Disclaimer: All Spider-Man characters are property of Marvel. Original characters are mine.

Author's Note: Things are going to go a bit slower after this chapter; I'm making this up as I go along, and after this chapter, I'm still thinking it over where I'm going next. I've got ideas, of course, but I don't want to make it too much like the ending of Moonlight Becomes You. Perhaps I can make this story have a happier ending! Heh heh… Yeah, right… A shorter chapter than normal, and I apologize. I try to be consistent in my chapter lengths, but sometimes, it just doesn't work out that way. Hope you enjoy it, nonetheless.

Death Becomes You

Three – Damaged

Her words didn't sink in, not at first. 'Dead' was not a word that could be applied to someone who stood atop the roof and breathed in the chilly night air, who felt the cool stone of the parapet beneath his palm. And yet… the wounds he'd taken over Halloween no longer ached… and he knew even without looking that the wound in his skull was severe. He shouldn't be able to stand, much less have made an escape from the hospital without even causing such a severe injury any pain. He supposed that a heavy dose of drugs could explain why he felt nothing, why his mind felt strangely detached from his body… maybe even why the actuators had been unable to siphon power from his body. And yet… something inside him knew that he was wrong.

After all, hadn't she raised his wife? Hard as it was to accept, Lynnea did seem to have some sort of strange power…

"I don't believe you." The peculiar petrified feel of his hand had let up, and he drew it slowly back from Lynnea's quivering throat. He'd halted because of a subconscious revulsion for killing, not because she'd commanded him to. That was it. Otto leaned heavily against the stone, watching as the young woman shakily climbed to her feet.

Lynnea seated herself on the wide stone parapet encircling the roof's perimeter. "It's true," she said, her voice dull. "I raised you to help me get rid of O'Connell. He cheated me, he wants to have me killed, and now it seems he's going to try to use my daughter to get to me. I can't let him touch her, Doctor." She said the last with startling ferocity.

Daughter? He put that aside for later consideration. "I'm not dead," he said coldly. His hands clenched into fists. "Wouldn't I know if I were? Wouldn't I feel it? Wouldn't I… wouldn't I be like Rosie?" He remembered her empty gaze, her indifference towards him, her complete obedience to O'Connell, even after he'd hurt her… His fists tightened. "I'm talking, I'm breathing, I'm bleeding… Dammit, I can feel my heart beat! How can I be a corpse?"

"You only breathe because you speak," Lynnea said quietly. "And because you don't know not to. Were you to stop breathing, nothing would happen. Your heart beats because you do have blood that needs to circulate, to keep your body from decaying. That's why you bleed. You can't digest food or drink. You don't need to sleep. You don't even need to blink. As for why you're not like Rosie… I have a theory about that." Lynnea glanced downward, checking for police pursuit, but it had been quiet after their escape – the police had probably assumed Otto would have been able to take them further than three buildings away. "There are strict rules for my profession… rules that I broke tonight raising you. One of them is to not raise a corpse until it had been dead for a week. I never really thought about why; I just assumed that death magic worked better when the body had been dead longer. But… now I think that it's to give the soul time to sever its bond with the body. I think… I think by raising you early, I imprisoned your soul in your body, and that's why you're aware, but Rosie isn't. Worse… you may be damaged in other ways that I haven't detected yet because of my foolishness."

Otto could only stare, as everything she'd said sank in. She was, impossibly, right; he knew it in his bones, though he didn't want to accept it. It was why everything felt so wrong, why he felt a feeling of loss, as though he'd experienced something wonderful that he'd been pulled away from. The white-hot rage within him boiled up, and he nearly rushed Lynnea to push her over the edge. What she was saying was worse than finding out he was dead! "And they call me a monster," he whispered. "Undo this. Now."

"I don't know if I can," Lynnea said. "You're not a normal corpse puppet; normal methods might not work on you. Your soul may now be unbreakably tied to your body and if I destroyed it… you might still be bound to the material world." Her voice was hollow. "You'd be a ghost…"

He almost scoffed at this and called her a fool, but he couldn't. He was apparently living – or, rather, non-living – proof that there was more to the world than meets the eye. "If you won't, then I will," Otto hissed. He stepped onto the parapet, quite prepared to take the fatal plunge.

"Don't!" Lynnea shouted. "Back off!"

Again came that peculiar sensation of suddenly becoming a passenger as his body danced to another's tune. It wasn't until he was standing well away from the edge that he regained control. It proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was no longer in control of his life, that he'd become little more than a puppet. Otto was almost quaking with fury at this point; was he even to be denied the ability to end this twisted parody of a life?

"For what it's worth," Lynnea said, "I'm sorry." She did sound genuinely contrite… but that didn't change things between them. All the sorrow in the world couldn't repair this.

