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Norman Osborn rarely felt lost. It was a feeling he didn't know well, almost foreign to him. He couldn't remember a single time in his life when he hadn't had a goal in mind. You couldn't get lost with a goal, you could only fail, and that was something entirely different.
Now, however, everything had changed. Norman felt lost. More lost than ever before, more lost than in the past weeks and months, in which he seemed to have lost more and more control over himself. Oh yes, he knew something was lurking there. It was still lurking, even though he had shattered the hideous mask in a desperate attempt to get rid of the voice.
It lurked in Norman's mind and he dreaded its next attack. He didn't always know what he was doing as soon as it took control. Each time it was as if he fell asleep and woke up somewhere else. But he had killed people. He couldn't remember doing it, but he knew that for a fact. The board members. Granted, he had hated them, still hated them, but their deaths? He hadn't wanted that. Not really. God, Harry had been at the meeting with his girlfriend. He could have died. Norman could have killed him.
A lump formed in his throat. If anything had happened to his son... He would never have forgiven himself, even if Harry wasn't quite the way he would have liked him to be. What meaning would his life have then? Oscorp would no longer have any meaning for him. No family and Peter.... Spider Man.
Norman shook his head. This something was too dangerous. Dangerous for Harry and the young Parker, his whole environment. He needed help before he caused another catastrophe. He had never been so afraid of anything before and he didn't have the strength to fight it for long.
On top of all this, Norman literally didn't know where he was. He could vaguely remember talking to the mask, on all fours in front of the fireplace. After that, everything was simply gone. And now he was here, in this green armor and with the glider he had designed, in this city that was so familiar and yet foreign to him at the same time.
Everything was wrong. It was like a parallel world that was similar to his own - but also not. His house looked completely different and there were strangers living in it. Strangers in his house! So it wasn't his at all. Norman had no place to retreat to and there was no one who knew who he was. No help for him in sight. Not even Oscorp seemed to exist. He was a nobody here. He had nothing. No influence, no power, no friends.
In addition to the confusion and growing nervousness, hunger and thirst and fatigue gnawed at him. His stomach growled. His limbs were heavy and aching. Norman had no idea who he could turn to. Who would even believe what had happened to him? He wouldn't believe it himself! He didn't have the means to get food or clothing to hide the armor that was attracting a fair amount of attention. When he had wandered the streets looking for something familiar, some people had even pointed these strange new phones at him.
A group of young women laughed at the sight of him and a teenager shouted a mocking comment in his direction. They were trivialities. But Norman's face turned red every time, he could feel it. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so ashamed and he was well aware that he must look completely out of place in his shimmering green suit; as if it was written on his forehead that he had just been transported from the year 2001 to... who-knows-which.
And yet Norman had no choice but to keep moving and looking. With a sigh, he brushed a strand of hair out of his face. He noticed how his hand trembled as he did so. His whole body was shaking.
Just keep walking. There must be something here.
Dodging people on the sidewalk was pointless, so Norman just tried to ignore them as best he could. It all felt like a nightmare without end. How had he got here? What was this place anyway? Had this something brought him here? He just wanted to go home, to his son. Harry... The thought hurt. Would he notice that he had disappeared? Did he miss Norman like Norman missed him?
Before he could plunge deeper into his doubts, something caught Norman's eye. It was a figure in two colors, striking and, more importantly, familiar. He looked up. His eyes widened. He could hardly believe it. On a large panel on a building was a picture of Spider Man. It couldn't be anyone else. Not with the red and blue markings, the black-framed eyes and the intricate pattern that covered the whole suit. He was unmistakable, and the "JUSTICE FOR MYSTERIO!" that someone had smeared over it didn't change that.
For a split second, something hot flashed through Norman. It was disgust and anger, anger that had the potential to incinerate houses and destroy lives. It was only there for a moment - and yet it terrified him. That Spider Man existed in this world was a good sign. He was a hero, wasn't he? Helped fight crime in New York? Well, maybe he could help him. There was something written next to the picture: "When you help someone, you help everyone.". Underneath: F.E.A.S.T. - Food, Emergency, Aid, Shelter & Training.
If Spider Man was the only thing he recognized here, he would ask him for help. Norman didn't have time to be picky. It was impossible to tell when he would lose control again. He had to hurry.
...
