck like this, and I got to walk away. Your mistakes weren’t any worse than mine.”

“You paid for it,” Otto assured him. “And what good would sending you to prison do, hm? You’re actually atoning now. I certainly don’t mind.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, lost in thought.

“So what now?” Otto wondered aloud. He knew this wasn’t over yet.

“We wait for Marko to show up,” Norman replied, clearly thinking along the same lines. “No idea when that’ll happen. But when he does, we have to let him fall into the collider, and stay out of things as much as we can.”

“What about Peter?” Otto wondered uncomfortably. “Is it safe for us to even interact with him?”

“I think so,” Norman shrugged, sipping thoughtfully from his mug. “He’ll have a ton of double memories when he gets back, but I don’t think any huge life-altering events for him hinged on our deaths. And if there was, there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

When they were finished their tea, Otto had two of the actuators take the mugs to the sink, not bothering to get up. Maybe it was lazy, but he was old and it was 10:30 at night and he was tired.

Norman looked suitably impressed. “Ok, that’s creepy as hell, but I’m also a little envious.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, actually…” Otto began, knowing this could be a tall order. “Would it be possible to reprogram them?” The inhibitor kept his desires first and foremost, but the actuators’ limited intelligence was still fixated on one thing: create and maintain fusion. And since that was never going to happen again, it seemed prudent to turn their attention to more productive things.

Norman’s answer was not at all what he expected. “I don’t think that’s necessary, actually. Your babies are evolving, Otto,” he smirked. “They were never meant to be attached for this long. They’ve been exposed to your mind. Give them time. I think they’ll understand reason eventually, move beyond their programming.”

 After another hour of idle conversation, talking about Harry, Oscorp, Peter, the actuators, Otto’s plans for the next few days, Norman bid goodnight.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he’d said, just like Peter, and he was gone.

The apartment was dark and quiet, and Otto was left alone.

***

The first few days were the worst.

He was glad to be back in his old home, but now, for the first time ever, he was here without Rosalie.

This was the space they’d shared together for almost thirty years. He was surrounded by her touch, trapped with her ghost. The vases she’d kept around, the flowers within long since withered away. That horrible rug from her mother they’d kept in their bedroom as a joke (and it was still their bedroom, never just his). The journals she published in and edited still periodically arriving. He’d heard the university was commissioning a plaque by the library for her. She’d almost had tenure.

The actuators had dulled his grief, mitigated his memories of Rosie. He didn’t blame them; they didn’t understand human emotion, and in their simple minds, she was just something that distracted him from the work when she strayed into his thoughts.

Maybe he’d also been trying to avoid her death, no coaxing necessary.

But forced to sit still, alone and surrounded by the echoes of her life, it had all hit him at once. He cried for days, crushed by guilt and sorrow. He hadn’t even gone to her funeral. He’d never seen her grave.

She should have been able to do so much more.

The actuators hissed in distress whenever he sobbed, writhing agitatedly around him in an attempt to protect him from whatever threat they couldn’t see, confused as to why he was acting like he was in pain when he bore no visible injuries.

Still, it was oddly comforting to know they cared, that they viewed him as more than just a battery. Norman had said they were evolving. Maybe he wasn’t completely alone.

With that thought bolstering him, he got up for the first time in three days. He went through the boxes Peter had gotten out of storage for him, and arranged all his photos of his wife on the shelf, grateful they’d both been sentimental. They had no shortage of keepsakes.

Rosie’s mother and sister had taken most of her personal effects, her clothing and such. But he still had her books and poetry anthologies, lovingly dog-eared and bookmarked by the notes they’d written each other over the years. Tokens from her appreciative students. Their old CDs, with the song that played when they’d both been in her room and had their first kiss, giggly and awkward. The song they’d danced to at their wedding. And the photographs – Rosie, in her wedding dress. Rosie, asleep at the kitchen table over the outline for her first conference presentation (she’d fussed at him over that one, but he’d thought it was hysterical, and he could tell she didn’t really mind). Thanksgiving at her mother’s house. Christmas by the Rockefeller tree, their cheeks red and flushed from the cold.

Everything hurt, the reminders of their life together. He ached and he ached and he didn’t think he’d ever stop missing her, but now it was a good sort of pain. He wanted it. He wanted to remember her, as she deserved.

He really wanted nothing more than to see her again, but he wanted to live a life worthy of her first. A life honoring her.

And by the time his psychiatrist came for her first weekly visit, she remarked that the place looked brighter.

He was by himself most of the time, not counting the Mondays his shrink came by or the occasions his probation officer stopped in to make sure he wasn’t tampering with the surveillance. His parents were long dead, and he was an only child. Rosie’s mother and sister were still alive, but he doubted they’d ever want to see him again, and he didn’t blame them. Curt, bless his heart, emailed him every now and then, but they hadn’t seen each other in person yet.

He hadn’t had much of a social life, even before everything.

Norman had been gracious enough to offer him a job, at least. It was mostly just serving in an advisory capacity on certain low-stakes projects – he wasn’t allowed anywhere near potentially dangerous technology anymore – but it put a little money in his pocket and kept him somewhat busy.

But the bulk of his time, he studied the multiverse.

He was allowed books, if not tools, and he sketched out designs and calculations for travel between worlds. That ingenious device – the arc reactor – it would be a good power source for a machine that altered one’s string frequency to other universes, instantly transporting them there…If he could recreate the element used, he didn’t think it existed in their world…

Even if the little Peter still had his friends, he’d lost his aunt because he was kind, and Otto couldn’t help but feel he owed the boy something for that.

He saw Norman, occasionally, but the man was of course quite busy. For all he said he’d retired, Otto harbored a sneaking suspicion that he was too proud to truly do so. Mostly, Otto's only company was Peter.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long,” the boy said apologetically as he slipped inside, backpack swinging over his shoulder. “I came here straight from class, I’ve just had a lot on my plate recently, helping May move, and finals are starting soon –“

“You don’t have to go out of your way for me,” Otto said mildly. “I’m alright by myself.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Peter replied cheerfully. “I really meant to stop by sooner. The place looks good,” he added admiringly, noticing the addition of photographs and a full bookshelf. Hell, Otto had even caved and gotten some flowers the way his wife had always liked having them around.

“Thank you, Peter,” he said warmly. He always seemed to say that, and he didn’t imagine he’d run out of reasons to anytime soon. “Would you like tea?”

“That’d be great,” the boy grinned. “Do you mind if I do some homework while I’m here?”

“Not at all.”

It was an amusingly domestic scene, Otto thought, steeping tea bags while Peter scribbled away at the kitchen table. It reminded him of the time he and Rosie had had the boy over for lunch, what felt like lifetimes ago.

And dammit, he would not start crying again. Especially not with company.

As they worked in comfortable silence for a while, Otto absently doodling calculations for transreality travel and Peter on one of Curt’s assignments, Otto began to notice that Peter was in immediate danger of falling asleep. The poor boy kept yawning, and his head was drooping closer and closer to the kitchen table.

“Peter,” he said pointedly.

“Hm? Oh, sorry Doc, I was out late last night busting up a couple of robbers, and then I had to get up early this morning…”

“Why don’t you go home and rest, dear boy?” Otto gently cut off his apologetic rambling. “I’m sure whatever needs doing will still be there when you wake up.”

It was a sign of how tired the boy must be that he didn’t put up much of a fight. “Yeah, maybe. Could you maybe call me in a few hours, though? I don’t want to sleep for too long…”

It was pitiful, watching the boy shuffle wearily around the kitchen table gathering his things. He’d never make it back to his apartment in this state.

“I’ll tell you what,” Otto sighed, “you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. If you wish.”

Peter’s face was pathetically hopeful at the prospect of napping in the home of a convicted criminal. “Really? That’d be great, Doc. The AC in my apartment is broken, and I’ve been ducking my landlord for weeks about the rent…”

Otto chuckled in spite of himself. “Yes, really. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

The boy sagged with relief as he stumbled to the couch. “Honestly, Doc, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Well, you might not feel that way if I accidentally topple the cookery again because the kitchen is too cramped,” Otto grinned. “But really, my boy, you’re welcome any time.”

The poor boy was already knocked out, face smooshed unceremoniously into the pillow. Otto couldn’t help but wonder if this would become a tradition.

Chapter Text

It did, in fact, become a semi-regular occurrence.

Otto gave Peter a key and told him he was free to let himself in any time, which he quickly learned meant that even if he got up when it was still dark, there was a good chance the boy would be there, passed out on the couch. Otto never heard him – he was very quiet – but he did wonder what the cops thought, seeing a college kid consistently stumble into the home of a convict at 4 a.m. through the camera feeds. The thought was amusing.

Still, it was a little concerning. Was the boy’s own apartment really that bad? Otto didn’t want to ask him about it, Peter’s business was his own, but he worried all the same.

But even when he didn’t see Peter, Otto wasn’t entirely alone. Inspired by Norman’s prediction, he’d started experimenting with the actuators, seeing how he could help along their emerging sentience. He was far from a proper roboticist, but it made for an interesting pastime.

Before…before the little Peter, right after the accident, they’d felt like a hive mind, singular in purpose. There was no buffer between their minds and his, and it had been an overpowering, driven burst of four voices united in build, build, build, don’t stop.

He’d felt like a machine himself, those days.

Then the inhibitor, and they’d gone quiet. He could still hear their whispers, somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, but they needed his permission to speak to him now.

But they were still there, slithering through his neurons, and he could feel them diverging from each other, becoming individuals, considering other goals and options beyond their original programming as they observed the mundanity of his daily life.

The split into four voices that varied in when they wanted his attention, rather than a single cacophony pressing down on him at once, actually made it easier to talk to them.

Father?

Their voices weren’t yet distinct enough for Otto to be able to tell mentally which one was speaking to him, but the machine in question made it easier by leaning over his shoulder and tilting its head like an inquisitive dog.

“Er…yes?” Technically he didn’t need to speak to them aloud, but it helped him regulate which of his thoughts got through to them. He sometimes wondered if his mind was just as overpowering to them as theirs could be to him, if his own grief and rage had driven them a little crazy too all those months ago.

Explain what you’re reading.

“Oh…well…” It was one of Rosie’s old Keats’ anthologies. Otto didn’t really know what the man was talking about, but he liked the way the words flowed together. His eyes scanned again the particular entry that had piqued the actuator’s interest.

"Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream,

And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?

The transient pleasures as a vision seem,

And yet we think the greatest pain's to die.

How strange it is that man on earth should roam,

And lead a life of woe, but not forsake

His rugged path; nor dare he view alone

His future doom which is but to awake."

There was a footnote disputing Keats’ authorship of the poem, but Otto didn’t care about that. “It’s…about death?” He could just see Rosie's great honey, at least you’ve grasped that much smirk that she usually hid behind a mug of tea. 

Explain.

Otto bit down a groan of exasperation. He just wanted a little quiet, not to have to explain the art of language to an emerging consciousness, but he was trying to encourage their questions. “Well, for most humans, death is…very frightening.”

We know. We’ve killed, Father.

Otto took a moment to answer, haunted by the memory of waking up to a room full of dead bodies. The only atrocity he’d had no consent in or real knowledge of. The only people he’d killed had been all on the machines currently matter-of-factly recounting it.

“I know. Why did you do that?” he asked firmly.

The response was surprisingly adamant. They were going to hurt you. We needed you. Humans cease to be a threat when their bodies are too damaged to continue functioning.

It upset you, another machine cut in. He thought it was the one he’d had to repair after the head was severed by Norman in the other universe. That one, he was learning, was becoming the most intuitive and attentive to his needs.

“Yes, it did,” he replied, and they all quailed slightly. He paused, debating how to explain it to them. “Do you remember when I…drowned? You were scared. I could hear you.”

The prospect of ceasing to exist is frightening.

“It is,” Otto agreed. “And that’s how most humans feel. We like to experience things. And we grow attached to other humans. We don’t want to leave them.”

You wanted to die, once.

“…Yes,” he acknowledged softly. “But that was a long time ago. I don’t anymore. I’ve found other people to care about now.”

Like Peter.

“Yes, like Peter. It’s not right to take people away from the ones they love.”

The machines fell silent, and for a moment he thought they wouldn’t answer, then one replied, oddly subdued, We understand. Thank you, Father.

Part of Otto wondered how the hell his life had come to teaching morality to a bunch of young robots, but there were certainly more boring things he could be doing. The day he had nothing better to do than play golf would be the day he really was ready to die, he snorted to himself.

He ended up giving them names. As they diverged further, developing distinct patterns of “speech” to the point where he could tell them apart even in his head, it just made it easier to refer to them than constantly saying “left lumbaric” or “right thoracic.”

It was absurd, naming these machines that had torn a roomful of people to pieces in under two minutes after brainless characters in a sitcom he’d liked to mock with Rosie. But it was also hysterically amusing, and they seemed to like it, in any case. They didn’t seem to grasp that he was making fun of them, and sometimes he felt a bit bad about it, but he figured he deserved a little harmless revenge.

And a few weeks into the new year, he finally met Mary Jane. Properly, no kidnapping or car-throwing this time around.

He was so used to Peter just letting himself in that he was startled by the sound of frantic knocking on his front door at 9:30 at night.

Otto opened it to reveal Peter practically shoving a familiar redhaired young woman inside. “Sorry,” he gasped, “I’ve gotta run, didn’t want to leave MJ alone at night, I’ll be back soon!” He raced off, swinging away as soon as he was out of range of the surveillance cameras.

Otto blinked, a little dumbfounded by the breathless encounter. It was too late at night for him to process things quickly. But Mary Jane Watson was definitely standing in his living room, arms crossed and looking very put-out.

“I’m sorry, Miss Watson…?”

She huffed. “We were on a date. Pete was walking me home when there was a car chase down the block. He didn’t want to leave me in the middle of the street, and your place was closest.” She laughed a little. “As if I haven’t walked home by myself about a thousand times before. I’m pretty sure this is his way of getting me to talk to you.”

“That does seem like him, yes,” Otto agreed, amused. “Though I promise I have no intentions of making you do something you don’t wish to. Anymore, at least.”

He wasn’t sure she’d appreciate the attempt at a joke about the horrible situation he’d put her through, but she seemed like a tough girl. Sure enough, she just smirked knowingly.

“Got your head on straight now?”

“As it’ll ever be,” he replied self-deprecatingly. “And truly, Miss Watson, there’s not much I can say except that I am terribly sorry…”

“Look,” she cut him off firmly, “Peter trusts you. I don’t have to understand why, because I trust him. And you can just call me MJ,” she continued, lighter. “Miss Watson is my mother.”

“Very well then. Mary Jane.”

“You just can’t stop yourself, can you?”

“My mother raised a gentleman.”

“Some of the time.” Her shy smile was lovely. He could see why Peter liked her so much. “Sorry Pete dumped me on you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. But you’re welcome to call a ride if you don’t want to stay,” he offered.

“No, it’s fine,” she brushed it off. “I’ll wait for Peter.”

“Would you like anything? I just made tea for myself.”

“We just ate, I’m ok.” The girl looked around the modest room. “Maybe just a place to sit?”

“Make yourself at home,” Otto assured her. “I’m only working, I won’t bother you.”

Mary Jane wandered around the living room in the aimless way young people did when they were trying to seem like polite guests, removing her gloves and scarf and adjusting her purse. Otto hid a smile as he returned to his calculations at the table.

And all at once, watching her smooth her coat, he realized he recognized her from more than the time he’d almost crushed her under a car. Rosie had dragged him to The Importance of Being Earnest the week before the demonstration. They didn’t sit very close to the stage, he’d barely glanced at the names on the program, and she’d put on an accent for the role, but he still felt he should have put it together sooner. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been thinking straight at the time.

“I saw your play,” he said, almost more to himself than to her, but she started all the same.

“Hm? Oh, which…?” She looked confused, if not a bit startled at being addressed.

 “Oscar Wilde, I believe? You were very good.”

“Oh. Thank you,” she laughed, embarrassed. “That was my first big break. I could have done better, but I’d like to think I’m improving. Do you like theatre?”

“My wife was a great supporter of the arts,” Otto explained lightly.

The young woman admired the pictures of Rosalie on the bookshelf. “She’s beautiful,” she said sincerely.

Otto smiled fondly. “She is, isn’t she?”

“Are you the reason Peter kept spouting poetry at me a few months ago?” Mary Jane grinned, relaxing. “All these titles…”

“Ah! It worked, didn’t it?” Otto exclaimed, satisfied. Apparently he wouldn’t be getting much work done tonight, but he didn’t mind. The girl’s company was delightful.

“No,” she teased. “It was just annoying. Now I can see why he tried, though. He wouldn’t stop going on about you when we were kids.”

“Oh really now,” Otto chuckled, bashful in spite of himself.

“I’m serious!” Mary Jane laughed. “He used to beg his aunt and uncle to subscribe to these science magazines so he could follow your stuff. Sharing trivia about nuclear fusion was his idea of flirting for a while.”

He did remember Peter’s wide-eyed look of awe when they’d first met. The poor boy had looked like a deer in headlights. “I’m afraid I turned out to be quite disappointing on that front,” Otto replied ruefully.

“Well, I don’t know,” the girl confessed, seating herself on the same couch where her boyfriend so often slept. “He still really looks up to you.”

“That’s very kind of him,” Otto replied, deciding to just accept the statement. “Though he’s more than worthy of admiration himself.”

“Yeah,” she agreed with a little lovestruck giggle that was indescribably endearing.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Otto continued genially, laying down his pencil, “you mentioned your first big break. Are you in anything else?”

Peter was back within the hour, uttering gratitude and profuse apologies about the last-minute arrangement as he ushered Mary Jane out the door. Though Otto was sure he saw a sly, pleased grin on the boy’s face at the sight of him and Mary Jane seated together, apparently just shooting the breeze.

So, their hunch had been correct. Mary Jane shot him a clear affectionately exasperated look of ‘I told you’ over her shoulder as the door closed behind them, and Otto grinned to himself. Peter wasn’t nearly as subtle as he thought he was. Otto had a feeling he’d be seeing more of the girl in the future, and he didn’t mind in the slightest.

***

 MJ, using Peter as a courier, had sent Otto a large framed photograph of the set of The Importance of Being Earnest, claiming it was a valuable behind the scenes production relic, and complete with her elegant signature in red ink across the bottom.

Peter was pretty sure it was her idea of a joke, and that Otto knew it, but the man had still proudly insisted on hanging it over the bookshelf. It was rather sweet how much he seemed to like her, Peter thought fondly. He’d been hoping they’d get along if ever properly introduced.

Hell, if the picture frame was any indication, his girlfriend and the former mad scientist who’d abducted her had inside jokes now.

“Pass me that box of nails, would you?” Otto said absently from across the room.

“Hm? Oh, sure.” Peter looked up from his homework at the kitchen table to find an actuator already in his face, its single white “eye” blinking expectantly at him. “Here.”

The machine whirred in delight and arched back across the living room, carrying the box of mixed nails and screws – Otto’s toolbox wasn’t nearly as organized as Uncle Ben’s had been – to where Otto was hanging the frame. He could have just had the toolbox next to him, but he’d explained that he was trying to give the actuators more practice with their reach and fine motor skills. Apparently, they could grow bored without enough of the delicate lab work they’d been programmed for.

“What are you working on? Is Curt giving you a hard time?”

“It’s not that hard,” Peter explained, chewing the end of his pencil. “It’s just tedious. I can do most of it mentally, we just have to show how we got there on paper and then write a paragraph about the underlying principles.”

 “Well, I’m confident your work will be exemplary. Brilliance like yours combined with compassion is a rare thing.”

Peter blushed at the sincere compliment; the remnants of hero worship he’d never quite shaken. Sure, he’d gone on a crime spree and had four murderous robots fused to him now, but this was still Otto Octavius, a man whose career Peter had followed since he was a kid begging Ben and May to bring home physics periodicals.

And it wasn’t just that Otto was one of the smartest people he’d ever met; he failed. He got stuff wrong. He made mistakes and miscalculated. But he never…gave up.

Even as close as Peter was to Harry, Norman had usually seemed a distant, inaccessible figure. But Otto was different. He wasn’t a billionaire or a businessman. He was just a quiet, middle-class guy that had had a dream of making the world a better place, and he was still trying despite everything that had happened since.

So yeah, Peter was still a little in awe of him, even if he was more of a friend than an idol now.

“Thanks, Doc,” he replied shyly. “I try.”

“How’s your aunt?” Otto continued cordially.

“She’s ok,” Peter shrugged. “All the kids in her new neighborhood have signed up for her piano lessons. She’s becoming very popular.”

“Hm, I’ll have to meet her one day.”

 “You already – whoa!”

Peter never got the chance to explain you already did, because at that moment, the actuator holding the drill above Otto’s head twitched and dropped it.  

Another one of the machines, lightning-fast, caught the power tool before it could inflict any serious damage, but the thin metal blade still scored a long, shallow scratch down Otto’s shoulder. Blood was already starting to blossom onto fabric.

“Doc, you ok?” Peter asked, alarmed.

Otto blinked, apparently more surprised than pained. “Oh, yes. Shame, I’d just sewn up this sweater too,” he grumbled.

“That might need stitches, do you want me to take you –“

“Oh no, I don’t want to bother those folks,” Otto cut him off airily, the actuators already beginning to remove the damaged garment. It was hard to tell, but Peter thought the one that had dropped the drill was moving a little guiltily. “And we’d have to notify the charming Officer Davis, and do paperwork – no, it’s fine. I’m quite used to patching myself up.”

It went unsaid that he’d learned to do so in his months on the run. Otto was leery about hospitals, unless he absolutely had to go. Frankly, Peter couldn’t blame him, but he did worry about him.

“Yeah, well so am I,” Peter grinned. “Need any help?”

“The peroxide is in the bathroom, if you wouldn’t mind fetching that.”

When Peter returned, he saw that the bloodstained sweater was already discarded on the couch, the four massive holes for the actuators Otto had so neatly stitched to prevent fraying facing upwards.

The man himself had his back turned to the hallway as he repacked the tools, and Peter grimaced slightly; he’d never really seen the full extent of Otto’s injuries.

The thick metal harness was sunken into charred flesh, and above it, the thin, lightning-like scars left by the electricity spiraled up his back. The spine-like plates of the actuators ate into his skin, fused there by heat. The huge burn scars were old now, but they must have been horrific when they were new. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Otto chuckled, saving Peter from having to pretend like he was ignoring the damage.

“Geez, Doc,” he muttered, grateful his friend wasn’t offended by his staring.

“I suppose I’m lucky I don’t have many pain receptors left there, or I’m sure this would feel much worse.”

“So what happened anyway?” Peter asked as he handed over the peroxide to the waiting actuator. “Did you just lose focus or something?”

“Oh no, she was doing that on her own, and glitched. I’m afraid poor Flo has never been quite the same since she was broken.” Otto grinned wearily. “My fault, really, for letting her do that when I know she’s not quite as strong as she used to be.”

The actuator in question – Flo? – clicked in what might have been guilt, or indignation. Or both. It was hard to tell.

Peter chuckled in spite of himself. “You named them?”

“It’s silly,” Otto explained sheepishly. “But it makes it easier to refer to them.” Another one of the machines rotated its claws, and Otto got that faraway look on his face that Peter had learned meant the actuators were speaking to him.

“It’s shallow,” Otto proclaimed after a moment. “It’ll scab quickly. Well, I think that’s enough excitement for one afternoon,” he groaned, getting to his feet and going into the bedroom for another shirt. They’d spent one particularly memorable morning cutting holes in all of his clothes and stitching the borders – so you can wear more than the same two sweaters on repeat, Peter had teased, which had earned him a light cuff around the ear.

He glanced at the sinking sun outside the window, then checked his watch. “Yeah, I should probably get going. Harry and I are catching a movie tonight, and I wanted to swing by Brooklyn first before I meet him.”

“Hm, well, have a good time. And be careful.”

“Always. See ya, Doc.”

Peter waited to slip into the cover of a narrow alley before changing into his suit, and then relished in the whistling of the wind past his face as he dodged rooftops. He wasn’t planning on a long patrol tonight – MJ was trying to help him with his time management. He’d do a quick look around the neighborhood, hang out with Harry, and probably be back home around 1 o’clock in the morning. That way he could be there to help Otto with some housework before he picked up MJ from her audition tomorrow afternoon.

He was halfway to Brooklyn before he realized he’d hadn't thought of his own dingy apartment as home.

Chapter Text

“She was amazing!” Peter said excitedly, more animated than Otto was used to seeing him. “You should have seen her, Doc. She brought the house down.”

“I’m sure she did,” Otto replied warmly, amused at the boy’s lovestruck rambling. It was the morning after Mary Jane’s Broadway debut, an event they’d all eagerly been looking forward to. She’d been nervous at first; the audition opportunity was an unexpected one. The woman previously in the role had dropped suddenly, only a few weeks from opening, and Mary Jane hadn’t had much time to rehearse as a result. Otto was proud of her for taking the chance despite the risk. He only regretted that he wouldn’t be able to see her perform.

One more year, Otto reminded himself. He just had to see this year out, and a few months of the next, and he’d be free to go to all of the girl’s shows, free to go wherever he pleased.

Father. Flo’s distinctive hiss sounded in his ear, accompanied by her muzzle butting his hair for his attention.

Not now, he told her firmly, wanting to focus on his guest.

“And then I took her to the park,” Peter continued dreamily, “and we watched the stars.”

“That sounds lovely –“

“But here’s what I really wanted to tell you!” the boy continued, apparently not hearing Otto’s polite comment. He dug around in his pocket for a moment before reverently producing a beautiful old diamond ring. “I’m gonna ask her to marry me!”

Father. Flo’s voice came again, more insistent this time. He ignored her, trying to convey in a patiently apologetic way that he’d get to her soon.

“Oh, Peter.” For the first time in years, he found himself truly beaming with incandescent pride, not at all surprised by the news, but overjoyed nonetheless. “Congratulations.”

“This was May’s,” Peter said, looking fondly at the ring. “I think it’ll mean a lot to MJ to have a – an heirloom, you know? And Ben would be happy.”

“I couldn’t be happier for you, my boy.” He gestured conspiratorially. “Do you have a plan yet?”

Peter smiled sheepishly. “I’m working on it. I’m definitely going to do it at our favorite restaurant. I'm making the reservation later today, I’ll fill you in.” He checked his watch, then stood. "Well, I gotta run. See ya, Doc.”

“Have a good day, Peter.”

When the boy had left, Otto sighed and turned to Flo, who hadn’t spoken again, but who kept writhing agitatedly around his head.

“Hm. What is it?”

Something is…something… she hissed in frustration, and Otto frowned, wondering why she’d wanted his attention so badly if she didn’t even know what to say.

“What?”

Radiation of a kind we’ve never experienced before, Larry filled in helpfully. His next words made Otto’s blood run cold. It was on the boy. Its touch lingered.

“…Is Peter in danger?” he rasped.

The emission is harmless to human flesh. But it feels…evil.

He’d never heard the actuators describe something in subjective terms before. He hadn’t even been sure they understood the concept of evil. But whatever it was, they were definitely upset; he could feel their mingled distress and desire to lash out at any threat.

 “Ok,” he said slowly, soothingly. “I’ll talk to him as soon as I see him again.” Peter didn’t have a cellphone, but if the emission wasn’t damaging, he hoped it could wait until the boy returned.

The problem was, now that he knew, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. He phoned Peter’s apartment complex, and only had a girl tell him she’d take a message. He even called Norman, who told him he hadn’t seen Peter for a few weeks.

The actuators didn’t help; they were distracted and setting his nerves on edge all day. He wondered if they simply didn’t like not understanding what they’d detected, or if they were worried for Peter too. He went to bed that night stewing in some unpleasant mixture of irritation and anxiety.

By the time Peter returned the following morning, Otto was nearly at his wit’s end.

“Where have you been, boy?” he almost growled, though he knew that wasn’t fair. They’d gone days without contact before.

Peter looked taken aback. “…Out? Sorry, Ursula told me you called, I just got busy yesterday afternoon. Did I do something wrong -?”

“No,” Otto cut him off. “No, you didn’t. I apologize. I’ve just been needing to talk to you.”

The young man blinked. “What’s going on?”

“Well –“ What was going on? How was he supposed to articulate the actuators’ concerns? He gestured vaguely to the machines. “They told me yesterday they detected something strange on you. An odd form of radiation. Have you noticed anything unusual lately?”

Peter frowned. “I don’t think so. Just your standard New York crazy. I can keep an eye out, though.”

The actuators recoiled slightly, apparently not satisfied with the answer, though Otto didn’t know how to get anything better. At least the boy seemed to be taking it seriously. He waved a hand.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to jump down your throat, my boy. How was your day?”

“No no, you’re ok, Doc. I know not to underestimate these guys.” Peter grinned at Flo, who clicked in what was clearly a displeased ‘flattery will get you nowhere.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking shyly on the balls of his feet. “My day was good. I made a reservation at the Constellation for tonight. MJ has no idea, I told her it was just to celebrate the show!”

“Hm, lovely place. I want to hear all about it tomorrow.”  

“And yesterday, I saved the daughter of the police chief, big crane accident,” he continued, not quite managing to hide his giddy awe. “They’re giving me the key to the city this afternoon!”

“Well!” Otto huffed. “It’s about time you got some appreciation!" He tried his best to keep up with Peter's exploits, but the news didn't cover everything, and he was stuck in his home. It was somewhat irritating to not know this until a day later, especially as Peter sometimes forgot to fill him in - or, Otto also suspected, hid things from him to keep him from fretting. "I don’t like the way that newspaper man is always badmouthing you,” he complained to hide his worry. 

“I know, Doc,” Peter replied, the same way he had the last thousand times Otto grumbled about that windbag Jameson. “The ceremony’s being filmed, but I don’t think it’ll be live.”

“Shame, I’d have liked to have gone. You’ll just have to give me the details tomorrow,” Otto said over his shoulder as he moved to the kitchen for the strong coffee and biscuits Peter liked. They sat in companionable quiet for the rest of the morning as Peter did schoolwork and Otto looked over specs that Norman had sent him – some sort of sonic resonator for physical therapy. Oscorp’s projects had been moving increasingly towards healthcare technology, which was a bit outside Otto's expertise, but he did know harmonic reinforcement.

Before Peter left for the ceremony, he surprised Otto with a quick, one-armed hug. “Thanks for everything, Doc. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

The rest of the day passed in a kind of pleasurable haze. Otto edited the specs Norman had sent him – the current design would disrupt too much of the patient’s cellular structure – and worked idly on his own projects. He’d had an idea for a wearable device that localized string frequency adjustment, but he was having trouble figuring out how to keep the field contained…

As evening fell, Otto’s thoughts turned once more towards his own Peter, currently at a romantic restaurant with the love of his life. Perhaps he was proposing this very moment. Otto smiled fondly to himself, eager for the confirmation of the news the next day. If anyone deserved a bit of happiness, it was those two.

The television was running quietly in the background, more to entertain the actuators than anything else. Otto himself wasn’t much of a nighttime tv person, but as he brought his mug to the sink, he felt Moe prodding gently at his mind.

Father. Look.

Otto directed his gaze obediently to the screen, frowning as he was confronted by an unfamiliar mugshot on the evening news. The voices were too low for him to make out what the reporters were saying, but he blinked, allowing the actuators’ superior cameras to feed the magnified input directly into his mind.

The face was unknown to him, but the name beneath was very, very familiar.

He meant to call Norman, but Norman ended up calling him first, the ring of the telephone snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Did you see the news?” Norman began without preamble.

“Our mutual friend,” Otto confirmed. “How will we know? When it’s happened for him?”  

Otto could practically see Norman’s shrug at the other end of the line. “We wait. We keep an eye on things, and we wait until he knows about Peter. And then if he suddenly doesn’t have an excess of silicon anymore, we’ll know.”

“That seems awfully simplistic.”

“We're a little more in the dark on this one than I was for you. We don’t have much of a choice. And you definitely don’t,” Norman added wryly.

Otto scowled at the ankle monitor. Norman was right, but he hated how powerless he felt. He’d been hoping that his sentence would be through before Flint Marko showed up, in case Peter needed his help.

He knew he would violate his sentence in a heartbeat if Peter needed him, consequences be damned.

It would just be nice not to have to.

***

He’d seen on the news that Spiderman had engaged the monstrous sand figure that was Marko, but it was still late into the next night before Peter contacted him again.

“Finally, boy!” Otto jokingly scolded as he answered the phone. “I’ve been waiting all day! How are you, how did it go?”

The boy took a moment to answer. “Actually,” he muttered, “can I come over? There’s something I wanted you to look at first.”

“…Of course,” Otto replied cautiously. That didn’t bode well, but he was going to let Peter talk to him on his own terms.

When the boy arrived, Otto could immediately tell that something was…off. There were shadows under Peter’s blue eyes that had never been there before, deeper than mere exhaustion. His hands, paler than usual, were wrapped around a small glass jar filled with what looked like cheap licorice.

But not quite – before Otto could inquire what it was Peter wanted him to see, a strange black substance separated from the candy with an inky ripple.

The actuators hissed loudly, recoiling. The thing in the jar seemed to react in kind, trying to lunge at them through the glass.

“I don’t think it likes you, Doc,” Peter teased as he stepped over the threshold.

“Well, the feeling seems to be mutual,” Otto muttered. “What is that?”

“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me.”

“I’ll do my best, but Peter, my house is filled with cameras. What will the cops think when they see this thing?”

“I made sure you won’t get in trouble,” Peter assured him. “That’s why I filled the jar with licorice. Through a grainy video feed, you probably won’t even be able to tell it’s there.”

He’d been more concerned about Peter possibly getting in trouble than himself, but hopefully the boy’s precautions would do. “Well, bring it inside. Let me take a look at it.”

The odd lifeform was definitely sentient, or at least intelligent; after the initial show of hostility, it was coiling around the jar in a calculated manner, clearly looking for a way to escape.

Otto allowed the actuators free rein, letting their superior senses examine the specimen and feed back to his own. It was emitting a slight radioactive signal, like nothing Otto had ever seen before. He remembered the actuators describing it as evil.

“Well, this is definitely what had the kids so upset,” Otto reported. “It must have been lurking in your apartment for days. But I’m in no way a biologist, Peter. I can give you data on its chemical makeup, but I’ve no idea how to interpret it. I don’t think I’ll make much progress with this. You’d be better off taking it to Norman.”

“I know, Doc. I just…wanted you to look at it first.” Peter scoffed. “Norman and potentially dangerous unknown substances, not the greatest track record.”

“Mine is hardly any better,” Otto pointed out, but he did understand. “But you could even try Curt,” he suggested. “He was in biology for a while before switching majors.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Peter looked disappointed, even a bit irritated. He was avoiding eye contact.

“…Well, you’d best be going,” Otto said pointedly. “Is Mary Jane expecting you?”

“No,” Peter mumbled, looking at his shoes. “Can I crash here for a bit?”

“Of course,” Otto replied. So, they’d had a spat. Shame. “You don’t even have to ask.”

“Thanks.” Peter smiled a little in gratitude, and the familiar expression was reassuring. The boy left the strange specimen on the table and moved towards the couch, and Otto headed to the kitchen to brew some of the valerian tea Peter liked. He didn’t want to pry, but…

“Is everything alright?” he called over his shoulder.

“Everything’s fine. You’re just like. The only person that’s not pissing me off right now.”

It was such a blatantly un-Peter-like thing to say that for one absurd second Otto actually thought the sullen mutter had come from somewhere else. He turned, shocked, and the boy had flopped down on the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. He looked exhausted.

“My boy, what’s the matter?”

“MJ’s all upset because she thinks she did bad in her show, Harry keeps telling me I need to be more 'there for her,' I have, like, thirty tests this week and all my lab partner wants to do is flirt with me, and there’s some jerk at the Bugle that wants my job.”

All fairly ordinary troubles for a young man his age, but Otto had never seen Peter so affected before. He handed him the steaming mug of tea, which the boy accepted gratefully. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out. You’ll have another chance.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

It was certainly a lot to be piled on in one day, especially a day he’d expected to go well, but Otto still felt there was something deeper troubling Peter. He glanced at the abandoned jar on the table, making up his mind to call Norman tomorrow.

“I, ah, saw that sand creature on the news,” he tried. He didn’t want to interfere too much in Flint Marko’s timeline, but Peter was already sitting on the couch of someone who was supposed to be dead. What more could he do? “Did he hurt you?”

The mug shattered in Peter’s hands.

It was so startling that they both jumped, though rather than his usual bashfulness, the accident only seemed to make Peter angrier.

“I’m fine. Will you just drop it? I don’t want to talk, ok?”

“Peter,” Otto said stiffly, trying not to let himself get drawn into argument, “I’m only trying to help you.”

The boy deflated. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know.” He went for paper towels with a definite sense of contrition, and Otto almost thought he wouldn’t speak again, until he added, “He killed my uncle.”

It was so quiet Otto barely heard him, but the statement made his stomach sink like a rock. “What?”

“Flint Marko. He killed Ben. The police told us today. They’ve had suspicions for years, and they never told us, and he’s still out there.” The boy was shaking; anyone else might have mistaken it for tears, but one look at his face and Otto could tell Peter was quivering with wordless, barely contained rage.

He’d had maybe one conversation with the guy, years ago in the other universe, but Otto remembered Flint as being fairly mild-mannered, quiet and out of the way. He hadn’t seemed at all a rampaging monster like the rest of them were. But right now, Otto could hear the actuators hissing indignantly in his head, and for a second he wanted nothing more than to rip the man’s throat out.

“I’ve been looking for him all day,” Peter continued stiffly. “I only stopped when I found that.” He nodded at the thing in the jar.

“And what will you do when you find him?” Otto asked quietly.

Peter glared at him fearlessly. “What do you think?”

Peter spoke often and fondly of his Aunt May, but he rarely mentioned the uncle that had raised him. All Otto had gathered was that he’d been a beloved figure, and been murdered shortly after Peter gained his powers. Sometimes the boy would be telling a story and abruptly break off in the middle, or mention the name before changing the topic. It didn’t take a genius to see how heavily the loss still weighed on the young man.

Otto swallowed back his protective rage; he needed to do what was best for Peter, and swearing vengeance wasn’t that, however much he wanted to make Marko pay for the pain he’d caused his boy. He hadn’t heard them talk, but this Peter, years in the future, had cured Flint with no apparent ill will and sent him back. Otto wasn’t going to rob the boy of that future healing by allowing either of them to give in to anger now. Peter was too good of a person not to regret it later, no matter how justified it seemed.

“Look at me, dear boy,” Otto sighed, gently gripping Peter’s shoulders, meeting the defiant gaze. It broke his heart how Peter trembled slightly at the touch. “I’m not saying your uncle doesn’t deserve justice. But killing – it changes you. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“He deserves it,” Peter muttered, looking away.

“Perhaps,” Otto acknowledged. “But so did I. So did Norman. I’d never ask you to feel sympathy for someone like that. But revenge doesn’t give you the right to execute him.”

Peter wavered, and for a moment Otto thought he’d gotten through to him, but then the boy shrugged him off, heading for the door with a bitter scoff.  

“Look, I changed my mind,” he said sourly. “I should go back to my apartment. I’ve got to keep looking. Thanks for everything,” he added, though he couldn’t sound less grateful if he tried.

“Peter –“

“And in the future,” the boy continued coldly, “either help me or stay out of my way.”

***

“It’s a symbiote,” Norman informed him flatly.

Otto blinked. “A what?”

“A symbiote. Mostly a theoretical lifeform. They’re rare in nature, and hard to study.”

“What do they do?”

“Biologists started studying their chemical makeup from organic material recovered from chondritic meteor showers in the ‘70s. They’re supposed to bond to a living organism. But it’s different from a parasite, it doesn’t feed on the host. It increases strength and aggression, but decreases inhibitions.”

“Like a drug.”

“Hm. Yeah.” Norman looked guilty for a second. “I considered engineering them as performance enhancers for a while, before we went the substance route. But the effect is similar. Maybe not as drastic as – as the Goblin, but still nothing nice.”

After Peter stormed off the previous night – Otto wasn’t entirely sure if he’d meant to leave the creature behind - Otto changed his mind and called Norman immediately. A fuzzy and sleep-deprived Norman Osborn had arrived at his doorstep, retrieved the specimen, and taken it back to Oscorp after swearing up and down he wouldn’t do anything stupid with it, he’d learned his lesson, thank you very much. He was back this morning, considerably more energetic, with a diagnosis.

“Where did it come from?” Otto demanded. “How the hell did one end up in Peter’s apartment?”

“No idea,” Norman shrugged. “Crawled up from the Black Lagoon, maybe.”

“You’re hilarious.” Otto paused. “The actuators read it as radioactive.”

Norman made a small noise of surprise. “It is giving off a slight emission. Not anything harmful – it’s more like a homing beacon. It’s faint, though. I’m surprised your babies detected it. They must be very sensitive.”

The actuators whirred in pleasure at the compliment, but Otto ignored them. “How do we get it out of someone?”

“Do you know it’s on someone?”

“Yes! Do you think I called you about it for a laugh, hm? It’s obviously on Peter! No wonder he was acting strange. We have to get it off him before he does something foolish!”

“Has it occurred to you he might just be having a bad day? All this business with Marko and his uncle. Everyone has their limits.” Norman glanced away, picking at his fingers. Otto guessed he was remembering the little Peter’s aunt, and the mercy he’d been shown he didn’t feel he deserved. He looked back up and sighed exasperatedly at Otto’s expression. “Fine, I’ll study it some more.  It doesn’t seem to have high heat resistance, but it’s not like we can blowtorch Peter. It might be vulnerable to certain sound frequencies...”

Flo chirped with interest. “Like a sonic resonator?” Otto asked.

“Something like that.”

“Here,” Otto said, digging around in the pile of papers on his table for the specs Norman had sent him days previously. “I recommended you modify this, it would reach intensity too quickly, but that might be just what we need. I worked with sympathetic frequencies for years. I can design something, I’ll just need you to build it and get it to Peter as soon as possible.”

“Don’t ask for much, do you?” Norman smirked, even though Otto knew he’d complete the machine as soon as possible. “I know you’re worried about Pete. But he’s a good kid. He’s not gonna fly off the handle for nothing. Do you want me to stay?”

“No,” Otto sighed. “I need to work. But perhaps just ask your boy if he’s heard from Peter?”

“I will.” Norman paused. “He’ll be ok, Otto. We know that,” he added in a half-hearted attempt at humor.

They knew he’d be alive, in the future. They didn’t know he’d be alright.

Otto spent the whole day designing the machine, specifying a frequency that would distress the creature without also harming its host. It was the kind of intense, frenzied session Rosie had used to scold him for, the ones where he lost track of time and forgot to eat or sleep.

Which was why he was startled in the early evening when someone knocked on his door.

Peter rarely bothered knocking. And the light, timid tapping didn’t sound like him anyway.

Otto swung open the door, startled to see Mary Jane. The girl had visited him before, but she always tagged along with Peter. She’d never done so on her own.

She offered a feeble smile, lacking her usual sunniness. Her eyes were suspiciously puffy and red. “Hi, Dr. Octavius. Are you busy?”

“No, not at all,” he answered, which was a lie, but this was unusual enough he guessed she wasn’t calling on a frivolity. “Come in.”

“Thanks.” She took a few steps inside and hovered awkwardly in the living room, not moving. Otto wondered if she was regretting her decision.

“Did you…need something?” he tried.

“I…I did something I shouldn’t have,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here –“

“Mary Jane,” Otto interrupted her gently, “you can stay. I’ll fix tea, and if you want to talk, you may. If not, I won’t pry.”

Her smile this time was more genuine. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, just Otto, dear girl,” he told her as he moved into the kitchen. “No need to stand on formality.”

She glanced at the haphazard paperwork strewn over the table. “Oh, I did interrupt you. I’m sorry.”

“Actually…you might be able to help me. I…I know your date didn’t go quite as planned,” he said delicately, “But have you heard from Peter lately?”

She looked guilty. “Not since the police gave him the news about his uncle. I actually wanted to ask if you’d heard from him.”

“Not since last night,” Otto said heavily. “He left quite upset. But,” he continued, “I doubt that’s all that’s on your mind?”

The girl’s bright blue gaze met his, and a brief flicker of shame crossed her face, as if she was debating how much to tell him. “…I got fired from the show,” she murmured eventually.

Otto blinked, stunned. “Why? Peter told me you did wonderfully!”

She laughed, a shockingly bitter sound. “Well…he would say that.” She paused. “I haven’t told him yet.”

Otto didn’t want to ask why, that was her business, but it was a rather worrying sign. Before he could think of what to say, she continued, as if defending herself, “He’s dealing with a lot right now. I didn’t want to be a nag.”

“Mary Jane,” Otto scolded lightly, “that doesn’t matter. In a relationship you agree to be there for each other, bad times as well as good. And Peter cares about you. He wants to be there for you.”

She sighed, finger absently tracing the rim of her mug, and Otto made an effort to rein himself in. Comforting didn’t come naturally to him, but he could tell the girl just wanted a listening ear and not advice. Rosie had often needed the same.

“Look, my dear,” he tried again, softer. “Everything will work out. It’s alright to talk to him. And my home is always open to you if you need a place to get away.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “But…I was lonely. I went to see a friend, just for someone to talk to. Things got heated, and I…took it too far." Her eyes watered. "I kissed him.”

Otto did not ask who the friend had been; from what Peter had told him and his own grating experiences with Harry Osborn, he had an idea already. Confirmation wouldn’t change anything. He bit down the bubbling rage at the idea of anyone cheating on Peter; from the looks of it, the girl was guilty enough already.

“Mary Jane,” he said roughly after a moment of struggling to decide how to respond, “you know I’m not the one you should be talking to about this.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I guess...I was just tired of keeping secrets.”

“I’m sorry Peter hasn’t been there for you recently,” Otto acknowledged, trying to remain neutral. “And you know you were wrong. You’ve already been honest with me. That was very brave. You know what your next step is?”

“Talk to Pete.” She sounded terrified.

“It’s the only way,” Otto said gently. “You have to be honest with each other. And that goes for him too. But my dear, you should know…” He didn’t think Peter would ever under any circumstances harm Mary Jane, but he couldn’t in good conscience send the girl to speak to a Peter who was currently angry and grieving and potentially volatile. “While I would normally encourage expediency, Peter is…not quite at his best right now. There may be something affecting his judgment. I’m already working on a way to help him, but you may want to wait until then.”

Her brow furrowed with concern. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with him?”

“He brought me this.” Otto had Flo retrieve the symbiote from where he’d hidden it in the cupboard, and watched Mary Jane’s blue eyes widen. “It’s called a symbiote. It latches on to a host and supposedly amplifies aggression. Peter may be affected by one.”

“Does he know?”

“I’m not sure. I’m afraid he isn’t returning my calls.”

“Then - I’ve gotta go!” The girl stood rapidly, gathering her things. “He needs to know about this –“

“I agree,” Otto cautioned, “but – be careful, my dear.”

She looked determined, all shame banished in a fierce protectiveness. “He takes risks for people every day. I can do the same for him.” Her expression softened, and, to his surprise, she squeezed his hand briefly. “Thank you, Dr. Octavius. Honestly, I don’t know what we’d do without you.” She whisked out the door without another word, and Otto despised with every fiber of his being how powerless he was.

***

There were grains of sand stuck beneath his fingernails for hours, no matter how hard he scrubbed to remove them. It was, Peter thought in perverse amusement, blood on his hands, irreversible and irremovable. He thought he could live with it.

He’d been perturbed by May’s shocked reaction to the news – didn’t she care that Ben’s murderer was dead? She’d come around eventually, he thought. He’d already gotten that bastard Brock fired for faking his photograph; things were going his way, and he wasn’t about to let anything slow him down.

He’d been a little surprised to hear from MJ that morning; they hadn’t spoken in a few days. He supposed he’d been unjustifiably curt with her – she’d just been trying to help, after all. He’d make it up to her today.

She’d asked to meet him in the same café they’d almost been killed by Octavius. An odd choice of location, maybe, but she’d seemed in an odd mood when she’d called.

Her smile, when she saw him, was melancholy. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he greeted warmly. “You doing ok?”

She let out a nervous exhale, brushing a strand of fiery hair behind her ear. “Honestly? No.”

