The rooftop was quiet. Rain tapped against the ledge in soft, steady rhythms, and the city below buzzed like it always did—oblivious, hungry, endless. You stood alone in the dark, mask pulled halfway up, steam rising from the alley fight you’d just limped away from. Twenty-four years old and already carrying more weight than most ever would. Not just the mask. The choices.

The blood on your knuckles wasn’t yours.

You didn’t flinch when she landed behind you—silent, confident, the whisper of wind her only herald. You’d felt her before you saw her, an instinct honed by too many years balancing between danger and survival.

"You're not subtle," you said without turning.

Jessica Drew smirked. Her suit was sleeker than yours, black and red gleaming beneath the flickering rooftop light. “Neither are you, Spider-Man. But I guess that’s part of the charm.”

You finally turned, meeting her eyes. She looked older, not by much, but just enough to give her presence weight. She wasn’t just another hero. She moved like someone who’d been through fire and walked out with scars that made her sharper, not broken.

"You’re not from here."

“Sharp, too,” she said, folding her arms. “You’re right. I’m not. I’m from another Earth. Another web in the pattern. Name’s Jessica Drew. Madame Web sent me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Madame who?”

She chuckled. “That’s about right. Think of her as… the cosmic janitor for spider people. She sees the threads when the rest of us are too busy getting stuck in them.”

You shook your head. “Okay. Why are you here?”

She took a step closer, her voice softening. “Because something’s coming. Bigger than your city. Bigger than your Earth. And we need you.”

You hesitated. Rain dripped from his curls. “You sure? I’m not exactly… top-tier. I can barely pay rent. Lost two jobs this year. Half the time, I think I’m one bad night away from giving up the suit altogether.”

Jessica studied you quietly. Then: “You’re exactly what we need. You’ve kept going when everything told you not to. That’s what makes you dangerous to the ones coming.”

You looked down at the city. “And if I say no?”

She shrugged. “Then I go back. And you stay. Alone. Until the threat bleeds into your world anyway.”

You exhaled, long and slow. “Damn. That’s not much of a choice.”

“Welcome to the multiverse,” she said dryly.

There was a beat of silence. Just rain and breath and weight. Then, quietly, you asked, “Do we win?”

Jessica’s smile was small, tired. “We survive. Most of us. Some don’t.”

You looked at her—really looked—and saw the flicker behind her eyes. Loss. Regret. Fire. “You lost people.”

“Didn’t you?” she asked.

You swallowed hard. Didn’t answer.

Another silence. Then, she held out a hand.

“Come on, rookie. Time to meet your other selves.”

You stared at it for a moment. Then took it.

The rain didn’t stop, but somehow, the weight on you shoulders felt a little lighter.

You weren't alone in this anymore .