Story Rating: T

Author's Note: Well, since this is my first Spider-man fic I just suggest you random reader to highly expect grammar errors as well as any other typical mistake in my writting. Feel free to comment, is what my daily-survival-elixir consists of. I assure you it will make my day. No pun intended with any reply both positive and negative comments will be helpful, some confidence boost, stuff like that, you know. And hope you like it more chapters will be added probably during the week or so, thank you for your time.

Disclaimer: None of the names, objects or any other thing here is mine, not currently and probably not in the future, unfortunately for me- Marvel owns everything. This and my mind and soul.

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Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy.

F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Prologue.

Numb.

From any other existent Word in the English language THAT was the one that described him the most at this very moment.

His only guess was that he was still in denial. Still, he thought. But who could blame him for this. And the idea of the simply inquiry enraged him with himself.

He was a destroyer.

Everything he touches either vanishes, like his parents or dies abruptly, like his uncle and now this.

And abruptly being the key word in here. It happened so fast, so sudden that it took his mind a second to process the image through his brain and now that he thinks about it and he remembers everything, and by everything it is all of it. He remembers the warehouse, the chase, the unbendable fight that took place.

The final act finally came to both of them.

Hero against villain.

Righteous against madness.

Son against mentor

He didn't believe his eyes at that instant. He really thought the gas from the goblin bombs were the ones that were affecting his mind. He has attached to that hope not long enough before it was ripped from him.

Apparently, the universe has a cruel and wicked sense of humor.

Norman Osborn was The Green Goblin.

Yes. The same atrocity and excuse of a human being, if they could dare to considered lunatics humans nowadays anyway.

It was a Saturday afternoon. The funeral started at 3:30 sharp. The air feels thick and cold against his face. His wounds are yet to be healing, but that wasn't the worst. Physically, his human body would heal eventually. God only knows how many near-fatal bruises, hits, concussions and black eyes he has received in great amount in the past. But that wasn't the point, the point is that he'll survive one way or another, he always does, unfortunately for him, a phrase he had used too many times but still does, the lives that surround him are the ones that can be blend. After all he was a fighter, a fighter with induced-arachnid extraordinary abilities. Super strength seems to come handy now and then, especially during near-death experiences, experiences that per his opinion never cease to stop. The more he fights, the more the super villains, organization, thieves, and even the ordinary people seem to want to see him fall down

Maybe I could grant their wishes he though bitterly how the world, his world turn upside down in a matter of seconds. It seems that whenever he reaches a delayed day, unknown forces come to him to do the only thing they can do to defeat the Spectacular Spider-man.

Break him down; they come to break him down.

And maybe they have succeeded, because I have no idea who I am anymore.

Am I the hero or the villain in this new era?

New era.

This is how he named the outsider world in relation with his life now. A new era for what? To rise up again and continue to fight unceasingly against outermost foes and despicable haters in order to save the lives of faceless people everywhere or would he finally permit the momentum of life to push him inside the never-ending abyss, a place where he would be able to finally forget, to finally rest.

Death.

Everything seems dead in here. From the crisp and cold wind indicating the lasting traces of the winter in the quarter week of March, to the dark brown leaves moving along the field in the Mortuary. With one quick glance you could see the sheer amount of money a place like this could cost, the trees have perfect asymmetrical cuts, just as the bunches and the flowers. The flowers seem to be the only thing alive here. They weren't alive like him, breathing through lungs and heart beating with genetic-altered blood. No, they were alive because they were growing by themselves, perhaps it was a forgot task by the gardener, that's the first idea logic tells you, but logic doesn't govern you or your life. Life is weight through boundaries. Boundaries that were stated by either you or somebody else, it doesn't matter who or what placed them there, what we can be sure about is the reason why they're placed.

To limit us.

Limit both our mistakes and achievements.

They bring balance; they bring stability and an understanding.

Another broken thing in him

People arrived, and one by one the chairs were filled with the bodies of strangers, strangers at least for him. Some were wealthy, others were famous and some were known for him. He didn't want to look for any known of him. I guess that's hypocrite of me but I'm sorry but I can't. I don't have enough strength to stand up; I'll probably break before the first hello.

The Interim CEO Of Oscorp, Martin Newman, a tall 6'1 Caucasian man with a golden blonde hair stood in the front of the podium. His eyes were a deep blue but they radiated a coldness he instantly related to Norman himself, he heard Oscorp was seeking out for a newly and fresh figure, one who would be able to stand with the company but it looks like their range of change was pretty dense, apart from the physical figure he seems to be in between 40 to 50 years and from experience he knew the tight smile he portrayed was anything but sincere.

