From the Top

“We’ve met, actually, Tony. Can I call you Tony? I’m gonna call you Tony. We met at one of your Expos. Alchemax is nowhere near your equal, but I haven’t done too bad for myself. This is Wilson Fisk, but Kingpin works too.”

His eyes on Peter, Stark pushed back from his counter top. “Calling to turn yourself in?”

Wilson Fisk laughed. For a guy about to lose his empire, he sure sounded cheerful. “Not hardly. Actually, I’ve got a proposition.”

“We’ve got a few of our own,” said Stark blandly. Peter imagined some violence was involved.

“Oh, mine’s better. By the way, is John Doe with you? That’s the name he gave to the police, isn’t it?”

Peter stared at the phone as if Fisk could see him through it.

“Am I right?” Fisk sounded amused. “I figured he’d run to you after the collider was destroyed.”

“By you, I’m told,” said Stark, folding his arms and looking at empty space from beneath his brow.

“Well, what’s in the past is in the past,” said Fisk. Peter rolled his eyes at the irony. “Is John Doe there?”

Stark said wryly, “Can I take a message?”

“Sure. Tell John I’ve got his ticket home.”

Peter and Stark glanced at each other.

“At first I figured he had the right idea, coming to you,” Fisk said in a dangerously pleasant way, “and I thought: why not let you do the legwork on a new collider? I know ole John’s ticker is counting down. But imagine my reaction to the little shortcut you found.”

Peter got a really, really bad feeling. His knee started fritzing and he took a seat on a work stool near where he’d been standing.

“Shortcut?” asked Stark, after prompted by Fisk’s expectant silence, gaze tracking Peter’s glitching.

“Magic.”

Oh, shit. Stark and Peter stared at one another across the lab.

How had he found out?

“You figure you can kidnap your wife and son this way?” Stark challenged the faceless voice, not bothering to deny it. He paced a few steps away, raising his volume for the speakerphone and his own ire. “What are you gonna do, bring ‘em into a universe where you’re about to get your ass handed to you by the Avengers and every agent around? So they can, what, join you on the run?”

“I’m not runnin’,” Fisk said easily. “I built an empire and I’m keepin’ it. My fortune wasn’t handed to me by my daddy like yours was, Tony. Mine’s built on blood and sweat and tears.”

“The blood and sweat and tears of everyone but you.”

Peter could almost see Fisk shrugging. “I built it all the same. And I figure there’s a lot of blood and sweat and tears in your kingdom, too.”

“You’d turn your family into fugitives.”

“No, I won't. The FBI will make a deal with me.”

“What?” snapped Stark, whirling around. “You’re out of your mind! You think they’d just sweep everything you’ve done under the rug?”

“Why not? They’ve swept most of what you’ve done under the rug, and I only make primetime news when I’m generous to charities—not by toppling cities.”

Some things were more parallel in this parallel universe than others. Peter’s eyes were on his knee, which had resettled, and he kept his arms crossed while Stark looked belligerently at the phone.

“You killed Olivia Octavius,” he said to it.

“Out of self defense,” said Fisk calmly. “Lotta witnesses to that, including your spider pet. Would you have him commit perjury? Of course, they’d never put a vigilante in a spandex onesie on the stand. He’d have to remove his mask.”

“You funded a dangerous particle accelerator.”

“So did you. I challenge you to find my money trail.”

“You were a weapons dealer to your employees!”

Unconcerned, Fisk replied: “Every one of ‘em has a license to conceal and carry. You’re the one gonna have to explain what you were doin’ on my private property, guns blazin.’”

“What about the Chitauri tech?”

“What Chitauri tech?” Fisk said innocently. “If they had any, they didn’t get it from me. Add some years to Adrian Toomes’s sentence.”

“You’ve been collecting it for months from thugs on the street,” Stark said stubbornly. “Spider-Man can tie them to you.”

“The hearsay of junkie convicts is not worth what you think it is, Tony. Neither is your testimony. Alchemax is a rival in the field and the Accords are toast; your word is crap. It’ll take the FBI years to build a case with tangible evidence against me, and they’d much rather I just pinky-swear to be an upstanding citizen and save themselves more blood, sweat and tears—and you and me, Tony, we know there’s a lot of that to go around.”

Stark was indignant. “You can’t compare us. Besides, what about your henchmen? By now they’re on the Raft.”

