I land in front of the Oscorp building, Dr. Connors limp in my arms. The group is already waiting. I set him down gently against a cracked pillar, then turn to them.
"I'm glad to see everyone's alright."
Gwen rushes to me without hesitation, throwing her arms around my chest, holding tight. I'm grateful she and Felicia kept their masks on, even through everything. Things got bad—but not bad enough to risk that.
"Pete—" She catches herself, hands flying up to her mouth. She steadies her voice. "Spider-Man. You're okay. You actually... you saved everyone."
I rub the back of my head, suddenly sheepish. "Well... I literally couldn't have done it without all of you."
I glance at the rest of the group. Felicia's quiet. Her head lowers just slightly, and for a second, I wonder—if she wasn't wearing that mask, would I see her blush?
"Da! We saved your two fans—or your women? Eh, same thing!" Rhino bellows. "We should celebrate! Drinks!"
Gargan leans his battered suit against the wall. "I vote we take a ten-month nap."
Maxwell steps forward, awkward as ever. "We, uh... we took care of the bomb. All those people... they're safe. So. Yeah..."
He trails off, and for a moment, I see that same version of him from the day we first met. Nervous. Overlooked. Good.
Vulture scoffs. "Would've been nice if there weren't three seconds left before we all went kaboom."
Maxwell snaps back. They start bickering again as I turn back to Gwen, pulling her close.
"It's over," I say softly. "Really over this time."
She nods. "Now all that's left... is picking up the pieces."
I nod back, letting the weight of it settle for just a moment.
Then: "Hey, wait a minute." Vulture's voice cuts through. "Where's Octavius?"
"Da, was he not with you, Spider?" Rhino asks.
I look down. The words don't come easy. "He's... Well—"
"Dead?" Gargan cuts in, his tone casual. "Yeah, well. What's a suicide mission without some death?"
"He didn't just die," I say, my voice firmer now. "If it weren't for him... we wouldn't have been able to stop any of this. We'd all be one of those goblins. He made sure that didn't happen."
Silence.
"I will drink two bottles in his honor!" Rhino announces, pounding a fist against his chest. "Doctor Octopus shall not have died in vain!"
Doctor Octopus.
Why didn't I think of that?
"I'll drink to that," Gargan mumbles.
Felicia's voice cuts through next. Quiet, serious. "What about Norman? Did you... kill him?"
"No."
"What?!" Vulture snaps, stepping forward. "You didn't kill that psycho?"
"Then where is he?" Maxwell asks. Everyone's watching me now.
"Follow me," I say.
We move through the wreckage, back toward the place I left him. The nightmare he started—it's over. For real this time. At least, it should be.
But something gnaws at the back of my mind. A creeping, ugly feeling crawling up my spine.
Should I have killed him?
We round the final corner. This is it.
This is where I left him.
The massive crater carved into the ground is still there—raw, deep, silent.
But it's empty.
Gwen is already watching me, trying to read my face through the mask.
No.
No.
No no no no no no—
"Uh..." Gargan breaks the silence. "Are we supposed to be looking at something?"
"I see nothing," Rhino says, squinting. "Maybe he is invisible?"
My whole body starts shaking. My hands tremble, chest tight, breath coming short.
He was here. I webbed him up. I left him here.
Now he's gone.
"No," I whisper. "No..."
"You said he was here!" Vulture shouts, stepping closer, furious. "Where is he?!"
Gwen grabs my hand, pulling me back to her. Grounding me.
I blink fast, eyes darting between the crater and Toomes' glare. "I... I don't know..."
"Hey." Gwen cups my face in her hands. Her voice is soft, but steady. "It's okay. We're okay. He got away, yeah—but you saved the city. And you will find him. I know you will."
And then it hits me. Hard.
"Harry."
My voice drops. I turn to Gwen, then Felicia. I don't want to leave them—not now, not after everything—but I don't have a choice.
"Go," Gwen says, already knowing. "We'll be fine. I'll wait right here."
