O Brother, Where Art Thou?

About a year and a half ago, Rhodey tried to teach Peter chess. Tony thought it was a waste of time because We're not chess men, Platypus, we're men of science. Now let's go blow something up, Pete. Despite this airtight excuse, Col. Rhodes insisted he learn because of strategy or some other military shit ("Not all of us have tingles, Peter. You can't rely on your instincts alone." "It's not a tingle. It's a sense." "It's totally a tingle, kid." "Mr. Stark!"). Later, Happy confessed that Rhodey wanted Peter to play because Tony always beat him, and he wanted someone who didn't know what they were doing. Rhodey didn't talk to Happy for a week. 

As Peter watched Norman Osborn wave them to their seats, he wondered if he should have taken the Colonel's lessons a little more seriously. Being extremely hung over didn't help Peter in the figuring-shit-out department, and between the embarrassing panic attack in the car earlier and Peter's constant avoidance of his past (along with his tremors, faulty senses, and super soldier painkiller induced state) he felt like a pawn in a game where the outcome was rigged from the very start.

Although Peter was big enough to admit he had a problem with catastrophizing But you kill everyone you love, so it's not really exaggerating, is it, Peter?, he was pretty sure that nothing about this situation was going to end well. He had, once again, put people he loved in danger, and the fucking hilarious thing was that he tried his damnedest to stay away from all of them. He had a plan and it was a good plan and as a man of science he liked his plan. Of course, Peter wasn't stupid. He knew his plan would not have been approved by any of the people from his past life, but he was no longer part of a committee for God's sake—he was a party of one and the boss of his life. And death. At least, that was the plan. 

But as he stared at Norman (who stared back like an absolute creeper), he realized that he wasn't ever going to get the choice of when or where or how to carry out his plan. Apparently, he was doomed to be the plaything of bad luck and shitty circumstances—his life and his death were never going to be in his hands, but the hands of villains and guns and magic spells. This Norman was not the Norman of another universe, Peter was sure, because this Norman had an evil glint in his eye and Peter lost his Aunt, his pseudo-mother, and all his friendships and the entirety of his livelihood to send the other Norman back, whole and good and glint-free. Because villains get second chances. Loser orphans who play superheroes don't, but villains do. He guessed it was because of his kind heart or great responsibility or something else like that. Peter wasn't sure. His head was hurting too much. 

There was an awkward silence for about five full minutes. Morgan was looking back and forth between Norman and her dad, who had put his arm around her shoulder protectively. Dr. Prentiss cleared his throat so many times that Peter almost asked if he needed a cough drop.

Well, fuck it. 

"Do you need a cough drop, Dr. P? Shall we come back, because you look kind of peaky. Thanks for inviting us and all, but we can do this another day." 

"Sit down, Mr. Fitzpatrick." Norman gestured to the food on the table. "It would be a shame for all this food to go to waste. Need a drink? I hear you're a man with...refined tastes." Peter's ears burned, but he gave a polite smile.

"Of course, Mr. Osborn.  But I'm going to have to pass on the drink. I tend to lose my appetite around creepy old dudes on power trips." Tony snorted.

Norman gave a tight smile. "Oh dear. I was so hoping this meeting would go well. Albert told me all about you and your project. How Tony Stark himself was going to come and consult on it. What an opportunity, gentleman. Everyone here, together, learning more about one another."

"Are you going to monologue the whole time, Norman, because I've got to agree with the kid here."

"Why Tony. I thought you'd of all people would want to be present for this. After the...tragic circumstances surrounding your wife and all, you have more of a right than any to be here." The other men at the table bristled. For a moment, Tony looked confused. His face slipped back into an impassive mask and quirked an eyebrow. 

"And what do you mean by that?" 

Peter felt like his blood had turned to magma. He heard Morgan whisper, "Is he talking about Mom?" 

"Oh, I am being rude. Yes, darling, I'm talking about your mother. What a beautiful lady she was. What a beautiful young lady you are turning out to be. I'm very glad you were...spared from that horrible tragedy." 

Peter stood up, "Don't you fucking talk to her. Don't even look at her." Tony seemed to be shaking with rage and Happy's hand was near the gun Peter knew he kept on him. Rhodey's face was carefully blank as he put his hand on Tony's shoulder. Osborn smiled genially at Peter and pointed to his chair. 

"My, my, my. Temper, Benjamin. Sit down, child. Mr. Hogan, I would remove that gun if I were you. We wouldn't want any accidents would we." About ten armed men stepped into the room, two directly behind Tony and Morgan.

Peter scoffed. "You have goons? Of course you fucking have goons." 

Osborn tsked and shook his head sadly. "This is just not going the way I planned. I was hoping we could have a nice meal before getting down to business. Oh well."

