I am on a path of self-reflection, striving to be better. This means accepting losses, making compromises, and admitting when I'm wrong—behaviours I'm not accustomed to. It all starts with a 'sorry,' but what follows is what truly matters. I'm trying to change my image and myself, to build myself into someone who isn't falling apart.
I've made a conscious effort to build a relationship with Curt Connors. I hired him, hoping he would help keep me honest. He's always been a kind, sincere, and good man, more of a victim than a villain. Is it delusional to think I can learn from him? Curt Connors is- was, The Lizard. He's been separated from his reptilian half, but he still has a few quirks here and there. I've noticed little reptilian quirks in how he interacts with the world. I've offered to help him study the side effects to make them more manageable. Curt agreed on the condition that I don't tell anyone. He's very private.
I have established a routine of weekly check-ins with Curt. These meetings are not work-related. I hired him to have someone to talk to, someone who might comprehend my struggles. Now that the Goblin persona is purged, I need someone to confide in when I am overwhelmed by self-loathing. It's a selfish request, but he has been there for me. He listens to my rants more than I anticipated and offers advice. I trust Curt, even though I can sense the wariness in his glances. He believes I am oblivious to it, but I am not. I have earned that distrust.
I discreetly made my way to his lab in the afternoon. I brought him coffee and baked goods, which have become my weekly offering when I need his ear. I entered his lab, but Curt didn't seem to notice.
Curt oversees everything organic, working with genetics, biochemistry, and other biology at Oscorp. I offered to engineer a bionic arm for him. He politely declined, saying that, at this point, his stump is a reminder of everything he's lost over the years. I never mentioned it again.
I clear my throat, and Curt looks up from his computer. "Afternoon, Norman. Thanks for the coffee." He accepts the offering as I sit down across from him.
I give him a half smile: "Good afternoon, Curt. I dropped off the grandkids yesterday. Normie and I have been getting along again. Stanley loves any attention and was happy to have me read the same book over and over. Liz was happy to return to the kids and mentioned she's proud of me for taking my medications and working on my mental health. Then she talked about men avoiding their problems, and I excused myself, considering that sounded like a potential lecture."
"Well, that's way better than a month ago. Glad to hear that." Curt's desk has a picture of his family on it. With so many family photos and mementos, I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy and disdain for him.
"The truth is I still feel like I'm falling apart. How do you do it, Curt?" I ask, "You seem much less burdened than I am."
Curt hesitates, unsure how to answer. He's aware of my insecurity. "I'm not me when I'm The Lizard. It was not until recently that I had any control over that side of me. And now, I'm separated from the reptile. But it haunts me regardless, becoming a monster that kills and rampages. I will do any good with that side of me if I can, but I have to be careful. There are echoes of The Lizard still in there. My DNA will never be the same." Curt studies me momentarily as I try not to react. "You look disappointed."
My emotions are constantly leaking out. I used to mask my feelings, but now, every thought is plain whether I like it or not. I might be burning out, but I can't admit to that because then I would need to stop. And if I stop-
"I suppose I am to a degree. I was hoping maybe the guilt and pain would dissipate." I decided to be honest with Curt. He might be able to understand, "I hired you because you're brilliant, but I also hired you for selfish reasons. I wanted to have someone nearby I could talk to who would understand. Everything I did as the Green Goblin doesn't feel like me; it feels like I was possessed, but-" I cut myself off. I don't want to admit to him or anyone else yet that I'm still unsure how separate I am from that part of myself. I lie and tell everyone we're separated forever. I even convince myself sometimes. It's a comforting lie. The Green Goblin was always my personal monster, a protective layer I created as a child. I developed that persona as a defence, a weapon I could bludgeon everyone with. I'm not like Curt. I never will be. That's why he has a wife, a child, a loving family.
He pauses before reassuring me, "Well, I'll ensure I help you where I can. I'm here if you need to talk to someone, Norman; not many people will understand, but I can at least try."
Curt's a good man. I nod, "Thank you, Curt, I appreciate that." I stand up, ready to leave.
"One last thing before you go, Norman. Why don't you try making amends with the people you hurt? You never know; it might be worth a shot." He sips his coffee. "It could be therapeutic to give kindness."
"No one wants to hear from me, Curt."
"If that was true, why am I here? Norman, I can see you're afraid to step out of your comfort zone, but I've seen how you're desperate to escape your self-loathing. Try seeking forgiveness. People might surprise you."
