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It's snowing in New York City. Peter-3 tilts his head up to the sky, feels the drops of snow hit his face. It feels a little poetic, especially after the mutiversal villain incident. It's as if the gods above are washing away the sins of the city, enveloping the city in white; spotless, clean.
He thinks of Gwen, his sunlight-bathed girl, and how the snow matches the colour of her hair.
He turns a familiar corner, and comes face-to-face with Peter-1's apartment building. Young, tainted, angry Peter. As composed as he is, the two older Peters are not convinced. They've tried to persuade him to cross paths with his friends and explain, but they also know that it's much easier said that done.
I have time, he'd said. Ironic.
He unlocks the door with his spare key, immediately welcomed with the aroma of roasted chicken.
"Hey, Andrew," Peter-2 greets with a smile. He's standing in the kitchen, nursing a tray of chicken from the oven.
Right, Andrew. Along with the baggage of going back and forth into their respective universes and this one, they've decided to adopt new names.
"Gramps," he replies, bursting into laughter at Tobey's expression. He leans against the kitchen doorway and watches Tobey work.
"I'm not that much older than you, y'know."
"Still old."
Peter-1, Tom, emerges from his room still in his pajamas. The sleeves are way longer than his arms, and his hair is messy and ruffled.
"Good evening, sleepyhead." Tobey echoes, voice full of fondness.
Andrew feels a forehead against his shoulder and sure enough, Tom is leaning against him. He rests his cheeks against his curls.
"Look, I get you're a broke, sleep-deprived college student. But this is becoming quite problematic," Andrew says softly, words coated in amusement and quiet concern.
He feels Tom chuckle against him. It revertebrates both their frames, somehow reaching the box of Andrew's heart. He manages to feel even warmer when Tobey looks at them, eyes twinkling.
"I've got a biochem project and I'm getting nowhere," Tom groans.
"Why didn't you tell me that before?" Andrew slings an arm around his shoulders, leading Tom towards his room. "I'm somewhat of a scientist myself."
He hears Tobey laugh.
☼
Andrew swings around his city of New York, noticing new details that differentiates his with Tobey and Tom's.
His New York is setting, like a sunset turning soft. Ever since the multiverse incident he's been meeting up with Max. He seems lighter now, freer. He's not only seen by Spider-man, but by Peter Parker too. His New York is a budding plant, it still has new heights to reach and flowers yet to grow.
Tobey's New York is tranquil. It has a peace not yet achieved by the other two. It's pace is steady, and headstrong. The warmth of the city is palpable, just like its protector. His New York is a grown plant, ripe and thriving.
Tom's is a buzzing metropolis. With a new day comes new opportunities, more possibilities to go amiss. It has an atmosphere that breeds contempt. It needs a resilience that Tom holds carefully, clutched tightly in his palm, afraid that a slight shake will have it spilling out. His New York is a sprout, yet to develop. It has more dark days, and even more brighter ones to come.
Andrew exits the portal into Tom's living room. The sun has long set, moonlight streaming through the windows, casting shadows on the floor. A figure is seated at the dining table.
Andrew approaches carefully, a moment of deliberation before turning on the small light. He startles when he realises that it's just Tobey. His eyebrows furrow, a line of concern on his face at Tobey's vacant look.
"Tobey?" he tries.
Tobey glances up with wide eyes, as if he just noticed Andrew was there. "Hey, Pete."
Andrew takes a seat beside him, body angling towards the other man. "What's going on?"
Tobey laughs, the sound dry. "Don't worry about it, go rest up. You must be tired."
"Hey now, that isn't how it works." Andrew's worried now, his voice edging on desperation.
A moment of silence passes. Andrew is almost convinced Tobey won't speak when his voice fills the silence.
"His nightmares are worse."
Oh. "That isn't your fault."
"It's not about fault," Tobey quickly counters. "I just- I feel helpless."
Andrew swears he felt his heart break. Tobey has been looking out for them ever since. He makes sure they're eating enough even though he's got a personal life in his universe. He consoles Tom on rough nights and interjects Andrew's self-deprecation. He takes care of them and hardly leaves some for himself.
In a rare show of vulnerability, Andrew finds himself stunned. He doesn't have Tom's easygoing nature, or Tobey's years of experience. So he just does what he's sure he can do. He brings the chair closer, cups Tobey's nape and pulls his head to his shoulder.
They breathe together for a while, the moment holding nothing but them. Andrew sadly notices something though, Tobey doesn't cry. He never does.
☼
"Wait, you think Tom Hardy is hotter than Zendaya?" Tom yells as he swings.
"What about it?" Andrew shouts back.
"Guys, can we please focus on this– fuck!"
Silence fills the air.
"Did you just-"
"Shit, gramps just cursed!"
☼
Tobey holds Tom close to him, encircling him as much as he can. The bed hardly fits both of them, but Tobey doesn't care. Not right now.
He urges Tom to breathe, the boy still stuck in his dreams. He tries to wrangle out of Tobey's arms, desperate and scared.
He wakes with a sharp cry, eyes still clouded with the remaining remnants of his nightmares. His gaze finds Tobey's and he relaxes ever so slightly.
"S-sorry, I-," he blubbers, voice small and ashamed.
Tobey does not say anything, simply brings Tom back into his arms and kisses the crown of his head. He lets Tom sob into his chest.
The door squeaks open and Tobey's head whips towards the sound, only to find Andrew peeking. Tobey gives him an encouraging nod.
