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“Ha! I can still swing faster than you, Ghosty!” Spider-Man quipped, his voice light and playful as he shot a web toward the next building. The city lights of Queens shimmered beneath them, glowing gold and white against the deep blue night.
Ghost-Spider swung alongside him, her hood fluttering in the wind. “No, you’re not, Spidey!” she called back, her laughter echoing between the skyscrapers as she soared ahead, doing a quick flip just to show off.
They raced through the night sky, weaving between rooftops and streetlights like streaks of color against the darkness. To anyone watching from below, it looked like a blur of red, blue, and white streaking past—two heroes chasing the stars.
Patrols like these were supposed to be about keeping the city safe, but for Peter and Gwen, they always turned into something more-a friendly competition, a little flirting through masks and midair banter.
No one knew that Spider-Man and Ghost-Spider were dating, and that’s exactly how they wanted it. The secret made things exciting-just them and the night sky, no eyes watching.
But when the masks came off, everyone at Midtown High knew that Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy were together. They were too obvious to hide it—sharing smiles in the hallway, helping each other with homework, sneaking glances when they thought no one was watching.
What no one could ever guess was that after class, those same two teenagers were swinging side by side across the city, saving New York one rooftop at a time.
They swung around another corner, their webs slicing through the cool night air before landing gracefully on a rooftop overlooking the glittering lights of Queens. The city hummed beneath them—cars, sirens, and distant music blending into the kind of background noise they’d both grown used to.
Peter straightened up and pulled off his mask, his hair sticking out in a dozen directions from the humidity. He was still a little out of breath, but he grinned at her. “Okay, you win, Gwen.”
Gwen laughed, tugging her hood down before peeling off her own mask. Her blonde hair spilled out, a little tangled from the wind. “Told you I’d win again, Pete,” she said with a teasing smile, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
Peter chuckled softly, his cheeks turning pink even in the dim rooftop light. They sat side by side, their legs dangling over the edge of the building as they looked out across the city—the lights flickering like stars that had fallen to earth.
For a few minutes, neither of them said anything. The air was cool, and the city felt peaceful for once.
“Okay, looks like we’ve got a bit of a break,” Gwen murmured, resting her head on Peter’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Guess we do. We shouldn’t stay in one spot too long, though. Otherwise Mr. Stark will probably think we’re dead.”
Gwen laughed softly against his shoulder. “Wouldn’t want him sending out the search drones again.”
Peter smiled, tilting his head just enough to brush his cheek against her hair. “Yeah, that was awkward to explain last time.”
The two of them sat there for a moment longer—just Spider-Man and Ghost-Spider, two masked heroes who also happened to be two kids in love, taking a rare breath between the chaos.
Five minutes later, the peaceful quiet of the city stretched around them like a blanket. Peter absentmindedly twirled a strand of web between his fingers as he looked down at the streets below. Then, something caught his eye.
“Look,” he said, leaning forward and pointing. “That’s Aunt May’s car—she must be heading home after work.”
Gwen followed his gaze, spotting the familiar vehicle turning onto a quieter street. “Aw, that’s kind of sweet,” she started to say, but her words cut off as both of their spider-senses flared at once—a sharp, buzzing pulse that made their hearts jump.
“Something’s wrong,” Gwen said instantly, pulling her hood back on and yanking her mask into place.
Peter’s hands were already shaking as he slipped his mask back over his face. “Please don’t let this be—”
The screech of tires tore through the night. A dark SUV came out of nowhere, slamming into May’s car with a thunderous crash. Metal crumpled. Glass shattered. The sound of impact echoed through the empty street.
“May!” Peter shouted, his voice cracking as he dove off the rooftop. Ghost-Spider swung right after him, the two of them descending in streaks of color and motion.
They hit the ground hard and ran toward the wreck. Smoke billowed from the front of May’s car, the headlights flickering weakly. Peter ripped open the driver’s side door, his heart hammering.
“Aunt May! Can you hear me?” His voice trembled as he saw the blood seeping through her blouse. He pressed his gloved hands over the wound, trying to stop it. “You’re going to be okay, ma’am,” he said quickly, forcing his voice steady even as tears burned behind his mask. “You’re gonna be fine, just stay with me, okay?”
