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Peter Parker ducks back as a long blade slashes right above where his chest would have been, maneuvering the motion into a backflip, his feet cutting through the crisp October night air like razor blades. They connect with the offending arm that had swung at him, and he catches the Green Goblin’s grunt as he staggers back a few paces.
Landing lightly on his feet, Peter doesn’t allow himself but a moment to stay put, his senses tingling with alarm as his opponent lunges back at him. He pulls to the right as the Goblin punches at his left, his own elbow rising to slam into the back of the other’s suit as he stumbles past. The Goblin whirls around with a snarl of frustration, but it’s too fast a movement, and his feet slip right out from beneath him. Peter can hear the breath shoot from the figure’s lungs as he hits the gravel rooftop hard.
“Tired out yet, Gobby?” Peter asks as he looks down at him, embracing the confidence of his anonymity as Spider-Man. Someone’s a bit out of his game tonight.
The green mask sneers up at him, and the voice that speaks is twisted in a sickening sort of way, mocking him, making him suppress a shudder. “Oh, Spider-Man, I’m just getting started.”
I had a feeling he would say that. Peter holds back a sigh, tensing, as he steels himself to resume the fight. He leaps back as his opponent heaves himself to his feet, the green-clad figure still catching his breath. And, for a moment, they simply stand there, sizing each other up. Peter even tilts his head at him, trying to gauge a reaction.
But it’s too dark to see through the yellow eyepieces of the Goblin’s mask, and there’s no visible response to Peter’s actions. It’s moments like these that Peter wonders if there is anyone really at home in that head beneath the helmet. He doesn’t think he’ll ever understand the Goblin.
Even with his spider venom-enhanced senses, he’s not paying enough attention to pull himself back out of the way when the Goblin snaps out of their little trance and brings a knee up. As that armored knee slams into his stomach- wait, when’d he get so close to me?- Peter gasps, his breath whooshing from his chest, his body flying back across the rooftop, gravel tearing at the spandex stretched across his body.
“My, my, Spider-Man. I’m disappointed.” His rival jeers. “I thought you’d know to pay attention to me by now. We’ve been at this for months.”
“It’s your huge yellow eyes. They’re hypnotizing me.” Peter shoots back, biting back a groan as he heaves himself up to a crouch.
The Goblin chuckles. “You amuse me, Parker.”
“I- what?” That’s my name. He knows who I am. He flounders with a reply, but the horror is rooted so deep that he just can’t.
“Tongue turn to lead, Spider-Man?” The Goblin knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly which of Peter’s buttons to push and when to do so. There’s a smugness edging his voice that sends chills down Peter’s spine. “Oh yes, I know who you are. It’s admirable, how someone such as yourself manages a double life like this one. It can't be easy."
Peter stares at him. “B-but, how?”
“Tell me, Peter, how well do you know your friends? You’re not the only one who can keep secrets.” The Goblin is approaching him now, confident. He has the upper hand, and they both know it. His voice twists into that inflection that Peter always finds hard to take seriously, the high-pitched one that means business. “I can do whatever I want, get whatever I need.”
Peter’s breath is tight in his chest, his voice quiet as he fights to keep the dread from overwhelming him. “Who are you?”
“Me telling you would ruin all the fun.” The man’s fists tighten instinctively. “And that’s not why we’re here. Come, let’s finish what we started.”
Peter doesn’t think he can move. Spider-Man’s enemy knows who he is. His legs feel weak beneath him, and he thinks he’s shaking. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.
The Goblin doesn’t care, and he gestures with his bladed arm. “Up, Parker. I respect you enough to give you a fighting chance. Don’t disappoint me, now.”
Peter takes a deep breath, and his aching stomach feels just a little bit less queasy. He has to do this. He doesn’t know who he’s fighting, but he has to obey, has to fight back. Because, what other option does he have? Let the Goblin kill him? No chance.
So, he rises back to his full height, stretches out the kinks in his legs.
