Chapter Text
It was dawn when Peter finally arrived home. The hazy morning sun had begun its lazy climb across the New York City skyline, his New York City, and its crimson glow had set the city ablaze.
He couldn’t help dragging his feet as he made his way up the front steps, going over and over his memories of the previous night. They were memories so unreal, that he feared they’d fade from his mind if he wasn’t careful.
He’d arrived home from a long patrol that night, eager to greet his bed with the enthusiasm of an old friend. Only, there hadn’t been any home. His Aunt May was gone. His house- in fact his entire street, all gone.
Gwen Stacy? It had been as if she had never existed; her grave replaced by a stranger’s. And in place of the Oscorp Tower was building he didn’t recognize.
He’d thought it was a nightmare then.
But now, in the crystal light of dawn, it all seemed like a dream.
He’d saved her- not Gwen, but the other Peter’s Gwen, MJ. And knowing that he’d spared his brother that pain was more comfort that reality had ever cared to give him.
Eyelids heavy, Peter threw the door open and stumbled inside, flinching as it collided with a potted plant he’d forgotten was there. The pot fell to the floor with a crash, and the flowers, starflowers, Gwen’s favorite, were littered across the doormat.
“Peter?!” There was a clattering as he pulled himself into the kitchen, and suddenly his Aunt May was there, wrapping her arms around him.
“Peter, where have you been?”
Peter grinned, mumbling an incoherent greeting as he returned her embrace.
Aunt May drew back, giving him a once over, her brow was knit with worry as she raised one hand to his cheek, probably filthy with sweat and blood. She clicked her tongue, and he couldn’t help but smile. It was so real. He was home.
“s’nothing,” he muttered, gently guiding her hand from his bruised and scruffy face, “Just gotta sleep…”
With that he slunk of toward the stairs, imagining the subject dropped, for the present at least.
"But Peter!” Aunt May’s voice trailed up the steps after him, “Don’t forget…”
“I won’t!” he lied, pulling himself the final stretch, and thrusting himself onto his bed with a groan. He wasn’t going anywhere today.
The phone was ringing…
The phone was ringing!
Peter sat bolt upright, flinching as warm sunlight spilled through the blinds and directly into his eyes,
“Aagh!” he groaned, fumbling groggily around his sheets. His head was pounding; he couldn’t remember where he’d put the phone down that night- morning, or if he’d even had it at all…
It didn’t matter; once the brain fog wore off he could feel it vibrating in his pant leg, and hear the ringtone from just under the covers,
“Right,” he muttered. He was still wearing the jeans from last night.
Falling back into the bed, he slid the phone from his pocket,
“Hello?” he croaked
“Peter?”
What?
Peter watched the phone fall.
The caller ID glared back at him from the floor.
This was a mistake.
His ears were buzzing. He couldn’t hear himself- couldn’t think.
“Peter!”
Again!
That voice, so muffled but… it was her.
It was her.
It was as if he’d realized he was drowning again.
“Peter, pick up the phone!”
Peter obeyed, almost instinctively.
“Peter? What’s going on? Are you there?” There was no mistaking Gwen Stacy. The way she rasped just a little when she worried; the way he hung on her every word.
“Gwen,” her name was fragile on his lips. The warmth of his own tears startled him as they fell to his bed in dirty splotches.
“Peter!” she- the voice breathed a ragged sigh of relief, “Don’t do that!
“Where are you?”
He couldn’t answer; he was afraid to move his trembling hand from its tight clasp around his mouth, afraid of what he’d say if he did.
“Peter?”
Peter listened through the hesitant pause that followed, filled with all the chaos of foot traffic, raucous voices, and breathing.
Real breathing.
“Something’s wrong,” she sighed, “Ok, I’m gonna call my dad to come pick me up, and—"
“No! no- no I’ll—” Peter swallowed, hard, “I’m uh…”
he took in the mess of scattered clothes at his feet.
“I’m coming…”
he had to focus. His clothes- he’d slept in them, and he needed to change, but his hands were running through his hair, and he couldn’t stop them,
“Gwen…” it had to be her voice. He hadn’t heard her voice since…
Suddenly he was out of bed, webbing on his clothes, heading for the door,
Where um- “he skidded to a halt beside the splintered pot of starflowers and rubbed one hand over his dazed face, “Ok, where are you?”
Chapter Text
Peter knew he was going insane.
Because he knew Gwen Stacy was dead.
He felt it, every day, exhaustion, panic, and grief,
Always grief.
He’d read and reread the words on that stone, that last moment in his mind. He wanted to die when he thought of her.
She was the love of his life,
and she was dead.
“Gwen Stacy,” he whispered, hand flying to his mouth, to stop its trembling; to curb the nausea,
“Nineteen ninety-four to twenty fourteen”
He knew her by heart, in this place that was sacred to him.
This place that no longer existed.
No stone, no words, just… gone.
His hands flew up to his hair. They needed something to do, something to grab.
He was standing on bare cemetery ground, and he was supposed to be at the airport.
He was supposed to be at the airport, but his limbs had stopped working.
They buzzed with the strangeness of unreality.
His trembling fingers curled into a fist and hovered before his lips.
This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t real.
“Gwen,” he managed her name, “I gotta go, but I’ll be back,”
He swung his leg around,
“Don’t worry,” he nodded, and his whole body shook, “I’ll be back,”
He waited for it all to disappear, the churning crowds, the sea of faces, the world turning around her.
He just wanted everything to stop lying.
But what he saw remained
He blinked away tears and she remained, standing, breathing.
He swallowed, ran a sleeve across his face,
“Gwen,” he formed her name, but no sound came out.
She stood beside her suitcase, several feet away from him, her eyes glued to her phone.
She was wearing her green coat.
Peter felt his phone vibrate,
‘Where are you?’ her text read, beside a contact photo he didn’t remember taking.
Then her eyes came up and she scanned the crowd, and his heart stopped when her gaze fell on him.
“Peter!”
With every click of her boot heel his heart dropped till it was way down in his stomach.
His chest was too tight, he couldn’t breathe. With every second she was getting closer.
Breathe in
But his very breath choked him.
He was drowning again.
“Peter?”
Something in him desperately wanted her to be real.
Turn around
He could feel his whole body telling him to run; that this was going to hurt more than anything.
“Hey,” her hand came up to his cheek, and he didn’t stop her. Her eyes met his, vibrant blue, and her head tilted just so, “What’s wrong?”
“’S nothing,’ he shook his head, mouth set in a tight line. He looked up, down, anywhere but at her; desperate for a distraction but he couldn’t focus on any one thing for longer than a second
“Peter?”
“It’s—” his eyes wandered back over to her, flickering from the shoes on her feet to the skeptical expression on her face, “It’s- it’s nothing. I—"
“No, no, no, no, no, no!” she cut in, pointing an accusatory finger at him. Their was a fire in her eyes, half angry, half laughing, and all alive, “You said you weren’t gonna do this anymore! We agreed—”
His arms closed around her, and his head nestled on his shoulder, and he held her close, so close he could hear her heartbeat.
He’d had dreams like this. He reached up, ran his thumb across her skin, down her neck, through her hair.
And she was warm like she’d never felt in his dreams or nightmares, and her lips when they sought out his were sweet. She was still using that same gingerbread lip gloss. Her fingers in his hair set his spine tingling.
“Hey,” he breathed into her hair, trailing through his fingers like sunlight, and laughed unevenly,
“Hey,”
“I missed you,”
rafsolo on Chapter 2 Tue 13 Feb 2024 11:07PM UTC
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