Blood by My Hand

A/N: Sorry this took so long. The story is and has been written out to about eight chapters, but I've been kinda busy (and admittedly, a little lazy) to get around to copying and pasting the sections... Okay, maybe there is no excuse... Anyway, I don't want to give anything away right at the beginning of this chapter, but for anyone who cares, there will be an extra disclaimer at the end of this chapter.

Peter let the hand with the phone drop back to the desk as he gave Norman a barely concealed scowl. “I wasn’t going to tell her where we are.”

Clearly, he didn't believe him. "I told you I'd give you a chance to speak to her. You should have waited."

"I can't let her think I'm dead. She deserves to know what's going on."

"You should have waited," he repeated gravely, and tossed the cord aside. With a peremptory gesture that Peter should follow him, Norman turned to leave the room.

Scowling, Peter debated resisting, but decided there wasn't really a lot of point to it. They hadn't hurt him yet. However, he was on his guard as he trailed along in Osborn's wake.

"Otto!" There was, not urgency, but something close to it in his voice.

Otto, dressed again, met them at the stairs. He gave Peter a suspicious glance but otherwise addressed Norman. "Is something wrong?"

"I need you to check the phone line for an incoming trace."

The scientist's lips thinned slightly as he gave the boy another look. Parker's expression was closed off as usual, but there might have been something like satisfaction hiding in his eyes. "The phone in the study?" It was the only phone upstairs, but had the boy really managed to make it work again?

Norman nodded, one hand closing on the boy's shoulder. "How long did the call go through?"

"Maybe a minute. It's not like I timed it or anything."

Still scowling faintly, Otto turned and began to make his way upstairs. "More than thirty seconds would likely be enough for SHIELD to run a trace..."

Norman growled, nudging Peter back to the stairs. "Get your things, boy."

"Don't push me," Peter muttered as he followed Ock.

Norman followed them both with a warning look for Peter.

The boy ignored it, going to the room where he'd left the backpack. Otto continued down the hall and used the dial up port to connect the study's computer to the phone line. At this point, he wouldn't be surprised if the call had been traced and SHIELD was on its way, but it wouldn't take long to ascertain.

Norman went into the lab to pack up what he thought Otto might not want to leave. The webbing project, the disks from the update for his actuators. It all fit in two large cases.

Not too long after this was finished, Otto appeared in the doorway, the boy behind him, boxed in by the tentacles. "They're coming. We should get as far as we can in the next hour."

Norman held out a length of cloth to Peter. A blindfold. "Put this on."

The youth assumed they didn't want him to see where they were going, but he still asked, "Why?"

"Because you've decided to be untrustworthy."

With a sigh, he took it and tied it over his eyes. Now what?

Norman nodded to Otto. "Take him and the supplies. I'll lead them a chase and meet you there."

Otto made eye contact. "Sure you'll be all right?"

Norman grinned grimly. "If I haven't met you by tomorrow morning, we'll know."

The doctor gave him a light kiss on the cheek. "See you tomorrow morning, then," he whispered as the tentacles picked up the cases.

Pleased, Norman nodded, and saw them off. Then it was only a matter of waiting. He made a boy-sized bundle of blankets, weighted down. When he heard the first choppers, he let himself change.

The helicopters were accompanied by armed and armored ground troops, closing in from the wooded side, and a couple boats waiting just off the coast. They weren't taking any chances this time. Fury himself was even in one of the air craft. "Ground control is in position, sir," one of the radios chirped. At this news, Fury nodded to the pilot, who spoke to the other pilots over his radio. Not long later, five or six sleeping gas bombs were launched through various windows. They wanted the fugitives inside, and while they were taking precautions to keep the boy safe, they were prepared to break a few windows and doors.

Norman had intended to burst out through the front doors, but the gas caught him by surprise. He choked on it, trying to shake it off, but they'd used a formula designed just for him. It was inescapable. He reached the door only to collapse against it, an unconscious weight blocking it shut.