Listening to Peter Parker was a joy. It was a pleasant surprise that he was so much like the Peter in Norman's universe in his enthusiasm for science. This Peter had this mixture of determination and curiosity in his eyes and voice as he talked about possible ideas to bypass Otto's broken chip. He was bursting with energy. The boy knew what he was doing and he was obviously enjoying it. So much ambition, so much talent. It reminded Norman of himself. Did all the Peter Parkers in the multiverse have that in common?
"I'd say we don't even try to remove the chip. It's so unstable that it could seriously injure Dr. Octavius and I'd rather not risk that. It would also probably be quite complicated."
"So we have to neutralize or override it."
"That's exactly what I was thinking!"
Parker looked at him with a beaming smile. Then he cleared his throat and looked away again, embarrassed.
"I just need to look at how exactly it's connected to his nervous system. I know that the arms are somehow controlling him or at least communicating with him."
"May I have a look? I studied biomedical engineering and materials chemistry, so I think I could help."
"Really? That's so cool!"
Norman couldn't help but return the smile. The boy's enthusiasm was simply infectious. How old was he? 16? 17? Only a few years younger than Harry and Peter. He had a bright future ahead of him. His Aunt May was lovely and supportive. Hopefully he would have the opportunity to fully develop and utilize his talent.
"All right then... "
Norman reached inexpertly into the hologram on the fabricator and zoomed in. He wasn't familiar with this technology. It had to be very new.
"It's not really important, but... What year is it right now?"
"2024. Why?"
2024.
That felt so far away. It was incredible to see how far humanity had come. Then Norman remembered what Otto had told him. That he had died fighting Spider Man. How could it have happened? He prayed that his healing would succeed. He had so much to make up for. With the Parkers and especially with Harry. And perhaps he could avert his own death.
"I'm amazed by all this technology. These new phones, the arm in the living room, all that. Truly fascinating. Did you develop this fabricator?"
"Oh, no, I'm nowhere near that good. Tony Stark invented it."
"He must be a very intelligent man."
Peter fixed his gaze on the hologram. Suddenly he didn't seem quite as lively and Norman had the feeling that he had touched on a sensitive subject.
"He was the most intelligent person I knew."
So definitely sensitive. He didn't know what to say. He'd never been good at that, not even with the people who meant a lot to him. As much as Norman wanted to say something empathetic, he hardly knew this Peter. But he could practically see the change in him: Peter lowered his head and closed his teary eyes as he swallowed hard. The silence in the workshop was as heavy and dark as a thundercloud.
Norman didn't know why he was doing it. He shouldn't do it, he didn't know him well enough to be able to comfort him properly. But seeing the young Parker so vulnerable awoke something in him that made him slowly put a hand on his shoulder. Peter didn't react at first and Norman held his breath. Had he made a mistake? Had he crossed a line?
Before he could change his mind, the boy sighed softly. He could literally see the tension drain out of him. Suddenly he looked incredibly tired. Whatever it was that was weighing on his mind, he had been carrying it around with him for a very long time.
"I am so sorry, my boy."
He affirmed the few muttered words by gently squeezing his shoulder. That was all it took. Peter rubbed his face and paused briefly in the movement before taking a few shaky breaths. Norman's heart was racing. He really was pathetically bad at this sort of thing, even though he was supposed to be better at it than many others. And so, in his ineptitude, he could do nothing more than rub small circles over his shoulder and back.
"Thank you", Peter whispered after a time that Norman couldn't possibly estimate.
The boy lifted his head again and straightened up a little overall, as if he was also pulling himself together inside. Nevertheless, he couldn't hide a soft sniffle.
The moment was over, the impending breakdown averted. Norman respectfully withdrew his hand.
"I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to apologise for."
Peter smiled weakly at him, even though he could see that his heart wasn't in it.
"What year are you from if you find our technology so fascinating, anyway?"
Norman gratefully accepted the change of subject. It clearly showed him that Peter didn't want to talk about it. He respected that boundary.
"2001. That must seem like a long time ago, huh?"
"It kind of does. That's when I was born, it's pretty crazy."
Norman scanned Peter carefully. He couldn't possibly be older than twenty.
"Oh, yeah, that's, um, complicated. Let's just say I haven't been around for a few years. I really don't think you want to hear all this", said the boy, as if he had read his mind.
If Norman was honest, he would have liked to hear what that was all about. By "haven’t been around", did Parker mean completely non-existent? It had to be, there was no other way to explain his age. But they didn't have time for that. So he just shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the hologram. He absentmindedly plucked at the collar of the purple hoodie May had given him at the F.E.A.S.T. community center to hide his armor. He was very grateful for the clothing, but he was a little warm under the many layers he was wearing.