Behind him, Ghost-Spider leapt into action. The men who had crashed into May’s car had stumbled out, waving guns in a panic. They weren’t thinking—they were just shooting wildly, terrified and reckless.
“Drop it!” Ghost-Spider shouted, flipping off a lamppost and webbing one gun clean out of a man’s hands. She swung low, kicking another into a car door before webbing his legs to the ground.
But even as she disarmed them, it was clear they weren’t organized criminals—they were desperate. One of them shouted incoherently about getting away, about not meaning to hit the car.
“Then why are you shooting?!” she yelled back, ducking another stray bullet.
Spider-Man didn’t even look up. His entire focus was on May—her shallow breathing, the faint tremor in her fingers. His voice cracked as he whispered, “Please, May, hold on.”
Even though the bad guys weren’t exactly skilled, there were too many of them, and Ghost-Spider was starting to lose ground. Bullets ricocheted off metal and concrete, sparks flashing in the dark. Gwen gritted her teeth, swinging her legs up to kick one of the men square in the chest, but another shot whizzed past her shoulder, close enough that she could feel the heat.
“Spider-Man! I need help!” she yelled, her voice echoing through the empty street.
Peter’s head snapped up. His heart lurched as he saw her cornered behind a wrecked taxi, three gunmen closing in. He spared one last look at May—still slumped but alive—and then leapt back into the chaos. His webs shot out fast, slinging him through the air. He landed hard, knocking one of the attackers back and webbing another’s gun away before they could fire.
But one man—shaking, pale, terrified—still had his finger on the trigger. He wasn’t even aiming properly. He was just shooting at anything that moved.
Peter spun, narrowly dodging a bullet that tore past his mask.
And then he heard it.
The sound of glass shattering.
The sound that would haunt him forever.
He turned his head—just in time to see the bullet rip through the windshield of May’s car.
Time stopped.
The world fell completely silent. Even his heartbeat seemed to freeze as he watched his aunt’s head jerk violently to the side, a burst of crimson blooming against the shattered glass.
For a second, Peter just stood there—frozen, his breath caught in his throat. The city noise, the gunfire, the sirens—everything vanished.
Then the realization hit him like a freight train.
“NOOO!”
The scream tore through his chest, raw and broken. He shot a web at the gunman, yanking him off his feet and slamming him into a brick wall so hard the man collapsed instantly. The impact echoed like thunder, but Peter didn’t care. He didn’t even see the others anymore.
Ghost-Spider handled them—fast, furious, unstoppable. Her movements were sharp and filled with rage, her webbing snapping through the air as she disarmed the last of them. When she turned, she saw Peter running for the car, his movements desperate and uneven.
“Peter—”
He didn’t hear her. He was already there, tearing the door open, his gloved hands trembling violently.
“Aunt May,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Please—please talk to me.”
But she didn’t move. Her head was slumped forward, blood dripping down her cheek. Her eyes were open but distant, glassy, gone.
Peter felt something inside him shatter.
“No,” he muttered, shaking his head as he pressed his hand over the wound, as if he could somehow reverse it, somehow stop time, somehow make it okay. “You’re gonna be fine, okay? Just—just stay with me. Please.”
Nothing.
His breath came in sharp gasps. His vision blurred. His chest felt tight, the air too heavy to breathe. Then the nausea hit.
He pulled his mask halfway up and turned to the side, retching violently onto the pavement. His whole body shook as he choked back another sob, the sound muffled by the night.
Gwen was beside him in seconds, kneeling down on the cold asphalt. She reached out with trembling hands, rubbing slow circles into his back. Her mask was still on, but her voice broke through the fabric.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Peter stayed hunched over, one hand braced against the ground, the other still clutching May’s arm. His gloves were slick with blood. His shoulders shook, and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.
“She was just… she was just going home. She didn’t do anything. She didn’t…” His words broke off into a sob.
Gwen swallowed hard, feeling tears sting her own eyes. “I know,” she said softly, even though the words felt useless. “I know.”
The street around them was eerily still now. The thugs were all down, webbed to walls and cars. Smoke curled from the wreckage. The faint wail of distant sirens grew closer, echoing down the empty streets.
Ghost-Spider pulled her hood back and lifted her mask, her face pale and streaked with tears. She crouched beside Peter, putting her hand over his where it rested on May’s arm.
