Better Than One
by DocCassieOck
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just write. Please don't sue me.
Setting: Just after the end of the second movie. Harry has just found his father's Goblin room, and is starting to go crazy himself. The news of Octavius' death is just reaching his daughter Cassandra, a nuclear physicist like her father, residing in Texas. The news tears Cassandra apart, and, having started the same research as her father, decides to go to New York to visit the unstable Harry Osborn. They had already met more than once, and Harry thought he was falling in love with her after the wake of his ruined romance with Mary Jane. Cassandra, already half-insane herself by the time she reaches the Big Apple, does something that will change the face of terror for everyone in that city...
"Oh my God." Harry Osborn could barely breathe as he made his way through the cavern behind the shattered mirror that he had, until now, never known that his father had installed. Coming to a shelf filled with tubes of bright green liquid, Harry felt the fear rise up in his throat. "The performance enhancers. Oh, Jesus. Oh my God. Dad was experimenting on himself with the performance enhancers...and he became the Green Goblin." Suddenly he could no longer stand. His knees hit the floor as the realization of what was happening washed over him. Once again, he could hear that laughter in his head. Faint...manic...ominous. Looking at the shelves of small orange bombs, "pumpkin bombs," that guy from the Daily Bugle had dubbed them, Harry remembered from somewhere in his mind that seemed very far away, he shivered involuntarily, thinking of how many people died on account of those little things that were in his house, waiting, all this time. The laughter. His father's insane laughter, echoing through his skull. All at once, Harry's energy seemed to flood back through him with a ferocity that near made him fall over again. "You're dead!" he screamed into the darkness. "You're dead! Peter killed you, you're dead, buried, rotting, and out of my life! You hear me? You hear me, you psychotic son of a bitch?!" Harry grabbed a tube of the performance enhancer and threw it without direction at the first thing he laid his frantic eyes on. It shattered against the closest brick wall, and instead of feeling better, Harry just felt sick. The small sound of broken glass, tinkling gently to the floor, seemed to instill in him a secondary fear. He's alone now. Harry sat down, terrified, and hugging his knees, heard that maddening cackle start up in his head once more. It didn't make him angry this time. He couldn't move, for the paralyzing agony he felt now. "Harry...Harry, you weak little thing. Look at you. Crying on the floor, panting like that sick old dog of yours you used to have. Get up." Almost as if he no longer had control over his body, Harry stood, just like Norman's voice commanded him to. Suddenly, Harry could see his father standing in front of him. Just as he had been standing in the mirror, not more than half an hour ago. It didn't shock him. He was too mesmerized by fear to even know shock now. Shoulders sagging pathetically, he raised his eyes to meet the crazy blue ones of his dead father. "What do you want from me?" Harry asked, tears racking his voice. "Why can't you just be dead?" A sick smile crept hauntingly across the serpentine face of Norman. "What do I want from you? Why Harry, you know exactly what I want from you. I told you, but you threw a dagger at me. Who'dve thunk it?" That laughter. This time, Harry could see it playing across Norman's face. It wasn't the laugh he remembered of his father...that playful, hearty laugh...no, this one was high, cold, and completely insane. His father's eyes were narrowed dangerously, one eyebrow raised slightly, to give him an odd inquisitive look that would seem almost amusing if it didn't lend a horrifying air to the whole effect. Norman Osborn looked like Satan himself as he stood, black shirt undone to the third button, untucked, black trousers, black wingtip shoes...all black. Norman only wore all black one time before, and that was the last time Harry had seen him alive. Harry didn't remember his father's hair having such a violent auburn shade, either. "I...I can't avenge you, Dad. I can't kill Pete. He's my best friend. I can't kill him." Tears were streaming down Harry's face now as he sobbed the words out to the ghost of the man he loved more than anything else. That evilly amused look didn't leave Norman's face as he listened to his son's plea. "I don't know why Pete did it, but he did." Harry staggered two feet to his left and sunk once again to the floor. Finally that twisted grin left Norman's face, and he sauntered over and sat by his son, arms across knees. This man, no, this thing that looked like his father made Harry want to scream as it adjusted its sitting position to one of more comfort. "Please tell me what you want," Harry whispered. "I feel like I'm losing my mind. My father, Norman Raleigh Osborn, died nearly a year and a half ago. I can't possibly be talking to him. He is gone." Harry had stopped crying, but his eyes were still widened in disbelieving shock, the whites visible around the entire edge of his iris. Norman snorted. "Dead. What is all this talk of 'dead' anyway? 'Dead' is nothing but bullshit. I'm here...in your head. Like I said before, Harry, I'm alive in you. I always will be. Now tell me...since I was murdered, taken from you by Spider-Man, all you wanted was to get revenge. To torture that web- slinging bastard and then kill him. Am I right? I watch you, Harry, my son. Night and day." The horror-movie smile returned to Norman's lips. "Oh, Harry..." he crooned, turning those ice-blue eyes upon the shaking man next to him. "Harry, you are losing your mind." Norman started to cackle, and as he stood up, his manic, insane, earsplitting laughter turned into a shriek.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just write. Please don't sue me.
