Author's notes: From a story I may or may not publish. Enjoy!

Summary: A therapy session with both beneficial and deceptive effects.

Duplicity of the Mind

A teen with auburn hair sat on a soft-brown sofa. He kept his arms crossed over his chest. He scowled. He couldn't believe where he was. He fought to say he didn't belong here.

He sat in a quiet room. A fancy wall clock with Roman numerals ticked. The window had its velvet curtains closed, leaving the space to be lit by fluorescent lights. A narrow bookcase was across from him. In a corner was a metal file cabinet. There was a double-pedestal desk constructed from cherry wood. A slick computer rested on top. Drab gray carpet rested below his shoes. The only interesting aspect of the room was the collection of exotic masks that cluttered the wall. One particular was green with horns.

What irritated the teen the most was a man stationed across from him. He sat in a pewter executive office chair. His black beard and mustache connected. They matched his suave short hair. His tweed jacket was stain-free. The teen grasped this man had money. He recognized some of the furnishings that he had seen within his own home. He wondered if he was appointed to this distinguished office because of his last name.

"Do you understand why you're here?" the man asked. His voice was calm yet assertive.

The teen didn't reply. He only grunted.

"I have a report from your school Midtown High," the man announced as he held a piece of paper. "Shall I read it aloud?"

The teen felt like he was being tortured. That tone addressed him like he was a child. He knew he could kill the mandatory hour if he kept quiet. But that was a trait he executed poorly. He typically allowed his emotions and impulses to govern him. He grumbled, "They said I got into a fight."

"With who?"

"Another student."

The man accepted the responses the teen gave. He needed to push forward in identifying the issue. He asked, "So why did you get into a fight with Mister Thompson?"

Receiving only a hostile silence, the man tried again, "What was your disagreement with the other student?"

"He was talking about… Spider-man…" The teen's last word was filled with such venom.

The man aimed to show he was listening. He nodded. "Ah, yes, one of New York's newer masks. What about Spider-man? From what your school principal tells me, Mister Thompson is a huge fan of Spider-man."

The teen re-imagined the tingle of power and justification in his fist. He was aware of his fellow classmate. The school's favorite quarterback openly displayed his unyielding positive view on the wall-crawler. That never had bothered him before. That sentiment wasn't the culprit. He confessed, "It wasn't really that."

"Then what was it?" the man question, curious to untangle the teen's temper and bout of violence. His school record indicated he never encountered such disciplinary problems before.

"It was…" the teen gritted through his teeth. As the memory returned, he found his soreness growing. His mouth had to push through a blockage while his heart raced. "Flash was gloating—"

"You said Flash," the man cut off. He didn't intend to interfere with the teen's recounting. But he had to learn people and places the individual already knew. He was an explorer in a new land. "Is that a nickname for the student you got into a physical confrontation with?"

The teen hated the interruption. He saw no point in speaking if his words were to be ignored. He had experienced that plenty of times before. He also refused to incriminate himself. He merely replied, "Everyone calls him that. Even some of the teachers."

"OK, I'll be sure to keep that in my notes. Go on."

The teen doubted he could. He detested seeing the man scribble with a stylish luxury pen on his legal pad wrapped in a full-grain leather case. He watched the motion of the pen snaking around on paper. He felt his anger upsurging once more. He felt like he was being judged.

Hearing only silence once more, the man looked up. He spotted the mistrust. He assured, "I make notes for all my patients. It's so I can keep track of who is who whenever names and places and so forth are mentioned. It'll be in my file and that's all. It's nothing unusual for any patient."

Patient. How that label drove the teen nuts. And now there was mentioning of a file. A case. Against him. His restless behavior endured.

"Go on," the man directed.

The teen, though headstrong, also caved in easily. He sighed. "Yes, Flash is a fan of Spider-man. But that wasn't what bothered me."

The man kept the fountain pen in between his fingers. He needed to work in order to uncover the foundation behind the troubled teen. Staying relaxed, he questioned, "Then what is your position on Spider-man? Dislike? Neutral? Or are you more of a fan of professional heroes like The Avengers?"

