Gwen Stacy became a murderer at only 13 years old.
She hadn’t meant to—god knew she didn’t—but, at the same time, she found it hard to call it an accident in hindsight. Because it wasn’t, not really. She hadn’t been pulling her punches or trying to go easy. She struck with closed, hard fists, with the intent to hurt. With the intent to kill.
It never occurred to her that there was a person beneath the green scales, that there was a consciousness harbored somewhere within the beast. Until she delivered the final blow, and the scales began to shed, crumbling off of shrinking limbs to reveal pale human skin, and Gwen’s breath stuttered.
She approached slowly, creeping forward on unsteady feet at first, then breaking out into a sprint when she spotted familiar, disheveled hazel brown hair. Her heart rate sped to a fever pitch, threatening to break free from her ribcage entirely when she finally saw Peter, the state he was in, and the realization of what was happening hit her with a quiet, painful jolt.
Yet the most terrifying thing about that moment was the way he said her name and slipped his fingers under the edges of her mask because what was she supposed to do? Let him take off the mask and confirm to both of them that all of this was her fault, that every wound scattered along his body was inflicted by her hands?
No, she couldn’t. Not then.
So she denied it, over and over, that she was Gwen Stacy under the white mask. Denied it until she was blue in the face and her best friend’s chest had long gone still. Because if she acknowledged it, then that would make it all real.
But it was real, and there was no more running from that once her father arrived and she was forced to let go of Peter and flee the scene, forever marking her a murderer in his eyes.
That day, two lives had been taken. The first and undoubtedly more important was Peter Parker and the second, Gwen herself, or rather the child that she had been before that moment. The girl with naïve aspirations of being a superhero and only ever using her powers to help people was buried in an unmarked grave beside his three days later while she watched from the sidelines, reborn and weary.
Afterward, Gwen would struggle to describe her experience with the grief that followed, but over time she found it easiest to equate it to a vast, infinite ocean that she was always standing just on the shoreline of. Like any other ocean, there were times of high tide and low tide, guided by the gravitational pull of the moon, or in this case her heart. Most days within the first year were extreme high tide, with Gwen constantly fighting to keep her head above water long enough for her to do her job as Spider-Woman and simply survive the day. It was easily the worst year of her life.
Some days were so brutal that Gwen thought she would never see the open sky again, and part of her knew that no matter how much better she got, things would never be quite the same again. Peter’s death was a perpetually open wound that no amount of time could ever fully mend.
But ever so slowly, the tide lowered, decreasing little by little every day. Days, weeks, months, and even years passed, and she went from just barely brushing the ground with her feet to planting herself firmly into the sand, braving the harsh waters with all the willpower she could muster.
She still wavered sometimes when the waves were particularly rough and the tide rose to dangerous heights, but she rarely ever got swept under completely anymore, and she was rather proud of that.
But no matter how much time passed, no matter how much things seemed to calm, there was always one time per year when rigorous high tide was inevitable.
The anniversary.
Few words could describe how anguishing those days were for Gwen. That was mostly because the anniversaries were some of the few times she saw May and Ben after the funeral. She just couldn’t bring herself to face them, to look them in the eyes knowing that she was the reason that they had lost their entire family. She knew that was shameful and selfish, but she just couldn't bear it.
But after everything Gwen had put them through, she felt she owed it to them to show her face on at least this one day. A meager recompense, she knew, but an honest one, nonetheless. So, she did, and as expected, she regretted it.
The first anniversary was easily the worst. An interesting thought considering that Gwen couldn’t even remember most of the day in question.
Her memories of the day were hazy, as if they had all been doused in wet paint, and now each individual memory was indiscernible from the others. It was all reduced to a long hazy blur with muffled sounds and muted sensations, contrite stares and heavy silences. The only thing she was certain of was that it was a day of suffering. An entire day spent in ceaseless drowning, unable to take a breath until she was finally back under the covers, staining her pillow with her tears.
Even without defining memories, that day was one she would never forget.
The second, thankfully, wasn’t as difficult. The wound wasn’t fresh, but it was still wide open and blistering and so, so agonizing.
By then the cracks in the relationship between her and her father had started to show, so they both spent the morning apart doing their respective jobs. But they both still showed up at the Parker home in the early afternoon because of a shared sense of obligation born from guilt, and shame, and regret.
Her dad suggested therapy at one point, and it was an idea that Gwen didn’t even bother entertaining. What would she even say? Hi, I killed the only friend I had and the weight of it is slowly crushing me. Please don’t report me to the police?
Absolutely not.
The topic was dropped when Gwen fired back asking if he was going to go to therapy as well, and she was met with predictable silence. She supposed the two of them were more alike than they cared to admit.
