Parker Lab – Queens
The two-story building Stark had gifted Peter stood out like a monolith among the rows of suburban houses. Its tinted glass, reinforced concrete and discreet Stark-level security enhanced with Peter's ingenuity and lethal upgrades screamed "legit research hub" to anyone who passed by. But inside, it wasn't Stark's toys running the show it was Peter's workshop.
Banks of modified servers lined the walls, monitors flickering with concepts for things that people haven't thought of yet. Half-finished prototypes floated in suspension rigs, their metallic spines humming with stored power. The air buzzed with the quiet thrum of machines thinking faster than any human brain.
Hank Pym stood with arms crossed, squinting at the space like he'd walked into a teenager's fever dream of NASA and DARPA smashed together. Hope drifted behind him, her eyes taking in every detail with sharp curiosity.
"Alright." Hank muttered, "I'll admit it. This isn't a garage lab. This is a bunker with a part time job of being a lab."
Peter grinned. "Correction: this is my playground. Welcome to Parker Labs."
The Prison of Paperwork
Hope was the first to notice the glass chamber tucked into the far corner of the lab. Inside sat men and women in plain office clothes, each one surrounded by towers of paperwork. Their eyes hollow like the common corporate drones that clutter the streets of New York.
"Are those people...?" Hope asked.
Peter waved a hand dismissively. "Spies. Corporate. Government. Oscorp, Hammer Industries even some alphabet soup agencies. They joined as unpaid intern scientists hoping to snatch a few things. So, now they're stuck crunching numbers that don't exist."
"What are they doing?" Gwen asked, her voice caught between shock and amusement.
Peter smirked. "Perpetual AI-generated tax audits. Every time they finish one form, the system generates three more. Keeps their minds busy, stops them from snooping."
Hope blinked. "You turned espionage into paperwork hell."
"Better than killing them." Peter said with a shrug. "And honestly? It's funnier."
Hank muttered under his breath. "Kid's insane."
"Productive insane." Peter corrected.
Tony's Entrance
A burst of light flared as the main security door slid open. Tony Stark strolled in, sunglasses perched indoors, watch gleaming under LED lights.
"Wow," Tony quipped, surveying the lab. "So this is what happens when RadioShack and the multiverse have a lovechild. Parker, we need to talk—"
His words cut off as Hank turned, face hardening instantly.
"You!!!!"
Tony blinked. "Do I know you, grandpa?"
Hank's jaw clenched. "Howard's brat. The Stark arrogance even oozes out of your pores."
"Oh, great." Tony muttered. "Another guy who hated Dad. Join the club, it's got jackets."
Peter raised both hands like a referee about to separate boxers. "Gentlemen, please. No Stark-Pym deathmatch in my lab. You're both too useful to throw out."
Hank snorted. Tony rolled his eyes. But they stayed.
Peter led them to a holotable, flicking his wrist so blueprints spun in the air.
"Here's the deal. The glitches aren't random. They're pressure points. Think of the multiverse as a glass window. Someone's throwing stones. If we don't reinforce it, it shatters. Big time."
Tony whistled. "And you're proposing… duct tape?"
"No, duct tape will be a temporary fix. Dimensional stabilizers. Large-scale emitters to calm stressed zones across the city and smaller units for individuals caught between universes."
He held up a prototype: a slim, wristband with fractal engravings. "Wearable anchors. Keep people tethered to one reality."
[Image]
Hank squinted at it, then muttered: "Not bad. For a kid."
Tony rolled his eyes. "Please, it's missing half a failsafe loop."
"Because I haven't finished it, Stark."
"Then step aside and let the adults play."
Peter cut them both off, voice sharp. "Or, hear me out. You both stop measuring your egos and actually build this before the city melts into multiversal pixel soup."
Silence. Then, grudgingly, Hank and Tony leaned in together over the holotable.
Gwen and Hope – Sparring
While the geniuses argued, Gwen and Hope drifted to the training mat tucked into the far wing of the lab. Hope raised an eyebrow.
"So, Spider-Woman. I saw the footage and honestly Peter's fighting style is unhinged. You fight like him?"
Gwen smirked. "Wanna find out?"
Hope shed her jacket, stretching her arms. "Don't hold back."
The sparring began light jabs, sweeps, quick blocks. But Hope was sharper than Gwen expected, her movements honed from years of training in boarding school. Gwen dialed up her strength but then froze halfway through a strike.
Hope noticed. "You pulled it."
"I always pull it," Gwen admitted, stepping back. Her voice dropped, heavy. " I didn't pull punches before and Peter... Peter nearly died. His legs shattered and spine damaged. He couldn't walk for almost a year. That's why he built the Sandevistan. To take back what he lost. I won't risk that again."
Hope studied her, eyes softening. "Sounds like you're his anchor."
Gwen gave a sad smile. "Or his leash."
The Wrist Device
Back at the holotable, Peter was already soldering components into a compact wrist-mounted rig.
"This isn't just a stabilizer," He explained, tightening a circuit. " It's a dimensional navigation gauntlet. Controlled micro-rifts. Stable paths across universes. And—" He snapped the gauntlet onto his wrist, the device whirring to life with a colorful shimmer. "—a mender. It can stitch small tears of spacetime back together like it was never broken."
[Image]
The room went quiet. Even Tony, for once, had no joke ready.
Hank exhaled slowly. "If that works… it changes how we even view the fundamentals of the universe itself."
Peter's gaze hardened. "It has to. Because someone out there is already tearing holes for something unattainable. And if we don't fix it first, we won't have a world left to argue over."
The device pulsed, the shimmer stabilizing into a small, perfect circle of light hovering above Peter's hand. For a split second, the faint outline of another city bled through — neon towers under a fractured sky.
Then it snapped shut.
Gwen shivered. Hope stared. Hank muttered. Tony finally smirked.
"Well, kid," Tony said, "looks like you just put duct tape out of business."
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