"I know," he says. Helplessness, exasperation, disgust, and fear all blend into his voice and make it come out in a yowl. Too many thoughts and feelings are warring for control. He's angry at himself for failing, for falling so far after doing so well. He's afraid Otto will leave him over this, take Peter with him, that he'll lose everything that's made him love his life here despite being transformed. He's not sure what else to do, but he knows that's not good enough, that he has to do something... He wants to scream, to unleash all his anger at himself in a way that won't hurt anyone else. He doesn't know how.

For a moment, he thinks he understands how Sonic felt, that day in the ball pit. Where that sort of urge could -

No. He shakes his head violently, gives a wordless cry of angry pain, and buries his head in his arms again. He's only felt this frantic, hateful, and guilty once before: the night he'd discovered who Spider-Man was. And the way he'd let his mind unravel would have killed him: either literally the way Otto had known, or figuratively. If the Goblin had won, killed Peter? Norman would have quietly rolled over in his own mind and...

"I ..."

He swallowed the urge to say it. He'd just committed murder. What right did he have to a mental breakdown? To someone's help? To any support?

But he was too frightened: of what he'd done, what might be yet to come as consequence, and still even more afraid of the prospect his panicking mind was dancing around in answer. And hadn't Otto told him to be honest, no matter what? That day in the kitchen when he'd broken the dish seemed so long ago, even though it was hardly any time at all. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and compromised with himself: he'd say something, but he couldn't watch Otto's face as he did.

"... I wish ... we didn't come back," he said haltingly, then clarified:

"I wish I hadn't."