This is a movie-verse fan fiction that takes place after the end of the movie. Thus, spoilers are abundant, yada yada.
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to the author (although I'm working on a plan to get the money to buy Willem Dafoe with ^_^)... ergo... they're not mine.
Another Note: Any words in italics are the Goblin's words and thoughts of various characters.
A Goblin Straight Out of Hell
by Gobby
Peter Parker stood in the graveyard, gazing at the tombstone in front of him. He sniffed hard and blinked back tears, tilting his head back to look at the darkening sky. The gray blanket of clouds threatened rain, and a wind blew forlornly through the cemetery. A squirrel scurried across the grass, hurrying to get out of the impending storm. The dreary day mirrored Peter's mood.
It had been months since his Uncle Ben Parker was shot in a car jacking. Months, and still Peter's heart twisted inside him when he remembered his last real words to his uncle.
I know I'm not your father Peter.
Then stop pretending to be!
Shame and guilt colored his face, and Peter shut his eyes against the tears. "I'm sorry, Uncle Ben," he whispered. He'd hunted the murderer down himself and killed him, but the experience had done nothing to ease the pain. Instead, it had left him feeling empty inside for a while. The emotional wound was healing, but it was still very painful.
As he turned to leave, his gaze passed over the far corner of the cemetery. One grave stood out to him as though in a spotlight. The white stone was still fairly new, grass not yet grown thickly over the dirt mound. Peter hesitated for a moment, and then slowly walked to the grave, as though drawn to it. Peter felt almost as though he owed it to him to see his grave. He stood staring at the sky for a full minute before he brought himself to read the simple words on the tombstone.
Norman Osborn 1949-2002 Loving father, He will live forever in the hearts of those who knew him.
Peter stood lost in memory, scratching absently at an old wound on his left forearm. It had been deep, but was scabbed over and healing.
"Shoot."
He had scratched too hard and drawn blood. A large drop appeared at the edge of the cut, crimson against his white skin. He shook his arm, wincing at the pain. A drop of blood landed on the grave and immediately disappeared into the thirsty soil. Peter rubbed the cut for a moment, grimacing, and then dropped his arm to his side. He read the tombstone again. Once more, memories assaulted him, and he bowed his head sadly and walked out of the graveyard as the evening turned to night.
Not long after the young man had left, it began to rain. Water swirled through the air in whirlpools as the wind picked up and began to push and attack the trees. A feeling of foreboding came to the air. The first clap of thunder shook the night, the mocking laughter of a huge beast. Ominous black clouds swirled in the sky as the wind howled in fury. More thunder boomed and lightning flashed, illuminating the cemetery for a brief moment. The ground shook as the thunder crashed once more.
And suddenly.....it stopped.
All was calm.
A hand erupted from the dirt in front of a grave. Another hand appeared beside it, and something exploded out of the dirt, a geyser spraying mud and water across the cemetery. A man staggered from the grave, then stood looking around, dazed and disoriented.
Norman Osborn squinted through the rain, trying to remember what had happened and how he'd gotten there. Smoothing his wet and disarrayed hair back out of his face, he shook his head hard and racked his brain.
His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings. The vaguely unsettled feeling in his stomach grew. It was night and he was standing, seemingly alone, in the pouring rain in a cemetery with no memory of what happened. The dark tombstones rose in the night like crouching beasts, ready to spring at him. Thunder crashed ominously, and a strange feeling hung over him, a feeling of lost time, as though he's been asleep for a very, very long while.
Feeling in his pockets for his wallet, his keys, or anything to prove who he was, Norman was baffled to discover his black suit was covered in mud and worn. His search was in vain. The pockets were empty. He instinctively glanced at his wrist, but even his watch was gone. Why would he have left the house without his keys, wallet and watch? Why was he alone in the cemetery? He stared into space for a moment, trying with all his might to remember what in the hell he was doing there.
An open grave was behind him. He could feel it, like the eyes of Death himself were watching him. With a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, he slowly turned to look at the tombstone behind him, the tombstone of the newly disturbed grave. The dark hole gaped like a hungry mouth. A terrible nightmarish fear filled him as his eyes played over the tombstone. He read it three times before realizing what it meant.
A shaking hand stretched toward the cold stone, Norman swallowed hard and braced himself. The stone was rough and cold to the touch. Norman snatched his hand away as though burned. The cruel words screamed at him. He shook his head, slowly at first, and then hard and vigorously, denying the proof in front of him. "But I'm not dead....I'm standing here, for God's sake, talking to myself in the rain, I'm not dead!"
