238. The Weight of the Dead. (Patreon)

Peter POV:

Rikers Island is the largest prison complex in all of New York. Correction, this New York.

Even from the air it looked oppressive.

Floodlights swept across reinforced walls crowned with razor wire while guard towers monitored every approach route with overlapping firing angles. Prison ferries drifted through the black waters beneath the bridges and the entire island radiated the cold institutional brutality that came from decades of human misery compressed into concrete and steel.

In my dimension, Rikers no longer existed because the Raft replaced it years ago.

The Raft is a maximum security oceanic prison designed specifically for enhanced criminals and superhuman threats. Remote quantum detonation systems were integrated into every structural layer specifically to discourage riots, coordinated escapes or hostile takeovers attempts.

The arrangement was cruel perhaps but no one could question it's effectiveness.

I hovered silently high above the airspace while streams of data flowed across my HUD.

“Hmm…” I muttered while scrolling through the prison database. “Addler Hopkins. 29 years old. Sentenced to thirty-five years imprisonment. Bail set at two million dollars without possibility of parole.”

Gwen floated beside me in her Iron Spider Mk. III suit while listening carefully.

I continued reading. “Homicide of Benjamin Franklin Parker, multiple counts of grand theft auto, armed robbery of local bodegas, firearms trafficking, narcotics distribution and assault with a deadly weapon.”

The hologram shifted to display his mugshot.

What stared at us was a coward’s face.

“Most distinctive feature,” I continued calmly, “star tattoo on left wrist. Prisoner identification number RI-67540789. Cell number 6567. Prison Complex Six. Western Wing.”

Gwen folded her arms. “Please tell me their digital registry system isn’t garbage.”

I glanced toward her. “You sound concerned.”

“Pete,” she replied immediately, “I still remember the decommissioning of our Rikers. I was literally asked to do security there with your Spartans.”

I physically winced because that particular operation had indeed become what Tony described as ‘an administrative apocalypse mixed with prison-themed arson.’

The criminal transfers were intense due to riot and escape attempts, Maggia sabotage attempts to rescue their members.

Corrupt Prison officials trying to erase evidence of human trafficking of prisoners before relocation.

Not to mention Wilson Fisk attempting to bribe three senators, two judges and an entire tactical response unit simultaneously while still in custody.

“Yeah,” Gwen muttered while shuddering slightly. “That whole thing was a shitfest.”

“Potato, potahto,” I replied casually. “Life has never exactly been easy for us, Gwenny and I don't exactly expect it to become easy now.”

She snorted. “That’s your optimistic speech?”

“I’m trying my best.” I defended.

My War Pattern Helios Mk. III armor fully sealed itself around me with mechanical precision while Gwen’s Iron Spider armor fully formed over her body in sleek flowing segments as both of our suits transitioned to full armour mode from partial mode.

We were undetectable and against us spider-Sense was blind.

Mysterium rendered both magical and extrasensory detection effectively useless.

I looked toward the prison below then toward Gwen. “Care to knock, Spectral-Spider?”

She groaned audibly through the mask. “Spectral-Spider, huh?”

“Honestly…” she admitted while rolling her shoulders, “still better than Ghost-Spider.”

Then she plummeted toward Prison Complex Six like a falling meteor and for one brief moment I simply admired my wife.

The confidence, the grace and the absolute chaos she naturally embodied surprised me no matter how many times I saw her.

Then...BOOM.

She punched directly through the reinforced concrete roof. Dust and debris exploded upward into the night sky.

Alarms instantly began screaming throughout the prison complex.

I descended calmly through the opening she created.

Broken concrete littered the floor around her boots while terrified inmates screamed somewhere deeper within the prison block.

“Subtle." I remarked.

Gwen shrugged.

“I’m emotionally expressive.”

We walked through the prison corridor together.

Emergency lights bathed everything in harsh crimson flashes while distant guards shouted through radios.

Most inmates stayed wisely silent while others backed away from the bars instinctively.

Fear traveled fast in prisons especially when two invisible figures suddenly materialized by punching through the ceiling.

We eventually reached Cell 6567.

One inmate immediately scrambled backward against the far wall upon seeing us but the lower bunk contained another figure beneath a blanket.

