AN: Do you guys want 3rd POV or 1st POV?
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The world moved in slow motion as Norman's grenade arced toward MJ. Harry had milliseconds to decide. His body was already moving before his mind could fully process what was happening.
There wasn't enough time to grab the grenade and throw it away.
There wasn't enough time to free MJ from her chains.
There was only one option.
Harry hurled himself forward, body angled to shield MJ completely. In the same motion, he unclipped a specialized device from his utility belt, something he'd developed specifically after their last encounter, something he'd hoped he wouldn't need to use.
An EMP disc designed to neutralize the Goblin's tech.
As Norman's grenade reached the apex of its throw, Harry activated the disc and flung it with perfect precision.
The two devices collided in midair.
The EMP triggered first, sending out a pulse of energy meant to disable electronics. For a split second, the grenade seemed to deactivate, its indicator lights blinking out.
Then everything went wrong.
Instead of neutralizing the bomb, the EMP triggered a catastrophic reaction. The grenade exploded with twice the force Harry had anticipated, the shockwave slamming into him as he covered MJ with his body.
The blast ripped through the air, metal shrapnel tearing into his suit where the armor was thinnest. Harry felt the impacts like hard punches, but the armor held. One piece grazed his side, drawing blood but nothing his enhanced healing couldn't handle within hours.
When he looked up through smoke-filled air, Norman was laughing maniacally, the sound echoing across the bridge's steel framework.
"Predicable! So predictable!" Norman taunted, his damaged face twisted in delight. "Always the hero, always the protector, even when it costs you everything!"
Harry turned to check on MJ. She was shaken but alive, eyes wide with shock and confusion.
"Stay down," he whispered to her, voice distorted through the suit's modulator.
As he turned back toward Norman, he felt a sharp sting in his side. Nothing serious by his enhanced body's standards, but a reminder that even with the serum, he wasn't invulnerable.
Norman noticed his slight wince. His grin widened.
"Feeling a little sting, son? We've barely started our family reunion." He retrieved another grenade from his belt. "Let's see what this one does to you."
Harry knew he couldn't risk another explosion, not with MJ still chained and vulnerable. He launched himself directly at Norman, crossing the distance between them in a blur of speed.
This time, Norman wasn't ready. Harry's tackle sent them both crashing against the bridge's railing, the grenade tumbling from Norman's grip and falling harmlessly into the river below.
They grappled on the narrow beam, teetering dangerously above the water. Norman fought with unhinged ferocity, landing blows that would shatter ordinary bones. But Harry had the advantage of training, of technique refined through countless hours of practice.
And he had something else, too. Something the Ancient One had taught him just hours earlier.
As Norman swung wildly, Harry stepped inside his guard, fingers tracing a subtle pattern in the air. A flicker of golden energy, almost imperceptible, followed the movement. Not enough for a shield or a weapon, but enough to disrupt the flow of energy through Norman's enhanced body, briefly interrupting the Goblin serum's effects.
Norman faltered, momentarily confused by the unexpected weakness in his limbs. Harry seized the opportunity.
Three precise strikes. Sternum, solar plexus, throat.
Norman staggered backward, gasping for breath, his back pressed against the railing. For a fleeting moment, something like clarity flashed in his eyes, something almost like the Norman Osborn that used to exist.
"Harry..." he wheezed, "you don't understand... what's coming..."
Then the madness returned. Norman lunged forward with renewed savagery, a blade suddenly appearing in his hand, slashing toward Harry's exposed side where the suit was already grazed.
Time slowed again.
Harry saw the blade's path, calculated its trajectory, knew exactly where it would hit, knew it would find the already compromised section of his armor.
He could dodge. He should dodge.
But MJ was still in danger as long as Norman lived.
Peter was in danger.
The city was in danger.
And in that split second, Harry made the decision he'd promise to never hesitate on if given another chance.
Instead of evading, he stepped into the attack, allowing the blade to slice across his armor while he landed the decisive blow. His armored glove connected with Norman's chest at precisely the right angle, with precisely the right force.
The sound of shattering ribs cut through the night.
Norman's eyes widened in shock, the blade dropping from suddenly nerveless fingers. Harry's strike had shattered his sternum, driving bone fragments into his heart.
"You..." Norman gasped, blood bubbling at his lips, "you actually did it."