“And how I do regret placing my trust in them.” Peter could almost see Kingpin placing his hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “If I had known how they’d subvert my generosity for their own gain, I’d have sent them to the Raft myself.”

Tony glared at the phone in pure disgust, but Peter was unsurprised. Tombstone and the Scorpion knew better than to talk. Kingpin’s brutality had long masked a ruthless cunning that extended not only to business pursuits, but his thorough understanding of political science. He was a master at covering his tracks. If he asked for a deal from the beleaguered FBI, he’d probably get it. Peter had watched it happen before.

The man went on. “You might have her research, but not all of Octavius’s records were lost with the collider. I happen to know just which universe our John Doe hails from. And you know what? In that same universe, my Vanessa and Richard are only a few years older than they would have been here, if they’d lived. I don’t know how that works,” chuckled Fisk, “you’re the brainiac, you tell me. I don’t care.

“So here’s my proposition. You bring me Vanessa and Richard. John Doe gets to go home. I get my family. I retire to a life of post-crime. That’s more than fair.”

He had no idea that Peter would find no relief from the glitching in his own dimension. Kingpin thought the delay only a matter of Doctor Strange’s meticulous research. Not that he’d care if he did know.

“I imagine the other Wilson Fisk may object,” said Stark.

“I imagine that too. That’s your problem.”

It was the insane plan of a desperate man who still had not reconciled himself to the truth his family was gone for good. Yes, Vanessa and Richard Fisk still lived in Peter’s dimension, something he knew and had deliberately avoided mentioning. Some of his own blood and sweat, if not tears, had seen to that. Quantum theory acted as a tantalizing hope and a subsidy to suspended grief; he’d had to guard against it when coming across May Parker in Miles’s universe, and it had consumed Fisk completely.

One hand on his chin with the other hand cupping his elbow, Stark said: “And if we turn down this incredibly magnanimous proposition of yours? What’s to stop me from handing this little conversation over to the FBI?”

“I have insurance,” Fisk said sweetly. “If you turn this in to the feds, if you don’t bring me my wife and son, every lowlife in New York and the world at large will know just where to find Peter Parker…Spider-Man. Not to mention everyone he’s ever met.”

Dead silence fell over the lab.

No, no no… Peter’s hand found his forehead and he stared, confounded, at the phone.

“My man sussed that out,” said Fisk. He sounded pleased by the silence that signaled their shock. “I'd say he’s more than worth his bonus. I’ve selected my employees with a little more care than you, Stark.”

Speechless, Stark rocked back from the counter and looked to Peter, who hesitated, thinking fast, then shrugged helplessly and mouthed, The Prowler.

It had to be him. Had to be. He’d dropped off the radar after the convention center, but Peter knew from experience and Miles’s testimony that the man’s job was eighty percent skulking.

He could have been shadowing Stark ever since Tombstone and Scorpion’s initial breakouts from the precinct in Queens, the last time anyone had heard of him; he might have watched Parker, barefaced, walk into the Sanctum with the man he’d helped escape from Ock’s lab under the guise of the webslinger. And it was there, maybe with a parabolic dish held from a parked car or a nearby rooftop, he would have learned about Strange’s magic and the possibility of another way.

Even if Peter had run into the man on the streets, he wouldn’t necessarily have recognized him. He’d gotten no better than a glimpse of Aaron Davis’s face, and who was to say it was even the same man, or if it was, that he resembled the other Davis?

Peter felt sick. His spider sense hadn’t picked up on the man’s presence because the Prowler hadn’t been there to attack them. Judging by Stark’s white, tight-lipped face, he was furious at his own misstep. No one had snuck up on the Avenger in a long time.

It was too late to pretend Fisk was dead wrong; their silence had given them away.

“How do we know this name doesn’t go beyond the two of you?” Stark kept his voice level with some difficulty.

“If it did,” Fisk said, with a growl at last, “you’d know it already. They’d be knocking down Parker’s door as we speak. Or rather...they'd be shooting it down.” That much was true. "I'm a businessman, Stark. A deal's a deal." That much may not be true, but they were in no position to challenge it.

As if struck by a thought Fisk added, “Oh, by the way: I know about your nasty little hologram trick back at Alchemax. Don’t think you can get away with it again. My Prowler will see right through them.”

You’ve got twenty-four hours, thought Peter.

“You’ve got eight hours,” said Fisk.

.

.

“Can’t Strange just wipe his memory?” Peter asked. “Like he did for the whole planet after the Snap?”