Peter’s blood began to boil, instantly protective. “What is it? Did someone hurt you?”

She squeezed his hand placatingly. “Just listen to me, ok? I need to be honest with you. First…the show let me go.”

“What? Over one bad review?”

“No,” she laughed bitterly, “no, it was pretty much unanimous. But it happened a few days ago, and I didn’t tell you. I was ashamed, and you were getting the key to the city…I didn’t want to seem jealous.”

“MJ, I always have time for you, I’ll make time for you –“

“But you don’t.” The words tumbled out of her in a breathless rush. “That’s not an accusation. You have a responsibility. I understand that, I knew what I was signing up for. But I – I’m lonely, Peter. And I made a mistake.” Her gaze, though guilty, was steady. “I kissed someone else. I’m sorry, Pete. I took it back immediately, but I didn’t want to lie to you.”

He took his hand back from hers immediately. “Who was it?”

She was instantly on her guard. “Does that really matter? It didn’t go anywhere, it isn’t going anywhere, I love you –“

“Who. Was it?” Her guilty glance away was all the confirmation he needed, and he had to fight hard not to crack the table with the strength of his grip. “Harry.” Really, who else would it be? Who else would MJ try to protect? Who else had always been trying to steal her away? 

“Peter –“

“I don’t believe it! I’m gone for, what, a day? And you make out behind my back with your ex?!”

“It wasn’t like that!” Mary Jane shot back. “I know I was wrong, but – I’m trying to make it up to you.” Her eyes shadowed, defiance draining away. “And you’ve been gone for more than a day, Pete. You haven’t been the same for a while. Dr. Octavius told me you’d be different, but –“

“You went to see him, too? So apparently you’re talking to everyone but me. Am I really that disappointing?”

“Peter, listen to me! You’re not yourself right now.” She was pleading, and normally he would have dropped everything to comfort her, but he was too angry at her betrayal to care. “Dr. Octavius wants to help you. He told me the creature you brought him is called a symbiote, that it might be affecting your judgment –“

“I know,” he said coldly.

She gaped at him. “What?”

“I know. It’s making me stronger. All it’s doing is helping me do the things I should have done years ago.” He stood, knocking back the chair. A few of the other patrons glanced at them uncomfortably, but he ignored them. “Norman was right about you. I never should have trusted you.”

He didn’t stay long enough to see her reaction, storming out of the building to a crowded street and an overcast sky. 

***

He’d walked to the Osborns’ penthouse so many times he could probably get there blindfolded. The muscle memory served him well as he shoved his way through the streets, too angry to really pay attention to where he was going. Thunder rumbled overhead, the storm getting closer. The pavement was starting to empty of pedestrians as people sought the shelter of the indoors. 

The doorman that let him in to the building, wisely, didn’t ask questions. Norman was nowhere to be found. It was just Harry. Good.

He was in that needlessly large room with the balcony that overlooked the city, helping himself to a drink. Probably congratulating himself on that stolen kiss from MJ. Peter had never loathed anything as much as the sight of Harry’s lazy, audacious smile, as if nothing was wrong. “Hey man. You should have told me you were stopping by. You don’t return my calls anymore, where ya been?”

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Peter snarled.

Harry had the gall to grin apologetically, but at least he didn’t pretend he didn’t know what was going on. Peter wasn't sure he could have stomached that. “Look, Pete…that was a mistake. We both knew it. MJ loves you. We were going to tell you, things just got heated –“

“Cut the ‘we’ crap,” Peter spat. “Don’t act like you’re my friend. You’ve always had your eye on MJ, trying to steal her away. I turn my back for a second, and you stab me there.”

Now there was a flicker of resentment in Harry’s eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” Peter laughed harshly. “Which of us is sitting in a billion-dollar penthouse, and which of us actually risks his life every day?”

“Risk your life? What are you talking about –“

“Oh, Harry,” Peter said with a patronizing smile. “The things you don’t know. Five years, and you never guessed about your father?”

Norman was still Harry’s sore spot, and the words had the desired effect. Harry had never had much of a span between ‘condescending confusion’ and ‘jealous rage,’ and, satisfyingly, he now fell straight into the latter. “What about my father –“

“Hush.” Peter held up a finger. “I always let you trample all over me. I don’t know why I did that. But now, I am going to talk and you're going to listen. First off,” he spread his arms wide, savoring the moment, “I’m Spiderman.”

Harry thought he was pulling his leg, he could tell. “What?”

“Need me to prove it? Fair enough,” Peter laughed. “You always did need things painstakingly spelled out for you.” He shot a web at one of those stupid little decorative vases rich people always seemed to keep around, sending it crashing to the ground over Harry’s surprised, indignant yelp.

“Now that we’ve got that cleared up…” He relished the way he could feel his lips crack and bleed with his smile. “You really, really should have stayed away from MJ.”

Under the right circumstances, Harry could be admirably, stupidly brave. It was somewhere between guts and lunacy that he was facing down a pissed off superhuman, and talked back to him. “She came to me, Pete. I know we messed up, but maybe you should ask why that is. Now what about my father -”

“And maybe you should ask why your dad was more interested in me than you,” Peter cut him off mockingly. “You can be really thick, you know that? Don’t tell me you never noticed him…washing the blood from his hands…moments where it seemed like he didn’t know what he was doing…Remember our friend the Goblin? Where do you think he got all those toys?”

If they were still in high school, Peter might have actually been afraid of Harry’s expression. “You’re lying.”

“I’d know, genius! I’m Spiderman! I fought him! I almost killed him! He owes me his life, and he was too much of a coward to ever let you know that. Well,” Peter announced, stretching dramatically, “I have other calls to make. I don’t really care if you believe me. But do let me know how that conversation goes when you see Daddy again. Toodles.”

And, just for show, he broke one of the large, showy windows looking over the city and swung away. Let them sue him if they wanted. He didn’t give a damn.

***

Over the months, Octavius’ small home had become a place of refuge, somewhere he could relax and be himself and didn’t have to hide either Peter Parker or Spiderman. It was a little humiliating, actually, that he’d grown to trust Octavius. MJ had been to see the man, and he hadn't heard a word from either of them about it. How long had they been conspiring behind his back? Whispering about him? Making fun of him? He'd gone to Octavius in confidence, and had that violated. 

MJ and Harry had both proved before that they’d throw Peter under the bus for their own self-interest; he was angry, sure, but there was a deep bitterness in him that wasn’t actually surprised. In some ways, Octavius’ betrayal stung the most. For all his other flaws, he’d always thought the man was at least honest.

The storm broke on his way over, sending thick sheets of rain pouring down onto the streets, sweeping trash into the gutters, lights from the cars glaring harshly on wet asphalt. The sky darkened even more as night fell, and he was soaked by the time Peter stooped under the familiar brick archway. He'd grown used to just letting himself in, but now made himself stop at the doorstep and knock, forcing a veneer of composure. He wanted to face this head-on, not sneak in like a criminal.

“Peter!”

He was actually surprised when he was immediately enveloped in a warm, desperate embrace, before he could even get a word out. For a moment, something in him broke at the tender affection, even more so because Otto so rarely initiated physical contact. He hadn’t been hugged like this since he was a child, and gotten lost in the crowded streets. He’d cried for Ben and May, and when they found him, they’d raced over and held him tight like this.

There was something sweet and sharp and painful in his chest, and his resolve teetered, but the indecision was gone before it could overcome the anger. It only reminded him of Ben, and what he’d lost.

“I’m fine, Doc,” he muttered, disentangling himself.

“Where have you been? Are you alright? Did you speak with Mary Jane?” Octavius’ worried hands ushered him inside to his familiar place at the table, apparently not caring that he was dripping wet. One of the actuators – he thought it was Flo – hissed at him in a vaguely threatening way, and he glared at it. The machines obviously weren’t pleased to see him, and it was a sign of how focused Otto was that he wasn’t listening to them.

“Yeah…I talked to her. And so did you, apparently,” he said scathingly.

Octavius was calm and unapologetic. “Yes, I did. I told her about the specimen you brought me. She needs to be made aware of these things, and she needs to hear them from you.”

Peter’s voice was heavy with scorn. “And I bet you two went on about how irresponsible I am, is that it?”

“No,” Otto said sternly, and there was the stoic, professional doctor Peter was used to. The previous vulnerability had been far too uncomfortable. “You know I’m on your side. Which is why I’m telling you that you can't keep going like this. I know the symbiote is affecting your judgment. I figured out a way to purge it from you, Norman is having it built -”

“You had no right to do that,” Peter said sharply. “What if I don’t want it gone?” He paused, remembering the satisfaction of serving justice and scrubbing sand from beneath his fingernails. That wouldn't have been possible without the symbiote. “Remember your buddy Marko?”

Octavius’ knuckles whitened. “Peter. What did you do?”

The creature inside him purred in pleasure. “He won’t be hurting anyone else.”

“Peter…”

“Do you think I was wrong?” he demanded. “Can you honestly tell me he didn’t deserve it?”

I don’t think it’s for us to say, whether a person deserves to live or die, May had told him. For a moment there was a flicker of guilt, but he shoved it down.

“I can’t say about him,” Otto said quietly. Peter couldn’t read his expression – sadness, but something else, too. Something…calculating. “But I do know you didn’t deserve it. This burden.”

“You know what? You’re right,” Peter replied coldly. The rain lashed against the windows. “I don’t deserve it. I didn’t ask for any of this. I’ve let myself be a doormat for so long, given up what I wanted over and over again, and it hasn’t gotten me a damn thing. Except everybody lying to me, because they think I won’t care.” He stood, suddenly too angry to sit any longer. “Well, I’m done. I’m tired of being used.”

There was unspeakable grief and a bone-deep weariness in Octavius’ dark gaze. “Listen, my boy. I know how you feel. To give everything you have and more, and it feels like it’s not enough. To have people use you because you’re kind. To be so tired and angry at the world that you’ll listen to any voice that promises control.” His gruff voice was gentle. “But believe me when I say, you cannot let it steal your kindness. You can fight this. I know that I’m not always the best with words, but Peter…I’m here for you. All I want is to take care of you.”

There was silence for a moment, as silent as it could be with enhanced hearing. All Peter could hear was the storm and their heartbeats, thudding away in the absence of words. And suddenly, almost without consciously deciding to, he hated Octavius and his kindness with every fiber of his being.

“Yeah?” He smirked, something cruel and alien clawing its way up his throat and out of his mouth. “Like you took care of Rosie?”

Three years ago, Peter had faced Otto Octavius as an angry, broken man, the same man who’d told corny jokes and told him to read poetry to Mary Jane, and been able to reconcile the criminal with the person behind him. After all, Peter knew what grief could do to a person. Over the months, he’d gotten to know that person better, and understood that he wasn’t always patient, and he had a bit of a temper, and he could be stubborn and blunt. But Peter had never once doubted the compassion that was behind that stern exterior.  

But now, for just a moment, he looked as deranged as he had in a sinking building on the river, in the hellish light of an artificial star.

“Fine then,” he hissed, and the lights on the actuators flickered with crimson. “Get yourself killed. But just know that you brought it on yourself.”

Something inside Peter snapped; he felt it tear like a steel cable giving way, ringing in his ears. What happened next was a blur, just like the first night the symbiote slithered into his veins, but the first thing he became aware of again was the splashing of the rain on his face. It seemed to snap him out of whatever trance-like state he’d been in, and he frowned at how cold he was.

Across the street from him, Otto’s door was shut, the lights in his windows dark. Even with his enhanced senses, Peter could detect no movement within.

All of a sudden, memory returned, sickeningly sharp. He couldn’t believe he’d said that to Otto. It was too cruel. Where had it come from?

Warmth tingled all the way down his spine, a nauseating ooze like blood, and he knew – what had once felt like control was really the lack of. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if this was how Norman had felt, waking up after every blackout.

A part of him was screaming, urging him to pound on the door and apologize, to stay there until there was an answer, but another part held back, hesitant. What if he snapped again, and did something worse?

He stumbled through the wet streets, sick with remorse, seeking somewhere, anywhere to go. He couldn’t go to May, even as he longed for her comforting touch – what if he hurt her too?

In the distance, the domed belltower of Ben and May’s old church pierced the skyline. The place where he’d been christened as a baby, served as an altar boy, listened to Ben sing the hymnals. A place of safety, of sanctuary.

Hardly thinking, he climbed the tower, the rain making the stones slick. Help me, he pleaded with whoever might be listening.

And right before he lost all hope, the bells began tolling the hour.

The effect was immediate – there was a lurch, deep in his gut, like his stomach was being forced up his throat, and his every pore was tingling -

And then, to his horror, he could hear it – a voice in his head, screaming, pleading.

Let me stay where the blood is warm, it’s so cold outside in the dark – !

He couldn’t hear his own thoughts over it, couldn’t stop it or block it out. It carried on as ceaselessly as the toll of the bells. No wonder four of them had driven Otto mad.

Claws gripped his skull, trying frantically to stay put – there was a final, decisive boom from the bells, and, with one last desperate shriek, the creature was dislodged and fell.

Peter collapsed on to the rain-slicked stones, trembling, a weight gone from his chest that he hadn’t even realized was there. Shame and relief prickled over every inch of him in equal measure.

Even he didn’t hear the faint scream far below him, quickly drowned.

Instead, he closed his eyes and let the rain cool his fevered skin.

***

The air carried the damp thickness of a storm even into the next night over, but deep within his personal laboratory, Norman noticed none of it as he put the finishing touches to the design Otto had sent him.

For all Octavius could be a showman, this machine was simple – the original design had been a box that a patient could step into, and have the sonic therapy administered. This followed essentially the same principle, but was small enough to carry and capable of far more lethal frequencies.

Constructing it had taken him a while, but Norman relished the work, even if he sometimes missed the instant results of the technology in the little Peter’s world. It had been some time since he actually built something with his own two hands, not relying on outsourcing and assembly lines. And this time, he didn’t have to worry about the Goblin watching behind his eyes, worry that every time he blinked or looked away he was unconsciously building a trap in.

He glanced at his watch as he finished, realizing with some amusement that he was actually uncertain how much time had passed. He'd taken brief breaks to eat and nap on the cot he'd had set up in the corner, and left a message for Harry letting his boy know where he was. But he realized, with a mounting sense of disquiet, that he hadn’t seen his son in some time.

When he’d returned five years ago, he’d tried to let Harry know that he was welcome in this side of Norman’s life, tried to involve him in everything he could. His boy had jumped at the chance; now that Harry was effectively running the company, he often wandered down to the lab between meetings to teasingly remind his father to eat and take breaks. They’d taken to having lunch together over the expensive machinery, turning it into a kind of competition to see who would spill the most crumbs and have to clean.

But now, emerging from the almost trance-like state that engineering induced in him, he realized his son hadn't appeared in what probably amounted to well over a day. 

That hadn’t been unheard of in the past, but Norman had been trying to do better, now.

It was entirely possible that Harry was just busy, but he couldn’t stop the cold prickle of dread.

The mood in their home was decidedly somber as Norman returned, reflecting the dark sky. He found his son on the balcony, overlooking the lights of the nighttime city, back to the door.

“Harry?” he said cautiously.

His boy didn’t respond for a moment, but as he heard his father start to approach, he turned, freezing Norman in his tracks. For a split second, it was the Goblin looking back at him. It was like looking in a mirror.

“Is it true?”

“What?” he asked, heart hammering wildly in his chest. There was no need to ask what, Norman only had one secret now from his son – the shocked exclamation was less not knowing what he meant and more how did he find out, who told him, who told him -

“Is it true?”

Norman swallowed. “…Yes.”

He was a little shocked to see just hurt puzzlement in Harry’s eyes instead of anger and disgusted, righteous outrage. “…Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Harry, Harry, how could I? I’d already failed you enough…”

There was a moment of silence as they each struggled to grasp where to go next. Norman stiffened. “How did you-“

With all the sudden startlement of a gunshot, the phone rang.

Harry’s gaze flickered with resentment. “You’d better get that.”

“Son, no, you’re more important –“

“Isn’t that the line you set up for Dr. Octavius? He might need something.”

That was, frustratingly, probably true. Otto never called unless it was important.

“Look Harry – don’t go anywhere, got it? This matters to me. I want to make sure you’re alright.”

He picked up the line with perhaps a little more force than necessary, irritated. “This better be good, Octavius –“

“Norman, where’s the machine, do you have it ready, I’m coming to get it–!“

“Whoa, slow down, what?”

“Peter, he needs me!”

Harry, brow furrowing as he overheard, turned on the television, flipping through channels until it became abundantly clear what Octavius was talking about.

There was Flint Marko, scaled up to the monstrous proportions Norman remembered, and a strange black web, encircling a half-complete skyscraper.

Spiderman’s bright, familiar figure flitted in and out of the camera’s view, trying desperately to reach a suspended cab where there was a flash of red hair…

The remote slid limply from Harry’s grasp. “Oh God…Pete…MJ…”

Norman glanced at him sharply, everything falling into place. If Harry knew Peter was Spiderman…There was a brief flicker of rage at Parker for breaking his promise to keep his mouth shut, but that didn’t mean he wanted the kid to die. There were more urgent matters now, one of which was on the other end of the phone line.

Otto could have the actuators rip the ankle monitor off as easily as a child tore off a plastic bracelet. He could be on the streets in the time it took the surveillance alarm to reach the police. They all knew he could do it. He’d only been imprisoned because he’d allowed himself to be.

And he would want to do something. Otto had always hated being powerless, and that desperate, irrational stubborn streak, that insisted it’ll stabilize, it’s under control and I don’t need fixing – that Otto Octavius - was as much a part of him as his kind soul.

“Otto, don’t do anything stupid,” Norman scolded over the phone, hoping it wasn’t too late. He was still on the line, which meant he was still in his home. “Peter can take care of himself.”

“Norman,” Otto begged him, as if a condemned man pleading for his life, “he can’t do it alone –“

“I know.” He swallowed. “I have your design. I’m going after him.”

There was agonized silence from the other end, and Norman seized his chance, trying to hammer in for his friend to stay put. “If you break your parole, and get your sentence increased, or thrown in jail, how would Peter feel? He’d blame himself.”

Octavius hung up, and Norman couldn’t tell if he’d seen sense or doomed himself, but he couldn’t worry about that now.

He grabbed Otto’s machine where he’d left it on a table and started for the stairs. “Harry, I have something that can help Peter, but I need you to stay here –“

His son gripped his arm. “I’m coming too.”

“No,” he snarled, “no way in hell. You’re staying here.”

“If you’re going, so am I!”

“Son,” Norman commanded, mind racing, “I have an idea. Call the fire department. Tell them to bring the largest hoses they have. That might slow down that sand thing.”

Harry nodded consent, but Norman could tell from the defiant gleam in his eyes that he still had every intention of following as soon as he could. There wasn’t time to argue the point any more.

The scene upon arriving was like something from five years ago - Spiderman, Flint Marko, Norman, and a construction site. Norman cradled the machine in his hands, feeling a little that he was redeeming himself to the small Peter by helping now. 

Everything was chaos - there was a news crew, and police sirens wailing, lights flashing. A crowd had assembled, watching in horror as Peter's struggles grew weaker and weaker...

Norman shoved his way through the mass of people, vaguely wishing he actually did have Otto with him – a guy over six feet tall with four metal appendages would be way more helpful in moving the crowd than a pasty guy in loafers.

To his immense relief, three crimson firetrucks pulled up, drawing the crowd’s attention, and the men immediately jumped out and began setting up the hoses with the efficiency of long practice. It was hard to read Marko’s distorted features, but their arrival had clearly drawn his notice. So, he knew exactly what water would do to him.

The relief was coupled with a stab of anxiety – Harry would probably be following close behind, and Norman didn’t want his boy anywhere near this scene.

But apparently, it was too late for that.

The deafening gush of the massive fire hoses distracted everyone, drawing a collective mixture of gasps and screams and cheers as Marko began to shrink, to crumble – and Norman felt Otto’s machine snatched from his grasp as a familiar voice yelled “Sorry Dad!” and sprinted ahead of him, strong young body pushing through the crowd with much more ease.

“Harry! Harry!” Norman would never miss the Goblin, but in that moment, he missed the strength to be able to shove all these damn people out of his way. 

They reached the foot of the site, covered in wet sand, and started climbing to where Peter was still battling the creature on the upper levels. Mary Jane, high above them, had taken advantage of the creature’s distraction to start inching her way down the sticky black web to the highest floor of the building.

Peter had seen them coming, but he was obviously trying not to draw the creature’s attention to them, attempting to keep it contained to one level. Kind of him, but in this case, the boy’s nobility was working against him.

“Pete!” Harry yelled, coming to the floor just below. This close, they could see the creature’s blank white eyes and yellow fangs, and hear its hideous screeches. “Catch!” He had the good sense not to throw the fragile device, instead holding it out so Peter’s webbing could retrieve it.

“Thanks! What am I supposed to do with this?!” Peter shouted.

“Get it inside! It’ll kill it!”

Norman finally caught up to his son, panting and furious. “What were you thinking –“

“Look out!”

Mary Jane’s shouted warning came just in time; one of the suspended cars tore free from the webbing and plummeted earthwards just as the girl reached solid ground. Norman yanked Harry out of the way without a second to spare; the falling vehicle disrupted a stack of metal piping, sending them clattering onto the concrete in a deafening cacophony.

The symbiote, who’d taken advantage of the distraction to start again for Mary Jane, suddenly fell with a pained screech, its inky hide rippling. Peter seized his chance, latching on to something inside its skin and pulling.

Then, horrifyingly, there was a distinctly human scream added to the din, and Norman realized with some disgust that there was a person inside – logically, he knew there must have been a host for the symbiote to assume humanoid shape, but seeing it was something else altogether.

With a final heave, Peter separated the host and webbed him to the floor – it was a kid who couldn’t be much older than Peter or Harry, and who'd collapsed in a quaking, sobbing heap.

In one swift movement, Peter snatched up Otto’s machine and brought it down on to the shapeless black mass, trapping the symbiote inside. Before it could break free, he started up the device.

The effect was immediate – a high-pitched thrumming filled the air, making them all cringe, but it was nothing compared to what was happening to the symbiote. The thing went berserk, smashing against the sides of its cage, its unearthly screeches echoing off metal and concrete.

After what felt like an eternity, there was a final piercing shriek, and it seemed to lose all shape and become nothing but a thin, oily puddle. It was dead.

In the stunned silence that followed, there was a gentle ripple of a cool breeze. Norman looked up; Flint Marko had materialized next to Peter on the floor above them, once more in human shape and speaking words too soft to make out. Harry started towards them with a frown, but Norman stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “No, wait. Let them do this.”

His son slumped. “Dad…I…”

Norman sighed, glancing down at the crowd below, wondering if it would be possible to get away before anyone recognized them. He could already hear the calls of Mr. Osborn, are you affiliated with Spiderman – Mr. Osborn, is Oscorp claiming responsibility for the mutants seen tonight –

All he really wanted was some uninterrupted time with his son. They needed to have a long, long talk.

“That was foolish,” he scolded lightly, before nudging him warmly. “But I’m proud of you.”

***

Peter watched Flint disappear, tears drying on his cheeks. The adrenaline was beginning to drain from his body, leaving him achingly aware of just how tired he was. The sun was rising, bathing everything in dusky hues of pink and orange.

Behind him, Eddie’s sobs were almost worse than the symbiote’s shrieks. He was crying not from relief, but from pain.

“You killed him,” he said hoarsely, brokenly. “He was my only friend, and you killed him!”

“That thing wasn’t your friend, Eddie,” Peter said sternly. “It was just using you.” He sighed, wondering what would become of Brock now. He seemed to have lost any will to run or fight back. His crimes were no worse than Dr. Octavius’, but Brock couldn’t prove the same impaired judgment, not with the symbiote destroyed. And even if it hadn’t been, Peter wasn’t entirely sure that would be true anyway. A lifetime in prison seemed the only way forward.

But he had no more time to think about Brock when MJ reached him.

He met her gaze, and a sad, loving understanding passed between them. There were no apologies necessary, from either of them.

He wrapped her in his arms, closing his eyes, relishing the feel of her. “I love you, Mary Jane Watson,” he breathed into her fiery hair. It was the only thing left to be said between them, all that really mattered. “And I want you to be my wife. But I’m willing to wait until we’re ready.”

He felt her smile against him. “I’ll be here, tiger.” They would talk more later, but for now, this was enough.

He held her carefully and swung down to the floor below them, where he’d been astonished to see Harry and Norman. He hadn’t expected anyone to come to the rescue after the way he’d acted, much less them.

He smiled tentatively at Harry, knowing he’d have to make the first move. “Hey man.”

Harry’s expression was unreadable. “Hey.” 

“Look...I’m sorry,” Peter sighed, and he meant it. “I was way out of line.”

“I mean, so was I, in all fairness.”

“Honestly?” Peter laughed wearily, “you probably just saved my life. I think we can call it square.” He paused. “So you’re…ok with this?” With me?

Harry sighed, running a hand through his curly hair. “I don’t know how I feel about it, honestly. But I do know one thing.” He offered a smile; a feeble, broken thing, but no less genuine. “You’re still my friend.”

Peter returned the expression, the first glimmer of contentment beginning to glow out of the grief and exhaustion of this night. First Flint, then Harry and MJ – boy, there was nothing like royally screwing up to put a guy in a forgiving mood.

“Mr. Osborn?” he offered hesitantly. Norman had been letting them talk, looking at the place where Flint had disappeared with something like confusion on his face, as if something wasn’t adding up. But at Peter’s address, his sharp gaze snapped back to attention.

“Thank you, sir,” Peter said shamefully. “And I’m sorry. Harry shouldn’t have found out this way. Not from me.”

“You’re right,” Norman acknowledged. His expression softened. “I should have told him. But I was scared.” He addressed the last part to his son, who seemed shocked. Peter guessed Norman had never admitted to fear in front of Harry. “And don’t thank me, Peter. Thank Dr. Octavius.” He nodded at the device Peter had set down. “That’s his baby.”

Oh, Doc. Still saving him, even after everything.

“That reminds me,” Peter said uncertainly, looking up to where he’d secured Eddie for the police. “He knows, he knows about me. I don’t know what to do –“

Norman shrugged, seeming unconcerned. “Brock’s been proven a liar before, and he’s not exactly of sound mind right now. If he blabs, I doubt anyone will take him seriously.”

“I guess,” Peter acknowledged, a little reassured. He was still uneasy, but Brock had been outed as a liar, and he’d be going to prison for what was likely a very long time. Hopefully that would mitigate any harm he could do.

“You kids get out of here before they start taking your picture,” Norman said to Peter and MJ. He turned to his son with a conspiratorial grin. “Harry and I will tackle the press.”

They were covering for him. They’d come to help him. He’d been forgiven by his two best friends, and they’d all made it out of tonight alive. Five years ago, he never would have dreamed he’d one day have a group of people who cared about him, helping him and keeping his secret. For a moment, the gratitude of simply not being alone was nearly overwhelming.

He extended a hand to MJ, matching her gentle smile, ready to take her home. There was one more person he needed to see.

***

The actuators had been giving him a headache all night, their frustration and distress compounding his own. He hadn’t slept a wink, terrified, not even daring to turn off the channel, though the overstimulation from the television was severe. He only gave in when he’d seen the report that Marko and the symbiote had disappeared, and Spiderman had left the scene with Mary Jane Watson.

He knew Norman was right; Peter wouldn’t want him tossed in prison for trying to help. But it had been agony, not being able to do anything. No, being able to do something and forcing himself not to.

You can’t control everything, my love, Rosie had often chided him. And trying to anyway had been what killed her and landed him here in the first place.

Even though Otto knew the words had been born from a cruel alien creature, Peter had been right; his care never did seem to do much good for the people he loved.

He felt a prickle of shame at how he’d reacted, letting his own temper and spite get the better of him. He was the adult in the situation, and he’d known Peter wasn’t entirely himself. He shouldn’t have let it get to him.

But before he could apologize, the boy had stormed out, unresponsive, and Otto hadn’t heard from him at all until last night’s evening news.

He’d had a feeling Flint Marko wasn’t really dead when Peter had confessed to him – he still loathed the man for what he'd done to Peter, but he’d been relieved to see that he was correct. It wasn’t right that his boy should be a murderer, however justified.

So, that was it. Everything changed in the other universe by the little Peter had happened now. There was only the boy himself that had to grow up and experience it.

Father, Flo gently prodded his mind, and he felt her relief. He’s back. He’s free.

 Just after this announcement, there was a hesitant but familiar knock on his door.

He opened it, unsure what to expect - and there was Peter, still bedraggled and bruised, blue eyes rimmed with red. For a moment, they both hovered uncertainly, unsure who would break the ice. Otto sighed, steeling himself. "Peter -"

This time, Peter moved first, cutting him off; the boy ended up buried in his arms, and neither of them moved for a long time.

***

“Norman told me you designed the resonator,” Peter said quietly. “You saved me.”

“Well, not single-handedly,” Otto replied in an attempt at humor, making the actuators whir in amusement. They were more relaxed than they’d been in some time, and their contentment bled into Otto’s own mind.

Peter was in his regular spot at the kitchen table, but the half-empty mug of tea before him was growing cold. “Even so. I don’t think there’s much anyone else could have done without your help. Not in time, anyway.”

“Really, my boy,” Otto said lightly, growing a little embarrassed at the thanks, “I should be asking for your forgiveness. I’m only sorry I wasn’t able to provide more assistance.”

“Doc, you did plenty. You did more than enough.” Peter glanced away in shame. “I never should have said those things.”  

“Peter, I owe you more than I can ever repay.” And the boy really had no idea, yet, how true that was. “It’s a simple matter to forgive words spoken in anger. And what’s more,” he continued fondly, “as I’ve said, I care about you, dear boy. Forgiveness needs no other reason.”

Peter said nothing, but Otto noticed him trying to discretely wipe his eyes, and smiled to himself. “Besides,” he added gently, “you were right, weren’t you?”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Peter murmured.

“You were. I –“ His breath hitched a little. “I failed my Rosie. And I think, Peter,” he continued, a little firmer, “that the symbiote may only have given voice to what you were already holding back.”

Peter’s guilty silence confirmed it.

“I know you’re sorry,” Otto went on, kinder, “but you need to understand why this happened. You repress things too much, dear boy. It’s alright to tell others how you really feel, without an alien creature. You don’t have to be unkind to be honest.”

“I feel like everyone’s always counting on me,” Peter muttered. “They’ve got their own problems.”

“And if your friends are really your friends, they’ll want to help you with yours.”

“But it wasn’t just that I gave in to the anger. I…enjoyed it,” Peter confessed quietly. “Hurting people. It felt right. It felt justified.”

“I understand. I do,” Otto added at Peter’s incredulous look. “It wasn’t all the actuators. They were just carrying out their programming. But part of me enjoyed it, the power, the freedom. After the experiment failed…I was angry. I was heartbroken.” He sighed. “It was only too easy to give them control. But it doesn’t mean you can’t get back up and try again, and you’ve always done that. You’re a good person, Peter,” Otto assured him. “I know that more surely than I do almost anything else.”

“Well. I try, at least.” Peter’s smile was tempered by sadness, but the warmth behind it was undeniable. “Thanks for looking out for me, Doc.”

His boy was alive, and he was healing. They’d seen each other at their worst, and they were still here having tea together. Otto let Peter’s gratitude sink in, accepting that maybe, for once, he’d actually done some good. And just a little, he forgave himself. His tired eyes grew damp behind his glasses. “You’re welcome, my boy.”

Chapter Text

2008

“Sign here,” Davis grunted. “And – there you go. You’re a free man, Dr. Octavius.”

“That's a relief,” Otto said lightly. “I do have somewhere to be this afternoon.”

The warm spring Saturday had dawned misty and gray, the sun promising to banish the heavy clouds in the air later on. Otto had passed his final psych evals (“though you might want to find a regular therapist,” his psychiatrist had recommended. “It could help”), and Officer Davis had arrived earlier that morning to remove the surveillance in his home and officiate his release.

“You’re not the only one. I gotta pick up my boy in a bit. He’s taking a preliminary SAT this morning.” Even the stoic officer couldn’t hide the pride in his voice.

“Ah, I’m sure he’ll do brilliantly. He attends Visions Academy, yes?”

“That’s right. The kid’s got brains, all from his mother. Not looking forward to when he starts driving, though,” Davis snorted genially.

Otto finished the form and stood, shaking the man’s hand warmly. “Thank you for all your help during this time, officer.”

“Just doing my job,” Davis replied graciously, though Otto knew there were several cops who would not consider kindness to a convict part of their job. He tipped his hat politely before showing himself out. “You take care of yourself, Doctor.”

Otto had about two hours to kill before the ceremony; he’d been eagerly awaiting his freedom, but now that he had it, it was a little sobering to realize he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself now. As always, his thoughts turned to Rosalie, but his heart immediately quailed away from that idea. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face her grave yet; he didn’t want to be a mess for Peter’s graduation, even if a part of himself was disgusted for being such a neglectful husband.

In the end, he decided to be selfish, strolling to the park to sit by the pond. It was something he’d often done with Rosie, and he knew she would have wanted him to be kind to himself. They’d stayed out for hours, reading or just lost in thought, enjoying each other’s company. It would be difficult without her, but it was a start.

He considered trying to hide the actuators to the best of his ability, then discarded the idea with a defiant scoff. He’d served his time. Everyone else would just have to deal with it now.

He enjoyed the long walk through the city; the actuators hadn’t had a change in scenery for some time, and he could feel them eagerly soaking up every sensory detail. He was glad it wasn’t too bright of a day, giving his damaged eyes more time to adjust to the outdoors.

There were stares from passersby, as he’d expected, but he didn’t much mind. He snorted to himself, wondering how many calls the police station would get today about the notorious Dr. Octavius apparently on the loose again. At least no one spoke to him, which was a relief.

The cool green shade of the pond provided a welcome reprieve, and the park was mostly quiet. Otto settled against a tree, right up to the water, and shifted around for a minute trying to find a comfortable position where the harness wouldn’t irritate him. He was tempted to close his eyes, but he knew he’d probably fall asleep if he did, and he didn’t want to be late. Even if he told the actuators to track the sun and wake him, he was a little too proud – and wary – to sleep in public. He should have brought a book or something.

There was a small flock – was that the right word? – of ducks making their way rapidly across the water towards him, clearly having been trained by park-goers to expect food when they saw people.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I don’t have anything for you. Maybe next time.”

They babbled expectantly for a while longer, then realized he didn’t have anything and contented themselves with foraging along the bank. He could feel the actuators begging for his permission to grab one to examine it more closely.

Stop it, he chided half-heartedly, amused. We don’t need animal cruelty added to our record. Even with their curiosity stymied, their delight at all these new sights and sounds still seeped into his mind and made him smile. Well, at least they were happy.

It took about an hour to get to the university from the park on foot, so after a while he checked his watch and got to his feet with a groan.

Father, let us carry you. We would get there faster.

“No no,” he murmured to them, hoping no one would catch him apparently talking to himself. “No need for that.”

We’re bored. We never do anything anymore.

“Yes, well, how do you think I feel?” He sighed. “Be patient. Let me…get used to this, and then maybe we can start doing more.”

The university lawn when he arrived was spread with rows and rows of chairs for commencement, the whole area teeming with students and families. The actuators hissed softly and drew closer to him at the onslaught of noise and activity, and even Otto began to feel a little overwhelmed at the sea of strangers. Just as in the park, there were people staring at him, but when he did not start taking hostages and uprooting trees, they ignored him and turned back to their excited chatter. Thank God for the self-absorption of young people. But, well, let them be, he thought fondly. This was their day.

The first face he recognized, a blessed relief, was Curt. They’d corresponded during Otto’s sentence, but Curt had never really found time to see him in person. On his darker days, Otto sometimes wondered if his old friend was ashamed of him now - but if he was, he hid it well, and his handshake was warm.

“Otto. Good to see you.”

“Likewise.” It was hard not to think of that weird other version of Curt, who’d apparently turned himself into some kind of mutant throwback. Otto had never been more grateful his friend decided to switch to physics rather than stay in biology.

“I was sorry to hear about Rosie,” Curt said sympathetically.

Otto nodded briefly, glancing away. “Thank you. How’s Martha?”

“Doing well,” Curt continued, tactfully keeping his condolences to just that. “She just got grant approval for her gene therapy research.” His pride in his wife was obvious even on his stoic face.

“Tell her I said congratulations.” Otto looked around. “Have you seen Peter?”

“A while ago. He was trying to find his aunt somewhere to sit.” Curt shook his head in fond exasperation. “I’m glad he made it. He’ll go far, if he can keep his head out of the clouds.” He paused. “He’s a good kid. I’ll admit my opinion of him went up when I heard he was visiting you.”

“He has a kind heart,” Otto said warmly. “He made everything a little brighter.”

“He speaks very highly of you,” Curt added graciously. “I think you’ve done a lot of good for him.”

“Oh, he just needs a little push every now and then,” Otto said, a little embarrassed. “It’s all him, really.”

“I’ll let you go find him. He’ll want to know you’re here.” Curt smiled. “I’ll tell Martha you said hello. We’ll have you over sometime and catch up more.”

“Yes, I would like that,” Otto replied, pleasantly surprised. Perhaps he had misjudged Curt’s reasons for staying away. Maybe his friend had just been trying to be sensitive.

Otto had taught for a while before devoting himself exclusively to research, and he’d been forced to attend many a commencement. While he’d enjoyed helping students succeed, he was glad that part of his life was behind him; as he made his way through the crowded lawn, he bit down a laugh at the mental image of trying to force the actuators into regalia.

He was about to resign himself to finding a seat at the back and just looking for Peter afterwards when he saw a familiar flash of red hair.

Mary Jane spotted him at the same time – he supposed he was rather hard to miss – and burst into her sunny smile. As she started towards him, he noticed she was accompanied by a familiar figure: Harry Osborn.

He’d never exactly liked Harry; the boy was so much like Norman had been at that age, which was increasingly difficult to tolerate now that Otto was many years older. But the younger Osborn was growing on him – he’d earned points in Otto’s book for not abandoning Peter even when the truth came out the year before.

“Hi Dr. Octavius,” Mary Jane greeted warmly when she reached him, and then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Glad you could make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he replied fondly. “Good to see you, my dear. Is Peter around?”

She gestured over her shoulder. “He’s with his aunt.”

“Long time no see, Otto,” Harry said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “How ya been?”

Otto forced himself to smile. “Well, thank you. Where’s your dad?”

Harry scoffed fondly. “He’s around here somewhere. Talking to the president, last I saw him. He knows everybody.”  

“Yes, well, he hasn’t changed much in that regard,” Otto replied, remembering Norman chatting up the dean at their own graduation – start making connections early, Octavius, you can’t change the world on your own - until Rosie dragged him to their seats.

And finally, there was Peter, grinning under his graduation cap and cheerfully waving when he saw Otto. He was accompanied by a lovely old woman in a scarf and coat.

Otto gaped for a moment, recognizing her immediately. He’d dropped her off a building. She’d smashed him in the face with her parasol. In hindsight, Spiderman had been at the bank the same time she was, which maybe should have made it obvious, but he’d somehow never put together that this was May Parker.

Well, this was going to be awkward.

“May, this is Dr. Octavius,” Peter introduced him. “He’s been helping me a lot.”

“Oh, I remember him,” the old woman said tartly.

Harry made a noise that was more ‘eight-year-old hearing a potty joke’ than chief executive of a multinational corporation. Mary Jane became intensely interested in the distant treeline, but Otto could see her biting down a smile. Peter was unsuccessfully trying to hide a smirk.

“Truly, ma’am,” Otto tried, “let me apologize –“

“Yes, I know you’ve learned your lesson,” May sniffed. “I’ve been told.”

“Have a seat, Ms. Parker,” Harry said gallantly, transparently interrupting, but Otto certainly didn’t mind. He slung an arm each around Peter and Mary Jane. “Let’s track down my dad to take a group photo of us.”

“I’ll catch up,” Peter waved them on. “Come here, Doc.”

“You might have given me some warning,” Otto grumbled half-heartedly when they’d withdrawn a sufficient distance.

“Sorry, it really did slip my mind. Honestly. But now you can consider it payback,” Peter grinned. He was only joking, but Otto flinched a little.

“Peter, I am terribly sorry for that. How could you possibly –“

“It’s ok, Doc,” Peter interrupted, more serious now. “I forgave you a long time ago. But if you really want to make it up, go sit with her,” he teased. “I don’t want to leave her alone. Really, her bark’s worse than her bite. Just – be yourself. She’ll warm up to you.”

That was probably true, and said more about her than himself. May Parker had proven herself a kind woman in another universe, and if the compassion of his own Peter was any indication, that still held here. But some of his doubt must have shown on his face, because Peter frowned slightly.

“I mean. You don’t have to. I just thought –“

“No,” Otto interrupted. “I will.” This was important to Peter; he could put himself aside for that.

The boy smiled gratefully before he made to leave, but then he turned back as if remembering something. “Uh, one thing. She doesn’t know. About Spiderman. So just don’t bring it up, ok?”

That seemed odd. “She doesn’t?”

“No,” Peter mumbled, looking slightly ashamed. “How could I tell her? She’d be worried sick. She’s got enough on her plate.”

“Something tells me she can handle it.”

“Well, maybe. And of course I trust her, it’s not that, it’s just – she can’t really take care of herself. If she got hurt because of me…”

The little one’s aunt had known, and that hadn’t ended well for either of them. Otto hadn’t known at all when he’d met this May, and he’d still put her in danger. For all of May Parker’s courage, in the end, she’d gotten lucky. He could easily have killed her. On second thought, he could see where his Peter was coming from.

“It’s your decision. I won’t say anything.” Still, it seemed wrong somehow, that he should know while Peter’s beloved guardian did not.

 “Thanks, Otto,” Peter replied with a quick smile, before scurrying off.

Otto heaved a sigh and turned back to face May Parker, sitting with her hands folded primly on her lap. He owed his life to a woman who was now dead in another universe; it was the least he could do to speak to her surviving counterpart. The other May had found the courage to approach him – granted, he hadn’t been much of a threat at the time – but now he could do the same.

“Ma’am?” he said quietly, trying not to startle her. “May I sit here?”

She blinked up at him; it was almost amusing how much he towered over her. “Oh, go ahead. I don’t mind.”

It was distinctly awkward, to say the least; the flimsy folding chairs certainly hadn’t been designed for the actuators’ comfort, and Otto had to sit slightly turned to the side to accommodate them. He stifled a laugh at imagining what May’s slight frame must look like next to his own. Others were clearly thinking the same; they were getting more than a few sideways glances.

“Are you married? Handsome man like you?”

He hadn’t expected May to speak to him, and if she did, that hadn’t crossed his mind as her first question. He couldn’t tell if she was making fun of him or not, but it didn’t really matter. He’d dropped her off a building; she could make fun of him all she wanted.

But he noticed where her eyes were looking, and realized the question wasn’t quite as out of the blue as he thought. She’d seen the ring on his finger.

“No ma’am,” he explained gently. “I’m a widower.”

“Oh now, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, and she sounded like she genuinely meant it. He supposed she would, having lost her own husband. “Peter told me, but I wasn’t sure if…”

If what? If the monster who’d taken her hostage could truly have loved someone? He simply kept quiet, uncertain how much Peter had told her about him. He didn’t want to bring up anything that might expose the boy’s double life.  

But the establishment of their common ground seemed to have given her fresh curiosity, for she looked questioningly at Moe, who rotated his claws in response as if preening.

“Do they really speak to you?”

“Ah, sometimes,” Otto replied, amused at the memory of the other May asking him much the same thing. “I can control it now, though.”

“I see.” There was a trace of sympathy in her voice.

“They can be decent company, if nothing else,” he said lightly, which earned an indignant hiss from Larry and a smile from May, as he’d hoped.

“Peter speaks of you quite often,” she said suddenly. “He’s very fond of you.”

“Yes, well, he’s an extraordinary young man,” Otto replied, bashful. “It’s a privilege to be in his life. And he thinks the world of you,” he added, which was true.

“I’ll admit it comforts me to know that he has someone else looking out for him,” the old woman said quietly.

Her lips quivered slightly, and all of a sudden, Otto understood: she knew. She knew, and she was letting Peter think she was safe in ignorance.

He already admired her enough just for bringing up Peter, but it wasn’t until then that it truly sunk in how extraordinary May Parker was – something that appeared true in any universe. For her to hide any hurt she may have had over her nephew not confiding in her, to not confront him, to swallow her fear enough to let him make his own decisions, even after what had happened to her husband – Otto wasn’t sure he could ever be that brave.

“Your nephew has shown me great mercy,” he replied, wanting to reassure her. “He’s been one of the only bright spots in my life since. And I don’t think it’s unreasonable to say he gets much of his kindness from you. So I’m grateful, ma’am. Truly.”

Otto knew that May and Peter weren’t blood – Peter’s father had been his uncle’s brother – but the slightly shy smile she gave was such a Peter expression there was no mistaking her for anything but the woman who’d raised him.

At that moment, Peter returned with his friends, all of them giggling and grinning ear to ear. Harry and Mary Jane settled next to May, and Peter kissed his aunt on the forehead before turning to depart for his seat.

“Your friend is very charming, Peter,” May giggled under her breath, and Otto felt his cheeks burning.

The ceremony was hours, as he’d expected, but Otto found he didn’t mind as much as he had in the past. Maybe he’d just been cooped up for too long, but there was something comforting in being outside, surrounded by friends, celebrating the accomplishments of someone they all loved.

He still didn’t quite know what to do with himself, but maybe this was a start.

2009

“What did you do to yourself, boy?” Otto grumbled as he stitched up the wounds on Peter’s back. For all he said he wasn’t a medical doctor, his large hands were surprisingly gentle, and his work meticulous. He was doing it himself, but the actuators hovered curiously, apparently intrigued by the procedure.

“MJ sent me to look at flower arrangements,” Peter explained, a bit amused even as he gritted his teeth through the pain. With Peter successfully employed teaching middle school science at Visions Academy and MJ working towards licensure as an occupational therapy assistant, they’d talked about it and decided they were ready to get engaged. The wedding date wasn’t for months, but they were trying to take care of as many things in advance as they could.

“And then some sleaze blew up the shopfront. Escaped criminal pyromaniac or something. I caught him, though.” Peter had already patched himself up as best he could, well used to it by now, but there were some spots he just couldn’t reach. After a few fruitless hours of twisting and turning, he finally gave up and asked Otto for help, even though he knew it would mean a complaining lecture on how he didn’t take good enough care of himself. He could have avoided the flying glass shards from the explosion altogether, he reflected defensively, but there wasn’t time to pull people out of the way; his only option had been to shield them himself.  

“I see.” Otto paused. “You’re all done. It might not be the neatest job, but it should hold. As long as you don’t go swinging all over the city any time soon.” There was something unreadable in his gruff voice.

“I heal quickly. Mind if I stay for a bit?” Asking was a mere formality at this point, but it still felt weird not to.

“No, not at all.”

“I’ll probably head out around midnight anyway, take a look around the city –“

“Absolutely not.”

Otto had his back turned to Peter as he threw away the bloody gauzes, but now he turned enough so that Peter could see the rage in his dark eyes even behind the glasses. “You’re injured. You’re staying here.”

Peter blinked, taken aback by Otto’s vehemence. He laughed a little, trying to defuse the sudden tension. “You do know this is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, right? I’ll be fine –“

“No,” Otto cut him off. “Peter, you need to rest.”

He frowned; boy, Doc was in a mood today. “What happened to ‘using your gifts for the good of mankind?’” he muttered, settling gingerly on the couch. It was hard to lean back with the stitches. “Does that only apply to you?”

“Of course not,” Otto said stiffly, and the pincers on the actuators clacked together as if to emphasize his frustration. “You know I support what you do. But surely New York will survive without you for one night.”

Before Peter could reply, indignant, Otto relented with a ragged sigh. “…I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a hypocrite. It’s only that…”

Anyone else might have missed the slight tremor in his hands, but Peter knew Otto well enough by now to catch his signs of distress. With a sad realization dawning, Peter understood; the cause of the injuries must have stirred unpleasant memories for Otto. He had lost so much already, and it had…wounded him. He wasn’t as idealistic as he’d once been.

