Webs We Weave



Chapter Four

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: Another terrible week. Hope this brings everybody some solace.

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

When I awoke the next morning, the city was alive with noise but not much was actually emanating from inside the building. The sun was already high in the sky and heat radiated off the window panes. Throwing off the comforter revealed a tank top and a pair of panties covering a still unfamiliar but not unwelcome body. It was readily apparent that the previous day hadn’t been a dream after all.

The first order of business was to sneak to the bathroom. That had only been the third time I’d actually had to use the bathroom since the whole change happened and I was slowly learning why having toilet paper is non-negotiable in a house with people who have female anatomy. Not a hard lesson, just an understanding of reality. Heading back to the room that had been assigned to me, I dove back into the bag of clothes Ms. Maven had given me. Black leggings became pants. The tank top came off and a sports bra took its place, then a light blue T-shirt. It was capped off by the hoodie from last night and the tennis shoes.

Hungry again, I made my way through the building and into the cafeteria. It was eerily quiet the whole way through. It was as if the building had been deserted sometime between last night and this morning. The growingly familiar tingling sensation came over me and I turned to be greeted by the sight of Ms. Maven herself. Before I could even open my mouth, the woman almost knew exactly what I was going to say.

“The others aren’t here right now,” she informed me. “It’s a school day. It is a rule of this house that everyone attends school. There are no exceptions. You’re in school, are you?”

That last question felt like an attack. “Uh… no, I’m not. Haven’t been for years. Why?”

She folded her arms and her gaze became authoritative. “How many years, love?”

“Depends on if you mean high school or college.” I wanted desperately to change the subject. That feeling of being a specimen under a microscope wasn’t foreign. It was never comfortable, either. “Is there any way I can grab something for breakfast?”

She pointed at something near the entrance to the kitchen. “There’s cereal and milk on the trolley, there.” Her eyes didn’t move from my form. “Either schooling experience would be comforting to know.”

My body crossed the expanse of the cafeteria as my footsteps echoed off the walls. “About ten years since college and fifteen since high school. Through an accelerated program, I got my Master’s rather than Bachelor’s and it only took an extra year.”

She smiled, following me but keeping her distance. “I’ll need to have a look at your identification, dearie. There’s paperwork to be done as well. Eat your fill, retrieve your documents, and meet me in the office, please?”

Reaching the cart, I grabbed one of the little pre-packaged bowls of cereal, opened the top, poured a little milk into it, grabbed a spoon, then spun around. “Sure. Just… keep an open mind, huh? It really is all my stuff.”

“Certainly, love.” She spun on her heel and the click-clack of her heels echoed off the walls as she disappeared into that entry office space I’d first seen last night.

I sat and ate in relative peace. Remembering to bring my phone and earbuds helped me escape the silence. Instead, there was ample time to actually think. It was becoming relatively obvious that fewer and fewer people were going to believe the person in front of them had any of the education they claimed. The same could be said about my identity. There was a sense deep inside me that this was going to be a recurring theme going forward. I could barely explain what happened in a theoretical sense, let alone have any hope of explaining it to someone else.

Finishing the cereal and drinking the leftover milk, I placed the garbage and silverware in their respective places. Returning to the room I’d been given, I grabbed my wallet and stuffed it in the pocket of the hoodie. It was time to face the inevitable. I descended the stairs one more time. Finally, I arrived at the oak doors and opened them.

Ms. Maven was behind her desk in the corner immediately to the right of the oak doors. It was facing the entrance door. That was probably because she wanted to be the first face anyone saw when they entered the building. That day, she wore her hair down in its halfway between curly and wavy state. She wore a forest green silk blouse, an earthy brown A-line skirt, and the same gold pumps she had worn the day before. Yet again, the gold necklace with the pendant that looked like a skinny pinecone dangled from her neck. She smiled brightly as I entered and beckoned me into a seat.

“We’ve got some paperwork to handle, love,” she stated plainly. “I trust you’ve fetched your documents?”

I nodded, handing over my wallet. “That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. Everything else is back in my room in Bed-Stuy that I can’t get to right now.”

Gently, she took the wallet and began to examine the contents. Inside was my ID, social security card, bank card, and even my MetroCard - fairly meager, even for a man’s wallet. She glanced at my ID and compared it to my social security card, reading aloud. “Preston Gregory Parker…” She glanced in my direction. “Rather ill-fitting, wouldn’t you say?”

All I thought to do was shrug. “Maybe, but that’s the truth.”

