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***
"Well, I guess you finally figured out my dark secret," Gwen said, glancing down at the saxophone in her hands with an expression that mixed embarrassment and amusement. "I'm a band geek."
She adjusted her glasses in a nervous gesture, the Midtown High marching band uniform doing exactly what she feared it would do: screaming "Super NERD" in giant letters to anyone who looked. Gwen felt like a walking billboard for everything that was considered unpopular in high school... even more than usual.
'I hope Peter doesn't come.' The thought crossed her mind before she could stop it. Not that she actually wanted him to stay away. It was always nice to have Peter around. But Gwen wanted him to see her looking pretty, the way Liz Allan always seemed to be — impeccable, confident, with that natural glow that drew attention. Or like Mary Jane Watson, who could make even the simplest clothes look like something straight out of a fashion magazine.
Gwen just wanted Peter to look at her and think "Wow." Not "There's my nerdy friend," which would certainly happen if he showed up today. 'If Peter sees me like this, I'll die of embarrassment.'
"I don't know why, but I kind of expected something like this from you," Eddie commented with a lazy smile before lifting his head, watching the balloons drift above them. Despite the chilly end-of-year air, he wore only a black T-shirt, tight enough to highlight his athletic build. The shirt had no visible brand or print, but there was something strangely familiar about it — the cut, the style, the way it fit across his shoulders.
Gwen frowned for a moment, trying to pinpoint what bothered her about that piece of clothing, until she realized: it looked exactly like the one Peter had worn a few days ago.
'What a coincidence...' she thought, brushing the observation aside when Eddie placed a hand on her shoulder, starting to guide her out of the crowd.
"So, did you see Peter today?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
"No," Gwen replied, allowing herself to be led while wondering where exactly her friend was taking her. Not that it mattered much — any kind of distraction would be welcome to ease the nervousness she was feeling in these minutes before the parade began. Her fingers were sweating against the metal of the saxophone, and she had already rehearsed the song in her head about fifteen times.
"So he didn't bother to show up? I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Peter's always been like that, right? Shows up when it's convenient and disappears when people need him."
Gwen felt a stab of irritation at the mocking tone in Eddie's voice when he spoke about Peter. "He's probably visiting May at the hospital." The defense came instantly, before she could think. "She's not well, Eddie. You know that." Gwen quickened her pace to keep up with him, sidestepping a family with small children. "It's okay. Anyway, I'm glad you're here."
"This doesn't change the fact that he should be there," Eddie insisted, his voice heavy with disapproval. "Peter should be supporting the girl he likes. It's the bare minimum, don't you think?"
"Oh..." Gwen felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She adjusted her glasses again nervously, feeling butterflies in her stomach at the idea. "I hope that's true—" She cut herself off mid-sentence, horrified by what she had almost let slip. 'What did I just say out loud?! Oh my god!' She was going to die. She was going to die of embarrassment right there, in the middle of the street, before the parade even started.
Desperate to cover up what she had said and her embarrassment, Gwen turned her face to the side, her mind already scrambling for some lame excuse to fix the mistake — when she noticed something strange.
She was in an alley.
When exactly had they walked in there? She hadn't even noticed. But even stranger: Eddie had vanished.
"Eddie?" Gwen turned around, thinking maybe her friend had stopped walking without her noticing, or stepped somewhere nearby. But there was no one behind her either and no door. Just the entrance to the alley, with the crowd passing by indifferently in the distance. "Where did you...?"
THWIP!
Something black and viscous struck her mouth violently, the substance sticking to her lips like glue, preventing her from opening them. Gwen's eyes widened in shock, her hands flying open in fright, which made the saxophone clatter to the ground with a horrible metallic bang.
THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!
More slime shot toward her, hitting her torso, arms, and legs, wrapping everything in a thick layer that tightened like a straitjacket. Gwen struggled with all her strength, tried to scream, kick, break free — but the sound came out muffled, unrecognizable, and the substance simply wouldn't give.
'WHAT IS HAPPENING!?' She looked around desperately, as much as the sticky prison allowed. Her eyes scanned the alley — the dumpsters, the boxes, the walls stained with graffiti — until they found it.
A large black creature, clinging to the alley wall, with two white patches where Gwen assumed its eyes were. The thing opened its mouth in a smile that had nothing human about it, revealing a row of uneven, sharp teeth. A long, thick tongue, coated in a heavy saliva that gleamed in the dim light of the alley, slid out in a slow, deliberate motion, as if savoring something in advance.
Gwen began to struggle even harder. With every bit of strength she had. Her muscles burned and her wrists ached against the pressure of the slime, but it was useless. The substance surrounding her seemed to be made of steel.
The creature laughed.