Peter didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. He was staring blankly ahead, his mask half-up, the wind drying the tears on his cheeks.
“She’s gone,” he whispered finally, his voice hollow. “She’s really gone.”
Gwen squeezed his hand gently, wishing there was something—anything—she could say to make it hurt less. But there wasn’t. Not for this.
Red and blue lights reflected off the buildings as police cars rounded the corner. The first siren screamed through the night, and Peter flinched, his instincts kicking in. They couldn’t be found here—not unmasked, not like this.
“Pete,” Gwen said softly. “We need to go. Please.”
He didn’t move.
“Peter,” she said again, her voice breaking this time. “If they see us—if they find out—it’ll all fall apart. You know that.”
He finally turned his head, his eyes glassy behind the mask. For a long, silent moment, he just looked at his aunt—then at Gwen.
Then he nodded, barely.
Ghost-Spider stood, helping him up. He hesitated, brushing a gloved hand over May’s arm one last time before stepping back.
As the first officers arrived, Spider-Man and Ghost-Spider swung into the night—two silhouettes vanishing into the dark sky above Queens.
But the city didn’t feel like home anymore.
Not tonight.
Not after this.
They landed hard on a rooftop several blocks away from the chaos. The moment Peter’s feet hit the concrete, his knees buckled. Gwen barely managed to catch him before he collapsed completely.
“Peter—hey, I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” she said softly, lowering him to the ground.
But he wasn’t hearing her. His hands were shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps that tore through the night air. The moment they were clear of the sirens and flashing lights, everything he’d been holding in came crashing down at once.
He broke.
A sob tore out of him—loud, raw, and broken. He tried to breathe, but it came out as choking gasps. His whole body shook as the dam finally burst.
Gwen sank down beside him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him as tightly as she dared. He buried his face in her shoulder, his sobs muffled against the fabric of her suit.
She didn’t say anything at first. There were no words that could fix this. No comfort that could make it hurt less. All she could do was hold him—her own tears slipping down her cheeks.
“She’s gone,” Peter gasped between breaths. “She’s—she’s gone, Gwen. I couldn’t— I couldn’t save her—”
“Shh, hey, no, Peter…” she whispered, but her voice was shaking too. “You did everything you could. You—you tried.”
He shook his head violently, guilt cutting through the grief like glass. “I’m Spider-Man. I was right there. I was right there, and I still—” His words broke off into another sob.
Gwen held him tighter, wishing she could take the pain from him, even for a second. But she couldn’t. His last family member had just died right in front of him. The person who raised him, who loved him unconditionally—gone in an instant.
He had no one left.
Except her.
Gwen swallowed hard and pulled back just enough to look at him. His mask was still halfway up, his face streaked with tears, his chest rising and falling unevenly. She brushed her gloved thumb against his cheek, wiping away a tear.
“Peter,” she whispered. “I’m calling Tony.”
He didn’t answer. He just kept staring at the rooftop beneath them, his hands still trembling.
Gwen slid her mask fully back on and tapped the side of it, activating her comms. Her voice cracked as she spoke, trying to keep it steady.
The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Come on,” she whispered under her breath, her hand gripping Peter’s shoulder as he cried softly beside her.
Finally, the line clicked. “Hey, Gwen, what’s up—wait, is that Peter crying in the background?” Tony’s voice changed instantly, from casual to concerned. “Gwen. What happened?”
Gwen’s throat tightened. Her mouth went dry. How did she even say this?
“Tony…” She took a shaky breath, blinking back tears. “Could you come get Peter, please? We were just… we were on patrol, and one of the victims—” Her voice cracked, and she had to stop to breathe. “One of the victims was May. And she… she didn’t make it.”
There was silence on the other end. Long. Heavy.
When Tony finally spoke, his voice was quiet, barely holding steady. “Stay where you are. I’m coming right now.”
The line went dead.
Gwen looked back at Peter, who was still folded over himself, trembling and broken. She didn’t let go of him—not for a second. She just wrapped her arms around him again and whispered, “He’s coming, Pete. Tony’s coming.”
Peter didn’t answer. He just kept crying—soft, helpless, heartbroken. And under the cold, empty sky of Queens, the two young heroes stayed there on the rooftop, holding each other as the city kept moving beneath them, completely unaware of the world that had just fallen apart above.
