Chapter Text
Smallville
BGM: Johnny Cash - Hurt Instrumental
The sky over Smallville refused to brighten.
Low, heavy clouds smothered the sun like a thick blanket, turning the horizon into a smear of gray that bled into the distant wheat fields. The Kent farm—once a place of warm breakfasts, gentle laughter, and soft morning music—sat in a silence so complete it felt invasive. No birdsong. No rustle of the wind across the barn roof. Just stillness.
Inside, Kara lay on her bed, elbows slack, hands limp, gaze pinned to the blemish on the ceiling she had memorized a hundred times. Her blonde hair lay tangled around her face, her eyes glassy and reddened from nights that never quite became sleep. The air smelled faintly of spilled beer and stale whiskey; the bottles crowding the floor were condemned evidence of a habit she didn't like, didn't want, but still reached for, even if she couldn't feel the effects.
Today is her birthday.
Twenty-one years old. A milestone. A celebration.
What a joke.
Kara's throat tightened as she slowly pushed herself upright. The house creaked faintly—an old familiar sound—but instead of bringing her comfort, it pressed on her ribs like a weight. She turned to her nightstand, and there they were: framed smiles. Jon and Martha Kent. Jeremiah and Eliza Danvers. Alex. And Clark.
She traced the edges of the frames with her eyes, not her hands. Touching them always hurt worse.
They all died within a year of each other—different circumstances, different days, but the same hollowing aftermath. Kara had always imagined that losing Krypton was the great tragedy of her life. That waking up on Earth, alone, displaced by a hundred light-years and decades of frozen sleep, was the worst pain she'd ever endure.
She had been wrong.
Losing her new family—the ones who had fed her, housed her, taught her how to be a good person—was its own kind of extinction event. But Clark… Clark had been the last tether to something familiar, the last reminder that she wasn't truly alone in the universe.
The last time she wore the S-shield, she could still smell the smoke in the air, still hear the sonic booms of the Justice League scrambling to contain the threat that took him from her. She still remembers his heartbeat dimming until it wasn't there at all.
Kara shut her eyes, exhaled through her nose, and swallowed the burn rising in her throat.
Then a soft thump broke the silence.
Krypto. His claws clicked against the wood floor, his posture low and ears perked as he padded toward the bed with cautious loyalty. When he jumped up beside her, the mattress barely dipped under his weight—he matched her strength after all, at least enough that it never strained.
He nose-bumped her stomach once. Then settled his head in her lap, eyes huge and impossibly understanding.
Kara stared at him for a long moment, her jaw trembling before she managed to reach out and stroke behind his ear. "Thanks," she murmured, voice raw and rasped, "for always being here."
Krypto's tail thumped once before he leaned up to lick her cheek. She flinched, startled, then actually—barely—smiled. A small, fleeting thing that felt foreign on her face. She scratched behind his ear once more, then gently nudged him off the bed. "Go on," she said quietly. "I need to get up."
The house felt colder when her bare feet hit the floor.
She nudged aside a bottle with her toe, wincing at the clink of glass. In the kitchen, she threw Krypto a couple of treats and watched him demolish them with single-minded enthusiasm. She envied him that simplicity. That unbroken trust in the world.
She opened the pantry, grabbed cereal, and reached for a bowl when her hearing flicked—sharp and instinctive—toward the front yard. Footsteps. Slow, cautious, trying not to crunch gravel too loudly. A human heartbeat. A woman. Slight tension in the breath—anticipation? Worry?
Then: knock knock.
Kara froze. Krypto's ears perked, head tilted.
"Stay," Kara ordered softly. He obeyed, though his tail wagged once in curiosity.
She walked to the door, shoulders stiff and jaw tight, and pulled it open just wide enough to see who it was.
Red hair. Cowl. Cape. But no posture of a vigilante. No intimidating stance.
Batgirl.
Except in that moment, absolutely not Batgirl. Just Barbara with tired eyes and a practiced smile.
"What are you doing here?" Kara asked, voice flat enough to be monotone.
Barbara hesitated, her expression straining somewhere between warmth and heartbreak. "I'm here," she said gently, "to celebrate my best friend's birthday."
The word best landed heavy. Kara looked up at her blankly, letting the silence sit so long Barbara shifted awkwardly in place. Finally Kara muttered, "There's nothing to celebrate."
