Chapter Text
An ominous amalgam consisting of the colors gray, black, purple, and navy blue — painted the evening sky. The sui generis pigmentation of the welkin became engulfed in a thick layer of fog that roiled throughout the atmosphere, polluting the ether. In that juncture, a series of cacophonous noises contaminated the sound waves of the multiverse, affecting every living creature that was not a member of the minority deaf population.
Suddenly, bright crevices became visible in the airspace, appearing to be dismantling the very fabric of reality within the multiverse. The vigorous force behind the obstreperous enchantment gone-wrong released a lighting-like energy blast, shaking the firmament.
In summary, humanity, non-human organisms, the infinite number of parallel Earths, all the planets throughout the galaxy — and countless other corporeal and abstract facets of ontic relationalism — were all in a state of deep peril. One by one — each particular would inevitably begin evanescing, destroying the interrelations between various nodes within social networks. This would then undermine the confluence of both strong and weak social network ties, engendering the spoliation of all existing correlations between the postualations within each nexus, regardless of the network’s density or centrality level. In the absence of the very entities that constitute what the multiverse calls “reality”, the emptiness of conceptual networks would quickly give rise to ontic nihilism — before nolens volens — the structureless macrocosm of the multiverse crumbled into nullity. .
Doctor Stephen Strange winced in pain as he tried his best to channel all of his power into a counter-enchantment to obviate the veritable decimation of the multiverse. But despite his best efforts, the rupturing of the multiverse showed no signs of slowing down. Stephen cried out in defeat, accepting that the very existence of verisimilitude in the multiverse would soon become a defunct concept — hell, the existence of every construct — both tangible and intangible ones alike — would soon cease to exist.
As Stephen continued fighting a losing battle at the top of the Statue of Liberty, Peter Parker suddenly appeared before him, looking worse for wear after fighting a quintet of villains alongside his counterparts.
Stephen’s pride prevented him from verbally avowing culpability for the current catastrophic state of affairs. However, deep down Stephen knew that his arrogance had led him to make a fallacious decision, and the overwhelming guilt within him manifested itself in the form of a sinking lump in the pit of his stomach. Stephen recognized that as a consequence of his impatient nature, he’d ludicrously dived right into a potentially reality-altering spell without taking the time to explain its parameters to the innocent teenager that he was casting said spell for. He had failed Peter Parker, and the entirety of the multiverse was about to pay the price for Stephen Strange’s recklessness.
“What’s happening?” Peter's shaky voice questioned Strange as he crouched down in a low squatting position before Stephen. Gone is the happy-go-lucky, starry-eyed teenager. In his place stands a young man whose haunted eyes descried pure anguish. In the span of around 24 hours, Peter Parker had aged decades. The poor kid had experienced more trauma in his young life thus far than most individuals would ever endure in their lifetimes.
This is all my fault…
“They’re all starting to come through — and I can’t stop them!” Stephen grunted out as his grasp on the counter-enchantment gradually loosened as the multiversal forces continued pushing themselves through.
“There’s gotta be something that we can do,” Peter insisted. “Can’t you just cast the spell again?” he suggested. “You know, the original way — before I screwed it up.”
“We’re too late for that — they’re already here — and the multiverse is on the brink of collapse,” Stephen grunted as he continued his vain attempts at controlling the vehemence of the multiverse’s forces.
“What?” Peter squeaked out nervously.
“They’re all here — because of you,” Stephen informed him, his breath hitching as he resumed straining his powers to counteract the multiversal entities as their increasingly robust wills propelled them past each barrier on a scale hitherto undreamt of.
“What if everyone forgot who I was?” Peter proposed bravely.
Stephen struggled to comprehend the absurdity of the proposition that the adolescent boy had just verbally submitted. “What?”
“They’re coming here because of me — right? Because I am Peter Parker? So cast a new spell — but this time — make everybody forget who Peter Parker is. You have to make everyone forget…me,” Peter clarified, the slight quiver in his voice serving as the only indicator of the fear within him.
“No,” Stephen declared. “Peter — I can’t do that to you!” Stephen cried out.
The tremendous amount of bravery and selflessness that this kid possesses comes at an expense of his own well-being. He’s going to be the best of all of us one day.
“But — it would work, right?” Peter inquired, looking determined.
