Webs We Weave



Chapter Twenty-Six

DISCLAIMER :: This tale blends together aspects of Peter Parker/Spider-Man and Gwen Stacy/Ghost Spider/Spider-Gwen from Marvel Comics, Marvel Television, and Marvel Studios. Fanfiction? Sort of. The world and characters are mine, but they may seem familiar.

Author's note: Final chapter, ladies, gentlemen, and enbies. We've made it.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ua4lzAeFjQ ))

I slept for two days. All the physical exertion, emotional toil, and overall sleep deprivation got the better of me. When I finally did wake up, I was the hungriest I’ve ever felt but incredibly refreshed otherwise.

After my morning routine, I headed down to the cafeteria. Maven had a nice breakfast of pancakes and bacon prepared. Everyone’s eyes were on me while I ate and had my coffee. Admittedly, it was a little creepy. They hadn’t looked at me like that since the first day I made an appearance in that very cafeteria.

“What?” I demanded to know when I had finished inhaling the food in front of me.

Salty was the first to speak. “Sorry, Seda. It’s been a weird week, y’know?”

“Absolutely unhinged.” Matcha agreed.

“They’re dodging the whole idea that we’ve been living with a goddamn superhero for two months and didn’t even know it.” Jefa clarified.

“I knew it… mostly.” Chispa quietly chimed in. “We fabricated the biocrystalline regulation and discharge system together.”

“Why’d you keep it from us?” Peach wondered.

“Because I asked her to.” Maven’s voice echoed from across the room. “It was in all of your best interest as well as Saoirse’s that her extracurricular activities remain behind the curtain of secrecy. No offense was intended.”

“What else was y’all keepin’ from us?” Matcha almost demanded to know.

“How ‘bout we start with the fact your dad ain’t just alive but also a cop?” Salty suggested.

A sigh said everything. It was time to tell them. They deserved to know everything. No more secrets.

I started at the beginning: Preston Gregory Parker was born on the 10th of August in 1991. Early on, there was an interest in science and engineering fostered by a mother, Maxine Elizabeth Parker, who taught science at an underprivileged high school—the very high school that used to be two of the most prestigious high schools on the eastern seaboard. There was a father, Gregory Micheal Parker, who got a job at the NYPD before Preston was born, was basically swamped by the crime response of the 1990s, and really wished his son would play a sport. The young Preston knew something didn’t quite fit, but didn’t have the words to truly express what was going on inside his own head. His mother supported his differing gender expression. His father scoffed at it.

On a quiet autumn night when Preston was nine, his mother didn’t come home and his father was working overtime. At 10:47pm on the night of the 29th of September in 2000, Sergeant Greg Parker darkened the doorway with a stern face to tell Preston his mother had just been pronounced dead. After burying his mother at The Evergreens Cemetery, Preston rarely saw his father. When he did, it was hyper-masculine reinforcement. Preston took refuge at his Uncle Ben and Aunt Elaine’s house on Midwood Street with his cousins, Jennifer (Jenna) and Ben Jr. Elaine never let the young child walk across the Eastern Parkway. She picked him up every day after school for five years, until Preston insisted he could walk. Preston always identified more with his cousin Jenna, who eventually became a cheerleader, than Ben Jr—though he used the latter to learn how to be a boy.

When Preston entered his teen years and became old enough to attend the Boys and Girls High School, it was the dark times. There were no friends. No activities. No real life outside science courses and MMOs he’d play with his younger cousin. Greg scolded his son often and picked on him for any affront to masculinity present in the boy. It created a division that had lasted ever since.

The college years followed. The word “transgender” became part of the verbal lexicon. Nothing could be done about it. Putting a word to the problem didn’t make the problem go away. It merely made it even more complicated. The dark times got darker. Though Preston graduated with a perfect grade point average and advanced degrees, nothing ever came of them. The world moved on. Preston and Greg had a verbal spat that resulted in more than a decade of no contact. Neither was aware of where their lives had taken them. Service work paid the bills but kept everything else numb.