I nod, eyes flicking to Felicia. She says nothing, but I can feel it—she understands.
"Mr. Spider-Man?"
I turn. It's Virgil, his voice small.
"I-I never th-thanked you. For... all of it. You saved us. I just... I hope you know how thankful I—we all are."
I manage a breath. "Don't thank me yet," I say, shooting a webline. "Not until we have Norman."
Then I'm gone—into the sky, across the broken skyline.
Toward Harry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I smash through a window making my way back into the Oscorp building, I don't recognize the floor, so I keep moving until I find a stairwell and head down to where I'd left Harry.
The gas covered the entire city, so he must've turned back.
He must've.
Every step I take, every corner I turn, I feel my heart rate beginning to beat just a little faster, just a little harder as I'm not sure what I'll see when I finally reach him.
It isn't long until I find the hall that we first ran into the goblin, then the elevator shaft he dropped us down...Harry should be down there...just a little further.
I drop down the shaft landing smoothly, I see the wall I'd punched him into.
There he is...
He's...
For a moment I want to take my mask off.
I want to see him with my own eyes.
But I know better.
He's still trapped in the webbing I'd placed him in, still unconscious sleeping as if he hadn't a worry in the world.
Wouldn't that be nice?
I kneel down in front of him, taking in just how sickly he looks compared to the last time I'd seen him. When he was talking about saving his father, I clench my teeth at the thought of Norman.
How he used Harry.
How he used everyone he'd ever met, and for what?
To turn everyone into a bunch of monsters?
That's what he wanted to use his power for? His knowledge? Norman had the potential to do amazing things for this world, he kept saying I didn't understand...but I do.
He wanted to take whatever he pleased, and he didn't care about who he hurt to get there.
I pull the webbing off of Harry, and suddenly his eyes are open...but they're...
"Who—?! What is this?!" He shouts suddenly, and he shoves me away, and I don't know how but I'm sent flying skidding across the floor away from him.
He's breathing heavily as if he's not even sure how he just did that...for that matter—neither am I. "I—I'm not here to hurt you, I just—"
"Where's my father?! What happened..." He takes in his surroundings, looking at the ruined office space we're in. "What is this...? What is...?" Harry's voice trails off as he begins to breathe harder, and I'm afraid he might have a panic attack.
I inch closer to him, still reeling from how he shoved me earlier...maybe a side effect of the serum Norman used on him. I could only hope that it didn't last. "Look...everything's okay now...a lots happened, and—and I'm sure you have a lot of—"
"Just stay back! Stay away!" He shouts, inching back from me until his back touched the wall.
The look of confusion and fear in his eyes sting me for a moment, I can't help him.
Not as Spider-Man.
Should I...? No, that'd be crazy.
But as I look into his eyes I can't help but wonder...how many times have I failed him now?
So many.
I sigh.
This is stupid right?
What I'm thinking is stupid.
It's not smart.
Anyone would tell me that.
I shouldn't do this...but...
Without thinking any further, I lift the broken mask off of my face, setting it aside with a soft clang.
I look into Harry's widening eyes, and he looks into mine.
And for a moment there's no sound, no shocked gasps or any words to describe how either of us are feeling in this moment.
Just me and him.
"Pe-Peter?" He says softly, like he can't believe what he's seeing. "I-I don't understand. What is this? Why are you here?" His eyes trail down to the tinted yellow glowing spider emblem on my chest, and it looks as if he's connecting the pieces in his head. "You're...You're Spider-Man, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am." I say simply, not sure what else to say. Not sure if I even have the right to say anything.
He looks at me, and finally the fear in his eyes drop, replaced by something I can't describe. "I can't believe this. You...You've been hiding this for so long. How could I have not seen it?" He says, half chuckling. "Then...does that mean you know about...my father? The truth?"
I stare down, unsure of how to tell him of everything that's happened since he was turned into one of those things. "Harry, we have a lot we need to talk about. But right now, it's your father that I need to find. He's out there, and he's...he's dangerous."