“Yes, it would work,” Stephen acknowledged with a grimace. “B-But Park — Peter, you have to fully understand what that would entail…that would mean that everyone that knows and loves you — they — we… we would have no memory of you. It would be as though you — Peter Parker — never even existed,” he finished, barely containing the tears that threatened to pour out of his eyes.
“I know — but I have to do this,” Peter stated fervently.
Stephen nodded regretfully, once again cursing his own foolhardiness that had necessitated the young hero to essentially sacrifice his entire existence.
“You better say your goodbyes — you don’t have long,” Stephen informed him.
“Thank you, sir,” Peter said earnestly. It surprised Stephen how the kid didn’t appear to hold even the slightest bit of resentment towards him — despite his current predicament being the result of Stephen’s spell that had gone amiss.
Overcome with emotion, the sorcerer said, “call me Stephen.”
“Thank you, Stephen,” Peter responded with a grateful nod.
Stephen bowed his own head back solemnly as he replied, “yeah, that still feels weird,” he chuckled wistfully.
“I’ll see you around,” Peter tittered before swinging away.
“So long, kid,” Stephen uttered as a stray tear streamed down his face.
At that juncture, another idea popped into Stephen’s head before he could begin casting the spell he and Peter had agreed upon.
Back when Stephen had first begin his training in the Mystic Arts under the mentorship of the Ancient One, he’d stolen a restricted piece of text from under Wong’s nose, and while the contents of said text had piqued his interest at the time, he’d been too focused on the powers of the Time Stone to really pay it much attention.
The enchantment in question was risky — far more perilous than that of the Ruins of Kafka. It was a spell with a reputation so treacherous (drawing power from places even more reprobate than the Dark Dimension) — that even the most impetuous, infamously diabolical sorcerers of all time had never attempted it.
Even with the sheer dubiousness of the mesmerism under consideration notwithstanding, the limited confines of its scope in conjunction with consummate onerous nature of the energy expended during its casting would preclude even the most formidable Masters of the Mystic Arts.
The incantation drew vitality from the art of necromancy, which in it of itself meant that it required a public sacrifice in the form of the conjuration’s caster (public in the sense that the soul they possessed in their current dimension was to be presented to the clandestine, mystical beings that resided in the Land of the Dead). The reasoning behind the requirement of a magical hecatomb was because the spell rewound time for an exact measure of souls — thrice in number — which in turn meant that those who had perished within the rewound period of time would be revived — and that required power only attainable via the sacrificial offering of a powerful life-force.
Yet — despite all the logical rationale residing in the nucleus of Stephen’s subconscious, he began casting the spell anyway.
Stephen heard the faint cries of concern from Peter as he himself began howling out in agony throughout the duration of the spell — but he let nothing deter him. This was Stephen’s mess to clean up, and even though it was the end of the line for him, at least Peter and his best friends would obtain a second chance to make things right.
Good luck, Peter Parker — I have no doubts that you’ll achieve greatness — you’re already the best of us, kid.
Stephen’s song ended with a sonours echo against the alloy surrounding him — along with a final caterwaul of shrill feedback (the sound produced from the final burst of power from the enchantment). As he felt himself fade into oblivion, Stephen was overcome with an overwhelming sense of gaiety — despite the immense physical pain he was in. While the Stephen Strange of their current reality was no more — Peter Parker would continue to exist, and Stephen had no doubt that the kid would save the fate of the multiverse. Any solemnity within Stephen due to the impending absence of the kid’s presence in the unknown place Stephen’s soul was about to enter — was softened by the fact that Peter would soon be able to interact with another version of himself.
Go on, Parker — save us all — you’re the only one who can do it.
XXXXXXXXXXX
Peter Parker awoke with a start. Upon groggily opening his eyes, he discovered that he was currently bleeding out on a concrete sidewalk in a dark alleyway (presumably in Queens), and for some unknown reason, he was wearing his first rendition of his Spider-man costume (the one that Tony had dubbed “the crappy onesie”).
As he looked over to the brick wall on his left, Peter noticed a couple of men in ski masks webbed to the wall, their perspective weapons webbed securely against their chests. There was another masked man, however, that was still unstrained and was pointing a military-grade gun right at Peter’s head.
“You’re about to die, Spider-freak!” the man’s voice boomed loudly.
What the hell? Where am I?
