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It shouldn’t have caught her so off-guard.
Gwen knew that transphobia was rampant among the population. Her heart would wince every time she scrolled past an article detailing the death of yet another queer person on social media, of course, but she’d never experienced that raw hatred firsthand before. A small part of her subconsciously didn’t believe it was a real phenomenon. Not here. Not in New York.
Her father had accepted her identity with surprising gentleness and understanding, and her classmates and teachers had basically adjusted used to her ‘new’ identity by now. So, part of Gwen refused to accept that bigotry was a harsh reality that people like her had to face.
Until now, that is. She’d been on the way home from school, her body hunched against the frigid November air nipping at her face and whipping her light blonde hair around as she walked down the familiar streets. She shivered, pulling her thick white jacket more tightly around her. Behind her, she could vaguely hear someone speaking, but figured that this was just more city chatter and thus ignored it. Then the sound grew louder, reaching a near-shouting volume when Gwen finally turned around.
She narrowed her eyes at the group of young adults – perhaps about 20 years old? – and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted before she had the chance.
“God hates your kind!” the apparent leader of the group, a male with tawny brown hair and dark coffee-colored eyes snarled at her.
Gwen froze, unsure for a split second what this was about… but then she remembered. As if in explanation, the man now in front of her pointed at the small transgender pride flag on her right jacket sleeve. Another member of the group – this time a girl with sleek black hair and caramel skin – piped up with “All you trannies are going to hell!”
The rest of them then chimed in with jeers and insults of their own, the cacophony of hatred filling Gwen with dread and misery. She blinked once, twice. Opening her mouth to say something, she instead decided to take a breath and walk away. A superhero should always take the high road… even if she’s currently in her civilian persona.
She turned briskly around and walked a few more steps before she felt a rough hand grab her shoulder.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going, tranny?”
Once more, she turned around, this time with a fire in her icy blue eyes. She met the gaze of the brown-haired man and evenly said “Leave me alone.”
The man just laughed as Gwen’s Spider-senses tingled moments before something hit the side of her head. A… tomato? A chorus of more laughter erupted as more objects began flying through the air toward her. The brown-haired man reared his arm back, preparing to hurl an apple at Gwen when something inside her snapped. Her hand shot out, grabbing the man’s wrist with an iron grip. She leaned in toward him, her grasp on his wrist only tightening.
“Leave. Me. The. Hell. Alone.” She hissed. Her senses tingled once more, and this time she lightly jumped out of the way of a stray fist from one of the others. Fine, bring it on, she thought. She swiftly brought her leg up and around in a graceful arc, cleanly nailing the punch-throwing guy in the stomach.
A small gasp went up from the gathering crowd, and many of those who had originally cornered her decided – wisely – to make a hasty retreat. Gwen smirked coldly at the five remaining, ignoring the man now doubled over in pain on the side.
“Do you really wanna go?” She asked, nodding slightly at the aforementioned guy while maintaining eye contact with the group’s leader. He responded by drawing a small switchblade from his pocket and charging toward her.
“Go to hell!” he roared, a sort of rallying cry as the others charged toward her too. Gwen prepared to fight them, already assuming a fighting stance, before she remembered: she wasn’t Spiderwoman right now.
She was Gwen Stacy.
A completely normal teenage girl.
She groaned internally. She could easily take all these guys, but it would be incredibly suspicious if one girl decimated five adults. Not to mention the legal considerations doing so would bring.
So, she forced herself to relax. She allowed the five to hit her, punch her, kick her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw multiple people in the crowd with phones out, calling emergency services no doubt. She closed her eyes, quietly taking the beating until the police arrived. After what felt like a lifetime – though in reality was likely only about three or so minutes – she felt the attackers being pulled off her.
She opened her eyes, glimpsing her father in the swarm of officers now cuffing the perpetrators and gathering statements from witnesses. Their gazes locked, and her father’s eyes widened. Without a word he made his way through the sea of people toward her, wrapping his arms oh so gently around her when he got there. Gwen winced, pain from the numerous bruises and scrapes now littering her body setting in, but she returned his embrace anyway. “Oh my God,” he whispered, tears welling up in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” she murmured, smiling softly in an attempt to reassure him.
“I’m fine. Just a couple scratches.”
He reluctantly straightened up, glancing Gwen up and down.
“You should go to the hospital. I’ll call them n-“
He grabbed his radio when Gwen hastily interrupted him.
“Nonono! I mean, I’m okay, I just. Want to go home. Take a nap.”
Her father paused for a moment, considering it, before nodding in concession.
“Okay. I’ll to be working late taking care of these assholes-“ he gestured toward the brown haired man and his followers now staring open-mouthed at the exchange.
“-so I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay. Love you.”
She smiled and quickly turned, before her father had the idea to send her home in a squad car or something. She walked quickly despite her injuries, firing off a text as she went, and soon arrived at her home.
She pulled open the front door to reveal the worried faces of Pavitr, Miles, and Hobie.
“What the fuck happened to you?!” Miles shouted, echoing the sentiment of the other two’s wide-eyed expressions. Hobie held up his phone, which had Gwen’s text message pulled up, which read: my house. urgent.
“We got your message, are you alright love?” he asked her as she closed the door and limped slightly toward the couch.
“Did you fight a bad guy without us?” asked Pavitr, grinning to try and break the somber attitude currently blanketing the Stacy living room.
Gwen sank onto the couch, groaning quietly in pain.
“Nah, no villain. Just… transphobes.” Three shocked faces blinked in silent unison and a moment of understanding passed before all three of the boys spoke at once.
“Names and addresses.”
“Oh my God Gwen, I’m so sorry.”
“How disgusting!”
Hobie had disappeared for a moment, returning with a first aid kit he’d found in another room of the house. He didn’t say anything for a while as he started tending to Gwen’s wounds. Miles was the one who broke the silence.
“Gwen, those guys were idiots and assholes. You’re a girl, and being trans is beautiful and valid and-“
Gwen laughed, putting her hand up to stop Miles from talking himself into a hole. Pavitr nodded sagely, in agreement with Miles, and Hobie added “He’s right though. Those people were probably goddamn fascists anyway. Their opinion of you doesn’t matter, Gwen.”
She smiled at them, her three best friends.
“Thanks guys. It… it means a lot.”
She closed her eyes slowly, settling into the couch as the boys good-naturedly squabbled about something – ordering food perhaps – in the background. Yeah, she’d just faced her first (but unfortunately not last) personal tale of transphobia, but she’d also found allies who loved her for who she truly was. And what, she thought to herself before drifting off to much-needed sleep, could possible be stronger than that?