"Thank you, Peter. I have to admit, it is a surreal experience to look at an alternate version of myself and realize he was a sadistic, abusive mentor."
Dr. Curt Connors gripped the reinforced steel crossbeam running along the ceiling of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier's medical bay. With a sharp exhale, he effortlessly pulled his chin over the bar, using only his right arm.
Peter Parker leaned against a stainless-steel counter, swirling a beaker of residual blue fluid. He watched his former professor casually bang out one-armed pull-ups. "I think a lot of college undergrads would argue that most academic advisors are borderline supervillains, Doc."
The bio-engineering problem had practically solved itself. On Earth-65, the Lizard mutation wasn't anchored by a volatile super-soldier serum; it was merely a temporary, highly unstable isotope. The evil, native version of Curt Connors had rapidly reverted back to his baseline human form once S.H.I.E.L.D. locked him in a suppression cell.
Using rework clean DNA extracted from the 65-variant, Peter and 616-Connors had spent the last three hours synthesizing a targeted retrovirus. It worked flawlessly. The reptilian DNA had been completely purged from 616-Connors' system. The scales, the massive tail, the monstrous jaw—all gone.
However, the Erskine Super-Soldier enhancements were permanently bonded to his cellular structure. Connors had shrunk back down to a normal human height, and he still only had one arm, but the scientist now possessed the dense, chiseled musculature of an Olympic gymnast.
Connors dropped lightly from the crossbeam, his boots barely making a sound on the tile. He looked down at his own six-pack with mild, academic amusement. "Well, Peter. If you ever need a thesis advisor when you get to university, my door is always open. I can promise I won't mentally abuse you, though I might challenge you to an arm-wrestling match."
The heavy pneumatic doors of the medical bay hissed open.
Earth-65 Gwen Stacy stood in the doorway. She wasn't wearing the Spider-Woman suit. She wore her oversized green jacket, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. Her shoulders were rigid, and the dark circles under her eyes spoke volumes about the mental gauntlet she had just run.
"Hey, guys," 65-Gwen said, her voice tight. "Looks like you aren't too busy."
She looked directly at Peter. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. "Um, Peter? Do you remember what you offered yesterday? About going with me to the Parker house? There are... there are some things I need to say to them."
Peter's easy smile faded into something far more grounded and supportive. He pushed off the counter. "Yeah. Of course, Gwen. I'm right behind you."
Sitting in the corner of the lab, Harry Osborn slowly stood up. He unclasped the heavy green tactical plating from his chest, tossing the armor onto a nearby gurney. He wore a simple black t-shirt underneath. He took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm coming too."
616-Gwen stepped out from behind a bank of medical monitors, noticing the sudden, incredibly heavy gravity in the room. "Should I tag along?"
"It couldn't hurt," Peter nodded. "It'll definitely help prove the whole 'parallel universe' concept if they see two of you standing next to each other."
As the group moved toward the exit, Miguel O'Hara stepped into the corridor, blocking their path. The massive, futuristic Spider-Man crossed his arms over his spiked chest emblem.
"Before you depart," Miguel growled, his red eyes narrowing beneath his cowl, "do not forget to prep your gear for Earth-21923. The structural integrity of Earth-928 is still compromised. It is not a suitable location to construct Spider-City. The war there hasn't stopped, even in 2099."
Miguel tapped the holographic interface on his forearm. "But Earth-21923 Wasteland reality is stabilizing. Your report indicates that the native hero and the Zombie universe refugees there are mobilizing for a decapitation strike against the Red Skull's territories. Once the regime falls, we can secure the dimension. We can build the Spider-Alliance base there without interference from rogue local totems."
Peter simply offered a thumbs-up, entirely uninterested in the logistical zoning laws of a multiverse military base right now. He brushed past the towering man, keeping his focus entirely on the terrified teenage girl leading their group.
The quiet, tree-lined sidewalks of Forest Hills, Queens looked identical to Peter's home. The afternoon sun cast long, familiar shadows over the manicured lawns.
They walked up the concrete steps of 20 Ingram Street. Earth-65 Gwen stopped on the porch. Her hand hovered over the doorbell. She was shaking.
Peter stepped up beside her, offering a silent, reassuring nod.
Gwen pressed the button. The chime echoed faintly inside.
A moment later, the lock clicked. The front door swung inward, revealing Benjamin Parker. He wore a faded flannel shirt, his gray hair slightly messy. He looked older, worn down by a suffocating, unrelenting grief that Peter instantly recognized.
Uncle Ben blinked, his eyes widening as he recognized the two teenagers on his porch. "Gwen? And Harry? My God, kids. It's been a long time."
"Yeah," 65-Gwen said, her voice cracking instantly. She looked down at her shoes. "We haven't been around because... because of Peter."
The silence on the porch stretched out, heavy and jagged. Ben's shoulders slumped slightly, his expression softening into painful understanding.
"Um, Uncle Ben," 65-Gwen forced herself to look up, stepping slightly to the side. "I brought some people. I need to introduce you to someone."
Gwen and Harry parted.
Peter stepped forward into the sunlight. He offered a small, hesitant smile. Behind him, 616-Gwen stood quietly in her trench coat.
Ben Parker stopped breathing. The blood drained completely from his weathered face. He gripped the edge of the wooden doorframe so hard his knuckles turned stark white. He stared at the boy standing on his porch. The boy he had buried nine months ago.