“...then the event happened and changed everything. My roommates didn’t recognize me, so I couldn’t go home. I had nothing and no one.” Tears in my eyes, I turned to Maven. “And then Aunt Mae found me alone in a subway car with clothes that didn’t fit and brought me here. The rest is history all of you know.”

Nobody said anything for a while. The only sounds were the sounds of the city outside and a ticking clock inside. All their heads were down as they absorbed everything they’d just been told. My palms had long since started sweating. My biggest fear was their rejection.

“So,” Salty began, breaking several minutes of agonizing silence, “You’re how old, now?”

I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Technically, thirty-three. Thirty-four in August.”

Lowkey raised his hand. “How’d you go from Preston to Saoirse? That’s a big jump.”

My eyes darted over to Maven momentarily before returning to the speaker. “It was Aunt Mae’s suggestion. I took it because that whole space wave event granted every wish I’d ever had for myself.” I rolled my eyes and nervously chuckled. “Well, not so much the idea of returning to my teen years part, but the rest of it. For me, it was a liberation. It’s a second chance to be free enough to be who I really am. I’m still learning who that is.”

Salty chuckled. “Guess them powers didn’t hurt either, huh?”

“They made things more complicated than anything, actually. At first, I was a bumbling idiot. Just ask Chispa. She saw me in the early days.”

All eyes turned to the subject of my suggestion. She nodded firmly and answered like her mind was far away. “She’s right. It was a cringe-fest. Her face met more roofs than her feet did.”

Everybody shared in the laugh that followed.

“Hol’ up, though,” Matcha joined in. “So, you was trans before, right? Doesn’t that kinda make you cis now?”

My posture straightened and my eyes blinked rapidly. “You have a point, Matcha. Guess I have to turn in my Pride pin, huh? I gotta renounce my membership in the Alphabet Mafia?”

Jefa shook her head. “Nah, you’re kinda still trans. The universe just decided to do all the gender confirmation shit on its own. We still gotta train you to be a teenage girl.”

“Marisol, watch your language, love.” Maven interjected. “If I may, Saoirse and I have had many discussions these past two months. It is my belief that it wasn’t simply her body but also her brain that experienced regression. Though she has the memories of a thirty-three year old person forced to take on the role of a man, she’s just as impulsive and—dare I say—awkward as the rest of you.”

Peach frowned. “I wish that wave had changed me. Life would be a lot easier.”

“Peach, you is such an egg! Why you ain’t seen it yet is beyond me!” Matcha laughed.

“That’s why you were part of the Fellowship while Lowkey and me were here instead.” Salty nodded toward the other masculine-presenting person in the room.

“I got one question, though: is that why you’re so weird about the fact Mark thinks you’re a whole ass snack? Because you’ve got the memory of someone twice our age?” Jefa asked the most biting question.

I meekly nodded and quietly answered. “Yea. I like him too and it messes with me on a daily basis.”

“This whole thing’s been completely unhinged from your perspective, huh?” Matcha wondered.

It solicited another nod from me. “Yea, it has. I’ve never lived in a shelter. I’ve never needed to know my bra size or my dress size. I never knew what a period was like, where a tampon goes, or what to do with a maxi pad. High school was bad enough the first time. Having a crush on a high school boy has had my head spinning. I’ve had my music, my games, and some movies, but they weren’t enough to get my mind off of all of that. I gave my brain a problem: figure out the powers. That turned into patrols which then turned into a mission. Trying to deal with all of this created Silk Warden.”

“Then you came to rescue me at LaGuardia.” Lowkey choked back a knot in his throat. “And saved forty other people you didn’t know from nothin’.”

“And me from the AVS facility at the Navy Yard.” Chispa added. “And saved thirty other people you didn’t know.”

“You got Peach and me out of that federal building.” Jefa added as well. “You got eighty people to go down a zip line you made yourself, tested yourself, and made absolutely sure it was secure before you asked them to do it. They’re with their families because of you.”

