Archive of Our Own ^beta

But the words won’t come out. He opens his mouth to scream for help as his hands come back covered in blood - but he’s silent. He tries to call for Happy, for an ambulance, if someone could just help him - if someone could fix it - she’ll be able to wake up.

But the tears roll down his face and he feels his jaw almost dislocate with how hard he’s trying.

But nothing happens. It never does. May doesn’t wake up. And neither does he. Trapped in the endless cycle of hearing her heart stutter to a stop because he can’t even wake himself up.

He’s supposed to be a hero and he can’t save the people he loves. And he can’t even keep himself from breaking down in the confines of his own mind. There’s no one here to help him. But he screams anyway.

“Hey,” he hears, his head spinning to find where it’s coming from. There’s no one here. No one ever comes for May.

But he recognises her smell and her heartbeat and the way she perches at the edge of his bed, placing a glass of water on his bedside table. He can’t see her yet, he can’t leave May yet - but she’s here. Even if she doesn’t want to be. Even if he doesn’t deserve her.

“You’re okay,” she says, the voice that calms him, that saves him. His eyes flutter open as MJ pushes his hair from his face and he wants to tell her he’s sorry because he’s definitely sweaty but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Her back,” he cracks out, his fingers gripping onto his duvet.

“Okay.”

“You have to check her back, that’s where - it’s her back, she’s bleeding -”

“Okay,” she repeats. She moves his duvet away from his body to cool him down, the process repeated so often she does it with ease. She sits against his headboard, her socked feet almost touching his shins.

When he can properly see, he sneaks a look at her. Not her face, because she’ll be angry at him but her body. The soft lines of her sweats and the dents her blanket made against her hand when she was sleeping. He misses her so much he can barely cope.

“Are you okay?” he asks. But she can’t answer that right now, he knows that much. She won’t lie to him but she won’t make it worse - not right now.

“Are you bleeding?” he asks instead, the images of blood on his hand too raw, invading all of his thoughts.

“No, I’m not bleeding,” MJ replies, carding her hand through his hair. He wants to lean against her, to press his forehead to her ribs, to feel the beating of her heart under his palm. But she won’t let him get close. Her hands in his hair will have to be enough to calm him tonight.

Peter’s lucky she comforts him at all when he has these night terrors. He’s lucky she hasn’t told the entire world who he is. He’s lucky she didn’t move out the second she figured it all out. He’s lucky she lets him see her at all.

“Go to sleep, Peter,” she whispers. He doesn’t want to because then she’ll leave. But he also knows he doesn’t deserve her to stay.

“Goodnight, Michelle,” he replies, though it sounds more like an I love you, even to him. She doesn’t call him out on it, nor does she reply. So he lets his eyes close, keeping the image of her fluffy red socks in his mind as her fingers scratch at his scalp.

He dreams of her kissing his forehead as she leaves - but that’s all it could ever be.

Peter wakes up the next morning with a headache, immediately moving to drink the water MJ left for him and two ibuprofen she put next to it.

He creeps out of bed as he hears her in the kitchen and he wonders if he makes no noise while he makes breakfast - whether or not she’ll stay in the same room as him.

It’s been a month since she figured it all out. Two months since she moved in with him and he figures not checking his roommate’s credentials before they moved in was on him.

It probably would have worked out amazingly if he told her everything from the start like he promised he would. But it’s been three years since the spell and he only went to the coffee shop once and then he never saw her again.

He lost May, the world lost May - and he couldn’t bear to put MJ in the ground. So he stayed away.

So now he listens to her sobs behind her bedroom door and he watches her dress up for dates with guys that don’t deserve her and his heart breaks every time she leaves the room because she can’t look at him.

She doesn’t leave immediately when he tiptoes past the couch, pouring cereal into a bowl as he leans against the kitchen counter. She knows he’s there - he heard the uptick of her heart.

But then she giggles at something on her phone and he smiles because he hasn’t heard her laugh in weeks and he misses her. So he doesn’t think.

“What’s funny?”

She locks her phone, sitting up on the couch as she frowns at him. It’s not her angry frown, it’s her disappointed frown. The one she always gives him. She gets off the couch, walking to her room and his chest aches as he realises he won’t hear her voice again today unless she calls someone from her room.

