Chapter Text
Pre-Disclaimer: First off… Sorry. I’m very sorry. I’m so sorry… and I’m penning this through tears. The person who hurt the most over me leaving was me. I thought that making a complete and clean break from writing fanfiction would benefit my mental and physical health.
But…
Any temporary benefits were overridden by the thought: “Oh no, what have you done?!” I started feeling listless and just sad. I’ve made many foolish mistakes in my life, but this seems to be the biggest one ever.
What kept me away for so long was that I had removed the stories. And by removed, I mean wiped… nuked out of existence.
Yet… Someone on Reddit was looking for NtC… I followed the same link and there were all 25 chapters in their proud glory.
The story is 1,037 pages long—at current—and I started reading… then I started crying.
I cry a lot.
Unfortunately… because of how thoroughly I got rid of NtC… I even tossed the notebook and deleted all my backups… Parts—several important ones—will rely on my tiny mind to remember. And since my first stroke, it’s amazing at times if I remember what I had for breakfast.
For one, I had a full birth scene that I will now need to completely re-write. And sorry for ruining the surprise if there is any.
Sorry for this note being so long, but I don’t like the whole taking up valuable chapter space for an “Author’s Note” chapter. That somehow seems mean to me.
Formatting will be odd until newer chapters.
~Date: January 24, 2025
After Pre-Disclaimer Note: The chapters are being rebuilt from the ground up, which means the formatting issues should be over and done with soon! Please continue to be patient. The chapters are huge.
Thank you!
~Date: March 4, 2025
The original chapters will all be up again soon, and I’ll start plowing away and attempting to remember what I was going to write. I was able to recover several other fictions, but not all of them. C&R was only backed up to part 1 and part 2. OA is staying in the ground where it belongs. TST will be up again soon. And Perspectives.
When I worried over my uploads, the only ones I worried over were NtC and TST.
I’m glad Fanfiction(.)net never deleted my account. At least people know it’s really me and not a copy/cat.
Before I forget: THANK YOU RANDOM REDDITTER. YOU ARE WHY I AM BACK!
& FicHub.
And I plan on having the wildest redemption story arc ever. At least in my tiny recollection.
Now… I also have a brand-new account on Ao3, so I can be found there as well!
Without further ado…
Disclaimer: I love Marvel. I don't own any part of anything though, so this is just my take on everything. I hope you enjoy!
Warning: Brief violence near the end.
Trigger: None.
Navigating the Curve
By Juliette Lyst
When Life Gives You Lemons…
Each day was melding into the next. They seemed to never truly end. Time was stretching on forever. How long had he been seated in the same spot, staring at the barred window and trying to figure a way out of the situation he was in? The sunlight outside the bars seemed to mock him, the songs of birds welcoming the day had begun to fray his nerves. When had he become like this? When had things changed so much?
Sunsets were even harder… the bright bloom of colors bringing with them promises that he would still be suffering the next day.
Instead… he found that he preferred the night. He'd rise off his bunk as the sun slowly slipped from the skies, growing shadows stretching across his cell like a cloak, drowning out all the light. The previous day, he had requested shades. He wanted something - anything in truth - to block out the light. He felt that inside he was becoming the same… the gloomy abyss of his soul seemed endless.
His moods grew darker as time continued its steady march.
The wall above his bunk had a series of scratches. Looking at his right hand — the fingers stained with fresh and drying blood, he walked over to the wall. He made another long scratch on the wall, a slight hiss slipping between his lips… from the pain as he tore open an old wound. With his own blood he was trying to keep account of the time.
His left hand lightly gripped the inhibiting collar around his neck, his teeth grinding together. It was wrong for him to be restrained like this. Hearing static from above, he lifted his head to look at the lone speaker up there. "Don't worry. I'm not tinkering with your little toys!" He called at them. He knew they were there watching every little thing he did… And he knew without acknowledgement that his request for shades had been denied.
Those who held him prisoner knew the agony that each sunrise brought him. They want me to feel pain. Instead of them simply accepting his request for what it was, it was scrutinized. Every little move he made was studied, ever action resulted in dreadful counteractions. What he had received in return for a want of solace was even more bothersome security. More eyes on him. "I am a mere man, after all. What can I do?" his question was quiet, rhetorical.
He knew very well what he was capable of. Did they?
Sitting down on his bunk again, he waited. While he stagnated there, he had learned to count - everything. The seconds, down to the millisecond when his meals would arrive. If anything, the movements of the staff were predictable… They made a point of being punctual. That would be their downfall. His bare right foot tapped on the filthy stone floor. To the casual observer, he was merely displaying characteristic behavior of someone impatient - or someone about to break.
Hunching his shoulders, a tenuous smile crossed his lips. As expected, he heard a scraping noise through the tiny slot under his door. Twisting his torso, he saw a plate shoved though the slot… grimacing as some of the food on the plate shifted from touching the top of the slot, slowly dripping back into place… and dragging whatever grime lingered on the door with it.
Some had even begun to ooze from the plate onto the floor. Swallowing hard from a sudden surge of revulsion, he again raised his eyes to the speaker and took off the thick spectacles he wore. His brown eyes narrowed, the left one twitching just a little. Remaining quiet as he continued to stare at the speaker… eventually, he heard a crackling noise.
"Food is going to get cold. If you don't eat now, no breakfast."
He understood quite clearly what that meant. The plate would sit and grow stagnant. Even if it had maggots, they wouldn't care - he knew. Instead of responding verbally, he put his glasses back on.
Finally, he rounded his bunk and went to retrieve his dinner. When he did utter a sound, it was a sigh of disappointment. The same slop as the previous night and before. A flavorless chicken leg sat in a sea of bland mashed potatoes and overcooked peas.
Balancing the plate on his legs, he proceeded to eat with his left hand. He was deemed a threat so was not granted cutlery to eat with. His plate wasn't even usable as a weapon. From experience, he knew that the longer he took to eat, the higher the risk that the paper plate would buckle from the extra fluid and spill his food completely onto the floor.
That had happened his first night there. Instead of them replacing the meal, he'd been left to eat it off the floor. For a few days after that- he had to battle against flies and ants that were drawn to the smells and fluids from his food. He had to pile the remains of the plate together and push it through the slot.
