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“He wanted kids and… I dunno.” Peter says around a long-suffering sigh. “I just don’t think I should be bringing a child into this lifestyle, y’know? Like look what I’m doing now! I’m in another dimension, and nearly getting myself killed with pre-teens. This is not the life a baby deserves, and how could he not see that! We’d go through the same fight night after night - ‘if Sue and Reed can do it, so can we!’ Which is such an impossible standard to set because Johnny and I don’t have the Baxter building, or like…”
Peter turns and finds both Miles and Gwen draped atop one another like sleeping kittens. Miles’ foot is wedged under Peter’s thigh, his other leg rested between the two seats in front of them. Gwen had her head on Miles’ stomach, the rest of her body hanging like a limp bridge between the bus’ aisle.
“Alright, good talk.” Peter grumbles to himself. He continues looking out the window at the passing landscape. It felt good - in a deep instinctual kind of way - to be back on the job. Doing dimension-altering missions like the old days when he’d see a flaming ‘4’ in the sky and brace himself for the inevitable wormhole, or Doom-Related-Hellscape, or whatever . It also felt good to have Miles around. A young bright light that wanted nothing more than to do good. Peter doubts he was ever like Miles - Peter doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone like Miles.
The day progressed in a nightmarish fashion starting with getting dropped off at Port Authority (which is probably a worse place than the aforementioned Doom-Related-Hellscape), then an hour and a half train ride in which a full orchestra decided to get on at 50th street and did not get off the train until Queens, and then Aunt May’s. The whole experience was something he would need to talk to a therapist about if, of course, he had the money or health insurance to afford a therapist. So, in retrospect, it was just another thing to cry about in the shower at night. Maybe it was for the best - after all, how many more nights could he spend moaning about missing rent payments. Visiting his dead aunt added some spice.
God, he really needs a therapist.
All this culminated in to the introduction of the other Spidey’s. Peni, Spider-Ham, and the man Peter will just refer to as 'Noir' were terrifying new additions to the rolodex of madness currently traversing the suburban streets of Queens. But despite their eccentricities it felt good to have some found friends. An ensemble piece, if you will. Peter thinks back to his time on the New Avengers all those years ago and smiles. He thinks back on his time with the Fantastic Four all those years ago and frowns.
They're stuffed into Aunt May's home - Miles, sadly, long gone at this point. They were all exchanging general pleasantries when Peter made the fatal mistake of opening his mouth and referred to his ex-husband, Johnny. At that, all the spider people gaped. Even Aunt May dropped something in the kitchen because she was never very subtle with her eavesdropping.
"Here we go again..." Gwen mumbles.
“Wait you lost your Johnny?” Peni cries. “My Johnny is my best friend!” The giant arachnid-robot at her side whines and the girl quickly amends; “Second best friend, of course.”
“I once lost my Johnny,” Noir says while looking out the window in a fashion that makes it feel like it should be raining out, and some slow ominous jazz should be playing in the background. “And the people who took him from me all lost limbs for their effort.”
Silence befell the room. Peter thinks back to the time (okay, the millionth time) Johnny was taken from him and maybe de-limbing wasn't such a bad idea. Though considering his current circumstances, he's not sure how to tear off the limbs of 'commitment issues', 'existential fear', and 'everyone else has babies, Peter, we're not getting any younger.'
Spider-Ham chirps, “My Johnny is a troublesome little fire-rabbit-”
“Okay.” Peter is lounged on his aunt’s all too familiar couch. His feet kicked up on the opposite armrest and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t… I didn’t bring up Johnny to have you all get on me for divorcing him-”
“Then why did you bring him up.” Gwen mumbles from the floor where she stares up at the ceiling with an expression that screams ‘why did I even ask that question, please God, I don’t want to hear this again’.
“Because, y’know…” Peter waves in the general vicinity of Aunt May’s coffee table. There were plenty of pictures of this dimeonsion’s Peter, and Peter’s MJ. Their wedding portrait made something in Peter B’s chest contract, and beside that photo was another of Peter and his best man - the brunet Johnny Storm from this dimension. Peter saw the pictures and sighed all long and emphatic. Peni, being curious and impossibly sweet, had made the morbid mistake of asking “what’s wrong Peter?”
