Chapter Text
Where are you now, Osborn?
It's not the first time Norman has had to ask himself that question, and it's only becoming more frequent ever since the Goblin stopped bothering to hide from him. It's not unusual for Norman to wake up, and not from a restful sleep: in his lab, his office, his home, with nothing but the clock to tell him an hour or two or six has passed. Sometimes the Goblin will tell him what they've been up to. Other times, the Goblin will call it a secret, or a surprise, and will wait for Norman to read about it in the paper.
Norman takes a shaky breath and asks himself again, "Where are you now?"
A dumpster. An alleyway. He's dressed in the Goblin's flight suit, no new scuffs or damage, though. The Glider is parked nearby. A quick glance tells him the inventory is short a few pumpkin bombs. The Mask hangs from the corner of a nearby dumpster, where the Goblin must have hung it up before passing back control. It watched him sleep and laughs at him now.
There's a trick, and he's waiting for Norman to catch up.
No bruises, no broken bones he needs to set. It’s harder to tell after the performance enhancement serum, but Norman isn’t immune to pain. He can feel quite a lot of it, sometimes, after the escapades the Goblin gets up to, things that would have hospitalized him he can wait out in a day—half a day, if he needs to. He’s sore from the asphalt ground, not any particular fight… he thinks.
He’s still in the city. Acrid smoke clings to his flight suit—not a burning building, but car fires, melting rubber and gasoline. His eyes slide to the Glider and consider the missing bombs. Another piece.
His lips are dry as he licks them, casting a darting glance over to the Mask. He’s afraid to look at those yellow eyes, shivering despite his best efforts.
"Why didn't you take us home?"
Figure it out, Osborn .
There's a newspaper, folded up, that cushioned Norman's head while he slept. Not a kindness. A clue.
"T-This paper is from days ago."
Is it?
"Look, it says it's not even Thanksgiving yet... It's..."
Go on.
"It... it says it's November... 2024? That's... no..."
No, Norman's lost a few hours, maybe a day at most. Not two decades. It's not... possible.
I know! says the Goblin between cackling breaths. Norman’s own breaths are quick and panicky. So where the HELL are we, Osborn?!
- - - -
There are tricks to living with the Goblin, Norman finds. It helps to ask two questions, as often as you can.
Where are you now?
And what do you remember last?
Thanksgiving… blood…
…And Parker.
- - - - -
Norman first meets May Parker when she answers the door at Harry’s loft. They’ve managed to pass each other by so far it seems, but Harry’s always spoken well of her. Norman knows Harry misses his mother; sometimes, Norman admits he’s failed somewhere along the way, that he’s there but not, and his son is only a little better than an orphan. He’s grateful the Parkers are a family to his son, even when Norman has failed.
He’s been looking forward to this.
He is also exhausted and reeks of smoke. He wants a bath and a bed, to just sleep off the ringing in his head where Spider-Man hit him.
Why did we pick today to fight Spider-Man? We had plans.
You had plans. I made my own.
The woman that meets Norman at the door matches everything Harry’s ever said: kind, and absolutely no-nonsense. She smacks his hand when he tries to steal a bit of food, and there’s this alien moment where Norman could—
--kill her--!
and then it passes, a sickening wave that was-and-was-not him.
The line between Norman and the Goblin is blurred and stretched thin on days he’s so tired. He feels too small for all the thoughts in his head. Is he in control, or is it the Goblin?
- - - -
The second time Norman meets May, it’s a memory the Goblin throws at him. There’s the rubble of her Queens home, the increasingly familiar smell of smoke and fire.
Did we kill her?
The Goblin doesn’t say and Norman can’t remember.
- - - - -
Norman can’t shake the feeling that the Goblin let him run. He broke the Mask, but Norman doesn’t think that will stop the Goblin for long, if even at all. He’s never needed it to talk to Norman before.
It still makes him feel better, to think he left behind the Goblin’s face in that alley.
- - - - -
Thanksgiving went all to hell. Norman remembers seeing blood and then the all-consuming need to get away. Peter. It was Peter?
He fights with Harry in the hallway on his way out. This isn't how he wanted the day to go. The words in his mouth don’t seem to fit.
A ravening wolf? No... No, I loved my wife.
I loved my wife.
Is that right? Then tell me how you met.
But of course, it’s another blank spot when Norman reaches for the memory, the Goblin playing keep away once again.
- - - - -
The staff at the F.E.A.S.T. shelter takes him to May Parker when he asks for Spider-Man’s help. She’s not quite who he expects.
The woman in his memories—well, it’s twenty-two years past his last memory, but the woman before him is younger than the May Parker he knew. He almost expects her to be her daughter, but she says her nephew is Peter Parker, and Peter is Spider-Man—it’s not a secret here.
Still, she leads him to the back kitchen where it’s quiet, and sits him down with tea. She seems kind, like the motherly woman his son told him about, her hand in his even as Norman shakes with fear. Nothing makes sense, but he feels like he can trust her. The Parkers were one of the good people, he knows, and maybe that's universally true.
She finds them a box of donuts and sets it before him. He is famished. The Goblin never remembers to eat, and Norman woke up with nothing to his name—no Oscorp building in the skyline, and clothes he stole from a church bin. He's run all across the city and...
There’s no evidence he ever lived. Someone else is living in his home; he couldn’t even make it past the door security in his stolen clothes. No one has even heard of Oscorp. And Harry…
- - - - -
What do you remember last?
There’s Harry, heartbroken like Norman has never seen him. The Goblin is lurking nearby, but this moment is for Norman.
He loves his son.
He’s never been the best father. He knows that. There’s increasing blind spots in Norman’s memories—he’s afraid of what the Goblin is stealing from him, and why?—but he’s taken to mantras to keep sane these last few weeks.
The Goblin tries to spin things sometimes. Norman finds new enemies every day, and he’s starting to wonder how many of them are real. Sometimes the Goblin tries to whisper about Harry, but Norman won’t let him.
I love my son. I love my son.
Don’t hurt Harry.
The new level of consideration the Goblin starts to level against Harry doesn’t feel better though, the way the Goblin looks at Harry like the next pawn in his game.
Norman wraps his son in a hug.
He can’t remember the last time he did that, and it doesn’t even feel like the Goblin’s fault.
- - - - -
The Peter Parker that answers his aunt’s call isn’t the Peter that Norman knows. He doesn’t even know why it hurts, but Norman just wants a familiar face. He wants to go home.
Everything is wrong.
He promised Harry he’d be there for him.
- - - - -
I’m starting to get what you see in this guy.
“Otto… what happened to you?”
The mechanical arms are more impressive than any sketch Norman remembers seeing in his friend’s sketchbook. The last he saw of them, they were little more than code and the rough prototype of an arm.
Now, they loom over Otto’s shoulders, red-eyed optics casting a glow on the dark wizard’s dungeon they’ve found themselves in. It’s a familiar face in this unfamiliar world, but there’s something wrong, still. Otto’s eyes are colder. Harder. He’s never seen such a stiff line of anger in his friend.
Not true!
The Goblin isn’t gone, and he’s still holding things over Norman’s head, laughing all the while.