I wake to the smell of eggs and... bacon? The bed next to me is empty, which means Aunt May is probably downstairs making breakfast. I rub my eyes, grab a shirt, and head downstairs, yawning as I go.

"May, what're you making? It smells really good," I call out as I reach the kitchen.

But when I step inside, it's not May I see—it's Gwen, standing by the stove with a spatula in hand. She turns to me with a warm smile. "Hi."

I feel my face flush, momentarily forgetting that Gwen Stacy had stayed the night. "Uh... hey, Gwen. Smells... good."

She smiles and turns back to the pan, her blond hair catching the morning light. "Oh, yeah, this... I just thought you might be hungry. I'm sorry—I know I should've asked first, but May had to leave early, and she asked me to stay here with you so I just...I thought I'd make you some breakfast. I know it's probably weird."

I shake my head, walking over to her. "Don't worry. It looks great," I say with a smile, and she grins back, her eyes sparkling.

"Yeah? I make breakfast all the time for my dad because he's always in such a rush to leave," Gwen laughs, her voice light. "Kinda like you, actually—he forgets to eat, so I get up early to make sure he has something."

I smile at the thought. I definitely wouldn't mind if Gwen made me breakfast every morning. "Your dad's a lucky guy." I pause for a moment, feeling the weight of something that's been lingering between us. "There is... something I wanted to ask."

She glances over, curious. "What's up?"

I swallow hard. The kiss. The moment that's been stuck in my mind, but with everything that happened, we never got to talk about it. Is now even the right time? She thought I was dead a few days ago, but I can't keep waiting.

"Well, I mean... there's this thing that happened, uh... like... well..." I trail off, fumbling with the words.

"The kiss?" Gwen says, her back still turned as she grabs the bacon and places it on the plates, her voice casual like she wasn't completely throwing me off balance.

I feel my cheeks burn. She's always been more direct than me. "Yeah. The kiss. Was that... a mistake?" The question hangs in the air, and honestly, I'm not sure I even want to know the answer.

Finally, she turns, holding two plates—one for me, one for her—and sits beside me, her usual smile softening her features. "No, Peter." She blushes, setting the plate in front of me. "It wasn't. I meant everything I said that night."

I feel my own smile spreading, this warm feeling of relief and something more. "Yeah?"

Gwen places her hand on mine, and the touch sends a little shock through me. "Yeah."

Is this real? Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy? It feels impossible.

But maybe, just maybe, nearly getting killed was worth it after all.

Maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey, Gwen. I'm headed out for a little while, so... just make yourself comfortable. I'll be back soon," I say, grabbing my jacket and slipping on my boots.

Gwen's beside me in a second, her expression tight with concern. "Where are you going?"

I can see it in her eyes—the worry, the fear that's still lingering from my disappearance. Of course, she's still shaken by it. Who wouldn't be? May probably asked her to stay with me while she's at work. To watch over me, make sure I don't go running off into danger again.

"Just to Harry's place," I offer, trying to sound casual, like this isn't a big deal.

But her face falls, and her voice softens. "Okay, then I'm coming with you."

"Gwen, it's fine. I'll be—"

"Please." She cuts me off, her eyes searching mine, pleading. I can feel how much it means to her to be there, to make sure I'm safe. And after everything, I don't have it in me to say no.

I sigh, forcing a small smile. "Alright, you win. Let's go."

As we step out, Gwen's hand finds mine, and I let her hold on. Maybe part of me wants her there just as much as she wants to be. As we walk through the streets, the reality of what happened hits me all over again. Buildings reduced to rubble, the scars of the battle with the Sinister Six etched into the city itself.

I failed to stop all of this.

Sure, they're in prison now, but the damage was already done. But the blame doesn't just sit with them alone, Norman Osborn has to answer for what he's done too.

We hail a cab, and before long we're standing outside the gates of the Osborn mansion. It's the same as ever—pristine, untouched. Like nothing ever happened.

The grass is still perfectly cut, the mansion gleaming like it's brand new. But I know the truth. Things aren't as perfect as they seem.

I hesitate at the front door, my heart pounding in my chest. I haven't seen Harry since the Oscorp incident, and I haven't seen Norman since the attack when he supposedly "found" me at the hospital.

But he knows. I'm sure of it.

He knows who I am.

Gwen squeezes my hand, grounding me. "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you're okay."

I nod and knock on the door. Footsteps echo behind it, and when it opens, I'm greeted by someone I've never seen before—a girl around our age. Her eyes are glazed, distant, like she's barely aware of what's happening.