“I just… I fudged it up.” Peter sighs again. Gwen groans. Spider-Noir clenches his fist against the window. Spider-Ham tsks. Peni leans against her giant-spider-thing and levels him with wide, sad eyes. “I thought we were happy, and like... We were was the thing. We lived in Forest Hills - in a house like this - and we were just… I dunno things were good. I was a teacher at a middle school, Johnny did lecture circuits when he wasn’t helping out with the Future Foundation-”
“Hang on.” Spider-Ham interjects, “You lived in a suburban home in Forest Hills… A home with two bedrooms-”
“Three.” Peter B. supplies with a cringe. He knows where this is going. He can practically hear this argument coming from Johnny’s downtrodden face.
“Three rooms. Living with your husband who has wanted children since he was sixteen- ”
“I get it-”
“-and then you refused to have children-’
“Thank you, Porky!” Peter groans - pinching the bridge of his nose harder. Eventually the conversation drifts from Peter, because if there’s anything all the Spider-People have in common it’s using inappropriate recipients to unload all their emotional trauma. They were watching Noir try to figure out a rubix cube when Miles ran in - looking frantic and worried.
Their spider-senses tingled, and Aunt May’s house was very nearly destroyed.
Miles’ uncle died in his arms. Peter tied the kid to a chair and felt worse than he had in years. It was a long, awful day.
Made worse when he made a complete ass of himself in front of his former best friend and ex-girlfriend. Made worse by the fact the alternate-dimension version of Gwen Stacy was tugging him away and leveling him with an unimpressed glare through the wide cartoonish eyes of her mask.
While they were wheeling the faux-bread cart around Kingpin's ballroom Peter caught sight of a brunet head of hair. His breath caught when he saw them. Johnny, sat beside Wyatt. Wyatt beside Sue and Reed. Ben taking up three chairs with Franklin and Val perched on his lap. They were so young and Peter’s heart ached. He remembers when they were that little. When Franklin was all wide eyes and adoration, and Val was an adorable little supervillain who would laugh maniacally while telling them to change her diaper.
“You’re pining again.” Gwen hissed while stamping on his foot with her own. Right. Kingpin is about to destroy the multiverse. That’s important. Right.
The fight is hard but having his team of spider-people helps. Peter makes a mental note to get in touch with Jess Drew to maybe start up something like this in his universe. Miles swings into action a few minutes in and the swell of pride and love that filled Peter was overwhelming. Watching Miles kick ass both literally and figuratively was better than kicking ass himself.
“Miles that was amazing, I love you, I’m so proud of you!”
Do I want kids?
“Do I want kids?”
Not the time. So not the time.
The fight itself goes surprisingly smooth - though considering the last time a spider-person tried fighting Kingpin he died, the bar was set pretty low.
Then Peter was dangling on the edge of the multiverse - held up by Miles’ small hand on his chest. He should be worried - terrified even. Miles was untrained and so terribly young. He could get himself hurt or even killed. The universe was on his shoulders and it wasn’t fair.
And yet Peter felt - without a moment of hesitation - he could do this. Miles Morales - the kid from Brooklyn - would save the universe. And this wouldn’t be the last time.
“You gotta go home, man.” Miles says with the hint of a smile. He’s mocking him, at least partially. Peter grabs his forearm and asks like a man possessed,
“How do I know I’m not gonna mess it up again?”
Miles huffs out a laugh and replies, “You won’t.”
Damn that kid and throwing his moral-catchphrases back in his face. Peter loves him so much.
“Right… It’s a leap of faith.” Peter supplies with grin. Miles grins back. And then, he lets go.
---
“Is that noticeable? Like super noticeable?” Peter asks the cockroach that’s climbing up his wall beside his floor length mirror. He continues picking at the fading mustard stain on his suit. He’s tried getting it out, but his trademarked method of using wet toilet paper and dish-soap didn’t have much effect. He can imagine Gwen leveling him with that same unimpressed glare she did at Kingpin’s banquet.
“It’s super noticeable. He’ll notice.” Peter groans and retreats back to his bedroom. Another suit then. The one that fits a little weird but, to its credit, has no mustard stains. He slips that one on over the white shirt he just picked up brand new from Macy’s, and took more time than necessary to tie his shoes.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this, Roachy.” He sighs to his unresponsive roommate. “I mean… Am I ready? Really? Maybe I should swing around for a little bit before going over. Y’know get some of the nerves out.”
