Chapter Text
Free-falling wasn’t the most anticipated thing on Gwen Stacy’s to-do list. In most circumstances, (and universes) Gwen Stacy being suspended— body aloft and spindling downwards towards the thrush of the earth — was far from a good thing.
She has been reminded time and time again, the slogan of being branded as yet another Gwen Stacy. Seared onto her flesh, engraved into the underside of her skin. Never healing, never waning, against her porcelain appeal.
In ever other universe … god she might gag if those words crept onto her tongue again, but here she was— falling, a lizard mutated variant peering down over the edge of a building in mockery— that she has to tell herself Gwen Stacy’s main purpose is to hurt those around her, and then hurt herself.
“Peter! Peter … oh no— no!” The colour from his child-like cheeks slipping through her fingers like fine grains of sand. The way his body staggers, each breath no more then a hassle— a lie hidden under a farce to be revealed.
Her memory shifts once more, a dancing image of her father— gun raised high above his heart, as if that would make pointing it any easier.
“Hands in the air!” Her dimension starts blurring with colour, the sharp lining of objects fading away as her heart throbs with the disgust on his face, the internal battle he’s been facing ridging in the knot of his brow line.
Then of course there was him. The one she ended up maiming the most, the one who faced her sharpest dagger— to his heart.
“Miles… Miles please— I’m sorry I’m so —“ her voice grates against her throat like sand paper, each whispered plea dying off near the ends as she stumbles towards him. She tastes her acidic tears on her lips as her eyes distort her vision, making him a clump of mass under her tears.
His face is lined with a similar trail of wetness, his suit his almost destroyed. Blood gauging from a deep wound from his side. His eyes, any fire that Gwen used to praise, extinguished— only dark pools of brown staring at her emptily.
“We were this close Gwen,” he shows the distance between his finger, a pinch of his thumb and pointer— “to losing him, we almost lost him!” He roared, she flinched, his breath was still lost to the exertion as was hers. His eyes widen, as if shocked at his own voice.
“But we saved him, he’s alive—“ She feels her knees start to give way, the wear and tear on her muscles catching up to her, to remind her she was no less human then anyone else.
He shakes his head, posture slouching in a defeated notion, “look around Gwen, look at my city, would you say this was a victory?”
He looks beyond the terms of sad, face easing into a frown.
Her marine eyes finally lose there cling on his figure, the scene around them is almost post-apocalyptic, buildings in ruins, vengeful ashy smoke rising off in the distance, the crud of oil, smell of fear, building under her mask.
A tingle travels up her spine, she can feel civilians distraught, countless homes eradicated— their lives thrown off balance, and she just chokes out another sob.
“A sorry isn’t going fix this Gwen. I wish it would— god I really wish—“ His hands, waving frantically, stop abruptly as a painful shudder runs down his body.
Gwen immediately lurches forward, one hand compressing on her own injury but she’s halted by a shaky hand and closed eyes. And her head spins in wake of this blunt hatred.
“Gwen… I need you to leave, “ he states sternly, “I need you to tell the society that no one is aloud in my dimension… not anymore… not ever”
At sixteen, Gwen let each of his words shatter the remnants of her battered heart.
Shes watched Gwen Stacy die, ( at this point her body is nearing the ground, and in the back of her ears she hears gasps from passerby’s ),time and time again waiting to be saved like a damsel in distress.
At twenty-four, she has realized that she was that damsel at 16, waiting for a boy with curly hair and a cheeky smile to wash away every worry. Tell her that her wrongs were simply strings of fate that forcefully threaded through her fingers.
There’s only one connection in her story and that was her weakness, in every core moment that contributed to being who she is today.
In every soul wrenching point she failed to stand up for herself, waiting for a lover who never came.
So after sixteen, she decided she was done with moping around and allowing a web of theory to decide her seemingly foreordained reality. And took it upon herself to save the girl with the half-shaved head, and spaced out front teeth.
She’s impossibly close to colliding onto the ground by now, hairline away from gravity taking its toll and crushing her mailable organs, jelly-like and fragile. But one thwik of her web shooters and she’s once again propelled into the air.
The wind is spiralling through strands of her flaxen hair—travelling to the base of her neck. Adrenaline pumping through each nerve as Lizards scowl enters her vision, a satisfying crunch when his haggard jaw collides with the force of her feet. Sending him to skid on the roof of the building, groaning in agony.
She doesn’t fear death anymore, because she isn’t just Gwen Stacy, she’s Spider-Woman and will be— no matter who dares trammel in her way.
⏤
She’s wrapping the now unconscious Lizard in an escape-proof panel of webbing. She takes a step back to admire her doing before leaping off the building, swinging along the brightly illuminated Brooklyn.
