167. Threads to be Rewoven. (Patreon)

The white light peeled away like fog and Max Borne’s boots hit solid metal.

Wind rushed past him, clean and cold. Sky wind, high-altitude wind. The kind that carried the smell of jet fuel, ozone and distant clouds. As his vision cleared, he realized they were standing on the flight deck of the Helicarrier over Earth-1610.

The sky was painted with a bleeding sunset. Molten oranges and bruised purples spilling across the horizon. Below them, the city glimmered through gaps in the clouds.

Behind Max, the others stepped out of their portals one by one.

The portals snapped shut with soft thumps, leaving only the thrum of engines and the faint echo of distant alarms from the city below, still healing from the Spot’s rampage.

Waiting for them near the centerline were the others:

LYLA’s hard-light avatar, hovering with arms folded.

Doppelganger, hulking and wary.

Peter-Parkedcar, headlights blinking like eyes.

Malala Windsor, arms crossed.

Spider-Canada, flag motif muted under the low light.

Spider-Monkey, fidgeting.

Spider-Wolf, posture tense, eyes bright.

Julia Carpenter, calm but clearly exhausted.

Just beyond them stood the Spider Gang:

Miles Morales, mask off, eyes shadowed but burning with life.

Gwen Stacy of Earth-65 in her suit, hood down.

Gwendolyn in her gleaming Archangel of the Web armor, wings folded in, helm retracted. She stood beside her Peter.

Hobie, Pavitr, Margo, Peni, Peter B., Noir, Ham. Their presence a chaotic knot of colors and exhaustion.

At the far end of the deck, automated cranes and heavy drones rolled in neat formation, hauling massive cylindrical capacitors. Each one pulsed faintly. Contained dimensional energy swirling inside like bottled auroras.

And watching it all, standing near the edge of the deck, was Peter Parker of Earth-65M.

He wasn’t armored.

Just a T-shirt, worn jeans, boots but from beneath his shirt, faint lines of neon orange traced up his spine, the Sandevistan humming like a caged storm. At his side, Gwendolyn’s Archangel armor caught the dying light, casting long winged shadows across the deck.

Max swallowed.

This was the guy Miguel had wanted to control.

“So this is Parker's final evolution?.” Flash muttered under his breath.

Spider-Cat shook himself out, tail flicking. “If this ends with another nap, I’m scratching someone.”

LYLA drifted closer, her hologram flickering gently. “Cryo sleep look working for you guys,” she said. “Very… refrigerated chic.”

“Feels like my bones are made of ice.” Ben Reilly muttered. “But thanks.”

LYLA tilted her head. “You’re welcome, emotionally compromised clone.”

Ben opened his mouth, then closed it again. “…Fair.”

Peter turned. Slow, deliberate and faced them all.

Conversations died.

Engines hummed.

Wind tugged at fabric.

The deck felt suddenly very small with this many spider-people standing in one place.

Peter took a few steps toward them, hands loose at his sides. His expression was tired, lined with recent choices, but his eyes were clear.

“Okay,” he said, voice carrying across the deck with quiet authority. “Before we send you out… we should talk.”

Spider-Monkey muttered, “Oh good, another speech.”

Ezekiel gave him a look. “Be quiet and listen.” He said gently.

Peter took a breath.

“Hi,” He began simply. “My name is Peter Parker.”

He paused, just long enough for every variant of that name to feel the weight of it.

“My friend Gwen Stacy got bit by a radioactive spider and became Spider-Woman,” he continued. “I did not. I turned myself into a mutant lizard and got buried under a ton of concrete and almost died. Later, I used what was left of me. The broken parts, the stubborn parts and my brain to fix the rest.”

He shrugged lightly.

“That’s my origin story. No spider. Just bad luck, bad days and too much intellect and spite to stay down.”

A few of them smiled faintly beneath their mask. Hobie snorted.

“Most of you,” Peter went on, “got a different deal. You got the bite. The webbing. The reflexes. The wall-crawling, back-flipping circus package. And you did what all of you seem to do best. You kept going. You lost people. You broke. You got back up anyway and slapped a ‘friendly neighborhood’ label on your trauma.”

There were winces at that. Small, honest ones.

Peter’s gaze moved from face to face.

“Miles, Gwen, Ben, May, Pavitr, Hobie, Noir, Peter B. All of you. Different universes, different homes, different scars but the story keeps rhyming.”

He let the silence sit for a heartbeat.

“One thing all of you need to remember is this,” he said softly. “Trauma, loss, grief. Those things shaped your sense of responsibility. They sharpened it. They point it outward, toward the people you want to protect. But they don’t define you.”

He tapped a finger against his chest.

“You’re not just the sum of your worst days,” he said. “You’re not just the kid who couldn’t save this person or that person. You’re not just someone’s tragic backstory on a file. You are people. Messy, scared, brilliant, annoying people.”

Spider-Plushie raised a tiny hand. “Even me?”

