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“When I'm stuck in a day
That's gray,
And lonely,
I just stick out my chin
And Grin,
And Say,
Oh
The sun'll come out
Tomorrow
So ya gotta hang on
'Til tomorrow
Come what may!”
—Alicia Morton, “Tomorrow”
“You look just like her.”
Gwen freezes in the kitchen, putting down the cup of steaming hot coffee that May had made for her. Even in this dimension, Peter’s aunt still knows how to make a kickass cup of joe, better than half the places in New York.
Peter leans against the doorframe, running a hand through his hair. He’s been worried sick since Miles took off, afraid that him being on the loose with uncontrolled spider-powers could spell the kid’s doom. Gwen has more faith in him, though she doesn’t believe he’ll be able to pull it together in time to spare one of them their fates. Someone will have to stay—and die—to turn off the collider.
Peter gestures at her, “Well, punk rock vibe aside.”
“You knew Gwen Stacy?” It shouldn’t really surprise her, she supposes. She is looking at a different version of Peter, an older, pudgier, snarkier—and would he have looked like this? If he had lived? If she hadn’t—
She can’t go down that road. She can’t let her thoughts spiral out of control and bring her to the brink of despair. Not now. Not here, when she has others counting on her. Someone has to be the level headed person, the one who can keep this shit from spiraling even further out of control than it already is. Peter B. Parker clearly can’t be their leader, Miles is a wide-eyed puppy with no sense of control over his powers, Noir is too busy brooding over the Rubik’s cube, and Peni and Ham are happily chatting away about cartoons and the physics behind them. Sure, they’re all lovable and great in their own special way, but in Gwen’s mind?
She has to make the sacrifice.
She has to stay.
She has to—
“Yeah,” Peter murmurs, an untold sadness in his eyes, “Before MJ, there was Gwen.” He says her name with fondness, the hint of a smile on his lips.
“And Gwen. . ?” But she knows how this story ends. Because, in their world, people that get close to a spider-person end up—
“Died.” He says it with too much casualness, almost like a quip that you throw out in battle. It’s a coping mechanism. One that she knows all too well.
Gwen swallows and nods, “Kind of figured.”
She doesn’t know if she wants to ask for more details, to get a picture of who this alternate version of her was that Peter obviously cared for. Yet, it doesn’t do any good. She can’t absolve him of his guilt because she’s not his Gwen. But she knows an olive branch when she sees one.
“And your friend?” Peter prompts and Gwen can’t help the small grin that alights on her lips. Peter—her Peter—always brought those feelings up in her. She loved him. She wanted nothing but the best for him. But, instead, all she had done was gotten him killed. She’d been the one to land the finishing blow, plain and simple.
“I killed him,” She whispers, admitting it softly, meeting Peter’s gaze, one that is so familiar to her and yet not, “I killed you.”
There’s silence in the room and Gwen’s thoughts race. She’s been trapped relieving that moment—the moment she lost her best friend—every night for two years. Peter’s last words haunt her dreams and the look on his face, that mixture of fear and relief etched on his features will always follow her.
“Seems to be a recurring theme in these dimensions,” Peter quips and the tension breaks. Gwen chuckles and Peter steps toward her, an unusual seriousness on his face, “For what it’s worth though, I’m sure that he . . .” Peter scrunches up his face, puzzled, “I? No, heunderstood.”
“You can’t absolve my guilt, Peter. You’re not—”
“I know.” And now that Gwen really looks at the man, she can see how tired he is, how deep and dark the circles under his eyes really are. He’s older than all of them, seen more combat than they all have—well, maybe not Noir, but they can’t really get him to talk about anything other than the Rubik’s cube—and she’s never realized just how much of a toll it actually takes on a person.
“I know,” Peter continues softly, “But still . . .” He shrugs, an unspoken sentiment between them.
“I’ll stay,” Gwen whispers and seeing Peter about to protest, she adds, “It’s okay, Peter. I want to do this—”
“No, Gwen, I’ll stay—”
“You can’t,” Gwen shakes her head, resolve hardening her tone, “You have MJ.”
“And you’re a kid,” Peter growls, “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Look, I’m older, okay? I’ve had my chance and—”
“I’ve watched one Peter Parker die before,” She meets his gaze, a sad smile on her lips, “I can’t do it again. Don’t ask me to do it.”
Peter huffs out a dark chuckle, “Back at you, Gwen.”
It’s an impasse, she knows. They’ve both lost their dimension’s counterparts and the loss still haunts them. They won’t be settling this anytime soon. But she also knows that she’s at peace with her choice. She failed Peter before. She won’t fail him now.
If anyone deserves a happy ending, it’s him.
But first, they need to save the world.
All of their worlds.