Chapter 27: Spider-Man
"This place is packed," Peter B. Parker commented with a touch of professional envy, looking around the crowded space. He had a storage room for his gear too, but nothing quite like this.
As the hidden elevator descended smoothly, the true scale of the Spider-Cave was revealed, drawing gasps from the newcomers. Miles was practically vibrating with excitement. This was the secret superhero lair of his dreams—mysterious, high-tech, and massive.
"So, is your Batcave as big as this?" Miles suddenly twisted around to ask Bruce.
Bruce, standing like a silent obsidian statue in the corner, offered no reply.
"Dude, is yours like this?" Undeterred, Miles switched targets, asking Peter B.
"Something like it. But minus the jeep and the plane," Peter said as the elevator reached the bottom with a soft ding. A row of display cases lit up behind them, each holding a different Spider-Suit. Peter continued, "Imagine a smaller, messier version of this. With way more dirty laundry and old mattresses. Kids these days really have it—" His words cut off as his eyes landed on a simple photo frame sitting on a workbench. A deep sadness washed over his face. He walked over and picked it up gently. Inside was a picture of a younger, happier Peter Parker with Mary Jane Watson, her smile brilliant. He stared at it, lost in thoughts of his own fractured relationship.
Meanwhile, Miles was examining the suits with wide-eyed wonder. He glanced back at the suddenly quiet Peter, unsure if he should interrupt, but then he found the perfect thing. In one case was a Spider-Suit with a flowing cape.
"Hey! Peter!" Miles called, tugging lightly on the cape through the glass. "Look! It's a cape! You said capes were lame!" He grinned, trying to lighten the mood.
Remembering his earlier dismissal of capes, Peter B. managed a small, tired smile.
Miles moved on, but soon stopped again, frozen in front of the classic red-and-blue suit. The original. The one that wouldn't be worn again in this universe. His excitement faded into somber respect.
Gwen watched their interaction with a faint smile before her own attention was caught by a large, complex web diagram pinned to a wall—a map of connections between Kingpin, his allies, and his operations.
"Peter knew how dangerous his work was," Aunt May said softly, noticing Gwen's focus. "But he also knew he was the only one in this city who could stop that man." Her voice held a deep, quiet loneliness. This world had many heroes, but they were often busy with world-ending threats. A crime lord like Wilson Fisk, who hid behind a mask of philanthropy, was often beneath their notice. Few besides May and her nephew had ever seen the monster behind the public image. Now, a few more knew.
"Kingpin knew we were coming for him," Miles said, shoving his hands in his pockets, his earlier energy gone. "But we're outnumbered." His first attempt at being a hero had ended in failure, and the memory was bitter.
"Outnumbered?" Aunt May raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile touching her lips. She walked to a drawer, pulled out three simple pens and three blank name tags, and handed them to Peter B., Gwen, and Miles. "You all might need these." She didn't offer any to Bruce. As the only one who wasn't a spider-themed hero, he stood apart.
Before they could ask what she meant, a familiar, electric tingle shot up their spines—their Spider-Senses.
"Did you think you were the only ones who thought to come here?" Aunt May said, her smile widening.
As one, the three looked up. On the ceiling, woven into the support beams like parts of a giant web, four pairs of eyes slowly opened in the shadows.
"Evening, folks," Spider-Man Noir said, tipping his fedora politely.
Next to him was Peni Parker, peeking out from the cockpit of her sleek spider-robot, SP//dr. And beside her, looking distinctly nonplussed, was Peter Porker, aka Spider-Ham.
The sight was surreal, a gathering of impossible heroes that made the hair on the back of Miles's neck stand up.
Except for Bruce. Since entering the cave, he had been quietly minimizing his presence. Now, as the Spider-People dropped down and began a chaotic, overlapping round of introductions, assessments, and confused explanations, he simply located the coffee maker. He prepared two cups—one for himself, black, and one for Aunt May, with a little cream, just as he'd observed she preferred.
"You're not like them, are you?" Aunt May asked quietly, accepting the mug. She looked at him with perceptive eyes that seemed to see right through the mask.
Bruce didn't speak. He merely allowed the barest hint of a smile to touch the corner of his mouth, visible below the cowl.
Seeing it, Aunt May nodded slightly. Her guess was confirmed. All these others were variations on a theme—they were all Spider-Men. But this one was something else entirely, a hero from a different story.
The two of them stood apart, sipping their coffee in companionable silence, watching the animated, noisy council of spiders debate their next move—specifically, who would be responsible for shutting down the super-collider.
Their quiet observation was shattered by a sudden, violent glitch. One of the visiting Spider-People—it was Peter B. Parker—convulsed. His body flickered, overlaying multiple versions of himself in a painful-looking digital distortion. It was a stark visual proof: the longer they stayed in a universe not their own, the more their atoms destabilized. This universe was rejecting them. If they didn't leave soon, they would die.
"Go, child," Aunt May said, her voice firm. She took the empty mug from Bruce's hand. "I'm sure you'll help them."
Bruce was taken aback, a rare feeling for him. He had never been one to trust easily, and to receive such unwavering trust from someone who barely knew him was… unexpected. He gave a single, slow nod.
The Bat was on the case.
(End of Chapter)
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