“It’s ok, Doc,” Peter assured him quietly, not wanting to upset his friend any more. “I’ll stay the night. You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Otto sniffed, but there was no bite to it. “And you’re not sleeping on the couch like this. I insist you take the spare bedroom.”

That offer had always been open, but Peter usually preferred the couch; the spare bedroom had no windows and no way to quickly exit if he needed to. But since he’d promised to stay the whole night this time, he had to admit that the small room would be wonderfully dark and quiet. He held up his hands in a mock cautionary gesture.

“Don’t spoil me now, Doc.”

That made him smile a little, as Peter had hoped. “Off with you, cheek. I’ll be done in a minute.”

Peter had stayed so many nights before that he had his own toothbrush in the bathroom and clothes in the closet. He called MJ to let her know he didn’t have a list of flower options, sorry, he’d try again tomorrow, and then flopped onto the soft bed on his stomach. He could already feel exhaustion tugging at him; he’d only agreed to stay as a favor to Otto, but now he was kind of glad for it. Maybe he could get around to grading essays in the morning.

There was a gentle knock on the door. “Peter?”

Peter smiled to himself as he opened it. “Tucking me in, Mom?”

“Oh, tease me all you like, but permit an old man his fussing.” Otto had brought a small brown bottle that Peter recognized as a sleep-inducing painkiller. “Here. You’ll probably burn right through this with your metabolism, but it should help in the meantime.”

Peter nudged his friend affectionately, hoping he’d snapped out of his melancholy. “Thanks.”

“You know you’re going to give me a heart attack one day.”

“Goodnight, Doc.”

***

“You know you coddle that boy, Octavius,” Norman teased. “Peter can handle himself.”

“Well, I know he can,” Otto said in mock defensiveness. “But that doesn’t mean he has to.” He sighed into his mug. He knew Norman believed in the ‘tough love’ method of parenting – or at least he used to – but Otto had had enough of that himself for one lifetime. “He has to deal with enough already. I just try to make things easier for him, when I can.”

“You’re a bleeding heart.” Norman glanced down the hallway. “Sure I’m not bothering him?” The question betrayed his own soft spot for Peter.

“He’ll sleep through a train wreck with that medication, even if it’s only for a few hours. And with his quick healing, he’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

They were supposed to meet at Norman’s place, but Otto didn’t want to leave Peter alone in case he needed something. Norman called Otto a fretting mother hen, and Otto called Norman something he probably wouldn’t have if he was in a better mood, and in the end Norman came to him.

They weren’t expecting anybody else, which was why they both started slightly at the sound of a knock on the door.

It was late, and it was a cold night, and the knock, while not loud enough to wake Peter, was still a heavier sound than anyone they knew. They exchanged glances, and then Norman stood with a groan.

“I got it.”

He blinked as their guest came in to view, then relaxed, taking it all in stride. “Oh. There you are. The wizard had a bit of lag time, I guess?”

When Flint Marko had disappeared two years ago, Norman and Otto had conducted their own quiet investigation on the exact nature of his abilities, and why he’d apparently failed to be pulled into the other universe along with them. What they found made things a little clearer: his molecular structure was unstable, and could not be sustained indefinitely. Sooner or later, he’d fade away into nothing. And given his inability to take a fully human shape in the other world, they guessed he must have been pulled from a point close to the end of his life, rather than when he found out about Peter.

Of course, they’d had no way to determine how far along that would be, and no one had heard sight or sound from him in two years.

But there he was in Otto’s doorway, solid and human again.

“I got back yesterday.” His low voice still had a gravelly quality to it. “Tracked you down –“ he nodded at Norman – “then followed you here. We need to talk.”

“I daresay we do,” Otto agreed. “Come in. But do try to keep quiet; I’ve got Peter asleep in the back.” He moved slightly to obscure the hallway; he knew Flint didn’t mean any harm, but it was hard not to be protective of Peter.

Something like amusement crossed Flint’s normally stoic face. “I get it.” He glanced around for a minute, hands in his pockets, and Otto wondered when was the last time he’d been in a proper home. “Kinda crazy to think about. That we’re the only three people in the world who know about the multiverse.”

“Four, technically,” Norman corrected. “We had to tell Parker. But –“ He glanced down the hallway, and lowered his voice even more – “not everything. Not about you. Or him. Adjusting ok?”

“It’s weird. Like two different memories of the same things.”

“It was the same for me,” Otto said. “But I imagine it’s worse for you.”

Flint leaned against the counter. “You probably wanna know what’s different, right?”

“I’m sure the wizard would say that’s forbidden knowledge or something,” Norman grinned, and Otto could tell he was intrigued. “But I confess I’m curious.”

“I’m not sure we did much,” Otto interjected. He was curious himself, but he and Norman both had gotten in enough trouble before with curiosity.

“I think you did a lot,” Marko replied. He nodded at Norman. “You saved the kid’s life.”

Otto frowned in confusion. “Peter? He –“

“No, not Parker. The other one.”

Like switching off a light, Norman froze.

“My son died?” he rasped out in cold fury, and for the first time since their return to this world, Otto heard the ghost of the Goblin in his voice.

“Yeah,” Marko said with a hint of apology. “I was there. He had your tech and everything. He helped out Parker, but Brock got him in the end.”

Otto flinched a little; trying to do better, Peter had said. Little did he know that his poor boy had yet another deeply personal tragedy staining his past. He’d known from his own original timeline how badly Harry took Norman’s death, but still…

Norman was silent, shaking slightly in either rage or horror, and Otto had to put a hand on his shoulder, wary. “Norman. That never happened, now. He’s alright.”

“Brock died too,” Flint went on. “That machine of yours saved both of them.” He sighed. “Just thought you’d want to know that you’re making a difference. You, and the other Parker. It paid off.” He looked sad about something.

“How’s your daughter?” Otto asked quietly.

For the first time, there was a smile on the impassive face, even if it was tinged with melancholy. “She’s gonna be ok. She’s in remission. Maybe not out of the woods forever, but ok for now.” He stared at his feet. “Her mom’ll take care of her.”

Norman frowned, snapped out of thought. “You’re not –“

“I won’t stay here long. The search for me has died down, but without my powers, it’s only a matter of time before the police find me. I don’t want to get you guys into any more trouble.”

“I could try to bail you out, Flint,” Norman said seriously. “Lord knows I’ve got the money.”

“Not with my record,” Marko replied flatly. There was no bitterness; he’d simply accepted it. “I’ve got no defense. And I’m tired of living on the run. Now that I know Penny is ok, I’m gonna serve my time.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll make parole eventually. I won’t say no if you want to put in a good word there.”

“Damn. That doesn’t seem fair,” Norman remarked. “That I’m the only one that got to walk. And I had no excuse.”

“You’re a smart bastard, hiding your face,” Flint sighed. He looked at Otto. “Not like us.”

And for a moment, understanding passed between them. Neither of them had hidden their identities, and it wasn’t just because the actuators had made it impossible in Otto’s case. It was because neither of them had thought they had anything left to lose.

Otto nodded at Peter's door. “He’ll know. He’ll see if you’ve been arrested. What do you want us to tell him?”

Flint shrugged. “The truth, I guess. Same thing happened to me as you guys.”

That would be a bit awkward of an explanation, but hopefully Peter would understand why they hadn’t been forthcoming about Marko before.

Flint checked his watch. “I should go. Just thought you should know I was back.”

“We’ll keep an eye on you, Flint,” Norman said. “And I’ll help if I can. Peter will too.”

Flint merely nodded acknowledgment; there was nothing else to be said. Then he was gone.

Norman spread his arms wide with a manic grin. “Well, that’s it,” he said with a forced cheerfulness. “We’re all alive, Harry included. Peter will be hella confused when he gets back, but we’ve already changed too much. May as well go all in now! What does it matter?”

“Norman,” Otto said pointedly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Peachy.”

Flo rubbed her pincers together in a noise that was almost a scoff of disbelief, and the fact that even the machines saw right through him seemed to make Norman wilt.

“You know,” he said quietly, almost a confession, “when Emily left, that was when I really understood that Harry was mine. That if I didn’t - change his diapers, and give him his bottles and watch him constantly, he’d die. It scared the hell out of me. And apparently you never do get over that.”

“I’m sorry.” It was all he could really think to say.

“Oh no, it’s not something to be sorry about.”

That was true, Otto supposed. He was starting to understand that himself.

“…How many years until Peter gets back?” Norman continued, clearly keen to get off the topic.

“Fifteen.”

And it didn’t really sink in until then just how very long that was.

“Well,” Norman shrugged, “I guess we’ll keep busy somehow.”

Chapter Text

“Has anyone ever told you that you could crack concrete with that hard head of yours? Oh wait, I’m pretty sure Rosie used those exact words a few times.”

“I’m only saying, it seems a waste to buy a perfectly good suit just to cut a massive hole in the back,” Otto grumbled. This was the fifth errand they’d run today on wedding business, and Otto was starting to get a headache. Especially as Norman insisted on taking forever over each one. His attention to detail did him credit as a scientist, when he didn’t get ahead of himself, but here Otto almost wished he would go back to cutting corners.

Norman sighed, a much too put-upon sound for someone who was merely riffling through a suit rack. “Are you kidding me? You’re a tailor’s dream. Come on, Octavius,” he wheedled. “Last stop, and then we’re done. This is Peter and Mary Jane’s wedding. Your Peter and Mary Jane? Don’t you want to look nice for them?”

“I have suits.”

“What, the one you got married in? Thirty years ago? I don’t think so. You don’t even have to pay for it,” Norman offered. “My treat.”

Ah, so that was his motivation. Norman had done more for the upcoming wedding than anybody, as this morning alone proved, and Otto suspected it was for more than a mere excess of goodwill.

“You’re my boss, so technically you’re paying for it either way,” Otto pointed out, just to be difficult.

“You know, I could fire you.”

“Include a suit in my severance package.” Otto sighed and leaned against the wall. Flo hissed at a worker who gave them a sideways glance. “Norman, really, it’s fine. I’ll get one on my own.” He paused, momentarily unsure how to broach the touchy subject. “No one is expecting you to punish yourself.”

Norman stiffened. “Really, Octavius? That’s your plan for getting out of this?”

“Norman.”

“I know they’re not expecting me to,” he hissed, frustration evident now. “But I owe it to them. All of them. And I know you feel the same,” he added with that damnable intuition of his. “We just have different ways of doing it. You atone in your way, and I’ll do it in mine.”

“Alright,” Otto said wearily, giving up. “If you really think it’ll help.” He didn’t see how bankrupting himself would ease Norman’s guilt, but his friend had never been easily swayed by words alone. The discovery of Harry’s original fate had made him more – more manic. More desperate to do everything he could for everyone. It was a little grating, but Otto could hardly blame him, even if he didn’t like seeing his friend so tormented.

Norman Osborn had never been the kindest of individuals, but he certainly didn’t deserve self-inflicted penance for a future that had never come to be. And Otto wasn’t entirely sure how to help him.

“You’re getting the damn suit, end of discussion,” Norman continued as if nothing had happened. He turned back to the selections. “Now, gray or blue?”

We could kill him now, Moe offered.

No no, best to save that for the reception, Otto replied.

***

“Thanks for helping me with this, Otto,” Mary Jane sighed as they wrote out invitations. There weren’t many names on the list, but it was a rather tedious task to do by oneself.

Otto was happy to help, but still, he suspected there was more on her mind; she’d been awfully subdued all afternoon, beyond mere focus.

“Oh, of course.” He peered at the names on the small bridal party list, grateful he had his glasses. Mary Jane’s handwriting was so tiny. “Who’s this? Ah, Louise?”

“Oh, she was in Earnest with me. Gwendolen. We stayed in contact.” Mary Jane smiled bitterly. “This’ll be her round two as my maid of honor.”

He thought he remembered Mary Jane being engaged once before, but he’d never known all the details. Her former fiancé had been some astronaut or something, he recalled vaguely.

“Hm.” He wasn’t quite sure what to say beyond that, but the way she pressed her lips together indicated that her first engagement was probably what had been weighing on her thoughts.

“I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about that,” she muttered, confirming his guess. “I already spoke to my mother, but I wanted the perspective of someone who was…you know. Happily married.”

Ah, so she was getting cold feet. Only natural. “I’m sure Ms. Parker would be happy to help.”

“Oh, May’s wonderful,” Mary Jane smiled. “I wouldn’t have made it this far without her. But she and Ben were so – perfect.”

“Well, I’ll do what I can. What’s on your mind, my dear?”

She licked her lips. “When you got married, were you ever…nervous?”

“Of course I was. I would be more worried if you weren’t.”

“My first engagement…he was sweet and all, but it was really just to prove something to myself, prove that I could make it. And now with Peter…this is real, and he’s so sweet, and sometimes I just don’t feel…”

“Worth it?” Otto finished for her.

She fidgeted uncomfortably. “Something like that.”

“Believe it or not, I know how you feel.” She looked doubtful, which was far too endearing of an expression. “You never met my Rosie, but we were quite the odd couple. There were many times I couldn’t believe she would look twice at me.” He smiled, melancholy. “And then I realized it didn’t matter to her what I looked like, or where I came from, or what I did for a living. She loved me. I didn’t have to understand why. You’re a brave, kind young woman, Mary Jane. Peter loves you for who you are. You have nothing to prove to him, and you have more to offer than you think.”

She ducked her head shyly. “Well, I know you know what you’re talking about, at least.” Her smile this time was tinged with humor. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

He returned the expression. “I think the 'putting up' is far more in your favor, but if you want to help, you could write a little larger.”

***

“And…I think that’s everything,” Peter said as he stacked the two boxes and wiped his hands on his pants. He and MJ had found another apartment they’d move into after the wedding, and they were both slowly transferring all their possessions there. He hadn’t quite realized how much stuff he’d left lying around Otto’s place over the years until he’d started trying to consolidate it – clothes, his slowly rebuilding comics collection…

“Finally,” Otto said from where he was reorganizing the bookshelf. “I’ve been trying to return your junk for ages.”

“Apparently not too hard."

His friend paused as he appeared to notice something on the bookshelf, suddenly seeming hesitant. “Oh…while you’re here, I have something for you and Mary Jane.” He pulled a thick, glossy red binder from the shelf and handed it to Peter. “Think of it as a wedding present. It’s not much, perhaps, but you might enjoy having it.”

It was a beautiful old photo album, filled with faded Polaroid shots organized by year. Peter recognized the Columbia campus, a few locations around the city, Central Park. There were little odds and ends preserved between the pages – dried flowers, bits of fabric, short poems here and there in a neat, loopy script.

“Rosie wasn’t a professional like you,” Otto explained fondly. “This was only a hobby. She was self-conscious about it, she wouldn’t have kept all of these. But I insisted, for my own sake.”

Peter thumbed through the pages with a new respect; for an amateur, Rosie Octavius had a very good grasp of perspective. Pictures of people started appearing; a young woman who looked very much like Rosie herself, an older woman Peter guessed was her mother, a few smiling friends, a younger Otto. A few years in was their wedding, these pictures obviously professionally done, for now Rosie herself appeared. He smiled softly at a perfect shot of her and Otto laughing as they danced.

Peter met his friend’s gentle gaze, no idea what to even say. He couldn’t believe Otto would give him something so personal.

“Doc…I can’t take this…”

“I want you to have it,” Otto replied. “As a reminder to treasure your wife, and put her before everything else. Besides,” he continued, “I thought you might like to start adding some of your own photographs, if you want to.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that. Thanks, Otto.” Peter hesitated. “Are you sure you’re ok, giving these up…?”

“Yes. I have more, don’t worry.” He contradicted himself with a sigh, an aching, bone-deep sound. Otto never showed his sadness openly, but his eyes looked unusually wet even behind the glasses.

Otto was such a larger than life presence; it was a scarce few times that Peter had seen him and thought he looked…small.

He talked about his wife so freely it was easy to think he’d come to terms with the loss, but Peter often worried that the grief weighed on him more heavily than he was ready to admit. For such an expressive man, his sadness was the only thing Otto tended to keep private. He hoped his friend was…well, not ok, he probably wasn’t, but not…hopeless?

Otto noticed his concerned scrutiny, hastily wiping his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, my boy. I don’t know what came over me. I’m alright, really.”

“This is beautiful, Doc,” Peter said sincerely, resolving to keep more of an eye on his friend. “I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will,” Otto replied warmly. “Now, don’t strain yourself. I can carry both of these myself.”

“You know I have super strength, right?”

“And a bad back. Consider this wedding present number two.”  

***

“Alright,” Peter grinned excitedly as they hauled the last box inside. “I think we’re done.”

“We should sleep well tonight after that,” MJ smiled.

They would go their separate ways later tonight before rejoining here in less than 24 hours, as husband and wife. But for now, they collapsed onto the couch of their new apartment to take a breather after moving the furniture and starting the unpacking.

MJ peered inside the cardboard box that teetered precariously on the arm of the couch. “What’s all this?”

“Oh,” Peter laughed, “a couple of the kids gave me stuff when they found out I was getting married.”

“That was sweet of them.” She rooted around in the box for a minute. “Couple of gift cards, that’ll come in handy. This is pretty good, actually. Who did this?” She held up a small canvas painting that looked like it was set in Central Park.

Peter smiled. “Oh, that’ll be Miles. He’s quite the artist.”

“Well, tell him I want to hang it.” She put the painting back and leaned into him with a sigh, and he kissed her hand. “Crazy to think. This is really happening.”

“Yeah.” Peter hesitated. “Did your dad ever say if he was coming?”

She stiffened. “He never answered me. He probably doesn’t know what to think.”

“It was brave of you to try,” Peter responded. Her father was getting sicker and sicker, and MJ had wanted nothing left unsaid between them in the end. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

She tilted her head and kissed his neck before running her fingers through his dusty hair. “I have no problem giving myself away. Not if it’s to you.”

“I'll fall asleep if you keep massaging me like that.”

“Hm, I guess we’ve got the rest of our lives.” She smiled up at him. “You don’t seem nervous.”

“Why should I be?” Peter joked. “I’ve been sure of this since I was six years old.”

“Is that so? I remember a time you couldn’t even talk to me.” Her blue eyes were soft in the dim light. “You’ve grown so much.”

“So have you," he acknowledged. “But you’re right. There was a point where I thought I…didn’t deserve to be happy.” He flinched a little, even now a part of him coldly sneering that Ben died because Peter had tried impressing this woman, he didn’t deserve to have her now. “But then…you kind of kicked down my door and told me otherwise.”

She chuckled warmly. “I did not kick down your door. You showed up at mine, remember?”

“…Oh.” He frowned slightly, wondering why he’d had a memory of her standing in his apartment doorway. Maybe that had been a dream. He was probably just tired. “I meant…metaphorically, ya know.”

“Ok, I think that’s our cue to go home.” She kissed his lips, quick but tender, and stood. He followed, slightly dazed. “See you tomorrow, tiger.”

***

“When we all first met,” Harry pronounced, “I knew right away what would happen. They were perfect for each other. Of course, it took me a while to admit it to myself,” he grinned with a magnanimous sweep of his glass across the gathering. “But this isn’t about me –“

“Sorry, isn’t everything?” Peter heckled cheekily, arm around his new bride.

“Shut up, nerd,” Harry teased. “I’m really trying here. My point is…” His real smile – not the salesman one - was warm and fond and just a little too toothy. “Not even myself, or all the obstacles of the world, could stand in their way. I couldn’t be happier for two of the best friends anyone could ask for. And here today, I can honestly say I can’t think of anyone in the world better for Peter than MJ, or better for MJ than Peter.” He raised his glass with a final flourish. “To the Parkers!”

The guests, few that they were, raised a cheer and drank. The young man had an excellent grasp of showmanship, Otto admitted grudgingly. He’d gotten his public speaking skill from both parents.

“He’s cute,” Mary Jane’s friend – Liz? – muttered to her.

“And he’s rich,” Mary Jane teased.

“Oh, that does it.”

“Ben would be so proud of you, Peter,” May told her nephew warmly from where she was seated next to him. “If only he could be here today.”

Peter kissed her cheek. “I know, May. I think he was here, though.”

The Saturday of the wedding was as perfect a spring day as they could ask for, the sky a cloudless blue and a light breeze keeping the temperature down. The ceremony was held in the Parker’s old church, and even in her simple dress, Mary Jane’s beauty outshined the radiance of the sunlight from the stained-glass windows.

The churchyard had a small grassy hill in the back, and they held the reception there. Otto was getting a little bit of a headache from the sunshine, but it was worth it for today.

“Interesting fellow, Harry Osborn,” Curt muttered beside him. “Hard to believe he’s friends with Parker.”

“Trust me, I know,” Otto scoffed. “But they make it work.”

“Thanks for proofreading my proposal, Otto,” Martha said as everyone turned back to food and talk. Her auburn hair fell over her shoulder, turning to bronze in the sunlight. It was the first time he’d seen her in a while; she was getting closer to a breakthrough in her gene therapy research, and was holed away in her lab most of the time. She was looking at the use of animal DNA in the regeneration of human limbs, and even though the biology of it was a bit beyond Otto’s expertise, he’d helped Curt check her references. And strongly advised against the use of lizard DNA as a possible source.

Octopi can regrow limbs too, you know, he’d said, which had made her laugh, but he didn’t think he’d really persuaded her. He and Norman were trying to keep an eye on that.

And speaking of Norman – if Otto was just a tad uncomfortable, Norman was clearly feeling worse. He hid it well, beneath gracious lips and warm handshakes, but Otto knew him well enough to tell he was performing, and he thought he knew why.

“That’s a gracious summary of my contribution,” Otto replied teasingly to Martha. “But you’re welcome. Excuse me for a moment?”

Norman had apparently dropped the facade now that the attention was off him; he was by himself, finger absently circling the rim of his half-filled champagne flute. Otto grimaced slightly at the thin whine from the glass that the actuators could hear, even if no one else could.

“Hanging in there?” he asked, sitting down beside his friend.

“Mm.” Norman peered blearily at his son, who was now in some kind of frenzied dance competition with Peter. “He would have been dead for this, before.”

“Norman, hush,” Otto scolded. “Here, I think you’ve had enough.” Flo removed the glass, and Norman watched it go apathetically. “Really, Osborn. Try and enjoy the day.”

He paused, debating whether to bring this up now. Maybe it was better to do it while he was cornered and slightly inebriated, even if he didn’t want to be a wet blanket during a wedding.

“Harry’s worried about you.”

“Is he now?”

“He told me. He can tell something’s off.”

“My son,” Norman said flatly, “is not the most observant of individuals.” It wasn’t meant callously, but Otto still sighed.

“He’s growing up, Osborn. He’s not a little boy anymore. He might be more observant than you think.”

“Dad?”

The young man in question had snuck up on them, now with Mary Jane’s maid of honor on his arm and the newlyweds in tow. For the briefest of moments, there was something cold in his face, and then it morphed into his easy smile. “You should say something.”

“Oh, no one wants to hear from me,” Norman brushed him off good-humoredly.

“Then Doc should. We need a dad up there.”

Otto scowled at the nickname; he didn’t mind Peter calling him that, but coming from Harry, it just felt disrespectful. “No no no, I’m no speaker –“

“Could’ve fooled me,” Peter teased.

“Go on, Otto,” Mary Jane laughed, cheeks flushed from dancing. “You can be my maid of honor while Louise is too busy flirting with Harry.”

“Hey!” Louise (right, that was her name) yelped in mock indignation. “I’ve been working on my speech for weeks!”

“You can go next,” Mary Jane said, and before Otto could protest again, Harry had tossed him the mic and everyone was staring at him.

He was going to kill them all.

“Well…um…” He wasn’t much of an impromptu orator. Thank God he knew almost everybody here, or this would be unbearable.

“I’m very proud of you both,” he started. That much was true. “And I’ve seen you both grow a great deal. I know you’ll have a good life together.” He was on track for the most cliché speech in history, he could tell. What did he actually want to say?

“You may have heard it said that marrying young is stealing the best years of your life. But I remember one day, a girl lightyears out of my league asked if she could sit next to me on the steps to the library while she finished a paper.” He chuckled, suddenly happy and soul-crushingly sad all at once. “And she didn’t steal the best years of my life, she became the best years of my life. Peter. Mary Jane,” he continued, “you’re both wonderfully talented people, and I know you’re busy with many other things.” Peter fidgeted slightly. “But one day, you’ll wake up and twenty years will have gone by. Don’t get so caught up in your work that you lose what makes it important. I’m sure that won’t be a problem, since you’re both much wiser than I was at your age. But all the same, remember that.”

There was, at most, a polite smattering of applause, but Otto didn’t care. Perhaps not the most uplifting of nuptial speeches, but they’d forced him into it and that was what he wanted to say. But Peter and Mary Jane both hugged him and he thought he'd maybe made Osborn tear up, so it was worth it.

Chapter Text

“Another Spiderman? How can there be another Spiderman? You know, in this universe.”

Peter threw the newspaper down on the table exasperatedly, almost knocking over Otto’s coffee. Since Peter had quit the Bugle, it was harder for Jameson to get good pictures of Spiderman, but he’d since turned his sights on the newcomer in town, who seemed to have a little more trouble evading prying cameras. The figure in question was small, and despite the blurriness of the photo, seemed to be clad in a black sweatshirt and balaclava.

Otto sighed, nursing his steaming mug. He tried to avoid caffeine most days, but he needed the heat of the beverage. It was a freezing November morning, and despite the warmth of his home, the cold always sank into his bones. “You think he’s the real thing?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Peter huffed. “There’ve been a few Spiderman wannabes over the years, which is why I didn’t give this guy much thought at first. But look at this –“ he tapped the picture – “he’s clinging to that wall. That’s not fake. I can tell.” His brow furrowed at the dark figure, before his eyes filled with fear. “You don’t think…another symbiote…”

“Well…” Otto squinted at the blurry photo. Even the actuators couldn’t do much to improve its quality. “It’s hard to say. But the kids detected the last symbiote, and they haven’t said a word so far. I know that’s not an indicator in itself, but what has he been doing? Vandalism? Attacking helpless old ladies?”

“No,” Peter muttered. “Just…small stuff. Like when I started out.”

“Then maybe you’ve got an ally.” Otto knew that Peter had come to terms with his double life, but that he would never wish it on someone else. This caution was probably born more out of concern than true suspicion.

“That would be nice,” Peter admitted. “I just…don’t understand how this happened. Norman shut down the university’s genetic engineering program in January. All the spiders are dead.”

“Hm. Perhaps someone is trying to recreate your abilities.”

“Someone succeeded, it looks like. I’ve tried tracking him down, but he’s fast. Always gone when I get there.” Peter got to his feet with a sigh. “I gotta run before classes start, but I’m going to keep looking into this. Call me later, ok?” His gaze was sympathetic, knowing the significance of today’s date.

“I will,” Otto replied fondly. “Thank you, Peter.”

When the boy had left, he turned again to the discarded newspaper with a frown. In truth, he wasn’t quite as trusting as he’d said to Peter, but he didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily. Let Peter make the friendly overtures, and Otto would watch his back if he needed to.

After the sun fully rose, warming the air to a more tolerable temperature, Otto left for the cemetery. It was still a chilly day, browned leaves spiraling on the breezes, but he would be alright for a few hours.

When he arrived, the cemetery was deserted. There were never many visitors on weekdays, but it increased the sense of loneliness, being the only one there. He settled by Rosie’s grave, the stone slightly warmed by the sun, and read her Anne Bradstreet collection. It was bittersweet amusement when he got to “To My Dear and Loving Husband.” Rosie had loved to tease him with that one.

If ever wife was happy in a man, don’t let her go to bed by herself.

He’d fallen asleep at the kitchen table the other night working on isolating the element used in the arc reactor, and it was a bitter awakening when no one gently roused him with a teasing chide that he needed to sleep in a bed.

Otto sighed into the daffodil petals he’d brought, brushing them against his lips. Miss you, love. So much.

When he finished the book, he stood, arranging the bouquet before straightening to leave. “Happy birthday, my dear,” he murmured.

Father. We’re being watched.

Flo’s hissed warning instantly snapped him back to the present. Otto did not move, instead allowing the actuators to relay their visual input directly into his mind. He was well-used to stares by now, but most people got a good look at him and then went about their business. This person, lurking at the entrance to the cemetery, was clearly motivated by more than morbid curiosity.

Alright, Otto decided. We’ll try to leave. Let’s see what happens.

The man at the gate was nondescript, blond stubble framing a round face. He looked more like some kind of shut-in conspiracy theorist than a threat, but Otto didn’t let that fool him. His hands were shoved in his pockets, clearly waiting for Otto. His thick winter coat made it difficult to tell if he was concealing something.

Moe hissed warily, confirming Otto’s suspicion. He’s carrying…something.

A weapon?

We have never seen anything like it. Possibly.

Probably, Larry added.

Flo recoiled and sent her camera feed through Otto’s mind. Two other men were coming up behind them to surround him. None of them were especially physically impressive, but they were all remarkably confident, given Otto’s track record. That probably wasn’t a good sign.

“I assume you gentlemen want something?” Otto said, deciding to just get it over with.

One of the men behind him held up his hands disarmingly. “We’re with the government. We just want to talk, Dr. Octavius.”

The actuators coiled in closer to him, informing him that the other two were carrying the same object as the man in front. “Then talk. I’m listening.”

“Come for a ride?” the other man behind him said roughly.

“No. You’ve given me no proof that you are a legitimate government body. Attempt to force me to do anything, and I will dismember each and every one of you,” Otto said calmly. “I assume you know I can do that, given that you brought weapons.”

He still didn’t have proof that they actually were carrying weapons, but he figured it would be effective to call their bluff if they were. They all exchanged glances, which he guessed meant that he’d been correct.

Enough of this. Get us out of here.

And right when he moved, so did his opponents.

All three men produced odd metal bands and tossed them. The actuators moved to intercept, but half a second later, they realized their mistake – the bands were designed not to hurt him, but for them. Larry was struck first and went limp, pincers anchoring to the ground at the same time and preventing escape, the band now locked around him like a collar. Otto gritted his teeth at the sudden painful jerk; it felt like someone trying to pull his spine out.

In the nanoseconds after their counterpart’s fall, the others swerved to avoid the bands and went after the men.

Don’t kill them, Otto commanded. But do whatever else is necessary.

Moe went after the man behind Otto’s left, who wasn’t lucky enough to dodge in time. There was the sickening snap of breaking bone and a scream, but one of his compatriots came to his rescue and snapped another band onto his attacker. Moe went as limp as his counterpart.

Unbalanced now, Otto was pulled onto his back, the remaining actuators still furiously trying to fight.

“Get him! Get him now!” someone yelled.

The first man at the gate pulled what looked like a miniature gun out of his pocket – if it was a different situation, Otto might have laughed at how much the thing looked like a toy. But it fired not a bullet, but a bright jolt of electricity.

He knew it was just the grinding of their machinery together that made the actuators sound like they were screaming, but all the same, he could feel their pain as surely as his own. It was a familiar pain to all of them, white-hot through every nerve ending, until the world went black.

***

When Otto came to, he couldn’t immediately tell where he was. The ground beneath him kept shuddering; probably inside some sort of vehicle, then. His hands had been tied. His whole body ached terribly, but that wasn’t an entirely novel sensation. He could work through it. But something else seemed wrong -

He tried to stifle a jolt of terror at the sudden, horrible realization that he couldn’t hear the actuators at all. It wasn’t like with the inhibitor, where they needed his permission to speak – it was as if they weren’t even there, like their connection had been completely severed. He could feel their weight pulling at him, so he knew they were still physically attached.

The electricity must have shorted them, but he had a feeling that even if they reactivated, he still wouldn’t be able to hear them.

He debated trying to twist around and get a better hold of his surroundings; he didn’t know if he was being watched. He held still as he heard voices somewhere behind him.

“Aw, we took him from his wife’s grave? Don’t you think that’s kind of messed up?”

“No cameras at the cemetery,” another voice said smoothly. Otto recognized it as the man who’d tried to claim they were with the government. “No witnesses. And now he can really be reunited with his missus. Kinda poetic, I think.”

“If that bastard wasn’t already dead,” a third voice spat out, thick with pain, “I’d kill him myself.”

“That’s your own fault for being too slow. It’ll heal.”

“He broke my leg! And a rib too, I think.”

“If it was your femur, you’d be dead. Quit your whining, we’re all a little banged up. Mason and I are gonna need stitches. But we got the machines. That’s what matters.”

“You’re just saying that cuz it’s not your leg he snapped in half,” the third voice muttered sullenly.

“I still don’t know,” the first voice – Mason, apparently - whined. “Boss was pretty clear that we were supposed to leave Ock alone.”

“He just didn’t think we could pull the job off. He’ll change his tune when he sees we did it.”

Silence fell, broken only by the pained wheezing of the injured man and an occasional bump under the tires. After what was probably about ten minutes, Mason’s hesitant voice piped up -

“Uh, guys? I think he’s breathing.” He yelped. “He is!”

“Damn,” the one who seemed to be in charge swore. “He’s still alive? That shock should’ve fried him.”

“I told you we should have just shot him,” the third voice snarled. “It’s not like we don’t have silencers. No one would’ve noticed. But no, you wanted to take him quietly – ‘we’re with the government’? No one ever buys that bull.”

“He can’t move with those tentacles locked down,” the smooth voice said, choosing to ignore the gibe. There was a pause. “They say he’s some kinda genius. Maybe he’ll be useful.”

“You already have me,” Mason said indignantly. “I built Boss’ wings!”

“You can’t make anything like those tentacles, or you’d have done it already.”

“I bet I could figure it out,” came the sulky reply.

“We’ll let the boss decide what to do with him. Drug him in the meantime.”

Before Otto could move, there was the hiss of a dart gun, and numbness crept through his entire body. A powerful muscle relaxant, probably. These fellows certainly weren’t short of fancy tech, he thought in a kind of fatalistic amusement.

They blindfolded him when they reached their destination, but it was shoddy material – he still couldn’t determine much, but he thought it was some dim, open space. Maybe a warehouse. It was humiliating being dragged, helpless as a kitten, and it was getting a bit hard to breathe. He hoped his diaphragm wouldn’t relax to the point that he suffocated.

“We got him!” Mason cheered when they were inside. “He cracked Brice’s leg in half, but otherwise it was about as smooth as it could have gone.”

A new, husky voice spoke up. The “boss,” probably. “Tell me you didn’t.”

This clearly wasn’t the response his abductors were expecting, for they all hesitated. “Well –“

“Idiots!” Something fell to the floor with a loud clatter. “Didn’t I say don’t touch Octavius? Do you think no one will notice he’s disappeared? They’ll be looking for him!”

“He’s still alive,” the injured man – Brice, it seemed – panted. “We should kill him now, after what he did to me.”

“Do you expect me to feel sorry for you?” the leader sneered. “That’s your own damn fault for disobeying orders. You don’t surprise me, but I thought you two had more sense.” This was apparently addressed to Brice’s compatriots.

“I thought he could be useful,” the calm one said. He must have some influence with the leader, to question him. 

The new voice made a noise of frustration. “Maybe for a while. But he’s too dangerous to keep under control for long.”

“Those tentacles will go for a fortune,” Brice pointed out. “And Mason can probably recreate them.”

“Yeah, probably,” the leader said. “But there was a quieter way to do this, that wouldn’t bring the cops or that spandexed arachnid coming down on us! Think long-term, genius. But we’re out of options now. Get him up there, then all of you, out. I’ll deal with this.”

Four rough pairs of hands grabbed him and deposited him on what felt like a metal slab, then three sets of footsteps ambled out like chastised children. Otto smirked internally at the sound of Brice’s grunting and hobbling.

His blindfold was removed without warning, and he screwed his eyes up at the sudden influx of light.

The apparent leader of this ragtag little gang was a tall, older man with balding gray hair. Something about him reminded Otto of a used car salesman.

“Look man, I’m sorry about this. You seem like a decent guy.” The man grinned genially, as if they were old friends sharing a private joke. “I told those bozos not to go after you. I don’t like dealing with live ones, personally. But now that you’re here, I’m afraid I can’t really let you go. Business is business, you understand.” He started filling up a syringe from a small fridge with a biohazard symbol. “I’ll make it quick, the missus is expecting me back by six. This’ll knock you out, then stop your heart. You won’t feel a thing, don’t worry.”

A spike of rage burned in his chest – he was being put down like a dog by some random lowlife. How humiliating.

Poor Peter. Otto didn’t fool himself into thinking he was as important to the young man as someone like his uncle, but still, the poor boy was going to blame himself. He’d lost enough already. Hopefully dear Mary Jane would be of some comfort to him. He wished he could have seen them both again.

And admittedly, he’d been looking forward to seeing the other Peters once more, not to mention his own when he returned to the altered timeline. It was saddening, the thought that Peter would return to this world only to find that Otto had still died years previously. At least he would have Norman and Harry back.

I’m sorry, Peter, he thought ruefully. I won’t be waiting for you after all.

Father. We’re free.

He’d never been so glad to hear Flo’s voice.

His clever machines must have been working nonstop to adapt to this new technology. They told him snidely that this wasn’t nearly as advanced as the little Peter’s nanotechnology, and they’d been close to overriding that all those years ago. They were fully mobile again, awaiting his command.

Go, he told them silently.

And in that moment, three things happened at once.

There was a stinging scratch down the side of Otto’s neck as the syringe broke off, the actuators burst free of their restraints and set to removing Otto’s own bonds, and a small, black-clad figure came swinging triumphantly through one of the building’s grimy windows.

“Hey Vulture, did you order takeout? Cuz you’re about to get taken out!”

Great. The other Spiderman had as terrible a sense of humor as Peter.

“Shit,” the man swore, remarkably keeping his head even as he dodged Flo. The man – Vulture, or whatever the hell his nickname was - did the only sensible thing he could have done under the circumstances: run for it.

A little bit of feeling had returned to Otto’s limbs; he was still shaky, but he managed to drag himself to his feet. The actuators coiled around him protectively, and the newcomer hesitantly approached him.

“Doct –“

“After – him,” Otto snarled, and the small figure raced off in pursuit of the criminals.

His vision swam; saying he felt like death warmed over would be an understatement. The actuators carried him to the nearest wall, where he finally allowed himself to sink down. They chirped in concern; if he lost consciousness, so would they. It was part of how the little Peter had designed the new inhibitor; a sensible choice at the time, but now it would be a bit of a liability. If he got out of this, he’d have to look into altering that.

Father, you have been drugged. It was not the lethal dose, but you will lose consciousness in approximately five minutes.

Fantastic. Really, how many times could that happen in one day? He briefly tossed around the idea of seeing how far the actuators could carry him in that time frame, but he had no idea where he would collapse. Better to stay here with the pipsqueak Spiderman, even if he was still an unknown factor.

As if on cue, the small figure returned. Emptyhanded, Otto noticed.

“Dr. Octavius? You ok?” He had the voice of a child; he was young, then.

“Fine.”

“Uh, you sure about that? You look really woozy –“

“Where are those men?”

“Uh – they got away. The other three were long gone, and Vulture flew off.” He shrugged with the carelessness of youth. “I’ll find them again though, don’t worry. I’ve been tracking them down for a while now.”

Flew off? Mason had mentioned wings for the leader. Where did these crackpots get their gimmicks?

“Listen, boy,” he said urgently, but trying not to freak the kid out, “find Spiderman. He’ll know what to do.”

Otto could almost see the kid’s eyes widening comically under the goggles he wore. “Are – are you sure you want me to leave? I really think I should get you to a hospital or something –“

“No! No. Please. Tell P- tell Spiderman no hospitals, please. If I’m unconscious when you return, don’t – don’t be alarmed. I’ve been drugged, but I should be alright. Can you do that for me?”

The kid nodded reluctant confirmation. Otto meant to follow up with something kinder, like you did a good job, or thank you, but he could no longer fight the sedative.

***

“Hey baby. How are you doing?” Rosie’s voice was sympathetic over the phone, even as the connection crackled with static.

“I’m doing well!” He hadn’t shaved in the two days she’d been gone, and fixing meals and focusing on work was becoming increasingly laborious, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. She needed to focus on her presentation. “I miss you, though.” He couldn’t stop himself from uttering the truth.

“I miss you too,” she murmured. “I wish you were here with me.”

“So do I. I know you’ll do wonderfully, though. How do you feel, are you ready?”

She’d been called out of town for a conference, to present her ongoing research on Piers Plowman. She was excited for the opportunity, and he was happy for her, but it was their first time apart since they’d been married, and Otto knew they were feeling each other’s absence keenly.

“I think so. I’m so nervous,” she laughed. “You should see the people here. Most of them are so stuffy. I feel like they’re going to tune me out as soon as I open my mouth.”

“They wouldn’t have invited you if they didn’t want to hear what you have to say,” Otto reasoned, but he did understand the disdain some older scholars could have for young academics.

“I guess,” she sighed.

“You’re ready for this. You’ll be magnificent. I want to hear all about it.”

He could hear her yawn at the other end, and smiled to himself. “I should go. I just wanted to hear your voice. I love you. I’ll see you soon, ok?”

***

His first sensation when he came back to himself was a nauseating stab of fear that he’d killed people again. He thought he could smell blood - didn’t the bad things always happen when he wasn’t in control? But no, that was a lie, his control was what made the bad things happen -

“Easy, Doc,” came Peter’s soothing voice. “You’re ok. Everything’s fine.”

Peter. If Peter was here, it must be safe.

His drug-addled brain dragged itself out of the brief panic and nonsense thoughts. Of course he hadn’t killed anyone. He knew, logically, that that was impossible with the inhibitor, and even that the actuators themselves had mostly evolved past such primitive lashing out.

He pulled open his heavy eyelids and recognized Peter and MJ’s familiar apartment. Maybe it was the lingering effect of the drug, but he was suddenly struck by the ridiculous image of Peter trying to haul his unconscious body inside without anyone seeing. Thank God New Yorkers weren’t very observant.

“Are, uh, are you ok?” Peter’s voice cracked. Bursting into hysterical laughter, even if it was only at the thought of how he’d arrived here, would probably not be the most reassuring response to that question.

Part of the harness was digging into his side rather painfully, but he could still tell that Peter had tried to make him as comfortable as he knew how. “…Well, I’ve certainly been worse,” Otto said tiredly. “How long was I out?”

“Not long, I think.”

“Did the boy find you?”

“You mean – our little spider? No.” Peter smiled with a touch of his familiar humor, but it was melancholy. “I was out looking for you, when I saw him. I followed him as best I could. He beat me there by literally five minutes, took off when he saw me coming.”

“I spoke with him,” Otto assured the young man. “He’s only a child. I don’t believe there’s anything to fear from him.”

Peter looked disappointed. “You didn’t find anything else out?”

“Believe it or not, I had more pressing matters to deal with than an interrogation.” He blinked, still exhausted. “Where’s Mary Jane?”

“She’s at work. I told her I found you, though. And I told Norman and Dr. Connors.”

Otto frowned. “Not the police?”

“Not yet,” Peter mumbled. “I knew the cops would take you away, and I didn’t…I didn’t think you’d want that.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Otto said sincerely, touched by his consideration. “Now that I’m up I’d better give them my statement.”

“Ok. I’ll go with you.” Peter sounded downcast, and Otto glanced at him, immediately concerned to see that the boy’s blue eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

“Peter? My dear, what’s the matter?”

“…They took you,” he said hoarsely. “Right out from under me. I should have known. I should have protected you…”

Otto guessed that this whole experience had brought up unpleasant memories for his boy, and sighed. “Oh, Peter. I’m alright, son.”

Peter bit his lip, still avoiding eye contact, but he squeezed his hand briefly before pulling himself together. “Come on. We’d better go.”

***

“We searched the place top to bottom,” Officer Davis said bitterly. “No sign of your abductors. They cover their tracks well.”

“The leader’s smart,” Otto replied grudgingly. “He won’t be found easily.”

“We’ve tried running the descriptions you gave us through the database, but it’s still a shot in the dark. There’s thousands of people in the city with those names. But,” Davis reported, “your machines did keep the devices used to restrain them. We couldn’t trace them back to a definite manufacturer, but they’re pretty similar to Oscorp technology. There’s an investigation pending. I understand you’re an employee there – do you know anyone who has a grudge against you?”

Otto scoffed, even as the news turned his blood to ice. “I don’t work in the building. I’m certain they were thieves.”

“Harry Osborn told me stuff’s been going missing from convoys for a while now,” Peter added. He’d been allowed in to hear the report, mostly because he’d had Davis’ son in his class last year. It was helpful that Peter knew Davis as both himself and Spiderman. “But never enough to be obvious robbery. They’ve been chalked up to inventory mishaps, but it might have been these guys all along.”

Davis scowled. “A company like them? I don’t believe in inventory mishaps. That should have been reported.”

Otto and Peter exchanged glances. “Are we free to go, Officer?”

“Sure. We’ll contact you if we find anything else out.”

“Thank you for doing this,” Otto said quietly. Peter had told him that Davis’ brother had been found dead last month; he couldn’t believe the man had returned to work so fast.

“Sure,” Davis said again, softer. He was quiet for a moment, as if debating whether or not to say something, then added, "I've heard the name Brice before. From the witness that saw my brother get killed. You can bet I won't give up on this." 

The minute they exited the station, Peter asked the question they were both thinking. “Oscorp? Why the hell would they make something like that?”

“Did Harry tell you anything?”

“No,” Peter shook his head. “And he knows everything that goes on in Special Projects. He never would have approved something like that.”

Otto hadn’t seen Norman at all in the two days since his abduction. “…But he lets his father work unsupervised.”

Now Peter looked guilty. “Yeah. He does.”

A horrible thought occurred to him. “Peter…you said Norman shut down Columbia’s genetic engineering?”

Peter seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion, horror growing in his blue eyes. “…At the beginning of this year. And the kid showed up last month. Oh God, the Visions high schoolers went on a field trip to Oscorp then…”

Oscorp technology that could neutralize the actuators, and in the hands of criminals, no less. Another Spiderman.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Otto muttered.

***

“Osborn!”

Norman actually jumped when the doors to his lab slammed open, which would have been funny if Otto wasn’t ready to crush his windpipe.

“Octavius! Thank God you’re ok, I’ve been meaning to check on you –“

“Did Peter happen to tell you exactly how those criminals got the better of me?” Otto cut him off icily.

Osborn had always been damnably quick on the uptake. His eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

“Your technology, Osborn. When were you planning on sharing the fact that you’d made something specifically designed against me?”

"That’s - that's impossible. There’s been no robbery. It was a personal project, they’re all accounted for –“

“And you didn’t think I had a right to know about that, hm?” With a rather unpleasant sting of mistrust, he decided not to tell Norman that the actuators had figured out how to adapt to the technology.

“Oh, don’t act all wounded,” Norman sneered. Of course, his surprise never lasted long. “You lost control before and you could do it again. The only thing between you and insanity is that little chip. I think you’d be glad of the insurance.”

“Insurance? You’ve obviously got a thief on your hands, Osborn. An employee who’s keeping an eye on your personal projects and stealing their designs. You’re a reckless fool, and your security is slipping. Don’t you dare deny that you’ve been trying to recreate Peter’s abilities!”

Norman did not ask how Otto had arrived at that conclusion. “And you wouldn’t?” Damn his salesman voice. “That’s what started all this. Those fifteen little spiders. The more we know about them, the better we’re prepared.”

“But one got loose, didn’t it?”

“It was recovered –“

“Not before it bit somebody. And now there’s another child out there who has to bear that burden, because of you!” Somehow, that was what angered Otto the most; the fact that an innocent kid had been caught in the crossfire of Norman’s dabbling. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? “I know you’ve made mistakes when you were pushed into a corner, but two major security leaks in a month? This is sheer carelessness, Osborn. I thought better of you.”

“Think what you like,” Norman said coldly. “But I’m not doing this for me.” He turned away, quivering slightly with tension. Otto frowned, noting the darkness under his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Can’t you feel it?” he continued, quieter. “We’re unnatural. We’re supposed to be dead. The timeline is trying to fix itself. The dreams I have…” He bared his teeth, looking uncannily like the Goblin. “And I will not let that happen. Not to Harry.”

