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In his dreams, she falls over and over again. The arch isn't always the same, but she will always stumble, her green coat catching wind and floating around her. For a moment she takes flight, that green turning to wings, letting her float back to safety. The sun beats down on her and as she rises, they face. She is golden and beautiful, like a goddess. Years later he would look upon the Sentry and smile, finding a sick similarity there. But now, she stares at him, in fear, in anger, and opens her mouth.
She falls again. Her wings are clipped, the sun abandons her and the betrayal is too much. Her head tips back and for the millionth time, that scream is wretched from her throat. Did she scream that day? He couldn't remember and it didn't matter, in his dreams she did. Down and down. The bridge grows higher and she has time to see the world stand still under her, not coming closer. But it always ends the same way.
He doesn't dream of Peter that much. Oh, he pops up when they're in close conflict, when the Goblin is furious and yells for blood, but mostly he stays away. So when the climax happens, when the greatest moment of his life hits its zenith, Peter isn't there. But the result...
SNAP!
Her head is jerked back, farther than is natural, so her neck is almost folded in half. He sometimes wonders what it must've felt like. Did it hurt for her? Or was it an instant death, saving her from the horror of her body growing numb while nerves in her neck burned, giving no release except the dark beyond?
Anything that happens afterwards is irrelevant. He wakes, content, and reaches over to his bedside table to check the time. He has slept four hours, good enough for him. Swinging himself out of bed, he is ready to start the day. He doesn't bother with it anymore, but in earlier years he would have a woman in bed. Suitable for a release, but never enough to warm him. How could they when the Gwen of his dreams would always fulfill his every desire better than them? Eventually those women would lose their purpose and he'd have her all for himself, never needing to sully himself to ease his physical weaknesses.
Ah, Emily. Kolina. Lily. Countless others. He'd held them in his arms and sometimes even allowed himself the comfort of their feminine touch. But it would never be enough. Not when Gwen's face was the one he saw every time he closed his eyes, not when he could hear the snap! even in the loudest of locations. When he killed the Skrull Queen, blew her head off and made himself a hero beloved by all, all he could hear was the sound of a neck breaking.
Some day he should take his twins aside and explain what their mother had meant to him. If they could even appreciate the beauty of the woman's worth. His Sarah had moved away from him, becoming something he hadn't expected and didn't approve of. The curse of her genes was having sympathy for Peter and he bristled at seeing his bright daughter fail in the way her mother had, before she had repented. Perhaps one day he could find use for her again, figure out how to make her worthy of her father's legacy.
Would Gabriel get it? The boy was too deep in his self-loathing and now rotted away in a psych ward. Whenever he was in a more charitable mood, so to speak, he would feel sorry for his younger son. He too knew something about hearing voices, never knowing what was real or not. When Gabriel had been younger - not too many years ago for him - he had been the one to ask about Gwen the most.
What was her favorite color, uncle? Did she have a pretty laugh? What did she like the most in the world?
He'd smile, endeared by the boy's earnest line of questioning, and answer as best he could.
Blue, I think. She looked the prettiest in it. Yes, her laughter was like that of a songbird. Oh, she used to say she loved the two of you more than anything else, but before you came around, she liked to uphold justice and help those who deserved it.
Of course, he had no idea what Gwen was like. It didn't matter, words were wind. The boy would take it to heart and build an image of perfection in his mind. It would serve his purposes just fine and he wouldn't have to worry about his dear Gabe ever turning away from him completely.
But all the others, they could never see what he had. All her friends, Harry among them, would look down and shed tears, like the unimaginative people they were. Peter only saw the woman dead, her life snuffed out like a candle. So young, so much time still ahead of her. Oh, so very sad. What a curse that SNAP was, how hard it rang in Peter's head, his fists were so painful against his face and fueled by that SNAP SNAP SNAP-
He was getting distracted. It didn't matter where he was - home, abroad, in a quiet streetcorner, in prison - as long as he could dream peacefully. He knew the true Gwen in a way no one else had. Her fear, her regret, the flash that passed her eyes, letting him see she knew her death was imminent. When beforehand she had been a footnote in his life, an acknowledgement of there being a girl who had sometimes come to his house to study, now one could not exist without the other. He should tell all the men and women writing thousands of pages' worth of content analyzing him and the Goblin to make sure to always have her name bolded, to make sure everyone reading it would know immediately who she belonged to. Gwen Stacy would live forever because of him.
What was the time? It didn't matter. Another day would pass and he would never again find the excitement of those early years. When he first took his dingy little glider to the skies, rising above everyone else and looking down upon the city he sought to rule. When he first put on the costume and knew he had found his true face. When he would take the life of someone and know it would haunt everyone for the rest of their days. Now it was just motions he knew so well, but didn't truly love.
A cult? No problem, he had experience there. Loads of Goblinfuckers around for some reason, something must've gone wrong in their childhoods.
A goverment issued position of power? Oh, Mr. President, you shouldn't have! No, really, you shouldn't have. Someone forgot to tell you I am a monster. How easily you forget that pretty blonde on the bridge.
A rather odd time as an alien, not once but twice? Hey, at least his face was fixed, he could handle whatever else that goopy red Carnage would throw at him.
And so on. Year after year. But that bridge would still stand tall and proud knowing the symbolic place it held in one man's heart. Every day he would look at it, whether in person or on a screen, and hold a hand up to his heart. The simpler days, the more meaningful moments. No drama with extraterrestrial lifeforms or bureaucracy, just a beautiful scene he could revisit when things got tough.
Later, he would pop some pills, go to bed, and sleep with a smile on his face. In his dreams she would be there again and Norman would greet her with the same excitement he had on the day it happened. It would be a good night.