I Am the Spider-Man from Earth-42

The sun was setting now.

A soft orange hue washed over the rooftops of Fury's hidden base, casting long shadows over the war-torn city below. The chaos, the missions, the command center noise — all of it felt distant up here.

Peter and Harry stood side by side.

Awkward silence hung between them.

Neither quite knew how to begin.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck.

Harry stared down at the city.

Then finally…

Peter said quietly:

"Uh… how's Mary?"

"Where is she now?"

Harry didn't answer right away.

His jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly through his nose.

"…She's alive," he said.

"Still fighting. Still strong."

Peter looked down at the rooftop gravel.

(Of course she is.)

Harry added, voice just a little softer now:

"She runs a med-bay bunker near the northeast zone. Coordinates change every few weeks. Too risky to stay in one place too long."

Peter nodded, still not sure what to say.

"…She okay?"

Harry let out a humorless laugh.

"Are any of us okay, Pete?"

A pause.

Then Harry glanced at him. Not with suspicion now. But with something… deeper. A hurt that hadn't healed, even after a year.

"She didn't sleep for days after we buried you."

Peter swallowed hard.

Harry kept going.

"She talked to that photo every night. Said maybe if she prayed hard enough, you'd come back.

He looked away again.

"I told her hope was a lie."

Peter didn't speak.

He just stood still, letting the guilt settle in his chest like lead.

(You didn't deserve that grief, Mary.)

(And you sure as hell didn't deserve to lose both Peters.)

Harry turned toward him now, really facing him.

"So if you're really back—"

His voice was firm, rough.

Don't leave us again"

Peter nodded slowly.

"…I won't."

Harry's eyes searched his friend's face.

And for just a flicker, something in them softened.

Like he saw his Peter again. Even if only a sliver.

Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out something small and familiar—

A photo.

Tattered. Water-stained. Folded too many times.

Peter, Mary, and Harry grinning on a rooftop. Back when life was simpler. Safer.

He handed it to Peter.

"She keeps the real one. That's the copy I carried."

Peter looked at it for a long time.

His fingers shook just slightly.

"…Thanks."

Harry gave a small smile.

"We miss you, Pete."

Peter swallowed.

His voice was low but real.

"…I miss you all too."

(Sorry I'm not the Peter you used to know...)

The photo still trembled slightly in his hand.

Harry looked out across the city again. The skyline cracked and scarred, smoke curling from distant buildings, neon flickering through ruins.

Then, without looking back—

"You know, Pete…"

"…Mary and I — we're planning to get married."

Peter blinked.

The world went quiet in his head for a moment.

Harry continued, smiling softly.

"Not now, of course. Not until this is over. But we made a promise, back when we thought we were gonna die."

"She said… 'If I lose you, I lose everything. So don't make me wait forever.'"

Peter felt his chest ache.

The kind of pain that didn't come from injury.

But from memory.

And love.

(So you did love her, Peter.)

(Even until the end.)

(And now I'm standing in your body — hearing the words that should've been said to you.)

He smiled faintly, forcing the sting away.

"Then I guess we better finish this war, huh?"

Harry looked at him.

Peter straightened up, shaking out his arms, voice lighter now:

"We'll beat the crap out of those bastards. And I'll make sure your wedding has zero drone strikes or robot assassins."

Harry laughed — genuinely, for the first time in months.

"That'd be a nice change."

Peter grinned. But deep down, his thoughts whispered:

(You still love her, huh, Peter… the real you.)

(But she's not mine to love.)

(She's his. Harry's. And I have to support that.)

They stood side by side as the sun dipped lower — shadows stretching across the fractured city.

Old friends.

New scars.

Same war.

Meanwhile Not far from the rooftop, in the shadow of a rusted catwalk above the communications tower, Gwen watched them.

Peter and Harry.

Standing together like they used to.

Laughing, even just for a moment as if the world hadn't gone to hell.

Her hands clenched the cold railing.

