Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter woke up with the sudden urge to pull his shit together.

It was better thinking of being productive than spiraling down a hole of hopelessness. The bed wasn’t overly soft and making him sink in it like last time. Every morning, the damn bed was like quicksand. The more Peter thought about swinging his leg off, the deeper he sank into the covers.

He would never admit it, but the embrace of the blanket hit him hard. He wasted three months wallowing in self-pity, moping around the flat and overthinking every millisecond of that interaction with MJ. Three months ago. God, he hoped she had forgotten about what a weirdo he looked like. He groaned with embarrassment every time he thought of it.

Peter was definitely going to up himself now.

He made the bed. It wasn’t the best job but looked neat, for once. Peter smiled a happy smile. It felt like an accomplishment after doing nothing for so long. Maybe he should get a double bed. His arm and leg hung off the frame and practically swept the floor when he slept. May used to say he looked like a dead body was dumped there.

The familiar pang squeezed his chest, but Peter forced through three big deep breaths until it ebbed away. He was not going to fall into the vicious cycle of locking himself up to cry till he passes out. Think of school, think of exams, think of food, okay not food, think of… the cool new movie releasing this week.

That wasn’t hard. This was a start, right? Peter dug through the cardboard boxes, eager to put his mind off. Old clothes, computer parts and books were filled till the brim. Ned’s and his lego set took an entire box. Dust was gathered everywhere, forming globs of fungus breeding in the corners.

He grimaced. His entire house needed a severe cleaning. He rolled out the Star Wars posters around him, simply sitting in between and gazing at them. He remembered May taking him to all those events and getting every one of his favourite character’s autographs. Peter traced one of them on the bottom, inky black and almost faded.

Back when life was normal.

Peter pasted them across the bed, the sound of crinkling paper and smell of glue giving him a sweet distraction. Bounding across the room and balancing different tools filled him with a rush of serotonin and he didn’t feel so bad now. It was nice. He smoothed out the wrinkles, smacked the stubborn curling corners and stood back to admire his handiwork. The walls didn’t give an impression of a depressingly bland and empty canvas anymore and at least reflected a little of Peter.

Next, his study table. GED books were scattered everywhere, pen holder tipped with ballpoints dried up in open air. The table lamp drooped, light flickering and small post its stuck everywhere. Peter puffed his cheeks and exhaled slowly and began stacking up the books in a pile. He slapped his chair, a cloud of dust and bits of paper flying straight at his face. Not even his tingle could warn him of the violent sneeze.

The post its were incorrect calculations and went directly to the bin. There were so many, Peter had to pause and stare at the heap. He never went wrong these many times and judging by the violent scribbles, he had been frustrated with it. MIT was no-no for him and now by his sudden dumbness, it was finalized. Peter scowled, crumpled another post it and threw it.

The room seemed mildly inhabitable now. The crippling sense of emptiness and loneliness lingered but Peter had to deal with it. He had made his mind of arranging his life and that’s what he was going to do. He was doing good till now. Organized half his room and cleaned up some cobwebs (the irony). Just the kitchen and then it was perfect.

Peter glanced out of the window. Tires of parked cars were half buried in fresh snow. Pedestrians walked clad in thick layers of wool, blowing air into their gloved palms. Across the street, he saw a man trying to shovel snow out of his lawn before shoving it away, annoyed, and storming back into his house.

Peter took a deep breath. He hadn’t been out of his flat without his suit in these months. Getting admiring calls of Spiderman as he swung by which once filled his heart with joy now just bore a hole in it. Peter Parker was Spiderman and the thought of going out in a world where Peter didn’t exist was daunting.

Dr. Strange had been right.

Living the two lives came biting back at him. But he was going to get it together.

Peter scrubbed his face raw from the layers of grime and attempted at brushing his hair. It was truly magical on how better one felt immediately after cleaning up. He zipped an extra jacket over his hoodie, slapped on a beanie and checked himself out in the cracked bathroom mirror. Cheeks were sunken in, eyes tired, and clothes were hanging loose but Peter looked clean. This was fine.

He had to get stuff. Run errands and stock up real food physically rather than just ordering snacks online. And mustering the courage to do so made Peter pat himself on the back. He kicked aside the boxes, leaving them to be unpacked later.

The box hit the wall and something suspiciously like glass breaking sounded and Peter groaned. One job, he had one job. He stared at the box for a while with a frown, contemplating whether to deal with it now or later. He huffed and shuffled over because he didn’t do procrastination now. He was getting his act together, remember?

Peter rummaged through his clothes, digging in deep before his fingers hit something cold. He leaned in and saw few photo frames peeking underneath. Suddenly, sweat broke out on his skin and he felt hot all over. Every inch of him screamed to just leave it alone and just run the darn errands. But his eyes were transfixed on the picture boring laser holes through his soul. And despite himself, Peter saw his hands automatically extract it from the depths.

He brushed the dirt off the cracked glass with his sleeve, heart dropping to the pit of his stomach. May was gripping his chin and forcefully kissing his cheek. Peter had pretended he was annoyed with the eyeroll, but the wide smile betrayed him.

His throat began clogging up without warning like it did in his worthlessness period. His eyes gathered tears without his permission and Peter hated it. It was his fault and crying over it like a baby wont reverse anything. He stared at the picture through the blurriness, refusing to let the tears fall. It seemed like it happened eons ago, in a completely different universe. Once when they were actually happy, and Peter wasn’t screwing everything up.

A blob appeared on the cracked photo, bending the colours beneath. Peter wiped it off aggressively, angry at his body betraying him. He felt so put together just moments ago and now he was back to feeling pathetic. On cue, as if to mock him, another droplet landed in a perfect hemisphere on May’s face.

Peter tore his eyes away and saw another frame staring up at him at the bottom. Mr. Stark was smirking at the camera, hand wrapped around the shoulder of a very flustered looking Peter. He was wearing the atom T-shirt which Mr. Stark had teased on how nerdy it looked. Peter’s hands automatically reached to clutch his own clothes, glancing down to see it was the same T-shirt in the photo.

The last thread of self-control he had broke and Peter sunk into the floor and sobbed. He sobbed like the loner who caused everyone dear to him to either die or suffer because of his recklessness. Because that was all he could do now. Cry at the mess he made. His hands shook and body heaved with every lung wracking breaths.

He missed May. He missed Mr. Stark. He missed just knowing someone had your back and was ready to yell if he messed up. Mr. Stark trusted him, left him his creations, fought for him and all Peter did was let him down. He really wished he could undo all of this.

Peter studied his face again, breaths coming in short hiccups. Mr. Stark seemed so happy, crow’s foot on his eyes as he beamed behind the yellow shades. The day before he offered Peter to become an avenger. Just like he gave him EDITH and DUM-E. The trust, again. He didn’t deserve any of it.

But he was going to try and not be a disappointment anymore. Because Peter had vowed to gather his mess together. He grabbed the photo of him and May, forced it in the box with Mr. Starks’ and feverishly dumped all his clothes over them. He wasn’t going to dwell on it anymore.

Peter bounded across the room and searched his drawers with trembling hands. Soon enough, the box was taped, webbed and thrown into the deep abyss of his cupboard.

He had errands to run.

                                                                 _____________________

Peter was pretty proud of himself. He had managed to get out of his three-month hibernation as Peter Parker, buy his stuff and walk on the streets despite having an inconvenient breakdown. He exhaled, watching his breath mist and rubbed his nose on his shoulder.

People walked past him, without throwing the ‘Mysterio was right’ and ‘OMG PETER PARKER’ at him. Which was a relief. He quietly watched a woman adjust mittens on her baby in a pram. A man was trying to hail a cab and cursed out colourfully when none stopped. A group of teens stood huddled in the corner, vaping and giggling. It was like nothing happened.