Peter’s mouth twitched. “Especially you.”

A ripple of soft laughter moved through the group.

“So yes,” Peter said. “Be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Or Spider-Woman. Or Spider-Cat. Or Spider-Car don’t look at me like that, Parkedcar, you know what you are.”

Peter-Parkedcar beeped twice, affronted.

“But also,” Peter continued, “be yourself. The world doesn’t just need heroes. It needs you to want things. To chase happiness. To build families. To kiss your partners on rooftops at sunset and be dorks about it. Responsibility is important. But it’s not the only thing that matters.”

His expression gentled.

“Everyone.... including you deserves happiness,” he finished. “That’s it. That’s the speech.”

For a moment, no one moved.

Then LYLA, of all people, started clapping.

“10/10, emotional resonance detected.” She said. “Minimal cringe. I’m impressed.”

Miles smiled, really smiled this time and started clapping too.

Gwen joined him, her hands coming together with quiet conviction. Hobie rolled his eyes but clapped anyway. Pavitr clapped like they were at a movie premiere. Even Spider-Wolf knocked his claws against metal in rough approval.

Soon the whole deck was echoing with applause. Different hands, different rhythms, same shared relief.

Peter waited until it began to die down.

“Alright,” He said, some command tone sliding back into place. “Now the part where I ask you to do a lot of work for free.”

“Ah,” Flash muttered. “There it is.”

Peter gestured toward the massive capacitors being rolled into position by drones.

“These,” He said, “are dimensional capacitors filled with the energy the Spot stole using Alchemax’s colliders. You know the damage it’s done. The fractures. The unstable regions. Universes that feel… off.”

Max nodded slowly. “We’ve seen it. Whole swaths of land that look like the laws of physics are lagging.”

“Then you know what needs to be done,” Peter said. “Each of you will take one capacitor tuned to the frequencies of designated Earths. Your watches are already loaded with the coordinates and protocols. You go there, you deploy the energy as directed and you stabilize what the Spot took.”

Spider-Knight nodded solemnly. “To restore that which was frayed. A noble quest.”

Spider-Monkey scratched his head. “So, like… multiversal patchwork?”

“Think of it like that, yeah.” Peter said. “Just don’t cross the streams, don’t dump a capacitor in the wrong dimension and don’t poke any unshielded singularity. I don’t have the time to pull you out of another disaster.”

Spidercide snorted. “You talk like a man who expects us to screw up.”

“I talk like a man who’s seen enough of you to plan contingencies.” Peter replied dryly. “Now grab a battery and go fix the Spiderverse.”

Spartans and drones began distributing the capacitors. Each one locking into harness systems that integrated with the spiders’ gear.

Max shouldered his with a grim nod.

May Reilly checked her readings twice.

Charlotte adjusted her mask and breathed out slowly.

Ezekiel murmured something to himself, like a prayer — or a promise.

Spider-Cat sniffed his capacitor, then gave a curt nod. “Smells dangerous. I approve.”

Pter Ptarker hopped onto his, talons clicking. “I shall deliver this… sanctified can of dangerous light.”

Off to the side, Hobie wandered over to Peter as the others began prepping.

He jerked his chin toward the capacitors. “You know,” he drawled, “a society like ours could use a leader like you, yeah? Someone who knows how not to screw the whole multiverse sideways.”

Peter gave him a flat look. “Yeah? Well that society is the reason I didn’t even get to finish my wedding after party.”

Gwendolyn made a soft, embarrassed noise from the other side of the deck.

Peter went on. “So thanks, but no thanks. You want leadership? Don’t look at me. I’m busy being a husband, running a planet’s worth of infrastructure and making sure people like Miguel don’t get to play god unchecked in my world.”

Hobie snorted, a grin tugging at his lips. “Fair. Still, if you ever change your mind, I’ll start spray-paintin’ your face on walls as propaganda.”

“Do that and I’ll invoice you for brand usage.” Peter shot back.

Hobie barked a laugh. “There it is. The real menace: capitalism.” He clapped Peter lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t die, yeah?”

“Not on today’s agenda.” Peter said.

“Good,” Hobie replied, turning away. “I hate redoing setlists.”

One by one, the Spider-People finished syncing their capacitors and tuned their dimensional watches.

Miles approached Peter, his watch glowing faintly.

“So this is it?” Miles asked. “We fix what we can, and then…?”

“And then you go home.” Peter said. “You live. You try to be happy. You visit your parents on weekends and don’t wait for some disaster to remind you they’re mortal.”

Miles looked at him, eyes searching. “And you?”

Peter shrugged. “I go home too. Got a wife waiting. A planet to run. A universe to keep safe. And about ten ongoing research projects screaming at me from the back of my brain.”

Gwen-65 stepped up beside Miles. “You’re not going to keep tabs on us?”

“Oh I absolutely am.” Peter said blandly. “But I’ll do it politely.”

Gwen huffed. “…Thank you. For helping Miles. For saving my universe. For… not giving up on us even when we were idiots.”