The sound was completely alien — something wet, guttural, that seemed to come from somewhere deep and wrong— and at the same time strangely human. As if there were something familiar hidden behind that monstrosity, something Gwen should recognize, but couldn't.
The thing leaned closer, its head drawing near Gwen's face. "We can't wait..." It began speaking before releasing itself from the wall, landing on the ground and casually kicking the saxophone out of the alley. "To see him with your shattered corpse in his arms."
Gwen felt the blood freeze in her veins.
***
"Gwen? Gwen?! GWEN!"
The next instant, her father was hovering over her in the darkness of the room, his hands firmly shaking her shoulders with urgency, violently pulling her out of the nightmare.
Gwen sat up quickly on the mattress, panting, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands as if she could erase the images that were still dancing behind her eyelids. Her heart seemed ready to escape from her chest, beating so hard that she could feel the pulses in her ears. The nightgown she was wearing was soaked with sweat, clinging to her skin, the cold and damp fabric making her shiver.
"The nightmares again?" George Stacy asked, letting out a tired sigh that carried the weight of many nights like that. He was still in uniform — he had probably just arrived from work, which meant it was already late.
Gwen looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand and saw that it was 2:47 a.m. Apparently, the night had been even worse for him than for her.
"Do you need me to call your therapist? She said we could call at any time." Her father continued, watching her attentively.
"No, no, I'm fine, Dad." The answer came out automatically, but she forced herself to take a few deep breaths to give credit to the lie, following the technique her therapist had taught her: first, inhale for four seconds. Second, hold the air for four seconds. Third, exhale slowly for four seconds. And then repeat the process. One, two, three times.
At first, Gwen thought something like that would never work — it seemed so silly and simple — but on those dawns filled with nightmares, that technique had become her only anchor, the only way to convince her body that it was no longer in danger. "I'm fine... it was just a dream. Just a dream." She repeated it more to herself than to him.
"Are you sure?" George was not a man who was easily convinced. Thirty years in the police had taught him to read between the lines, to notice when someone said one thing but was feeling another. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight, and placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder in a gesture that was both protective and comforting. "You know you can always open up to me, Gwen. No matter what it is. No matter the hour. I'm here."
"It was just that nightmare again." Gwen pulled her knees against her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "With that black creature saying that I was going to..." She swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.
"You're talking about Venom?"
"Yeah, that one."
George pressed his lips into a thin line, his jaw tense for a moment before he responded. When he spoke, his voice was controlled, patient, as if he were explaining something to a frightened child — which, technically, was true. "Eddie Brock is in Ravencroft, Gwen. Locked in a maximum-security cell, with psychiatric supervision twenty-four hours a day. He's not going to hurt you. Never again."
Gwen frowned. "How many times are we going to have this conversation, Dad?! Eddie isn't that thing! He... he can't be." She finished by lowering her head, not wanting to believe that one of her best friends had tried to kill her.
"I know, sweetheart." His voice was softer now. "I know you want to believe the best in him. And look... a part of me wants to believe it too. I saw the kid grow up. I saw him at your fifteenth birthday party and I saw him taking you to your first school dance. I know there's a good kid somewhere in there."
He paused, his hand still resting on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. "But for now, while he's in Ravencroft, you're safe. Trust me."
Gwen didn't respond. She only nodded, not wanting to start an argument.
George, understanding that he wouldn't get anything more out of her that night, changed the subject. "You're not going to ask what kept me at work?"
Gwen raised her eyes, a little surprised by the sudden change of subject. "I was waiting for you to start talking. Usually you tell me things when you want to, not when I ask."
"Fair enough." He smiled before continuing. "Spider-Man came back."
Gwen's eyes widened, everything else momentarily forgotten. "Really?! I thought he would never come back after..." She didn't finish the sentence, but it was obvious what she meant. After killing Norman Osborn.
"I was certain he would come back at some point. He's that kind of person, after all." George crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze distant, as if mentally revisiting something. "Unfortunately, now the entire state has very clear orders about what to do with our masked vigilante." He shook his head, seeming disappointed before getting up from the bed, stretching his back in a movement that made a few joints crack.
"Are you going to arrest him, dad?" Gwen asked, remembering all the times New York's so-called hero had saved her, and there had been many. And even though he had been involved in the death of Harry's father — who, by the way, was a supervillain — and in the theft of the alien from the ESU laboratory, Gwen still couldn't see him in a bad light the way the rest of the city did.
After all, if she was alive today, it was thanks to Spider-Man.
George made a face. "As much as I believe his actions that night were... understandable, given the circumstances, Spider-Man still needs to answer for his actions like any other citizen. The law can't have exceptions. So, yes, but the correct word would be to try to arrest him. There's a reason they used to call him Spectacular."