Something lurked in the back of his head, a disturbing thought that he couldn't put a finger on. He peered into the darkness, looking for…..he didn't know what he was looking for. Maybe the person there with him. He could feel someone else was there, watching him. Faint laughter came to his ears. Norman rubbed his ears, figuring he was either insane or in hell or dreaming. The maniacal cackle grew, so it soon rang in his head. The hideous laughter was somehow familiar, horribly familiar to him, but he didn't know how. He spun wildly, searching for the owner of the laugh, somehow knowing he would see no one.
"Is.....is somebody there?"
Somebody!
Norman gasped at the voice and memories came rushing back to him. He remembered the night in the lab...the experiment....the death of Dr. Stromm....
Dr. Stromm's murder, he corrected himself.
The government testing grounds and General Slocum......the World Unity Festival.....
He remembered everything.
And he remembered Spiderman. And who he was.
Norman's face set in determination as the other mind in his head snapped back to full strength. And he realized what he needed to do.
Peter opened the door to the apartment he shared with Harry Osborn and shrugged out of his wet coat. He felt like a drowned rat, having run the fifteen blocks from the cemetery in the rain, unable to flag down a cab or bus. He chuckled silently, thinking it was a curse from his high school years.
"Anybody home?"
Harry poked his head out of his room. "Hey Peter. Where were you?"
Peter threw his keys on the kitchen counter. "The cemetery."
Harry's face dropped and he nodded. "I go there, too, sometimes."
Peter sadly nodded, knowing how much his friend missed his father. He quickly changed the subject to something lighter. Corporate businesses. "So have you decided what to do with Oscorp?"
Harry ran a hand through his disheveled hair and blew the air out of his cheeks. The weight of his conflict was evident in the shadows under his eyes and the droop of his broad shoulders. "I don't know. I know Dad didn't want to sell it, but I don't know how to run a corporate business. He was the business man, not me. I'm thinking of just selling it."
Peter gazed out at the wet night. "I would've thought you'd keep it. Seeing as how it was doing so well."
Harry threw his hands in the air. "See? That's the thing I'm wrestling with. But wasn't it sold already? Quest Aerospace bought it. Dad was fighting it, but they had it. Board of Directors wanted him to resign. And now that Dad's gone, Quest has backed off. Guess it wouldn't look good, them moving in on a company that lost its CEO and namesake." He blew the air out of his cheeks and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm trying to think like Dad, but it's hard."
Peter chuckled to himself. Thinking like Mr. Osborn? Harder than it sounds.
He grabbed his wet jacket again and picked up his keys. "Well, I'm gonna head out for a little while. See what's happening with....."
He trailed off as he realized this may be a sore subject. He was about to say see what's happening with MJ.
Harry nodded curtly. "See ya."
Peter headed out.
Osborn walked slowly down the street in the rain to the Oscorp buildings. It was late, and the building was empty. After gazing up at the huge silent buildings for a moment, he pushed the door open and entered.
Wet shoes squishing on the floor, footsteps echoing, Norman walked down to lab C35. The chamber where he'd become who he was meant to be.
He figured what he was looking for wouldn't be there, but he needed a place to spend the night.
The building was huge and empty, the air stale. No one had been in that particular lab for a while, at least a month. Norman was glad no one was there. Would have been a little hard to explain, their boss come back from the dead. He wondered how long he'd been gone.
"So what happened?"
Now he was questioning himself. Out loud. What his life had turned to.
What happened? We died, that's what happened. Not so quick on the uptake, are you?
"You know what I mean. How did I....we......come back?"
The answer was laughter. Remember you performance enhancers? Well, let me tell you something. A little puncture wound to the chest? No problem.
"But....I was dead. Performance enhancers don't stop death! Not without side effects!"
Well. Not without side effects. Remember me?
Norman barked a laugh.
We were regenerating. We needed time to come back, to heal, to get even stronger!
"But how?"
I'm stronger than death. I've made you stronger than death!
Norman sat down in a dusty chair, his mind boggled. He still couldn't believe it. He needed proof.
Why don't you check for the proof, Osborn? You're a scientist. Scientific method and all that. How did you die?
As though in a daze, Norman rubbed a hand on his chest. He slowly reached under his shirt and rubbed the skin.
Two large scars, newly healed, were on his midsection.
Like a disease, Osborn. We were killed, but now that we've overcome death, we're even stronger! Like a disease overcoming a cure!
We're strong, Osborn. Strong enough to be almost immortal. Strong enough to take out that disgusting little do gooder. We can do to this time.