So they carried on dancing around the issue, choosing to instead put their focus on keeping the city safe. On Gwen’s end, this meant stopping crimes and thwarting the plans of supervillains and crime bosses. On her father’s, it meant hunting her down and bringing her to justice, no matter how much manpower it took.
She speculated that the third would be nearly identical to the second, with her father and her staying separate until it was time to convene at the Parkers’ home. Perhaps it’d become a routine. Not exactly an ideal one, but at least Gwen would have some expectations about how these days would go, a precedent to prepare for beforehand.
But she never got to see what the third anniversary held.
Because at 15, Gwen was forced to leave her home world behind and became an interdimensional refugee.
In a matter of moments, “home” or at least the basic concept of it shifted from the apartment that she and her father shared for the majority of her life to a small room in the large Nueva York compound, bare of all personality besides the smattering of clothes in the closet and the polaroid on the desk across from the bed. “Family” was now a few kids from different dimensions, a mentor, and a man that was more of a boss than a friend, but she counted as such anyway.
Her entire life, everything she knew had been upturned in a matter of mere moments. And she hated the fact that there was nothing she could do to fix it.
In response to this, she pushed everything that had to do with her old life as far back in her mind as it would go, burying it beneath newfound obligations and volunteer work she did for Miguel and Jessica in a bid to make herself useful (and make sure that her place here was secured) because thinking about all of that never amounted to anything good.
Thinking only brought forth questions. Questions that she knew for her sake, were better left unanswered.
It helped that calendar systems in Nueva York weren’t exactly a priority. The only time dates were important to anyone here was when they contained canon events of some kind, and since she figured her canon events no longer mattered, she avoided the topic completely.
Because of this, Gwen could barely keep track of her days in Nueva York, and she couldn’t really say that she minded that. She liked not being privy to holidays or birthdays back on her Earth, because not knowing at all was so much easier than having to deal with the fact that she no longer had a family or best friend to celebrate them with anymore.
She was only vaguely aware of weekdays and weekends because of Miles since every visit to his world had to adhere to his school schedule. And she was perfectly fine with that. In fact, it was better this way in her mind.
There were no more quiet nights with her father or band practices or school dances or annual visits to May and Ben, and there likely never would be again. Everything about the life she used to live was gone. She couldn’t risk facing the consequences of what she did, nor would she ever gather the courage to show her face to her father or the Parkers again. It was better for everyone if she just stayed away, so Gwen decided that she would leave it all behind. She was never going back to Earth-65.
Or, at least, that’s what she thought.
“You…you really want me to go back there? Why?”
The question came out a bit louder than Gwen intended, echoing sharply off the walls of Miguel’s ‘office’, but the last thing she cared about at the moment was her volume.
Jessica stood off to the side, a little ways behind an exasperated Miguel. Gwen knew Jess didn’t fully agree with this decision, could see it in the way she refused to meet Gwen’s eyes, but she said nothing against it either, just stood silently in place. Gwen ignored the hurt that twinged in her chest because of it.
“Because, as I said, we’ve dealt with this anomaly before and he’s…slippery,” Miguel explained, “his powers give him a tactical advantage over all of us. So in order to counteract that advantage, I need to send someone familiar with the Earth he’s currently inhabiting. That way they can use their familiarity with the terrain to apprehend him before he’s able to do catastrophic damage. That’s how we caught him the last three times.”
Gwen looked away. The reasoning made sense, she supposed, but still, she was hesitant. She hadn’t stepped foot on Earth-65 since the incident with her father, and she had absolutely no plans to return anytime soon (or ever again if she could help it). She averted her eyes, contemplating how much trouble she’d get in if she just turned and left right now, but Miguel spoke up again before she could come to a solid conclusion.
“Gwen, you know I wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t urgent,” he paused, then after a moment added a low, obviously begrudging, “please.”
The last part was what caught her so far off guard that it had her questioning her sanity for a moment. She didn’t think she’d ever heard Miguel say the word please the entire time that she knew him, and that told her how serious this was.
She deliberated on the issue for another minute then sighed.
“Fine, I’ll do it. But I better get a week off after this. And I mean an entire seven days, O’Hara, not five like last time.”
Miguel rolled his eyes but nodded. “Yeah, whatever, you’ll get your week. Now, get going, there’s no time to waste.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Gwen mumbled, resisting an eye roll of her own. She caught the small grin Jess was giving her from behind Miguel and returned it with a nod before turning and punching the coordinates into her watch.
Chelsea, New York. Earth-65.
A portal opened seconds later and with only a moment’s hesitation, she stepped through.
There was a bright flash as she was transported then, just like that, she was back in surroundings so achingly familiar yet so foreign now, after months of exile. She took a moment to gaze out at the place she used to call home.