"It looks like the arms are connected to Otto's cerebellum. With these needles down his back, see?"
"Yeah, through nanowire, right?"
"Exactly. What on earth was he thinking... ?"
"Do you know him?"
"We were good friends. Knew each other since high school. We've grown apart a bit in the last few years, work, family and all that, but... We were always in touch. Otto is brilliant but not reckless. He must have been really convinced of this."
Norman would ask Otto about it when the opportunity arose, preferably after they had healed him. It had to work. If Marko was actually telling the truth... He couldn't let his friend die.
"Dr. Osborn?"
Parker tentatively put a hand on his shoulder.
"We'll heal him. Him and you and everyone else. Then you'll have a second chance."
Norman looked him in the eye. The determination he radiated gave him hope and the strength to ignore the dull throbbing in his head.
"Thank you, Peter. I have a lot to make up for. I won't... " Norman swallowed hard. "I won't let Harry down again."
Peter was just opening his mouth to say something when May peeked into the workshop.
"Is anyone hungry?"
...
"So again, we have burritos with chili, burritos with rice and steak and burritos with cheese."
May shook her head.
"The ones with cheese are Happy's favorites. We can't use his apartment as an emergency shelter and eat his favorite burritos."
Peter sighed.
"All right, who wants what?"
Until then, Max Dillon had been looking out of the window with his arms crossed. Now he studied those present until his gaze rested on Peter. Norman didn't quite know what to make of him. Dillon sometimes had this bright twinkle and flash in his eyes that definitely didn't look natural.
"Steak always sounds good!"
"Chili for me then. Otto? Sure you don't want anything?"
Otto Octavius stood near the kitchen counter. He watched the scene with a twisted mouth.
"I'm certainly not going to eat that food. He'll end up poisoning us."
"Whatever you say."
Norman saw no point in trying to convince him otherwise. He had been very uncooperative and pessimistic all along, which was a shame. With his knowledge, they would make much faster progress.
While the burritos warmed up in the microwave, Peter went back to the workshop to continue working on the override chip. Norman hadn't eaten a burrito in ages. It wasn't what he would normally consider as a meal. Normally. He wasn't normally this hungry either. Normally he ate more than nothing save for two donuts over a span of almost forty-eight hours, because normally he wasn't summoned to other universes by failed spells from magicians.
Nevertheless, when Norman took his first bite of the burrito, he was pleasantly surprised. The spiciness was not too intense and the taste of the beef and beans was pleasant. Simple but good. And it was food. From the freezer, but still food.
"What the hell are we doing here?" Otto snorted. "Is this supposed to be some kind of daycare center?"
He wiggled back and forth a little, but the metal arm was wrapped tightly around him and didn't let up. Flint Marko shook his head. Sand trickled onto the floor.
"Just don't do anything stupid. Some of us want to go home. So stay still. The less resistance we put up, the faster we'll get back."
Max's eyes flashed, but he said nothing. Although Norman agreed with Marko, a spark of reluctance stirred in him. Did he really want to go back? This world offered him so many new opportunities. Barely two days and he had already tracked down Spider Man...
No. Stop.
Norman pushed these thoughts away. Of course he wanted to go home.
“Don't you dare talk to me like that! Nobody tells me what to do and what not to do.”
“Marko's right, Otto.”
“Oh, not you too, Norman. Don't pretend you really agree with Parker's plan. You brought your problem upon yourself and you knew exactly how risky it was. At least you know where it will get you in the end. I hope it was worth it to you.”
Norman gritted his teeth. Granted, he had known about the risk of the serum. But this job had been incredibly important. The profits Oscorp could have made from working with the military would have been immeasurable. Of course, none of that mattered now. Oscorp had thrown him out. The mere thought of this injustice made him feel angry. The board members were dead, Oscorp was once again under his control, but this defeat had left a bitter aftertaste. He had sacrificed so much for the company, too much, he sometimes thought. And what was it all worth if he was going to die soon anyway? No, getting rid of this something forever would only help him.
Suddenly Norman thought of something else.
“What about Harry? How is he?”
He wasn't sure, maybe he was imagining it, but he thought he saw Otto's features soften the slightest bit.
“Managed to get to the top of Oscorp somehow and stay there. Takes after you, except in his understanding of science. But that shouldn't be news to you, eh?”