Harry caught him as he fell, an instinctive gesture despite everything. Norman's weight sagged against him, the Goblin mask slipping slightly to reveal more of the human face beneath.
"I didn't want this," Harry said quietly, his voice no longer distorted by the modulator. "You forced my hand..."
Norman's lips curved into a final, bloody smile. "Liar," he whispered. "You... wanted it... since you... arrived. Took my son's... body. Took my... company."
Harry froze. "What did you say?"
"I know... what you are," Norman's voice grew fainter with each word. "Not... Harry. Something... else. You can't be him... Wearing... his face."
For several heartbeats, Harry remained motionless, still supporting the weight of the man who had once been this body's father. Then reality rushed back in, bringing with it the urgent priorities of the moment.
MJ was still chained to the bridge, watching the entire scene unfold with wide, terrified eyes.
With careful reverence, Harry lowered Norman's body to the bridge platform, then turned toward Michelle. The slice on his side was bleeding, but his enhanced biology was already working to close the wound.
"It's okay," he told her, approaching slowly. "It's over. I'm going to get you out of these."
She stared at him, then at Norman's body, then back at him. "You killed him," she whispered.
"Yes." No point denying what she'd witnessed. "I didn't want to."
Harry worked quickly, using a laser tool from his belt to cut through the chains binding her wrists. As the last one fell away, MJ collapsed forward, legs buckling after hours in the same position.
He caught her gently, supporting her weight. "Can you stand?"
She nodded shakily, then noticed the blood on his suit. "You're hurt."
Harry glanced down. The cut was already clotting thanks to his enhanced healing. "It's nothing serious. We need to get you to safety."
"Nothing serious? He stabbed you!"
"Trust me, I've had worse." Harry helped her move away from the edge. "The suit took most of it. I heal quickly."
MJ looked at him with disbelief. "Right. Because you're Batman."
"It's complicated."
"I bet it is." She took a tentative step, wincing as circulation returned painfully to her limbs. "So what now? Call the Bat-police?"
Despite everything, Harry felt his lips quirk upward. Even in shock, MJ's sardonic wit remained intact.
"Not exactly. But I do need to make a call." He reached for his belt. "Someone who can get us out of here without questions."
"Your butler? Batman has a butler, right?"
"Personal assistant," Harry corrected, pulling out a specialized phone. "But yes."
He made the call quickly, giving Bernard precise coordinates and a situation report that included both Norman's death and MJ's presence.
"He'll be here in ten minutes," Harry said after ending the call. "We need to decide what happens next."
MJ rubbed her wrists where the chains had left angry red marks. "What do you mean?"
"You've seen my face. You know who Batman is." Harry gestured to Norman's body. "And you witnessed what happened here."
"You think I'm going to tell someone?" Her voice held a note of offense. "After you saved my life?"
"It's not about trust, Michelle. It's about your safety." Harry's tone grew serious. "Norman knew things about me, things I haven't told anyone. If he knew, others might know too. Being connected to me, to Batman, puts a target on your back."
"Clearly," she said dryly, glancing at the chains now lying on the bridge floor. "Little late for safety warnings, isn't it?"
Harry ran a hand through his hair, a surprisingly human gesture for someone in a high-tech bat costume. "This is serious. Peter's already indirectly involved. If you know too, it puts you both at risk."
"So what are you suggesting? Memory wipe? Witness protection? Dumping me off somewhere and hoping I forget the whole thing?"
"No. I'm suggesting you make an informed choice." Harry's voice softened slightly. "You can walk away from this. I'll make sure you're protected from a distance, but you won't have to be involved."
MJ studied him, really looked at him, as if seeing past the suit to the person inside. "Or?"
"Or you become part of it. Not Batman, but what Batman's trying to accomplish." Harry held her gaze. "It's dangerous. It would change your life. But it might also help me protect the people I care about."
Before she could respond, headlights appeared in the distance. Bernard had arrived.
"Think about it," Harry said, helping her toward the vehicle now pulling up discreetly at the bridge access point. "You don't have to decide now."
Bernard exited the car, taking in the scene with his typical unflappable composure. "Sir," he acknowledged, then turned to MJ. "Miss Jones. I'm relieved to see you're relatively unharmed."
