Never again.
That’s what she’d told herself, wasn’t it? Never again would she fail to notice a problem right in front of her. Never again would she hold onto someone and watch the light die from their eyes. Never again would she stand in front of Aunt May, with shock and grief haunting the lines of her face, and apologize for being the worthless hero who let her nephew die.
Gwen dragged her finger across the ridges of the cast, grating the callus down until it was smooth, and then grating it down more until it was raw. The strap of the sling that held her casted arm dug into her neck and between her shoulder blades. These aches were more welcome, more grounding, than the phantom sensations lingering around.
New York at sunset was quite beautiful. A fiery glow stretched across the sky with only the faintest tinges of soft pinks and purples caressing the clouds. Half the city was already dipped in shadows, the lights from various apartments shining through stacked windows, while the other half was tinted with scarlet highlights.
She wondered how it was that the universe could continue to be so bright when the eaves of her soul felt so bleak.
The door leading to the rooftop started to squeak before crunching as the hinges caught on themselves. Low curses rang out and something heavy shoved into the door to get it to move. Soft steps, well worn tennis shoes, the consistent flick-tap-flick-tap of an untied lace.
Gwen didn’t acknowledge Peter B. as he sat down, groaning with his whole being and popping in places he probably shouldn’t be popping. And Peter, for his part, didn’t do much more than gently knock his knee against hers. He was good about things like that. Sometimes he was pushy, and for the people that needed that it worked like a charm. But he also knew the pitfalls of a solemn and guilty conscience. Gwen was grateful he didn’t immediately try to absolve her of it.
“It’s not your fault.”
“He wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up forever.”
“There was nothing you could have done. It was already too late.”
She’d heard it all hundreds, if not thousands of times already. It didn’t mean a damn thing when she had a constant chorus of Never Again hounding her like the Raven screaming Nevermore!
This was her fault.
A Spider was dead and it. Was. Her. Fault.
The sun progressed lower, catching an angle on a window that slanted right into her eyes. She squeezed them shut even as the harsh light burned itself into the shape of a broken figure against her retinas. Her finger stung as she pressed it harder against the cast. The straps, lead, dead weights, imprinted fresh bruises on her skin. There was a vicious snap of bone and sharp static searing her mind. But the worst feeling of all came from the pull as one by one fingers slipped from her grasp.
“I had him.” She whispered. “I had him.”
The tears were near scalding as they forced their way out. Thick, fat things filled with self loathing and regret dribbled down her face, slipping around her chin and down her neck to wet her collar. Add to the discomfort. Make it grow. It was only the least of what she deserved.
An arm wrapped around her shoulders and tucked her into a warm side, minding her sling as it went. Gwen turned her head and buried her face into fabric limned with downy soft fuzz but was still just a little itchy. She breathed in greasy fast food and baby powder; it was awful; it was somehow more comforting than anything she’d ever received today. A croak and a sob tore itself from her throat.
Peter wrapped his other arm around her and gently swayed from side to side.
“I’m sorry kiddo. I’m so sorry.” His voice was raw and stuffed up. “Would if I could, I'd turn back time for you in a heartbeat. But it― We can only look for ways to move on.”
She shifted, peeking out through watercolor tears to glimpse the last vestiges of light slipping beyond the horizon.
Peter tucked her head beneath his chin, growing quieter.
“Bury the sun and tell it so long.”