Even though he still did not know who came, it helped that he was learning when… All around the cell, he was surrounded by stone and concrete. The only light he saw was from the barred window of his cell and the slot he had to rely on for food or other supplies.
When he was done eating, the bone from the chicken was balanced on the plate and shoved through the slot. Dipping his head as he heard the bones impact wetly against opposite wall, he hid a smile. Returning to his bunk, he laid down, placing his glasses in a safe place on the floor away from where he slept. Soundlessly… he listened and counted the footsteps of the guard who came to retrieve the plate. Twenty… He thought to himself, nodding a little. Gradually, he had begun to study the number of steps needed to cross the room just out of his visual range.
Two Days Later
"Those infernal birds." He grumbled, completing another set of pushups in what space he had in his cell. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the small pile of bones underneath his bunk. Sweat dripped onto the floor under him as he continued to exercise. If there was one benefit from the last three months, he had begun to put everything into focus. Being the best right now was not most important.
Earning his freedom was paramount.
His formerly weak body was growing stronger by the day too. The excess weight he had carried for years had dropped off initially from the restrictive meals. In time, he'd begun to notice that he was building muscle too as a consequence of the exercise. What else would a man have to entertain himself for hours in solitude?
Not that he would have to lift a finger to get out of there. A grim smile crossed his lips as he continued his pushups. Gradually, he had been collecting parts from the chicken bones, tying them together with sinew from the meat and storing it. He was fashioning himself a little tool. He'd been able to feel around and study the collar around his neck without the use of a mirror, and found there was a way out.
It wasn't that the designers had failed to make an impregnable tool to suppress him. They just never factored into their plans that he would figure a way around their trap. The miscalculation would prove to be their undoing. The desire to see that day gave him motivation to keep going.
Once he felt the muscles in his arms quivering, he stopped and painfully rose to his feet. Wet brown hair stuck to his glasses. Flicking the locks back, he removed his glasses and moved to the shower. The final indignity he'd had to suffer was an open bathroom. He had a toilet, shower and very few bathing supplies. A faint bit of static was audible from the speaker overhead. There were four cameras trained on him in the cell at all times.
The knowledge that he was being observed when taking care of his basic hygiene… had stirred the first bits of emotion that he'd felt since waking after a month-long coma to find out how thoroughly he was defeated in battle. Patience… patience… He knew that soon the silence in his head would be gone. As he used the soap and water available to scrub himself clean, he could allow himself to temporarily imagine what it would like to be outside again… to feel the wind in his hair.
"Laundry day! Have your sheets ready in the next hour!" Came unbidden over the speaker.
Goosebumps rose on his skin and choking down his resentment, he called back to them.
"Yes. They will be ready!" And soon, so will I. He thought furiously.
Several Hours Later - Same Day
Tinkering had been a habit from early on. When he was small, he remembered always running to his mother with some new contraption that he'd created. He was fascinated with moving parts and in his early days worked with bits of wood and scrap metal. His first "trinkets" were powered by small switches or cranks in the back.
Eventually, he progressed to creating working springs… first from wood. Later on, he started 'saving' metal springs from broken clothespins and repurposed them. His mother was charmed, showering praise on him for his accomplishments. It didn't matter how small and useless the item was, she never had a bad word to say. This was why they were so close when he was a boy.
His father was different… a self-described "man's man" and didn't appreciate his son wasting so much time on what he called "poorly fused bits of woodcarvings and bent metals." He didn't like the physical activities that his father saw as a rite of passage, preferring to stay indoors. As a child, he'd been diagnosed with nearsightedness, a condition that would follow him through life and cause pain.
At school and home, he was stuck wearing large square rimmed glasses with very thick lenses. Bullies became part of his daily reality. He often was tripped in class due to intentionally misplaced feet. He had to deal with papers being shoved off his desk and even having his homework stolen.
Fear kept him from speaking up against those who did him so wrong. Was it terrifying? Yes. After going home though, he was relatively safe. Until one day he wasn't able to catch his balance quickly enough. Smacking face first into the hard linoleum floor, the lenses of his glasses were broken… the frames bent. He ended up going to the principal's office along with the student who tripped him.
The principal decided only to suspend the bully for three days. When confronted about how he handled the bully in the past, he'd confessed that there was more than one. His father wanted him to fight them back, but he refused. His mother had told him that what made him so strong and special was his ability to avoid violence. Violence, she had explained, never solved problems. If anything, being violent only made matters worse. His father took offense to that and argued with his wife that their son needed to stand up for himself and fight off the bullies.
He refused. Their relationship deteriorated further. His father was always angry. He started to lose his temper in fits of rage. Slaps swiftly turned into shoves and then punches. One day… the first to unfortunately be of many, his father lost his temper and beat him until he could barely get out of bed. His mother had been left to care for him. He had missed two weeks of school, which hurt him more than the healing bruises and cracked ribs he had sustained. He loved school, loved learning. He had foolishly assumed that earning top grades in school would impress his father.
What was more important? The temporary clout of scoring a goal on the field or advancing science?
When his father died years later in an accident at work, he wasn't that hurt at all. In truth, he had grown to hate the man. Instead of focusing on his losses, he had focused on his success. Graduating at the top of his class at M.I.T, he'd had a bright future ahead.
How swiftly things can change.
Midnight
"Hello twilight, my aged colleague… What a disaster to reunite anew." he hummed softly to himself, curled up in bed. Quite by mistake, he'd found out that they failed to use thermal cameras at night. As he hummed, curled up in bed, his right hand went to work on the collar. There was a precise sequence needed. Two tools were in fact needed.
While shielding his right hand, his left hand slowly moved to press into the correct notches that were needed to disconnect him from the collar. The entire time, his moves were deliberately slow… as he was simulating being half asleep. As he worked furiously, sweat began to bead on his forehead.
An eternity passed it seemed, then the satisfying soft click was heard as the collar popped open. He only had a moment to savor it beforea very familiar sibilant sound filled his head. He could hear them. If only I could focus…
Smiling fully then, he rolled onto his back and folded his arms behind his head. The speaker on the wall suddenly came to life for a moment. The speaker was interrupted before he even began. Only screams were audible.
