Peter took a deep, steadying breath. He stood inside the grand lobby to Liz Allan's penthouse suite, holding a warm casserole covered in foil.

After Normie had told him Liz knew his identity, Peter knew he had to meet with her, talk things out. But the time never seemed right, especially with all of the controversy regarding the Avian's connection to Allan BioTech.

But now? Now the time would never be right.

Peter balanced the casserole with one hand as he texted Flash he was here. It wasn't long before the grand elevator doors opened with a ding, revealing an exhausted Flash Thompson.

"Parker!" He called, walking over towards him. "I got it," he said, taking the casserole so Peter could pocket his phone. He followed his friend into the ornately mirrored elevator.

While the doors had opened with a soft ding, they seemed to close with a thunderous finality. Peter had no idea what to expect from Liz. He wondered if she blamed him for what happened to Harry, and now, to Normie? But he couldn't avoid her. Not any more. She was one his oldest friends. And he had neglected her long enough.

"Smells good," Flash said, his voice hollow.

"Thanks. It's chicken. Annie and I made it this morning. I know its stupid, but we had to do something."

"It's not stupid. Liz hasn't been cooking or eating much. Mark and I are taking turns with the cooking and ordering food. This helps."

"You guys are staying with her?"

Flash nodded. "Yeah. We don't want her to be alone."

That was a good idea. Liz shouldn't be alone, not now. Peter wanted to offer to help, but he had no idea how she would feel with him staying in her home. And he also didn't want to leave his family in their time of grief. "You guys help yourself to that. We can always make you more."

Flash nodded as the doors opened and they made their way into Liz's home. The vast space seemed both empty and cluttered with moving boxes piled high, the spaces her packed belongings held, now empty.

"What's going on?" Peter asked.

"Mark is moving her. He won't say where, but he wants to get her out of the public eye. Those damn reporters are having a field day, going on and on about the Osborn curse. The vultures."

Peter clenched his fists. Vulture was too kind a term. Couldn't they let Liz grieve in peace?

"Anyway, Mark won't tell me when the moving day is, he doesn't want that information overheard or leaked. But I suspect it's soon," he said, eying the boxes. "You're just in time."

Peter nodded. "You'll miss her."

"Of course I will." He placed the dish on the table.

"Peter!" Mark Raxton said as he entered the room, his golden skin glinting in the light. He looked as if he moved in daze."Long time no see. Have a seat, I'll grab Liz."

Shortly after, Mark led a dazed Liz out of her room, before going back to his task of packing with Flash. She sat next Peter, looking thinner, older, and frail. He almost didn't recognize her.

"Hey Lizzie," he said gently. He almost asked how are you? But of course that was such a stupid question.

Liz said nothing, just stared vacantly at her hands. Peter wished he could ease her pain. Say something, do something, anything to help his friend.

He placed his hand on her shoulder, but she flinched away from his touch. So he just sat in silence with her, filling the space, hoping she knew she wasn't alone. Hoping she knew how heartbroken he was.

"Spider-Man," she whispered hoarsely.

Peter's heart clenched and his stomach dropped. He wondered what to do in that moment. Was Liz about to reveal his identity in front of Flash and Mark? What would they think when they found out he couldn't save Normie?

"Spider-Man couldn't save him. Tell me, why? Why couldn't he save him?" She buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

"Lizzie," Peter began, his voice choked with grief. "Lizzie, I'm so sorry." His words meant nothing in the context of this tragedy; he was completely powerless in helping his friend.

"What kind of hero lets a boy die? What kind of hero sits back and watches as someone loses their family?" Peter couldn't hold his emotion back. He couldn't answer or argue her questions. What kind of hero was he?

"Liz," Flash said gently, sitting down next to her. "Let's get you back to bed."

He saw her tense at his words. He knew Flash meant well, but being ushered back to bed was likely the last thing she wanted.

"No. Its okay, I want to hear what she has to say," Peter said, hoping it would help in easing her pain.

Liz shook her head and stood. "I'm going to my study. I want to be alone."

Flash stood with her. "Okay," he said, gently taking her arm, but she snapped it away.

"I don't need your help, Flash." But Peter heard her unspoken message: I can't be helped, Flash.

His friend nodded, and Liz left. Mark, busy at packing, glanced up at them, and Peter could see him fighting to not follow her.