None of the destruction Peter caused evident.

“ – can I help you?”

Peter froze. The burst of warm air disappeared as the door beside him jingled shut with a clink. Peter peeked through the glass into the coffee shop and felt his chest constrict. MJ stood behind the counter; curly hair swept aside lazily as she smiled politely at the customer.

Like every time he saw MJ, Peter’s heart went into flutters. She still looked the same, unaffected and effortlessly beautiful, even in barista uniform. Peter could not not smile.

He hadn’t seen her in such a long time. After that whole embarrassment show he did in front of her, he couldn’t bring himself to meet her again. But right now, she was so close, separated only by a glass door. Peter could just turn and continue to walk away, sparing MJ and Ned from having to deal with him ever again. People close to him always ended up suffering.

But he promised them. And maybe Peter felt a little selfish at the moment. He bought his things physically, so as a self-reward he could see her up close once again. One last time without looking like a clown.

The heaters blasted warm air and a tune jingled above Peter when he pushed the door open. The aroma of sugary donuts and strong caffeine wafted through. A small TV blared the news in the corner. But his eyes were only for MJ, MJ who was preparing a coffee with her back to him, hair in a casual updo. She served the customer before him before turning to face Peter.

God, she still took his breath away.

“Hi, how may I help you?” She plastered a retail smile. Peter stared at her, drinking in every feature. The bandage was gone, and her hair was shorter. It suited her. Everything suited MJ.

“Hi,” He finally said, clearing his throat. Why did he sound like a preteen? “I, uh, would like a coffee. Regular. Extra sugar.”

“Peter, right?” MJ said slowly. “Peter Parker?”

She remembered. She remembered him. “Yeah.” Peter managed to say. “You remember?”

No no no why did he ask that?

MJ grinned. “Oh, yeah dude. You’re like the first customer who said his name before his order. Pretty cool.”

Peter flushed. She remembered that too.

“You should probably get hot chocolate,” MJ said matter-of-factly. “It’ll warm you up. That jacket looks thin, no offense.”

“None taken,” Peter shook his head, blinking rapidly. “And, um, hot chocolate it is.”

MJ smiled and went off to prepare his order. Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and set down his shopping bags. Maybe that wasn’t a complete disaster. He just expected to get a coffee and stay in her company for a while, but she still remembered his name.

Peter wanted to smack his head. Who the hell introduced themselves as ‘Hi I’m Peter Parker and I want coffee’? He could have thought of better ways to come up to her and Ned. Or just read off what was written on the slip of paper.

No, that would have been creepy.

“Hot chocolate with complimentary marshmallows right up,” MJ plopped a mug of brown liquid and colourful marshmallows floating on the top.

Peter raised a brow at the menu above. “That’s… not part of the order.”

“Yeah,” MJ rolled her eyes. “It’s complimentary, dumbass. Thought you needed it, cause your eyes and all are red.”

“Oh,” Peter felt the lightness in him wink out. He instinctively ducked his head. He hadn’t bothered to wash his face after that whole thing back in his flat. And MJ showed pity. Just old, worthless pity. “It’s nothing. Stayed up all night studying. No biggie.”

“Mhm.” God, MJ was way too smart. She knew he was lying but didn’t push. He looked up at her and saw her staring at him like he was some puzzle. Figure it out, MJ. Like you did last time. But she didn’t and instead stalked off, serving the other customers.

Peter sipped his hot chocolate, the sweetness melting on his tongue. He remembered May making hot chocolate for him during Christmas. Whipped up that special foam just like he liked. It was a Christmas tradition followed since he was a kid and May insisted on it even when he grew. And now she wasn’t there anymore. Nor was anyone else he could celebrate with. And Peter was responsible for it.

He swallowed hard, biting his tongue to stop himself from shaking. He slipped out a ten-dollar bill and slid it on the counter. Just to see her one last time.

“Hey, uh,” He couldn’t say her name. It would be suspicious. MJ heard him and shot a lopsided smile.

“MJ,” She said. “Call me MJ.”

“MJ,” Peter pretended to test out, but his stomach felt like bursting to be finally saying her name out loud. “Thank you, MJ.”

“Anytime, Peter Parker.”

Something glinted on her neck and Peter halted. The black dahlia necklace proudly nestled beneath her collar; the same Peter had gotten for her. The time where he confessed what he really felt about her and when MJ found about him being Spider-man. Peter’s mouth was suddenly dry as he forced his eyes up at MJ.

“Where…” Peter’s voice cracked. Did she really remember him, then? A small light of hope flamed in his chest. “Where did you get that necklace?”

MJ looked down and fingered the pendant. “Oh, this,” Her eyes seem to glaze so fast, Peter swore he almost missed it, before it focused back on him again. “My best friend Ned gifted it. He’s right there. Yo, Ned! This is Peter Parker.”

Ned was seated by the window with his phone, mouth filled with a donut as he awkwardly waved. Peter pressed his lips and forced it up, waving back but his mind was reeling. Ned gifted it. Ned. How-

“Pretty dope,” MJ continued, excited. “It’s broken, but I don’t really care. He got it for me from our trip from school as some late friendship gift or whatever. There was some crazy shit back there, and we both were stranded together but it was fun. And I’m rambling. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Peter snapped out of his train thought and shook his head fervently. “No, no, it’s okay. I like it.”

MJ blinked up at him, surprised. She blew a lock of hair out of her eye before smirking. “You’ll be the first.”

Peter felt suddenly bold and he smiled. “What can I say? I only settle for no. 1.”

They stood in silence, staring unblinkingly at each other as if challenging the other. Ned coughed in the background. The door jingled as another customer walked in and MJ finally moved.

“Well then, Peter Parker. I’ll hope to see you soon again. Marshmallows will always be complimentary.”

She left, but instead of the crippling emptiness his heart felt full of sweet, thick honey. The jitters back in his fingers and spreading down his body making him float in a bubble. It wasn’t a complete fiasco. He talked to her without jumbling his words or appearing like a weirdo. Maybe he can do it by baby steps. He glanced at her again, watching her converse with the woman in front of her.

Maybe, he’s really getting his shit together.

Chapter Text

Peter stood alone in the middle of the street. He glanced at all intersections; it was empty and dark. Not a single car or pedestrian in sight. The buildings’ lights were closed, the air heavy around him. Peter’s heart picked up as he cautiously took steps, breathing loud in his ears.

A faint whine echoed behind him, and Peter whipped around, hands thrown out in attack. Right in front of him, hovered the Iron man suit, the visor’s glow bright and set on him. The red and gold pain was chipped and burnt, several dents decorating the sides.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter breathed incredulously.

“Hello, Spider-man,” Mr. Stark’s voice sounded mechanical through the suit, but the condescendence leaked. The helmet tilted. “Having our fun, are we?”

“Wha-“

Peter barely managed to dodge the beam hurtling his way. Mr. Stark aimed his repulsor at him again, circle shining in warning.

“I told you, don’t try to be like me,” He growled. “Be better. Look what you did. Everything is destroyed.”

This time, the beam hit Peter in the chest, and he flew backwards. A mix of colours swirled by, world shifting and he landed in a heap of rubble. His body throbbed, smoke emitting out of him. A hand suddenly gripped his wrist and Peter flinched.

“It’s okay,” May rasped, smiling. Blood, so much blood under her. But she smiled creepily wide.

A boulder slipped loose and hit Peter, pinning him to the ground. He cried out, the weight pushing his ribs and wrapping his lungs like hot wire. It hurt, it hurt so much, and Peter couldn’t breathe through the burning. Mr. Stark hovered next to May, repulsors whining at him.

