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Chapter Text

As Peter wandered out, into the snow, he'd never felt more alone.

Just a few short weeks ago, he'd felt normal, comfortable, happy. But now May was dead, his life was gone, and everyone he'd known had forgotten Peter Parker ever even existed.

It was a strange loneliness, hollow and continuous, with no end in sight. No friends or family were coming to pull him from this, to remind him how loved he was. A tear bored a single, shallow hole in the clear, white snow beneath him. Peter quickly raised a balled hand to his face, wiping away any tears that remained. He hadn't realised he was crying.

It wouldn't be long before this snow, too, was muddied and brown. Half-melted puddles would litter the streets as cars ground up ice and snow beneath their tires. An utterly underwhelming end to the beauty of a fresh sheet of snow, made of millions of tiny, unique snowflakes.

Yeah, he contemplated, muddy snow. That's me.
Peter chuckled slightly at the thought, unsure of what else to do.

He suddenly became aware that he hadn't moved, standing outside the cafe as if his mere presence could make them remember. It felt as though walking away was giving up. Throwing it all away. As he turned to look back at the shop, he faltered. Peter didn't think he could handle staring at the warm, inviting lights, Ned and MJ, without giving in.

Don't give in, he assured himself, you can do this. It's for the best.

As deeply as Peter longed for Ned and MJ to remember, for them to be as they had been, once again... he couldn't do that to his friends. He'd seen the consequences of being close to him. The sacrifices, the choices, the pain. He wouldn't put them through that again.

He took a deep breath, and turned to walk away, unsure of where exactly he was going.

"Wait, Peter!"  came a voice, calling after him. He turned, seeing MJ leaning out the door.

His heart lightened, a glimmer of hope shimmering in the streetlight.. "You dropped this." and extinguished, a moment later. He looked at her outstretched hand, holding an ID card. He reached out and took it, hand grazing hers, "Thanks." 
She nodded, her gaze lingering for a moment, and stepped back inside.

Peter closed his eyes in frustration, head tilted to the sky. "Don't cry.." he muttered, holding back tears.

Chapter Text

Over the weeks, Peter had developed a habit of checking in on his friends. For a while, he didn't let himself interact with them, but he soon caved. Once in a while, he'd stop by the cafe MJ worked in, grab a coffee and strike up a chat. Or he'd talk to Ned online in forums, or when Ned was at the cafe too.

Today was one of the days where the overwhelming urge to see MJ had won. So Peter was bundled up in a fluffy coat, as winter was now in full swing. The sky was quite dark, and it was only a few days from the New Year. He missed hanging out with Ned, watching the clocks hit zero, or hunkering under a warm blanket to hide from the cold with MJ.

Peter was, afterall, a kid.

During this particular day, he'd found himself staring at MJ as she got his coffee ready, his eyes lingering as memories rushed through his mind. Warm, cozy memories ready to be shared.

"Can I.. help you?" MJ said, as she placed his coffee on the counter.

"Sorry, you just.." he trailed off, tracing her face in his mind, "you remind me of someone I know."

"Oh yea?" she smirked, "A friend, crush? Girlfriend, maybe?" she leaned back and thought for a moment, "Boyfriend?"

He chuckled, slightly pained at her accuracy, "Girlfriend, yeah. I miss her, a lot."

MJ's face fell, "I'm so sorry, is she...?"

"No, no, she's not dead, she's just.." Peter searched for the right words, "forgotten about me."

MJ looked quite, rightfully, confused, "Wait, so an ex then?"

He shook his head lightly, staring at the counter, then stopped, "I guess so.. but we never broke up, she just.." the word felt dry in his mouth, "forgot."

"Like.. amnesia?"

"Yeah," he said thoughtfully, "I guess you could call it that. She made me promise to introduce myself to her again, but I just couldn't do it. She's so much happier, better off, without me."

She frowned. "That's quite selfish."

Peter looked up suddenly, "Huh?"

"I mean, who are you to decide that for her?" MJ began wiping the countertop, "She told you she wanted to know, but you decided you know better?"

He frowned, a lot of very complicated emotions rushing through his mind, "It's... complex."

She shrugged, and turned to put some cups in the cupboard.

"Any plans for New Year?" Peter prompted

She froze, then shook her head slightly, as if to clear a thought aside. She turned, her eyes full of hidden recognition as she gazed at him, "Not really, I don't usually do much for holidays. You?"

"No.. same here. I mean, I used to, with-"

"Your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, her," a twinge of pain crossed his mind at the thought of May, "and my other friend, and.. my aunt."

MJ's expression saddened, "Sounds like you've lost a lot of people recently."

"You have no idea.." He sighed, nodding slightly, "Anyways, all gone now. No point lingering."

She nodded slightly, though she seemed to disagree.

"Thanks for the coffee," reluctantly, he turned to leave, "and.. Happy New Year."

"Thanks, you too."

Peter stepped out into the cold, cold New York streets. Christmas had come and gone, a lonely time of year for a person with nobody. He'd gone on patrol instead, trying to clear his mind of the loneliness.. to no avail. He'd found himself visiting MJ's house, seeing her cuddled up on the couch with a book and a hot drink. Then Ned, eating a warm meal with his family. The biting, chilly wind had never felt quite so cruel, or his meal quite so unfulfilling. It was his first Christmas alone, and the pain was quite unique.

And as he walked down the street, he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to resist running into them on New Year's, either.

Chapter Text

Inside his suit, the smell of blood reeked stronger than ever. Peter's eyes were watering, his hot skin covered in a cold sweat. A shiver travelled down his spine, causing him to almost smash into a nearby building as he swung through the streets. In a moment of stupidity, Peter had redistributed the suit's material, leaving his shoulder open for a split second.

And the guy was a good shot.

Peter's landing on a rooftop turned into more of a controlled crash as his body twitched from the pain. It wasn't easy, swinging with only his left arm when he usually used his right. He groaned as he skidded across smooth-ish concrete, yelping as he hit a metal box fixated to the roof. There he lay, in a gentle rain, for a few minutes. After a while, he'd managed to gather enough strength to pull himself upright and think.

Where do I go?

