The wind sweeping through Central Park carried a biting, bitter chill that signaled the inevitable death of autumn. Dead leaves scraped across the paved walkways.
Peter Parker walked back to the wrought-iron bench, clutching two steaming paper cups from a nearby cart. He handed one to Stacy. She took it, her fingers wrapping tightly around the cardboard sleeve, drawing the warmth into her hands. She didn't take a sip. She just stared at the plastic lid, her blonde hair whipping across her face in the breeze.
"So," Gwen said quietly, her voice barely carrying over the distant hum of Manhattan traffic. "If Cindy finds out you're sitting here in the park with me... is she going to be jealous?"
Peter paused, his cup halfway to his mouth. He shot her a look of utter, unfiltered bewilderment. "What? Gwen, what are you talking about?"
Gwen finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. "I'm just thinking out loud, Peter. You two share the same crazy spider-DNA. You've gone on, what, four or five life-or-death missions together? She's brilliant, she's in all our AP classes, and she practically glues herself to your side at the cafeteria." Gwen shrugged, looking back down at her coffee. "I just assumed you two were a couple by now."
"No," Peter said firmly, sitting down heavily on the cold wooden slats of the bench. "We aren't a couple. We're just... coworkers. Traumatized coworkers."
Gwen turned the paper cup in her hands. She seemed to catch hold of a thread and pulled it. "Wait. Is that why you're so obsessed with being Spider-Man? Is throwing yourself off rooftops just a really elaborate excuse to avoid dealing with girls who actually like you?"
Peter inhaled a sharp breath of freezing air. He didn't answer immediately. He stared out at the gray, overcast sky, feeling a sharp twinge of guilt in his chest. He wouldn't say she was entirely right, but he couldn't deny that the mask was a very convenient shield against the messy reality of his personal life.
"Alright," Peter deflected, shifting his posture. "What's going on, Gwen? You didn't ask me to ditch the Detective Club just to psychoanalyze my terrible dating habits. Is there something I can help you with?"
"No. I don't need your help." Gwen's knuckles turned white around the cup. "I just... don't you think you're getting a little too buried in the suit? How long has it been since you actually helped Aunt May organize one of her charity drives? When was the last time you spent a Saturday in the garage helping Uncle Ben rebuild that carburetor?"
Peter flinched. The words hit harder than a punch from Doctor Octopus.
Gwen didn't let up. "You've basically stopped eating dinner at your own house, Pete. I know you're busy saving the world, but I'm the one sitting at their table eating pot roast with them. Not you."
Peter dropped his gaze to the pavement. A heavy, suffocating knot tightened in his throat. It was the brutal truth. With every new supervillain, every alien parasite, and every international conspiracy, Peter Parker faded a little more into the background, leaving Spider-Man to consume his hours. Uncle Ben and Gwen were the only ones who knew his secret in the family, which meant they were constantly forced to lie to Aunt May to cover his bloody tracks.
"I'm sorry," Peter whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "I really am. But I just don't have the time."
"Does this city honestly need Spider-Man that much?" Gwen snapped, her frustration finally boiling over. "You can take a night off, Peter! You don't have to carry the entire world on your shoulders every single second! New York isn't going to collapse into ash just because you took three hours to eat dinner with your aunt and uncle!"
Peter fell dead silent. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his black coffee, his enhanced eyes locking onto Gwen. He studied the tension in her jaw, the defensive crossing of her legs, the way she refused to meet his gaze.
Gwen shifted uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny. "What?" she demanded, her tone clipping. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No," Peter said softly, setting his coffee down on the bench. "You said a lot of true things. But it just doesn't sound like you."
He leaned back, looking at the Manhattan skyline towering over the trees. "We've known each other our whole lives, Gwen. Before my parents died. Before Uncle Ben and Aunt May even took me in, when we were just the kids living next door to each other in Queens."
In the vast, chaotic multiverse of Earth-616, Gwen Stacy was supposed to be the tragic love interest. But in this reality, their dynamic was different. It was older. Deeper.
"You're a fan of Sherlock Holmes, right?" Peter continued, turning his head to look at her. "Well, I know you, too."
Gwen frowned, her defenses immediately flaring. "So what?"
"Growing up, you were always the one protecting me," Peter explained, his voice gentle. "When Carl and his buddies cornered me by the bleachers, you were the one who got in their faces. Whenever I overestimated myself and tried to fight back, you stood there and took the hits with me. You introduced me to your friends so I wouldn't have to eat lunch alone in the chemistry lab." Peter offered a sad, deeply appreciative smile. "You practically raised me."
"You're welcome," Gwen muttered, looking away.
"But now?" Peter let out a long breath. "Now, I don't need your help anymore."
Gwen froze. Her posture went rigid.
"I'm not saying you're doing this for validation," Peter clarified quickly, seeing the hurt flash in her eyes. "I'm saying we're cut from the same cloth. You have a desperate need to help people. But you look at me now and you realize you can't protect me anymore. I've outgrown your help, and it makes you feel useless."
