Summary: Spoilers for Spider-Man: No Way Home. "His voice is hoarse and broken, because it's been a hell of a night." After the battle at the apartment, the Goblin leaves Norman to wallow in his regret. Otto finds him sinking into the pits of despair, and they offer each other the best comfort that they can. But the night isn't over yet. One-shot. Set during NWH, before the final battle.
Counting Down 'Til Green
When he comes to, it's cold and wet, and so, so dark. He's on his side, his right arm numb between his body and the concrete below. He doesn't want to open his eyes. Because he can't remember coming here, wherever here may be, and that alone tells him everything he needs to know- the Goblin had taken control again.
With a weighty sigh, Norman Osborn rolls onto his sore back, taking a deep breath. He'd been so close. So, so close. He could've had his mind back. But the Goblin will never relinquish its power. Until he dies or until the Goblin fails, he'll forever wake up battered and bruised, gaps in his memory that he'll never be able to fill. Such a horrible way of living.
He gives himself a moment of silence, the Goblin taking joy in his misery, and listens to the steady beat of raindrops that hit the fire escapes of the buildings on either side of him. Well, at least the rain is more stable than he is. Ouch.
A deep, maniacal cackle draws his attention, and he's torn between squeezing his eyes even tighter or turning to follow the cursed sound.
"No, no…Leave me alone." He moans.
Leave you alone? That's no fun, now, is it?
"You've had your share of fun for the night, I think. Please, just stop."
Tsk. Tsk. But you don't even know what we've done tonight, Norman.
"I don't want to know." He manages, a chill rippling up his spine that he knows isn't from the cold or the rain. "Go away. Leave me alone."
The Goblin scoffs and proceeds to blatantly wave off the request. Always the coward, even now, daring to hope you can wish me away. Hate to break it to you, dear old friend, but I'm the one in control here. I'm the one protecting us from Parker and his homicidal intentions. He means to kill us all. And he might yet.
"W-what?" Norman blurts, his eyes finally snapping open. He drags himself into a sitting position, leans against one of the alley walls. His eyes dart around, skimming the alleyway, freezing on twin golden eyes on the ground in front of him, the light from the street reflecting off of the shards of his suit's mask. The glider's reflection in them serves as twisted pupils. Oh, the irony. The Goblin's done this on purpose, chosen this blasted alleyway to wake him in.
There's a low, twisted chuckle. It's as if it's withholding something of importance. You can thank me later, when the boy's headstone is next to his aunt's.
He feels like he's about to be sick. Because there's no way that his other half is implying what he thinks it is. It can't be. It simply can't be. "You didn't…"
Oh, but we did, Osborn. We killed her. Dropped the bomb, wiped her off the board. There's that mad laugh again, struggling not to stutter off into a giggle fit. The Board deserved what came to them. Peter deserved what he's brought upon him. And we're not done. Spider-Man has wronged us too many times. This one…This one might as well be dead already.
"No…" He's shaking, his breath catching in long gasps in his chest. Water drips from his sopping hair, trickles into his eyes- he ignores it. Because May Parker is dead. Sweet, gentle May…And it's his fault. "No, no, no…What am I going to do?"
Rest while you can, Osborn. The night's not over yet.
Norman can feel the Goblin pulling away, drawing back to its dark box in the corner of his mind, but he kicks out at the shattered green mask anyway. He hears the remaining shards of glass fall, and the golden eyes wink out like a flame being smothered. Not that it brings him much satisfaction, for the Goblin always remains. It will be back, soon. It will be. And God, he'd better not kill Peter. There's plenty of blood on his hands already. He's drowning in it.
No, that's just his own panic, he realizes, letting a harsh breath through his teeth, fisting his hands in his dishevelled hair. Even now, bits of rubble fall from the soaked, dusty locks.
Oh, he is such a mess. A year ago, he'd never had thought himself capable of stooping so low as to sit in a damp old alley like this one. And here he is, the great Norman Osborn.
Huffing out a woeful breath, he allows his eyes to slide shut again, his chin to drop to his chest as the full weight of his defeat settles onto his shoulders. He had been a fool to test the performance enhancers on himself. Doctor Stromm had been right to advise him against it. They should've taken it back to formula. And he hadn't listened. Curse his arrogance. You were right. I should have listened to you. I'm sorry.
And, though he's near certain that no one will ever hear it, that is the most sincere apology of his life.
Norman eventually forces himself to fall into a familiar old semi-conscious state, the aches of his body aiding to that cause. It's almost blissful, for it doesn't allow him to think at all. But he doesn't allow himself to sleep either. To sleep is to offer himself up to the Goblin on a silver platter, not that he's not in the thing's grasp already. There's nothing that he can do, nothing but to stay put- the others are safer without him. They've probably all scattered by now anyway.
So he dozes, occasionally rousing himself enough to double check that he's in control.
It's me.
It's me.
It's me.
It's me.
He has no idea of how to track the time, but hours are slowly ticking by. The rain eventually stops, and his shivering form slowly begins to dry out. He doesn't move.
He wonders if hypothermia might finish him off; it's late in the year as it is.
He's not that lucky.
