Times Square was unrecognizable.
The usual riot of neon, ads, and traffic had gone silent. Every billboard, every towering screen, every scrolling headline carried one name, one face: Spider-Man.
The crowd stretched for blocks. Thousands of people huddled together, candles in hand, faces streaked with tears. Some wore masks, some brought flowers, some held up crude cardboard signs that simply read Thank You, Spider-Man.
News anchors spoke solemnly over the speakers, their voices echoing: "Cause of death. Injuries sustained during seismic activity in the subway sector. New York has lost its protector…"
And then the cameras shifted towards the front of St. Patrick's Cathedral.
Mary Jane Parker stepped forward. Black dress, veil pulled back, posture steady despite the storm in her eyes. The crowd quieted to a heartbeat.
She looked out at the sea of mourners, then began:
"My husband Peter Parker, was an ordinary person. He always said it could've been anyone behind the mask. He was just the kid who happened to get bit by a radioactive spider."
Her voice cracked but only for a moment.
"He didn't ask for his powers but he chose to be Spider-Man."
Every screen in Times Square broadcast her words. They rolled over the crowd, sinking deep.
"My favorite thing about Peter is that he made us each feel powerful. We all have powers of one kind or another. In our own way, we are all Spider-Man. And we're all counting on you."
The silence broke into a wave of applause and sobs, the city pouring its grief and hope into one moment.
In the crowd, a boy stood awkwardly in a cheap, ill-fitting Spider-Man costume from a dollar store. His mask's eyes drooped unevenly, the fabric too loose but Miles Morales stood taller anyway. MJ's words burned into his chest, transforming shame into something rawer, heavier: Resolve. " So, everything depends on me?" Whispers Miles. " I think she meant it as a metaphor." Whispered back a dude.
Up near the front, two figures watched quietly.
Gwendolyn in her white-and-black Spider-Woman suit, old design — stood with arms straight, her mask tilted just enough to hide the tension in her jaw. Beside her, Peter wore a simple black tuxedo, white shirt, and black tie. His way of showing mourning. His way of showing respect.
Neither spoke. Neither needed to.
But in the crowd, another Gwen stood frozen. The Gwen of this universe. Her eyes caught them. Caught her, in costume, unmistakable and him, tall and somber in black. Her spider-sense thrummed like a struck chord.
She pushed forward, heart pounding, weaving through mourners. She couldn't lose him. Not again.
But by the time she reached the edge of the square, the memorial was ending. Gwendolyn and Peter had already slipped into the shadows, vanishing before she could catch them.
Her knees buckled. The weight of it, the humiliation at school, the glimpse of a familiar face in another, the funeral for Spider-Man and now this. It all collapsed onto her chest. Her breath hitched, sharp and uneven, until tears spilled freely.
She didn't even notice someone had knelt beside her.
A soft hand touched her shoulder. Mary Jane.
Gwen blinked up, startled, words tumbling out in broken pieces. "I—I lost my best friend. My mistake cost him everything, and now… now I keep seeing him everywhere, in faces that aren't his, in voices that aren't his and it's like the universe won't let me forget what I did. I can't—"
Her voice cracked into silence, raw and jagged.
MJ didn't flinch. She simply pulled Gwen into a firm embrace, holding her as though she were her own daughter.
"I know what it's like to lose someone." MJ whispered, steady and warm. "The guilt, the anger… it never leaves. But listen to me — it wasn't your fault. And even if you can't believe that yet, you still have to live. For yourself. For your best friend. Because if he was your true best friend then that's what he would have wanted."
Gwen's fingers clutched MJ's sleeve, her sobs muffled in black fabric.
MJ pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Try. Just try to live your best life. For both of you."
The words landed like a lifeline. For the first time in days, Gwen breathed without choking.
Miles – Rooftop Attempt
Later that afternoon, Miles stood on the roof of a tall apartment block. The city stretched below him, endless, humming with traffic and grief.
He tugged at the loose strings of his sneakers, staring down from the dizzying height. "C'mon, Morales. You can do this. Spider-Man jumped off buildings all the time."
He took a breath. Then another.
And stepped back.
He then went to building with a lower elevation and he tripped off.
The fall ripped the air from his lungs. His stomach lurched, gravity clawing him down—
"NOPE NOPE NOPE...!"
Miles flailed, panicked and at the last second scrambled against the wall, sticking awkwardly and scraping his side before collapsing onto a lower rooftop, then bounced off of a flagpole, onto an awning and finally a thwack on the floor. He groaned, clutching his ribs.
"Ow. Yeah, no. Not ready for the jumping bit yet."
He sat up, wheezing, when something clattered in his pocket. The override key Peter had given him.
It was cracked clean down the middle.
Miles stared at it, horror dawning. "Oh, no. Ohhhh no no no."
The broken key glinted weakly in the moonlight.
Miles buried his face in his hands. "Great job, Morales. City's counting on you and you just broke the one thing that mattered."
Above him, the billboards in Times Square still burned with Spider-Man's mask. Watching. Judging.
And for the first time, Miles wondered if he'd ever be able to fill those shoes.
Read 33 chapters ahead on P.A.T.R.E.O.N
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