Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter Parker looked up at the sky as the world ended.

Well, it wasn’t really ending - not for everyone. Thanks to a spell from the Sorcerer Supreme, this world would be safe from an onslaught of multiversal invaders. People could go on about their lives, safe in their own universe and protected from the many others that coexisted alongside it.

It was Peter’s world that was ending.

“Hey, loser.”

“My new Lego Death Star!”

“I love you.”

“Peter, you have a gift.”

As he watched Dr. Strange’s ancient runes swirl above him, he prepared to face a world with an MJ and a Ned that would no longer remember him. He prepared for a completely new start, an indifferent New York City, the heavy burden of loneliness -

“Peter!” Strange’s voice shook him from his thoughts. “Peter!”

He turned to his fellow heroes, the two other Spidermen. Peter Two winced as he lay on the ground, clutching at his stab wound from the Green Goblin. (Norman, Peter corrected himself. May would have wanted me to think of him as a person, not as a monster). Peter Three knelt next to him, assessing the injury. 

Peter had only known them for a few hours, and it almost scared him how much he’d grown to like them in that short amount of time. Peter Three was funny, really funny. Peter admired his sense of humor, especially in tense fighting situations like the one they’d just endured. His ingenious quips, along with his genuine kindness and enthusiasm for science, made Peter and Peter Three fast friends.

Peter Two was the more adult presence out of the three, something that Peter was thankful for. He surpassed them in experience and wisdom, and had proven to be a good man in a crisis. He’d saved Peter from doing something he would regret forever, literally throwing himself in front of Norman before he could kill the scientist.

He killed May.

“You have great power. And with great power, there must also come great responsibility.”

May couldn’t be brought back. There was no undoing her death, but Peter Two had saved Norman’s life and Peter’s future. Peter Three had grabbed the cure, and -

They saved him.

And now he was going to lose them.

“I think I have to go,” he muttered in apology, meeting eyes with Peter Three.

“Don’t worry about it.” The third Peter gave an understanding smile and turned back to his injured counterpart, who gave a thumbs up.

Satisfied, he extended an arm and launched a web at the base of Lady Liberty. She was still under construction, and he swung through the scaffolding as he made his way to the top of the statue. In his haste, he landed with a painful flop next to the sorcerer - if the older man noticed, he spared Peter the embarrassment of pointing it out.

“Listen to me,” Strange said. His pale face contorted with the effort of casting the spell, and his hands trembled as he worked. It always reminded Peter of how difficult his job must be - not just waving hands and pulling bunnies out of hats. “I think I know a way to preserve something for you. Not a part of this world, but something that will remember you after everyone else forgets.”

“How, sir?” Peter felt sick thinking about it. “And wait - not from this world? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Call me Stephen,” Strange gasped. “And I mean… you.” He reached into the side of his cloak and held out a closed fist to Peter. “The spell makes everyone forget who Peter Parker is. But there is a person in every universe that cannot forget Peter Parker.”

And then he understood. “Peter Parker can’t forget… because I am Peter Parker.”

“That’s right.” Strange and Peter looked towards the ground by the water. The other two Peter Parkers were watching them, Peter Two leaning on Peter Three. “And so are they.”

Strange opened his fist. Three glittering, gold rings rested in his palm.

“Are those for the portals? Like - like what Ned did with your ring?” Peter felt a surge of hope.

“Yes. With these, the three of you should be able to connect across your respective universes if you ever need each other.” The sorcerer smirked. “Emphasis on “should”, though. No guarantees.” 

He pressed the rings into Peter’s hand. They thrummed with powerful, ancient magic.

“Now get going,” Strange commanded, lifting his hands once more to finish casting the spell. “Get the rings to them before they disappear.”

The teenager nodded, jogging to the edge of Lady Liberty’s crown. He searched for a good anchor point for his web. That scaffolding will do -

“But wait - Peter?” 

He turned back to Dr. Strange. “Yes, sir?”

The man’s face became grave. “Do not, under any circumstances, abuse that magic. It’s here to help you, not to combine worlds. Don’t let it come back to hurt you.”

Peter nodded. “I won’t, sir. I promise.”

He swung off in a hurry towards the other two Spidermen, Strange yelling after him in exasperation. “I said, CALL ME STEPHEN!”

—————————————————————————————————

A flash of orange light.

“I need you to take these!”

A burst of magical energy.

“They’ll keep us connected!”

“If you ever need me…”

“I’ll see you guys around.”

The spell washed over New York City, and it was done. There was no one left in this world who remembered Peter Parker.

But in other worlds…

There was a crash, a screech of metal, and a groan. Peter Three returned to his senses in a Dumpster.

What… why am I in a freakin’ Dumpster?!

He sat up, and the experience flooded back into his mind immediately. The Statue of Liberty. A handful of villains, ones he knew and ones he didn’t know. Curing them, saving them, and having some help from a few doppelgängers.

“PETER!” He gasped as he flung himself out of the Dumpster. The other two Peter Parkers - they had all worked together to save the world! That happened, right?

They were real, right?

He stood in the alleyway, thoughts racing. There had to be a next step, a course of action to take, but what? How does one move on after they discover other versions of themselves, living in other worlds?

His hand ached. Turning his attention to it, he realized it was clenched into a tight fist. He raised it to eye level and opened it.

A glittering, gold ring stared back at him. 

It was real.

Connection with the other Parkers, in the palm of his hand.

—————————————————————————————————

Peter Two blinked up at the ceiling of his apartment.

Whoa.

He had done some disorienting things in his life - swinging from skyscrapers, battling on top of trains and on top of buildings. Often while being punched in the face. And yet, somehow, this took the cake.

He’d never felt so dizzy before.

It took several minutes of lying on the linoleum tile of his kitchen for him to reach a sitting position. He was in his apartment, for sure - there was the mark on the wall where he’d accidentally tossed the frying pan that one time. His camera was hanging on the hook by the door. And down the hall was the bedroom he shared with MJ.

My MJ.

Were there other MJs?

He launched himself to his feet. Yes, there were - Peter Three saved one of them from falling off the Statue of Liberty.

And then he remembered. That’s right! I was Peter Two.

He took stock of his quiet apartment. MJ was away - out of town on Daily Bugle business, he remembered. The other two Peters were nowhere to be seen. So it must have worked, he concluded. Hopefully the others are safe.

And it hurt, quite suddenly, how much he missed them.

There was something cold in his left hand. He opened it, and there was the ring. Peter One had said something about the rings, something like…

“They’ll keep us connected!” Peter One raised his voice over the rumble of the wizard’s magic spell (Peter Two still couldn’t believe there was magic in this world. Lucky). “Just think about who you want to see and wave your ring-wearing hand in a circle. They’ll show up on the other side.”

