Chapter Text
A strange amalgamation of colours seemingly simultaneously clashing and blending beautifully appears in front of you, ripping through the very space you stood before. An unidentified force lures you towards the gateway. Curiously, you held you hand out towards it - before being violently thrust inside.
Thoroughly disoriented you attempted to make sense of your surroundings; but all you could make out was a messy blur of colour as your body is hurtled through the tunnel-like structure. A sharp pain shoots through you causing you to curl up in pain, before you are able to understand your situation and catch your breath, a loud thud reverberates against the walls that now surround you as you evidently land on solid ground.
You open your eyes to be greeted with the tarmac seemingly taunting you, the uneasy sensation of falling and floating in unison has dissipated - to your relief. However, the indescribable twang of pain still torments you - hitting you with another burst of suffering and forcing you onto your back.
Looking up to the twilight sky quite literally painted in purples and blues you soon realise:
You are not home.
An incandescent street lamp bathes the alley you lie in with in a warm spill of orange and yellow, contrasting the mysterious hues of the dusk. This place is not as colourful as the passage you had plummeted through not moments ago, you pondered, but what could be, you added as an afterthought. The low hum of the street lamp acted as a soundtrack to the racing of your mind, your amazement at this watercolour world was quickly cut short once you assessed the severity of your issue.
A different dimension.
Your chest begins to rise and fall more rapidly as you attempt to bring yourself to your feet, only to stumble and end up on your hands and knees. Tears prick your eyes as you feel the sting of small chips of asphalt invading the skin on your knees, enhancing your suffering to a cruel degree. All your senses feel dulled, but you're still able to discern the sound of delicate footsteps behind you. Sobbing silently, you freeze - unable to move or react in any way other than cowering against the cold concrete.
"Hey! Are you alright? You look hurt, I ca-"
A concerned voice echoes through the alley and is abruptly cut off once you turn to face her. The slender, feminine frame is dressed in a skin-tight suit of black and white with coloured accents popping under the sparse illumination you sit beneath. Despite her face being completely covered you can detect her surprise at seeing you. Her watch glows a familiar cacophony of colour as she maintains eye contact with your injured form.
"Lyla, I've found another anomaly", she expresses to the important looking device. A response cracked through the air almost immediately : "I'll open a portal to HQ, you know what to do Gwen" the slightly robotic sounding voice informed.
Your eyes widen as you come to the same realisation this figure had the moment she saw your face: you are the same person.
You are both Gwen Stacy.
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
"You're glitching huh?", Gwen comments as if the unbearable pain you're experiencing is regular. Your body contorts from the sudden burst of pain, leaving you panting weakly.
"If that's what you call it", the words escape your throat hoarsely as you watch her press buttons on her gizmo resulting in a sickeningly familiar gateway taking form in front of you both. She kneels at your side and wraps an arm around you, assisting you to your feet as you struggle to mentally prepare for the stomach turning journey ahead. She gazes at you with a look of concern? empathy? indifference? you can't be quite sure as her only means of expression is slightly narrowed eyes pointed in your direction.
"Ready?", she questions as the colour slowly drains from your face at the idea of reliving the same disorienting experience. You mumble in response - not at all enthusiastic sounding but not totally averse either. The heroine takes this as a sign approval and gently eases you into the portal.
The experience is much less stressful than your first, you can't conclude whether it's because of her wrist device or your nauseating levels of anticipation beforehand but you're grateful nonetheless. This time rather than being roughly thrown into an alleyway you land gracefully on a polished, white linoleum floor with the girl's grip on you remaining steady, keeping your bloodied knees away from the ground. She sits you down on a plastic like bench equally as shiny as the flooring and removes her mask. Its uncanny, almost as if you were looking at your reflection in the glistening surface below you. There are differences that you make mental notes of whilst scanning every detail of her face, her haircut being the most obvious - half shaved and dip-dyed pink - a stark contrast from your own long blonde locks adorned with the black headband that you never seem to take off. Seeing her face both soothes you and disturbs you, letting you feel at ease that she is who you thought but confusing you even further.
"Wait right here", she instructs and of course you comply (its not like there's anywhere to run). The duplicate quickly returns with a wristband in her grasp.
"It's a day-pass!", she exclaims enthusiastically before sliding it onto your wrist, "To stop you glitching". Immediately you feel more at ease, all the noise inside your body that you hadn't even noticed had dissipated completely leaving you with only the physical pain of your knees left to deal with.
"We don't usually give these to anomalies but you're- well you're not-", you gaze at her curiously as she stumbles over her words, looking around you notice most people walking by sport some form of spider emblem on their suits, reminiscent of the legendary late Spider-Man of your universe. A realisation strikes you suddenly.
"Are you Spider-Man?", you blurt out (interrupting her now incoherent rambling) only to then realise how naive you must sound. She looks down at you with an expression that you believe to be a mixture of disbelief and humility as she begins to explain all the necessary details of the so called 'Spider Society'.
After the brief but sufficient introduction Gwen escorts you to a private room out of fear of being spotted by Miguel or one of his minions. "Why can't you just send me home?", you protest - blissfully unaware of the problem at hand.
"I just can't, trust me on this" she fiddles with her watch in an attempt to contact someone while you sit down frustrated. The room you've been taken to is dimly lit, juxtaposing the florescent sheen of what Gwen called 'The Lobby', the walls are a dark, rich red and the sofa you decided to perch on is surprisingly soft, its navy hue a welcome contrast to the walls; the colours clearly paying homage to the classic suit of the web-slinging hero you once knew and loved.
The sound of footsteps cuts through the air once again however this time they are not delicate, rather anything but. The boots of the figure make a distinct clack against the ground as the tall shadow looms closer with an air of mystery surrounding them.
"What seems to be the problem Gwendy?", the man inquires whilst stepping into the light, his piercings and studded accessories sparkle making him seem almost angelic and his towering frame manages to make you feel protected by his presence alone. Your relationship with Peter Parker had been cut short but dating Spider-Man had been amazing, if only for a short while, but this man...
You mentally reprimand yourself for thinking in such a way about a man whose name you didn't even know.
"Hobie! Thank God...", Gwen continues to talk but you pay her no mind, being utterly captivated by the composed form standing mere steps away from you who you now know as Hobie.
"...so what the hell do we do?", she finishes - after what you can only assume was the rundown of your current issue.
"I think cleanin' you up should be the first call of order, eh darl?", he addresses you directly and points at your knees, still littered with wounds. In response you nod your head a bit too eagerly and make an affirmative hum causing him to let out a small breath with you assume is the closest you'll get to a laugh.
"How's bringin' you back to my gaff for a bit sound?" he questions, you can't tell if his tone is laced with seduction or if his natural speaking voice just happens to make your heart lurch in your chest. He walks over to you, assessing your wounds then reaches his hand out for you to shake, bracelets jingling as he does so.
"Hobie Brown", he states factually, "Pleasure to meet another Miss Stacy" he cocks his head and waits for you to take his hand. After shaking his hand firmly his grip tightens and he pulls you to your feet before sweeping you off them completely - now carrying you bridal style and holding you across his chest.
"Can't be walkin' about with knees like that now can ya?, he says in a low tone that makes you blush slightly, you hope he doesn't notice in the obscured lighting.
A new portal opens and he turns to Gwen for approval. "She's your problem now", she teases before shooting you a friendly smile. Hobie scoffs and uses the moment as his queue to step through the portal, keeping you close.