Otto sighed. He was still angry, but it was hard to fault Norman for that. He wasn’t making mistakes for selfish gain, as he once had. “I get it, Norman. I do. You’re scared, I understand that. But you’re not alone in this. Don’t shut me out.”

He knew how badly Harry had taken his father’s death. He supposed he should have realized that Norman’s coping skills weren’t much better; Otto would have to bear some of the blame for not keeping a closer eye on him.

“We’re all on the brink of a precipice,” Norman hissed. “A hairsbreadth from death. And I – Otto, I can’t lose him.”

“That’s reality, Osborn,” Otto said roughly. “We could all die at any moment. You think I don’t understand loss? You need to stop this. You’re making things worse.”

There was a pause. Then a quiet, remorseful, “I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”

“Well, someone did. You need to take responsibility for this. That child is a living, breathing person, not a lab accident you can cover up. He might have family – a father – that are worried sick about him. We owe it to him to find him and help him.”

Norman scoffed slightly, a weary, broken sound. “We?”

“I’ve got no room to condemn you,” Otto said, which was true. They might be tied for the world’s foremost expert in going too far. “We’re in this together, got it?” He paused. “And as much as is in my power, I will not let anything happen to your son. I promise you that.”

“…You’re a better friend than I deserve,” Norman said, so quietly Otto wasn’t entirely sure he was supposed to have heard. “If you’d died because of me…”

“Forget it,” Otto said. His life wasn’t the one that mattered here. “We’ve got work to do.”

***

It was almost two o’clock in the morning before Peter finally called it quits. It was the latest night he’d had in a while; he and MJ had struck a deal that on work days, he should be back no later than midnight. She’d allowed an exception this night, though, given that he’d busted one of Vulture’s cronies.

Before he headed home, he stopped by Otto’s place just to check on him. Vulture himself was still on the loose, and as long as Otto was alive, he was a liability. Peter wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t be targeted again. They’d almost killed him the first time, and Peter didn’t want to think about what could happen if they tried a second time. 

He knew Otto could take care of himself. But if Peter was being honest, the incident had spooked him. It was dredging up old nightmares of the fusion reactor, of Otto drowning, and even though Peter knew that hadn’t happened, it was hard not to be worried about him.

When he slipped inside the familiar doorway, he was surprised to see a light on in the kitchen. Otto was there in his blue robe, sketching something out. He didn’t seem too surprised to see Peter; the actuators must have sensed him coming.

“Hey…sorry. I didn’t expect you to be up.”

“I’ve been busy. You’re out late.” His smile was weary, but filled with familiar warmth. “Checking up on me?”

Peter grinned sheepishly. “Something like that. Might as well give you the good news now, though. We found one of the guys. Phineas Mason. Oscorp employee. He tampered with the security footage in Norman’s lab, then went in after hours and studied the designs to recreate them himself. The other three must have gone underground, but we’re trying to track down associates of Mason’s to get IDs.”

“Hm.” More out of habit than anything else, two of the actuators opened the fridge and started pouring milk for Peter. “Any luck with the boy?”

“Not yet.” Obviously it was a kid that had been in Oscorp at some point, but the company held class field trips all the time. Picking out one child from among hundreds would be impossible. “Thanks for the milk.”

“Anytime.” Otto smiled fondly. “You’d better get home to your lovely wife. You have class in the morning.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that.” Peter hesitated, concern pricking at him. See you soon, Rosie, Otto had murmured when Peter found him, and he’d heard his heartbeat getting slower and slower until it returned to normal and he woke up. There had been a moment where Peter wasn’t entirely sure he would. He probably should have taken Otto to a hospital, not knowing what he’d been drugged with, but he just hadn’t been able to shake the thought of how terrified his friend would be if he woke up there again, confused and alone.

 All he’d been able to remember in that moment was telling Ben I’m here and doing nothing but holding his hand as his life bled away. “…Are you sure you’re ok?”

Otto sighed and rubbed his scarred hands over his face, knocking his glasses askew. “When I see that winged bastard again,” he grumbled, “I’m going to tear his limbs off.”

Chapter Text

“…And, thanks to genetic modification techniques, we can now stimulate a person’s T-cells to express a receptor called a chimeric antigen receptor, which enables them to recognize and attack cancer cells. This is one of the most promising new frontiers in cancer treatment research.” Martha paused and looked around the room full of teenagers – some half-asleep, others actually paying attention, others only pretending to in the interest of politeness – then concluded, “Cancer treatment. Elimination of genetic diseases. Perpetuating human advancement. These are only a few of the possibilities that gene therapy research offers us. Should you all choose to become geneticists, I can guarantee you’ll never find a more exciting field.”

Peter got to his feet and started the applause before turning the classroom’s lights back on. “Thank you for your time today, Dr. Connors.”

There was a polite chorus of thank yous, and then the kids who’d come for the presentation began filing out. It was career day at the school, and Martha had happily accepted Peter’s invitation to come speak. As she started resetting her things for the next group, Peter took the opportunity to stop one of the last kids out.

“Miles, wait up.”

Miles, who was arguing with Ganke on where gene therapy crossed the line into eugenics and ableism, waved his friend on ahead and turned back obediently. Peter winced to himself at the sight of the fading bruise around the kid’s right eye.

“Yes sir?”

“Just wanted to talk to you for a minute. How’s sophomore year treating you?”

Miles grinned wearily. “Kicking my butt.”

And it certainly seemed that way. It was harder to keep an eye on Miles since he’d started Visions’ high school courses, but Peter had heard the other teachers muttering about him. Late to class. Banged up. Always exhausted. His parents were talking about pulling him out of the Academy.

“Such a shame,” one woman had sighed, which made Peter’s blood boil. “He used to be such a good student.”

Technically, his symptoms weren’t that unusual. Even for a charter school, there were plenty of kids that got in fights. But Miles – he tried so hard at everything he did, Peter was sure that wasn’t the case. And he certainly recognized the signs from his own life.

And it was more than a possible double life that was affecting his schoolwork; Peter knew Miles’ uncle had been killed a few months ago. If he had powers now, combining that with grief and anger could turn nasty fast.

Peter was worried about him, even if he wasn’t their vigilante. But he had a gut feeling he’d found their mystery spider; now it was just a matter of coaxing him to come forward about it so Peter could help him.

“Keeping up with your art?”

Miles shrugged, eyes downcast and scuffing his shoe against the tile. “Haven’t really had time lately.”

And that seemed more a shame than anything, somehow.

“Well, I know you’re not in my class anymore. But if you ever want my help, just come find me,” Peter offered.

That actually seemed to make the kid perk up. “Thanks, Mr. Parker. I gotta run.”

He took off for whatever presentation he’d signed up for next, and Peter sighed. He’d given up on tracking down his mystery counterpart in the streets; he always vanished whenever Peter tried to confront him. Perhaps quite literally.

(“He may or may not be able to turn invisible,” Norman said.

Peter had thought Otto was going to murder him right then and there.)

It was kind of hard to compete with someone who could possibly vanish into thin air. Peter had figured his best bet now was approaching Miles as his teacher. But it had been almost two months since the new spider appeared on the scene, and he wasn’t biting. Peter was starting to wonder if he wasn’t as cool a teacher as he thought he was.

***

“Any luck with the kid?” Harry said, pushing away his empty plate and leaning back in his chair.

The kid. They’d all just taken to calling him that. Their dirty little secret.

Peter pushed some pasta around moodily with his fork. “Not yet.” MJ was working late tonight, and on a dark, snowbound January evening, he hadn’t felt like being alone. He’d invited his friend over on a whim, and he was glad it was just him and Harry tonight. Norman was just…hard to talk to these days. Peter wasn’t mad at him, exactly, but he’d really gone too far this time. He didn’t understand why the man had done something so foolhardy after what had happened with the Goblin.

(“Ok. I’m all ears. Let’s hear it,” Peter said coldly when they’d gathered together. “What’s this kid capable of?”

“I…took a little inspiration from our buddy Max,” Norman explained, picking at his fingers. He always sounded lighter when he was nervous or guilty. “Bioelectric powers, plus your own abilities.”

“Max? Who’s Max?”

Otto glanced at him uncomfortably. “Someone we met in the other universe.”

Peter glared at them, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. “Really? Come on guys! I get why you held out about Flint, but is there anyone else I should know about?!” He rounded on Norman. “Mr. Osborn…what were you thinking? You put Otto in danger. You put all of us in danger.” He’d created the Goblin for fear of losing his life’s work. There was only one reason he was going behind their backs now, Peter was sure of it. “What are you afraid of?”

“Peter…there’s no excuse for what he did.” Otto answered for him, after a venomous glare at Norman. “But there are some things we just can’t tell you. I know how unsatisfactory of an answer that is, and I understand if you can’t bring yourself to trust me –“

“I do,” Peter interrupted. And it even surprised himself a little, how deeply he meant that. After everything they’d gone through together over the years, he trusted that if there was something he needed to know, Otto would tell him. And if he was holding back, there was a good reason. “I trust you, Doc.”)

So he was still in the dark on Norman’s motivations. But it helped ease his concerns that Otto wasn’t completely letting Norman off the hook either. Whatever Norman’s reasons, Peter could tell that Otto had forgiven him, but their easy banter was gone. Otto was angry. Peter would’ve felt bad for Norman, if he wasn’t still kind of upset himself.

“You’ll find him eventually,” Harry assured him, breaking Peter out of his thoughts. “And if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

It had been difficult not to be a little frustrated with Harry at first, for so blindly trusting his father that he’d let him conduct dangerous experiments right under his nose. But Peter knew that wasn’t really fair; to Harry’s credit, the incident had shaken him. Norman wasn’t on a pedestal for him anymore. Though maybe that had been coming for a while now.

“I will,” Peter said sincerely. “Thanks, man. How’s it going with Louise?” he asked, just to change the topic. Harry had started going out with Louise last year, and he’d jump at any opportunity to talk about her now.

Harry sighed dreamily, a sound Peter once thought he’d never hear come from him, but which was now a frequent occurrence. “Great. Don’t tell my dad yet, he’d freak out, but I’m thinking about asking her to marry me.”

Peter grinned, feeling his spirits lift a little. That was probably the first genuinely good news he’d had in a while. “Well, you know I’m all on board if you do.”

“Maybe we can get Spiderman to make a special appearance at the wedding. Two celebrities, ya know.”

“I’ll ask him, but I don’t think his head is as big as yours.”

“Maybe not,” Harry laughed, “but I bet he’s one hell of a best man.”

***

“You know, these things really are fascinating,” Curt remarked, making the actuators preen under the praise.

“They’re also vain, they don’t need the encouragement,” Otto snorted. He turned to Martha. “Thank you again for dinner.”

“You were part of this too,” she said warmly. “You deserve to hear the verdict. Whatever it is.”

The university review board would be sending her their decision on her research proposal tonight, and she wanted him there too even though all he’d really done was help check her references. Otto would never say so to either of his friends, but he was secretly hoping it would be rejected. Not because he wanted Martha to fail, but simply so she could…rethink things.

The timeline is trying to fix itself, Norman had said, and even though Otto didn’t want to put too much stock in his paranoid delusions, it had gotten under his skin. He had to admit that there could be a scientific basis for such a phenomenon. It was all theoretical, but the timeline could be in flux until Peter returned in twelve years, cementing the final change. He wasn’t sure how that applied across universes, but if events unfolding here were any implication, a Connors and lizards were a multiversal commonality that their world might be hurtling towards.

Not that he could explain that to the institutional review board. And he wasn’t a theoretical physicist anyway; it was all guesswork, really, with no way to prove either theory, and he hated the uncertainty.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, hun,” Curt assured her.

She sniffed in mock indignation. “It better be.”

“Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed.”

“I swear, if you quote that to me one more time –“ She broke off as her phone chimed, unable to conceal a giddy grin. “This is it.”

She opened the email, and, in some mixture of pity and relief, Otto watched her face fall.

“…Approval deferred due to IRB requests for extensive protocol modifications,” she read bitterly. That wasn’t a death sentence; she could get another hearing. But she’d banked a lot on being able to move to human trials soon, and if she didn’t get approval quickly enough, she’d be set back months.

She looked at Otto. “I should’ve followed your lead and gone with a corporate contractor.”

“That didn’t work out so well for me, if you remember,” Otto replied tartly.

She sighed, relenting. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

“Sorry, love,” Curt murmured, coming up behind her to kiss her hair and slip his hand into hers. “I know how much this meant to you. Maybe some of it can still be salvaged.”

She softened at his touch. “You’re right. I’m not giving up.” Otto frowned slightly as she let go of her husband and absently rubbed the old burn scars on her arm, remnants of some bygone lab accident.

“I know that kind of killed the mood of the evening,” Martha continued, turning to Otto with a touch of her old humor, “but don’t feel pressured to leave if you don’t want to.”

“You’re very gracious.”

“Just a warning, I might recruit you for dishwashing.”

“I could probably do it singlehandedly,” Otto replied to the teasing, making Moe hiss in amusement. “Give you a night off.”

Martha patted Flo, who rotated her claws in pleasure. “My knights in shining titanium alloy. I’ll do the wiping.”

The actuators were very careful not to splash sink water as they scrubbed dishes, and Otto snorted to himself at the thought of how far they’d come from handling the most valuable substance on the planet. Beside him, he could tell Martha was still in a dark mood, despite the brave face she’d put on.

“You know,” he said quietly, “this might work out, in the long run. Give you the chance to iron out the animal trials.”

“There was only one instance of increased aggression. It was a fluke.”

“Curt was worried about you. He just wants you to be safe.”

Martha glanced out the kitchen hatch to the dining room, where her husband was packaging leftovers. “I’m doing this for him.”

“He knows that.”

“I know this will work, if everyone would stop meddling and just let me do it,” she muttered. And that was exactly how Norman sounded before he’d struck out on his own all those years ago.

A more snide voice told Otto that was exactly how he’d sounded before he killed his wife – despising Oscorp, scoffing at the very idea of shareholders and watchdogs when he clearly knew what he was doing.

“Martha…I was sure my life’s work was airtight. And I lost Rosie because of it. It might be better to take things slowly.”

She sighed, avoiding his eyes. “You’re a good friend.”

But as he said his goodbyes and headed home, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d managed to convince her.

***

Otto was jolted out of a dead sleep at one o’clock in the morning by the shrill ringing of the phone, nearly giving him a heart attack.       

Irritated, he had Moe bring him the device; it was Curt.

No way he was calling for the hell of it.

 “What –“

“It’s Martha,” his friend gasped. “Something’s wrong with her.”

“Alright,” he responded, heart still hammering, “I’m on my way over.”

Otto wasn’t exactly sure what he’d find when he arrived, but chaos and destruction and a giant humanoid lizard seemed the most likely possibilities.

It certainly wasn’t Martha sitting calmly in a recliner, eyes closed and breathing shallowly, but apparently unharmed.

“Are you –“

“I’m fine,” Curt interrupted impatiently. “But I think she took her formula. She stayed up late, told me she needed to work on something. I got up thirty minutes ago to check on her and found her like this.”

“I’m not a medical doctor, have you called anyone else –“

“No,” Curt said, and lowered his voice. “I remembered the trial where the animals attacked their cage mates. I didn’t want to spook her with a bunch of strangers in case it made things worse.”

That had probably been a good idea, in hindsight. Otto didn’t think EMTs knew how to deal with a mutating genome anyway.

“All the same, I’m not sure what you think I can do –“

“You know something, Otto,” Curt said. “You have this whole time. Can you help her?”

“No need,” Martha interrupted calmly, apparently having overheard them. They both startled slightly. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Yes there is,” Curt muttered to Otto. “Look at her.”

Her burn scars were gone. Even in the dim lighting, her red hair seemed a more vivid shade than naturally possible, almost crimson. And her green eyes, when she opened them, were flecked with gold, and the pupils were slitted.

What was with all of Otto’s friends taking rejection so badly that they tested unstable substances on themselves? But then again, he himself had sort of done the same thing. What a merry band they made.

And speaking of which – “Alright,” he said again, trying to appear calmer than he really felt. “I’m going to call Norman. He’ll know how to help her.”

“Osborn?”

“He’s our best bet, unfortunately. He –“

He never got to finish. For at that moment, Martha gasped sharply, like she’d been wounded. Her skin was taking on a greenish tinge, and hardening, like scales were erupting, and her breath came in painful sobs. And Curt, probably against all better judgment, but Otto could hardly blame him, rushed to her.

Even in the reptilian eyes, fear was stamped on her features. And something disturbingly like triumph. “I knew…I was right…”

“It’ll be alright, love –“

The actuators yanked Curt away in the nick of time – there was a final pained scream, and where Martha Connors had been seconds previously, there was an enormous, scaly green beast.

She was different than the other Connors had been, with a red crest and a snout full of fangs. For a moment, she seemed confused, golden eyes fixed on them. Otto could feel Curt shaking in Flo’s coils.

“Martha –“

She snarled, a distinctly inhuman sound; the door was reduced to a pile of matchsticks, and she disappeared into the night.

“Otto, let me go!”

“Hold on!”

He followed her, not intending pursuit, but just to get out of the apartment; some of the neighbors were bound to notice, and they didn’t need unwanted questions or the police interfering.

It wasn’t until they were several rooftops away that Otto released his friend, who clutched his probably-bruised ribs.

“Oh God…Martha…”

“Curt, look at me. I’ll get her back.” Otto held him steady. “Where would she go?”

“I – her lab, if she has any semblance of rational thought left. If she’s just running on instinct – I-I don’t know…

Otto sighed frustratedly, remembering the wizard remarking that he’d found the other Connors in the sewers. “I bet I do.” If she was running on reptilian instinct, the freezing January night would drive her somewhere warm and wet. “I’ll take you back down, then you need to find somewhere safe. I’m going after her –“

“I am not staying behind. That’s my wife!”

“We don’t know what she’s capable of –“

“Would you stay behind, if it was Rosie?”

Otto almost retorted that his wife wouldn’t have turned herself into a giant lizard in the first place, but he didn’t think that would be very considerate under the circumstances. “Fine. Go to her lab. I’m sending Peter and Norman Osborn your way. They’ll know what to do when they get there.”

All the fight seemed to drain out of his friend as the full crushing realization of what had happened hit him. “…I’m sorry I called you. How could you have known anything?”

Otto looked back at him. “Curt. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

“I won’t ask you to promise that,” his friend said quietly. “Whatever happens, you’ve done enough.”

***

It had been ages since Otto needed to move through the city without being seen. Years since he had slunk around at night for food and supplies, numbing his mind and letting the actuators think for him, because whenever he did think there was nothing but pain.

All in all, it wasn’t an entirely pleasant sense of déjà vu.

But the actuators were happy. They could feel Otto’s distress, and quickly assured him that no, it wasn’t good what had happened to his friend, and they were sorry for everything. But for being out of practice, they were still a smooth, flawlessly coordinated team, and he couldn’t deny them the delight they took from it. He let his pride at their efficiency seep through to them, and when they arrived at their destination, they wriggled with pleasure.

Crawling through a manhole at two o’clock in the morning to look for his mutated friend was pretty high on the list of things he never thought he’d do. But hey, c'est la vie. He needed to call Norman first, who had no right to sound as irritated as he did.

“Do you have any idea what time it is –“

“Shut up, Osborn. I need your help. It’s – it’s Martha Connors. What we thought might happen.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Seriously?”

“Didn’t you work on a cure with the little one?”

“I – barely, but it wasn’t the one they used. I wasn’t there for the completion of it, mine isn’t even off the drawing board. I’m a biochemist, not a geneticist –“

“You did alright with those spiders!”

“That wasn’t a human genome, I -!” He broke off with a frustrated sigh. “Alright, fine, I’ll do my best.”

“Go to her lab off-campus. Curt should be there. Call Peter, he can help you. I’m looking for Martha. I’ll let you know if I find her.” He hesitated, unnerved by what he’d seen. “…It’s different this time. She – she seemed just like an animal. The others Connors kept his human mind.”

“Maybe her formula was different. Or maybe it’s the shock to her system and she’ll come back to herself later. I – I can’t say, there are too many unknown factors.”

“Fine,” Otto muttered. “Good luck.”

“Good hunting.”

Otto had stayed in some pretty unpleasant places before; a wizard’s dungeon, a rotting and abandoned shipyard. He was no stranger to roughing it. But even he couldn’t bite down a gag at climbing into a New York sewer.

And there would be miles of it. And he had no idea where to start looking for Martha, or if she was even here.

Well. Here goes nothing.

He’d only picked his way through the dark, slimy tunnels for a few minutes before it became obvious that he wasn’t alone. Not the rats, and not Martha either. Not even the actuators could see anything, but they informed him that there was a heat source directly above them, slightly higher than the average human.

Otto sighed. “I know you’re there, boy.”

The kid shimmered into view – he could turn invisible, then - and dropped to the floor of the tunnel with a definite sense of sulkiness. He’d had a bit of an upgrade since Otto last saw him – he was in an actual suit, no hoodie and goggles this time. “How’d you know?”

“You still give off heat.” Otto squinted at him. “I don’t recall picking up a hitchhiker.”

“I saw this –“ he waved his hands animatedly – “crazy lizard thing a while ago!”

Ah. She was here, then. That was good to know.

“And then I saw you, and I figured you were probably climbing into the sewer for a reason.”

“Yes, I can assure you this isn’t something I normally like to do,” Otto snorted. “And you just happened to discover Vulture’s hideout when I was there? You have an awfully convenient knack for being in the right place at the right time.”

“That’s my job, sir,” the boy replied. It was rather endearing, how expressive he was even with his face hidden.

Otto scowled at him mostly for show. “You’re not very scared of criminals.”

“You’re not very scary,” the boy said cheekily. “And, technically, you’re a former criminal. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I didn’t mean me,” Otto replied with mock indignation. “I meant Vulture. And everyone else you face.”

“You can’t show people you’re afraid. If you do, they’ll just get scarier,” the boy said confidently.

That was…exactly something Officer Davis liked to say. Everything fell into place. Otto couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before; it made perfect sense. “You’re Jefferson Davis’ boy.”

The kid actually jumped. “What?! No – no, I’m not –“

Otto grinned wickedly. “You’re also a terrible liar.”

“Please, Dr. Octavius, don’t tell him, he’ll kill me!”

“I think I will.”

“You didn’t spill about Peter,” he muttered.

Otto blinked, actually taken by surprise. “You know about Peter?”

The boy seemed to realize he’d maybe said too much. “Uh…yeah. I saw him once when I was a kid. You don’t forget the face of the guy that backflipped ten feet in the air over a car. And then I was in his class a few years later and put it together from there.”

“Well, your powers of reasoning are impressive,” Otto grumbled. “But Peter is a grown man who can make his own decisions. You’re a child still under the care of your parents.”

The kid groaned. “Come on, man. That’s the lamest reason ever.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll keep your secret, on one condition. You have to tell me something first.”

“I reserve the right not to answer.”

“Why are you doing this?”

The boy flinched. “Uh, walking through a sewer?”

“Don’t be stupid, boy. You know what I meant.”

“…I’ve got a score to settle with Vulture,” he muttered eventually.

“Is that so? How convenient that a little spider bit you, then. Now you’re more powerful than any thug on the streets. Revenge should be easy.”

“They killed my uncle.”

…Oh.

It was like a dam broke; Otto got the sense the kid didn’t talk about this very often.

“I don’t know who Vulture really is; I don’t think he even goes by that, it’s just – something I started calling him. I’m not sure when he started gun-running, he keeps a pretty low profile. But I guess my uncle used to run jobs for him. I didn’t know about it until I caught them in his house one day.” His voice shook. “They didn’t know I was there. He wanted out…said he wanted the neighborhood to be safe for – for me. But they said he knew too much, and they shot him. He was trying to protect me, and they –“ He choked up for a moment before continuing, harder, “It wasn’t Vulture himself. I think it was the guy called Brice. But I don’t care. It’s Vulture’s op. I’m taking him down. And then I got the bite, and…that was my chance.”

A bit of the bioelectricity Norman had mentioned danced between his fingers. “I’m not out to hurt anyone. Really. I was just…powerless that day, and I don’t want that happening to another kid. Does that answer your question?”

Damn. Davis had mentioned hearing Brice’s name from the witness to his brother’s death, but he hadn’t mentioned that the witness was his own son. Otto hoped the kid was in counseling or something; dead relatives seemed to be a depressingly common denominator with these poor boys. “Yes, it does,” he said gently. “That’s very noble of you.”

“I know, I know, you probably think I’m just a kid and I should leave it to the police. I told my dad what I saw. But he still hasn’t found them. If you can do something yourself, why wouldn’t you?”

“I agree with that philosophy. But you are a child. There’s nothing wrong with letting people help you.”

“You volunteering?”

“I am,” Otto grinned. “I’d like to see Vulture again myself. And it might please you to know that Brice will be on crutches for a while.”

The boy chuckled a little. “That’s pretty badass of you.”

“Besides, you saved my life, dear boy. I never got the chance to thank you for that.”

“Aw, you busted yourself out.”

“Perhaps,” Otto acknowledged. “But I’m sure things would have gone worse for me without you.” The boy shrugged modestly, and Otto continued, “What’s your name, son? I don’t actually know.”

The kid evidently saw fit to remove his mask while he was at it. Something in his face reminded Otto a bit of the little Peter. “…It’s Miles.”

“Well, I’m very glad to know you at last, Miles,” Otto said warmly. In truth, he wasn’t nearly as blasé about the whole matter as he’d told Miles. He could just imagine Davis’ reaction if he knew Otto was letting his son run around after dangerous criminals. But he’d meant it when he’d said he would keep the boy’s secret; he would do so on the condition of looking after him as much as he could, and he was certain Peter would agree to as well.

The boy clasped his hands behind his head. “You know, you’re pretty easy to talk to.”

“I’ve been told that. The sentient machinery attached to me must put people at ease,” Otto replied, which made Miles giggle.

“My dad likes you. Says you were the nicest prisoner he ever watched.”

“Your dad was very kind to me, at a time when I needed it the most. And he raised a good son.”

“Aw. Soul searching in a sewer. Good times.”

“You’ve upgraded, I see.”

“Oh – yeah, I picked up sewing from my mom. It still kinda chafes a little, but it looks cooler – whoa whoa whoa, hang on Doc – I think lizard-guy is close.”

Otto didn’t know how Miles’ powers compared to Peter’s, but he’d learned to trust that intuition. “Where?”

“To…the right, I think.” Miles’ voice was a hushed whisper. “Um, this might be kind of late, but what are we after again?”

“…Martha Connors. Brilliant geneticist. One of her experiments went wrong.”

“Hold up, that’s Dr. Connors? She was at my school, like, yesterday! I knew gene therapy was freaky –“

“Hush.”

Now the actuators sensed her too, perking up. They could see perfectly in the dark, and sent their input back to Otto. The tunnel to the right was a dead end, and Martha was pacing around the concrete walls, maybe agitated by the sound of voices. She kept clawing at herself, as if trying to peel off her own skin, and Otto winced at the sight.

“This is a dead end,” he told Miles quietly. “I’m going to try talking to her, alright? If she gets past me, stop her here.” It might have been better to web off the entrance now, but Otto didn’t want Martha to panic if she thought they were trapping her.

Miles nodded, replacing his mask, but Otto could see him shaking slightly – from nerves or anticipation, he couldn’t tell.

“Martha?” he called softly, trying not to spook her. The huge head whipped up at the sound of his voice. There was no recognition in the golden eyes, but she didn’t lunge for his throat either. “You know me. I’m your friend.”

She did not move, scaly sides heaving. He couldn’t tell if she was listening to him or not, but he continued, “I understand. I do. You were just trying to help. I was, too. But we weren’t thinking straight.” He really, really needed someone like Peter with him. He just wasn’t good at this sort of thing.

“I’m going to help you, alright? I’m going to stay here with you, and Curt will come, and everything will be alright.”

All of a sudden, the reptilian eyes flickered with something like human understanding, and a horrible raspy hiss came from her distorted mouth.

“Curtis…”

She lifted her huge head and sniffed deeply. “Curtis…”

Otto began to feel that he’d made a mistake. “That’s right. He’ll be coming here with something to help you as soon as it’s ready.” So there’s no need to go after him, he added silently.

Martha apparently disagreed; she dropped to all fours, thick tail lashing, pacing more agitatedly than ever. She completely froze for a second, then lunged for the exit.

This time, Otto didn’t have Curt to worry about, and he was ready. Three of the actuators wrapped around her strong body, and the fourth held Otto in place.

She went berserk, tearing at the metal, and Otto gritted his teeth as he felt it cutting into her flesh. She was going to hurt herself if she kept thrashing around like that; he couldn’t hold her like this indefinitely. Miles’ webbing would be a much safer choice, so after a moment’s hesitation, he released her. She tore free, thundering once more for the exit.

And barreled straight past the kid.

“You were supposed to stop her!”

“My webs wouldn’t come! I’m sorry –“

Otto’s anger melted away at the boy’s panicked apology. It wasn’t his fault if he’d gotten scared.

“Miles? Miles, look at me. It’s alright. Go home, son. I can handle this.”

The boy’s jaw tightened with stubborn determination. “No.”

They didn’t have time to argue. “Can I count on you?”

“Yes.”

“Then go to Dr. Connors’ lab. There should be people there working on a cure for her. Warn them she’s probably coming their way, and that I won’t be far behind her.”

“I’m on it!”

His small figure raced away, and Otto sighed to himself. This was shaping up to be a long night.

***

“I still don’t believe this,” Peter muttered to Norman as they ran enzyme fluid through a separator. “What was she thinking?”

“Look, I can’t say. I’m hardly a qualified party to judge.”

“And this makes someone else you didn’t tell me about,” he hissed fiercely, still a little upset.

“I know you won’t believe this from me, but Octavius will back me up. Connors was the last guy there, I swear. Cross my heart and hope to die. If any other crazies show up, it’s nothing we knew about.”

Getting called out of bed in the middle of the night because his old physics professor’s wife had turned herself into some kind of hybrid monster was by far the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him, and that was saying something.

But Peter was far more concerned about Dr. Connors – both of them. The non-reptilian one leaned against a counter, too preoccupied to overhear them. Peter was a little worried that the night might end with Connors realizing he was Spiderman, but he knew it was no use asking his old teacher to leave.

“And I don’t think foreknowledge is doing us much good in this case,” Norman grumbled. “I never did see the final cure, so I’ve got no idea if I’m doing this right.”

Ideally, they would have made a counteractant based on Martha’s notes, but there was nothing in her lab to go on. Apparently she was rather secretive.

“I don’t like Doc running off by himself.”

“He can handle himself. I need you here. You always had a knack for biology.”

Part of him still thought he should have gone with Otto, but he knew Norman was right. They would develop a cure faster working together, and they were almost finished. Hopefully they would hear from Otto soon, administer the serum, and be done with this whole business.

Calling the cops was out of the question. Martha would probably end up shot. And technically, she hadn’t done anything criminal yet. Their best bet was to handle it themselves as quietly as possible.

Though a miniature Spiderman bursting frantically through the door wasn’t exactly quiet.

It was the first time Peter had seen the kid up close, and he knew instantly that it was Miles. He’d seen Miles racing into class about a thousand times before, and he was doing pretty much the exact same thing here. And even with the new addition of an actual mask, Peter could feel the kid’s gaze lingering on him in a sure sign of recognition.

“Uh, guys, I know you don’t know me, but I think you know Dr. Octavius, and he sent me, and he told me to tell you that Dr. Connors is probably coming this way, and that he’s coming too –“

Peter did not question him. “Norman? How are we looking?”

“Done.” He pulled a flask of pale green fluid away from the machinery, and started transferring it to a syringe.

“You spoke to Otto?” Curt demanded. “Where’s my wife, son?”

“Honestly?” Miles said awkwardly, “I think she’s tracking you, sir. She heard your name and then caught your scent or something.”

“But she’s alright? She’s unharmed?”

“You – you might want to get out of here, Dr. Connors,” Peter cut him off uncomfortably before Miles could answer.

Curt looked at him shrewdly. “With the exception of the boy, I think my chances are equal to anyone else’s here.”

Well, Peter couldn’t really contradict that without giving himself away.

And there was no more time to argue – he and Miles felt her coming at the exact same time, accompanied by a chilling sound Peter hadn’t heard in years: the distinctive thud of the actuators.

Everyone froze for a split second, and then it devolved into chaos; a mountain of scales and fangs erupted into the room, shattering glass everywhere. Peter saw Miles lunge for Curt, and silently thanked God the kid had good instincts even as he himself raced for Norman and the cure.

And then Otto was there, bloodied and furious, and it was hard not to remember how he’d looked in the light of the dying reactor. The actuators whipped out and coiled around Martha, holding her tight, which was just in time – she’d been making a beeline for Curt. To do what was impossible to say, but it probably wasn’t anything good.

“Tell me you’re ready!” Peter could barely hear his friend over Martha’s enraged shrieks.

“Here it is!” Norman passed the cure to Peter.

Miles was much closer to Martha; he didn’t want to give the kid away, so he yelled the only thing he could think to get his attention:

“Spiderman! Catch!”

It was a magnificent catch; the kid vaulted gracefully over the huge snarling body and injected the cure, landing perfectly next to Peter.

For a heart-stopping second, nothing happened. And then Martha’s struggles ceased. The actuators did not release her, but their grip loosened as she stopped straining and let them go slack.

Curt, eyes huge, reached his hand for her. “Martha…?”

But she did not transform. The golden eyes, which had clouded over, now sharpened back into focus. Horrifyingly, they no longer held the rabid rage of an animal; it was a cold, calculating, human intelligence. Peter could feel that she was more dangerous than ever.

Her gaze never left her husband, and she hissed out, “You’re…next.”

Peter lunged for Otto and bowled him over in the nick of time; Martha’s thick, spiny tail lashed overhead, and would have broken his neck in a second if he’d still been standing. She was gone as quickly as she’d come.

Miles started to go after her, only for Norman to stop him. “No, wait. Let her go. We’ve got no cure,” he addressed this last part to Otto, who looked murderous at the idea. “And, at best, we’re days away from making one. What are we going to do? Where could we hold her til then? Let her go into hiding, she’ll be safer. We tried to handle this immediately, and we failed. We need to regroup, and we’ll look for her again when we’re better prepared with a better plan.”

“And what if she hurts somebody in the meantime?” Otto demanded. “Or gets hurt?”

“She won’t.”

The quiet statement came from Curt, who looked miserable. “Didn’t you hear? She’s only after me.”

Otto’s dark eyes softened with concern, and he immediately went to comfort his friend.

“All we had to go off was the other you’s formula,” Norman muttered to Peter. “And an incomplete version, at that. I guess Martha’s mutation was too different for it to work.”

Far from working, Peter was pretty sure they’d made things worse, but that wasn’t Norman’s fault. He’d tried his best. “Thanks for your help, Dr. Osborn,” he said softly, forgiving him. “And you –“

He called after Miles, who was trying to edge away while no one was watching him. “I think we need to talk.” He didn’t mean to use his teacher voice, but it was habit at this point. He smiled a little so the kid wouldn’t feel like he was about to get a lecture. “The roof?”

***

The frigid winter night was clear and starry, which seemed incongruous with what had just happened. Even so, Peter felt the crisp air clearing his head, and gestured for Miles to sit next to him.

“So, first things first, I’m Spiderman. Though you probably guessed that since I just climbed a building to get up here.”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, I’ve known for ages.”

“Really? How? Am I that obvious?”

“You probably don’t remember this,” Miles explained, “but I saw you once when I was a kid. You backflipped like ten feet in the air over a car there was no way you could have seen coming behind you. I recognized you when you showed up as my teacher, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.” He smirked. “Eat my greens, huh?”

He did remember the incident; looking back on it, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized one of those kids was a younger Miles. “Heh…I can’t believe that was you. Some coincidence. And, ah, thanks for helping out Doc. I kinda like having him around.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you, I just knew that you were Spiderman, and I knew you’d probably recognize me, and I didn’t know what you’d do-“

“You were incredible tonight,” Peter stopped his nervous rambling. “Honestly, I’m impressed.”

The boy shrugged modestly. “Well, I don’t know about that. I’m – just Miles, ya know. The other Spiderman.”

“You’re not just the other Spiderman,” Peter said encouragingly. “You’re your own hero. Call yourself whatever you want, but you’ve got the stuff.” He hesitated, suddenly feeling oddly shy. “And if you want, I could kind of…show you the ropes, you know. Or the webs. I mean, you figured a lot of it out already that took me ages –“ and he totally was not envious of that suit – “but I’ve still been doing this for a while…”

It was worth it to see the kid’s eyes light up. “That’d be great. I still can’t control everything, sometimes it just comes and goes.”

“Yeah, that happened to me too. You’ll get the hang of it. But where you are, you should put school first. This can be hard, so keep up with your hobbies, your family…”

“Right, cuz that’s what you did?” Miles asked a little too innocently.

“It’s what I wish I would have done,” Peter replied playfully. “But I didn’t have someone like you to watch my back, then. We’re a team now.”

“I like the sound of that,” the kid replied sincerely.

“And speaking of school, we’ve both got it tomorrow. Or today, I guess. You should go home. But first, there’s someone you need to talk to.”

Norman appeared to be waiting for them, and despite the bravery he’d shown, Miles seemed almost shy at the thought of approaching Norman Osborn.

“You’re Miles?” Norman had put on his dad voice; the nice one, not the patronizing one.

“Uh…hi.”

“I have to confess…I’m responsible for what happened to you.”

“I, uh, I kind of guessed. Seeing where I got bit.”

“I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am, son.”

It was hard to read Miles’ expression. “It’s cool. Nothing you can do about it now, huh?”

“Do you want me to do something about it?”

That even took Peter by surprise; he hadn’t known Norman was working on something to reverse the effects of the venom.

“I’m already making a cure for Dr. Connors,” he continued. “True, I’m no real geneticist, but I’m managing. I could try for you too, if you want.”

“Honestly…thanks for the offer, but…” Miles glanced at Peter. “You weren’t responsible for my choices. I’m good with who I am.”

“Well, I can certainly respect that. If you ever need anything, you look me up,” Norman offered.

“Will do,” Miles offered in a tone that Peter knew meant he wouldn’t. “See you…in a few hours I guess, Mr. Parker,” he added, and then he was gone, leaving Peter alone with Norman.

“Where’s Otto?”

“He took Connors home. And we should clear out of here too.”

Peter heaved a sigh. “No argument here. It’s…been a night.” He envied Miles’ energy; he himself was losing the youthful stamina to pull all-nighters.

“I’m not giving up on Connors,” Norman muttered. “I’m going to fix this.”

***

Poor Curt, exhausted from sorrow, had passed out almost as soon as he’d made it home, after granting Otto permission to stay the night. And Otto knew exactly what he must be feeling, the sensation that a bed you used to share was too big now.

He didn’t think it was a good idea for Curt to be left alone tonight.

Theoretically, he’d been granted the couch, but Otto knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep on it, even without the actuators. He’d washed up, so he no longer smelled like a sewer, but it was hard to shake the feeling of a filth clinging to him. So he simply stayed at the kitchen table, with the cold comfort of tea, keeping vigil. It was the least he could do after completely ruining his friend’s life.

A thin line of gray light was spilling over the horizon when the most welcome company imaginable tapped lightly on the window. Flo perked up and moved to let Peter in, and despite the sorrow and exhaustion of the night, Otto couldn’t help but soften a little at the sight of him.

“I figured you’d still be here.”

Otto scoffed humorlessly. “You know me too well. I’m sorry I took off without a word, but poor Curtis…”

“No no, you’re all good. I’m heading home too. I just wanted to make sure you were ok first.” Peter glanced down the hallway. “Is he…well, never mind. Stupid question.”

“He’s strong, Peter. I’ve seen him survive - not much worse, but…loss.” He tutted at the sight of Peter’s furrowed brow. “And for once, my boy, there is no way for you to construe this into somehow being your fault."

Peter’s blue gaze was shrewd. “It’s not yours, either.”

It absolutely was, but Otto didn’t much feel arguing the point with Peter. He had that stubborn look again. “Well, I appreciate you checking up on me. I’m sorry I woke you up on a work night. We’re making a habit of these early morning chats.”

It was a poor attempt at jest, but Otto was still perturbed to feel Peter stiffen next to him. Was he alright?

“Otto.” Peter’s knuckles were white with how tightly they were clenched in his lap. “…Your wife died. And May, and Dr. Connors…I can’t imagine losing MJ. How – how do any of you survive?”

“…Part of me didn’t,” he murmured. “And the rest of me didn’t want to.” He vividly remembered staring into the black water, and wishing with everything in him that it would swallow him whole. Maybe he was just exhausted, maybe it was everything that had happened to Martha tonight, but the grief, never really gone, was stronger now than it had been in ages. It rose up in his throat and choked him into a confession. “Even now, sometimes when I think that I’ll never see her smile again, or hear her voice, and I realize how long I’ll still have to live without her, I can’t…”

Peter was staring at him with an expression of pure fear, and that alone snapped Otto out of his despair. He never wanted his boy to look at him like that. “I would be lying if I said that one day you get over it,” he said quietly. “I know that I never have. But I find the little things to cling to, even if it’s something as simple as looking forward to tea with you, and I keep going for that. And I do believe that one day, I'll see her again, even if it's a long time from now or short.”

Peter sighed, and Otto heard all the fears he usually kept so carefully bottled up. “I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Go home, dear boy,” Otto said fondly. “Be with your wife. And besides,” he continued, harder, “Martha is not dead. We are going to get her back.”

***

MJ was already up when Peter returned – or, more likely, she’d just never gone back to sleep after he left. He hated doing that to her.

She was sipping coffee on the couch, and even in her bathrobe with her hair messily thrown up, he thought she’d never been more beautiful.

“Hey baby,” she murmured as he slipped in. “How are you doing?” That was always her question when he came back.

“Not the best night I’ve ever had,” he replied wearily.

“Is Dr. Connors ok?”

“...I don’t think so.” Either of them.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

There were dark circles under her eyes; these nights were hard on her too, and he wasn’t the only one who would have to gear himself up for work in a few hours. But her concern was still all for him. He sat next to her on their sagging couch and closed his eyes, taking comfort in the nearness of her. “I will eventually. But now…I just want to sit with you.”

Chapter Text

There was no way to cover up that Martha Connors had disappeared. She had students and coworkers; she hadn’t lived in a bubble, and there was footage of the fight in the lab. In the interest of public safety, they’d had to tell the police she was out there, and she was now a wanted woman. Or lizard. Whatever. And though Otto had looked for her every day that he could since, there hadn’t been sight or sound of her for months.

He didn’t know what was worse – the possibility that the shock to her systems or accelerated metabolism had killed her and she was rotting in a sewer somewhere, or knowingly in hiding and plotting something, irreparably altered beyond the help of any cure.  

And Otto was worried about Curt. His friend had gone right back to work, throwing himself in with renewed vigor. It wasn’t a terrible coping mechanism, but Otto knew from personal experience that it didn’t fix the underlying problem, and he didn’t think Curt was addressing that. But he didn’t want to talk about it, and frankly, Otto couldn’t really blame him.

“Look at this,” Peter muttered over his newspaper. It was a school holiday, but Mary Jane still had to work, so Peter had come by for breakfast before he had to start grading projects. “Mason got sprung.”

Otto frowned into his coffee. “Did he now?” He’d been under the impression that Vulture had left his engineer to rot in prison.

“’Phineas Mason, convicted on charges of theft and kidnapping, escaped from Metropolitan Correctional Center with the aid of person or persons unknown. Still at large.’”

“He’s clever enough, I suppose, but he didn’t strike me as any great criminal mastermind,” Otto scoffed.

Peter looked grim. “Vulture’s planning something.”

“I’d stake my life on it.”

Vulture’s tactics had changed since Mason’s arrest. Where he’d once preferred a low profile, according to Miles, now he’d apparently decided to operate more openly. There were increasing reports of robberies at places like Alchemax, chemical weapons on the streets, a strange winged man. There wasn't enough solid evidence to link the thefts to an individual, avoiding the mobilization of a manhunt, though it wasn’t too hard for Peter and Miles to put the pieces together. They’d recovered most of the stolen property, and spent as much time as they could searching for him, but the man himself continued to elude them. Otto knew it was frustrating both of them, and while he understood the feeling, he couldn’t shake the idea that the resultant anger might be Vulture’s motive; trying to goad his pursuers into doing something reckless. It was something Otto would have done himself, after all.

“You might have to,” Peter replied worriedly. “You could identify him. You might be next on his hitlist.”

“I hope I am,” Otto sniffed. “Let him try.”

“Please don’t say that.” It was said lightly, but Peter’s concern was still real. “Now you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

The boy’s tired smile wavered at the edges, and then fell again before he turned back to his eggs and grits. Peter had been melancholy all morning. Otto knew he was a grown man who could look after himself, but still – all this business with Vulture and the Connors, coming up short on both ends. Even with Miles’ aid, Otto couldn’t help but worry that Peter was getting burned out. He barely even mentioned Mary Jane or his aunt anymore. Everything was business.

 “I’m sorry.” He paused. “You’ll find him, Peter. I’m sure of that.”

Peter sucked on that disgusting black licorice he claimed ‘cleansed his palate.’ “Well. Miles and I are closing in on him. We think. He keeps a tight circle, but we’ve busted a couple of guys we’re almost certain were connected to him.”

“Hm. ‘Almost certain’?”

“He doesn’t deal with street thugs directly. They can only confirm his middlemen.” Peter shrugged defensively, then lightened the statement with a scoff. “I’m not going to torture people into talking. I’m not Batman.”

“No. No one would ask you to do that.” Otto left out the fact that he himself would gladly break a few bones for information, but he understood that Peter had reservations about how he used his powers. He certainly wasn’t going to push his boy to do something that made him uncomfortable. “But it seems our world has devolved into futilely looking for people.”

It was only a jest, but Otto couldn’t help the sense of failure that tainted the statement. Even in all the years he’d had to live with that feeling, it was still a bitter taste.

“You got that right.” Peter checked his watch, then stood to leave. “I should probably go. I’ve got a stack of element dioramas waiting for me at home.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” Otto said, remembering the days Peter himself had done homework at his kitchen table with a surge of fondness.

“Uh, one more thing.” Peter hesitated, hand still on the doorknob. He looked uncertain about something, then continued, “We haven’t really told anyone except May yet. But we thought you should know too. MJ and I, um. We can’t have kids.” He didn’t say it teary-eyed or emotional. Just flat. Hollow.

Otto hadn’t known they were trying. He took a moment before responding, heart aching with sympathy. After all, he and Rosie had gone through the same thing, and he knew no amount of words could heal that hurt. “Oh…I’m sorry, my dear.”

“She got checked out, she’s fine. So it’s probably me. I don’t know if it’s the spider thing, or something else…it doesn’t really matter. With me being – what I am…” He shrugged uncomfortably. “With everything we do, maybe it’s for the best.”

Otto did not refute the statement; that was their call to make. But he did understand their position. “If you ever need anything, you know I’m here for you.”

“Yeah. I know that. Thanks, Doc.” For the first time this morning, Peter smiled. “I don’t…” He trailed off, as if debating whether or not to say something, then apparently decided not. With a last nod, he was gone.

***

“So if the coefficient of friction between the road and the tire is .75, the minimum radius of curves going 55 miles per hour is…270 feet?”

“There you go,” Peter said encouragingly. “You’re getting it.”

He was helping Miles with his physics homework on a roof across from a subway entrance, the setting sun sending fiery beams glittering across the windows of the buildings around them. Even though the sky was cloudless, the air was hot and heavy with the promise of a storm later.

They both preferred being up high to focus, but it was better to be only one story up for their tutoring sessions. ‘The wind on top of the Empire State Building blew away my homework’ probably wouldn’t be an acceptable excuse to Miles’ physics teacher.

Still, it was sort of nice, seeing the people and vehicles flow by below. Even if it wasn’t the State building, the height was clearing his head. Up here, he was away from Martha Connors and May’s sadness, away from Vulture, and MJ’s sorrowful exhaustion, and Otto’s pity.

Harry was in Silicon Valley for a week with his dad at some business expo; it was just Peter and MJ most evenings. They were both used to disappointment. But Peter hated seeing her have to give up another one of her dreams.