The ground troops rushed in with gas masks to check the house. When they found the front door blocked, they moved around to the various windows and the back door instead. If the gas didn't knock the goblin out, it would at least weaken him considerably. With the strength of it, they weren't too worried about Octopus. Guns drawn, a group approached the hulking form while others fanned out to search the second floor. There was a boy sized bundle trapped half under the goblin, but when they examined it they found out it was only a bundle of weighted blankets. The other two seemed to have cleared out, so after they secured the area they prepared Norman for transport. This included a shot to make him revert to human form and an inhibitor in case he woke up, among other things.

Reverting woke him, coughing painfully as his body twisted back into his original form. "Gnneh...." The man blinked at his captors, first in momentary confusion, and then in rage. The agents seemed to ignore this, cuffing him and pulling him to his feet before pushing and dragging him to one of the helicopters at gun point. Fury was going to oversee Osborn's transport, but they left agents to scour the house for evidence of the others' whereabouts. He fought them, trying to transform again with no success. The inhibitor jolted with electricity, forcing him to his knees. "Gggh! God-damnit, Fury, I'll kill you!"

The man watched Osborn with his one good eye as they strapped him into a special seat in the back of the chopper. "You're not in any position to make threats." He sat across from him as the door closed, meaning to use the trip to try to get some answers.

Struggling against the restraints, the former businessman bared his teeth at Fury. "If you don't release me," he growled, "Parker is dead."

This seemed to give Fury pause, but he didn't give the order to let Osborn go, either. The madman could not be trusted. "Where are Parker and Octavius?"

"I'll never tell you."

Loyalty? That would be interesting, especially considering the way they had abandoned the other three. "What if I offered to make you a deal?"

He shook his head. "No. There's nothing you could offer. Release me, or Octavius will kill Parker. Then at least you'll find his body."

Fury thought about this for a moment. He could be risking a lot calling Osborn's bluff. "All right. Don't tell me where they are. Are you willing to elaborate on the arrangement you made with Octavius?"

"No," he bit off coldly, staring him down.

"Then how do I know if the boy's life is really in danger or not?" Fury met his glare with equal intensity, despite his handicap, searching the other man's eyes.

Norman smiled, sharp and angry. "You already know it is."

"For all I know, you were going to lead us away and then meet up with Octavius later. He could be waiting for you now, completely unaware of your capture. Considering the size of your ego, I'd suspect something along those lines." Osborn certainly seemed just arrogant and foolish enough to think he could take on SHIELD all by himself.

"Don't be stupid, Fury. When I don't rejoin him, he'll know precisely what's happened. And we have contingency plans."

"How can you be certain he won't just keep running, with or without you? He was quick enough to abandon the others at the school when it came down to them or his freedom. And you two don't exactly have a history of loyalty, do you?"

"Octavius and I have always understood one another," he said with a small, eerie smile.

Fury just shook his head. He'd already decided to bank on Osborn bluffing, but the man was right. Even if there wasn't a plan to kill the boy, Octavius might do something drastic if Osborn took too long to rejoin him. Fury didn't think he'd kill the boy right away, but he would definitely use him to get Osborn out. "What do you want with Parker, Osborn? He's just a kid."

"Oh, we both know otherwise. Don't insult my intelligence."

"If you just wanted Spider-Man out of the way, I doubt you would've kept him alive for this long. What do you want with him?" He watched Osborn levelly.

Norman looked amused, his expression opaque. The rage was buried deep in his eyes. "I created him."

"And what did you think you were going to do with him?" Fury pressed. He'd get the answers, one way or another. But Norman was done speaking to him. "You'll regret being uncooperative. I know a number of people who think you’re a murdering piece of scum and would love to watch you rot away in a dark, empty cell."

No response. Norman fixed his gaze on the middle distance, settling in to wait for an opportunity to escape. With a vaguely exasperated expression on his face, Fury looked out the window and waited for them to reach their destination, or for word from the house. Whichever came first.

When they landed, there was a small army waiting to escort the prisoner into the base, dressed and armed very similarly to the group that had pulled Norman from the house. Norman went quietly this time, his back straight, head held high. Any guards he recognized from his previous stay got a nod and a small, dangerous grin. Cuffed and collared, Osborn was no more than a man, and his attitude pissed more people off than it frightened.