Peter Two watched Peter One for a minute: such a young kid, going through so much grief. But then again, they’d all gone through it and emerged in one piece. He’d be okay.

“Wow!” Peter Three gingerly picked up a ring. “This really works?”

“Yup,” affirmed the youngest, passing the other ring to Peter Two. “Now we can see each other again, even after this is all over.”

“And you’ll have us,” Peter Two added. The two other Peters turned to him as he spoke. “You’ve both had a long, tough road. I can’t say it’s definitely going to get easier, especially not right away, but now you don’t have to do it alone.”

“Yeah,” agreed Peter Three, a grin glowing on his face. “You’ve got us.”

Peter One smiled, tears trickling from his eyes. “Yeah,” he choked. “And you’ve got me. If you ever need me…”

The other two nodded. They understood.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Peter One rushed towards them with a hug. They laughed as they held each other, even as Peter Three began to disappear.

“Sure thing, kid.” Peter Two closed his eyes. “I’ll see you guys around…”

He turned the ring over in his hand. It was a reassuring promise: he would see the other Peters again.

This isn’t the end.

Chapter Text

Peter’s Spidey-sense was buzzing.

Everything is on fire. 

Flames lick the walls of the apartment complex. It surrounds and chokes him, smoke climbing into his lungs and heat turning the hallway into an oven. That’s the danger, Peter knows, all around him. 

And yet… there’s something else that’s putting him on edge.

It’s quiet, save for the crackling fire, until a voice echoes above the sound.

Peter’s worst nightmare.

“Strong enough to have it all?”

He jolted awake, lying perfectly still as his heart thundered in his chest.

Danger.

His head was buzzing.

May. Aunt May -

His head was… wait, what?

The teenager thrust a hand under his pillow. The cell phone he’d been given for his last birthday was vibrating beneath it, displaying a message: 9:30 A.M. ALARM. RENT DUE: 8 DAYS. He sighed and rubbed a calloused hand over his face. How had rent payment day snuck up on him so soon? He’d have to make sure there was enough to cover this month’s expense.

I can’t believe my alarm actually woke me up, he realized. Last time he’d tried to set one, his neighbor across the hall had to knock and explain that he was bothering the entire floor. His phone had been ringing uninterrupted for over two hours. Yikes.

Sleep was sparse and inconsistent for Peter these days, so a simple jingle on his phone didn’t do much to wake him up. The vibration under his head, however, seemed to be doing the trick.

He slowly rolled out of bed, shaking off his fatigue, and stood to open the window. Familiar sounds of the city wished him good morning; chilly wind brushed across his face as a taxi honked loudly from the street.

At least New York City hasn’t lost its charm.

As he began to withdraw from the window, his senses overwhelmed him. That feeling again. Danger. Except this time, it wasn’t for him.

In another New York City, someone needed him…

Peter, he realized suddenly. One of the other Peters needs me.

He flung open his nightstand drawer and retrieved his web shooters. After tugging them on, he reached in again and found the golden ring.

Turning it over a few times, he slid it onto his right hand’s ring finger. Was Stephen sure that this would work?

Only one way to find out. He lifted his hands, closed his eyes, and moved his arms in a circular motion.

“Find him… the Peter who needs me. Take me to him.”

“Man, get a load of this guy!”

The - er, interesting fellow in the metal rhinoceros suit let out a roar as he stumbled through the streets. Silver hoofs stomped down Oak Drive as the culprit chased after a friendly neighborhood webslinger.

“Alright, I’ll ask nicely. Could you please back off?” Peter Three’s senses tingled as a tree was thrown in his direction. “Okay, then. I see how it is.”

A web launched through the air, connecting to the side of a brick building. Swinging from the end of it was Peter Two, trying to catch up to the Rhino. “How’s it going over there?”

Another crash as a hoof swung towards Peter Three’s face, missing and punching the pavement instead. “Could be better, man!” The younger hero leapt onto the roof of a police cruiser, launching another web. “How on Earth did this guy get into your universe, anyway?”

“That’s what I wanna know, too.” Peter Two shot another web, this one connecting to the Rhino’s back. “I found him from the police scanners. Never seen something like this in my world.”

“Yeah,” Peter Three said. “He’s from mine. Sorry about this, man.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” The older Peter tugged on the web, sending the Rhino crashing to the ground. “This’ll definitely make a good story to tell MJ at dinner tonight.”

“Aww, fun!” Peter Three cried, as if he wasn’t fighting an anthropomorphic tin can. “Eating in or going out?”

Peter Two opened his mouth to answer him right as a circle of orange sparks appeared behind him. Another Spider-Man emerged from it, swinging into view. “Peter One!” 

“Hey, guys!” The teenager waved cheerfully, landing a roundhouse kick on the Rhino’s knees. “Did I miss anything?”

“Not much,” quipped the oldest hero as he swept their adversary’s hoofs out from under him. “You’re just in time to help us take down this guy.”

Peter One looked up then, spotting Peter Three in the center of the action. “Did you get that feeling too?”

“What feeling? A sense that the old guy needed help?” Peter Three hollered, webbing the Rhino to a streetlight. “I sure did. Gimme a hand with this metal zoo animal, would ya?”

“I’m not that old,” Peter Two glowered.

Together, the three superheroes secured their opponent tightly to prevent escape. Peter Three lifted the metal mask as the sounds of sirens grew louder in the distance.

“You really should rethink your career choice,” Peter Two said, scolding the man sulking in the Rhino suit. “Crime’s no good. Next time I see you, I hope you’ve chosen a better path.”

“Not to interrupt, but…” Peter Three’s eyes flickered towards the incoming wave of police cars. “I’m gonna bounce before anyone starts asking questions.”

“Me too,” Peter One added, waving another portal into place. “See you guys.”

“Thanks for the help, you two.” Peter Two smiled at his fellow Spider-Men. “I owe you one!”

“So, I guess you owe yourself one?” Peter Three smirked, wagged a finger, and jumped through his own portal.

Peter Two shook his head, but a laugh slipped out anyway. He gave the Rhino a final look as he headed home. “You’re probably wishing you never messed with all three of us, aren’t you?” 

It hit Peter One again as he prepared for bed that night.

The sense awakened as he climbed under the sheets, shivering from the cold (no functional heater in his apartment definitely made for a pleasant winter). One of the Peters needed his help… but this time he couldn’t feel the danger. Not like before.

Still, he grabbed the ring and pulled on his suit before forming another portal. “Show me Peter.”