As she took it all in again, she noticed that something just felt…off. But that feeling had little to do with the surrounding city and much more to do with her. There was an unexplainable pit in her stomach that refused to budge. And it wasn’t because of her spider sense, it was just her. Gwen shook it off, reminding herself why she was here, and lifted her wrist to look at her watch.
Her watch tracked the anomaly’s location, and Gwen followed the signal, taking care to avoid any police along the way, until it eventually led her to an old, dilapidated apartment complex in Manhattan.
Considering the building was abandoned, it didn’t take long for Gwen to locate her target on the ground floor, and surprisingly, it took even less time for her to subsequently lose him. She was in the middle of her opening quip when he literally just...blinked out of existence and was suddenly nowhere to be found. Well, until Gwen glanced out the window and saw him running down the street. The realization of what happened clicked and she groaned while zipping out of the window to give chase.
So that’s what Miguel meant by slippery, Gwen thought, making a mental note to give the tall man a piece of her mind for informing her of this beforehand.
It turned out that the anomaly was a teleporter, similar to the Spot, except this guy didn’t tear literal holes into the fabric of space and time (which begged the question of how he kept escaping their custody…Gwen made another mental note to ask Miguel about it when she got back), he was just able to spontaneously move his entire body across vast spaces within the span of a second.
Which while much less detrimental to the stability of the multiverse, was still incredibly inconvenient to Gwen, who could not teleport. And whenever she tried to web him, he teleported, as if he had a spider sense of his own.
She had no choice but to trail him from above as he constantly flickered in and out of sight, a somewhat taxing task since she had to keep an eye on him while also occasionally making sure that she didn’t swing head-first into a lamppost. Miguel’s reasoning was ringing true to her now because her inherent knowledge of this city and its various quirks and shortcuts was the only reason that she was able to keep up as well as she was.
And because she wasn’t overwhelmed with trying to navigate herself, she was able to pick up on a few interesting details about her target.
The vast spaces with which this guy could travel weren’t as vast as she first hypothesized. It quickly became apparent that he could only travel to places within his immediate line of sight, and she found that if his destination was too high up, then he would often misjudge and wind up transporting himself just short of the rooftop he was aiming for, causing him to quickly teleport again. And he tended to avoid teleporting into areas with a lot of people, presumably to avoid tripping.
These pieces of information were vital and greatly helped give form to an actual plan. Checking their location, Gwen abruptly changed course and began herding him, like a shepherd to his sheep, into a densely populated place without many low buildings for him to teleport up onto.
Times Square.
This might be a grave mistake considering she was still a wanted fugitive, but it was the only plan she had, and she really just wanted to get this over with.
Thankfully, he didn’t realize what she was doing until they entered the square, and he faltered ever so slightly when he saw where they were before racing through the crowds, blinking in and out of view much less frequently than before.
Since each use of his powers now had to be strategic, he was looking around carefully before he teleported and inadvertently telegraphing his movements to Gwen up above.
So when he started looking around again, she followed his line of sight and eyed the iconic large red stairwell up ahead. People littered the stairs, some taking pictures while others just sat, but there was a pocket of space at the top that would give him a larger field of view if he got there, which she didn’t want.
Thinking fast, she webbed a metal water bottle from someone’s hand with a “sorry!” and used her forward momentum to launch it toward that spot on top of the stairs, and sure enough, he appeared in its path seconds before impact. The bottle hit the back of his head with a loud bonk, and he fell over the back railing behind the stairs. People all around jumped at the sound while Gwen grinned.
He’d probably have a mild concussion from that hit, but Gwen couldn’t say she felt much remorse for that after he made her chase him for nearly twenty minutes.
Satisfied, she swung over to collect her target so she could leave, but her spider sense blared suddenly, a frantic warning of some unseen danger.
Gwen whipped her head to the right in search of the threat, and instead of finding an attacking assailant, she was met with a broken glass bottle that hit her square in the face. Pain bloomed across her face, radiating powerfully from just below her hairline on the right, where the jagged glass had managed to snag pretty badly. Her hand let go of her web out of instinct and she fell to the ground, just barely managing to partially break her fall with her hands, scraping them painfully in the process. She heard a loud shattering sound from somewhere nearby.
Disoriented, Gwen pushed herself to her knees and tried to get her bearings again. Her head throbbed in response to the movement and her mask was growing increasingly wet, the feeling of the fabric sticking to her skin pulling a light grimace from her.
Anger flared in her chest, hot and powerful, when she spotted the shattered remains of the bottle a few feet away. Someone threw a broken bottle at her. A broken fucking glass bottle. Her fists clenched against the gravel, scraped palms stinging in a futile attempt to temper her anger.
