More Than Amazing
Chapter 4 - Destiny Arrives All The Same
She looked at him with tears in her eyes, "You're Spider-Man, and I love that."
He felt his heart clench.
"But I love Peter Parker more."
…
His fingers struggled to latch onto the building as he crashed onto its side, his momentum dragging him down. He held onto the wall with a single hand, carefully balancing as a little girl clung tightly to his shoulder.
As for his other arm…
"I—I don't understand. Why?" The Green Goblin spoke in disbelief as he carried him, saving him from death.
"Why'd you fall? 'Cause your Goblin strength's gone. Why'd I save you…?" He replied, looking down at his unmasked archnemesis, "Because I'm Spider-Man, and when I'm around… no one dies. Even you."
…
He got everyone to evacuate the building, he even threw the fire extinguisher into the microwave—causing smoke to fill the room—just to buy them cover.
Now it was only him… and that bug, a member of the Annihilation Hive. A single bite and he was done for—after all, he wasn't Hyperion, he didn't have superpowers.
But he still had to defeat it.
He quickly got to work, carefully grabbing different scraps from around the office. He clipped the rubber covering of a wire and wrapped around an umbrella.
Then, he used himself as bait.
He drew the interdimensional insect to him and swung open the umbrella as it quickly approached—frying it with a lethal amount of voltage, before beating it to death with a keyboard.
But…
"I-I don't feel right."
He looked down at his arm and saw a growing red swell on his wrist, "My timing wasn't so g-good."
A moment later, alien appendages burst out from his rib cage, forming morbid spider-like green limbs on his body.
It hurt so much.
He was infected. He only had mere seconds before he would become a member of the hive. Mere seconds before he would kill everyone in the building against his will.
So, he did the only thing that would save everyone.
He sprinted down the hall in an instant, before throwing his body against the building's glass pane without hesitation. It shattered under the force of his blow, and he quickly began his plummet.
He couldn't help but give a bittersweet smile as it happened, as he felt the wind ruffle his hair.
He had always felt that destiny had somehow passed him by, that he wasn't meant to work at some desk job at the Bugle for the rest of his days.
At least… in his final moments, he had finally realized what he had always been searching for—his purpose.
Helping people.
.
.
.
..
…
Peter sat down at his lunch table, this time joined by Harry—and with, surprisingly, Flash. After days of tutoring for a few days, they had started to hang out even outside of their tutoring sessions.
It was strange to him… having friends again.
He had isolated himself long enough that he almost forgot how it felt to just have a casual laugh with a friend.
Honestly… he missed it.
To them—their new friendship seemed natural, but the same wasn't what others thought. Even though the cafeteria didn't get quieter, it still felt like every nearby conversation dipped just enough to be noticeable.
Although Peter had shook off the smug nerd reputation that some of his other selves had in exchange for an elevated loner one—Flash Thompson sitting at Peter Parker's table was… still just as strange.
Not to mention how he was also sitting with Harry Osborn.
The jock, the nerd, and the rich kid. It was an iconic combination, but one more suitable for a teenage soap opera.
A few of Flash's usual friends hovered several tables away, watching. One of them—Kenny, with a linebacker build and was almost perpetually chewing gum, did a double take so hard he nearly choked.
"…Dude," he muttered, elbowing the guy next to him. "Is Flash sitting with Parker?"
"No way," another replied. "That's gotta be temporary. Like… a prank or something."
"Oh, can you two quiet down?" Sally spoke as she adjusted her headband, "You act like he has some disease."
Kenny bristled immediately. "What? I'm just saying it's weird. Since when does Flash Thompson hang out with—" he gestured vaguely "—them?"
Sally shot him a sharp look as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, "Since he decided he was done babysitting a bunch of guys who think being loud counts as a personality."
"That's not true—" Kenny started.
"—It is," She cut in flatly, picking at her nails, "And maybe, just maybe, Parker isn't the problem here."
The boys grumbled, exchanging looks, clearly offended but lacking a comeback that wouldn't prove her point.