“This is your fault.”

May stared at Peter without seeing, the ghost of her smile still etched on her face. Mr. Stark’s helmet slipped up. His eyes were blank and dead, the side of his face charred, pink flesh covered in soot exposed. The boulder above him pressed farther and his chest crushed, feeling a rib break and pierce his lung and Peter couldn’t breathe-

Peter shot up his bed and stuck to the ceiling, drenched in cold sweat. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, pain shooting through with every rise. His body trembled with the adrenaline coursing through his veins, nausea snaking up his throat. The boulder felt so real and heavy, leaving him helpless unable to move or shout. The faces so vivid, so close and accusing.

That’s how it went every single time. Every single night.

Peter gulped in all the air greedily, trying to slow his erratic heart, relishing the feel of cool air grazing the back of his pyjamas and stroking his skin. No boulder. No zombie Mr. Stark trying to kill him. He was in his cheap little flat, smelling like stale bread. He could breathe. He was fine.

Peter detached from the ceiling and fell on his bed, blow softened by the blanket. His room was still dark, only a tiny crack of light visible through the sky. He glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table. 6:00 AM, it read in big neon green letters. That wasn’t too early. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with the toss and turn if it was in the middle of the night.

Peter slowly rolled over, swinging his legs off the bed. It was much easier to get out of the bed now that he had something to do. Unlike the last few months where he lay like a log with no goal. It helped to be excited (and nervous but he must be positive) to be back in school. Peter could see MJ and Ned. He had something to look forward to in the day rather than just fighting petty crime in New York.

Something he could do as Peter Parker.

He set off to the bathroom, his knees almost buckling on the way. Peter supported himself by the doorframe, sweat breaking out on his skin again. He wobbled like Jell-O, vision blurring on the edges as Peter swayed. He frowned at the suddenness and dragged himself into the bathroom and into the tub, wincing at the pins and needles stabbing his legs.

Peter stood under the shower, hot water cascading through his scalp and down his body. He braced himself from slipping by placing a hand on the wall and leaning into it. Peter felt unnaturally weak and sluggish, his mind in a fog. He shook his head and closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of water dripping.

The image of the green goblin grinning flashed eerily close. Peter gasped, foot sliding on the smooth tile and pain radiated up his back as he fell. He groaned, curling into himself to hold his throbbing head. Maniacal laughter rang in his ears and Peter winced, frantically trying to sit up. Water filled his nose and mouth and he coughed, chest squeezing with every inhale.

He was not here. He was cured and sent back to wherever he came from. Peter was alone and all by himself, safe. The world was safe. He was fine.

Peter gripped the edge of the tub and slowly got to his feet, shaky. The goblin’s face was still fresh in his mind, and he shuddered. Not the goblin. He didn’t exist anymore because he was cured and sent back. Peter was okay. Just take in deep, even breaths and calm down.

He killed Aunt May.

Peter gritted his teeth and grabbed a fistful of wet hair, pulling it harshly. Not this again, please. Not this again.

But there was no escaping. His thoughts kept flitting towards the goblin and his stupid smirk as he destroyed the building. And Peter, useless Peter couldn’t do anything. Just stand there, cry over a little boulder pinning him.

Sometimes he wondered if it was even worth curing them. He wondered what would happen if he would have just listened to Dr. Strange, an adult who knew his shit, and carried his life on with Ned and MJ. None of the destruction, none of the lives or property lost.

May said Peter was right and that he should continue doing it no matter what anyone says. She stuck to it even till her last breath. But the very people she wanted to help killed her. Maybe if Peter left them alone, May would still be alive. She would be disappointed in him and berate him till he grew white hair, but he would take the disappointment over her being dead anytime.

She could have been alive. May should have been here with him.

The water felt suffocating now. Like every droplet was wrapping a chord around Peter’s neck. But he didn’t care. He automatically reached for the handle and twisted it at the hottest level possible. The shower emitted blistering water and Peter hissed at the burn. He deserved the pain. A pathetic sob escaped his lips, and he clamped a fist in his mouth. No. None of that nonsense right now.

Because he killed May.

The steam filled Peter’s lungs until he began wheezing. Like a switch the mind fog disappeared, and Peter snapped out of it, realization dawning over him. He shut the stream, gasping, raw skin tingling all over. His body trembled, partly with his sluggishness and partly with the after-shower chill catching up. He slapped his cheeks, shaking himself out of the vicious cycle he had fallen into.

Peter wrapped a towel around him and leaned against the wall, processing what he just did. It was like he couldn’t control himself. His skin stung and burned, reminding him of the scalding hot water running down him.

Peter shivered. He had to get himself together if he wanted to graduate school one piece. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He could do this.

Peter was out of his stale bread smelling flat dressed in a clean hoodie and beanie. His skin was still pink with the little act, but he managed to cover it with the sleeves. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, jamming the key into the keyhole and locking the door.

He scanned the books in his arms, wiping off imaginary dust. Peter couldn’t believe he was actually going to go back. He was still registered as a student in Midtown High and could still attend classes, despite being three months later into the new academic year. But Peter decided to give it a shot anyway. He took a deep breath and set down the passage.

“Nuh-uh hands off those crockery, boy! They are fine edition I got at a sale, a goddamn loot right it was!” A shrill voice echoed down the corridor. “Oh, hello Peter dear! Off somewhere?”

Peter stepped away from the staircase to get a good look at the open door in the end. A large, amiable looking woman was beaming at him, one hand firmly stirring a pan.

“Morning Mrs. Davidson,” Peter put on a polite smile. His skin burned with the action, and he tried to hide a wince. “Nothing, uh. Just school.”

Mrs. Davidson was Peter’s neighbour who shoved down cookies down his throat if she ever got the opportunity. Peter discreetly checked if he was a good five feet away from her.

Mrs. Davidson bobbed her head, blonde curls bouncing. “About time there. You got me thinking you were some dumb dropout. I don’t like no dropouts, right boy?”

She clapped the shoulder of someone hidden inside and Peter craned his neck. A boy around his age leaned against the wall with arms crossed, brow raised at Mrs. Davidson’s hand on his shoulder. Peter frowned. As far as he knew, she lived alone with her husband in the navy and had no kids.

“Uh, who - ?”

Mrs. Davidson yelped, swatting the boy’s hand with a spatula as he purposefully knocked over a jar of flour. She hurled curses at him, frantically bounding around her kitchen in search of a rag. The boy smirked, untangling his hands to place them in his pockets and watching her sweep the floor. Peter gaped at him and then at Mrs. Davidson who was brandishing a rolling pin in warning.

Then in a swift motion, the boy’s eyes shifted to lock with Peter’s.

Peter blinked, taken aback. He looked sharp and intelligent, with the casualness and leather jacket. He wasn’t smirking anymore or frowning for that matter. Just neutrally and unblinkingly watching him. Upon observation, he didn’t really seem like a high school student, but slightly older than Peter. His digital watch beeped, and he took the excuse to break eye contact. 7:15.

“Mrs. Davidson, I gotta go, I’m getting late for my –“

But she was busy sweeping the flour into the waste basket and ignored him. The boy was gone. Without thinking about any of it, Peter rushed down the stairs and out on the street. He could deal with the boy later.

_____________________________

Midtown High was lively and actively bustling with students in the hallway. But the most important and weird part; no one looked at Peter twice.