But she turns to look at him before she enters her room and he allows himself to hope. It’s foolish really.

“Don’t fucking talk to me.”

Peter hasn’t slept properly in days. He avoids his bed when it’s nighttime, forcing himself to patrol until the early hours because he can keep himself awake until MJ leaves for class - and then he passes out. He mainly wakes himself up screaming - though occasionally his alarm goes off as he hears MJ stepping towards the apartment.

It’s not sustainable, that much he knows. But neither is waking up from his worst nightmare to see MJ - the only thing in his life that makes sense. The only thing in his life he craves - and she can’t stand to be around him. He can’t have her in the way he desperately needs. He can’t even have her as a friend.

He knows it’s his fault MJ lost her memories in the first place. He knows it’s his fault he neglected to tell her after he promised he would.

But he’s not sure how much more he can take.

So he was exhausted on patrol and took a beating; he’s not yet strong enough to sleep it off. So he sits against his chest of drawers and holds a tshirt to his stomach as he waits for the bleeding to stop. It should have started clotting by now but he has yet to take the knife out because when he does that he needs to clean it and he can’t make it to the bathroom without MJ waking up because he can’t move without screaming.

So he’ll just wait for an hour or four and then she’ll go to class. And he’ll be fine.

But his eyes close without his permission and he wakes himself up with a scream as the blade slices further through his body.

He hears the rustle of sheets as he almost bites his lower lip off to stop from screaming.

Shit, she’s awake.

He can’t tell if the knife jammed in his body is more or less painful than the look on MJ’s face when she realised he lied to her. But he’d take this over her being hurt any day.

Still, she walks across the apartment and he can’t stop her. So he waits, looking at the floor instead of whatever expression she has on her face. It could be annoyance but he thinks it might be sadness and he can’t take that right now,

“What the fuck,” she gasps, running back out of his bedroom. Well, at least it was quick and painful.

But then she’s back because of course, she is and this time she has the first aid kit from the bathroom.

“I’m fine,” he wheezes, holding his tshirt over his stomach so she won’t see it.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’ll heal.”

She ignores him, scooting closer and he gives up as she tugs the tshirt out of his hands.

“Is that a fucking knife? You’ve been stabbed and you didn’t think -,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and her forefinger. “Why did you wake me up? What the fuck, Peter. How long have you been here?”

“I’m fine!”

“Lie to me one more fucking time, Peter,” she seethes.

“You can’t be here, please,” he begs.

“Peter, you’re hurt,” she says, ignoring him as she moves to wet a cotton ball in warm soapy water wiping it over the long gashes on his chest. It feels nice - it feels far too nice to be comforted by her. And he doesn’t deserve it.

“You have class, Michelle. You need to go to sleep.”

“Just let me help you,” she argues, pushing her hand through her hair. He can’t deal with how badly he’s hurt her. How she’s the best person he knows so of course, she still helps him. She won’t leave if she thinks he’s hurt and the only way he can think of to get her to stop is to tell her the truth.

“I miss you, MJ,” he says, his voice strained as he looks at her tortured expression. Her face is stern, her expression hard but he can see the internal struggle in her eyes.

“And I can’t - I can’t keep doing this. I can’t have you here, your hands on me, your voice soothing me only for you to be gone in the daylight.”

“Peter,” she sighs, frustrated.

“It’s my fault, I know that - I know that,” he says, looking at her. She doesn’t look away.

“But this is going to break me,” he says, his chest heaving. “I can’t deal with you hating me and still feeling like you have to help -”

“I don’t have to,” she whispers. She won’t tell him she wants to help because she’s never lied to him before and she won’t start now.

“It’s going to break me, Michelle, please. I know you owe me nothing but I am begging you - I can’t take this,” he pleads, his voice breaking completely. His movements aggravate the knife in his side but it’s nothing compared to her expression. He winces slightly but he thinks he hides it well.

It’s not true because her eyes dart to his side and she balls her hands into fists on her thighs and he’s about to let her do whatever she wants if only she’ll stop looking at him like that.