"Yeah, well, it's been a night." She glanced between Bernard and Harry. "So you're in on the whole bat thing too?"
"I provide logistical support," Bernard replied smoothly. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere more private?"
Harry nodded. "Get MJ to safety. I'll follow separately once I've secured the scene."
"And him?" Bernard asked, nodding toward Norman's body.
"Leave him for the authorities. They need to know the Goblin's been stopped." Harry turned back to MJ. "Go with Bernard. He'll take care of you until I get back."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Peter's probably losing his mind. And Ned."
"I'll call them as soon as it's safe."
As Bernard helped MJ into the car, Harry felt the weight of the night's events settle fully on his shoulders. Norman was dead by his hand. His identity was compromised.
Not Harry. Something else. Wearing his face.
How could Norman have known? And what else had he discovered? Did Death show him?
The questions would have to wait. For now, there were more immediate concerns. Securing the scene. Minimizing evidence.
.....
....
...
[Harry POV]
Nick Fury doesn't knock. Doesn't call ahead. Doesn't follow any of the protocols established for visitors to the penthouse. He simply appears in my private study at 7 AM the morning after the bridge incident, flanked by two SHIELD agents whose hands hover near concealed weapons.
"Mr. Osborn," he greets me, single eye fixed on my face with unnerving intensity. "I believe we're overdue for a conversation."
I don't startle, don't react to the intrusion. Instead, I calmly set down the tablet I was reviewing, damage reports from the bridge, news coverage of the Goblin's death, medical updates on MJ's condition after I delivered her to a private doctor I trust.
"Director Fury," I respond, matching his calm. "Breaking and entering seems beneath SHIELD's official mandate."
A hint of a smile touches his face. "Nothing in this building happens without your knowledge, including our arrival. You allowed us in. The question is why."
Perceptive. He's right, of course. The penthouse security would have alerted me the moment SHIELD approached, giving me ample time to disappear if I wished. I chose to remain.
"Perhaps I was curious what brings the Director of SHIELD to my home unannounced."
"Cut the bullshit, Osborn." Fury dismisses the pretense with a wave of his hand. "We both know why I'm here. The question is what happens next."
I study him carefully, weighing options and approaches. Fury is dangerous not just because of the organization he commands, but because of his unparalleled strategic mind. Whatever game we're about to play, he's already mapped out multiple moves ahead.
"Your agents can wait outside," I say finally. "This conversation should be private."
Fury nods once, and the agents withdraw, closing the door behind them. Once we're alone, he takes a seat across from me, uninvited.
"Norman Osborn is dead," he states flatly. "Killed by Batman during a confrontation that conveniently had no witnesses except Michelle Jones, who seems to have vanished from the hospital where she was being treated."
"Tragic," I reply neutrally. "The Goblin was responsible for dozens of deaths. Someone had to stop him."
"And that someone just happened to be a vigilante who appeared shortly after you took control of Oscorp." Fury leans forward slightly. "A vigilante with access to technology and resources that mirror Oscorp's R&D division's classified projects."
I maintain eye contact, expression unchanged. "You seem to be implying something, Director."
"I'm not implying a damn thing." His tone hardens. "I'm stating facts. Batman is Harry Osborn. You've been operating as a vigilante for months while simultaneously running one of the largest technology corporations in the world. And last night, you killed your own father."
The directness of the accusation hangs in the air between us. This is the moment where most people would panic, deny, attempt to divert. I do none of these things.
"If that were true," I say carefully, "what would SHIELD's interest be? Vigilantism falls under local law enforcement jurisdiction unless it involves enhanced individuals or alien technology."
"Don't play dumb, Osborn. It doesn't suit you." Fury settles back in his chair. "SHIELD has been monitoring Batman's activities since his first appearance. We've observed his systematic dismantling of criminal organizations, his technological capabilities, his apparent enhanced physical abilities. We've also noticed his careful avoidance of drawing our direct attention."
"Until now," I note.
"Until now," he agrees. "The question is why the change? Why suddenly become so public? Why kill Norman in a way that was guaranteed to draw every kind of attention?"
The question is perceptive, cutting to the heart of something I've been contemplating since the bridge. Why didn't I handle Norman more discreetly? The answer is uncomfortably personal.