Peter squeezed his way through the crowd, mumbling ‘excuse me’ as he bumped around. He smiled at being back into walking on the hallways like a normal student, without cameras shoved into his face. He spotted Flash standing by his locker, tapping away on his phone. He sucked in a breath, waiting for him to yell ‘sike!’ and humiliate him. Flash looked up at Peter as if feeling his gaze, blinked uninterested, and went back to typing.

Mr. Harrington, who had created a whole shelf dedicated to Spider-man and Peter Parker walked past him without a glance.

Peter let out a low whistle. Believe it or not, Dr. Strange’s spell was crazy.

He reached his locker and punched in his combination, balancing his books in one hand. A girl besides him scraped off smudged lipstick with her nail, giving Peter a judgy once over before pouting into her compact mirror. She didn’t remember him either. Peter exhaled, giddy with the change.

The door squeaked open and a heap of multicoloured post-its tumbled out. Peter stepped back surprised, the little papers flying out of his hands. His entire locker was pasted with the post-its, even on some of his old notebooks like some post-it blizzard hit his locker. He leaned in, trying to read some.

MYSTERIO WAS RIGHT!

Peter’s blood ran cold. The noise around him muffled as his heart began to thump wildly. That was not possible. The spell made everyone forget about him. Dr. Strange promised everything would be fixed and Peter would not exist in anyone’s lives. He glanced around frantically, but no one paid any attention to him, heading towards their respective classes.

He swallowed hard and rapidly plucked the papers out, stuffing them into his bag.

SPIDER-MAN MORE LIKE MURDER-MAN

your kinda hot show me what that spidey dong can do parker ;)  ~leah xoxo

You rock Peter Parker! Kiss my ass!

There were so many phone numbers and snapchat usernames written. Hate notes. Admiring notes. Peter crumbled them all and stuffed them, his breathing quick and shallow. No one around him bothered to look twice at the public’s enemy no.1 who was bordering an anxiety attack.

This had to be some sort of cosmic joke.

“Hey, Peter Parker!”

Peter whirled, banging his head with the door. He yelled out, cradling his throbbing temple. Dammit, what was wrong with him today?

“Shit, dude you ok?” Ned and MJ were in front of him, concerned and Peter smoothened his hair down, trying to pass off as casual.

“Yeah, yeah,” He nodded. “I’m good. Just, stupid lockers.”

“Uh huh,” MJ deadpanned, face perfectly neutral. Her eyes shifted to stare behind Peter. “Those are a lot of reminders, Peter Parker.”

He had left the door open. Crap. He quickly threw his books in and shut it, trying not to make it to obvious he was hiding their view. MJ acted like she didn’t know about it. Nothing made sense.

“Yeah, I tend to forget a lot.” What.

“Mhm,” MJ drew out the same word she said when she thought everything that came out of your mouth was shit. “I didn’t know you went to Midtown High, coffee guy.”

“Yeah, I would definitely know if you did,” Ned chimed in and saw MJ looking at him weirdly. “What? I keep a track of all seniors. I’m a yearbook photographer this year, remember?”

“Sure, Ned.”

“Not this again, MJ, you can ask Mr. Harrington. I’m serious!”

“Sure, Ned.”

“Well, I am a student here,” Peter attempted to assure them. “But I took a break for three months because of some…uh, stuff. Probably why many don’t remember me.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah,” Peter licked his dry lips. “Stuff. Personal… stuff.”

MJ pressed her lips and nodded slowly. “….Okay.”

“Yeah.”

The three stood awkwardly in silence, MJ and Ned glancing at each other occasionally. Peter wanted to talk so much, tell them how much he missed them, do the fist bump with Ned and kiss MJ senseless. He could feel the electric familiarity course through the silence and knew they could feel it too.

But he couldn’t give anything away. He had the opportunity to start new without screwing up. So, he did that.

“So, what are you guys’ first class?”

__________________

Turns out, Peter could not have a normal day.

He surprisingly knew and grasped the material taught in class quick and impressed the teachers with his answers. He caught MJ and Ned looking at him like he was Einstein and Peter felt good about himself. He had slogged back home after seeing those incorrect calculations. But when inquired of his name, the teachers had a blank look. And there the problem started.

None of the teachers recognized him (obviously) and that raised the suspicion of whether he really was a student here or just some rando who barged into the school. Because it couldn’t be possible that all the AP teachers didn’t recognize that one apparently genius kid. After a whole public show of being called into the principal’s office and scanning through the student’s list to find his name anyway (much to teachers’ embarrassment), Peter was dubbed ‘The mystery boy’.

“Mystery boy,” Ned teased for the hundredth time and Peter groaned.

“Seriously stop,” He said. “It’s not funny anymore.”

They were trudging through the campus, the last bell having just rung. People rushed out and Peter once again found himself bumping into them. Several turned his way and began whispering among themselves. Great. Just what Peter needed; people talking about him again.

“You literally pop up to a famous school three months after new academic year and know all the answers to the pop quizzes,” MJ raised a brow. “But no one knows you. That happens in movies.”

“Yeah, it is sort of weird,” Ned agreed. “Even Mr. Harrington couldn’t remember you. He smells high IQ miles away and forces them to join his decathlon.”

“I’m not even that smart.”

“Not even that smart,” MJ mocked in Peter’s voice. “C’mon Peter Parker. The whole school knows how not-smart you are.”

“I know its sort of crazy but,” Peter sighed. “Can we drop it? It’s no big deal, trust me.”

MJ narrowed her eyes. “Sure.”

They shuffled over to the main street with buses and cars zipping past, mostly Ned and MJ bickering with inside jokes. Peter hung back a little watching how happy and peaceful they looked without him interfering in any of their lives. Sometimes he doubted whether he should be even talking to them.

He doesn’t deserve them, and they don’t deserve to go through any of the mess Peter falls into.

“Hey, Peter Parker,” MJ turned towards him, curly bangs flying with the wind. She hesitated a bit, nervously tucking a stray strand behind her ear. “You wanna join me and Ned in my coffee shop? Like an after school hang.”

“You know you can call me Peter, right?”

“Nah, that ruins the fun,” MJ pouted. “Maybe I’ll call you PP.”

Ned snorted soda out his nose. Peter stared at her.

“So, PP. Coffee shop?”

Say no say no say no. You don’t need to be in their life.

“Yeah.”

Chapter Text

Peter felt like he was in a daze.

Here he was, seated with MJ and Ned in the very coffee shop he swore to stay away from. After the disastrous introduction and seeing how peaceful they looked Peter just wanted to stay out of their lives. In all his patrols he just swung by and gazed at them laughing and talking from a building away.

Because no one needed or remembered Peter Parker and he didn’t have the grit to start a new life.

Even now, they bickered like old friends, like nothing bad ever happened. Peter always hung back a little just watching them quietly. They shared their stories punctuated with affectionate rolling of eyes and snickers. Peter recognized every one of them and froze up a little when it teetered to having him involved.

But nothing. It was like he never existed.

Ned and MJ’s memories seemed to have conveniently shifted and filled all the gaps where Peter was present with themselves. The necklace was gifted by Ned. The big Lego set; they made it together and ‘mysteriously’ lost it. (Peter still had that box filled with the pieces but it was too painful to look at.)

They didn’t once mention May or the cookies she made for them. Because there was no other way to know her than through Peter.

It was quite unnecessary for Peter to butt in. They were doing perfect. They had happy lives without any of the danger looming over them because of him. He still had the chance to change schools and disappear completely, leaving them be.

But Peter promised them.

(Or he was just too fucking lonely to push them away anymore.)

MJ had whipped up a hot chocolate for him and dumped multicoloured marshmallows with a knowing smirk. She stirred her own drink, leaning against the counter and clinking her mug with Ned.