Peter tore off his mask and flung it across the rooftop. It hit the concrete with a dull slap before skidding to a stop near the ledge. His chest heaved as his body trembled uncontrollably.
Then he turned away and gagged, collapsing onto his hands and knees before violently throwing up. The sound echoed through the empty night, raw and awful.
“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” Gwen whispered quickly, crouching behind him. She reached out and rubbed his back in slow, careful circles, her fingers trembling under her gloves. She could feel the tension rolling through him, the shaking that wouldn’t stop.
He stayed like that for what felt like forever—breathing hard, gasping between half-choked sobs. Gwen stayed with him, grounding him, whispering whatever gentle words she could muster.
“It’s okay, Peter. I’ve got you. Just breathe. Please, just breathe.”
He tried. He really did. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw the moment again—the gun going off, the glass shattering, May’s head snapping forward. It played over and over in his mind, like a cruel loop he couldn’t shut off.
Ten minutes crawled by like hours. Gwen kept her arm around him, her thumb brushing against the edge of his suit. The wind up here was cold, cutting through the silence between his ragged breaths.
Then she heard it—the faint rumble of an engine far below. Her heart jumped. “He’s here,” she murmured softly.
A moment later, the sharp, metallic roar of repulsors filled the air. The Iron Man suit shot up from the street, lights glowing against the night. The armor landed with a heavy thud on the rooftop, scattering dust and loose gravel.
The faceplate slid open, revealing Tony’s worried expression. “Kid…” His voice broke slightly as he stepped out of the suit. He didn’t even hesitate—he dropped to his knees beside Peter the instant he saw him.
Peter didn’t even look up. The second he felt Tony beside him, he reached out blindly, grabbing onto him and clinging like he might disappear.
Tony froze for only a heartbeat, then wrapped his arms around the boy, pulling him in tight. One hand came up to cradle the back of Peter’s head, the other rubbing circles into his back. “Hey, hey… I’m here, kid. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Peter’s breathing came out in ragged sobs. “She’s gone,” he whispered hoarsely. “She’s gone, Mr. Stark—I couldn’t—I didn’t—”
“I know,” Tony said quietly, his voice thick. “I know, kiddo. I’m so sorry.”
He glanced up and saw the puddle of vomit a few feet away, his expression tightening. He looked to Gwen and tilted his head toward it, silently mouthing, him?
Gwen nodded, her voice soft. “He’s having a panic attack,” she explained, still kneeling beside them. “I’ve tried everything I could to calm him down, but he can’t stop shaking.”
Tony nodded once, understanding immediately. “Okay,” he murmured. He gently loosened Peter’s grip. “I’ll be right back, kid. Don’t go anywhere, alright?”
He stood, stepping back into the armor. The faceplate slid down and locked with a hiss, and within seconds, the repulsors flared to life again. Gwen shielded her face as he lifted off, vanishing over the rooftop’s edge.
Peter didn’t move. He sat slumped on the concrete, still shaking, tears spilling down his face unchecked. His breaths came too fast, too shallow. Gwen crouched beside him again, resting her hand over his.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “He’ll be right back. You’re not alone.”
Her voice was barely audible over the sound of the wind.
Less than a minute later, Tony was back. The armor landed gently this time, the faceplate folding open as he stepped out with something in his hands.
He knelt beside Peter again and carefully slipped a pair of noise-canceling headphones over his head.
“They’re playing his favorite songs,” Tony said quietly, glancing at Gwen. “It should help ground him—give him something familiar.”
Gwen nodded, wiping her eyes quickly. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Tony settled beside Peter again, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. The faint music from the headphones hummed through the air—soft, steady, grounding. Slowly, Peter’s breathing began to even out. The sharp edge of his panic dulled slightly, replaced with something quieter but no less painful.
He leaned against Tony’s arm, completely drained. His eyes were red and unfocused. He wasn’t really there—just lost somewhere between shock and heartbreak.
Gwen sat down on his other side, folding her legs beneath her and resting a hand on his knee. She looked so small under the moonlight—her white hood fluttering slightly in the breeze.
For a while, no one spoke. The city stretched endlessly beneath them, the lights blurring like reflections in water.
When Tony finally did speak, his voice was low, steady, and full of quiet grief. “We’ll get him through this,” he said softly to Gwen. “I promise.”