I’m sorry, he’d said. He didn’t add that it was his fault, but they both knew it.

You’re worth anything, she’d told him, even though her eyes were still sad, and that was the end of the conversation.

“Now if the mass of the truck is…Miles? You with me?”

The kid sighed, distracted. “Sorry. I just keep thinking about…”

“Vulture?” Peter guessed.

“Yeah. I just can’t figure out what he’s up to.”

Peter knew Miles was worried about his dad. He’d already lost his uncle to Vulture’s thugs, and if they were more aggressive now, it could be only a matter of time before cops got caught in the crossfire.

The poor kid had been more dedicated to catching the criminals than anyone, but Peter wanted to get him too. He wanted to personally ensure that Vulture was taken in, for what he’d done to Miles and Otto, to prevent him from hurting anyone else. He wasn’t out for revenge; he’d learned that lesson. But this was still something he thought would be better handled himself, without risking anyone else.

“I know,” he agreed, frustrated. “And springing Mason…that was bold. Maybe he’s getting pushed into a corner. Fighting back. We might’ve done a number on his sphere of influence.”

“Maybe.” Miles glanced away uncomfortably. He was silent for a moment, and Peter almost asked him what was wrong, before he mumbled hesitantly, “Didn’t…didn’t your uncle die, too?”

More than just his uncle. His father, his constant supporter, a friend he’d laughed with and shared jokes with, someone he’d cried to over both the deepest fears in his heart and the most trivial of teenage woes. A loss – a failure – that still crushed him whenever he thought of it.

“…Yeah. He did. And it was the worst day of my life. And,” he continued gently, “it was my fault. But what happened to your uncle wasn’t yours, Miles. And you’re not letting him down now just cuz we’re a little behind.”

There was the kid’s smile, even if it was a bit melancholy. “You’re like a mind reader, you know that?”

“I’m really not,” Peter laughed, remembering all the times he’d been utterly wrong about people. “I think we’re just in the same boat, in a lot of ways.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” Miles grinned ruefully. “I should probably get this done.”

Vulture was still weighing heavily on their minds, but it was fun, just doing math and pretending, however briefly, that nothing was wrong. Miles’ enthusiasm, even for things he didn’t immediately excel at, was infectious, and lifted Peter’s mood a little. They stood when they were finished, stretching out sore limbs, Miles stuffing papers in his backpack.

Directly across from them, the glare from the setting sun was too much even for their enhanced eyes, directing their gazes toward the street below.

And something very, very interesting.

Peter whistled. “Well, would you look at that.”

Below them, in a queue waiting to enter underground, was Phineas Mason. The guy was already pretty nondescript, but now he had a cap shading his face. Most people, with earbuds in or faces in phones, paid him no notice whatsoever.

“What is he thinking?” Miles muttered. “He’s not even trying to hide.”

“More luck for us.”

The kid stiffened with anticipation next to him. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

He absolutely was. It was a crazy idea, and not at all what a good citizen should probably do. But what the hell.

***

“I can’t believe you brought a fugitive to your home,” Otto said. Peter couldn’t tell if he was amused or exasperated. Or both.

“Neither can I,” MJ muttered.

Peter grinned sheepishly. “Sorry Doc. Miles and I saw him trying to catch the subway. We would’ve just left him for the cops ordinarily, but then we wouldn’t get to question him ourselves. We’ll turn him in later.”  

Otto chuckled. “I thought you said you weren’t Batman.”

“One time deal.” Peter hesitated, unsure how Otto would take to the real reason they’d called him over. “He won’t talk, though. We were wondering if…you could…talk to him?”

Otto stiffened. “I’m not an interrogator, boy.”

“I know,” Peter said, rushing to clarify, “but you might have more luck.”

“Fine,” Otto grumbled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Sorry about this, Ms. Parker,” Miles smiled winningly from where he was seated on their countertop. “We’ll be out of your hair soon.”

MJ softened; she’d always liked Miles. “Well, I didn’t have plans tonight anyway.”

“Sorry, hun,” Peter whispered to her privately. “You know I wouldn’t have done this if I could think of anything better.”

“I know,” she murmured. “Do what you need to.”

He squeezed her hand, silently apologizing again, then gestured to Miles to follow Otto.

They’d webbed up Phineas Mason in the spare bedroom; Otto shut the door as he entered, and Peter sniggered to himself. For all he acted like he was above such things, Peter knew Otto enjoyed a little performance every now and then. And listening in would be no problem with their enhanced hearing.

“Well?” Mason said, voice a little high-pitched. “What are you all playing at? Turn me in, if you’re going to.”

There was a rustle of fabric as Otto removed the man’s blindfold. “Well, this is familiar, isn’t it?”

“What – what do you want from me?”

“Nothing you’re not capable of easily giving. Let’s talk about the man you work for.”

“Why should I?” He was a little bolder now. “You wouldn’t kill me, not with Spiderman watching.”

“No, I won’t,” Otto agreed amicably. “But I don’t have to kill you to make you suffer. And I think I have every right to after what you did to me.” The actuators clicked in pleased anticipation, which added a nice effect. Peter knew they had a flair for the dramatic too, which wasn’t a surprise considering who’d made them.

Mason must have reacted somehow, for Otto continued, “You don’t have any stolen technology with you now. You and your oafish companions forgot who I am. You were in the city a few years ago, weren’t you? I’m sure you saw the pictures from the hospital.”

“Fine,” the man said hurriedly. “The boss will kill me for talking, but at least he’ll do it quickly.”

That was easy. Maybe all they’d needed was a six-foot guy with four murderous robots attached to him. Peter felt a little guilty that Otto had needed to rely on the fear stemming from his record; he knew his friend didn’t like to remember those experiences. He’d make it up to him later.

“Start from the beginning, please.”

“Well - I don’t know his name,” Mason said uneasily. “He never told any of us. But what he does is – he scavenges. Takes leftovers and makes them better, then sells them on the streets. He had me at Oscorp, stealing tech. He had Schultz at the morgue, harvesting organs. Brice handled anyone who caused trouble. Until-“ Mason sounded a bit guilty – “until we took you, no one knew he existed.”

Aaron Davis knew he existed, Peter thought. And his death did not go unnoticed.

“But he is the one who orchestrated your escape?” Otto pressed. Mason must have nodded. “Then why? What’s his next move?”

“He needed me for a job downtown. If I don’t show, he’ll know something’s up. He’ll go underground.”

“When was he expecting you?”

“…In an hour.”

Then they needed to act now, Peter realized with a pang of anticipation. 

“Where would he go into hiding?” Otto said, clearly thinking along the same lines.

Mason hesitated, probably reluctant to surrender such crucial information.

“Look,” Otto offered, lowering his voice. “I’m not like Spiderman. I don’t care about anything else except ripping the wings off your boss for what he did to me. If you tell me where he is, I have no qualms with letting you waltz right out of here.”

“Nice touch,” Miles whispered, amused.

“Why should I believe you?” Mason said, but the challenge was somewhat undercut by the crack in his voice.

“Well, you don’t have to. But that’s the best offer you’re liable to get. I could snap your femur in half, keep you from bleeding out, and then work my way upwards, if you want.”

“Ok ok, fine. He’s got three main hideouts since the cops cleared us out of our old one. I’ll give you the addresses.”

“Thank you,” Otto said. “You’ve been very helpful. We’ll bust your man first to make sure you weren’t lying, and then we’ll turn you back in to the police. I’m sure they’ll be interested to know how exactly you escaped.”

“You said you’d let me go!” Mason yelped.

“I lied,” Otto scoffed.

***

“Alright,” Peter told the small gathering in his kitchen. “I looked up the addresses, here’s the deal. It’s a warehouse on the East, a scrapyard on Staten Island, and an abandoned skyscraper. Mason said it’s the top floor. This might be our only shot at Vulture; once he picks up Mason is compromised, he could go to any one of them.”  

It was hardly ideal conditions for a high-stakes operation; the promised rain had come, a thick and heavy spring thunderstorm that sent a blinding downpour lashing against the windows. Next to Otto, Mary Jane was tense and silent, and he knew she was worried for her husband. Probably always would be, no matter how many times he was called away. As Peter spoke, Otto reached for the young woman’s hand to silently reassure her, gratified to see her softly smile up at him.

“We’ll have to split up and hit two of them simultaneously,” Peter continued, turning to Miles. “I’ll take the skyscraper.”

“I’ve got Staten Island,” Miles claimed. The boy had been jittery all evening, and for good reason, Otto supposed. He could only hope that Miles’ desire for justice wouldn’t lead him to do anything reckless.

“And if Vulture’s not there, we’ll meet up at the warehouse – if one of us gets lucky, well. Just do your best until backup arrives.”

“Are you forgetting something?” Otto said pointedly, speaking up for the first time at this blatant oversight. “I could check the warehouse.”

“…I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Doc,” Peter said hesitantly. “We need someone here to watch Mason.”

“I can at least do that,” Mary Jane spoke up. “You said there shouldn’t be any trouble out of him.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone with a criminal!”

 “Really?” Mary Jane said tartly. “It’s happened before. No offense, Otto.”

“None taken.” Even though he agreed with her, Otto couldn’t help but feel in a mix of pity and amusement that that was a rather low blow to poor Peter.

“Ok, fine. We don’t have time to argue. But…” Peter softened. “Be careful? It’s ok to let him go or call for help if you need to.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“If you haven’t heard from us in forty-five minutes, call the cops and give them the locations.” He nodded at Miles. “Let’s go.”

Before Otto left to follow them, Mary Jane’s small hand reached again for his.

“Otto. Wait.”

 He was rather in a hurry, but he couldn’t just brush her off. “What is it, my dear?”

 “I know you need to leave, but Pete’s worried about you. That’s the only reason he didn’t want you to come. So…please be careful. And,” she brushed her fiery hair behind her ear, “look after him, if you can.”

“I will,” he assured her gently. “More than myself.”

She smiled weakly. “But you’d better come back safe, too. All of you.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised her. He could at least give her that, if nothing else.

Not even the actuators could see that well in the rain; they were navigating mostly by sound and heat, but Otto trusted them to carry him safely. As he traveled, he turned over the events in his mind; he’d offered to join Peter and Miles, because he knew they needed a third person. He would do everything he could to help them. But he was a bit uncertain about the whole thing, and he hadn’t voiced his concerns to the others.

This was hardly a foolproof plan, merely the best they could do in a hurry, and Otto had an insidious suspicion that that might be exactly the point. Pressuring them into a time crunch so they became desperate would be a good trap. But if that was the case, it was a huge gambit on Vulture’s part, so perhaps not. They just didn’t know enough to make a good call either way, which was unbelievably frustrating. There was no choice but to act on what they had.

And a brutally realistic voice told him he was getting too old to be of much use to Peter anymore. If Otto found Vulture, whose mere cronies had bested him once before, he couldn’t be entirely sure of the outcome.

Though admittedly, the setting might also be putting him in a more depressive state of mind. As the crumbling warehouse came into view through the downpour, he thought in morbid amusement that he’d seen more than enough abandoned riverside buildings.

The inside was completely dark, and muffled the sounds of the storm. Otto frowned as the actuators’ data came back to him – the warehouse was bare. There were no assembly tables or equipment like one might expect in an illegal laboratory.

He had a split second to realize it was probably a setup before it was confirmed by the fiery lance of pain that thrust him away from the door.

“Long time no see, Octavius,” came a familiar voice, its owner now blocking the exit. “I was hoping I’d get you. You always seemed like a civilized guy.”

It was Vulture’s smooth-voiced crony – Mason had called him Schultz - alone this time and armed with some new toy: a gauntlet alive with electricity. From the feel of it, it had a concussive power too; the force of it rattled his bones and made his teeth ache.

Maybe he was just old, but Otto was getting sick of these goons and their fancy gadgetry.

Before Schultz moved after him again, the actuators hissed softly and coiled in close, and Otto realized they were actually afraid. Their scan results from the blast confirmed why: they’d only been grazed the first time, but the electrical power in that thing was strong enough to permanently disable the actuators, and would naturally cook his own insides while it was at it. They’d all had enough of that for a lifetime.

Ok. So taking him down with the actuators was a no-go. Fleeing was out of the question; he wasn’t letting this thug walk away again to terrorize more people. Limited options – play for time.

“No backup this time?” he stalled, trying to sound more confident than he really felt. It was difficult when his body felt like he’d been put through a woodchipper.

“Don’t need it,” Schultz replied confidently. “This baby’s got enough juice to light up Manhattan, and turn your big brain to jelly. We made sure this time.”

Rotting wood, angle between the support beams and the roof, how much weight each one could bear…It had been a while since he needed to mentally calculate that fast, even with the actuators’ help, but he was pretty sure he had it.

“Is that so? Well, I’m certainly not going to charge to my death. You’ll have to come get me.”

“Mm-mm. I’m staying out of range of those tentacles. See ya, Octavius.” The man fired the weapon, and the actuators barely moved in time.

It was ranged too. Fantastic. Oh well – he might actually be able to get that to work to his advantage.

It was humiliating, having to duck and dodge through the building while some idiot tried to blow him up in a ridiculous, macabre game of tag. At least the guy wasn’t laughing or giving stupid one-liners. That would have been unbearable.

But he was getting frustrated, Otto could tell. Which meant he wasn’t paying as much attention to where his shots were going.

“Alright Octavius,” he panted, “I’m on a bit of a schedule here. I wouldn’t have pegged you a coward. Afraid to face me?”

That didn’t even deign a response. And his opponent was standing…right about center. Perfect.  

Schultz fired right at him, and at the same time, the actuators reached behind and tore down the last of the building’s support beams. The other sagging structures, already weakened by the man’s reckless shots, gave way with cracking groans and sent the entire building collapsing down on top of them.

***

Miles had gone lizard-hunting in the sewers with Dr. Octavius last year, and he’d be lying if he said he’d never gone dumpster-diving for personal projects before, but he was still picking his way through a Staten Island scrapyard with more than a little disgust. He’d certainly been in grosser places, but it was just a shame what some people threw away. Some of those old computers still looked in perfect condition; they’d likely just been replaced by newer models.

The rain clattering on metal produced a continuous thrum of noise that made it difficult to hear anything else; he would have to rely almost entirely on his intuition to warn him of any impending danger. Now would be a really good time to not be visible, but no matter how hard he focused, it just wasn’t happening.

He’d talked a lot with Peter and Dr. Osborn, and they’d determined that his powers were just kind of glitchy, no two ways about it. The DNA of the spider that bit him had been in flux, its own capabilities experimental and unreliable, and Dr. Osborn wasn’t sure how that would translate to a human genome. They’d made sure it wouldn’t kill him or anything, but he couldn’t always count on his full range of abilities. Their powers were closely linked to their emotional state, and he’d been working diligently with Peter on self-control and focus like he was some sort of Jedi or something. He’d gotten better, but sometimes, what Peter called his “extra” powers fizzled out no matter what he did. That wasn’t particularly reassuring to think about right now.

Two dark, motionless lumps were splayed out in the mud a few feet away, and Miles crept forward cautiously. He’d expected to run into the junkyard dogs earlier, and as he got closer, he knew instantly why they’d never appeared. They were curled up as if sleeping, but he could smell singed fur and burnt flesh and there was no sound from their heartbeats. Some asshole had killed the poor things.

Which meant…they weren’t Vulture’s dogs.

His senses screamed a warning at him just in time before the mountain of scrap to his left exploded, sending shards of hot metal flying.

“Hey kid,” Brice sneered. “I was hoping for Octavius, but I guess you’ll do.”

It was the same gloating voice he’d heard the day his uncle was shot in the heart, and for a second, fear paralyzed his limbs. Brice had the same sadistic grin as Miles remembered, but he was armed with more than a gun this time – it looked like a mini-cannon, worn like a glove, and it crackled with electricity. 

“Yeah?” Miles said, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. “You’re lucky, then. You wouldn’t have lasted five seconds against him.”

“I beat his ass before. You should be a piece of cake.” Brice fired again, and his aim was good; the first shot had been intended to scare him, Miles realized. This bully wanted him to die knowing who’d killed him.

He ran, and tried desperately to fade into his surroundings, but his hands remained stubbornly visible in front of him.

Not now. Please not now -

Another explosion to his right. Ok. Ok. Maybe Brice could be goaded into a mistake. Judging from the angle of the shot, he was right about – there.

“You only caught Octavius in a three on one ambush, with technology you stole from Norman Osborn?” Miles taunted. “Yeah, you’re a real hero. Can’t do a thing on your own, can you?”

Oh shit – ok, keep your eye on the weapon when trading witty banter. He’d barely dodged that one in time.

“Don’t have to. Mason was a plant to lead you right into our hands, and you were stupid enough to fall for it.”

Miles had sort of figured that out by now, but it was hardly a perfect plan on Vulture’s part either. There’d been no guarantee they would spot Mason before the police, and they could have just turned him in with no questions. 

“Seems like leaving an awful lot to chance,” Miles pointed out, trying to keep him talking so he’d be easier to pinpoint among the mountains of garbage. “Are you that desperate?”

“You don’t get it, do you kid?” He could hear the grin in Brice’s voice. “We don’t have to win. If this shot didn’t work, we could just try again until you’re only a smear on the pavement. We’ve got nothing to lose. We can stay hidden, and you can’t afford to not come after us. We’ve got time on our side, and your heroism – ha!” He spat on the ground. “It’ll get you killed. And when you’re dead, I’ll find Octavius and the other bug and rip them to pieces too. If they’re not dead already.”

Aaron had been brave enough to stand up to these bullies. His dad was brave enough to face death every day, even without powers. And suddenly, Miles was done being afraid of this idiot. In a heady rush, he felt his power crackling in his veins.

But he didn’t need to be invisible for this.

With a triumphant sneer, Brice found his hiding place, planting himself in the narrow passage between two heaps of scrap. “No high-rises to swing away on here, bug.”

Miles exhaled slowly, eyeing his target. “Good thing I’m not running.”

***

The faded glass of the old tower was slick beneath his fingers, forcing Peter to focus all his energy on the climb. It would have been difficult even without the torrential downpour, but it was still manageable as long as he was careful.

But even as he steeled himself for a possible confrontation, it was hard not to be worried about his friends. He didn’t like leaving either Miles or Otto to possibly face danger alone, even though he knew they could both handle themselves. He hadn’t told anyone but MJ, and that mostly just because she shared his bed, but his old nightmares had been getting worse, and now felt uncomfortably like premonitions.

The skyscraper didn’t really live up to its name - it wasn’t nearly as tall as newer buildings, and appeared incomplete. The glass at the very peak was falling into disrepair, cracks and holes providing an easy way in. He reached the top quickly enough, and then turned so he could survey the highest floor from above.

It was hard to hear anything over the rain, so he took a chance and slipped inside through a shattered pane.

The space definitely held signs of illegal activity, worktables and scrap scattered about. Peter recognized the rings that had almost killed Otto with a surge of anger, and other, stranger items: what looked like mini-cannons, a conspicuous set of bladed wings.

And leaning against the far table was a man – probably around Otto’s age, with thinning gray hair and sharp blue eyes. He didn’t appear armed, but Peter could see a bit of what looked like a bullet-proof vest under his bomber jacket. For not knowing his true name, Peter had to admit that Miles had chosen a remarkably apt moniker in ‘Vulture.’

“Hey, pup,” the man said lazily. “You’re quiet. Barely even noticed you. Let’s talk, hm?”

His senses prickled with danger. He’d been hoping to use the element of surprise to avoid a prolonged fight, especially in the middle of the city. But it was pretty obvious that Vulture had been waiting for him, and he didn’t know what tricks the man might have up his sleeve. He decided to play along so he could think of a solution.

“You know, you could have just called.”

Vulture – man, that name really stuck – wagged a jovially chiding finger. “Here's the deal. I’m a practical guy. I’ve always tried to live a quiet life. But when the idiots that work for me blew my cover, I knew I needed to change the game. I waited a while, seeing if the search would die down, but you and that kid – you’re persistent, I’ll give you that. So ya see, I need to get you all out my way before things escalate more. Nothing personal, you understand.”

He paused, and Peter could practically see the wheels turning behind those cunning eyes. “But you – I was hoping for you. Those imbeciles ruined any chance I had with Octavius, and the other kid’s been after me for too long, God knows why. But you might understand. Cuz here’s the thing; I chase you today. You chase me tomorrow. I’m not looking to be part of some ridiculous cops and robbers routine. I’m just an old man looking for a comfortable life. What do you say? Cut your losses?”

Peter had to admit, this guy’s audacity was impressive. He was either completely insane or the best liar Peter had ever met. “You’re not a lawyer by chance, are you?”

“So, no? Eh, I get it. You do seem the sterling silver type. I just figured I’d offer.”

“Big risk.”

“The benefits might have outweighed that. But I always was a poor gambler, I admit it. Still, the evening was somewhat lucrative.” He grinned, looking uncannily like a skull. “At least the other little bug and Octavius are two thorns gone from my side by now.”

He’s trying to goad you. Don’t believe it.

But they’d all walked right into a trap, and he didn’t know what was lying in wait for his friends. And it had been Peter’s decision to lead them there.

He remembered Carradine falling to his death, Flint disappearing in a deluge. He wouldn’t give in to revenge again. But he was certain of one thing.

“If that’s true…you’ll regret it.”

“If that’s your final offer…this was a nice chat. See ya around, kid.”

He shrugged off the jacket, and from what Peter had thought was a vest blossomed two enormous mechanical wings. What would be the pinion feathers on an ordinary bird were blades, and in the reflection in the glass behind the man, there was something horrifyingly familiar. Needles were sunken into his back, and Peter knew that there were microcables feeding from those directly into Vulture’s brain.

He’d stolen the design for Otto’s actuators, and compressed the wings to be concealed in a propulsion box.

It felt longer than it actually took to observe the unfolding, but in that split second, Vulture was already moving. He was blindingly fast, even for Peter’s reflexes, and no-nonsense – he went for the quick, easy kill, barreling straight into him and smashing through the glass, then soaring upwards for a clean escape.

But he’d underestimated how many times Peter had been thrown off of buildings – even in free fall, he was already sending webbing upwards and latching on to his attacker. The engines roared harder, keeping both of them from plummeting, and in that delay, Peter anchored himself to the skyscraper.

The wings were serrated and would shear through any attempt to bind them, but the propulsion had no such protection, and Peter clogged the engine before Vulture could disappear into the night.

Keeping his cool, Vulture used the momentum of his sudden fall to slam into him, not hard enough this time to shatter all the way through the glass, but enough for brittle shards to fracture off and tear Peter’s back to shreds.

One of the blades went for his throat, and Peter only narrowly avoided it; the sharpened metal still skewered his shoulder, and he clenched his teeth through the sickening pain. But Vulture had made his critical error in getting close – even pinned down and bleeding, Peter was still vastly stronger, and caught the next blow.

Unbalanced, they both toppled with a nauseating jolt; Peter caught himself, and reached for Vulture, but he was too far down already, he couldn’t be caught in time –

Then even through the rain, there was a familiar mechanical pounding and clicking whir.

Two of the actuators appeared from the mist and coiled around him, arresting his fall slowly enough to avoid shattering bones.

Peter reached the ground just in time to hear Vulture say, “Not bad, you two. I respect turning the tables fair and square.”

Peter sighed and webbed his mouth shut. “That’s enough out of you.”

Otto, who thankfully appeared no worse for wear, nodded at the wings and damaged propulsion. “Take them off.”

Vulture shrugged, and in one fluid motion, the wings folded and compressed into the box. With a slight hiss of pneumatics, the needles detached, leaving Vulture an unarmed old man. Peter thought Otto looked a bit wistful at the sight, and one of the actuators rubbed over his face in sympathy.

The others took the discarded device and effortlessly ripped it in half, leaving it sparking and useless. Otto scoffed. “There. It was destroyed in the fight. Oops.”

Peter grinned wearily. “I think our friend here is evidence enough by himself.”

He stumbled slightly with an involuntary grimace of pain, glass still embedded in his skin. Norman had roughed him up worse, but this was still the toughest skirmish he’d had in a while, and he wasn’t eighteen anymore. He might be feeling this one for a bit longer.

"I've got you." Otto caught him, and it was hard not to lean into his warmth a little. Peter felt him stiffen with anger. “I should kill him for this.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I can assure you I do.”

“No you don’t. You wouldn’t have caught him otherwise.” Peter was sure Otto would have told him straightaway if something had gone horribly wrong, but he still felt the need to ask, quietly enough so Vulture wouldn’t overhear, “Where’s Miles?”

“He’s alright. He left Schultz and Brice for the police to find, and then went for Mason. He should be here shortly.”

The rain had let up, leaving mist coiling around them. It was a muggy, humid night, which wasn’t exactly comfortable when you were sweaty and bleeding. Without the rain to wash it away, Peter noticed that Otto was bleeding too, covered in minor abrasions. He didn’t seem harmed otherwise, but it was still an alarming sight.

“What happened? Are you ok?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m alright. Though I might be getting a little too old to be dropping buildings on myself.”

“What.”

“Oh, I didn’t kill anyone,” Otto continued, apparently misinterpreting Peter’s reaction. Or he was just screwing with him. It was hard to tell. “It was an ambush, as I’m sure you’ve put together. Schultz had some new toy to counter the actuators, so I had to think of another solution. Miles and I met on the way here, but I sent him back to round up our friends.” He paused. “I’m sorry about the building, but really, it was only a matter of time anyway.”

“…Geez, Doc.”

It was a relief when Miles arrived, cheerfully lugging Phineas Mason in tow. “And that’s a wrap. Four lowlifes ready for delivery. Ms. Parker took good care of him,” he added under his breath to Peter in anticipation of his next question. “She’s fine.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile. “You did it, kid. You said you wanted to bust this op. I think your uncle would be proud. And I definitely am.”

“I had lots of help,” Miles replied warmly.

“I’m sorry,” Peter sighed to both of them. “I led you into danger. I know you made your own choices, and I’m grateful for that. But it was still my call.”

“That’s gracious of you, dear boy,” Otto acknowledged. “But we all made the same mistake. Don’t dwell on it too much.” He scowled as they heard the approaching wail of sirens. “Leave those silly notes you two like, and then we should go. I for one want to avoid questioning tonight. And you,” he added sternly to Peter, “I need to clean you up.”

Before he turned to follow his friends, there was a low call of “Spiderman.”

They’d blindfolded Vulture with a torn strip from Otto’s coat, but Peter could tell he was still trying to listen to anything he could use to his advantage. The hail had come from Mason, who looked miserable. He kept trying to cringe away from his former boss.

“I won’t keep you long,” the man said quietly, “but I just wanted you to know – back then, I wanted your friend’s tech, I admit that. But it wasn’t right, what we did to him. I would’ve left you alone after that, but…”

He’d probably led them into a trap under fear for his life. Peter guessed Vulture hadn’t freed him from the kindness of his heart. “You were scared,” Peter acknowledged. “I get it. But…we better not see you again, got it?”

***

Miles’ parents were both working tonight, so he’d been able to slip back home unnoticed. Otto had insisted on dragging Peter to his place to at least give him some stitches, and Peter’s wounds were stinging a little too much for him to really object. The sun was just starting to peer over the horizon by the time he finally made it back to MJ.

“They were able to ID the leader,” he told her, reading the message from Miles on his phone; Jefferson had been the one to bring in Vulture. “His name’s Adrian Toomes. Former EXO-7 Falcon pilot. When he got back from overseas, he tried to start a garage, but his partner swindled him out of the business. He dropped off the grid after that. Guess we know what he was up to now.”

They were curled up in bed, too exhausted to really do anything else. Thank God it was a Saturday, and neither of them had work.

“Heh. It says the partner disappeared a few years ago. Imagine that.”

MJ frowned. “I wonder where the rest of them came from.”

“We should have more info on them later. But for now, they’re locked up. Hopefully we won’t have to worry about them ever again.”

Her feather-light touch traced over the stitches under his shirt. “Hopefully.”

“I’m sorry I left you alone with Mason.”

“I volunteered, Pete.”

“I know. And I know you want to be more involved with everything. It’s just…”

“You just need to be reminded every now and then,” she smiled. “And I should offer more. We’re in this – all of this – together.”

That was what they’d privately vowed to each other on their wedding day - that he would let her into every aspect of his life, not just what he felt comfortable with her doing. And while he still wanted nothing more than to keep her safe and never put her at risk, he’d certainly learned over the years that she could make her own decisions.

Sometimes he still couldn’t believe such a brave woman had ever chosen to love him.

But she was still making that choice every day, even when they both made mistakes, even if he couldn’t give her a child. Miles and Harry and Otto all still stuck by him no matter what. He didn’t know what he’d done to get such loyal friends, but he wasn’t complaining.

“You’re the best, you know that.”

MJ kissed his hand. “So are you. Don’t forget that.”

Chapter Text

“Happy birthday,” MJ smiled as she carefully set down the small cake. Peter grinned at the sight of the tiny candles.

“Just three? You’re being way too nice about how old I am.”

“Thirty isn’t old, boy,” Otto scoffed.

“One for each decade. If we went annually, I’d burn the apartment down,” MJ teased.

“Thanks for making this, honey,” Peter said sincerely, not wanting to seem ungrateful, and pulled her in for a quick kiss. Baking wasn’t her forte; he was pretty sure she’d practiced with May beforehand.

“Go on!” May urged, smiling, and he obediently blew out the candles.

He never liked making a big deal out of his birthday, but MJ had insisted on at least holding a small gathering of their friends. He’d relented mostly out of the knowledge that his wife loved hosting.

And it was good to see everyone again; Harry was always busy, and Otto had made some breakthrough on one of his projects that now had him in a proper lab at Oscorp most of the time. Even tonight, no one could stay too late, as they all had work in the morning, but it was a comfort nonetheless. It had been too long since they were all together.

“Curt wanted me to pass along well-wishes,” Otto said as he good-naturedly shooed MJ away so he could slice the dessert.

“That was nice of him.” There was a bit of hesitancy in Peter’s question. “How’s he doing?”

None of them were ready to openly admit it, but there was an unspoken consensus between him and Otto and Norman that Martha had probably not survived her transformation. There seemed no other reason for her long absence. Curt was still refusing to give up on her, and no one wanted to be the one to voice their concerns to him.

Immediately after the incident, Norman had extracted her dried blood from the actuators and obtained her notes from the IRB, and he and Peter had developed a cure they were almost certain would work. But as the months dragged by, it still sat unused in cold storage at Oscorp, and Peter was beginning to suspect it always would.

“He’s alright,” Otto replied. “Still working. Still teaching.” Peter knew Otto was worried about his friend, but there wasn’t a whole lot any of them could do.

The rest of the evening, mercifully, passed pleasantly. The Osborns had gotten him and MJ tickets to an aerospace and propulsion expo. May gifted him one of her old cookbooks with handwritten recipes from her Irish grandmother. Otto apologetically explained that his present hadn’t arrived yet, which Peter didn’t mind; he was already getting kind of embarrassed with all the attention. They caught up on Peter’s class this year, MJ’s work, the goings-on at Oscorp.

“We’ll take you home, Mrs. Parker,” Norman offered gallantly to May as the talk was winding down.

“Oh, thank you. You’ve really become such a gentleman, Harry,” May said warmly as the younger Osborn got her coat.

“I try, Mrs. Parker,” Harry grinned as he opened the door for her and his father. He turned to Peter and MJ. “See you guys. See ya, Doc.”

“Bye, May. Tell Louise I said hi,” MJ called after Harry. “We need to catch up soon.”

“Bye, May,” Peter murmured to his aunt as he helped her out. “Love you.”

“Happy birthday, kiddo. I’m proud of you.” She winked, and they were gone.

It was still a bit awkward, May being the only one in their little circle who didn’t know about Peter’s double life. As his aunt got older, he and MJ kept trying to convince her to move in with them, but she was resisting for now – he knew it was because she felt like a burden, even though that was ridiculous. All the same, part of Peter was a little glad, as awful as he felt about it. If she moved in, he’d already agreed with MJ that he should come clean to her. But then she’d probably wonder why he’d waited so long to tell her, be upset…All in all, it wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to.

“Thanks for cleaning up, Otto,” MJ said to their only remaining guest.

“You’ve done enough work already, dear girl,” he replied fondly. “Besides, it’ll only take the kids about five seconds.”

True to Otto’s prediction, the actuators had everything picked up and washed in record time, and Peter thought they were rather pleased with themselves. It was kind of funny, how the fearsome machines had become so domestic.

They were just about to see their friend out when there was a familiar knock on the door.

“Hey Miles,” Peter greeted as he opened it. He was struck all over again by how tall the boy was getting. “What are you doing here so late?”

“Going out of town with my parents next week,” Miles explained. Even his voice was deepening. “I didn’t know when I’d get to see you again, so I wanted to stop by and drop some stuff off. If that’s ok?”

Miles’ graduation was a few weeks ago, and he’d been accepted to Yale to pursue his degree in linguistics. He wasn’t leaving until August, and he’d still come home every summer and for holidays; they were all extremely proud of him, but Peter was going to miss the little guy. It seemed like he’d been an enthusiastic seventh-grader in Peter’s class only yesterday.  

“You know you’re welcome here any time,” MJ replied fondly.

The kid grinned. “Thanks, Ms. Parker. And oh, happy birthday, Mr. Parker.”

“How’d you know?”

“Facebook told me.”

“Gotcha.”

“Hey Doc,” Miles waved to Otto, and the actuators rotated in pleasure as Otto smiled. “Glad you’re here too. I was gonna swing by your place later. I have something for all of you.”

“Oh, kid. You didn’t have to,” Peter said, bashful.

“No no, I wanted to. Don’t worry.” He dug around in his backpack for a moment, before producing two wrapped canvases. Peter smiled to himself; it had been a while since he’d seen Miles’ art.

“This one’s for you guys,” Miles said, handing over the larger. It was a beautiful acrylic painting, of a scene Peter knew well – the view from the top of the Chrysler building, the cityscape illuminated in a crimson sunset. Every building was exquisitely detailed; Peter didn’t even want to think about how long it had taken him. MJ spoke for both of them.

“This is gorgeous, sweetheart. You’re so talented. We’ll put it right next to your other ones.”

Miles flushed shyly and averted his gaze. “Glad you like it. This one’s for you, Doc.”

Otto’s gift seemed curiously blank, but there were lines of golden script weaving all over it.  

Otto scoffed fondly. “Miles, I’m half blind, you know I can’t read that –“

Miles couldn’t quite conceal his self-satisfaction. “Have Moe put his UV-A optic on it.”

The actuator’s light revealed sketches of flowers; the writing, on closer inspection, was lines of poetry curving around the petals. Peter knew Otto was going to melt.

“Miles. This is so thoughtful. I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Aw. It wasn’t that hard. I just had to mix together that special paint.”

“You’re too modest, dear boy.”

“Do you want some leftovers, honey?” MJ said as Miles reshouldered his bag. “We have plenty.”

“Thanks, Ms. Parker. I should probably run, though. I want to beat my mom home. See you guys later.” His familiar smile was warm. “Thanks for everything.”

***

“I have to hand it to you, Octavius,” Norman said, sounding impressed. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“I don’t know about that. But it is rather impressive, isn’t it?”

It had been difficult without the model to study, but he’d finally replicated the element used in the arc reactor, and been rewarded with a familiar pulsing white glow in the containment field. He’d figured it out in the calculations - not only was the atom undiscovered in their dimension, it wasn’t even native. Its string frequency was specifically tuned to the little Peter’s universe, which provided the next clue to the puzzle.

Now he had not only a power source, but a localized field that altered subatomic frequency. The tests were small so far – mostly metallic trash, nothing organic. After all, once they went through the portal, there was no way to recall them.

He did have reservations about meddling in all this. As badly as Otto wanted to see the little Peter again, he’d gotten too far ahead of himself before. It was exhilarating, throwing himself back in to a long-term project that was truly his; but now, a tiny part of him was just waiting for it to fail.

This time, he’d done the hands-on work in a lab Norman had given him. Technically, he still owned the space where he’d conducted the fusion trials, but that lab was haunted by Rosie’s memory.

It was always a joy to celebrate Peter’s birthday, but the date was tinged with grief. Tomorrow would be ten years without his dear wife.

Miles’ gift was the sweetest comfort he could have possibly received. He’d already placed it on the bookshelf next to the pictures of Rosie. But all these years later, he was worried he was losing the sound of his wife’s voice, the feel of her in his arms. All he could cling to was the thought that he’d know them again one day.

We were supposed to protect you last time, Father. We will not fail you this time, Flo attempted to reassure him.

It wasn’t your fault, he told her. It was cold comfort – what could the actuators really do, if something went wrong? – but it was rather considerate of them.

“So that’s it, then?”

Norman’s voice broke him out of his distracted thoughts. “No, not quite,” Otto continued crisply, turning to monitor the readout. “The next step is downsizing this to something wearable, so travel will be possible anywhere and anytime. And replicating it. And I’d like to reach the other Peter – the tall one – eventually as well.”

“You’re never satisfied, are you.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a scientist if I was, would I?”

“Fair point.” Norman paused. “…Is it supposed to be doing that?”

His heart skipped a beat. “Doing what?”

He knew what the sudden jump in numbers on the screen meant; something from another universe was crossing over into theirs, but that shouldn’t be possible. The portal was only open on one end.

The machine itself was sparking slightly, which Norman had noticed; it sort of resembled Strange’s magic, but was the clean blue-white of the arc reactor.

Otto wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. “I’m shutting it down –“

Too late.

The light became almost blinding, and there was something like a powerful rush of wind. He thought he could hear Rosie’s scream over the shattering of glass, just as in every dream where he always tried and failed to reach her in time, to protect her –

Not again not again not again –

And as suddenly as it started, it was over.

“Um, Otto?”

The actuators had pulled Norman close to him, shielding his friend with his own body, not even realizing what he was doing. Otto stepped back, embarrassed by his instinctive reaction.

“Oh, sorry.”

He usually got stupid when he panicked, such as refusing to shut down an obviously overloading machine or just watching Max Dillon steal the arc reactor. At least this time he’d apparently done something useful.

The actuators wanted his attention for some reason. He absently tried conveying to them to give him a second, he was having a little trouble getting his vision to focus -

Norman’s voice was uncharacteristically concerned. “Otto? You with me?”

“Yes, yes, I’m alright.” Get ahold of yourself.

Father, please look.

“The hell just happened? What are you guys doing here?”

They turned around. By the portal – which thankfully appeared undamaged, though it was no longer active – was an annoyingly familiar figure.

Norman squinted at him. “Max?”

“Uh…yeah? What’s going on?”

It had been ten years since Otto had seen Max Dillon, and he looked relatively the same, except for the addition of a lab coat. The actuators hissed slightly, as wary as Otto himself; none of them exactly had fond memories of this guy. He could feel the machines scanning Max for any kind of danger he might pose.

It was Norman that spoke for both of them. “Well. You appear to have been pulled into our universe.”

Max apparently took the news in stride, glancing up at the portal. “Huh. Cuz of this thing?”

“It seems so,” Otto said, finding his voice again. “Though I’m not sure how that’s possible. It wasn’t wired for your universe yet. And it hasn’t tested anything your size before, or living.” He scoffed humorlessly. “You should count yourself lucky you made it through in one piece.”

Max was silent for a moment, and Otto almost thought he was more upset than he let on, but then he said abruptly, “You got the arc reactor powering this?”

He was instantly suspicious. “How can you tell?”

“I can feel it. Damn, it’s been a while since I got that sweet energy.” Max grinned at Otto’s expression. “Relax, old man. The only spark I’m making is if I rub my socks on the carpet. But the other Pete’s machine didn’t change my DNA. I can still sense power, just can’t generate it anymore.” He snapped his fingers. “But I bet I know what happened. Me and the reactor, we’re still part of each other. You activated your device, and it called me.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Otto huffed. “We’ve used it dozens of times before. Why now?”

“Maybe our planes were close enough together now or something. Universes move, you know. Brush, or even intersect each other.” He shrugged. “Not that it’s really my area of expertise, but I help out Liv sometimes. She’s a whiz with this multiverse stuff. I was in her lab when I felt that tug – and then I was here.” He looked around. “This still CitiCorp, then? Kinda looks the same. Or, sorry –“ He grinned at Norman, who was being strangely quiet – “guess it’s still Oscorp for you guys.”

There was an awkward pause as the next issue became apparent. “So…you can send me back, right? Not really keen on staying here, no offense.”

“I’m not keen on keeping you here, no offense,” Otto grumbled. “And we should be able to.” Figuring out a plan was getting his thoughts flowing again. Ok. He could deal with this. He’d certainly dealt with weirder. “We’ll have to isolate the precise string frequency of your universe and program it into the machine. Which shouldn’t be impossible, since we can use you as a sample. But don’t hold your breath. In the meantime, just – stay over there.” He turned to Norman. “Are you alright?” he murmured.

His friend started slightly. “Fine. It’s just like – seeing a ghost.”

It had been the Goblin that turned Max against the little Peter, sparking the chain of events that had ultimately killed the other May. Otto guessed seeing him again wasn’t a pleasant experience for Norman.

“I know.” He glanced over at Max, who had ignored Otto’s instructions and was wandering around the lab in apparent fascination. Moe hissed at him. “The sooner he’s gone, the better I’ll feel.”

***

“And…this one scraped through with a solid C-,” Curt muttered, setting aside another paper covered in red marks. “That’s actually an improvement.”

Peter grinned to himself. “I scraped through with a few C’s myself. There’s hope yet.”

For all his bark, Curt was always more lenient on his summer classes – which was saying something, considering how lenient he was during the regular terms. Peter wouldn’t have survived freshman physics if his old professor hadn’t accepted so many late assignments.

Peter had stopped by the office on a whim, and was half-heartedly writing out next year’s lessons plans while Curt graded quizzes. He was trying to spend more time with his old professor; other than Otto, he wasn’t sure Curt had anyone in his life with Martha gone. He didn’t seem unduly bothered about it, but it was rather saddening either way.

And besides, Peter could feel something…weird around him. Like he was being watched. He wished his intuition wasn’t so vague most of the time.

“More than a few, if I recall correctly,” Curt said, but it wasn’t meanspirited. “The way these kids are shaping up, I wish you could’ve gotten me someone like Mr. Morales.”

“Yeah, me too. But Miles has his hopes set elsewhere.”

“More’s the pity.” Curt glanced at the clock. “I’m wrapping up for the night. Good to see you, Parker.”

“You too, sir.”

Once he was sure Curt was gone (that weird feeling went with him, which wasn’t exactly reassuring), Peter climbed to the roof of the building. He could’ve taken the subway home, but he felt like cheating a little; with school out and MJ still working, there wasn’t a whole lot he was really doing during the day. It felt good to stretch his limbs and have the wind rush exhilaratingly past him.

He was only about a block or two from campus when something prickled again at the edge of his senses. It was the same cold presence he’d felt in Curt’s office.

Wary, he went down into the deserted alley below him, and it didn’t take long for what he was looking for to show herself.

In seconds, a familiar figure was behind him, shedding water from her sleek hide – she must have come up from the manhole. Gross.

And he did not want to think about what it meant that he’d felt her from so far away. It had been Norman the last time that happened, and…that hadn’t ended well.

“Peter.”

She cut him off before his startled brain could think of anything to say. “Yes, I know it’s you. There are senses far keener than the eyes.”

Well, there was no point arguing with that.

“I have no interest in revealing your identity, don’t worry. Soon that will be irrelevant.”

“Dr. Connors! Long time no see! You, uh. You look good?”

“Spare me your puerile humor.” It was the same raspy hiss he remembered, but still with Martha’s usual inflections. The effect was kind of creepy. And no matter how rational she sounded, he couldn’t shake the feeling of danger she posed. “I need your help.”

“Martha, where have you been?” Of course he would help, but it was hard not to be a little angry at her. “Curt was worried about you. We all were.”

“I traveled,” she said, as if that explained everything. “I didn’t want him to see me before I was ready.”

“…Ok?”

“I traveled all over the world. Seeking any who shared my vision.”

Ah, great. She had a vision spiel. That was never good.

 “If not their support, their talents,” she continued. “I watched, and learned from others in my field, their theories and techniques. And when I had what I needed, I returned here to my home. I looked for you first,” she explained, “because I can smell that you are already altered, as I am. You are on the brink of transformation. I need your help to continue my work.”

“Continue it?” he asked, thrown for a loop. “Martha, that’s –“ ‘crazy’ probably wasn’t the best word – “that’s a lot. Why don’t you come back with me?”

She bared her fangs. “I’m not a fool, Peter. You would return me to my weakness. I’ve come too far for that.”

“We’re not your enemies, Martha,” Peter said quietly. “What about Curt? What about Dr. Octavius?”

“…Otto is kind,” she admitted. “But he’s allowed fear to limit his horizons. He lacks the perspective he once possessed. I only want to free him, and all of you.”

Alright, that was enough. He didn’t know the specifics of what she was thinking, but he didn’t need to. If he’d heard one ‘for the good of mankind’ speech, he’d heard them all.

“Ok, Dr. Connors…I think you’d better come with me. We’ll get it sorted out.”

“Touch me,” she hissed, “and this whole block dies.”

It was like flipping a switch; the pupils slitted in her golden eyes, and he didn’t doubt for a second that she was telling the truth. The danger he sensed must be from whatever weapons she’d planted; he couldn’t believe he hadn’t put it together sooner.

He held up his hands placatingly. “Wait! Martha - don’t hurt anybody. Please.”

“Let me go, and I won’t. Otherwise, I gas these buildings. I don’t want to kill anybody, I’m not a murderer.” She let out a dry hiss that he realized was her laughter. “But did you really think I was talking to you for the pleasure of your company? If you joined me, all the better. If not, I’ve lost nothing.”

She launched her powerful body up a fire escape, until all he could see was the glow of her golden eyes on a rooftop. “I’ve planted five detonators around these streets. Find me in the Catskills when you’ve disarmed them. Goodbye for now, Peter.”

Then she was gone.

***

“You know, there’s an Octavius in my universe.”

Otto heaved a sigh; for a guy who claimed he wanted to go home, Max wasn’t making himself particularly conducive to said operation. He was trying to pinpoint the man’s string frequency – it was a lot of numbers to narrow down, even with the actuators’ added calculating power – but Max was insistent on trying to talk to him.

“Is there now?” Otto muttered, not really caring one way or the other. He had no desire to know about whatever atrocities his other selves were committing.

“Yep. She doesn’t have your thingies,” Max nodded at the actuators, “but still, not a very common last name, is it? She’s a theoretical physicist. Way better looking than you, but –“ he made a great show of examining Otto’s face – “I can sort of see the resemblance.”

“Is there a point to all this?”

“No, not really. Just curious. Is there another me here?”

If there is, we haven’t met him yet, thank God. “Not that we know of.”

Max only grinned. “Where’s your Peter? Couldn’t he help?”

“He could. But he doesn’t remember the spell yet. I’d rather keep him out of all this.”

“So wait, it’s not 2025 here? What year is it?”

“2014.”

Max whistled. “2014. Not a great year for me. How’s that work, pulling me into my past?”

“If you’re right about the arc reactor, it took you from the year it bonded with you. String frequencies change with time. Even though Strange brought us into our future, subatomically you were still tuned to 2014, and that’s how it remembers you.”

“Good theory.” Max paused. “You better be careful with this, old man. You might be messing around with stuff you don’t really understand.”

“Hm.” His first reaction was to be defensive, but it was the very doubt he himself was having, and Max’s presence was living proof that it was a valid one.

Well, that’s a risk we’re willing to take, they’d once snarled, all five of them united in anger and arrogance, and it was hard not to question if he was now unwittingly making the same error.

“Look, thanks for the concern, but I really don’t have time to be chatting with you right now. Find a way to entertain yourself.”

Max scoffed and wandered nonchalantly over to Norman, who was programming in the numbers as Otto determined them. Flo was watching him, and through her optics, Otto saw his friend tense as Max approached.

Well – that hadn’t been quite what he meant by entertainment. He really did need to focus, and he didn’t want to eavesdrop, but he might need to for this conversation.

But to his surprise, it was actually Norman that made the first move.

“Need help?”

“No, I’m alright.” Otto heard a bracing sigh. “But, Max, I did want to say that I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

Max folded his arms. “Wasn’t you, was it?”