Barbara's smile faltered—not fading entirely, but losing its buoyancy. She blew out a small breath, searching for footing in a conversation that had no easy ground.
"Kara… I'm worried about you."
The Kryptonian shook her head almost immediately. "Don't be. I'm fine."
The lie felt thick on her tongue. Barbara didn't call her out on it—but her eyes did.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Barbara fidgeted with the edge of her glove, frustration knitting her brows before something—an idea—seemed to spark. Her shoulders straightened. She forced a small, hopeful grin.
"Come with me."
Kara blinked. "Why?"
"You'll see," Barbara replied, waving off the question. "But first, put on your suit."
A low groan escaped Kara before she could stop it. The idea of slipping into the Supergirl persona—of wearing the symbol that now felt like a gravestone—twisted her stomach.
"No," Kara breathed. "I'm not putting that on. I'll go with you, but I'm not wearing the suit again. Ever."
Barbara absorbed that quietly. She didn't argue, didn't push—not because she agreed, but because she knew pushing harder would break the fragile yes she'd gotten.
She nodded instead. "Okay."
Kara turned and whistled sharp enough to cut air. Krypto bounded over and skidded to a clumsy stop beside her leg, spotting Barbara instantly. His tail wagged so violently his entire backside swayed. He barked once—excited and curious—then sprinted toward Barbara.
She crouched down on instinct, laughing softly as she ruffled his fur. "Hey, buddy. You're still a good boy—maybe the best boy."
Krypto puffed proudly and leaned into her hand.
When Barbara finally stood again, she motioned toward the driveway. "Come on. Before I lose my nerve."
Kara hesitated—one last look into the quiet, dim farmhouse, the ghosts lingering in every corner—before she exhaled and stepped out into the gray morning.
Krypto trotted after them, staying close enough that his tail brushed Kara's leg with every few steps.
Shadowcrest
One moment, the gravel road outside the Kent farm stretched under a dreary sky, and the next, the three of them stood at the edges of Shadowcrest—a vast estate warped by old magic and older secrets. The mansion's silhouette flickered against the clouds like a candle caught in wind, part real, part illusion.
Kara blinked several times, her brows knitting as she stared at the distorted architecture. Her voice came out tired and flat:
"Of all the places we could go… why here?"
Barbara lifted her shoulders in a half-shrug, half-smile. "Because Zatanna can help you."
Kara groaned—an exhausted, disbelieving sound. "How could Zatanna possibly help me?"
Barbara scratched her own cheek with a gloved finger, trying to look confident and failing. "I don't exactly know… But I'm hoping she can do some magic stuff that makes your life better."
Kara stared at Barbara, stunned into silence. After a long five seconds of blinking at her friend, she shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "So, there's no plan. Just… vibes and blind optimism."
"All the best ideas start like that," Barbara replied weakly.
Before Kara could respond, footsteps approached—soft but sure, heels tapping across cobblestone without a rush. The front doors swung wider, and Zatanna appeared, dressed in her usual blend of stage performer and sorceress, her dark hair falling elegantly over her shoulders.
"Well," she said with a hint of amused surprise, "I wasn't expecting friends to drop by today."
Her gaze found Kara, and something in her tone gentled. "How have you been?"
Kara paused, her mouth working before settling on the safest lie. "Fine."
Zatanna didn't call her out. The look she gave—sad, knowing—said she didn't need to.
Krypto trotted forward, sniffed her leg once, then sat politely. Zatanna knelt just enough to pet him, murmuring, "Good boy," while his tail thumped approval.
Barbara cleared her throat, breaking the delicate quiet. "So—um—Zee, I was hoping you could help Kara. Maybe with… a spell? Or something that'll make her life better?"
Zatanna blinked. Then blinked again.
"That's… a very large request," she said carefully. She looked off to the side, weighing her words. "Magic like that could be dangerous to cast."
Barbara stepped forward, hands clenched by her sides. "Please. She needs help. And if anybody can give her even a chance, it's you."
Zatanna looked back at her, then at Kara—really looked. At the posture that slouched under invisible weight, the eyes dulled by grief, the spark that used to be there replaced by empty quiet.
Something in Zatanna's expression shifted—worry, sympathy, and reluctant resolve. She exhaled softly.
"…Fine. Come inside."
