The rooftop was quiet in a way the city rarely allowed anymore.
Smoke drifted lazily between broken buildings, and the moon hung low, half-hidden behind torn clouds. Sirens were distant now far enough to feel unreal. The war had paused, if only for a breath.
Peter sat on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the drop, mask pulled off and resting beside him. His suit black spandex scuffed and torn still smelled like ash and ozone.
Mary Jane Watson stood a few steps behind him, arms wrapped around herself against the cold wind.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she broke the silence.
"You almost didn't come back."
Peter let out a slow breath, staring at the street far below.
"Yeah… I know."
She walked closer, boots crunching softly on gravel and broken concrete, then sat beside him. Not touching. Just close enough.
"I watched the feeds," she said quietly. "The explosions. The way you kept moving even when everyone else was falling back."
Peter's jaw tightened.
"Someone had to."
Mary Jane turned to him, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion.
"That's always your answer."
He glanced at her then, really looked. Soot smudged her cheek. There were dark circles under her eyes. Fear she hadn't let herself feel yet.
(She was scared.)
(They all were.)
"MJ…" he started, then stopped. Words felt heavier than punches tonight.
She exhaled, voice softening. "I know you don't do this to be a hero."
A pause.
"But every time you jump into that fire, you're asking the people who care about you to live with the idea that this might be the last time they see you."
Peter swallowed.
(She's right.)
(And that's what scares me the most.)
"I don't want to lose you," she added. Not dramatic. Just honest.
The wind picked up, tugging at her red hair. Peter reached out before he could overthink it, gently brushing a strand away from her face.
"You won't," he said. Then, quieter, "I won't let that happen."
Mary Jane gave a small, sad smile. "You say that like the world listens."
Peter huffed a weak laugh. "Yeah… well. I've been arguing with it a lot lately."
They sat shoulder to shoulder now. Her head leaned lightly against his arm.
Below them, the city breathed wounded, scarred, but alive.
Mary Jane's voice dropped to a whisper. "They're calling you a symbol now."
Peter stared out at the skyline.
"I know."
"Does that scare you?"
He didn't answer right away.
(A symbol can't fall.)
(A symbol doesn't get to be tired.)
"Yeah," he admitted. "Because symbols don't get to be human."
Mary Jane looked up at him. "Then don't forget that you are."
He turned to her, eyes tired but warm. "I won't. Not as long as you're here reminding me."
She smiled this one real and nudged him gently with her shoulder. "Good. Because if you die on me, I'm haunting you."
Peter chuckled softly. "Noted. Extremely noted."
They sat there as the night deepened, sharing the quiet between battles. No masks. No crowds. No legends.
Just Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson watching over a city that still needed them both
Footsteps echoed softly across the rooftop.
Measured. Familiar.
Peter sensed it before he turned.
Harry Osborn stepped out from the stairwell doorway, jacket thrown over his shoulder, tie loosened, a faint bruise still visible along his jaw from the chaos earlier. He paused when he saw them sitting together, then exhaled through his nose.
"Figures I'd find you two up here."
Mary Jane glanced over first. "You stalking us now, Osborn?"
Harry smirked faintly as he walked closer. "Please. If I were stalking, you'd never know."
Peter let out a tired laugh. "You, okay?"
Harry stopped a few feet away, looking out over the city the same way Peter had been.
"Define okay."
Silence hung for a second.
Then Harry nodded toward Peter's torn suit, the dried blood at his collar. "You scared the hell out of everyone today."
Peter shrugged slightly. "Wasn't my intention."
Harry turned, eyes sharp but not angry. Not anymore. "Yeah, well… intention doesn't really matter when people think you're dead."
Mary Jane stood, giving them space, but she didn't leave. She knew this moment mattered.
Harry stepped closer, lowering his voice. "When the bombs went off… I thought—"
He stopped himself, jaw tightening.
(I thought I lost you.)
Peter looked up at him. Really looked.
"I'm still here."
Harry nodded once. "I know."
A pause.
"And I'm glad."
The words were simple, but they carried years of shared history, school halls, laughter, fights, loss, forgiveness.
"You didn't have to jump in like that," Harry added. "That was my call. My people."