Again, Norman couldn't answer. He was glad that Harry at least had his stubbornness. But he was still so young and inexperienced. With every passing minute, he wanted to return to his universe more urgently. He wanted to be a part of Harry's future, a bigger part than he had been in his life so far.
“Are you talking about Harry Osborn right now?”, Marko intervened.
“Yes. He's my son.”
The man's sandy face was impossible to read. It looked serious, but it did all the time. It was the silence that worried Norman.
“He's dead.”
“What?”
“He sacrificed himself for Spider Man when.... ”
Norman heard nothing. Marko's voice was just a muffled background noise. Everything felt dull after the statement hit him like a cold splash of water. He couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it. Harry, his boy, his flesh and blood... Dead?
“When?”
“Huh?”
Before he realized what he was doing, he was standing on both feet.
“Damn it, when will my son die? When, Marko?!”
Norman slammed a fist on the table.
“Wow, now it's getting good,” Dillon muttered.
“2005. That's the year I'm from.”
He leaned heavily on the tabletop. If he hadn't, his legs would probably have given way beneath him. His breath came in short, quick gasps. He couldn't breathe, his chest felt too tight. His head hurt and there was this stinging right behind his eyes.
“Is this guy having a seizure or something?”
“Shut up.”
“Osborn? Can you hear me?”
Norman snapped out of his stupor. Marko was standing right next to him.
“I know this must come as a shock to you, but you need to get- ”
His hand jerked forward in a flash, but instead of hitting solid mass as he expected, it slid through the sand of Marko's neck and was caught in a firm grip.
“If you can't get a grip, I can change my tune.”
“I-I... ”
Norman stared at his trembling hand. He hadn't meant to strike. It had just happened. He had barely processed what Marko had revealed to him. Harry... Dead. It couldn't be. Marko continued to talk at him, but his mind wandered to the past. He held Harry in his arms for the first time, shortly after his birth. The baby had already been open-eyed and crying and Norman had never felt prouder in his life than at that moment. Holding his own offspring, a part of him, had been overwhelming and it had unlocked something new in him. Not all of Oscorp's successes combined could have outweighed that. Not even remotely. The next seventeen years had flown by. Harry had just said his first word, taken his first steps, started school and already he was a young man graduating from high school.
Norman knew it was his fault. For so long he had fought it, ignored it. He had neglected Harry. Not intentionally, never intentionally, but still. He had just been so busy. Work never stopped, not even at home. Was that a good excuse? No. And he would make it up to him.
Norman had to go back. He had to go back now.
Peter.
As if on autopilot, he got up and went into the workshop. The others talked to him. Or to each other. He didn't register a single word. Panic choked his throat. He could feel his heart pounding and every breath hurt. Peter stood by the fabricator. He was completely focused on his work, but looked up when Norman entered.
“Dr. Osborn?”
Parker put down his tools and frowned.
“Is everything okay?”
Norman opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The headache got worse and he had to squint his stinging eyes for a few seconds.
“P-Peter... “ he finally managed to get out. “I have to go back. Please.”
“We'll take care of the antidote right after Doc and Dillon - wait, what happened? You're shaking.”
Norman put a hand over his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, but it didn't help to slow his heartbeat or contain his panic.
“I have to go to Harry. I have to- I have to- ”
“Hey, hey, easy.”
Before Norman could react, Peter was at his side, supporting him. His legs had buckled. He had no choice but to accept the boy's help. He gently sank to the ground with him.
“So, what's going on? Who's Harry?”
“He's my son. I-I have to see him. He's... he's going to die.”
“ Sorry? Wait, did someone tell you that?”
Norman just nodded and closed his eyes again briefly. His head was pounding. He stretched his fingers and clenched them repeatedly into fists, the nails digging deep into his palms.
Peter rubbed his forehead and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Okay, okay, um... Do you know the exact circumstances?”
“Mhm.”
The boy sighed with relief.
“That's good! You-you can prevent his death, right? If we heal you and send you back?”
Something inside Norman recoiled at the word 'heal', but that was quickly pushed aside by the prospect of averting Harry's death. Peter was right. He could help. There was no need to panic. He just had to get back as quickly as possible, because this creature (the Green Goblin, as the Daily Bugle called it) could take control at any moment. As much as he would have liked to just use that stupid cube, in the end it probably wouldn't do him any good anyway if he ended up wanting to kill Spider Man, his Peter.
