❝ cards on the table,
mine play out like fools in a fable ❞

023. the hero and the fool

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐁 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄, thick enough to suffocate. The room was silent save for the hushed whispers between Ingrid and her Peter, interspersed with the occasional murmur from the other two Spider-Men. Their voices, faint and cautious, only emphasized the gravity of the moment.

No one knew for certain what the Green Goblin, Electro, Sandman, or the Lizard were planning. The villains were out there, regrouping, scheming, and undoubtedly preparing for their next strike. But inside the lab, the heroes felt the weight of urgency pressing down on them like an unbearable weight. Time was slipping through their fingers, and failure wasn't an option.

Ingrid stood beside her Peter, her focus trained on the broken pieces they were trying to rebuild. Her hands trembled slightly, a combination of nerves and exhaustion. A dull ache pulsed in her temples, a reminder of how long they'd been at this. But she refused to let it slow her down. Every so often, she glanced at Peter, offering him a small, reassuring smile despite her fatigue.

Then, abruptly, the silence was shattered. Ned’s laptop screen lit up, flooding the dim lab with a soft glow. All conversations halted immediately, and everyone turned toward him.

Ned looked flustered, his gaze darting between them. “Uh, Peter?” he said.

"Yeah?" The three Peters spoke in unison, followed by the sounds of chairs scraping as they stood up. A moment of confusion passed between them before they instinctively pointed at one another. "Oh, sorry. You mean..."

“Peter-Peter!” Ned tried again, throwing his hands up.

"We're all called Peter, Ned."

Ned paused. "Peter... Parker?"

The three Spider-Men exchanged amused glances before replying simultaneously, “We’re all Peter Parker!”

Ned sighed heavily, clearly out of patience. "The computer!"

Before anyone else could react, Ingrid’s Peter darted toward the workstation. His sudden movement startled Ingrid, and she instinctively followed, MJ and Ned close behind.

They crowded around the screen, peering at the diagnostics. Peter leaned in, his eyes scanning the results. Then, as the tension in the room began to lift, Ingrid’s lips curved into a smile.

“It worked,” she whispered, relief flooding her chest.

Her Peter straightened, the weariness in his expression giving way to something warmer — hope. "Oh, I'm ready,” he announced, his voice steady but tinged with anticipation.

“Yeah, me too,” the younger Peter chimed in, pulling off his goggles and striding over with a small container in hand. Inside was the cure for the Lizard.

The oldest Peter joined them quietly, pulling off his gloves. Though he didn’t say a word, the slight nod he gave was enough to convey his readiness.

"Okay, so... Now, all we gotta do is lure these guys someplace, right? Try to cure them, while they try to... kill us, and then, send them home." The younger Spider-man said. He handed the bottle containing the cure to Ingrid’s Peter, who examined it with a raised eyebrow. Despite the seriousness of the situation, there was a flicker of amusement on his face.

“Using a magic box,” the older Peter said, his words lilting upward as if questioning the absurdity of the plan.

“Well, that’s the plan,” Ingrid muttered under her breath, her tone tinged with sarcasm. Her Peter glanced at her, his brows furrowed in mild concern. Catching his gaze, Ingrid forced a tight-lipped smile, hoping to reassure him — or at least distract him from how exhausted she truly felt.

The younger Peter tilted his head at their older counterpart. "So are you gonna go into battle dressed as a cool youth pastor, or do you got your suit?"

The older Spider-Man tugged at the collar of his shirt, pulling it aside just enough to reveal the unmistakable red-and-blue fabric of his iconic suit beneath.

The younger Peter nodded approvingly. He then shrugged off his lab coat, revealing his own suit underneath.

As they prepared, Ned rolled his stool toward the bench, carefully handing a small case to their Peter. “Here’s your web cartridges,” he said, his tone casual but helpful.

“Oh, thanks, man.” Peter grabbed them with a grateful smile.

The older Peter tilted his head slightly, a look of genuine curiosity crossing his face. “What’s that for?”

Peter blinked, glancing down at the cartridges. “Uh, it’s my web fluid. For my web shooters. Why?”

Before anyone could react, the older Spider-Man raised his wrist and, with a soft thwip, a web shot out, striking a nearby faucet. The group collectively gasped, eyes wide as they stared at the web clinging to the metal.

“That came out of you!” Ned exclaimed, his tone a mix of amazement and disbelief.

Ingrid’s jaw dropped, her expression caught somewhere between amused and horrified. “What?” she finally managed to stammer, her voice higher than usual.

The older Peter merely shrugged, looking more amused than anything else. “Yeah. You can’t do that, huh?” he asked their Peter, his tone light but genuinely curious.

“No,” Peter replied flatly, staring at the web like it had just grown legs and started walking.