She should’ve walked out of the room when she had the chance, fuck the consequences.
J. Jonah Jameson’s obnoxious voice blared from somewhere nearby—a loud car radio or the speakers from one of the many giant overhead screens maybe—and she went to tune him out like usual because she was irate enough as is, but before she could, he said something that made her freeze.
“—I know you’re all usually thrilled to hear my enlightening political segments, but today is a day of mourning. Today I wanted to take a moment to honor the loss of an innocent, bright young man. See, on this day three years ago, Midland High freshman, Peter Parker was viciously killed at the hands of Spider-Woman—"
Immediately, her anger faded, and dread swiftly took its place as the breath was forced from her lungs. All surrounding noise was drowned out by sharp ringing in her ears, the words replaying in her head over and over until they were nothing more than an incomprehensible blur, but the calamitous meaning still remained.
It was today.
Peter died in her arms three years ago today and she didn’t even know until now.
There were people around her now, many of them, and they were saying something to her, but she wasn’t hearing any it. Gwen knew she should move; she still had a mission to complete, but she was frozen on her knees, shock and shame weighing her limbs down.
She really forgot. Even though she brought this on herself, she just couldn’t believe it.
She forgot about the anniversary of her best friend’s death, and it was all because she didn’t want to think about her dad, because even months after the fact, she still wasn’t ready to fully face what happened the day she revealed her identity to him. Because she wasn’t brave enough to confront her issues head-on instead of running from them.
How utterly cowardly of her. How unabashedly selfish.
The voices got even closer, her vision a blur of moving limbs and faces, and she knew she needed to move. These people were not friendly, the growing crimson stain on her mask proved that, but pushing aside her feelings was harder than it had any right to be.
Someone reached to pull off her mask and that was finally enough to kickstart her into action.
Instincts kicked in and she sprung to her feet, ignoring her head’s pulsing protests as she jumped, extending an arm toward the nearest light pole and shot out a web. Her swing was a bit unsteady, but she was quick to recover as she released the web and leaped to the back of the red stairwell to collect her target.
The people gathered around him dispersed the moment she landed, as if afraid of her. They probably were. But there was no time to think about that. Gwen grabbed the unconscious man, slung him over her shoulder, and zipped over to the nearest screen.
She didn’t care where she was going, she just needed to get out. So she climbed and climbed until she reached a rooftop, and as soon as she was on solid ground, she was tapping away at her watch.
The sirens sounding in the distance only spurred her on. Her fingers typed in the location of headquarters with urgency, feeling her heart thunder harder the closer the sirens got. They were only blocks away when the portal fully opened and she all but jumped through, sighing in relief when her feet hit the underside of the compound elevator.
Once she really knew she was back in Nueva York and not on Earth-65, she slumped, all the adrenaline from her escape leaving in one fell swoop, leaving her drained of everything but the low thrum of pain radiating from her head and hands.
Gwen barely remembered carrying the man through the halls of the compound. She just walked and walked and walked with shame burning so bright in her stomach, until she finally arrived at the long corridor leading into Miguel’s office.
Like usual, the room was empty when she entered, save for Miguel and Jessica, who were discussing something she couldn’t bother paying attention to. The way both Jess and Miguel’s eyes widened upon seeing her barely registered. She didn’t respond to the flurry of questions she received, just dropped her unconscious target at their feet unceremoniously and spun on her heels, walking off toward her room.
Someone called after her. She didn’t stop.
Her feet took her in the direction of her room, passing hundreds upon hundreds of effigies of the boy she killed along the way. At some point during the journey, her upset shifted, morphing from an overwhelming heat to a deep cold that traveled through every vein, numbing her to the world around her.
She couldn’t decide whether that was better.
She arrived at her destination after an uncertain amount of time. Maybe it was short, maybe not. The thought didn’t linger. She knew she should probably lie down, but her body, it seemed, was now acting independently of her mind because she was already raising her wrist to her face again.
And before she could even think about it, she was tapping idly at her watch, typing in a set of coordinates that she knew by heart.
Brooklyn, New York. Earth-1610.
Gwen wasn’t sure exactly what day it was or whether Miles was still in school or not, but it didn’t matter to her. Just his universe alone gave her solace, knowing that he was out there somewhere, brightening lives and being loved by his city and its people rather than persecuted.
Before her, another portal took form, and not even the burst of bright swirling colors could pierce through the thick blanket of numbness that had fallen over her shoulders.
She stepped through the portal and immediately, the difference between this New York and hers was clear. The air was warmer, the sun’s presence more palpable without a single cloud in the sky. The colors all around her popped in a way that was so uniquely vivid and tangible, and J. Jonah Jameson’s grating yells were replaced with the soft hum of music from some blocks away. It was refreshing but still, she didn’t feel as much as she hoped she would.
