The last rays of the setting sun slanted across the porch of 20 Ingram Street, casting long shadows over the white wooden door.
The older, blond Peter Parker ran a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. He turned to look at the younger Peter standing behind him.
He lowered his voice. "We went over the cover story, right?"
"If anyone asks, I'm Aunt May's distant nephew, Ben Reilly," Peter nodded, adjusting his backpack. He glanced at the older Spider-Man's bright blond hair. "I gotta say, the blond is a choice. But it works."
"Ha. Your brown hair works too," the older Peter grinned. He turned back to the familiar door, took a deep breath, and knocked gently.
Aunt May opened the door. She looked a little older than Peter's Aunt May back home, her hair completely silver. Her face lit up the moment she saw her nephew, pulling him into a tight hug. When she pulled back, she finally noticed the teenager standing on the porch.
"Peter," Aunt May said gently, her eyes darting between them. "Who's your friend?"
"Oh, this is—Peter Benjamin Parker. Extra middle name. Remember when I was explaining the whole parallel universe, multiverse theory thing?" The blond Peter smiled, turning to the younger Peter. "Remind me how old you are again, kid?"
"Fifteen," Peter said. "Freshman year."
"See? A whole year younger than when I started," the older Peter said easily. "Anyway, he's here to help with a project. We have the guest room made up, right? Gotta be good hosts."
"I'll go get it ready." Aunt May smiled warmly, her gaze lingering on Peter's young, familiar face for a moment before she turned toward the kitchen. "Are you boys hungry? I can make muffins."
"That sounds amazing, actually," Peter said.
As soon as Aunt May was out of earshot, the older Peter dropped the easy smile. "Alright. Let's find somewhere to talk. Come with me."
Peter already had a pretty good idea of where they were going.
The older Peter led him into the backyard, walking straight toward the small, detached tool shed. He punched a code into a hidden electronic keypad. The back wall of the shed slid open seamlessly, revealing a high-tech elevator car.
The blond Peter grinned, gesturing inside. "Pretty sweet, right? Bet you haven't seen one of these."
Peter rolled his eyes, stepping into the car. "It's alright. Not quite the Avengers' lab, but it gets the job done."
"The Avengers? What's that, a band?"
"A superhero team. My world has a lot of them. I guess yours doesn't."
The elevator dropped rapidly into the earth, opening into a massive, cavernous underground base beneath Forest Hills Gardens. It was heavily illuminated, the walls lined with a decade of Spider-Man history. There was a sleek, custom-built Spider-Car parked on a turntable, and a Spider-Cycle resting nearby.
Peter stared at the vehicles. He honestly couldn't comprehend why Spider-Man would ever need a car. Traffic in New York was terrible, and webs were infinitely faster.
The older Peter walked past the vehicles, gesturing grandly to a massive glass display case lining the far wall. It held dozens of different Spider-Man suits, categorized and pristine. "Check out the wardrobe, kid. I guarantee you don't have a lineup like this."
Peter walked along the glass. He stopped in front of one specific mannequin. It was a standard red-and-blue suit, but it had a massive, flowing cape draped over the shoulders. "You have a suit with a cape?" Peter asked, genuinely baffled. "What is the point of that?"
"Ha. You're just jealous because you don't have the fashion sense for it, kid."
"Then why aren't you wearing it right now?"
The older Peter rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking sheepish. "I wore it once. I was trying to pull someone out of an elevator shaft and the cape got caught in the gears. Almost strangled myself to death. It was a whole thing."
Peter just looked at him.
The older Peter cleared his throat and walked over to a massive, cluttered workbench in the center of the room. He pulled off his mask, tossing it onto a pile of specialized web-shooters, and booted up a laptop. "Alright, let's look at the override key. It's not completely finished yet..."
Peter unzipped his backpack and pulled out the plastic terrarium. He set it on the workbench. The Universe 42 spider was inside, but it was glitching violently. Its physical form was stuttering, breaking into abstract, multi-colored geometric shapes before snapping back into reality.
"Whoa," the older Peter said, leaning in. "What is wrong with it?"
"Dimensional degradation," Peter explained. "Different universes vibrate at different frequencies. Its molecular structure is destabilizing because it's not supposed to be here. That's why I need to get it back to Universe 42. It's still alive, but that universe currently doesn't have a Spider-Man because this thing got pulled here."
The older Peter stopped typing. He stared at the glitching spider for a long time. The easy, confident veteran persona slowly stripped away, leaving something much heavier.
"You have to understand something, kid," the older Peter said quietly, not looking up. "When someone gets bitten... when someone becomes Spider-Man... it usually means they're destined to lose something. Maybe, for whoever was supposed to get bitten in that universe, it's better this way. Maybe they're better off just being ordinary."
Peter frowned, opening his mouth to argue.
Before he could speak, a deep, synthesized voice echoed from the shadows of the cavern.
"He's right. The tragedy is a requirement."
Both Peters spun around instantly, their spider-senses spiking in perfect unison.
A massive figure stepped out of the darkness near the elevator shaft. He was easily six-foot-nine, built like a brick wall, wearing a sleek, metallic blue-and-red suit with sharp, aggressive lines. The crimson mask concealed his features entirely.
"I am Miguel O'Hara," the figure growled. "Spider-Man of Earth 928. Year 2099. I'm here to fix this."