Well let's hope he's not an evil psychopath who wants to kill me, let's hope, yeah, based on my previous luck he'll end up being a reptile-type alien or something.

He mentally slapped himself but decided to leave life-threatening inquiries out of his mind for a while. At least for the time being after all he has a lot of thinking to do. So at last expanse he decided to pay attention to the empty words of Martin Newman.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentleman, this afternoon, my fellows, we have come to be gathered to a calamitous event. This day is day were we will give the final goodbye to one of the most known visionaries of the century. Norman Osborn. His death was both shocking and devastate for everybody who knew him. I knew personally Norman Osborn and I'll dare to say, in here standing next to him, that he had the most honest, pure and outstanding mind I've had ever seen in my entire life. And trust me-

Okay, okay. Yep, he's an ass kisser with a master in the art of stupidity and useless acting, he's not even a good- ah never mind. But even fools have their glory day, apparently.

-but the joyful stories may be for another day, today we came to honored and remember the great achieves and glorious moment of the lost life of Norman Osborn. Accidents happen and even to the most unthinkable people-

You have no idea

-But today with a final glance we say farewell Mr. Osborn have a good time in the afterlife. Is there anybody in the audience who will like to speak in behalf of the loss of this righteous man, Norman Osborn, a man we have come to honored today, in this late afternoon".

Utter silence filled the room. No one raise their hands, so Newman held the microphone once again and clear his throat loudly. Peter looked over the huge crowd and saw no one raising their hands, but obviously he knew better than to expect anything. They were in the "Garden of Memories", the land, obviously was one of the most expensive one in New York City. And the room was filling with at least a hundred and one business-like people. He knew most of them were here more to accomplish a schedule or scratch a date from their never -ending agendas than to mourn a loss, so no hope there. Peter scanned a little more and catches a glimpse of several news media, from the local channel new to the Daily Bugle. He was on duty and in direct order from Jameson to cover the event with enough photos of everything and everything, he made very clear that he wanted everything from the color of his shoes to the size of the ceiling, but threaten to fired him if he got a shot of those things. So as a force of habit Peter started doing that, he took hold of his camera lenses and began to seek for anything at all.

He turned around…business associates, Stark Industries, Hammer Multinational, Roxxon Oil Company… I can't believe they all arrive considering they hate each other, well business is business… press, more press, secretary…

"Alright well in that case with that said I present to you his dear and only son and heir to Oscorp, Harry Osborn"

Newman along the crowd fell into a cascade of applause and his best friend appear beneath it. He watched as Harry stood in front of the public fidgeting a little with his tie, obviously nervous to speak, but at the end always did.

Bu he didn't listen to what was he saying, in that moment when he saw Harry memories began to flow freely through his mind, memories that he had tried to block from his mind at day and night from his mind. But as always the mind is always a treacherous place, it attacks you whenever it wants. It was worse than a nightmare, worse than the torture the symbiote gave him. That was different, it wasn't real, at that instant at least, now he imagines the sheer mockery he will receive from that parasite, from the symbiote and the Venom. They were right, at the end he will always suffer, on one way or another.

Memory after memory

Invaded his mind, he was held captive.

He laughed but it wasn't a genuine one. The sound was torn and so broken that it sounded more like, like a whimper. But what was he sorry about. But as quickly as it came, a flash glance through his eyes. His face was unreal from emotion.

He swallows all the words, demands and questions that shot in his mind so forcefully that it hurt.

It hurt to know that your long time archenemy was in fact your best friend's father.

It hurt to know who he was.

It hurt to see the utter pain that cross Harry Osborn's face the moment he finally saw his father, his very own father in the Green Goblin suit.

It really hurt when the unmasked Osborn grasped him and dragged him farther into his horrid game.

But he didn't regret the discovery, he didn't regret the battle what he did regret was the death.

Death.

Norman Osborn is dead.

It was his fault.

All the memories from that dreadful day were now and forever trapped in his own worst battlefield, his mind.

The final act was at the end the only, real truth behind the encounter. It happened just two days ago but the guilt of the tragedy was unbearable. He tried, really had tried to get his mind off things, disconnect from the world at least for a second. But this wish was never granted for someone like Peter Parker. His life, he realized now was a series of unfortunate events, one behind another as if the universe was waiting for a certain peak point moments in his life were much to the cosmos convenience, he was relatively happy or at least what you could suppose until certain level, at peace.

Nevertheless, he has had realized since long time ago, since the day he had put on the Spider-man costume, the red and blue soon enough became a symbol for everybody. It became the signal of a new era for not only New York City, but for the world as well. Spider-man was not an opportunist publicity stunt for anybody nor a suspected and currently accused vigilante that everybody, especially J. Jonah Jameson, owner of the Daily Bugle and current boss of him guessed of him.