Harry looks as if he understands, knows that what his father has become...is far beyond anyone's help. "Where is he...where is my father?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ONE MONTH LATER...
It's been a while since we managed to turn the city back. The serum's effects were reversed. The monsters became human again. But New York... New York was never going to be the same.
The city remained in a state of emergency. The damage ran too deep.
Every day, more bodies are pulled from the rubble. Families ripped apart. Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters—gone. Victims of a nightmare they never asked to be a part of.
The villains who helped me save this city? They all went back to their cells. Willingly. That used to be an easy thing for me to ignore. They were killers, monsters, criminals. But... they helped us. In the end, they chose to do the right thing. And I couldn't help but feel something I never thought I'd feel for them: sympathy.
Otto Octavius's body was cremated. His ashes handed off to a niece who lived two states over. The irony of it—someone who likely barely knew him now holds what's left of him.
The cleanup is projected to take at least a year—probably longer—before we even resemble anything close to "normal." Most people left. Can't say I blame them.
But some stayed. Because it's their home. Because they're New Yorkers.
Virgil was one of the ones who left. After everything Norman did to him... after what he became... I think he just couldn't look at this place anymore. He left me his number and vanished. I hope he knows how grateful I am. Wherever he is, I hope he found peace.
May... she's still recovering. Peacefully. She slept through most of it, and in some twisted way, I'm thankful. She didn't have to see what Norman turned our world into. She didn't have to see the bodies. The blood. The fire.
Gwen? She's grounded until she's twenty-five, probably. Her mom was furious when she found out she snuck out of the safe zone. Honestly? Rightfully so. Mrs. Stacy let me stay with them for a while after our place was destroyed. But not before giving us both the most painfully awkward talk about boundaries in a relationship. That's a speech I hope to never endure again.
We offered Felicia a spot there too, but she turned it down. Said she needed to stay at her own place in case her father showed up. It hadn't been touched in the chaos, luckily. She'd spent so long looking after my family... I think she needed time to take care of hers.
So I helped. Most days, we searched together—shelters, police stations, hospitals. Even Connor showed up now and then to lend a hand. I think he might have a bit of a thing for Felicia, not that she notices. But her father? Still no word. Not even a trace. Not even her cats.
Harry and I... we're better now. He promised to keep my secret. And honestly, it feels good. Like I'm finally untangling the web of lies I'd been caught in for years. Little by little, I'm letting people in. And it's scary, but freeing.
Despite everything his father did, Oscorp is still standing. Harry's using the company to fund rebuilding efforts across the city. Brick by brick, block by block, he's trying to make things right. I can respect that.
Even J. Jonah Jameson's been doing his part. Instead of ranting about Spider-Man, he's been working with the police to organize supply drops and reunite families. Never thought I'd say this, but... I kinda respect the guy now.
A lot of our classmates are still missing. But there's a pocket of survivors who set up a small community. Flash, Liz, Charlie—they're all there, sharing food and stories. Flash and I still aren't friends. But seeing them alive? It feels like finding a part of myself again.
But there's still one name on everyone's mind.
One ghost none of us can outrun.
Norman Osborn.
He escaped. Slipped away in the fire, or the smoke, or maybe through a hole none of us noticed. I don't know. But he's out there. Still dangerous.
Most nights, I wake up in a cold sweat. Wondering if he's watching. Waiting. Planning his next move.
The world knows now. Norman Osborn—CEO of Oscorp—is the Green Goblin. He has nowhere left to hide. But that doesn't help me sleep any easier.
"Peter," a soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. "You're doing that thing again with your face."
I turn, and Gwen's smiling gently.
"What thing?"
"The thing where I know you're thinking about a bunch of dark and depressing stuff instead of enjoying being here with me."
She leans her head on my shoulder, her arm hooked through mine.
"Well... we are in dark and depressing times."
She squeezes my arm a little tighter. "Yeah. True. But we're still here. You and me."
"We're stuck like glue," I say with a small smile.