Norman nodded, knowing he had no choice. Knowing he would be screaming for it to stop every step of the way, but loving it at the same time.
We need a few things first, Osborn. Before we can do anything, we to find a few things. And I know where they are.
Peter rolled over in bed, staring at the ceiling. It was the next morning, and the clouds had passed. Sunlight filled the room.
The night before had been average. Not much action in the crime fighting department. The rain had discouraged most creeps and jerks. A few muggers, one rape attempt, nothing extremely big.
There had been nothing big since the death of the Green Goblin.
Peter unconsciously rubbed the scar on his wrist, the scar he'd earned when he rejected the Goblin's offer of partnership. Something didn't feel right to him. Something was off.
Spider sense?
That couldn't be it, because that was only when he was in real danger, when he was being attacked. Maybe a low key version of it? Maybe he was just sick.
Peter threw back the blankets and stretched, yawning. He felt fine. A little tired perhaps, but that was one of the side effects of having two identities.
Most likely it was just the recent calm. The unusual calm.
The calm before the storm.
Peter shook off the unsettling thought and glanced at the clock.
Twenty five minutes before work, he'd better get going.
Peter threw some clothes on and grabbed his camera and bag. He shrugged into his jacket and rushed down the stairs to the kitchen. A note was lying on the table. Peter snatched it up as he made his way to the door.
-Peter-
Went to a meeting with the Board of Directors. Deciding what to do with Oscorp. Think I know what to do. Probably won't get home till tonight. See you then
-Harry-
Peter tossed the note in the garbage on his way out the door.
Norman Osborn stood down the street, in the shadows of a dark alley, watching the apartment building. Last he'd checked, Peter left the house at nine, so he should have been out already. It was ten to nine.
"He's gonna be late," he grumbled, feeling a ridiculous fatherly disapproval. "Maybe he's sick, or not working there anymore."
He's coming.
Sure enough, Peter emerged from the apartment a few moments later. He began to rush down the street, apparently noticing the same thing Norman had. Osborn's insides twisted as rage sprang to life in him. He unconsciously rubbed the twin scars through his shirt at the sight of Peter.
Suddenly, Peter stopped, no more than twenty five yards from Norman, and looked around, eyes narrowed. Osborn stepped back further into the shadows. The owner of one of the largest corporations in the world...well, was the owner of one...skulking in the shadows of an alley.
Hehehe. Nervous, my little spider?
Norman stood, motionless, as Peter's eyes searched the street. He visibly shook his head and continued on his way, apparently thinking it was safe.
Hehehe!
Norman watched as Peter turned the corner, and he started to leave the alley. He stopped suddenly.
Go! Now!
Norman started to take a step forward at the Goblin's command, but stopped himself with a great amount of willpower.
"I can't, Harry's still in there."
Harry's at Oscorp. Following in the footsteps of dear old daddy.
"How do you know? What is he doing there?"
You don't remember yet, but I do. We took a stroll early this morning. Harry left early, and left a note for Peter. He also left his door unlocked. Not so smart, is he, Osborn? Maybe we could teach him a little?
Tempting, but Osborn wasn't about to drag Harry into this. "No," Norman growled through clenched teeth. "You walked into the apartment and read the note? Do you know what you could have done? What if you'd been caught by Peter?"
Then I would have killed him.
"Don't tell me that. He killed us the first, time, what's to stop him again?"
No, I killed us the first time. He was gonna take the bait. He must have something that alerts him to danger. An instinct. It was a stupid mistake on my part how we ended up dead.
"Damn right it was a stupid mistake. Can't we just leave him alone?"
Do you realize what he did? He killed you! Or tried to! He was going to!
Norman nodded. He realized what needed to be done. He was finding it harder to resist the Goblin's persuasion.
Norman emerged from the shadows and swiftly made his way down the street to the building Peter had just exited. The goblin was in control now, moving him down the street. He climbed the steps and pushed open the door, glancing quickly around for any who would recognize him. Keeping his face down as he crossed the relatively quiet lobby to the elevators, he thought about where the next item on his list would be.
Norman strode down the top floor hallway and arrived at Peter and Harry's room. The goblin tried the doorknob, lithe fingers gripping hard. "Oh no. It's locked," he said in a perfectly disappointed voice. He gave a hard twist and heard things inside the knob cracking. "Now it's not."
The Goblin gave a low laugh, and Norman felt the smile on his face. The warped, insane smile that he'd worn many times before.
Swinging the door open quietly, Norman slowly looked around the apartment, seeing it was still very much the same as the last time he'd been there. Memories inundated him.