It sounds unbelievable, but maybe he's right. In the elevator, I look at my list. It's such a long list of everyone I've harmed. I repeatedly see Peter's name on there. Spider-man… Peter Parker. I feel a twinge of painful guilt and another emotion I don't recognize. Have I done anything to make amends? I don't think I've done much of anything to apologize, but it's not nearly enough. I have some ideas of how to become a better ally. Start simple, I suppose.
I decide to reach out to the Spiders—the people bound by the web who all seemingly know Peter. I've met some of them in the past under unpleasant circumstances. Most of them despise me, which is understandable considering all I've done. I can't be his support if no one wants me to help. I have to earn their trust. Curt's right. It's worth a shot.

New York is crawling with heroes. I can track them down on my own. I'll take my glider and track down the Spiders, easy enough. All I have to do is find one, follow them, and convince them to speak with me.
I spot one of the Spider-women swinging between buildings, so I follow her at a safe distance, trying to find a place to initiate a conversation. I need to get her near a rooftop; speaking to her is easier if we're not moving. She suddenly picks up momentum, diving down steeply. I adjust my altitude to match hers, and she turns around, swinging upward at a steep angle and speeding toward me with determination. She hurls a blast of webbing at me. This may be the fastest thing that has gone sideways for me.
"You creep! I don't know why you're stalking me, but I'll teach you to follow a girl uninvited!" She flips off the side of a building, picking up momentum.
"Wait, I want to talk!" I hold up my hands, trying to appease her. "I'm not here to fight!" She hurls more webbing at me, and I dodge, "Fuck, stop attacking me!"
She jumps at me with a fist raised. I use my forearm to block her. I open the visor on my helmet, "Seriously, calm down. I'm here to apologize, we're on the same side, ask Pe-"
And she's not listening; that's several web strikes, and she's still going strong. Her furious movements tell me to back down. It's a good thing I'm used to dodging webs. I instantly regret seeking them out alone.
"Okay, I'm going!" I throw a smoke bomb and get the hell out of there.
My solo attempts to seek out the Spider-people and apologize for my actions begin with accidentally inciting conflict. After some reflection, I realize that showing up in full armour on a glider may have been interpreted as picking a fight.

Back at Oscorp, I lean against the wall in my lab and sigh.
"Rough day?"
I turn around and see Peter on a workbench. He's wearing safety goggles and is in the middle of repairing the bug. He puts down his tools and removes the goggles, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Hi Peter, I didn't know you were here." I try to act like I'm fine. "Busy with repairs?"
"The only one who sighs louder than that is an unemployed beloved family dog, Norman. I saw you come in, throw off your helmet and give up on changing out of the armour. You were out flying?"
There's no use hiding it since he'll hear about it later. "Sort of, I decided to start seeking out the Spider heroes in New York. I planned to observe them first to determine how to approach and talk to each individual to establish better ties and earn their forgiveness."
Peter gives me a look like a deer watching an oncoming car. He drops his head and takes a deep breath. "Norman, how do I put this? Why are you stalking people? That's stalking, you know that, right?"
"It hardly counts when they have secret identities. I'm respecting that while finding a way to apologize."
"Or, you could have talked to me and asked for help and not acted like a weirdo." Peter shakes his head. He walks over to me and puts a hand on my chest while laughing, "Your social skills are so fucking weird, dude."
I frown. He's not wrong, but I still argue. "I want to apologize properly. We might need to be allies in the future and-"
"They see you as an enemy, and when you show up in Green or Gold, they're ready for a fight. Okay, I'll try to talk to them and explain how you're… you. I'll help; don't expect them to agree to talk with you or tell you much."
I retract my armour, standing closer to Peter's height now that I'm in the flight suit. I avoid his gaze. "I don't expect anything positive. I expect them to tell me to go to hell." I turn away. "They don't owe me anything after everything I've done. Even if I'm not directly responsible for their suffering, they likely know a Norman Osborn in their universes. I know what my name means."
Peter touches my shoulder, reassuring me, "Hey, I'll talk to them. I'm impressed you're trying at all." He smiles, and my anxiety lessens. "But seriously, Norman, work on your social skills; be less intense."

A few of them agreed to meet with me, including Brooklyn's Spider-Man, Silk, and, most surprisingly, Ghost Spider. Some flat-out say no. For example, Madam Web is too busy protecting the web of life, seeing the future, or other mystic tasks. Spider-girl said no because 'it's weird since I caused her dad to lose his leg and cursed Normie' (I don't know what she's talking about). A few others said they appreciate me being on the right side for a change, but they are good for now. (according to Peter, who is excellent at taking messages, so I'm sure that's close enough) Either way, I'm grateful for any chance I get.