As much as he wanted to, he couldn't get back to his apartment in this state, nor did he think it was a good idea to leave a bullet lodged in his dominant shoulder. He let out a pained sigh, partially from the dull ache now radiating from his arm, and partially at the thought of having to meet him like this.

But he had no other option, not really.

*

Dr Strange sat in an armchair in the lobby of the New York Sanctum Sanctorum, reading a newly acquired spellbook - sadly, it didn't seem all that useful, though it was somewhat interesting. His pose indicated a certain amount of arrogance, the type that makes you feel as though he should be respected. He turned his head to the door, hearing a disturbance. Strange slammed the book shut, frustrated, and checked the time. Late. Far too late for a visitor.

Once again, he heard a tired bang against the door, and stood. Fine, he thought, I'm in the mood to put some drunks in their place.

He strode, almost floating, across the floor to the towering wooden doors, and pulled them open harshly. A rather tired, drowsy Spider-Man with a blood-soaked shoulder was leaning against the door frame, barely managing to get out a mumbled "Sir.." before practically falling into Dr Strange. Startled, his cape reached to catch Spider-Man. "What the-"

Dr Strange quickly pulled him inside, closing the doors and bringing him to a chair, shocked by his ice-cold suit. Spider-Man slumped onto the arm, trying to stay conscious. "Hey! Spider-Man, what's going on?"

He mumbled something incoherent in response, before pressing a button, his suit disappearing and leaving only ragged, blood-soaked clothes with a gaping hole in the shoulder from where it had ripped after the impact, "Woah woah, don't be so hasty to show me your face, I-" Strange tried to cover his vision, then did a double-take. Spider-Man, the superhero, was a teenage boy.

"I didn't know where else to go.." the young man muttered, drowsily, "everyone forgot, but you'll... you'll understand."

"Now hold on, kid. You need a hospital."

The boy's good hand extended quickly, filled with a sudden vigor, grabbing Strange's arm, "No! No hospitals. I don't know what they know. And the questions.."

Strange sighed, exasperated, "Don't worry, I know a doctor who won't tell anyone, Spider-Man."

"Peter..." he mumbled, "it's Peter"

Taken aback by the sudden revelation of the superhero's name, he narrowed his eyes, then muttered something under his breath.

*

Peter awoke suddenly, a sunbeam filtering through blinds onto his face. He dreaded the thought of getting up, going to school - surely May would be up by now, right...

Wait- 

He sat up urgently, looking around - only to wince and grasp his injured shoulder. The jolt of pain bringing him back to reality. He wasn't home, or in his apartment. His mind ran at 100mph, trying to decipher last night's events. He was shot, there was a rooftop, and then.. He'd gone to Dr Strange, in the end. Fuck.

Peter pulled himself up to stand, groaning at the sensation in his arm. Still not fully healed. He glanced around the room, looking for anything of his, then going to the windows to see if any of them opened. No. That's fine, I'll go out the door and then-

He whipped around to face the door, only to see Dr Strange open it.

Peter froze, as Dr Strange began to frown, "Really, kid? You're trying to leave now, of all times?"

He stammered over his next words, beginning to feel quite dizzy, "I just- I mean, it's just confusing and I really messed up coming here and-"

"It's done now," Strange pulled the door shut behind himself, "Peter, was it?"

Peter groaned again, How stupid had he been? 
"Listen, Ste-" he stopped mid name, clearing his throat, "Sir - this is a mistake, I really shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have said anything-"

"If you hadn't, you'd be a lot worse off. Sit down, Peter."

Though reluctant, Peter slowly sat back down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his shoulder.

"What's going on here?"

Peter took a deep breath. He should just tell Dr Strange, maybe that would be best. He couldn't keep living like this, at least, "Ok, hear me out. It's complicated."

At the end of the overview of events - omitting a few things - Dr Strange had a very complex look of frustration on his face.

"And you waited this long to tell me?"

Peter winced, "I just.. I was worried something might go wrong again, and it might make things worse." He left out how he knew it would make him want to tell MJ and Ned, how hard it would be to stop once he'd started. And he'd been right. It was a bitter feeling, this desire to tell them, while knowing he shouldn't.

"But you told your friends?"

He tripped over his words as his brain formulated the.. edited version of the truth, "I thought it would make a bigger difference if I told you."

Dr Strange shook his head slowly, "Alright. I'll check to make sure everything's fine."

Peter nodded as Strange turned to leave, "It was nice to speak to you again."

"It's Parker, by the way. Peter Parker." Peter called after him

Dr Strange chuckled, "I have a feeling you're a whole lot of trouble, Peter Parker."

Peter smiled slightly as the door clicked shut behind Strange.

Alone in the empty room, Peter was left with the sour taste of regret in his mouth. It was bittersweet, having talked to Dr Strange. It was nice to talk to someone who'd known him before. For the first time in a while, it had felt a bit normal again.

But now the dull ache in his chest was back, stinging slightly at the thought of his friends. Worse than any bullet or physical injury, was knowing they had no idea who he was. He could die any day, and neither of them would care, or even know. Would MJ wonder why he'd never turned up again? Would Ned miss chatting to him on message boards? Or would he simply melt away, an insignificant side character in their lives. Like a face in the crowd, or fresh winter snow, would they even notice he was ever there?

Perhaps, one day, they'd forget all about the boy who came in for coffee every week with a look of longing on his face. Spider-Man would fade and become an old memory of yet another wannabe hero vigilante, disappeared off the face of the earth.

The thought left him hollow.

Chapter Text

Peter was sitting atop the big digital clock that had already begun its slow count to New Years Day, when the world would start another rotation. 9:01pm, 31st of December 2021. Well, Spider-Man was sitting there. Peter Parker, he reminded himself, has never existed.

There was a unique emptiness that came with having been forgotten, like a ghost amongst the living. He could walk up to people and tell them everything there was to know, their birthday, their favorite song, and game, and how they liked to sit in the rain... and they would have no idea who his was. No one was mourning Peter Parker.

