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Peter looks up at the building in front of him. At first glance it’s fairly inconspicuous, you wouldn't guess it housed anything different to the various businesses and apartments that line the rest of the street. However, upon closer inspection, there’s a strangely shaped window near the roof, and from it, every so often, emanates a strange pulsing glow. Peter knows that this building is far from ordinary. That’s exactly why he’s here. Dr. Strange had made a point of informing all of the remaining Avengers (could they even call themselves that anymore?) of the whereabouts of his New York sanctum, claiming that it would be helpful information, if any future disasters required his assistance. He had sounded genuine too, like he really did want to help where he could, which surprised Peter somewhat. Their first meeting had led Peter to believe that the sorcerer was more self interested. But he guessed it wasn’t fair to judge someone’s character in those sorts of extreme circumstances. Peter believed in his offer of help. That’s why Peter now stands here, on the doorstep of the sorcerer’s sanctum, trying to work up the courage to knock on the door.
He shifts his feet and the movement tugs on his recently injured side, causing him to flinch. It reminds him why he’s here, giving him enough of a push to raise his fist and gently knock on the door.
At first, there’s no response. The sanctum remains still and silent. And then, the door unlocks, and slowly swings open. There’s no one on the other side.
“Well that’s not creepy at all…” he mumbles under his breath.
A voice calls from somewhere on the higher level.
“Come in, Peter. I’ll be there in a second.”
“How did you- right. Magic.” He steps over the threshold, trying not to wince as he puts weight on his left ankle. The door closes behind him and he tries hard not to find it unsettling. Now that he’s inside, the sanctum doesn’t seem still and quiet at all. Whatever it is that Dr. Strange is doing is fairly loud, and the sound of clattering objects echoes down from above. It’s followed by the sound of Dr. Strange’s exasperated voice.
“Come on, watch where you’re going, you could have broken something.” It’s a tone of voice so familiar to Peter that he almost doubles over from the wave of nostalgia he feels. Immediately he’s transported back to the few times Tony had let him to the lab to work on things together. To the various semi-sentient robots Tony had about his workstation that he’d talk to as he worked away.
He doesn’t have time to dwell on it as he’s pulled from his thoughts when Dr. Strange appears at the top of the stairs.
“Nobody’s seen you in days.”
“Um.”
“It’s much more of a big deal when you go missing as a superhero; it’s been all over the news.”
Peter’s starting to feel like he’s being told off.
“Uh…”
Dr. Strange begins descending the staircase as he talks.
“I understand that in our… line of work, these things happen. But, Peter, you really should tell at least one of us where you’re going in case things go… wrong…” He’s close enough now that he can probably see the state that Peter is in. “Is that blood?”
“... No?” It’s not a convincing response and Peter knows it.
Something changes in Dr. Strange’s face and before Peter even has the chance to react he’s being manhandled over to a couch in the corner of the room.
“You’re limping. Is that the worst injury? Or is the blood on the side of your hoodie hiding the worst injury?”
Belatedly, Peter remembers that Dr. Strange earned his title in medical school. Perhaps hoping that he wouldn’t notice the injuries was wishful thinking on Peter’s part. He’s carefully directed onto the couch before Dr. Strange pushes up the side of his hoodie and shirt. Underneath, instead of a gaping wound that the sorcerer must have suspected, is an already scabbed over and healing gash.
“Huh. When did this happen?”
“Last night.”
“Last…”
“I have a healing factor? I heal faster than normal, it’s fine. That’s actually not what I’m here for.” Peter’s trying desperately to brush off his injuries. In any other normal situation he would have been able to prevent them, especially with the help of his spidey-sense. But, the encounter he’d had the night before was far from normal. That didn’t mean he felt any less like a careless kid who let himself get injured on a job though. Dr. Strange is still looking at his side, obviously conflicted about whether or not to treat it.
“Did you at least clean it?”
Peter nods.
“I keep antiseptic in my backpack.”
There’s a pause before Peter’s shirt is finally released and he’s able to wriggle himself into a more comfortable position. He looks up and realises he has Dr. Strange’s full, undivided attention. It’s slightly nerve wracking.
“Um. Right. I’m actually here about this.”
