Gwen pulled herself upright, staring at the newcomer. He was taller than any of them. Broader. The suit was different.....sleeker, more advanced. The aura radiating off him was nothing like Spider-Man’s.
"Excuse me," she said, "but who are you?"
Peter regarded her for a moment.
"’Who?’ ’Who’ is merely the continued form of the function of ’what.’ And what I am is a masked man."
Gwen blinked. "Yes.....I can see that."
"I do not question your observational skills. I am simply commenting on the paradox of asking a masked man who he is." He paused. "You may call me Superior Spider-Man. Or simply Spider-Man."
He turned, fired a web, and swung away from the clearing. "Let’s go."
Gwen stared after him for several seconds.
’I think I am in love,’ she thought, then immediately questioned every decision she had ever made.
--------
From the Alchemax rooftop, Wilson Fisk watched the forest below. Hundreds of his scientists hung from trees, wrapped in spider-silk. The sight triggered a memory he could never escape.
His wife’s face. His son’s laughter. The moments they shared as a family.
And then the night Spider-Man came to his home. The night Vanessa saw what he truly was. The night she took Richard and ran. The night the truck hit the car.
The pen in Fisk’s hand snapped.
Doc Ock limped into view behind him, clutching her neck where two puncture wounds oozed.
"I killed Spider-Man," Fisk said flatly. "Then I saw two more."
"Four, actually," Doc Ock corrected. Fisk turned slowly. "It is not bad news. It is very, very good news. It means the Collider worked. All you have to do is kill four spiders.....and you will get every family you want."
"Tomorrow," Fisk said, and walked away.
Once he was gone, Olivia checked a notification on her wrist device. Her expression twisted with fury. The red-and-black Spider-Man had stolen a week’s worth of classified data from her servers.
She cursed violently, then looked up.
"Mr. Fisk.....there are some problems with the Collider."
Fisk stopped walking.
--------
The bus to New York was quiet.
Peter B. reclined in his seat, half-asleep. The two teenagers sat a few rows ahead. Peter sat rigidly near the back, mask still on, arms crossed.
"He broke it," Gwen said, glancing at the USB.
"Yes," Miles whispered. "But he is really embarrassed about it, so please do not bring it up."
Gwen laughed softly. "I know where we can make another one. And this time, we will not let him break it."
"I am sorry about your friend," Miles said quietly.
Gwen sighed. "Thanks, Miles. I know how hard it is to figure all of this out alone. It is.....nice to know you are not the only spider-person out there."
"Well.....if you ever decide to have friends again, I can save you a spot."
"I will keep you informed."
From behind them, Peter B. smiled with his eyes closed.
The moment was shattered by a grotesque rumbling from Peter B.’s stomach.
Peter reached into his belt, produced a small pill, and held it out. "Eat it."
"If you think this will.....glk!" Peter shoved the pill into Peter B.’s mouth before he could finish protesting.
Peter B. swallowed, leaned back, and sighed contentedly. "What is that?"
"A nutrient pill. Contains everything our metabolism requires."
"Genius."
Miles turned around. "Mr. Parker.....why are you still wearing the mask?"
"I am not accustomed to revealing my face without full trust."
"Do you have anything for me?"
Peter tossed him a piece of gum.
"Is this all?" Miles asked.
"Do you know what it is?"
"Chewing gum," Gwen said.
"Chewing gum that contains all three meals of the day. Tomato soup, steak, and blackberry pie."
Miles’ eyes widened. "Wow."
"The only side effect is that your skin turns blue."
Miles froze.
"It lasts about ten minutes."
"Oh. Well." Miles popped the gum in his mouth.
"And for me?" Gwen asked.
"Do I look like a charity?"
"I don’t know. I have never seen your face."
"He has a model’s face," Peter B. mumbled, trying to get comfortable.
"He is right," Miles added. "His face looks like it was sculpted by angels."
"That sounded incredibly strange," Peter B. said.
"But am I wrong?"
"No."
Peter tossed a bag of chocolates at Gwen. "Take it and do not bother me."
"Ugh, what a grump!" Gwen said cheerfully. "Do you not like jokes?"
"No."
"We are all about jokes. You have made some. They were good."
"No."
"Oh, come on! You are Spider-Man! You have to make jokes!"
"No."
"Do you ever lighten the mood?"
"No."
"Do you know how to say anything other than ’no’?"
"No." A beat. "Yes."
Peter rubbed his face in frustration. He retracted his suit, revealing his civilian appearance, and handed Gwen the chocolates properly.
Gwen turned back around, saw his face, and nearly dropped the bag.
"You are confusing me," she said in a tone that was not entirely a complaint.
"What?"
"What?"
Gwen rotated stiffly forward. Nobody spoke for the rest of the trip.
They arrived at a modest house in Queens. Peter B. stood at the front door, frozen.
"We had better go," Peter B. said, not moving.
"Peter, we are three steps from the door," Gwen said.
"You would feel the same way if your father died and you saw an alternate version of him alive," Peter said quietly.
Gwen’s expression fell. "Oh."
"Oh," Peter echoed, unimpressed.
"This is possibly our only chance to build a Goober without alerting anyone," Peter told Peter B. "I know you are not ready. Nobody ever is. But this could be your chance to say everything you never told her.....even if it is not really her."
Peter B. sighed deeply and turned back to the door.
It opened.
The woman on the other side examined each of them in turn. When her eyes reached Peter B., her expression crumbled.
"Peter," Aunt May said, and the single word carried the weight of every sleepless night since the funeral.
Peter studied her with a quick glance. Bags under the eyes. Posture slightly collapsed. Breathing shallow and controlled.....the breathing of someone holding themselves together through sheer willpower. This woman was broken. Something essential had been torn out of her.
"Hello, Aunt May," Peter B. said, his voice matching her fragility. "This is going to sound strange, but I am from another dimen....."
"Another dimension," May finished.
"Yes."
"You look tired, Peter."
"I am. I am too tired, May."
"You look old." She studied him completely. "And pot-bellied."
"I have been told."
"Are you wearing pants?"
"Believe it or not," Gwen interjected. She made a face.
Miles stepped forward. "I was there when.....when Peter’s thing happened. I am really sorry."
"Do not judge yourself for past actions," Peter said, placing a hand on Miles’ shoulder.
"Your actions had a reason at that time, under those circumstances. Clarity comes after the choices you make, never before. You made a mistake. Now you have to improve so you do not repeat it."
Miles looked at him with quiet gratitude.
Aunt May turned to Peter. "And who are you? What dimension?"
"Brooklyn," Miles offered. "I am Miles Morales."
"199999," Peter said. "I am Peter Parker-Fitzpatrick." Everyone looked at him. "I knew about the Multiverse long before any of you. That is why nothing here surprises me. I will not be sharing further information."
Aunt May studied his face. "You don’t look like Peter. You look more like....."
"Actor," Miles said.
"Adonis," Gwen said.
"Model," Peter B. said.
".....like the son of a wealthy family who suffered as a young man," Aunt May finished, "and became something he is not."
Peter said nothing. She was closer to the truth than any of them.
"Hey, Peter," Miles said carefully. "Did your Peter have a place where we could build another one of these?"
May’s expression hardened with quiet resolve. "A Goober. Come with me."