It all started—like most things—with Miguel’s deep, drawn-out sigh. Shoulders stiff, brow furrowed, arms crossed tightly across his chest as he stood at the head of the briefing room.
“The multiverse isn’t a game,” he began, his voice low, controlled, but already laced with irritation. “There are stakes. Real ones.”
From behind him, Lyla blinked into view, hologram flickering with a smirk and her usual sass. “Aww, is this your way of saying you care?”
Miguel didn’t answer. He just scowled deeper.
Across the room, Gwen, Miles, Hobie, Margo, and Pavitr shared a quick exchange of glances—half amused, half pleading. Miles leaned forward with wide, hopeful eyes; Gwen tilted her head and flashed a half-grin. Pavitr clutched his hands together like he was about to beg. Even Hobie tossed in an exaggerated pout for dramatic effect.
“Absolutely not,” Miguel muttered.
“C’mon, man,” Peter B. Parker chimed in with a shrug, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, Mayday dangling from his chest in a baby sling. “A little team bonding never hurt anyone. It’s just a weekend. Fresh air. Nature. No collapsing timelines.”
Jessica glanced over from her spot by the door, one hand on her hip, the other gently resting on her pregnant belly. A slow smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “They could use a break.”
Miguel’s eye twitched.
“Fine,” he finally grumbled.
The next morning:
A dusty rental van sat outside the Spider Society HQ, the side door open and bags being loaded in. Miguel was behind the wheel—hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, sunglasses on, jaw set like stone. Jessica sat in the front passenger seat, calm and composed, tapping a finger rhythmically against the window.
Peter sprawled in the back with the teens, legs stretched out, Mayday now chewing on one of his glove fingers.
“You think there’s gonna be bears?” Miles asked with a grin, leaning sideways to peek out the window.
Hobie smirked and reached up to adjust his patched-up vest. “Hope so. I brought my boots.”
Margo rolled her eyes, holographic interface flickering over her sunglasses. “We’re not sleeping in the dirt, Miles. Miguel said it’s a cabin. Four walls. Running water.”
“Boring,” Pavitr mumbled, arms folded, his head tilted dramatically against the seat.
“You’d cry in a tent,” Gwen laughed, shoving him lightly with her elbow. “Don’t even lie.”
“I would not!” he protested—but the grin on his face gave him away.
When they finally pulled up, the cabin was surrounded by tall trees and crisp mountain air. Not too remote, but far enough from city life to feel like another world. There were enough rooms to split—teens in one, adults in another.
As everyone unbuckled and stretched, Jessica turned slightly in her seat, peering into the rearview mirror.
“Gwen, want help with your bags?” she asked warmly, already halfway unclicking her seatbelt.
“Uhh.. Yeah.” Gwen nodded, before playfully shoving Margo.
Behind them, Miguel was already out of the van, moving with military precision. He slung a large black duffel over his shoulder, grabbed bug spray, med kits, mosquito netting—every possible necessity packed and accounted for. He didn’t say a word. Just moved.
Peter, on the other hand, was already in full “cool uncle” mode, bouncing a now-giggling Mayday as he addressed the teens.
“If we do see a bear—me and you guys?” he flexed dramatically, muscles barely moving. “We throw hands.”
Mayday squealed like she agreed.
Jessica stepped out, scoffing gently as she grabbed a few more bags. “Miguel’s handling it.”
“He brought a gun,” Peter whispered like it was a juicy secret.
Jessica didn't even look at him. “A taser.”
“A big taser.” Peter mumbled.