Chapter 3

Thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, and reviewed this traumatic tale of mine! I'm so happy you guys are looking forward to reading this!

Just a bit of warning, this chapter gave me a bit of trouble. I had to rewrite one part because I had done it in both past and present tense somehow. I did my best to proofread, but if you see any errors please let me know. On the bright side, it's more than twice the length of last chapter.

Also, you finally get to see more characters' reactions. Feel free to call me out if anyone seems out of character. Well, almost anyone . . . Poor Peter isn't taking this too well . . .

Nick Fury was naturally a dubious person. He wouldn't have been appointed Director of Shield if he had been anything less. As most of his staff knew, it took a lot to convince him of anything. But he was always willing to listen.

Right now, he was listening, and he was getting all of the evidence he needed to be convinced of this predicament.

He was still holding onto his doubt.

"Explain the glasses. Octavius never needed glasses. Parker did before the bite."

"Octavius actually predicted that," Dr. Connors replied. "His method wasn't perfect, and technology hadn't really caught up with him. He realized that certain complex organs such as the eyes might have problems forming. His notes show that he took measures to keep that to a minimum, but he didn't get a chance to do any sort of laser eye treatment."

"Octavius has done experiments with Parker's blood before. How did he not see the match?"

"Well, he would have had to do some sort of paternal test, and I doubt Octavius would have cared about that. Every time we raided his labs his notes only showed that he focused on the DNA responsible for his spider-powers."

"And Shield had absolutely no pictures of Octavius' face, young or old, to make a comparison?"

"We do, it's just, well . . . that's where our system of masked heroes does come into question." Dr. Connors ran his hand through his hair. "The team you assigned to research Octavius never knew Peter and didn't have access to his files. And we've never needed a bio on a bad guy that included his high school year book picture. We hardly ever look at any pictures of Octavius, to be honest. We know those arms are stuck to his back. There's not much else you need to know to get a positive ID on him."

Fury's brow twitched, the only outward sign that he was irritated. "This was just the perfect storm waiting to happen."

"It appears so."

"And how's the kid holding up?" Fury glanced through the glass at the sleeping teenager in the medical wing. They had only just put him to sleep so his body could properly repair itself after Octavius had drawn all those pints of blood, not to mention the rough kidnapping in the first place. The kid had been running on fumes for the past few hours.

"He's taking it pretty well. I don't think he's fully grasped the concept and implications yet, but I think he'll be able to handle it."

"What are the implications?"

"Well . . ." Dr. Connors showed all the signs of unease Fury had learned to read back when he was a regular agent. "It does mean that he isn't related to the Parkers at all. All of those traits he associated to his parents and his aunt and uncle . . . His affinity for math, science, and engineering likely stem from Octavius, although I do think that his aunt and uncle's encouragement did the rest."

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Setting aside physical traits, exactly how much of Parker does stem from Octavius?"

"I'm afraid I can't give you anything close to a certain answer for that one. Science is just beginning to unravel the mysteries of the brain, and those few studies that are performed are often not given proper review because even other scientists are hesitant to say that our personalities may be dictated by our genes. It's all a very fuzzy business. All I can really say is that, yes, Peter likely is very cognitively active because of Octavius. But we've already seen that he and Octavius have vastly different definitions of right and wrong."

"I know that. This isn't my first rodeo. But in my time here I've heard of dormant genes and memories. Is there any chance of that happening here?"

Dr. Connors shrugged. "I haven't the slightest clue. Octavius' method was nothing like the intergalactic ones I've studied and even those were very different from each other. I've got to admit I'm impressed that he was able to clone himself with only Earth technology."

They were silent for a moment. Dr. Connors shifted, not used to silence around the Director.

The doctor coughed. "Um . . . so what should we do? I mean, it's not really like we have a major problem here, just a . . . situation, I suppose you could call it."

"Give him some time. Keep things business as usual. Interrogate Octavius the first chance we get." Fury gave a small huff of a sigh. "It says something about Shield that we have a protocol for this."

Luke stood back, arms folded in front of him. Ava and Danny stood beside him. Sam and Peter were on the floor laughing so hard that one could believe that Peter's tears were more joyful in origin.

