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"You killed those people," Peter said, voice tight. "The executives on the balcony at the festival."
Norman shook his head frantically. "That was the Green Goblin! Not me!"
His expression twisted into desperation. "Peter, please—you have to help me! Don't let the Goblin take control again!"
Peter didn't soften. "You tried to kill Uncle Ben. Aunt May. Mary Jane."
"I didn't want to!" Norman's voice broke. "I tried to stop it, but I couldn't! The Goblin—it's like another person inside me. I can't control it."
He took a step closer, hand outstretched. "But you saved me, Peter. You brought me back. I knew you would—I knew I could count on you."
While he spoke, Norman was secretly activating his glider with remote commands. It rose silently behind Peter, blades extending, moving into position.
Norman kept talking, drawing Peter's attention. "Give me your hand. Trust me, like I trust you."
His voice turned gentle, almost paternal. "I could be like a father to you. Be my son, Peter."
Peter's expression went cold.
His spider-sense was screaming.
"I have a father," Peter said quietly. "Ben Parker."
Norman's face hardened. The gentle mask dropped away.
"Then go to HELL!"
The glider shot forward, blades aimed at Peter's back—
Peter bent his knees and backflipped, moving with inhuman speed and precision.
The glider passed underneath him.
And slammed directly into Norman.
THUNK. THUNK.
The blades punched through Norman's torso, lifting him off his feet and pinning him against the wall.
Blood sprayed from his mouth.
Peter landed, staring in shock.
Norman hung there, impaled on his own weapon. His eyes were wide with disbelief.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Norman coughed, blood running down his chin. When he spoke again, his voice was weak. Lucid.
"Peter..."
He sounded like himself again. Not the Goblin. Just Norman.
"Don't tell Harry. Please. Don't tell him what I became."
Peter nodded slowly, unable to speak.
Norman's head dropped. His body went still.
Peter stood there, processing what had just happened.
Norman Osborn—respected businessman, Harry's father, someone Peter had looked up to—had become the Green Goblin. Had killed innocent people. Had tried to kill Peter's family.
And now he was dead, killed by his own weapon.
Peter felt... complicated. Relieved that the threat was gone. Horrified at how it ended. Sad for Harry.
Norman had asked Peter to keep his secret. To protect Harry from the truth.
Peter would honor that request.
Peter carried Norman's body back to the Osborn mansion.
It was late. The house should've been empty.
Peter laid Norman on the bed in his bedroom, arranging him to look peaceful.
Then he heard footsteps.
The door opened.
Harry stood in the doorway, staring.
Spider-Man. His father's body.
Harry's face went white, then red.
"What did you DO?!" He lunged for a cabinet, pulled out a pistol, aimed it with shaking hands. "You KILLED him!"
Peter raised his hands. "Harry, no—it's not—"
"GET OUT!" Harry's voice cracked. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
Peter backed toward the window. He couldn't explain. Couldn't tell Harry the truth.
He left.
Behind him, Harry fell to his knees beside the bed, staring at his father's body.
His grief turned to rage.
Spider-Man had killed his father.
Spider-Man would pay.
News of Norman Osborn's death rocked New York City.
Oscorp's stock crashed. Corporate raiders circled, trying to acquire the company while it was vulnerable.
The funeral was held at a cemetery in upstate New York.
Hundreds attended—business leaders, politicians, people who'd worked with Norman over the years.
Harry stood at the graveside, accepting condolences mechanically.
Peter came too. Stayed at a distance, watching Harry suffer, not knowing how to help.
Eventually he approached. "Harry, I'm so sorry. I know what it's like to lose—"
"Thanks," Harry said flatly. Then turned away.
Peter tried again. "If you need anything—"
"I said thanks." Harry's tone made it clear the conversation was over.
Peter left him alone.
After the funeral, Harry dropped out of college.
Someone had to run Oscorp. The company was worth tens of billions and under siege from hostile takeovers.
Harry threw himself into the work. It was easier than grieving.
A few days after the kidnapping, Mary Jane found Peter.
"I need to tell you something," she said.
They met in a quiet park. Mary Jane looked nervous.
"When the Green Goblin grabbed me," she said, "when I thought I was going to die, I kept thinking about you. Not Harry. You."
Peter's heart sank. He knew where this was going.
"I realized I have feelings for you, Peter. Real feelings. I think I always have."
She looked up at him, vulnerable and hopeful. "Do you feel the same way?"
Peter wanted to say yes. Wanted it more than anything.
But he couldn't.
"Mary Jane..." He forced the words out. "You're an amazing person. But I can't. We're friends. That's all we can be."
Her face fell. "You don't—you don't feel anything?"
"I'm saying we're better as friends."
It was a lie. She knew it was a lie. He could see it in her eyes.
But she accepted it. "Okay. Friends."
She walked away, hurt but trying to hide it.
Peter watched her go, hating himself.
He was Spider-Man. He had enemies. Anyone close to him was a target.
Mary Jane would be safer if he kept his distance.
Even if it broke both their hearts.
Life went on.
Peter started college, balancing classes with his responsibilities as Spider-Man. Fighting crime, saving lives, dealing with whatever threats emerged.
Mary Jane pursued her acting career, auditioning for plays and commercials, working toward her dreams.
Harry ran Oscorp, fighting off corporate predators, slowly stabilizing the company.
And the Daily Bugle continued publishing Spider-Man photos—always getting them first, thanks to Peter and Marcus.
People around the city started noticing the pattern. Two photographers—Marcus Reed and Peter Parker—somehow always got the best Spider-Man shots.
Rumors spread. Maybe they were friends with Spider-Man. Maybe they had some kind of inside connection.
The truth was more complicated, but the rumors persisted.
Ironically, despite having exclusive access to Spider-Man photos, the Daily Bugle's coverage remained relentlessly negative. J. Jonah Jameson never missed an opportunity to criticize, condemn, or question the masked vigilante's motives.
The people of New York couldn't stop talking about it.