He was escorted down several halls and into an elevator that brought them down to a sub-basement. Down here, at the end of the hall, was a circular room with a heavy steel door. In the center of this room was a clear box that they ushered him inside. Once the door was closed and locked, they turned on the energy field that surrounded the enclosure. If he did manage to get out of there without getting fried, there was a matrix of motion detectors in the rest of the room. When the party was sure he was secured, they left, leaving guards in the alcove just inside the door.

He watched the guards, pacing the limits of his cell. "You must be the expendable ones," he told them in a sharp growl, laughing. "You don't have a chance."

"Shut up, freak. You're not going anywhere."

He laughed, a cackle. "That's what they told me last time. Less than a month ago?"

He took a step forward, glaring. "You'd better watch it, we have permission to use our own discretion in handling you, and-"

The other guard grabbed the first guard's shoulder. "Let it go. He's not worth it."

He strode right up to the glass wall, staring out at them. "Oh yes. Come in here and 'use your discretion.' Come in here with me."

The guard scowled, hands tightening on his weapon. "Don't do anything stupid," his partner pressed. "We should wait for a progress report on the investigation."

"Nobody cares about what happens to that piece of shit. I'm sure Fury wouldn't mind taking a crack or two at him, either."

"And it's not as if you're frightened of me," Norman urged, egging him on. "That couldn't be the reason your friend is warning you to stay out, to protect your precious dignity."

"Turn off the field."

"You could lose your job."

"Turn off the field."

"I could lose my job."

"Just turn off the goddamn field."

With a sigh, his partner complied as the other guy strolled up to the enclosure.

"Yesssss." Norman grinned, his teeth sharp.

He walked into the cell, took his gun, and smacked Norman across the face with it. Still cuffed, he couldn't block it. Norman staggered to the side, and then charged back, ramming the guard against the wall with his shoulder in his gut.

He grunted in surprise, but he was trained in combat and came back with a kick at Osborn's legs. He went down to one knee and used the leverage to head butt the guard under his jaw, snapping his head back. There was a loud crack and the guard crumpled to the ground, limp. The remaining guard gritted his teeth and cursed. He knew he shouldn't have gone along with it. Jesus would he be in trouble. What was he going to do now?

Norman got back to his feet, and just smiled at the corpse, nudging it with his toe, and then at the remaining guard. "Self-defense. Nothing but."

He was about to respond, but was cut off by something coming in on his earpiece. His brow wrinkled as he listened. "Wait, what?" A pause. "Are you sure?... Yeah, yeah I'm, er, we're on it.... Better make it six.... Yes, sir, we'll let you know." When his expression returned to Norman, it was one of rather puzzled disgust, but he didn't comment.

Norman tipped his head to the side, watching him. "I know this room is under surveillance. They saw you let him in. They saw him strike the first blow. I was only defending myself."

"Don't talk to me, you sick shit," the guard spat. "I don't know what you were doing in that house, but I have a feeling at least one of you is going to be crucified when it's all over."

"What I was doing in my house," he said calmly, "Is none of your business. Now, are you going to get your friends' corpse out of my cell, or is he mine to play with now?"

In light of the information he had just received, the guard's expression of disgust only depend. The six personnel he had been promised showed up just then, however, so he didn't get to respond.

"What the hell happened?" One of the newcomers asked when he saw the body.

"What do you think? The freak goaded him into the cell and then killed him."

"You need to train your guards not to give into mere taunts," he said archly, returning to the center of the cell. "He came in here and tried to kill me." He turned his face so that the ugly bruise across his jaw was very apparent.

"That's going to be the least of your worries if you don't start talking," the original guard growled as the group crossed the room.

"Let's just get this over with. The less we have to deal with him, the better." The group took Osborn by the upper arms and herded him back out into the hall. The room they brought him to had a heavy chair in the center, bolted to the floor.

He remained dignified, contemptuous of all of them and perfectly willing to show it. "Ah, the interrogation phase. And where is Fury?"

"I guess he decided you weren't important enough for him to be present." Five guards took up positions around the room while the last two agents, Jack and Derek, pushed Norman into the chair. "Now, why don't you tell us what you two were doing with that Parker kid."

Norman sat as if it were a throne. "That's between us and my boy."

"Oh, is it?" Jack eyed Norman derisively. "Because they found some interesting things in one of the bedrooms..."