"It's not worth a whole lot," he spat. She just smiled sadly, as if that was no more than what she'd expected. He stared outward, past Lynnea, finding his gaze once again drawn to the pale disk of the moon. Its soft light helped him to cool his temper, though the rage lay curled within him like a beast, ready to rise up and strike at the slightest perturbation. What am I going to do now? he thought hopelessly. He had no choice but to accept Lynnea's words as the truth; his body instinctively knew what his mind had trouble grasping. Which meant that he was bound to her for as long as she chose, forced to do her will as Rosie was forced to do whatever O'Connell bid. A sound curiously resembling a whimper escaped his throat. He would never have thought his previous life as an outcast would be preferable, but now he found himself longing for his life on the street, eking out a pitiful existence. Even being O'Connell's prisoner would have been better. At least then, he'd had hope. Now… now he was just a puppet.

He would have broken down sobbing then, except that he couldn't. His eyes remained dry, and his sobs caught in his throat; he may as well have showed no reaction at all. So he just stood, unable to express a sorrow that was as deep, as all-consuming, as the rage that still burned within him. "Now what?" he asked brokenly.

Lynnea was still staring down at the city below, unable to meet his eyes. "Now, we need to get out of here. If we stay up here much longer, the police are bound to find us, right?" She seemed to expect confirmation, so Otto nodded. She prodded one of the actuators with her booted foot. "Can they get us out of here?"

"No," Otto said. "Dead battery." He laughed at the bitter irony. He'd never have expected the phrase to apply to him… At Lynnea's confused look, he explained, have you seen The Matrix?" Lynnea nodded. "Remember why the machines had the humans hooked up to the matrix?" He saw realization dawn, but he continued with his explanation, anyway. It helped remind him of who he was, and distract him from what he now was. "The actuators pulled their power from the excess energy created by biochemical reactions within my body. Without that energy, they had to switch to an alternate power source, the batter I had installed. Unfortunately, the cell can't power them for long, and it was already partially drained because the damage to this actuator," he gestured at the black upper right pincer, "disabled its ability to draw power from me, so it used up about half the power stored in the battery. And now…" he waved his hand for emphasis, "it's gone." Much to his disgust, a part of him was upset at disappointing his 'master,' and he had the sickening urge to apologize.

But the words never made it past his lips. At least he had some measure of control over himself. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and asked, "What do you want me to do?" He winced; he hadn't meant to ask it like that.

"We can't stay up here all night," Lynnea said. "At dawn…" she trailed off.

At dawn, I die. Hadn't he watched his wife's degeneration the moment the sun's rays had touched her? It had been like seeing her die again… And that's going to happen to me. Oh, God… He'd never get the image of his wife's body wasting away out of his mind. Knowing he was going to go through the same process was frightening. What would happen to him while his body became so much rotting meating? Don't think about it, he told himself. Just don't think about it. Remember who you are; hold on to that. Don't let this drive you mad. "I know what happens at dawn," he said. "You're right; we have to get out of here. Do you have any idea how?" He had ideas of his own… but when he tried to voice them, his throat seemed to close, his jaw locked, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth… wasn't he even allowed to think for himself?

Fortunately, Lynnea had already proven she could think on her feet. She wasn't the type to rely on others to get herself out of a tight spot. "We'll have to use the fire escape to get down. Do you have any idea where we can hide once we're out of here? I don't know the city very well."

Now that she'd asked his opinion directly, he suddenly found he could speak. "There are a few abandoned buildings not far from here that I've slept in while living on the streets. We can use one of them."

"Let's go," Lynnea said. And Otto had no choice but to obey as she yanked the invisible strings that bound him to her.

XXX

It was fortunate Lynnea had total control over Dr. Octavius, because otherwise, the scientist would kill her. She'd seen the rage in the depths of his dark eye, like nothing she'd ever seen in a puppet before. And then there was the sadness… Most puppets showed little beyond fear and pain, and in rare cases, a madness that made them difficult to control. They were the only emotions a puppet felt, except for the serenity that came from basking under the moon's glow. But Octavius was exhibiting a fury like nothing she'd seen in the man during their brief acquaintance, and that perpetually haunted look on his gaunt face had deepened.

It made her insides twist to think that she was responsible for that pain. It was one thing to inflict pain on someone who deserved it, but Dr. Octavius didn't deserve this. She had to find a way to make it up to him… but just how she was going to do that was beyond her. All she knew was that she had to prevent him from being eternally bound to earth. It was a sad existence, as the soul, denied the chance to move on to the afterlife, withered away until there was nothing left of what the person had been. Lynnea had had a few experiences with ghosts, and they'd left her feeling cold inside. There was nothing left of them that could be called 'human.' I won't let that happen to you, Doctor, she vowed silently as she watched the scientist moving in front of her.