Peter rolls up the sleeve on his hoodie. Wrapped around his right arm is a glowing band of light. It almost looks like it’s burned into his skin, and the strange runes and sigils that make up the glowing band shift and pulse as if they were alive. If Dr. Strange is surprised at all by this, it doesn’t show on his face. Delicately, he lifts Peter’s arm and gently turns it, inspecting the band from all angles.
“This is a complex spell… I can’t quite work out its purpose. Do you know what its intended effect is?”
Peter chews his lip. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to explain too much of this encounter honestly. The whole ordeal makes him feel weak and embarrassed. But, if it helps Dr. Strange to remove the spell…
“Um, well she called it a spider bite, but I think that was intended to be a sort of dig at me and well… the whole Spider-Man thing I guess. I don’t think it’s actually called that, would be a pretty weird thing to name a spell-”
“Peter.” Dr. Strange interrupts him, but his voice is kind, reassuring. “What does the spell do?”
Almost as if the spell itself can tell it’s being talked about, it flares with a bright light for a second. This time, Peter is prepared for the burning. He grits his teeth and does his best not to react, afraid that Dr. Strange will see that he’s weak, and will realise that Peter really isn’t cut out for hero work after all. Despite his best efforts, a groan spills from his lips. Immediately, the worry is back on the sorcerer’s face. His hands come up on instinct, hovering in the air, hesitant and unsure how to help. Peter’s eyes lock onto them. It’s faint, but now that they’re still and in front of him, he notices that Dr. Strange’s hands are trembling. Desperate to focus on anything other than the fire searing through his veins, he looks a little closer at the hands he’s seen performing magic more powerful than Peter can comprehend. Along the backs of the sorcerer’s fingers run four long, thick parallel scars. There’s a myriad of other scars crisscrossing all over his hands too. And that tremble that seems so obvious now that Peter has noticed. Suddenly, Peter is overcome with admiration. Dr. Strange doesn’t hide these scars. His trembling hands perform feats that others can only dream of, but they are a clear and constant reminder that at the end of the day, he’s human. And so is Peter. He’s not completely invincible, and he knows that no one expects him to be. Sometimes he just has to remind himself. It’s okay to ask for help.
The liquid lava coursing through him dulls to a warm ache, and with a newfound resolve, he takes a deep breath.
“That’s what the spell does. Every so often it glows, and then there’s this burning in my body. It feels like poison in my blood. Like there’s acid or- or fire in my veins.” Peter pauses, still hesitant to admit just how much this is affecting him. But, really, he’s tired. It’s been almost a full day since he got this awful spell put on his arm and he just wants it gone. He looks up at Dr. Strange, a silent plea in his eyes. “It hurts…”
The last thing that Stephen had expected when the day began was that he’d end up with an injured teen on his doorstep in the early evening. But, he is long past being surprised by the unexpected at this point, and the kid does make protecting New York just a little bit easier. He tells himself that’s the reason he’s so worried when he sees the familiar red stain of blood painted across the side of the kid’s hoodie. But then he had revealed the spell, and looked up with these big, watery, shiny brown eyes, all expectant and helpless and okay, maybe Stephen is panicking a little. The magic behind the spell on Peter’s arm is similar to that of the Mystic Arts, but there’s something very wrong and unsettling about it too. It’s not a spell he’s ever come across, and he has a growing fear that this particular hex was written by the one who cast it.
“It hurts…”
There are tears in Peter’s eyes now and something in Stephen’s chest squeezes. Words are tumbling out of his mouth before he even thinks.
“Don’t worry, Peter. I’ll get it off.” He sounds much more confident than he feels, considering he barely even knows what kind of magic he's looking at, but it feels like the right thing to say. Relief washes over Peter’s features and he sags into the cushions of the couch he’s on, suddenly looking very tired, and very very young. In an instant, Stephen resolves to do absolutely everything in his power to help the kid. How old was Peter again? Seventeen? There’s an ache in his chest as he begins to realise just how difficult this poor teenager has it. Not even an adult, and yet he carries the burden of a gift, an ability to do good. Stephen knows all too well how heavy that responsibility can feel. And now that Peter’s identity has been revealed to the world, Stephen knows that any semblance of a normal life he might have had will have gone out the window. So why is he making things even more difficult for himself by going into a fight alone?
“Why didn’t you call for help when you encountered her?” It must come out more accusatory than he intended because Peter flinches slightly and curls in on himself. Stephen grimaces; tone is definitely something he still struggles with. “Sorry. Let me try again.” Peter carefully looks back up at him. “You have plenty of people around you who would be more than willing to help if you asked them, so what stopped you from doing so?”