His suit was quite warm, but somehow a seething chill had creeped in, his heart gripped by cold tendrils. This is where he would be spending his New Years. Not with friends, or family, or even home. Well, his house. Home was gone now, it had shattered the moment May died, leaving nothing but painful splinters lodged in his heart. He closed his eyes gently, remembering that morning, a few days ago.

Peter stood outside the apartment complex he'd been living in for the past month or so, now reduced to rubble. All he had left was his suit, and the clothes he was wearing. He reached into his pocket, only to find about about 50 cents and an old gum wrapper. Peter tilted his head to the sky as people walked around him on the pavement, the world moving on as he stay frozen.

He snapped his eyes open, trying to rid himself of the thoughts before his grief consumed him. Peter swung down discreetly, the sky quickly dimming around him, turning his suit off to walk around for a bit. He shivered, his thin jacket not doing much to shield him from the biting cold. His warmest coats had, after all, been in the apartment, along with his money and any hope of replacing them. Fingertips becoming red, a sinister chill crept down his spine.

But this was better than sitting up there, all alone. At least down here Peter could feel not quite so empty and lost - among the swarming crowds, he was just another face. It was easier to deal with being forgotten if he thought of it in terms of strangers or loose acquaintances. While in a crowd, one person could make a huge impression on another, while the former was completely unaware of the latter's presence. It was a strange state of existence, living like a fleeting memory in the mind of a stranger.

His breath was clearly visible in front of him, mingling with smoke and other vapours.

Soon, he should go back to being Spider-Man, to being warm in his suit. But, for now, he wanted to be no one. It blunted the hurt, at least a little bit, at least for a while.

As his mind wandered, he suddenly found himself about to crash to the floor, only just managing to prevent it with his reflexes. He shook his head, dazed, and looked around for the other half of the collision. On the floor, in front of him, was MJ. Bundled up in a warm winter coat and scarf, she was now sitting firmly in a thin layer of mushy snow. 

"Uhhh"

Peter shook himself out of the daze completely, and offered a hand out, "I'm sorry, I was distracted."

MJ hesitated, then used his hand as a hold, pulling herself up on it, "Thanks.. oh, you're the guy who comes to the cafe, aren't you?" She trailed off, as if trying to remember his name

He winced, then nodded, "Yeah. Parker, Peter Parker."

She looked at him, skeptically tilting her head, "Ok then, Peter"

He chuckled.

Ned quickly appeared from within the crowd, "Shoot, MJ, I almost lost you in the crowd!"

"Hey N-" Peter held his hand back from greeting his friend, "I mean, hi man."

His eyes narrowed slightly, as a slight recognition washed over him, "You look.. familiar, somehow."

For a moment, Peter was hopeful. Maybe he remembered? Then it wouldn't be his fault, right? Then-

"He's been in the cafe a few times," MJ cut off his thoughts

"Oh yeah! That's it." 

Peter took a sharp breath, then was very rudely reminded of the cold as he began to shiver, despite his best efforts to suppress it, "Weird bumping into you here, staying to see the clock tick over?"

"Nah, that's tacky," MJ waved away the idea, before a sense of wistfulness filled her eyes, long-forgotten plans, "Are.. you alright? You look cold."

Peter shrugged, "I'm fine, just a bit chilly, that's all."

"Don't you have a coat or something?"

"It uhh, kinda got destroyed earlier this week."

Ned's eyes widened, "Wait, did you live in that complex that got demolished on Tuesday?"

He chuckled slightly, "Yeah, yeah I did."

"Shit, that's unlucky." MJ chimed in

"Yeah, luck hasn't exactly been on my side lately." Peter muttered, then, at their worried expressions, continued, "I'm fine, I've got.. a place."

It was only a partial lie. He did have a place, it was just... outdoors.

MJ frowned, not totally convinced, "Take my scarf, at least." she pulled it over her head, and held it out to him.

"Really, I can't-"

"It's alright, you remind me of.. someone." 

The look in her eyes pricked Peter's heart a thousand times over, as he gently took the scarf and wrapped it around his own neck. He swallowed, a lump stuck in his dry throat, "Thanks, then."

"Well, we should get going." Ned cut in

"Yeah, we've gotta go. We'll see you around though."

Peter nodded, then called after them wistfully as they walked away, "Happy New Year!"

MJ turned around, a certain look in her eyes, "Yeah... Happy New Year, Peter Parker."

And with that, they disappeared into the crowd. Peter sighed, his heart dropping, fingers numb and bright red. It killed him, every time they saw him. But he just couldn't bring himself not to. So he talked to them, again and again. Somewhere, deep down, he hoped they'd remember. That if they figured it out themselves, it somehow wouldn't be his fault.

*

Peter was now sitting on a nearby rooftop, watching as the counter ticked down. 11.35. The decorations and lights had flicked on, one by one, as the sky darkened, the world bracing for a new year. Hopes and desires, resolutions soon to be broken and forgotten, another year over. The square below was packed full of excited onlookers, a buzz of energy reverberating through the air. Children and adults alike had stood to watch it officially be over, or for a new beginning. 

Peter's mind was full of fantasies, running rampant with desire - as the crowd began to chant below him.

10! 

Him and May, sitting by a fire.

9!

Tony, handing him a new gadget.

8!

Happy, drinking hot cocoa.

7!

Him and his friends, standing under the bright blue of the counter, chanting with the crowd.

6!

Building a new lego set with Ned.

5!

Sitting on the rooftops with MJ, watching from the clock from afar.

4!

Giant, colorful lights illuminating their faces.

3!

Joking about stupid traditions, like New Year resolutions.

2!

Leaning against each other, nothing but joy and stupid smiles.

1!

Kissing MJ, as the year was renewed.

0!

"Happy New Year to me, I guess." Peter muttered as he watched the clock hit zero, and the year rolled over.

Chapter Text

It was a week into the new year, and Peter had not yet figured out his living situation.

His days were spent wandering the streets, searching in newspapers and online in libraries and in shop windows - for a place to work. His evenings were used to patrol the streets and deal with petty crimes. His nights... well, he'd developed an ability to find a somewhat sheltered rooftop. His back might not be doing great, but it was better than nothing. 