Once she ascertained her location, she began making her way to her favorite place in this dimension—the Williamsburg bank building, one of the few buildings that existed here but not on Earth-65. A weird place to claim as hers, she knew, but it had sentimental value.
She quietly perched on one of the ledges near the top of the building, the same one where she and Miles reconnected all those months ago just before Miles got recruited into the Spider Society. Though she sat upright this time, not wanting to deal with the lightheadedness alongside the dull throb of her head wound.
Gwen peeled her ruined mask off and laid it on the concrete beside her, uncaring of who saw her at this point. Because what was a secret identity in a world where she either didn’t exist or was already dead?
The cut on her head was still bleeding, leaving a steady trickle of blood dripping from her chin down to her hands, but she paid it no mind. Her eyes settled on the skyline in front of her, and she just watched. Existed.
As she sat, her thoughts drifted back to Peter, the events of that night playing on an endless loop. She wondered what he would think of her now, whether or not he would hate her for what she did to him. But the question was pointless because she already knew the answer. Peter loved her, he loved every part of her. He could never find it in his heart to hate her, even for taking his life and future away from him.
And that only made it worse, the knowledge that Peter likely forgave her in his final moments instead of hating her. Because she deserved all of the anger, and outrage, and vitriol sent her way, even if she didn’t like it, she knew she did. But it pained her that the victim of her crime, the one who had his very life stolen, would never feel that way, even if he were alive today.
Gwen blinked, and only then did she notice her blurred vision and wet cheeks. She clenched her jaw hard and tried to get ahold of herself, to reign her wildly fluctuating thoughts and emotions in before she lost control, but it was too late.
The water was already climbing her legs and dragging her body below the raging waves, submerging her whole in the cold, caliginous sea. Her lungs restricted painfully in her chest from the lack of oxygen, chest burning with an internalized agony that was viciously fighting to reach the surface. The feeling was both frightening and familiar. She knew what happened next, and she couldn’t stop it. She could do nothing but succumb and let her body go limp.
It always stunned her how much harder it was to see the light of the sun when you’re sinking steadily to the bottom of the ocean.
Maybe coming here was a mistake. After all, there was only so much a view could do to combat the oncoming storm. Miles wasn’t around anyway, and she didn’t have the heart to call him. He shouldn’t have to deal with any of this anyway, it wasn’t his problem.
She was just about to stand up and head back to Nueva York, when—
“Gwen!”
At the sound of his voice, Gwen tensed, hunched posture straightening instantly. Swiftly, she wiped her cheeks, smearing a mixture of blood and tears onto the back of her gloves while Miles jogged over. She watched him in the corner of her eye, keeping her face forward with her injury hidden from view.
“Hey! I didn’t know you’d be visiting today, not that I’m complaining. How’s it going? Hobie said you’ve been out the compound a lot this week, hope Miguel isn’t working you too hard,” he chuckled as he took his usual place beside her. Gwen, meanwhile, was struggling to find her voice.
Apparently, she took too long to answer, because Miles was already leaning forward to study at her, and her eyes didn’t need to be focused on him for her to recognize the way his eyes widened.
“Holy shit! Gwen, what—"
Miles quickly grabbed her shoulder to get a better look, and Gwen hated the way the unexpected touch made her flinch. She hated the way her reaction made Miles’ face fall even more.
Ashamed, she went to apologize, but Miles beat her to it.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…I just—what happened?”
Gwen expelled a sigh through her nose. She considered not answering but decided against it. This was Miles, she was safe with him. “I was on an assignment.”
His brows furrowed. “Oh, mission gone wrong?”
“Uh…not exactly,” Gwen answered half-heartedly, casting her eyes down to stare at her hands.
She said nothing more, allowing the tentative silence to linger in the stead of further explanation. He technically already knew about Peter’s death, but he didn’t know the extent of the situation. He didn’t know that she did it. And she wasn’t sure she was ready to tell him that just yet. Still, she wanted to say something, if only to ease his concern and see if it relieved the ache in her chest, even a little.
Finally, she managed to rasp out, “It’s been three years.”
Next to her, Miles jolted slightly, as if surprised that she actually answered. Maybe he was. She admittedly didn’t talk about her feelings often (or at all, if possible). “Three years since what?”
The words “Since I killed my best friend” were on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t have the courage to say them. She instead responded with a simple, “Since Peter.”
And if the way Miles immediately froze in the corner of her vision was anything to go by, then those two words seemed to communicate the gravity of the situation perfectly well.
“Oh…I’m so sorry, Gwen. I had no idea.”