"I know this is a massive shock," Peter said softly, keeping his hands visible and unthreatening. "I don't know if your Peter ever brought up his theories on the multiverse..."
"He... he did," Ben whispered, his voice trembling. He took a slow, unsteady step backward. "He talked about quantum mechanics. He said every observation creates a branching reality. He said... he used to say that maybe he was doing something incredible in another universe. Maybe he was..."
Ben choked on the words. A single tear spilled over his eyelid. "My God."
"What's wrong, Ben?"
Aunt May wiped her hands on a dish towel as she walked out of the kitchen hallway. "Is it someone selling magazines again, because you know we don't—"
May stopped dead in her tracks.
She stared at the front porch. The dish towel slipped from her fingers. The wooden broom leaning against her hip clattered loudly against the hardwood floor.
Half an hour later, Harry Osborn quietly pushed open the door to Peter Parker's bedroom on the second floor.
The room was spotless. There wasn't a speck of dust on the bookshelves or the desk. May and Ben still came in here every single week to clean their dead nephew's room.
But it wasn't a shrine to Peter's life. It was a war room.
The entire wall above Peter's desk was covered in a massive, chaotic web of red string, pushpins, and newspaper clippings. Every single article written about Spider-Woman over the months had been meticulously cut out and pinned to the corkboard. Even the breaking news broadcast from last night—the S.H.I.E.L.D. report clearing her of premeditated murder—was already tacked to the center.
Harry heard soft footsteps on the carpet behind him.
Earth-65 Gwen stood in the doorway, her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach.
"They're talking about Peter's childhood down in the living room," Gwen whispered, her eyes locked on the floor. "He's telling them stories I didn't even know. They're still struggling to believe he's actually a boy from another earth, and not just some cruel actor we hired to make them feel better."
Harry didn't turn around. He pointed a taped finger at the massive corkboard of Spider-Woman clippings. "Did you know about this?"
"I knew," Gwen said, her voice hollow. "I sneaked over here months ago and looked through the window. It's the reason I never came back. It's why I was so terrified to tell them the truth."
Gwen leaned heavily against the doorframe, closing her eyes. "I figured if I never said anything, I could just stay the girl next door. We could just be ordinary neighbors. But if I tell them what I really am... they are never going to forgive me."
Harry finally turned around. He looked at the punk-rock drummer who had saved his life last night.
"Have you forgiven yourself?" Harry asked bluntly.
Gwen opened her eyes. "No."
"Of course you haven't," Harry said, his gruff voice softening just a fraction. "If you had, you wouldn't still be wearing that suit underneath your jacket. You know you have to tell them, right?"
"I'm not ready," Gwen whispered, her breathing turning shallow. "I'm not ready, Harry."
"You're never going to be ready," Harry replied. He walked past her, gently clapping a hand onto her shoulder. "Come on."
They walked silently down the carpeted stairs.
In the living room, Peter was sitting on the floral sofa across from Ben and May. The older couple was leaning forward, hanging onto every word, desperately soaking in the familiar cadence of their nephew's voice. They had finally accepted the impossible reality.
Peter noticed Gwen and Harry pause at the bottom of the stairs. He shifted his posture, steering the conversation toward the cliff edge.
"I wanted to tell you guys something important about my world," Peter said, leaning his elbows on his knees, looking directly at Uncle Ben. "I was bitten by a radioactive spider back home. I have abilities. I go out every night, and I try to do good things. I try to help people."
Ben's expression tightened.
"I'm telling you this because I understand the burden," Peter continued gently. "I know the truth about what happened at the high school prom here. I know Spider-Woman was just trying to stop the Lizard from hurting anyone. It was a tragic accident. She wasn't trying to be a killer."
"I know what you're trying to do, Peter," Uncle Ben interrupted, his voice thick with a sudden, cynical exhaustion. He rubbed his face with both hands. "I read the S.H.I.E.L.D. report. I know she probably didn't wake up that morning intending to kill my boy. I know it was an accident."
Peter frowned. "Then why..."
"Because look at the world we live in!" Ben suddenly raised his voice, gesturing toward the front window. "Look at this city, Peter! Do you honestly believe in heroes here? The police are corrupt. The so-called heroes on the news are either in corporate contract or taking protection money from the mob!"
Ben sank back into his armchair, looking completely defeated. "If Spider-Woman really just wants to help... maybe I could understand. But what if she's just like the rest of those bastards? What if she just joins S.H.I.E.L.D, and the police stop tracking her, and nobody ever holds her accountable for what she did to my nephew?"
The living room fell dead silent. The suffocating, paranoid reality of Earth-65 hung in the air.
Peter didn't argue. He couldn't defend the morality of a world he didn't live in. Instead, he slowly turned his head and looked at Earth-65 Gwen standing at the bottom of the stairs.
Gwen's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her hands were shaking violently. She looked at Ben's grief-stricken face. She looked at May's tear-stained cheeks.
She took a step forward into the living room.
Peter held her gaze, offering a single, silent nod of absolute support.
Gwen stood in the center of the braided rug. She took a deep, trembling breath, forcing the air past the massive lump in her throat.
"Aunt May," Gwen whispered, her voice cracking as the tears finally spilled hot and fast down her cheeks. "Uncle Ben."
She reached up, grabbing the collar of her green jacket, and pulled it open to reveal the stark white, black, and magenta spider-suit underneath.
"Spider-Woman... I am Spider-Woman."
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