Having no time to waste reminiscing, he went straight to Peter's bedroom, which was also the way he remembered it. A huge mess.
Norman quickly ransacked the room, looking in the closet, under the desk, under the table, through the dresser. He made an even bigger mess than the one that had previously occupied the room.
After a few minutes of searching through the closet on his knees, he sat back on his heels and blew the air out of his cheeks. Relief and anger went through him at the same time. It wasn't there.
Under the bed!
Norman obediently turned and swept a hand under the bed. It struck something solid. He reached both hands under the bed and pulled out a large wooden chest with a combination lock on it. He looked at the lock for a moment, fingered it, and then gave a mighty wrench, cracking it off the chest.
He paused for a moment before opening the chest, fearing what he would find, but needing it at the same time. The goblin's feelings were beginning to mingle with his own, and he found he didn't always need to tell the difference. Or want to.
He opened the lid to the chest, leaning the heavy wooden cover against the bed. Newspaper covered the contents of the box. Norman tore it off, and felt the smile return at what he found.
A metallic green suit rested in the chest. He gripped it by the shoulders and raised it out of the box, relishing the familiar touch of the cool metal. It was dusty, partly from being locked away and partly from its last time being used.
In the bottom of the chest laid the mask.
Reverently, he lifted it from its tomb and gazed into the yellow eyes. They smiled mockingly back at him. He began to laugh, his feelings and thoughts molded with the Goblin's. In that moment, they were the same person, with the same desires, needs and wants.
He snatched a duffel bag off the floor and packed the suit and mask into it. Hurrying from the apartment, there was one thing on his mind.
One more thing, Osborn. One more thing!
Peter hurried into the Daily Bugle office, praying that Mr. Jameson was in a good mood that day. He glanced at the clock and groaned silently. He had a meeting with the man at nine fifteen. Not so much a meeting, really, than Jameson barking at Peter about whether or not he had pictures of Spiderman or anything incriminating towards him.
The woman at the desk outside Jameson's office glanced up at him quickly, her lips pressed together in a line of disapproval. He could almost hear her mental tirade, and chose to smile charmingly.
She scowled at him and went back to her work.
He sighed and immediately lost the smile. Apparently he was about as charming as a wet sponge.
Peter threw his bag down on the floor sank into the uncomfortable seat outside Jameson's office, the feeling of foreboding still on him. He'd had it all morning, ever since he'd woken up, like something bad was coming, like something bad was about to happen. The feeling of being watched too, was bothering him. His spider sense was acting up, too. It had struck him suddenly when he'd been leaving the apartment, as though somebody stood in the shadows, watching. It was getting a little unnerving, and distracting.
Peter shook off his fears and chalked it up to being nervous jitters. He glanced at the calendar on the wall under the clock. The thought impacted him with the wait of a hammer.
It was the one month anniversary of the death of the Goblin.
Peter laughed suddenly, to the disapproving glare of the tight mouthed woman. That was why he was so nervous. Subconsciously, he knew what the date was, and his imagination did the rest. As he worked through the matter, he began to feel a little better.
But a part of him was still unsettled. A feeling in the pit of his stomach. Instinct was saying, "Watch your back."
He rolled his eyes. Yeah, and maybe it was the fact that he shouldn't eat Chinese food so late anymore.
Peter shook his head and banished the thoughts to set his mind on work.
Harry Osborn sat at the large table that every meeting room in every corporation seemed to have. The Board of Directors looked at him with expressions ranging from fake smiles to outright dislike.
He swallowed, having made his speech, and he could read the skepticism in the faces around him.
One of the directors, one with an expression of pity and sympathy on his face said in a kind tone, "Harry, we know how much your father meant to you. We know you wouldn't want to let him down. So we can understand your not wanting to sell Oscorp. But think, did you really want to run it when he was alive? Oscorp was going down anyway. It was sold already, I believe. Your father was told to resign. Why would you want to take over it now?"
Harry stubbornly lifted his chin. "Because I think maybe I can improve a few things. Make it better, make it work."
The director spread his hands and sighed. "Look, Harry, running a major corporation is a lot of work. It's a demanding job. I don't know if you're up to it."
Harry glared at the man, and at the others, some of whom were not so kind about it. "I know I can do it. I know I can try, anyway. And I know, maybe I won't be half as good at it as my father was. Maybe I won't do as many good things-"
One of the other directors, one with an expression of contempt smirked at Harry. "Your father was a nutcase, as whacked out as they come. Oscorp was going down the tubes and he knew it. Your father did jack squat when it comes to good things. The best thing you can do is sell the company and try to get a job at a Mickey D's or something, kid, because I can see you're just like your father, and you'll lose it too."