The stillness that followed was almost peaceful. He could feel them coming down to him. Sitting up after a moment and leaving the collar on his bed, he stretched a little. Reaching down to pick up his glasses, he pushed the bridge over his nose and walked to the barred window of his cell. From some level above, he heard metal creaking and then sound of something… heavy… moving around.
Instead of disappearing, the grin on his face widened. Soon. He just had to be patient. While he had been able to figure out a few details about where he was physically, it would take some time before he learned just where 'here' was.
A slight tapping sound caught his attention then, the gaze over his left shoulder nonchalant as the door to his cell was cracked open far enough for him to peer into the hallway. "Took you long enough." He quipped, turning his attention back to the window. Tomorrow was going to be pleasant. No more birds! At least he hoped not to hear the same ones.
In short order, he heard those same 'footsteps' and turned to see his extra 'arms' reaching for him. Now secured back into his harness and still grinning, he turned to the bars and completed his escape.
The next day all the newspapers read the same thing: "DOCTOR OTTO GUNTHER OCTAVIUS ESCAPES FROM PRISON!"
Hours Later…
Unfortunately, the only person who might be capable of stopping Octavius was busy. Very busy. It had been a long day for the young man. Ever since four AM that morning, he had been running. A quick patrol had been interrupted by a phone call. He wasn't sure what had gotten into Jameson, but the man had been sending him onto pointless task after pointless task of late.
There was an issue with an ink order and of course only he was able to get it under control with the shipping company. It didn't matter that the man who owned the Bugle was in charge of the supply lines. Oh no, send an underling to do the dirty work.
Then there was the little issue that had led to that early morning patrol. There were rumblings of the possibility that one of the Sinister Six was in the area again.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
It was very possible that the stress was making him paranoid. During some of his recent patrols, he was finding letters scattered in seemingly random locations. The only indicators that they were for him were Rorschach blots in the shape of spiders on the envelopes.
Once opened, the letters themselves… were empty sheets of paper. Did the Six even work like this? Or worse… was this an indicator of someone else out there?
There was a new art exhibit coming up soon that he was supposed to cover, then a red-carpet event. He'd also been dealing with issues with his fiancée too. The longer hours were putting pressure on his relationship.
Twice already, he had to cancel a dinner date and movie… in less than two weeks. What is driving that man? Peddling on his bicycle as fast as he could safely, he was running one of the many menial errands that Jameson sent him on.
Yesterday, it had been coffee.
Today, it was breakfast bagels.
Weren't there assistants that were supposed to do that?
Arriving at the bakery in record time, he took a moment to secure his bicycle and trailer before stepping through the doors. Once inside, he took a moment and inhaled deeply. Nothing at all like the smell of baked goods in the morning to perk one up. Pulling a slip of paper from his pocket along with his phone, he placed the order for the office. Then, he ordered a raspberry filled donut for himself. While he waited, he checked his watch.
Seven in the morning, and he was picking up an order of bagels. Right before he was about to pay for the order, his phone buzzed. Hesitantly, he looked at the message he had received.
'Don't forget the coffee!' Was there, along with descriptions of what sorts of coffee were needed. Frowning grimly, he looked to the employee behind the counter and asked if they also carried coffee. This was just wonderful. He felt like a pretentious twit asking if a bakery carried coffees with the options of 'half-caf, double foam with two pumps of hazelnut'.
The Bugle - 9:17am
Holding the bag with boxed bagels in one hand and coffees balanced on a cardboard beverage holder in the other hand, the young man finally made it to the office… only to be met by Jameson himself.
"Parker! Took you long enough! I hope you got the orders right today. Get in the boardroom. We have a meeting this morning."
Without preamble, the young man set the coffees down in the middle of the board room table along with the box of bagels. Before he left the room, JJ called him again.
"I'd like to introduce you to our newest addition."
Turning to look then, his brows lifted to see a young strawberry blonde sitting across from Jameson.
"This is Ashley Gardiner, and she's a fantastic photographer. Better than you, Parker!"
Blinking, Peter just waved to her.
"Hello Peter. I've heard a lot about you."
"Sure! All false if they say how great he is at getting shots. Miss Gardiner here captured the images for today's issue of the Bugle." With that, Jameson rolled up and tossed one of the papers to Peter.
The young man easily snagged it out of the air.
"Take an example from her. Maybe you can learn to take better pictures," the comment was unnecessary and snide.
Anything that Peter was going to say was halted when he read the bold print at the top and saw the rubble of the prison estate. His mouth hung open. How had Doc Ock managed to escape this time? He prayed they had paid attention from the last time the man escaped, but apparently not.
"It was just a fortunate shot, sir." Ashley protested.
Jameson waved off her words though, as if he was batting at flies.
"Parker, you're getting lazy and comfortable. Find me something good like this, or the next shots you take will be of bridal parties!"
Opting to say nothing, Peter turned around and exited the board room. He didn't have time for this! He had to find Ock!
"Don't forget the zoo exhibit today!" Jameson added, a faint upward turn to his lips.
Turning to the boardroom again, Peter noticed that JJ had opened the door far enough to yell out Peter's orders for the day and let the door shut.
Parker, you're lazy… Peter mentally repeated—then shook his head, struggling not to roll his eyes. As he headed to his desk to begin his day, he reached into his desk for his camera… but it wasn't there. He'd made the mistake of leaving it there the afternoon before. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pinched the bridge of his nose. It made sense that the one day he made a mistake, his camera would go missing. He was going to need time to find a new one, which could delay the job. Returning to the boardroom, he knocked lightly on the door and stepped in.
"Sir, I'm not sure how it happened…" He began. "But my camera—"
"Parker, get a new camera." Peter was about to respond to that when he noticed the very camera he was speaking of on the table in front of Miss Gardiner. "It's simple. Why can't you understand that?"
"Sir, that's my-"
"Do you like the new camera Mr. Jameson gave me? It's how I was able to get such good photos for today's cover page!"
Peter's hazel eyes rounded in shock.
Jameson tossed his head back and laughed.
The older man had actually taken his camera and given it to someone else.
"Of course, he loves it! Parker… go get a new camera for the job. I expect all of the work done just as professionally as Miss Gardiner here." J Jameson waved for Peter to leave. "Don't give me any lazy disposable camera stuff either. I'll notice!"