And show him it did; on the other end of the sparkling circle was Peter Three, sitting on the rooftop of the Empire State Building and wait what we’re at the TOP of the Empire State Building -

“Hey,” Peter One greeted, stifling his rampant train of thought as he stepped through the portal. He was expecting one of the witty, hilarious Peter Three responses that only he could think of. But it was silent, the only answer coming from the wind.

The other Peter was oddly still as the teenager came closer, slowly moving towards him. “Mind if I sit?”

There was a small nod, and Peter One crossed his legs as he sat beside him. “What’s going on, man?”

Then he looked closer, and realized with a start that Peter Three was crying. He made no noise, but tears were streaming from his reddened eyes and rolling down his cheeks.

“Oh, Peter,” the youngest sighed, heart aching. “What happened?”

There was the sound of sparks. “What’s going on here, guys?” Peter Two asked gently, stepping out and taking the spot on the other side of Peter Three. 

Peter One wrapped an arm around the taller man’s shoulders, and Peter Two rubbed circles on his back. His tears began to slow and his shaking lessened, eased by the comfort.

“You can tell us anything, if you want,” offered Peter Two, Peter One nodding in agreement. “We’re here for you.”

A long silence followed, the three men sitting comfortably together. Snowflakes swirled around them, but the chill faded away as they leaned on each other. Finally, there was a shaky breath from the Peter in the middle.

“It’s just another one of those nights,” he sighed shakily, picking at his nails. “Every once in a while - maybe it’s been a long day, or I’ve been alone for too long - I find myself dreaming that I caught Gwen just two seconds sooner.” He took another wobbly breath. “Problem is, I always wake up at the end. My dream never comes true.” 

His fellow Peters held him tightly as he cried. “I’m falling apart over a girl, and she’s not even here to tease me about it,” he laughed mirthlessly, wiping his tears away. “I miss her. Maybe I’ve just been really lonely lately… my boyfriend’s out of town and I -”

“Wait,” said the youngest Peter, peering at Peter Three excitedly. “You have a boyfriend?!”

“Yeah, wait,” Peter Two added. “I didn’t know this!”

“What’s his name? Does he live in Queens too? Is he cute?” Peter One bounced eagerly as he rattled off questions.

“Whoa, slow down!” Peter Three couldn’t help his laughter at the teen’s eagerness. “I’ll give you the scoop later. And he’s already taken, short stack - too bad!”

The three heroes laughed together on the rooftop. After they calmed down, Peter Two still had something left to say.

“It’s okay if you still miss her, your Gwen,” he said. “Grief is no easy thing - it takes time to find peace in any loss. But you’re still allowed to form relationships and love other people, even as you mourn and honor her memory. It doesn’t make you a bad person… it just makes you human.”

Peter Three turned towards him at that, a watery smile on his face. “Thanks, man. I, uh, really needed to hear that.”

The three Peters lingered together in the same universe for a little while longer, finding some much-needed peace in each other’s company.

Chapter Text

“I could really go for a cheeseburger.”

Peter Two laughed out loud. “Dude! You literally had one, like, a few hours ago.”

The burger had been the important last step in a mission that brought Peter One and Peter Three swinging into his universe. They’d taken down an organized band of carjackers who happened to get their hands on some dangerous tech. The fight was easier than the heroes had planned for, so Peter Three took pictures of Peter Two striking cool poses and webbing up the criminals. After dropping a few copies of the photos at J. Jonah Jameson’s office, the three men stopped for lunch at Peter Two’s favorite spot.

“She gives ‘em to me for free when I show up in the suit,” Peter Two had said, bringing paper bags full of burgers up to a somewhat secluded rooftop. Tucked in the corner by a rattling radiator, the three men could unmask and enjoy their food. Peter Three tried to fit ten soda straws into his mouth, causing Peter One to burst out laughing and knock over his Pepsi. 

That was fun.

Peter Three frowned, remembering the burger. “Yeah, but it was so small. How are those tiny patties supposed to fill up a super-powered crime-fighting machine - ”

“Like you?” Peter Two laughed again.

“Yeah!” The two heroes fell silent as they walked down Manhattan Avenue. They were in street clothes, for once - most of their “hanging out” adventures included the suit.

“It’s kinda nice to be out with you as Peter Parker,” admitted Peter Three. “There’s a lot of stress that comes with the suit, so… I mean, it’s nice to just chill together as two ordinary dudes rather than as Spider-Men.”

“Same here,” said Peter Two. “I want to get to know the Peter side of you and the kid - I’ve never met another ‘me’ before.”

“Me neither,” Peter Three chuckled, shaking his head. “It sounds so ridiculous when you say it out loud.”

The sun was beginning to dip into the clouds, creating a warm orange glow over the city skyline. The two men picked up their pace as they headed down the street, searching for the missing part of their Peter trio. Once again, they’d been overwhelmed with the sense just after returning from lunch on the rooftop: Peter needs me. But when they’d summoned the portals, there was no Peter One in sight. After finding each other, the two started walking in hopes that he might be up the street somewhere. 

“Hey, wait!” Peter Three stopped short in front of a coffee shop, front windows plastered with cheery decals and reflecting warm light. “Isn’t that…”

Peter Two jogged back to him, peering in the window of the café. There stood MJ - Peter One’s MJ - in a light blue uniform. She leaned against the counter, pouring a coffee for the customer at the register.

“That’s his MJ,” Peter Two filled in for him. “I bet she could tell us where he is.”

He pushed open the door, which jingled as they entered. Peter Three hurried past him and hopped on the last empty stool at the counter. “Beat ya to it!” he cheered triumphantly.

Peter Two sighed, but couldn’t help his smile. He took the customer’s spot by the register as they left, addressing the teenager behind it. “MJ?”

Her back was to him, but it stiffened like a board upon hearing her name. She turned around slowly, and her expression froze him. Her bright brown eyes were cold, but she also seemed… frightened. As if she wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

“H-how did you know my name?” she asked. Her hands shook a bit as she placed a lid on a to-go coffee cup. 

“We‘ve met before! I’m Peter Two, remember? The old one, I guess. He’s the guy that saved you when you fell off the Statue of Liberty.” He jabbed a thumb toward Peter Three, who waved back at them. “We were wondering where your Peter was. We can’t seem to find him, and he needs us, so - do you know where he might be?”

MJ was pale now, slowly moving away from the register. “I’m sorry - I have no idea who you two are. M-my Peter? Who’s Peter?”

Peter Two blinked back at her, shocked. “Who’s Peter? You know, Peter Parker? Your…” He trailed off as she stared back at him. There was no recognition, no spark of memory in her eyes.

“I’m really sorry,” she whispered, “but you’ve got the wrong person.”

Neither of them spoke for several seconds. Even the café, though busy, seemed to fall quiet. A dark-haired customer sitting at the counter swiveled to face them, wearing a MIT sweatshirt and a confused expression. “MJ, who are these guys?”