They had all been there when Peter woke up. They had all brainstormed the best ways to deal with this situation. The consensus was to just keep treating him the same way they always did; to show him that they didn't consider him any different. This had proven a bit more difficult in practice. Those first few minutes had been incredibly awkward. It wasn't because they felt any differently towards their friend. It was just that there wasn't a lot to say that didn't address the elephant in the room, and did they really want to touch on that topic so soon?

And then Sam had begun blasting "I Think I'm a Clone Now" by Weird Al Yankovic.

And then this happened.

Luke conceded that, while Sam had broken his record on lack of tact, he had at least succeeded to dramatically decrease the tension in the room.

The song ended, the playlist switching to some song about a couple deciding what they wanted for dinner. Sam lowered the volume as he caught his breath. "Man, I love Weird Al. He's like, an artist after my own heart."

Peter took several calming breaths, still smiling. "Isn't he the one who sings that Albuquerque song you showed me once that really had nothing to do with Albuquerque?"

"Yup, that's the one."

"Don't remind me," Ava said, rolling her eyes. "You played that song nonstop for a week. It doesn't even make sense!"

"That's the point! Weird Al is a genius!"

Ava put a hand to her forehead, muttering under her breath.

Sam helped Peter up from the floor. "So now how are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks." Peter rubbed the back of his neck, smile fading. "I should be asking you guys that question. I'll understand if it's too weird or something."

"Dude, you say that as if our very lives aren't the definition of weird," Luke said.

"I know, it's just . . . this is weirder than our usual weird," Peter continued. "I'm—I'm literally the clone of one of our arch enemies. It's totally understandable if you don't want me to lead the team anymore."

"Peter," Ava said sternly. "Look at the facts. You've proven that you're a great leader. You've proven that you're a great hero. You've proven that you're better than Octavius. It's not like you just suddenly became his clone. You've been the same you for all this time and you're not going to change now."

"She is right," Danny agreed. "Remember how you passed the tests of Shun'Lun?"

"Yeah . . . I guess you're right." Peter looked away, blushing slightly. "It's just . . ."

"Don't call it an identity crisis." Luke smiled. "This is no worse than Harry being the son of the Goblin."

"But isn't it?" Peter pressed, running a hand through his hair and beginning to pace, a thousand emotions on his face. "If I hadn't ended up with the Parkers." Peter continued, then paused. Calling the people he had previously just referred to as his family by their real names must have been . . . difficult. Luke watched him pace, but it hurt. It hurt to see their friend hurt.

Peter may not have physically been their strongest member, but he was the most headstrong. He was usually unflappable, no matter what craziness they faced. Now he was very much flapped. It was completely understandable, but it was also the first time any of them really saw him in this state. Peter usually seemed as strong as Spider-Man inside and out. If this was crazy enough to upset Peter this much . . . Luke didn't know how to make it better. None of them did. It sounded really dense, but this wasn't a superhero/super villain scenario, at least not one they were used to. They weren't trained psychologists, and they knew the difference training made. They weren't about to try too hard to help if there was a risk that they would do more damage than good.

But that didn't mean they were giving up. It just meant that it would take some time to help their friend, because they didn't have a clue where to start. Luke sure wasn't going to turn his back on the friend who had stuck by him in a rupturing volcano so he could save his parents.

"Dude, don't go off on the alternate timeline tangent," Sam told Peter. "They don't exist. This is the one timeline you're stuck in and you're doing pretty well."

Peter didn't respond. His eyes were glazed in thought. Luke wondered what was bothering him until he saw Peter mouth a familiar name.

"Pete, you know May won't mind," Luke said. "She's strong, and she barely batted an eye when she found out you were Spider-Man. Family sticks together."

Luke regretted his choice of words one second too late.

This was going to take some trial and error.

"That's the thing! We're not family!" Peter burst out. "However the Parkers got a hold of me, I'm not related to them in any way! Aunt May isn't my aunt! And Ben—" Peter cut himself off, crossing his arms and staring at the floor.

"Ben loved you," Ava continued for him, bravely saying the name that was so often avoided. Even after all those months staying in the Parker household, they hadn't learned much about the man, but some things were obvious enough. "He loved you. Your parents loved you. May loves you. So they're your family in everything but blood. Who cares? This is no worse than being adopted."

"It's not better either," Peter mumbled.

Luke's communicator buzzed. He relayed the message, "You're cleared to go home. We can go with you if you want."

Peter looked up at him. "I don't mind you dropping me off, but I need to tell May myself."