“To the losers of Midtown,” MJ raised her mug. Ned raised his own a little too enthusiastically, drops of coffee escaping the rim.

“Amen.”

“Except for our PP here,” MJ flicked a brow at Peter. “Look who’s famous on his first day back from school?”

“I’m not famous,” Peter shot back. “I was accused of faking being a student there. Pretty sure that’s more embarrassing than something to be proud of.”

“That’s not what everyone thinks,” MJ said. “You’re kinda the talk.”

“Yeah, you were technically invisible,” Ned’s eyes were wide, lips split into an open grin. “Even the teachers fell for it. That’s like glitch in the matrix stuff Flash has wet dreams of. How’d you pull it off?”

The conversation was steering to a dangerous edge. It always did. Peter slurped a big mouthful of marshmallows trying to buy himself time. What was he supposed to say? Hey, so a wizard sort of cast a forgetting spell on you all ‘cause it was ruining my life. He would be labelled as insane, and he really didn’t have any better excuses at his disposal.

“It’s nothing,” Peter shrugged, his mind flitting with different ways to change the topic. Talk about cool tech. Movies. College. “I’m just focused on making through this year. I really can’t wait to graduate.”

“Tell me about it,” Ned caught to it and Peter wanted to tackle him into a hug. “The whole MIT thing still feels like a dream. Me and MJ were ready to shit ourselves the day we got our letters.”

The day they three got their letters. Rejected.

MJ nodded into her mug. “Opened them right here. Ned wore his MIT hoodie for a week.”

“It was not for a week.”

“He loved the attention,” MJ ignored Ned, turning to Peter. “I got pictures of him at a party dancing in it. We got matching grey ones. What’s your colour?”

“Oh um,” Peter was taken aback. “I don’t…”

“You don’t have a hoodie?”

Peter swallowed hard; his throat suddenly small. He gripped his hot chocolate tighter, feeling the glass crack a bit. “I’m not in MIT.”

The silence was heavy, the TV blaring in the background adding to the awkwardness. Ned and MJ were staring at him like he expressed his desire to be a ballerina.

Ned spoke up. “You didn’t get into MIT?”

“I didn’t apply.” Peter said quickly. That would be his cover story. He never applied and never got in. He burnt his letter which were riddled with his name associated with Spider-man and that was that. Just Peter erasing the invisible ‘loser’ tag on him.

“So, you must have applied to another university.”

This was getting worse by the second.

“Just my GED,” Peter’s mouth was dry. He took another sip of the chocolate. “That’s it.”

God, he felt like he ruined the vibe. Gone was the playfulness and the light air between them. Peter was beginning to regret every word which came out of his mouth. He should have just changed the topic to movies and not college. MJ was looking at him with a small pinch between her brows.

Peter knew that expression. He stared back, keeping his face passive.

“And then?” MJ said.

“I don’t know,” Peter replied truthfully. He didn’t know what to do with his life. Just be a friendly neighbourhood Spider-man and try not to drown in loneliness and go broke, probably.

MJ still had that pinch when she leaned across the counter, eyes flitting around like she’s trying to dissect him apart. “The rumours are right. You really are a ‘Mystery Boy’, Peter Parker.”

Peter kept his lips sealed, watching MJ boring holes through his soul. He felt that anything he said would just make matters worse. The whole bond between them was broken and it still stung with that blank look in Ned and MJ’s eyes, devoid of any recognition.

The faster Peter would admit it, the faster he would move on.

But he couldn’t.

Like a switch, the air around him moved and Peter felt everything slow down. A certain pressure compressed his ears, making them pop. The hair on the back of his neck rose, sending bouts of tingling down his arms and the noises muffled.

Danger.

Peter spun around, his breathing too loud in his ears. He heard his heart beating, the blood flowing through his veins and his lungs expanding and contracting. The lights above shone brightly piercing his eyes painfully. Peter felt the walls close in and he automatically felt his hands bang the glass door open.

The cold air slapped him, cars and motorcycles whizzing past the busy street. Goosebumps prickled his skin, feeling invisible insects crawl up him and engulf him. Something was wrong, so very wrong.

“Peter?” The voice was garbled, like spoken underwater. But Peter felt he was submerged in an ocean, everything so slow and muffled.

Danger.

Peter snapped his head up at the sky. The tiniest crack was visible, a strand of white light in the middle of the grey sky. As if sensing his gaze, the strand shrank and disappeared. And just like that, the water around him vanished. Peter felt himself jerk, his ears clearing and throat opening up.

The horns and hollers of the street returned to full volume. Peter snapped his neck in all directions, searching for the trigger. Any robbery, petty theft, mugging because that was all Peter had to deal with Spider-man.

Nothing.

“Peter!” It was MJ, close to him and not muffled. A warm hand rested on his shoulder, and he flinched.

“I’m fine,” Peter blurted. His skin was sweaty and clammy. He rubbed his arms, trying to get rid of the goosebumps. “I’m fine, just a little sick.”

“Are you – “

But Peter was already running. He still felt fuzzy and nausea inching its way up. The sensation felt so familiar, and equally as disturbing as the last time. Like something just eerily off, the air not feeling right on his skin and the noises distorted. The first time it happened shook Peter internally.

He had hoped it was the last time.

Peter slowed, staggering a little as his feet tried to gain its stepping from a high speed and collapsed into an empty alleyway. He exhaled quick, unfulfilling breaths, heart pounding as he clutched the stitch at his side.

The prickling and tingling ebbed away, clearing his mind. His head faced the sky, searching for the little crack he had seen earlier. But it was a tight blanket of fog and grey clouds.

Something set him off, just like it did with the goblin. But he was a person, someone inside a person which didn’t sit right with Peter and caused him to become painfully hyper alert. There was nothing else which could edge that bad, no one else suspicious around. Unless.

MJ and Ned.

Peter immediately shook his head. No. It was absurd to even think of it. They didn’t even know who he was.

Peter’s head throbbed and he grunted. The lights from the windows above were too bright, the faint noises of the street too loud. He tardily got to his feet, pushing down a wave of nausea. He felt the mental fog creep back on him again and mush his thoughts.

He just wanted someone to shake him and snap him out of it. Peter wanted a break; a break from feeling like shit, overthink about things like this and not drown in a pit of loneliness.

He couldn’t face MJ and Ned again, not after this. He couldn’t go back to his sorry excuse of a house, just to remind him of how he was all by himself.

Peter had only one place left, one he was too coward and guilty to step into.

________________

Funny, how an apparently depressing and life sucking place made Peter feel safer and peaceful.

May’s grave was simple, just like her. A withering bouquet of roses lay among other kinds of fresh flowers. The red had turned brown, some black and crisp which upon touch would crumble to powder. The first and last time Peter visited where he felt he had ripped his heart out and set it down with those flowers.

It still lay there, though dead. The keepers of fresh flowers had enough tact to not move it away and Peter was grateful. He didn’t have the guts to visit her grave, feeling like a murderer the first day he did. Old leaves rustled as the wind picked up and Peter took a long, calming breath in the silence.

He knelt, fingers brushing the snow-capped tombstone. It was the closest Peter could be with May, and all he wanted was to dig the ground besides her and lay asleep with her. Her arms around him, cajoling him out of the stupid nightmares he had as a child. This time, cajoling him out of the lonely void.

“Careful with your head there, kid.”

Peter started, whipping around with hands raised in attack. The man who was way too close to him stepped back, showing his empty palms.

“Whoa, calm down,” Happy said, scowling. “You looked like you could bang your head there. That’s made of hard rock. I don’t want to deal with a bleeding kid.”