“It’s nothing, Ned,” she answered. “They just made a mistake, that’s all.”

When she turned back to Peter Two, she looked at him with a hint of sympathy. “Can I get you or your friend anything, or…?”

“N-no,” he stammered. “We’re, uh, just gonna head out. Sorry for the trouble.”

The two Peters stepped back into the cold air outside. It was dark now, the sun having set while they were talking to MJ. For a moment, they just stood there together in silence.

“What was that?” Peter Three asked incredulously. “Why can’t she remember us? Or him?”

“I don’t know,” Peter Two responded. “But that just makes it even more clear - Peter really needs our help. We’ve got to find him.”

Earlier that day:

MJ was pouring a coffee when she heard it.

“Hey, uh -”

She couldn’t help but feel annoyed. It was probably just another customer in the endless line of afternoon-rush customers, or a person with a complaint about an order she’d screwed up. I need this shift to end. She sighed, tucked a loose hair behind her ear, and turned around.

A boy stood before her, probably around her age, wearing a puffy blue coat and a gray beanie. His gloveless hands were shaking, and she spotted a worn piece of paper clutched in one of them. It was yellow and fraying around the edges - ew, gross - so he must have had it for a long time.

“How can I help you?” she asked.

He trembled. Peeking at the paper in his hands, he opened his mouth and then immediately closed it. Like a fish out of water, he did this twice more before actually speaking.

“H-hi. Uh. I know this is out of the blue, but I wanted to tell you…”

Oh. She remembered this kid. It was the same guy that came wandering into the café around Christmas time. He’d ordered a coffee and asked her about MIT.

He introduced himself with his full name that day. What was it? Patrick? Paul, maybe - or did it even start with a P? It seemed like something she should know, and yet… she couldn’t remember for the life of her.

Shaking out of her thoughts and checking the clock on the back wall, she realized over two minutes had passed with them standing there. He was still shaking, mouth open like he wanted to say something.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” she prompted gently.

He was quiet for a few seconds longer, but he finally smiled at her. “I just wanted to say… happy holidays.”

“Oh.” That was not what she’d been expecting, at all. “Uh… happy holidays to you too?”

He smiled again, eyes watery, and then quickly made to leave. He nearly collided with another customer as he rushed out the door. 

MJ stood at the register, frozen. 

“What on earth was that?”

“Huh?”

Oh, I said that out loud. She turned to the curious customer, one of her friends and overall favorite people (impressive - there were very few people on that list). “Did that guy seem different to you?”

“No? I mean, I don’t think so.” Ned was always honest. She believed him, but his expression was conflicted. “Did he seem different to you?”

“Kind of?” She gazed at the door the teen had fled out of, thinking of what she’d said when they first met.

“I tend not to get too invested in things. Y’know, I expect disappointment -”

“Because then you won’t ever be disappointed?”

“He knew what I was going to say,” MJ murmured.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.” MJ moved back to the coffee machine, checking its water level. “I’m sure he was just having a bad day, is all.”

“Hmm.” Ned turned back to his biology textbook, taking a bite of his Boston Créme donut. 

Outside, the sidewalk was concealed by a haze of swirling snowflakes.

Peter stood in the middle of his apartment.

He could hear the creaking of the floorboards, the whistling of the wind outside - even the argument of the couple upstairs. Thanks, enhanced senses (and thin walls).

Normally, tuning it out was simple. He’d occupy himself with other things: washing dishes, mending his suit, fruitlessly scrubbing at the mold on the ceiling. He usually kept busy anyway - it prevented him from thinking about MJ’s kisses or May’s laugh.

Tonight, however, he couldn’t seem to drown out the noise.

He trudged toward the wooden chair by his bed, dragging himself forward as if he was moving through quicksand. His phone was lying there on a cushion, and he grabbed it. His lock screen, an image of him and May smiling together at F.E.A.S.T., stared back at him.

Remember how she laughed at all your jokes? How she always came to get you when you called, no matter how late it was or where you were? 

He unlocked the phone, opening his music library and searching for a particular song. MJ had shown it to him years ago, back when she was only just opening up to him and Ned. It was the first song on her drawing playlist, the only one she knew all the words to.

May could never cook a meal without burning it, except her classic meatloaf. She laughed the first time you tried it, even though you spit it back onto your plate, and promised to add more salt next time. Do you remember that, Peter?

Plugging in his earphones and placing them in his ears, he pressed the play button and tucked his phone into his hoodie pocket. The gentle voice of the song artist flowed from the speakers.

Every night

Think of things I can’t do, or haven’t done

Placing one hand on each shoulder, he wrapped his arms tightly around himself.

And does it make me weak?

Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe

Is that all you see in me?

He closed his eyes, and for a second - just a second - he felt it.

May.

Her arms were looped loosely around his neck from behind, embracing him, and her chin rested on his shoulder. Her breath tickled his ear. Was she humming the tune with him?

Don’t you wait for something more

I’ll still be sinking to the floor

They swayed side by side, to the slow rhythm of the music, just like the day of Homecoming when she’d insisted on helping him practice for the dance. Although on that day, they’d tripped over their feet and laughed until Peter was almost late to meeting Liz. 

Oh, you can’t help me

Now I’m all alone

This time, they moved slowly in the darkness of Peter’s apartment and drowned out the world.

Is it my doing?

Is it my doing?

Chapter Text

“ This was where it took you?!”

The building that Peter Two and Peter Three had arrived in front of was a tall brick apartment complex. It was red and plain, and it wouldn’t look out of place in the city had there been no massive chunk of the wall missing from the front side.

“Yikes,” said Peter Two in response. “This place’s seen better days.”

At Peter Three’s incredulous look, he held up his hands in defense. “Look, I told you I had a feeling. I followed my gut. Trust the process.”

His younger counterpart scoffed, but walked with him to the front entry of the complex. Wrapping two hands around the rusty door handle, he leaned back a little and pulled.

Nothing.

“Let me try,” offered the oldest hero, tugging on the handle. The door did not budge.

“Dude,” sighed Peter Three. “Same super-strength, remember? What did you think was gonna happen?”

“Touché.”

The two men gazed up at the tall apartment building, stumped. “So… what do we do now?” Peter Three wondered aloud. “How do we get in?”

“Hmm… there must be a security alarm set up. If we try too hard, we could tear the door off its hinges and set the alarm off.”

It was quiet as they considered the problem. An idea dawned upon Peter Two. “Peter.”

“Huh?”

“He’s Spider-Man.”

“…yeah?”

Resisting the urge to face-palm, the elder Peter continued patiently. “His main point of entry can’t be the front door. I’d bet that his window is usually unlocked.”