So, it seemed… a trip to the store was going to be needed before the work was even done. Lifting his chin before he left the office, Peter quickly walked past his desk and headed down the stairs. Once outside, Peter hopped back on his bicycle and began peddling home. He was going to have to travel a lot further to get a decent camera on such short notice.
That was even if he could find one. Never mind the fact the camera itself cost over a thousand dollars. And his bank account was looking a bit lean right now.
While heading home, Peter had plenty of time to think. Was it really worth it… to stay at the Daily Bugle? What did he get out of working for Jameson aside from an increasing sense of worthlessness? There was also the knowledge that Doc Ock was out and could be anywhere… along with the strange inkblot letters he was finding all over the city.
"What next?" He asked the open air after getting home. Dragging the bike in with him, he called out, "MJ, I'm home!" He knew that on Fridays, she was off work and could usually be found winding down in the spare bedroom that they'd converted into a yoga studio.
Instead of her usual greeting, he was met with silence. "MJ? Are you here?" Locking the front door, he stepped further into the house. Searching the rooms one by one, he finally stopped in the studio and saw a note sitting in the middle of the floor. Pinching himself to ensure he wasn't seeing things; he took a seat on the floor and began reading. It read:
Hey Tiger,
I hate writing this. I feel like I'm making a mistake. You never give up, so I shouldn't either, right? But I'm not like you. We need space… I need space. Our relationship needs some space too. I'm so sorry, Tiger, but this has been some time coming.
I'll be staying with a friend while I try to figure out what kind of relationship we have. Can I call it that? What are the words to use when your boyfriend is never there? I need more than that, Peter. This isn't fair to either one of us.
I understood that we would have time apart because of our schedules, but I never expected this.
I live with you, but I've barely seen you for months. You're either at work, out running errands or dealing with your night job…
I hope you understand, Peter. I love you. I'll be mailing back your key and the ring soon.
Mary Jane
Unable to understand what he was reading at first, Peter read the letter again. Then, for a third time, his eyes roved over the page. Slowly, he was beginning to grasp what the sudden silence meant… why his home felt so empty. MJ had left him and wasn't coming back. In the letter, she told him that she would be returning his ring and keys. I suppose the wedding is off… He thought numbly. MJ was leaving him — no. MJ had left him.
With no warning.
He was so confused and dazed. He had work to do and now this. How was he supposed to do anything? Scrambling to pull his phone out of his pocket, he unlocked it and quickly dialed MJ's number.
"The number you've dialed is not in service. Please check the number and dial again."
Staring at his phone for a moment, he swallowed… hard. His jaw began to quiver, and he let the phone slip from his fingers and land on the yoga mat. Going back to their bedroom - his bedroom - he went into the closet and pulled out his spider suit. All of that struggle to make a living, who had it benefitted really?
Not him, that's for sure. As he donned his costume, he mulled over the Photoshoot and his failed relationship. Going to his wallet, he checked and grimaced before putting on his mask.
Disposable camera it was. Jameson wanted pictures from the zoo's exhibit and he'd get them. With a little help from a friend.
… Elsewhere…
Was this a good idea? Peeking up from the depths of the sewer from
under a manhole cover, Otto carefully considered his options. He
had to get to his lab… or whatever remained of it. To do that, he
needed to travel undetected. That pest, Spider-Man will be by at any
moment. Pushing the manhole lid aside, Otto nimbly slipped from the
sewers and made his way as quietly as possible to a nearby clothing
store.
It was a simple smash and grab, right? That turned out to be exactly what happened. After smashing the glass of the front window, Otto grabbed what clothing he could before hurrying back to the security of the sewers. The lid was still spinning in place as he scrambled down the ladder and into the tunnel under the city streets. Yes… any moment now.
What he expected never came though. How was he supposed to know that Spider-Man had a bothersome alter-ego that needed to do other tasks during the day and at night? These weren't things that troubled the mind of Otto. What was important was that now he had escaped from prison, he had a second goal.
He needed to return to his lab. If he could at least get close enough, the machinery he'd left hidden might help him. Ducking through a tunnel to the right, he peered around the corner seemingly every turn. This pattern was to last the remainder of the night.
Daily Bugle - The Next Morning
Saturday
Showing up the next day at the Daily Bugle, Peter walked to Jameson's office with the photographs in a large manilla envelope. It was exactly what his boss wanted, along with plenty of photographs of Spider-Man visiting with the animals in the exhibit.
To date, no one was sure how Peter Parker was always able to be right where he needed to in order to get these photographs. The pictures he took with the replacement camera looked just as professional as anything else he'd done. Judging by the dark circles around Peter's eyes, he had been up late developing the film himself.
To hide that he'd had no sleep, he'd worn dark shades. They hadn't been fully effective, but he had little choice.
J Jameson's brows rose sharply at the photographs. Every snap had been perfectly executed. His bushy brows bunched together at the images of Spider-Man posing with the animals. "… Not bad, Parker. Now if -"
Not waiting for Jameson to say anything else, Peter turned around and started walking out of the building.
Not expecting that, JJ ordered him back to the office.
Completely out of character even for himself - Peter also ignored calls, having left his phone at home. He had more important things to do. For one… Why and how is Doc out? Where was the man? For a megalomaniac, the insane genius had been quiet. Too much so for Peter's liking. Squinting as he walked to his bike, Peter remembered the other reason he was wearing shades. It was far too bright outside today.
The ride home was filled with less turmoil, but the solitude in there felt like it was a physical being - threatening to strangle him were he to risk letting down his guard.
When he clambered back into the house, he noticed he had four missed calls. One was from an unknown caller, two from Jameson… the fourth from MJ… Feasibly, he could return her call. They could settle their problems through the line. There was only one problem.
Mary Jane had been pretty clear in her letter. Any chance of a reconciliation between them was gone when his ring and key showed up in the morning mail.
First Class Express too.
Wonderful.
"You're doing yourself a favor…" he spoke to the empty air. "Saving some frequent flier miles…" Bills had also come that morning with the mail. Looking at the bill for his cellphone, he shook his head and tossed it aside for later. Picking up his phone, he stared at the darkened screen.
Maybe it was time for a change.