"Amused themselves by prying into my private life yet again, did they?" His voice cooled with chilling disapproval.

"What did you and Octavius do to that boy, Osborn?" Derek's voice was equally cold if not colder. This man, it seemed lately, was always guilty until proven innocent.

He leaned his head back against the chair back. "Locked him in a basement."

"And?"

"And?" He shut his eyes, to all appearances bored.

Derek grabbed Osborn around the neck and slammed him back against the chair. "Don't give me your shit! Did you rape that kid?"

The only reaction was his eyes opening a crack to regard him, icy blue. "No, you foul pervert. He's my son."

Two of the guards around them whispered to each other but didn't comment out loud. Derek ignored this, continuing. "Did Octavius?"

"Octavius only looks up from his work when he's fainting from hunger or thirst."

Derek could tell he was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth. Did Octavius talk him into covering for him? And the boy was out there somewhere with that antisocial head case.

"Hey, what was this guy's power again?" Jack asked, putting his hand in his pocket. "A fire bug, wasn't he? Because I always wondered. If that electric guy could be shocked while he was wearing a collar, what about our resident pyrokinetic?"

"The pyrokinesis is the least of my abilities," he said in a low voice. "Take this collar off and I'll give you a demonstration."

"We have him here. We could always do a little experiment," Derek answered. He didn't care about Osborn's threats. The man was just a man now, at least physically.

Jack produced a lighter and tangled his fingers in Norman's hair to hold his head still. "I can't help but think of the people you've burned alive." He flipped open the lighter and the hot orange glow sprang forth. "Friends, people I work with..." The flame traced Norman's jaw line.

He clenched his jaw, determined not to show pain as the skin of his face reddened. His hands fisted on the arms of the chair, wrists tense in the restraints.

Jack pulled back the lighter, still ready to use it again, and Derek resumed questioning. "You're covering for your eight-limbed friend, aren't you? If you tell us where he took the boy, things could be a lot easier for you." Norman shook his head. He was done talking to them. Derek nodded to Jack, who proceeded to burn Norman on the other side of the face.

He stared at Jack as blisters rose, his expression murderous. And said nothing. "We'll have an ID on the DNA in a couple of hours. Are you sure there's nothing you want to admit to now?"

"I have nothing to admit to. All of my crimes, you already know."

"So what's the deal, then? You and Octavius get lonely or something?" Jack teased.

No response. It was none of their business. The interrogation continued, the focus of it switching instead to finding out where the other two might be hiding. They kept burning him, and even hit him a few times. He remained silent, except for a few growls when they hit him. Blisters rose where they burned him, skin cracking. Whether it was loyalty or simply an unwillingness to cooperate was impossible to say.

Derek and Jack actually seemed to be getting bored with the whole affair. They had gone outside, leaving the prisoner with the guards, to regroup and discuss their next course of action. "He's not going to talk," Derek growled, slouching against the wall. "Let's just take him back to his cell."

"Maybe if we starve him for a couple days, or--"

"It won't matter in a couple days."

Before Jack could answer, the radio on his belt crackled, "Agent Torrence, are you there?"

"Torrence here," Jack answered. "What's the word, Smith?"

"We've identified the semen as belonging to Osborn and Octavius, but nothing to suggest they've harmed the kid. Has the prisoner said anything?"

"He's... frustratingly silent," Derek interjected. "We're going to take him back to his cell."

"Roger that. Over and out." And the radio went silent again.

"Only Octavius and Osborn, huh?" Jack grinned at Derek. Derek only grunted in reply as he walked back into the room.

Norman was still irritatingly composed. He'd been having a conversation with a guard while they were gone, though the guard hadn't replied to him. The armed man looked a breath away from crying. Osborn broke off when he saw Derek, and gave him a superior smile, spoilt only by the split lip he'd been given. "More orders, gentlemen?"

Jack was still grinning, eyeing the prisoner. "Oh, just some interesting information..."

"Must have been fascinating, the way you're grinning. Are we done, then?"

"I mean who would've suspected," Jack continued, crossing the room and leaning over the chair, "that the great Norman Osborn takes it in the ass?"

A muscle jumped in his jaw, but the smile didn't fade. "You know nothing."