Gwen approached first then yanked the blanket away to find Spider-Man instead of Addler Hopkins.

Earth-120703’s Peter Parker was lying there in full costume.

His lenses blinked upward at us in confusion.

Then smacked the side of his own mask. "Okay either my Spider-Sense died or I’m having a stroke.”

“Relax,” Gwen replied casually. “Your Spider-Sense works fine.”

She tapped her chestplate.

“Mysterium composite materials. Our suits mask us from extrasensory detection.”

Parker slowly sat up.

“You know, usually when people break into prison cells looking like futuristic murder hobos, it’s bad news.”

“For others? Not so much but for Hopkins? Yeah, he's cooked.” I replied.

He immediately raised both hands slightly. “Guys… let’s talk.”

Delay tactics. How nice.

“Oh, we’ll absolutely talk,” I assured him. “Right after I retrieve Addler Hopkins.”

“You’re too late,” he replied carefully. “He’s gone.”

“Parker,” I said calmly, “this is the twenty-first century. Humanity documents its existence digitally. Financial trails, biometric scans, transport manifests, communication metadata, thermal footprints and I happen to be exceptionally good at reading digital books.”

Gwen looked between us before jerking her thumb upward toward the hole in the roof. “I’ll handle the emotional intervention.”

“Appreciated.”

I activated my thrusters then rose slowly upward. Before leaving, I looked back toward Parker.

“In the meantime,” I said calmly, “you should speak with Spectral-Spider.”

Gwen POV:

The wind howled past us as we crossed the night sky of New York.

Below us, Earth-120703 stretched endlessly beneath neon lights and rain-slick streets. Cars crawled through avenues like glowing insects while distant sirens echoed between buildings that looked too realistic, too textured, too alive compared to the semi-stylized vibrancy of Earth-65M.

Beside me, Parker swung in silence.

Not my Peter.

This Parker, this... broken version of him.

His movements were efficient, practiced but hollow.

Every swing carried exhaustion, every landing carried grief and I understood that kind of grief better than anyone.

Suddenly I maneuvered behind him and I tightened my grip around his torso carrying him bridal style through the air and like every sensible person he began screaming.

“You can stop screaming now.” I informed him.

“I AM NOT SCREAMING....”

His voice cracked when I abruptly web-zipped around a water tower.

“THAT WAS A TACTICAL VOCAL RESPONSE!” He shrieked.

I snorted. “Uh huh.”

“You kidnapped me!”

“I upgraded your mode of transportation.”

“You're carrying me like a Disney princess!”

“Correction,” I replied smugly. “I’m carrying you like an emotionally damaged raccoon.”

Parker groaned into his mask. “Why are you like this?”

“Trauma.”

“That’s disturbingly believable.”

“It should be.”

I laughed softly but the sound slowly faded because beneath the jokes… I could feel the pain inside him and it radiated off him like heat.

The apartment building finally came into view in the distance.

The Parker-Stacy apartment.

The place where this universe’s shattered family had somehow stitched itself together just enough to survive.

Parker looked at it silently then he spoke quietly.

“You know… after Gwen died…” His voice almost disappeared into the wind. “I stopped knowing how to be Peter Parker.”

I didn’t interrupt.

“At first everyone kept trying to help me. Aunt May, Helen, the boys and even people at the Bugle.” He let out a hollow laugh. “Jameson actually tried therapy-talk once. It was horrifying.”

“But eventually people stop asking if you’re okay,” he continued. “Because the answer never changes.”

The city lights reflected across his lenses. “I stopped pulling punches.”

“I didn’t become evil,” he said quickly. “I never crossed that line but…” He swallowed hard. “I stopped caring what happened to criminals after I hit them.”

“When Captain Stacy died… I blamed myself.” His breathing became uneven. “When Gwen died I knew it was my fault.”

The words hit harder than any punch because I knew exactly how much Peter Parkers loved, how completely they loved and how self-destructively they blamed themselves. I've seen it in my Peter.

“You wanna know the sick part?” He asked.

I stayed silent.

“I kept hearing her neck snap every night for years.”

“I kept replaying it,” he whispered. “Over and over and over. Every second. Every frame.”