Walking to the bathroom, he stared at the day-old stubble on his face. Moving over to his computer, he logged on and began doing a search. Three hours later, he idly stumbled onto a report about a break-in at a clothing store the previous night. Instead of investigating further, because the place was in his normal patrol, he overlooked the article. He was looking at relator sites.
Was there a place he could stay at temporarily while he tried to get himself together? His phone rang then and glancing at it, he saw his ex-fiancé's face right there on the screen. He immediately rejected the call, and turned his attention to the computer screen. The sky grew darker outside as time ticked away.
Click. Click. Nothing. He wasn't even sure why he was on the verge of making a major decision and allowing his emotions to guide him. Everything in him reminded him that he had no reason to stay anymore. Did the city Even need him? Sure, the Doc was out… but to be honest the man hadn't made a peep since the escape.
What was a spider to do in this case? He couldn't just sniff out where the mad genius was hiding. His senses only tingled when he was near danger. He could return to where the lab was. It was the only place that he could think of that Otto would run to. All of his trinkets and toys were there.
Catch Doc, get him back behind bars. Then… what? The curious envelopes were still piling up too and more than a few people were beginning to get angry with him, assuming that Spider-Man was to blame for the envelopes littering the city streets now.
Could it have been a ploy from the Doc? If so, it was awfully immature of him. Someone was trying to use psychology on Peter to make him surrender before he needed to. Was any of that even needed? Rising from his seat, he was hunched over just a little as his aching muscles protested him sitting for so long in one position.
His phone had rung twice more… both from Mary Jane and J Jameson. What his boss wanted with him on a Saturday evening was anyone's guess.
Coming to a decision, he grabbed a duffel bag from the top shelf of his closet and collected all of his necessary gear, extra web cartridges and some extra clothes. Going around the house, he turned off all of the lights.
Glancing to his cellphone… he dropped it in the trashcan on the way out the door.
Zipping up the hooded jacket he was wearing, he looked over his shoulder at the house and walked away. Was this a bad idea? Likely, because other people had his number. Then again, he didn't want to be found, so what better way really? He carefully headed out of the city, picking up some cash and food along the way.
Grimacing once at the ATM… he noticed his payment from Jameson hadn't made it to the bank at all. What's the point of it all? Shaking his head, he pulled the hood further down over his face and shouldered his duffel bag.
Leaving the city like this, under the cover of night was the exact opposite of what he should be doing. He could have easily made this trip in a few minutes time as Spider-Man… and also amassed a lot of attention. His shoulders drooped as he walked. There were risks with whatever he decided to do, whether he liked it or not.
Some Time Later…
What started off as distant thunder turned into a full force storm outside. His clothing was soddened from the rain, sneakers slipping just a little in the mud. He'd found an unconventional footpath that led him to Montclair. People he encountered during his walk made a wide berth for him. Grimly, he greeted them regardless… only to be met with looks of suspicion. What was he to expect really? He was out there, in a wet hooded jacket, muddied sneakers and a soggy duffle bag plastered to his back. What was he doing… really? He hadn't thought this through at all.
Wandering off his path and finding a bridge underpass, he sat there and opened one of his bags. He shrugged off his duffel bag and got ready to eat a bit more comfortably. Pulling out a can of Vienna sausages, he drained the liquid off and began eating. His features scrunched up immediately.
Not the tastiest fare, but it would have to do. Now that he was seated, he had more time to think. He hadn't planned out what he was doing at all. Peter Parker wasn't known for having every minute detail planned, but he was also never known to take unneeded risks. MJ… I miss you. He was uncertain what had led to this abrupt decision he was making. Maybe it was because of how suddenly she'd left. He still had unresolved feelings he was trying to cope with before all this.
"Long night…" He muttered, pressing his back to the wall. Out the corner of his eye, he saw a hand reach out and grab his duffel bag's strap. "Hey!"
"Sorry man," The unapologetic would-be thief said as he ran. "Snooze, you lose!"
Peter stared up at the section of tunnel the man had run down before standing up. He gulped down the last of the sausages, dropped the can, and took off in a sprint after the thief. His left hand was tightly gripping his grocery bags. This was his fault. If he hadn't been out here, he wouldn't have been robbed. He saw the man glance at him and scramble to the left. Both of them heard the semi as it rumbled down the road towards their location in the tunnel.
The thief managed to cross the road before the semi separated them.
Instead of giving up, Peter looked around and quickly scaled the wall of the tunnel. The section the thief was heading to had nearly no light, but it didn't matter. Accelerating and quieting his descent, Peter nimbly came down on the other side of the tunnel.
The man had stopped after a few minutes to catch his breath and was slowly backing toward the wall to avoid any light. Once he was rested, he was going to see what he could sell in the bag. "Stupid tourist." He muttered, smiling. His shirt was a bit grimy and sweaty, but the rest of him was clean. He'd just gotten out of the shelter and was trying to find a spot to bed for the night.
His right hand scratched at the graying stubble on his face. When he'd been much younger, he'd had a full head of black hair… but that had been mostly lost to premature thinning. Light brown eyes lit up at his fortune tonight. He never stayed in one place for long. It was a shame really, that the foolish tourist had left his items so easily in reach. It'll teach him for next time.
Nodding resolutely to himself and trying to believe that he'd really done a good deed instead of taking from someone else to further himself, he sat down against the shadowed wall of the tunnel and began unzipping the bag. He hoped it was worth it. Otherwise, he had wasted his time. Maybe he had money in here. Money equaled food for him and maybe he could even get a hotel for a night with a hot shower.
"Has anyone ever told you to keep your hands to yourself?" The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Spooked then, the man lifted his head up and looked left and right. Straining his eyes to stare into the gloom, he couldn't see anybody. No one was there. Letting out a soft bark of laughter, he shook his head. Imagining things again. There was no one else here, at least as far as he knew. Most people for their own safety avoided the shadowed sections of these tunnels.
"Funny? I wasn't trying to make a joke." The voice spoke up, closer now.
Feeling a tap on his shoulder then, the thief looked up and gasped. The young man staring at him had absolutely no expression on his face. His eyes though… he wasn't sure what emotion he was reading in them, but things were not looking good for him. Imagining a knife was with the young man as well, he dropped the duffel and backed away from it as quickly as his body could manage.
