Location: The Loom
Time Remaining Until Multiversal Collapse: 58:12:47
Transit Begins
The team stepped into the portal.
No swirling wormhole. No dramatic flash.
Just quiet.
A flicker of light—
Then darkness.
Then—
Silk.
Not the person. Not Cindy Moon. But literal thread. Stretching infinitely in every direction. White as the first blank page. Vibrating with memory, story, choice.
They stood in an endless web—no center, no edge. Each strand pulsed with a life of its own.
Peter whispered: "We're inside the narrative source code."
Miguel: "Welcome to The Loom."
Deadpool: "Why do I taste typewriter ribbon and childhood trauma?"
Billy bleated. The strands echoed with versions of that bleat in French, Japanese, and 16-bit audio.
A World Without Time
They walked carefully across thread bridges suspended in void.
Beneath them? Nothing.
Above them? Also nothing.
Around them? Everything that ever mattered.
They passed glowing beads suspended on threads—moments preserved in time:
Peter catching Gwen… a second too late.
Miles lifting his father's badge.
Ben Reilly smiling on a rooftop before the fall.
Peter lingered at one.
The moment he held Uncle Ben's hand after the shooting.
But in this memory… Uncle Ben spoke.
"I forgive you."
Peter blinked.
Miguel pulled him forward.
"These aren't just echoes. They're reflections. Be careful. The Loom doesn't forget—but it reframes."
The Weaver Appears
They reached a massive spindle. Bigger than any building. Threads wound around it, constantly shifting, weaving, snapping, restarting.
And floating before it—
The Weaver.
Not a being. A shape of yarn, ink, and light. Its face was a mirrored mask. Its hands endless.
It didn't speak with a voice.
It spoke through panels—comic panels appearing midair like dialogue balloons made of thought.
[Panel 1: Spider-Man, hunched.]
"Why have you come?"
Peter stepped forward.
"I need to understand. Reboot Prime is locking down the multiverse. Deleting arcs. Making everything safe. Flat. Final."
[Panel 2: The Weaver looking away.]
"The web must change. Or it becomes threadbare."
Peter: "I'm not here to stop change. I'm here to stop the end of choice."
Deadpool: "Also, I'd love to rewrite my origin as 'immortal space wizard' if there's time."
The Weaver Tests Them
A pulse of web shot outward, striking each of them.
Suddenly, they weren't themselves.
Peter became a version of himself that never got powers. Just a normal guy. Working at a tech desk. Happy. Safe. Insignificant.
Deadpool found himself living in a peaceful sitcom. Laugh track. No blood. Just wacky shenanigans and a dog that talked like Owen Wilson.
Miguel saw a timeline where he never left 2099. Where he watched the multiverse burn from behind a glass dome and did nothing.
Each of them stood at the edge of surrender.
Then—
Peter walked away from the desk.
Deadpool blew up the laugh track.
Miguel punched the dome.
They returned to the Loom.
The Weaver watched. Silently.
[Panel 3: The web glowing.]
"Then you may proceed."
At the Heart of the Web
The core of the Loom wasn't a thing.
It was a thread.
One thread.
Running through every Peter Parker across every world.
It vibrated like a voice, a warning, a song.
Peter touched it.
And suddenly—
He saw all of them.
All the Peters.
The one who married MJ and grew old.
The one who became Venom.
The one who became a villain.
The one who stayed young forever.
The one who never existed.
They spoke in unison.
"You are the thread that won't snap. You are the story that keeps getting rewritten. Because you matter."
Peter fell to his knees.
Deadpool tried to help him up—but the thread wrapped around Peter.
Lifted him.
Empowered him.
Reconnected him to the forgotten.
The Loom Reacts
Suddenly, alarms pulsed across the Loom.
Not sounds.
But glitches.
Panels shattering midair.
Timelines stuttering.
Reboot Prime had found them.
A thundercrack of retcon energy split the spindle.
And out stepped Reboot Prime.
A featureless figure of white reboot energy.
No logo.
No eyes.
Just clean design.
His voice: default narrator tone.
"You are obsolete. Clutter. You slow the story."
Peter: "You don't understand what a story is."
Reboot raised a hand.
The Loom began to unwind.
Final Stand at the Spindle
Miguel, Billy, Deadpool, and Peter fought through collapsing continuity.
Deadpool lobbed copyright-safe grenades.
Miguel sliced through reboot drones.
Billy literally ate a plot hole.
Peter wrapped Reboot Prime in raw thread.
But Prime was unphased.
"You cannot stop what is inevitable. Audiences want control. Simplicity. Finality."
Peter: "No. They want meaning. Struggle. The chance to see someone try."
The Core Thread pulsed.
Peter merged with it.
His suit changed—glowing, shifting, made from story-fibers.
A voice whispered in his mind: "This is the Spider-Verse's last hope."
He faced Reboot Prime.
"I am every Peter Parker. Every loss. Every swing. Every restart.
And I am not done yet."
Threadstrike
Peter launched a Threadstrike—a blast of narrative truth directly from the core.
Reboot Prime cracked.
Not destroyed.
But overwritten.
His form took shape…
Into a confused Peter clone.
Scared. Isolated. Forgotten.
Peter whispered, "You were never the villain. Just lost in the noise."
He took the clone's hand.
The web rewove itself.
The Loom stabilized.
The Weaver nodded.
[Panel 4: Peter smiling.]
"You remembered what it means to be Spider-Man."
Departure from the Loom
Time began again.
The team stood on the edge of the restored web.
Miguel: "Reboot Prime is neutralized. But the collapse is still set in motion. We need to hit the reset from the outside."
Peter: "Then there's one last place we need to go."
Deadpool: "Please say it's not the Office of Canon Integrity again. They make you wear pants."
Peter: "No."
He looked up.
At a strand glowing gold.
Labeled:
"Earth-616."
Peter: "It's time to go home."