WARNING FOR LIGHT MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ABUSE AGAINST A MINOR AND SLIGHT SWEARING. I just want to include that to make sure you're all aware. Keep safe, chilladas.

Going home to your worst nightmare lounging in your chair with four of his nefarious employees was bad.

Waking up with the face of your worst nightmare three feet in front of you, grinning, and holding a syringe was even worse.

Looking back, Peter wished he had the good grace to wake up with dignity and valor. Instead, all pre-sense of dignity fled and he scrambled away with a surprised yelp. Norman stepped forward, and Peter scooted away from those black shoes - they were probably the hide of some poor baby animal - until his back hit something hard and solid. However, he realized pretty quickly that moving was not a very good idea. Like, at all.

He was positive he was a living bruise. Or a conscious injury. Something akin to pain, cause everything hurt. From his cracked ribs that felt ground to sawdust, to the blood sticking pieces of his clothes to his skin. Peter groaned loudly, body seizing up. Oh, that was a bad idea. A very, very, painfully bad idea.

He sat frozen for several seconds. Or minutes. Heck, it could've been hours and he wouldn't have noticed. After a moment, he slowly let himself relax, and gently slumped against the wall at his back. What type of freakish, steroid-injected, villain-born vendetta did the Frightful Four even have on him? Sure he's had his squabbles with them before. They attempted a criminal act, Peter said 'no', they fought, Peter threw them in jail, end of story. It was a good, stable process.

But was such violence really necessary? He never hit them that hard, honestly, what the frick?

Leaning his head back against the wall, he closed his eyes and counted his injuries. He got as far as his cracked ribs, split lips, broken nose, and bruised throat before he decided he didn't want to know anymore. Stupid villains and their stupid grudges and their stupid hard punches.

So wrapped up in his hate-fest, it took him an embarrassingly long time before he realized he was in a cage. Of sorts. It was a cylindrical, glass cage, bolted into the floor, and stretching clear up into the ceiling where it was bolted there too. Peter shook his head. Well, that's a bit excessive.

But of course, would he expect anything from Norman Osborn. Speaking of the devil, the monster himself was still watching Peter from outside the glass walls.

"Watch out," Peter rasped, cringing when his voice comes out weak and hoarse. "You don't want to max out your creepy in one day." Even talking hurt. Did they rub his throat with sandpaper while he was out? Honestly, Peter was sensing some serious relationship problems between him and his villains. He didn't think they were harboring so many ill-emotions. Like, sure they wanted to pulverize every other day, but it was practically platonic at this point. In a weird villain-hero, I'm-going-to-kill-you-and-grind-your-bones-to-make-my-bread kind of way. Talk about not catching on.

But he supposes that's what he gets for tangling with a group calling themselves the Frightful Four?

Norman ignored him easily, rolling the syringe lightly in his hand. Peter tried to ignore how creepy that was. Just put it down, man. You don't have to go the whole 9-yards. You're a creepy billionaire-psychopath scientist, he got it.

"You know," Norman finally said, backing up leisurely to put the syringe on the table. He leaned against it, crossing his arms. "I'll admit, you surprise me. You woke up a lot sooner than I expected. You're refractory period and healing factor must be amazing."

"Oh gosh," Peter groaned wetly, coughing as he propped himself up against the wall better and slung an aching arm over his stomach. "Please tell - tell you didn't just put 'refractory period' and 'amazing' in the same sentence in my presence. Creepy factor just went up by, like, 100 dud-dude." He winced as an ache pulsed in his temple. "I should have you know, I don't respond well to perv-perverts and maniacs. They're not my type."

Norman snorted, unamused. "I assure you, engaging with you sexually is not my intention. I'm a man of science, not a pervert."

"I'm a man of science," Peter mimicked shrewdly. "I'm sure -sure that's what all the perverts say. Remind me how long a pedophiles' sentence is."

Norman shakes his head and pushes off the table. It takes only a few steps for him to make it to the front of the cage, but with Norman taking his leisure time, it feels so much longer. It's terrible.

Peter wished vainly that there was somewhere for him to go, he'd even take the sewers! But even if there was, he could hardly breathe right much less attempt an escape. Which might put a damper on his plan to get out and find Otto. He watched Norman cautiously, trying to ineffectively push himself farther into the glass.