They'd made their way down the fire escape easily enough; the police apparently thought that Dr. Octavius had long cleared the area and had only given the area a cursory search. Octavius hadn't even glanced up at her as she followed him down the narrow iron steps. She could see his anger in the set of his shoulders. He'd obey her because he had to, but she couldn't make him like it.

Now, he was leading her through dark, cluttered alleys, the actuators dragging uselessly behind him. Lynnea followed in his wake, trusting him to protect her. It was part of his 'programming' to protect her, though he hadn't seemed to realize it yet. If she hadn't commanded him to stop before he could lay his hands on her, he would have anyway. He'd figure that out soon enough, she realized, if they didn't get to their destination soon. The strenuous activity of the past few hours was catching up with her; if her bone-deep weariness from raising the scientist didn't make her pitch over, then the blood loss would. Without adrenaline to lend her strength, she was rapidly weakening. But she followed as best as she could, not even ordering him to shorten his long strides. She didn't want to give him more orders than necessary.

And then her ankle gave out under her, and she toppled forward. Sensing her distress, Octavius froze, then turned. "Are you all right?" he asked, leaning over to offer a hand up.

She gritted her teeth. "I over-exerted myself tonight," she said, her voice weaker than she would have liked. "I need to… lie down…" Contrary to her words, she struggled to climb to her feet. "Are we nearly there?"

"It's just a few blocks," Octavius said. He hovered over her uncertainly, and finally he blurted out, "Would you like me to carry you, or do you want to lie down here?" His lips curled in a snarl, and for the first time she wondered if, when it came to issues regarding her, what Octavius intended to say and what actually came out of his mouth were two different things. Was her control that complete? She'd inquire about that later.

"I… well, obviously, I can't lie around here," she said, glancing around at the trash-strewn dark alley. There was something crumpled next to the dumpster that looked horribly human… She didn't want to be carried, though. Normally, contact with a corpse puppet didn't affect her the way human contact did, but he wasn't a normal puppet… "If I can't walk to the end of this alley, then you'll have to carry me," she said.

He looked none too thrilled by this, understandably. She doubted he even wanted to speak to her, much less carry her. But a few minutes later proved she didn't have the strength to walk any further, and she was slung unceremoniously across his shoulders before they continued onward. He didn't say a word of complaint, but she could feel how stiff he was beneath her. The extra burden didn't slow his long strides, and he was as tireless as any other puppet she'd raised. At least one thing had gone right with him. Perhaps the only thing that had gone right. She'd broken so many rules raising him that she knew there were other problems with him, problems that would probably surface at the most inconvenient of moments.

They came to a stop before a burnt out husk of a building, what had once been an apartment complex but was too ravaged by fire to be habitable. Apparently, it just hadn't been worth it to rebuild, and the owner had let it fall into further dereliction. "Is this place safe?" Lynnea asked.

"It is if you know where to step," Octavius said. He pried apart the wooden slats boarding up the door, and they entered the darkened interior. It wasn't completely black; enough light leaked through the soot-smeared windows and the holes where the masonry had collapsed for them to see by. What she saw wasn't very reassuring. Most of the stairwell and a good part of the floor directly above them had collapsed. A cracked porcelain tub blocked their path, and Octavius stepped around it, heading towards the skeletal stairway. "I've hidden here many times," he explained. "The actuators have scanners; I used them to map out the stable pathways. We'll be safe, so long as you don't step off the path I'm taking."

With that in mind, Lynnea watched carefully, knowing that she was going to have to navigate this same route come morning, without the doctor's assistance. It seemed impossible, especially when their path took them across a lone surviving floorboard on the third floor. How did such a narrow beam support their weight? Even Octavius crossed with some hesitation; from impressions in the charred wall that was visible to her, he had only dared cross with the assistance of the actuators.

He finally ducked into a room that had survived mostly intact. Someone, likely Octavius, had made an effort to clear away the worst of the burnt debris, and a slightly singed mattress had been placed in the center of the room. He dumped her to the floor. Her legs wobbled under her weight, but she managed not to fall. Yet. "The water is still on," Octavius said. "I wouldn't recommend drinking it, but the bathroom works." He glanced around the small space, then pointed at the corner closest the window. "Don't go over there, the floor boards are weak. Anywhere else is relatively safe. Does this… please you?" Again came that scorn, as if the words had been unbidden.