"Hey, hey! Sorry. Didn't realize it was yours." He stood up slowly, holding up his hands. He could try diplomacy. One thing he was known for was talking himself out of situations.
He tried to not think of the times over the years he had failed. He was living on the streets because he couldn't convince his wife to stay with him, then turned to alcohol and couldn't keep his job. Losing his home had helped him sober up… but without the right connections and resources, he was going to be stuck here for a while.
"Really?" Peter stared at the man, noting everything. He saw how the man's hands were shaking - could hear the tremor in his voice and noticed how the man was swallowing convulsively. "I'm pretty sure you knew this belonged to me." Stepping closer to the man, Peter paused to grab his bag. "What did you think you were going to do with this?" His eyes narrowed.
He was already having a bad day and now had to deal with some homeless drug addict. It was callous of him to assume the man had an issue with addiction, but how else could he explain the stealing? When the man didn't respond, Peter scoffed. "Maybe I should let the cops know about this little place you have here." Now that he was able to see clearer, he was able to make out minute details, like stray blanket and newspapers.
He was certain that not too many people would be bold enough to run into the tunnels for any reason, especially not at night. His words had the desired effect.
"No cops! Please!" He couldn't go back to jail. It didn't matter if he was warm. He'd rather be wet and cold outside than be stuck behind bars, with the men in blue mocking him for his smell and appearance. He took pride in the fact that he was in essence a drifter but able to keep himself clean. He just had a few problems when it came to getting money. "You have your stuff, just go!" Turning away from Peter, the man kept his shaking hands up.
If he was going to meet his death, he didn't want to see any of it coming. After a long moment, not hearing anything behind him, he turned around and was almost paralyzed with fear to see no one there. Where did he go?! It wasn't as if the young made had vanished into thin air. Or had he? Once he could calm down his racing heart, the older man sat down - belatedly noticing a few shiny objects on the ground.
One was a pop-can of tuna and the other was a sleeve of crackers. "D-Did he…" Without another thought, he was scrambling to grab the items. He hugged them to his chest. He looked around, not able to see any indication of the young man. "T—Thank you…" He said to the open air. He proceeded to tear into the food then. Hunger was the only thing that was constant in his life.
And a man he'd stolen from had provided food for him. His shoulders sagged as he considered. There has to be a better way to live…
Unseen, Peter quietly continued to travel away along the shadows of the tunnel… clinging to the wall. He had a lot to think about.
He was happy that he hadn't responded to the theft with violence. He wondered about the man's story. That wasn't to be his sole focus though… at least not for now. He couldn't very well go back to where he'd been either. It wasn't possible now. Tension made him tighten his jaw; he felt himself physically and mentally balk at the idea of turning back now. All that was ahead of him was what he needed to think about. I'm glad he's happy. For as long as that lasted.
He continued to think of the man as he crawled out of the tunnel and stood on top of it, walking towards the road. No going back now. No one needs me anyway. MJ had only been gone for a day, but her absence hurt in ways he couldn't hope to explain.
Was this the way he should have handled things? Or was her leaving the final nail in the coffin?
Alley-oop! He smoothly tossed himself onto a section of the road and hurried to the other side to walk in the wet grass.
Elsewhere
Strange. It had been over a week now since she'd heard from him. The redhead stared at the black screen of her phone and dialed his number again. After she'd left the house, she'd not hesitated to follow up on her promise to mail back her ring and key. It had been an impulsive move, one that she'd hope would open his eyes to the problems in their relationship.
They were engaged and for months, all that she'd seen of him was his back as he slept at night and glimpses of him as he darted out the door for work in the morning. Instead of voicing her frustrations to her fiancée, she had opted to stay silent and wait.
What she expected from Peter wasn't certain. She knew that her work had afforded her a standard that she'd gotten used to. Was he working so hard because he wanted to, or did he want to get away from her? At the time, she'd felt self-righteous in what she was doing. The next day, she had awoken and realized the mistake she'd made. After all, the problems in their relationship were more than a few missed dates, right? Or was she just being inconsiderate?
The silence from him was strange though. She'd returned to the house twice in the past week. The lights were off, and it seemed like he was at work. This week however, she'd received a call from J Jameson, asking her where Peter was. In fact, her phone was ringing again. Picking up, heart in her throat, she spoke softly. "Yes?"
"It's Jameson. Have you heard anything from him yet, Miss Watson?"
She looked at her dark screen. "No…" I need to contact the police. What if something happened to him? Was she so negligent that she hadn't noticed his absence? Peter was perfectly capable of taking care of himself… wasn't he? "I…" I need to make this right with him. "I need to go." Without waiting for a response, Mary Jane hung up the phone. Pulling on her jacket and grabbing her purse and keys, she hurried out the front door of her friend's apartment.
When she had originally gone there, her friend had assured her that she could stay as long as she needed to figure out what she was going to do. Now though, Mary Jane was realizing that what she really needed was just to go back to her fiancée - ex fiancée - and discuss their problems. It wasn't right that they weren't talking. So many scenarios played through her head as she headed to the house. Had he moved on? Quit his job?
Shaking her head, she dismissed those thoughts. That wasn't like Peter at all. However, Jameson had said that Peter hadn't shown up for work all week. That wasn't like her Tiger either. Biting her bottom lip, she finally reached the house and was blown away at the sight of yellow tape everywhere.
The front door was sitting wide open with no indication of Peter anywhere. Not thinking, she ran towards the house, only to be restrained by a police office.
The man was older, possibly in his late forties, but was still active. His blond hair was close cropped, his gray gaze even and steady.
"Hold it, ma'am! No one can go in." He explained, holding her arms.
She struggled to control her breathing, tears trickling down her cheeks. She saw the overflowing amounts of mail spilling out of his box. Why hadn't Peter gotten his mail?
"What…" she choked a bit and swallowed, her throat feeling tight. "What happened? Where is he?"
The officer stared at her.
"Where is he? Where's Peter?" she repeated… a pleading note in her voice.
His eyes lit up at those words. "You know who owns this house?"
MJ nodded; her green eyes glossy from tears. She spoke without thinking. "His name is Peter Parker. He's my fiancée and works for the Bugle."