Meanwhile, a familiar voice chimed in from beside Peter's table.
"…Huh. This is kinda wild."
They all looked up to see Liz Allen standing there, tray balanced on one hip as she eyed the trio with open curiosity—and a small, fond smile.
"I haven't seen you two sit together since, like… preschool," she said, nodding between Peter and Flash. "You used to trade dinosaur toys and argue over who got the red crayon."
Flash groaned instantly, "Oh my god, don't tell me you remember that."
Liz laughed. "You cried when Peter wouldn't let you borrow his T-rex."
Peter froze in disbelief, "You what?"
Flash pointed at her accusingly. "You promised you'd forget that!"
Liz just grinned wider. "Sorry. Guess it's just—nostalgic, you know? Seeing you guys together again." Her eyes softened as she looked at Peter. "Kinda nice."
Peter didn't know what to say to that, but his chest did feel strangely warm.
Flash cleared his throat, suddenly very interested in his tray, "Yeah. Well. People change."
"…Sometimes for the better," Liz added, before stepping away toward her own table.
Peter watched her go, then glanced at Flash. "…You cried over a T-rex?"
Flash shot him a glare, "Say a word and I will ruin you socially."
Harry laughed, shaking his head, "This is the best lunch I've had all year."
Liz paused mid-step a few feet away, then turned back with a mischievous glint in her eye. She looked between the table and Sally—who was still sitting in her usual seat.
"Hey, Sally," Liz called out, raising her voice just enough to carry, "You wanna make this officially weird?"
Sally blinked, frowning, "…What?"
Liz hooked a thumb toward Peter's table, "C'mon. Let's call it a reunion, preschool edition."
Sally hesitated, eyes flicking to the boys she'd just shut down. Kenny opened his mouth as he watched—but thought better of it—and looked away.
"…Wow. You know what, why not?," Sally muttered, before she stood up and grabbed her tray, "We're really doing this."
Liz grinned at her as they swapped tables.
She slid into the open seat without waiting for permission, setting her tray down alongside Liz with a clack. "Alright. Reunion it is," she said dryly, "What are we reminiscing about? Finger paints? Juice boxes?"
Peter snorted, a quip reflexively escaping him, "Hey, I peaked early."
Harry laughed out loud at his retort, while Peter smiled despite himself. It felt… easy.
What was it Liz said?
…Ah, that's right.
Nostalgic.
Liz looked around the table, counting heads theatrically. "Okay, let's see—Peter, Flash, me, Sally…" She tilted her head, brows knitting together, "…Huh."
Harry followed her gaze, "What?"
Liz smiled, softer this time—before looking over at Peter with a raised brow and a smirk, "We're just missing Gwen."
Peter's shoulders tensed at her words, he could help but stare down at his tray guiltily while pretending to adjust his fork.
Sally immediately noticed. Her expression shifted, the edge dulling. "Yeah," she said quietly. "She'd probably roll her eyes and pretend she didn't care."
"Then stay anyway," Liz added. "Because she always does."
Flash cleared his throat, glancing at Peter sidelong. "She sits two tables over," he said, casual but pointed, "Hasn't moved all lunch."
Peter swallowed.
Harry leaned closer, lowering his voice with encouragement, "For what it's worth… reunions kinda suck when someone important doesn't show."
Peter let out a slow breath. "…Yeah. I know."
Liz nudged his arm lightly, "You don't have to fix it right now," she said, "But you should probably say something eventually."
Flash nodded once, "Sooner's better."
Peter didn't answer—but this time, he didn't shut it down either. He glanced up, eyes drifting towards Gwen's table… and for the first time in a while, he didn't immediately look away.
"I'm just saying—if you don't go now, you're gonna keep doing that mopey thing with your shoulders forever."
Peter hesitated—then stood.
Didn't he decide to be brave?
He wasn't just nervous because of how many times he had seen her die—how many times he had failed her.
No, it was more than that.
