He never ever saw it coming at all

[spideyguy]

Peter was having a pretty good day. Pretty good week, actually. After finding Harry riding around on Goblin tech, he'd managed to get his friend to show Spiderman the tech, allowing Peter to tweak a few things and perhaps make the glider a little safer. After watching Norman get dangerously close to impaling himself on the damn thing while wrestling at the top of the clocktower, Peter was keen not to have a repeat performance - this time with markedly more blood. No, they managed to make the glider a little safer and Peter was even able to slyly pass on a few tips and tricks to riding it - it functioned like a skateboard, pretty much (hey, he saw Back to the Future II just like everybody else), and Peter definitely knew about that. So, yeah, training is going well, Harry's safer and improving fairly quickly. Peter's still not sure they should take on Otto directly; he's been oddly quiet, too, as if he knew the second Spiderman started looking for him. It's infuriating to a degree, but also a little relieving - they're still on red alert, of course, neither of them are naive enough to believe that the madman might have had a change of heart, but at least Harry doesn't look like he's on the verge of a breakdown. Well, he might be, but it isn't showing. He can sleep, and eat. That's an improvement, right?

It's about seven in the evening when Peter finally wanders down from his room to rustle up some food. May's working another double, like she has been for the past month and a half, leaving Peter alone for dinner. He doesn't fault her for it, far from it - he knows she still has trouble sleeping, without Ben next to her, and with Peter out all hours of the night. She's stopped grilling him about it, which only makes the worry he senses off of her worse. But they...don't talk about it. Whatever he's doing, it's obvious he's in a better place than he was, and as incredible as May is, there are only so many fires she can put out at one time. Peter pushes his glasses to the top of his head and rubs at the bridge of his nose, opening the fridge to gaze into it blearily. He's been alternating between quantum mechanics and making a few adjustments to his webshooters for the past couple of hours, and he's starting to feel it. It's a good thing, though - he's actually getting his homework done, and the shooters could use a tune-up anyway. They're currently sitting in pieces on his desk, the left one halfway reassembled.

Predictably, there's nothing in the fridge. Peter does a mental check to try and figure out the last time he went shopping - since that's his responsibility now - and...yeah, it's probably a bad sign that he can't remember, right? He grabs his hoodie and wallet off the couch and bounds out the door; quick trip to the grocery store around the block will set them up for the next few days, until he can make a full list and restock. It'll be nice, Peter thinks, for May to come home to fresh leftovers. He could make a casserole, maybe? Those aren't too difficult...probably.

Peter stuffs his earbuds into his ears and draws his hood against the crisp bite of Fall air, cranking the tunes just for the hell of it. He wonders if May has a recipe box anywhere - he could Google something, surely? He's not that bad of a cook, but not that great, either - nowhere near Harry's prowess but that was a hobby for his best friend. He could bake the hell out of a cake, though. Or brownies - ooh, he could make brownies for May. Make enough to take to the rest of the staff at the hospital, the girls she worked with - that would be nice. Peter smiles, a renewed spring in his step as he turns the corner for the store. Yeah, he thinks, May would really like tha-

The claw comes out of nowhere, with damn near zero warning. He'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, music blasting into his ears, Peter had pretty much been ignoring his spidey sense. He has just enough presence of mind to try to dodge, but all that manages is to keep him from being skewered on the sharp edges of the claw. It cuts through his hoodie, digging into his shoulder and probably drawing some superficial blood as he's hauled up into the air. Distantly, Peter can hear someone screaming, earbuds still pulsing into his ears. Otto is smiling at him, a crazed sort of delight that Peter wants to punch right off of him, saying something Peter can't quite make out with the music in his ears. He tries to move his arm, to grab the claw and tear it apart, to get out of the hold, but it makes the sharp edges dig into his skin and he cries out, kicking futilely.

That's about when Otto smashes him into something - God, Peter doesn't even know what it was, everything's moving in a painful blur - and he's out like a light.