The man-of-science - cough, pervert, cough - squatted down in front of the cage so he's eye-level with Peter. "You know," he mused, "I've been trying to snag you for quite a while. It's almost weird that you're actually here."

"Stop talking. Please."

"But I guess you already knew that because of your association with Otto." Norman quirked his lips when Peter fell silent. "So, how long were you living with him? Weeks? Months?"

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"Longer? Years, then."

Peter bit the inside of his cheek and pulled his legs closer to his chest, despite the burn it sparked in his ribs. Is it weird that even with a wall separating him, it felt like Norman was infecting him with his eldritch presence? How Norman made his very words feel like a disease, Peter wasn't sure. But he decided, right then and there, that he preferred Norman when he was nothing but a screen on the wall.

When Peter didn't answer for several minutes, Norman chuckled quietly and got back up. "I've been wondering how you've acquired your powers for some time. Otto always been a master in the field of genetics, but to successfully replicate an animals power and imbue them into a human body. Simply fascinating. I'll have to get him to tell me how he did it."

Peters notes how he says "get him" rather them "ask him." It wasn't surprising that Norman wasn't the asking type. But it made Peter no less thrilled that he was here, or that Otto was gone. But at least it gave him hope that Otto was safe. That's all that mattered.

For half a second, Peter wanted to tell Norman that Otto had nothing to do with him and his powers. But knew Otto would reprimand him if he did so. Why not let Norman bask in his own ignorance? Otto would say. It might even give Peter the time to come up with an escape of sorts. Besides, Peter would rather no one, especially the likes of Norman Osborn, figured out how to combine people with animal-like features. He was pretty sure the end of the world was dated to be around, like, 2034 or something.

Biting the words back, Peter sat up. "You know, there's this funny little thing called asking. It's what people do when they want something. You'd be surprised how often it works."

"You'd be surprised with how persuasive I can be without asking," Norman retorts with his back-turned. He's fiddling with something on the table, probably a super evil contraption fated to doom the world.

"Ahhh," Peter rasped, sitting up to run his hand lightly over the base of his cage, looking for any imperfections. "Bribery and torture. Yeah, they don't teach you that in Elementary school, do they? Ever heard of the Golden Rule? Treat people how you want to be treated?" It was stupid of Norman to trap him in a glass container. Granted, it's pretty thick. Probably state-of-the-art technology. But if Peter could wait until at least 50% of his injuries were healed, or semi-healed, he could bust through it with minimal pain.

"Why would I stick to the Golden Rule when I can just give them gold. I find it gets the job done faster than saying please."

"Rich people," Peter snorted. "you're all so silly." There are no faults in the container's base. He looked up at the top, trying to find anything there. There's a small blemish farther up. Peter slowly pushed himself up, grunting slightly from the exertion, and stuck himself to the side. With one hand still secure across his stomach, he crawled pathetically up the side to peer at the top. There was a small knick a few feet from the top, probably happened while it was being bolted in. It wasn't much, but it was still a weak spot. Peter could work with that.

Below Norman turned around, sipping a freshly brewed cup of coffee - truly diabolical - and quickly spotted Peter clinging to the top of the container. The cup hovered by his lips.

"Amazing," he grinned, sharp and pointy. He scrutinized the pads of Peter's fingers from where he stood, and Peter could see a million of different tests running through those eyes. He quickly unclung himself and dropped back down, hissing sharply when he hit the ground and stumbled to his knees, and sat back down on the floor.

"Don't get any ideas," Peter grunted. His voice was getting sort of better. Still hurt like heck and sounded scratchy, but it wasn't as hoarse anymore. Thank you, healing factor. He wondered if the bruises were still on his neck.

Norman ignored him again and sipped his coffee. "Well, I think we've done enough chatting." He muttered, more to himself than Peter. He replaced the cup for a syringe and stalked forward once more. Peter's eye widened and scooted backward, curling in on himself. The last thing he wanted was to be closer to Norman. Ew.

But this also might be Peter's chance.

As soon as Norman opened the cage he'd get the jump on him. Kick him back, or punch him in the face, anything as long as it gave him time to get away. As soon as he was out he'd go looking for Otto, and they'd escape Oscorp together.

Peter sucked in a determined breathe, bracing himself for the pain that was coming up. The next few minutes would be no walk in the park.

That is, if Norman had stuck to the plan. Instead, Norman veered to the left, stopping at a box-control panel. He tapped on the screen and slots opened under Peter's feet. They were small, barely the width of his fingernail, and hissing faintly.