"Who are you?" she asks, her voice slow, slurred.

"I... I'm here to see Harry," I reply, glancing at Gwen. Something's off, and I can feel it in my gut.

The girl shrugs, stepping aside. "Oh, you must be the dealer. Yeah, come on in. We've been waiting."

Dealer?

I glance around the room as Gwen and I follow her inside, and my stomach drops. The place is a mess. People are scattered everywhere, sprawled across furniture, some too drunk or high to even notice we're here. It's a far cry from the mansion I remember.

Norman must not be here, he'd never allow for this.

Then I see him, slumped on a couch with a girl by his side, a bag of green pills resting in his lap. My heart sinks. Felicia was right.

"Harry?!" I rush over, dropping Gwen's hand as I snatch the bag away from him.

"What the—" He looks up, ready to snap, but when his eyes land on me, his anger melts into something softer, sadder. "Pete? Man... I heard you were in the hospital. I didn't...know they'd let you out already. I would've come by, I swear..."

He stands, wrapping his arms around me in a shaky embrace, and for a moment, I just let him. I don't know what to say.

"I can see you've been... busy," I mutter, glancing around at the chaos.

Harry pulls back, looking defensive. "Look, it's not like you've been great about checking in either. Besides, it's not like Dad ever comes home anymore to even see this mess. And when I thought... when I thought you were dead..."

His voice cracks, and the guilt I've been carrying tightens around my chest like a noose. I failed him. I wasn't there when he needed me.

"I get it, Harry," I say softly. "I do. But this stuff?" I hold up the bag of pills. "It's dangerous. You can't keep doing this."

He scoffs, his expression hardening again. "What? So you just came here to lecture me? To look down on me, like you always do?"

There's a heat in his eyes that wasn't there before—anger, frustration, pain. But this isn't the Harry I know. This is something else. Those pills are warping him.

"That's not why we're here, Harry," Gwen steps in, her voice calm and gentle. "We came to check on you. Peter's okay. He's here, and he cares about you."

Harry sighs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I-I'm fine now, okay? So just give me the pills. Please, Pete."

I shake my head, holding them out of reach. "No, Harry. These won't help you. We can, but not this."

He reaches for them again, more desperate this time, grabbing me by the collar. "Just give them to me!"

"Harry, stop!" Gwen pulls him back, and for a second, I see the real Harry, the one I know. He's looks so lost. He's broken. And it's my fault. I wasn't there when he needed me the most. I was too busy playing hero, too distracted by my own battles to notice the one he was fighting right in front of me.

"Harry," I start, my voice barely above a whisper, "I know I haven't always been there. But this... it's not the way."

He glares at me, his eyes dark and sunken, his voice laced with bitterness. "Oh, you're here now? You're gonna help me, Pete? Like you helped me at school when that freak came after me? Like you helped when Felicia dumped me? Like you helped when I got kidnapped at Oscorp? Every time I needed you, you were gone. You always leave."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, each one a reminder of every failure, every time I let him down. He's right. I wasn't there. I couldn't be.

But before I can respond, Gwen steps between us, her voice firm but gentle. "Peter went after you, Harry, that day at Oscorp, he...he risked his life for you because you're his friend. Peter might not have been there every time, but he's here now. And he cares about you, Harry. We both do."

Harry's eyes flicker with something—maybe regret, maybe pain. But he looks away, shaking his head. "Just... go. Both of you."

He motions for us both to leave through the door, Gwen and I oblige, making our way out the door, I turn to him. "Harry, please..." I try one last time, but the door's already closing on us.

Outside, I stand there for a moment, staring at the bag of pills in my hand, the weight of them heavy in my pocket. Gwen touches my arm softly. "What now?"

I swallow hard, trying to push down the guilt that's threatening to swallow me whole. I need to figure out what Norman's up to. I'll find out what these pills really are. As bad as I felt, I needed to find a way to be alone for a few hours so that I could try and sew together an all new suit, which might take a day or so. Which I don't even have the time for. "Let's go stop by the Maple."

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

She nods, and we try and hail down another cab.

Norman's behind it all. And now, Harry's caught in the middle.

I can't let him fall any further.

I won't let him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I push open the door to the diner, Gwen following close behind. The place is nearly empty, the soft clink of silverware barely filling the quiet. At the counter, Felicia's wiping down the surface, but the moment her eyes land on me, her face shifts—serious, urgent. She's mouthing something, trying to get a message across, but I can't make out the words.