The kid chews on his lip like he’s thinking.
“I didn’t, um-” Peter’s voice has dropped to an almost whisper and he shrinks even further into himself as he talks. “I didn’t want you guys to think that I’m weak. That I can’t handle things on my own.”
For a moment, Stephen is stunned. It’s so far from what he thinks about the teen that he has absolutely no idea what to say. It must show on his face because Peter shifts uncomfortably, face heating up in embarrassment.
“Sorry, it’s dumb. Pretend I never said anything.”
“Peter, I-” He stops, desperately trying to wrangle his thoughts, but before he can continue there’s a flurry of movement from around his shoulders. He blinks, and then Peter is being smothered by his cloak in what looks like a strange attempt at a hug. Startled, Peter looks up at him with wide eyes, but his arms are pinned to his side by the sentient fabric and there’s not really anything he can do but accept it.
“Um.”
Stephen can’t help it. He laughs. It’s barely a chuckle really but the poor kid just looks so caught off guard.
“Well, the Cloak of Levitation deems you worthy of a hug. I think that about sums it up.”
Peter continues to be baffled.
“I’m sorry, I’m confused… what?”
Stephen sighs and crouches down so that he’s eye level with the kid. He feels awkward and out of his element and raises a hand to pat Peter on his knee in an attempt at comfort. He’s not sure it’s very effective.
“Look, Peter.” The teen is watching him warily but he pushes on. “I can assure you that not a single one of us thinks that you are weak.” Peter’s face flushes. “You are smart, and capable. The fact that you deal with everything we deal with at the age of seventeen makes you one of the strongest people I know. And I’ve met Dr. Banner.” He gets a small smile for his attempt at humour and counts it as a win. “We all know you’re more than capable of handling situations on your own.” He pauses to make sure Peter knows he means it. “But, if calling for help means the difference between you coming out of a fight beaten and bloodied, or walking away unharmed, I can guarantee that absolutely everyone will be willing to come to your aid. Myself included.
The kid is squirming under the intensity of his gaze, but Stephen doesn’t relent, trying to make sure his message gets through. Eventually, Peter nods.
“Thank you, Dr. Strange, sir.”
“Sir? Kid, just call me Stephen, christ.”
Peter smiles again, and Stephen is relieved to see that it reaches his eyes. His cloak seems to feel its duty is done as it unwinds itself from Peter and floats back over to his shoulders. He gives it an amused glance before turning his attention back to the spell on Peter’s arm. As it shifts and moves, one of the sigils catches his eye. It’s one he’s seen before, he’s sure of it, and he almost sighs with relief at having found a place to at least start.
“Come on, kid. Let’s get you cleaned up. I’m sure I’ll have something you can wear.”
Half an hour later he’s hunched over one of the tables in the library, flicking through the first of a large stack of books and tomes that he pulled from the various shelves around the sanctum. He’s already contacted Peter’s aunt. She seemed confused and worried about Peter staying in the sanctum until the spell is removed, but mostly she was just relieved to know he’s okay. She’s going to bring some clothes and other things for Peter tomorrow.
Stephen’s not entirely sure how long it’ll take him to work out how to remove the hex, but he wants to be careful with this, so a short stay at the sanctum seemed like the best idea. He’d found some clothes that will do Peter fine enough for tonight and herded him into the bathroom to clean up. Peter’s old clothes are in the wash, and Stephen used every trick he knows to try and remove the various bloodstains.
He’s been trying to remember where he saw that sigil while doing all these things and it’s beginning to frustrate him. His photographic memory has plenty of advantages, but when he’s only seen something out of the corner of his eye it can become irritating. His pile is made up of books he’s flipped through but never quite got around to reading, and he suspects that it’s going to be a while before he finds anything relevant. But no matter, he’ll figure out how to remove the spell.
There’s movement in the doorway and Stephen looks up. Peter is standing there awkwardly, as if he’s not quite sure if he’s allowed in. He’s wearing the clothes Stephen gave him and the checked pyjama bottoms are pooling at his socked feet. The sleeves of the borrowed hoodie fall past his fingertips and his hair is damp and fluffy from the shower. He looks soft and small and once again Stephen is struck by just how young Peter is. He smiles at the teen.