His foe gives an approving nod. “Show me your strength, Spider-Man.”
Peter does just that. Because this man is a real threat to him, and Peter needs to prove that he won’t just let himself be pushed around by fear of how much his nemesis knows about him.
It’s not a difficult battle. The Goblin is tired out, worn down from whatever other escapades he’s been up to as of late, and Peter doesn’t find it much of a struggle to grind down what little energy his opponent still has. A couple punches here, dodge a clumsy swing there, knock a fist against the green mask in front of him-
The other man collapses back to the gravel with a strained grunt, tries to sit up, to keep the fight in motion, then slumps back entirely, gasping for breath. “Impressive. You have potential yet.”
Peter hovers a couple of feet back, looking down at the pitiful form in front of him. He’s not quite sure why that small part of him feels bad for this man, for the Green Goblin, out of all people, but he’s not about to let it distract him. “Potential for what?”
He sounds incredibly defensive, and it elicits a twisted laugh out of his fallen foe. A laugh that breaks off into a heavy, dehydrated cough. But when the spell passes, the Goblin is stiller than even during their stare-down a few minutes prior, his head turned towards the sky. He doesn’t answer the question- he doesn’t say anything. He’s completely silent.
Peter’s nerves prick uneasily. This change in the Goblin- this is new. He doesn’t like it.
“Potential for what ?” He repeats, his voice firmer than before.
Something’s off. Something’s different.
“Potential for…?” The Goblin’s voice is hoarse and rough with exhaustion, confused and deflated from whatever inflection he’s always using. But that roughness hides his true voice nonetheless, leaving Peter completely clueless as to the man’s identity.
“Goblin?” Peter can’t help how his voice falls to a concerned murmur, how he takes a step forward. “You alright, pal?”
The Goblin tenses up, and Peter’s not entirely sure why. It’s as if he’s talking to a completely different person. He doesn’t like it. The green-clad figure doesn’t respond, though the yellow eyepieces retract upwards and a hand lifts so that fingers can press against closed eyes.
Peter doesn’t know what to do. He’s never seen anything like it. Not with the Goblin, not with anyone else. He takes a deep breath. This could be a trick, a manipulation. But it could also be genuine, some sort of mental problem. He’s going to take this slowly, carefully. “What…What’s the last thing you remember?”
The man hesitates, but he does reply this time, still in that throaty rasp. He sounds so much quieter, so much older, his voice unmodulated by the helmet. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“New York.”
Peter ignores a flare of frustration. “Where in New York?”
“I-I don’t know.” The man behind the mask sounds like he’s on the verge of a breakdown.
“Okay. That’s okay.” Peter tells him. “Can you tell me your na-”
“-No. No personal questions.” The tired, fearful voice is suddenly stone cold, the question snapping him from his panic. His voice is sharper than since he’d fallen still a couple of minutes ago, and the bite in it feels familiar. Peter knows this man, the one behind the Goblin’s mask. “I know my name, but it’s not something I can tell you, Spider-Man. I won’t reveal your identity so long as you let me keep mine.”
That’s blackmail. The man isn’t stupid.
“You remember who I am?” Peter asks instead.
“I do.” No hesitation. The near-confidence, it’s familiar too. He’s recovering quickly now, whatever he’d taken to become the Goblin aiding his body into building up more energy, into catching his breath again. He’s beginning to rise to his feet, head tilted at an angle so that he can still see Peter as he moves, as if he thinks Peter will attack him. His posture, the way he holds himself up- not only is it different than before, but Peter’s seen it before.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” Peter says. “At least, not until you try to kill me again.”
There’s no response, the familiar stranger instead tapping a couple of buttons on the vambrace of his suit’s left arm. The blade on his arm slides away, back up into the sheath on the right forearm. There’s the sound of engines starting up, of something lifting off of the ground behind Peter- the glider. It’d been tossed aside at the beginning of their fight.
Peter takes a few steps back from the man and glances over at the glider, just in case. It’s not moving, merely hovering in place. “That’s Oscorp technology.” He blurts.