The psycho was going to gas him, Peter realized. Of all the nefarious, cheating maniacs!

He could do nothing to defend himself if he was drugged. Normal could take all the blood he wanted. He could take snapshots of Peter's face and use them to identify him later. Peter liked his secret identity - it was the one thing he got to keep to himself. There was no way he was giving it to Norman!

"Wai - wait!" Peter cried, holding his hand out in a 'stop' gesture. Norman glanced idly at him but didn't stop. Peter scrambled for something to say. "Why - why - how could you - wha - what -" A rush of anger swept over him "Why would you treat people like this?" He blurted out, loud and brash. "Holy shit, I'm a PERSON, not a science experiment! How can you treat people this? Why would you treat Otto like this! He's your employee and you treated him like a slave! You don't even KNOW him!"

Norman paused and turned completely to look at Peter. "Don't know him," he said, soft and amused. He chuckled, and then chuckled louder. "Of course I know Otto. We've known each other for years. Long before Oscorp was ever born."

Peter felt his anger fizzle and pop. His tongue soured. "Wha - what? What are you talking about?"

"Did he never tell you?" Norman mused, standing with his hands clasped in front of the glass. Tall and imposing. "We went to college together. We were science partners. It was Otto's idea to start Oscorp."

Peter recoiled, feeling as though Norman just kicked him in the face. "No. THat - that's - no. That can't be-" That doesn't make sense.

"Oh, but it is. The good old days," he sighed, "We were good friends in college, you know. Me, him, and Curt. Completely inseparable. us three. But I'm not surprised he didn't tell you about us. That rat stabbed me in the back. He's ungrateful, despite the fact that I saved him from death. He got what he deserved."

"You mean," Peter swallowed. "You mean you knew each other the whole time? Why - what..."

"What happened?" Norman finished for him, and Peter nods timidly. How did Stormin' Norman of Oscorp go from being college buds, to becoming Otto Octavius's psychopathic boss who looked him in his basement? The parallels between the two were too large. How could something change so drastically?

Norman stared off into space, face pinching as if he was remembering something unpleasant. Peter knows it's far-fetched to hope that Norman would actually tell him anything. But Norman just opened a squirming can of worms. While Otto never divulged his past, not very often, it made no sense to think that he and Norman were old friends.

"Otto left me to build Oscorp myself, from the ground up," Norman grit harshly, stunning Peter with an answer. "He only came back when he was weak and full of debt. Then...then he was just going to leave again, without even finishing our projects. That explosion was fated to happen, his paralysis was well-deserved. Only the strong survive in this world, and Otto Octavius was not strong. I made him better, I kept him alive. He should be grateful to me!"

Peter gaped at him. "Grateful to you?" He parroted. "Grateful? You locked him in Oscorp and forced him to work experiments for you! How SADISTIC is that?!"

Norman's face darkened, congealing into a scowl. "I saved him," he yelled. "Otto nearly died! I was the one who gave him those arms. I was the one who kept him alive! He owes me a debt."

"You're so full of crap!" Peter yelled back. "You should've saved him because it was the right thing to do, not - not because of some stupid you-owe-me. And you can't just - just own someone after saving their life! That's psychotic!"

Norman slammed his fist against the glass wall, and Peter jumped back, spider-sense spiking. "Don't presume to know me!" He growled, " Don't forget, I own you now. And you will learn your place."

"You don't own me." Peter bit back.

"No?" Norman challenged. "Well, as far as I know, you've been living with Otto for years. If I didn't know you, then it's unlikely that anyone else did either. Besides, I looked up your records. You're nowhere in any system. No one can claim that you even exist. Sounds to me like you're not even legally considered alive."

Peter swallowed hard. Norman...Norman was right, technically speaking. Otto kept him apart from the world, to keep him safe. There were no records of him, no birth certificate he could pull up - all of it was either taken or destroyed by Otto. According to the world, Peter Parker didn't exist. No one but Otto would know to come for him. Peter leaned back, slumping against the wall in his realization.

Norman watched his shoulders deflate, and quickly regained his composure. He straightened his posture and smoothed his hair back, stretching his shirt so the wrinkles pulled free. He loosened his hold on the syringe and stepped away from the cage.

"You'll learn your place," he said, it sounded like a promise. "Just like Octavius did."