Heading towards her apartment (she forgot her watch), she catches a glimpse of herself in the tall waning windows of a skyscraper. Eight years is no fractional period of time, and now she resembles quite little of her sixteen year old figure.
She’s still lithe, an acrobatics body built into her physique. But she’s fitter, the definition of muscle straining against the fabric of her suiting. The curvature of her body accentuated as she has long left her teenage years.
Another thiwp! and she’s graciously suspended above the high-rises, sending her body backwards in an elegant dive. She cherishes the air squeezing through the inseams of her suit, soothing each muscle, licking the sweat off her skin.
She tilts her head backwards, her body following and flipping her straight once more as her feet point to the nearing ground. Extending a wrist, she webs one last time before solidly landing onto the fire escape of her apartment.
The building itself wasn’t the most impressive, mundane Brooklyn brick— plastered walls with patches left un-painted. Gwen couldn’t tell if that was a stylized decision or if they were just lazy.
Her fingers push against pristine windows, not a single smudge or crack— upwards to draw her body into the narrow space. The sun was only just starting to set, the horizon cascading a whimsical pink, enveloping her bedroom in a similar color.
A delicate sigh drizzles between her lips, swiping off her mask to let her hair brush up against her back. She tousles it with an unoccupied hand, leaning over to grab the watch that hummed with an electrical tune.
She spots a swipe of red on her cheek in the mirror, letting her mask drop, she silently musters profanities as she tries to rub the blood away with the tips of her fingers.
It flakes, but doesn’t have the heart to budge— she glowers at her reflection, then eases and pushes her should back. Straightening her posture.
Only months after losing any and all contact with Miles, Gwen had brought a pair of rustic kitchen scissors to her pink ends— snipping them in uneven, erratic cuts.
She can confidently say now that The Spot, and Miles were now mere figments of a bad nightmare. But the year eclipsing, sixteen year old Gwen was severely depressed, food barely pushed its way through chapped lips— eyes constant puffy from a barricade of tears.
Her dad was so concerned, wrinkles gathering on his forehead at the sight of his little girl clawing at her hair. Never leaving the indent of her bed, rustled between un-washed sheets.
One night, she had caught sight of the polaroid of her and Miles on the bus, and something bursted inside her. Anger flared through her deprived senses, and she tore it into pieces.
She was sobbing whilst tapeing the shards together only hours later, snot running down her cupids bow. Hands unstable, the razor at the edge of the tape cutting into soft skin.
That’s when her dad bursted through her door, face aghast in horror— that she knew she couldn’t let the guilt rot her away any longer.
Now, the only identification of her past is the bar in her eyebrow, (she’s afraid there’s going to be two gaping holes if she takes it out.) Her face is long, her cheekbones rest high on her face, model-like and often praised. Siren eyes with the same aquamarine, signature tooth gap peering through plush lips.
She was never ugly, but now she wears confidence, and that makes all the difference.
Inhaling a deep breath, she keeps her mind focused on the villain scrambling in commotion on the rooftop. Punching in various digits in her watch.
A portal opens, she starts a stride in— catching a ballet shoe, (she started again to cope with her trauma) to prevent it being vacuumed into oblivion.
Out the corner of her eye she see’s a similar portal swallow the Lizard whole, (Margo designed new technologies for the society nowadays)— and she allowed her self to topple into her own.
⏤
With Miguel disposed of, and a new system in situ, she had no reason to tear herself away from The Society. Especially because working there payed her bills— and she wouldn’t admit it — kept her from isolating into total solitude.
The Society’s hub, still located in Miguel’s now spider-man-less dimension, is merely a ghost town. Soft sighs of conversations still float through the expanse of architecture. Rules and regulations were strictly enforced shortly after Miguel haughty actions, now only select Spider people leave their dimensions.
The rest were told to stay put, and most of them preferred it that way. Secluded from the existential fear of the “Canon Event”.
There were still inter-dimensional threats looming in the far corners of the multi-verse, but the numbers have been dwindling— peace seemingly restoring itself. Gwen heard Peni describe it as a forest fire, the world making way for a new flora, same goes for the universe.
“Gwen— oo, over here!”
She snaps of her thought, with instinct she had walked right into the office— where a perky, workaholic Margo sat. Smoothing out the wrinkles in her fine lab coat with polished fingers.
She looked no different to how she was many years ago, her hologram body not baring any signage of displaying growth. But the way she acted, her mannerisms were well off an adults.
“Lizards taking care of, I swear that’s like the millionth one I’ve had to capture.” Gwen laughs, it’s foreign and unpracticed.
Margo pushes her glances further up the bridge of her nose, (a personalized decision to wear them of course since she is nothing but pixels). “There’s something me and Peter want to talk to you about Gwen—“ .
Gwen watches Margo’s eyes stray to a clipboard on her right. She hadn’t have even responded to her previous dialogue, ensuring her that it was not going to be anything pleasant.