“He had to use the Time Stone to do that. We don’t have any of them any more.” Stark frowned at him, stress etching lines above his brows. “Didn’t he need it in yours?”

Frustrated, Peter shrugged with his hands out. “I don’t know, I wasn’t around.”

One minute he was dying on Titan and the next he’d woken up to his alarm telling him he was late for an exam. He hadn’t asked a lot of questions and maybe he’d gotten it into his head that memory wiping was a tool in Strange’s regular kit and caboodle. But no need to say all that in front of Parker.

The kid had been quickly recalled from Queens. He stood to the side now, unsure of how to stand, wearing his full suit because he, Stark, Strange and Banner weren’t the only Avengers in the room now.

Peter wore his suit as well. It was a welcome barrier between him and the Avengers who were now staring curiously between the two Spider-Men.

Captain America. Romanov. Barton. Falcon. The Winter Solider. Wanda Maximoff. He hadn’t stood in a room with so many in nearly a decade. Weirdly, it didn’t seem like it had been so long ago.

When the Captain had entered Peter was forcibly reminded of the message Tony had left on his phone, back in his own dimension. It was bizarre to see them assembled again when most of the ones he knew had retired from active duty—the ones still alive, anyway. Stark had given them a rundown of the situation so far and cut off their amazement and questions so quickly it had seemed an abbreviated revelation.

Vision was in Wakanda for some kind of checkup Peter didn't ask more about. Shuri said it could wait until she got back. Scott Lang, Barton, T’Challa and Thor all had homes off-base, Barton being the only one of those in town at the moment, but Peter felt there were more than enough Avengers to be getting on with. When Banner had passed word along Peter had muttered to give the others his regards.

“What’s the deal with your Wilson Fisk?” Stark said, facing Peter.

He shook his head. “It was the same in my universe, except I even had evidence. I gave him to the FBI. The FBI gave him a deal.” Peter scowled beneath the mask. “Fisk rolled on a lot of lieutenants. He has dirt on half the planet. The FBI made him promise to keep on the straight and narrow, which he definitely isn’t doing, but they don’t care so long as he’s warring with other crime bosses. I was told in no uncertain terms to back off.”

“And if he’s kidnapped a woman and child from another dimension?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “The FBI isn’t really equipped to handle inter-dimensional legal proceedings.”

“Well, we’re not kidnapping anyone,” said Romanov.

Her gaze flicked to Parker and then back to the group. They had been quickly briefed on Fisk’s ultimatum, omitting only Spider-Man’s actual name from the recounting. From the Falcon’s sardonic look it was clear he thought the continued charade with the suits was a bit of a joke and that Spider-Man might as well take the mask off.

It was a sentiment Peter suspected most of the Avengers shared. The Winter Soldier probably didn’t give a damn either way, Rogers seemed sympathetic and Banner probably wished he had a mask that could fit the Hulk, but the only ones truly committed to Spider-Man’s secret identity were Spider-Man and Tony Stark.

Banner gave no indication he already knew. Neither did Strange. It came too close to seeming like Parker had chosen sides, elevating some Avengers to the “VIP” status of having seen his face, possibly fostering resentment from those still in the dark.

Shuri was busy at work on the particle accelerator. Excusing himself with a soft-spoken apology and a commiserating smile for Parker, Banner went to join her. They still had a deadline (Peter's incessant gallows humor put the emphasis on “dead.”)

“Sorry, but—is this really the end of the world?” Romanov asked frankly. “Spider-Man’s the only one on the team who wanders around in a mask. We all handle the publicity fine.”

That was a matter of opinion, Peter reflected wryly. But it was one of the same issues that had existed between himself and the Avengers from his universe, who couldn’t press the issue since he was at best a freelancer, not a member of the union. Coming from a spy, it was a little surprising. Peter would have thought she’d understand but maybe spies were just hardwired to protect their own secrets and begrudge any kept by others.

Parker shifted. “You know I’m not just trying to piss you guys off,” he mumbled. “Wearing this thing.”

If Romanov was surprised by him addressing the issue directly, she didn’t show it. Instead, she arched a perfectly penciled eyebrow ever-so-slightly.

Clint whuffed a laugh.“Kid, if I could go back in time and stick a mask on my face too, I’d do it. Just because Tony passed up the chance doesn’t mean we all would. Nobody begrudges you for protecting your family.” This was said with a little bit of emphasis that wasn’t directed at Parker.