He was even more ashamed of how much his current self had hurt her. She couldn't read his mind—know his anguish. From her perspective, he just ditched her, and tossed her aside like she meant nothing to him.
But that wasn't true.
She meant the world to him.
—It was about time he showed it.
As he took his first step away from the table, Flash called after him, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear.
"Hey, Parker!"
Peter turned.
"Don't overthink it."
Liz added, a little softer, "You've got this Petey."
Peter exhaled, steadying himself—then walked toward Gwen, feeling the weight lift just a little with every step.
"Oh my god," The second Peter left, Liz hissed, hands flying up to clutch Sally's sleeve like she might vanish. "Oh my god—he's actually doing it. Do you know how long it's been since they've had a real conversation? Because I do. I keep mental spreadsheets."
Sally rolled her eyes, poking at her food. "You're being dramatic. And didn't they just speak not too long ago?"
Liz whipped toward her, "This is an apology years in the making."
"Man. You guys care way more than you pretend to." Flash mused.
Sally shot him a look, "Say that again and I'll deny it."
Liz didn't bother denying anything—she was practically vibrating.
Meanwhile, Harry looked utterly lost.
"…Okay," he said slowly, glancing between Liz and Sally, then back at Peter and Gwen. "I feel like I missed several seasons of context here."
He'd spoken to Gwen before, and knew the barest of bones… but he never brought it up again with her, or Peter.
Well, she did glare at him for a while after he befriended Pete.
Liz gasped at him, "Oh my god, you did."
"Then can someone please explain?" Harry pressed, "Because from where I'm sitting, this looks like a normal apology, and you're acting like Earth is about to crash into another Earth."
Sally sighed, eyes still fixed on Gwen. "It's not just an apology."
Harry frowned, "Then what is it?"
Liz leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice like she was spilling classified intel, "They were best friends. Like—best best friends. Then Peter just… disappeared."
Harry blinked. "…He ghosted her?"
"Hard," Sally said flatly.
Liz nodded, "Nothing. No talks. Barely eye contact—for years."
Harry winced, "Yikes."
"And Gwen," Sally continued, tone casual but sharp, "She pretends she doesn't care—but, not very convincingly."
Harry glanced back at Gwen, then at Peter, realization dawning. "…Oh. So this is less 'sorry I was rude' and more, 'sorry I blocked you to your face… for years.'"
Liz snapped her fingers, "Yes! Exactly!"
Harry ran a hand through his hair, "Okay, wow. That's… a lot for lunch. Why'd he ghost her?"
Sally eyed Liz and Flash, who both shook their heads, before she spoke in a conspiratory tone, "…We don't know."
All four of them watched as Peter finally reached Gwen's table, clearly nervous—but still standing his ground.
Liz clasped her hands together again, "C'mon, Petey," she whispered, "Don't screw this up."
Sally didn't say anything—but her eyes never left the table across the room.
—————
Gwen noticed him before he reached her table.
She always did. A part of her brain always kept him in mind, no matter how much she tried not to.
Something in her chest tightened the moment she caught sight of him standing up—when she saw the way he hesitated before walking over.
Her fingers stilled around her fork as her breath caught in realization—He's coming over here.
For a heartbeat, she considered pretending not to see him, or getting up and leaving first.
But she didn't.
She stayed.
Peter stopped just short of the table. Close enough that she could see the tension in his jaw, the familiar nervous twitch in his fingers as they curled and uncurled at his sides.
"…Gwen," He said softly, looking at her figure, one trying to desperately make herself smaller. It reminded him so much of MJ the day before, how she hid her pain and sobbed in silence.
Except, this time—this time it was his fault, and that thought hurt much more than he would ever admit.
She looked up at him.
Her expression was guarded… but her eyes betrayed her immediately. The hurt was clear there, along with confusion and a tangle of a dozen more emotions that made his chest ache.
"What?" she asked, a little too fast.
"I—um," he swallowed. "Could we… talk? Just for a minute."
Gwen hesitated, pinching her sleeve in nervousness… before eventually she stood, brushing past him without waiting for an answer.