….

“Ohhhh!”

Peter Two’s theory proved correct.

The two heroes concealed their faces with their hats and hoods as best they could and waited patiently for an empty street (scaling a building in street clothes would look crazy suspicious). Once it was all clear, both Peters clung to the wall and scrambled up to the highest set of windows on the complex.

“Wait,” said Peter Three. “How are we gonna know which window is his?”

Oh.

“Good point,” answered Peter Two. “We’ll figure it out.”

Trying the locks on each set of windows, they made their way quickly down the side of the building until they reached a windowsill on the 9th floor. Peter Two paused suddenly beside it, closing his eyes.

“You good, man?” Peter Three whispered. “What’s wrong?”

He knew.

“This is the one.” Peter Two tried the latch on the window. Sure enough, it swung open.

And then a pained cry pierced his ears.

It was dark. So dark.

There was no light that welcomed the two Peters, climbing in through the window - the apartment was covered in shadows.

And also dust. An alarming amount of dust.

A stuffed, ratty blue couch sagged sadly in the middle of the main area. It was the only colorful piece of furniture present. A round kitchen table and one wooden chair accompanied the couch, and a rattling air conditioner was rumbling away below the window. A few kitchen appliances stood off to the right, cold and untouched. 

To the left, an old desk held up a sewing machine and bits of fabric: red and blue, the classic Spidey colors. A tiny LEGO figurine (was that Emperor Palpatine?) perched menacingly in the corner, next to a GED study book and a coffee to-go cup pledging, “WE ARE HAPPY TO SERVE YOU”. Finally, beside the desk was a nightstand and a bed.

And in the bed lay one distressed Peter Parker.

“Peter!” Peter Three rushed to the teen’s side while the oldest Peter scrambled to close the window. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s us. It’s okay now.”

Peter One was trembling. Beads of sweat lined his forehead as he twisted from side to side, throwing a hand out flat on the bed. “Nnn…no. No, please…”

Peter Three knelt beside him, laying his own hand on top of the youngest Peter’s outstretched one. “Shhh. It’s okay, bud. What’s wrong?”

Over by the wall, Peter Two was still struggling to shut the window. Drafts of freezing air blew into the already-chilled room. At another cry from the Peter in the bed, he glanced in their direction.

The middle Peter was looking back at him desperately, holding the ailing teenager’s hand.

Suddenly, the window didn’t matter anymore.

Leaving it open, Peter Two strode quickly to his fellow selves. He sat on the edge of the bed.

“What’s wrong with him?” Peter Three asked worriedly, still clutching the boy’s hand.

Peter Two gave the teenager a once-over. He really didn’t look good - his face was pale and drawn as he shifted restlessly. He was visibly in the throes of something awful, but his eyes were tightly shut and he wouldn’t respond to Peter Three’s words or touches.

“I think it’s a night terror,” said Peter Two gravely. “Or a really nasty nightmare.”

“What can we do?”

“Well… I think you’re already doing it.” Peter Two offered his counterpart a reassuring smile. “He needs people who are there for him.” 

Peter Three gave a watery smile back, rubbing circles onto the back of the kid’s hand.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Peter Three rubbing his hand and Peter Two offering consoling words. Right as Peter Two began moving towards the open window to close it, the teenager’s eyes cracked open.

“Hey,” whispered Peter Three, flicking a stray curl away from the teen’s forehead. “It’s okay. You’re not alone anymore.”

“… what?”

It became clear within seconds that Peter One was not himself. He sat upright, looked blearily at the two other men, and began to cry.

“No,” he wept, “please. Don’t…”

“Don’t leave me!” Peter screamed. Aunt May drifted further and further away from him, smiling her beautiful smile. “Please, May!”

She sighed. “Peter,” she murmured gently. “I larb you. You’re going to be okay.”

“NO, I’m not gonna be okay!” He tried desperately to run after her, but his legs wouldn’t budge. “Everyone I love has either died or forgotten me. They don’t know I exist, and that we made memories together, and… I don’t know what to do!”

A hand brushed his hair away from his face. It felt nice, comforting.

Was that May? MJ?

Oh, MJ.

Her sweet, sarcastic smile. Caring dark eyes, and a gentle touch that could always calm him down.

“Please,” he begged. “Please…”

“Please don’t forget me.”

The other two Peters immediately fell silent. Peter One gazed back at them with unfocused, glazed eyes.

“Please.” Tears rolled sluggishly down his cheeks. “P-please don’t - don’t forget. Everyone else forgot. Please?”

Silence. The other two Peters absorbed that information, and their hearts promptly broke into pieces.

“Oh, Peter,” the oldest choked, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’re not going to forget you. How could we?”

Peter Three nodded, tears rolling down his face now as well. “That’s right, Pete,” he said shakily. “We don’t know what happened, but we’re not leaving you or forgetting you. No way. We’re stubborn guys, you can’t make us.”

The kid rolled over and continued to shake, murmuring something that the other two couldn’t understand. 

One minute turned into five, and the other two Peters became desperate.

“ Please.” Now it was Peter Three’s turn to beg, and Peter Two tried not to replicate the tears welling up in his counterpart’s eyes. “Please wake up, Peter. We can help you.”

Peter Two hesitated. The youngest Peter’s condition wasn’t getting any better, no matter what they tried. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted under his breath, and the fact scared him. He was a problem-solver - a scientist , for crying out loud - and this was a problem that he didn’t know how to fix. “I don’t know what to do.”

A steely expression washed over Peter Three. Within seconds, he leapt to his feet and moved swiftly towards the window.

“Peter, wait,” cried the oldest hero, preparing to convince him to stay. “We can handle this, don’t go -”

But the tallest Peter only pushed the window back open. In contrast to the scene inside the apartment, it was a beautiful winter night in New York City. Snow was falling heavily, blanketing the rooftops with sparkling sheets of powder.

He returned to Peter’s bedside with a scoop of snow packed in his hand. Reaching out slowly, he flipped the struggling teen’s hand so his palm faced upwards and dropped the snowball on it. Peter One groaned as he came into contact with the cold substance.

“Here,” Peter Three said softly, with a gentle tone that Peter Two hadn’t heard from him before. “What’s this?”

His hand was cold.

That wasn’t abnormal, though. May was always telling him how cold his hands were, to the point that she’d come over at random times while he was home and squeeze his hands. “Do these ever get any blood flow?” she’d joke, entering Nurse Mode as she rubbed warmth back into them.

But this wasn’t “bad circulation” cold. His hand was freezing.

Closing his fist, he felt something soft between his fingers. It was light. Fluffy, even. And it was changing as he held it, turning into…water?