After all, it’s the bad news you can’t hold off.
Blinking rapidly, she crosses her arms. “Lead the way,” allowing Margo to creep out of her cubicle, the only sounds being the delicate footing of her steps. Echoing through the prestige room.
They enter Peters “man-cave”, various papers streaming across the marble flooring as if decoration, Maydays drawings bolted and framed to colourful walls.
Peter is gnawing on the end of what appears to be a twizzler, one end flopping down to his chin. His focus drawn to a set of security footage, only Margo’s purposeful cough stirring him awake.
“Ah— my favourite kid Gwen. Come over here it’s been a minute.” He extends his arms in invitation, pushing his rolling chair away from the desk.
Gwen respectively declines, eyebrow arched upwards. “Still waiting on last months payout Peter, broke a foot doing that mission.” She’s lighthearted, but the edge in her voice doesn’t go unnoticed.
“As cold-hearted as ever I see.” He grumbles, finishing off the last bits of candy. Standing up to reveal a seasonal dad-bod. Peter never really got rid of it per-say, slowly removing himself from most altercations, he preferred to do all the planning. Leave the rest to the “new generation”, as he liked to call it.
Gwen knew underneath the prying grey-hairs, and slouching face, that Peter just wanted to stay safe for Mayday and MJ. His family, who doesn’t want to see spider-people holding an empty mask with sorrowful faces at their doorstep.
“Someone has to ruin the cheer,” she jokes, but the awkwardness has already settled in. With each passing minute, Gwen felt her spider-senses tricking down her spine. Whatever they were going to say, wasn’t going to be good.
Margo is first to talk, seemingly more a-float and ready to move on. “You see Gwen, as of late I’ve been observing a universe in which the quantities of dark and ordinary matter have been dissolving at unusual rates—.”
“— what the hell does that mean?”
Peter jumps in, earning a scowl from Margo, “what Dr. Nerd is trying to say is that we believe someone’s trying to destroy a universe on purpose.”
She feels her insides churn with a discomfort. The shock clearly evident on her face, never before had she heard the plan of destructing a universe— altering, yeah sure. “Why would they want to do that?” She asks, letting her body weight be propped against the wall.
Margo eyes Peter before speaking, as if warning him not to interrupt. She opens her mouth, “likely to harvest that energy, and create a new universe… to their liking.” Gwen spots her stutter as she shuffles her feet, clearly she had done her fair share of studying on this topic.
Gwen stands idly, awaiting anything else before rolling her eyes, “and I have to stop them blah blah— Hobie and Pav could ride along too. Seeing that it’s such a big deal.”
It’s at this point Peter and Margo both meet each others gazes, a secret transferring from their eyes. Gwen swallows tightly, watching as Peters already tired face falls into an exhausted groan.
“Gwen it isn’t this easy this time.”
“And why is that?” She shoots, pushing off the wall with her body. “I’m all ears,” her voice booms through the emptiness— it’s starting to dig into her now, spiralling along her ears.
“Because it’s Miles’s universe.”
Her heart sinks, lips parting as she processes the information. It’s sudden, the beautiful smile— wide eyes come tearing back into her head. The way his hand inched closer to hers on that tower, cheeks glazed in a deep rose. Gwen grips at her chest, as if to slow the memories down, the ones she’s hid for all these years.
“No.” Is all she chokes out, she’s worked so hard to mold herself into the woman she was today. She’s certain, that the moment she lays eyes on him again (the boy from her greatest dreams, deepest desires), it will all crumble apart.
If the quietness hurt before, it surely stabbed now. She couldn’t tell if their faces protested judgement, or disappointment— both would hurt.
“Ask Hobie… or Pav.” She starts extending her arms, as if to lend them her thoughts. Only to be shut down by shaking heads, low faces.
Peter nears Gwen, his face stolen— void from emotion. “We both know… you’re better experienced…” he goes to add more, lips moving to say something before pressing into a fine line.
She grits her teeth, “that’s a lie.” She spits out, her thoughts are running too fast, she feels a dull ache throb through her temple as she turns around, trying to busy herself with the scenery outside. Her reflection glaring at herself through the window.
Gwen feels their stares as a physical sensation, burning through her head. She tries to stabilize her breathing— all these years of acting like he didn’t exist anymore— pretending he was just a fever dream, haunting her back.
She hears ushered foot-steps, and an inhospitable grip tighten around her shoulder blade. Forcefully whipping her forward, Margo, is seething— she’s giving her an undisguised look.
“Look,” she says through her teeth, “I don’t know what happened between you two, but if you can’t put it aside to save him— his whole life— I can’t say I know you anymore.”
She lets go, giving her a quip of a shove back. “You may be a new person Gwen, but you still have the same mistakes. This is a chance to make things right.”