She looks up at me and grins. "You're still really cute when you say cheesy things."
"Hey, you're the one who came up with that," I shoot back.
"So? I'm allowed to say cheesy things. And you're not allowed to point it out because I have cute-and-adorable privileges."
"So then what happened to my cuteness privileges?"
"It's gone until you get all that dark and broody stuff out of your head," she says, poking my forehead.
"Fine. I'm done." I pull her closer.
Gwen picks at my jeans, her fingers tracing the worn denim. Then she looks up again, her eyes more serious now. "Do you... remember what you said right before everything happened? Before the gas started leaking into the city?"
I think back. That moment before the chaos began. The goodbye. The promise. "Yeah?"
"You said you had something to tell me, and—"
"Oh, I was just gonna tell you I was Spider-Man. But that cat's out of the bag."
She gives a soft laugh. "No, not that. After. You said you'd tell me everything when you got back. But then you turned around... like you were gonna say something else. And I stopped you."
A blush creeps across my face. "Oh. That."
"Yeah. That."
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. A call from Harry.
"Sorry," I mutter, pulling it out. "One second."
I answer. "Hey, man. Not exactly the best tim—"
"He's here."
My heart sinks.
He doesn't have to say who.
I already know.
"Harry... where are you?"
"I'm at the old pier. 48th and 12th. Please, Peter. Hurry."
Then the line goes dead.
I stand. Gwen's face tightens with concern. "Is everything okay?"
"I need you to go inside. Lock all the doors. Don't let anyone in. No matter what."
"Peter, you're scaring me. What's going on?"
"I don't have time to explain. It's Norman. He's got Harry. I have to go."
I kneel in front of her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm going to stop him. For good this time. So he can't hurt anyone else ever again."
"What... what do you mean by that?"
I don't answer. I lift her gently and leap from the roof, landing in her driveway. She follows close behind, her voice shaking. "Peter, what do you mean 'for good?'"
I turn, but she grabs my wrist, tight.
"Don't go. Not until you tell me what you're planning. Are you going to kill him? Is that it?"
I exhale slowly, my hands trembling at my sides. "Gwen... that man—no, that monster—has done nothing but bring pain into our lives. He's killed and killed and killed until there was almost nothing left. And I—I can't let him walk away again. He doesn't deserve to live."
My fists are clenched so tight I can't feel my fingers anymore.
"Peter..." Gwen's voice softens, the edge of a tear clinging to her lashes. "I agree. Norman's done things that are beyond unforgivable. But you shouldn't be the one to carry this. Not you."
I look into her eyes, searching for something—anything—that makes sense. "Why not me? Why not me? I'm the one who's failed to stop him time and time again. I'm the one who should stop him."
She shakes her head, and now the tears fall freely. "Because you're good, Peter. You're good in a way most people can't even begin to understand. You've been through hell. Things no one should ever survive. And yet you still choose to do what's right, even when it tears you apart. That's what makes you different."
She grips my hand, tight and trembling. "If you kill him... even someone like Norman... I know you. You'll never forgive yourself. You'll carry it. Forever. And it'll destroy you."
Her voice cracks. "So don't do this. Don't let him take that from you, too."
She's right. I know she's right.
But even still...
If that's the cost to make sure he never hurts anyone else—then maybe it's a price I'm willing to pay.
"I have to go," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
She nods slowly, wiping at her eyes. "Yeah. I know. You always do."
And then she gives me a smile. Fragile. Heartbreaking.
"So you be sure to bring my Peter back to me... Spider-Man."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It doesn't take long to reach the docks.
I land hard—knees bent, breath shallow—but it's the silence that throws me off.
There's no wind, no creak of shifting wood or hum of passing boats. Just stillness. The kind that presses in from all sides and makes the hair on your arms stand up.
I call Harry again.
No answer.
Again.
Voicemail.
"Come on, come on, please pick up."
Still nothing.
I text Felicia on the way—"Go to Gwen. Don't ask. Just stay with her. Please."