“I can -” she starts, her eyes darting over his face before she looks down at her hands. “I can be better. I’ll stop being snappy and I’ll -”

“MJ -” he whispers, his chest aching at her words. It’s never been her fault. He doesn’t want her to think it’s her fault but he can’t move to touch her and she’s on a roll and he doesn’t know how to get her to stop other than to touch her arm.

“I will. I’ll - I’ll stop okay just - just let me help you because I’m right here and you’re hurt.”

“Michelle -”

“I miss you so much I feel like I’m going to fucking die and I don’t want to miss you because you broke my heart but you’re still hurt and I don’t want you to be. You don’t deserve to be hurt,” she says, her voice hysterical as she finally looks at him.

“So just let me fix it, please. I’ll be better,” she whispers, the tears falling down her face. “Please, Peter.”

She rubs her eyes dry with the back of her hand as she chews on her lip while she waits for him.

“Okay,” he breathes, dropping the tshirt and his gaze to the floor. “Okay, thank you.”

Her fingers brush against his skin moments later and he’s not sure how he ever thought he should do this without her.

“Is this why you haven’t been sleeping?” she asks, he thinks it’s a distraction for when she pulls the knife out but he doesn’t care as long as she keeps talking to him. He shouldn’t be shocked she’d figured him out without even seeing him.

“Erm,” he starts. He doesn’t want her to feel bad about it. It’s his fault and she’s only trying to help him. But she flicks her gaze up from his wound to his eyes and he can’t bear the thought of lying to her again. He’s not sure what he’d do if she was ever completely done with him.

“Yeah,” he whispers, then, “It’s not you. It’s nothing you did.”

“But I’m not helping,” she says, placing her hand against his neck, tilting his face to look at her. She’s beautiful and she’s sad and he wants her to just jam the knife in further, twist it around if it will bring her any semblance of peace.

“You help more - fuuuuck -” he groans, his eyes screwing shut as MJ moves her hand to place over his mouth - the other holding something against the now empty wound in his side.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, moving her hand to his cheek when he’s stopped screaming. Peter blows out deep breaths as she disinfects and bandages him. She moves his head to lean against the chest of drawers and he lets his eyes close. He trusts her. He’s always trusted her because she never gave him a reason not to. And she trusted him even though he didn’t deserve it. Even though she knew he’d let her down.

He looks at her through hooded eyes and she’s so much closer than he was expecting. The downturn of her lips as she tries to decide if he needs stitches, the furrow of her brow as she pokes to see if there’s an infection.

She’s so unfairly beautiful he thinks he might go crazy.

She decides against stitches, telling him he just needs to rest for the day and he’ll heal better. She butterfly stitches it together anyway, covering him in a large gauze.

“Do you think you could get to bed?” she asks, her voice soft. He shakes his head. It’s comfy here anyway.

But then she moves away and he forgot that she was done - that she only stays to make sure he isn’t dying and then she leaves and he doesn’t deserve that kindness either. He watches her wipe the blood from his floor with his tshirt - he thinks that probably needs to go in the bin but he can do it later - and she cleans up the first aid kit, leaving his room to take it back to the bathroom he assumes.

MJ comes back a few moments later and he can barely stop his heart thumping because he didn’t think she’d be back at all. But she places a glass of water and some tablets near him and a pillow behind his head. She drags his comforter off his bed and slips it around his back, draping it over his shoulders.

“Hey,” he whispers, his eyes closed. He wants to touch her hand but he knows she’d hate it so he keeps his hands on his thigh.

“Thank you,” he says, the exhaustion hitting so hard he can barely think. “You help. You’re the only thing that helps.”

“Go to sleep, Pete,” she replies, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “It’s okay, go to sleep.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so - I’m sorry, Em.”

“I know,” she whispers and he swears as he lets himself drift into sleep, he feels her forehead against his chest.

It’s not perfect. Most of the time it’s still painful. But there are glimmers of hope. There are slices of things that cut through the darkness and make him believe there could be a time where she doesn’t hate him. He doesn’t need her to ever love him again - but anything is better than the past few weeks.

Sometimes he catches her smiling at her phone and she catches him smiling at her and she doesn’t automatically stop. She doesn’t leave. Sometimes she smiles back.

It’s easier when Ned is around because Ned is one of the only things they have together that they both love right now. Ned didn’t figure it out as much as MJ told him - but he forgave Peter easier than he probably should have but Peter was grateful all the same.