“You’re welcome to come join. I hear you’re a bright kid. I wouldn’t mind the help if you’re willing.” He turns his attention back to the book, letting Peter decide on his own if he wants to join or not. Peter seems a lot quieter than the other times Stephen has encountered him and he’s not sure if it’s because the teen is just tired and sore, or if it’s something else. He’s not going to pry; doesn’t really feel like it’s his place. But he can try his best to at least make the kid comfortable while he’s here. The chair across from him creaks as Peter sits down in it.
“So, what are we looking for?”
Stephen gestures for Peter to roll his sleeve up.
“There, on your inner elbow. No, over one… yes. We’re looking for that sigil.”
Peter nods and pulls his arm towards his face to inspect the band closely. Stephen watches him for a moment, trying to read the teen’s mood. He’s still subdued and Stephen can’t help but worry.
“Is it still glowing occasionally?” he asks, waving a hand at Peter’s arm. The kid looks up at him and shrugs.
“Not since earlier. I think it’s slowing down? It was happening every few minutes when she first cast it.”
Stephen hums, relieved that it’s nowhere near that frequent anymore but somewhat panicked that it had been frequent earlier, and he moves to go back to looking through his book. He hesitates though when he hears Peter clear his throat.
“I just wanted to say, um, thank you, Dr. S- uh. Stephen. Thanks, for helping me out. You’ve been really kind.”
Stephen’s still not even sure himself why he’s felt the need to be so accommodating to Peter — he suspects it’s related to the equally inexplicable protectiveness — but he smiles at the kid anyway.
“I’m happy to help, Peter.”
Peter smiles back at him and something in his chest settles. They both turn to the books in front of them, and fall into a comfortable quiet as they work.
It’s not silent; on top of the turning of pages, the space is filled with the sound of music playing quietly from a speaker in the corner, the quiet tapping of Stephen’s foot in time with a particularly catchy song, and Peter’s soft humming when something he’s familiar with comes on. It’s surprisingly comfortable, and before Stephen realises it, two hours have passed, and he’s made good progress on his stack of books. He’s been making notes every so often on things he thinks may be relevant, and there are a couple of pages full of his shaky, illegible writing spread across the table. He’s starting to build a theory on what exactly the kind of magic it is they’re working with, and he’s optimistic that it’s actually going to be less of a problem than he initially assumed. He finishes skimming the final page of the book in front of him and carefully closes the cover.
It occurs to him that he hasn’t heard Peter humming in a while and he looks up. Across the table, slumped over a particularly large, old tome, Peter is fast asleep. His face is slack and his breathing is slow and even. He’s completely out. Stephen finds himself smiling involuntarily.
Peter looks peaceful, and once again Stephen is caught off guard by the fact that he really is just a kid. A kid that has already been through enough heartache and loss and struggle for multiple lifetimes. It’s unfair that such a big burden has fallen on someone that young and Stephen feels guilty that he hasn’t stepped in to offer help earlier. He didn’t even think about how the kid would get on after Tony passed; a stupid oversight now that he stops to think about it. He sighs. There’s nothing he can do about that now, only endeavour to do his best to support Peter in the future.
He smiles down at Peter’s sleeping frame. He really does have a way of endearing himself to others.
“Can you help me with him?” he whispers, and the cloak around his shoulders shivers to life, flying from him to the teen and gently enveloping him. Stephen grabs the back of the chair and slowly pulls it out of the way, allowing his cloak to scoop Peter up and float him towards the door. He follows the cloak down the hall to one of the guest bedrooms and opens the door to let the Peter bundle into the room. The cloak really does seem to have taken a shine to the kid — honestly Stephen isn’t all that surprised — and it carefully carries Peter over to the bed. It pauses expectantly at the edge and it only takes Stephen a second to work out why.
“Really?” he asks, rolling his eyes, but he’s already crossing the room to pull back the covers on the bed. Satisfied, the cloak gently lays the teen down, and Stephen obediently tugs the covers up when it flaps pointedly. He tucks the duvet over Peter’s shoulder, who immediately burrows further into the pillow, still fast asleep. Stephen’s almost jealous, he knows he has more reading and a long night ahead of him, and he’s already starting to feel the tired burn in his eyes. As he leaves the room he decides he needs a cup of tea before he continues. He flicks the light off and pauses in the doorway for just a second.
“Sleep well, Spider-Man.”