Peter shook his head numbly and muttered, "Fat chance."

Norman's reply came in him striding back over the box control and finishing up a sequence of numbers. Peter's spider-sense spiked again, and a new hissing filled the container, followed by a small puff of gas that seeped from the bottom. Peter stumbled up, limping away. When that did nothing, he resorted to climbing up the wall. The exertion rattled his ribs, but he couldn't bring himself to give in. He wasn't going to do as Norman said. He REFUSED to.

As much as he loved Otto, he refused to end up in the same situation. He refused to be kept away in a dark room, cut off from the world, as a madman controlled his life. Nope, that's not the life for him. Peter crawled up higher, looking around frantically. Across from him, the small crack in the glass caught his eye.

His body was whining about his injuries enough as it was, and punching through a thick wall of glass hardly sounded like fun. But the gas was filling up the cage quickly, and Peter could already taste the chemicals on his tongue. Looks like he didn't have much of a choice.

Bracing himself, he angled his body toward the crack, grit his teeth, and pushed off. His shoulder slammed into the glass, and he groaned painfully. Shaking, he jumped back, one hand tightening over his shoulder, as the other helped him stick to the wall.

"Come on," he growled and jumped at it again. This time the crack grew larger. He was rapidly running out of time.

He jumped back and slammed into it again.

Below, Norman hastened forward. "Hey, stop that!" he shouted rancorously as if Peter would actually listen.

Peter wasn't sure what Norman was going to do, but he doubted it'd be anything good. Slamming into the glass wasn't getting him anywhere. Instead of throwing himself at it again, he switched to banging on it with his fist. The crack spread out, splitting more and more with each blow.

Outside, Norman was scrambling around the lab, looking for something. Peter quickened his pace. The gas was thick now. He held his breath as long as he could, but with the combination of his cracked ribs and hitting the glass, he couldn't keep it up for long. He was already feeling dizzy.

"COME ON!" he shouted, frustrated. How thick was this glass? Normal glass would've broken under his strength punches ago. Don't tell him Normal invented super-glass. Reeling his arm back, he swung it forward, pitching all his strength into it, and - thankfully - the glass broke.

The resulting hole was neither large, nor small, but Peter did care. He scrambled out of it, sticking his fingers to the surface outside and contorting his body as he pulled himself out. Halfway out, the drug had already weaseled its way in and Peter slipped, cutting his hand on a jagged piece of glass.

He grunted, scrambling for purchase, smearing blood across the container as he did, and quickly pulled himself the rest of the way out. He crouched on the wall, breathing heavily, wincing from both the cut and his cracked ribs. He felt himself tip slightly, hazy from the pieces of the drug that managed to get into his system.

He moaned and tried to pull himself up, but his limbs slipped instead. The world upheaved and twisted and he crushed his eyes shut when a wave of vertigo hit him. His brain was detached and fuzzy. Like mold.

He knew it was from the drug, but he'd also like to believe it was from the stink of Norman's words. That much crazy was bound to mess up anything within a close proximity of it.

He tried to pull himself up again, but he must've slipped down farther than he thought. Fingers clamped around his ankles and yanked hard. Normally such an act would be impossible against his stickiness. But his body was well below his capabilities, and he came off with little resistance. He slammed into the floor, yelling around the pain flaring in his side, and curled tightly in on himself.

"You little bi-" Norman swore and kicked Peter in the side. "Do you know how expensive that was?"

"Go - g- buy a new one" Peter slurred.

Norman reached down and grabbed Peter by his hair. He pulled him after him, ignorant of the blood Peter was smearing on his skin as he scrambled to pull Norman off. Peter stumbled over his legs, feeling sotten and tired. Norman grumbled irritably and hefted him up with his hair.

When they came upon their desired destination, Norman plopped Peter back down on the floor and clicked something in his ear. Probably a Bluetooth.

"Thundra," he growled into it. "Get in here. I need you to take of the bug for me."

Peter could hear her voice from where he sat. She sounded very pleased with the news. "Ah yeah, I've been waiting for those words," he heard her knuckles crack.

"Not like that," Norman reprimanded. He glanced down at Peter, seemed to think it over. "Well, maybe," he decided. "Get up here. Now."

"Whatever you say, boss,"

The line clicked off. Peter gripped the side of the enforced table, fingers digging into the muddle. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the daze that had overcome him. Above him, Norman observed the dents in the metal with a curious scowl.