It was becoming harder to swing around, without proper nutrition and rest, but he managed. He had, at least, gotten some new clothes by doing odd jobs for small shops here and there. He was also running quite low on web fluid. He made a mental note to make more, when he had the chance.

As another day ended, Peter swung himself up to a place to rest, his muscles aching in complaint against the cold stone. Rooftops, he'd noticed, had a tendency to stay freezing cold, sending a chill through his spine - like jumping into a lake in winter.

He settled in a corner, staring up at the cloudy sky and counting the few stars piercing the veil of smog. He'd found that, if he stared at the sky for long enough, other stars began to emerge alongside the brightest, pricking holes in the fabric sky. His eyes began to close, heavy with sleep.

Imagine you're not here, he thought, squeezing his eyes tight, think of the warmth of home.

It probably wasn't the best idea, using nostalgia to calm himself in the moment -- only leaving a gaping hole in his heart later, when a chill set itself into his bones and reality became tangible again. Bittersweet; the perfect word for nostalgia. It was like a drug, after all. Intoxicating memories of warmth and love and those he'd lost could fill his mind for the night, sparkling like stars hanging in the sky. It was only in the morning that he'd have to pay the price, when the sun rose and announced itself at the very crack of dawn, along with the morning chill. The morning seemed so far away now. And so bone-crushingly lonely, the thought filling his mind with a sense of dread. Sure, he'd suffer in the morning.

But, for now, he was comforted. And what else could a kid ask for?

*

"Hey, dude."

Peter shook to life, his sleep interrupted by someone close by. He jumped to his feet - quite literally, as he sprung a few feet behind himself, onto a raised platform, at the ready for a fight. His heart was pounding, adrenaline flowing through his veins. Why hadn't his sense alerted him? Damn it, was he too tired? A thousand thoughts sped through his mind as he blinked the drowsiness away.

"Woah, woah, woah," a woman standing a few feet away spoke, holding her hands up in a way as to say she was no danger, "slow down, man. I'm not gonna hurt you."

He narrowed his eyes, immediately planning an escape route.

She scratched her head, worried, "Hey, I was just gonna ask if you needed a place to sleep."

Peter tilted his head, taking a moment to properly inspect her outfit in the moonlight. Judging by the moon, it was just past midnight. He now saw that she was dressed in similar robes to Dr Strange, and the other people at the Sanctum. A moment later, he recognised the young woman as someone he'd seen at the New York Sanctum before. He lowered his guard slightly, perching with his hands as additional support.

"I'm.. fine, thanks." he replied, shakily, still slightly groggy.

She chuckled slightly, looking him up and down, "Yeah.. you don't really seem it," she frowned, surprised and conflicted, "and you sound... young?"

He stiffened again, "Nevermind. I'll be fine. Just go."

"Cmon, kid. I could've sworn I saw you there a few weeks ago."

At that, Peter extended his arm, shooting a web and swinging away, over the rooftops. After a few minutes, his webshooter failed for a moment, causing him to land, winded on a nearby rooftop, groaning at the impact. Shit. He really was almost out of fluid. His attempts to rest after that were futile, and he sat for about half an hour, still and watching for anyone else.

*

"Peter Parker."

Fuck. The stern tone was all too familiar, pulling him from the edge of sleep. He jumped up and slowly turned around, "Heyyyyy, Dr Strange.."

"Don't 'hey' me, kid." Strange strode across the roof, a portal to the Sanctum open behind him, "Now, tell me why I was just told they found Spider-Man sleeping on a rooftop in the middle of winter?"

"I was... training?" Peter suggested, his mind not quite awake enough for coherent lies.

His mask retreated back into his suit, a cold breeze caressing his face.

"I'm not buying it, Peter," Strange seemed extremely peeved, "Why the hell are you sleeping on a fucking concrete rooftop? What happened to the apartment you mentioned?" 

He sighed, sinking down and leaning into the cold stone, averting his eyes, "It kinda.. got destroyed."

Dr Strange threw his arms up in astonishment, "And you didn't tell me... why, exactly?"

"I.. didn't want to bother you." he replied quietly.

"And you didn't tell your friends, because...?"

Peter didn't answer, turning away to stare over the streets below. His silence spoke volumes.

"For fuck's sake, Peter! You said you told them! Why haven't you told them?"

He was quiet for a minute, before begrudgingly providing a response, "They're better off without knowing me."

Strange scoffed, "And who are you to decide that for them, Peter?"

Silence.

The same thing MJ had asked, and Peter had no response. Yet, still, he couldn't do it. He'd seen everything he'd caused them, all the pain and... everything.

"Do they even know you exist?" Strange's tone was gentler now.

Peter nodded, "I've said hi, a few times. I.. I tried to tell them but... I just couldn't."

Strange sighed, and gestured to the portal, "Let's at least get you somewhere warm for the night."

Reluctantly, though glad, Peter did as he was told.

Thoughts racked his brain, memories only he held. And things he couldn't forget, not ever. Her eyes, her laughter. His joy, and warmth. What if it were the other way around? He asked himself, finally allowing the thought through, one he'd tried to ignore, Wouldn't I want to know, want to remember MJ again, no matter the cost?

Bile rose to his throat.

This was it, the bitter truth of humanity: an inherent selfishness. Though expressed in a different way, how was he any different from those who concealed other lies, living in secrecy? Was he just as bad, taking away their choice? Since when had he decided he knew better than anyone else? Perhaps it was a side effect of vigilantism, or heroism as a whole. A deep-rooted belief in self-sacrifice, at the cost of others' choices.

Peter felt utterly sick, and more lost than ever.

Chapter Text

Peter stepped through the portal into the warmth of the Sanctum, the heat pouring into his bones, stone-cold chill still lingering around him. Behind him, it snapped closed, like a rip in the fabric of reality being sewn back together. His mask redeployed, covering his face once again - providing a somewhat unneeded sense of anonymity.

Dr Strange turned on his heel, staring Peter down. "You can stay in the same room as last time, there should be some clothes your size still in there. And.. take a shower first, kid."

"Thanks.." he muttered, swinging up and through the hallway.

"I want you down here in an hour, second door on the left," Strange called after him, with a tone of command.