The officer jerked a bit, recognizing the name. He sighed. It was always hard dealing with family members. To be frank, they were going to have to open up a Missing Person's case. The home had very few clues if any that explained where he'd gone.
"We're not exactly sure. A neighbor called for a wellness check. She said she hadn't seen him in several days and the mail was piling up. We tracked down the postal worker who normally does the route. He told us he hadn't heard a word, and they weren't given a forwarding address."
The officer looked on as Mary Jane's face twisted in distress, and he had to restrain her again when she tried to bolt past him to the house. "Miss, didn't you know?"
Uncomprehending eyes stared back wildly at him.
"You're his fiancée. Didn't you know?" His words, spoken with such compassion sent a jolt through her.
"He hasn't been picking up his phone," she responded, her words sounded strangled, throat tightening.
Working on a hunch, the officer gave her shoulders a light squeeze.
"One moment, miss. Now, you're not going to run if I let you go, will you?"
Mary Jane's shoulders drooped, but she shook her head in agreement.
The officer ducked into his cruiser and brought out a neatly bagged
mobile phone that she recognized immediately. "We already dusted
it for prints. We were just finishing charging it to search through it."
With shaking hands, she pulled out her phone and dialed the number that she knew by heart. Peter's cellphone's screen lit up almost immediately, and she nearly dropped her phone. Additional tears welled up in her eyes.
The officer seemed uncomfortable, then. Just what was the nature of their relationship? He'd seen the crumpled-up letter in the house, possibly from this young woman. There were plenty of photographs in the house of the two of them. The officer had recognized her almost immediately, but wanted to hear her side. Now… it seemed they had more questions than answers.
"We also recovered a few items from the house. We were going to the precinct after securing the house to go over everything. Would you like to go with us, miss?"
Feeling numb, Mary Jane nodded.
The officer kindly escorted her to his cruiser, keeping a firm grip on her arm as she was more than a little unsteady on her feet. Just what was going on with the two of them? "You ready to roll, Martin?" He asked a brown-haired young officer, who was securing the front door of the house.
Turning to him, the officer gave him a thumbs up, his brown eyes twinkling.
"Miss, Officer Hawkes and I will take you back with us, alright?"
Mary Jane nodded and buckled herself into her seat as the two police officers headed to the station with her.
Six Months Later - Lancaster County, PA
Bringing down the splitting maul felt satisfying. So did the crunch and crack of the wood splitting. A faint hiss followed the action shortly afterwards. Sweat had gotten right in his eyes and it burned so much. Wiping his face with the back of his arm seemed to do the trick enough that he could see well enough to split wood evenly.
"Good job, Mister Hammer," a soft, feminine voice spoke up. It belonged to a fairly young woman with light brown hair and brown eyes. Today, she had on a long gray dress instead of blue the previous day. Her hair was done up in a rather messy bun today.
It had taken a little bit of time for him to respond to the name he'd given himself. Edgar Hammer. How fitting that now he was using manual labor to keep himself fed.
"You can come on back when you finish that stack and take a load off. Caleb wants to speak with you when you're done out here." She added.
Grinning and nodding eagerly, Peter turned back to his work with renewed vigor. The Knott family had been more than welcome to him since he'd stumbled down their road so long ago. He'd traveled so far and wandered up country road 46. Eventually, he realized he was in a Dutch Settlement. Now, he lived in the woods just off Call Road.
It had been a strange arrangement at first. In exchange for his work, he was given some food and basic supplies. Peter had also unofficially become a live-in security system. He'd run off dogs and other wild animals that were trying to kill the animals the family relied on for food. He'd refused the offer for housing though, despite their insistence.
What he had accepted from the husband was a handsewn leather pouch. He'd used it to store the money he'd earned from the family. The Knott family wasn't the only one that he worked for in the area… however, he lingered around their place the longest. No one knew where he stored his meager belongings in the woods and that was perfectly fine for him. It was safer for him if he had to take a sudden leave of absence.
Gone too were most of the vestiges from the life he'd had before. He had exchanged his shoes for bare feet, which made everything easier for him to do. Jeans had been replaced with homespun pants and suspenders. He'd also grown quite an impressive beard if he were to say so.
It wasn't that long, but enough hair had grown on his face that he wasn't readily as recognizable as the same smooth baby-faced man. That was all that mattered. Whistling a jaunty tune, he continued to work at the pile of wood until he had completed all of it. When he glanced up, the sun had moved in the sky.
He jerked just a little. How long had he been out here? Stretching and feeling the aching in his muscles, he finally headed to the back of the house and lightly knocked on the door.
Mister Caleb Knott opened the door and looked Peter up and down. His blue eyes lacked much humor today. "Could have sworn you would have come in two hours ago."
In response, Peter merely shrugged. His bare arms and shoulders flexed a little at the motion. If anything, the manual labor had helped him put more muscle onto his wiry frame.
Running fingers through his light brown hair, Caleb shook his head and grabbed a shirt from just inside the house and tossed it to Peter. "Go hose off and come back. It's not polite for you to be around the Missus with no shirt on."
Forgot that part again. Peter thought as he jogged over to where the water hose was located. Placing the shirt a safe distance away, he turned on the water. Hosing himself off was pretty important before he went back in the house. He didn't want to stink. The hose was only going to rinse the sweat off him not all the actual dirt, but it was a welcome reprieve.
When he did return to his makeshift bed for the night, he needed to examine his hands to see if he had developed any more blisters. It'd be a shame if he did… It meant he would have to go back to the market down the road for some ointment.
When he had efficiently sprayed himself until he was dripping, he donned the shirt, pulling it onto his wet body and headed back to the house.
This time, Caleb tossed him a fluffy towel and let him in.
"How's the stack today, Edgar?"
Peter smiled and pointed in the direction he'd come from. "Got all of it done today, Mister Knott."
Off the man's perturbed expression, Peter straightened. "Is… everything alright, Mister Knott?"
Those steady blue eyes focused on him a moment before the man turned to his wife. Planting a faint kiss on her cheek, he turned back to Peter.
"My wife told you that we needed to speak."
Peter nodded.
"I need a hand to help me take some supplies to the store tonight." Peter had no problem with that. In fact, he needed to buy something from the store for himself.
