Author's Note: Been a while ain't it? Sorry for that. If you really wanna know, I'll dump some rambling in the end A/N like I always do. It's not that exciting, though. While I've been gone, I've gotten my first review, so thank you very much to Villio for the wonderful review :) Hope the dialogue in this chapter is a smidge better, but still working on it. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Gwen decides that she enjoys violence

With her heart clenched between her teeth, Gwen stole around the corner and into the shadowed passage where two thugs were pinning their victim to the wall.

"Jus' grab his watch and we can get outta here." one of the attackers urged hoarsely, tugging at the silhouette of their accomplice, "Quickly!" The figure whimpered as a rough hand dug into his wrists and tore away the well-worn leather watch. Gwen shivered in pity as she caught a glint of sorrow in his wide and terrified eyes. Shifting her shoulders, she composed herself. What had she come here for?

To help, of course. To honor her father's title.

Really? Was that the reason?

Or

Was

It

Something

More

Selfish,

Gwen

Stacy?

Okay, maybe some underlying part of Gwen clung onto the guilt of what happened with Peter last night. But everything turned out alright in the end, didn't it? He didn't bring it up, so it can't have been that troubling. Gwen had given Flash his just desserts in the end, even if it had been unintentional… and had ended up giving Gwen a few guilt-ridden meltdowns on the side.

And fine, the incident with Kurt and Mac had been scarring, even Gwen could admit that. She'd been so wrapped up in all of the following antics that the sheer bloodshed hadn't really sunk in yet. Gwen Stacy had been witness to a double murder. Nobody knew, apart from her. And she'd treated the scene of the crime like a playground. Trounced over the bodies. Overlooked the gore in favor of the great big shiny purple puddle that she'd proceeded to tamper with and ultimately get herself into even deeper trouble. It had been so dangerous and so illegal.

Was Gwen a criminal? Or was she safe because nobody had seen her crimes? Were there any traces she had been there? Holy shit, did her father know? Was he waiting for her at the apartment with handcuffs? Shit.

It all escalated so quickly. How could she follow in her father's footsteps when she herself was a felon? When she freely allowed her friend to get beaten up? When she was so unstable that she couldn't go more than 5 minutes without destroying something or imploding from the mountain of guilt?

Gwen Stacy had to be selfish, because everything she touched from now on could spur another disaster.

"Alright, let's go." someone vaguely hissed. The sickening thud of a man collapsing to the ground didn't help to stir Gwen from her soliloquy, nor did the strangled cry that rose from the depths of that man's throat as he was abandoned on the slick concrete.

She couldn't do this. What had she been thinking to come here in the first place, straight off the delirious high of an epiphany? What bullshit had her brain made up to convince her that interfering had been a good idea? This wasn't her job, it was the police's. Wasn't it? And- and she had homework to do. A reputation to uphold. He'd be fine. Peter had been fine. This wasn't so different. Gwen Stacy should pretend everything was fine, shouldn't she? Just because the course of her entire life had been thrown off-kilter by a spider bite didn't mean she couldn't be normal and just walk away. She was never here, right?

Is what she would've done, if the man drooped against the wall wasn't mouthing the word "please" at her, begging Gwen to swallow her pride and fucking help.

Time slowed to a crawl as the muggers caught the hope-filled twinkle in the man's eyes and traced it back to the small girl in the shadows.. The girl who, to their knowledge, was carrying some very sellable items on her very vulnerable person. As if sharing a mind, the pair glanced over at each other, readying their fists, then to Gwen, who was still caught in a net of indecision. Somebody had to make their move.

Gwen's senses poised, like a ballet dancer in the wings, and time undilated.

The slighter one, presumably a woman, surged forward, but Gwen jolted backwards. Too late for indecision now. Pure energy coursing through her veins, she grabbed ahold of her outstretched arm and wrenched it as hard as she could. The other attacker opened with a hook from the right. Gwen snaked underneath, silently thanking her newfound reflexes, before retaliating with a fist of her own. The man howled, staggering backwards into the alley wall as the scabs on Gwen's knuckles welled up with blood. Ragged breaths escaped her lips as the girl took a step back. Click.

"St-stop it!"

All her courage evaporated at once. Gwen gradually tilted her head to see the woman, trembling, aiming a simple handgun straight for her head. Saliva lodged itself in the girl's throat. Her fingers twitched. Vision blurring in and out, refusing to take it in. A scowl contorted to fear underneath the woman's ski mask. Fear. Mercy. Flash Thompson slumped against the locker. Crimson dribbling from Gwen's fists. Eyes. Frantic, and stunned. Knowing that Gwen shouldn't be able to do this.

A normal girl shouldn't have been doing this.

But she was.

Bang.

A bullet skidded off the concrete. The apartments either side of the alley trembled on their foundations. Nearby, someone clasped their groceries tighter and hopped to the other side of the street. A rat scampered down the nearest storm drain. The woman whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut in futility, and withdrew the handgun.

Bricks. Rough. Barely registering underneath her fingertips. Gwen hadn't opened her eyes yet, but that didn't matter because she already knew what had happened. Death had reached for her two nights in a row, and she was getting good at dodging it. In this case, a bit more literally that she would've liked. Her head began to spin, like someone swirling a bottle of water. And as she finally peeled her eyes open, Gwen realized why. Vertigo. Not only was she stuck to a wall, she was also upside down and stuck to a wall, crown facing the concrete and all. Bile crept up her throat as she noticed the figure out of the corner of her eye.

"fuck. Fuck. w-what the shit have I done?" her voice was subdued, and steeped in shock. The woman was hunched over, clutching at her mouth as if it would somehow conceal her from the glaring night. A chill danced down Gwen's spine. Deja vu.