Most of the night has passed by when a beam of light shines down at him from the top of the alleyway, gripping him and drawing him back to the sharp pain of full awareness. He cranes his neck to look up above him, squinting, and he thinks he recognizes the flexible lengths of Otto's actuators, the things silhouetted against the sharp light.
"Norman?" Definitely Otto Octavius. He's not sure how he didn't hear him coming. Had he been that out of it?
You shouldn't be here, he wants to say. But he's too tired to say what he wants. His voice is hoarse and broken, because it's been a hell of a night. "How did you find me?"
The light clicks off, and Otto begins lowering himself to the alley floor. "I tracked you here. I waited as long as I could stand, tried to give him enough time to back off."
"You're insane." Norman mumbles, shaking his head as he lowers his gaze. "The Goblin could've killed you, no problem…He still might."
Completely unaffected. "But it's you right now, yes?"
It's me. He nods as Otto sets himself down. "It's me."
Metal arms whirl and clack as the scientist sits himself on the damp concrete beside him, making himself comfortable around the actuators. "Good. Because I trust you."
"You shouldn't." He says. Quietly, more to himself, he adds,"None of them should have."
"I thought you said you couldn't remember what happens when he's in control." Otto almost sounds more accusing than confused.
"I don't." Norman tells him. "But that doesn't keep him from teasing me with it. I can't push him back as easily as he pushes me, Otto." He leans his head against the brick wall behind it. "He's made it clear what I've done."
"It's not your fault, Norman. There's nothing you could've done about it." Otto soothes, one of his large hands planting itself on Norman's shoulder.
"But it is my fault!" He disagrees, his voice horribly unsteady. "I'm the fool who tested the experiment on himself even though one of his best wanted to scrap the whole thing and start again. I created the Goblin-"
"-You were desperate." His friend doesn't hesitate to cut him off, an actuator claw clicking loudly to emphasize the importance, its light flickering. "You were losing Oscorp- your life's work, Norman. I did the same thing, after all. Desire, desperation, greed...Emotions can control us too, Norman, and yours controlled you. You chose what you thought was the most effective path, the one that would make you succeed. It's not your fault that you were wrong."
He shakes his head. Otto isn't allowed to make him feel better about all of this. "It is! If I had stopped to think-"
"-You stopped thinking, Norman." There's a slight edge to the man's voice the first time he says it. His hand slips down Norman's arm as it pulls away, dropping to the damp concrete. There's some sort of defeat in the motion that makes him wince. "You stopped thinking. I would know. I did it too. And now Rosie is dead. I refused to shut down my machine- I ignored Peter, I ignored your son, and I ignored Rosie." His voice is soft, regretful. His metallic limbs whir in apology. "I really believed that it would have worked. I was wrong. Like you."
Oh. That's a lot…
"I'm sorry, Otto." He mumbles, his voice finally settling on something less than self-deprecating and near-hysterical. "About Rosie. I know how much she meant to you." He wants to ask about Harry, now that he's been mentioned, but he refrains from it. Another time, perhaps, if the pair of them survives the night. And a tall order that is. "She was a good woman. She cared for people. You don't see a lot of that anymore."
"Peter's aunt reminds me of her." Otto admits, even as Norman winces at the mention of the woman. "She didn't have to let the boy help us, and she didn't have to stick around like she did. She truly wanted to see us all fixed. She cared."
"And how did that end?" Norman's bites out, his fear rising up once again. "The Goblin won't stop, Otto. Not until he and I are both dead." He hesitates, bites at the inside of his cheek. "He's at his weakest, right now. The cure Peter had been working on wasn't done, but it did something. It might be possible, to kill him. You should do it now."
"What?" His friend sputters in disbelief. "No, Norman. I'm not going to kill you. Peter won't give up on the rest of you. There's still hope-"
"-You need to leave." Norman cuts him off with the stern businessman tone that he'd previously elected not to use in this universe. He can feel the Goblin stirring, angry. "It's not safe to be around me, Otto. I don't want your blood on my hands too."
"Norman-"
"-Please, Otto."
Otto caves. "Alright. Alright, Norman. I'll go."
"Thank you." Norman slumps in relief, closing his eyes as he listens to Otto get to his feet.
"Just remember, Norman- whatever happens, it's not your fault."
He doesn't let himself react to that outwardly. Because it is his fault, even if his friend refuses to say so. It's his fault, and whatever he does next will be too, Otto's words be damned.
He hears the scientist's actuators whirl in anticipation, then the sound of metal slamming into bricks, the claws creating footholds for themselves within the side of one of the buildings. The air grows cold beside him as Otto begins to scale the building, making his way back up toward the roof. The rhythm of the actuators as they dig into the bricks with each step continues on for a long moment, then there's nothing. Nothing but the buzz of traffic out on the street.
He's alone, again. Alone with the Goblin.
He tries to slip back into that numbing state of sleepiness. He doesn't want to think about any of it.
Eventually, a distant voice bleeds into the alley, no doubt coming from one of the giant screens out on the street. It's Jameson. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Bugle tip line has just received a call from none other than the fugitive known as Spider-Man…"
The Goblin grins.