She continued reading aloud. “Date of birth: the 10th of August 1991? That would make you—”

“Almost thirty-four years old,” I finished her statement for her. “Probably means I have no place in an establishment like this. From the name, it would seem that you run a youth shelter. Maybe I should grab my things and go?”

“I shan’t suggest anything of the sort.” She huffed. “From where I’m sitting, you appear no older than anybody else who calls this house their home.”

“Maybe, but—”

She held up a finger and made a very loud shushing sound. “I wasn’t finished, young lady.” The finger gently fell to the surface of the desk. “Your appearance suggests that you are not any older than anyone here. You and I will know about your past, but no one else need be privy to that information. I’ve seen many come through these doors without any identifying documents. This could be an opportunity to start over. Perhaps you’ve a past you’d like to keep in the past? Perhaps become something else?”

One of my eyebrows raised on its own. “Are you suggesting we fudge the documentation and I become someone else entirely?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, perhaps yes.” Her face was unreadable. “Would that be something you would like to do?”

My head swam with possibilities as I slumped back in the chair. “Honestly, I don’t know. Why are you even suggesting this in the first place? Isn’t it illegal to suggest something like this?”

Her shrug was subtle but spoke volumes. “The laws of mortals change so quickly that it is difficult to keep track. At times, it might be from parliamentary proceedings. Other times, perhaps judicial review. I’ve seen kingdoms rise and fall in the span of a single breath and complete legal systems last for a shorter time.”

My eyes narrowed on the ginger woman before me. “What are you talking about? ‘Laws of mortals’? Really? Who are you? What are you?”

“I am not so different from you, Preston: a being forged by the power of the stars. I was crafted into something new and given tools to help or hinder my fellow humans however I saw fit. There were others. I do not believe you will be the only one. Others will emerge in time. Whether they are a help or a hindrance remains to be seen. They must choose their own path.” She let out a long breath. “When I was younger, the people of Éire were primitive by your standards. Communities fought wars over cattle, not oil. The more people in the clan, the more mouths to feed. Power was understood differently. Being a good leader meant you provided for your people. The greater the power, the greater the responsibility. You understand?”

My head tilted to the side. “Are you seriously giving me an Uncle Ben speech right now?”

One of her eyebrows raised. “I beg your pardon?”

“The whole ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ thing. It’s a meme, at this point.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re referring to.”

“It’s ironic as hell because you don’t know what I can do.” I extended my arm, pulled back my sleeve a little, flexed, and shot a small bit of webbing at the wall, all in the span of a half second. Neither of us could blink in the time it took to occur. “I’m pretty sure that’s not all I can do, but that’s the most weird.”

Her eyes darted to the webbing on the wall. “That certainly is something, dearie.” Then, she looked at her hand and a sphere of flame appeared out of nowhere. With a smirk, she started tossing it from one hand to the other. “I know very well what it is to have abilities others don’t understand.”

The sphere of flame got me to lurch back in my chair out of surprise. “Okay, pyrokinesis. That’s cute.”

“Among other things, as you say.” She closed her hand around the sphere of flame and it disappeared. With it went her mysterious, blended accent. It was replaced by something older. “T’ings dat happen te ya, happen te me near five t’ousand years back. I were a man set te become de next clan layder, a’fore dis happen te me. I became… more.”

I blinked rapidly as my mind tried to decipher what she’d just said. “Holy Gangs of New York, Batman! I’m not sure I understood even close to half of that. Are you suggesting that you’re more than five thousand years old?”

“In trot’, I am so.”

“That is absolutely bonkers. Here I was thinking yesterday was weird enough.”

She restored her mysterious blended accent. “I never once believed it could happen again, what took place yesterday. I was going about my business. I spoke with donors. I was to come back here and care for those in my charge. Then, there you were on that train. You were alone, trying to hide from a world that felt larger. Our paths crossed. After enough time, one stops calling that ‘coincidence’.” She let out another heavy breath. “Now you’re here. I’m allowing you to decide how we proceed.”

Feeling a bit on the spot, I shrugged. “I’m still not quite sure. I mean…” My hands motioned to my body. “...all this is not unwelcome. I’m actually glad it happened. That’s not the problem. What I’m trying to wrap my head around is that I think I have the same abilities as Spider-Man. I’m going to have to test the hypothesis, but I know the webbing thing coming out of my wrist is straight out of a movie from 2002.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand your popular culture references. I, frankly, stopped paying attention to cinema when it became less about art and more about making money.”