Barbara shot Kara a small, hopeful glance. Kara didn't return it—she just followed, Krypto close to her heel as they crossed the threshold.
Inside Shadowcrest
BGM: Robert J. Kral - Orchid and the House of Mystery
Shadowcrest's hallways bent space in odd ways—portraits tracked their passing, books whispered along shelves, and the air smelled of incense and old paper. Zatanna led them with practiced ease, black heels tapping steadily against aged floors.
As they walked, Kara frowned. "If magic could help me, why didn't you just take me to Doctor Fate?"
Barbara piped in with half-playful honesty: "Because I had a better chance of convincing Zatanna than I did convincing Doctor Fate. He'd say no before I even finished the first sentence."
Zatanna shook her head, smirking despite herself. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"
Barbara grinned. "I get that a lot."
Down spiraling stairs and through doors that weren't there a moment earlier, they finally reached one chamber lit by hovering lanterns—The Mysterious Room. Spell circles were engraved across the floor, star charts lining the ceiling.
Zatanna crossed the room, retrieving a slender wand from a velvet case. She turned to Kara.
"Come closer."
Kara inhaled slowly, steadying herself, and stepped forward. Krypto sat, ears perked. Barbara moved back, watching without blinking.
Zatanna lifted her wand and closed her eyes, whispering under her breath as symbols on the floor faintly glowed. "Stay still. We need this to work the first time."
Kara nodded. After a beat, curiosity leaked into her voice. "What's the spell supposed to do?"
BGM: Danny Elfman - Hulk 2003 Theme
Zatanna opened her mouth to reply…
But then, she froze.
Her eyes went wide. A choked gasp escaped her as she dropped to her knees, bracing one hand on the floor. The magic lights flickered violently.
"Zee?!" Barbara yelped.
Kara rushed forward, kneeling beside her. "Zatanna, what's wrong?"
Zatanna winced, breath raspy as she forced out, "There's… another presence. Something darker."
The room trembled. Not just the room—Shadowcrest itself groaned, rattling like the world had been grabbed and shaken. Krypto barked sharply, hackles raised.
Barbara's comm unit crackled to life through bursts of static. "Batgirl! Come in, Batgirl!"
Barbara fumbled for the radio. "I'm here! Batman, what's the situation?"
Static roared, drowning bits of his voice—but two words cut through clearly:
"Luthor is—!"
The line snapped dead.
"Batman? Batman! Come on!" Barbara smacked the comm, panic rising. No reply.
Then reality broke.
The ceiling tore open—not shattering, not collapsing—ripping, like fabric under too much strain. Violent winds surged downward, yanking books, lanterns, and loose papers into a chaotic spiral.
Outside, the sky wasn't sky anymore—but streaks of jagged light, as if someone had slashed open dimensions with a blade. Thunder cracked without sound. Gravity stalled and surged like it couldn't make up its mind.
Kara grabbed onto a support pillar. Barbara latched onto a bolted desk. Zatanna clung to the edge of a spell circle. Krypto dug his claws into the floor, desperate.
"Hold on!" Kara shouted over the roaring wind.
"I'm trying!" Barbara shouted back—but her gloves slipped on polished wood. Her grip loosened, inch by inch.
"Barbara!" Kara started to move, but the wind jerked her back.
Barbara's fingers finally tore free. Her eyes shot wide as she was pulled upward—toward the slicing sky above.
"KARA!" she screamed.
Kara's heart lurched. "BARBARA!"
But Barbara was gone—sucked into the fractured sky like dust into a vacuum.
"No no no no—!" Kara sprang up just as Zatanna lost her grip too—the sorceress looked at Kara with terrified eyes just before she was swallowed by the anomaly, disappearing into impossible light.
Krypto's claws skittered against the floor as the pull intensified. He whimpered, trying again to anchor himself—but it was too strong.
"Krypto!" Kara lunged, arm outstretched, reaching—just short.
For a single heartbeat, her fingertips nearly brushed his paw.
Then the wind roared harder.
Krypto lost contact with the ground. His body lifted, twisting helplessly toward the tear in the sky.
"NO!" Kara screamed, voice cracking. "KRYPTO!"
He disappeared in a flash of blinding white.
FLASH!
Colors detonated across the world—violets, greens, blues, reds—swirling into a kaleidoscope of chaos that swallowed the room, the mansion, the planet.
