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Both the dark and the lingering blur in Otto's vision- the dryness of his eyes- ensure he can't even see where Norman is, let alone what sort of expression might be on his features. But he hears the ragged breathing, along with the whimper. He hears the click of the door closing and the soft rustle as Norman slides down to the floor.

And it fuels more worry than he's felt for several weeks already, if not several months.

He moves to the edge of the bed, still rubbing at his eyes and forcing them to open properly. His gaze finds Norman's silhouette. Possibilities are shooting through his head; several worst-case scenarios. But he can't jump to wild assumptions. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

"Yes." He sounds thoroughly miserable. "I lost my temper ... badly."

His voice is thin and muffled, as he's buried his face in his hands, resting his forehead on them with his fingers threaded up into his hair to clutch at it - as though he's a moment away from trying to tear it out. Norman curls in on himself, even his back legs wrapping around him in a sort of green, limby cage.

"I found out that DuBois was the one who killed Beat ... after he'd put that ultimatum out about killing Elias' followers ... and ... and I ... I made such a mistake, Otto--!"

'Lost his temper'... 'Made a mistake'... For a long time, Otto had been under the mistaken assumption that with the Goblin gone, Norman would no longer pose a threat to anyone around him. That he'd keep his head down and be 'harmless' from thereon out. But that isn't how it works, Otto realizes now.

He gets up from the bed and strides over to Norman, then takes a seat on the floor next to him. The arachne limbs keep him from getting too close, but at the very least, he can do this.

"... Did you hurt him?" he asks quietly. He knows there's a more dire alternative, but he doesn't want to jump to the worst case scenario.

Somehow, that question only seems to make it worse. It makes Norman realize that Otto still expects the best of him, still trusts him to be so much better, so soon. To have banished every single demon from his mind. True, he had thought he had been making amazing progress, himself, but ... this had made it abundantly clear how wrong he'd been. That there were still things lurking that were trouble. Thoughts, assumptions, about how things worked, and how he could control them if he just manipulated things in the right ways ... that urge to Win The Challenge, to Be Right, to make what he thought was best happen, whether it was really best or not.

He breathes in quickly, hard, then out, as though he's putting his panic on lockdown. But he knows it won't hold. He's already hearing the litany at the back of his head: why did he think he could be better? Why did he even try? He's a wreck, a mess, a lost cause, a stain -

"Yes. ... More than."

It's the worst case scenario, isn't it? Otto can just about feel his heart sink, slipping all the way down into his shoes. What is there to say to that? He'd ask 'why', but he already knows why. Norman's just told him. He'd ask 'how', but he doesn't want those details. The less he knows about it and the less Norman has to talk about it, the better. He'd ask if Norman is alright, but it's already clear that he's not.

He didn't think he could still be this disappointed in his old friend, but here it is. Maybe they're destined to be villains after all, no matter how much evil is exorcised from them. Maybe the monster is rooted so deep inside them, there's no removing it.

In the end, the only thing he can think to do is try to move his hand through the bars of the proverbial cage, past the arachne limbs and towards Norman's shoulder.

For a long moment, it's as if Norman has shut down - he stares straight ahead at his knees, hands still in his hair, his breathing shallow as he drowns in his own thoughts. He had come to Otto for some kind of help, some reassurance, some ... he wasn't sure. He had just known Otto was safe, as safe as he himself wasn't. He feels as though he could vibrate out of his own skin, and in that moment, he wants to - not necessarily to die, just to escape. To stop being who he is, to shake off everything he doesn't like and leave only the clean parts worth saving - what few he feels are left to him in the moment.

Otto's hand falling on his shoulder is hardly any sort of benediction or shield, but that single soft pressure releases a thought, simple, clear, and true as a vending machine. Even before it leaves Norman's mouth, soft and sad and hollow, he knows it's the heart of this.

"I saw who I was, in him. I saw all that madness. All that anger and pain. And I didn't want it to live anymore."

It explains a lot, and yet, it leaves a bitter taste in Otto's mouth. The reasoning doesn't undo anything, doesn't justify anything, doesn't relieve the tension in the slightest. By trying to squash the image of his old self with force, Norman became that old self and there's something so tragic about it. It's a cycle.

"Oh Norman..."

Maybe the tone comes across as disappointed, but what he really is is exhausted, with a touch of helplessness. He doesn't know what else to say. This isn't the sort of thing he can fix. There's no antidote, no scrap of buffering technology, no quick cure. He'd suggest that Norman get proper therapy, but he's not sure that's an option around here. In the end, all he can really do is keep sitting here with Norman- keep an eye on him and keep him out of trouble.

"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

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cw: negative self-talk, depression/anxiety spiral, toxic thought patterns

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Cw: intrusive/suicidal thoughts

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

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WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, OCTAVIUS. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 015.03.020.15 * OCTAVIUS has joined 015.03.020.15 <OCTAVIUS>** You've reached Dr. Otto Octavius. Please leave a message.