I can tell that the Spider-Man of Brooklyn is still a kid. He mentions that Kamala says I'm "not so bad," and I seem to have a sense of humour. I buy him lunch as he gives me a tour of his neighbourhood, and we leave things on wary but amicable terms.
The next Spider I meet is Silk. She's Peter's age, and I remember Jonah likes her. As we chatted, Silk mentioned listening to the podcast I did with Jonah. I didn't peg her as a listener, but to each their own.
The person I most want to contact is Ghost Spider. I know she's Gwen Stacy, but she's not from our dimension. I feel compelled to speak with her and apologize for my goading and taunting of her and Peter because… because… She's a reminder, a living echo of a Gwen Stacy who never was. I have used her repeatedly to manipulate others. She's not the Gwen I killed, and she's not Peter's lost love. She's not Harry's friend. Even so, I need to talk to her.
It takes a while, but she agrees to meet with me but with several conditions in place. There will be no weapons or armour, public space, only me, no security guards or goons (I don't have goons), and I have to buy her lunch. I agree to her terms.
As promised, I come unarmed, just Norman Osborn, with no tricks or armour. We meet at a coffee shop, and I suspect she'll bolt for a moment, but she calmly sits across from me and looks me up.
She can't be more than 19, maybe 22 at most. She's Gwen Stacy, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She's petite and intelligent, with the same look as our Gwen, but it's off. Her hair is cut into short, messy layers; she wears 'punk rock' attire, neon pinks, and ripped jeans. This Gwen Stacy looks like a survivor, a fighter who keeps going even when things get bad. She's been through a lot and is ready to fight at the drop of a hat. I can see she's not afraid of me. She's nothing like I expected—Ghost Spider, not just Gwen.
"So… I heard you're on an apology tour." She eyes me cooly as she sips her latte.
"I suppose that's appropriate; yes, I'm trying to make amends, to get to know the people I've hurt and make up for what I've done." I keep her gaze, my black coffee untouched.
"You know, I've met so many versions of you... Do you know what each of you have in common? You all hate to be vulnerable. Even now, I can tell this is at the surface level. What do you want, Norman?" She unwraps her sandwich and takes a bite, watching me closely. "You know I'm not a dead girl's ghost, right?"
"You think I'm here to treat you like the Gwen Stacy I killed? No, I know you're not her." I sigh. "I want to make amends and earn your forgiveness for using you to get to Peter." That's half true; I'm selfish and want people to like me.
Gwen speaks candidly, "I'm here because I have no money or legal identity in this dimension, and you promised to buy lunch. Free food is free food." She continues to eat, stashing some of the other cafe food she ordered in a bag for late r.
"Fair enough. I do owe you much more than that. I wanted to ask why you sided with Peter when he wanted to prevent Sin-Eater from cleansing me. Everyone else was ready to let me face his wrath, hopefully to die. I'm realistic; I know most people want me dead."
"I did it for Peter, but you're still human, Norman. Villains are still people, and I'm not the Punisher. I don't decide who lives and dies. We had no idea what the consequences of Sin-Eater's actions were either. Everyone always talks about you like there's wasted potential. You would have lived up to their ideals if you had made a different choice. I guess I can relate to that in a way." She sighs, "Plus, I wasn't going to let Peter become a murderer over you."
"I'm not worth that." I nod. I reach into my pocket, pull out my wallet, open it, and fish out some bills. "Here, Gwen, please take this." I hand her $500. "I don't have more on me right now, but it should get you some meals."
"It's a start, more than I had this morning." She nods and exits the café as I take care of the tab.

After I meet with the alternate Gwen, I return to Oscorp. I check to ensure no one's around and slip into the lab. The spiders that share Peter's consciousness greet me. "HELLO BOSS!"
"Hello, spiders, comfortable in here." I converse, although they can only spell a few words at a time.
"CAN'T COMPLAIN!" they scuttle about, watching me sit at a workbench. I've been coming here alone to investigate alternative dimensions. I know it's selfish, but I've been scanning other universes to see if there's a good version of me. I've had a spike in my depression, so I hoped finding a version of me that isn't such a dick would be comforting.
When I start the device, infinite universes are tuned to my thoughts, DNA, and unique signature. I can flash through them and watch as long as I want. It's a one-way window into the lives of infinite Normans.
