Imagine: It’s some time after the Mysterio-Daily-Bugle incident.
Middle of Times Square. People milling around, yet holding back. Holding gasps. A new villain has Spidey cornered. Pins him down and reaches for his mask. “Let us see. Is Spider-Man’s name Peter Parker?”
Then – “Hey!” – Ned stands to the side. Pulls off his own spandex mask. “Spider-Man’s name is Ned Leeds.”
Peter sputters. The villain was taken aback at first; now he just laughs. “Then you will die too, Ned Leeds.”
“What are you talking about?” Behind him, MJ steps out from the crowd. She’s wearing a costume too. “Spider-Woman’s name is Michelle Jones.”
“FLASH THOMPSON!” A little flashy, but it makes the villain turn around yet again. “… is Spider-Man,” he finishes with a flourish.
“I’m Cindy Moon, and I am Spider-Man.”
More voices. More Spider-people, in everything from merch to cosplay suits to – in Flash’s case – a color-coordinated tuxedo with a cape. The villain isn’t laughing anymore.
More names called out. “I am Spider-Man.” A growing chorus. “We are Spider-Man.”
“Harley Keener–” and the villain is blasted onto his back. The first Spider-Man he had trapped under him stumbles into the crowd.
“Happy Hogan!” No costume for this one, just a limo that takes out all the villain’s lackeys who had started to train their guns on the kids.
Repulsors from above. “Tony Stark. You messed with the wrong city.” The shouts grow in earnest now. The villain gets up.
A tiny voice. “Miles Morales.”
A kid. A little kid in a metal Iron Spider mask. He slowly makes a webshooter motion with one hand, and points it at the villain. The villain points back with a gun.
One Spider-Man jumps behind the smaller one. Shoots the villain’s gun with a web – a real one. The second shot goes straight to the villain’s face.
“And Peter Parker!” Spider-Man whoops. The kid stares up at him.
Around them, the fight still rages, but they are winning. Above them, Iron Man and War Machine shield civilians from the heavy stuff. Inside them, the same mantra. “We are Spider-Man.”
Peter grins, and he can’t see it through the mask, but he feels pretty sure Miles Morales grinned too. A memory – Stark Expo – nudges at him. Peter nods once before swinging back into the fray.
Behind him, a phrase thrown over his shoulder. One that had stuck with Peter for years. And would maybe – maybe – stick with this one. “Nice work, kid.”
He swings over the crowd, and the cheers grow. Peter beams down at his people. “Nice work, Spider-Man.”