As soon as he left the Dr's sight, he let the last of his string splutter and stop, dropping to his feet - walking the distance to his designated room. It was pretty the same as last time, lifeless and unused. He flopped down on the bed, armour retracting, and sighed. Damn it, Peter, he cursed, couldn't even do one thing right. Couldn't even keep one damn secret, huh?

Thoughts began to swirl in his already dazed mind, attacking himself like a disease. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the voices. Criticizing him. Insulting him. Images of his loved ones, dead. MJ. Ned. Happy. Tony. Aunt May. May.

His eyes snapped open as he jumped up, making a beeline for the small, connected bathroom. He tugged off his shirt, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Peter was definitely worse for wear - his face was somewhat dirty, pubescent hair growing at odd angles in strange positions across his jaw, his hair dirt-encrusted and oily. He winced, ducking from the sight to get in the shower.

The water was a welcome distraction, as he felt the hot water steam up the room, blurring reflections, scathing streams of water running down his back. He scrubbed at the dirt embedded on his body, trying to rid himself of the exhaustion and burning away the thoughts. He paused under the pouring water, head facing its source, hearing muffled, as if he were underwater.

It was comforting, to shut the world out.

*

Peter wandered back into his room, absent-mindedly drying his hair with a towel. He flopped back onto the bed, wearing the slightly-too-big clothes he'd found in a drawer, tracing the patterns on the ceiling in his mind.

There was so much to figure out -- where would he stay? Could he find a job again? Maybe he could sell pictures of Spider-Man... His thoughts trailed off into darkness and silence.

He jolted awake, very aware of having dozed off. Glancing at the time, he breathed a sigh of relief - it had only been a short while, though he should head down to see Dr Strange now. The thought filled him with dread, but he couldn't blow the guy off, not after he'd let Peter stay at the Sanctum, yet again.

The suit quickly deployed, covering his skin in a matter of seconds. Spider-Man, after all, was the one staying here -- not Peter Parker.. whoever that was.

He headed down the corridor, and came to the second door to the left, knocking briefly.

"Come in," came the voice of Dr Strange.

Peter pushed open the door and entered, closing it gently behind him. The dimly-lit room seemed to be an office of sorts, with walls covered in paperwork and books and paintings. Dr Strange sat at a large oak desk on the other side of the small space, he gestured to the chair across from himself, barely glancing up, "Sit, Peter. And take that thing off, no one will bother us in here."

He complied, suit disappearing as he sat.

"Eat."

Peter glanced up at the Dr, then back down, to see a platter of sandwiches, hesitating.

Strange sighed, exasperated, "Judging by the state of you, you've barely eaten in the last week. Eat."

Not going to argue with free food, he dug in, extremely happy to be eating properly for the first time in a while. If there's one thing worse than the bone-chilling cold, it's hunger, Peter concluded as he ate. After a few minutes, the plate was clear, and Peter was feeling a lot better - as well as quite drowsy.

"So."

Peter looked up, to see Dr Strange's eyes boring holes into him, "You lied to me, Peter."

A lump rose in Peter's throat, a quite complicated feeling of regret washing over him, "I-"

Strange raised his hand, stopping Peter in his tracks, "I don't want excuses, kid. And, by the way, things are fine. The spell has done its job, and it's holding up well."

Peter breathed out heavily, feeling as though he'd finally let out weeks of stress and worry. Was my sacrifice worth it? What if it didn't work well enough? These thoughts had been plaguing him.

"Listen, Peter." Dr Strange's voice cut through his thoughts, "You can stay here as long as you need. There's food and shelter and warmth. I don't need Spider-Man starving or freezing to death, ok?"

He nodded, wordlessly, not in a place to argue - not after the state Dr Strange had found him in. They spoke for a short while longer, until Peter began to dose off mid-conversation, at which point the Dr dismissed him to rest.

Dr Strange sat at his desk, head in hands. If he had made the whole world forget Peter Parker... how far could his memory be trusted? How far could human memory be edited, changed? Could whole people, families, countries, have been fabricated as complex lies, woven into the skin of the world? How many people had drifted into the shadows, forgotten? And how many memories could have been faked, over the years? It was a worrying notion - to think memory could be so easily manipulated

Well, not 'easily' - it was quite a feat, Dr Strange thought, clearing his head with a smug grin.

*

A few days later, Peter sat on the Sanctum roof, chill night air on his skin, tracing patterns in the sky. He knew what he should do, it was just going to hurt. A lot. He breathed heavily, a cloud of vapor forming in front of him.

It was the crack of dawn. Peter leapt across from roof to roof, his webs now replenished, but wanting to stay discreet, until he arrived at MJ's house. He perched opposite her bedroom window, leaning his head on stone, before closing his eyes. As the time passed, her curtain's opened, and he saw as she pushed open the glass, staring into the slight breeze.

He smiled sadly, but determined. He refused to place MJ in any more danger, and there was no way he could tell her everything - no matter what Dr Strange said. She's better off without me, he thought, resolutely, remembering the fights and the rejection from MIT and... everything.

Peter closed his eyes, pain etching itself into his expression "Goodbye, MJ." he whispered, his words stolen by the early morning wind.

And as he swung away, MJ looked at the sky, frowning slightly, a sad look in her eyes. Then, she shook her head, clearing her head, and turned back inside.

Chapter Text

Peter managed to keep his promise - mostly - over the next few weeks. He'd check in on her every once in a while, making sure she was ok, but refrained from going any further. Some days, he'd sit on a roof on the street where she worked, watching as her day wound to an end, and wonder if she noticed the absence. Not of him, her Peter, but just.. Peter Parker. The guy who'd come for coffee every few days, and who stared sadly into the distance with a sense of loneliness.

Today, it was early afternoon, and Peter was out patrolling the streets as Spider-Man. It was seeming like quite a calm day when... suddenly, his head flicked, eyes locked in the direction of downtown. A moment later, screams erupted. Peter swung across the city as fast as he could, panicked.