The older Peter dropped into a defensive crouch, shooting a glare at the younger Peter. "I thought you were the only one who could jump universes."
"Yeah, me too," Peter said, completely thrown. According to the movie timeline, Miguel doesn't finish the autonomous multiverse watch until way later, Peter thought frantically. How the hell is he here right now? Did the timeline fracture?
Miguel raised his massive forearm. A holographic projection sprang to life from his gauntlet, expanding to fill the space between them. It displayed a sprawling, interconnected three-dimensional web. Countless nodes pulsed with light, each one playing a rapid-fire sequence of holographic footage.
"Every universe requires a Spider-Man," Miguel said, his voice hard and uncompromising. "We are specific, load-bearing anomalies within the multiverse structure. And because of that, every Spider-Man must endure specific, structural losses. We call them Canon Events."
Miguel tapped the hologram. The images shifted, displaying dozens of different Spider-Men across dozens of different realities. "The death of the police captain who helps you. The betrayal of your closest friend. The death of the person you love most." Miguel's voice dropped. "The death of the uncle who raised you. These events are the structural pillars of the Web. They cannot be avoided."
Miguel pointed a heavy, clawed finger at the glitching spider on the desk. "The kid is right. Universe 42 requires its Spider-Man. Even if the tragedy is inevitable, the Web demands it."
The older Peter crossed his arms, staring at the massive Spider-Man from the future. "Okay, first of all, I didn't invite you into my house. Second, how did you even bypass my security? And third... do you actually have any proof? Because everything you just said sounds like a massive coping mechanism."
"I have proof because I lived it," Miguel snarled, taking a step forward. "I witnessed the total collapse of an entire reality. Millions of people, erased from existence. Because I tried to replace someone. Because I disrupted a Canon Event."
Miguel's absolute certainty hung heavy in the air.
But the older Peter didn't flinch. "So you made a mistake," he challenged. "That doesn't mean your entire theory is flawless. Maybe these events happen, but maybe they aren't required. You're telling me the universe specifically mandates that every single version of us has to be completely miserable? I don't buy it."
Miguel stared down at the older Peter. The older Peter stared right back, not yielding an inch.
Miguel finally turned his imposing masked gaze to the younger Peter. "You handled the anomaly interception well, kid. But you're out of your depth. I will transport you back to 616, and I will take the spider to 42. We leave this reality to its native Spider-Man. He has a collider to shut down."
"I don't need your permission to handle my own city," the older Peter snapped. "And I don't take orders from a guy whose shoulders are literally wider than my refrigerator." He gestured to the younger Peter. "Come here, kid. We're ignoring him."
Miguel didn't move. He kept his eyes locked on the teenager.
"I've been trying to say something for five minutes," Peter finally said, stepping out from behind the workbench. He looked directly up at Miguel's crimson lenses. "Your Canon Event theory might make sense on paper. Don't yell at me yet. Just listen."
Peter took a breath. "In my world... Uncle Ben isn't dead."
Miguel froze. He slowly reached up and retracted his mask, the nano-tech peeling back to reveal a hard, angular face. His eyes were wide with genuine, unadulterated shock.
The older Peter actually stumbled backward. He grabbed the edge of the workbench, his knuckles turning white. He stared at the teenager, his voice barely a whisper. "What? Uncle Ben is alive? You... you saved him?"
"He never died," Peter said softly. "He's alive. He's with aunt May right now visiting their friend upstate. He trained me. He taught me how to throw a punch without killing somebody. We designed my first set of web-shooters together in the garage."
The older Peter stared at him. And then, he let out a short, breathy laugh. The laugh cracked, turning into something ragged and desperate. He grabbed Peter by both shoulders, shaking him slightly.
"You're lying," Miguel whispered, stepping forward, his voice completely hollowed out. "You have to be lying. That's impossible. The Web wouldn't hold—"
"Why?!" The older Peter suddenly roared, spinning on Miguel and putting himself firmly between the future Spider-Man and the teenager. "Why won't you believe it?! Why are you so terrified of a world where he doesn't have to die?!"
Miguel flinched, but the older Peter didn't stop. Ten years of accumulated grief and exhaustion poured out of him all at once.
"I have saved this city a thousand times!" the older Peter yelled, his voice echoing off the cavern walls. "We give up everything! Every single version of us sacrifices everything we have to save the world! Why?! Why is it so impossible to believe that the multiverse could give us one win?! Why can't we have just one universe that isn't completely heartless?!"
"Because..." Miguel stammered, staring at the floor. "Because if it's true... then the losses aren't required..."
Miguel's legs seemed to give out. The massive, terrifying enforcer of the multiverse sank down onto the concrete floor of the base, sitting heavily with his back against the wall. He stared at his hands, completely undone.
The older Peter stood over him, chest heaving, tears standing in his eyes. He didn't say anything else. He just turned away, resting his hands on the workbench, staring down at his mask.
Peter walked slowly across the room. He stopped in front of the hulking Spider-Man from the future and sat down cross-legged on the concrete floor, right across from him.
"We're Spider-Man, Miguel," Peter said quietly. "I don't care what universe we're from or what tech we use. We're the same. And Spider-Man doesn't sit around waiting for miracles to happen."
Peter leaned forward slightly. "We make them."
He held Miguel's gaze. "I don't want to sound arrogant, but there's a miracle sitting right in front of you. Are you going to keep fighting it, or are you going to help us fix this?"