And then…
BOOM!
There was nothing.
No wind. No color. No sound. No Kara.
Just an abrupt, eerie stillness.
Queens
BGM: Spider-Man 2 - Peter's Turmoil
The Forest Hills neighborhood had always woken up slow—garbage trucks rattling by at dawn, distant dogs barking, early risers jogging past hedges and brick driveways. Today was no different. The sky was clear, the breeze mild, and the world carried on unaware that another universe existed at all.
Inside the small, cozy Parker residence, the kitchen smelled faintly of herbal tea and honey. Peter sat across from Aunt May at the round wooden table, both holding warm cups between their palms.
Aunt May lifted hers, took a delicate sip, then smiled across at him. "I always appreciate you coming to visit, Peter."
Peter returned the smile—soft, fond, just a little sheepish. "After everything you've done for me, visiting is the least I can do." Then he chuckled lightly. "I just wish I could visit more. But between college, the Bugle, and… y'know… everything else,"—he didn't have to say Spider-Man aloud—"I get a little swamped."
Aunt May nodded knowingly. "I understand. Truly, I do." She hesitated, eyes softening with something deeper. "But… I still worry about you. Every time you put that suit on."
Peter's smile faded into something more solemn. He bowed his head slightly, took a sip of tea, and set the cup down. "I know. And I'm sorry. But I'll be fine. I promise."
Aunt May raised an eyebrow. "You better keep that promise." Then her voice became thick with sincerity. "But regardless of my worries, I'm so proud of you, Peter. And I know Ben would be proud too."
The sentence hit Peter like a warm ache. He breathed in slowly, letting it sit with him. "I'm the person I am because of you and Uncle Ben. I can't just turn my back on someone who needs help."
BGM Ends
Aunt May nodded, touched—and about to reply—when Peter froze.
His eyes narrowed. His posture straightened. The change was instant.
SPIDER-SENSE TINGLING!
Aunt May noticed immediately. "Peter? What's wrong?"
"I—" He paused, listening to something she couldn't hear. "Not sure yet, but—"
A deafening BOOM thundered from the backyard, rattling the plates in the cabinets. Both Peter and Aunt May jolted to their feet.
"What was that?!" Aunt May exclaimed.
Peter was already moving. Focus sharpened, body alert. "I'm going to check."
"I'm coming too," Aunt May said firmly.
Peter turned, alarm flickering across his face. "Aunt May, I don't think that's a good—"
"It's my backyard, Peter Parker. I'd like to know what just happened to it."
Peter sighed, shoulders deflating. He knew that tone—there was no winning against it. "…Fine. But if you're coming, you stay behind me."
"Deal."
They unlocked the sliding door and stepped outside—and froze.
A crater had consumed the middle of the backyard, soil and torn grass scattered everywhere. Smoke drifted up from the impact. And at the center of it lay a blonde woman, unconscious.
Both Peter and Aunt May stared, speechless.
After several stunned seconds, Peter exhaled shakily. "Okay… I'm going down."
He slid carefully into the crater, shoes crunching over loose dirt. He approached slowly, hands open, senses on high alert. She didn't move until he crouched beside her.
Her face twitched. A faint groan escaped her. Then her eyes fluttered open—blue and unfocused—locking onto Peter.
"Are you okay, miss?" Peter asked gently, tone non-threatening. It was the voice of someone who had spent a lifetime trying not to scare people. "You kinda made an entrance."
She blinked, dazed. "I… think so." Her voice was faint, disoriented, like someone waking from a heavy dream.
Then memory slammed back into her.
She sat up—fast. Too fast for any normal human. Peter recoiled a fraction, startled by the speed.
"Whoa—easy," he tried.
But she was already looking around wildly. "Where am I?"
"Queens," Peter answered, confused. "Forest Hills, to be exact."
The name meant nothing to her—not in the way she needed. She swallowed hard… then shot straight up into the sky.
Peter's jaw fell slack. Aunt May gasped.
Up above the neighborhood, the woman hovered—looking out over rows of houses, trees, and distant skyscrapers. Her voice cracked across the sky:
"KRYPTO! BARBARA! ZATANNA! WHERE ARE YOU GUYS?!"
Silence answered her.
She called the names again—louder, more desperate.
Still nothing.
Slowly, shakily, she drifted back down into the crater. Her feet touched dirt. And then her knees did. She folded forward as the truth settled in like lead.