Peter stared at him; lips parted. It was jarring to see another friendly face looking at him like he doesn’t know who he is. He was the same, clad in a suit, neat stubble and signature frown intact. A frown only for strangers.

Happy arched a brow, uncertainly tapping Peter’s fists.

“Thanks,” He said gruffly when Peter lowered them. He looked at him for a while, lips set. “I didn’t expect you here.”

Peter perked up. “You remember me?”

“Remember? You were the only one to visit her,” Happy nodded at May’s tombstone. “And you’re here again, after months.” He paused for a moment. “You knew her?”

Peter nodded tightly. “Yeah. I um, we were close. Sort of.”

Happy softened his stance ever so slightly. “What’s your name?”

Peter vaguely wondered if this was how people dealt with loved ones with Alzheimer’s. “Peter. Peter Parker.”

Peter drank in every feature of Happy, waiting for a crease of recognition to appear on his forehead. Happy’s face was blank, quietly watching May’s tombstone. Peter swallowed the mucus lining his throat and turned his gaze at the grave as well. He was stupid to even hope.

“I can get you Spider-man’s autograph.”

Peter spluttered in disbelief. Happy looked dead serious, with the conjoined brows which made it even more weird. Was he going around and promising people Spider-man’s autograph? “What?”

“You must admire him if you visit his aunt,” Happy said. “Maybe it’ll cheer you up. You look... not good.”

Happy was showing concern. Sloppy and abrupt but a soft emotion nevertheless. Peter’s first thought was to whip out his phone and tape it to show his friends and embarrass Happy. Then the reality weighed down him like every time.

“You know Spider-man?” He settled on saying instead.

“Dated his aunt,” Happy gestured at himself proudly. “’Course I know that punk. He’s scared of me.”

Peter smiled despite himself. A wide, cheek hurting smile ridden with nostalgia. “I don’t believe you. Spider-man isn’t scared of anyone.”

Happy scoffed and it was a sight. “Trembled the moment I stepped in a room as him. No alien or villain he fought was scarier than me. His words, not mine.”

Peter’s shoulders were shaking in quiet laughter. His head felt light from the day’s overthinking, and it felt good. He let out another snort, doubling in chuckles. He spotted a small tug on Happy’s lips, even though his eyes were stubbornly away. A rush of affection filled Peter and a stinging pang hit his stomach.

Happy had done that while trying to stitch up his back in the jet. Tried so hard and Peter snapped. He tried this time, and Peter gave in.

“That’s hard to believe,” Peter said, once he recovered. Happy simply lifted a shoulder.

“Up to you, kid,” He said. “Your Spider-man must have sweating under that mask.” A crease appeared on his forehead. “He was always in a mask. All missions, all debriefs I’ve seen Tony go to, that guy wore a mask.”

Peter’s attention was rapt. “Always?”

“Always,” Happy agreed. “I don’t think the Avengers have seen him either. But I can still get you an autograph.”

“I’d like that,” Peter attempted to smile but a dark hole was swirling within him. Their memories were so distorted, Peter wondered if there was a loophole. He wondered if the spell would magically break if he told them who he was. Or would they just look at him like he was some creep? Or would it just mess with their shifted memories and make it worse?

Peter decided not to. Their lives were going smoothly without him.

He glanced at Happy. The tiny lamps scattered around illuminated his face just enough to see the shadows of bags under his eyes. He was staring at a point behind the tombstone, glazed and unfocused. Peter was so self-absorbed he hadn’t thought once of Happy.

A best friend and now his girlfriend.

“How did you know I visited May just once?” Peter said in a low voice. Happy broke out of his trance, turning to Peter like he just realized he was there.

“I knew,” He said slowly. “Because I came here every day. Everyday.”

And Peter’s guilt skyrocketed. Another name to cross off his list whose life he ruined. He blinked back the sting in his eyes. He didn’t have the guts to face May after what he did and here Happy, despite everything he has lost came here every day.

And Peter killed her. They could have been so much more.

They sat in silence, the noise of wind lulling them deeper into the evening. The dark clouds were still interwoven, the sun setting below the horizon and making it seem darker than it’s supposed to be. Peter’s thoughts ran back to the coffee shop. A band strapped across his chest, tightening with every inhale.

He didn’t know what to think, what to do. He hoped the whole thing was a false alarm. It was painful enough to just be around them, and he never knew when something could happen and MJ and Ned were caught in it just because they associated themselves with Peter.

He had been through that and risked everyone’s lives.

Peter found himself slowly inching into the cycle of doubting his actions.

“You should probably go back home,” Happy finally said, getting to his feet and brushing the snow off him. “It’s late. Your parents must be waiting for you. And I haven’t forgotten about the autograph.”

He set off, car keys hanging by his fingers. Peter stared at the retreating back, bits of snowflakes clinging to the blazer’s fabric. Another person he cared about walking away from him, a nobody. A stranger. Peter wanted to say his name, call him back.

“Ha-“ He couldn’t. He was a stranger to him. Peter bit his tongue, watching Happy go farther down the shoveled path.

“Hey, Mr. Hogan!” Peter cringed at how wrong it sounded from him. But he could call him this much at least. Happy was the famous bodyguard and friend of Tony Stark. Everyone knew Happy Hogan unlike Peter. A nobody.

Happy halted and turned around.

Tell him to stay, tell him to be with you longer, tell him he still scares you, but you miss him.

“Thank you.” Was all Peter could manage, his throat tight.

Happy gave his rare smiles, a genuine one. “Call me Happy.”

Peter felt warmth swoop his insides and relax his muscles, despite of the bitter cold trying to seep through his bones. Call him Happy. Just like before, where none of this happened and Peter had real people to rely on. Their relationship would never be the same, but this was a start Happy had no idea how much Peter needed.

The temperature dropped dramatically, and Peter let out an involuntary shiver. His breath misted in a solid smoke, and his cheeks stung with the cold. The air seemed to shift, and Peter felt a prickle nip his neck and down his back.

Peter froze in horror. The same.

He caught the lightest of a footstep and a slight gust of wind hitting his head. The goosebumps on his neck screamed a presence behind him.

Peter rolled over before he could process anything, and saw bright, fiery red ball of spirals narrowly dodge him. He ignored the stabbing pain shooting up his side and blindly shot a web.

A tall, slim man hovered in front of him, surrounded in a blanket of red tendrils of magic, lighting up the night. His lips pulled into a sneer, pupils a rich crimson glaring at Peter. The web ricocheted off with a flick of his finger, the tendrils twitching as if disturbed. He thrust a hand, eyes glowing as the red shot towards Peter.

Peter automatically flipped, a curse at the tip of his tongue. It managed to nick him anyway, wrapping itself around his neck and compressing his windpipe. Peter choked, attempting to shoot a web but the weird magic held his hands apart, locked in red swirling handcuffs.

The man finally spoke, his voice filled with an anguish which caused Peter’s heart to stop.

“You took everything from me.”

Chapter Text

Peter was totally not winning.

Demon-man – Peter dubbed him with the unnerving red eyes – was nothing like Dr. Strange. The mirror dimension had confused Peter with the abrupt shifts and kaleidoscope like patterns, but he caught the core principle Dr. Strange was playing with. Peter had carefully observed, swinging around to test for anything off and then he saw it: the hazy cracks marring the sky. Because even mirrors ended somewhere.

Flaws existed everywhere, even if it was magic. But this.

Demon-man’s face was contorted in fury as his hand blazed, his coat flapping with the energy, flinging Peter on different tombstones. Pain burst in shocks with every blow, his eyes seeing a blur with the speed he hit the hard stone. There wasn’t a spare second for Peter to collect himself and breathe.