The teen didn't reply. He reviewed some of his shared instances along the web-head. The hero did save him from Venom and an Iron Man suit controlled by Doc Ock. But past rescues couldn't be overlooked. Not this time. The wall-crawler, after all, was responsible for something life changing.

The man concluded that no further connections could be made between the menacing web-spinner and the current problem. "Right, let's get back to the incident at school."

"What incident?" the teen haughtily asked. He strived to remain innocent.

The man had enough of the adolescence enmity and arrogance. He pulled in front of him a report. The header carried a school's name. He summarized the content. "Midtown High student Mister Harry Osborn had a physical confrontation against fellow student Mister Eugene Thompson in the cafeteria around lunch. Teachers had to pull them apart. Their argument was over Spider-man and the new arrival of The Goblin. No visible damage had been committed. No reason to call medical personnel or security. Mister Osborn was sent to the principal's office. From there, Mister Osborn—"

"Will you stop calling me MisterOsborn?!" the teen demanded. "I'm more than just an Osborn! I'm not married to my dad's company! I have a first name!"

He huffed. He was proud of his prosperous heritage. He did wish to take his rightful place as head of Oscorp one day. However, he objected to being seen as an ATM by his peers.

"Aright… Harry," the man turned agreeable. "If you wish to be addressed as so. I can do that for the next four sessions."

The teen rolled his eyes. "All these sessions! Can't I do this online? Or at least over the phone?"

"And what do you think that will achieve?"

"I can do some supplement reading. Maybe write an essay explaining what I did was wrong and be done with this. Or, at least with a phone, I don't have to worry about wasting time traveling."

"Is that what you're concerned about? Time management? Is coming down to my office for one hour honestly that taxing on you?"

The teen despised the way the man talked. He sounded like he was belittling him. He was far accustomed to that from his only parent.

"Would you handle a break up over the phone?" the man challenged.

The teen withdrew his tongue. He didn't want to go down such routes of his personal life. He only aimed to do the minimum, which currently involved talking about his family. He felt it was no one's business but his own. He simply did what he had to do.

"There are some things that should only be done in person," the man tried to reason.

"Well," the teen responded, assuaging his own frantic body language. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I shouldn't even be here."

The man understood the annoyed expression. He placed down the document. "Why?"

"Because I'm not crazy."

"Who said anything about you being crazy?"

"Isn't that why people come by your office? Aren't those the type of patients you deal with?"

"You shouldn't get all your info from TV and movies." The man gave direct eye contact. "I see those who are looking for help. Sometimes it's court ordered or a requirement for school."

He detected that his explanation wasn't appeasing. He tried again. "You've seen doctors when you have a cold or must know someone who has gone under surgery. There are specialists like pediatrics and cardiologists. I'm a doctor for the mind."

He spotted he had the teen's attention. "Just because you're here for school doesn't mean this can't be a safe place."

The teen focused in on his assurance. Perhaps it was time to let someone in. He had no where else to turn to. No one else to hear his woe. Like his so-called best friend. At last the teen permitted the words to flow freely. "Flash was bragging how Spider-man could easily take down The Goblin."

The man turned surprised by the sudden confession. Maintaining his controlled approach, he asked, "And why does that bother you?"

The teen knew the answer. He had trouble saying it aloud, for that would admit his problem.

The man tried to handle the situation. "Eye witnesses say you were in a physical confrontation against that student, Flash. One with actual punches. This usually leads to suspension."

The teen curled his hand into the same fist he swung earlier. He scowled once more. He felt like he was receiving another lecture.

The man had a job to do. He continued his prodding. "Your principal was generous. Principal Lee seemed understanding to your circumstance. He only instructed that you see a psychiatrist for five sessions. This is a requirement for school. So you'll be here, and I'll be here. We might as well make the most of our binding time."

The teen sighed, feeling like a prisoner. He never intended to harm someone else. He only felt obligated to protect someone close to him.

"So far there's been a connection between Spider-man and The Goblin," the man surmised. "Ignoring what Jameson of The Daily Bugle screeches on his jumbo screen, many people are changing their view. They are seeing Spider-man less of a menace and more of a hero. Heroes take down bad guys. The Goblin has destroyed parts of your school. Your principal informed me that the entire campus had to go into a lock down mode. Apparently, The Goblin was searching for you. Any idea why?"

