After what felt like forever, Gwen Stacy finally sat on the rooftop of her new apartment.
It was a chill night out, but she didn’t care enough to go grab a coat. In hindsight, she didn’t even have a coat. A sharp cold breeze made her body shiver and her symbiote turned her shirt into a hoodie to keep her warm. “Thanks,” Gwen mumbled, and she could swear that she felt a slight buzz cover her body.
If a few months ago you’d told her that she’d have an apartment all to herself without having to worry about making rent, she’d say it sounded too good to be true. It was, after all, too good to be true.
Earth-616, they called it. It wasn’t like Gwen hadn’t ever been here before, she had. For business and pleasure. She was there when the Inheritors attacked. There weren’t many who could say the same. At least not many that were alive.
She still saw Billy in her dreams. And Peter. She even saw Kaine sometimes. She tried not to think about them too often, otherwise she’d go crazy. She had tried to get therapy after her identity reveal. It turned out your ordinary therapist wasn’t actually equipped to help you process the trauma of having your friends get killed by immortal energy vampires. She had buried it nice and safe inside her chest after that. What was a few screaming nightmares anyways? She’s the Ghost-Spider. She could handle it.
The point was, she’d been here before. She went to school here. She wasn’t a stranger to 616. Usually it was familiar, warm, comforting. This time though?
She’d just never felt this alone.
It had been exactly 12 hours since she arrived here with O.B. and she’d barely had time to breathe. He’d promised her that he could give her a life here if she went with him because it was dangerous to be in her own world, and she’d followed. He kept his promise, which meant being dragged around TVA HQ and figuring out legal documents for hours.
So there sat Lisa Rogers, on the rooftop of her new apartment, hugging herself, shivering in the cold.
O.B. made one thing extremely clear: Gwen Stacy was dead. She died on a chill summer night, July 2011. She was 21 years old.
Lisa Rogers was, technically, born in February 2024. She was 21 years old, and she was all alone.
O.B. had given her a new phone that would work in this dimension, but she still couldn’t bring herself to separate from her old phone. She aimlessly switched between apps that wouldn’t work, songs that wouldn’t play and profiles that wouldn’t load.
She laid her chin on her knees, hugging herself tighter, and opened her voice mail. A moment later, MJ’s voice filled the air.
“Hey, me again. You really need to start picking up your phone, Stacy. I have a new song idea, and who am I supposed to bounce ideas off of if you don’t pick up? So listen, this is how it goes…”
Gwen buried her face on her knees, listening to her best friend sing about wanting something you can’t have. She chuckled when MJ cut herself off with a swear because she’d messed up. The redhead had always been a perfectionist. Most of the time, it meant she’d get on Gwen’s case, but Gwen had to admit that sometimes, just sometimes, it was endearing.
She left MJ’s final notes to linger in the air for a while, letting them blend into the city’s noise. She could hear sirens in the distance, but she’d promised O.B. If she was to live here, it meant no more Ghost-Spider. This New York had it’s fair share of spider people that could handle whatever was going on. And tonight, she needed to hold on to Gwen Stacy for a little longer.
She scrolled through her gallery filled with photos of Murderface and the band, videos of practice, selfies left by her friends when she’d left her phone unattended. Her fingers stopped on a picture of MJ in Madison Square Garden. She’d looked like a rockstar that night, playing for the Dazzler. It had felt like Gwen finally had it all, playing with her friends in front of thousands of people. Getting to be both the spider and the drummer.
The memory of MJ pinning her against the wall, screaming at her about never caring enough still pained her. She’d told her how she was never there for her. How MJ was never enough.
In the end, she’d proved her right, hadn’t she? When she needed her Gwen had ditched her again.
She’d told her she loved her, right before she went away, and Gwen told her they’d find a way to make things right.
And then, she’d left. Without a word. She’d ran away, leaving everyone and everything that ever mattered behind.
That was, after all, the Gwen Stacy brand.
She sat there for a while, listening to the sounds of the city. She’d always weirdly felt the most at home in this dimension, but tonight was different. She missed home.
When she stood up, Lisa Rogers slowly walked back inside her apartment.
Leaving Gwen Stacy behind, alone, utterly alone on that rooftop.