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As the boy disappeared to connive with Norman to perform his little science project, Otto found himself withdrawing into his own mind. It wouldn’t be quiet. Ever since the revelation on the bridge, since the wizard, he had known no peace. And now this Peter had proposed that he was going to cure his newly acquired houseguests, the cat was out of the bag, a constant litany of voices screaming at the top of their lungs. You can’t you can’t you can’t.
Otto knew, of course, that he couldn’t let it happen. They couldn’t let that happen. Just because the boy had a mind to fix all the wanderers he had found, didn’t mean they would go down gently. And yet… something was off. And not just the obvious – he was in an entirely different universe, apparently, with another Spider-Man, another Mary Jane (just MJ, she had assured them), another aunt May – but something else entirely. Somehow his head… it felt muddled. As he tried to remember exactly what had happened over the past few days – how he had worked on his machine, faced off with his Peter, and had subsequently been transported here – he found himself missing some of the puzzle pieces. And every time he tried to reach for what he was missing, his mind got loud. There was no way to arrange his thoughts, because his thoughts wouldn’t let him.
A tap on one of his actuators startled Otto out of his stupor.
May – this universe’s aunt May – was holding up a glass of water, by far not as uncomfortable as the situation called for, even though she seemed slightly unsure of herself. “Thirsty?” She gestured at the tap, the wall still cracked behind it due to the boy’s reckless behaviour.
Otto frowned. When was the last time he had had something to drink, something to eat? His expression became pained as his mind became loud again. He couldn’t remember. It might have been when––
Doesn’t matter doesn’t matter doesn’t matter you can’t you can’t you can’t get out get out GET OUT.
Desperately trying to shake off his own thoughts, he nodded lightly as he turned his stare towards the floor. His response had taken a long time, what must this woman think of him? “Why yes, I am thirsty.”
“Fresh water or salt?” she asked. “You know, because you’re an octopus?”
A small moment of disquiet. “…What?”
“Fresh water it is.” She turned her back to him and retrieved a glass of water, handing it to him with a gentle smile.
“Thank you,” Otto said, taking the glass from her. They wondered what her ploy was. She was probably trying to lull him into a sense of security, trying to convince him to let her nephew help him. It wouldn’t work. He was not so easily charmed. The only one who could ever charm him––
“What’s wrong?” May’s voice was soft, but stern.
Otto shook his head – GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT – and raised the glass to his mouth to drink. It was hard to do so, obstructed by one of his own actuators. Some of the water escaped and dribbled down the side of his mouth, and he wondered if this was why she had offered. If she enjoyed seeing him shred his last ounce of dignity. He squeezed his eyes shut in a feeble attempt to detract himself from the situation. Maybe if he ignored her long enough, she would leave him be.
“Dr Octavius?”
A hand touched his arm – one of the non-robotic ones – and he started so crudely that he lost his hold on the glass. Momentarily forgetting that he lost the use of his actuators, he moved to catch it, but it had already shattered to pieces on the stone floor of the kitchen. “I – I apologise. Please let me–”
May waved away his apology. “I’ll clean that up, don’t worry. I think you’d better sit down.”
“I’m fine,” he said, with more bite to his voice than he had intended.
“I never said you weren’t.” Her hand was on his arm again, and without quite forcing him she pushed him into one of the bar stools. She reached under the counter to grab the dustpan, and carefully schooled her expression into neutrality. “You looked like you were in pain.”
Otto watched May shuffle around and mop up the water, unsure how to answer her. “I don’t see why my well-being would be of any interest to you.”
May sent him a smile that was almost… sad? She grabbed another glass from one of the cupboards and filled it with water, placing it right next to him. “I don’t like seeing people in pain, especially when there’s something I can do to help. It’s what we do,” she gestured behind her, where some of her nephew’s excited noises could be heard, “we help people.”
Her smile seemed so genuine that Otto almost found himself returning it. He wished he could find the words to thank her. He searched in vain, as the noise got louder and louder.
DON’T DON’T DON’T GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT.
---
It was so quiet. The noise was gone completely. No more voices in his head. There had been a brief moment when all was well. He thanked the boy, nodded gratefully at his aunt. He’d shaken Norman’s hand, apologised for his careless words earlier. And then the moment had ended.
He remembered now. He remembered everything that his mind had hidden away from him. That they had hidden away from him. He found it hard not to look upon his actuators with a feeling of disgust tugging at his heart, but then again, he only had himself to blame. He was the one who had created them. He was the one how had instilled their single purpose: the machine, his life’s work. He was the one who had carelessly allowed his own hubris to turn him into a monster, something he had hypocritically accused Norman of. He was the one who stopped Peter when he had tried to turn off the electricity, he was the one––
Otto almost threw up when he remembered Rosie’s lifeless body, the blood on her neck as she has laid there, unmoving. How could he have forgotten? How could they have made him forget. A wave of grief that had been pushed down for far too long found its way to the surface, and Otto mumbled quiet excuses as he stormed to the bathroom, locking the door behind him and stumbling to the sink.
