Peter Parker was five minutes into a much-needed nap when the wall exploded.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
It wasn't even the dramatic kind of explosion. No fireball. No villain monologue. Just a sudden, bureaucratic "thump", like someone had thrown a conference table through the drywall. Which, as it turned out, someone had.
Nick Fury stood in the crater, arms crossed, looking like the human embodiment of an HR violation.
"You broke Oscorp," he said flatly.
Peter, curled up in a hoodie and wrapped in two layers of exhaustion, groaned. "I fixed reality."
"You broke it first."
"It broke me first!"
Deadpool walked into frame sipping from a mug that read "World's Best Mercenary (Who's Also the Narrator, Maybe)". "To be fair, he didn't technically break Oscorp. The goat did."
Fury blinked.
Wade added: "The goat is canon now."
Fury did not blink again. "We're going to need a containment team."
Peter rolled off the mattress. "I thought SHIELD didn't exist anymore."
"We don't," Fury growled. "We're a sub-contracted phantom task force with plausible deniability."
Wade gave a thumbs-up. "That's also my Tinder bio."
Within the hour, the apartment was swarming with people who wore black Kevlar, spoke exclusively in acronyms, and somehow managed to look classified.
Peter sat on the edge of the fire escape while a SHIELD tech ran a diagnostic on the Plot Device remains, now sealed in a cube of dampening gel that smelled like regret and lime disinfectant.
Fury joined him.
"You know," Fury said, "back in my day, when someone messed with causality, they at least filed a damn incident report."
Peter gestured toward the skyline. "Reality was bending like a pretzel. I didn't really have time to fill out a TPS form."
"That thing in Oscorp," Fury said, "wasn't just rewriting reality. It was feeding off narrative potential. You, Parker, are a goldmine."
Peter frowned. "You make it sound like I'm a multiversal data plan."
"You kind of are. Ever since Strange did that spell—"
"Don't," Peter cut him off. "Don't say his name."
Fury nodded slowly. "Fair."
Silence stretched.
Then Peter asked, "Is it over?"
Fury didn't answer.
Instead, he handed over a file.
Unmarked. Thick. Full of grainy photos, half-redacted emails, and one terrifying headline:
UNIVERSAL BREAKSIGHT: MULTIPLE CANON COLLISIONS DETECTED
Peter skimmed the report. "This says there were thirteen incursions last week."
"And they're spreading. Like fan theories."
Peter turned a page and froze.
One of the photos showed himself — not from this world — but another. Same costume. Different logo. Holding hands with a blonde girl who looked hauntingly familiar.
"Who is that?"
"That," Fury said, "is a Gwen Stacy from Earth-1983. She's been appearing in background glitches across timelines. Always one step behind a rift."
Peter's stomach twisted.
Deadpool peeked in from behind the satellite dish. "Oooh, ghost ex alert?"
"She was never my ex," Peter muttered.
"Not in this universe," Wade added cheerfully.
Fury ignored him. "We don't know what's causing the collisions, but your interaction with the Plot Device might've accelerated them."
Peter closed the file. "So what now?"
Fury looked him dead in the eye. "Now, you're on the roster."
Peter blinked. "What roster?"
Fury handed him a card.
Black.
Embossed.
Only one word on it:
SPIDERFORCE.
Peter groaned. "That is a terrible name."
"We let Deadpool name it."
"Ah."
Later that night, after the clean-up team left, Peter tried to re-establish some version of normalcy.
He made a sandwich.
It was terrible.
He turned on the news.
Even worse.
Channel 4 was reporting on a "weather anomaly" over Manhattan where it had briefly rained lasagna.
Peter muted it.
Then he opened his laptop.
The screen flickered for a moment — then stabilized.
An email pinged into existence, though he swore he hadn't connected to the internet:
FROM: UNRECOGNIZED SENDER
SUBJECT: YOU'RE NOT DONE YET
Attached: A photo.
Grainy.
Dark.
A stairwell in what looked like the Baxter Building.
In the middle: a figure in a purple cloak.
Holding something glowing.
Wearing a name tag that simply read: HELLO, I'M KANG.
Peter sighed.
Then Deadpool kicked in the door wearing a SHIELD polo three sizes too small.
"Hey buddy! Guess what? We've been officially deputized as narrative stabilizers. Like the TVA but hotter."
Peter tossed him the email.
Deadpool read it, then whistled. "Purple guy's back. Time to Kang the drum."
Peter facepalmed.
Wade added, "Also, the goat's missing. Just vanished. Probably important."
"Of course it is."
The city outside flickered once.
Like a buffering video.
Then it settled.
Peter Parker suited up.
Because that's what he does.