Before I can even try to decode her silent warning, Gwen tugs at my sleeve. "Come on, Peter," she says, guiding me toward a booth by the front window.

Reluctantly, I follow and sit down across from her. But Felicia's still staring, still trying to tell me something, her hands moving subtly as if spelling out a code I should understand.

I glance at Gwen. "Give me a sec."

Standing up, I begin making my way over to Felicia. I'm about to ask what's going on when the back door swings open. The sound stops me in my tracks.

I turn—and there's Aunt May, smiling as she walks out. But behind her, looming like a shadow from my nightmares, is Norman Osborn.

My whole body locks up, every muscle frozen in place. He's here. Right in front of me. And that smile—the same practiced, charming smile that fooled everyone—paints his face like nothing's wrong. Like he's just a regular man. But I know better. Now, I see right through it.

"I can't thank you enough, Norman," May says warmly, glancing back at him. "I had no idea hospitals could charge so much."

"It's nothing, really," Norman replies smoothly, flashing that same disarming grin. "Peter's been such a good friend to my Harry. Helping out is the least I can do. After all, we're practically family."

My heart races. Does she not know? Does he know that I know?

May notices me standing there, stiff and silent. "Peter, honey, are you feeling any better?"

I force a smile, trying to ignore the thudding in my chest. "Yeah... I'm fine." The words come out too quickly. I can't even decide where to look—May, Norman, the floor? All I can think is: Don't let him see it. Don't let him see what you're thinking.

May beams. "We've got Mr. Osborn to thank for paying off your hospital bills. And it's a good thing he found you when he did, after the accident."

I feel my throat tighten. I manage to nod. "Y-Yeah..." Hold it together, Parker. "I, uh... I guess I never really got the chance to thank you properly, Mr. Osborn. And I'm glad to see you're alright, after everything that happened."

Norman's smile deepens, and before I can react, his hand is on my shoulder—heavy, too familiar. "Yes, well, I owe it all to Spider-Man. He made sure I was safe and sound. Thank god for him, right?"

My blood chills at the mention of Spider-Man. He's testing me. He's watching for a reaction. Is he trying to bait me? "Yeah... Spider-Man," I mutter, swallowing hard. "He's... good at that." My voice barely keeps steady.

Norman's hand lingers a moment longer, then slips away. "It's good to see you on your feet, Peter. You've been through a lot."

I nod, trying to keep my face neutral. "Thanks again for your help. Really."

He nods, turning back to May. "I've got to head back to Oscorp, lots of work waiting for me. But, Peter," he says, pausing to look at me one last time, "I really am glad to see you're doing well."

His eyes linger on mine for a beat too long, that same unsettling charm behind them, before he turns toward the door. He gives a brief wave in Gwen's direction as he leaves, and just like that, he's gone.

The tightness in my chest hasn't left. If anything, it's worse now. My breathing feels shallow, the weight of everything pressing down harder. Did I say too much? Should I have told him about Harry? Does he already know?

I try to focus, try to pull myself together, but the questions swirl in my head like a storm, each one louder than the last. What's Norman planning? What game is he playing, and how much does he know?

May cups my cheek, her thumb brushing against my skin as she gives me a worried look. "What's going on with you, Peter? You look so pale. Did you even eat today?" she asks, turning her gaze to Gwen. "Did he eat this morning?"

Gwen steps closer, her tone gentle but firm. "Yeah, he ate. But we've been running around all day, and maybe he should head back home. I can take him if you'd like," she offers, her eyes flicking over to me like she's waiting for me to admit something's wrong.

"Guys, I'm fine. Really," I say, trying to deflect their concern with a light chuckle. "You don't need to act like I'm made of glass." I plaster on a small smile, but I know I haven't been myself. The weight of everything—Harry, Norman, Spider-Man—it's all gnawing at me. Still, I can't let them see that.

May doesn't seem convinced, but she sighs, letting it go for now. "Alright, since you wanna move around so much, you can help me around the diner," she says, her tone turning brisk as she hands me a towel. "Poor Felicia has been wiping down tables all week by herself."

"I'll help too," Gwen pipes up immediately, stepping beside me with a grin. "We're a team."

I glance over at her, catching that playful glint in her eyes. I don't know exactly what we are right now—if we're even something official yet—but I like this. Whatever it is, it feels easy with her. Comfortable. "Oh yeah? Well let's see if your tutoring skills cover cleaning tables," I tease, nudging her shoulder.