It's been days since I started this futile effort. All I see are versions of me that control crime syndicates, mad scientists, corrupt businesspeople, corrupt politicians… every single one is bad. I tried tinkering with the machine to scan, but not for my current brain patterns—a reformed Norman. Good Norman. But still nothing.
"Fuck…" I mutter as I adjust the machine again. "It can't be this bleak." I feel my jaw clench in frustration. My shoulders are so tense. I'm close to smashing this damned machine.
"Rough day?" I turn around to see Peter as he walks into our shared lab space. I move to shut off the machine, but it is too late; Peter can see precisely what I am doing.
"Are you looking into other dimensions? oh no, Norman…" He looks concerned.
I move away from the device, which still flashes images of alternate Norman Osborn's, each engaged in illegitimate business, madness etched into every alternative. My face burns with shame, and I turn it off. A few of the spiders scuttle across the machine's surface, watching. There are more of them than when they first arrived.
I can't look at Pete right now. I sit down and stare at the floor. "I… I just wanted to see if- I was talking to Ghost Spider, and-" I sigh. "I was hoping that maybe I was good in one of those alternate dimensions."
I hear his footsteps approaching. I don't want him to see me like this amid my emotional storm. I feel I deserve this misery. Peter sits next to me, allowing the hum of technology to fill the void of our unspoken words.
Finally, he speaks, "I haven't talked much about the multiverse to you. I've bounced around and met a few different Spider-men. Not all Peter Parker's are Spider-Man, either. Some are ordinary. The multiverse is huge, and I understand you want to find a variant of you who got it right, but Norman, that doesn't matter. Those Normans aren't you." He sits beside me and leans over, placing his hand on my thigh. It feels nice. I realize I'm leaning into his shoulder, which is not workplace-appropriate, but he doesn't say anything. We sat silently for a few minutes, and I found comfort in him. I don't know what to say.
Peter breaks the silence, continuing to let me lean on him as he talks, "I have two sets of memories now. For a moment, I didn't exist as Spider-man. An alternate reality was created where I was only Peter Parker, with no heroics or powers , just me living a normal life. In that reality, even without our powers, we were still entwined. You and I were making the world a better and safer place. And yet… it doesn't matter now. That's not our reality. Holding on to what-ifs won't help either of us." He gives me a sad smile. "We can only fix what we have in front of us." His acceptance of our reality is both comforting and inspiring.
An alternate reality where there is no Green Goblin. It would be so much easier if that monster had never existed. I want to be there instead; then maybe Harry and I can reconcile. Harry… I always said I was doing everything for you, but I lied. My voice trembles, "I'm afraid, Peter. Admitting vulnerability is difficult, and I—" He lightly strokes my hair, and I close my eyes. God, it feels good. Peter's so gentle. I feel myself melting into him, relaxing my body. I feel warm and safe. I want to hold him back, tell him I love him, and stay like this forever. I am on fire internally. I want you. I want to have you here in our lab. I want to kiss you. I need you. He's comforting me; I know he doesn't see it like I do. Telling him would be selfish, but-
I'm distracted by scuttling in the lab. I open my eyes, and the spiders spell out, "WE LIKE YOU, BOSS." A few of them move toward me, so I sit up and lean forward, offering my hand. They take turns giving me a little pat—comfort from intelligent spiders—a typical day in the office.
Peter laughs, and he gets up from his chair. "They seem to agree; you're not so bad, Norman."
I hold one of the spiders as it blinks its eyes at me. Knowing this hive mind of creatures believes in me feels good. I gently pat it; I can't help but feel affection for them. "Thanks for sharing that with me, Peter. I've never been good at letting things go, but I'll learn how."
"You're trying, Norman. You're human, and that's okay. Plus, you haven't cloned me, drugged me, put trackers on me, or set up spy cams. That's a pretty big step for you."
I chuckle, "I respect boundaries. Besides, I wouldn't have to. You are predictable. I know you better than anyone else. I bet I can predict your weekly routine based on what I know about you. I could set my watch to the second of how late you'll arrive for work." I wink.
Peter protests, "I set my alarm early now. I haven't been late in a month! I even came to work early once!"
I put the Spider down gently, standing up with a smile, "Well, in that case, I'll get on that employee of the month plaque, Peter Parker: not late for a whole month."
We laugh together, I can manage now.
"Thank you, Peter." I smile, shutting down the dimensional equipment. I need to focus on getting work done.
Peter settles into his workbench, whistling to himself. "It's why you hired me; keep you honest and provide the best jokes." He winks, and I chuckle.