“When was that, exactly?”

“The 1970s. I believe it started with a young director and a robotic shark.”

My face slumped. “The movie is called Jaws. It’s a classic.”

“No. A ‘classic’ might be Metropolis or The Bride of Frankenstein.”

“Maybe for somebody older than dirt, sure.” I started to laugh, but her glare stopped me. “Sorry. Nerves again.” My head hung in shame.

“Be that as it may, we’ve still the issue of your identity. Do you want I should put you down as ‘Preston Parker’ or would you rather I waited until you’ve sorted yourself out?”

“I…” Hesitation gripped me. On the one hand, I was aware of my legal name and identity. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’d made my peace with it. For a very long time, I’d been entirely uncomfortable with my name, my face, my body, my voice, and my life in general. I could have started a transition after I moved out of my dad’s apartment at my earliest convenience, but not without some kind of health insurance. My psyche had fought with itself for years over the topic. Those battles were usually fought deep in my subconscious and in my dreams.

Ms. Maven rounded her desk and knelt next to me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I can see the turmoil in your mind. I, too, dealt with such things in the beginning. My father was killed in battle and I was to be announced as the next leader of the clan. I was the tallest, strongest, most formidable fighter among my people. I could fight to protect our people and grow the herd. In the span of a single sunrise and sunset, my body melted and I became what you see now. I experienced the same loss of age as you. The elders and mystics debated what to do with me. Some thought what happened was a sign of what was to become our future. Some thought I was touched by the gods. The rest believed I’d been punished by the gods and not fit to lead the clan.”

My eyes met hers and she continued. “In the moons that followed, I learned that I’d been blessed by something. At the time, I called it a gift from the gods. I could summon fire that burned with no wood or oil present. I could use that flame to forge weapons of indisputable strength. People were more creative near me, composing epic poems and songs. If I touched a bowl of water that was then given to someone ill to drink, they were healed. Crops matured more quickly around me and flowers bloomed instantly. The only problem was that I had the shape of woman.”

“I was defending our settlement and threw my fire at someone trying to raid us. The mystics bestowed me a new name: Breo Saighead, meaning ‘fiery arrow’.” She touched her pendant with her free hand. “Later, the whole of Ireland would know me as Brigit. Later still, it would become Brigid.”

My astonishment and curiosity were written all over my wrinkled brow. “Are you… are you telling me this all happened before, it happened to you, and you are literally the most revered deity of the Irish pantheon?”

She lightly blushed. “It is not my will that the people see me in that light. It is theirs. They made the stories which became legend. Over time, I grew to see myself as not the chieftain of any one tribe or clan. It became increasingly necessary to watch over all the people of the island I called home for so long.” She let out a happy sigh. “I acted as I was taught to: with the gifts I had been given, it was my duty to serve. Perhaps it is the same this time?”

Questioned spilled from my mind to my lips. “Why has no one talked about you for about a thousand years? If it was your duty to serve the Irish people, why are you in New York? Why did you leave Ireland?”

Her cheerful expression turned sour and she stood, returning to her chair behind the desk. “The minions of the cross. Those that claimed to follow a carpenter from Palestine. One of theirs built a stone church atop a ceremonial site and lit a flame. They attributed my deeds to her and erased me from the consciousness of the people when she died. They claimed they were a people of compassion, but subjugated the people of Éire. They murdered those that dared challenge their belief. The island was thought to be primitive, not worthy of their compassion. Conquerors came, took our land and cattle, leaving the people with only potatoes to eat. I could not heal the sickness that came.” She started to tear up. “Many lives were lost. Many people were forced to leave home. They were the most in danger. I followed many here to this island between two mighty rivers. I looked after the sick and forgotten. I used the machinations men had created to procure a fortune so that I could do what needed done. All you see around you is the product of two hundred years of toil.”

“Really not a fan of Christians, huh?”

“Nor the English.” She nearly spat when she spoke.

“Right, I’ll avoid touching that third rail. Got it.”

“That is my history. What is yours?”