Ingrid, unable to resist her curiosity, reached out a tentative hand toward the older Spider-Man’s wrist. Her fingers hovered just shy of touching it, but she hesitated when his gaze shifted to her. His polite yet slightly strained smile made her retract her hand. Embarrassed, she placed her shaky hands back on the bench, feigning nonchalance.

“Anyway,” her Peter interjected, his voice firm as he broke through the lingering amusement. “We’re getting sidetracked. Look.” He turned his laptop toward the group, showing them a map. "This is where we're gonna do this, okay? It's isolated, so no one should get hurt. We draw them there with the box, it's the one thing they all want. All we have to do is figure out how we're gonna get there."

Ned’s eyes lit up with a spark of realization. “Oh! We can portal there.”

Peter turned to him, his brow furrowed. “What?”

“I’m magic now,” Ned announced proudly, his excitement bubbling over.

“Yeah, no, no,” MJ added with a quick nod. “He’s right. He can.”

“Yeah, he totally can,” the other two Peters chimed in, nodding in agreement. "Yeah. He is."

“He has the annoying Doctor Strange magic,” Ingrid interjected, her tone flat as she waved a hand dismissively. Then, glancing at Ned, she added, “No offense.”

Ned flashed her a broad smile. “None taken.”

Peter’s confusion only deepened. "What?"

"Yeah!" Ned adjusted his goggles, straightening his posture as his face grew serious. "And I promise you... I won't turn into a supervillain and try to kill you."

While their Peter stared, confused, the younger of the other Peters clapped Ned on the shoulder with a grin. "Okay... Thank... you?" While Peter and Ned exchanged a long, confused look, Ingrid crossed her arms and studied Ned’s overly cheerful expression with narrowed eyes. Something about his sudden confidence amused her.

Peter sighed, deciding to move past the bizarre turn the conversation had taken. “Alright. Here goes nothing.” He turned to Ingrid, his lips twitching upward in a small, hopeful smile. “Hey, what’s that thing you always say? If you expect disappointment…”

Ingrid’s expression hardened, and she quickly shook her head. The mere thought of failing made her stomach twist. “No. No, no, no. We’re not doing that right now. We’re gonna kick some ass.”

Peter chuckled softly at her determination. “Okay.”

“Cure,” the older Peter corrected, raising an eyebrow. “We’re going to cure some ass.”

Ned nodded, his enthusiasm unshaken. “Yeah. Cure that ass.”

.ೃ࿔*:･

The city below remained cloaked in shadows, with only the glittering lights of billboards and the glow of skyscrapers illuminating the streets. New York was never silent, even at this hour, but there was an unusual stillness in the air, a tension that matched the weight in Peter’s chest.

Standing atop a narrow ledge, Peter held his phone steady, its camera capturing his maskless face for all to see. The voice of J. Jonah Jameson crackled through the line, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Ladies and gentlemen... The Bugle tip line has just received a call from none other than the fugitive known as Spider-Man, fresh from his rampage in Queens. So, Peter Parker... What pernicious propaganda are you peddling?"

Peter hesitated for only a moment before replying, his voice steady despite the knot tightening in his stomach. “Just the truth.”

Jameson barked out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Oh, sure.”

Peter took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the phone in his hand as if grounding himself. “The truth is… this is all my fault. I accidentally brought those dangerous people here.”

The silence that followed his admission was deafening, broken only by Jameson’s triumphant outburst. “Well, he admits it!”

Peter’s jaw clenched, but he pushed forward, his determination outweighing the journalist’s taunts. “And if those people are watching…” He turned his eyes back to the camera, his expression one of earnest sincerity. “Just know that I really did try to help you.”

His other hand lifted into the frame, holding the artifact that had brought them all to this point. "I could've killed you. At any given moment, but I didn't. Because my Aunt May taught me that everyone deserves a second chance. And that's why I'm here."

Jameson’s scoff was audible, his disdain palpable even through the crackling line. “And where is here, exactly?”

Peter stepped to the side, revealing the iconic silhouette behind him: the Statue of Liberty, its familiar form surrounded by scaffolding as it awaited the completion of its remodel.

“A place that represents second chances,” Peter replied simply, his voice carrying an understated conviction.

Jameson practically exploded on the other end. “The Statue of Liberty? Good God, folks! He’s about to destroy another national landmark!”

Peter glanced up at the sky, where the first faint traces of dawn painted the horizon in softer hues. The light seemed to gather at the edges of the world, hesitant to chase away the night just yet. He pursed his lips, then looked back into the camera.

“The world,” he began, his voice quieter now, yet no less resolute. “If you’re watching…”

Jameson cut in again, his voice sharp and impatient. "Believe me, the world is watching."

Peter ignored him entirely, his gaze unwavering as he finished, “Wish me luck. Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man could really use some.”