He laughed weakly.

“Do you know what kind of person memorizes the exact sound of the woman he loves dying?”

I landed softly atop a rooftop then set him down carefully and the rain began falling lightly around us.

Parker stood there motionless and for a moment he looked so tired.

I stepped closer.

“You wanna know something?” I asked softly.

“What?”

“My Peter blamed himself too. He blamed himself for being physically weak.”

Parker slowly looked at me.

“When he became the Lizard and nearly died… I blamed myself.”

I leaned against the rooftop ledge beside him. “I thought I failed him.”

I stared out across the city. “Then after Miguel…”

“I killed someone, Parker. I killed Miguel because there was no alternative.”

His eyes widened slightly.

“I made the hard choice, the necessary choice.” I swallowed slowly. “But sometimes necessary things still hurt.”

The rain intensified.

“Peter helped me survive that guilt and your family is trying to help you survive yours.”

Parker looked away and said, “I don’t deserve them.”

“That’s bullshit.” I instantly replied.

“You know why?” I continued. “Because love isn’t earned through suffering.”

“You stayed.” I pointed toward the apartment. “You could’ve disappeared after Gwen died. Could’ve isolated yourself completely but you didn’t.”

I began counting on my fingers.

“One. You help Aunt May with bills. Two. You help raise your dead girlfriend’s little brothers. Three. You still patrol this city every night. Four. You still save people.”

I stepped closer.

“So don’t sit there acting like you’re some monster because you’re grieving.”

Parker looked genuinely shaken.

“You sound exactly like Gwen.” He whispered.

I smiled sadly. “Well… technically I am Gwen.”

That finally got a laugh out of him.

We stood there quietly for a while before he finally asked, “Does your Peter really think this can work?”

“He already knows it can.” I replied.

“You trust him that much?” Parker asked with astonishment.

I turned toward the skyline. “With my life and apparently with my death too.”

Parker stayed quiet but eventually muttered, “He scares me.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you have no idea.”

“No seriously,” he insisted. “He walked into Ravencroft dressed like Death itself!”

“Yeah, that happens.” I said.

“He harvested souls!”

“Also happens.” I clarified.

“He called Harry Osborn by his full government name before murdering him!” Said Parker.

“Peak husband behavior honestly.” I added.

“That is NOT normal husband behavior!” Parker said exasperatedly.

I laughed harder. “Okay fair.”

Parker rubbed his face tiredly. “How are you so calm about all this?”

I looked at him then answered honestly. “Because I know who Peter Parker is beneath all the terrifying cosmic nonsense.”

The wind swept across the rooftop.

“My husband would burn entire universes to protect the people he loves but he’d also spend two hours helping Aunt May choose a coffee maker online.”

Parker stared at me.

“He’s both those people at once.”

My comm crackled and Peter’s voice emerged calmly. “Target acquired.”

I activated the holographic map on my wrist and it showed that Addler Hopkins’s bio-signature had vanished meaning his soul has been harvested.

Parker lowered his head. “So that’s it, huh?”

“No,” I corrected gently. “That’s the beginning.”

He looked at me with raw uncertainty.

“Parker… listen carefully.” I stepped closer. “If Aunt May and Helen say no then Peter won’t force this.”

Parker looked genuinely surprised. “He won’t?”

“Of course not.

I crossed my arms. “My husband’s many things. Emotionally constipated? Absolutely. Mildly insane? Definitely. But he does respect people’s choices.”

“But if they say yes…” Parker closed his eyes. "He'll bring them back."

I could practically see the war happening inside him.

Hope, fear, guilt, desperation and love fighting for dominance over his psyche.

Finally he whispered, “I don’t know if I can survive seeing them again.”

My heart broke for him. So, instead of saying something profound I punched his shoulder lightly. “Good thing emotional support Spider-Gwen is here then.”

He snorted weakly. “You’re really weird.”

“Yeah, that I am!” I agreed proudly. “Now hold still, princess.”

Before he could react I grabbed him around the waist again causing his eyes to widen immediately.

“Oh no.”

“Oh YES!!”

“GWEN...”

I launched us into the sky.

Parker screamed the entire way across Manhattan while I laughed so hard I nearly lost altitude.