He stands up and starts walking to the window before he stops himself. If he swings he’ll get all sweaty and he’ll smell and then Johnny will know he went out before coming over. Which would, of course, defeat the purpose of him coming over to prove that nothing came before Johnny.
Leap of faith and all that - leap back into the life he loved so much he let it go before he could lose it. Since losing something like what he had was too painful a thought, Peter let it implode in his face. Because that seemed… Better?
“I’m an idiot, Roach.” Is all Peter said before rushing to the front door and leaving with just his wallet and his keys. Leap of faith. He imagined Miles’ wide grin and the fact that a kid saved the multiverse like it was just another day at middle school. If Miles could do that, Peter could face his ex-husband.
When he got off the train at 71st and Continental, he stopped at the flower stand outside his former supermarket. Were blue flowers too cheesy?
“What?” The man behind the stand barked from behind his newspaper.
“Is blue cheesy? My ex he’s… He wears blue a lot.”
The man slowly lowers his newspaper and glares at Peter as if he just threatened to set his flower stand on fire. “Buy the flowers or put them back in the water.” He snaps.
Red roses it is.
“These are definitely cheesy.” Peter mumbles as he pays the twenty dollars which - inflation in this damn city. He walks the winding blocks to his old home. He looks up at the fat oak trees, and the flickering streetlights and feels an ache in his chest.
This was the path he’d take when he’d swing home. Johnny would get back from work - whatever that work consisted of on any given day - and they’d have dinner together. Sometimes they’d go to Nick’s pizza, and other times they’d say fuck it and go to Martha’s bakery and just have pie instead. Then they’d get ready for bed - Peter always half-assing the process, knowing he’d be slipping out in just an hour or so.
On cool nights like these, he’d be out till the early morning hours. He can remember slipping in close to 4am, locking the door quietly behind him, and sneaking up the stairs to no avail. Johnny would always be drowsy and half-awake by the time he got in.
“C’mon, lemme see you.” He’d say all groggy and adorable. His hair stuck in different directions and his mouth pulled into a sleepy frown. Peter would huff and try to refuse, but Johnny would flick on the lamp and check him over for injuries. If there was no blood, Johnny would nod and grin and invite him into bed with warm arms. If there was blood then they’d play doctor in the bathroom - with Johnny tutting and putting different Fantastic Four themed bandaids on injuries that were far too large for a simple bandaid.
Then Peter would wake up a few hours later to Johnny cooking breakfast. Johnny would walk him to his school, then flame-on and off from there.
It was nice. It was so painfully nice.
Peter is ringing his old doorbell before he realizes he’s there. It feels so simple, so natural. It feels like he should just be slipping inside not waiting for the door to-
“Oh.” Johnny says in hardly more than a breath. Peter feels his hand clench on the roses.
“Hey, Matchstick.” Peter croaks. Despite the years they’ve each acquired since they first met he’s still stupidly radiant. His hair is a less-pigmented blonde, his reading glasses are on semi-permanently nowadays, and there are lines around his eyes and mouth. But his eyes still glow blue, his smile still lights up the room, and - Peter is only a man after all - his body is still unfairly incredible (the man does yoga still).
Peter will never know how he got so lucky. Then again, considering they’ve been divorced for over a year, he can imagine how he got so un lucky.
“You-uh… You want to come in?” Johnny says, still hardly above a breath. He’s in his ‘relaxing-sweater’. It’s yellow knit with a purple flower stitched onto the left breast. Peter nods and follows him inside.
The house looks exactly the same, save for the new collection of pictures from Franklin’s wedding, and Ben and Alicia’s kids (and the clear lack of pictures of Peter). Johnny walks further into the living room and crosses his arms over his chest, his expression open and prematurely hurt. This wasn’t the first time Peter came crawling to Johnny’s doorstep it was just...The last few times included copious more tears, and alcohol, and illiteracy.
Peter clears his throat and tries to remember what he said to himself (and Roachy) in his cracked bathroom mirror.
“Johnny, I… I’m sorry.”