Despite being more confused than he’d ever been in his life, Peter instinctively webbed the felonious man (likely a gang member) onto the brick wall next to his accomplices before using another web to grab the gun from him. Peter then effortlessly crushed the automatic rifle in the palm of his hand as he quipped, “that was anticlimactic! You couldn’t have at least tried to make this more fun for me — by putting up enough of a fight to give me a slight challenge? Because what just happened was incredibly boring…and downright pathetic — well, pathetic for you — I was awesome .”
Doing his best to ignore the sharp jutting pain shooting through his ribcage (Peter was almost certain that a few of them were broken), he slowly propped himself off of the ground before slowly standing up.
Peter then directed a cheeky wave towards the webbed malefactors. “Bye, Mr Criminals! The boys in blue will be here soon! Have fun in jail!”
Ignoring the irritated grunts from the criminals in question, Peter directed one last impertinent smile their way from under his mask before swinging away to a nearby rooftop.
Upon landing on the verandah and checking to make sure it was deserted, Peter removed his mask. Peter sighed with contentment as he breathed in a few long breaths of fresh air (well, as fresh as the polluted air of New York City could be). He’d forgotten just how uncomfortable his old suit had been.
Suddenly, the memories of the catastrophic events that had occurred within the past months began to resurface at the forefront of Peter’s mind.
Mysterio’s final message that had both framed Spider-man for murder and revealed that Peter Parker was the man (or rather, boy) behind the mask.
The string of harassment and threats from the mob people that constantly surrounded the Parkers’ apartment — the brick thrown through the window that had miraculously been caught by their blind lawyer serving as a catalyst for May and Peter finding a safer location to reside in, which ended up being Happy’s bachelor pad.
Peter, MJ, and Ned being rejected from every college — ivy leagues, private institutions, state schools, and even community colleges refusing to even consider their applications.
Stephen Strange’s attempt to help Peter by performing a spell to make the entire world forget that Peter Parker was Spider-man — only for Peter to mess it up mid-casting.
The arrival of Spider-man’s nemesis’ from across the universe — and Peter’s desire to cure them — putting him at odds with Stephen.
An overwhelming sense of grief and guilt nearly destroying him as Peter watched his Aunt May take her final breaths.
Faintly hearing Happy’s muffled screams, warning Peter of the authorities outside the building preparing to shoot at Spider-man. Even as Happy was being forcefully slammed against the side of a vehicle and handcuffed — despite him being free of any wrongdoings besides associating with Peter — the man’s only concern was Peter’s safety.
Peter’s counterparts of different Earths — sharing their experiences of loss in an attempt to not necessarily comfort Peter — but to help him understand the importance of May’s final words to him — inspiring him to honor her memory by abiding by the phrase — “with great power must also come great responsibility”.
The terrifying cracks that began breaking through the sky as the shadows of infinite numbers of creatures began pushing their way into his reality.
Asking Strange to cast a spell that would cause everybody to forget who Peter Parker was.
Peter’s tearful goodbyes to Ned and MJ as he explained what was about to happen — promising to come find them after it was over.
Though Peter remembered Ned’s heartbroken, tear-soaked face and MJ mouthing “I love you” to him as he began swinging away from the destroyed Statue of Liberty, his memory bank of what followed that moment seemed to be wiped blank. The next thing he remembered was waking up in a dark alley far, far away from where he’d been last — completely disoriented.
Please tell me stupid Strange’s magic spell didn’t get messed up again! If the entire multiverse is about to disintegrate again — I don’t know what the fuck I’ll do!
The zephyr from the nighttime atmospheric pressure of New York whisked a crumpled up newspaper from the corner of the roof to the forefront of Peter’s feet. Just as Peter was about to pick up the paper and recycle it when he got the chance (MJ’s passion for the environment had rubbed off on him), the date printed on the top of the news article caught his eye.
In big bold letters, there was no mistaking what was written above the headline — March 16, 2016.
Weird — why would someone keep an old news article from almost eight years ago? I mean, it’s possible that a disorganized hoarder finally decided to discard the old paper — and it ended up getting blown out of the trash and onto the rooftop. But — other than being a bit wrinkled, the paper is in really good shape — almost as if it was printed recently.
Before Peter could drive himself crazy by theorizing the situation he was in based on what the newspaper date entailed about his current whereabouts, his cell phone buzzed.
Peter’s breath hitched as the profile picture of someone he never thought he’d see again flashed before his eyes.
His aunt’s smiling face filled the screen of his phone, accompanied by the words — “incoming call from May Parker”.