“Technically, no, but all the same.”

“I get it. But it wasn’t your fault I listened. I was an insecure person, and I let it get to me.”

Norman rarely apologized for anything, and Max had humbly accepted it. He was still annoying, but he did seem different now. He was…calmer. More at peace with himself. It was slightly warming to think that Max’s Peter might have made just as much a difference in the man’s life as Otto’s Peter had made in his.

With a slight pang of guilt for his brusqueness, he wondered if Max’s attempt at talking to him earlier had been his awkward way of apologizing.

“I did want to ask, though. What…what did you mean it’s ‘still Oscorp’ here?” Norman muttered.

Oh dear. Otto understood that Norman had a morbid curiosity about these things, but he couldn’t help but remember the last time his friend had inquired about another timeline.

“I mean, this shouldn’t come as too much of a shock, since we were all supposed to die anyway,” Max replied awkwardly. “But uh. Norman Osborn’s dead in my universe. Had some disease or something. He was a real bastard, though. Abused his kid and stuff.” Max’s face softened in what Otto thought might be the only expression of kindness he’d seen from him. “You seem like a much better dad.”

Norman seemed oblivious to the sentiment. “What happened to Harry?”

“I think he’s still alive,” Max said uncomfortably.

There was a snarl in Norman’s voice. “You think?”

“Yeah.” He sounded defensive. “Harry was my only friend for a while. I owe him a lot. But we did some stuff I’m not proud of. He got put away. I did too for a while, but I got out eventually. Long, messy story. I don’t know what happened to Harry. The company went to shareholders.”

What Max was saying was an absolute nightmare, but Otto, in a kind of desperate optimism, hoped Norman felt a little better about himself. His own son still lived, and they had a good relationship - but he knew Norman didn’t exactly think that way.

“…You said you were acquainted with someone who knows about the multiverse,” he heard his friend say hesitantly. “Can you have dreams-“

He never got to finish, for at that moment, the phone rang sharply, startling them all.

It was Peter.

“Hey Doc? We, um. We’ve got a problem.”

***

“Alright,” Otto said sharply, moving to shut down his computers. “Here’s the plan. Norman, Martha knows you’re our best shot at stopping her, so I want you out of the way. Go to the police and tell them what’s happened. Keep yourself safe. Peter and I will go after Martha.” He turned to Max. “You’re coming with me, Sparky.”

“Did you forget I don’t have powers anymore? I won’t be much help –“

“I’m not leaving you here alone,” Otto said flatly. “And I don’t want the cops asking questions about you.” He softened his voice, understanding the younger man’s concern. “I won’t let anything happen to you, alright? I’ll protect you. And if all goes well, we can handle this without a fight.”

As they made their way to the cold storage chambers, Otto for once was glad Norman didn’t do anything small; he’d made the cure in bulk. As they transferred the vials to syringes and capped them, his friend said quietly, “Are you prepared for what might happen if things don’t go well?”

He’d already thought about it. Curt wasn’t answering anyone’s calls, which meant Martha’s little diversion with Peter was probably planned to leave her husband unprotected. He was expecting to find two of his dearest friends altered beyond recognition. Anything more than that…

“Peter knows what he’s doing. It’ll be fine. And speaking of which –“ he rounded on Max – “he doesn’t know that he’ll go to the other universe. Don’t you dare tell him anything. You’ve never met him before in your life, got it?”

“Sheesh, ok Mom.” Max tensed as the actuators clicked in pleasure. “You’re not gonna drop me, right?”

“I’ve never dropped anyone. On accident, at least.”

Peter and Miles were already at the bus stop when they arrived. “Sorry to drag you into this one, buddy,” he heard Peter mutter to Miles. “But we might need you.”

“You couldn’t keep me out of it, Mr. Parker.”

Max groaned exaggeratedly as Otto set him down. “Whew. I’ll never get used to that.”

“Couldn’t you fly?”

“It’s different being carried. That up and down motion…”

The actuators coiled themselves up and hid beneath Otto’s coat the best they could, and all four of them boarded the vehicle for the long drive to the Catskills.

Otto sighed and leaned back against the seat. The harness dug into his skin, and the actuators sent their displeasure to him, but he was too tired to care. Beside him, Peter and Miles were almost tripping over each other’s words in their eagerness to talk to Max; they knew the deal. Otto hadn’t felt like coming up with a story for why he was bringing along an apparently unassuming stranger, and he didn’t want to lie to them any more than he had to. They’d only tweaked the truth a little by claiming it was Max’s own machine that had accidentally sent him here.

“So you’re really from another universe?” Peter’s blue eyes were huge, and despite the circumstances, Otto had to bite down a smile. Even now, a grown man, Peter still sometimes seemed that awestruck student he’d first met.

“Yep,” Max grinned, soaking up the attention. “I’m three for three now.”

“I can’t believe you guys went to another universe, and you didn’t tell me,” Miles complained. “That’s insane! So there must have been multiple singularities, and couldn’t we detect it in the CMBR –“

“It was a long time ago,” Otto cut in wearily.

“But still! That’s not something you wouldn’t think to mention about yourself? ‘I’m Otto Octavius, and, by the way, I can completely redefine the current understanding of cosmology –‘”

“Well, that is how I used to introduce myself,” Otto grinned, a bit amused in spite of himself. “But now there’s a few other things I could mention as well.”

“And I didn’t go,” Peter explained. “It was just Doc and Norman. I would’ve told you, but they like to keep the whole thing quiet.”

“What’s it like? Interdimensional travel?”

“It’s – kind of hard to discuss without a shared frame of reference.”

“Are you kidding? Did – did you just quote Star Trek to me?”

“But there is another me in your world, right?” Peter interrupted Miles’ indignation. “That’s what Doc said. What’s he like?”

“He’s about your age,” Max replied vaguely. “Smart. Sweet guy. I, uh, I probably shouldn’t say too much else.” He glanced curiously at Miles. “No you, though. There are two spider guys here? How’d that happen?”

“Dr. Osborn made the spider that bit me a few years ago,” Miles said. “Our DNA's not exactly the same.” He grinned with the youthful desire for approval. “Check this out.” A tiny bit of electricity crackled between his fingers, and Max put two and two together.

“Get out, I know that look! Osborn remembered me!”

“I can’t always rely on it,” Miles said modestly, a bit bashful now. “It’s kind of glitchy. But it’s pretty useful, some of the time.”

Max nudged him jovially. “You just officially became the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

Otto closed his eyes, tiring of their chatter. As he’d crossed the city with Max, the area around the university had been swarming with the bomb squad. Martha was serious, and they’d already found and deactivated her weapons.

The actuators had picked up the words below: criminal. Terrorist. Shoot on sight. The very words he’d once heard applied to himself.

He’d failed Curt and let him be taken, and he’d failed Martha. Even if they were able to restore her human form, he didn’t know what kind of future awaited her now.

If she survives, a dark, bitter part of himself murmured. After what she’d done, the police would be more than justified in killing her, just as they would have been if they’d killed Otto.

If either of the Connors died, if Martha killed anyone…

“Hey.” Peter’s hand slipped into his own, drawing him back to the present and soothing the tremors he hadn’t even noticed. Miles and Max were still chatting animatedly across the aisle; it was just them. “You ok?”

Admittedly, his anxieties might be a little heightened right now. Martha’s similarities to his own past, and the earlier scare with the portal, hadn’t left him in the best state of mind. He couldn’t dismiss the dire seriousness of the situation, but neither could he help anyone if he was panicking.

“…No,” Otto admitted. He didn’t want to lie to his boy, and Peter would be able to see through him anyway. “But I will be.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of convincing you to let me and Miles handle it, huh?”

“None at all.”

“Didn’t think so. Just…be careful? I know you’ll keep your friend safe, but make sure you do yourself too, ok?”

“I’ll do my best.” He already felt a bit better, warmed by Peter’s concern.

It will be alright, Father. You will be able to save your friends. You are not alone. We are on your side.

It was a rare occasion of all four actuators uniting in that thought. Where all four of them together used to overwhelm his own mind, now they were simply reinforcing it.

Actually, you’re on my back.

You’re not funny, Father.

***

“Y’all do know you’re walking into a trap, right?”

“Yeah, we know,” Peter answered Max as they started up the hiking trail. ‘Find me in the Catskills’ was vague, but it was a start. “She’s been preparing for this. But we kinda don’t have a choice. Besides, we’ve survived traps we didn’t know we were walking into. Can’t be much worse, can it?”

Upstate New York was pretty nice in the spring; he’d used to like spending the day in New Paltz with Ben and May on the rare occasions Ben had a holiday and the money to spare. But there wasn’t much of the mountains to see at an hour to midnight; the only really nice thing was the stars overhead.

The forests were like a different world at night; animals rustled the undergrowth as they fled, and bolder creatures with glowing eyes observed them from tree branches. Peter had never really spent a night away from the city lights; while he could still see fine, he could tell for an ordinary person that it would be completely dark.

“What’s with all your friends having crazy alter-egos?” Max muttered to Otto.

“It is an unusually recurring trait.”

“Is she like the Connors from my world? Wants to turn everyone into lizards?”

Peter scratched his neck. “Well…we don’t really know what her endgame is. She said she wanted to continue her work. And if she likes what happened to her, then…yeah, that seems a pretty likely possibility.”

Miles stopped behind Peter. “I, uh. I think we’re in the right place.”

The broad trunk of the beech tree ahead was encircled by a thick vine that had burst into huge multicolored flowers. The whole thing pulsed with a soft bioluminescent light, giving off a cloying, sickly sweet smell. As they watched, silver spores like tiny fireflies erupted from one of the blossoms, scattering over the leaves.

There were more of the glowing flowers as they went deeper, but soon they started to see other, stranger things: deer with delicate blossoms budding from their antlers watched them fearlessly; mice three times their normal size scuttled by underfoot; moths with glowing gossamer wings, owls with horns, a coyote striped like a tiger.

“What’s she doing?” Max wondered. “None of this seems practical.”

“It’s not,” Otto said, stopping by a tree covered in tiny shell-shaped pink blossoms. “She’s just having fun with it. This is her idea of beauty." He paused. “She might have lost her mind, but you have to admire her talent.”

Peter smirked to himself; Otto wouldn’t be Otto if he didn’t still have a bit of that mad scientist streak. And he had to admit, the biologist in himself was drooling a little over Martha’s creations. She had flair, he’d give her that.

But apparently not all her experiments were successes; insects buzzed over the rotting carcass of what looked like a cross between a wolf and a bear. A two-headed bobcat moldered over a log, body twisted in torment. And the skeleton of a mountain lion bore the marks of teeth and claws far bigger than any natural predator.

“Well, I guess we know what she’s been eating,” Peter remarked.

“Damn geneticists,” Max muttered. “Thank God she doesn’t have any eels.”

There was the dull roar of rushing water up ahead; they emerged from the treeline to a bluff overlooking a lake, water pouring over a huge three-tiered dam.

“I think this is Schoharie Reservoir,” Miles said, but Peter only half-heard him.

It had started as a low buzz at the edge of his senses, barely even registering in his consciousness. But it was gradually growing in intensity, and now he felt it – a mounting feeling of danger, encircling them on all sides. He hadn’t been this twitchy in ages; every shadow and snap of a branch turned into a looming attack, his perception was going haywire –

“Peter.”

Otto had gently grasped his shoulders, bringing him back. It was dark enough that he’d removed his glasses, and Peter could see his concerned brown eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s watching us,” he rasped. “I – I can’t tell where.” He turned to Miles. “Can you feel that?”

“No – what is it? What’s going on?”

“Let me go,” Peter said. “I’m gonna go ahead for a bit and see what I can find.” He wasn’t sure why Miles’ senses or the actuators hadn’t noticed anything, but whatever was making his intuition go crazy, he didn’t want his friends caught up in it.

Otto frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I won’t be long. Be careful.”

He left before anyone else could protest, and before long the stretch of bank had disappeared behind him. The feeling of being watched persisted; whatever was lurking in the woods was following him, which hopefully meant it had left his friends alone.

He paused when he’d gone a sufficient distance, taking stock of his surroundings. Martha’s flowers continued to send out showers of their silvery spores. The reservoir lapped against the shore. Piles of smooth gray stones lined the bank. The feeling was maddening; normally his perception didn’t go off unless danger was imminent, but nothing stirred –

Seemingly out of nowhere, a massive scaly weight forced him into the mud from behind, and he felt her hot breath in his ear. Her claws pricked the skin of his neck, just enough to bring forth a small spring of hot blood, and immediately his limbs grew sluggish and limp. It dissipated the feeling of unnatural panic.

“There,” Martha hissed. “You’ll metabolize that before too long, but it should hold you for now.”  

She dragged him back into the trees, propping him against a fallen log. “I was counting on your arrogance. Did you think I wouldn’t be ready for you in my own home?”

“Where’s…where…”

“Curtis? He’s safe.” Her spines were illuminated sharply in the light from the flowers, straight and rigid with her anger. “I would never harm him.” She lashed her tail. “You presented quite the challenge, Peter. I knew I would never be able to defeat your precognition, so I had it defeat you.”

She plucked one of her iridescent flowers, brushing the petals. “From the moment you entered my forest, these spores have been infecting your nervous system. Keeping you blind to me.”

Miles’ genome must be too different for it to have worked on him. It didn’t sound like Martha knew he’d brought the others with him; it might have spectacularly backfired, but he was glad he’d left his friends alone. At least she was occupied with him.

Peter’s tongue was loosening. “You must be really lonely…you’re telling me everything.”

She sat back on her haunches, watching him with her great golden eyes. Her claws were piercing into the soil, tail slowly swishing, and for a second he thought she seemed nervous. “I - don’t want you to be afraid. I simply needed you out of the way for now because I knew you would try to stop me. But you’ll understand soon. This is all for the best.” She sniffed the air. “And…I don’t think so.”

She found the cases of the cure in his jacket pockets, smashing the glass into the ground, and the liquid bled away into the dirt. “Oh, Peter. I know you mean well.”

He still didn’t know for sure what her plan was, but it wasn’t too hard to put it together. “Martha…most people don’t want to be transformed. Can you understand that?”

“Humans,” she spat. “You don’t know what you want. I wanted to end suffering. But that was a narrow-minded approach. Why only treat symptoms, when I can elevate the entire race? Take yourself; don’t you see how far you’ve come?”

“Well, pollen used to kill my allergies before, so that’s one nice thing-“

“You are perhaps the most powerful creature alive, and you waste your gifts on childish jokes and stopping petty thieves,” she hissed. “You’re trapped by fear of yourself. I will eliminate that. I’d hoped to have you make the choice on your own, but the end will be the same.”

She scratched a hole at the base of a tree, revealing a stash of a familiar liquid in syringes. She emptied it into his prone body, then her claws rested against his cheek almost delicately. “There. I’ve altered it slightly, to make the transformation painless. I’ll see you soon, Peter. I have business to attend to.”

She disappeared into the woods and was gone, leaving her serum pumping hot and fast through his veins.

***

They’d only carried on for a few minutes after Peter’s departure when Max stopped so suddenly he almost bumped into an actuator. “Whoa, you guys feel that?”

Miles frowned; Peter had said the same thing before gallivanting off to who knew where. He wasn’t too keen on their group sensing mysterious things and then dropping like – well, flies. Terrible simile, really. “What?”

“She’s got something, I think…wires in the ground. From a power source, feeding into a computer or something. Feels like she diverted energy from the dam.”

“Find it,” Otto told Miles. He nodded at Max. “Take him with you. I’m going to find Peter. I don’t like this.”

“Uh – maybe we should stick together, Doc.”

“I won’t be gone long. He’ll protect you,” Otto told Max.

He seemed too – out of place in the forest. Too big, too…mechanical. But he disappeared with surprising speed, the white optics of the actuators all that could be seen.

Miles sighed. “Well…ok. Guess it’s just you and me, Mr. Dillon. What was it you felt? I thought you lost your powers?”

“It’s coming from there.” Max gestured upstream. “And it’s like I can feel currents. Like they’re part of my body or something. I used to be able to control what went in or out, what went in the ground, machines, or -” he grinned wickedly – “other people. But now, it’s like…my body’s numb. Can’t direct it anywhere.”

“Does that hurt?”

Max shrugged. “Not really. It took some getting used to, and sometimes it feels like I’m caged or something. But it’s not terrible.”

It was only about five minutes later that Miles realized Max was on to something; the vegetation around them was getting thicker and thicker, and then they were faced with an impenetrable hedge of black thorns. Martha’s rainbow flowers were dotted throughout, and it crawled with strange insects. Miles couldn’t see what was beyond it, but he was starting to get a telltale creeping prickle under his skin. He was sure this was Martha’s hideout – and they didn’t have Peter or Doc, great.

“Not bad, Mr. Dillon. Mind if I carry you?”

“What?”

“We’re going up. Unless you wanna climb a tree, I’m your only option.”

Max grunted as Miles swung him effortlessly over his shoulder. “Forgot how strong you guys are.”

Swinging over the thorns revealed that it encircled a vast clearing, which had clearly become Martha’s main laboratory. She was a bit of a slob; there were animal skeletons strewn about, some only half-eaten, making the place reek. But there was also pristine lab equipment, most of which had clearly been stolen from various companies across the world. Animals in cages, vials of fluorescent liquids, even blinking computers – she must have been hard at work, diverting all that power. Central was a panel of flashing lights, which looked like it was the control mechanism to something.

“Ok, this looks…promising.”

He had no idea what it really did, but how hard could it be? Big red button was probably a no, but…little black one, maybe? “Time to cause some mayhem, I guess. Maybe.”

“Not that one. You’ll trigger the automatic release.”

Miles almost jumped out of his skin at the new voice, looking up to the tree above the machine. All he could see was a pair of luminous golden eyes, then a thick green tail hanging down. For a second he thought it was Martha, but he’d had no warning, and it didn’t sound like her anyway…

“Dr. Connors? Er, I mean, Mr. Dr. Connors?”

They’d all resigned themselves to the fact that they wouldn’t reach Curt in time to stop whatever Martha had planned for him, but it was still startling to see him transformed. He was almost identical to Martha, only with a darker crest and longer spines. He climbed down from the tree with a lithe grace, and faced them as composed and dignified as he’d been before.

“Ooh…man, I’m sorry.”

“Now that looks familiar,” Max said knowledgeably. “That’s the Connors I’m more used to.”

Curt looked him over scathingly. Miles didn’t know a reptile could look so contemptuous. “And you are?”

“He’s, uh, a friend of Dr. Octavius. Doc brought him cuz he might be – useful. You ok, sir?”

“More than that.” He sank his powerful claws into the loamy ground. “My wife has perfected her serum. I kept my mind. It wasn’t painful. She might be going too far, but I can certainly see the allure for her.”

Miles gaped at him, a little alarmed. “You can’t want to stay like this?”

Curt took an unnerving second to respond. “…No. No, I don’t. Martha has lost her mind. She means well. But her original formula was flawed, and then the addition of Osborn’s; it took a toll on her. Sometimes she seems – not sure of herself.” Miles wasn’t sure if Curt was just making excuses for his wife.

“She just left you here?”

“She’s paranoid about her plan; she sensed something not long ago.”

“What is her plan?”

“She’s rigged canisters of her serum on the reservoir floor, and just finished filling them tonight. When she’s ready it will flow through the aqueduct into the city’s water supply.” Curt nodded at the machine. “This is the link between her detonator and the release mechanisms. But I’m afraid I’m not sure how to shut it down. The wrong move will trigger an early release.”

“Step aside, fellas.” Max cracked his fingers. “I’ll figure it out.”

He blinked at their nonplussed looks. “I’m an electrical engineer. And probably a damn sight more experienced than a geneticist dabbling in mechanics, no offense.”

Miles wasn’t stupid; he could tell Otto had brought Max along to keep an eye on him. He seemed pretty cool, but Miles had still only known him for a grand total of about three hours. Still…he was seeming like their best shot.

“Ok,” he decided. “Take a crack at it.”

Max placed his hands lightly on the panel and was silent for a tense moment. “Huh. This wasn’t manufactured. She built this thing herself, and that makes it dangerous. There’s no way to cancel or shutdown the release command, pretty clever. But I think I know how to disrupt the signal between it and the detonator. Connors, would you?”

He patted the bottom of the silver panel, and Curt tore it open, exposing the tangle of wires within. Miles winced a little at the metallic shriek.

“Max, are you sure –“

“Relax, I know what I’m doing. They can take me out the grid, but they can’t take the grid out of me,” he grinned. He was enjoying himself a little too much. “You’re the one with the spark, kid. Fry that part there.”

“This one?”

“Yep.”

Praying both that his powers were working and that this wouldn’t make the thing explode or something, Miles placed his hands on the device Max had indicated – it kind of looked like his wifi router, to be honest – and short-circuited it.

For a split second nothing happened, then the entire machine – what was left of it – lit up, the controls flashing in a dizzying multicolored display. It didn’t take an electrical engineer to guess that it was some sort of silent alarm.

“Did it work?”

“Maybe,” Max said.

“Maybe?!”

“It was a gamble. It either worked, or we triggered the release mechanism. But it was our only option either way.”

***

Otto went back to the bank of the reservoir and waited, closing his eyes; truthfully, he had no idea where to start looking for Peter, but he had a feeling that the answer would become apparent soon enough. Peter had a knack for finding trouble.

He did feel a bit bad for leaving Miles alone with Dillon, but he was confident the boy would be able to handle anything that came up. He consoled himself with the thought that if something didn’t happen soon, he would go back to them.

For now, he listened, letting the actuators be his eyes and ears; without the noise of the others, they could even detect the insects burrowing in the trees. The water lapped against the shore. There was no moon; only the stars provided light. A headache was building behind his eyes as their data fed into his mind, but focusing on the extra sensory input kept him from being alone with his thoughts.

Father, she’s coming.

Sure enough, he could even hear her with his own ears; she wasn’t trying to hide. He was at the bottom of a small hollow in the trees, and the bushes at the top rustled for a moment before her massive form emerged.

“Otto.”

Martha’s golden eyes gleamed out of the darkness; she tilted her head to the side when she saw him in the same way she’d done when she was human. “So you’re here too. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Otto tensed. “Where’s Peter?”

“Safe. As is Curtis.”

His first plan was just to inject her with the cure and have her transform, ask questions later; the actuators would be fast enough. But she seemed to read his mind, for she dropped to all fours, fangs bared, and indicated the small device coiled in her powerful tail.  

“Deadman’s trigger. I’ve become quite fond of them. If you force me back, it releases my formula into the reservoir.”

“That’s the best you could do, Martha?” Otto said, a little sneeringly. It was late and he’d had a long day and he was so, so tired of everything that it ached. He’d already experienced failure, and watched the people he loved suffer for it. And Martha Connors, one of the smartest people he’d ever met, was throwing herself into his footsteps and not realizing what the hell she was giving up.

“I can only assume you’ve bested Peter, which isn’t easy,” he continued. “You’ve had two years to plan this. And that’s what you have to show against me? That idiot Toomes put up a better fight. I don’t believe you never expected me to come after you. Admit it – you don’t have a good way to get rid of me because you don’t want to get rid of me.”

It was a hell of a reach, Otto had to admit; she certainly hadn’t shown much restraint so far, and for all he knew, she did indeed have countermeasures against him she was just waiting to employ.

But if there was any part of Martha Connors left that wasn’t hellbent on this ridiculous plan, she deserved to be reached out to. The woman he’d known was driven, but not cruel. She thought she was doing the right thing.

He thought she seemed hesitant for a moment, but then she hardened. “Stop projecting,” she hissed. “Just because you failed doesn’t mean I will.”

“I won’t allow that.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

He’d given her a chance, and she was going forward. He even understood; he’d felt that mad desire to prove himself, to complete his work, the refusal to be stopped by anybody.

She wouldn’t listen to him the way he’d once listened to Peter, and that was more Otto’s shortcomings than hers. She thought him too fearful and too soft to be a voice worth heeding.

She was still his friend, and he didn’t care what she did to him; but there were lines he wouldn’t let her cross. It would be his fault for failing to convince her, but he would do what he had to.

He exhaled slowly, hardening his sinking heart. “I don’t have to force you back to stop you.”

The actuators went for her throat at the exact moment she snarled and slammed the detonator.

The machines faltered, picking up on his shock; she’d actually done it. He was too late.

But now there was nothing he had to hold back for.

“I don’t think the scales are in your favor, Martha!”

That absolutely terrible joke meant fresh hope. The actuators perked up, and Peter landed perfectly next to Otto, stolen detonator clutched neatly in hand. He faced her with a coolheaded confidence, even muddy and a bit scratched up.

“You just left me there, Connors? Not your finest moment. Do you want to be stopped?”

Her pupils were thin black slits in the golden eyes, and she hissed in a rage more animal than human. “How are you still –“

“Guess you weren’t as prepared as you thought.”

“No matter. You’re too late. My gift is flowing through the aqueduct as we speak. You’ll never reach the city in time.”

Peter rolled his shoulders, and Otto recognized a cold determination in him he’d only rarely seen. “One problem at a time. You first.” Either one of them alone would probably be able to subdue Martha eventually; together, she didn’t stand a chance, and she seemed to realize it.

“Martha!”

They all looked up at the new voice; it was another huge reptile at the top of the hollow. With a slight pang of disgust at seeing him so disfigured, Otto realized it was Curt, with Miles and Max close behind. Disregarding the fact that Curt was now a humanoid lizard, his friend at least appeared unharmed.

“It’s over,” he declared, picking his way sinuously down the slope to face his wife.

“We destroyed your machine,” Miles said. “The signal’s gone. Your bombs never went off.”

He is correct, Larry informed him after a second. The water is uncontaminated.

Miles and Max must have found Curt and destroyed whatever router linked the detonator with the serum containers – likely the computer Max had sensed. The relief at the news was almost dizzying, but Martha no longer appeared to care.

“Curtis.” Her eyes were bright with longing. “I’m sorry I had to leave before your rebirth was complete. You’re even more perfect than I imagined.”

“It’s time to go home, Martha,” Curt said. “I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but…it’s time to stop.”

She hesitated. “Aren’t you…happy?”

“No.” Curt bowed his scaly head. “I’m not.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” she retorted, but it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.

“Give it up, Dr. Connors,” Peter said softly. “What are you fighting for?”

“You can’t take us all on,” Miles said.

“Changing the body won’t change the mind,” Curt added. “Those people will think you’re a monster. And I know you’re not. I know you’re not that far gone.”

There was a taut moment of silence. Otto saw her glance fleetingly at himself, and wondered if she was calculating whether the sacrifice of his own dream had been worth it for him.

Don’t give him up, Martha. Not for this. You’ll regret it. 

Right before he was almost certain she would refuse, there was a small, quiet, “…You’re right.”

She looked at Otto. “You do it.”

The actuators gently handed him the cure, and he approached her cautiously. She did not resist.

The transformation back to human wasn’t as prolonged or painful as the first; Norman had made the cure as quick and gentle as possible. Before long, there was only a thin woman with long, tangled red hair and purplish circles under her green eyes. Her trembling fingers instinctively dug into the soil beneath her, and Otto was reminded just how long it had been since she’d had human form. He removed his coat and wrapped it around her to preserve her dignity.

“There you go. Rest a moment, alright? I imagine this is quite a shock.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, avoiding his eyes.

“Here,” Max told Curt, tossing a set of clothes at him. “Think these are yours. Found them earlier.”

“Er, yeah, sorry Dr. Connors,” Miles said, digging around in his jacket pocket. “I have the cure right here. I was just keeping you around in case we needed a giant lizard on our side.”

“Pretty savvy, boy,” Curt replied, and Otto could tell he was amused in spite of himself. “Thank you both.” He nodded at Peter. “You too, Parker.”

Peter scratched his neck awkwardly. “Guess the spider’s out of the bag, huh?”

“Your scent is unmistakable.”

“I’m not gonna take that as an insult.” He removed his mask, and Otto startled slightly at the sight of the boy’s familiar blue eyes now stained a luminescent gold. Martha had mentioned something of the sort, but it was still alarming.

“Yeah, she got me,” he said, noticing Otto’s face. “I think my cells are putting up a little more of a fight, but I don’t really want to end up some kinda lizard-spider thing.”

“Here.” Otto handed him the cure. With the adrenaline of everything wearing off, it was sinking into his bones how exhausted he was, how close they’d all been to disaster. 

“Come on,” Peter said, looking around at the sorry state of them all. “We should get out of here.”  

***

It was an exhausted and strange party that had boarded the earliest possible bus back to New York; five bedraggled and grimy men, one of whose actuators could no longer be concealed, and a woman dressed only in an oversized coat.

But the driver hadn’t asked questions, and Otto had made sure to tip him generously.

Peter, Miles, and Max had all promptly fallen asleep; Otto, exhausted as he was, had stayed awake, driven by an instinctive urge to keep watch over them all. The Connors had curled up together in the back, talking in voices too low to make out. He’d instructed the actuators not to relay to him whatever they picked up. Martha and Curt had been apart for two years, and they would likely be separated again when they reached the city. The least he could do was give them their privacy.

(“I don’t think I was wrong,” Martha said quietly before the police took her away. “I’m sorry I ever resorted to threatening people. But I still believe mankind would be better off if they accepted my gift.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Otto answered stiffly.

“Because you’re the only person in the world who might possibly understand that.”

“…Why did you surrender?”

“Because I love my husband. And his choice, whether right or wrong, is more important than what I think. Thank you. For showing me that.”

Between him, Norman, and Martha, they weren’t exactly doing great on the whole ‘fulfilling your life’s ambition’ thing. But in end, they had done the right thing. All these years later, Peter’s words were a comfort now.

“Look after him,” she murmured as she was led away. “Please.”)

Now, two days later, Otto had finally calibrated his machine to send Max back to his home. He didn’t want Peter and Miles to see the portal, so they’d gathered in Oscorp’s lobby after hours to see him off.

“You keep at it, little guy,” Max winked cheerily at Miles. “The multiverse can never have too many electric Black guys.”

Miles shrugged good-naturedly in that awkward way teenagers did. “It was fun. Nice to meet you. I gotta head out,” he announced, stretching his arms over his head. “Leaving for D.C. with my parents tomorrow. They’re probably wondering where I am.”

“Be safe, dear boy.”

“You know I’m starting college in August, right?”

Otto smiled. “Well, to me, you’ll always be that little boy that saved me from Toomes.”

Miles rolled his eyes fondly. “Doc…you’re old, man.”

“Everything’s ready.” Norman emerged from the lab, more subdued than usual.

Peter shoved his hands in his pockets. “I should be on my way too –“

“No.” Norman’s voice was quiet but firm. “Stay for a minute.”

“Norman –“

“Trust me.” He looked at Peter. “I owe you the truth. As much of it as I can give you. You were right when you said I was afraid. I should have known better than to act on that. It’s never ended well.”

Peter frowned. “Doctor –“

“Max,” Norman continued, “I didn’t get the chance to ask. You know we changed the timeline. Is it stable? Or can events revert?”

Max’s brow furrowed. “Uh – no, man. Change is change. The timeline rewrote itself. It won’t go back. And I’m not guessing, my friend Liv studies this.”

“I have dreams of – events that were rewritten. Is that normal?”

“Yeah.” Max glanced away. “We all do. Crazy stuff; you can see glimpses of other timelines. Even people that would never know the difference can do it. But it doesn’t affect you. Physically, anyway.”

“That’s what you were scared of?” Peter asked quietly. He glanced at Otto, then back down at his feet, and Otto frowned at the telling reaction. He didn’t know Peter had been having nightmares about him. “That’s…wow.”

“I don’t mean to interrogate you,” Norman said with a touch of his old humor. Otto knew him well enough to tell that he was relieved. “That’s all.” He nodded at Peter. “I’m sorry to keep you. But I thought knowing that would prove enlightening.”

“I understand. But next time – maybe just tell me when you get freaked out by something?” He waved awkwardly. “I’ll, uh – I’ll catch you guys later.” He hurried out, and Otto made up his mind to check on him later.

“Finally,” Max snorted. “I thought he’d never leave.” He glanced at Norman. “Not even gonna ask what you did.”

“Probably for the best,” Norman agreed amicably.

“Right, I’m sorry for the delay,” Otto said briskly, entering the lab. “I’m sure you want to get home.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Max said breezily. “I knew you’d get me there eventually.”

Otto scoffed slightly. “Even though I’m not Olivia?”

“Look man,” Max said in perhaps the sincerest tone Otto had ever heard from him. “Liv is smarter than you, and cooler. But she’s kind of a jerk. I know I give you shit, but you’re a sweet old guy. You could've killed me in the other universe, and I’d have had it coming. But you didn’t. So, thanks.”

“Oh.” He was rather flustered, in spite of himself. “I’m afraid I haven’t always lived up to that. But that’s very kind of you. I’m glad you’re doing better.” He turned to the readout, a little embarrassed. “I’ve calibrated it to take you back to the same moment you left, give or take a few nanoseconds. And I’ve fixed it to avoid any accidental acquisitions in the future.”

Max grinned. “See you around?”

“Tell Peter he hasn’t seen the last of us.”

There was the same flash of light as before, and then he was gone.

It was quiet after Max disappeared through the portal; Otto hoped he’d made it through safely. He supposed he’d find out in ten years.

Norman sighed as they shut down the laboratory for the night. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to be wrong.”

“I’m sure.”

“…I’m sorry for what happened.”

There was no need to elaborate; Otto knew exactly what he meant. What was more surprising was the fact that he was apologizing at all; it had been years since the incident with Toomes. Norman had made it up to him, but he’d never actually said ‘I’m sorry’ in so many words. He hadn’t needed to, but it was a rather thoughtful gesture now all the same. The Norman Osborn he’d known thirty years ago had never apologized for anything, even when he knew he was wrong, and now he’d done so three times in as many days.

“I knew that,” Otto replied. “But thank you. And I hope you know you’re forgiven.”

***

“Max made it back ok?”

 Otto sipped thoughtfully from his mug. “As far as we know.”

MJ was spending the night with her mother in the hospital, so Peter had invited Otto over for dinner on a whim. His friend had been spending most of his free time with Curt, which, honestly, the poor guy needed. Martha’s trial would be a lengthy process, and, like Otto, she couldn’t be released beforehand.

Curt had questions about Max – why one of Otto’s never-before-mentioned ‘friends’ had come out of nowhere and disappeared just as suddenly - but he hadn’t pursued answers. With the confirmation that he had suspected Peter’s identity for years, Peter was realizing his old professor probably knew a lot more than he let on. He just didn’t make a big deal about it.

Peter had offered to help Otto with whatever device he was creating to send Max home, but his friend casually brushed him off, claiming it hadn’t taken him long. That was probably true, but Peter also guessed he wanted some time to himself, so he let it go.

This was their first chance to really catch up in a while; he’d missed Otto’s easy company. He’d tried his hand at one of the recipes May gave him, and now they were simply talking over tea. Otto’s gift for Peter had come in, so he’d brought it over: the latest Nikon camera, and he’d smiled a little bashfully as Peter teasingly snapped a picture of him. It felt like too long since Peter had seen that smile.

“That’s good. Thanks again for the camera.”

Otto sighed wearily. “Some week you had. Happy birthday, hm?”

“Honestly, I’ve had worse,” Peter grinned. He sobered. “At least…we’re all still alive.”

He licked his lips nervously, mulling over what Max had said about nightmares being glimpses into other realities. He’d always had a bad feeling about his dreams, but knowing they were real, or at least had been…

“How’s Norman doing?” he asked tentatively, trying not to be too obvious with the abrupt change in topic.

“Better. Even knowing he was wrong hasn’t dampened his spirits much. If anything, it’s a relief for him.”

“So he was trying to prevent something that happened in the original timeline?”

“Yes. It’s probably for the best that you not know exactly what.” Otto's dark gaze was sharp. “But this isn’t about Norman, is it?”

He’d known all along that Otto was supposed to die in the other timeline. His friend had told him that from the get-go, and the thought of it had haunted him for years. But his nightmares confirmed that Peter had been there, watched it happen…

Peter sighed; he'd been seen right through. “I know you told me you died, I just…” I didn’t save you.

Otto smiled tightly; Peter couldn’t tell what he was feeling. “Well, it’s a nonevent now either way. Don’t bear the burden of something that never happened. And whatever my fate may have been, I’m sure it was no one’s fault but my own.”

Peter didn’t know about that; he had a responsibility to save everyone, no matter what they’d done. But before he could decide how to respond, Otto continued, warmer, “Besides, you’ve saved me many times over since then. In more ways than one.”

He had to look away for a second; there were so many things he wanted to say to Otto in that moment, but none of them seemed quite adequate enough. So he sniggered and settled on, “’I don’t have to force you back to stop you’?”

“Oh, leave me alone. I get melodramatic under pressure.”

“I’ve noticed.” It was meant as a joke, but his throat was actually closing up a little and the attempted lightheartedness in his voice didn’t quite come through. Maybe he was just exhausted and getting older, but – he’d miss that melodrama if anything happened to him.

Otto seemed to pick up on the melancholy; he set his mug down and stared into the steamy liquid. “Peter, I should confess something. Before I knew that Martha’s machine had been destroyed, I tried to…reason with her. I failed. If Miles and Max hadn’t been there, I would have been the reason she won. I could have stopped her in time.”

“You were trying to help your friend,” Peter said. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” He paused. "I hope you know not everything is your fault. It worked out. And I think some of that is because of you. She listened to you.”

Otto scoffed. “It’s easier to say that to someone else than to actually believe it, isn’t it?”

“I’ve heard it from you often enough. Can’t follow your own advice?”

“That does seem to be my curse.”

“Well,” Peter teased, “you’ve looked out for me often enough. Someone’s gotta look out for you, too.”

Chapter Text

2015

He still saw the sun in his dreams. His sun. Even though it met its violent end in a watery grave years ago, it had been his drive for so long it still haunted him. The moment it first flared into being had been the proudest of his life.

For all its destructive power, he still loved the sight of it, but there was a dread with knowing the turn these visions always took. He would seem to wake up, dazed and aching, only to be alone in a bloodstained room full of corpses, Rosie’s last cry of his name still echoing in his ears…

Eliot’s velveted paws kneaded into his chest, dragging him unceremoniously into wakefulness. Her big green eyes stared unblinkingly into his, and Otto groaned, rolling over and pushing her furry body off of him.

He’d tried for maybe three days to make her sleep in her bed at night, and gave up when he still awoke to her perched on top of him or crying outside his door. At least she was warm, her gentle heat seeping into his bones, which he appreciated more than ever in the damp chill of November.

She leaped down gracefully and looked back at him expectantly, plumed tail held high.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming, sweetheart…”

Peter had found the half-starved cat in an alley with a broken leg, and rescued her before the rats or the cold could finish her off. His apartment didn’t allow pets, so he’d taken her to Otto when she was rehabilitated. Even though Otto had never been much of an animal person, he just couldn’t find it in him to turn the poor thing away.

She was good company, at least. After a day of hiding to become acquainted with her new environment, she’d decided she liked him and now preferred to be in whichever room Otto was occupying. She contented herself lounging in her bed in the kitchen corner while he worked, and in the evenings she curled up in his lap, purring. He’d been a bit worried at first how the actuators would take to her, but they actually seemed to like her; they watched her with their own curiosity, and even let her climb all over them like they were a jungle gym.

But it was a bit of a pain, how early she wanted to be fed in the mornings.

He had the actuators fill her bowl while he made tea for himself, trying to banish the sleep-induced fog in his brain. The sun was barely creeping over the horizon, slightly thawing the frost on the window panes. When she was finished, Eliot jumped up to the sill and watched the birds outside.

He probably should have taken advantage of her distraction to start the cleaning, but his chair was ridiculously comfortable. He did some reading instead, and told himself he was being productive.

Unfortunately, by the time he felt like he could actually function, he needed to start cooking, so he removed Eliot from where she’d planted herself on his lap and stood, ignoring her offended glare. She liked to be in the kitchen whenever he cooked, but he didn’t want her ingesting anything harmful, so Moe set his optic to mimic a laser and led the cat on a chase through the living room to keep her occupied.

The realization that he was pretty much a walking cat tree with built-in toys definitely put a different perspective on things.

He’d just put the turkey in the oven when the first guests arrived; Harry had wanted to come early to help, but Otto also suspected he wanted to show off his girlfriend, since she would be joining them for Thanksgiving this year.

Well, fiancée, technically. They’d been engaged for a while, and the wedding date was still months away. Louise had gone back to school, and wanted to finish before settling down.

Frankly, Harry had never struck him as a “tie the knot” type anyway, as devoted as the young man was to his partner. But there was certainly nothing wrong with taking things slow, and it was nice to know the girl wasn’t in a rush to get to his money. Not that Harry was his kid to worry about, but, well, Otto had still bounced him on his knee when he was a baby. He didn’t like the idea of anyone taking advantage of the younger Osborn.

But Louise was friends with Mary Jane, and Norman actually liked her, which was a miracle. She normally spent the holiday with her own family, but they’d made plans for Christmas instead this year, so she was here.

“Hi Dr. Octavius,” she greeted with her easy, confident smile, hanging her coat and purse. “Thanks for having us.”

“I should be thanking you. I don’t have much more to finish –“

“We’ve got it from here, Otto,” Harry cut in. “You can sit down. Lizzy, can you start the sauce? I’ll clean the counters.”

Harry Osborn swanning in and trying to take charge of everything was a familiar pattern. He’d often done the same when he was funding the reactor, which had been irritating to the extreme. Otto had taken it as evidence of the boy inheriting Norman’s control freak tendencies. But he’d gotten to know Harry a little better since then, without wanting to drop him off a building. He guessed that this time it was just the kid’s way of trying to be helpful, so Otto didn’t put up a fight.

He looked around idly for Eliot, who, unsurprisingly, had vanished. He’d discovered that she didn’t much like other people. He’d done some research, and read that her breed was usually playful and sociable. With her sweet temperament, the veterinarian thought she was probably an abandoned pet rather than feral, and might have been injured being thrown from a car. With no small amount of disgust, Otto had chalked her skittishness up to her previous owners.

With no sign of his cat, he took advantage of Harry’s intervention to catch up on work; Norman had been cutting him a lot of slack while he continued to develop the interdimensional transporter, but he really did need to finish evaluating some official projects.

“You better not be working over there, Doc.”

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own home.”

“It makes him happy, love,” Louise chided teasingly without even looking up from the stove. “Leave him alone.” 

Otto bit down a smirk at Harry’s mock injured look; the kid needed a girl who could rein him in every now and then. 

The Parkers arrived an hour later, flushed from the cold and hauling food inside. Otto tensed slightly as the four young people happily, and rather loudly, greeted each other. He certainly didn’t mind hosting this year, and he was comfortable with everybody here, but his automatic strategy when multiple people entered his home was just to remain quietly in the background.

It was May that approached him first, and he nodded respectfully as she set down her handbag and removed her coat.

“Thank you for hosting, Dr. Octavius,” she said graciously, settling herself in the nearest recliner.

“My pleasure,” he replied, which was true.

She winked jovially at the chaos in the kitchen. “Let them do the work, I say.”

“No argument here.”

Norman arrived shortly afterwards, the last to join them. Otto had invited Curt over as well, but he’d declined since holidays were some of the only days he could visit Martha. Norman bypassed the kitchen with a sigh and sat down in what Harry then dubbed the “old people living room.” (While May had briefly excused herself, of course – Otto doubted he would ever say something like that to her face.) Eliot wandered up from wherever she’d hidden herself, probably lured by the scent of food, and Otto fed her some unseasoned turkey scraps he’d saved for her while Norman scoffed at him.

“You spoil that cat, Octavius.”

“She’s been through enough.”

“And you would still spoil her if she’d been hand-raised from birth.”

Louise and Mary Jane came in from the kitchen eventually, settling on the couch. “We got chased out,” Mary Jane explained, exasperatedly amused. “Pete and Harry decided they could handle everything themselves.”

“Well, lunch is on me if the place burns down,” Norman replied.

“They’re not as bad as all that,” Mary Jane defended them half-heartedly. “I think they’re better than me, honestly.”

“It’s so cute how Peter still tries to impress you.”

Mary Jane grinned at her friend. “Like Harry’s not doing the same thing for you.”

“I’ve gotta hand it to you, Lizzy,” Norman remarked, leaning back comfortably. “You actually got my son off his ass.”

“Aw, that’s not fair,” she said, and Otto could tell she knew the comment wasn’t meanspirited. Intuition and a thick skin were good traits to have when handling Osborns. “He just needs proper motivation to apply himself.”

Eliot pushed her head into Louise’s hand, wanting attention, and the girl scratched her indulgently behind the ears.

“She doesn’t usually like people,” Otto pointed out, impressed.

“I love cats. She probably smells mine.”

When the food was ready, and thankfully unscathed, they all gathered at the table. Otto had to sit at the head, which he kind of hated, but it wasn’t as if anyone could sit next to the actuators. He told them to coil up as tightly as possible and to absolutely under no circumstances attempt to refill anyone’s drink. They were a little pouty about the whole thing, but mollified with the promise that they’d get to do something fun later. He still hadn’t figured out exactly what, but they would just have to deal with it for a while.

“I’ll say grace.” May spread her arms, and everyone followed her lead and joined hands.

Ten years ago he’d been under house arrest. Even before that, he was supposed to drown in a river with his life’s ambition. Now his home was full of people, and he had a future he could actually look forward to. Simple blessings, perhaps, but he’d been low enough once that they were more than he’d dared to hope.

They echoed the “amen,” and he sent up the same thanks he tried to give every day.

2016

The skyscrapers were still bathed in the dusty pink of dawn when Otto knocked quietly on Norman’s door, but even this early, he could tell it would be a scorching summer day. His friend had sent him a message to come immediately; Otto had obliged him, but whatever Norman needed, it had better be good.

“Norman?”

“Come on in.”

The living area of the penthouse was still impeccable, but Otto noticed a few random shot glasses scattered around, and sighed to himself. So, that was it.

“And you needed me at 6:30 in the morning…why exactly?”

“Come here. I need you to look at these.”

There were blueprints spread haphazardly over the coffee table; expansive, but nothing too complicated from a preliminary glance.

Otto blinked, nonplussed. “You couldn’t have just sent them to me?”

“No, I’d rather you look at them now. I want to push up the manufacturing timetable.”

Otto sighed, out loud this time, not even bothering to pick up the schematic when the actuators could see it well enough. “It’s fine,” he assessed after a minute. “Switch the arrangement of those parts, you’ll get a better power flow.” He paused, folding up the blueprints a little more neatly; he could guess from Norman’s slightly disheveled state and the telltale signs around the room the real reason his friend had randomly wanted to see him on a Sunday morning.

“Have you heard from Harry?”

Harry and Louise had skipped the expenses of a lavish wedding and done it in the courthouse two days ago; Louise had said she didn’t want a bunch of strangers watching her get married anyway, as they no doubt would if they’d had a billionaire celebrity ceremony.

Instead, Harry had put the funds towards the honeymoon of a lifetime – a ten-month trip around the world, going where they pleased in no hurry. Louise had graduated not long ago, and would look for a job when they returned, but for now, they had no ties. Otto thought they were somewhere in the Caribbean right now.

“He called me last night. They’re having fun. It must be nice to be young and have no responsibilities,” Norman grumbled. “No, why would you, when you can just dump the company on your old dad for a year?”

Otto grinned. “You’re such a fraud, Norman. Come on. You know you’re going to miss them.”

“Of course I am.” Norman turned his back and reached for one of his abandoned glasses; the thin layer of dust around the rim proved it probably wasn’t something he should be drinking, so Flo removed it.

He’s hungover, Father.

I can tell, thanks. No wonder the poor guy had thought a work excuse wouldn’t be transparent.

The lingering effect of the alcohol was probably behind the vulnerability of the next statement. “Still. I’m just glad he made it this far. He’s married. He’s happy. He and Lizzy…they never would have had each other…”

Otto knew how many years Norman had lived in terror of Harry’s untimely death. He himself couldn’t really imagine what that was like. He’d never much thought about possibly losing Rosie until he had. The accident had been a harsh awakening for him, but Norman, for some reason or another, had always carried fear. He had for at least as long as Otto had known him, even when they were stupid college kids; fear of failure, fear of loss, masked by ruthlessness and so adverse to admitting whenever he was lonely.