“But—” and Clint raised his eyebrows here—“it also means you’ve gotta handle a lot of things on your own. And that sucks.”

It sort of did, but Peter didn’t tell him that that was what both he and Parker liked about it, too. He’d come to appreciate the freedom that was unique to his position, now that the Accords weren’t trying to rip the hood off his face every second.

Romanov rolled her eyes, but without real rancor. “Fine, then. How would the FBI feel if Fisk were to just…disappear?”

“No,” Peter and Parker said simultaneously.

She raised another eyebrow. Parker said, a little self-consciously, “I don’t want anyone dying for this.”

“I wasn’t necessarily talking about killing, but that may not be a choice you get to make either,” Romanov pointed out. “Either it’s someone you care about or someone you don’t. Do we have any leads on this Prowler?”

She didn’t speak from callousness so much as the cold necessity of her career as a spy and agent. Secrets didn’t keep themselves.

Peter thought of Miles. He didn’t know for sure that it was Aaron Davis under that mask, though he moved much the same way. If Peter were pressed he’d guess it was the same man.

It would be so easy to tell them…if there wasn’t a chance he’d sic them on the wrong guy and if he didn’t think there was a strong likelihood the Prowler would go down swinging, and that the Avengers might be happy to encourage it. The Prowler Peter remembered would not allow himself to be taken alive. His mysterious reluctance to harm the kid aside, Davis—if it really was him—had shown less objection to endangering the boy’s family and friends.

Miles is his nephew. But Peter could only help so many. Thanos had taunted him for it; at the end, he’d lectured Peter on the futility of trying to save everyone, only to fail and save no one at all, then smiled with the satisfaction of someone about to prove their point.

Peter said nothing and felt like he was holding a key, only to swallow it whole.

Steve Rogers had remained quiet. Perhaps he felt he couldn’t weigh in. Captain America had been a very short-lived secret. Barnes similarly looked as if he thought he should not be there and was intruding on what was entirely Spider-Man’s business.

“Guys, I don’t—” Parker took a breath, and scratched at his neck. He started over. “Listen, I—I can handle this.”

Peter looked sharply at him. Stark looked away, to the floor.

Parker hesitated, then continued: “I mean, duh, I’m not gonna kidnap anyone for him. So…this is the only choice, right? Going public?”

“You don’t know that,” Peter told him urgently.

“It's just—there’s no time. And even if there was some way to put him off now, the next time Kingpin wants something he’ll just make the same threat. Won’t he?” Parker asked. He spread his hands and Peter hated hearing the defeat in his words. “I might as well…you know.”

Parker was putting on a good face in front of the Avengers, trying to play it cooler than Peter knew he was feeling. He thought he had to act grown-up about it. All because he wanted them to think he could handle being one of them.

If it were really no big deal to him, Peter thought, Parker would have casually removed his hood right then and there. Maybe with a flourish and a joke, like he was re-introducing himself. He didn’t.

Everyone subsided into an unhappy silence. But no one argued. There was no room in the equation to play devil's advocate.

“I should go,” muttered Parker. “Take care of some stuff.”

Preparing for the explosion. He was going to go home, warn his aunt and pack his suitcases, resigned to an inevitable fallout.

"We'll help you through this," Wanda said to him kindly. Several others gave him encouraging little smiles that vexed Peter as much as he was admittedly touched by the sentiment. Parker nodded minutely, then awkwardly left with a little wave.

Peter watched him go, feeling like it was his fault. Knowing it was his fault.

There was a collective, dissatisfied exhale after he’d gone. Whatever they each privately thought about Spider-Man keeping his identity secret, no one liked Kingpin calling the shots.

Peter’s sideways look at Stark was met with a hard frown. “What do you want from me?” Stark said in a low voice, moving closer, mindful of the Avengers still lingering nearby.

“You can’t seriously be thinking of letting him do this,” Peter hissed.

“What other options are there?”

“There has to be something. At least play for time. He can not unmask! I can’t believe you’re really considering it!”

Stark spread his arms. “Do you have a better idea? You heard Fisk, holograms are off the table, we can't fake it. I'm not in the cloning game. Even if we gagged him somehow, his purple minion knows too and he wears a mask. That’s what masks do, have you ever thought of that? That maybe good guys shouldn’t even wear them? We wouldn’t find this Prowler in time to keep him from blathering.”

