236. Ghosts in a Living World. (Patreon)

Peter POV:

The transition between worlds never feels the same twice.

Sometimes it’s violent, like being torn apart and stitched back together by something that doesn’t care if you scream.

Other times… it’s quiet. This time, it was quiet. I need to make that a reality since I don't use the web of life and destiny to travel the multiverse.

We stepped out of the dimensional aperture, the portal folding in on itself behind us like a breath being released and for a moment... just a teeny moment the world felt still and then reality settled.

Air rushed into my lungs, heavier somehow, denser. It was different.

I exhaled slowly, letting my senses adjust as my Dimensional Navigation Gauntlet flickered with confirmation signals.

Coordinates stable.

Timeline intact.

No immediate anomalies.

Beside me, Gwen stretched her arms slightly, rolling her shoulders inside the Iron Spider Mk. III like she was shaking off the transition like jetlag.

“Well,” she said, glancing around at the skyline, “this place isn’t half bad.”

Her tone was casual but I knew her well enough to hear what sat underneath it.

I glanced out across the city. It's New York but not our New York.

“Yeah,” I replied, adjusting a few settings on my gauntlet, “turns out trauma has… interesting effects on urban crime statistics.”

She looked at me, eyebrows raised.

I didn’t sugarcoat it. I didn't need to do that with her.

“The death of your counterpart here?” I said. “It broke him. Turned him into something… harsher, more decisive and crime rate dropped hard after that.”

“So, Peter became a ruthless vigilante?” She asked.

“Efficient,” I corrected. “Not necessarily clean but the streets are safer.”

She didn’t respond to that instead, she looked back out at the city.

“So,” she said after a second, forcing a bit of her usual tone back, “full stealth?”

I gave a small nod. “Full stealth.”

Our suits responded instantly.

Her Iron Spider suit shimmered, refracting light until she simply… vanished.

My War Pattern Helios Mk. III followed suit, Mysterium layers bending perception, magic, and even precognitive detection out of phase.

We were invisible, insensible and unfelt.

“Still weird that Spider-Sense can’t pick this up.” Gwen muttered.

“That’s the point,” I replied. “We’re not supposed to exist here.”

She gave a soft “fair enough” and then...

THWIP—release.

THWIP—release.

THWIP—release.

The rhythm started.

God, that sound… Even now, across realities, it felt familiar. Almost comforting.

I took to the air beside her, propulsion systems humming so quietly they might as well have been imaginary.

She swung while I flew.

For a few seconds, we just… moved side by side.

“Okay,” Gwen said after a bit, her voice softer now, “this is tripping me out.”

“How so?”

“It’s… the same,” she said, then shook her head. “No, it’s not. It looks the same but it doesn’t feel the same.”

I knew what she meant.

“Color saturation,” I said. “Detail density. This world’s more… grounded, hyper-realistic while ours leans stylized almost animated by comparison and we didn't feel that form of sensory shock before because those were universes that shares the same colour gradient as ours.”

She snorted lightly mid-swing. “So you’re saying I’m from a cartoon.”

“I’m saying you’re from a better-looking and more vivid one.”

“Good save.” Gwen smiled.

We moved in silence for a few more seconds before she asked, “So where first?”

“We check the constants.”

“Meaning?”

“Family.”

I angled downward, guiding us toward a high-rise residential building. “Let’s see how they’re holding up.”

---

The penthouse windows were open. Not carelessly, just… lived-in.

We hovered just outside, cloaked, unseen while inside normal, messy, fragile life just kept going.

Aunt May stood near the table, glasses perched low on her nose as she helped three kids with their homework.

Three teenage boys arguing loudly over something that definitely didn’t matter.

Gwen’s voice came out in a whisper, “Why do they feel familiar?”

I didn’t look at her. “They are our loved ones with just a different take on 3 Dimensions of existence.”

Then, those three are...

“Howard, Philip and Simon Stacy. They’re your brothers.”

Gwen POV:

For a second… I forgot how to breathe.

Three.

There were three of them.

Howard was leaning over the table, trying to explain something with way too much confidence for someone who was clearly guessing.