"What the hell do you want, Norman?" Tony bit out. Peter watched as Happy handed over his gun and Rhodey looked around the room, presumably for a safe exit. Dr. Prentiss spoke up. "Norman. We didn't talk about this."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Albert. Tell me, Ben" He leaned back in his chair, "just hypothetically, of course. Say there was a mutant boy who liked to play dress-up around your city. Say he disappeared around the same time a mysterious letter showed up from someone claiming to be you from another universe. Say that you found out that boy was also the reason your most promising research on radioactivity and superhuman abilities disappeared. Squished, even, by his selfish, idiotic hands. Now, say that boy hacked into your company's bank account to pay for tuition and living expenses and weekend partying in order to create technology that would hinder your ability to rise to new heights in your quest to elevate normal DNA to enhanced DNA. Say that all of this was true. What would you do?" The table was deathly quiet, as Osborn sipped his water. "Well?"

Peter made a show of pretending to think while he returned Osborn's mocking smile. "I don't know, Norman. I guess, if that were the case, hypothetically, I'd probably shake said boy's hand for putting me in my fucking place." Osborn's smile slipped. Peter went on, "Or, I'd check myself into a psych ward for paranoia and terminal levels of naivety for believing something as stupid as having a counterpart from another universe. Or a police station for being a creepy asshole who apparently spies on children." Peter could see the vein in Osborn's head throbbing. He continued in spectacular display of poor self-preservation, "Or, Norman, I would thank him for only taking enough money to support himself, and not emptying his account to give to every single family he screwed over with his fucked up science experiments. Or-" 

"Kid, shut up." Tony looked pained.

Osborn stood up and walked slowly over to Peter. He grabbed a gun from one of his goons (actual goons, like straight out of a comic book), and lazily pointed it at Peter's head. "Funny. But you see, isn't it strange that an enhanced teenager, who spent years protecting his neighborhood and fighting with the Avengers, just...disappears one day." He gestured to Tony and Morgan, whose eyes were wide. "If I were that boy, I'd get down on my knees and ask for forgiveness for all the people he killed." Peter ground his teeth together, and looked down. Osborn lifted his chin, "Tell us, boy, is it hard being near  the husband and child of the woman you let die? What do they think of their great hero getting drunk off his ass in college while they grieve their loved one?" 

"That's enough." Tony's eyes flashed. Tears threatened to fall, but Peter tried to hold them back. "Norman, what do you want?"

"Anthony, I thought you'd never ask. The way I see it, Benjamin owes Oscorp a lot: stolen money, stolen research, stolen powers. We have the right to every single thing he does. Everything he is. His body. His mind. Including this current project. Now, I could just kill him and just take what I need, but that lacks a certain finesse. So I have a proposition. You," he shoved the gun against Peter's head, "and you," he pointed at Tony, "and you," he pointed at Rhodey, "are going to go into the lab downstairs and improve the prototype per my instructions. You will get it ready to use by tomorrow night. You will do so without complaint, quickly and efficiently, or you might find yourselves...lacking a couple more members of your family." He sneered at Morgan and Happy. "It was quite fortuitous that you came when you did, Anthony. We've been watching the boy for awhile—gaining his cooperation would not have been easy without some sort of...incentive. Your daughter provided quite the prefect answer. I never appreciated a Tweet more than the one that led me to a Benjamin Fitzpatrick holding hands with Tony Stark's daughter." 

Peter scoffed. It was silent for a minute, and then, Dr. Prentiss spoke up. "Norman, I...I feel a bit uncomfortable with..." 

"I don't give a fuck with what you think, Albert. You got your money. You are either part of this or not. Make your decision."

Peter sucked in a breath as his senses blared. He shouted and tried to move towards his professor. "Mo, close your eyes!" The gun went off almost immediately. Osborn looked at the rest of them. "Too late." He shrugged. "I need to change out of these clothes. Wipe your face, Benjamin. You have blood on it. I'll give you all 10 minutes to finish up your meal and then I'll meet you in the lab." He walked out. 

Immediately, Tony picked up an inconsolable Morgan and held her tightly, while Happy and Rhodey crowded around them. Peter watched almost impassively. He was pretty sure he was back in space. Maybe hallucinating? He couldn't recall everything he took last night. Peter was pretty sure he wasn't in hell, because Morgan was too good to end up there as well. 

"You're not in hell, Benji. Breathe for me, Underoos." Peter looked up sharply at that. Tony was in front of him, gently wiping his face with a wet napkin. They all ignored the still body lying at his feet. "So, Benjamin Fitzpatrick is really Spider-Man, huh? You know," Tony huffed a laugh, "I looked for you, kid. I wanted to talk to you." His voice cracked, "I...I thought you were dead." Peter looked at him seriously.

"I'm so sorry I'm not."