“Haven’t heard that one before-” Johnny mumbles to his slippered feet. Peter snaps his mouth shut and clenches his jaw.
How do I know I’m not gonna mess this up again?
You won’t.
Fuck it. Just… Fuck it.
Peter drops the flowers and lurches forward. He grabs Johnny’s biceps and takes in a shuddering breath.
“Johnny, I love you so much. When I first met you, I wanted to be you. When I became your friend, I wanted to be more. When we became more, I wanted to marry you. When we got married I wanted to buy this house, and I wanted a job that would give me the summers off. I wanted a job that would make sure I was available by 3pm. I did all of this because I wanted this, I want this-”
Johnny is leveling him with an unimpressed glare, “You mean… You’re confirming everything I screamed at you nearly every single night for the last month of our marriage.”
Peter’s smile is shaky, “Okay, so maybe you can use that pretty little head of yours for something more than deciding on a pair of jeans.”
Johnny narrows his eyes. No teasing now, to Peter’s disappointment.
“I want this.” Peter says more confidently, still holding Johnny’s arms. “But I was terrified. I still am. Johnny, this is… I have fucked up nearly every part of my life.”
Peter looks down at his feet. He can’t handle Johnny’s blue eyes right now. “The only part I’ve ever gotten right is you. Being with you, marrying you… Bringing a kid into this world and risking ruining that scares the crap out of me, Johnny. I’m so scared but I… I can’t let me fear ruin more things in my life. I can’t just stand on the edge of the rest of my life and never take that leap of faith. I took a leap of faith once when I met this one hottie in blue spandex,” Peter finally looks up. Johnny’s crying. Peter - despite how much he was trying to pretend he didn't - can’t act like he doesn’t feel the heat on his own cheeks as well. “And well… Do I have to repeat that whole bit about you being the best thing in my life-”
“Oh god, stop talking.” Johnny gasps. And like that, Johnny’s arms are around his neck, his face buried in his neck, and the quiet sobs coming from the both of them aren’t necessarily sad. Mournful of the mistakes they’ve made, but happy in a humble and hopeful kind of way.
“I want you back. I’ll do anything.” Peter says into Johnny’s hair. “I want the house, and the stupid yard, and the stupid dog that you insist-”
“An english bulldog, I don’t care if they have breathing problems.” Johnny whimpers,
“And the… The baby. I want to take turns waking up at obnoxious hours of the night to feed the little brat. I want Sue to give us all Franklin’s old Spider-Man onesies.-”
“That’s not happening-”
“Shut up, we’re having a moment.”
Eventually they’re kissing. And then they’re doing more than just kissing. When Peter wakes up the next morning to Johnny’s drool drying on his shoulder he nearly cries. You gotta go home, man. Miles had said.
Peter looks up at the ceiling and imagines he can see his young friend’s bright brown eyes.
I made it, kid.
-- 5 Years Later
“May. May. May.” Peter has his head pressed against the girls' bedroom door. His fist knocking listlessly against the white wood. He’s practically asleep on his feet.
Behind him there’s screaming coming from the bathroom, and downstairs there’s a chorus of barking. It’s not even 8 yet.
“Daddy, Mary is hoggin’ the sink!” One of the gremlins from the bathroom whines. Peter waves his free hand behind him in some semblance of a dismissal,
“I’m not listening to you until you have a toothbrush in your mouth.”
“But then I can’t talk if I got a toothbrush in my mouth, dad .” the 4-year old bites back with too much sass for her years. She’s gotta stop hanging out with Val. Or Uncle Doom. Or, honestly, her own father.
“That’s the point, sweetheart.” Peter replies. The young girl whines and returns to the bathroom where the shouting continues. By now, Peter has walked right into May’s bedroom and is lifting the sleeping toddler from her bed as if she wasn’t totally dead to the world. He carries her to the bathroom where two tiny blonde girls are shouting at each other with toothpaste dripping from their mouth and onto the floor that Peter will undoubtedly have to clean.
Peter props May up on the counter and takes the toothbrush with the picture of Han Solo on the grip. He covers it in toothpaste and unceremoniously jams it into his daughters mouth. She sputters and groans, trying to smack his arms away to no avail. Peter looks in the mirror at the two other girls who are still shouting at one another.