“Not anymore. It’s mine, now.”
“How did you get it?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Gee, he really doesn’t want me to know who he is. “You don’t trust me?”
The other man sighs, mutters something about having mental issues under his breath. “Do us both a favor and look at our suits, Spider-Man. We aren’t exactly allies, now, are we?”
“Right. Sorry.” Peter mutters, wincing.
"Your curiosity is going to get you killed, Parker." The way it’s spoken makes it seem as if the man is fond of him.
“Yeah, I’ve been told that before. Not so literally, but…” He ducks his head as he trails off, then raises it again to ask the question that’s been on his mind since he realized they know one another. “Outside of costume, are we on good terms?” Are we close?
"I'd like to think so.” The masked man replies. He takes up a knowing tone, edging it with warning. “And best we keep it that way, for those around us, don't you think?"
“Of course.” Peter agrees, nodding. He recognizes a threat when he sees one. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. And I’m not entirely sure that you want to either.”
"Very good. I'd hate to pull anyone else into this mess." He presses a button on the vambrace again, and the glider veers around Peter, coming to hover at the edge of the roof, where the man now walks towards.
He can’t help himself. He’d seen the man’s state of confusion after his coughing fit. There’s something wrong with him, one way or another, up in his head. “Are you sure you know how to use that?”
“I des-” The man cuts himself off almost immediately, glares over his shoulder at Peter as if his own near-divulgence of information is his fault. “I know what I’m doing.”
Did he almost just say that he designed that thing? Does he work for Oscorp? Peter forces himself to nod, pushing his thoughts aside, and takes the man’s word for it. If he designed the glider, he’ll know how it works. “I guess I’ll see you around?”
The yellow eyes slide down, shielding the real ones behind them from the world. The voice that replies is heavily modulated and louder, different enough than a moment ago for Peter to struggle to even begin to try to figure out who this man is. “No doubt about it, Parker. Just watch what you say and who you say it to. I’d hate to have to attend your funeral.”
Peter nods again, swallowing. “I’ll be careful.”
The mystery man steps out onto the glider, takes a moment to gain his bearings on its functions, and takes off into the dark sky. He’s gone as quickly as he’s ever arrived, a ghost in the night.
Peter sighs at the release of tension and allows himself to sit down on the gravel rooftop. He has a lot to think about.
Who are you?
It’s several days later, when Peter’s reading a paper on Dissociative Identity Disorder that his thoughts really do catch up with him. As his conversation with the Goblin pushes to the forefront of his mind, he stops really reading the words.
The Goblin had mocked and ridiculed him, had struck fear in him and encouraged him to fight.
Then he’d stopped. Then he’d coughed so hard that the insanity washed away, leaving behind something that had appeared fearful itself, confused by his whereabouts- something defensive.
There’s a laugh that cuts off the caboose of that train, plucks the bird away from the feather. It’s the distinctive cackle of the Goblin, and it chills Peter to the bone, even though he knows it’s only all inside his head.
Peter shakes his head to clear away the memory, takes a deep breath, and refocuses himself.
“Symptoms and signs of dissociative disorders include:
- Significant memory loss of specific times and events”
That’s when Peter freezes. He pulls up the memory more deliberately than the previous times, because with information in the article, something about it just makes sense. Something about it tells him that this is the answer to his question about the Goblin’s behavior.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” He asks the Goblin.
A moment of hesitation. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“New York.”
“Where in New York?”
“I-I don’t know.”
The Goblin had refused to answer his first question because he didn’t want to connect his identity under the mask to the mask, which, in Peter’s opinion, is quite fair. He’d do- he does- the same, after all. No one- no one else- can know about Spider-Man. The other man, the Goblin is his secret identity, the potentially unwanted double life that he’s struggling to keep to himself.
“It’s admirable, how someone such as yourself manages a double life like this one. It can't be easy.”
