XXV. Restoration

The next day, a good number of Midtown High students didn't show up for school. Flash Thompson was in the hospital, but only for observation—he hadn't been hurt that badly. Among those who did show up, the attack on Flash's house was the grist of the rumor-mill all day long. Of course, the rumors were many and contradictory, but that didn't keep them from flying (and getting more outlandish as the day wore on).

Kong McFarlane was especially eager to discuss what had happened—so much so that he actually sat down with Peter, MJ, and Gwen at lunch that day to talk about it. (Harry had been kept home that day at his father's insistence.) For once, Gwen didn't have any objection to Kenny's presence—because she was resting her head on the table, half-asleep, just as she'd been doing in class all that morning.

"Gwen," said MJ, poking her. "You're doing it again."

"Doin' what?" mumbled Gwen.

"Falling asleep in front of us," said MJ. "You slept all through social studies."

"Who didn't?" commented Peter.

MJ rolled her eyes. "Gwen, maybe you really should've stayed home."

"Nah…" said Gwen, getting up and yawning. "Already missed too much school. Can't do that anymore."

"Maybe you got hit on the head, just like Flash!" said Kong. "Maybe you should, uh, go see the nurse and make sure you don't have a concussion?"

"Aw, ain't that sweet," said Gwen. "Kenny cares now."

"Hey, I'm on the football team!" said Kong. "Concussions are serious! Flash is lucky he only got a mild one."

"I'm glad he's okay," said MJ.

"Yeah, but… dude!" said Kong. "You didn't see it—that monster thing that attacked us, well one of 'em anyway, I'm telling you it was Eddie freaking Brock! The guy's, like, some kinda psycho mutant or something!"

"No way," said Peter, trying lamely to feign surprise. "Eddie? I don't believe it."

"Believe it!" said Kong. "He had, like, this weird black ooze all over himself, and he was all, 'Roar!' and smashing things like the Hulk!" Then he leaned in close to Peter and said, "And, dude, now that I think about it… he was asking for you, man."

"Me?" gulped Peter.

"Yeah, he went up to Flash and asked if you were at the party—as if—and then he saw MJ dancing with Gwen, and that was when he flipped out!"

"Really?" said Pete, perking up. "…MJ was dancing with Gwen?"

"Don't be a perv," laughed MJ, swatting Peter on the arm. "I get enough of that from Harry."

"Yeah, but why would he be looking for you guys?" asked Kong.

"Why not?" asked Peter. "Me and MJ are Eddie's oldest friends. You know that."

"Oh; yeah," said Kenny thoughtfully. Just then, Liz, Sally, and Glory walked by. Sally and Glory stuck their noses up in the air and kept walking, which instantly peeled Kenny away from the table. "Hey, Glory!" he called, chasing after them. "Did you hear what happened at Flash's last night? I was there, I saw it all—"

Liz stayed behind for just a moment. "Hey, guys. Where's Harry?"

"Staying home," said Peter. "Mr. Osborn thinks he's super-dad all of the sudden. He wanted to make sure that Harry was okay."

"Okay, well… thanks," said Liz. Then she went chasing off after Kong.

Once the trio was left alone, Gwen yawned again and sighed. "So… how 'bout last night, huh?"

"I'm trying not to think about it," said Peter.

"I know, right?" said MJ. "Gwen, you… you went totally nuts for a little bit there! We could've lost you!"

Gwen shrugged. "Hey, all's well that ends well, right? I mean, I'm okay now; and you guys stopped me before I could do anything too terrible—"

"Um… you carved a guy up into tiny chunks," whispered Peter. "Just pointing that out."

"Yeah, you think you'd be more upset about that," added MJ.

"Except, the guy I killed was Cletus Kasady," said Gwen. "Remember him? Famous mass-murderer? Killed my dad? I have, like, zero regrets."

An uncomfortable silence fell. Neither MJ nor Peter knew what to say to that.

"What?" said Gwen. "I'm not gonna turn into a psycho-killer! 'Sides, the suit's gone for good now. I don't have powers anymore. As awesome as it would be, I… I can't do what you guys do."

"Gwen, are you… jealous that we have powers?" whispered MJ.

"Duh! I mean, who wouldn't be?" said Gwen. "I got to see what it was like to be a… a spider-woman-type-person for maybe an hour, and I just… what a rush! It was incredible."

"Peter was right, though," said MJ. "Sometimes it sucks. There's also… the responsibility."