Neither did I, she thought bitterly but didn’t voice. “It’s ok,” she said instead, even though nothing about this situation was ok.
The look he shot her told her he knew that too, but he didn’t vocalize his disagreement. In her peripheral, she saw him shift closer, feeling the way his eyes traced the cut beneath her hairline.
“What happened to your face? Was it your target?”
Gwen shook her head, slowly to not agitate her wound. “No, a civilian threw a bottle at me. My spidey sense didn’t warn me in time.”
“Why would someone do that?” He asked, and it was cute, the way Gwen could so clearly hear the bewilderment in his voice, could see the confused furrow of his brows clear as day though she still wasn’t looking at him.
She let out a mirthless laugh. “Well, I’m a fugitive that’s wanted for murder there, so they’re not exactly my biggest fans—"
“Wait,” Miles interrupted, “a fugitive? Miguel sent you to Earth-65? Why the hell would he do that?”
He was mad now, and any other time she might’ve been flattered to have him angry on her behalf, but now Gwen barely held back a sigh.
“The anomaly was on my Earth and Miguel needed someone that was familiar with the universe to catch him as soon as possible. It was necessary for the mission.”
Her clarification only seemed to upset him more. “Screw the mission. He should’ve sent someone else, especially today.”
“He didn’t know.”
And that was true. Sure, Miguel knew what happened to Peter but he wasn’t privy to the exact date it happened, and even if he did, she doubted that would be more important to him than keeping the multiverse intact, which was fair in her mind.
Miles looked at her with a fire in his eyes. “But he knew what happened with your father. He knew that they would be hunting you, and he still sent you.”
“It’s fine, Miles,” she tried to assure him, but it came out limp, her tone betraying the exhaustion she felt. She didn’t feel like arguing. Not today.
“It isn’t,” he asserted firmly in return, but his demeanor softened soon after. He turned to the city before them for a moment, took a breath, then looked back at her. This time, she dug deep and summoned the courage to return his gaze.
When her eyes met his, he offered a small grin and for just a moment, a pang of warmth broke through the numbness that had settled beneath her skin.
“Look,” Miles started, softly and slowly as if afraid that he would scare her away if he spoke any louder, “you need to get your head checked out. I know you don’t do hospitals, but my mom can help. She's off today. I know she won’t mind.”
Gwen frowned. Her first instinct was to say no. The infirmary back at headquarters would suit her just fine, so there was no reason to bother his mother with this, especially on her day off. But she also didn’t want to leave now that Miles was here.
“I know what you’re thinking, and you won’t be a bother. My mom will be more than happy to help.” He stood, tugging his mask back down over his face, and outstretched a hand to her. “Please, Gwen, let us help you. Let me help you.”
With that, all resolve to refuse his offer dissolved. She couldn’t say no to him when he said things like that and pleaded with her with such astonishing tenderness, even now when it felt as if her world was crumbling. And the worst part was she suspected he had no idea about the catastrophic effect he had on her.
Wordlessly, she slipped her mask back on and took his hand, allowing him to pull her up. He steadied her before webbing a nearby building and swinging off, leaving her to follow his lead.
Her palms stung as they swung through the city, and Gwen clung to the feeling, used it to ground her to the moment at hand, both to make sure that she didn’t crash and injure herself further and to ensure that she didn’t worry Miles any more than she likely already had.
She followed him, steadfast, as they silently traveled across the city. Miles’ apartment complex came into view fifteen minutes later, a whole five minutes later than usual since she assumed they were going slow for her sake. They entered through the open window in Miles’ room and once she stepped inside, Miles cautiously wrapped a hand around her wrist, his touch light as a feather, and escorted her out into the living room.
Mrs. Morales was sitting on the couch watching tv when they entered, but the moment she saw Gwen, she was at their side. Miles’ guiding touch was replaced with his mother’s as she led Gwen to sit down while Miles fetched the medical supplies.
When Miles returned, Gwen started retreating back into her head. Mrs. Morales cleaned her cut, muttering distant apologies about the sting, but Gwen wasn’t feeling any of it, not really. Instead, she was thinking about May and Ben.
She prayed they weren’t spending the day alone, that her dad still found the strength to be there with them to grieve and make sure they were alright even after learning that his daughter was responsible for their nephew’s death. Gwen felt butterfly stitches being set methodically over her wound while she wondered if they had already visited his grave.
If they had, then hopefully her father had done her one final favor and picked up her usual arrangement—a mixture of white carnations and daffodils, an expression of her guilt and hope that Peter was somehow in a better place—and laid them on his grave beside theirs.
