Better Days | MCU IronDad AU

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Points if you manage to find the chapter's name

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He awoke to ash in his mouth.

It was like fire was burning along his body, the corporeal fingers digging deep into his flesh and inciting sharp bursts of pain in his skin, his muscles, his bones.

Everything was too much. Everything was blurry.

He could hear everything. He could hear nothing.

There was so much input, but he could hardly process any of it.

Coughing, he tried reaching out. His fingers landed on stone and jagged metal, the rough edges slicing through his fingers. He couldn't feel the cut against the ocean of pain he was drowning in.

He stretched out his limbs, his awareness, tried to get some part of him to grab a hold of anything.

Of anything.

And then, he felt it – beneath his arm, cold and metallic, he gripped the stone, miraculously not splitting it in two.

He reached out with the other, his other arm, and grabbed the debris that hung just above him.

Slowly, surely, he began to climb. Out of the rubble, out of the mountain he was trapped in.

Dimly, he wondered, How did I get here?

He wondered, What happened?

The memories were unfocused, fuzzy. The images were mere colours. But there were sounds, clear as day.

He could hear a voice, the clanking of metal as it zipped through the air. He had worked so long with the voice, maybe a month.

The voice used to be timid, quiet, fearful despite its brave exterior.

And then the voice began to taunt.

Slowly, he realised, he remembered, that the voice had a name.

Sorry, Doc. I've postponed my appointment.

The voice was called Peter Parker.

He gritted his teeth; the taste of metal, liquid and hot, flooded his mouth. The boy Parker did this to him. He trapped him beneath this mountain of rubble.

With renewed vigour, the burning hatred for a young upstart like Parker ignited his mind, and he clawed faster upward.

Tense seconds grew into terse minutes until finally, he saw light.

He burst through the tiny opening, his arms propelling him forward, his arms digging him out.

His arms saving him.

In the dim light of the dying crimson fires, Otto Octavius blinked as he glanced down at his bloodied arms and legs. Drops of red splattered to the ground. They twitched without thought. They hung limp when he commanded them to move.

The only thing that responded were the metallic arms sprouting from his back, their telescopic joints clanking and clicking.

Otto watched them, mesmerised, as they moved him from the wreckage without so much as a thought, as if they had a mind of their own.

I'm alive, Otto tried to say; his mouth only let out tired rasps.

His arms seemed to agree, despite lacking audio receptors. They seemed joyful of his survival.

But how? Otto asked.

The arms shivered, as if they wanted to say something but couldn't, when their claws suddenly snapped open, their tips sharpened and ready for defence. The rush of adrenaline in his veins was overwhelming.

Otto's mind felt slow. Parker had returned?

'Steady,' hummed a voice. 'Steady.' The crunch of metal rang through the air, accompanying the crackling of the fires. 'You know me, don't you?'

Otto looked up. Details never reached his eyes; the absence of his glasses were the answer to the problem. He could make a figure, a man, a tall one. Dark green liquid dribbled down his front. The voice of the man was low and deep.

You seem familiar, Otto thought. In response, his arms clicked and whirred, their defensive claws retracting and folding backwards to help steady Otto on his numb legs.

'Yes, you do remember me,' the voice said; he sounded relieved. Or maybe Otto had imagined it. The man had nothing to fear.

Otto cocked his head, blinking furiously, trying to guide tears from his eyes into clearing away the dust and gunk that had gathered there.

'How are you feeling, Otto?'

Not as well as you, I'm afraid. The arms creaked in disdain.

'Hmm, not as well. Not to worry, we'll have ourselves all patched up soon enough,' said the voice, leaning forward.

Images became slightly clearer now. Otto's eyes adjusted, his blasted near-sightedness finally focusing on the face that loomed in front of him. It was streaked with blood and grime and littered with cuts, but its carefree smile was as bright as the sun.

'We have a job to do, dear Otto,' said Norman Osborn, his grin sharp and wide. 'There is a spider crawling free.'

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Me: *this chapter*
Everyone: My disappointment is immeasurable, and my day is ruined