"Perhaps Batman had no choice," I suggest instead. "The Goblin took a hostage, threatened innocent lives, forced a public confrontation."
Fury studies me with that penetrating gaze. "Or perhaps you wanted it to be public. Wanted the world to see the Goblin defeated, wanted to send a message to anyone else who might consider following his path."
"An interesting theory."
"Not a theory." Fury leans forward again. "Here's what I know for certain. You're operating with abilities and knowledge beyond what you should possess. Your combat techniques, technological innovations, strategic approach, they're too advanced, too refined for someone who 'supposedly' spent most of his adult life as a privileged party boy."
This conversation is approaching dangerous territory. Time to redirect.
"What exactly do you want, Director Fury? If Batman exists, if he is who you claim, what is SHIELD's interest in him beyond professional curiosity?"
Fury smiles thinly. "Finally, the real question." He stands, pacing slowly around the study, examining artifacts and books with casual interest. "SHIELD exists to protect humanity from threats beyond conventional defense capabilities. Over the past few years, those threats have been escalating in both frequency and scale."
"The Avengers Initiative," I say, deliberately naming the classified project to gauge his reaction.
He pauses, eye narrowing slightly. "Among other programs, yes. We're assembling resources, preparing for what's coming."
"And what is coming, Director?"
"Something bigger than street crime in New York." He turns to face me directly. "Something bigger than even the Goblin. The kind of threat that requires individuals with exceptional abilities and resources working together rather than alone."
The implication is clear. "You want Batman."
"I want Harry Osborn," he corrects. "Batman is a tool, a method, a means to an end. What interests me is the mind behind the mask, the strategic thinker who's ten steps ahead of everyone else. The man who somehow knows things he shouldn't about SHIELD, about HYDRA, about threats we haven't even made public."
So he's noticed the information I've been strategically revealing through Batman's activities. Interesting.
"And if this hypothetical individual isn't interested in joining SHIELD's collection of assets?"
"Then we have a problem." Fury's tone remains casual, but there's steel beneath it. "Because lone operators with your level of capability and your willingness to use lethal force represent a potential threat that falls directly under our mandate to contain."
The threat is subtle but unmistakable. Join us or be considered a target.
I stand slowly, moving to the window overlooking the city. My right hand throbs beneath its bandages, the injury from the grenade a constant reminder of last night's decisions.
"You know," I begin conversationally, "Batman has contingencies for this conversation."
"I'd be disappointed if he didn't."
"Files detailing SHIELD operations worldwide. Evidence of HYDRA infiltration at the highest levels of your organization. Records of experimental programs violating international law and basic human rights." I turn to face him. "All encrypted, all distributed to secure locations worldwide, all programmed to release to specific journalists, governments, and competitors if certain conditions are triggered."
Fury's expression doesn't change, but something in his posture tightens almost imperceptibly. "Mutually assured destruction. A bit dramatic, don't you think?"
"Insurance," I correct. "Batman values his independence. His ability to operate according to his own moral framework rather than organizational directives that might change with political winds."
"And where exactly was that moral framework when you killed Norman Osborn?" Fury counters. "Because from where I'm standing, that looked an awful lot like crossing the line you claimed to respect."
The question hits harder than I want to admit. "Some threats can't be contained, can't be imprisoned, can't be rehabilitated. The Goblin proved that."
"So you appointed yourself judge, jury, and executioner." It's not a question.
"I did what was necessary to protect innocent lives." The justification sounds hollow even to my own ears.
Fury seems to sense this internal conflict. His approach shifts, becoming less confrontational. "Look, I'm not here to pass moral judgment. God knows I've made similar calls when necessary. What I'm offering is structure, support, resources beyond what even Oscorp can provide."
"In exchange for control."
"In exchange for accountability," he corrects. "Something every power needs, including yours."
He's good. Very good. Appealing to the very principles that drove me to become Batman in the first place. But I've seen enough of how SHIELD operates to know better.
"Here's my counteroffer," I say, returning to my seat. "Batman remains independent. Continues his operations in New York without SHIELD interference. In exchange, he shares intelligence on threats that fall within SHIELD's mandate, coordinates on operations where interests align, and provides technological consultation on specific projects."
Fury considers this. "A consultant rather than an asset."
"A partner rather than a subordinate," I clarify.