He broke through the buildings to see a giant armoured mech, standing at about 20 feet tall, in the middle of the plaza. Destruction was already all around it as it swung wildly, smashing cars and sending rocks flying into the air. Peter dived down as a car was flung towards the fleeing crowd, firing webs to form a net and catch the hunk of metal in the air, inches away from making impact. He scanned the crowd, making sure no one was injured, as a cheer of relief rose from the people.

Peter waved, and grabbed a loudspeaker from an overturned cop car, jumping onto a raised area of cars and debris, "Everyone, I need you all to vacate the area as fast as possible!"

His voice echoed out, and people seemed to remember the threat as they continued to make hasty exits.

He turned back, looking at the mech which now had a massive metal arm pointed right at him, a ball of light growing at the end. "Uh oh." Peter jumped swinging off the spot as a small glowing ball hit where he had just stood, decimating the metal. "Well, that wasn't very nice, was it?"

Leaping off the wall, he propelled himself towards the mech, trying to attach its arms to the wall with webs and restrict its movements.

Everything moved in a blur, Peter fighting almost entirely on instinct. Dodge. Jump. Run. Watch out! 

As the mech swung at Spider-Man, it left destruction in its wake, boring trenches in the ground and throwing cars across the streets.

A ball of light began to collect once again, at the end of its arm, and Peter chuckled slightly, muttering, "Not again.."

He turned, moving to jump out of the way when-

"Spider-Man!"

Peter whipped around, to see a small crowd of people trying to leave, their exit blocked. A few dozen feet in front of them, collapsed among the rubble, only just now gaining consciousness was...

MJ.

He could see the panic rising as she slowly became aware of her situation, trying to force her way out. Without hesitation, Peter lunged towards her, trying to force himself between the MJ and the danger. He threw his web to pull the arm to the ground, trying to angle it down, away.

All Peter could think of was his other self, from the other universe.

"I lost Gwen."

Time seemed to slow, meters seeming like miles as the world stretched around him.

"I couldn't save her.."

The seconds turned into minutes, Peter's arm extended towards her, desperate.

"She was my MJ."

He leapt across a car, knocked onto one knee, arms poised to protect MJ from the blow-

"Hey Karen," Peter called out, finally turning on the AI. He'd been afraid, before - what if she didn't remember him, and something went wrong? What if she locked him from his suit's protocols? Then he'd have a choice: speak to Happy, or never be Spider-Man again. And Happy Hogan would never allow him to stay as he was, a secret from the waking world.

There was a low, whirring noise, and then came a voice - cutting through the silence, "Hello, Peter."

He chuckled, it seems he was worried for nothing, as usual, "I need you to make MJ your top priority. Protect her, at any cost."

"I'm afraid I cannot comply, Peter. You are my top priority."

Peter groaned, "Then second to me, will that work for you?"

A moment of silence, "Yes. That will work, Peter."

"Thanks," he muttered, under his breath.

Peter winced as rocks were flung against his back, glad for the layer of metal protecting him from any major damage. That didn't mean it didn't ache, they were, after all, massive, hot, boulders. His eyes shut from the force, the world going dark. After a few moments, the onslaught came to a pause, the aftermath of the explosion over.

His eyes lingered shut for a moment, terrified that it hadn't worked.

I should've forced Karen to make MJ the number one priority.
I should've told her to do it, no matter what.

I should've-

The sound of a heartbeat made Peter open his eyes as fast as he could, still 

But there she was, right in front of him, alright. He breathed a sigh of relief, I did it. She's ok.

Then, a pause.

Something is off, he thought, mind still recovering from the adrenaline. It clicked. He could feel the breeze on his face, humid and warm and... 

Shit.

His instruction, it seemed, had worked a little too well. The suit had extended itself to shield MJ from debris, taking some redistributing its material from an unthreatened area. Which happened to be... his face. Peter grimaced as he turned his gaze to the girl he'd just shielded, shaken and bewildered, her eyes focused not on the destruction behind him, but his face.

"..Peter?"

A silent groan and a forced smile, "Heyyy... MJ"

Chapter Text

Spider-Man. Peter Parker.

The cogs were turning in MJ's brain, something feeling.. off. As if she were missing a piece of information. It felt as though something crucial were locked in the back of her mind, and if she could just reach it-

"Peter Parker.." she repeated, breathlessly.

Unfortunately, they didn't have time to talk this through.

Peter's suit covered his face once again with a low mechanical whirr. He stared a thousand miles away, for a moment, before grabbing MJ and rolling them both a few meters to the right as a large metal arm came crashing down in the space they'd just been. Spider-Man turned, poised low to the ground, staring down the mech.

"It's not safe here. You need to go."

"You can't-"

"MJ." He sounded stern, yet pleading, a hint of desperation in his voice, "Please."

Despite his apparent strength, in this moment MJ thought he looked tired, the weight of the world on his shoulders. She nodded, voicelessly, mouth dry. Scrambling from the wreckage, MJ turned and left the area as fast as she could, glancing over her shoulder in confusion and awe. Spider-Man, no, Peter Parker, would do as he always did, saving the city and its citizens from danger.

With no more strength or motivation to do anything else, MJ went straight home. Her mind was still racing, needing to figure things out, to map them out, to.. That's it. She threw her bedroom door closed, throwing her bag on the bed, and stared at the wall. The next few hours were spent taping and pinning and cutting, red and blue and yellow threads connecting scraps of newspapers -- until she had a record of Spider-Man.

The wall was covered in articles and pictures of him, dates and people and places. MJ flopped down onto her bed, sitting on the edge, and stared at it all, mind working as fast as she could.

What am I missing? 

She couldn't make sense of it - she'd have to ask Peter, next time she saw him. Whenever that was.

*

The 'next time' turned out to be further than she thought.

There were so many days spent following reports of Spider-Man, wandering around in areas he might appear. Hours spent mapping his movements and whereabouts. And still... nothing. This wasn't something MJ could drop. It was something far bigger than she could fathom, she could feel it. This had to do with her mind, and her life. She needed to know.

But as the days stretched into weeks, MJ felt as though she was going insane. With only brief sightings and no sign of Peter Parker, it was as if he'd never saved her, as if he hadn't said a word. All she had for reassurance was an article written about the incident, in which they'd shown a picture of MJ, being shielded by Spider-Man.