“What are you doing this Saturday?” Ned asks, exchanging pointed looks with MJ. Peter can’t tell if she’s mad Ned is clearly about to invite Peter to something or if she wants him to. Either way, he gives him an out if he needs it.

“Felicia invited me to a party,” Peter says, shrugging as he chews his cereal. He has no intention of going because Felicia clearly wants to fuck him and chuck him and maybe in another lifetime when his entire heart isn’t being held hostage by him for someone that clearly doesn’t want it.

The atmosphere changes so fast he almost gets whiplash. The air turns cold and MJ’s heart slows almost painfully and Ned looks like he’s about to turn beet red.

“What?” Peter asks, looking around. MJ is avoiding his gaze but she usually is. Ned is twitchy.

“Are you going?” Ned asks, his eyes wide.

“I dunno. Do you have plans?”

MJ is up and out of her chair, her bedroom door slamming before Peter’s finished chewing his mouthful. He doesn’t miss the hurt look on her face.

“Dude what the fuck?!” Ned screams.

“What? I didn’t - what did - she hates me,” he sighs, all but throwing his bowl in the sink.

“Peter, come on.”

He doesn’t look at Ned because he’s a god awful liar and Peter just needs someone to tell him he can fix it even though he knows he can’t.

“She loves you. She’s in love with you.”

“Ned,” Peter warns, though his heart has already hopelessly clung onto that.

“Are you trying to hurt her with Felicia?” Ned whispers, his head turning towards MJ’s room. “Is it because she hasn’t forgiven you yet? Because you broke her heart, man. And she’s trying.”

“What?” Peter asks, his head snapping up. “No - no, why would you say that?”

“We’ve seen all the headlines, Peter… Spider-Man and Black Cat -”

Shit.

“No - no, I’ve never - I would never. I - I love MJ. I was just - I didn’t know if she wanted me to go so I was trying to give you an out.”

“It was her idea.”

Peter moves before he can think about it, knocking on her door mere moments later. He thinks she might ignore him but then her door swings open and it’s obvious she’s been crying even if she tries to hide it from him.

“What?”

“Erm, I didn’t - I haven’t done anything with Felicia. I don’t like her like that - I barely like her at all. We just do missions together.”

“And why would I care?” she asks, her chin turned up, her jaw tight as she swallows. He knows she’s about to cry again and he hates it so much.

“I just wanted you to know.”

The door slams closed.

Peter doesn’t see MJ again until Saturday. He’s not going to Felicia’s party because he never wanted to in the first place and he’s not going out with Ned and MJ because he can’t deal with the heartache - even if she said it was fine if he came. It’s never quite the same as someone asking you to go with them.

Peter does help to hype Ned up though because Betty is going tonight and Ned hasn’t seen her since high school even though he stalks her Instagram on a minute basis.

He tries to ignore MJ getting ready with Cindy in her bedroom. He wonders if MJ has told all her friends she hates him - maybe she’s told them everything. It’s what he would deserve, he guesses.

“Just go, you look hot!” Cindy whispers from behind the door.

“Shhh!” MJ hisses and Peter can hear her heart beating rapidly and he barely bites back a smile because despite how awful things have been - she’s nervous because she wants him to think she looks nice. It’s something he picked up when they first started dating and a little before that not that he’d ever tell her.

But the door swings open and she steps out avoiding his gaze, though he catches her side eyeing him as she walks through the living room. He’s never seen these jeans before but they’re dangerously tight and the oversized crop top is threatening to take him out completely.

He crushes his can in his palm because she’s always beautiful but tonight he knows it’s for him. It’s all to destroy him and fuck if it isn’t working.

“You look nice,” he chokes out. He’s not expecting her to reply.

“And you as well, Cindy,” he stutters, attempting to hide his crushed can.

“Thanks, Peter,” she says with a tone, knocking her shoulder into MJ. MJ is blushing and she tucks her hair behind her ear and he loves her.

Peter watches them get ready to leave, a small smile on his face every time MJ smiles as Cindy tries to take pictures of her. Ned’s out the door screaming about the taxi being here and Cindy runs after him checking everything is in her bag and MJ lingers in the doorway.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” she asks. He does want to go with her but he doesn’t want to be the jealous one in the corner ruining her fun. Or possibly knocking someone out if they so much as look at her. He’s going through a patch.