It was a weird paradoxical trait of Norman’s; for all he loved his son and even his now daughter-in-law, he seemed to more easily confess it when they weren’t there.

But he was doing better. He wasn’t cutting himself off. He’d called a friend, even if it was on a half-assed reason. And more importantly than anything, Harry knew for certain now that he was loved.

Otto had never had a flesh and blood kid he’d raised by himself from almost infancy, but he thought he understood a little of what his friend must be feeling.

“You’ve got a coffee pot somewhere, right?”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? I’m making us coffee.”

“…You don’t have to stay.”

“I know.”

The ensuing silence was slightly sheepish on Norman’s part, but it faded into a warmer companionship as the aromatic scent filled the air.

He exhaled in relief as Otto handed him the steaming mug. “You’re a miracle worker, Octavius.”

“You did well with him, Norman,” Otto said sincerely. “He’s a fine young man.”

“…I know. I’m proud.”

Otto settled back comfortably. “So what was your plan for the day, hm? Lie to me and hope I’d stay?”

“Well, anything sounds pathetic when you put it like that…”

***

“Well, here it is,” Peter told May as he carried her last box into the small bedroom. It was a little saddening, how much she’d downsized over the years. He remembered a house full of books and crocheted blankets, old photographs and Ben’s tools scattered over the kitchen table when he worked. A long life of love and laughter, alongside the sleepless nights and days of struggle and tears, reduced to just a few boxes. Most of her possessions were in storage now, leftover from when she’d moved out of the house, and Peter and MJ barely had any more room than her old apartment.

But he knew, with a content certainty, that no one’s life was reducible to material possessions, least of all May’s. She was creating a far more eternal legacy.

They’d been trying to get her to move in with them for a while, but they were both still kind of surprised when she’d finally accepted.

“I want to be close to you,” was all she’d said when he asked why she’d changed her mind.

“It’s not much, but it’s comfortable. We’re glad you’re here.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Peter. I can handle it from here.”

“Actually…” He hesitated, absently scuffing the doorframe. “That’s not all.”

He’d been preparing for this conversation for ages. He’d talked it over with MJ. He knew it needed to be done. But now that the moment had come, the words were drying up in his throat.

It was a weird sort of irony, that for all the people who knew of his identity, the woman who’d raised him would be the last to find out.

Granted, most of the others had discovered it on accident, and Peter definitely wished at least a few of them never had. He’d really only confessed to a paltry handful. It had been easier to do so to MJ over the phone, and part of him knew she wasn’t on the other end. He probably wouldn’t have told Harry if he hadn’t been on a symbiote-induced reckless high. He'd thought through the ramifications when he confessed to Otto, true, but the pressing matter of the exploding star behind them had still forced his hand quicker than was ideal.

So, maybe this was kind of appropriate. She would be the first person he’d honestly confess to because he wanted to, face to face, with a clear head and no imminent danger.

She blinked. “What is it?”

“You - you might want to sit down. I have a confession to make.”

She remained standing. “I think you’d better just tell me.”

“Ok. Here goes. I’m, um. I’m Spiderman. I thought…you’d better know if you’re gonna stay here. MJ knows too, I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you…”

There was a pause, and for an agonizing second he thought she was upset with him, then she said quietly, “I suppose I should confess something, too.” Her smile was melancholy. “I know. I’ve known for years, ever since that day at the bank.”

“And…you never said anything?” He could hardly believe she was taking it so well. But if she’d had years to come to terms with it…

“I could tell you were keeping something from me. But you were honest with me about – about Ben. After that, I figured if it was something I needed to know, you would tell me. And I know you were trying to protect me. Thank you, Peter.” Her tone lightened. “And frankly, you’re not the best at keeping secrets.”

He almost opened his mouth to protest that he was great at keeping secrets, before she amended, “Oh, I don’t mean you go running your mouth. I just mean that I know my boy.”

He sighed in relief, scratching his neck. “Heh…I should’ve guessed you knew.”

Then her arms were around him, and he pulled her small frame closer; even though he was taller than her, he still felt like a kid when she hugged him.

Her worn hands cupped his cheeks. “What happened? For all the years I’ve known, I’ve never known exactly how.”

“Oh…sorry if I worried you. It really wasn’t that bad. I just got bit by a genetically modified spider.”

She chuckled, almost disbelievingly. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. And, you know…here I am.” He couldn’t help the slight crack in his voice, suddenly feeling twenty years old again and confessing the truth about the worst day of his life. “You’re not…you’re ok with this?”

“I know I’ve told you this many times before, but I’ll always say it again. I’m proud of you, and I love you. You’re doing what you’ve always done,” May continued warmly. “Helping people with the gifts you’ve been given. That’s all that matters to me.”

Chapter Text

2017

The first glorious mystery, the resurrection of Jesus – Our Father…

His father had been the one to first explain the glorious mysteries to him.

At least, according to Ben. Peter had only been a baby at the time, so he didn’t really remember, but it had been one of his uncle’s favorite stories: “there was Richard, thinking he could explain the Assumption of Christ to a two-year-old, and Mary trying not to laugh.”

His parents had died shortly after that long-ago Christmas Eve, and Peter wasn’t entirely sure if his vague memories of them were real or just secondhand recollections of Ben and May’s he’d absorbed in passing over the years. He hadn’t thought about them in ages.

 Now, clutching the worn rosary beads, he sent up a silent prayer for his mom and dad. Praying the mysteries always brought them to mind, but he hadn’t had the time or energy to do it properly for a while.

But Christmas Eve was always the exception. The rosary had been Ben’s; the shine of the small black beads had been dulled over the decades by the rub of desperate fingers, sending up petitions and thanksgiving – a link between them.

The second glorious mystery, the ascension of our Lord into heaven…

It was one of Peter’s earliest memories, that he knew for sure was real: midnight mass on Christmas Eve. It was never actually at midnight, due to the number of small children and young families in the congregation. Then he would curl up in May’s lap at home afterwards, and she ran her fingers through his hair, and Ben said a prayer for the family before they retired. 

Even with Ben gone, it was a tradition he tried to continue. Midnight mass was a bit hard to attend when so many robbers decided Christmas Eve was a good time to be out and about. Confession was kind of complicated when he couldn’t tell the priest exactly how he ended up in half of his scrapes.

(He’d never confessed his part in Ben’s murder; not to anyone but May. He’d contemplated again and again telling a priest, and always decided against it, the wound still too raw, even almost two decades later. He’d only poured out his soul to heaven in private, and clung to the faith that he was forgiven.)

But he still had the rosary, and he thought Ben would have liked that. He said a prayer for his uncle’s soul, even though he was sure Ben had gone straight to heaven.

The third glorious mystery – the Holy Spirit comes upon the apostles.

Hail Mary, full of grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women…

May had her own rosary, passed down from her mother, and she preferred to pray in the mornings. Since she’d moved in, they’d taken to having their devotional time together in the silence before dawn.  

This year, at least, he’d been able to take May to midnight service. It was always nostalgic, how the little church never seemed to change – the same stained-glass windows and statuary from his childhood, and now also the site of his wedding. It was hard to believe it had been over seven years already.

It was snowing when they exited the church after the communion. The golden lights from the street lamps and the surrounding buildings made each flake look like it was glowing, framing May’s white hair in a dim halo.

If anyone was blessed among women, it was his aunt.

“Seven o’clock seems to be later and later every year,” she’d remarked jokingly as they crossed the street.

He’d woken up with about a thousand knots in his back, and nothing he did eased them. Even now, the hard ground was sending jolts of pain up his spine. “I know what you mean,” Peter replied ruefully.

“You’re not even 35.”

“I work hard.”

“Yes, I know you do.” She sighed, and Peter heard the weight of every year. Responsibility didn't weigh on him alone. “I’m so proud of you. But I’m sorry…your life’s not been an easy one. I don’t like seeing you struggle.”

“It’s made me who I am.” He helped her across the icy sidewalk. “And it’s not so bad. I’ve got you and MJ. A job I love. You and Ben – you couldn’t have made things any better for me.”

“Thank you, Peter.” She sniffed. “Oh, I always miss him more around the holidays.”

“…Yeah. Me too.”

She’d retired to her room when they returned home, and now Peter said a prayer for her too, signing the cross when he was finished. It was comforting to think that she might be interceding for him too.

Mother of God, pray for us sinners,

Now and at the hour of our death…

2018

“And…eight o’clock. Congratulations, you’re officially a senior citizen,” Peter declared.

“Mm, how original,” Otto scoffed. “I’m sure you’ve been saving that one for ages.”

“Just since noon.”

On one hand, Otto found it hard to believe he’d actually made it this far. On the other, he’d already felt like an old wreck for ages, so putting a number on it didn’t make much of a difference.

There was a certain point where celebrating a birthday just seemed childish, but Peter and Mary Jane had still insisted on coming over, and he didn’t bother discouraging them. It was, at the very least, always nice to see them, especially as he’d been quite busy over the past few weeks. Their company was the perfect warmth on a dark, frigid January night.

“We missed you on New Year’s,” Mary Jane said, echoing his thoughts. Eliot had climbed into her lap halfway through dinner and promptly fallen asleep; he could hear the sleepy purr even from across the table.

“I know, I’m sorry. But at least you got to spend the day with family.”

“You are family.”

“You’re too kind, my dear,” he said fondly. He had Flo remove her empty plate, dusted with crumbs of key lime pie. “I think you get better at making this every year.”

“Because you and Pete get better at eating it.”

“Miles said to tell you hi,” Peter remarked, taking his own dishes to the sink. They’d all seen Miles when he came in for Christmas, but still, Otto missed the boy. Well, not really a boy anymore, but they were all kids to him.

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s good. Getting ready for graduation in the spring –“ as if he needed to feel even older – “then jumping right back into it. He wants his doctorate.”

“Dr. Morales. Good for him.”

“Says he wants to teach,” Peter continued proudly.

“I’m sure you inspired him.”

The young man glanced away shyly. “Well, maybe.”

The next hour passed pleasantly. Mary Jane’s show was a week from opening; between nightly rehearsals and work during the day, she had a lot to talk about. Peter always had stories of the kids in his classes. Otto had a feeling they were trying to cheer him up, thinking he was lonely or something, but he didn’t mind. He was content to just listen to them.

Peter glanced at the clock. “We should probably be on our way.”

“Be safe going home.” He took Eliot, who meowed slightly in protest, from Mary Jane and set her gently on the floor. “Thank you for coming.”

“We love you, Otto,” Mary Jane said sincerely.  “It’s not a chore.”

Peter nudged him warmly. “Happy birthday, old man. Enjoy those discounts.” 

Chapter Text

“Sweetheart,” Otto scolded, “we’ve been over this.”

Eliot stared at him blankly, uncomprehending. He used to think that people who talked to their pets like they were capable of reason were idiots, but it was a rather irritatingly easy habit to fall into.

“You know better than to bring me dead bugs when I’m working.”

She blinked at him slowly, tail curled neatly around her legs.

He relented with a sigh. “Alright. I know you can’t help it. Go on.” 

The last words had scarcely left his mouth when she turned and bolted for the windowsill, taking a flying leap and pressing her face against the glass, tail swishing. He’d learned it meant someone was at the door - specifically someone she wasn’t familiar with.

Otto tensed. It was late, and he could think of no reason a stranger would be visiting him at this hour.

See who it is.

The actuators were silent for a moment, their tension oozing down his spine. Then they relaxed, and assessed, It’s Marko.

That was the last person he was expecting. Not so much surprise that Marko had finally been freed, but rather surprise that he would come here. It wasn’t as if they were friends. All they really had in common was a debt to Peter. Both of them.

For a few months now, the city had been pushing for alternate sentencing to cut prison costs – even Martha, with five years of her time served, was up for possible parole. Otto didn’t expect this goodwill to last, but it was nice to see someone, especially someone like Flint, reap the benefits.

Eliot ran for the bedroom at the heavy-fisted knock. Otto sighed and opened it; he’d been hoping for a quiet night. Flint didn’t strike him as a “social visit” kind of guy, but all the same.

Prison had changed him. Otto didn’t really know how old Marko was, but his hair had gone slate-gray, the lines in his face deeper. But his blue eyes were still bright, deep voice still steady and calm.

“Hey Doc. Hope I’m not bothering you.”

“No, come in.” Apparently, even mostly-strangers liked to give him that nickname. “I heard you might be released.”

Flint scoffed humorlessly. “Yeah, I bet you did.”

In contrast to city legislators, Jameson was decidedly against the reintegration of former “enhanceds,” and as vocal about the matter as he was about everything else. Otto still couldn’t believe Jameson hadn’t retired yet, but part of him wasn’t too surprised. Whatever else could be said about the man, he was someone who genuinely thrived on what he did. The day he stopped working would probably be the day he dropped dead.

“Ah, getting a Jameson smear piece is almost like a rite of passage.”

“He’s an idiot. It doesn’t bother me.” Flint stared blankly over Otto’s shoulder; Eliot was creeping slowly back up the hallway, eyeing their guest warily. Otto knew she liked to think she was protecting him from strangers. “You have a cat.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She thinks she’s stealthier than she is.” He paused. “Did you - need anything?”

“No, I won’t stay long. I just got out today. Really, I just came by to warn you guys.” His blue gaze was steady. “You better be careful. You’ve got enemies in prison.”

Otto did not doubt him for a second. “Who?”

“Brock, for one. Most people pay him no mind. But something weird happened the other day – he got a visitor. Some creepy Russian guy. I don’t like it. Parker should watch his back.”

He hadn’t thought about Brock for years. Truthfully, Otto had forgotten him. But he remembered, with a jolt of dread, that the madman knew Peter’s identity, and had no reason to keep it secret. Flint had said most people disregarded him, and the average person on the street wouldn’t even know who ‘Peter Parker’ was. But if someone was listening…

“And then there’s Toomes,” Flint continued. “I can’t prove he’s up to anything, but I don’t think he’s forgotten you for a second.”

“I see,” Otto muttered. “I’ll tell Peter. But why not just go to him directly?”

“Didn’t want to bother him.” It was more of a mumble this time. “And didn’t think I’d be let into Osborn’s fancy penthouse. You might think this is weird, but you’re actually pretty approachable.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He wondered if it was too late to call Peter. “Thank you for coming here. You might have just saved us a lot of trouble.”

“No problem.” Flint stared at his shoes, and Otto wondered if he thought he was overstaying his welcome. “I’ll leave you alone, Doc. Thanks for listening.”

“Flint,” Otto asked quietly, “do you have somewhere to stay?” Otto had been blessed enough to have people willing to help him during his sentence. But he wasn’t sure if Flint had anybody, and he knew how difficult it was to be alone in the world.

Flint actually smiled. “Emma and I are talking again.” Otto guessed that was Penny’s mother. “Not in like a ‘get back together’ way, just in a ‘let’s be friends and look out for our girl’ kinda way. It’s nice. She’s letting me crash there for a while until I can find a place.”

“Well, I have a spare room if you ever need it.” He didn’t know Flint that well, but he did know what it was to start over. If there was a way he could help, he wanted to offer. “Penny must be getting tall.”

“She is. Kid shot up like a weed. She’s not even really a kid anymore.” He looked wistful. “I missed so much.” He stood to his feet with a heavy sigh. “You guys ever need anything – you just give me a call.”

“Thank you, Flint. Good luck.” The stoic man smiled, and Otto felt the seeds of an unlikely camaraderie between them start to grow.

And if Flint was right – they might need all the allies they could get.

Chapter Text

The rising sun turned the sea to burnished gold; with the gleam of metal surrounding them, it was almost too bright to look at.

Blood and sweat burned his eyes, every muscle tight, venom boiling through his veins – all that mattered was the enemy before him.

I just want to kill you myself.

Then it was Carradine, falling in the blinding silver of a searchlight, and he jolted back to the darkness of their bedroom just as the thief hit the ground.

“Peter?”

MJ’s sleepy mumble was a lifeline to reality.

“What’s wrong?”

He forced himself to smile reassuringly; he wasn’t sure if she could even see him, but it was habit by now. He could almost feel his face crack under the falsehood. “Nightmare. I’m ok.”

“…Falling again?”

He only hesitated for a second. “Yeah.”

“C’mere.”

She slid her hand under his back, and the reassuring pressure of something solid beneath him soothed his racing heartbeat.

“You’ll get pins and needles.”

“I’ll move eventually.”

“…Thanks.” The gratitude was almost swallowed in the white noise of their fan. He felt her relax against him in sleep, and wondered if she’d heard him at all.

She felt safe with him. She’d told him that many times. He made her feel safe, and he couldn’t bring himself to admit that in his nightmares, he was always a murderer.

***

“Happy New Year!” Harry cheered, almost spilling champagne all over himself.

“You’re two hours off,” Louise heckled.

"The fireworks say otherwise.”

The main conference room of Oscorp did offer a splendid view of the display over Times Square. In a generous gesture, Harry had invited the employees over for the annual party to watch the ball drop, and the spacious room was filled with guests. It was his wife that had needed to take over the “gracious host” role, but Louise was in her element, making sure everyone was fed and happy.

“Did we have that much energy when we were kids?” Norman sighed from where they were seated, watching everybody else.

“You did,” Curt replied drily. “You’ve come full circle from those spontaneous parties in the dorm.”

The three of them had spent most of the evening together, letting the young people have all the fun. It was pleasant enough, catching up with them, but even at ten o’clock, Otto’s social energy was wearing thin. 

“How are you guys doing? Need anything?” Louise had completed her circuit of the room, pretty face flushed from the heat of packed bodies.

“Nah, we’re ok. Thanks for everything, Lizzy.”

“I’m about to leave anyway,” Otto told her, getting to his feet. “I’m afraid my late-night partying days are decades behind me. Besides, Eliot doesn’t like fireworks. I don’t want to leave her alone for too long.”

“She’s always your excuse,” Norman said.

“Because it works.”

Eliot didn’t like fireworks, but to be fair, loud noises and blinding lights didn’t exactly do it for him, either. He’d mostly come so the actuators could enjoy themselves, but the rest of the evening would be spent with a book, tea, and his cat.

He was almost at the door when unease prickled up his spine.

Nothing seemed to have changed; everyone was still conversing merrily. But Peter was talking quietly with Miles in a corner, and Otto frowned. They were both tense and kept glancing around furtively.

He wasn’t the only one who had noticed; most people paid them no mind, but Norman had his sharp gaze fixed on them. Mary Jane had her arms crossed by the windows, likely having been alerted to whatever was going on.

The actuators coiled in closer, their wariness sending gooseflesh down his arms.

Father, Flo murmured, something isn’t right. The air…

A moment later, Peter caught his eye and made his way over to Otto. “Something’s wrong,” he murmured. “Miles and I both feel it.”

“Should we move everybody?”

“We’ll try. I’m gonna talk to Harry. He-“

And out of nowhere, there was the low moan of failing power, plunging the room into darkness. An explosion of pain burned all the way up his spine, so intense it momentarily blinded him and stole his breath, and he staggered under the sudden dead weight of the actuators going limp.

“-Doc? Otto, can you hear me?”

Peter’s concerned voice was the first thing he became aware of over the ringing in his ears. “I’m fine,” he gasped out. “Just – give me a moment.”

After a second, he realized his vision was fine – the conference room was still dark. Oscorp’s multiple backups and generators hadn’t kicked in.

“An EMP,” Peter muttered. “There’s no telling how much of the city it took out.”

There was one last piercing whistle of a firework, then there was no light from outside either. The surrounding skyscrapers were black, and the glow of displays from the Square had gone out.

It was eerily silent for a moment as everyone below hovered uncertainly, wondering what had happened.

A large-scale EMP was no mere power outage. It would destroy everything, from pacemakers to electric motors. There could be hundreds dead already just from the initial surge.

And they weren’t the only ones to have realized; the people in the room had huddled together in small groups, talking in low, anxious voices. He caught a few snippets – “My sister has a newborn-“ “My grandmother’s heart monitor –“ “My cousin –“

For once, Otto was grateful he didn’t have anyone at home to worry about. At least Eliot knew enough to hide herself if something were to happen. There was no use evacuating now. Everyone here, even if they were worried for family, would do better to remain here and ride it out.

Norman had been weaving his way through the crowd, encouraging everyone to stay put and keep calm. “Millions tune in for the ball drop,” he said calmly. “There’ll be national relief here in a matter of hours.” He at least sounded like he knew what he was doing – the people were nervous, but no one was panicking.

“We might not have hours,” Otto pointed out as his friend approached him. “This wasn’t an accident.”

And the more he thought about it, the more horrible the possibilities became. Everyone was out on New Year’s Eve – crowds in the parks and the streets. People trapped on the subways. Car accidents. It was the perfect night to strike at thousands.

“I know,” Norman muttered. “But there’s no point in starting a stampede.” He paused. “You ok?”

“I will be.” He’d needed to sit, the weight of the actuators too much for his body. They would restart eventually; he’d built them to be resistant to EMPs, if not totally immune, but in practice he had no idea how long that would be.

“What happened?” Curt’s eyes seemed unnaturally bright in the dark. “What’s the plan?”

“Wait for more information, for now. Whoever’s behind this, I suspect it won’t be long before they make their move.”

As if on cue, the distant sound of gunfire echoed over the streets.

Quite a few people screamed, backing away from the windows. But their modest gathering was nothing compared to the hysteria in the Square below.

It never ceased to be unnerving, how much humans could sound like dying animals. Sometimes, on his worst nights, the actuators’ memories of the hospital would seep past the inhibitor and into his nightmares. It was hard to forget the gut-wrenching terror of being hunted.

Peter blanched. “Oh God…May’s all by herself.”

“Go,” Otto told him, forcing himself out of his memories and into crisis mode. “Bring her here. She’ll be as safe here as anywhere else. We’ll take care of everyone else.”

Peter squeezed his hand briefly in gratitude, then went to murmur something to Mary Jane.

“Dad – how can we help?” Harry and Louise had come over. The kid’s entire demeanor had changed; for once, Otto could actually believe he was the leader of thousands.

Norman exhaled slowly. “Check the exits. The elevators will be out, but the stairwells should be fine. We’re going to bring as many people up here as we can.”

After Peter’s hurried, discreet exit, Miles had dutifully placed himself by the main door, tapping his fingers anxiously against the conference table. Otto wondered if he still sensed danger.

“Peter went to check on his aunt. What about your parents?” he asked the boy.

Miles’ face was tight with worry. “They should be ok. Not many people can mess with my dad. I’ll stay here for a while. At least until you’re – you know. Better.”

And certainly if anything were to happen, Otto was in no fit state to protect anyone.

The three Osborns got to work, ushering people in off the streets; the building wasn’t exactly a fortress, but it was at least better than being out in the open. Those who could make it up the stairs joined them in the conference room, those who couldn’t barricaded themselves in the lobby.

It was hard to tell how much time had passed; it didn’t feel like very long, but realistically it had probably taken quite a while to get all those people situated. Otto listened for the sound of any more gunfire, or of Peter’s return; anything. Miles went through the crowd of new arrivals, reassuring them with his quiet confidence and self-deprecating humor. He’d certainly come a long way, Otto reflected proudly. Mary Jane settled herself next to him, face white and brow furrowed.

“Did Pete tell you anything?”

“No more than he told you, I’m sure.”

“Are you ok?” she murmured, concerned. “That probably hurt.”

“It wasn’t pleasant,” he admitted. “But I’ve felt worse.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said quietly. “At least we’re all together, whatever happens.” She sighed. “I hope May is ok.”

He was about to answer when something caught his eye; someone had blended in with the rest of the crowd, who definitely wasn’t supposed to be there.

The intruder looked over at the same moment; there was an awkward beat, then Toomes held up his hands disarmingly and relaxed into his familiar nonchalant grin. “Hey, Octavius.”

***

In contrast to the panic of the people in the Square, the streets around Peter’s neighborhood seemed more confused than anything else; people peered out from the darkened windows of shops and restaurants, or huddled on the streets in concerned masses. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something to happen. He was almost expecting something out of a disaster movie; mobs, chaos, blood on the pavement, that sort of thing, so it made for a relieving surprise.

He winced at the thought that there would be no radio for police or first responders. If – or when, more likely - panic set in, it could get messy. He’d check on May, and then he’d have to go out and work some damage control.

The apartment door was still locked, which was a good sign. He eased his way hesitantly inside, squinting in the blackness. “May?”

“Peter!”

She hugged him desperately, and he pulled her frail body close.

“What’s happening? The phones aren’t working, and I can’t get anything on the radio –“

“An electromagnetic pulse. It’s different from a normal power outage. I’m not sure what triggered it, but I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”

May hesitated. “I lit a candle in the kitchen. There’s someone there to see you.”

He tensed instantly. “Someone broke in? Are you hurt?”

“No, I –“

“It’s only me, Peter,” came a calm voice from the kitchen. “I’ve no interest in terrorizing helpless old women.”

Martha was seated at the kitchen table, watching him coolly. The candlelight turned her red hair to bronze. “There’s no use taking me back to prison, I’m afraid.”

“Is this your confession?” he snarled. 

“Of course not,” she said coldly. “My facility lost power. None of the backups started, and all the computers and automation were down. That was all most of the inmates needed. The guards were overwhelmed. I would have stayed put, but I had no interest in being slaughtered. I’m not exactly popular. And if one jail is down, I’m sure others are too.”

"So you came here hoping I’d protect you?” He didn’t bother trying to hide his disgust.

“I don’t need your protection,” she sneered. “Of course I went to my own home first. But – Curtis wasn’t there.” Now there was a slight waver in her voice. “Have you seen him? Is he safe?”

Peter sighed. “He’s at Oscorp. Otto’s with him.” He turned to May, scrubbing a hand through his hair with an exasperated exhale. “May - I’m going to take you somewhere safer, ok? I don’t want you here by yourself.”

“Most people won’t be committing murder sprees for the hell of it,” Martha said drily. “Their only interest will be getting out of town. Lots of robbery, I’m afraid, but if people aren’t stupid they should get away with their lives.”

“Well, we can’t all be as pragmatic as you,” Peter retorted. “People on the run will be desperate. And so will people defending their livelihoods. I’m not leaving my aunt here to get robbed.”

Martha stood briskly. “Come on, then. Let’s get to Oscorp. I’ll take you through the sewers. We’ll be unseen.”

May giggled, albeit a tad nervously. “Well, this will be an adventure, won’t it?”

***

Miles was there almost before Toomes had finished speaking. “What are you doing here? Was this you?”

“You really think I’d fry the city and then knock on Osborn’s front door for shit and giggles? No, I’m here for Octavius.”

“And what makes you think I won’t just drop you down this stairwell?” Otto snarled.

“You’re not a killer,” Toomes said matter-of-factly. “You gave yourself away when you saved me at the tower. I wouldn’t have guessed it, with the hospital. But all the same, I read your mail. And believe it or not, I came to warn you. I know who’s behind this.”

Before he could finish, a cold voice announced, “Well. Turn out the lights and the rats scurry out the walls.”

“Or up from the sewers,” Toomes sneered. “Get off your high horse, Connors.”

“You’d better have a really good reason for being here, Toomes,” Peter said, taut with anger. He’d had the sense to mask himself, at least. He nodded at the far windows, which most people were avoiding. “If you have something to say, say it to me.”

They withdrew, Toomes with a slight scoff, and Otto stopped Miles from following them. “Don’t give yourself away. He doesn’t know who you are.”

“It’s gotta be a trick,” the boy muttered.

“It probably is. But Peter will figure it out.” He turned to Martha, who had been scanning the room with uncharacteristic anxiety in her green eyes. “Curt’s here. He’s safe.”

“I promise I’m only here for him.” She gestured to the stairwell behind them. “May Parker and a few other people from their apartment complex are down there. That pretty Osborn girl said she’d take care of them.”

He meant to answer her, but his vision blurred slightly as an immense pressure lifting off his spine announced the actuators’ return.

Miss us?

You have no idea. You’re just in time.

Still a little lightheaded, he peered down the stairwell in front of him. They should probably start moving people off the ground floor. It would take a while, but at least he wouldn’t have to carry several people up a few flights of stairs by himself.

He gingerly touched the back of his neck, reassured by the smooth, unmarred surface of the inhibitor. He could tell that it was undamaged from the second the actuators had come back online, but he still wanted to feel it for himself.

Louise smiled when he reached the lobby. “Hey Dr. Octavius. Good to see you on your feet. Can I put you to work?”

“Lead the way, my dear.”

He took May first, gently pulling her small frame closer to him. “Well, this is familiar, isn’t it?”

She smiled, if wearily. “You’re much more genteel this time around. Do you know what’s happening?”

“Not yet. But Peter will get to the bottom of it.”

Her jaw tightened determinedly as they reached the conference room. “Well – tell me how to make myself useful.”

He couldn’t hide a smile at her pluck. “Go ask Harry. He’s running things.”

When they’d completed the last trip, the actuators picked up the hushed murmurs of the crowd – Spiderman’s here.

Isn’t that Martha Connors?

Maybe Spiderman knows what happened –

Are we under attack –

The military –

Maybe he’s behind this –

The actuators hissed their displeasure at that last one; it was hard to believe some idiots still distrusted Peter after he had been protecting them for almost twenty years.

“Doc.” The young man in question brought his attention back. Otto was sure he could hear everything, but he seemed unbothered by it. “Find the Connors. They’re gonna want to hear this.”

It was a strange group that gathered together on the top landing of the stairwell, away from prying eyes. Colluding with three known criminals probably wouldn’t do wonders for Peter’s reputation here, but Otto doubted he’d even thought about that.

Peter nodded at Toomes. “Tell them what you told me.”

“I’m not positive,” he began, “but I think the guy behind this is Sergei Kravinoff - this crazy Russian that thinks he’s General Zaroff or something.”

Martha blinked, apparently recognizing the name. “Kravinoff? I had no idea he was back in the States.”

Curt’s grip on her hand tightened. “Isn’t he the one that tracked you all over Asia?”

“I lost him in Singapore, but I don’t think he’s ever forgotten me.”

Otto frowned, remembering what Flint had told him. “…You didn’t see him visiting Edward Brock, did you?”

Toomes looked impressed. “So you know him too.”

“A friend warned me a while back. I don’t know the particulars.”

“Kravinoff’s a big game hunter,” Martha explained. “He’s been all over the world. And when he exhausted the usual targets, he started going after the more exotic. Me, for instance. Or any other person that he thought posed a challenge. He’s strong, too – it wasn’t just anyone that could track me hundreds of miles. I heard he might have been enhanced by endemic plants from Wakanda, but I was never able to prove it.”

“I watched everyone in that prison,” Toomes continued. “And I didn’t know why the hell Brock would be getting visits from Slavic Rambo. But he stopped a while back. Whatever they were planning together, I think this is it. The bug’s out –“ he nodded at Peter –“and Brock’s got one hell of a grudge against you. And now you’re out too,” he told Martha. “Perfect night.”

“And someone else’s head could be on the chopping block,” Otto smirked. “You, bird boy. You didn’t come to warn us. You came for protection.”

“‘Vulture’ is just a stupid name that kid stuck on me – it’s his fault, so now you all have to deal with it,” Toomes said reasonably. “And frankly, I don’t think ‘Doctor Octopus’ is in the clear either.”

“Well, aren’t we quite the menagerie,” Martha sneered. “We could all be on some maniac’s hitlist, so by all means, let’s gather together in one place with a bunch of frightened civilians.”

“Stop,” Peter commanded. “We’re not all staying here. People could be dying outside. I’m going to help. And if Kravinoff wants me, he can find me out there. And you’re coming with me,” he told Toomes. “Otherwise we throw you out.”

“That’s cold, kid.”

“Take it or leave it.” He turned to Martha. “You know Kravinoff, too. Dr. Connors – both of you – stay here with Dr. Octavius. If Kravinoff comes here, he can protect you. Doc, can I talk to you?”

Otto knew immediately what was on Peter’s mind. “If Kravinoff’s been in contact with Brock…”

“He could know about me,” Peter muttered. “I know. But – MJ and May are here. And there’s no one I trust more to look after them.” He patted Flo. “Glad you guys are ok.”

“We’ve been through worse. We’ll weather this too.” He hesitated, concerned. “But this isn’t something I would just blow off. Even if you stop Kravinoff, why should he keep the secret? We took a risk with Brock – one madman can be disregarded, but if two of them start saying the same thing –“

“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”

“Alright.” He let it go, but he would keep turning the problem over. One thing was certain – he wasn’t going to let anyone ruin Peter’s life, no matter what it took. The little one had already suffered those consequences.

“What about Miles?” he asked instead. “He could be in danger too.”

“You can fill him in. He might want to check on his parents. It’ll be better if he knows what’s out there.”

“Peter,” Otto warned, glancing at Toomes – he was too far away to overhear, but he was eyeing them with great interest. Moe hissed at him. “Don’t trust him. He’ll do anything to save his own skin.”

“I know. I’ll keep an eye on him.” Peter exhaled slowly. “Be careful.”

***

“I’ve been thinking,” Norman said.

Otto sighed, recognizing that tone of voice. He had filled in Norman and Miles, and the two of them had been muttering together ever since. “What?”

“I’ve got the schematics for the city power grid in my office, from when we were researching alternate energy. I could figure out how to turn it back on.”

He was instantly tense. “By yourself?”

“No, I know you need to stay here. I’ll take Miles. We can check on his parents on the way.” 

Otto scoffed slightly. “What happened to ‘I’m just a biochemist’?”

“I’m no electrical engineer, sure. This might not even work. But I need something to do. I’m going crazy just sitting up here.” Norman was picking at his fingers, and glanced in the direction of Harry and Louise.

He was reluctant to let Miles go; his aid would be invaluable, but he could hardly expect the young man to stay any longer than he already had. The fact that he was still here at all was enough; his first priority had to be his family. And if they were able to restore power…

Otto sighed. “…Don’t get killed.”

“I won’t, relax.”

He left to speak briefly with his son, and Miles approached Otto with a nervous grin. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” The boy hesitated. “You gonna be ok by yourself?”

“Well, that remains to be seen.” He softened the statement with a reassuring smile, not wanting the kid to feel guilty. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, son. Good luck.”

It seemed quieter with Norman and Miles gone. Otto stood alone at the windows, observing the streets below; it was hard to make out, but he thought he could see dark figures scurrying past. But at least there was no more screaming or gunfire.

And the actuators wouldn’t be much help discerning the particulars; their cognitive functions were intact, but their optics had been damaged by the surge. They would have to rely on his own poor vision.

“Otto?”

He hadn’t noticed Mary Jane come up behind him.

“What is it, my dear?”

Her smile was ghostly in the gloom. “Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you.” She folded her hands behind her back, pensive. “I hate all this waiting.”

“I know.” It was almost like being stuck under house arrest again, helplessly watching as Peter went into danger. At least this time he was actually doing something useful, even if it necessitated staying put.

“Where’d Norman and Miles run off to?”

“They think they might be able to restore power. But they’re not certain.”

Mary Jane sighed. “I don’t suppose Pete told you how he actually plans to stop this guy? If Brock hired him –“

She never got to finish, for at that moment, a hail of bullets erupted from the ceiling, filling the room with thick white dust.

Ears filled with startled screams, blinded by plaster and rubble, Otto made the split-second decision to head towards the people behind him instead of the attacker – without the eyes of the actuators, he couldn’t see anything anyway. They would be better served protecting the others.

The machines hissed in frustration, furious at their helplessness; he’d tried to watch both of the doors, even the windows, but only the actuators could have told him there was someone above them.

It’s not your fault, he told them. Stay close to me.

And when the dust cleared, blocking the far exit, was who he could only assume to be Kravinoff.

Martha had told him what to expect, but he was still a little taken aback. The spear strapped across his back wasn’t a surprise, but the huge automatic rifle was new. She’d insisted he had some macho pride in killing stuff with his bare hands.

But his eyes were the most unnerving. Otto had seen the Green Goblin twice, and that had been enough for him. There was something reminiscent of that demon in Kravinoff’s heavy, dark features, but he couldn’t name exactly why.

The deep, gravelly voice said coldly, “Your beasts are fast, but not faster than bullets. Stand down.”

“It’s me you want, Kravinoff,” Martha said firmly. “There’s no need to involve anyone else.”

“Dr. Connors.” He nodded at her respectfully. “Playing the hero? Tchah. You want undamaged stock for your experiments. You are always a delight –“ A distinctive web of claw marks scarred his arms and torso – “but you are not my target tonight.”

The barrel of the weapon pointed at Otto. “Kill your machines, or I kill everybody.”

The actuators had instantly started calculating how many rounds Kravinoff’s weapon could fire in the time it took them to reach him, but he seemed to read their thoughts. 

“You could protect yourself,” he reasoned, “maybe even kill me. But you cannot protect everybody. Do it, and everybody else lives.”

“Otto.” Curt’s quiet voice filled the ensuing silence. “You don’t have to do that.”

His declaration seemed to inspire the others, who bravely chimed in.

“Otto, don’t –“

“Leave him alone –“

“We’ll be fine, just get him –“

“Don’t be a martyr –“

Father, Flo snarled, let us eviscerate him. 

And he could do it – rip him limb from limb, toss the mangled corpse out the window. Problem solved, end of discussion.

But how many people would be left bleeding out behind him?

Well, that’s a risk we’re willing to take.

Mary Jane, whom Peter had entrusted to him. May, who was already dead in another universe because of his cowardice. Harry, whom he had promised Norman he would protect.

There was a chance Kravinoff would just kill him and then everybody else while he was at it. But if there was a chance, just a chance, that he was telling the truth…

“…Fine.”

And he gave the actuators the silent command to shut down.

They screamed in protest until they couldn’t anymore, and then he had to fight to keep himself upright. He bit down the surreal urge to laugh at how ridiculous he probably looked – a powerless old man against a maniac armed to the teeth.

“There,” he said coldly. “You’ve beaten me. Now let them go. Cornering unarmed civilians isn’t much of a hunt, is it?”

"No. The real hunt has not yet started. I have not truly defeated you.”

And Kravinoff drew a pistol and shot him.

Someone behind them screamed; dimly, Otto hoped nobody did anything stupid like try to rush Kravinoff. Arguably, he may have made a stupid decision himself, but he really didn’t want to be shot for nothing.

It didn’t hurt as much as he expected; it was more of a dull punch than the burning sensation he’d heard described. He was starting to pass out, so he must be losing a lot of blood. Red was hard to make out in darkness, but the space under his ribs felt very wet.

“You should survive that, if you are strong.” He’d fallen, and Kravinoff was standing over him. “And when we meet again, you will be unchained, your true self. You will be worthy to face me, and the hunt will truly begin.”

And with his bare hands, he ripped the inhibitor out of Otto’s spine, severing the connections. He heard the crunch as Kravinoff crushed it in his powerful grip.

“I know your pain. I too know what it is to chase the stars in the sky, only for them all to burn out. Our time has passed; all that is left is to destroy each other. Do svidaniya for now, doctor.” 

***

It was eerie, being out in the city at night with none of the lights and sounds he was accustomed to - no car horns, laughter from the streets, steam from the restaurant chimneys. It was almost silent, but for the icy wind soughing through. The moon was bright, almost full; it was weird, actually seeing stars without New York’s omnipresent glow.

Peter had left Oscorp with the intent of helping anyone he could, but they were almost at Central Park, and he’d encountered no one. He was taking his time, too; it wasn’t that far from the Square, and it had to have been at least an hour since they left. At least there were no bodies, which was slightly reassuring.

“Where is everybody?” he wondered aloud.

"They ran for it, kid,” Toomes said. “No one was gonna wait around for you to rescue them.”

He was spry for his age; he’d kept up well. His cool blue eyes swept the deserted streets in an apathetic detachment, though Peter noticed them flicker with greed as they came across scattered belongings and smashed shop windows.

He ignored the veiled jab. “Ok. We’ll cut through the park, then circle back.”

“Hm. Not a lot of swinging room in the park.”

“I’ve handled myself in woods before.”

“Whatever you say.”

The trees of Central Park loomed overhead, the wind whistling through branches. He had the fleeting thought that if Kravinoff was a hunter, the park was probably the perfect place for an ambush.

Fine. All the better. Let him come, and end this sooner.

“Lead the way.”

It was kind of pointless with the mask, but Peter glared at Toomes anyway. “You first.”

Toomes scoffed. “I’m not the revenge-seeking type, kid. That’s your pal Brock. And I’m not exactly on my A-game at the moment. If we run into Kravinoff, you’re my best bet.”

“’Not the revenge-seeking type’?” Peter smirked. “Then what happened to your partner that swindled you out your business?”

“Oh, him.” Toomes grinned. “That wasn’t personal. He was a liability.” He sighed, suddenly sounding uncharacteristically sincere. “Let me learn you something, kid. You’re smart, so take this how you will. You can’t trust anybody. Take care of yourself, cuz no one else will do it for you.”

Peter thought of Ben and May, who’d taken care of him most of his life; of MJ and Otto and Harry. He didn’t bother to argue with this jaded man; he wouldn’t believe him, anyway.

“You’re wrong,” he said simply.

Toomes shrugged. “Maybe.”

His senses screamed a warning just in time for him to shove them both out of the way. A spear – an honest to God spear – sailed overhead and embedded itself in a nearby tree. Great.

And then Kravinoff was on him. The hunter was massive, and his scarred hands tore at Peter’s mask. He kicked out, knocking his opponent back a few yards and giving Peter enough time to regain his feet.

Kravinoff was stronger than normal; maybe not as much as the Goblin’s wild strength, but enough that Peter needed to push a little harder. The hunter panted lightly, and even in the gloom his bared teeth seemed to glow a sickly white.

“You are strong, spider.”

“I work out.” He cast a fleeting glance around the clearing, not too surprised to see that Toomes had vanished. He probably wouldn’t have been much help anyway, but still. Bastard. “You wanted me? Then why the big lightshow?”

Kravinoff rolled his muscular shoulders. “They call this city the concrete jungle, da? There. Now it is real jungle. Better to hunt in. Run, little spider.”

Entering the park, Peter had thought he wouldn’t find anything worse than a forest full of a giant lizard’s genetically-altered abominations. He’d been correct, but this wasn’t exactly a walk in the park – ha – either.

Trees sucked to swing from; even leafless in the middle of winter, all those twigs and branches got in the way of a clear trajectory. He gulped in a mouthful of frosty air, narrowly avoiding a spiked net that dropped down.

The spear grazed his side, and drops of scarlet blood peppered the snowy ground. He vaulted over a rope noose, feeling it whistle past his ear as it snapped shut a heartbeat after he was clear. Kravinoff’s serrated hunting knife sheared through the webbing that had momentarily slowed him, and the icebound bark of a tree splintered under his huge fist.

Kravinoff released a laugh of pure enjoyment, dark eyes manic, even as he wheezed slightly from the blow to his ribs.

“You could break me if you really wanted to. You are holding back, Peter Parker.”

The sound of his name was so startling he faltered – not long, probably not even long enough for a normal person to take advantage of it. But it was enough for Kravinoff.

In a heartbeat, Kravinoff had pulled a gun and shot him, blowing a hole in his shoulder.

Somehow, in all his years of crime-fighting, he’d never actually been shot before. It wasn’t the worst pain he’d ever felt; he probably could have fought through it and won. But something else was happening – his limbs were freezing up, his body stiffening. Vaguely, he registered a small syringe fall away from the trickle of blood and drop to the snow, before he himself followed suit.

He had known Kravinoff might know his name. His intuition would have felt that gun coming, when he was eighteen. He must be losing his touch.

Kravinoff loomed over him, now wielding a shovel. He was probably going to hack off Peter’s head and keep it as a trophy or something.

He raised the tool, then plunged it deep into the frozen ground. Digging a hole.

“You know,” he said calmly, “they said my mother was insane. I simply think she did not know what to live for. But maybe that is why men lose their minds, hm?”

He was sick of villains monologuing to him while he was drugged and paralyzed – Norman, Martha, now this asshat. Really, who was next? Maybe he should ask Norman about looking into some kind of tranquilizer immunity.

“I have been all over the world. Conquered many powerful beasts. Now, you are all that is left.” Kravinoff sighed deeply. “I am tired, Piotr. What to do when you lose what burns brightest in you?”

The moon was directly overhead. It was midnight.

“My fiercest hunt was an old, wounded tiger in Khabarovsk, when I was young and new. I thought his injuries would make him slow and weak. I paid for my foolishness.”

Kravinoff threw Peter unceremoniously into the hole; at least he was face up, so he could see the sky. “So, I am not going to kill you. Now, I like to make them bleed a little first. Otherwise, over too quickly.”

Peter would have frowned if he could; the hunter knew his identity, presumably from Brock, but it didn’t sound as though he was working for Peter’s old rival. Then what –

Kravinoff held up a small piece of dark metal, glinting in the moonlight.

The delicate inhibitor, painstakingly crafted with technology from another universe, had been shattered.

“I ripped it off his corpse,” Kravinoff said steadily. “If it comforts you, he died bravely. Gave your women time to get away. But when you are buried, I will find them too and mount their hides on my wall. The pretty one, at least. Here.”

He tossed the broken chip into the hole. The cold from the frozen ground crept up Peter’s motionless limbs, through his skin, into his heart.

“If you wish to face me again, I will be at the west tower. Find me. Before I find you.”

Then the soil came down and blocked out the stars.

Chapter Text

“What the hammer? what the chain,

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp.

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears

And water'd heaven with their tears:

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?”

Rosie paused to scribble something in her notebook, and Otto glanced up from the skeletal frame of the actuator he was assembling. “I think I like J. Alfred Prufrock better.”

She propped her chin up on her hand to look at him, dark hair falling over her shoulder. Even with unbrushed hair, in her slippers and the oversized sweater she’d stolen from him, she was so effortlessly gorgeous. “They’re both about the human soul – only, ‘The Tyger’ is about its fierceness, and Prufrock is about its wretchedness. That’s the ‘fearful symmetry.’”

He almost would have thought she was making stuff up, if he didn’t know she was just that intelligent. “Is that what you’re writing about?”

“It might be the beginnings of a paper.” She was lounging at the desk he’d brought into the lab for her so they could work together. “How are you coming along?”

“Well enough. Even though you keep distracting me.” It was only a tease, and she knew it.

“You asked me to read to you.” She paired the words with an adorable quirk of her lips.

Clearly, he was done for the night.

“I know.” He repacked his tools and switched off the desk lamp, crossing the room to lean over the back of her chair and kiss her warm skin. “Keep going.” 

***

Auditory nerve connected.

“He’ll be ok, won’t he?”

“He’s fine. Busted a few ribs, but it missed the lung. He’ll just be sore for a while.”

“Be careful. Without the inhibitor –“

Optic nerve connected.

The first thing Otto noticed was that it was freezing. -3.8 degrees Celsius. The wind is exacerbating the temperature drop.

Above him, Mary Jane’s white, tear-streaked face managed a watery smile. “Hi.”

He tried to stand, and was stopped by the burst of searing pain in his left side. “Where’s –“

“Kravinoff’s gone. We’re all ok. Martha patched you up.”

(The actuators restarted when he lost consciousness, a failsafe he’d installed after the first incident with Toomes. Their visuals were back online, and there was a surreal image of himself in a pool of blood, distorted by the cameras. And that they trusted the others to help him when they couldn’t -)

Mary Jane flinched slightly as Flo moved towards her, concerned by her tears, then relaxed. “You know, you really scared me there.”

He hoped the poor girl hadn’t been fretting over him the whole time. “I’m sorry.”

She exhaled shakily. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

They were alone in a corner of the room. There was still a conspicuous hole in the ceiling, which most people were avoiding, but Harry and Louise were looking up at it and talking quietly.

“We’ll have to fix that. Maybe reinforce the floors.”

“It’s not like this happens every day.”

“Well, no, but you know how investors are.”

Everyone else kept sneaking glances at him, varying between discomfort and admiring gratitude. The noise of all the separate conversations, whispered though they were, was rapidly building a headache behind his eyes. May was silent, seated by the window and staring out over the blackened city. Mary Jane gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then went to stand by her mother-in-law. Neither Miles nor Peter had returned.

Curt and Martha were by the far stairwell; Martha noticed their eyes on her and approached him.

“First battle scar?” Curt’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hardly my first.”