She replies a minute later:
"On my way."
Good. That's... something. At least Gwen won't be alone.
May should still be safe. The hospital she's in was locked down after the attacks. If Norman wanted her, he would've made a move by now.
Still... I can't stop imagining the worst. Not tonight. Not after everything.
I move deeper into the pier—past rusted shipping containers and half-submerged loading ramps. Water laps softly against the concrete. Still no sign of anyone.
But then I hear it.
A sound like metal on metal. Chains shifting.
A low, broken sob.
I rush toward it, weaving through the darkness until I see him—Harry.
He's strung up by thick, rusted chains bolted into the sides of a freight crane. His face is smeared in red, his shirt torn and clinging to him with sweat. But the blood...
It isn't his.
"Harry!"
He flinches at the sound of my voice. His eyes are swollen, wild, trembling.
"Peter," he breathes. "Oh God... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to—I didn't know what else to—"
"Hey, hey," I climb up the crane's structure and reach for the chains. "It's okay, I've got you—"
"No!" he shouts, panic breaking through. "No, don't! Don't untie me!"
I stop, confused.
"Harry, what are you talking about?! We need to get out of here—what the hell happened?"
He sobs harder now. His whole body convulsing like it can't hold the weight of whatever he's carrying.
"He made me bring you here."
My stomach drops.
"What?"
"My dad. He made me call you. He forced me too! He just... he wanted you here, Peter. He planned all of this."
I feel ice settling in my veins.
"For what?!" I snap. "What does he want from me now?!"
Harry's eyes meet mine—red, drowning in shame.
"He wanted you to choose."
"What do you mean?" I whisper, but even as I ask, I feel something inside me already screaming.
I get no answer. Harry just cries harder, like he can't bear to say it out loud. "Peter, he...he wanted you to come here, so that you wouldn't be there."
I can feel my heart beginning to race louder and faster. "Where?! Tell me where?!" I shout, shaking his shoulders.
Harry's eyes are full of guilt, and shame. "I'm sorry. God...oh god."
I freeze.
Every thought in my head shatters like glass.
So that you wouldn't be there. His words echo in my mind with a terrifying realization.
"No," I whisper. The word barely escapes my mouth. I'm already backing away from the crane. Already pulling out my phone. Calling Gwen. Calling Felicia. Nothing. Straight to voicemail.
Harry's voice cracks behind me. "He told me it was the only way. That if I didn't do it, he'd kill more people."
The house.
Gwen's house.
I need to be there. Now.
I free Harry, but I don't take a second longer to talk as I bolt from the pier, swinging faster than I've ever moved in my life.
Every second is a scream. My body feels like it's coming apart from the inside out. All I can hear is Gwen's laugh in my head. Her smile. Her voice the moment I saw her again after five months.
And I wasn't there.
I wasn't there.
When I reach her neighborhood, I don't land.
I crash.
Glass rains down as I slam through the front window, shoulder-first.
The house is in ruins—blown inward, smoke curling out of every open window. The floor's scorched black and littered with broken pictures, scorched furniture, and dust thick as fog. The smell of gunpowder and blood punches me in the gut.
"Felicia?" I choke out, coughing through the smoke. "Gwen?!"
Movement. A body stirs.
Felicia's half-conscious, slumped near the stairs. Blood trickles down the side of her face. Her arm's bent wrong.
"Felicia!" I slide beside her. She groans, eyelids fluttering.
"I tried," she mumbles. "I tried to keep her safe… He—he came outta nowhere."
Behind her, I spot Arthur—Gwen's younger brother—collapsed against the hallway wall, legs cut up from debris. And Helen Stacy, barely breathing, pinned beneath part of the doorframe.
None of them know who I am.
I never should've stayed with them.
I start to lift Felicia when I see it.
The message.
On the wall.
Painted in long, wet streaks of crimson.
"YOU CAN'T PROTECT WHAT YOU CAN'T HOLD."
Below it: an address. Written in blood.