The input was too much; the wind whistling in his ears, the sandpaper like feeling scrubbing his skin raw, the suspicious warm trickle tickling the side of his face. They all overlapped like a hundred people speaking over one another and made Peter want to crawl into the corner and pull his hair.

He felt like he was slipping down a never-ending circular slide, down and down and down into the blind panic blinding him. He couldn’t predict the next move. He couldn’t organize his thoughts. The moment he showed any sign of movement, he was lifted in the air again.

“Look at you,” Demon-man snorted. “So weak. Where’s all the cockiness now?”

Peter’s stomach swooped and his head banged into another stone. His cry never made out; jaw clamped shut the moment he hit the ground. He expected another attack of that suffocating rope around his body, but it never came. He lay face-down, trembling, nostrils screeching with every wheeze. The wind slowed, and his ears perked up with the soft padding of feet.

Peter blinked rapidly, forcing himself out of the tunnel vision and rolled over on his back with a grunt. His head throbbed, and the taste of sour metal pooled in his mouth and dripped down his throat. The sky spun above him in circles, blurring the clouds together. Then like a switch, the fog in his head cleared and the white noise disappeared. Peter tensed, hyper aware. It had come and gone just like it had in his flat.

The footsteps got louder, snow crunching after regular beats. Demon-man’s face popped above him upside down staring at Peter blankly. Peter was aware of his very exposed face but didn’t dare do anything stupid. He held his breath and met his gaze back. He was just a teenager no one knew, and he needed to keep up the façade.

But Demon-man continued to watch Peter, like he knew exactly who was dealing with. Peter felt something cold settle in his stomach at the look, because he knew what it meant. Something he always yearned to see on MJ and Ned, perking up whenever he found even a little resembling it: recognition. Demon-man looked at him like he recognized him. His face. Peter. Him.

He tilted his head; lip curling ever so slightly and raised a hand lazily. He twirled his fingers as if summoning someone, glowing a hot lava and Peter felt something moving against his neck. It hit him a split-second later, when his mask which he tucked in safe inside his hoodie and didn’t dare to give away his identity ripped itself off him and went flying into Demon-man’s hands.

“I don’t think you need this,” he said, startling a bit when the mask crumpled in his palm. “What’s this? Did Stark take away your nanosuit for being a bad boy, Peter?”

Peter didn’t think twice this time.

He thrust his wrist and yanked the string of web latched to a lamppost. He squatted on top of the lamp, knuckles white with how tightly he gripped the pole to steady his dizziness and glowered down at Demon-man. Peter coughed, spitting out the blood which had tried to clot in his throat. His mind reeled, panic seeping in faster than the cold and leaving Peter breathless.

He knew his name. He knew he was Spider-man. He knew Peter knew Mr. Stark. Peter didn’t know if the spell broke mid-way, or if this was some sort of glitch. He didn’t even know who Demon-man was. He had never seen him before in his life, or even with the Avengers. Judging by his appearance, Peter didn’t think he was even from here. White-blond hair, long coat like a magician and had a foreign accent when he spoke.

Demon-man didn’t even bat an eye. “Fight back, coward. I won’t give you an easy death.”

A ball of red energy came hurtling towards Peter, and he barely managed to avoid it. He shot another web and swung close to Demon-man trying to nick him, but the force field around him always deflected Peter away. Peter webbed himself up different lampposts and launched himself in the air in a summersault, aiming for a kick but was swept away like a rag doll.

He came tumbling down into the snow, his clothes damp with the little flakes clinging to them. Demon-man raised his hands and an empty car and bus lined up outside the graveyard came floating towards him in a red cloud. He thrust his hands, and the vehicles came hurtling towards Peter.

Peter’s neck prickled in warning, and he automatically flipped, feeling the car brush his scalp. He shot a web at the car and bus and forced them to halt without causing them rolling over and bursting into flames. Demon-man flung another string of hazy rope like figures hurtling at Peter, but he danced around them, his clothes rippling with how close they grazed him.

And as though predicting every flip, he attacked exactly where Peter would land next. There it was again. Demon-man seemed to hover near the very spot Peter would be about to swing to. He knew every one of Peter’s tricks, even when he tried to create a pattern with his webs to trap him. He knew Peter would try to stop the vehicles from damaging it and took advantage of the split second. Every kick, every punch, he seemed to know.

Like he had fought with Peter before.

Peter felt his stomach tighten as he slowly lost control of the fight.

Aim for the legs, Mr. Stark’s voice echoed. Something he had told him before facing Captain America and Peter had definitely did not listen to him. Aim for the legs because that’s where the person is least aware and protected.

Peter jerked his neck sharply to avoid another jet shooting past him and inhaled. He lunged at a pole, climbed up swiftly and launched in the air into a summersault. He pointed his hands at Demon-man’s face, feinting an attack at his torso and he got ready to retaliate with a cloud of energy bubbling between his fingers. Peter lowered his hands at the last second and the web escaped his shooters to loop around his legs, wrapping itself snuggly.

Demon-man automatically fell to his knees, the same time as Peter landed on the ground, the web tightly binding his legs together. He looked shocked, almost alarmed, tugging at the strings. He glanced up at Peter, a dark look shadowing over him. And then Peter saw something else. The glint of knowing, but it wasn’t the spark of knowing Peter’s name or identity like every other person in the world. But a glint which said he knew Peter personally. Closely.

Instead, fuelled with hatred. And hurt.

“This was exactly what you did to her.”

Demon-man’s eyes flared a fiery red once more, his hands glowing and the webs around his legs snapping like rubber band. The air around him vibrated and bloomed a dark, rosy pink creeping its way around them like walls. His head tipped back in a blood curdling, grief-stricken scream, tendrils of magic expelling out of him and hitting Peter squarely.

A cord wrapped around Peter’s neck like hot lava, and he choked, saliva bubbling down his chin and he fell on his knees. His hands scratched at his throat, feeling nothing but plain skin. Faces flashed before his eyes, flicking way too fast to recognize any but they filled Peter with a crippling sense of hopelessness and grief. Guilt and weirdly, nostalgia. Like he lived another life.

Peter’s lungs began to burn, his throat slowly narrowing itself to the point where he couldn’t inhale. Then he saw himself. It was for the briefest second, just a tiny flicker like a lamp of looking into his own widened eyes. Dark spots crowded in his vision and then suddenly, everything stopped.

Peter doubled over, coughing, head spinning. He glanced up, nostrils whistling with every wheeze and keeping his web shooters ready in defence. Demon-man was kneeling, a hand pulling at his collar while he panted. His eyes were flitting around, mumbling ‘not this town, not again’ repeatedly under his breath. Peter pushed himself on his feet, swaying a little. He slowly approached the huddled figure, palms splayed open ready.

“Who are you?” Peter rasped. “How do you know my name, how – what was that I saw?”

“Wanda,” Demon-man breathed, still eyes still cast down. “You killed her. You killed Wanda.”

It was wrong, everything felt so wrong. The sudden burst of thin orange light into the dark sky signalling dawn (so fast?) and the sudden chilliness of the air around him. Wrong. The words rubbing against Peter like sandpaper. Wrong. Peter knew that name, but not the man it was coming from. Someone he had never seen before, knew Peter and his identity with powers enough to destroy the city with just a jerk of his wrist. It was like he was too powerful for Dr. Strange’s spell to work on him.

But that meant there could be more. Peter’s gut twisted.

At the same time, Demon-man froze, lips parting before snapping his head at Peter. He immediately bent in attack, ready to web him but Demon-man didn’t summon any of the magic, looking like an ordinary man ridiculously dressed like a magician. For the first time, Peter could see his face clearly. Young, but marred with premature lines. Features did not seem American. And just now, the vaguest tug of familiarity in his stomach.