Winter in Central Park. Snowmen with May, igloos and ice castles with Ned, and flurries drifting past his window as he lay in bed.

“…Snow,” Peter One rasped, mouth dry. Blinking suddenly, his dim apartment came into view. He glanced down at his right hand and, sure enough, he found a small pile of snow in his palm. Then he looked up, at his blanket and nightstand and the two men staring hopefully at him.

“P-Peter? Is that… both of you?”

“It’s us, Pete,” said Peter Two gently, while Peter Three grinned with relief. “We’re here.”

“You’re here,” Peter One breathed. “Oh, thank goodness. Thank you, thank you…”

His fellow selves threw their arms around him, and the teen was engulfed in a Peter hug. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he continued to whisper fervently. “Thank you.”

“We’re here,” said Peter Two again as he embraced the other two Spider-Men. “It’s going to be okay.”

Five full minutes passed before they separated. It was only because Peter Three had an urgent question to ask.

“Please tell us what’s going on here, Peter,” he said. Pausing, he shared a glance with the oldest Peter before continuing.

“How did the world forget you?”

Chapter Text

Peter Benjamin Parker remembered lots of things.

He remembered that day in that corner market, where a man had stolen a six-pack of beer and tossed him the bottle of chocolate milk Peter couldn’t afford. He’d watched the man grab a wad of bills from the cash register, and yet he did nothing.

“Not my policy,” he’d said with a shrug to the desperate employee asking for help.

Then his uncle rushed to apprehend the thief and received a bullet in the stomach.

“With great power comes great responsibility.” That had been his lesson, one that he started to understand as he cried over Ben’s dying body.

Peter could remember the clock tower, where Gwen had plummeted towards the ground below. He dove after her, firing a web in her direction as they fell together.

The web caught her. Peter did not.

Now every time he heard a ticking clock, or saw a person with golden blonde hair, he saw her face. And her face never failed to remind him what he’d failed to do that day.

Peter remembered lots of things.

What he couldn’t remember was the deli-and-grocery now located on 21st Street.

Is this place brand new?

He’d been on patrols when an unfamiliar feeling traveled through his entire body. His fingertips tingled as a strange surge of energy flooded him. It wasn’t the Spider-Sense, he was pretty sure of that - but if not that, what was it?

Shaking his head to clear it, he’d looked up again from the alleyway he was regrouping in and saw the sun setting over 21st Street. Except… it wasn’t really 21st Street. Not like he’d remembered.

Harding’s and Giorgio’s were still right where they always were, as was the photo gallery across the way. But he’d never seen Delmar’s Deli and Grocery before. It certainly hadn’t been there fifteen minutes ago.

Why not check it out? he decided. There’s got to be an explanation for this.

He edged out of the alley and jogged across the street, waving apologetically at the waiting traffic. Right when he made it to the sidewalk, there was a gasp and the sound of a camera. A little girl was pointing at him, while a teenager beside her snapped photos of the hero on their phone. Peter was used to this - he received plenty of attention shortly after going out in his suit for the first time - but what concerned him was the look on the older kid’s face. The expression of surprise and awe that Peter expected was nowhere in sight; rather, the teen seemed terrified. Grabbing the younger child’s hand, they dragged her down the street and away from him.

“What was that all about?” he wondered aloud.

The deli seemed friendly upon walking in; several shelves were lined up and stacked with groceries, and a sign hung by the counter that read: PLEASE pet the cat! Murphy is friendly. :)

The cat - Murphy - lounged on the counter in a basket cushioned with blankets. His tongue lolled out as he stretched in the last fading patch of sunlight.

“Hello?” Peter called out. There were no employees or other shoppers in sight. This place is open, right? he wondered nervously, ducking outside to recheck the sign out front. The OPEN side faced forward, easing his worry.

“Is anyone here?” he tried again as he trotted back inside, reaching over to scratch the cat between its ears. A bearded man in a white apron appeared behind the counter, shoving a cell phone in his pocket.

“Sorry for the wait, pal, what can I- ” He abruptly cut off his words upon seeing Peter in front of him, who remembered suddenly that he was still in his Spider-Man suit.

“Good evening, sir. Sorry to bother you, I had a question about- ”

“Peter?” The man’s jaw fell open slightly, and he stared at him painfully. “How’ve you been?”

“Uh…” Peter backed up a bit. He knows my name. How could he possibly know? Just in case, he patted his face to ensure his mask was still on. It was. “That’s, like, totally not my name. Why do you think that’s my name?”

“Peter, stop trying,” the man said, rushing around the counter and standing face-to-face with him. “Everyone knows. You saw the broadcast, right?”

“Wh-what broadcast?” It was slowly dawning on Peter: something was very wrong.

“I can’t believe some dude threw a buncha goop on ya. Saw it on TV.” The older man ignored Peter’s question, shaking his head sadly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t think you’d come back!” He chuckled a bit, but the laughter was forced and a bit too unnatural. “I thought, ‘Oh, that’s the end of the endless Parker compliments for Mr. Delmar’s sandwiches!’”

Murphy stood up and meowed, leaping onto the ground. He stalked towards Peter and purred, rubbing his head on the hero’s spandex-covered shins.

“Did you actually do it?” Mr. Delmar’s voice was a whisper now. “I mean, I’d never believe it from those folks on TV, but… if you did it, you can tell me.”

“Do what ?”

“Please, kid. You gotta tell someone.”

But Peter was already backing out the door, holding his finger over the trigger on his web shooter. “I’m sorry, sir. I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”

He flung the door open and launched himself away from the deli, barely hearing Delmar’s cries behind him.

“ What the hell was that?!”

Peter ripped his mask off and rubbed his hands over his face. Did the entire world know his identity?! And if so, how? 

“Did I tell someone? I don’t think I told anyone, and May wouldn’t tell anyone…” He paced back and forth in the alleyway, his new safe place and refuge from the now very  different and very terrifying 21st Street.

He thought back to his encounter with Mr. Delmar in the deli. He’d seemed so surprised that Peter had shown up, and talked about an incident. 

If you did it, you can tell me.

Did what?

“How does that guy know me? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I don’t have amnesia, but I’ve never been there in my life.”

Leaning against the brick wall, he inhaled deeply through his nose and fought to compose himself. Breathe in, breathe out. 

Don’t panic. And definitely don’t think about your biggest secret potentially being common knowledge to the entire world. 

In, out.

A hug from May, or a kiss from his boyfriend, would be great right about now.

He glanced up again at Delmar’s, only the storefront banner visible from the alley. The deli definitely hadn’t been there earlier in the day - Peter was certain of that.

He crept back out onto the sidewalk and examined the other buildings on the street. Most of them looked the same to him - then again, he didn’t have a photographic memory. There might be entirely different staff members, different furniture, and different food in these places.

