Tangled Webs

The dorm room was dark. Gwen hadn’t turned on a light in hours. She sat curled up on her bed, her knees pulled to her chest, her cheek resting against the cool windowpane. Outside, Brooklyn buzzed on without her—cars honking, sirens in the distance, lives moving forward while hers stood still.

The grief wasn’t sharp anymore. It was dull and heavy, like a thick fog wrapped around her body. Every step felt slow, every breath like it had to be remembered.

She hadn't gone to ballet. She hadn’t suited up in days. Ghost-Spider felt like someone else, a mask that used to mean something. But now, it just felt like a lie.

A knock came at her door.

Gwen didn’t answer.

“Gwen?” It was Amaya.

Still no response.

The door creaked open anyway. Amaya peeked in, her eyes scanning the dim room until they landed on Gwen’s figure in the corner.

“Gwen,” Amaya said gently, coming to sit beside her. “You’ve got to eat something. You’ve been in here for two days. You haven’t said a word.”

“I can’t do it,” Gwen whispered. “I thought I could… but I can’t. What’s the point?”

Amaya bit her lip, clearly unsure of what to say. After a moment, she reached for her phone. “I’m calling Miles.”

“No,” Gwen said quickly, but it was too late. Amaya had already typed out the message and hit send.

Fifteen minutes later, a soft knock echoed again.

“Gwen,” Miles said from the other side, voice quiet. “Let me in.”

She didn’t move.

“I’m not leaving until you do.”

With a sigh, Amaya stood and opened the door for him.

Miles stepped in, his face creased with worry as he took one look at Gwen huddled against the window.

“Hey,” he said gently, walking over and crouching down to meet her eyes. “I know it hurts. But you can’t shut yourself away.”

Tears welled in Gwen’s eyes, and her lips trembled. “I killed him,” she whispered.

Miles shook his head. “No, you didn’t. A villain did. You tried to save him.”

“I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough. Maybe if I wasn’t Ghost-Spider—”

“Stop,” Miles said firmly. “Being Ghost-Spider didn’t kill him. That was a choice someone else made. What you do saves lives. You’ve saved mine.”

Her gaze dropped.

“I get it,” he said softer. “I know grief. I know that feeling where the world stops and nothing feels worth it. But Gwen… you matter. The world still needs you. I still need you.”

Gwen’s chin trembled again, but this time, she let herself fall into his arms. The tears came freely, muffled against his chest.

“I can’t keep being her, Miles,” she sobbed. “I want to quit. I want to hide. I don’t want to keep losing people.”

Miles held her tighter. “Then let me be there with you. Let’s patrol together. Just for tonight. You don’t have to be her alone.”

Gwen nodded.

The air was brisk as Ghost-Spider and Spider-Man swung between buildings, the city glinting under them like spilled glitter. Gwen hadn’t spoken much since they’d suited up, but Miles didn’t push her. The rhythm of swinging, of moving through the city with someone at her side, was enough for now.

They’d been out for about an hour when the sound of screeching tires snapped both of them into focus.

Gwen saw it first—an out-of-control sedan barreling down a hill, the driver’s frantic hands barely visible through the windshield. The brakes were gone, smoke trailing behind the wheels. At the bottom of the hill? A crosswalk. A mom and her kid, frozen in fear.

Gwen didn’t hesitate.

She shot a web to the closest streetlight and flung herself forward, heart pounding, instincts sharp. Miles veered right, heading for the driver’s side to slow the car. Gwen aimed for the pedestrians.

She landed hard, rolling and coming up just in time to scoop the little boy into her arms. “Run!” she called to the mom, and the woman bolted with a cry.

Gwen turned, bracing as the car got closer and closer. She wrapped her web around a nearby lamp post and tugged, trying to slow it, and just when it looked like the front bumper would plow through her, Miles slammed down from above, shooting a double line of webs that snapped the car to a stop mere inches away.

Panting, Gwen let out a shaky breath.

The little boy looked up at her from where he’d curled against her chest, his tiny hands clinging to her costume.

“Are you okay?” she asked, voice soft.

He nodded.

Then, still nestled safely in her arms, he smiled.

“You’re amazing,” he said.

Gwen blinked.

“What?”

“You’re, like… the coolest hero ever! You saved me!”

Gwen’s mouth parted slightly. She stared at him, stunned. That small, pure grin—like she’d just given him the world. Her throat tightened.

“Thank you,” she managed.

Miles came up beside her, already checking on the driver who was shaking but unharmed.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing at Gwen.

She nodded again, but this time it felt different. Stronger.

The boy’s mom ran back, tears streaming down her face as she scooped her son into her arms. “Thank you,” she gasped. “Thank you so much!”

Ghost-Spider gave a small wave, still reeling from the interaction. As the woman and child walked off, she turned to Miles.

“I think I needed that,” she whispered.

He gave her a small smile beneath the mask. “Told you the city needs you.”

They stood there together as the chaos faded behind them, the sound of sirens distant, the city breathing steady again.

Gwen felt like she could breathe too.