“A little harsher than we planned Margo, but respect the execution.” Peter chimes in.
Gwen mulled over the words, “what if he attacks me the moment I enter the dimension?” Her arms are crossed, the grudge that Miles held was no fair one, who doubts he’d resort to talking in attempt to get to her leave?
Margo’s shoulders drop, “he’s no longer spider-man. A at-least that’s what news reports state from his dimension, he’s been quote on quote ‘of the grid’ for the last two years.” She watches as Gwen throws her hands up.
Gwen shuts her eyes, even though common sense would assure her that this had no link to their dispute— she can only try to ease past anxieties that build in her stomach. Biting her lip, she looks to Margo, who’s eagerly awaiting a response, eyes blown wide.
And Peter, who’s still monotone and un-expressing, as if letting Gwen decide. He never picks sides, never pressures— but Gwen secretly wanted his input so badly.
She exhales, “I’ll do it. But I want enough money that I never have to do another god-damn mission from this society again.” Her voice is clipped, Margo seems pleasantly surprised arms dropping to her sides.
Peter looks like he’s about to cry, such an unusual expression on him. “I knew you would. I just knew it, maybe you can get him back into it… he loved you Gwen—“
She sharply raises her pointer finger, shutting him down. “Don’t finish that sentence… “ she feels bile rise into the back of her throat, “send me any details of the case, any clues, hints to as who is doing it.” She spins on her heel, making concise strides away, shoulders finally sagging once she was out view.
All she has to do is go in and out, destroy this villain and never look back. She might not even have to see Miles, and she was more than ok with that.
That’s only if of course all goes according to plan, she feels a migraine seeping into her skull as a portal flickers in-front of her.
⏤
The wind is whispering through Brooklyn, spilling secrets into ears of who will listen. Tree limbs trashing against the current storm that snapped and crackled outside Gwen’s window. She hums along to the sounds, the howls and rustles of distant leaves. She hates the quiet, peaceful, unsettled feeling— this destroys that.
She’s propped lazily on a chair in her bedroom, a signature band tea slipping off of her sharp shoulders. Squinting, as she is in apace with clanking fingers on her keyboard.
There’s an unpacked suit case tucked beneath the footing of her bed, various clothing articles strewn around it. Otherwise her room neat, pristine and sparingly inhabited.
It was only after she got home that Margo informed her to pack for at-least a months trip— because ultimately she wasn’t aloud to leave Miles’s dimension unless it was certain that it wasn’t deteriorating anymore. Gwen issued that she had a life outside of being spider woman, but was immediately shut down.
Because of that, she’s frantically clashing together emails, last minute texts— and fearing of facing her ballet-teachers reaction.
Madame Dufour was a paper thin elderly women who broke her leg in such a manner that she could never dance again. She was lenient on Gwen requesting private classes, but slowly her rough exterior welcomed a caring woman, and Gwen has started to learn the basics with her once more.
Gwen’s eyes snap up at the distinct buzzing of her phone, haphazardly leaning over her sunken position in her chair to grab it. Almost falling in the process.
She brings the phone to her ear, without bothering to acknowledge who it was, placing her phone in the junction of her neck and shoulder to allow her to finish writing every other tedious email.
“What’s up.” She says, waiting for a voice.
“Gwen— hey got your text about leaving and since you’re going to be out of here tomorrow morning was going to let you know your old pops was going to miss ya.”
Her dads gruff, scratchy voice is soothing for Gwen. Letting her relax as she shuts the laptop, “dad I’m twenty-four, I’ll be fine”. She stresses the ‘twenty-four’.
“I know I know!” His voice muffles on the other end, “I just know it’s hard to go back to the past, but Miles needs you kiddo, go be the best spider-woman you are.”
She smiles softly, giving a short laugh. “Thanks dad, gotta go.” She lets him say his last goodbyes, and end the call. Letting out a sigh as she slumps all the way to the floor.
In many ways, Gwen feels like a teenage girl still. It’s like she wasn’t aloud to feel these feelings when she was sixteen, and now they’re creeping up on her.
She shakes her head, the clock was inching towards late night and she still had to pack all her things. Gwen makes a slow descent doing it though, mind occupied with other things… or other people per-say.
How does he look like now? What is he like? Does he have a girlfriend? Probably does with his killer looks.… ugh.
She was finishing packing the last of her underwear before grunting softly, why hurt her heart when there was a possibility that she wouldn’t see him at all? Brooklyn was no short filled with 2.5 million residents, for all he cared she was another face in a crowd.
Her mind then strays to more pressing matters. When she gets to the hotel room she’ll have to indulge in trying to figure which villain was causing the universes demise before she got to fight them.
After eight years Gwen has gathered her fair share of detective skill, but she knew this was going to be one long ass month.