My hand shakes as I read it. My throat clenches so tight I can barely breathe.
I know the spot. An old clock tower—abandoned—downtown. No guards. No witnesses. Just high enough to make you feel helpless.
Just high enough to fall.
I whisper Gwen's name.
And then I'm gone.
—
The city is quiet.
But my blood is a siren screaming in my ears.
I reach the clock tower in less than three minutes, but it feels like I've aged years.
Every rooftop, every alley, every shadow makes my chest tighten.
The building looms above me like a corpse frozen in time. Cracked windows. Stone gargoyles worn down by wind. Rusted gears tick somewhere deep inside, slow and steady. The sound is haunting.
I land on the rooftop, and the world falls out from under me.
She's there.
Gwen.
Her wrists are bound in front of her, duct tape smeared with ash and blood. Her knees tremble as she stands at the edge of the bell platform, wind whipping her hair. Her eyes lock with mine instantly.
They widen.
They water.
"Peter," she breathes.
And behind her, emerging from the shadows of the tower's gears—like some twisted phantom of who he once was—comes Norman Osborn.
He's barely a man anymore.
His suit is gone. His skin is pale, almost translucent, slicked with sweat. His eyes are sunken, wild and unfocused, like something broke inside and never healed.
He wears nothing but torn, soot-stained clothes—rags that cling to him like ghosts—and across his chest and waist, strapped with wires and triggers, are half a dozen pumpkin bombs. His glider sits parked behind him, still humming with a low, hungry whine.
He doesn't speak.
He just watches me.
Like he's waiting to see what breaks first.
My heart is shattering in real time.
I step forward, hands trembling. "Norman… please," I say, my voice barely working. "Please, just stop this. It's over. You're cured. You don't have to do this anymore."
He doesn't answer.
He doesn't even blink.
His lips are cracked, unmoving.
Like whatever part of him that used to be a person—used to be a father, a man, human—burned out in the fire and never came back.
Gwen's voice breaks the silence.
She's crying, but still trying to keep her voice steady. "Peter," she whispers. "It's okay. I'm okay."
"No. No, you're not—" I take another step. "You don't have to say that. I'm here. I'm gonna get you down."
"You can't," Norman rasps. His voice is hoarse, brittle, like it scrapes against his own throat. "She's not yours to save. Not this time."
"Why?" My voice cracks like ice underfoot. "Why her? What did she ever do to you?!"
"She loved you," he says.
And I don't know what part of me dies first when I hear that.
He looks at Gwen like she's an idea. Not a person. Like a word carved into his skull.
"She believed in you. Even after everything. She looked at you the way my son used to look at me. Like you could fix anything. Like you mattered." His head tilts. "That's the part I wanted to break."
Gwen's crying harder now, but still standing tall. Still trying to be brave.
Still trying to protect me.
"Peter," she whispers. "You have to breathe. Just breathe, okay? You're shaking."
"I can't lose you," I whisper, voice choking out. "Please. Please, Gwen, I can't—"
"I know."
She says it so soft, so small. It breaks something ancient in me.
Norman steps closer to her. I move instantly, but he jerks one hand toward the bombs and I stop cold. He doesn't even flinch. It's like he wants me to push him. Like he wants to go out in a blaze.
"Do it," I say. "Take me. Whatever you want. I'll go. Just let her walk away."
He smiles.
But there's no joy in it.
No madness.
Just emptiness.
"I already took you," he says.
And then he presses a button.
The bombs on his chest don't explode. Instead, the glider behind him shoots forward—straight into Gwen.
She screams as it crashes into the platform beneath her.
The whole edge of the tower gives way.
And she falls.
—
The second the glider hits, everything slows.
I scream her name.
The platform shatters beneath her. Stone and wood and rusted gears give out with a mechanical shriek, and Gwen falls—arms flailing, eyes wide, hair catching the wind like wings.
I dive without thinking.