The next few days unfolded like gentle waves. The chaos hadn’t gone away, but it didn’t drown her anymore. Gwen still woke up with heaviness in her chest, but now she sat up. She got out of bed. She washed her face, and she tried.

It started with little things—folding her laundry, eating full meals, brushing her hair without staring blankly into the mirror. Amaya noticed. She didn’t say anything, but she left small treats on Gwen’s desk in the mornings: her favorite energy drink, a fresh croissant, a sticky note with a badly drawn spider.

Gwen smiled when she saw those. Not every time, but sometimes. And that was a win.

School felt less like a battlefield and more like a challenge she could actually rise to. Her grades, once plummeting, began creeping upward. Gwen started sitting at her desk again to study instead of curled in bed with tear-stained notes. Her ballet lessons, which she’d skipped too many times to count, became a quiet space where she could move without thinking. Miss Lumière welcomed her back with a silent nod and a warm hand on her shoulder. Gwen cried a little after that class—but it was the good kind, the kind that felt like breathing again.

She still wore puffy eyes some days. Still avoided the mirror sometimes. Still wore the same hoodie two days in a row. But now, there were good moments in between.

And then, three days after the patrol with Miles, her phone buzzed with a name she hadn’t seen in a while.

Mom.

Gwen hesitated before answering. Her thumb hovered over the screen before finally tapping “accept.”

“Hello?”

Her mom’s voice was small and brittle. “Gwen…”

Gwen immediately sat up straighter, sensing the shift in tone. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” Her mother sniffled. “I wanted to tell you before you heard from someone else. The funeral... We’re holding it in three days. The twenty-second. I just… I didn’t want you to be unprepared.”

Gwen pressed her hand to her chest, trying to ground herself. Her father’s funeral. Of course.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll be there.”

There was a long silence.

“Thank you,” her mom said softly. “I—I’ve been trying to sort everything, but it’s all so much. The flowers, the church, the guest list. People keep asking questions I don’t know the answers to.” She laughed bitterly. “Like I’m supposed to be the one holding it all together.”

“You don’t have to be,” Gwen said gently, though her voice cracked at the edges. “You really don’t.”

Another beat of silence.

“Thanks, Gwen. I’ll… I’ll let you go now.”

When the call ended, Gwen sat in her desk chair, staring blankly at her planner. Her chest ached, but not with the kind of pain that paralyzed her. It was the ache of walking uphill—heavy, yes, but going somewhere.

The funeral. Three days. She couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t change it. But she could show up. She could be there.

It was the very least she owed him.

The sky was overcast the morning of the funeral, as if the world had taken the hint and decided to grieve with her.

Gwen stood next to her mother, both of them wrapped in black. Her fingers were cold, despite the gloves she wore, and her heels sunk slightly into the damp ground. The church service had been quiet, filled with solemn nods and sympathetic glances. But this—this was the part that stung. The burial. The finality of it all.

Rows of chairs were set up in front of the grave, though most people chose to stand. Police officers from her father’s precinct. Friends from their old neighborhood. A few teachers. Even Miss Lumière had quietly shown up, hands folded neatly, her eyes red-rimmed. Gwen didn’t speak to anyone. She didn’t need to.

The casket was lowered into the ground with heavy silence.

Her mom trembled beside her, gripping Gwen’s hand as if she were the only thing anchoring her. Gwen tried not to cry. She really did. But when the priest said George Stacy’s name, when he mentioned his honor, his sacrifice, the tears slipped past her defenses again.

It wasn’t just mourning.

It was guilt.

It was the sound of her father’s last breath echoing in her memory, the image of his blood on her suit. It was the weight of every second she’d failed to protect him—failed to protect everyone.

Her mother sobbed beside her, loud and broken. Gwen didn’t know how to comfort her. She wanted to fall apart too. She just wanted to collapse into the ground and disappear. Be buried alongside the only man who ever truly understood her.

As the crowd slowly began to leave—some stopping to offer condolences, some just quietly nodding—Gwen stood still. Her mom eventually let go of her hand and walked toward the car, leaving Gwen alone with the grave.

She crouched down by the flowers placed at the headstone, one hand reaching out to touch the polished surface.

George Stacy. Beloved husband. Devoted father. A true hero.

The wind was cold on her cheeks, drying her tears before they could fall. Gwen sniffled, brushing her thumb over the carved letters.

“I’m so sorry, Dad,” she whispered. “I should’ve protected you. I should’ve done better.”

The cemetery was quiet now, save for the rustling of the trees and the distant sound of traffic. Gwen lowered her head.

“I keep thinking about what you said before you—before it happened. You told me you were proud of me.” Her voice cracked again. “I wish I could believe that still. But I don’t feel like someone you should be proud of.”

She stayed there a long time. Not moving. Not saying anything more.

Eventually, she stood up, wiped her face, and gave the grave one last look.

“I’m going to try, though,” she murmured. “To make it worth something. To be someone you’d still be proud of.”

As she walked back to the car, the clouds began to break. A single ray of sunlight peeked through the gray.

She looked up, blinking.

And kept walking.