Harry's face turned bright red as he carefully controlled the rage coursing through him. His words came out haltingly. "I will not let people like you have Oscorp. Because no matter what anybody else says, my father was a good man, with peoples' best interest at heart. And I will continue in his footsteps. Because it's what he would have done."
The director at the head of the table stood. A cautious man, one not about to watch a director antagonize the son of a newly deceased CEO, he cleared his throat loudly. "I think we all need time to think about this. We will adjourn for now and meet again at a later date."
Harry, fists clenched, rose and stalked out of the room.
Mary Jane Watson exited the Moondance diner, sighing. Another five hour shift was over, and her feet felt like they were going to explode.
She had yet to strike it rich on acting, and actually had another audition the next day. She sighed again and pushed her sweaty hair back out of her eyes.
"MJ! Hey MJ, wait up!"
MJ turned at the familiar voice and brightened at who it was. Peter Parker was jogging down the street to her. A wave of sadness hit her when she saw him, saw what she couldn't have. She was grateful he was her friend, and wasn't just rejecting her as a person, but she still felt more deeply for him. She wanted more of their relationship. MJ would rather die than do anything to hurt him, however, so she smiled for his benefit.
Camera swinging around his neck, he dodged traffic, raising his arms apologetically to irked drivers he cut off. Slowing to a halt in front of her, he smiled, breathing hard. "Hey, I was just coming to see you. Figured we haven't spoken in a while, and I'd come and say hello."
MJ smiled wistfully at the innocent sincerity in his voice. "Well, I still work my waitress duty. And I guess I'm still in need of acting lessons."
Peter smiled and shrugged. "Some people don't see talent until they're hit over the head with it. You'll find someone who isn't blind, don't worry."
MJ nodded and looked down. "I know. Or I hope anyway. I have an audition tomorrow....come see me try?" She waited hopefully for his reply.
He smiled that bashful smile that always charmed her and nodded. "Of course I'll come and watch, I'd love to."
She tilted her head and smiled mischievously. "And then, do you want to get lunch some evening?"
He faked a scowl. "Cheap shot, not fair."
She smiled a real smile. "Is that a yes?"
He nodded, slowly smiling back. "Yeah, I guess it is."
"I'm looking forward to it."
"Me too."
MJ took off down the street with a new bounce in her step.
The building was creaky and old, with a feeling of hopelessness to it. Dust and grime covered every surface, and the crumbling walls created strange shadows. The light cutting through the partially destroyed ceiling gave the house a strange feeling, as though it was twilight for eternity in the desolate place.
Norman Osborn walked slowly through the abandoned house, breathing in the old air, gazing through the light filtering down through the dust. He made his way through the building he'd been killed in, remembering the last time he was there.
"You expect it to be here?" he questioned the goblin.
It has to be here, where else would he put it?
"Well I don't know, maybe he destroyed it, like a smart person would do."
Ah, but he's also predictable. And where else is as predictable as here?
Norman shook his head and kept walking.
He made his way through the first level of the house, stretching his senses out to feel it. He knew he'd sense it when it was near. He didn't know how he knew, he just did.
Norman suddenly stopped and looked up through the missing floorboards, to the second level. His gaze fell on the crumbled wall he could make out above the ledge, and the still standing wall, where he had last stood.
Where he had died. Impaled by his own glider.
Norman tore his gaze away, struggling to push away the memories.
Suddenly, he wondered what Harry was doing, if he was OK.
Stop!
Osborn halted in place.
It's here. Dig!
Norman gazed down at the dirt beneath him, wondering why he couldn't have just died and not been here. He was pushed to his knees suddenly, and he began to dig, realizing the Goblin had had enough of his hesitation.
Pawing and scratching at the dirt, he furiously burrowed, grunting as he did so. It was there, he knew it. It had to be.....
His hand struck hard metal. He smiled a deranged smile.
Digging more ferociously now, he quickly uncovered the object of his desire. Brushing the dirt off it, he lifted it from its grave.
His glider, blades still fully extended, lay on the ground in front of him. He looked at it for a full minute before leaning down to check if it still worked.
It hummed to life a second later, and rose into the air. Osborn threw his fists into the air and laughed. Low at first, then louder and higher until he was cackling as the Goblin.
He dropped his fists suddenly and, eyes wide, breathing hard, proclaimed two simple words that would bring havoc to many.
"I'm back."