“If I can get to the Prowler—”

“It’s over. Now we deal with it.”

Peter shook his head angrily, catching the eyes of the milling Avengers and propelling them back with his mask's blank, white-eyed stare. He could feel the glitching starting up but barreled through it. “What the hell’s he gonna do? He can’t stay in Queens after the bomb’s hit.”

Stark exhaled, looking around. “I guess he comes here. Brings his…family along.”

“And what,” Peter said incredulously, “he lives on this base for the rest of his life? Away from Queens? Shuts himself off from the world like the rest of you?”

His voice had risen once Parker was truly out of earshot and it acted to draw the rest of the Avengers’ attention.

Stark shook his head. “No! He can still lead a normal life.” Before he’d even finished the sentence Peter had turned away with a short, harsh laugh.

“We’re not shut off from the world,” said Steve Rogers, unfolding his arms from across his chest. He wore civilian clothes instead of his suit, which was oddly disconcerting.

His voice was calm and authoritative and thoroughly got under Peter’s skin. The captain added: “He can still protect Queens. Just because people know our names doesn’t change what we do.”

“Oh?” Peter said dryly, looking at him askance. “You’re still street level heroes, yeah? Looking out for the little guy, the ones who don’t get your attention with cool robot invasions and alien attacks?”

“Yes,” said Captain America defiantly.

“So you go on patrol with the kid?”

Cap’s eyes flickered and he didn’t respond.

Peter didn’t want to get Parker in hot water with his teammates but he couldn’t help himself. He was tired.

“No? No schlepping around Queens, looking out for robbers in ski masks? Old Lady Berks can’t file a missing purse report with you? Well,” Peter pointed to himself, “they still look for me. They look for your Spider-Man. When they’re being assaulted or threatened or scared, and they look up, is it ever the Avengers they expect to see? Or just him? Your base isn’t even in New York City anymore.”

“You’re saying we’re not doing enough?” demanded Romanov with uncharacteristic heat. “It’s not enough to save the world over and over, now we have to be beat cops too?”

“I’m saying you can’t get satisfied with dissatisfaction. That’s when you start to let things slide…that’s when you start to think about ‘acceptable casualties.’ You know what makes every Spider-Man in every universe the real Spider-Man?” He gestured at the spider logo on his chest. “It’s that we don’t believe any casualty is acceptable. Yeah, we say you can’t save everyone and maybe we know that’s true, but there’s not a universe out there in which we really believe it.

“So we go help Old Lady Berks and stop stickups and protect the bodegas. That will get a lot harder if Spider-Man’s trapped here because every thug on the streets knows Spider-Man’s name and can track down everyone he’s ever known for revenge.”

“That’s something we all face,” Romanov shot back. “You think we don’t all have to worry about repercussions for the people in our lives?”

“Duh, of course you do! That’s what I’m saying! That’s what you want for him?” Peter demanded. “No more friends, no more family?”

“The Avengers are family,” said Rogers. “We are each other’s loved ones.”

Peter slanted a look at him. “Each other’s only loved ones. No offense, but those of you who stay on the compound have no lives outside the Avengers. That really sucks.”

“Some offense taken,” mumbled the Falcon. “We literally just met you.”

“Spider-Man’s a kid. You guys had more time. He hasn’t had the chance to build his own life yet.”

“I know you don’t know this, but we’ve all had to make that sacrifice,” Romanov said acidly. “It’s part and parcel of being an Avenger.”

“Then maybe he shouldn’t be one!”

Peter’s words hit silence.

After a moment he threw up his hands. “Co-dependency. That’s what this is. This is one of the reasons I never joined your little frat. You guys make me look like the poster boy for normalcy. I—”

Suddenly everything fractured and he hit his knees. The room split into a hundred visages, like he was looking out at every universe through compound eyes. The seizure spread all over until he could feel every one of his ten trillion cells trying to make a break for it. It was as painful as Olivia Octavis had hoped it would be.

Then it was over. Peter found himself laying on the floor, feeling fried and breathed raggedly into his forearm, braced against the ground.

“Can’t even finish a freaking conversation now,” he muttered into the floor.

Vaguely he became aware of a hand placed lightly on his back. He raised and saw that it belonged to Maximoff, whose face of concern was touched with compassion.

“Does this happen often?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah,” wheezed Peter.