"Fine."
She headed for the cafeteria doors, and Peter followed in silence.
.
.
.
The hallway outside was quieter.
Gwen stopped near the wall, arms crossing tightly over her chest like she was trying to hold herself together.
Peter stood there for a moment, heart pounding so loudly he was almost sure she could hear it.
"I… I-I'm sorry," Eventually fumbled out of his mouth.
Gwen's breath hitched despite herself, and she took a moment to compose herself before she responded.
"…You don't get to just say that," she choked out, voice tight, "You don't get to ignore me for years and then act like a few words fix it."
"I know," Peter responded immediately. "I know it doesn't."
She let out a shaky laugh, eyes shining now. "Then why are you here?"
The words burned in his throat.
"I messed up," he said instead. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you. But I wasn't—I was just… hurting you."
Her jaw trembled as tears pooled in her eyes, "…Protecting me? From what? Eating the wrong lego figurine?! My dad is a cop—the cop! Captain Stacy!"
Peter gaped at her as she shouted. He had never seen her like this… but, she wasn't without reason.
She glared at him fiercely, "Answer me!"
He didn't know what to say.
Because I've seen you die? Because I've held you while your body went cold? Because every version of me that loved you, lost you?
…Because every time Gwen Stacy falls for Spider-Man, it doesn't end well?
She scoffed as tears dripped from her eyes, "You didn't just hurt me," she said quietly. "You made me feel like I wasn't worth it."
That one really hurt something in him.
She turned away, scrubbing at her eyes angrily. "I kept wondering what I did wrong. If I was annoying. If I pushed too hard. If I was just… easy to forget."
"You were never that," Peter stepped closer without thinking, "Never."
"Then explain it," she snapped, spinning back toward him. "Explain why you wouldn't even look at me. Why you flinched every time I tried to talk to you."
He froze.
His mouth opened… but, nothing came out.
"I-I… can't," he said finally, voice rough.
How would he explain multiversal visions?! Maybe he could suspend her disbelief years from now—after alien invasions and magical incursions!
But… none of that had happened yet. The age of heroes was still yet to be—and all he had left were lies.
And he couldn't lie to her.
Her face fell.
"…You can't?" she whispered hoarsely.
The hurt in her voice was worse than anger—worse than any shouting, "So you do have a reason," she said softly. "You just don't trust me enough to tell me."
"That's not it," Peter said quickly, stumbling the words out of his mouth, "Gwen, please—"
She shook her head, tears returning to spill freely now. "I want to forgive you. I really do. But every time I try, it just feels wrong—like I'm saying it was okay. Like I deserved it."
She laughed weakly through her tears. "I don't even know why I keep blaming myself."
Peter's chest ached, and he couldn't stand it anymore. He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
For a split second, she stiffened—then she collapsed against him. Her hands fisted in his shirt as she cried, shoulders shaking, years of hurt finally spilling out all at once.
He did this.
Peter held her carefully, one hand at her back, the other cradling the back of her head like she was something precious and fragile.
Because she was.
He hated himself, he was so busy trying to avoid hurting her—that he ended up doing it anyway.
"…I'm the one who doesn't deserve you," he whispered in her ear, voice breaking.
She cried harder at that, like she wanted to believe him but didn't know how.
He didn't explain, and he couldn't justify himself.
He just held her—because even if he couldn't give her answers, he could at least give her this.
And right now… that was all he had.
————
Peter slammed the door to his bedroom closed.
Then he sighed, dragging his hands down his face as he collapsed backward onto his bed, the mattress creaking softly under his weight.
…Gwen hadn't forgiven him.
But it was a start… and he wasn't going to give up. He had hurt her enough already, and he had years to make up for.
He wanted her back in his life.
He needed her back in…
"Ughhh…." He groaned into his hands. He wasn't going to think about his feelings. He had enough on his plate.
Peter sat up abruptly, desperate to get his mind off things. He needed something real to ground him and get him out of this head space.