"It will do," Lynnea said. She crossed to the mattress, halting whenever the floor boards groaned beneath her. But they held her weight, and she took a seat on the mattress. She wanted to flop down and let the darkness take her, but first… "Do nothing to harm or destroy yourself," she said. "And don't kill me while I sleep." That dark eye blinked, but he didn't object to the commands. She leaned back on the mattress, folding her arms behind her head. "Wake me before dawn," she said as she closed her eyes. "You'll feel it coming on without even seeing the light. Wake me before the light takes you away." He nodded in assent, then turned away, and Lynnea let herself slip off into unconsciousness, trusting that she was completely safe, no matter how much Octavius wanted to kill her.

XXX

Otto stared down at the sleeping girl for a long moment before turning his back on her. Not wanting to be in her presence any longer, he shuffled towards the bathroom, the actuators dragging after him. The pull between him and Lynnea had lessened now that she was sleeping, but he doubted he could violate her final commands.

Four stubby candles were arrayed around the blackened sink, and Otto pulled out the lighter he'd stowed in the cracked medicine cabinet and lit them one by one. His bandaged face came into focus in the mirror, the whole side divided from the damaged half by the crack down the mirror's center. He glanced once back towards the living area to ascertain that Lynnea hadn't woken, then carefully began to unbind his head wound.

The blood-caked bandages didn't want to pull apart at first, but finally, they began to unravel under his persistent tugging. When at last they fell away, Otto was suddenly very glad that he couldn't eat, because he would have lost the contents of his stomach right then. Blood glistened in the candle's light, vivid scarlet against the pale white of bone. Where his left eye should have been was a ragged, gaping hole, with slivers of bone protruding from flesh. And in that horrifying gap in his skull, coated in a thin crimson layer, was a pulpy mess of grey tissue that should never have seen the light of day. Fingers shook as he probed the wound, but he felt nothing.

And that's when the last lingering doubts died. He could deny it no longer. He was dead. These past few months, before O'Connell, before Rosie, he'd begged for death. The actuators wouldn't let him die, not as long as their existence depended on his own, so he'd begun a slow, self-destructive lifestyle that would have brought him to death before the actuators realized what he intended and took action to prevent it. And now he had that death, finally… but it wasn't going to reunite him with his beloved.

And still the tears were denied him.

He slumped over the sink, resting his shattered head on the broken mirror. Blood smeared against the glass, but he didn't notice. He wanted to scream, to sob, to beat his head against the mirror until thought was no longer possible for him… But Lynnea's command still rang in his ears. "Do nothing to harm or destroy yourself." He slid down, his grip slipping from the sink, and he fell on the floor with an impact that made the burnt boards beneath him groan in protest.

Why had this happened? Why was he horribly aware of the world around him, while Rosie was blessed with sweet oblivion? Why hadn't Lynnea realized that there were reasons for rules, and that disobeying rules could have serious consequences? He was the one paying for her mistake. It isn't fair… Most of all, he wondered, Why me? Why did she have to choose me?

"Worse… you may be damaged in other ways that I haven't detected yet because of my foolishness." What did that mean? What could possibly be worse than this hell he existed in now? Damaged…

He slumped on the floor, screaming silently, wanting to voice his anguish but unable to do anything that would awaken his 'master.' All he could do was sit on the floor, wrap his hands around his head, and shake with sobs that he couldn't express.

XXX

A weak tingling in his flesh finally drew him out of the deep pool of despair in which he drowned. He lifted his head, wondering what it was, then realized it was the first stirrings of dawn. Otto stood slowly, noticing that his muscles weren't even sore despite being stuck in the same position the entire night.

Lynnea was still fast asleep, and he ducked over her, cautiously nudging her shoulder. The fact that there was a knife hilt sticking out from under the tatty pillow wasn't lost on him. Her hand did instinctively slide towards the weapon, but she didn't draw it. Instead, she focused on him blearily, then her eyes went round when she realized he'd uncovered his wound. Probably not the best thing to see the first thing in the morning…

The young woman shifted off the mattress, stretching. "It's almost dawn," she said. She patted the mattress. "You might want to lie down for this."

It wasn't a direct command, so Otto continued to look at her. "I don't want to die," he said, his voice plaintive. Lynnea visibly flinched.

"I'm sorry," she said, and the apology seemed to be heartfelt. "I'm so sorry. I never intended for it to be this way." There were no tears in her dark brown eyes, but her voice cracked slightly. "I know that my apology means nothing to you, but I'll make it up to you. Somehow."

Otto didn't look at her as he knelt by the mattress, gathering the ragged pillow under his arm and positioning himself so he was lying on his stomach. He buried his ruined face into the stained pillow; he didn't want to look at Lynnea right now. There was nothing she could do to make this better. Nothing.

The tingling intensified, becoming a burning sensation sweeping through his cold body. Every cell felt like it was afire, shriveling from the heat. He bit his lip, refusing to cry out. Instead, he leaned harder into the pillow, closed his eye…

…and let the dawn's light claim him.

To Be Continued…