Had the Goblin been mocking Peter? Or had he been mocking the original inhabitant of his body, the man who he plagues with his own murderous tastes?
Peter promptly heads to the public library and looks up everything he can on the matter.
“This disorder is characterized by alternating between multiple identities. A person may feel like one or more voices are trying to take control in their head. Often these identities may have unique names, characteristics, mannerisms, and voices. People with DID will experience gaps in memory of everyday events.
“Men are more likely to deny symptoms and trauma histories, and commonly exhibit more violent behavior.”
That’s it. That’s his answer.
The Goblin, Peter realizes, is one of those alternate identities. The man behind the mask, whoever he is, doesn't want any of this. He’s no terrorist, no killer. This alternate identity, the Green Goblin, is freeloading off of him, intentionally or not, bringing unspeakable horrors to those who do not deserve to die- which, so far, are only Oscorp board members. That’s something else to keep in mind.
Back on the roof, in his right mind, the man had simply been covering for himself, to keep his own true persona safe. Because, with all that the Goblin’s done, he could end up behind bars- he could end up dead, if the Goblin chose to sacrifice himself rather than spend time in solitary confinement.
Peter finds that he can’t fault the man for trying to protect himself.
But he still needs to know who the Goblin is, how he knows him. Because, of course, it’s someone in his life- Peter’s a bad luck magnet, at this point- who developed a mental disorder in which his alternate half went mad.
He’ll figure out who it is. For both him and the other man.
He promises himself that.
It’s figuring out how to help the other that’ll be the problem.
It doesn’t take Peter more than a week to work out who it is.
He’s known Harry long enough to know that it isn’t him, and it certainly isn’t Mary Jane- the Goblin is definitely male, there’s no doubt about it. He even studies some of the people at the Bugle, as if he knows them beyond work.
And then there’s Norman Osborn.
Peter only sees Harry’s father a couple of times a week, when he invites the graduates over for dinner or when he swings by to check up on them in their apartment, to make sure they’re getting on well enough.
But a couple times a week is all Peter needs.
The first time that Harry’s father comes over after Peter’s encounter with the Goblin, he seems paranoid about something. He blames it on lack of sleep, on staying late at Oscorp, to which Harry accepts and Peter doesn’t. Those weary eyes are far too sharp for the story to be entirely true, and they keep drifting over to Peter. Way to give yourself away.
He stays a little distant himself, during the majority of the man’s visit, especially as his suspicions grow and begin to confirm themselves. The Goblin had Oscorp technology. The Goblin had killed Oscorp board members. Who else could the Green Goblin be other than Norman Osborn?
It’s difficult, fighting off the denial and horror of the situation. It takes far too much effort to keep focused, to keep his nausea down. Oh God. How could I have missed it?
It’s even harder to remain somewhat composed in front of Harry, not wanting to give either himself or his friend’s father away to him. Because, he’s Spider-Man, and his best friend’s father is almost certainly the Green Goblin. How’s Harry supposed to deal with it if he finds out himself; that his father and best friend are the two most talked about people in New York; that they’re basically at war with one another and only remaining civil for his sake?
Peter, knowing the risks should he be wrong, stops Osborn on his way out. “Mr. Osborn, could I, uh, talk to you for a second? Privately?”
Thanks to his spider-enhanced senses, he sees the way the man’s throat bobs as he swallows, the almost imperceptible flash of fear deep in his eyes, the way a hand tightens at his side. But his voice is as steady as ever, something that most people would be fooled by. He’s been doing this for awhile, Peter realizes. “Of course.”
“More of your geeky science stuff?” Harry inquires from where he’s bent over some math homework- math homework that he hasn’t been focusing on- at his desk, masking his jealousy of his own father’s apparent better relationship with Peter.
“I- yeah, kinda.” I wish. He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, Harry.”
“Don’t sweat it, Pete. I’m getting used to it.”
“Come on, Peter.” Osborn encourages, sounding so genuine that it hurts Peter. He’s already halfway up the stairs to the poor excuse of a second floor. “Let’s see what I can help you with.”