Gwen slammed her coffee cup down on the bench. The hot liquid splashed over the plastic lid. She turned to him, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears.
"I can help you!" Gwen argued, her voice trembling. "You just never let me in! You never tell me what you're dealing with!"
"I don't tell you because it gets people killed, Gwen!" Peter shot back, his own volume rising. "I'm not just stopping muggers anymore! I am fighting psychotic billionaires and literal monsters! What happens if they find out you're helping me? What happens if they decide to use you to get to me?"
"Then why do Harry and Amadeus get to help?!" Gwen demanded.
"Because—"
Peter's words died in his throat.
A violent, agonizing spike of electricity jammed into the base of his skull. His spider-sense screamed. A second later, the encrypted burner phone deep in his jacket pocket began to vibrate furiously.
Peter clenched his jaw, pulling the phone out. He checked the caller ID.
"Gwen... I don't know how to make this right," Peter said, his voice dropping into a deadly serious register. "But never, ever say that this city will be fine without Spider-Man."
Peter hit the accept button and pressed the phone to his ear. "Coulson? It's me. Talk."
"We have a catastrophic breach, Spider-Man," Phil Coulson's voice gasped through the speaker. The audio was a chaotic mess of blaring alarms, shouting voices, and the distinct, terrifying sound of heavy assault rifle fire.
Peter stood up instantly, his entire body shifting into a coiled combat stance. "What happened?"
"Riot," Coulson grunted, the sound of a heavy metal door slamming shut echoing behind him. "The gray symbiote. It was hiding inside Ward this entire time. He played us. The second we dropped altitude to approach New York airspace, Ward initiated a hostile takeover of the Bus. He breached the containment vault."
Coulson paused, coughing heavily. "He released the other three specimens. They forcibly bonded with Fitz and Simmons. The fourth... it took May."
The blood drained from Peter's face.
Ward, the highly trained HYDRA killer, was perfectly aligned with Riot's dark, brutal consciousness. And now, they had an entire squad of lethal S.H.I.E.L.D. specialists fully enhanced by alien biology.
"Four symbiotes," Peter breathed, the math clicking into place. "Where is the Helicarrier?"
"Three hours out," Coulson replied grimly. "And Director Fury just locked down comms. The biological containment field around the Grendel specimen in the Arctic is destabilizing. They cannot deploy backup. You are completely on your own, Peter. It's all on you."
The line went dead.
Gwen, who had overheard the bleeding audio from the phone, sat completely speechless. A minute ago, she had confidently declared that New York didn't need him. Now, she was staring at a teenager who was about to walk alone into an alien war zone.
"It's bad, isn't it?" Gwen asked, her anger evaporating, replaced by raw, gripping fear. She watched Peter pull his jacket off, revealing the Stark-tech fabric of the Spider-suit beneath. "I'm guessing you aren't going to ask me for help with this one."
"This is an extinction-level problem, Gwen," Peter said, pulling his mask over his face. The white lenses snapped wide, locking onto her. He had fought Anansi with the power of Thor. Now, he was walking into a four-on-one deathmatch with nothing but his own fists. And if he failed, Grendel would wake up. "Go home."
"Pete..."
"I'm serious," Spider-Man commanded, his voice muffled slightly by the mask. "Do not go back to Manhattan. Stay out of the city until I tell you it's clear."
Without waiting for a response, Peter fired a web-line into the highest branch of a nearby oak tree and violently launched himself into the sky, disappearing over the treeline in a blur of red and blue.
Gwen sat alone on the bench, the cold wind biting at her cheeks. She stared at the empty space where he had just been standing.
"I'm guessing you were really hoping he'd turn around and say you were different from the rest," a smooth, distinctly amused voice noted from the shadows.
Gwen jumped, nearly knocking her coffee over. She spun around.
Standing directly behind the bench, leaning casually against a lamppost, was Felicia Hardy. The platinum blonde wasn't wearing her Black Cat tactical gear, but she moved with the same silent, predatory grace.
Gwen clutched her chest, her heart hammering. "You... how long have you been standing there?"
"Considering you've been staring blankly at the sky for a solid three minutes, your awareness needs some serious work," Felicia smirked.
Felicia stepped forward, reaching into her leather jacket. She pulled out a thick, encrypted flash drive and tossed it onto Gwen's lap.
Gwen looked down at the metal casing, then up at Felicia. "What is this?"
"Hard, actionable evidence of Wilson Fisk's offshore accounts and criminal logistics," Felicia said, turning to walk away. She paused, looking over her shoulder with a sharp, serious glint in her green eyes. "I don't really care if you hand that over to your dad at the precinct, or if you hold onto it for the kid in the spandex. But take a word of advice from a professional thief..."
Felicia zipped up her jacket against the wind.
"If Spider-Man tells you Manhattan is about to become a slaughterhouse... you should probably start running."