“I did not enjoy that experience and never ask me to go down a zip line again, please.” Peach awkwardly requested. “But, yea, you’re a fucking hero, Seda.”

My eyes teared up as they spoke their peace. They didn’t know the whole story. “I went in for you guys. It was completely selfish. I wanted my family home again. What happened was not okay. You guys have been the first people to see the real me in my entire life. Sure, you didn’t know the whole truth, but you accepted me as just another teenager like the rest of you. I’ve been just another girl to all of you. You’ve become so precious to me. We’ve laughed together, cried together, shared jokes, done goofy shit, and bitched about math class. I couldn’t lose you to whatever was happening to you.”

“You beat the shit out of ICE agents, then you made a zip line so eighty people could escape with us. You tested it yourself to make sure it was safe. You could have left the others in the building but you didn’t.” Jefa clarified.

“You got me out and went back into that building to help the others. That’s who you are.” Chispa added an appendix through her own tears.

“You ripped your way into a bus, took the guns from federal agents, beat some ass, and then asked for the keys so you could free people. You went onto that plane without even thinking twice. You gave us seatbelts with your own webs to keep us safe while that girl with the cape flew us to the Bronx. That ain’t selfish, Seda.” Lowkey concurred.

Maven, in her seemingly designer outfit, crossed the room toward me. Her heels click-clacked on the hardwood floors the whole way over. When she arrived, she gently placed her hands on my shoulders. She smiled at me and brushed some hair out of my face.

“You have done great things, my dear. I’ve no doubt that will continue. As the evidence suggests, it is not your ability to produce gossamer of your own, whether or not you can lift a bus or tank, that you can adhere yourself to any surface, your unparalleled agility, nor your ability to sense danger before it occurs that are your powers. In point of fact, it is your endless compassion and empathy that are your super powers. I am endlessly proud of the girl that you are and the young woman you shall become.” She told me in somewhat hushed tones.

Not a word was spoken. The tears were already flowing, so it only seemed natural to collapse into a hug. Three months prior to that moment, my life was on auto-pilot. Family hadn’t been a part of my life. There were no friends to text or call. My roommates barely registered my existence. All I had was my bike, a phone, and shattered dreams. In the span of two months, my entire world changed. I’d argue it changed for the better and I was genuinely excited to see where it would lead me.

In the aftermath of the final week of June 2025, Silk Warden was a wanted criminal, according to the federal government. The news was reporting that grand juries had been convened but the biggest hitch in the system was that they didn’t know who was behind the mask. Without a legal government name to attach to the charges, nothing was going to stick. The feds offered an unprecedented monetary reward for anyone that could identify the woman behind the gray alien shaped lenses and help bring her to justice. I kept a low profile and didn’t go out on patrol for a few days.

Maven struggled to find someone worthy of the information I’d copied onto the thumb drive when I rescued Chispa and the others. To hear her tell it, there was a time where news organizations or local papers could be trusted. Those days were gone because the fear of reprisal from the current administration permeated the entire journalism profession and corporate media consolidation had all but eliminated independence in the Fourth Estate. She didn’t really feel like she could give it to anyone, but she would keep looking for an organization that would treat the evidence seriously.

In a text conversation, Hailey asked me to meet her “at the beginning” on the campus of Columbia University. All she would provide was GPS coordinates. Based on her past behavior, she had something cooked up and it could really be a lot of fun.

Throwing on a plain white tank top and denim shorts, I was out the door rather quickly. My phone and my MetroCard slipped into my back pockets, I walked to the Christopher Street station to grab the Red Line to the upper end of Manhattan Island. The MTA thought to provide air conditioning on the trains, but the stations were a muggy mess of heat and humidity. The familiar tingle was rushing up my spine and into my head periodically, but I was still learning to figure out what it meant. The train ride to 116th Street was as quick as most subway rides. When I emerged on the street, the campus of Columbia University beckoned to me from across the six lanes of Broadway.

