Re: twd: spidey crew
[Gwen wanted to hope that everything would be fine. She wanted to look at the flickering candle in the window and see hope, but she'd lost that in the last week. Maybe she was too sheltered, too rich to be able to look past all this loss of what made people people. Maybe it was logic, because her mind kept playing over what made them human, and finding a lack of it in the things walking. She couldn't shoot the dead things, not without immediate danger. Fear pulled the trigger when it absolutely needed to happen, but she'd only managed it a few times in the past week. Running was her solution, and scratches and branch marks on her arms indicated as much. But, even with the world falling to pieces, she was still herself. She'd never understood herself quite as completely as she did after a week spent hungry and tired. She hoped, as they walked past the field of twitching people on the wires; they were dead, but they were still people; she didn't have it in her to unsee that.
Harry's ability to sleep, the brightness in his cheeks, concerned her. It made her wonder how affected he was outside of this place, if he could rest here. She blamed herself for that, for not realizing it. She just tried to not look at Peter. He was too familiar, and it would be too easy to take comfort in that, and this wasn't about comfort. She was already a liability here, as she'd realized the moment she couldn't make her first kill without remorse, even though the thing was already dead. Crying would just increase the very honest appearance of weakness, and Peter made crying feel like it was okay.
Flash was the strong one, and she watched as he knocked on the door. Maybe, for just a second, she hoped.
Then the screaming reached their ears, and the scene inside the open door stopped Gwen, who was right beside Flash, in her tracks. She didn't move forward. Didn't say anything. She watched, cornflower blue eyes welling with tears for the man who was being shot dead. Her gaze followed the man with the blown out brains as he fell, and then she raised that gaze to look at Mary Jane. She didn't understand. She wasn't sure she wanted to understand how someone who'd grown up with them could turn that feral in just a few weeks. The man, sick or not, was still a person. You know the rules. That was callous, and Gwen didn't want to be in this house. She felt for the sobbing woman who cradled the body, and she didn't think surviving was worth becoming like the redhead with the gun.
She took a step back.] I'll wait outside.
[It was a whisper. If they went in, she wouldn't. She didn't want to become that. She would rather die than be able to do that. It made her weak; she knew it made her weak. But for once, she didn't mind being less than Mary Jane.]