Peter flashes one last apologetic look in Harry’s direction and makes to follow. “Right behind you, sir.”
The tension between them rises drastically the very moment that Peter closes his door behind them. He can see the rigidness in Osborn’s figure, more so than the usual, and he struggles with his words as the man turns to face him.
In the end, it comes out a lot more bluntly than he’d planned, and he winces. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
The scientist frowns, brow dipping in very well feigned confusion. In another reality, perhaps he could’ve been an actor. Thank God he isn’t in this one. “I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific. What’s me?”
“I think you know what I’m talking about, sir.” Peter replies, unaccusing at the same time that his tone is firm. But Osborn doesn’t say anything, and a raised eyebrow prompts him to continue. “You’re the Green Goblin.”
Norman Osborn’s demeanor changes, and a stoney, well-guarded mask washes away the faux bewilderment. The tone of his own voice matches that of the man within the suit. “That’s a bold accusation, Parker.”
“You’re not denying it.” He blurts back. He’s between the other man and the door, cutting off his escape route- unless Osborn’s actually crazy enough to climb out the window and call the Goblin’s glider. But he doesn’t think that the scientist would dare to fight him to get away from the conversation, at least not with Harry downstairs and the city in broad daylight, but he has to be prepared in case he does. Lowering his voice to a more gentle tone, to assure him that he doesn’t mean harm, he adds,“Please don’t lie to me, Mr. Osborn.”
The man barks out a mirthless laugh, confirming what Peter already knows. “I’m many things, Spider-Man, but a liar isn’t one of them.” There’s a certain glint in his eyes that almost makes the young hero shrink back. “A terrorist, maybe. A killer? Sure am. But I’m no liar.”
If that isn’t a confession, Peter doesn’t know what is. But it still hurts, to hear it from the man himself. He’s after the truth, yes, but he hadn’t wanted it to be true. Not with their shared connection to Harry, and certainly not with their mentor-mentee relationship. And, God, it hurts. It hurts nearly as bad as Ben's death. And the research he’s done, he’s not even sure if it makes all of this any better or if it makes it worse.
“I’m sorry.” Peter murmurs, bringing his eyes back up to Osborn. "I probably could've been a little nicer about that. But I had to know."
“I told you not to seek me out, Peter.” Some of the intensity has faded. “Your curiosity is a danger to the both of us- and to more.”
He meekly nods. “Yeah. I know. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. On the roof the other night, when you said you knew me- I couldn’t leave it there. If I could figure out who you were, figure out what’s going on…I’ve done the research. I understand why you’re doing this, why all of this is happening. It’s not your fault.”
“If you don’t think it’s my fault, you’re missing part of the puzzle.” With those words go the last of Osborn’s confidence, fear bleeding through to his face and voice. “Peter. You’re meddling in things that you cannot even begin to understand. I beg you: Stay away from the Goblin.”
I can’t do that. But the scientist in front of him is distressed enough, so he asks a different question, one perhaps just a little less upsetting. “What’s he been saying about me?”
“I- Peter, he’s insane. He’s obsessed with you. If you don’t fear him…”
“I do fear him.” He really shouldn’t be saying this. But seeing the other man so riled up, in fear of part of himself is almost too much for him, even if he is Spider-Man. Perhaps, he realizes, there isn’t anything he can say that can ease Osborn’s mind, anything that can put the agitation to rest. “Really, I do. Just…not for me. Gotta look out for the little guy.” For the people.
Shaking his head with an audible, worn sigh, Osborn sits himself down on the unkempt bed in the corner of the little room, his stubbornness and fretful agitation finally falling away. “What did New York do to deserve you, Peter?”
“I don’t know.” He says.
When the worst inevitably happens and Norman Osborn's armored body is limp in Spider-Man's arms, battered green mask cast aside, Peter cries.
He gave me no choice. I’m sorry.
Mr. Osborn, I am so sorry.