Peter stumbled through the alley behind the safehouse, the hum of city sirens fading behind him. The suit was shredded—his right arm exposed and bloodied, web cartridges depleted, one eye-lens shattered. His ribs throbbed. Something was definitely cracked. Every breath scraped his lungs raw.
He barely made it to the fire escape. The metal groaned under his weight as he dragged himself upward. His fingers trembled with every pull. Midtown had been a warzone. Buildings wrecked. Civilians terrified. The Goblin had carved his arrival into the city skyline.
Peter reached the window and collapsed against the frame. Inside, the lights were dim. Felicia turned at the sound, eyes widening.
"Spid…Peter—!" She rushed to the window, helping him through. "God, you're bleeding. A lot."
He slumped onto the couch. "Just a love tap. From a glider with blades and some bombs."
Felicia didn't laugh. She was already pulling open the first aid kit with swift, practiced hands. "You need a hospital."
"You know I can't—" he winced, pulling off the rest of his suit top, "—show up at any ER like this."
She knelt beside him, swabbing the torn skin. "This wasn't just a fight. You look like he was trying to gut you."
"He was." Peter let his head fall back, eyes shut. "He's not Norman anymore."
Felicia's voice dropped. "I saw the broadcast after the fight. People are panicking. They're saying Spider-Man started it. That you're just another masked psycho tearing the city apart."
Peter chuckled bitterly. "Jameson must be loving it."
"You did everything right," she said, dabbing blood away. "You warned the city. You tried to stop him. But now people want someone to blame. See, I always say heroes get the short end of the stick."
Peter said nothing. The silence between them stretched—weighted, unsaid things piling up. Finally, Felicia sat back. "You still should've let me fight beside you."
"If something happened to you…" Peter flinched as she dabbed alcohol on his wound. "He's stronger now," he muttered. "Smarter. He knew every counter. Every move."
"He's probably been watching you," Felicia said. "Probably longer than you think."
Peter laughed under his breath. "Of course he has."
The front door clicked. Felicia froze mid-wrap, and Mary Jane walked in, soaked from the rain, grocery bag in hand.
The scene froze. MJ stood in the hallway, eyes wide. Her gaze flicked from Peter's exposed chest to the blood-streaked floor, then to Felicia, kneeling between his legs, hands covered in his blood.
The room temperature dropped several degrees.
MJ's face cracked for a second, then she set the bag down and turned. "I'll come back."
Peter started. "Wait, MJ, this isn't—"
Felicia stood, wiping her hands on a towel. "He needed someone who wouldn't panic. I'm not his nurse. Just his lookout."
"Right," MJ said, not looking at either of them. "Is this why you don't answer your phone? Because you're too busy bleeding in secret with your ex?"
Peter stepped forward, grabbing a fresh shirt, the pain flaring up again. "She's here because I asked her to be. I was ambushed. I didn't want you worrying—"
"So, you called your ex," MJ snapped. "I get it."
"It wasn't like that," Peter said, voice tight. "We needed someone who could hold her own if Norman showed up here. You think I wanted you in that kind of danger?"
"You don't get to decide what I can or can't handle," MJ hissed. "You keep saying you want me in your life, Peter. But when things get hard, you shut me out and run to her."
Felicia raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She grabbed her jacket from the chair and headed for the window.
"Felicia—" Peter started.
"No," she said. "This is between you two."
Felicia looked over her shoulder and stood, slowly, calmly. "I'll give you two a minute." She handed MJ the med kit, didn't wait for acknowledgment, and slipped out the window. Gone.
MJ stared after her, arms crossed. "First the photo in the paper, now this… tell me the truth, Tiger. Are you sleeping with her?"
Peter rubbed his eyes. "No! Like I said before. That photo was out of context. We had to fake identities to sneak in. We were pretending to be guests at the gala to sneak into Oscorp's mainframe. That was the mission."
"And this?" she said. "Half-naked and bleeding, with her wiping you down? What's the mission now, Tiger? Explain it to me."
He stepped closer, trying to catch her gaze. "I was trying to stop Norman. Before he kills more people. Before he unleashes whatever twisted version of revenge he's cooked up on me and my loved ones."
MJ looked away, jaw clenched.
Peter sat up, pain shooting through his side. "I didn't tell you because—"
"Because you never do," MJ snapped. "You keep everything hidden behind some noble reason. Like I'm too fragile to handle the truth."
Peter stood, wobbled, but stayed upright. "I asked Felicia to protect you and May while I went after the Goblin. That's it."
"You trust her more than me," MJ said, voice quiet now. "You always have."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" Her eyes shimmered, but no tears fell. "Because right now, it really feels like it is."
His phone buzzed, vibrating against the coffee table like a warning bell. He checked it—Ethan.
He answered.
"Turn on Channel 5," Ethan said, voice grave. "Now."
Peter's blood chilled. "Why?"
"Downtown broadcast tower. Norman just hijacked the airwaves."
Peter switched on the TV. Static. Then the screen shifted.
Norman Osborn—no, the Green Goblin—stared into the camera, mask off. His face twisted into a grotesque grin, barely contained mania, eyes bloodshot.
"To the people of New York," he said, "You've cheered for men in masks long enough. Heroes. Icons. Frauds. You've placed your faith in cowards and liars for far too long. You've let them decide who lives and dies, who pays and who walks free. You let a masked menace ruin me. Now I will return the favor."
He held up a vial, green and glowing.
"This city gave Spider-Man its heart. I'll return the favor—when I rip it out. This here is my gift to you all. I hope you'll accept it with open arms."
The screen cut.
"Jesus," Peter whispered.
"It's most likely a hypermutagenic formula," Ethan said. "A derivative of the Goblin Serum, I assume. He plans to detonate it across the city most likely."
"Casualties?"
"If it's airborne? Tens of thousands—maybe more. Today's a windy day, so there's no telling how far it could spread."
Peter stood tall despite the pain. "Where?"
"Broadcast came from Oscorp Tower. You know where this ends."
Peter turned to MJ, who hadn't moved. "I have to go."
Peter was already moving. He grabbed the rest of his suit, ignoring the fire in his ribs.
"You can't go now," MJ said. "You're still bleeding. He'll kill you!"
"If I wait, people die."
"And if you die?" she asked, stepping in front of him.
Peter hesitated. "Then Felicia finishes the job. Or someone else. But Norman needs to be stopped now."
MJ stepped aside.
She said nothing.
He took a step forward. "MJ—"
"No," she said, handing him his spare mask. "Go save the city. Be Spider-Man. We'll talk when you're Peter again."
Felicia landed on the fire escape as Peter opened the window. She didn't speak—just looked at him, then nodded once.
Peter pulled on the mask, opened the window, and jumped out. They swung off into the night, twin silhouettes against the chaos blooming across the city.
Behind them, MJ watched the dark swallow the man she loved, and knew—whatever happened next—things would never be the same.