After a moment he made a decision.
He slid off the bed and crossed the room, kneeling in front of his closet. For a moment, he just stared at it… before eventually, he pushed aside a stack of old clothes and reached toward the very back.
His fingers brushed against an old cardboard box, which he slowly slid out of the closet and hesitantly opened.
There, inside, laid a small metallic object, which gleamed against his bedroom light.
A small, crude mechanical web-shooter.
It was unfinished, just a prototype. The casing was scuffed, and the metal was dull from when his younger hands had filed it down too many times. Thin tubing ran along the side, hastily soldered together and uneven in places.
He set it gently on the bed, then reached back into the box and retrieved a battered notebook—its edges frayed, the cover bent and stained with ink and graphite.
He flipped it open.
Schematics spilled across the pages. Chemical formulas. Pressure calculations. Cross-sectional diagrams of micro-valves and synthetic polymer chains. Not to mention the scratchy notes in the page's margins written in a scrawl.
There were dozens of formulas for a dozen different web fluids, whether it be a basic adhesive webbing, a conductive webbing, or heat resistant webbing.
There were even more esoteric formulas like magnetic webbing.
He had designed them, along with his webshooters, as a kind of internal therapy—a way to prove he wasn't crazy—that his visions were real.
It hadn't helped much.
…It even eventually ended up with him hiding away the proof and notes, just so he could pretend it didn't matter if he couldn't see it.
He scoffed to his past self wearily.
How childish.
As if pretending it didn't matter could ever make it stop mattering. As if shoving it into the back of a closet erased the knowledge that lived in his head, or the instincts that often overtook his hands.
He then picked up his webshooter, which lacked any cartridges attached to it. During the time he made it, he didn't even have a chemistry set yet, nevermind enough material to make a second one to complete the pair.
Perhaps it was about time he finished them.
The web cartridges he originally designed to pair with it would use small compressed gas canisters, most similar to his clone Ben Reilly's webshooters.
It was rather obvious that his budget was… tight.
Really tight.
Peter sighed to himself as collapsed back onto his bed. He still felt he was putting the cart before the horse.
"…I don't even have powers," He muttered.
No strength. No agility. No spider-sense humming at the base of his skull to warn him when things went wrong.
What was he doing?
Peter staring up at the ceiling as doubts crept in.
What if he never got his powers?
What if the bite never happened in this world? It wouldn't be the first time it happened—although rare, there were versions of him who never got bit.
The thought was cold and suffocating.
If that was the case, then all of this—all the knowledge, all the preparation, all the fear—was useless. Worse than useless. It was a cruel joke.
His fingers tightened around the web-shooter.
No.
So what if destiny wasn't on his side?
And there was something else, too. Something that had been gnawing at him since he was a kid, long before the dreams had gotten clearer.
He hated waiting—hated sitting still while knowing what could go wrong. It was why he pushed Gwen away—he was too afraid to confront what could happen.
He was wrong.
He should have just tried to overcome it anyways. Then he wouldn't have hurt Gwen—wouldn't have hurt himself.
Peter sat up straighter, resolve slowly settling in.
Even without the bite—the spider—or even his amazing abilities, there was the one thing that had always been his alone.
His mind.
Peter looked back down at the notebook, flipping to a fresh page as he muttered, "…I'll just find a way to do it myself."
Because Peter Parker was done running away.
He was done giving up—done wallowing in his own sadness. He was tired of putting himself down. His other selves may have endured countless losses—but not him. Not truly.
Not yet.
He had a chance to change things. A chance to save everyone he loved before they could ever be harmed.
No—he could do more.
He could do better!
Those memories were more than just a trauma that kept him up at night—that made him scratch his skin raw in nervousness!
They were a gift, a privilege—and he was going to use them!
He'd make a world that lived up to that promise, that vow—that everyone lives! He'd make a world where everyone had a happy ending!
Even if he had to die trying.
Because he was Spider-Man.
…And it was about time he acted like it.
============
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Author's Notes
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