The teen grunted. He squeezed the folds in his pants. He resented the judgment. But he hated who else was thrown into the mix. He had someone to defend. He jumped from his seat.

"He's not a bad guy!" he yelled. His voice boomed across the loft. "Why am I here?! I didn't do anything wrong! He's the one who needs help!"

The man remained in his chair. Keeping his cool persona, he asked, "Who needs help?"

"My dad!"

"And why is he the one who needs help?"

"It wasn't his fault!"

"What wasn't his fault? We're you there for that event?"

The question made the teen hesitant. When The Goblin attacked Midtown High, he was just as astounded to learn who it was. He only had his own guesses to go on, which may have been flawed. His straightened back weakened as his shoulders fell. "Well… No…"

"So you don't know for sure," the man disputed.

"Of course I know for sure!" The teen refused to sit as his flaring emotions commanded him once more. "There was a whole incident of The Goblin storming the school with me having to be kept as a hostage by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, Spider-man, and his team!"

He brought to mind that eventful morning. His father had been missing for three days. Recalling that pain, he squeezed his fists and clamped his eyes. "When The Goblin showed up at school, Spider-man and his team were attacking him. They were treating him like a monster rather than someone who needed help. Don't heroes help those who need it?"

The man heard the prose. He grew amazed with the admission. He wrote on his legal pad. Every word and every movement the teen exhibited. He heard the anger. He also picked up the anguish. After placing his pen down, he then said, "Let me correct myself. I simply meant that you didn't see how The Goblin came to be. But it sounds like there's something else. Something that you know. The reason deep down you assaulted another Midtown High student because of his high remarks about Spider-man taking down The Goblin."

The teen looked at the man. His blue eyes slightly widening, he gave his full attention.

"Was the reaction because of Spider-man?" the man asked. "Or was this more connected with The Goblin?"

He could see the gears turning. He remained quiet so the teen could think.

The teen knew he was trapped. His mind had run out of ways for his defense. The flow of lava that was his anger had cooled. He lowered his head. "I guess I hafta accept that…"

"That?"

"That I got upset about what Flash said because…"

"Because?"

"Because… my dad is The Goblin."

The two were in silence. A novice hero joining the big leagues, a green monster destroying the city, and an anxious teen in the middle. The root had been discovered. But it was not a smart action to yank it out of the dirt that was the teen's overwhelmed mind. There were other methods to examining the source and the soil it cultivated in. Learning more about the patient was one.

"We have a few minutes left," the man calmly announced. He was obviously pleased with what he found. But he maintained his civility. "How about we talk about something else?"

The teen, exhausted by his assertion, submissively took his seat.

"Tell me about your classes or friends," the man suggested. "Weren't you with someone the night your father vanished?"

The teen silently concentrated. That drive to the restaurant was a fond memory. Just before they had actually arrived. And minus his only parent's open dissatisfaction towards his only son. He resumed, "I wanted Peter to be there."

"Who's Peter?"

"Peter Parker. My best friend." The teen just about smiled. "He's kinda this awkward guy who lives with his aunt. He'd tutor me in Science because I suck at that subject. He helped me get through that quarter. I didn't get anything below a B minus."

His elated attitude brushed aside as he grumbled, "Not that it mattered to Dad."

For a moment, his dark stance took control. No matter his attempts or overcome trials, the teen could never please his father, who was now a giant, green monster. He quickly realized what he had muttered. He felt the eyes of the man on him, finding fault within him. He wasn't prepared to discuss his rapport with his father. He couldn't dive in to an explanation in defending a man who became The Goblin. Instead, he tried to play off his last remark by clearing his throat. He continued, "I invited Peter out as a way to thank him."

Contrary to the teen's scheme, the man did hear his adverse mumbling. But the new information seemed just as important. A light in the teen's miserable eyes brightened when he spoke about his pal. He needed to investigate. "Is he a fan of Spider-man as well?"

The teen nodded.

The man sensed no aggression. "And that doesn't bother you?"