She sat on her bed, inspecting the connections on her wall. Peter was basically a ghost, is what she'd found. There were barely any mentions of him anywhere - it was as if he'd popped into existence only a few months ago.

"That's it." she muttered, standing up. MJ's frustration had built for too long, and she needed to clear her head.

Without thinking, she began walking across the city, the dim streetlights illuminating her path, cutting through the dark. The night breeze cut through her skin, sending shivers down her spine. She clutched her hoodie closer, feeling unsure and yet somehow perfectly confident in her destination.

After a while, MJ found herself staring at the school building. It was dark and empty, a few lights bouncing off the white walls of the building she found her gaze fixed on. A shadow seemed to move on its roof, prompting her to climb up.

From the rooftop, the city seemed to span forever, a clear and yet obstructed view of the buildings sprawling around her. She walked to the edge, leaning on the cold stone railing.

A sense of profound grief washed over her -- like the feeling when you look at the picture of someone you knew, after they die. The hollow sadness of knowing you've begun to forget them. The piercing pain that comes with the realisation of loss.

A tear dropped onto the stone, darkening it in a perfect circle.

MJ looked down, then lifted her hand to her eyes, wiping them with confusion. She stared at the darkened stone, then out at the city, and back. It felt right to be here. And yet.. so very wrong. It was utterly confounding. Among the grief were sparks of joy, of comfort. Faded familiarity. The joy that comes with the warmth of love, of support. It was like...

Nostalgia.

The bittersweet remembrance of joyful times, long gone from the present. The faded memories and rose-colored vision. The joy and comfort and grief and loss. The knowing it would never be the same. The sting and shiver of feeling the present was.. lacking. The knowledge it isn't.

And yet.. at the moment, MJ felt something was definitely missing. A locker marked with the wrong initials, a letterbox with the wrong name, a seat with the wrong person.

A movement caught her eye in her peripheral vision. She turned, quickly, and scanned the rooftop. Sitting on the edge of the raised section, one leg dangling over the edge, was Spider-Man. Except his mask was off, brown curly hair rustled by the breeze, barely illuminated by the faint silver light of the moon.

"Peter.." she muttered, the low noise obviously catching his attention as his head snapped around to face her, eyes locking with hers. He jumped to his feet, mask covering his face once again, moving to leave.

"Don't you dare!" MJ called, irritated. This whole thing was confusing. The rooftop, the coffee, Peter Parker. She needed answers.

He froze at the command, poised to swing away, hesitating.

"I need answers, Spider-Man." she walked towards him, staring up, "You can't just keep avoiding me."

Even through the mask, she could make out an expression of obvious regret. But she wasn't interested in his inner turmoil, not right now. Not when it involved her access to information she needed.

After a lingering moment, his web fired from his wrist as he leapt from the rooftop, not looking back. He disappeared into the buildings within seconds.

"Somehow.." she spoke into the dark, half to herself, "I thought you'd be better than this, Peter Parker."

*

Peter swung into the Sanctum, and began banging on the door to Dr Strange's study. After a moment and the sound of rustling papers from inside the room, the door flew open, seemingly on its own, and Peter barged in, slamming it shut behind himself. His mask retracted into the suit, Dr Strange staring at him from the desk, irritated.

"I need you to wipe MJ's memory again." he pleaded, breathlessly

Dr Strange looked furious, "Peter. Do you have any idea how much damage that could cause?"

"It doesn't matter, I messed up, I-"

"And why is it my job to clean up after your reckless mistakes?" the Dr stood, slamming his hands on his desk as he chair scraped loudly across the wooden floorboards.

Peter, taken aback, looked down, speaking quietly, "I'm sorry, Sir. I just- it's..." he trailed off, and began to pace, holding his head in his hands, "I really messed up and she saw my face and I'm panicking and-"

Dr Strange threw his arms in the air, exasperated, "You should've been more careful then. She's seen you now, whether you like it or not. Now go figure out how to deal with this, I've got more important things to deal with than teenage drama." with one hand he pinched the bridge of his nose, irritated - with the other he made a dismissive movement towards the door, which creaked open.

"Please, Sir. I'm begging you-"

"It could kill her."

Peter froze, eyes widening, "...what?"

Strange sat back down, folding his hands together and staring at Peter, "We messed with the memory of an entire world, Peter. It was risky. With the magic acting on her probably already weakened, who knows what would happen if I tried to erase that detail now?"

Peter fell silent, staring into the distance, mind racing. What could he do? Did he have to tell her now? How would he even begin to explain?

Dr Strange sighed, and flicked his wrist, a small box flying out of a drawer in his desk and into the air, tossed towards Peter, "Catch."

He raised his hands, startled, and caught the small cube. It was a lot like the one he'd used to send the others back to their worlds, except much smaller and with a very different purpose, "What...?"

"If you press the button, it'll release the spell on MJ's mind and she'll remember you, she'll remember everything."

"But what about-"

"It's safe, if that's what you're worried about." he ground out the words, regret poisoning each one, "I didn't have time, back then, to do this. It's intricate and would have risked destroying the entire spell."

Peter nodded silently, a lump rising in his throat.

"The path branches ahead of you, Peter. Make sure whatever you do, you won't regret it."

Now, Peter was sitting atop the tallest building he could find, night coming to an end as the edge of the sky began to brighten with licks of golden light, turning the horizon blood-red. He held the box, caressing its intricacies as he contemplated his options. Peter's heart told him to press it, sure. But where would that get them?

This was how he'd spent the weeks following the incident in a panic, avoiding MJ and trying to figure out what to do. 

Her words rang in his head, the ones she'd spoken right after he'd promised to tell her everything, "You better. If you don't I'm just going to figure it out." Peter could still see her tear-stained face as she'd said it, her facade of strength stripped away and leaving them with nothing but pure grief and emotion.

He'd made the decision for her sake, for the sake of everyone he loved - hadn't he?

And then it hit him.