Referencing Hailey’s coordinates on my phone, I needed to get into the campus and head for the Low Memorial Library. Approaching the iconic black and gold gates to the main campus, I was immediately stopped by security. After the protests against the genocide in Gaza and controversial response by the university administration the year prior, only students, alumni, and authorized guests could get onto the campus. Meeting with a friend who was already on campus was not a viable excuse.

I had to wait for Hailey to come fetch me after I texted her my situation. Whether or not I'd accidentally ruined her surprise, I had no way of knowing. My feet drummed a steady rhythm against the brick sidewalk as I paced. Hailey emerged from the gates smacking her forehead and rolling her eyes as she approached me.

“I am so delulu. Sorry about that, Saoirse.” She apologized. “We gotta go in together with my QR code. My dad’s a major donor to the science department, so I just walk in most of the time. I gotta check my privilege every once in a while.”

My eyebrows furrowed. “What doesn’t your dad do?”

She shrugged like it was nothing. “Quality time with his daughter.” She grabbed my hand. “C’mon! Today’s gonna be amazing! You’ll see!”

I let her drag me back toward the security personnel and get us through the gate. One scan of her phone and we were practically being escorted through the gates. The incredible amount of shade from the trees along the entrance path gave us a welcome respite from the July heat. Every once in a while, I’d glance at the posters on the wall. It was the exterior wall of the Columbia School of Arts and the Miller Theater, so there were posters from past and upcoming theater productions. Mark would probably have lost his mind.

“How did your Fourth go?” She casually questioned before we emerged from the shade trees into the massive expanse of the central quad.

“A little subdued, actually. There were some people that tried to do some small fireworks in the street, but the NYPD stomped their boots on the whole vibe.” I rolled my eyes. “Keep it lowkey, but everybody’s back at the shelter.”

“Oh, yea? That’s great! Silk Warden went on this whole rampage last week. The feds are pissed. I, for one, am glad those fascists got a taste of their own medicine.”

Nervously, I chuckled. “Yea, that girl in the blue suit with the red cape from Chicago working with her at LaGuardia was a little crazy, right?”

“She’s got a name now. She calls herself Seraphim.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yea! It’s all over the news! There were these flash floods in Texas that started yesterday. It would have been super tragic if Seraphim hadn’t responded. She’s still down there helping look for survivors.” She pulled out her phone and pulled up a video. “Check this out.”

She handed me the phone and pressed ‘play’ on the video. There was a woman with rain-soaked brown hair wearing heavy rain gear while holding her microphone and an umbrella. The skies were dark and the rain was relentless. Behind her, a muddy brown river raged over a roadway and many bits of debris floated by as she spoke.

“Thank you, John,” the reporter began. “Here in the Texas hill country, Kerr County is at the epicenter of devastation as the waters of the Guadalupe River rose more than twenty feet in under an hour in the early hours of yesterday morning. First responders were hampered by high winds and waterlogged roadways into the affected areas. As you can see, the heavy rainfall has continued and the waters show no signs of receding any time soon, further complicating rescue efforts. However, the area received a blessing in the form of a girl in a cape. She appeared out of nowhere in the dark of yesterday morning and immediately began pulling people out of the river. She has not stopped since. She has been coordinating with local rescue efforts and has helped lift firefighters and EMS to where they could access those affected by their time in the river. I have confirmed with multiple sources that the ‘Windy City Wonder’ has now officially begun calling herself ‘Seraphim’. Her efforts with the first responders is the best hope for the area. Back to you in the studio.”

I couldn’t believe my own eyes as I watched the video. Just over the woman’s shoulder was a raging river with so much debris. The thought of anyone being trapped in those waters for any length of time chilled me to the bone.

“Do you ever wish you could help in situations like this?” I asked without averting my eyes from the phone screen.

“Well, yea, obviously, but I’m literally just a sixteen-year-old from New York about to start senior year in a couple months. I don’t have any superpowers. I’d just lose all my aura and get in the way.” Hailey frowned.