She'd been kneeling in the middle of the street.

The sky had been dark; like what she'd see when she closed her eyes.

There'd been a single street lamp and the single wail of a siren off in the distance.

And she'd made a mistake.

The kind you had to die regretting.

Gwen's breath hitched roughly. No. She couldn't keep doing this to herself. Replaying and replaying that sequence of events, like they were a glitched youtube video playing on loop in the background. Hearing every little detail in that woman's sobs and imagining that she'd been the one behind the gun, that she'd been the one to pull the trigger. Daring not to open her eyes so she wouldn't have to see her own lifeless face staring back at her.

Watching her own reflection in the bedroom window that night.

Remembering how she thought she'd die.

Gwen crawled downwards, inch at a time until she could touch the ground with her pale, bloody hands. Making sure her body was fully in shadow, she clambered onto her belly, the cold concrete sending sparks through her veins. As silently as possible, the girl hauled herself to her feet using some ancient crates for stability, just as a shrill yelp pierced the air.

"WHAT THE-". A string of hiccups. Hurried whispers. The woman's fist curled around the handgun, then loosened as she turned to her unconscious accomplice. The sirens crescendoed. Haphazard footsteps as the woman fled into the street. And Gwen; now left by her victorious self, had to deal with the aftermath.

"Um, are you okay now? I- The police are on their way, sir, if that's- I'm gonna- yeah. Here's your watch." Gwen stuttered, trying to fumble her way through common courtesy as quickly as she could.

"How'd you-"

"-have a nice night, sir."

Familiar red and blue poured down the road as Gwen stepped back onto the pavement, barely taking a glimpse back at the man whose watch she'd salvaged, along with other things. Shame she couldn't have stayed for a chat, but a) there was no way her father's work buddies wouldn't immediately recognise her, and b) she had no interest in explaining what the hell just happened to anyone. Yet, some part of her still begged to go back and help the guy get to safety, and the other part, well -

Peter Parker slumped over in that alley.

Gwen, pretending he wasn't half bleeding out.

Yesterday's Gwen Stacy- pre-powers Gwen Stacy- still gave a damn about her squeaky clean reputation. Still pored over her desk trying to figure out Factor Theorem for the twelfth time and then using it as an excuse not to call her friend a freakin' ambulance. Even this morning; noticing the large purple bruise peeking out from under a thick layer of concealer and ignoring it. At least she'd tried this time. Even if all it got her was another brush with death. It had been worth it, hadn't it?

The woman who'd almost shot her was long gone by now, no surprise there. It's not as if criminals often stuck around to get arrested. Not as if the police would go out of their way to find her, either. It made Gwen's heart sink a little but at the same time, her father and his colleagues could only do so much, right? Queens was far from crime free, she just had never noticed to what extent.

Gwen's heart trembled as she traipsed back to the apartment block. Only now was the adrenaline kicking back in, accompanied by the slight sting of the fall breeze across her skinned knuckles. She could barely recognise herself in the reflections of the shop windows she passed - unkempt hair, alert eyes, modest grin. Something had lifted all the weight from her feet.

Buzz.

20:03

I'll be home late again today. Hope you get some work done while you have the chance.

20:04

You can order takeout if you want.

Gwen flinched a little as she read her father's messages, as if he'd been standing over her shoulder the entire trek home. Schoolwork was the least of her worries right now, next to the rumbling of her belly right on cue as it called her out for skipping lunch earlier. Not when the powers she'd acquired kept swerving her in trouble's way. The universe wouldn't relent. Less than 48 hours stretched into a life's worth of events. Gwen couldn't keep up.

Not with The Stacy Expectations holding her back.

Not with her father's plan for her future yanking her the other way.

Not with Gwen's perfect reputation blocking the path.

As the girl approached the familiar double doors, the old longing to escape her life suddenly poured into her thoughts. She'd been preparing herself for the last 16 years, for what? More studying? A clinical life in some stuffy laboratory? To devote all of her time to work just in case she found something new?

The muted thud of her boots on the stair carpet mixed with the flickering LEDs to create this strange beat. She drew in the hazy scents of burned popcorn and sourness which clogged up her brain.

What did Gwen Stacy actually want?

Beat.

The thrill.

Beat.

The strength to intervene.

Beat.

The ability to put things right.

Gwen twisted the key in the lock with a soft clunk and wandered into the apartment. Carefully creaking the front door closed, she set her phone and bag on the side table where they couldn't distract her any longer. She looked around the space: the picture of her Freshman class hanging from the fridge; the crumpled shirt draped over an exercise bike; the upturned textbook she'd knocked over last night, and it all started to come together.

Her father had spent half his life discouraging Gwen from following in his footsteps.

But god was she stubborn.

Author's Note: Hi! It's me. I'm alive. Been a few months. Didn't honestly mean to take that long, but life just got in the way. Summer holidays brought writer's block followed by not being arsed followed by mocks, so I guess I have my reasons. I've been working on this chapter for about 3 months to be honest and I'm not completely happy with the ending but at this point I just want to move on and get it posted. Need to stop being a perfectionist and all that. The fight scene at the beginning especially gave me a lot of grief. I know I've written a whole-ass hunger games one-shot, but I'm still not great at fight scenes. But that's why I'm doing this anyway. To practice this shit, get better at writing because if I don't find something to fixate on, I'll go right back to watching video essays all day. Trust me. As a procrastinator, that's the worst possible thing you could be doing.

Have a fantabulous day, week, month and year wherever you are in the world and thanks for reading. I appreciate you.

TL;DR - Girl punches a guy in the face, feels bad about it. Girl punches another guy in the face, decides to become a superhero. Now with: constant flashbacks because we obviously haven't heard enough yet.