Her voice wavered—just once—before breaking entirely. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Then the sobs came, raw and unrestrained, like a dam bursting after holding too much.
Peter blinked, stunned and unsure. Aunt May watched from the edge of the crater, pressed hand over her heart.
Peter swallowed. He couldn't begin to understand what just happened—but he understood pain. He always had.
So he moved closer. Quiet. No sudden motions. He crouched in front of her and opened his arms slightly—not grabbing, not forcing—just offering.
She looked at him, eyes red and lost.
Then she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. Hard. Desperate. Her face buried in his shoulder as the tears kept coming.
Peter hugged back, steadying her. No words. Just presence.
After a long moment, the embrace loosened. Aunt May made her way down the slope carefully, shoes slipping slightly. She stopped just beside them, voice soft and warm.
"What's your name, dear?"
The blonde woman sniffed, wiping at her face. She hesitated—just long enough to weigh whether she trusted them. She looked from Aunt May… to Peter… and back again.
"…Kara," she said quietly.
Aunt May smiled, gentle and genuine. "That's a lovely name."
Kara blinked, disarmed by sincerity. "…Thank you."
Peter stood and offered his hand. "I'm Peter."
Kara looked at the hand, then at him, and slowly took it—letting him help her up. "Nice to meet you," she murmured.
"And I'm May," Aunt May added warmly.
They exchanged small nods—awkward but human.
Aunt May tilted her head. "Are you hungry, Kara? I can make you something to eat."
Kara stared—surprised. "You'd… cook for me? Even though you don't know me?"
"Of course," Aunt May replied. "I've always been able to tell when someone needs help."
Peter added, grinning just a little, "Even if that someone made a crater in our backyard."
Kara flushed with embarrassment, looking down. "I—I'm so sorry about that."
Aunt May chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh hush. I'll make chicken soup."
Peter brightened. "You're in for a treat, Kara. Aunt May's chicken soup could give Michelin chefs a run for their money."
Kara managed a tiny, fragile smile. "I'm… looking forward to it."
Sometime Later…
BGM: Sonic Mega Collection - History
Kara sat at the table with her hands lightly curled around the empty bowl, the faint smell of chicken broth and herbs lingering in the air. For someone who had spent a long time steeling herself against the world, the quiet clatter of spoons and the soft hum of Aunt May's kitchen felt almost unreal. Comforting. Safe. It startled her a little.
When she finally exhaled, it came out as a small, shaky breath. She looked up at Aunt May with a tiny, grateful smile. "Um… thank you. The soup was amazing."
Aunt May's answering smile was warm and patient. "I appreciate that, dear."
Then silence settled in—not awkward, but expectant, like the room itself knew where the moment was headed.
Peter cleared his throat carefully, elbows on the table. "So, uh… this might sound weird, but… what exactly caused the whole crash-landing-into-the-backyard thing?"
Kara's eyes widened a fraction. She looked down, thumb brushing along the rim of her bowl. Peter and Aunt May both waited—not pushing, not prying, just waiting. That helped.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she murmured.
Peter tilted his head, a tiny grin tugging at his mouth. "You'd be surprised. We've seen some pretty crazy stuff around here."
Aunt May gave a quiet chuckle. "I can vouch for that."
Kara lifted her gaze again. Her expression was still unsure, but something in their faces—honest concern, not fear or suspicion—made her reluctant walls shift just enough. She inhaled slowly.
"Okay. So… I don't think I'm from here. And I don't just mean New York."
That got both Parker's attention. Curiosity flared—but they didn't interrupt.
"If I'm right," she continued, "then… I think I got sent to another universe."
She paused. Even speaking the words out loud felt unreal. But once she started, the rest spilled out in careful, quiet pieces:
"Back in my universe, things were… not great. I lost a lot of people I cared about. I was… planning to just get through my birthday with my dog, Krypto, and deal with it. But my friend Barbara showed up. She didn't want me spending it alone."
Her eyes softened at the memory of Barbara's stubborn concern.
"She took me to see a sorceress—Zatanna. Barbara thought Zatanna could do some kind of spell that… might help. But in the middle of it, everything just—" she motioned vaguely, fingertips trembling, "—tore open. Like the world was getting sucked inside-out. Krypto, Barbara, Zatanna… they were pulled into the sky. There were flashes of light everywhere, and the next thing I remember… I hit your backyard."