Peter had been drinking a carton of milk through a straw, and just then he reached the bottom, which made an obnoxious slurping noise. MJ and Gwen both glared at him. "What? I didn't say anything."

"That's the problem," said Gwen. "MJ has a gift, just like you do. And you've been letting her waste it."

"I don't want to push her into anything she doesn't want to do!" said Peter.

"No… Peter, no, Gwen's right," said MJ. She looked down at the table and said, "I've been… avoiding everything because I was afraid. Because I didn't want the responsibility. But I can't ignore this anymore." She looked up and Peter and said, "You were right all along. If you have the power to help people, you've got a responsibility to use it. So… from now on, I'm in."

"You're in?" echoed Peter.

"Yeah… that is, if Spidey still wants a partner."

"You bet I do," said Peter.

"Good," said Gwen. "I'm glad you guys got that sorted out. You can thank me later, by the way."

• • •

Little did our heroes know that at approximately the same time that very day, in downtown Manhattan, J. Jonah Jameson and his son Col. John Jameson were just finishing up a lunch break of their own, having hit up one of the colonel's favorite steak-houses not far from Times Square. They were walking back towards the Bugle office. Jonah had a copy of his paper's morning edition with him, and as they walked, he ranted about the evils of their day and age.

"Can you believe this?" he said, smacking the front-page headline. "'Spider-People Terrorize ESU.' One was bad enough; now we've got four of these creepy-crawly weirdos swinging around our city on webs? Where does it end?"

"You know, I saw that video online, dad," said Col. Jameson. "I don't know what the creepy things with the mouths were, but it looked like Spider-Man and Scarlet Spider were trying to stop them."

"The last time I heard anything about Scarlet Spider, she was a criminal!" snapped J.J. "One of the Green Goblin's goons! If Spider-Man's working with her now, that just proves that I was right about him all along!"

John shook his head and smiled. His dad would never change. "Well, write what you want; it's your paper. All I know is, Spider-Man saved my life. I'm glad he's around."

Jonah grumbled. "Gr, maybe one of them isn't so bad, but now it's like they're multiplying. Like he's got some kind of contagious mutation. Hey, that's a thought…" He took a tape-recorder out of his coat pocket and switched it on. "Note to self: write an editorial on the possibility that mutations might be contagious."

"Whoa, are you sure you want to go there, dad?" asked John. "You might push a few buttons you don't mean to. You wouldn't want to get an angry phone-call from Charles Xavier…"

"Feh, baldy doesn't scare me," muttered Jameson. "Still, maybe you're right. The mutants have been trying to make a civil rights issue out of their problems forever. Best not to poke that hornets' nest." Then Jonah stopped walking, stood up straight, and pointed one finger at the sky. "But I'll tell you this for free: I'm sick of these spider-people swinging around! Tomorrow, I will write an editorial endorsing this 'Spider-Slayer' program coming out of Fisk Enterprises! That'll be something the whole city can get behind!"

"Fisk?" asked John. "Aren't people saying he's some kind of crime-boss?"

"Unsubstantiated rumors, my boy! Nothing to worry about!" said Jonah. By now, they'd come to the Bugle building, and so it was time to part ways.

"Well, it was good to see you, dad," said John, waving goodbye.

"Sure, sure!" said Jonah, disappearing inside. "Anytime, son!"

Colonel Jameson put his hands into his coat pockets and turned away. He was still on medical leave from NASA, which meant that he didn't really have all that much to do with himself these days. So he turned north and started walking in the direction of Central Park. As he walked up 8th Avenue, he passed all kinds of stores, restaurants, and small businesses… and then something kind of strange caught his eye. It was a fortune-teller's shop. A picture of an open eye within a crystal ball, set at the center of a spider-web motif, had been painted on the front window. A sign overhead read, "Madame Webb: Fortunes, Tarot, Palmistry."

I don't remember that place being here before, he thought. It must be new. Madame Webb, huh? Well, it could be fun for a laugh. He didn't think much about it; he just went inside.

Within, the shop was a veritable cliché-storm: it looked every bit the stereotypical fortune-teller's outfit. There were goofy and occult knick-knacks on the shelves, things like dead birds, newts' eyeballs in a jar, and a skull with a candle melted onto it. A table with a crystal ball stood in the middle of the room, and a beaded curtain separated the storefront from a back area. It was from this back part that a woman emerged—a woman in a wheelchair, with graying hair and opaque, red-lensed glasses. "Ah… welcome, welcome," she said, her voice clear and stately. "I've been expecting you, Colonel."