“You’re teenagers,” Peter said. “Being idiots is baked into the design. Just don’t be fatal idiots.”

She smiled at that, a little crooked. “We’ll try.”

LYLA floated over, hands on her translucent hips. “All dimensional vectors are green. Return trips locked in. You break something, don’t blame me, I’m just the navigation lady.”

Max glanced around at the assembled spiders.

“Alright,” he said, voice stronger than before. “You heard the man. We’ve got a multiverse to fix. One capacitor at a time.”

“Let’s go.” May Reilly murmured.

“Onward.” Spider-Knight intoned.

“Eh,” Spider-Monkey said. “Let’s just not die.”

Portals began opening. Brilliant circles of calibrated light spinning into existence in a dozen colors and patterns, each tuned to a corresponding Earth.

Spider-Canada adjusted his mask. “See you around.” He called to Peter. “Hopefully under less apocalyptic circumstances, eh?”

“I’d appreciate that.” Peter replied.

Ben Reilly lingered for a beat longer. “Tell Gwendolyn… she did the right thing,” He said quietly. “From one person who’s had blood on his hands to another… sometimes there isn’t a good choice. Just necessary ones.”

Peter’s expression softened. “I’ll tell her,” he said.

Ben nodded once, then stepped back through his portal.

One after another, the spider-people vanished into their designated gates, capacitors humming against their backs.

Jessica Drew had already left earlier with the first wave, escorted safely back to Spider Society HQ.

Soon, only the Spider Gang remained. Miles, Gwen, Hobie, Pavitr, Peni, Margo, Peter B., Noir, Ham clustered near one of the secondary launch zones, preparing to return on their own routes.

Peter tapped his comm. “Bridge, this is Parker,” he said. “Chart a course back to Earth-65M. Once our guests are all clear, we’re going home.”

“Acknowledged.” Came the reply. “Course plotting for home.”

The portals winked out one by one, each leaving behind only a brief gust of displaced air.

The deck felt quieter now. Lighter.

Gwendolyn walked up beside Peter, her armored footsteps soft but distinct. The Archangel’s helm folded back with a hiss, revealing her face. Tired, eyes still shadowed by what she’d done, but steadier now.

“They’re gone?” she asked softly.

“For now,” Peter said.

“Think they’ll actually fix things?” she asked.

He watched the sky where the last portal had vanished.

“Yeah,” Peter replied. “I think they will. They’ve lost enough to know what matters.”

She studied him for a moment. “And what about you?”

He glanced sidelong at her, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“What about me?”

“You going to let yourself rest after this?” she asked. “Or are you going to dive straight into twelve new projects and three defense upgrades?”

“Unclear,” he said. “Ask me after I get at least one full night of sleep.”

“Ambitious." She teased.

The sun dipped lower, the horizon burning gold.

Without the rush of engines and shouting, the deck felt… almost peaceful. Just wind and distant city noise and the faint hum of the Helicarrier’s systems.

Gwendolyn stepped closer, armor plates whispering as her wings retracted fully.

“Peter?” She murmured.

“Yeah?”

She slipped a hand around his, fingers threading through his with a quiet, unarmored intimacy. “We’re going home.” She said. “Together. After everything. After Miguel. After Spot. After almost losing… all of it.”

“Yeah.” He said again, softer. “We are.”

The wind caught her hair. The dying sun painted them both in warm light, the Sandevistan’s orange glow barely visible beneath his shirt, the Archangel’s armor reflecting the last rays like something half-divine.

“Hey,” She said. “Kiss me before someone calls you back to the command deck.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”

He turned fully toward her, free hand rising to cup her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye. For a heartbeat, the weight of Helicarriers and multiverses and dead men fell away.

It was just them.

Peter and Gwendolyn. A boy who’d rebuilt himself instead of staying buried and a girl who’d carried a spider’s burden for far too long.

He leaned in and kissed her. Slow, grounding, not as a farewell or a victory cheer, but as a simple fact:

We survived. We’re still here. Together.

The sun slid below the horizon as they kissed, the sky dimming to twilight, the Helicarrier turning gently toward home.

Somewhere behind them, Miles murmured under his breath to Gwen, awed and a little amused, “Okay… that’s couple goals.”

Gwen elbowed him lightly. “Shut up and let them have this.”

Up on the deck’s edge, Peter finally pulled back, resting his forehead against Gwendolyn’s.

“Next time,” He said, “we finish the honeymoon.”

She smiled, eyes bright. “Next time, maybe no multiversal crisis.”

He snorted. “Now that’s unrealistic.”

She laughed. A soft, tired, beautiful sound and squeezed his hand.

Below them, the engines roared a little louder as the Helicarrier banked, leaving Earth-1610’s wounded sky behind.

Ahead lay Earth-65M. Home. Work. Healing. And the hard, quiet business of living.

For the first time in a long while, Peter let himself believe they might actually get to do it.