She hoped that her absence wasn’t too noticeable, that it didn’t ruin a day meant to commemorate the life of an incredible boy who deserved to be remembered without the burden of his murderer’s memory weighing on his loved ones. She hoped that their speeches at Peter’s grave didn’t falter when it was her turn to speak. She hoped that their stares didn’t linger on the empty chair she once occupied during dinner.
Most of all, she hoped that they might one day forgive her, even if she didn’t deserve it. Because after everything, she was still so incredibly selfish.
Her gloves were being pulled off as her thoughts turned to her father and the tangled web of emotions she felt for him. He raised his gun at her and essentially disowned her when she revealed herself to him, and that would never stop hurting.
But he was still her father, and she didn’t think that she would ever be able to stop loving him. It wasn’t as if his reaction to Gwen revealing her identity wasn’t warranted either. In the end, Gwen was everything he claimed her to be, and she only wished that the disappointment he felt upon realizing that abated with time.
Once her hands were disinfected and bandaged, she registered that someone was shaking her shoulder. She blinked back into awareness and was met with the earnest eyes of Miles’ mother.
“Hey, you’re all finished,” she said, giving Gwen a kind smile that she wished she had the energy to return.
Gwen blinked again and nodded. She couldn’t pull her lips into a smile, but she did manage to whisper a low, wholly sincere “thank you,” to which the woman just smiled wider.
Miles waited for his mother to move before he approached and recaptured his gentle hold on her wrist, pulling her to her feet and leading her back into his room. As they passed, his mom said something to him that Gwen didn’t quite catch, but he nodded back at her just before he shut the door behind them. She watched, restless and uncertain, as he shuffled past her to sit on his bed.
He gestured to the spot next to him, but she stayed rooted by the door, making him release a soft, but heavy sigh.
“Listen, you don’t need to talk to me about it if you don’t want to, but I’m here if you do. I just…I’m worried about you, Gwen.”
She was going to try and shrug it off, the deflection already sitting on the tip of her tongue, but the sincerity in his voice stopped her. The sheer amount of concern she saw reflected in his eyes as he looked at her made her falter, and against her better judgment, she started to consider it.
Within moments, a war waged itself within her, two sides of herself fighting a violent and bloody battle. On one hand, this could go so horribly wrong. She tried telling the truth once before, and it culminated in the only family she had severing ties with her. That same outcome could prevail now, and she didn’t think she could stand to lose yet another person that she cared about, especially since she didn’t have many of those these days.
But this was Miles. The second person she’d ever called a best friend, and the very first to almost maybe become…more than that. If there was anyone she could ever even think about telling, it would be him.
The internal conflict stretched on for minutes but in the end, her want to open up reigned victorious over her doubt, so she decided to give it a shot. To take a leap of faith, as Miles himself would say.
Making the conscious decision not to sit, Gwen traveled over to the open window. She wanted to be close to him, but she didn’t want to see his reaction to what she was about to say. So she leaned against the wall, directing her eyes to the foot traffic below as she started to speak.
“I lied to you when we first met. I told you that Peter was killed by a monster, but…I wasn’t talking about the Lizard.”
She swallowed roughly against the sudden dryness in her throat, arms crossing over her chest in a weak attempt to form a barrier between her and him. “Peter wasn’t killed by the Lizard; he was the Lizard. He made the formula because he wanted powers like mine, but I—I didn’t know it was him. So when I fought the Lizard, I didn’t pull my punches, I didn’t hold back at all, and I…” she hesitated but finished in a choked whisper, “I killed him.”
The moment the words left her mouth, shame crashed down on her like a powerful tidal wave, the force of which threatened to drag her back under the cold waves, but she fought back, not wanting to break down completely in front of Miles. Still, she ducked her head down, tucking her chin to her chest because she couldn’t face him after divulging her darkest secret to him. Cowardly as it was, she just couldn’t bear to see his face fall the way her father’s did all those months ago.
Footsteps approached and Gwen tensed in apprehension. She wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from Miles. Part of her anticipated a similar reaction to her father, while another, bigger part knew that wouldn’t happen. Miles would never, even vaguely, threaten any type of violence toward her. But would he yell? Or kick her out and ask her never to return? Maybe.
Either way, she was fully prepared for any anger, disappointment, and disgust thrown her way.
But none of that ever came. Instead, long arms wound around her figure, gently pulling her forward. Her cheek met the material of Miles’ suit was wearing while his hands splayed against her back, and she only then came to the embarrassingly overdue realization that he was hugging her.
As stupid as it sounded, Gwen didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t been expecting anything like this. Logically, the correct response would be to hug him back, but her limbs suddenly felt as if they were made of stone, so she just stood stiffly in his arms like a statue. But Miles didn’t call her out on it, he just held her.
When he spoke, she could feel the light rumble of his voice against her chest. The closest approximation to the sensation she could think of was that of a purring cat. It was nice.