He was or rather he thought a hero.

But that idea was long time gone. He forgot everything or rather he wishes he could only touch a switched to shut down his own thoughts, his ideas, his mind, his guilt, he wished to his very core he could simply wash all the scars, to erase all of his mistakes and to ignore the repercussions to said actions.

He wished he could shut down the main reason for this nightmare.

And then it down on him. His mind literally clicked, finally.

Spider-man.

It was his fault. Not his, Peter Parker's fault. Why? Because Peter Parker was just a simple, ordinary, plain teenage 16-year-old boy who gleefully attended the Midtown Manhattan Magnet High School. He is an honored and disciplined well-known student. He has the most perfect and the gentlest woman on earth as his maternal aide, non other than his Aunt May Parker. Peter Parker is mostly an introverted boy who manages on everything. Peter Parker is a good person. He doesn't kill people and never will.

The sheer opposite of the Spider-man.

Your oh-not-so-friendly neighborhood is a man who shadows behind a disguise. He tries to portray a public persona for the people he protects, and he does it to protect himself. Selfish, He's selfish. Yes, he saves people, yes; he has saved so many that nobody could ever have counted them. Yet, he hides. He hides from the world. He arrives, he fights and he goes. This is his cycle. It's perpetual and subconsciously it brings him peace upon himself. But why? Why hiding? Why disguising? Perhaps he's scare. From what? He has powers that protect him; he can defeat any obstacle you challenged him with. Can he?

Can I?

Peter shakes his head from side to side, at least that's the only thing he can do to only try to stop his train of thought. He can't help it, ever since the night of the death of Norman Osborn -the same night that happens to be the one where his nemesis The Green Goblin fell once and for all-, since then he can stop the feeling of helplessness.

He feels helpless simply because he doesn't know what to do now. Peter doesn't know which path to travel and which he should not put a foot on. Truth be told he doesn't know what to do at all.

If it wasn't for Aunt May's daily remainders for eating, Peter strongly believes he would have starved to death a long time ago.

He has mess up, big time, and that been the understatement of the year or century. And where to start from.

Well, he has messed up with all of his friends. Well, IF they still can be called my friends, as far as I know more than half of them hate me or either ignores me completely by now.

He sighs. He's frustrated and mostly irritated with himself for letting all of this happen. Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Right now he can still see the old times, the ones where he was laughing with his best friends like there was no care for the world, the ones where he believes he was content with life.

He opens his eyes again and his crystal-clear orbs recaptured the image in front of him, and even do he knows the process in which the human brain processes the slides of graphic objects and actions that the eyes' retina has captured and at the end proceed to name said object -or in this case event- with the information beholden by said person's brain, the brain works 'till he fills the blanks. Still, Peter can't bring himself to believe it. He didn't want to believe, and yet here he was. What was he or rather what were they doing? And the most definitely he didn't want to believe, that all this was relatively his fault.

Relatively, yeah, don't think so. He thought, I did this, and to him, to everyone, to me. All of my current problems are MY fault, only mine. And I'll more than anyone else knows that I'll have to resolve them by myself.

He knew what he was going to do and why he was doing it.

Harry stopped and he glanced over the audience through his clouded eyes questioningly.

"Evening everybody. I, well, first of all I-we, all of us appreciate the truthful words that were spoken by Mr. Newman. It's true that my father was a visionary; his dream was to improve parameters of science as much as he could. He wanted the future to be a better place but unfortunately his hope for a better future was ripped from him the moment he died."

At this moment Harry stopped momentarily to take a deep breath. After he composed himself he continued

"My father wanted a brighter and better future and Oscorp and I will grant his wishes. Oscorp will be the leader to great things and I along Mr. Newman, its new CEO will try our best to accomplish this and many other things. This way we know his memory will be honored in the way he'll want it, with great pride. Thank you for your time and have a good evening."

And with that he descended the stairs without another glance, the paparazzi took photos of Harry in every position he was. Even Peter was doing it, just for the sake of Jameson and his ears too, but every photo showed him what he didn't want to see.

Sadness, a miserable expression.

But he knew that was not the only one Harry felt.

Hatred and anger go hand in hand.

Harry hated him, well, he hated Spider-man not Peter Parker. But Peter knew that conveniently they were the very same.

A painful irony. My life is a painful irony, he thought. Sometimes I feel like I am inside the world's biggest soap opera, me being the masked man and waiting for the fat lady to finally sing my end.

Oh but that end never came. He was bitten by a radioactive-and-genetic-reprogrammed spider but he swears to anybody at all that he has more lives than a cat.