No one argued with that.

The hours to come bring several surprises. It irks Peter; as if the day hadn't already had a big enough surprise.

First, he surprised himself by having the guts to tell May the truth. It wasn't that he planned on never telling her, it was just a difficult thing to say. It was especially difficult to tell her. Peter had feared that his voice would catch and they would spend the hours in worried silence. But he managed to get his voice to work.

Second, his tear ducts surprised him. He could have sworn that he emptied them out earlier, but no, of course not. He knew it's okay for everyone to cry, but okay is far from the feeling that actually causes tears.

The third thing wasn't too much of a surprise, but it was definitely a relief. May had pulled him close the moment he began to explain. He hadn't exactly thought she would turn him away just because he wasn't really a Parker . . . yet deep down he had feared it. He appreciated her being there, even as he soaked her blouse clear through with those dratted tears.

The fourth thing was more of a surprise. May showed no hostility towards the original Otto Octavius at all. Peter asked her how she could feel so forgiving towards such a mad scientist, and she had answered:

"I will forever be grateful that he made you. He can pay for whatever else he's done, but I could never be upset that you're here."

The only response Peter could manage to that was a blubbering thank you. May then took the time to make him some cocoa, and they spent a few hours just being near each other and listening to slow, sorrowful music. After a while, when she noticed Peter's eyelids drooping, May suggested he get to bed. Things would look much better in the morning.

That's when surprise #5 came.

Peter entered his bedroom. Before he could turn on his light, he froze, spotting the silhouetted figure sitting on his bed. For one wild moment he wondered if it was Ben, waiting for him to lay down so he could tell a meaningful but humorous tale. But some sort of ghost would be too much to end this day. To see Ben again today of all days . . . Peter wouldn't be able to bear it.

His fear abated when he turned on the light, only to inflate again along with a bubble of fury.

"You!"

Otto Octavius stood from the bed. In his hand he held a picture frame. "Hello. I suppose I should call you Peter?"

"That is my name! Why are you here? How did you get in here?"

May's voice drifted from down the hall. "Peter? What's wrong? Who's there?"

"Stay there! It's Doc Ock!" Peter shut the door.

"Please, you can call me Otto now—"

"No! Just answer my questions or I'll—!"

"You can't call for back-up." Octavius interrupted. "I disabled all comm links temporarily."

"I've handled you by myself before."

"If you want me to explain why I'm here then I suggest you give me the time to do so."

Peter bit back another retort, crossing his arms. To his dismay, he could hear May breathing on the other side of his bedroom door. Of course she wanted to make sure he was okay. But that meant he had to try to keep this encounter civil. He gestured for Octavius to continue.

"Thank you. Firstly, I want to tell you how proud I am of you."

Those same words from May or Ben, his teachers or his teammates, usually filled Peter with warmth. Coming from the man in front of him, just made his skin crawl. "I don't care what you think. Besides, shouldn't you be disappointed or something that I'm a superhero?"

Octavius shook his head. "On the contrary, I'm impressed that you managed to be everything I couldn't. Even at your young age, you are braver than I ever was." He looked down at the picture in his hands again. "And you have gone through so much. I'm sorry to hear of your losses."

Peter's fists clenched. "How did you figure out who I am? How did you learn about all that?"

"It wasn't too difficult to figure out. The only other people who had access to my lab when I made you were Mary and Richard Parker. They were my lab assistants. I Googled their names and there you were." There was a pause. "I once thought they were quite incompetent, but they did commit the perfect kidnapping. They also became quite successful scientists of their own accord." He looked up at Peter again. "They . . . I trust they were good parents?"

Peter was still focused on the previous statement, the 'perfect kidnapping'. Truthfully, he hadn't really given much thought to the question of how he came to be with the Parkers. It just wasn't a priority. To hear that his parents, the people who had called themselves his parents, were technically kidnappers . . . but then, they had done it for the greater good; they had taken him away from the mad scientist.

"They were pretty good, I'd say. Better than being raised by a crackpot like you."

Octavius didn't take the bait for once. "You were only with them for about six years, though, weren't you? That's when your aunt and uncle took you in. I will admit I eavesdropped when I first got here. Your aunt seems to treat you very well."