“Yes, I... I could do that. I'm just... ”
Norman buried his face in his still trembling hands. The fear, the racing heart just wouldn't go away. The news of Harry's death had shaken him too much. He hadn't died yet, but it still sent him into a state of total panic. It was so embarrassing. He had made a fool of himself in front of everyone. Maybe the Goblin was right; he was weak.
“I understand that", Peter mumbled.
Norman didn't lift his head. Instead, he listened to the boy's voice, which now sounded lower and raspier. Almost vulnerable.
“It can't be easy to hear something like that. You miss your son and you don't want him to... You know. It's normal.”
Norman breathed in and out deeply. The pounding in his head slowly subsided.
“I've made mistakes. Lots of mistakes. This one- ”
Norman tapped his temple.
“ -is just one of them.”
Now he faced Peter. He looked so different from the Peter from his universe and yet... those blue eyes looked so much like his at that moment that he was speechless. There was a sadness and pain and understanding in them that Norman was sure must have come from his own experience with the death of loved ones. Maybe his parents. Maybe his uncle, as it had been with his Peter. Or someone else.
“Now you have the chance to at least undo this one. That's a start, isn't it?”
Norman nodded. He had to get a hold of himself now. For Harry's sake. Peter stood up and offered him a hand.
“Well then, let's get to work. We've got no time to lose.”
...
Harry stared into the mirror hanging over the sink as he brushed his teeth. Dark eyes flashed at him, overshadowed by equally dark eyebrows. They looked angry, but really he was tired. Tired, exhausted, drained and every other word that came close to describing this state.
The day had been terrible. Harry had been looking forward to it forever, his nervousness growing with each passing day, only to be bitterly disappointed by none other than his father. Thanksgiving dinner had started quite promisingly. Sure, Pete had been a little late, but that hadn't been too bad. Mary had worn a black dress, as he'd asked her to, and she'd looked so beautiful that it had taken his breath away at first. It should have been enough to impress his father.
Harry silently scolded himself. He should have known it wasn't enough. Nothing was good enough for his father. Still, that he had so insulted and humiliated his girlfriend and him, and all within earshot of the Parkers and her, whether intentionally or not, still struck him as odd. He had seemed so genuinely interested in getting to know her. Norman Osborn was often direct, but never insulting. Well, unless he was upset about this or that board member or an uncooperative client, but even then he contained himself.
Harry spat and rinsed his mouth and brush before washing his face. He sighed and closed his eyes. There was no point in thinking about it anyway. There was no point crying over spilt milk. What worried him was the prospect of losing MJ. He had called her several times after the disastrous dinner to apologize, to no avail. He couldn't blame her and only hoped that she didn't want to distance herself from him permanently.
A shrill sound made him flinch. It was the doorbell.
“What the hell... ?”
Who could it be? It was almost ten o'clock. The person had certainly rung the wrong bell. Harry would have simply dismissed the whole thing if the noise hadn't sounded a second time. He didn't quite know why, but his intuition led him to activate the intercom
“Who is it?”
“Harry, it's me.”
His mouth went dry.
“Father?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Harry hesitated. Doubts arose in him again. On the other hand, there was something in his voice... Perhaps he had come to talk about what had happened and why he had had to leave so suddenly. He let his father in and waited at the front door. He silently prayed that Pete wouldn't wake up. He chewed nervously on his lower lip until his father appeared.
Harry immediately noticed a change. His father's hair was not meticulously slicked back as it had been a few hours before, but looked disheveled, as if he had been marching through a storm. There was something hurried in his stride as he exited the elevator and walked towards him, as if he was just barely stopping himself from running.
“Why are you- ”
Harry couldn't even finish his sentence before his father had closed the distance between them and wrapped him in a tight hug. His son was momentarily speechless. He held his breath, processing what was happening. He couldn't remember the last time his father had hugged him. It must have been ages.
Slowly, very slowly, Harry lifted his arms and returned the hug, even if he couldn't fully relax yet. The sensation was too foreign to do so.
“Dad, what's so important that you had to come here in the middle of the evening?”
“I have a lot to tell you, Harry.”
He remained silent, but he noticed his father hugging him a little tighter. And somehow that weakened his restraint. He had to admit to himself that he had missed that.
“I... have a lot to apologize for,” his father added more quietly.
Harry closed his eyes and gently lowered his head onto his shoulder.
“I'm just glad to see you well and safe.”
He might have asked why he shouldn't be, but the warmth of the hug enveloped him now and he couldn't bring himself to disturb the moment in that way. It was too precious and rare to him.
"I love you, son."