Which when you think about it, most people will consider it a blessing, but for him it was just a curse from life. Too much is at stake for my life only.

He fidgeted with his tux. The same one he always uses to these events, Uncle Ben's tux. The suit doesn't fit him completely but right now with all the bruises he recently acquired, the size is perfect. He wanted more than anything to leave this place. He was suffocating himself already, don't misunderstand me but the guilt has his ways to torn people from the inside out.

The manager announced they were ready to take the coffin for the burial. Everybody stood up from their places and quietly follow. Peter retreated back from the group a fair amount of distance. He hid behind a tree to compose himself. He was sweating, cold drops scurried his face. He needed to calm down, but the problem was whenever he looked at Harry he saw the face of the Goblin too. More than unnerving it was disturbing. Within a few more minutes, and a few more shaky breaths he returned to the group without a single thought.

He glanced around and came to a stop abruptly. He saw them; he saw the resolute solemnness in their faces. And most importantly he noticed the girl of his dreams standing next to them. He focuses on her and saw her sorrow written expression and felt so guilty in that instance. He couldn't stand to look at her right now; to any of them for the matter and he knew that they won't be too disturbed by the idea of him avoiding them, appreciated may be implied word here.

Peter continued to seek and yet continue to see the same demeanor in all the people, uninterested. That saddened and pained him more. While he knew personally the man and knew that he wasn't the best friend material, the idea of your own funeral being just another social event, well to say he pitied Osborn was an understatement. At least I'm feeling something actually he concluded, he and Flash and the others were the closest ones to be feeling anything at all. Gwen being the winner there.

He knew what she felt and he was more than sure about his feelings for her, but reality hits hard he knew that in order to keep her life at bay he had to be out of her life. The mere idea twisted his insides and he knew he will remorse that decision forever, for the rest of his life, the one he knew will be short lived because, please, he risked his life on a regular basis for random, faceless people who may or may not be thankful to him afterward. Nonsensical was, but he did it anyway.

The doubt for her, for his alter-ego and for his near future and actions were terrifying him.

But even do he knew he had to be here, it was the least he could do, not for himself, and definitely not for Osborn. He felt anger with himself for letting it happen but he knew he didn't die because of him. Norman Osborn died by his own hand. The same hands that created the driving madness, the main and direct reason for his dead, The Green Goblin.

He knew he was innocent, then why did he feel so guilty?

He ran a hand through his face and sigh inwardly to not drive attention to him. The last thing he wanted it was for somebody like say Gwen or Harry to found him, and knowing how well they know him they would know something was wrong and Peter knowing them knew that they were going to ask him until he say something.

Stupid. He chastised himself. Do you really think they will care for your own feelings right now, especially Harry, he just lost his father just two days ago he's mourning heavily, you more than anybody else knows better. YOU ARE at his father's funeral for crying out loud!

And he knew better, for more reasons than most people could even think about. He knew twice the information he should. On other hand he knew how it feels to lose a close one, his parents, his uncle Ben. And apart from that he knows about the shock and fear Harry felt, after the Green Goblin reveled himself as non other that the rigid head of Oscorp, Norman Osborn, he knows because he felt it too, briefer but the intensity of the moment was more than enough to endure in one person's mind for plenty of time. And his body also he thought grimacing inwardly.

The last battle, while it didn't kill him it left him in pretty bad condition. Not even the Sinister Six had managed to drown him so much. But neither the said villains died in the middle of it.

Stop. I need to stop thinking, it's difficult but I want to hear and see everything right now and- What are you doing Harry

He saw Harry walked toward Gwen when the coffin was being buried.

He instead of punish himself with images of Harry and Gwen embracing each other walked instead forward in order to farewell his long time enemy.

He stopped walking and looked down, he knew the coffin was empty. They didn't find any remaining part from his body, he knew nobody, not even genetic-altered persons, were able to survive to that. He blew into a million pieces. Ever since that night Peter wonder what would had been if Osb- the Green Goblin had succeeded. He knew that that trap at the water tank was the Goblin's back up plan, lead him there and with the help of any mischievous way he would have under his wrist at the moment, blow him up to the stratosphere in a million pieces.

And again the universe said no to that, apparently.

The painful irony took admonish of the Green Goblin that night.

He was too lost to be saved.

But even do the what if remains.

It doesn't matter he's dead. Yes, the Goblin said it himself only one of them will win and remain at end.

He remained but he doesn't feel like he won.

One thing, though you teach me Goblin.

Peter gave his fallen nemesis one last glance.

You show me the meaning of a hero,

Tragedy.

And with that, he drew toward the exit and didn't look back.