"Let's just get the gay goblin back to his cell. We can question him again later." Derek unfastened Osborn's hands and cuffed them behind his back as the guards closed in again. Except the one Osborn had been talking to. He stayed on the outside edge of the circle.

Norman stood, his eyes never leaving Derek. "Yes, take me back. I'm tired of breathing the same air as you."

"I'm getting pretty tired of your high and mighty attitude," Jack responded as they pushed him down the hall.

"My apologies," he drawled insincerely, lengthening his stride until he was more or less pulling them.

"Watch it, Osborn." Jack and Derek jerked him back and one of the guards hit him between the shoulder blades with the butt of his gun.

He coughed, stumbling forward for a moment before he caught himself. "Oh, just do your damn job."

"This is our damn job," Jack returned. They left him cuffed when they returned to the cell, and the body had been removed.

Norman snorted in irritation. "Can we lose the cuffs? I believe it's been demonstrated that I'm perfectly capable, both of behaving, and of overcoming them."

They ignored him, turning on the electronic security and leaving three guards in the alcove. Jack and Derek stopped to confer with the original guard briefly before going on their way. Around the guards' dinner time, the shift changed, but apparently Jack's suggestion to deprive the prisoner of food--see if it would make him more compliant--had managed to go through somewhere farther up. Norman paced at first, but eventually he stepped to the precise center of his cell and sat down cross-legged, apparently completely relaxed.

The guards continued to ignore him, playing cards and talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Around midnight, they packed up the cards and cleared out. The men who replaced them were armored like all of the others had been, but even their faces were covered. He eyed them impassively, judging the strength of each of them in a glance before shutting his eyes again. He'd wait until Fury came. He knew he would.

At first, this new group didn't do much of anything that the other watches hadn't done. However, somewhere during the odd hours of the morning, as though some silent signal had passed between them, the group stood up as one, deactivated the sensors and force field, and then approached the cell.

Norman stood, his smile anticipatory. There were too many of them, but he wasn't going to let them know that. "I was wondering when you were going to entertain me." One of them made a gesture with his head and the other two took hold of Norman's arms, forcing him down. Rather than submit this time, he moved forwards, twisting to make the two men trip one another up.

The first one rolled his eyes and hit Norman in the back with his gun again while the other two tried to kick his feet out from under him. He would have had to have been present at the earlier interrogation to remember that it seemed to be the only way to get much of a reaction out of Osborn.

The mass of scar-tissue between his shoulders proved his weak point again, and he went down to his knees, hard. "I'm still not telling you anything," he growled, irritated by his own show of weakness.

They still didn't speak. One of them kicked the hard mattress off the cement frame it rested on, and the two at Norman's shoulders--keeping him on his knees--bent him over it backwards. Once they had him more or less pinned, one on each side, the man still standing over him pulled out a pack of matches.

He fixed his eyes on the ceiling of his cell, not letting the discomfort of this position, bent backwards with his arms still cuffed together, show on his face. He couldn't fight, but he wasn't giving in, either. Still without a word, the dark figure struck the match, let it burn a bit, and then tossed it onto the plain made by Norman's chest and stomach. He flinched, not expecting that, and his eyes flicked to the masked man. "Oh, imaginative."

None of them spoke a word to Osborn, but the man did keep throwing matches until the book was empty. The little burns were painful, but not enough to threaten his self-control. After the sixth or seventh, he tuned them out, smiling again and plotting the violent death of each of these men. They cleaned up the discarded matches and then left the cage, though they kept their post until the others came to relieve them in the morning.

Norman's gaze never left them. He couldn't see their faces, but he memorized gestures, mannerisms. They'd die for the humiliation of behind held down, helpless. Each of them. Once the new shift arrived, he lost interest. Ignoring the cushion, thrown aside, he sat on the cement slab of a bed and leaned back against the wall, turning his mind again to plans of revenge and escape. It was mildly irritating that Fury or Pym hadn't yet shown up; he expected the duo to gloat.

A/N: The pairing of this story has likely drawn in a few slash enthusiasts. Therefore, just because this is the internet and I don't know exactly who is reading this, I want to add that this is fiction. The actions/words of the SHIELD agents don't mean anything in regards to my own feelings about samesex partnerships, m'kay? M'kay.