Likely ointment… He thought ruefully. Peter needed a few other toiletries too. Like a new toothbrush.
"I hope you haven't worked yourself too hard today, Mister Hammer. The supplies are heavy."
Instead of disagreeing, Peter cleared his throat and shook his head.
After a brief silence, Caleb spoke. "We'll discuss more after dinner. Justine has fixed a wonderful dinner for us."
Well, that was that for the time being.
Peter took a seat at the table across from Caleb. The Knotts ate very well and Peter had grown accustomed to the differences from what he'd eaten growing up. 'Fast Food' simply did not exist in this area. Or maybe it had, and he hadn't seen it. Misses Knott had prepared an entire chicken, fresh peas and corn. There was cabbage noodle casserole on the table and homemade cornbread. She'd even prepared apple fritters for dessert. She piled both of the men's plates up before serving herself.
The couple prayed over their meal, and as they tucked into the food, Peter wondered what made his employer so jumpy about a supply run. It wasn't as if Peter hadn't done the work for the man before.
Hours Later…
The supplies ended up being several prepared sacks full of animal feed. Still, as Peter loaded the sacks into the wagon, he couldn't help but notice the grim expression on Caleb's face. "You feeling well tonight, sir?" Peter asked softly.
Caleb jumped violently in response; his lips tensed into a thin line.
After a few awkward minutes of silence where neither man spoke, Peter decided not to ask again. Both of them sat in front of the wagon.
With a light flick of the reigns, Caleb spurred the horse into action.
The ride was quiet, uncomfortably so for Peter.
For one, Caleb had decided that it would be best that they leave after sundown.
For another, the ride was going to take them the better part of an hour if not longer. There was at least two hundred pounds in the wagon and Peter was uncertain about how the horse was going to handle the load. So far, things were going well, but the store they were heading to turned out to be five miles away. Peter found that out after inquiring which direction they were headed.
Thankfully, they arrived at Jonas' shop with the wagon in one piece and the horse still alive.
The old man that owned the shop moved with the spring of a man half his age and tried to assist them as they unloaded the animal feed.
While he was relaxing on a bench outside the store, Peter noticed what looked like a printed page on the ground near the gravel road they'd traveled down to get there. Surprised, he stood and picked up the paper. It was from a newspaper. However, it appeared to only be the front page. So strange… The papers around here mentioned the weather and regular events in town. There were no pictures at all.
However, after reading the front of the page, Peter flipped to the inside and felt his blood run cold. Right on the page was a picture of Otto at a conference, explaining how his innovation in technology would soon make everything in New York much safer. Peter couldn't believe it. How had the page gotten here? Better yet, what was happening back home?
Funny… I hadn't thought of home in a long time… He started wondering other things, such as if MJ was safe. Doc Ock… How could I forget about him? Just like that, Peter realized that he needed to leave.
But… Glancing at the store, he noticed that Caleb was taking longer than he should have on the deal. He was about to reach for the handle to the store when he felt a telltale tingling in his head.
What?! He was so startled. The sensation was so rare now that it felt almost alien to him. What's happening?! Moments later, the sound of a shotgun was heard in the back of the store. Pulling the door open then and hurrying to the back, Peter found himself staring at Caleb's back as the man shakily held on to a shotgun. Jonas was lying just out of his range of view.
His footsteps caught Caleb's attention and the man swung around with the shotgun aimed at him. "Whoa, whoa wait! What are you doing?!"
"You don't understand! None of you would listen!" Caleb argued back in response, agitation bleeding through in his voice. He was waving his weapon back and forth in the air. "No one wants to listen to what's happening around here! It's madness!"
Then, Peter tuned in to the sound of a radio quietly playing in a corner of the store. His eyes narrowed.
What is—
"No one wanted to listen! Not Albrecht and certainly not Jonas! He was corrupted by what he called 'the future'. Well, no more of that." Caleb calmed for a moment before narrowing his sights on Peter. "I'll have to inform my wife that we had a little accident on the road."
Alarm bells were going off in Peter's head once again before the man readied his aim, and the younger man quickly dodged to avoid the bullet. Barreling out the front door of the store, he ran around the back of it and started to climb. Thankfully, there were tall trees back there that he could use to get out of there. The first leap felt like he was back home already.
The wind felt nice…
Thankfully, he had paid attention as they headed to the shop and knew how to get back to the Knott Homestead. What was he going to say to Missus Knott though? He knew the young woman had gotten used to his presence. Both the Knotts had, or at least he thought they had.
Let's not focus on that Parker. More move, less think. Thankfully, he made it back to the house in record time. It was good that he'd refused the offer for lodging because it made leaving a lot easier. Heading to the woods where he kept his supplies, he collected everything and looked at the family home - lit at night by homemade candles - and headed back on the road. If he used his web shooters, he'd make it home a lot faster.
He'd unconsciously moved to shoot webbing at Caleb back at the shop before remembering that all of his equipment wasn't there.Pulling his mask out of his duffel bag, he lowered his head.
With great power comes great responsibility… Did he ever need that power now… Donning his costume, he immediately noticed that some changes would need to be made. The outfit was already skin-tight, but he'd put on more than fifteen pounds worth of muscle. He could hear the fabric threatening to rip as he tugged everything into place. Then, with his duffel bag at the ready, he reached a point where he could use his webs effectively.
Then it was just a matter of getting off the ground. His first swing had felt exhilarating as he noticed that he was moving with a lot more speed than he remembered.
Was this going to be worth it? Definitely. Doc Ock had to be stopped. It was his fault things had gotten so bad of late.
I'm coming home. His lips turned up at the corners.
Wherever that proves to be. I'm finally coming home.
To Be Continued…
Author's Note: So, what did you think? I love constructive criticism. Until next time!
Additional Note: This chapter has been updated and revised from a previous version on June 12, 2022. Hopefully, it's a smoother read!
Additional Note To The Additional Note: This chapter has once again been updated and revised from a previous version on July 4, 2023. It should be a better read… I hope!
Additional Note To The Rest: This chapter has again been updated and revised on December 10, 2023. I hope I caught all the mistakes.
2025 Note: This chapter has been lovingly repaired so as to fix any formatting issues on March 5, 2025.
XXO
~ J. Lyst