Gwen rolls her eyes but smiles, nudging me back. "I've cleaned tables before, Peter. And for your information, I've been helping your aunt out more than you know, so I'm basically a pro."

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Felicia glancing my way again. It's brief, almost too quick to catch, but there's something in her eyes—something she's not saying. She's been distant, quiet even, and I can't shake the feeling that she's holding something back.

I watch her for a moment as she wipes down the counters, and I wonder, Does she need to talk? I haven't seen any new bruises on her lately, which is a relief, but I know her too well—she wouldn't tell me what's really going on even if I asked. She's stubborn like that, and I've been too caught up in everything else to check in the way I should have.

I look down at the towel in my hand, my fingers tightening around it. There's this constant tug-of-war inside me—between being Peter Parker and being Spider-Man, between helping the people I care about and constantly feeling like I'm not doing enough.

It's like I'm always missing something, always one step behind, and that thought twists in my gut as I realize how much I've let slip through the cracks.

Harry, Felicia, Gwen... I need to do better. I can't keep neglecting the people around me. I have to find a way to balance it all, or eventually, everything's going to come crashing down.

"Hey, you alright?" Gwen's voice pulls me out of my thoughts, her hand resting lightly on my arm as she looks at me, concern flickering in her eyes.

"Yeah," I say, forcing a smile. "Let's see if you can keep up with me, Table-Cleaning Expert."

She laughs, the sound light and easy, and I feel a little of the tension in my chest loosen. But as we get to work, wiping down tables side by side, I can't help but glance at Felicia again, the unspoken tension between us simmering beneath the surface. And in the back of my mind, the image of Harry's broken, angry face flashes again.

I've got to find a way to fix things—before it's too late.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Felicia and I sit side by side at the back of the diner, wiping down the greasy stove together. The faint sound of clinking dishes and the soft murmur of customers fills the air. I've just finished explaining everything—about Harry, the pills, and the weight of Norman knowing my secret.

"I don't even know where to start," I admit, staring at the stubborn stain on the stove. "I don't even understand what those pills are doing to Harry, let alone what Norman's next move is now that he knows... everything."

Felicia snorts, her lips curling into that familiar sardonic smile. "Your life sucks, Parker."

I glance up, catching sight of Gwen across the room, laughing with May as they finish wiping down the tables. The warm light through the windows catches in her hair, and for a moment, the world feels just a little less heavy.

"Not all of it," I say softly.

Felicia follows my gaze, her eyes lingering on Gwen for a moment before something shifts in her expression—just a flicker, but enough for me to notice. Her usual mask of indifference cracks, if only for a second.

"I can see that," she mutters.

I tilt my head, watching her carefully. "Is something bothering you?"

She shrugs, quick to brush it off. "No."

I sigh, turning back to the stove. "Look, if you ever want to talk... I'm here, okay? We're friends, Felicia. I mean, that is what you said, right?"

Felicia's lips twitch, a rare smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Just shut up, Parker."

I chuckle, but before I can respond, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, and my heart skips a beat—a fire alert on 13th Street, civilians still trapped inside. The familiar rush of urgency floods through me, reminding me that no matter how many battles I fight, Spider-Man's job is never done.

I glance over at Felicia. "Look, I need you to cover for me. I've gotta—"

"I know," she interrupts, still focused on scrubbing the stove. "Just... don't go disappearing again, okay? I prefer my friends to stay alive."

Her words catch me off guard, a soft sincerity buried beneath her usual sarcasm. I give her a small smile. "See? Was that so hard?"

She rolls her eyes. "Just hurry up and go."

I nod, quickly scanning the diner to make sure Gwen and May aren't watching before slipping out the back. My costume's trashed, but I'll have to make a pit stop at home—something more old-school will have to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I swing onto the scene in my old suit—the very first one I ever made. It's rough around the edges, stitched together by a kid with big dreams, and my web shooters feel ancient compared to the newer models. But this will have to do.

The fire from the building radiates heat that pulses against my skin, the acrid smell of smoke curling into my lungs. People are trapped in there, somewhere. I scan the area, and through the chaos, I spot a familiar face.

"Spider-Man!" a voice calls out.

I turn to see Officer Johnson, a short, burly guy with a beard that looks like it might be a dare gone too far. I've run into him a few times on the job, always the straight-shooter type.

"Johnson!" I call out, trying to inject some levity into my voice despite the weight in my chest. "How's it going?"