The air howls past me as I plummet. My fingers twitch, ready to shoot a web, but she's so far, too far—
No, no, no—
I've done this before. I've saved people. I've caught cars, buses. I've held up buildings. Pulled friends out of fire. I've done this before.
But this time…
This time it's her.
And she's not a stranger. Not a civilian. She's not just "someone." She's Gwen. My Gwen.
And suddenly I'm not Spider-Man.
I'm Peter Parker.
Just a kid in a red mask.
Chasing the only thing that's ever made me feel okay.
And somewhere—somewhere in this fall—my mind drifts. Not away from her. Never away from her. But into something that lives at the bottom of my ribs. Something I've never said out loud, because maybe it hurts too much.
Being Spider-Man is like holding your breath all the time.
You're always waiting. Always braced for the worst. You tell yourself you can do it. That it's worth it. That the bruises and the blood and the silence that eats away your friendships, your family, your life… that it all means something.
But it doesn't feel like that now.
Not when I'm watching the one person I've ever truly loved fall through the sky like she was never mine to hold.
Not when I still haven't said it.
Not when all I've ever wanted was a moment—just one—where I could hold her without the worries of my other life haunting me without end.
I shoot the web.
It snakes out. Perfect aim. Perfect shot. It hits her lower back, just like I've trained. Just like I've done a hundred times.
But I'm too fast. Or maybe the web is too sudden. Maybe it's the angle. Maybe it's just fate being cruel in the only language it knows.
There's a snap.
A horrible, sharp sound that echoes louder than the wind.
She jerks in the air.
Then hangs limp.
Everything in me goes still.
My momentum swings me down to her seconds later. I reach out, catching her in my arms, pulling her close like maybe I can undo it by holding her tighter. Like maybe I can just pretend she's sleeping. Her eyes are closed. There's blood at the corner of her mouth.
"Gwen," I whisper.
She doesn't answer.
I press my forehead to hers, rocking slightly. My whole body is shaking. "Please. Please, say something. Please—"
Her lips part.
I swear I see her mouth form it.
Three little words.
Like they were sitting on her tongue the whole time.
"I lo—"
And then she's gone.
Gone.
She's gone.
My Gwen….My Gwen….
…is gone.
She's still warm in my arms.
Still.
But not breathing.
Not moving.
My chest tightens with something I don't have a name for—because grief doesn't hit all at once. It comes in fragments.
In disbelief. In little whispers telling you to shake her harder, call her name again. That maybe this time, she'll open her eyes.
But she doesn't.
She doesn't.
A sound rises from behind me.
A laugh.
Broken and hoarse. Cackling and unhinged.
Norman Osborn, crouched on his glider at the ledge above, his ribs heaving with exhausted glee. His skin is waxy, pale.
Sweaty rags cling to his frame, and blood cakes the edges of his face, his arms, his mouth. Bomb belts dangle around him, half spent. He looks like a ghost that climbed out of its grave.
But he's smiling. Howling.
He's laughing.
"I didn't honestly believe that she'd die like that, I mean, I feel like it's better this way. That way now I don't really have anything to use against you, well, there is your other friends I suppose. And that poor aunt of yours hiding in that hospital." he gasps between choking chuckles, arms spread like a twisted preacher. "You can't save them all, Peter! You can't ever win!"
Something inside me snaps.
I lay Gwen down. Gently. I brush her hair from her face and close her eyes.
Then I rise.
My breath shallow. My blood pounding.
And I leap.
I hit the rooftop like a bullet, swinging straight into him before he can even scream. He crashes onto the concrete with a grunt, the glider sputtering and spinning off to the side. I don't wait for words.
My fists crash down.
Once. Twice. Again. Again.
His face bends beneath my knuckles. Blood sprays.
He tries to speak, and I break his teeth.
There's no style. No control. I'm not Spider-Man right now. I'm not a hero. I'm not a boy. I'm not anything but pain in motion.
You took her. You took her. You took her.
You took Captain Stacy.
You ruined Harry.
You ruined everything.
And suddenly, I don't care. I don't care what happens to you. I don't care what I become.