Andrew climbs into the bed, onto Tom's other side. He squeezes against Tom's back, praying to above that the love squeezes out with it.
☼
With spring comes hot coffee, new jobs and the smell of fresh air.
Tobey steps through the portal, holding a basket filled with various foods like bread, fruits and cookies.
He looks at Andrew and Tom, huddled on the floor, controllers in hand. "Let's go on a picnic."
They walk towards the open field in the park, setting down the picnic mat.
Andrew watches the two of them throw around a frisbee and revels in the sound of their laughter. He leans against the stump of a tree and closes his eyes, allowing himself to relax.
He only opens them when he hears Tom and Tobey approach. A familiar head rests on his lap, and he feels the warmth of another beside him.
"I love you guys."
He grins when the sentiments echo back. "Oh, and I got the job."
He practically feels Tom jump from his lap as he howls in celebration. He looks to Tobey and is met with the familiar twinkle of love and pride.
He doesn't stop smiling even as the sun sets on New York City. Hope has never felt better.
☼
Andrew hears the voices even before he reaches the door. It's not like they haven't argued before, so he braces himself for the worst and turns the keyhole.
"-ou don't understand! I can't do that!"
Tom is standing in the middle of his flat, arms outstretched and flailing like it does whenever he needs to emphasise something.
"Yes, you can. You're just scared to." Tobey is standing in the kitchen doorway, voice even and nonchalent.
Tom's eyes visibly shift from defiance into aggravation. "Don't fucking say that."
"It's true," Tobey replies, and Andrew can tell that his calmness only adds to Tom's anger. "You have nothing to lose, Peter."
"Yeah, because I lost everything when she forgot me."
"Peter, please-"
"Stop fucking calling me Peter! Peter's dead, okay?" His voice breaks at the last word. He digs his wrists into his eyes.
Andrew steps into the room and eyes Tobey, who now has a hand on Tom's shoulder.
"I just- what if she doesn't love me?"
Andrew's throat closes up. He's hit with a familiar realisation that Tom is young. He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve any of it.
"She will," Andrew says. "I don't think you ever really stop loving someone. I mean, if you think about it, MJ's still MJ right?"
Tom nods, expression still unsure of where this is going.
"If she fell in love with you the first time, why won't she fall in love with you again?"
He watches Tom's face change from fear, to confusion, to understanding, to realisation.
Andrew smiles, voice just above a whisper. "Yeah."
Tom is being spooned by Andrew when the elder's voice perks up.
"Peter's not dead, by the way."
"What?"
"He's not dead, you're not dead. Even if you aren't spiderman, even if MJ forgot you, you're still Peter."
"Yeah?"
"You're not hearing me. You're saying that Peter's dead as if the only thing that keeps him alive is if he's known. Being known in turn, is when you're spiderman. I'm saying that even if you weren't, you'd still be Peter. You'd still be deserving of being loved, seen, and taken care of. Listen to me, Tom. Peter Parker is as deserving as spiderman."
Tom is suddenly glad that he's facing away from him because he is unable to hold back the onslaught of tears. His tears aren't sad though, they are relieved, cathartic.
Andrew leaves the room after Tom finally succumbs to his exhaustion. Andrew feels rather wrung-out himself so he fixes himself a cup of coffee.
He thinks back to what he said, and a lump forms in his throat. Peter Parker is as deserving as spiderman.
He repeats those words again and again in his brain, like a prayer. He tastes every syllable, dwells in the flavour.
Is he deserving, even as spiderman? He is no hero. Gwen's dead because of him, Gwen's- Gwen.
The grief hits him in waves. It pulses through his form, leaving his hands shaky, lungs breathless. He sinks to the floor. He closes his eyes against the tears. He won't cry, not when every tear is for him, not her.
☼
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah."
"You're lying to me."
"Yeah."
☼
The days grow longer. Andrew wants to wilt away, disappear into the wind.
He berates himself for his weakness. For shutting down at every little remembrance of his girl. Who he thought was his forever and after. Who was gone too soon.
Grief's a weird process, he knows. But he is so fucking tired of crying over people he loved.
The door opens with a click. Tobey is in the kitchen—his natural habitat—making dinner. Tobey takes one look at him, opens his mouth and Andrew is sure he's gonna ask what's wrong but he doesn't get the chance because Andrew has already shoved his face into his neck.
Tobey drops everything, completely focussed on the man against him. Andrew wants to cry because he's always been so ready, so available. He feels an arm snake around his waist and a hand on his nape.
Andrew's legs give way, and they are both sinking to the floor.
"I've got you. It's okay."
Andrew feels safe, protected. So he lets himself cry. It starts softly, gentle like rain. Then suddenly he is heaving with every breath, gasping with every sob. He is trembling hard, the only source of stability being the arms around his body, the faraway voice whispering in his ear.
He doesn't know how long he cries, but long enough that Tom is back from college as he feels a new set of arms.
Andrew is drained by the time his eyes are dry. He vaguely feels himself being pulled upward and led towards Tom's room. He is tucked into bed, surrounded on both sides. A hand runs across his hair.
In the back of his mind, he remarks that this is somewhat familiar. He's too tired to think though, and he trusts his brothers with all he has, so he sleeps.
—
He wakes with an armful of snoring Tom, his head pillowed on Andrew's chest. He tilts his head upwards and sees Tobey against the headboard, eyes closed. He notes a hand in his hair.
Tom has school, Tobey has to portal back to run errands but somehow, Andrew is sure that they wouldn't mind.
He closes his eyes.