“Hey, hey!” Peter snaps. Though his voice is still hardly more than a croak, and his hair looks like it has animals living in it. So in all he’s not really nailing the whole ‘threatening’ act, “One of you needs to brush your teeth in the bathtub, the sink is full-”
“That’s what I said, but Mary won’t move!” Claire shouts while brandishing her Luke Skywalker toothbrush like a weapon. Peter can see her eyes start getting watery and dammit - curse his inability to stand strong against a Parker-Storm’s tears. ("Please, Peter." Johnny had said with pathetic little tears dripping down his cheeks. He was holding up some snorting, wide-eyed, monstrosity of a puppy. Peter refused to look at him the whole car ride home. Considering Johnny was holding not just a puppy, but two stupid goldfish).
“I don’t wanna brush my teeth in the bathtub that’s yucky!” Mary replies with her arms crossed over her chest, and her Princess Leia toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. By now, May is slightly more sentient and has the toothbrush in her own hands. Peter steps away from her to start lecturing the other two girls, but then May’s head starts lolling and within seconds she’s leaned back against the vanity mirror and snoring.
“That’s it.” Peter throws his hands up and grabs Mary and Claire by their shirt collars like two misbehaving puppies. They squawk and kick while he places them both in the bathtub and runs the water. “Brush. Now.” He barks - in tandem with the still non-stop barking coming from downstairs, “Or neither of you are going to visit Aunt Sue today. You hear that? You get to stay and hang out with this dad,” He points to his own chest for emphasis, “while I sit for detention. Got it, you little Stormtroopers? Detention.”
With tears still in Mary’s eyes and an enraged little face, she starts brushing. As does Claire, with a long suffering eye roll. Peter gets back to the sink and continues brushing May’s teeth for her while trying to also brush his own.
“Breakfast!” Johnny shouts from downstairs which gets everyone moving. There’s a flurry of three little blonde heads scurrying around the bathroom - looking for clothes and toys and “Daddy where’s my hair clip!” “Daddy, where’s my backpack!” “Daddy, Mary smells!” “Daddy, tell May she’s mean I do not smell!” -
“What, in my right mind, made me think triplets was a good idea.” Peter grunts. Johnny is serving pancakes onto three different animal-shaped plates. Peter kisses his cheek and uses his socked-foot to rub the top of the english bulldog’s angry looking face in way of greeting.
“Remember how cute they looked all bundled up in their little crib!” Johnny coos, as if they were at the orphanage just yesterday. He always does this. Gets all misty eyed and soft over the girls.
(So does Peter, when he’s not covered in kiddie toothpaste).
Eventually the girls come rampaging down in mis-matched outfits, complaining about this and that, and with their hair a Parker-Trademarked mess (YouTube tutorials are not as helpful as they claim to be). Johnny glares at Peter for his lackluster braiding skills, and Peter avoids said glare by offering to let the dog out.
Peter and Johnny walk the girls to pre-k, as they do every morning. Johnny flames on and off. Peter goes to work.
At night, Johnny handles bathtime. Peter handles storytime. Peter webs off, leaving Johnny soft-eyed and fond. He sends Peter off standing in the threshold of their bedroom with a mug of tea and a gentle, “Be safe, Webhead. Or those girls will have your head.”
By the time he sneaks back in it’s a little past 3am. He locks the door quietly, and picks up the much-too-heavy dog who is too tired and lazy to climb the stairs himself (hence, why he’s too damn heavy, Johnny, you have to stop feeding him so much-) . Peter pokes his head into the girls' room.
It’s like that feeling right before a drop on a rollercoaster. Or that moment before he grabs his web-lining, and he’s just free falling. That’s what jumping feels like - taking that leap. He can’t believe he was ever so stupid to live without this.
Johnny’s arms curl around his waist, and before Peter can admonish him for waiting up so late Johnny whispers in his ear,
“I know it’s late but hear me out… I found Spider-Man's Web's themed lube.”
Peter has to clap a hand over his mouth to stop from waking the girls with his startled laugh. Johnny buries his face in Peter’s shoulder to do the same.
(Excluding the lube part) Peter wishes Miles can see him now. I made it kid, he thinks in moments like these, and all thanks to you .