"Neat trick," said John. "I take it you must be Madame Webb?"

"Cassandra Webb, at your service. What can I do for you today?"

"Oh, I guess I was just curious," said John. "Maybe I'll just browse for a bit…"

"You don't believe in psychic abilities? Even though, mere moments ago, you spoke to your father of Charles Xavier?"

"Oh? Are you… like him?" asked John. "A mutant?"

"Let's just say that I have… gifts," said Madame Webb. She put one hand up to her head and said, "For example, my senses are telling me that you feel tremendous anxiety about your future… you worry that your short tenure in an institution has ended your career while you're still a young man…"

"Okay," said John, holding up a hand and cutting her off, "I think I'm done here." He figured that buying something would be as good an excuse as any for clearing out of this place before he became too creeped out. So he reached for the nearest object on one of the shelves—a pack of tarot cards, still in their plastic wrapper—and asked, "How much for these?"

"You don't want those," said Madame Webb. "You need something to bolster your confidence. Try the amulet two shelves up."

"Amulet?" said John incredulously. He reached up and found what appeared to be a ruby pendant set into a silver chain. So that's her game, he thought. Sell the sap the most expensive thing in her shop. "How much?" he asked.

"Twenty dollars."

That raised his eyebrows. The stone looked like it could almost be genuine. But if it was just a cheap trinket after all, he was willing to buy it and get the heck out of there. So he purchased the necklace; and then he left without another word.

• • •

That evening, Norman Osborn came home from work to his Manhattan penthouse, ate dinner with his son, and then they sat down together to watch the Jets game on TV. They made small-talk; Norman was especially keen to make sure that Harry was okay after having witnessed Venom's attack yesterday. Harry laughed it off and said that he was fine, that he probably should have gone to school—and he was honestly surprised that his father had insisted otherwise. In the past, Norman had always been the sort of father who used tough love to build his son's character—"cowboy up" and "never apologize" were his two favorite mottoes. But these days, he was, well, normal. Human, caring, and actually building a relationship with his son.

Bernard, the Osborns' butler, set down a tray of snacks and drinks on the coffee table in front of the sofa. "Will there be anything else, sirs?"

"No, that's all, Bernard," said Norman. "You can take the rest of the evening off."

"Thank you, sir," said the butler. A short while later, he left the penthouse.

Father and son settled into an amicable silence—a silence which was promptly shattered by an explosion and a scream, characteristic of a goblin pumpkin-bomb. The penthouse windows burst inward in a shower of glass and shrapnel and a puff of orange smoke; and in through the gaping hole came Hobgoblin, hovering slowly on his glider.

Norman and Harry were both thrown to the floor. Norman shook his head and tried to stand; the explosion had stunned him, but only momentarily. Harry had blood running down his forehead; he wasn't moving at all. Then Norman staggered unsteadily onto his feet and shouted, "Who… what are you?"

"Can't you guess, Osborn? After all, you made me!" The blue-armored, orange-masked figure flew into the penthouse, clear of the smoke cloud, and jeered at Norman.

"I… I don't know what you're talking about!" said Norman, who had a look of abject fear and confusion on his face. Then he saw the Hobgoblin's weaponry and said, "That's my glider design… and Oscorp battle-armor! You're with the Green Goblin, aren't you?!"

"Hey, what's your game, Osborn?" Hobgoblin cast a suspicious gaze at Norman. "You and I both know that you're the real Green Goblin—"

"NO!" shouted Osborn with sudden vehemence. "No, that's not true! I… I'd never do the kinds of things that madman would! I couldn't!"

Hobgoblin's glider hovered close. While Norman stood there, frozen in terror, Hobgoblin looked him over appraisingly. He rubbed his masked chin and said, "Is it really possible? You've… forgotten?"

"Forgotten what?!" screamed Norman.

Hobgoblin made a fist and lightly rapped on Norman's skull. "Hello, Greenie! I know you're in there! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

"You're insane!"

"No thanks to you!" Hobgoblin retorted. "Hm… I want satisfaction, but I can't get it this way." He scanned the room, and his gaze fell upon Harry Osborn's unconscious form. "But just maybe… if I were to damage your boy a little bit…"

Norman's arm suddenly shot out and snatched at Hobgoblin, catching his wrist in an iron grip. The look on Norman's face had changed as well: gone was the expression of fear. Now he glared at his rival with deadly seriousness. "That would be unwise," he said darkly.