A sigh escaped my lips. “There’s not much to tell, really. I doubt anyone would remember me like they remember you. I’m a kid born to the descendants of Irish immigrants. I grew up Catholic. My dad is a cop. My mom was a teacher. I grew up in Brooklyn as the nerdy kid too smart for their own good. My mom was really the one who encouraged me to use my brain. She was a science teacher.” Tears formed and I decided to keep the painful parts brief. “Some drunk driver killed her when she was coming home from work. I was nine. Dad never understood the smart stuff. He pulled away after Mom was gone. Any closeness we had before that vanished. He…” I sniffled and stuttered, “h-he was my first bully. Mom used to let me wear my hair long. He didn’t. Mom didn’t care how I walked. He did. Mom didn’t care how I talked. He did. It was so bad for so long, I buried everything deep. I escaped onto the roof of the apartment building just to find some solace.”

Tears flowed freely down my cheeks. “I prayed for so many nights that what happened yesterday would happen to me. I don’t know what to do next. I’m just glad to be here.”

Ms. Maven’s demeanor once again melted and she knelt beside me. “Sadly, I cannot heal that kind of pain. I’ve tried many times. All I can offer is a space to feel safe. Though you might have more than thirty years of experience, you really are more of a child. Your true self has not been expressed and known to others. She is still a child.” She offered a smile at the look I gave her. It was the look from someone feeling seen for the first time. “I am more perceptive than you think. Have you given her a name, love?”

Shrugging, I sniffled. “I always thought ‘Gwen’ was a nice name. Whether it breaks down from Gwendolyn, Gwenyth, or Gwenevier never mattered to me.”

“Or Gwenllian,” she sighed. “The history and meaning of a name should matter. You’re looking at the Welsh word for ‘white’, ‘fair’, or ‘blessed’ with a modern eye. Surely, it looks nice on a page or spoken aloud. What does it mean, then? ‘Fair Bow’, ‘Happiness’, ‘White Phantom’, or ‘Blessed Independence’. What does it mean to you?”

My body slumped. “Nothing, really. It just sounded nice.”

“I’ve a suggestion, if you’ll hear it.”

“Okay… ?”

“It’s a more modern name, but rooted in seeking your own power. The people of Éire started using it when seeking independence from the English in the 1920s. The name is Saoirse.”

“SEER-shuh? Sounds like a spell.”

“Mayhaps, but it’s an Irish word rooted in history. It means ‘freedom’. It’s gone from rallying cry to a name given to daughters. It’s a name your ancestors would be proud of. Trust me. I likely knew a few of them.”

“I’ll… think about it. Okay?”

She nodded slowly. “Of course, love. Choosing a name is like choosing a destiny. It carries much weight.”

“Is it okay if I go?”

“Certainly, love. We’ll get this paperwork done when you’re ready.” She handed me back my wallet. “Perhaps steer clear of the others while you consider things. They’ll ask all manner of questions. It’s best to leave that until you’re ready.”

I took the wallet and stuffed it in the pocket of my hoodie before quickly standing. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Turning for the door, my feet carried me out of the office and toward the stairs. Try as I might, there was no wrapping my mind around what I had just learned. How would anyone reconcile the fact that they’ve been in the presence of a flesh-and-blood goddess? More than that, she was someone who seemed to break through all my barriers. She seemed to be able to see me in a way no one else ever has.

As I climbed the multiple stairwells, my mind kept racing. In all honesty, I hadn’t really considered the topic of a name for myself. There was always something else to worry about. Poverty is very expensive and I was always losing that battle. Trying to keep a roof over my own head had always been a struggle. I could never get too comfortable anywhere. Paying bills was a massive headache. Proper nutrition was something only rich people could afford. Keeping my phone on with active service wasn’t the worst thing I had to deal with, but it also wasn’t easy. That was all part of what we millennials call “adulting”.

Even as a kid, I don’t think I ever thought about a name. I never got the chance to ask my mom what she would have named me if I had been assigned female at birth, though I’ve always known that “Preston” was Dad’s idea—that and his name as my middle name. It seemed that not even the name of his child could escape my father’s total control. After my mom’s death, both he and I retreated into ourselves. I had an emo phase as a kid, like a lot of people in my generation, but never went so far as to contest most gender norms. I painted my nails black but never had any eyeliner.

The name “Gwen” had come from this girl I knew through school, starting in middle school. I had the biggest crush on her for the longest time. Of course, she was way out of my league and nothing ever came of the crush. I was the science, computer, and builder geek. Meanwhile, she was a theater kid. I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but she could rival Idina Menzel’s rendition of “Defying Gravity” from the original cast of Wicked. I started to appreciate theater by watching her from afar. Periodically, I wonder whatever became of her. Regardless, I always thought her name was pretty.