Setting: Just after the end of the second movie. Harry has just found his father's Goblin room, and is starting to go crazy himself. The news of Octavius' death is just reaching his daughter Cassandra, a nuclear physicist like her father, residing in Texas. The news tears Cassandra apart, and, having started the same research as her father, decides to go to New York to visit the unstable Harry Osborn. They had already met more than once, and Harry thought he was falling in love with her after the wake of his ruined romance with Mary Jane. Cassandra, already half-insane herself by the time she reaches the Big Apple, does something that will change the face of terror for everyone in that city...
"Oh my God." Harry Osborn could barely breathe as he made his way through the cavern behind the shattered mirror that he had, until now, never known that his father had installed. Coming to a shelf filled with tubes of bright green liquid, Harry felt the fear rise up in his throat. "The performance enhancers. Oh, Jesus. Oh my God. Dad was experimenting on himself with the performance enhancers...and he became the Green Goblin." Suddenly he could no longer stand. His knees hit the floor as the realization of what was happening washed over him. Once again, he could hear that laughter in his head. Faint...manic...ominous. Looking at the shelves of small orange bombs, "pumpkin bombs," that guy from the Daily Bugle had dubbed them, Harry remembered from somewhere in his mind that seemed very far away, he shivered involuntarily, thinking of how many people died on account of those little things that were in his house, waiting, all this time. The laughter. His father's insane laughter, echoing through his skull. All at once, Harry's energy seemed to flood back through him with a ferocity that near made him fall over again. "You're dead!" he screamed into the darkness. "You're dead! Peter killed you, you're dead, buried, rotting, and out of my life! You hear me? You hear me, you psychotic son of a bitch?!" Harry grabbed a tube of the performance enhancer and threw it without direction at the first thing he laid his frantic eyes on. It shattered against the closest brick wall, and instead of feeling better, Harry just felt sick. The small sound of broken glass, tinkling gently to the floor, seemed to instill in him a secondary fear. He's alone now. Harry sat down, terrified, and hugging his knees, heard that maddening cackle start up in his head once more. It didn't make him angry this time. He couldn't move, for the paralyzing agony he felt now. "Harry...Harry, you weak little thing. Look at you. Crying on the floor, panting like that sick old dog of yours you used to have. Get up." Almost as if he no longer had control over his body, Harry stood, just like Norman's voice commanded him to. Suddenly, Harry could see his father standing in front of him. Just as he had been standing in the mirror, not more than half an hour ago. It didn't shock him. He was too mesmerized by fear to even know shock now. Shoulders sagging pathetically, he raised his eyes to meet the crazy blue ones of his dead father. "What do you want from me?" Harry asked, tears racking his voice. "Why can't you just be dead?" A sick smile crept hauntingly across the serpentine face of Norman. "What do I want from you? Why Harry, you know exactly what I want from you. I told you, but you threw a dagger at me. Who'dve thunk it?" That laughter. This time, Harry could see it playing across Norman's face. It wasn't the laugh he remembered of his father...that playful, hearty laugh...no, this one was high, cold, and completely insane. His father's eyes were narrowed dangerously, one eyebrow raised slightly, to give him an odd inquisitive look that would seem almost amusing if it didn't lend a horrifying air to the whole effect. Norman Osborn looked like Satan himself as he stood, black shirt undone to the third button, untucked, black trousers, black wingtip shoes...all black. Norman only wore all black one time before, and that was the last time Harry had seen him alive. Harry didn't remember his father's hair having such a violent auburn shade, either. "I...I can't avenge you, Dad. I can't kill Pete. He's my best friend. I can't kill him." Tears were streaming down Harry's face now as he sobbed the words out to the ghost of the man he loved more than anything else. That evilly amused look didn't leave Norman's face as he listened to his son's plea. "I don't know why Pete did it, but he did." Harry staggered two feet to his left and sunk once again to the floor. Finally that twisted grin left Norman's face, and he sauntered over and sat by his son, arms across knees. This man, no, this thing that looked like his father made Harry want to scream as it adjusted its sitting position to one of more comfort. "Please tell me what you want," Harry whispered. "I feel like I'm losing my mind. My father, Norman Raleigh Osborn, died nearly a year and a half ago. I can't possibly be talking to him. He is gone." Harry had stopped crying, but his eyes were still widened in disbelieving shock, the whites visible around the entire edge of his iris. Norman snorted. "Dead. What is all this talk of 'dead' anyway? 'Dead' is nothing but bullshit. I'm here...in your head. Like I said before, Harry, I'm alive in you. I always will be. Now tell me...since I was murdered, taken from you by Spider-Man, all you wanted was to get revenge. To torture that web- slinging bastard and then kill him. Am I right? I watch you, Harry, my son. Night and day." The horror-movie smile returned to Norman's lips. "Oh, Harry..." he crooned, turning those ice-blue eyes upon the shaking man next to him. "Harry, you are losing your mind." Norman started to cackle, and as he stood up, his manic, insane, earsplitting laughter turned into a shriek.