"Eavesdropping on top of breaking and entering, huh? You better not have bugged my room. If you're dare threaten me or my aunt then—"

"You keep jumping to conclusions. I merely came to . . . to see this for myself. I needed to make sure that they were treating you right, that you're happy here."

Peter was speechless. That wasn't even the last thing he had expected Octavius to say, because he hadn't expected such a reason at all. "What? You're here doing a welfare check? You're not going to try to forcibly take me to one of your weird hideouts and try, and fail, to mold me into a mini you or something?"

Octavius put the picture frame back on the shelf, exactly where Peter had had it. It was a picture of Peter and Ben at the park. Ben had been trying to teach his nine-year-old nephew how to fish. Peter had been completely opposed to the idea of eating the fish they caught. However, he had been entranced the moment Ben sliced open the fish. That had been his first hands-on foray into biology. Home videos in the attic showed Peter clumsily performing a quasi-autopsy on one of the fish, gleefully squishing the eyeball until it burst, prodding at the heart and brain, wondering if fish call the water they swim in 'air'.

Peter's breath hitched. That memory used to be fun. It was just one of those comedic tales of a young boy doing something gross. Now he wondered: had his fascination of the fish's anatomy come from Octavius? Had he smiled with the same glee Octavius showed when he had Spider-Man strapped to a table? If he had really been Ben's nephew, would he have eaten the fish without any trouble? The memory of cutting the fish open seemed so barbaric now.

"I would not dream of taking you away from this." Octavius gestured at the room around him with his real arms. "I am an excellent scientist, but I was never very great at psychology. I do not understand the concept of parenting very well. Your aunt seems very capable, and you have already proven that you were raised well." He smiled. "Did you know, I never thought that you would become better than me at so many things. Granted, you have a long way to go in some aspects. But you haven't done too badly for an Octavius."

"I'm not an Octavius," Peter decided right then and there. "I'm a Parker."

Otto nodded. "I will admit that the Parkers may also be a respectable legacy. But you are still my literal flesh and blood; you have much to gain from me. You are already changing the world, more than I have." He pointed at a thick folder on the desk. Peter hadn't initially noticed the foreign packet amongst the mess of his other school papers. "That contains details of my work, my true work. Perhaps then you will see that we are no different. We both want the same thing: to advance science, humanity's understanding of the world, to better us all."

Peter grit his teeth. "That's not what you want! You wouldn't have done half the things you've done if that's what you really cared about!"

Octavius frowned. "My life was placed in the hands of Norman Osborn a long time ago, Peter. I never condoned any of the work he made me do, but I did it. Would you rather die before you can make anything to really help the world just because of a few petty disagreements?"

"Petty disagreements?! These are morals you're talking about! Morals are what you're supposed to live and die for!"

The man with the four metal arms smiled again. "That is what everyone says, isn't it? They act like morals are set in stone, so they balk at the slightest tinge of gray. Don't your morals feel as concrete as the fact that 1+1=2? People can argue that numbers are arbitrary, but they are useful for all intents and purposes. Don't you, Spider-Man, try to save the most people when you go out at night? Wouldn't you allow one person to come to harm so you could save twenty? Or even two? I've seen you fight your hardest so you can live to help people another day. You were always willing to fight a little harder. You will react no differently when one day it comes down to an innocent's life or yours."

Those words felt so wrong. But . . . they were so right. Peter had thought the same things some nights, after a difficult fight, after a patrol where he wondered if he wouldn't go home. He knew he had to always make it home for May, for everyone. Yet the words sounded so wrong when Octavius spoke them out loud . . .

Was it like Ben used to say? The world's biggest fool could say the sun is shining, but that doesn't make it dark out.

It did make you dubious though.

"Get out of my house!" Peter yelled. "Don't think that any of this means you get a free pass!"

Octavius lifted all of his arms in a placating gesture. "Don't worry. You won't hear from me until I'm ready to really teach you."

Peter's glare grew more intense. "Don't waste your time. I'll never listen to you."

"We shall see. If you don't mind, I'd rather like to leave through your back door than the window. All signals will work again once I'm gone."

Peter hesitated a moment. He could try to restrain him; he hadn't been lying when he said he had handled Octavius alone before. But he couldn't reach his web shooters from here, and his aunt was much too close. He heard her sneaking away from the door, entering her own bedroom further down the hall. He stepped aside, if only to have Octavius gone sooner rather than later.