Flash flopped down on the couch with a heavy sigh. "I don't know what to do. Some days, I think I am helping, but others, I think I just make it worse."

Peter nodded. "I don't think there is a right way in this."

Flash nodded. "How are you holding up?"

Peter didn't know how to answer that question. So he just shrugged.

"I heard what Liz said, about Spider-Man."

Peter took a deep breath. Flash had always been Spider-Man's biggest fan. But Spider-Man constantly let him down. At what point was Flash going to see through his attempt at heroics?

"Everything she said was right," Peter spat. "What kind of a hero would-"

"Parker. Heroes can't save everyone. No matter how hard they try."

Peter looked at his friend and saw that Flash had a faraway expression, as if lost in a memory. Peter wondered how many lives Flash had tried to save in his time in the army. For a moment, he thought of telling his friend, of just saying "Flash, I'm Spider-Man," but then he thought of the hell that secret could bring.

"Still Spider-Man's biggest fan," he said instead. "After all this time."

Flash shrugged. "It's not about that. Look, Pete, I saw something in you when Liz was talking, and it reminded me of Harry, and how he ruined his life, trying to make Spider-Man pay. I don't want to lose another friend, alright?"

Peter nodded, not knowing what else to say. He knew what he had to do. He would find Triple Threat, and hold them responsible for their murder. He hoped their arrest would bring Liz a sense of closure.

"I gotta go," he said, standing. He looked at his friend. "I'll see you, Flash."

"See you, Parker."

Peter let himself out, his heart heavy, but his mind active with a plan. He'd go home, check on MJ and Annie, and then he'd suit up.

Amanda's head still pounded, but the pain was starting to subside. Her face was a bruised mess from Spiderling's attack, but since this chaos all started, Amanda had noticed incredible improvements in her healing.

And her plan worked.

They caught the eye of their Benefactor again. Now she and her father stood in the grand foyer of their old training compound, looking impressive in their suits. She'd see her mom soon.

Just a week ago, she would've given anything for this moment. But now, after having killed a man, the joy of seeing her mother felt poisoned. Apparently she hadn't just killed anyone, but Norman Osborn, son and grandson of the Green Goblin. Her father kept telling her it was okay, that he probably would've continued that legacy, committing countless atrocities. That it wasn't her fault he was dead. But, of course, she didn't believe him. She should've listened to Spiderling when she said her friends were trapped. She should've let her friends go, and none of this would've happened. Amanda fought the urge to wipe her eyes.

"Alex?" She heard her dad say.

Amanda saw her mother enter the foyer. Her breath caught as her parents ran to each other, colliding into an embrace. Then her mom broke away and rushed to Amanda.

"My baby," she said, throwing her arms around her, the comfort of her mother's embrace soothed the pain in her soul, and the images from the attack at the carnival dulled. She willed the hug to last forever.

But, of course, it couldn't. Alex broke away from her daughter, her dark eyes widening at the bruises on her face.

"Let me heal these," she said, gently brushing touching the purple.

Amanda turned away. "No, its healing on its own."

Her mother narrowed her eyes, recognizing that something had profoundly changed in her.

"I'm not asking," she said, her voice firm and steady. Amanda wondered if she knew she had killed someone. What would she think?

Before she could tell her, her mom pushed her back, separating her from her shadowed twin. There was red on her face and head, corresponding with the bruises. But some of the red extended deep inside her head. She wondered if that meant she had a concussion.

Her mom placed her hands on the red, and Amanda felt a tingly warmth on the corresponding areas of her body. Once her shadow was pushed back in, Amanda couldn't feel the pounding pain. Which only made her feel more guilt.

She grabbed Amanda's hand. "Come with me. You've made quite the impression on our Benefactor. He wants to meet you."

"Do you know what I did?"

"Yes, I know everything."

"Mom I killed someone," she sobbed.

"Manda," her dad said gently. "We've talked about this. You didn't do anything wrong. You brought us back together."

"And soon, we'll have Paul back," her mom said, her dark eyes softening. "And that's all that matters. Let's go. He is anxious to meet you."

Paul. She thought of her brother, and tried to recall his laugh. It had already faded so much.

"Okay," she said, using the memory of her brother to numb the guilt of Osborn's death. "Okay, let's go."