Red energy flowed gently from her fingers, through his shoulder and the rest of his aching back. It didn’t dispel the pain so much as infuse a calming sensation that gradually overtook it, corraling his atoms into a semblance of their proper place. Soon he’d regained his breath. Muttering his thanks, he lurched to his feet and brushed at his suit.

“What the hell was that?” said Barton uneasily.

“Oh, my atoms are fussing at me again,” Peter said, resisting the urge to rub at his ribs. “They don’t like being in the wrong universe. They keep trying to go back without me.”

No one laughed.

“Can it kill you?” said Black Widow, looking askance at the rest of them.

“It escalates,” Peter said shortly.

He was about to say something else when he staggered again.

This time, he blacked out.

.

.

Peter woke up to the fluorescent white light of the quantum chamber. He groaned, struggling to a sitting position on the bench and putting his head between his knees like a seasick patient.

“You know, it’s lucky Wanda was around to shut that seizure down before it could get worse,” a voice from outside the chamber commented. “There was barely enough of you in one piece to carry back.”

Peter turned his head to glimpse beyond his knee to where Stark was leaning against the microalloy glass, arms crossed.

“How long was I out?” Peter asked.

“Thirty minutes.”

“Six hours to go.”

“Not for you.” Stark unfolded his arms and walked over to the control panel. “You will be staying here until Banner and Shuri’s rock tumbler is ready to roll. You are way too unstable.” He tapped something on a readout and looked at Peter from beneath his brow. “And in case you’re tempted to leave and go yell at everybody, I’ve bolted the entrance.”

Peter looked and saw strips of graphene over the glass door.

“Did you seriously just lock me in my room?” Peter demanded.

Stark held up a finger. “OK, yes, but this is inarguably for your own good. This chamber is literally keeping you from dissolving into ten trillion separate pieces. I cannot possibly be the bad guy here.”

Peter stood up with a dark look. “Why are you letting this happen?”

Defensively, Stark said: “Parker made his choice. No," he told the other man's scowl, "of course I don’t like it, but I’m respecting it! Isn’t this what we spent an entire therapy session yammering about?”

“I told you to stop treating him like a science experiment that might turn on you, not stand aside as he ruins his life. An ultimatum isn’t a choice!”

“Yet you’re acting like it is, ‘cause I don’t see a choice. Seriously, what else are we supposed to do?” Stark said in frustration. “I’m open to suggestions!”

“Tell Fisk you’ll do it.”

“No,” said Stark flatly.

“It might buy time.”

“It won't. That's why it's called a deadline, Pete. We’re gonna use the time we have instead of wasting it bargaining for more.” The billionaire checked his phone. “The Avengers are gonna take a field trip to the FBI. If they retract a deal it could take the wind out of Fisk’s sails.”

“Then he’ll spill the beans out of spite. The FBI won’t give a damn, they’re dying to know who Spider-Man is.”

“You know, the kid’s identity isn’t the only thing on the line, here,” Stark said irritably. “Fisk has to be taken down. The guy’s been building a criminal empire under our nose, he’s got Chitauri tech, he’s got strings tied all around the city. The second we get the FBI to back down, we’re going after Fisk ourselves.”

Peter huffed a frustrated sigh and paced the length of the glass like an angry tiger at the zoo. He needed to think, he just needed a few minutes to think. He could always weasel out of a bad spot. Part of getting back up every time you got knocked down was thinking of a way to avoid getting knocked down again.

“This place isn’t so bad,” said Stark, sweeping his hand around. “We have a sauna, a gym, a movie theater. He’ll impress the hell out of any girl he brings here. Beats paying rent. What’s so noble about a crackerbox in Queens?”

He was trying to convince himself and wasn’t succeeding. Peter heard it in his voice.

“If he does this,” said Peter, stopping before him, “if he unmasks, it doesn’t matter if he can do his laundry on-site. Do you really see him graduating high school? Going to college, getting married, having a family? When everyone knows exactly who he is? He won’t do it. I know he won’t.”

“He might,” Stark insisted, though doubtfully.

“Stark, my identity is still a secret and the thought of kids scared me shitless. I worry constantly about my wife. Her freedom’s on the line too. Knowing Parker, do you think he’d ever subject someone else to that?”

Despite the differing attitudes and, well, cosmetic disparities, he knew he and Parker were more alike than they were different. Their foundations were the same, built on Ben Parker’s gentle counsel and May’s fierce warmth; so, too, were their values. He could predict Parker’s life trajectory as clearly as if it were defined on a map. He’d be a good hero still, an optimistic one, but he’d lose out on everything he’d ever wanted.