“Nah, you have a good time though.”

Peter swings aimlessly around Queens. He’s actively looking for trouble and he can’t find anything. There’s no one being mugged and there’s no one needing help and it’s fucking infuriating.

Maybe it’s because it’s tipping it down or maybe because he just can’t catch a break.

Either way he finds himself swinging towards the party Ned and MJ are at. Maybe he’ll try and look through the window like a weirdo and hope she’s having a good time.

But then he sees someone standing on the roof and that roof has no barriers because some landlords are utterly insane and it’s pouring it down so he swings over to see if they need help. They’re dancing around and he wants to leave them to it but the aforementioned lack of barriers stops him.

“Ma’am?” he shouts, perching on the edge of the roof.

“Ma’am?” she replies, her voice annoyed as she spins in the rain.

“MJ?”

“Thought you didn’t want to come to the party?”

“I didn’t - I - why are you on the roof? Are you locked out here?” he asks, raising his voice because she doesn’t like how his mask muffles it. Her wet top clings to her body and he tries to watch the raindrops trickle down her torso.

“I’m dancing, Spidey,” she says, twirling around. She looks lovely and under any normal circumstances he might get his camera out but she keeps slipping in puddles and though he doesn’t think she’s drunk - he’s not about to risk it.

“MJ can we get off here, please?”

“You scared of heights?” she asks.

“I don’t mind them.”

She laughs at him, one of the laughs that she can’t help and it bubbles from her chest and he feels lighter than he has in years.

“I love the rain,” she says, twirling faster. The ends of her hair flicking water away, her closed eyes and wide smile distracting him enough so that he has to jump when she stumbles a little too close to the edge.

“Jesus -” he shouts, his hand on her wrist. She wouldn’t have fallen off but it’s a little too close for comfort. The image of her falling backwards from the scaffolding burned into his mind.

“Let’s go,” he says, moving to stand so he can lower them to the ground.

“No,” she says, trying to pull her arm from his clasp but he can hear the shakiness in her voice from her near fall.

“Michelle.”

“No -”

“MJ put your fucking arms around me.”

She does but she glares at him as she does it. He doesn’t mind - he’ll take it as long as she’s safe.

He lands lightly in the alleyway, his hand lingering on her waist as she pulls her face from the crook of his neck. She looks at him, her eyes wide and he is struck with the fact that they haven’t been this close in years. The last time he had his hands on her was when they said goodbye and then he never spoke to her again. He doesn’t need to remind her of that.

Her fingers trace down the back of his neck as she looks at him like she can see straight through the mask.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his arm tightening around her back.

She blinks, shaking her head before she pushes him off.

“Stop asking me if I’m okay,” she seethes, her hands balling against her side as she shakes either with anger or with the cold. She’s going to get sick if she stays here.

“MJ,” he whispers, but she frowns at him like she doesn’t understand what he’s saying. He rolls his mask up, tucking it under his nose so she can hear him better. Though he doesn’t repeat her name.

“What do you want me to say?” she pleads.

“I don’t -”

“Just go home, Peter. I don’t want to see you,” she whispers, spinning away from him.

And she sounds so defeated that he leaps onto the fire escape like she asks. She probably knows he’s not actually going to leave her in a dark alley in the middle of the night but right now it’s all he can do.

“You know you keep,” she starts, turning back to him and pouting when she finds the space empty. She spins again, her eyes darting to the darkened corners. “I know you’re still here.”

“No you don’t,” he says, slowly releasing webbing so he’s upside down opposite her. She turns to face him and she’s startled by how close they are, that much he knows. But whatever else flashes over her face is swallowed as she raises her eyebrow - he can’t tell if it’s fond or annoyed.

“Hi.”

“Hrmph,” she replies, her arms crossed over her chest. From this position, he’s eye level with her lips and it’s a very specific form of torture. But her pout makes her look so much like his MJ that he forgets that she’s not. And he says things he shouldn’t.

“You know I just saved your life so you could be less grumpy,” he says, regretting it as she frowns at him.