Gwen looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “He doesn’t deserve this,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s just a kid. He’s already been through so much.”
Tony sighed, his gaze fixed on Peter. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “He has. And I’d give anything to make sure he never has to go through something like this again.”
Peter stirred faintly, his voice so small it was almost lost in the wind. “She… she was all I had.”
Tony’s chest tightened. He shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Peter again. “You’ve still got people who love you, kid,” he said softly. “You’ve got me. You’ve got Gwen. You’re not alone, okay? Not ever.”
Peter didn’t answer, but a small, broken sound left his throat—a sound that could’ve been a sob or a quiet acknowledgment. He leaned into Tony’s shoulder, eyes closing from sheer exhaustion.
Gwen sat on his other side, her gloved hand still resting over his.
The rooftop was quiet except for the faint hum of the Iron Man suit behind them and the soft music playing through Peter’s headphones. The stars were faint above the glow of the city, but they were there-distant, constant.
Tony looked out across the skyline, his jaw tight, eyes wet. “We’ll take him home,” he said quietly. “Get him cleaned up. Get him some rest.”
Gwen nodded. “Yeah,” she said softly. “He needs that.”
Tony stood slowly, re-entering the suit and crouching to lift Peter gently into his arms. The boy didn’t resist—he was too drained to move, his body limp, his face pressed against Tony’s chestplate. Gwen stood close beside them, her own mask back on, her expression hidden but her voice trembling.
Gwen noticed the way Peter’s head lolled weakly against Tony’s shoulder. His breathing was steadier now, but his face was pale beneath the city lights, his lashes still wet from crying. The headphones were still playing softly — a quiet song that only he could hear.
She crouched beside him and gently lifted his discarded mask from where it had fallen. The red fabric was torn and dirty, still damp from sweat and tears. She hesitated for a moment, looking at it, then carefully pulled it back over Peter’s face.
“There,” she whispered, adjusting it gently. “So you’re not spotted… and so we don’t leave it behind.”
Tony watched quietly, saying nothing, just keeping a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Gwen lingered for a moment longer, brushing her thumb lightly over Peter’s temple through the mask. Her voice was soft, barely audible through the hum of the night. “I’ll text you tomorrow, okay? I promise.”
She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead through their masks, holding there for just a second. Then, with one last look at Tony, she straightened up.
“Take care of him,” she said quietly.
Tony nodded once, his jaw tight. “I will.”
Gwen hesitated, the wind tugging gently at her hood. Then, without another word, she shot a webline across to the next rooftop and swung away into the night. Her silhouette disappeared into the shadows between the buildings, leaving Tony and Peter alone under the hum of the city lights.
Tony looked down at Peter again — the kid was half-conscious, completely exhausted, his head resting limply against Tony’s chestplate. Tony sighed softly.
“Alright, kid,” he murmured as he adjusted his grip. “Let’s get you home.”
The suit’s thrusters flared to life, lifting them gently off the rooftop. The city below blurred into streaks of yellow and red as they descended toward the quiet side street where Tony’s car waited.
Happy was already outside, standing by the open car door, his expression heavy with concern. He looked up as Tony landed beside him.
“Is he—”
Tony shook his head. “He’s not hurt,” he said quietly, “just… broken.”
Happy nodded grimly, glancing at Peter’s still form in Tony’s arms. Without a word, he opened the back door wider.
Tony carefully lowered Peter into the seat, removing the headphones and setting them gently on his lap. The kid didn’t stir much — just shifted slightly, murmuring something incoherent under his breath.
Tony took off his armor, the mechanical clicks echoing in the night. Once the suit folded down and retracted fully into the trunk, he climbed into the back seat beside Peter.
“Take us to the compound, please, Happy,” Tony said softly.
Happy gave a small nod and started the engine.
As the car pulled away, Tony glanced out the window — the city’s glow reflecting in his eyes. He looked down at Peter, who had slumped against his shoulder, completely drained. The faint rise and fall of his chest was the only sign of life, steady but fragile.
Tony exhaled slowly, resting his hand lightly on the boy’s arm. “You’re gonna be okay, kid,” he murmured quietly. “I promise.”
The car drove on through the near-empty streets, the skyline fading behind them.
For the first time that night, the city felt painfully silent.