Peter had warned him against allowing his superhero identity to be his only one. Now it could end up that way regardless. Because of him.

Stark had stopped at Peter’s mention of his wife, then made a frustrated swing of his arms. “There is nothing to be done here! We can’t memory wipe, can’t go back in time again. Fisk has us over a barrel. The least we can do is see that he’s put out of action.”

Peter wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. He had nothing to offer, no plan to give Parker any alternative, just impotent anger at the way things were happening. This universe had been doing fine until he’d landed in it and now he was powerless to even fix the damage he’d caused here the way he at least hoped to do in his own universe.

How ironic was that? Peter would get to sail away and return home to a city that didn’t know his name, run back to a wife, go back to a life. And Parker would lose any chance of that.

Maybe Stark saw the guilt he felt, because the billionaire exhaled and stepped back. “We’ll weather this out,” he promised. “Just relax. Banner and Shuri say they’ve got things figured out and it’s just a matter of fine-tuning the programming. I’ll put on some music. Pepper’s making a wedding playlist, you’ll love it.”

He pressed something in a small dock to the side of the energy chamber. The strains of “I’ll Make Love to You” from Boyz II Men filtered through speakers placed throughout the larger room. Peter stared flatly at Stark through the glass.

Hiding a small cough, Stark fiddled with his sunglasses. “We’re still making adjustments. Anyway, stay here.”

At the doorway, he paused. “Everything’s gonna be fine,” he said over his shoulder.

“Tony, you don’t even believe that.”

Stark grimaced and stepped out the door.

.
.

Peter might have liked the chance to sleep again—he was getting so tired of fighting the glitching all the time—but his worry prodded at him as persistently as the atomic firing.

By now the Avengers were on their way to FBI Headquarters. Soon Parker would be unmasked. Peter hoped he would not try to beat Kingpin to the punch and do it before the industrialist's announcement in an attempt to take initiative. His chance for a normal life would be over in—Peter glanced at the clock on the wall—five and a quarter hours.

The glitching had somewhat subsided after the time spent in the quantum chamber. He was getting more and more tired and it showed in atoms that were still, even with the “boost” the chamber gave them, shivering in place. Shuri and Banner were working at a feverish pace to finish their accelerator.

Was this how Miles had felt, tied to the chair, frustrated by his inability to stop the worst?

Peter groaned.

He hadn’t even told them about Aaron Davis, who may or may not, at this moment, be standing at Fisk’s side. All because he was sure it would end in blood. Parker did not want anyone to die. Neither did Peter.

But what were his obligations to a man who would threaten innocent people? Just because Peter knew he had a nephew he loved, had died for in another universe? Was it just his old grief over Ben Parker rearing its head?

If the Prowler did not change, he was destined for the same fate as Miles’s uncle. What if Peter could spare this Miles the same loss?

…Then there was Vanessa and Richard. Knowing they were only a magic portal away now, Fisk would stop at nothing to drag them, possibly kicking and screaming, into this world. If the Avengers would not let him use Parker’s identity as a hostage, he’d find another.

Peter could not save himself, Vanessa and Richard, Parker’s secret identity and everyone he cared about, and the Prowler all in one…could he? Just as Thanos had accused, he had an inability to sacrifice anyone else. You just can't save everyone. But…Spider-Man always tried.

Miles had done it. He’d figured it out. He’d gotten out of that chair and taken that leap of faith, finding control where before there was none.

Maybe, despite his anxiety, he'd been tired enough to let his mind go drowsy when an idea suddenly bloomed in his mind, as fully-formed as if it had simply walked into his head.

Peter shot up straight, pulse rocketing.

His mind raced. The idea was a little crazy. It could go so wrong. It was a gamble. It was such a gamble. But—if there was any way, this was the only, only way.

Peter cleared the space to the palladium microalloy glass in a blink. “HEY!” he hollered, banging on the wall. “Hey! Anyone still here? Lemme out!”

His pounding must have sounded like distant thunder from the outside of the glass. He waited. No one appeared.

Peter stared down the glass wall of the chamber that was keeping him alive.

There was no time. None.

He’d just have to hold out against the glitching, and place his trust in Banner and Shuri.