Oh, he hoped the food hadn’t changed. That Mediterranean restaurant around the corner served the best falafel in the whole city, as far as Peter was concerned.

“Maybe that guy was just part of a club,” he muttered. “Yeah, an anti-vigilante conspiracy club! And those kids from earlier, too. Is this, like, a new Queens thing or…?”

A rumbling noise led Peter to look up, and his hopes were dashed in an instant.

It was dark now, and a group of angry clouds were moving in to cover the stars flickering in the sky. They carried the threat of bad weather, possibly a thunderstorm. But that wasn’t what alarmed Peter the most.

A tall, lonely structure sat among the other skyscrapers in the distance. It rivaled the height of the surrounding buildings, and it was evidently the shell of a once-polished and proud piece of infrastructure. The graying walls were hollowed out where the windows should have been, and a battered letter A hung from a balcony level on the top floor.

Nope, that definitely wasn’t here fifteen minutes ago.

What if this isn’t the same 21st Street? Or worse - not the same New York?

“Oh, we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto!” the hero cried, biting his lip to muffle his bewildered laughter. “Okay, okay. New plan. Time to figure out where on Earth I am.”

There was a noise behind him.

“What now?” he cried aloud, turning around. The back of the alleyway was dark, littered with discarded cardboard boxes and empty glass bottles.  “Any stray cats wanna tell me how NYC started generating new grocery stores at will?”

Nothing answered (understandably). Peter marched back to the wall. 

“I wonder if my bed’s still here, unless my apartment complex’s been turned into an upscale restaurant,” he muttered indignantly, lifting his hands to climb the side of the building. He could gain a better perspective of his location from the roof.

One second, he was preparing to climb up the wall.

Within the next, his Spidey-Sense was screaming. 

Peter knew better than to ignore it. He leapt away from the wall and spun around to face the back of the alleyway.

A ring of sparks, bright and furiously orange, greeted him. It hovered in the air lazily.

The ring would have been only mildly terrifying for Peter if he could see the brick walls of the alley on the other side, instead of a brightly-lit room with a kitchen table and a TV. There were voices, too, and they yelled his name from the other side.

“Peter! Hey, Peter! Over here!”

He inched closer, cautiously, and gave a little wave. The voices seemed to accept that, urgently beckoning him to come through.

Eh. This day can’t get any weirder, right?

He was jogging into the portal before he could stop himself.

He was on the porch when it happened.

It was a Thursday night, an uncharacteristically pretty one on the outskirts of New York City. Stars were a rare sighting from the balcony of Peter’s apartment, but he could see the tiny pinpricks of light poking through the dark sky. The air was fresh and cool; it brushed his face with a gentle touch.

If he stayed there any longer, Peter was convinced he’d become weightless and blow away - carried by the wind up to those shining stars.

There was a click behind him as the sliding door opened. She drifted easily across the balcony, a dark silhouette emerging from the warm light of the apartment. The edges of her blouse fluttered slightly in the breeze.

“Do you have to go?” Peter asked quietly.

A briefcase landed with a dull thud on the floor as her arms wrapped gently around his shoulders. “You know I have to, tiger.”

“Uh-huh.” He leaned back and rested his head on her shoulder, relishing in her company. “You’re gonna do great things this weekend, MJ.”

He felt her nod. “Yup. Routine trip. Take pictures, write an article…hopefully make a difference in the world.” She sighed and looked up, seeming to notice the stars for the first time that night. 

“And then you’ll be home?”

“And then I’ll be home.” They leaned in close, foreheads touching as MJ played with the tips of his thinning hair. “I’m gonna miss you, Pete.”

“Not more than I’ll miss you.”

She kissed him then, long and gentle, and Peter saw her for the first time all over again. The beautiful girl with the crossover bag, bright red hair, and radiant smile. How did a guy like me get a woman like her?

As if she could hear his thoughts, she smoothed his hair back with a knowing look. “I’m a lucky girl, Peter.”

He grinned back, all dopey and puppy-like. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“That’s my line!” She swatted at him with her sleeve, laughing, but her face glowed all the same. Collecting her briefcase, she glanced back at him one last time before ducking back through the sliding door.

Peter turned back towards the stars. Inside, the front door creaked open and closed as his wife made her exit. Even as she left, he knew she would be safe. It had been a long time since he felt this peaceful.

Peter closed his eyes.

He opened them in another universe.

He was still standing on a balcony. At first glance, it looked so similar to his own that he assumed it was.

And then he stepped indoors.

“Sources have just confirmed that the explosion outside the apartment complex near Queens is directly connected to the vigilante at-large, Spider-Man, who was arrested just months ago on suspicions of responsibility for the London drone attack,” reported a woman in a dark suit from a TV in the living room. “Eyewitnesses saw several different adversaries engaged in battle with the teenage crime-fighter, resulting in massive structural damage to the apartment building. Spider-Man fled the scene after being apprehended by the Department of Damage Control, and we are awaiting word on the number and severity of any injuries.”

The news broadcast caught Peter’s full attention.

That certainly wasn’t me.

All the lights inside the apartment were turned off, unlike his cheerfully lit residence from a few minutes ago. The TV was the only sign of life in the room - not a person was in sight.

The furniture all looked different. A green couch sat in the living room.

“Our couch is blue,” he whispered. Reaching toward a framed photo on the coffee table, he peered into the frame and saw a young mother with two children smiling back at him.

Definitely not our apartment.

And yet, despite the suddenness and unfamiliarity of the change, Peter was calm. He set the photo back on the table, making sure it was positioned just as he’d found it, and crept back out onto the balcony. The stars were still shining, bright as before, but a sheet of clouds was creeping in. A rainstorm, perhaps.

What have we gotten ourselves into now, Peter?

The sound of sparks interrupted his thinking. He found a ring of orange light where the noise had come from, hovering a few inches off the ground. It spread open wide, wide enough for Peter to see a brightly-lit room on the other side. 

Wide enough for a person to fit through.

There was a pull deep within him. Go.

So he did.

Chapter Text

He knew him.

The man stepped through the portal, surveying his surroundings nervously, and Peter knew him.

He’d never seen him before, this stranger with the short brown hair and grayish-blue sweatshirt. His dark eyes were calm and kind as they flitted about, though a bit uncertain. His face, however, was one that Peter couldn’t recall - if he’d met him before, he would’ve remembered.

But his senses were ringing, directing his focus to the unfamiliar man. There had to be something about him, something that only his inner self could recognize -

“I’m Peter. Peter Parker.”

No.

There’s no way.