Once he'd cut himself off, back at the cafe in early winter, he'd made his choices far more painful. If they would have been fine either way, if his decision had done nothing for them, then the past months of hollow pain and grief and loneliness were for nothing. He'd spent Christmas and New Years alone for his idiocy. He'd grieved May alone, with no support, for no reason.

The moment he'd stepped out the door of the shop, he'd placed restraints on himself, never allowing himself to consider the other option. It must be dangerous to tell them, right? He hadn't prolonged his suffering for no reason?

And as the cold wind whipped across his face, feeling like a million papercuts, he stared into the sky - scouring it as if it held the answers.

Perhaps it did.

*

MJ awoke to the sound of a gentle, repetitive knocking. She groaned, and rolled over, muttering "Yeah, yeah..."

She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Then, she sat up very suddenly. The sound was coming not from her door, but her window. Jumping to her feet, she rushed over and pulled the curtains aside, dim sunlight creeping in. It was the early hours of the morning and the sun had not yet risen completely.

A flash of red seemed to wave MJ up to the roof.

Without hesitation, she pulled on some warm clothes, climbing out onto the fire escape. The cold, late-winter air sent shivers down her spine - the season seemed to be gripping on to the city, breathing the last of a frozen chill into her bones. A minute and some scrambling later, she found herself standing on a concrete floor, Spider-Man standing a few meters away.

He was staring out over the cityscape, and the sun began to claw its way up from the horizon into the sky, barely visible. He turned, mask retracting.. and there he was-

"Peter Parker." MJ declared, taking a step towards him.

"Hi there," he smiled, sadly.

"Finally deigned to speak to me, huh?" she crossed her arms, irritated but clearly intrigued.

The way she spoke to him hurt, not trace of their history. And the way she looked at him... it felt as if she were staring right through him, barely a remenant of recognition beyond his existence as Spider-Man.

"I think I owe you that much," he took a breath, "after all, you've done far more for me."

Her confusion was obvious, her eyebrows scrunching, eyes narrowing as she tried to figure it all out.

He chuckled, "Same as always, huh MJ?"

"Stop being so.. weird and tell me what's going on already!" she blurted, becoming more irritated by the second.

He shook his head, and sat on the ledge, "Come, sit."

Reluctantly, she sat beside him, about half a meter away.

Peter stared out across the city, not breaking his gaze for a moment. He was silent for a lingering moment. "I had a life. Friends, school, my Aunt," his voice hitched, "And then.. I made a mistake. And everyone found out I was Spider-Man."

MJ frowned slightly, but listened intensely.

"Everything came crashing down. My friends were refused their futures, I couldn't walk a meter without being stopped by journalists looking for the newest Spider-Man controversy. New York's superhero, a teenage boy." he scoffed, pained at the memory, fidgeting with his hands, "So I went to someone, asked them to make everyone forget I was ever Spider-Man. But I messed up. Again. People died. More would follow, if we didn't fix it. And, in the end..."

He trailed off, glancing briefly at the MJ before fixing his gaze onto the streets below. She moved closer and reached over, placing her hand on his, smiling supportively. Something about it felt like the right thing to do.

"In the end, everyone had to forget. Not just about me being Spider-Man, but about me. Peter Parker needed to disappear. For good. So.. everyone forgot me. My friends, my teachers-"

"Your girlfriend?" she added, remembering their conversation at the coffee shop.

He paused, meeting her gaze and speaking softly, "Yeah, her too."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"I... knew you, didn't I?"

Peter opened his mouth to deny it, but stopped and looked away once again. MJ gently turned his head to face her, looking into his eyes.

"What was I to you, Peter?" she asked softly, caressing his face with a faint sense of recognition. He winced, eyes closing as he leaned into her hand for comfort, placing his own hand on hers.

Peter's eyes opened slowly, and he stared into hers, entranced. She leaned into him, forehead on his - looking into his very soul, it seemed. A spark of recognition and...

MJ kissed Peter gently, holding his head in her hand - it felt right, as if nothing else mattered. The sun rose behind them, illuminating their features, filling them with warmth.

And then came the pain. 

A spark, like a lighter in her mind, feeling like metal and fire, as something tried to breach a wall in her mind. MJ pulled away, grabbing her head in her hands as thoughts began to burn.

"MJ!" Peter called, in a strangled tone. Holding her tightly with one arm, reaching for the box with the other, he muttered into her hair, pained, "I'm sorry..."

He pressed the button, and a golden light burst from her mind, plant-like tendrils crawling across her. Bursts of memories began to pierce the veil in her mind. She could feel they were memories, and yet she couldn't have recalled them if asked a few moments ago.

Standing in the rain. Laying on the school rooftop. Opening letters from MIT. All with Peter. Peter hugging her. Peter wiping away her tears. Spider-Man swinging her over the city. Peter saving her, time and again. Peter being an idiot.

The statue.

Kissing him.

A promise.

She looked up at him, mind whirring to click the memories into the right places, working out all the missing pieces. And Peter saw the recognition in her eyes, for the first time in what felt like forever. MJ stood carefully, Peter following suit, looking over the cityscape and then back to him.

"Peter..?" she breathed.

He nodded, vision going misty as his eyes welled with tears, speaking softly, "Hey, MJ"

Reaching out and caressing his face, MJ took a step back - a stab to Peter's heart. Then she moved towards him with purpose, punching his arm, hard.

"Ow!"

"You idiot!" her voice broke as she spoke, angry yet relieved, "How could you not tell me?"

"I..." he trailed off, looking away, then back at her, "I'm sorry."

She sighed and leaned into him, "What am I going to do with you, Peter Parker?"

"I don't know," he muttered with a smile.

MJ placed her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, and smirked, "I told you I'd figure it out."

"Yeah.." he murmured, "you did, didn't you?"

"I'm.. glad you're back." Peter breathed, feeling the crushing loneliness of the past months finally lift.

"So am I." MJ whispered back, feeling as if this was where she belonged. Right here, in this embrace.

The golden light of the rising sun enveloped them as it rose above the horizon, somewhat obscured by the buildings. Far below, people began their daily routines as dogs began to bark and the first cars drove out onto the streets for a new day. The symphony of the city, unchanged. And maybe it would bring hardship, but at least they had each other again.