He ignored the insistent knocking behind him as he turned on the tap and splashed water in his face, heaving above the sink. He cursed his actuators when they helped him stay upright, his own body too weak to support his weight – he hadn’t eaten since the day of the experiment, he hadn’t had anything to drink apart from when absolutely necessary to keep from collapse. Hadn’t slept. He had been as good as a machine. The actuators whirred around him, and he tried to force them as far away from him as possible. His face was wet, and he couldn’t tell if there were tears or tap water streaking his cheeks. His hands curled into fists. Only the thought of May’s worried face and Peter’s kind eyes kept him from hitting the mirror. They didn’t deserve any further destruction, especially not in their home. He’d made far too many mistakes already, used far too much violence. That had to end now. He slumped against the wall, leaning his head against the cold tiles to regain focus.
“–Octavius? I understand if you want to be alone, but we need to know if you’re okay.” There was a moment of silence. He wondered if May would leave if he stayed quiet, but knew that hadn’t worked before. He didn’t see why it would work now. “Just please let me know if there’s anything you need, anything we can do.”
He didn’t give the actuator permission to move. Or perhaps his exhausted brain was just unwilling to admit it. The arm moved towards the door and gently unlocked it.
“Can I come in?”
Otto couldn’t find the strength to respond.
“If you don’t respond, I’m going to come in.” After a soft countdown, the door opened with a mild creak, and May’s face appeared in the opening. She sat down on the floor next to him, mindful of the actuators.
“I won’t hurt any of you,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I won’t – please… I didn’t mean to worry you. The cure was successful. Your boy is a miracle worker.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” May said.
She didn’t elaborate, and Otto tried to settle himself against the wall more comfortably. The actuators made it difficult, but not as impossible as he had expected. His extra arms seemed curious at May’s presence, but he was comfortable in their silence. It helped, strangely.
“It’s quite cold here,” she said eventually. “You should get some proper rest.”
Otto shook his head. She was right, of course. His limbs – both the real ones and the robotic ones – felt heavy, but he didn’t deserve sleep. He didn’t deserve her kind glances. He didn’t deserve any of it. He was a monster, and he had no way to make it right. “I appreciate your concern, truly. But you cannot help me. Not with this, not with––” He blinked away the tears that threatened to escape.
“Sometimes it helps to talk,” she offered.
“I can’t.”
“Okay.” May lightly placed her warm hand on his arm, and he almost burst into tears again at the contact. “If you change your mind, I’m here. Know that.”
Otto grimaced. “I don’t deserve your kindness. If you knew what I had done–”
“Everyone deserves kindness,” she said resolutely. “Come on, let’s get out of here and get you something to eat.”
“I–”
“It would make me feel better,” May said, in a thinly veiled attempt at manipulation. “Please.”
As she tugged at his arm, insistent but without any real force behind it, he was reminded of his wife, his Rosie. Her kindness, her force. And for a small moment, the pain dissipated.
---
He knew he had to return as soon as he was thrown out of the building, barely finding his footing against the glass. His body was still aching, but he could not leave the boy – Peter, had to remind himself, even if this Peter wasn’t his – to his fate, much less his kind aunt. Otto had watched in horror as the Goblin had taken over. It wasn’t that Norman was ever a particularly kind person, but the change in personality was unsettling. Perhaps even more startling was that even though he’d known Norman quite well, once, he hadn’t noticed the shift. None of them had, not until it was too late. He should have seen the signs – he never should have said that, his comment about the darker half. He hoped his words hadn’t been the ones to draw the Goblin out, but he appeased himself. He knew he held no blame for this – the Goblin would have objected, no matter what.
Otto circled the building, following the noises of breaking concrete. Marko, Electro and the Lizard were nowhere to be found, and he didn’t think he could count on them for help either way. He couldn’t quite spot the Goblin either, until he saw the glider ripping through the building. He was thrown back slightly by the blast of one of the Goblin’s bombs and watched the Goblin leave.
For a moment he readied himself to go after him, to see if he could retrieve his old friend from his own mind, but he reminded himself that it would be futile. He’d be as likely to get killed, and Peter and May needed his attention right now. He was climbing down towards the area that had been blasted, when he heard a gut-wrenching scream.
“Somebody … ambulance … please!”
It was Peter’s voice, and as Otto drew closer, he could see the boy, holding onto his aunt. She wasn’t moving.
She wasn’t moving. The power surged through his body as his sun grew brighter and brighter, almost collapsing the building in on itself. He needed to stop. It needed to stop. Rosie––
It was like it was his wife there, in Peter’s arms, blood seeping from her neck. He had to help the boy. He had to move.
Then the police started shooting, and Otto’s opportunity ended. He knew he had to go after the boy. He knew that was the right thing to do. Instead, Otto found himself rooted to the glass panes of the building, unable to process the death of yet another woman who did not deserve to die. He couldn’t face Peter just yet. He had his friends, and – no, that was no excuse. If he was ever going to be able to face himself in the mirror again, he needed to be honest. He needed time. How could he console a grieving teenager if he didn’t know how to deal with grief himself? He needed rest, and he needed time. Otto shot one last look at the building that was now being stormed by special operations before disappearing into the night. He hoped she could forgive him.