Philip kept correcting him, quieter but sharper.

Simon... God, he couldn’t have been more than thirteen and was just watching both of them like they were idiots.

And Aunt May… Oh poor Aunt May she looked so tired but her warmth was still present and holding it all together.

“No way,” I whispered, my voice breaking without my permission.

In this reality my counterpart had three little brothers. My chest tightened so hard it actually hurt.

I pressed a hand against my mouth, trying to keep it together because suddenly I could see it, I could feel it.

What it must’ve been like for them with dad gone then the big sister who changed their dirty nappies when they were babies, the one who probably helped with homework, who probably broke up their arguments, who probably made the house feel less empty was just... gone.

“Pete,” I whispered, my vision blurry from tears and I was barely able to get the word out.

Peter was there instantly with his arms around me.

I leaned into him without thinking, my forehead pressing into his chest as I tried to breathe through the sudden wave of… everything.

“They still have each other.” He said softly and I realized he was consoling me.

“Even after everything,” he continued, “they found a way to stay a family.”

I nodded against him, sniffing hard.

“Aunt May and Peter lost the house,” he said. “Foreclosure hit them hard. Your mom here...Helen...she stepped in.”

I lifted my head slightly, wiping my eyes.

“She took them in?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Deal was simple. May helps with the kids, Peter contributes what he can. Groceries, work, whatever he can manage.”

I looked back inside.

At Aunt May.

At the boys.

“And my mom?” I asked.

“She’s strong here,” Peter said. “Successful lawyer. Holds the whole thing together.”

I let out a shaky breath.

“In my world, she didn’t get that chance.”

“I know. I was there.”

I swallowed hard, watching as Simon laughed at something stupid Howard said and something inside me just… broke a little.

“I want to go in.” I whispered.

I knew I couldn’t.

I knew it was a bad idea.

I knew it would complicate everything if I went in now.

But the urge...God, the urge...

“I know.” Peter said gently.

He pulled me closer again, his voice low and certain. “We’ll figure something out. I promise.”

I nodded against him, clinging just a little tighter.

Because right now? I needed that promise.

---

THWIP. THWIP.

The sound cut through everything and the moment Peter heard the sound Peter moved instantly.

One arm around me as he lifted us higher while being silent for even cloaked, he didn’t take chances.

A figure swung up toward the fire escape.

He landed lightly, a grocery bag in one hand, pulled the window open, slipped inside like it was second nature and no one panicked or questioned it because it seems like they knew.

“They know he’s Spider-Man.” I whispered.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Trust looks different in every world.”

We watched for a second.

Peter...that Peter set the groceries down.

Said something causing Howard groaned dramatically while Philip rolled his eyes and Simon laughed while Aunt May smiled.

For just a moment—

It looked… okay.

Broken but okay.

---

“So,” I said while pulling my eyes away before I lost it again, “what’s the plan, hubs?”

“There are three targets.”

I crossed my arms slightly. “I’m listening.”

“Harry Osborn,” he said. “imprisoned in Ravencroft and gets visits from Gustav Fiers, the same one who orchestrated the deaths of this Peter’s parents.”

“Second?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Uncle Ben’s killer,” he continued. “imprisoned in Rikers. Multiple homicide charges since.”

“Wow,” I muttered. “Real winners’ club.”

Peter didn’t disagree.

“These are… viable candidates,” He said carefully.

“For the scythe.” I finished.

He nodded once.

I tilted my head slightly. “And me?”

He gave me a look.

Half serious and half amused.

“Well,” he said, “I’d love to send you to legally purchase the Parker house and start a wholesome reconstruction arc…”

I smirked. “But?”

“But,” he continued, “you’re technically dead here and also nonexistent. Also visibly different enough to raise about a thousand red flags.”

“Rude.”

“But accurate.”

I rolled my eyes. “So what’s my role, oh great multiversal strategist?”

He smirked slightly. “You’re with me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Doing what exactly?”

He turned, already moving. “Jump scaring people who really deserve it.”

I grinned. “Oh, I like this plan.”

We took one last look at the apartment.

At the family, at what was left and what still mattered.

Then we turned toward the first target.