"And Oscorp? What's its role in this arrangement?"
"Officially? Defense contractor, nothing more. The connection to Batman remains completely separate."
"And unofficially?"
"Research and development pipeline for advanced technologies that might benefit both parties."
Fury paces again, processing the proposal. I can almost see the calculations running behind that calculating eye, weighing advantages against risks.
"Conditional acceptance," he says finally. "With monthly review of the arrangement based on results and compliance with agreed parameters."
"Quarterly reviews," I counter. "And I choose the secure meeting locations."
A hint of amusement crosses his face. "You don't trust me in your territory?"
"I don't trust anyone, Director. It's how I've survived this long."
"Fair enough." He extends his hand. "Quarterly reviews. Secure locations of your choosing, subject to my security team's advance approval. And one more condition."
I raise an eyebrow but don't take his hand yet. "Which is?"
"Full disclosure about your capabilities and their source. Not for the record, just between us. I don't like unknowns, especially when I'm entering a partnership with them."
A reasonable request, but no. The truth about my interdimensional origin will never willingly be given to anyone alive in this universe.
"Some other time, perhaps." I take his hand finally, the handshake firm and brief. "When trust has been established in both directions." An answer, but also a non answer.
Fury accepts this with a slight nod. "We'll revisit that conversation soon. In the meantime, Ms. Jones is under your protection, I assume?"
"She's safe," I confirm, not elaborating on her location.
"And what about Parker? The boy's connection to both you and Jones makes him a potential target for anyone looking to finish what Norman started."
My surprise must show despite my efforts to conceal it. Fury smiles thinly.
"SHIELD monitors individuals with potential, Osborn. Peter Parker has been on our radar since he took first place in that national science competition three years running."
Good to know, and concerning in equal measure. "Peter is also protected."
"I'm sure he is." Fury moves toward the door. "Our first official meeting will be in two weeks. Location details will be provided through secure channels. Until then, try not to kill any more high-profile industrialists. It generates paperwork."
With that parting shot, he leaves as suddenly as he appeared, the SHIELD agents falling in step behind him as they exit the penthouse.
Once they're gone, I allow myself a moment to process the exchange. Fury knows more than I anticipated, but less than I feared.
A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
More pressing is the matter of MJ, Peter, and the increasingly complicated web of people now aware of Batman's identity. The circle of knowledge has expanded beyond Bernard, beyond my control. Adaptation is necessary.
I activate the secure communication system, connecting to the safe house where Bernard has been looking after MJ since I retrieved her from the hospital.
"How is she?" I ask without preamble.
"Physically stable," Bernard reports. "The doctor says no lasting damage beyond bruising and minor lacerations. Psychologically..." He hesitates. "She has questions, sir. Many questions."
"I imagine she does." I glance at my watch. "Is she well enough for visitors?"
"I believe so, sir."
"Good. Tell her I'm bringing Peter. And Ned Leeds as well."
Bernard's surprise is evident even through the secure line. "Sir? Are you certain that's wise? Expanding the circle of awareness to that extent?"
"No," I admit. "But it's necessary. Events have forced my hand. These people are connected to me, which makes them targets. Better they understand why than remain vulnerable through ignorance."
"As you wish, sir." Bernard's tone suggests reservations, but he knows better than to press the issue. "What shall I tell Ms. Jones in the meantime?"
"Tell her I have answers to her questions. All of them. And that I'm sorry she was drawn into this."
After ending the call, I send messages to both Peter and Ned, requesting their presence at the penthouse within the hour. No details, just the urgency of the situation and the promise of explanations.
Then I stand at the window, watching the city below continue its normal rhythms, oblivious to the shifts in power and knowledge occurring in their midst. Batman killed the Goblin. Harry Osborn killed Norman Osborn. The papers are calling it justified, heroic even. The public narrative has accepted the necessity.
Why, then, does the weight of it sit so heavily on my shoulders?
Perhaps because I know this is just the beginning. Norman's death has created a vacuum in the criminal underworld, one that others will rush to fill.
Adaptation is necessary. Evolution inevitable.
But as I wait for Peter and Ned to arrive, preparing to bring them into a world they cannot possibly fully understand yet, I wonder if the path I'm creating leads where I originally intended.
Or somewhere darker altogether.