“You – “ Demon-man said, eyes crinkling in confusion. He scooted away from Peter. “How did you – “

“Hey!” Peter said, instinctively lashing out and webbing Demon-man’s arm to his side. The red cloud he cast shimmered away before it could touch Peter, but Peter felt strangely naked at the sensation. Like little fingers tapping down his spine. Peter shivered, shaking himself to get rid of it. “You need to stop doing that. Talk. How do you know me? Who are you?”

Demon-man was now moving away from Peter steadily, alarmed. He whipped his head around, as if just realizing where he was. He turned back at Peter, staring at him with an undecipherable look before silently dissolving his web at his side with a wave of his hand. His eyes glowed crimson again, the wispy tendrils wrapping around him and lifting him up in the air and the next second, he disappeared.

Peter stared into the silent night, wounds throbbing, the graveyard littered with smashed vehicles and spiderwebs.

Peter would have to skip school. He had just begun getting his life on track as a normal teenager, and then he goes and gets himself thrown around. He spent the rest of the night groaning in pain as he wrapped the last of the bandages he had stashed in his drawers. He didn’t know what Demon-man had done to him, but he got visions constantly, of a life he didn’t live yet feeling so real. It was like magical gaslighting.

He twirled his flashlight in his fingers. The beam of light swung like a light saber. Peter’s eyes drooped with exhaustion. Mr. Stark staring at him with betrayal. Betrayal? Peter slapped himself awake. He hugged himself, bringing his knees to his chest. That’s how he spent the rest of the night. Dozing off for a couple of seconds, having strange visions and forcing himself awake.

He didn’t know when it was morning, light spilling through the windows right on his face. Peter detangled himself from the curled position, legs cramping. His little radio sat on the desk, the static voice a constant buzz. Peter sighed, resting his head on the wall. His mind was so tired but it just couldn’t stop running with thoughts. Why was it so constant all the time?

Peter pulled himself out of his apartment, Mrs. Davidson’s usual morning hollering making him wince. He was always on edge, always anxious, his hair standing up straight. Danger, his senses always warned him of danger but there was no fucking danger, and this constant state of alertness and anxiety was draining him. His legs felt like jelly, ready to give away any time.

He peered at his cracked phone. Ned and MJ were flooding him with texts. Where are you? Are you ok? Where do you live? Peter felt a bit of his energy leave just looking at them. He didn’t know what excuse he’d give them after storming out like an idiot. And with his condition….. Peter looked down at his bandaged hands and neck. Yeah, no.

Peter felt his head spin. He hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday, and couldn’t stop thinking about Demon-man. He had seemed so vaguely familiar, but he just couldn’t remember, couldn’t place that face or that accent. What should he do now? He had a random magical user attack him for no reason. Go to Dr. Strange and ask for help? It’s not like he’d recognize him either.

It was all spinning round and round, just like the narrow hallway Peter stood in. What should he do next? His next step? Is he spider-man still, or just Peter Parker or what. Nothing made sense.

A firm set of hands gripped him, and it was then Peter realized his knees had buckled. He started and met with a dark pair of eyes. The boy living with Mrs. Davidson.

The boy held him firmly by the shoulders, pointing to Peter and then inside Mrs. Davidson’s apartment.

“I’m alright,” Peter said, his voice raspy. He tried walking, but his knees buckled again.

The boy gave him a look and dragged him inside, Peter protesting and limping the whole time. He made him sit at a table, TV blaring loudly. It was frankly too much to take in, the new sensations, smells, noises. Peter groaned, rubbing his temples.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Davidson walked in from the kitchen. “Dear God, what happened to you? Tsk, school kids getting high – “

Peter sputtered. “I’m not high.”

“Boy,” Mrs. Davidson snapped her fingers at the boy. “Whip up some strong coffee for the lad. Make it quick.”

“I really don’t – “ Peter began.

“Shut up.”

Mrs. Davidson dawdled around the apartment, yammering away adding to Peter’s headache. Peter sighed, trying to ignore her. Even in here, he felt the little tingle at the nape of his neck. He tiredly looked around, trying to gauge out whatever danger it kept trying to warn him about. Could it have gone haywire? Lack of sleep, stress…. Maybe just setting off randomly?

“Daylight robbery that was successful, quite outrageous and humiliating for the NYPD – “ The TV blared in the background.

A hot mug of black coffee was placed in front of him. The boy towered above him, wiping his hands with a napkin and smiling at Peter.

“I’m really sorry,” Peter pointed to Mrs. Davidson. “You didn’t have to, I’m alright.”

The boy simply nudged the mug closer. He too pointed at her and made an exaggerated gesture of talking gibberish.

Peter laughed. He sipped the coffee. Strong, bitter and refreshing. “Thank you. I hope this isn’t a personal question, but I mean I think it’s kind of obvious, but I don’t want to assume – can you not speak?”

The boy shook his head. He tapped his lips then shrugged.

“I’m Peter,” Peter signed awkwardly. Those hobby ASL classes he had taken came to him vaguely. “Ofcourse you knew that uh, sorry.”

The boy’s eyes lit up slightly, a tiny grin pulling his lips. He fingerspelled something…. J-S, no wait that was an A, hmmm…. Peter squinted. J-A-C-E.

“Jace,” Peter said. “It’s nice to meet you. I thought Mrs. Davidson had no children.”

She doesn’t. I’m her caretaker, Jace signed, appearing at ease. Social worker.

“Ah,” Peter admired that. “You get paid?”

Peter immediately regretted saying that. It was a social service; a community volunteering people did out of kindness and responsibility. Jace simply smirked, winking. Yes. Extra bucks by her if I listen to her blabbing.

Peter smiled, knots in his chest loosening. “I would tolerate it too; I’m going to be honest.”

Jace nodded. He leaned forward to take Peter’s empty mug and tapped Peter’s bandaged neck suddenly. Peter jumped at the proximity, once again getting a closer look at his eyes. Black, deep and smart looking.

Blood, Jace signed. You bled across the hallway last night.

Peter froze, apology and excuses at the tip of his tongue. “I – “

Be careful with whatever you’re doing. The late nights, the school skipping. She is a suspicious woman.

“Boy!” Mrs. Davidson hollered from inside. “Change my plaster. It stinks. Lazy ass can’t even tie my bandages right.”

It was just them looking at each other, the news a buzz in the background. “Pickpocketing season has increased with tourist season – “

Peter blinked, and Jace was gone. Did he know? Peter hadn’t exactly hidden his spider suit under his hoodie properly, and he didn’t trust the darkness to hide anything that well. Jace could have been standing outside, catching Peter stumbling to his apartment, maybe seen…..

Shit. This wasn’t good. Peter stared at the room in the corner. Jace was gently dressing Mrs. Davidson’s sprained ankle.

“Multiple victims are reporting that Spider-man was the one to attack them – “

Peter whipped his head around. A small screen was besides the reporter, a middle schooler with a black eye and bleeding lip.

“It was Spider-man I know,” The kid was sobbing. “He was wearing the suit and all. I just wanted a picture, and he beat me up.”

Peter stood in front of the TV, his heart beating fast. He flipped the channels.

“Spider-man barged inside a museum and caused meaningless havoc reported by – “

“Well isn’t this quite surprising, seeing our friendly neighbourhood spiderman who helps out old ladies cross the road now using the mask as way to disturb the peace like this?”

“He threatened me to hand him over money – “

“Spider-man was spotted seemingly toying with ‘criminals’ who tried stealing cars – “

"Spider-man is a menace."