She didn't speak. She didn't interrupt.

But her eyes… were wide, shining.

(Peter…)

She bit her bottom lip.

(You're really an idiot.)

Her breath caught.

(Do you still love her?)

(But… There's something different about you. The way you look at Harry no … at the people. The way you move. You're still Peter… but something's buried behind your eyes.)

Her memories flooded.

(The rooftop fights. The laughs. The late-night raids. The rooftop where he whispered his fears…)

Where she once thought he might've said he loved her.

But he never got the chance.

Because the next day… he was gone.

(And now you're standing here.)

(But Mary's in love with Harry. And you're pretending everything's okay.)

Her throat tightened.

(You smile… but your heart looks tired.)

A faint wind passed through her hair. The sun dipped behind the buildings, casting the city in cold blue.

She stepped back into the shadows, whispering only to herself:

"…Welcome back, Peter."

…

As Peter and Harry stood in rare peace, a voice called out from the stairwell behind them:

"Am I interrupting or something?"

They both turned.

Ganke Lee stepped into the fading light rifle slung over his back, a dark gray vest zipped halfway over a patchy rebel uniform, and a faint scar trailing across his right cheek, barely visible beneath a mop of dust-streaked curls.

Peter blinked for a second.

(Now that I think about it… this Ganke… he's a lot more rugged than the one from Miles' world.)

(Scar on his face. Combat boots. Guy's built like he's seen hell and walked back through it.)

"No," Peter said, shaking off the thought. He gave a light grin.

"You're good. Just talking."

Ganke stepped up beside them, smirking.

"Talking, huh? Looked like one of those 'deep, emotional rooftop bro moments' to me."

Harry chuckled.

"Yeah, well. We haven't had one of those in a while."

Ganke's smile faded just a bit as he looked at Peter.

Then, seriously:

"People are talking. The base is buzzing, man."

He turned his gaze to the horizon, where smoke rose from the eastern district.

"You… a hero called yourself Spider or what not. That means something. Even if they don't know what… yet."

Peter stood still.

"They'll know," he said quietly.

"Soon enough."

Ganke nodded.

"You better hope it's soon."

Suddenly—

A sharp voice sliced through the tension.

"Idiots—Scorpia just dropped another Scorpion bot."

The trio turned.

Standing at the edge of the stairwell, arms crossed and eyes sharp, was Quin — the silver-braided rebel with a jagged scar running across her jaw like lightning through steel.

Dust clung to her boots. Her hands were smudged with grease and blood. And her glare could've cut through titanium.

Peter's body tensed.

He looked at Harry, then stepped forward, voice firm:

"Tell me the details. Now."

Quin didn't flinch.

She tossed a portable tablet at Ganke, who caught it and activated the live feed.

The screen blinked to life—

—City District 6.

Burning.

A massive mechanical silhouette moved like a beast on six legs, tail arched high. Its armor was plated with reactive nano-steel, and its voice blared through the air in a low robotic tone:

"TARGET: SPIDER ENTITY DETECTED. INITIATING ERADICATION PROTOCOL."

Laser fire cut through buildings. Civilians ran screaming. Resistance fighters were already on the ground some pinned, some trying to flank.

Quin growled.

"This one's different. Bigger. Faster. And it's baiting you."

Peter clenched his fists. 

His eyes narrowed beneath the mask.

"They want me to show up."

Harry said, "It's a trap."

Ganke said, "It's a slaughter."

Peter's voice dropped into a steely calm:

"Then let's turn the slaughter into a rescue mission."

He activated his wrist device.

The Mark I suit responded — plates humming, light surging through the spider emblem.

Quin crossed her arms.

"You sure about this, 'Spider'?"

Peter turned toward her, sharp smirk under the mask.

"I'm not 'Spider.'"

He stepped to the ledge.

"I'm Spider-Man."

And without another word he leapt.

The wind howled.

The skyline rose to meet him.

And war returned to the city but this time, hope flew with it.

To be continue