“I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through, but I can tell you that you’re wrong. I know you better than most people in the multiverse and you are the furthest thing from a monster.” He paused for just a moment, then, “You’re one of the greatest people I’ve ever met, Gwen.”
The admission made her still in his arms. A mixture of surprise and mirth swirled in her gut, dusting her cheeks with what she hoped was a barely noticeable red tint. She shouldn’t have been surprised; Miles had always been far kinder than he ought to be, but a small part of her still thought that this would be too much for even him.
Apparently not.
But an underlying trepidation remained. What he just said was probably one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to her, but that didn’t necessarily make it true, even if he believed it to be. Her doubt lingered heavily still, planting seeds of skepticism in her mind.
As if sensing this, Miles continued, “I don’t care if you don’t believe me. You will, eventually. I’ll make sure of it. But until then, I wanna be there to support you however I can. And in order for me to do that, I need you to tell me things. I know you’re not huge on expressing your feelings, but I will never judge you, no matter what you say. Just talk to me from now on, okay?”
Gwen was still in utter disbelief. The fact that he wasn’t upset or angry in any way refused to sink in. Of course, if anyone was going to react like this—with such unabashed compassion and sympathy, of all things—it would be Miles, but it was still an almost startling display of kindness after witnessing her father’s reaction. A million different things ran through her mind, but the only response she could muster was a shakily whispered, “Okay.”
He hummed, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and murmured a, “Thank you,” into the space just above her ear, making her shiver.
Minutes passed before finally, Gwen unearthed the strength to wrap her limp arms around the taller boy and pull him closer, allowing his warmth to seep into her very bones and melt the ice beneath her skin.
Slowly, all the tension built up within her bled away, and she fully leaned into the embrace, pressing her cheek further into his shoulder. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she squeezed them shut, unsure whether or not she should have been embarrassed by that.
This was such a normal display of physical affection that it did feel somewhat foolish for her to be getting so worked up over it, but it had been so long since anyone had held her in this way.
The last hug she’d received was from her dad months ago on the day she fled Earth-65, but it was different with Miles, the disparate emotions granting the way their personal space melded together a unique type of intimacy. Something unfamiliar but better than anything she had ever imagined.
Or, more accurately, it was better than anything Gwen had tried her hardest not to imagine.
This special bond forged between her and Miles had been on the cusp of evolving into something beyond the bounds of friendship for a while now. They were partners in (stopping) crime, best friends with a hint of something more on the horizon, but Gwen constantly held back because she wasn’t sure how that would turn out. That’s why they remained just on the precipice because Gwen wasn’t sure if they’d both land on their feet if they went over the edge.
And moreover, she wasn’t entirely sure if she was deserving of someone as fundamentally good as Miles. But now that she had gotten a taste, she wanted more, yearned for it, even.
Gwen was selfish, after all, but this was one of the rare instances where she felt no real shame for it. She just squeezed him tighter.
They stayed like that for what seemed like a while, but she wasn’t sure exactly how long. At some point, Miles tried to pull back. He only managed to take half a step back before Gwen pulled him right back into her, grip tightening.
“Don’t let go yet,” she mumbled, eyes still closed. “Please.”
Miles nodded quickly, his chin rubbing against the side of her head as he reaffirmed his hold on her. “I’ll be here as long as you need me to be.”
And he did. He stayed right there, holding her in his arms while Gwen basked in it. She felt a bit bad, holding him hostage like this, but it had been so long since she’d felt such a soft, tender display of physical affection. It made her feel something she hadn’t felt in a while.
Loved.
It only made her hug him tighter, pulling him ever closer to eliminate any remaining space between them. He responded by dragging one hand up and down the expanse of her back with the same fervor.
She would thank him later and make sure he knew how much this meant to her, she swore she would, but right now, she just wanted to enjoy this, to stay here in this moment for as long as the universe—or rather, Miles would allow.
(The pain wasn’t gone, not entirely, but the thought of Peter in this moment didn’t bring her anguish. Because she wasn’t envisioning the boy whose life she stole, she was envisioning her best friend, whom she loved more than life itself and who loved her just the same. He had always wanted the best for her, for her to find happiness. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but she thought he would want this, that he might even be happy for her if he were here.
And if she focused hard enough, she could almost picture him smiling down at her.)
She knew her hardships weren’t over. Navigating the rapidly shifting and turning tides of this forlorn, grief-filled ocean would likely be something she had to do for the rest of her life, but maybe it would be a little easier with Miles at her side.
Perhaps it would be less onerous to resist being pulled under with him rooting her feet to the shore and making sure she didn’t drown, like an anchor.
Like her lifeline.