Creeping pervert of all the perverts. Stupid psycho's and their stupid money and their stupid drugs. Did they see Peter ever knocking out his bad guys with a sedative? No! Cause he had class.

- And because Otto vetoed the idea. Something about Peter accidentally knocking himself out, which was just a blasphemy to Peter's capabilities. -

The ground around him shuttered and Peter fell slightly. His arms were shaking, his legs felt numb. Man, what was in that drug.

"What the hell," Norman cursed, steadying himself on the table.

Huh, maybe that wasn't just Peter.

Another shutter rattled through the floor.

Norman pressed his ear again. "What's going on?" he snapped.

"The facility has been breached," Trapster reported over the line.

Peter could hear Norman's teeth gritting. "Well, get down there! Who is attacking?"

Trapster cursed. "SHIELD. It's SHIELD. Why are they here?"

Peter perked up. SHIELD? SHIELD was here? It wasn't exactly the Avengers, but he wasn't going to complain. He'd way prefer Nick Fury and his spy esque in opposition to Norman's mad-scientist vibe.

"If you let any of them get past you," Norman warns.

"Uh, do you still want me to head to the lab?" Thundra asked.

"NO! Get down there and get rid of SHIELD!"

"Okay, okay. I'm going, jeez."

He clicked off the Bluetooth again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It doesn't pay to hire anyone today," Peter slurred at him, chuckling. He leaned against the table, breathing deeply. Man, he was getting tired. "Really though, of all the villain you could've picked, the Frightful Four was the best you could get. Did you, like, win them in a game show or something? One of those rag-tag door prizes?"

Norman switched his glare at him. He scrutinized Peter quickly, before seemingly coming to a decision. He strode across the room, grabbed something from a metal containment unit, and walked back. Peter pulled himself up on the table, leaning heavily against it as he braced himself.

When Norman was close, he took a wild swing at him. It landed flat and Norman easily maneuvered around it and retaliated with a jab in Peter's sides. That was all it took. Peter gasped, doubling over, and Norman took the opportunity to clasps something to his wrist. The other end was secured to the bolted down table.

"You cuffed me," Peter blanched, looking up. "Pyscho pervert."

Norman kicked him again. "Quiet."

Peter groaned, feeling as though he was going to throw up. Which would NOT be good given his condition. Through tear-blurred eyes, he glanced at the cuff. It was simple enough, but big and thick. Reinforced with metal and glowing around the edges. The line connecting it to the table was glowing too. It was obviously not designed to hold regular people.

He tugged on it weakly. Stupid healing factor, hurry it up. Stupid drug, just go away! Any other day he could bust out of this. He hated feeling so weak and vulnerable. Is this how Otto felt every time Norman showed up? So powerless?

He really hoped Otto was okay.

Another rumble through the building shook the walls and Norman clicked back into the comm.

"What's going on out there? Report."

Peter hears static.

"Report. I said report!"

Across the room, the door burst open, and four figures stepped in. Peter and Norman looked up at the same, and Peter felt like he was going to cry tears of joy.

"Sorry, they're a little out of commission," Powerman answered Norman, dropping a massive wrecking ball with a broken chain onto the floor. Behind him, Iron Fist had his glowing fist up, and to the other side, White Tiger had her arms folded across her chest.

A second later Nova peaked out from behind Powerman's immense shoulders.

"Hey, is he in here? Move out of the way, gah why are you so freaking huge. Mooooove." He shoved Powerman to the side and wrestled his way to the front, spotting Peter and Norman instantly. He looked back to his team. "He's here! Guys we -" he noticed their stances. "Wait - did I just miss our epic hero entrance? No! Guys, now we have to do it again! I wasn't in it! We talked about this!"

Peter was pretty he was crying tears of joy then.

Hey guys! Look, we're back! Anyway, in case you haven't seen my log-book, these next few weeks I'm going to go crazy updating my USM fics. This one book only has 3 and 1/2 more chapters before it's complete! YAY!

*sigh* Gotta love the superhero entrance.

Anyway, more news! I've finished an original short story! :D It's all written and ready to go, and is 4-5 chapters long! I just wanted to know if anyone would be interested in reading it! (*whisper* It includes human experimentation. Fun, right? - I am concerned for my mental well-being T.T)

Anyway, here's this! Norman is a pyscho.

- OfficialUSMWriter out!