Reaching the roof, I strode over to the ledge and took my seat as I had done the night before. The city was a little louder during the day, but still had the same rhythm. Closing my eyes, I started to think a bit more. Ms. Maven had been correct that I shouldn’t just grab a name from a cloud and use it. I guess I never thought of it like that because “Preston” truly didn’t mean anything to me. It was the name I’d been given after being assigned male at birth and I’d never been consulted on the matter. I looked it up once for an English class assignment. It was Old English and meant “a town of priests”. What’s interesting is that most people with European ancestry never consider what their own name means, yet they’ll ask somebody with an indigenous name or East Asian name what their name means at the drop of a hat. Not a great look.

Saoirse. Freedom. Independence. Now that was something worth considering. You couldn’t have asked me to spell it at that time, but it sounded nice. It had a really cool history behind it, too. Like most, I’d also forgotten that the Republic of Ireland was only 75 years old after winning a war and spending almost thirty years as part of the British Commonwealth. It’s not a name that would have been considered when I was born in the United States. It’s only started popping up after the girl from Lady Bird got popular. Looking it up on Google revealed that it’s been popular in Ireland since the War of Independence.

As my mind continued to wander, I stood on the ledge and absently started walking it like a tightrope. I’ve done something similar with the curbs on sidewalks since I was little. It didn’t really compute that I was three stories above the unforgiving concrete and asphalt below. What was different was the fact that I didn’t even have to put my arms out to maintain balance. I walked the ledge like it was some kind of Sunday stroll. It took a few laps back and forth along the roofline before I actually realized what I was even doing. When I did, hypotheses began rolling through my mind like a high-speed locomotive. Experimentations began.

Starting with balance, I began to throw one leg out over the ledge and balance on the remaining foot every third step. I could hop and spin on the ledge with one foot always seated. Before my rationale could keep up, intrusive thoughts of zipping up and securing the hoodie then performing a backward handspring won over. To my amazement, I was performing these feats like a seasoned balance beam gymnast. I finished the final backward handspring with a handstand. With one hand, I was supporting my body and balancing on the building’s ledge with very little effort. It was reminiscent of what I’d done instead of tripping and falling down the subway stairs the night before.

Unexplained and almost superhuman agility. Check.

Extending my other arm toward an exhaust pipe on the roof, I shot a line of web toward it and pulled myself away from the ledge. Landing on my feet was child’s play.

Strong, flexible, and organic webbing originating from spinnerets in my wrists. Check.

The next test was going to be a tough one. My eyes wandered to the two buildings on either side of Maven’s little complex. One was a white stone apartment building with some windows looking down on the roof I was standing on. The other was also an apartment building, but had a sheer brick wall facing me. Summoning some courage and mentally calculating a trajectory, I bent down from the knees and jumped. The average human can only leap roughly thirty to fifty centimeters. Trained athletes can leap up to eighty centimeters. The truly exceptional can leap a full meter. My vertical leap turned out to be about twenty meters. At the apex, I was a little scared of landing on the roof. I thrust both arms forward, attached a web line to the red brick building, and yanked. The action resulted in me being pulled toward the wall at a rapid pace. For half a second, I closed my eyes with my hands and feet out. It felt as if I had tripped and stopped myself against the ground with my hands and feet. After a moment, I reopened my eyes to find I was attached to the brick surface.

Superhuman strength. Check. Directional control through trajectory manipulation via webbing. Check. Adhering to a sheer surface without any aid whatsoever. Check. Durability because my hands should have many microabrasions from impacting an uneven brick surface at a high rate of speed. Check.

After a few moments, I learned how to let go and fell about twenty meters to the roof of Maven’s complex. My body seemed to absorb the impact with no trouble.

Ability to fall from heights that should severely injure me. Check.

Once again, I turned and had my eyes on the sheer brick wall of the building. There was something I’d seen in the newer animated movies and the latest video games that I felt like I had to try. Stepping back a few steps, I got into position and ran directly toward the wall. Once the wall was in reach, I simply put my foot on the surface and continued running. I could, in fact, run up the wall — not because I was running at any record-breaking pace, though. Soon, I reached the top of the building and leapt into the air while performing a backflip. My arms extended and, once again, I put those spinnerets to work producing a couple of lines I could grab and pull myself with. My body snapped toward the direction of force and I landed on top of the building in a skid.

Durability, double check. Webs, double check. Agility, double check. Surface adhesion whether impeded by clothing or not, check.

I closed my eyes and basked in the late morning sunshine with the biggest smile I’ve worn in a very long time on my face.