He jogs over, eyes flicking up and down at my old-school get-up. "Better now that you're here, kid. Gotta say, you're tougher than you look, taking on six of those maniacs alone last week. Don't let what that hack at the Bugle says get to you—most of us know whose side you're on. By the way, where’s the usual suit?”

I shrug and flick a webline toward the building. "Yeah, well, thanks. And the suit's in the wash," I joke, hoping it masks the knot tightening in my stomach.

I swing through a broken window, avoiding the heaviest flames, landing inside a corridor. "Hello? Anyone here?!"

The building groans around me, beams collapsing as I kick through doors, searching room after room, avoiding the inferno as it claws at my senses. But there's no sign of life—no screams, no movement. Just the heavy throb of flames and the sickening smell of burning wood and plastic.

Then I see it. A trail of blood smeared along the floor, leading to a door.

I freeze. The words "Come Save Me, Spider-Man" are scrawled on it in crimson. It's not paint. It's blood.

My pulse quickens, the room suddenly feeling too small. Slowly, I push the door open.

"Hello?!" My voice echoes through the room, desperate, but no answer comes.

What greets me on the other side makes my stomach churn. My breath catches, and I stumble back, nearly slipping on the blood-streaked floor.

A family—mother, father, two sons, and a daughter—are pinned to the walls by thick, rusted hooks driven through their flesh, holding them there like grotesque marionettes. Their mouths are twisted into hideous, unnatural smiles, as if someone had tried to force them into a final moment of joy. But their eyes... their eyes are wide open, filled with terror.

"Oh god..." I mutter, my voice cracking. I can't tear my gaze away from their lifeless eyes. The room is covered in the words "Save Me! Save Me! Save Me!" over and over, like a deranged chant scrawled across the walls in more blood.

My legs tremble, and I feel like I might throw up. Who... who could've done this?

Then, my spider-sense flares, sharp and deafening in my head, but I don't see anything—just flames licking the edges of the room, the grotesque scene in front of me.

Until I hear it.

A low, echoing laughter. It slithers through the air, dark and chilling, reverberating through the smoke-filled room. It doesn't even sound human human—there's something twisted, something monstrous in that sound.

"Who's there?!" I shout, spinning around, my heart pounding in my chest.

Through the flames, I see a figure emerge. At first, I can't tell if it's even human. His skin is a sickly, unnatural green, stretched tight over a grinning smile. His eyes—wild, unblinking, and burning with madness—lock onto mine. His clothes are torn, hanging off him in rags, but it's the grin that sends ice down my spine, wide and unnervingly fixed, as though it's carved into his face.

In his hand, something small and round glints in the firelight.

"Did you... did you do this?!" I shout, gesturing to the family behind me, my voice rising as I struggle to hold it together.

He doesn't answer. He only grins wider, his jagged yellow teeth flashing as he tilts his head, his gaze never leaving mine. Then, with a click, he tosses the small orb toward me.

Instinct kicks in, and I leap through the window just as the orb explodes behind me, a deafening roar of fire and shattering glass. The force of the blast slams me onto the hood of a police car, sending civilians and officers diving for cover.

"Spider-Man!" Johnson's voice breaks through the chaos, but all I can hear is the laughter.

I stand up, body aching, and look back at the building. It's collapsing, a torrent of fire and debris pouring into the street. I web-swing toward the crowd, grabbing as many people as I can, pulling them to safety, but I'm not fast enough. The building comes down with a thunderous crash, and I hear screams.

And then, above the destruction, I see him.

Hovering in the smoke on some kind of glider, lit by the flames beneath him, the madman's laughter echoes through the streets. His eyes—those burning, unblinking eyes—never leave mine as he swoops down, launching two more of those orange orbs into the crowd.

"No!" I leap forward, kicking one of the bombs into the air before grabbing the other and hurling it back at him. But he's too quick, firing something from his glider that detonates the orb in midair.

"Why?!" I shout, my voice raw, desperation creeping in. "Why are you doing this?!"

He only cackles, his laughter sharp and manic, cutting through the rising smoke. "The game isn't over yet," he whispers, his voice soft and venomous.

And then, I hear it.

The faint beeping. The same sound those bombs made, but this time it's everywhere. I look around and realize with horror that many of the civilians I just rescued... and even others scattered around...they have bombs hidden inside their clothes.

Oh god.

I can't reach them all.

The world goes white as the explosions rip through the street.