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Peter Parker had had a terrible time in Gotham.
The last few months felt like a faded photograph, tinged with a strange sense of déjà vu. Flung into this universe with no warning, he'd managed to scrape by, though not without challenges. He’d found the library, the soup kitchen, and the fire station. He’d resorted to dumpster diving, cobbled together some gear and a makeshift identity, all while his super metabolism tore him apart. The starvation had triggered some sort of secondary mutation, leaving him more spidery in behavior and appearance, which unnerved the locals.
He’d made contact with the Bats—been mistaken for a jumper, even—and spent far too long dodging questions about his origins as an interdimensional refugee. Slowly but surely, he drifted closer to the heroes who called this city home. Finally, after reestablishing himself as Spider-Man and getting some semblance of stability, he sheepishly asked for help.
That was when everything started to shift.
The solution to his problem back home turned out to be surprisingly simple—at least from this side of the multiverse. Back in his own dimension, Doctor Strange had struggled to untangle the spell trapping Peter. It was, Zatanna had explained, like trying to shower while standing in a swimming pool. But here, in Gotham, Peter was the only version of himself. Metaphysically speaking, he was able to “dry off.”
The Justice League Dark performed a cleansing ritual, confidently declaring it safe for him to return.
The relief was staggering. For the first time in what felt like forever, Peter saw a path home.
Then the other shoe dropped.
No one could pinpoint his exact dimension of origin. The best anyone could determine was that it was very far from here. Batman, ever cautious, was adamant: no one was yeeting a teenager—magically or otherwise—out of this dimension without a clear destination.
The hero community took up the problem, which apparently meant everyone *talked* about it. Word eventually reached investigative reporter Lois Lane, who claimed she had a solution.
Now, they sat in the yard of Wayne Manor. Peter fidgeted as the tiny, sharp-eyed woman laid it all out for him.
“The problem is the solution,” she said. “You’re not just an interdimensional traveler. You’re an interdimensional traveler who’s met *other versions of yourself*. The probability of that happening is astronomically low—unless, for every version of you that exists, a statistically significant number of you also dimension-travel. The more you travel, the more you meet. The more you meet, the more you cooperate. And the more you cooperate, the more likely you are to keep doing so, across timelines and realities.”
Peter blinked. “So… what are you saying?”
“We don’t need to get you all the way home,” she explained. “We just need to get you close enough to make contact with the Peter Partnership—or whatever they call themselves. Once you’re in their network, they can get you the rest of the way.”
“You can do that?”
“Well, no,” Lois admitted, shrugging. “These kinds of single-person amalgamations are *really* rare, cosmically speaking. Your best bet is to hitch a ride with people who know people.”
As if on cue, a grinding sound filled the air, and an enormous spaceship materialized on the lawn.
Peter’s jaw dropped. Lois muttered, “Dramatic entrance, I swear,” before grinning wide, a spark of manic energy in her eyes.
“Peter Parker,” she said, gesturing grandly at the ship, “meet the League of Lanes.”