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"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."

Edited (made it worse/better) 2023-01-20 11:36 (UTC)

The helplessness just increases as Norman yowls. It's clear he's struggling- no, drowning in this. But then, it makes perfect sense, doesn't it? He should struggle, he should suffer and buckle under the weight; he just killed someone. Otto wonders, for a few seconds, whether he should even be comforting Norman at all. Isn't that a form of enabling? Maybe he should be doing what he did before, all those years ago. Maybe he should leave for a while, and hope that will teach Norman a lesson.

But that had been a mistake, hadn't it? All he'd accomplished back then was leave Norman unsupervised and free to make even more mistakes.

Now he's the one struggling, and it all comes to a head when Norman speaks his next words. There's an indirect implication there- likely unintentional- that if Norman hadn't come back, Otto would've been the one to kill him. That he'd deserved to die, and Otto would've been right to brandish that proverbial executioner's axe. That's wrong, it's all wrong.

"No," the word leaves him as one firm, solid note. Only then does he realize he can't just leave it at that. That's not enough. "Norman, if we can't come back, we can't better ourselves. Do you understand? You need to be better."

And maybe that's harsh, but this is the only balance Otto can think to reach for. He can stick by Norman's side, but only if the hard work is put in.

He outright flinches at that single, unyielding syllable: an ancient reflex that he instantly loathes, which just compounds everything even more. His words are staccato now, punctuated by a struggle between his inability to breathe calmly and his frantic, desperate need to try to spread the scrambled contents of his mind in front of him. Otto, he thinks, doesn't understand just how hopeless he is, how broken, how ... impossible and useless. He has to make him see it but even the right words are staying away from him, knowing he isn't worth the trouble to show up.

"I'm trying, I've been -" He cuts himself off, realizing his voice is rising. A fresh terror joins the flood: that he'll wake Peter. That Peter will have to deal with his mess, too, have his faith betrayed one more time.

"...I want to, I do." He reaches up and clutches at Otto's arm, as if he could turn into a shade at any moment and slip through his fingers. "Please believe me, I do... but ... I don't know why it isn't working. I thought I was doing so well - but that was foolish." Anger and bitterness creep into his words. "I was never anything but a disappointment, a failure. Why should it be different here?"

A deep breath exits through Otto's nose at all that. He doesn't mind his arm being clung to like that, so he won't pull it back in the slightest, but those words... He wishes he knew more about these things. No, he wishes he knew what he could say that would put things into perspective for Norman. Surely, there must be some sort of solid advice that would bring this conversation to a proper close.

... No. He's got nothing. He can only reach for- and claw at- half-measures.

"Because it takes time, Norman. If it were easy to change- if you could do it like the flick of a switch, wouldn't that be insulting? Why wouldn't you have already done that back home, then?"

Any time he'd had to put a cap on his emotions, bottle them, it had had to be done Right Now Norman Virgil Osborn Or I Swear To God I'll Beat It Out Of You. So the flick of a switch comment makes him wince, but button himself up just a little, as much as he can manage with his mind and his heart racing.

"Because I - because I'm broken," he insists. "I've never been right. All I want to do is be right, be good. But it never lasts." He's so tired, all of a sudden. He doesn't want to have this conversation. He just wants to crawl into bed and hopefully never get out of it again. His back spider legs go slack, spreading out along the base of the wall.

That argument really doesn't go down well with Otto. The idea that his friend is broken beyond fixing, that he was never right to begin with... If he were to accept that, what would that say him about him? What would that say about anyone going through similar struggles? It's true that some afflictions can never heal, but he also knows there's kindness and remorse inside Norman. That has to mean something.

But he doesn't know how to put it into words. He doesn't want to dismiss how Norman feels in this moment.

"... Well. Regardless, I'll be here."

"God only knows why," he replied, with a weak laugh, looking up at last. "But I'm more grateful for that than ... than I can say."

He could still change his mind and leave, he thinks. It just needs a moment to sink in...

"Otto ... can I ..." He swallows, fights both that train of thought and the urge to not ask for what he needs, to think he doesn't deserve it. "... can I stay?"

Oh good, this feels like... Like progress, perhaps. Or maybe Norman's just given up on his protests and is sticking closer to what Otto wants to hear on purpose. It'll end the uncomfortable conversation either way. He hangs his head, torn between smiling and frowning, and somehow managing a little bit of both.

"Of course you can stay. As long as you need," he says quietly.

The permission seems to be all he needed. Norman shifts a little closer, his movements stiff and awkward from having been on the floor for so long, and puts his arms around Otto. Suddenly he's exhausted, the weight of his guilt, his grief, and the whole damned day pressing down on him.

"Thank you."

He wants to tell him he loves him, too, but it feels almost wrong in the moment. Like he shouldn't say such things after having a meltdown over being a murderer. So instead, he just gives Otto a slight squeeze, before looking over at the bed. It looks so comfortable from here ... and yet, so far in his exhaustion. Norman sighs, trying to rally himself to get to his feet.

IC Inbox | Ryslig

Cw: intrusive/suicidal thoughts

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cw: emotional abuse on top of everything already cw'd

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