I chuckled. “Yea, maybe you’re right. We just got through Regents and I’m doing remedial courses through the summer so I can graduate with everybody else next year. I still wish there was something I could do, y’know?”

Her hand landed firmly on my shoulder. “You’re actually too good for this world, Saoirse. I respect the hustle, but we've just gotta accept we’re NPCs in this situation. It's fine. Anyway, why are you even in summer school?”

“New York wouldn’t accept any homeschooling credit from New Jersey. I have to prove I know everything required by the Empire State from freshman year forward. It’s mind-numbing, for real.”

“I swear, some adults need to just touch grass and leave us alone.” While we were talking, I hadn’t even realized how far we had walked until she started climbing some stone stairs with oxidized copper railings. “Follow me!”

My eyes finally lifted from the phone, I took in the surroundings. We had made it to the eastern side of the quad, bypassed two fountains, and even climbed several steps. The iconic brick and limestone plaza was behind us. Climbing the steps with her, we soon came to the top that was framed with additional brass railings. She smacked her hand atop a stone corner pillar at the top of the stairs. To her left was an iron fence that blocked off part of the area near her.

“This is where it all began.” Hailey proclaimed. She pointed across the plaza. “Over there is the Alma Mater statue seen during the opening credits and right here, outside Kent Hall, is where Peter Venkman proposed starting their own business with Ray Stanz. You actually have no idea the amount of deep-diving I had to do on YouTube to figure this out!”

My eyes widened as I closed the distance between us. “Bill Murray sat there,” I nearly gasped while pointing at the stone ledge. Then, I shifted my finger to a spot just beyond the metal fence. “Dan Aykroyd stood there.” My eyes shot across the plaza to the statue. “The title logo was just behind her head.”

Hailey laughed, genuinely delighted to see me completely broken by the lore. “Okay, I knew you were a fan, but this is actual next-level nerd behavior! It’s low-key adorable! I hope you’re ready, because I have a whole itinerary cooked up for us today!”

“If you tell me we’re actually going to see the Ecto-1, I may die happy.” I stated breathlessly.

Hailey grew a mischievous smile on her face, took her phone back, and started descending the stone staircase without speaking another word. I tried to get anything out of her while we crossed the plaza once again walking toward Broadway. She said nothing.

The moment we came out the gates at 116th, I could have died. Sitting on the curb with lights engaged was a movie-accurate replica of the primary vehicle of the Ghostbusters: Ecto-1. I saw Hailey nod to whoever was in the driver’s seat. In the next second, the air filled with that iconic siren: an analog-chamber-distorted, sped-up, backward-played, physically-altered leopard snarl. The sound waves bounced off the buildings for at least a block and every head within auditory range turned toward one of the most iconic movie vehicles ever built.

The driver’s side door opened and a smiling gentleman climbed out after turning off the siren. He opened the front passenger side door as well as the rear door where an L-shaped seat had been fashioned for tour seating. I absolutely sat in the front passenger seat. In all my years, I’d only ever been to one of the filming locations in the movie before that day: the New York Public Library. Every kid in the five boroughs had at least one field trip to the place. I was about to see all of them while riding in a loving tribute to the original car.

The guy driving us for the tour had built the car himself from a hearse, just as depicted in the movie. Some bits of the interior had been modernized, but it was mostly original. The roof rack had all the gadgets, too. I appreciated the engineering necessary to pull off such a feat.

Having started at Columbia University, we already had those bases covered. We moved in stages heading southward. We hit “Spook Central” at 55 Central Park West. The guy pointed out the church right next door and the exact route of the Staypuft Marshmallow Man. We hit the Tavern On The Green and the driver pointed out the exact spot where Louis Tully was possessed by The Keymaster. We hit the Stephen A. Schwartzman building of the New York Public Library with its entrance flanked by Patience and Fortitude. It was Patience, the southern lion, that came alive during the most recent movie. However, Fortitude, the northern lion, was the star of the opening establishing shot of the original film.