Peter stood up now, meeting him eye to eye. "They're our people."
Harry studied him, then let out a quiet breath. "That's what scares me."
Mary Jane crossed her arms, watching them with a small, knowing smile.
Harry finally smirked, shaking his head. "You know… the city's calling you a legend already."
Peter groaned. "Please don't start."
"Too late," Harry said. "They're chanting your name in some districts."
Peter blinked. "…Seriously?"
"Seriously."
A beat.
"You always did have a flair for drama," Harry added.
Peter snorted. "Says the guy who used to ride into parties on a hoverboard."
Mary Jane laughed. "God, I forgot about that."
Harry raised a finger. "Iconic. Never apologize."
The tension eased, but something heavier lingered beneath it.
Harry's expression sobered. "Listen… tomorrow's going to be worse."
Peter nodded. "I know."
"The Sinister Five won't sit still after Kraven," Harry continued. "And Miles…"
Peter's jaw tightened.
"Yeah."
Harry met his gaze. "Whatever happens—whatever this turns into—you're not carrying it alone anymore."
Peter felt something in his chest loosen.
(For once… I don't have to.)
He extended his hand.
Harry didn't hesitate. He pulled Peter into a firm, brotherly embrace quick, rough, real.
"Don't die," Harry muttered.
Peter smirked over his shoulder. "No promises. But I'll try."
Mary Jane rolled her eyes, smiling through it. "You two are impossible."
They stood together on the rooftop three silhouettes against a broken skyline.
Not heroes.
Not symbols.
Just people choosing to stand, together, before the next storm
Harry glanced at Mary Jane, his expression softening in a way it rarely did anymore.
"Let's go, babe."
Mary Jane nodded, slipping her jacket on. "Yeah."
She turned to Peter, hesitating for just a second. Her eyes searched his face checking, making sure the smile was real.
Peter gave her one first.
"Have fun, you two."
Mary Jane smiled back, warm and genuine. "Try not to get blown up again."
"No promises," Peter replied lightly.
Harry smirked, already heading toward the stairwell. "He's impossible."
"You love him." Mary Jane shot back.
Harry didn't deny it.
They walked off together, footsteps fading down the concrete stairs, their voices blending into the low hum of the base below.
Peter stayed on the rooftop.
The wind brushed past him, tugging at the torn edges of his suit. He looked out over the city scarred, burning in places, but still standing.
(They're moving forward.)
(So am I.)
Footsteps crunched softly against the gravel behind him.
Peter didn't turn right away.
He already knew.
Gwen's voice cut through the wind, light but knowing.
"Alone here, Mr. Hero?"
Peter let out a small breath and smiled. He turned, leaning back against the railing.
"Guess I scared everyone off with the brooding."
Gwen walked up beside him, hands in the pockets of her jacket. The city lights reflected faintly in her eyes.
"You do that," she said. "Stand on rooftops, stare into the distance, act like you're carrying the weight of the world."
Peter shrugged. "Someone's gotta."
She bumped his shoulder gently with hers.
"You don't have to carry it alone, you know."
Peter looked at her then really looked. The grease smudges on her hands, the faint dark circles under her eyes, the quiet strength she never bothered to hide.
(She always sees through me.)
"I know," he said softly. "I just… needed a minute."
Gwen followed his gaze over the city.
"Kraven's captured. The Vipers are scattered. People are chanting your name in the streets."
She smiled faintly. "You changed something out there, Pete."
Peter's jaw tightened.
"It doesn't feel like enough."
Gwen turned to face him fully.
"It never will," she said gently. "That's why you're still you."
The wind howled again, lifting a strand of her hair across her face. Peter reached out without thinking, tucking it back.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Gwen smirked.
"So," she said, "black suit, crow emblem, dramatic entrance…"
She tilted her head. "Trying to steal Batman's brand or something?"
Peter groaned. "Please don't start."
She laughed quiet, real.
"Relax," Gwen said. "Whatever suit you wear… you're still Spider-Man."
Peter looked back at the city, resolve settling in his chest.
(And as long as they need me… I won't stop.)
The two of them stood there together, shoulder to shoulder, watching the broken city breathe
Not alone.
To be continue