Her voice dimmed at the end, lower and heavier.
Peter and Aunt May froze. Multiverse shenanigans weren't exactly new to them, but hearing the story framed through someone who lived it? Who lost people during it? That landed differently.
"I'm really sorry," Peter said quietly, sincerity settling into every word.
Aunt May reached over and placed a gentle hand on Kara's shoulder. "No one deserves to go through all that. And certainly not on their birthday."
Kara nodded once as if afraid anything more might crack her composure. She swallowed hard, then glanced between the two of them.
"Thanks. For… listening. And for being kind."
They both smiled—small, but real.
Then came a silent exchange between nephew and aunt: something unspoken, something practical. Kara picked up on it instantly.
Aunt May smoothed her shirt and stood. "Kara, sweetheart, would you mind giving Peter and me a moment?"
Kara nodded. "Sure."
After that, the Parkers would go into the living room, and Aunt May would ask Peter, "So… do you know anyone who can help with interdimensional travel?"
Peter rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling. "Technically? Yeah. But they're all… kinda unavailable at the moment." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Fantastic Four? Off planet. Doctor Strange? Nowhere to be found. Tony? Doing something super top-secret with the Avengers."
Aunt May sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Terrible timing for all of them to be busy."
Peter nodded silently. For a moment, they didn't speak—just shared the same helpless thought: how do you help someone who fell out of another universe?
Then Peter's expression shifted. A spark. A tiny idea. "Okay. Maybe we can't fix everything right this second… but maybe there's another way to help right now."
Aunt May tilted her head. "What do you have in mind?"
Peter grinned—but coyly. "You'll see. Just follow my lead."
They returned to the kitchen. Kara looked up at them, shoulders tense like she was bracing for something serious.
Peter cleared his throat dramatically. "Alright, random question: what's your favorite cake?"
Kara blinked. Twice. "My… favorite cake?"
"Yep," Peter replied.
Kara paused. "Uh… chocolate cake. Peanut butter frosting. And chocolate chunks."
As soon as the last word left her mouth, realization hit her eyes like lightning. "Oh no—no. I know what you're thinking. And thank you, really, but it's not necessary—"
Peter scoffed, waving her off. "Kara. It is literally your birthday. You have to have cake. Pretty sure it's federal law."
Aunt May raised a hand. "He's right, dear. And besides, we'd be glad to make it."
Kara's resistance faltered—but only slightly—until Aunt May added with a smirk:
"Although I usually keep Peter far away from the kitchen. Things have a tendency to explode."
Peter blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've improved! A little. Kind of."
Aunt May chuckled, and Kara's lips twitched in what might've been the start of a smile.
Peter leaned forward, easing up on the jokes and softening his tone. "Look, you've had a rough day. And a rough… everything. Let us do this one good thing for you. Please?"
Kara didn't answer immediately. But looking at both of them—the sincerity in Peter's eyes, the warmth in Aunt May's—it became harder and harder to deny that part of her that wanted to feel seen.
Finally, she sighed. "Fine. If you really want to make me a birthday cake… then you can."
Peter fist-pumped the air like he just won a game. Aunt May clapped her hands together cheerfully.
Then May turned to Peter with a glint of amusement. "Well, if we're baking, we'll need ingredients."
Peter caught the cue instantly. "Yep. I'm on it." He headed for the door. "Won't be long!"
The moment he stepped outside and was far enough down the block, he checked both ends of the street. The coast was clear.
Web-shooters on. Mask down. Red and blue suit on.
Then…
THWIP!
Spider-Man shot upward into the New York skyline, swinging toward the nearest grocery store at high speed, because if he was going to make a universe-displaced alien girl's birthday feel even slightly normal…
…then there was no time to waste.
Moments Later…
BGM: Spider-Man: Homecoming - Academic Decommitment
New York blurred beneath Spider-Man as he swung over traffic, the wind rushing at his mask. Streetlights and headlights streaked against the sunny backdrop, and he kept his eyes on the path ahead—destination: grocery store, mission: birthday-cake ingredients.
He dipped lower, arcing close to the busy sidewalks. Kids spotted him first—wide-eyed and electrified.
"SPIDER-MAN!"