The journey southward was the longest of the whole tour. Going from Midtown to Tribeca, we jammed out to music from the movies released over the years. All except the Fall Out Boy cover. Normally, I enjoyed Fall Out Boy, but their cover paled in comparison to the Ray Parker Jr original. All the windows were open to draw in some air and battle the July heat inside the sixty-six year old Cadillac. People screamed from half a block away about the car. I’d never seen so many people randomly smile on the streets of New York until I rode in that car.

Our route was straight down 5th Avenue until 15th Street, then west to 7th Avenue, and we followed that all the way down to Tribeca. I could see the iconic brick building from nearly three blocks away. All the surrounding buildings had grown much taller than the 1903 structure. My excitement overflowed about a block away as we sat at the Beach Street light across from NYPD’s 1st Precinct. I was practically screaming as the building became more visible. It had finally dawned on me that I was sitting in Ecto-1 heading toward Ghostbusters Headquarters. After a couple of decades, I remembered what real joy felt like.

We found the red doors of Ladder 8 open as we pulled onto North Moore Street and parked the car past the yellow diagonal line in the road. The firefighters inside had their own smiles as they spotted the car. There were a few people around when we approached. The working firehouse had become a pilgrimage site for nerds around the world. The heroes of New York were thankfully not busy and not on a call, so they were pretty chatty with the people around. I was a little nervous at first because I felt like I was disturbing people at work. The firefighters were incredibly kind.

After a few minutes of chatting, Hailey brought up my phone number.

“Saoirse is a literal super-fan,” She informed them, pointing her thumb toward me. “Like, having the actual number as your digits is such a niche flex.”

“Oh, yea? What number is that?” One of the firefighters wondered.

Blushing, I smiled. “The one from the commercial where Peter, Ray, and Egon are dressed in blue lab coats doing a small-scale TV spot.”

“Oh, this I gotta see!” Another firefighter exclaimed as he pulled out his phone and dialed. “It’s the 2-1-2, right?”

My slightly proud and embarrassed smile broadened. “Naturally.”

He finished dialing and my phone went off a second later. I pulled it out of my pocket and showed it off. Half the guys laughed.

“That’s amazing! We tried gettin’ that number a bunch o’ years back, but somebody already had it. You got lucky, kid.” One of them praised me.

“‘Ey, Mikey, we got any of those shirts left from Ghostbusters Day?” Another asked a colleague.

“I dunno. I could go look?” The man in question responded before disappearing into the firehouse.

“Ghostbusters Day? What’s that?” I wondered.

“We started doin’ it a few years back,” the guy explained. “Every year on the anniversary of the original movie, we celebrate all things Ghostbusters. It’s always the Saturday closest to June 8th. We sell shirts and hoodies year-round, cash only. Normally, the money goes to the firehouse and the FDNY Foundation. But for Ghostbusters Day, everything goes to the Elsasser Fund, which supports the families of FDNY firefighters who pass away outside the line of duty.”

“That’s a really cool thing to do. I’d love to help out, but it’s July 5th. We missed the actual celebration by a month.” I frowned in disappointment. “Besides, I don’t have any cash.”

“Good thing I do,” Hailey smirked, flashing a hundred-dollar bill at me. “I’m literally funding the vision today. Pick a shirt.”

The other guy came back to us holding up two shirts. “We only got two left. One’s an extra-large and the other’s a plain large.”

Hailey bought me the large and I put it on immediately. They were “standard sizing”, meaning they were sized for grown men and quite large on me. I could care less. I’d wear the thing as a nightgown without a second thought. Right after getting the shirt, the lieutenant of the firehouse called all the guys back for something. It left Hailey and I on the sidewalk.

“Hailey,” I started to say.

“Yea, Saoirse?” She responded.

“Thanks for today. It’s the first time in a long time I’ve really gotten to just be myself.”

She smiled. “What are best friends for, right?”

“Exactly.”

We shared a fist bump.