Hobgoblin grinned. "There you are!" He grabbed the front of Norman's shirt and lifted him up off the ground. "It's time to settle the question," he growled.

Norman stared daggers at Hobgoblin. "What question?" he asked at last.

"Who the true goblin is!" came the answer. Hobgoblin threw Norman back to the ground and said, "I'll give you one hour to get ready. Then you'll meet me in the air above Fisk Tower!" He turned for the window and shouted, "And if you don't show, little Harry pays!" A second later, he was gone.

Norman didn't even pause to check on Harry. He ran up to his study and opened the secret door which led to his penthouse's hidden weapons-cache. There rested his mask, armor, and glider on stands, along with racks of goblin-weapons. Norman grinned evilly. No two-bit imitation is going to intimidate me! It was time the Green Goblin made his enemies pay!

• • •

Earlier that afternoon, Peter, MJ, and Gwen came home to find Aunt May and Anna Watson having tea in the Parkers' kitchen. They all came in through the back door, and Aunt May was waiting there with a phone and a notepad ready. "Peter, dear," she said, "there's a message for you. Dr. Curtis Connors called earlier—something about your internship at ESU."

"Really?" said Peter, his face suddenly brightening. "Doc Connors is coming back?"

He checked the number that Aunt May had written down and called it immediately. After a brief conversation, he hung up the phone, stunned—stunned and happy.

"Well?" asked May. "You look like you've heard some good news."

"Have I ever!" said Peter. "The ESU faculty board is reopening the genetics lab—and they've hired Curt and Martha Connors again to run it! And, hey Gwen, guess what?"

"What?" asked Gwen, who didn't think this conversation had anything to do with her.

"Before the lab got shut down, there was an opening for another intern. I put your name in, and it sounds like the job's yours if you want it."

"Me, work in a lab?" A huge grin appeared on Gwen's face. "Are you kidding? That's awesome, Pete! Yes—thanks!"

Mary Jane, meanwhile, pulled a can of soda pop out of the Parkers' fridge and cracked it open. "I probably won't be home for dinner," she said to Aunt Anna. "We've got a lot of studying to do tonight."

"That's fine, Mary," said Anna. "May and I were just getting ready to go out and catch up on old times."

"You two girls have fun," said Peter. "I'll bet you both have to fight the boys off with a stick."

"Flatterer," chuckled Anna. "May, that nephew of yours is incorrigible…"

"You have no idea," said May with a knowing smile.

The three high-schoolers went down into the basement after that. "Check this out," said Gwen, running over to Peter's workbench. "I've been doing a little tinkering in my spare time. Made these for you." She opened a box and pulled out four shiny, brand-new web-shooters.

"Whoa, Gwen!" said Peter. "These are… wow!"

"This way, you and MJ can use the same fluid cartridges, if one of you runs out. And these red cartridges here, they have some of that impact webbing I made. I had to modify the nozzles a little bit so's they'd work right, but everything came out fine when I tested 'em."

"This was unbelievably cool of you," said MJ.

"Yeah, well, I figured, even if I can't go swingin' around with you guys, at least I could offer some tech support."

MJ snapped the new web-shooters onto her wrists, extended one arm, and sighted down the length to the nozzle. "I think Gwen might actually be smarter that both of us," she said.

Peter balked. "Hey, I did invent these things in the first place." He examined the new shooters for himself: there was no denying, Gwen did good work.

Gwen grinned, pointed first at Peter and then at herself and said, "You, genius. Me, savant. Remember?" Then she leaned back on the workbench and said, "So… what're you guys doing tonight? Gonna swing around and beat up some muggers?"

"Actually, I have to see a friend about a blackmail plot," said Peter. He turned to MJ and said, "You've met her; or at least, you did when you were hypnotized. Black Cat."

"Ooh…" winced MJ. "Are you sure me coming along is a good idea? She must still think I'm a super-villain."

"Then it was time we changed that," said Peter. "And besides… she's always coming onto me. I'd honestly feel safer if you were there."

"She's what?" cried MJ. "That skank!" She started pacing around the room, fuming. "If I catch her even looking at you funny, I'm gonna kick her sorry ass…"

Gwen laughed aloud. "That's one way to get MJ back into the swing of things."

"We'll leave after Aunt May and Aunt Anna," said Peter. In the meanwhile, they really did have some studying to do, so they hit the books for a while and waited for evening's approach.