"He doesn't brag about Spider-man taking down The Goblin like Flash. At least, I don't think so."

"No? Hasn't he shared his opinion about that topic to his best friend?"

"I hadn't seen him much lately." The teen's jaunty demeanor faded. It was tough for him to cope with an inattentive father who was now missing. His pain had increased without a buddy to offer support. He usually turned to him for help once the two established a closer bond.

The man picked up the lull. "Well, the world doesn't stop for one person. Don't you think Peter has his own handful of problems?"

"Not much past studying. Dating is definitely outta his field. He's always been the kind of guy to read a chemistry book on a Friday night than go party. But, besides, if something was up, he'd let me know." The teen mentally returned to the time his father became absent. He grew sullen. "I tried letting Peter know what happened. But I hadn't heard anything from him."

"Are you close? From what you told me, and based on the attitude of your peers, no one knows that your father, Norman Osborn, is The Goblin. Would Peter be comfortable knowing what your father has become?"

The teen pondered the question. Their bond included playing videogames, the teen pulling his buddy out of lockers, and then he getting tutored by him. He concluded, "Peter's a flake. He's copped out on hanging out with me even before that. And it's not only me. It's also happen with our friends Mary Jane and Liz."

"Even so, any of your other chums know about this unfortunate situation that you're in? Or did that confrontation with Flash in the cafeteria come as a complete shock to everyone?"

"It was a shock to me, too. All I heard was Flash yapping about Spider-man again. But then he mentioned The Goblin and… And, before I knew it, I had tackled him onto the cafeteria floor. Who else not on a football team could say they had successfully pinned down Midtown High's quarterback? I was totally pissed off. But Peter wasn't there. Not like he coulda done anything, anyway."

"You really seem to know Peter. My question remains. As painful as this may seem, did Peter cut you off? Because your dad is The Goblin? Or that something in his life is so troubling that he couldn't share it with you?"

The teen stared, stunned. He then changed his view towards the carpet. Anxiety raced through him like a racecar on a racetrack. He recalled the strange excuses, one after another whenever the brunet needed to make his hasty exit. Now he almost faded out of his life entirely.

"No!" he shouted, fear encompassing his voice. "Pete wouldn't do that to me! He'd let me know if something is wrong!"

"Are you telling me, or are you looking to convince yourself?"

The teen hesitated. He trusted his best friend. He wouldn't withhold any secret from him, unlike his father. He quietly replied, "He'd tell me."

The man and the teen came to another stall. The man reviewed his notes. He grew rattled yet keen with who his newest client was. The two had much to discuss. He would like to learn more about The Goblin. He looked towards the wall clock.

"I will notify your school that you successfully completed your first session," he disclosed, keeping his composure. He stood up and walked over to his computer. He needed to email Midtown High and schedule the teen's next appointment.

The teen remained quiet. His mind swirled. He queried how the hour flew by. Time had gone in an instant yet inched by like a snail ever since his father left. He still believed he was in the right. Flash was his friend. But his father was his father. And Peter was his best friend.

The man turned his gaze towards his patient. He noticed the slouch, the disconnection in the blue eyes. The human mind was like an ice berg, and he had more to lunge beneath the sea.

"There are four compulsory sessions left, Harry," he announced. "But if you feel like you still want to talk, I can have you file a new forum and send it over to your insurance. They'll take care of everything. All you need to do is come see me personally."

The teen gazed down, as though he was considering the option. Witnessing the fall of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrior, the expulsion of Venom and refusal to submit to The Goblin's evil will, the antagonism towards Spider-man, the rejection from his father… He had to admit he couldn't handle this heartbreaking situation. Not on his own despite his last name Osborn. Speaking to a professional was different yet helpful. He now had an outlet, a trusted source.

"I'll think about it," he promised. He stood up. "And... I'll try harder for our remaining sessions. Thanks, Doctor Hamilton."

End Duplicity of the Mind

Barton "Bart" Hamilton/Green Goblin III, see Amazing Spider-Man #167, 1977. For Green Goblin III, see Amazing Spider-Man #175, 1977. For "death", see Amazing Spider-Man #180, 19778. For return, see Clone Conspiracy vol. 1 #2, 2017.