Unexpectedly, “(I’ve Had the) Time of My Life” came up on Stark's playlist. He could just picture Patrick Swayze lifting Jennifer Grey for the big finale. Not exactly the badass music he would have liked to act the soundtrack for his renewed drive. Where was “Eye of the Tiger” when you needed some adrenaline?

He’d make do. On the crooning words “and I owe it all to you…” he reared back on one leg and delivered a kick to the wall. Small fissures blossomed across the glass. Palladium microalloy glass was stronger than steel, and surely Stark had added a secret ingredient or two of his own to the recipe. This wall was inches thick. He kicked it again. Such were the properties of this glass that it actually bulged rather than shatter, turning the wall convex, like a massive bubble.

“Hey!” he heard someone shout. He looked up to see Sam Wilson, Barnes and Rogers striding quickly inside, alerted to the sound of the chamber breaking. Maybe there was a security camera nearby.

“Oh hey, what’s up?” asked Peter cheerily. “Guess you missed the bus to the FBI.”

Wilson surveyed the damage and drawled, “We figured you might try to do something stupid.”

“No, I’m actually trying to do something really smart. You could just let me out." Peter gestured at the graphene-barred door and added brightly: "I have a plan now.”

“If it involves leaving that fishbowl, no you don’t,” said Wilson.

“What plan is it?” said Captain America. Peter noticed he wore his suit now, and his shield. The Falcon wore his wings folded behind his back like a steampunk character. “Stop kicking that! Tell us the plan and maybe we can carry it out for you.”

That was a totally reasonable request and absolutely impossible.

“I don’t really have time to explain it,” Peter told them, “but trust me, I have to be the one to do it. No one else can. So let me out!”

“No! That aquarium’s keeping you alive!” the Falcon snapped. “And it’s expensive!”

“Tell Stark he can bill me,” Peter said with the carelessness of the eternally destitute. He kicked the wall again and again in rapid succession. The bulge began to fracture.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re going to do?” Barnes demanded. “You need that chamber!”

“The chamber and I have some irreconcilable differences,” said Peter, slamming his foot down.

This time the glass finally began to shatter. The Avengers drew closer but out of the range of any possible shards.

“Don’t do this,” Rogers said in his best trying-to-diffuse-the-situation tone. “Please. I know you feel responsible, but putting yourself in worse danger won't help.”

“How is he so strong?” Wilson muttered to Barnes. “Did we know he was this strong? Nobody but the Hulk could get out of there.”

Cap squared his shoulders to the Spider-Man he had just met. “If you try to leave, we’re going to have to stop you. You could get killed—and jeopardize our Spider-Man.”

Then venom-strike me right now, Peter said to Miles, in his memory, truly hoping the kid would do it. Or turn invisible, on command, so you can get past me.

Peter shook his head. He could offer them no more assurance than his simple conviction. “I’d lay it all out for you, but honestly, I don’t even know if it will work. So I’m gonna save my breath. Just tell Spider-Man not to unmask before the time runs out.” He pointed at them with a suited finger. “You tell him that!”

With one final effort, Peter drew his leg back and kicked the wall. It split like a giant had reached down and dragged a knife through it. Glass shattered everywhere and the three Avengers hastily hopped back.

Peter stepped out.

He dropped two feet down to the floor to stand among the remains of the wall.

They formed a barrier between him and the door.

Overhead, Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes warbled together: "And I've searched through every open door..."

Peter gave an aggravated sigh. “You could just trust me.”

“If you’re anything like our Spider-Man,” said Cap, “then I do. But you can’t leave. The chamber’s busted but we can get Wanda back here. If you go, there’s nothing to keep your glitching in check.”

“I’ll keep it in check.”

Barnes’s expression was faintly sardonic. “Because you’re doing such a good job of it already?”

Peter glanced at the clock. He probably should have stretched in the tank. Well, his hammies would just have to suffer. “Listen, I appreciate the concern. Like, it’s actually touching. But I’m not an Avenger. You can’t keep me here.”

Cap said calmly, “We’re going to have to try.”

He raised his shield to a defensive position. Wilson unfolded his wings, and Barnes shifted his right foot to the back.

“You guys look super cool,” Peter commented, putting his hands on his hips and nodding approvingly. “Like a movie poster. Just wish I had some cooler music than Stark’s wedding playlist.”

The music changed. “Dancing Queen” from ABBA now took over.

Peter nodded thoughtfully in time to the music.

“I can work with this,” he said, and crouched.