“Thank you, Otto,” he said quietly. “What you did…”

“Was no sacrifice.”

“We didn’t have anything to stitch it with, so it’s just bandaged,” Martha told him, wasting no time on preamble. “Try not to start the bleeding again.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She glanced away, and he caught a rare flicker of emotion in her green eyes. “Thank you.”

“Come on, love,” Curt murmured, drawing her away. “Osborn wants to talk to him.”

Harry settled himself beside Otto with a slight groan as the Connors withdrew. “Hey Doc. You doing ok?”

Sweet sentiment, but really, how was he supposed to answer that? “I’m not dead.”

“Always a win.”

He squinted up at the ceiling, wondering where his glasses had gone.

They broke.

“…What time is it?”

“Just after midnight, I think.”

“Hm. Happy New Year.” He paused. “No word from your dad, I take it.”

“…No. Not yet.”

Harry could be annoying, to say the least, but he still hated seeing the kid upset. “Your dad’s tough. I think…there’s not much in the world that would stop him from getting back to you.”

There was his smile. “I know. Otto, listen…Dad kept some of those rings he built. Not for him,” he hastened to clarify. “For you. In case something like this happened. I know where they are, if you want them.”

“It won’t work,” Otto replied wearily. “We hacked the subroutines and rewrote the commands. That’s how we got away from Toomes.”

“I thought Miles –“

“No. Your dad’s brilliant, but they weren’t his finest work.”

Harry sighed. “Well, damn. Never mind, then. Does it…you ok?” He was looking at him like Otto was a skittish dog that needed coaxing.

The little Peter had crafted the new inhibitor to be more insulated against electrical overload, but there weren’t many preventatives against insane people crushing it with brute force. It didn’t hurt, much; most of the nerve endings there were damaged anyway.

“Fine.”

“Otto…what you did for me and Lizzy…”

“You’d have done the same.”

“Maybe.” Harry paused. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll let you rest. Connors is coming back.”

“Here.” Curt tossed a small bottle of painkillers, and Flo caught it. “Martha found these in Norman’s office. Lord knows why he had them, but they should help.”

“Thanks.”

“…You didn’t fail, you know,” Curt said mildly.

“I know.” Everyone he cared about had survived. Even if his decision hadn’t been what spared them, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Their lives were nothing less than complete victory.

All the same, he had thought he’d be enough to protect everybody. Bitterly, he acknowledged that he’d lost this round. Caught unprepared, no ace in the hole, inadequate.

Next time, he would only have himself to worry about. And Kravinoff wouldn’t get so lucky.

"Hey. Calm down." 

He realized the actuators had been hissing their rage out loud as well, and scowled at the caution on his friend's face. 

“You’re being very monosyllabic," Curt continued drily. "And I’m pretty sure that’s your ‘brooding over failure’ face.”

“I’m concentrating.” All five of them tensed. “Because Toomes is coming up the stairs right now, and Peter isn’t with him.”

The actuators were in motion almost as soon as the doors creaked open. Behind Otto, Curt winced slightly as the movement pulled at his wound, but he didn’t much care.

Toomes was remarkably cool under the grip of several angry machines. “So you’re alive after all. That lying bastard.”

They had to fight hard not to crush the life out of him then and there. “What happened?”

“It’s all gone to shit,” Toomes spat. “The bug is dead. I saw it happen. Kravinoff shot him and buried him in Central Park. We were ambushed.”

“What?” Mary Jane’s shocked, shaky exclamation tore at his soul. He didn’t look at her, not wanting Toomes to make a connection between Peter and Spiderman.

But they saw everything anyway, May’s quiet sob and Harry’s furrowed brow, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing -

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to remain steady, and the actuators released Toomes. “Start from the beginning.”

“That’s it – he ambushed us in the park and shot the bug. Then he buried him. Kept going on about his mother or some crap. I watched until he left.”

Otto frowned. “What exactly did he say?”

“That – he’d lost what burned or something. I dunno, I didn’t catch all of it.”

“He’s not dead.”

There was some kind of false sympathy in Toomes’ sharp blue eyes. “Look, I know you care about the kid –“

“Shut up and listen to me. I’m not being sentimental. He’s not dead because Kravinoff doesn’t want to kill us.”

“Yeah? What does he want?”

“He wants to die,” Otto said calmly.

Martha started. “How do you figure that?”

“He told me that his time had passed, that all his stars burned out. He wanted me to survive. There’s nothing left for him to hunt – all that remains is to die at the hands of the ultimate prey.” All of a sudden, he realized why Kravinoff had reminded him of the Goblin – that certainty of imminent death, paired with the mad disregard for who had to suffer alongside him.

“…That is not how sane people think.”

“Does anything about him convey ‘sane’ to you? And I’m going to give him what he wants,” he growled, turning to Toomes. “Show me exactly where you were attacked.”

“Eh, I was afraid you’d say that.”

“I’m coming too,” Martha said. “You’ll probably get yourself killed otherwise. And I can take us on a shortcut to the park.”

There was a small, assenting nod from Curt, and Otto sighed. “Alright. Get going. I’ll catch up.”

When they were gone, he turned to Mary Jane. “Will you be alright here?”

“We’ll be fine,” she murmured. “I don’t think Kravinoff is coming back. Look – look after yourself, alright?”

He knew how much she hated staying behind, but he also hoped she realized how much strength was in her patience. “I’ll bring Peter home,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

***

“He said he’d be at the west tower?”

“I think. I wasn’t exactly on top of them.”

“It’ll do. How much farther?” Otto said to Martha.

“Almost there.”

It wasn’t exactly a joy, being underground again, but he was quite relieved they didn’t have to carry anyone over rooftops. Even with the painkillers, he still hurt like hell.

The actuators, thankfully, could see perfectly again, and Martha seemed to know her way even in the dark. He didn’t want to think too deeply about how she was navigating. Unfortunately, this meant Toomes had to stick close to Otto, an arrangement none of them were too happy about. Suspicion, not entirely his own, prickled up his spine and bled into irritation. Toomes was lucky they needed him, for now, because Flo wanted very badly to skewer him. 

“You sure know your way around the cesspools, Connors,” Toomes called.

She gave him a look that would have curdled milk, but said nothing.

“I still think Kravinoff is crazier than a bag of cats,” Toomes continued, failing to hide a smug grin. “Say you’re right. What part of ‘he buried him’ equates to leaving the bug alive?”

“A. fulvolineata can go forty hours without oxygen,” Martha answered coldly. “He’s survived worse.”

“So why all the hoopla? He wants to die – why not just have you kill him?”

“Because Spiderman’s not a killer,” Otto explained. “He’s goading him. Where’s the glory in being taken out by someone holding back?”

“If the kid’s alive, he’s probably pissed,” Toomes admitted. “Kravinoff told him you were dead. He had some replica of your little chip.”

Otto smirked. “No replica.”

For the first time, there was a shadow of caution on the smarmy face as Toomes realized how very close he was to the machines that had massacred a roomful of people. “Damn. But you’re still…”

“Take this as your warning not to piss us off.” Moe hissed at him for effect. 

“Noted, noted.” Toomes frowned. “What I don’t get is, if he’s got his own agenda, why go to all the trouble with Brock?”

Otto knew exactly why; to get Peter’s identity. It had been quite wily of the hunter, not to disregard Brock’s seemingly insane ramblings. One madman to another, he supposed. But he was hardly going to tell Toomes that.

He shrugged irritably. “How should I know? Would you stop with all the questions, I’m not a psychologist.”

“I just like to know who I’m fighting.”

“Oh, please. You’ve done nothing but hide behind us this whole time.”

“Surviving is a form of winning.”

“We’re here.”

Martha finally stopped, her lean strength forcing open a circular manhole, then she led them out into blessedly crisp, frosty air. The bare, twisted branches seemed to be grabbing for the stars.

“You’re up, bird boy,” Otto said, pushing Toomes ahead of them. “Lead the way.”

“He has a point,” Martha muttered to him. “You put together Kravinoff’s deal awfully quick.”

“When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer.”

“You do know that’s just from Die Hard, right?”

“Yes, I know, but it fits.” He paused. “And I know what it’s like. When you lose what defines you.” The actuators had never quite let him examine the dark urge that had seized him after the hospital, always keeping his mind on the machine, if he could just get it to work, everything would be right again –

But, in all fairness to them, it was a delusion he’d willingly bought into.

Even Martha, who’d given up her own life’s ambition, had never felt that sting of terrible isolation – but he was grateful she’d been spared that.

“…Right.” She let it go, but her green eyes were sympathetic.

“But if he wanted me to kill him, he didn’t have to work so hard,” Otto grumbled, and she smirked appreciatively.

“Here it is,” Toomes called from ahead.

The frost-coated woods seemed to glow in the moonlight; they’d stopped at a dark patch of freshly-tilled earth that stood out like a scar.

Toomes looked impressed. “You were right. Looks like the spider dug his way out.”

Martha stooped to pick up a small syringe from the snow; she licked it, then declared after a moment, “Carfentanil. Nasty stuff. Enough here to kill an elephant. Probably not P- Spiderman, though. He was only stunned.”

“…You’re disgusting, woman.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Right,” Otto declared, “this is where we part ways. I’m going to the tower. Martha, you should go back. You can’t face him,” he cut off her protest. “Not as you are. Leave Kravinoff to me.”

“You’re still hurt.”

“I’ll be fine.” He lowered his voice. “It will be better if I don’t have anyone else to worry about.”

She nodded, pragmatism reasserting itself. “Be careful with him, or he’ll start bleeding again,” she told the actuators, who clicked in understanding.

“And you,” he rounded on Toomes, “I’m not having you run off into the sunset. You wanted to survive? Here, you’ll live.”

Moe coiled around the protesting man and deposited him in a tree as high as he could reach. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was the best they could do at the moment.

“Really? You’re letting Connors go.”

“Connors is going to turn herself back in.” He glanced at Martha, who gave him the tiniest of nods.

“I’ll be there. Be careful, Otto.”

And then they were alone, leaving the shadows of the park for the rooftops. He breathed in a lungful of icy air, glancing up at the clear, starry sky. Pain still throbbed through his side, behind his eyes, but it was oddly invigorating. The west tower was a familiar location, and didn’t require all their concentration to reach. He exhaled, releasing the pressure in his head from tuning out their muted voices. Four sets of thoughts rushed in, garbled and discordant, to where he couldn’t quite decipher what they were saying.

“You’re being uncharacteristically silent.”

And you’re being foolish, Larry hissed. You should have let us protect you.

Ah. There they were. It must be taking all their coordination, dampening themselves so only one would be understood at a time.

“Well. I know it wasn’t the most logical decision.”

The odds that we could have neutralized him without any fatalities are –

“I don’t need to know.”

It would only have been a few serious injuries, Harry grumbled.

“This is nothing I can’t deal with. We’ve survived worse.”

Besides, Flo cut in firmly, silencing the others, we have taken away your choice before. We would not do so again.

“…I know you wouldn’t.”

We would still like an explanation of your reasoning, Father.

“Well, you’ve got unrestricted access now. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? What do you think?”

Guilt complex.

Mild death wish.

Concern for others.

It’s what Peter would have done.

He chuckled ruefully. “Peter would have thought of some clever way out. And ‘mild death wish’? I’ll have you know I resent that. I’m going nowhere in a hurry. We’ve still got work to do.”

Brock was alive because of him, because he’d given Peter the means to stop the symbiote. Even if Kravinoff had been present in the original timeline, he wouldn’t have the knowledge of Peter’s identity. It was Otto’s responsibility to protect his boy now.

Peter will not end his life. And it is improbable that Kravinoff will overpower him.

“I know. He’s not a murderer, no matter what he thinks. But Kravinoff’s hurt him enough already trying to fulfill that ridiculous death wish.”

Their fury oozed, acrid and pungent, down his spine. We will listen to you, Father. But we will not let him hurt you again, nor Peter.

If they wanted to kill Kravinoff, without the inhibitor, he technically couldn’t force them to stop. But if Otto was being honest, he probably wouldn’t even try.

***

“Mami, I gotta go –“

“In a minute.” Rio soundly kissed both his cheeks, then released him. Her familiar smile was a bit melancholy. “There. Now you can go.”

Miles rolled his eyes affectionately. “Love you, Mami.”

He’d been worried about his parents when he saw Toomes – who knew how many convicts wanted to get their hands on a former cop. But he probably shouldn’t have been surprised by what he found when they reached his home; his dad had organized the neighbors to start relief efforts. They’d lit all his mom’s prayer candles and turned the kitchen into a small fortress.

When Miles arrived, he’d thought his mom was going to squeeze the life out of him, but when she’d sufficiently assured herself that he was unharmed, they got to work. They moved everybody to his mom’s hospital, and his dad and some of the others set about reinforcing the lobby. There was no power, but anybody could seek shelter there if they wanted.

Norman had watched it all with his sharp gaze, helping when needed, but otherwise keeping to himself. Miles wondered if community wasn’t something he was used to. Or if he was thinking about the power plant. Or both.

Now he stood respectfully to the side as Jefferson looped an arm around Miles’ shoulders and kissed his temple. It was a little harder to do recently, since they were the same height, but his dad still insisted on it.

“Proud of you. Go save the city.”

“You guys gonna be ok?”

“I think we can handle it.”

“Look for the lights turning on!” Miles called behind him teasingly as they left.

“Your parents are lovely,” Norman remarked when they were outside.

“They’re great,” Miles replied warmly. “Ready?”

“Let’s go.”

The main power grid was on the river, a forest of black spires. There was an unwieldy device that sort of looked like a generator strapped to one of the rigs, smoking slightly.

“That’s what set off the EMP,” Norman whispered. “This place would have been manned. We have to assume Kravinoff killed whoever was inside.”

They slipped inside the control center, which was worriedly unlocked. The darkened panels gleamed dully in the flashlight’s beam. Sure enough, the bodies of two workers were slumped over in their chairs, necks broken. Miles sighed unhappily.

“Poor guys.”

“We’ll make sure Kravinoff gets what’s coming to him. Give me a little light, will you kid? I don’t have my reading glasses.”

“It says there’s a key for the emergency master reset.”

Norman looked at the bodies. “One of them will have it. No, I’ll do it, I wouldn’t ask you to.”

Miles cringed slightly as Norman searched the bodies nonchalantly, finally producing a key ring. “Ok. Let’s get to the back. That’s where the main switch will be. Too bad we don’t have Max, hm?”

“Too bad,” Miles agreed. 

When they reached the back, Norman swore and Miles bit down a gasp; the control box and main switch were splattered with dark blood. A body was sprawled on the floor, a gaping wound in its gut.

“That’s Edward Brock,” Norman muttered. “I guess Kravinoff got tired of him.”

“He’s still alive!” Miles had heard the faint, telltale wheezing breath.

“Not for long.”

Miles glanced at his companion, and was stunned by the look of sheer hatred there. It was so potent Miles wondered if Brock had done something to personally piss Norman off, but he'd only ever heard of Brock's rivalry with Peter. 

He knew Brock was scum, but it was still upsetting, seeing anybody slowly bleed to death. Brock’s hazy green eyes had opened at the sound of voices; they met Miles’ and narrowed.

“Who – who are you supposed to be –“

He was actually trying to sit up; Miles hastened to crouch next to him, not wanting the guy to kill himself faster.

“What happened? Where’s Kravinoff?”

“Gone. He told me to come here after the outage, and then he –“

“I understand. Here, let me look at that – hold still –“

“We’ll all be dead soon anyway,” Brock spat in triumph. “I’ve never forgotten what he told me.” Miles guessed ‘he’ was the symbiote Peter had talked about.

“‘The Progenitor is coming. And we will make ready a world prepared for his arrival.’ It’s been years and years and I never stopped waiting for the coming of our king, but I’ve seen him. He showed me. This world doesn’t stand a chance.” Brock grinned with red-stained teeth; then his eyes glazed over and he moved no more.

A chill of foreboding shivered through Miles at the words. Peter had told him, reluctantly, a little of what the symbiote had felt like. But he’d never known exactly what it was trying to accomplish in seeking a host. If Brock’s festering brain wasn’t imagining things…

“Miles.” Norman’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “I need your help.”

“Right,” Miles said, snapping back to himself. “Sorry. What do you need?”

“Let’s move him. Then we’ll look at the box.”

“Why would Kravinoff kill his employer?” Miles wondered.

“Who knows. We’ll ask him later.” Norman held up the flashlight, all business again. “Use the key to open the box. We’ll have to pump the primer handle to get the charge to the main switch.”

“Got it.”

The lights on the control panel flashed to life, each one labelling a section of the city grid.

Miles, feeling a bit like Max, cracked his fingers. “Here goes nothing.”

***

The blonde girl was falling again.

It was a vision he’d seen many times – the girl falling to her death, his name on her lips – but her face changed whenever he tried to focus on it. Sometimes it was the blonde. Sometimes it was a dark-haired girl. Sometimes it was MJ.

He knew it was biologically impossible to dream about people you’d never met. People you didn’t recognize in dreams were just distorted images of those you knew. But he’d never been able to shake what Max Dillon had said years ago – that some dreams could be glimpses into other realities. It made it kind of hard to reassure himself that his nightmares were just that.

Even though his parents had died in a plane crash, he’d never been scared of heights. That would have been the peak of irony with his abilities. And he’d had plenty of awful nightmares before – his hands stained with Ben’s blood. An artificial star sinking into the river. The symbiote. But he’d known, from the time he was a child, that the worst way for him to die would be in a fall.

He was falling now, through thick dark clouds, the pressure crushing his chest, reaching for her, always one hand away until they hit the ground - she disappeared, and he gasped in a lungful of frigid air, looking up to a sky full of stars.

***

Whatever Kravinoff had shot him with still clouded his senses; in his hazy mind, the trees and buildings warped into a forest of twisted monoliths, and the stars swirled dizzyingly.

But he could see well enough, and he felt the icy air piercing his lungs and beginning to clear his head.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Kravinoff wanted. Peter knew what it felt like to be goaded; Norman, Brock, Toomes, even –

He stopped that thought before it became too painful. 

But none of the others had intended on leaving Peter alive after the fact. Kravinoff had as good as won; he wasn’t trying to trick him into making a fatal error. He wanted Peter’s anger, and he had to know what that would mean. It was a despairing move; he’d said as much while digging the hole.

He followed the train tracks to the west clock tower, glancing up at its imposing face. It had new hands after the old ones had been broken off all those years ago, and he bit his lip at the memory.

He climbed. Kravinoff hadn’t said he would be waiting at the top, but it seemed the kind of grand gesture he preferred.

Sure enough, the hunter was there, eyes closed to the icy winds.

“I am glad you came. And if this is not over too quickly, we may even have company.”

Peter did not move. He had no desire to grant the wish of a suffering man, but neither could he be allowed to continue lashing out.

Kravinoff stood; the tiger pelt he wore seemed to ripple before Peter’s eyes, and for a moment, he thought the man had fangs. Cornered and fierce, black eyes burning.

Peter exhaled slowly. “We won’t be here that long.”

There were no games or holding back this time. Kravinoff fought with furious strength, the tip of his spear still coated with dried blood, and the thought of whose blood it was sickened him.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” The accusation was a breathless sob of fury, and the sheer rage at the man’s selfishness was nearly overwhelming. “Why did you have to make everyone else pay for your problems?!“

The answering sneer was more a baring of teeth. “What do you think your doctor did?”

“He – he’s nothing like you.”

“Was.”

Blood dripped onto the lenses of the mask, and Peter ripped it off; there was no more point in hiding his face anyway.

It was all over when he caught the spear. It was a formidable thing, solid and heavy, made of fire-hardened wood with an iron point. Peter snapped it in half like a twig, casting away the broken pieces. The hunter faced him emptyhanded, black eyes gleaming with mad anticipation.

There was a blaze of light so intense it was almost blinding. The nighttime suddenly burned, blotting out the stars, as every building and skyscraper lit up like beacons.

Kravinoff fell. Soon his body would break on concrete, hundreds of feet below, and his threat would end.

Peter fell, and caught himself, and caught his enemy.

Even though the ground was firm beneath him, it seemed to tilt slightly, and he had to catch himself against one of the solid supports for the railway. New York was alive again, brilliant and luminous.

“You did not break.”

Anger and pity and grief all bubbled up in a toxic wellspring at Kravinoff’s quiet astonishment.

“You wanna die so badly?” His throat was tightening, and he forced the words out. “I won’t give you that. And death won’t give you what you want, either. You. Live. And you live knowing - I hope you get better.”

He’d forgotten the hunter’s serrated knife.

It slashed across Peter’s chest, and would have slit his throat if a split-second warning beforehand hadn’t thrown him backwards. He faced Kravinoff again, exhausted and heartsick.

“No,” and the snarl was almost a sob, “it must end. It must end.”

The pavement shook. 

A wave of hope shuddered through him, and Kravinoff’s black eyes gleamed.

“He came. He will end it.”

Kravinoff had lied. Of course he had. He didn’t seem shocked now, and whatever evidence he had to the contrary, that sound was unmistakable.

Peter grinned wearily. “You’re about to be really disappointed, buddy.”

Blood smeared Otto’s clothes, and he’d lost his glasses, but he was alive. The lights of the actuators flickered with crimson; fury boiled from him in waves, and Peter found himself instinctively moving to intercept his friend if necessary. 

Otto's dark eyes raked him over, and it was hard not to feel a small chill at knowing he was the recipient of such fierce love. 

"Are you hurt?"

"Not badly." 

At that, the burning gaze locked on to Kravinoff, and the actuators coiled tensely. 

"Otto." It was a simple, quiet plea, but it had the desired effect. After a heartbeat, they relented, and Peter knew the moment had passed. The actuators drooped slightly in apparent disappointment, and Peter glanced at them with more curiosity than wariness. His eyes were starting to burn. “He…he had the inhibitor…”

“Long story.” Otto looked over at Kravinoff, whose black eyes had narrowed. “What? Did you think breaking a machine would turn us into a monster?”

The hunter’s dark gaze flicked from one to the other, almost thoughtfully. The knife had lowered.

“It’s your call. What do you want to do with him?” Otto said brusquely.

Peter rubbed his hands over his face, drained. If he never saw the hunter again, it would be too soon. “I’ll string him up from the railway. Leave a note. The police can deal with him. I don’t care.”

Otto hesitated. “What about –“

“I will keep your secret, Piotr.” The quiet declaration startled them both. Flo hissed disbelievingly. “The worm thought he hired me to expose you to the city. But I had no interest in his money. I do not care if anybody else knows.”

Otto glanced at Peter doubtfully. “…Fine,” he decided after a moment. “I believe you. And in the future, just – stay out of my way.”

“You’re lucky,” Otto said coldly. “That this boy is so merciful. I hope you remember that.” He sighed and screwed his eyes up against the light, and Peter realized a little guiltily that without his glasses, he was probably in pain.

“Come on, Doc. Let’s get out of here.”

They retreated to a nearby rooftop, where it wasn’t quite so bright. It was still quiet; people were gradually starting to re-emerge below, cautious, but it was still nothing like a typical New York night.

“What –“

“Norman and Miles left shortly after you did to try and restore power. They succeeded, obviously.”

Peter glanced back at the ground uncertainly. “Kravinoff. Do you think he’s…safe?”

“I don’t know,” Otto confessed. “I don’t claim to understand his mind. But we saw you save him. Sometimes, when you think that way…you just need someone to stop you.” His dark eyes were full of concern, their warmth banishing the previous anger. “Are you alright?”

Peter couldn’t quite bring himself to answer that verbally, and his vision was starting to swim again. He had to fight not to just collapse completely onto his friend, but he still closed his eyes and took in the rapid thud of the familiar heartbeat as it gradually calmed.

Otto grunted slightly in surprise before returning the embrace with a quiet chuckle. “Oh, dear boy…I promise I'm fine. Just – not too hard, please.”

Peter stiffened. “You’re hurt.” He didn’t know what Kravinoff had done to obtain the inhibitor, but he could smell the metallic odor of old blood.

“Nothing I won’t heal from. I’m only sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” Otto’s deep voice was gentle. “Let’s get you home.”

***

“I leave for five minutes, and you turn into a complete idiot.”

“Funny, I could say the same about you.”

The two days since what had colloquially become known as ‘the blackout’ had been punctuated by Norman and Otto’s bickering. They were in the lab at Otto’s home while Norman put the finishing touches to the new inhibitor; he remembered exactly how to construct it, it had just taken him a while longer without the benefit of technology from the other universe.

And there was certainly plenty to do in the meantime. Peter and Miles had their hands full cleaning up the streets. Toomes was in the wind again (it was inevitable, unless I broke his legs in half, Otto shrugged irritably), but at least Martha was in the process of negotiating her release. She’d already been considered for possible parole – they were always more lenient on married convicts – but it was nice to see it finally rolling out, if for nothing more than Curt’s sake. Peter wasn’t quite sure what she’d do now. He did believe she was no longer a threat, but he was resolving to himself to keep an eye on her nonetheless.

He and Miles were seated in the corner, ostensibly there to assist, but Norman didn’t really need their help. It was just nice to have a break and be with friends, especially as Miles would be heading back to New Haven in a few days.

Peter nudged his companion. “You ok, kid?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” He sighed. “I just keep thinking about what Brock said.”

“Yeah.” Peter shifted uncomfortably. “I get it. But there’s nothing we can do about it. Except keep an eye out.”

He’d tried not to think about the symbiote in the years after its destruction. It would have been easy to write Brock off as completely insane, but sometimes, sometimes…Peter had felt it too. A cold and a darkness that the symbiote carried with it, calling the host deeper into galaxies and universes beyond their own. He’d resisted, still under the arrogant assumption that he could control the creature, but he wondered what he would have seen if he’d given in.

“And…there we go.”

He brought his attention back to the present at Norman’s declaration. The small device was complete, glinting dully in the low light.

“Last chance – you sure you want this? I mean, it seems like you don’t really need it…”

“No. No, I want it.” Otto’s voice was stiff. “They can’t filter anything out. You try having six eyes and ears. I can already barely walk while this heals, I don’t need a constant headache on top of that. And frankly, I think they’re getting tired of my thought life, too.”

The actuators rotated in what was probably agreement.

Norman sighed. “Otto. I’m so sorry…”

Peter averted his gaze uncomfortably; he didn’t want to eavesdrop, but it was kind of hard to tune them out in the enclosed space.

“I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to him,” Otto said quietly. “I kept my word.”

Norman scoffed slightly. “Why do you always have to show me up?”

“I’m not keeping score.”

“Shut up, you absolutely are.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Well, here’s your early birthday present. It’s done,” he called to Peter, and he and Miles got to their feet.

“Here. Why are you so tall,” Norman grumbled.

There was an unusually tense silence, but the actuators had coiled themselves submissively. Peter heard the clicking whir of the device as it integrated.

“Hey, Mr. Osborn? What’s going to –“

And then Otto, quite literally, shut down – he collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, and Peter had to catch him before he hit the ground.

“What –“

“He’s ok,” Norman assured him before he could freak out. “This happened last time. It’s just the shock to his nervous system, he’ll come around in a minute.”

It was still an agonizing twenty seconds before Otto came to with a startled gasp; Peter could hear his heart pounding.

“Oh…sorry about that. That’s – never a pleasant experience.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Peter had to get his own heartbeat under control. “I’m just glad you’re ok.”

“You need anything, Doc?”

There was a soft smile at Miles’ concern. “No, I’m alright.”

And certainly the tension he carried with him seemed to have drained away. Even the actuators seemed more relaxed. Peter could tell he was tired, though, as well he might be.

“We’ll leave you alone,” he decided. “Just call us if you need something.”

When the others had left, Peter turned back to him hesitantly. MJ had relayed the whole story. Otto was healing well, but he still had a scar he’d carry the rest of his life – from protecting Peter’s family. Peter had already thanked him, but the words just didn’t seem adequate enough.

Otto noticed his scrutiny and frowned. “What is it?”

“…I’m sorry. Just, for everything.”

“Peter.” It was a slightly chiding tone, and the familiarity of it actually made him smile a little. “It’s not your fault. How many times do I need to say that?”

“Ok ok, I get it.” He chuckled. “Just don’t make a habit of this, ok? We all need you around.”

“I don’t know about that.” His voice softened. “But I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter Text

2022

“You’ve sure been working on that thing for a long time.”

“That thing, as you put it, is one of the most sophisticated machines ever built,” Otto pointed out icily.

“Here it comes,” Norman muttered; Otto might have dropped it there, but he decided to keep going just for that comment.

“Not only has nothing like it ever been attempted in this field, I am also constructing it entirely by myself, and if I make the slightest miscalculation, the wearer’s atoms will be scattered throughout all the known universes. So yes, it’s taking a while. I’m pacing myself. We can’t use it until Peter gets back, anyway.”

The pre-show lighting of the theater was dim, but Otto could still see the sheet full of calculations in front of him well enough. Granted, Moe was lending his optics when needed.

They couldn’t really fit in the regular house seating, so the usher, who was well used to the actuators by now, had set up a spot for them in the back. Norman and Flint had elected to keep him company until the performance started – Norman smirking at Otto’s irritated reply to Flint’s innocent observation, Flint leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and eyes fixed on the curtained stage.

“That’ll be soon now,” he remarked. His blue gaze was sharp. “It’s nice of you and all, but you really think the kid wants to see us again?”

Norman glanced away uncomfortably at the blunt question. “He may not,” Otto acknowledged. Probably not, if he was being honest. “But I’ve got to make sure of that, at least.”

Flint shrugged idly. Otto knew he understood investing a lot in a slim chance. “Ok. Whatever you say.”

The house lights dimmed, signaling the show’s start, just as Peter arrived. “Sorry I’m late,” he panted. “I got held up.”

“Emma saved your spot,” Otto told him as the others departed for their seats. “You should thank her.” 

They’d all seen the show before, but it was closing night, and they wanted to make it special. Peter had been saving up for weeks and was treating everyone to dinner afterwards. And even if Otto had come previously, it was always a joy to see Mary Jane perform, especially as he’d missed her stint on Broadway. He had used to think he’d never have an occasion to go to the theater unless Rosie dragged him; he could just picture her all-too-knowing smile now.

He knew how much it had pained Mary Jane to give up her dreams of professional acting, even if she was happy in her current career. But Peter had encouraged her not to abandon her passion for it, and a few years ago she’d found a community theater she liked. And the troupe was even better now with the recent addition of Penny Marko - the young woman had met Mary Jane at the clinic, and they’d immediately had an affinity. Otto had to admit that Penny showed talent; he was pretty sure she’d made her parents cry by the end.

“It’s not Broadway or anything,” she’d said bashfully as her parents showered her with praise, but she couldn’t hide her delight.

“I’m glad it’s not,” Mary Jane had joked to Peter. “No bothering with critics or agents.”

Peter’s starstruck look hadn’t changed in almost twenty years. “I know it’s not the same.”

“It’s ok,” she assured him. “It’s not really the size of the audience that matters, just who’s in it.”

That may be, but she’d still gathered quite the crowd. May had come opening night, Harry and Louise came whenever they could and had filled the women’s dressing room with flowers, even Miles came in for the weekend. They’d been able to meet all her friends and coworkers from the clinic.

Otto closed his notebook as the curtain opened. It was entirely possible that the little Peter wouldn’t want to see them again; he could hardly be blamed for that, when their last arrival had ruined his life. And he was sure the wizard wouldn’t be happy about it.

All the more reason, Larry put in snidely.

You’re right. But if he could give the boy just a little of the community his own Peter enjoyed, it would be worth it. 

2023

“Hey Doc? You in there?”

The morning sun bathed the brick archway of Otto’s home in shades of umber and gold; the air was crisp, but Peter could tell that once the mist burned away, it would be scorching.

He hesitated, debating whether to knock again. He had his key, of course, but Otto had said last night he would leave the door open. But here it was, locked in Peter’s face, and Otto wasn’t usually forgetful.

Finally deciding to just slip inside, Peter relaxed immediately at the sight that greeted him. Otto had passed out at the kitchen table again, no matter how often Peter scolded him that it was terrible for his already bad back. It wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t heard the door; when Otto actually slept, it was like a rock.

The actuators had coiled up around him, taking the time to run internal diagnostics and repair themselves. Peter could hear the soft whirring of their mechanisms, an odd facsimile of snoring. Even Eliot was asleep, head and front paws buried in her food bowl. Otto had purchased a timed feeder for her so she would stop waking him so early, and it had apparently worked a little too well this time. But as Peter entered, she looked up with drowsy green eyes and immediately ran to the couch to relocate herself.

Peter glanced at the notes strewn around the table, wondering what Otto had been working on this time. It was more idle curiosity than intending to pry, but his focus immediately sharpened. He recognized diagrams of the device he had once seen kill a star. And around it, sequences of numbers that looked like string frequencies, equations for altering them…

Peter gently rubbed Otto’s scarred hands, trying not to startle him. “Doc. Burning the midnight oil again?”

Otto sighed as he stirred into wakefulness. “Hm. This is what I get for telling myself ‘ten more minutes.’”

“Here, I’ll start breakfast. You wake up.”

He winced slightly in amused sympathy as he heard Otto’s joints crack from across the room. The poor guy would probably be feeling that for the rest of the day.

“Don’t get old, Peter,” he grumbled.

“Kinda too late. I’m not exactly a spring chicken myself anymore.” The air filled with the sizzle of frying eggs. “What were you working on, anyway?”

Eliot had decided the couch wasn’t good enough and jumped into Otto’s lap; he stroked her fur, and she purred loudly. “Oh, just a personal project.”

“…You want to go back.” There was no need to specify where.

“Well, yes, I do,” Otto confessed. “I owe that boy. But - it’s still a while before completion.”

“I could help,” Peter offered.

“No, you’re busy enough.” Peter blinked, a little stung by the blunt dismissal, but he guessed Otto had his reasons for being reticent.

“I mean…wow. Crossing dimensional barriers. That’s huge. Not to mention impossible within the laws of physics. But,” he continued, amused at Otto’s nonplussed face, “if anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”

“…Thank you, dear boy.”

“In this universe, at least,” Peter continued casually, unable to resist the urge to tease him a little. “Didn’t Max beat you to it?”

Otto snorted crossly. “That was a fluke.”

Seeing him now, still half-asleep and graying hair rumpled, Peter was struck by a sudden rush of affection for his friend. He was so blessed to have Otto in his life, and he hoped his other selves enjoyed the same closeness. 

“…Do you think we’re friends in every universe?” It was a poetic, sentimental notion, but one he couldn’t imagine not being true.

“…I don’t know.” There was a quiet self-loathing in the reply that Peter thought Otto had left behind.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” he amended. “This one’s good enough. And when you do reach the kid,” he grinned, “I wanna meet him.”

Chapter Text

Otto woke up the morning of November 17th with a horrible pain in his lower back. He’d actually made it to his room the night before, so it wasn’t from falling asleep at the table. He must have just moved weirdly during the night. Not that it took much to aggravate his scarred wreck of a body.

His old injuries ached almost constantly, and silver hair was starting to outnumber the dark on his head. The actuators, kept ageless and in perfect working order by his constant careful maintenance, teasingly hissed at him when he groaned about his joints. As if their mechanisms wouldn't have degraded long ago without him.

Gray light streaked across the floor from the window, signifying another cold, overcast day. Eliot raised her head drowsily from where she’d curled up next to him; when he didn’t move, she arched her back in a stretch and flopped back down again.

Moe read his messages for him; it was mostly updates from journals he subscribed to, but there was one from Norman.

This is it.

He certainly didn’t need the reminder; they’d been tracking this date almost since the start of the year.

For an event he’d been expecting for over twenty years, now that the time had come, there wasn’t much to really do but wait. He and Norman had both come through at the site of their deaths, but that presumably didn’t apply to Peter. It might be the Statue, it might be wherever he’d been when the spell took him, or somewhere else entirely. There was nothing else for it but patience.

He forced himself to get up, feeling the familiar grind of metal against his vertebrae. Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was stifled anticipation, but a strange lethargy gripped him. He could have gone to Norman’s, but he didn’t much feel like seeing anyone today. He couldn’t even garner much motivation to work. In the end, all he could really bring himself to do was visit Rosie’s grave.

Peter would sometimes come with him on Rosie’s birthday, and use the time to visit his uncle’s grave, but he realized that after today Peter might not remember the date.

The cemetery had plenty of visitors on Sundays, even with the disagreeable weather. Far from being washed out in the omnipresent gray, the white of the familiar smooth stone seemed to glow.

Sometimes, in the fuzzy state between sleeping and waking, he thought he could still feel her next to him. He wondered what she would have looked like at this age, gray-haired and lined, if they’d been able to grow old together. He knew she would have been beautiful.

It was too cold to stay out for long, but he could at least read Burnt Norton, her favorite of the Quartets.

Time past and time present are both perhaps present in time future, and time future contained in time past.

(“It’s the theory of relativity,” she’d tried to explain to him one day. “You said time is relative, right? Faster or slower depending on the curvature of space.”

“You think that’s what he’s saying?”

“Mm-hm. He just uses words instead of numbers.”)

Maybe the man had known what he was talking about after all.

Rosie would have loved to discuss the possibility of parallel universes; Otto could just hear her going on excitedly about the works of Margaret Cavendish, and decided to read Blazing World again soon.

The brisk walk through the city had reinvigorated him, enough that he could actually get some work done by the afternoon. He had official projects, technically, but his mind was wholly on the transporter.

The portal in the lab at Oscorp was gone; it had been downsized to a small computer that received an inputted string frequency, and the arc reactor powered a contained field that then adjusted the subatomics within. It was all but completed; the only remaining hurdle was the testing of the safeguards, and he wasn’t allowing the smallest margin for error this time. There were far too many precious lives at stake if something were to go wrong.

A light rain came in the early evening, producing a constant soothing hum in the background. Moe had his head in the window, watching the drizzle. Larry and Eliot were fixated on some insect in the corner.

It wasn’t until Flo gently bumped his shoulder several hours later that he realized the rain had stopped, and night had fallen.

Eat something.

Five more minutes.

Eliot jumped up on the table and planted herself on top of his papers, putting an end to that argument.

Otto sighed. “Everyone in this house is united against me.”

He was saved from any further promptings by the sharp ring of the phone – it was unusual to get a call from Mary Jane, especially at this hour, but he could guess what it was about.

“Otto, no one knows where Peter is, I can’t find him anywhere –“

“What happened?”

“He’s just gone! He left this morning, but he should have been back hours ago, and he’s not answering me.” She couldn’t hide the fear in her voice that the poor woman lived with every day. “You don’t think that…”

Thank God he could offer her some comfort.

“Mary Jane, listen to me,” he said soothingly. “I promise you Peter will be fine. I’m on my way over, and I’ll tell you exactly where he is and what happened.”

“No, I’ll come to you,” she offered quickly, concern for him allowing her to recover her composure. “You shouldn’t go out in the cold. You know the doctor was worried you might get pneumonia when you had that bad cough a few weeks ago.”

“Alright then,” Otto replied, more amused than annoyed by her fussing. It was just an expression of her caring, but all the same, he decided he’d better not mention he’d already been out most of the morning.

She took it pretty well, all things considered.

He didn’t mention anything he’d learned about the original timeline – that would be up to Peter to disclose to her if he wished – and she didn’t ask. All she said at the end was, “so you’ve known that all this time?”

“Yes. We didn’t want to burden him.”

“When is he getting back?”

“I’m not sure. It was different for me. My guess is sometime tomorrow morning.”

“…He’s going to be different, isn’t he.”

“In some ways,” Otto confessed. The boy was certainly in for a shock. He would have Harry back, and it was probable that Miles hadn’t gained powers before. But he’d said It’s good to see you, with the same warmth and unquestioning forgiveness Otto had come to know well. “But not so different he won’t still love you.”

“I know.” He remembered the insecure girl that had once come to him, doubting if she was worthy of Peter’s affection, and had a surge of pride for how far she’d come.

“May’s worried too. I should get back to her.” Before she left, she surprised him with a quick hug. “Thank you. For being such a good friend.”

***

He certainly hadn’t felt like sleeping after that meeting, so he retired to his room with a book, the words of Blazing World swimming before his tired eyes. He must have fallen asleep anyway, lulled by Eliot’s warm, purring body against his side, because the next thing he knew sunlight was streaming in.

The actuators, quivering slightly with their own excitement, faced him anticipatorily. There was a message from Mary Jane.

Found him a few hours ago. He’s ok. He wants to see you.

That had been ten minutes ago; Peter could be on his way here now.

There was something reassuring in carrying out a mechanical routine, brewing Peter’s coffee the way he liked it, cooking breakfast. For all he knew, Peter had already eaten, but Otto wanted something to offer even if it was declined.

He’d only just finished when there was a timid knock on the door.

It had been ages since Peter knocked that hesitantly.

He looked exactly the same as he had when he’d been here two days ago. He didn’t have to say anything; Otto could see it in his expression. He knew.

It’s good to see you, he’d said, twenty years in the past, a few hours ago, and he’d said it like they were old friends.

Otto had been astonished at the difference between the boy he remembered and the man with the kind, weary eyes before him. But this time, there was no difference; this time, he’d seen the change happen with his own eyes.

Otto smiled. “Welcome home, Peter. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

Chapter Text

“And…that should do it,” Otto said happily as he finished adjusting the device. As if on cue, the band started pulsing with a soft white glow.

“You’re amazing, Doc,” Peter said sincerely as he strapped the device to his wrist.

“Well, maybe sometimes,” Otto teased. He smiled, the light of the transporter reflecting off his dark glasses. “Tell the little one I said hello.”

“Tell him yourself,” Peter invited.

“Oh, I’m sure he’d much rather hear from you first,” his friend murmured, turning back to the calculations strewn haphazardly over his desk. “Now, you know what to do if something goes wrong?”

Otto’s tone was brisk, but the question came from a place of concern. It was kind of weird, Peter admitted, having someone worry about him like that. May worried, of course, but he usually left out half of what he got up to specifically so she wouldn’t.

He wanted to tell Otto that everything would be fine, that they’d tested it dozens of times, and that he knew the soundness of Otto’s work. But the words wouldn’t quite come, so he merely nodded.

“Hardwired reset to bring me back here. I’ve got it.”

“You’d better leave your phone here. It might not make the trip so well.”

“Oh, right.”

He checked the device briefly before placing it on Otto’s desk. He’d kissed her goodbye this morning, but there was still a message from MJ.

Good luck! <3

MJ. Who now no longer shared the memory of their best friend dying between them. They’d had their fifteenth anniversary a few weeks ago, and he knew they were remembering their lives together differently.

She’d disappeared shortly after that, briefly sucked into the little Peter’s universe. Otto had explained the phenomenon to them all back in December, when Peter 3 had appeared out of nowhere on Norman’s balcony – thanks to Strange’s spell, they were all still resonating with the frequencies of the other realities, and Otto’s experiments probably weren’t helping. It was a natural and temporary occurrence.

Thank God MJ had known what was happening, but the news she’d brought back was worrying. She’d encountered the little Peter’s girlfriend, who apparently no longer recognized him. There was something else going on, and Peter realized he didn’t know exactly what the wizard had sacrificed to send them all back home. Or who, more likely. He was more anxious than ever to get back to the kid, and Otto had been working on just that for twenty years. It was hard to believe he’d kept everything secret for that long.

Peter had been in this new timeline for over six months, and his memories were still slow to return. If that was the right word. Everything was different.

Miles, one of his best and brightest students, struck by tragedy his sophomore year of high school, was Spiderman. He’d known the kid went on to have a successful career as a professor. They even communicated infrequently. But now there were other memories, of lounging on a rooftop as he helped Miles with physics, teaching him to swing, trusting each other with their lives. He remembered a small canvas painting Miles had given him for his wedding, but now there were more, placed lovingly throughout the apartment.

Harry was alive; gray at the temples, with laughter lines, older and so much happier than the kid that had died in Peter’s arms. He thought Harry might actually be kind of sick of him, Peter wanted to see him so much, soaking up his presence. He’d missed that confident smile and snorting laugh, but the memories were not quite as distant as they’d once been. He could tell, somehow, that they’d spent their lives together – that stupid dance off at the wedding, movie marathons, and other, harder times that they’d pulled each other through.

And he was married. Peter vaguely remembered Louise Wood, whom he’d seen occasionally as a friend of MJ’s. Now she was practically his sister-in-law, and he saw her weekly.

He talked with MJ every night as they caught each other up, and he knew he was lucky she was so patient with him. But then, they’d learned to be patient with each other, to be honest and understanding. That was one thing that hadn’t changed. His beautiful wife. Fifteen years of marriage, and she still amazed him as much as she had when he was a shy twenty-year-old. 

Norman Osborn was alive, and that was strange, remembering him from over twenty years ago and from a few months ago. They hadn’t really talked about it. There was no need. He wasn’t the Peter that Norman needed to apologize to. But Osborn had looked at him shortly after Peter’s return, when he’d still been limping, and quietly murmured Thank you.

The expression of gratitude was kind, kinder than Peter remembered Norman being. Harry’s stories in high school, deeply embedded in hurt and resentment, hadn’t been flattering. It was nice, seeing them so close now. They’d both deserved the chance to properly make up, Harry deserved the chance to make himself something more than his father’s ghost. But Norman didn’t have to thank him. Peter would do it again in a heartbeat.

They didn’t talk much, and Norman didn’t seem to mind. Peter wondered if they’d been close in this new timeline.

But he looked at Dr. Octavius, someone who spoke to him with all the fondness of a long friendship, and knew he was missing something.

“I think I’m all set,” Peter said as he put his phone down. He stepped away and moved to activate the device, then glanced hesitantly at Otto one more time.

Peter hadn’t missed him in the original timeline. Not exactly. They’d barely known each other. But that hadn't lessened the grief. They’d dredged the river and never found anything to bury. He remembered the crushing sorrow, because it had all been such a waste, Otto’s life…

(“I was sent back to the reactor,” Otto had explained that first morning. He’d made Peter’s favorite breakfast. Peter had found the key to Otto’s home in his pocket. He hadn’t entirely processed, then, what that meant. “In my right mind. I destroyed the machine. I almost didn’t make it, but…you saved me.”

Norman looked the same as he had twenty years ago, quietly explaining in an unreadable voice that he thought the serum might have delayed his aging. But Otto, when Peter had first seen him, was older. Even the actuators had seemed different; they were more coordinated and articulate under Otto’s control, and they watched Peter with calm white eyes. A fluffy tabby cat wove between his legs under the table, clearly recognizing him, and Peter reached down absently to scratch its ears. He couldn’t remember its name. Rosie? No, that would be weird, Otto wouldn’t name his pet after his dead wife. But Peter was sure they were connected somehow, and he was kind of embarrassed to ask.

“I know Marko said I died,” Otto had continued flatly. “In your timeline. Drowned with the reactor.”

That, Peter recalled vividly. “Yeah.”

“I’m guessing you destroyed it, and I was too stubborn to leave in time?”

“No!” Peter interrupted hastily. The idea that Otto had spent twenty years thinking he’d gone down like a rat with its ship was appalling. “No, Doc. You shook off the AI yourself. You…you sacrificed yourself to save the city.”

Otto seemed shocked. “…I don’t understand. They have some control, now, without the inhibitor, but back then…”

“It didn’t matter,” Peter said tightly, familiar pride and grief wrestling in him. “I mean. I might have knocked some sense back in to you. But in the end, it was all you.”)

Peter was still filling in the gaps. But Otto was patient with him; he didn’t push, and he let Peter ask questions. It eliminated some of the awkwardness, and Peter could already see how they would have grown close.

There was still the pain of Harry’s last smile, but now there was the memory of the Osborns bringing a machine that Otto had designed, with the symbiote the only fatality of that night.

His small wedding, only May and MJ’s mother in attendance, juxtaposed with a sunny hilltop filled with people they loved. A photo album in the most treasured place on his bookshelf. Warm arms that had held him up in the aftermath of grueling battles.

He didn’t remember everything yet. But he remembered a steady presence that had always been there for him for the past twenty years.

Otto seemed worried now, but he gave Peter a small, encouraging smile.

“Otto.”

“Hm?”

“…I’m really glad you’re here.”

Warm brown eyes creased in a fond smile, more real than before. And for the first time, Peter recognized it as familiar. “So am I.”