"I understand..." Gwen murmured, lowering her head.
"Don't think about that now." George leaned in and placed a kiss on his daughter's forehead. "Feeling better?" he asked, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes.
Gwen forced a smile. "Yes. You can go, dad. You must be tired, and you haven't even changed clothes yet."
"For you, I'll never be tired—" he began, in the dramatic tone he had used since she was a child, but the next second a huge yawn escaped, completely betraying the speech.
Gwen laughed — a small, fragile sound, but genuine. "—But a bed would be nice right now?" she finished for him.
He laughed along, shaking his head in resignation. "A bed would be nice." George gave her shoulder a gentle pat before straightening up. "Try to go back to sleep, you still have a few hours before school. And remember: if the nightmare comes back, just call me. No matter the time."
"I know, dad. Good night."
"Good night, sweetheart." He left the room, closing the door with a click.
Gwen lay down, pulling the blanket up to her chin, feeling the soft fabric against her still damp skin. Her eyes fixed on the ceiling — that same ceiling she had been staring at more and more over the last few nights, learning every small imperfection and shadow cast by the streetlight slipping through the gap in the curtain.
The last few days had been a blur. Not exactly fast, but not slow either. It was a strange feeling, as if time had broken inside her head. The hours dragged painfully, far too long, but when Gwen realized it… another day had already passed. Another day pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.
The funeral had been the worst part.
Not the funeral itself, with all the pomp and circumstance the Osborn family demanded. But what came after. The decision. The choice she made in front of Peter, who watched her with disappointed eyes.
She chose to stay with Harry.
Not because she loved him. Not like that. She liked him, of course. Harry was kind. He could be funny when he wanted to be. He was a loyal friend. But love? Real love — the kind that makes your heart race and your mind forget how to function? The kind of love that makes the world feel a little lighter when he's around? The kind of love that makes you remember even the smallest things, no matter how silly they might be?
That was Peter.
It had always been Peter.
But how could she say that at that moment? How could she simply turn her back on Harry when he had just watched his own father die right in front of him? Even if Norman had been a terrible father — absent, psychopathic, cold — he was still his father. And now Harry was alone in an enormous mansion, with servants who treated him like their boss and a mother who barely seemed to remember that he existed.
She... simply couldn't do that to him. She couldn't be one more person abandoning him.
So she chose to stay.
And Peter... Peter disappeared.
She sent messages. Several. In the first few days, careful messages, asking how he was, asking if he wanted to talk. Then shorter messages, just to check if he was okay. Then messages she deleted before sending, because she no longer knew what to say.
Peter didn't answer any of them.
His silence hurt more than any argument would have. Peter had always been a little closed off about his feelings, always preferring jokes over serious conversations, but he had never been like this. He had never been someone who simply vanished.
The worst part was that they were on break. No school, which meant no hallways where she might bump into him by chance, share a quick glance, maybe start a conversation about anything. She even thought about visiting him. Several times, to be honest. But every time she picked up her phone to look at their conversation — that sequence of ignored messages — her courage faded.
If he didn't even want to answer a message… would he even open the door?
Gwen turned onto her side and buried her face in the pillow, letting out a long, shaky sigh. 'Peter, where are you?'
PIIING.
The phone's notification sound cut through the silence, the sharp tone making her jolt in surprise. Gwen reached for the nightstand with a speed that bordered on anxiety, her fingers fumbling in the dark until they found the device.
She grabbed it quickly, the screen lighting up her face with a blue glow, her heart racing with a mixture of hope and fear. 'Please, let it be Peter. Please, let it be Peter. Please, after all these days, after all this silence, please—'
She unlocked the phone and read the message.
MJ: [Hey, Gwen! Want to do something tomorrow after school? Go to the mall, get some ice cream, anything.]
Gwen felt the air slowly leave her lungs. It was just MJ. Of course it was just MJ. She clicked to see the other notifications. There was one from Harry too, sent a few hours earlier.
Harry: [Thank you for today. For yesterday. For every day. You have no idea how much your company means to me. Sorry if I'm being too much, it's just... I don't know what to do with all of this anymore.]
Gwen read the message twice, feeling the weight of the words. She should reply. Say something comforting, something kind. Something like "I'm here for you" or "you don't need to thank me."
But her hands didn't move.
She didn't have the energy for that right now.
Because, at that moment, the only person she wanted to talk to… was the only person who wasn't talking to her.
Gwen placed the phone back on the nightstand with the screen facing down and pulled the blanket back over her head. She turned onto her side, her eyes fixed on the wall this time, preparing herself for another difficult night.
***
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Disclaimer: This story and its characters belong to Sony Pictures and Marvel Comics (Disney). This is merely a fanfiction written by a fan, with no intention of infringement.