42. Two Peters, One Miles. (Patreon)

Peter B. Parker – Intro

Rain slicked against a neon billboard as the man in the crumpled trench coat and sweatpants narrated like he was tired of his own story.

“Alright, let’s do this one last time… My name is Peter B. Parker. I was bitten by a radioactive spider and for the last twenty-two years I’ve been the one and only Spider-Man. I’ve saved the city, fallen in love, gotten married, yadda yadda—”

Cut to: him mid-swing and face first collides into a lamppost.

“…and then it all fell apart.” His voice turned flat. “Marriage tanked because MJ wanted children. Bank account drained due to stupid financial decisions. I got… soft. Ate pizza in the shower. Don’t recommend it.”

Then a flash of light—I was zipping through webbed infinity?

“And that’s when I got sucked into this dimension. Weird place. Weird kid. Weird… everything. Also, in this universe I was dead and was blonde?”

The shot ended with him dangling, tied to a punching bag with all sorts of makeshift bindings—extension cords, bike chains, plastic pipes. He glared at the very kid who electrocuted him: Miles Morales.

The Interrogation

Miles stood nervously in his uncle’s apartment, trying to look intimidating, while Peter B. rotated gently from his bindings.

“So let me get this straight,” Peter B. started, voice nasal through his still-healing nose. “You zapped me with some kind of… bio-electric taser—”

“I didn’t mean to!” Miles yelped. “You touched me, I freaked out!”

“And then,” Peter B. continued, ignoring him, “you tied me to a subway train, dragged my beautiful face across—what—seven taxis, three mailboxes and one very angry hotdog vendor—”

“Okay, I panicked!”

Peter B. tilted his head. “Kid, that’s not panicking. That’s performance art.”

Miles groaned. “Look, I was trying to get away from the cops!”

Peter B. paused. “…You brought the cops into this? Oh, that’s fantastic.”

Miles’s eyes flicked to Peter’s suit peeking beneath his coat. “Wait—you’re Spider-Man? But why are you so… squishy?”

“Did you just call me fat?” Peter B. deadpanned.

“So, are you some sort of clone?”

“No.”

“Some kind of zombie?”

“No.”

“Another Peter from a parallel dimension where things are identical but there are differences that make it different?”

“That was very specific.”

“Learned it in physics class.”

Peter B. scoffed. “So, they teach quantum theories now. By the way, always look at the hands, not the mouth.”

The bindings unraveled. Peter tossed Miles toward the door and stepped out through the fire escape—only to glitch and drop into a dumpster.

“Listen, man, I need your help to destroy the super collider using the override key. If I don’t, millions will die.” Miles pleaded as Peter B. walked away.

“It’s not my dimension, it’s not—wait, you have a goober. Give it to me.” Said Peter B.

“Goober?”

“It’s always an access key, virus key, override key, Trojan key. I can’t remember them. So, I just call them goobers.”

“If you don’t help me, I’m going to swallow it." Miles threatened, clutching the broken override key in his teeth.

Peter B. simply webbed it away from him only to realize it was broken.

“Oh, great, that’s just great. Now I need to go and re-steal the data your Spider-Man stole.” He grumbled, walking off.

Miles crouched on the wall, looking mopey.

“What are you doing?” asked Peter B.

“Trying to emotionally blackmail you. Is it working?” Miles asked hopefully.

“Is it… is it working? No… no, no, no. Hrmmmmm. Fine. It’s working.” Peter B. sighed, grumbling into his elbow.

Not Far Above

Two figures crouched in invisibility, their light-bending suits rendering them shadows against the skyline.

Peter’s gauntlet hummed, scanning quietly. He murmured, “Miles Morales. Double quantum signature. One from this universe… one from somewhere else. And Peter B. Parker—just one signature, but out of sync.”

Gwendolyn leaned against the ledge, arms folded. “So, we’ve got one kid with two quantum frequencies and one washed-up Spiderman with a midlife crisis.”

“Pretty much.” Peter adjusted his scanner. “And we’re babysitting both.”

She shot him a sly grin beneath her mask. “You’re good at babysitting. All that bossy energy finally paying off.”

“Bossy?” He scoffed. “I prefer… authoritative.”

“Authoritative is when people listen to you because they respect you.” She nudged him lightly. “You? You nag until they give up.”

He chuckled low. “Nagging saves lives. It saved yours in more than one occasion.”

Her smirk curved warmer. “And yet, somehow, it’s charming when you do it.”

His eyebrow arched. “Charming?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

They both fell quiet, watching Miles struggle to keep up with Peter B.'s deadbeat vibes. Then Peter’s gauntlet pinged again. Four more quantum signatures flickering like tangled wires.

His voice dropped. “This isn’t random. The Web’s pulling strings.”

Gwendolyn’s hand brushed his. “Then we follow it. Together.”

Back to the Alley

Peter B. Parker groaned, rubbing his temples. “Alright, kid. Lesson one. You want to save the world? Rule number one is: don’t do what you just did.”

Miles perked up. “What, drag you through the city?”

“No. Breaking the goober.”

“Noted.”

Peter B. slung an arm around his shoulders. “Relax. We’ll figure this out. Just stick with me, and maybe—maybe—you’ll survive puberty 2.0… in a few pieces.”

Miles made a face. “…Do you always smell like day-old pizza?”

Peter B. gasped. “Rude.”

Above them, still cloaked, Peter muttered into comms: “We should intervene before they get themselves killed.”

Gwendolyn smirked. “Or we could watch a little longer. Admit it—you’re enjoying this.”

He hesitated, then sighed. “…Maybe a little.”