You deserve this.
I draw back my fist one last time, his face barely a face anymore. He's choking. Twitching. He's done. He's nothing. All I have to do is finish it.
One punch.
That's all.
Just one more.
But then—
Her voice.
Faint. A memory. Homecoming.
"You asked me why you? Sure, you're smart and talented and sweet. But what really stands out is how, no matter what you go through, you stay you. You keep moving forward… usually with a dumb joke. And I love that."
I freeze.
My fist trembles above Norman's head.
Her voice doesn't stop. It floods me now.
The way she looked at me like I was something more than just a kid in a mask.
The way she touched my face like she was seeing all of me—the broken, the scared, the hopeful.
The way I never got to tell her how I really felt.
A scream rips from my chest.
I stagger off of him, choking on the air, sobbing so hard it makes me shake. My hands are covered in blood. My mask is gone. My whole body hurts. But nothing hurts like this.
Killing him won't fix it.
It won't bring her back. It won't undo any of it.
It would only bury what little of her I have left.
Because if I do this—
If I kill him—
Then maybe he wins.
I stumble back from Norman's broken body. He coughs, blood drooling from his mouth, barely conscious.
I look at him. I mean really look at him.
There's nothing left. No monster. No goblin. No mastermind.
Just a hollow man, rotted from the inside out.
He didn't win.
He never won.
He just took everything down with him.
And now all I can do… is make sure I don't follow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
FELICIA
I don't even shut the door after I steal the car.
Their house was already half-gone, Arthur bleeding from his shoulder, Helen not waking up. I just grabbed the keys and peeled out. Didn't think. Couldn't.
The road blurs. I don't even feel the wheel in my hands. I keep dialing Peter, even though I know he won't answer. My throat's tight the whole way there. I keep thinking—I don't know, maybe I'll find him webbing down from some rooftop, pissed off but okay.
But when I turn the corner—
There he is.
Walking down the middle of the street like a ghost. Holding something in his arms.
No.
Someone.
I pull over so fast I scrape the curb. Throw the door open. I'm already running.
"Peter?!"
He doesn't look up.
"Peter!" My voice cracks so hard it hurts. But I keep running.
And when I get close enough to see her—
I freeze.
It's Gwen.
Her body's limp. Her hair's matted. Blood trailing down the side of her mouth.
She's not… she's not moving.
He's holding her so gently. Like she's glass. Like he's afraid she'll fall apart if he blinks.
"W-what happened?" My voice barely comes out. "Peter—what happened?!"
He doesn't answer right away. Doesn't even meet my eyes.
"I left him," he says. "Norman. He's still there. Tied up. You should call the cops."
That's it. Just those words. Flat and dead.
And then he walks past me.
Like I'm not even here.
Like nothing is.
I just stand there on the sidewalk. Watching the boy I know—the one who jokes through bruised ribs, who shows up even when he shouldn't, who used to argue with me over the dumbest stuff—walk away like he's got nothing left to give.
He'd come to me so many times before to help patch him up after every fight, he'd always look so messed up. So beaten down. But every time like clockwork he'd get back up and do what he needed to do.
This time…I don't think I can fix what this fight took from him.
I look at Gwen.
I liked her. More than I ever said. She was smart, and sweet, and never treated me like some lost cause. She always looked out for Peter, always believed in him.
And now she's gone.
Tears start spilling out before I even notice. I wipe them away fast, but it doesn't stop. I'm crying and I don't even care who sees.
I hate this.
I hate him—Norman—for doing this.
But most of all, I hate how bad it hurts to see Peter like that. Like there's nothing behind his eyes anymore. Like he broke.
And I don't say it out loud. I don't even think I ever meant to say it at all.
But there it is, sitting in my chest like a secret I didn't ask for.
I love him.
I don't know when it happened. Maybe it was always there, under everything else. Maybe it just hurts more now because I know he's never going to be the same again.
Neither of us will.
And the worst part?
I think he'd rather be dead than still breathing without her.