“Oh, is this the part where you wipe my memories and promise to tell me about it then don’t? Because I’ve done that before and it’s not all that great.”

“I’m sorry! I -”

“You know you keep looking at me like -”

“Well, we do live together, MJ.”

“That’s not even - you’re so -” she starts, her hands flailing with frustration and she’s so close she hits his shoulder.

“I’m so what?” he asks, his heart in his throat as she parts her lips, her hand resting against the side of his neck.

She moves so quickly his senses barely have time to keep up and he thinks if he doesn’t adjust she’s going to hurt herself but it’s only soft when her lips touch his. It’s slow and it’s familiar and it feels so much like home that his chest aches.

It’s slow until it’s not. Their lips collide against each other until he’s a panting mess, his hand around the back of her neck to hold her as close as possible, her hands pushing past the material of his mask.

He wants to be the right way up now but he’s nervous for any changes in case it spooks her - he just wants to spend his life at this moment. Cold down to his toes apart from the places MJ touches him.

She doesn’t have the same issues as him.

“Come down and take this off,” she gasps, pulling his mask off his head as he flips down. It’s a little disorientating after hanging upside down so long but he manages to wrap his arms around her as she kisses him again.

She fiddles with the zip at the back of his suit, exposing his back as her tongue traces the roof of his mouth. She pulls her sodden top off, throwing it on top of a crate before she moves to pull the front of his suit down. He wants to stay here with her forever, in this forgotten back corner of an alleyway in the pouring rain. But it won’t last forever and he just - he has to know.

“MJ - what is this?” he asks, his inability to let himself have anything good.

"I miss you,” she gasps, her lips against his as his hand traces the dips in her spine. “I don’t know the rest - I don’t know how to be around you and I don’t know how to trust you. All I know is that I miss you and it hurts - and I don’t know how to get past it. I don’t know if I want to get past it. But all I really know is that I miss you.”

She’s breathing so heavily her lips brush his every time she moves but she doesn’t kiss him. She’s waiting for him. Her fingers play with the ends of his hair as he thinks about how this will be the end of him - probably. If this goes south which it will because he loses everything he loves.

But then she moves back, her face wet from the rain with an expression like she’s unsure if he wants her and she’s so heartbreakingly pretty that he’ll do whatever she wants.

So he pulls her back, slipping his tongue in her mouth as she pushes his suit down. He doesn’t care if there’s an emergency - he won’t leave her now.

Not right now.

“Sorry,” Peter groans, pulling his suit back up and hoping his erection isn’t too obvious. He doesn’t want to leave - he told her that much when he finally had his hands on her arse. But she pulled back, reminding him that that was the third siren they’d heard in as many minutes. He doesn’t want to leave her but it’s never his choice.

“It’s fine,” MJ replies, attempting to pull her soaking jeans back up. They only really got them mid thigh but they’re being stubborn all the same. He moves his hands to tug at her waistband, pulling the jeans past her bum and doing the button up. 

He pulls back, unsure of how to leave when he desperately doesn’t want to. There’s the largest part of him that just wants to say someone else can’t have Spider-Man right now. He needs to fix this - if he can fix this. 

“It’s okay,” MJ says, her hand against his neck. “It’s okay to go.”

“I don’t want to,” he whispers, pressing his lips to her thumb when she rubs it across his face. 

“I know.”

“I don’t have to,” he pleads, pulling her closer until she wraps her arms around his neck. “I can stay and we can - we can fix this.”

She looks at him like she wants to say yes, like she wants him to choose her. She leans forwards, her nose brushing his, kissing him so softly it makes his knees a little shaky. Her tongue strokes his as he pulls her closer, his hands heavy on her waist. She threads her hands through his hair and he thinks she’s about to get him to stay, but then she pulls the mask over his eyes. 

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

It doesn’t take as long as he thought to help rescue the people from a building explosion. He’s glad he went, he’s always glad he went. He just wishes sometimes he doesn’t have to.

But as he slips through his bedroom window a little after two am, freezing to his core, he lets himself feel a little hopeful that this could work out. He pulls his suit off, draping it over his radiator as he throws his ruined underwear in the laundry and pulls a pair of MJs sweats that he stole from the laundry on.