Spider-Man grinned beneath the mask and extended a gloved hand as he flew past. "Hey guys! What's up?"
High-fives connected one after another—tiny hands meeting red web-pattern fabric—sparking laughter and a chorus of excited squeals. Without breaking rhythm, Spidey tucked into a flip, landed lightly on a crosswalk, and casually continued forward like it was the most normal thing in the world.
He pushed open the door of a small corner grocery, the bell chiming overhead. Before he could take a step, a voice boomed from behind the counter:
"Well, look who decided to drop in!"
Spider-Man turned—and chuckled. "Hey, Stan."
Stan Lee, store apron and all, marched over with a grin big enough to brighten the whole shop. The two shared a warm hug, a familiar greeting between old friends.
"Can I help you find anything today?" Stan asked, hands on his hips in dramatic salesman mode.
"Nah, I know my way around. But thanks, old-timer." Spidey replied with friendly cheek.
Stan wagged a finger. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me!"
Spider-Man shot him a thumbs-up before heading down the baking aisle.
Shopping was quick, but not exactly subtle—every so often a shopper would whisper his name, or a teenager would nervously ask for a photo. Spider-Man didn't mind. He always paused, posed, offered a quick joke, then moved on. Friendly neighborhood superhero rules.
Soon enough, his arms were full of chocolate, peanut butter, flour, sugar, and frosting essentials. He paid (like a responsible adult), waved goodbye to Stan, and disappeared out the door before anyone could ask how he planned to get home carrying that many groceries.
Parker Residence
BGM: Chubby Checker - The Twist
Back at the Parker residence, the front door clicked open. Peter—now back in jeans and a T-shirt—held up a grocery bag like a prized trophy.
"Alright! Who's ready to bake a cake?"
Aunt May almost snorted.
Kara looked up from the table. A small, surprised smile crept across her face, like she couldn't quite believe he was being serious.
Aunt May tied on her apron, clapping her hands together. "Time to get to work!"
What followed could only be described as a montage-worthy scene:
Aunt May: Cool, calm, and collected, measuring ingredients with flawless precision.
Peter: The exact opposite—flour flying, bowls clinking, nearly tripping over his own enthusiasm.
At one point, May gently scolded, "Peter, breathe."
Peter inhaled dramatically. "Right. Breathing. Good plan."
Kara watched from a chair, one hand lightly covering her mouth as she tried not to actually burst out laughing. Something she hadn't done in longer than she cared to admit.
Finally—miraculously—Peter settled into a rhythm, following Aunt May's instructions instead of improvising.
When the timer dinged and the cake cooled, May added the peanut butter frosting with steady strokes, finishing with chocolate chunks sprinkled across the top. Then, in careful icing script, she wrote:
Happy Birthday, Kara
Peter carried the finished product to the table like it was a priceless artifact.
BGM Change: Quincy Jones/Tevin Campbell - Tomorrow (A Better You, Better Me)
"Okay," he said, setting it down in front of her, "we really hope you like it."
Aunt May nodded. "We did our best."
Kara stared at the cake. Then at them. Then back at the cake. Her expression softened—more than either of them expected.
She didn't speak. Not right away. Her thoughts were loud enough on their own:
"Crashing into another universe. Losing everyone. Expecting nothing. And somehow… this? A birthday cake? On the same day everything fell apart?"
Her throat tightened a little as she swallowed. Peter and Aunt May exchanged concerned glances.
"Kara?" Aunt May asked softly. "Are you alright, dear?"
Silence lingered for a beat.
Then Kara breathed out. "I'm okay. I just… honestly didn't expect to celebrate my birthday at all. Not after everything that happened."
Her voice warmed, sincerity settling in place.
"But… thank you. Really. For doing this for me."
Their smiles were quiet, but full of heart.
"Hey, no problem," Peter said. "Kind of our pleasure, actually."
Kara glanced up at both of them. "Would you… like to have some with me?"
Aunt May's answer was immediate. "We'd be honored."
She sliced the cake, handing pieces around the small kitchen table. The three of them sat together—no chaos, no interdimensional crises, no villains or magic or torn universes.
Just cake, warmth, and a moment Kara hadn't realized she needed.
It was quiet, but the good kind of quiet.
END OF CHAPTER 1: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KARA
BGM Continues: Quincy Jones/Tevin Campbell - Tomorrow (A Better You, Better Me)