He tiptoed out from behind MJ as the stranger began speaking to the other people in the room. The teenagers he’d just met seemed nice enough, albeit a bit skeptical, and their intelligence was clear in the way they spoke and interacted. The boy - Ned - had a cheerful face, with eyes that sparkled when he talked about the parameters of magic and multiverses. MJ, the one with the bread, was still suspicious of Peter (understandable, considering the circumstances). However, he saw how deeply she cared for her friend. She seemed sensible and cautious, maybe even loving if you were close enough with her.

She reminded him of Gwen.

The man was talking to the teens, voice full of intrigue. “I’ve seen you two before…” He trailed off upon spotting Ned’s sweet Lola, who was waving at him from the corner with a giant smile - he returned the greeting shyly. Then his eyes landed on the center of the room, on him.

Peter froze.

“Wait, he’s not your friend…” The other man’s eyes grew wide.

And Peter fired a web at his face.

The other man was ready, dodging the projectile easily and firing back just as quickly. He leapt to the ceiling, in sync with Peter, and they completed a full 360 flip before returning upright as gravity normally commanded. His feet hit the hardwood of the kitchen as Peter landed on the counter in a low crouch. Before he could think of what to do next, the sticky white substance of the other man’s webs were stuck to his web shooter. 

Wait - this guy has webs?!

Normally, Peter would be upset. His senses would be racing miles a minute, screaming danger , and having his web shooters out of the equation could leave him in serious trouble. He would’ve resulted to physical violence by now, fighting to win - to stay alive.

Definitely not pulling his punches.

Instead, he turned his wrist over curiously. The web glued his main weapon and tool shut, leaving it inoperable. The material would take a good deal of removal fluid to undo.

Peter just gazed at it, mouth slightly open.

Another Spider-Man.

“Huh,” he managed, meeting eyes with the man across the room and giving him a nod. An awed smile slowly spread across his face.

The stranger - Spider-Man? Peter? - jerked his head back at him, smirking as if to say I told you so. It was jarring, encountering another version of himself, but the idea excited him all the same.

“So, you’re Spider-Man too?” said Ned as Peter leapt down from the counter. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“I, uh, don’t really go around advertising it,” the older Peter said, finding his words. “Kinda defeats the whole…anonymous superhero thing.”

“I just said that,” Peter whispered.

“That’s what he just said,” muttered MJ, equally unnerved.

“I’ve been looking for your friend ever since I got here,” the other hero admitted. He seemed pensive, wringing his hands a little. “I just have a sense that… that he needs my help.”

And Peter began to realize. The confusion, the identity scare, his frenzied senses - 

There was a Peter Parker in this world. And he was in trouble.

For a long time, Peter had felt useless. Being Spider-Man was about protecting the lives of New York, and he failed that task when it was literally a matter of life or death.

He’d begun to think he couldn’t help anyone at all. But vigilante help? Peter Parker advice?

That was something he had expertise in - after all, he’d lived it. He could be of assistance with that.

“Our help,” Peter said, turning to face his fellow self.

Two MJs.

Peter knew two MJs.

This wouldn’t usually be considered a weird thing. Loads of people throughout the world shared the same first name, or last name - sometimes even both. He was sure there were several other MJs he would find if he went looking.

It wasn’t often that they were the same person.

Except, well, they weren’t really the same. Both MJs seemed to serve a similar role in his and the youngest Peter’s life - first a classmate, next a friend, eventually a person they loved dearly. But there were distinct differences.

For one, this MJ was named Michelle Jones.

Peter couldn’t hide the surprise on his face when she introduced herself. The teenage girl had snickered a bit at his bewildered expression, and asked him why he was surprised.

“I, uh - I have an MJ too. But she’s Mary Jane, and you’re…”

“Definitely not Mary Jane.” She smiled, flicking a stray hair out of her face. “It’s interesting how some elements between the universes are so similar, and yet…so different at the same time.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Adding to that, my MJ - she’s a redhead.”

MJ laughed out loud this time. It was a pretty sound. “There’s no way I’m dying my hair red. My Peter better not even ask.”

Silence settled over the two for a moment. With Ned showing a fascinated Peter Three through the house, Peter and MJ had been left to themselves in the kitchen. She was still a stranger to him, more or less, but the quiet wasn’t uncomfortable.

MJ reached up to the chain necklace that hung around her neck. She fiddled absentmindedly with a charm at the end, a dark shape that Peter couldn’t identify.

“I like your necklace,” Peter said.

“Oh - uh, thanks,” MJ said, snapping out of her trance. “It’s, um, a black dahlia. Like the murder.”

“Like the murder,” Peter agreed, not understanding at all.

“Yeah.” She chuckled, then hesitated. “Peter - well, my Peter. He gave it to me. We were on a class trip, sightseeing in Europe, and there was this attack on the London Bridge.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, it totally cut our travels short! We got sent home early - so annoying,” she huffed. “But there were, like, these elemental creatures - a water guy, a fire guy, stuff like that - and then we figured out they were just illusions made by a bunch of drones.”

“Drones can be weapons now?”

“Yeah! Peter was actually just fighting the guy controlling them, this Quentin dude in a mocap suit.” She scoffed lightly, but there was intense emotion under the surface. “Anyway. He defeated the jerk, but during all that crime-fighting he had the nerve to break my necklace -”

“How could he?” joked Peter, playing along.

“I know, right?” She laughed again. “He felt so bad that it broke…but I told him that I actually like it better broken.”

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Like it better broken?” Peter tilted his head to the side. “Did you mean it?”

MJ paused thoughtfully, considering the question. 

“Yeah. I do.” She lifted the broken flower and brushed her thumb gently across its smooth surface. “It reminds me…just because something’s broken doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful.”

He smiled softly. “I like that.”

“Dude! There’s a wall of SWORDS in this house!” The younger Peter Parker squealed enthusiastically as Ned practically dragged him into the kitchen. “Are there, like, professional sword fighters in this universe too?”

“I told you, dude, that’s my grandma’s special collection,” muttered Ned, as if he’d already told the other Peter this several times. 

“Is she a ninja?”

“DUDE.”

“Look, different universes!” The other Peter held out his hands. “I’m just curious, is all.”

“Hey, guys?”

The tone in her voice made all three men look back at her. MJ appeared startlingly different from the witty, sarcastic teenager telling stories just a few moments ago. Her eyes were watering with unshed tears, and she took a shaky breath before continuing.

“I think we should go. We have to go find him.”

The eldest in the room straightened his shoulders before nodding back at her. “He needs us.” He turned to face his younger counterpart, who mirrored his determined expression. “Right?”

“Right.”

Peter smiled. “It’s what we do.”

Ned adjusted the magical golden ring on his finger. The two Spider-Men had learned from experience that it was the item generating the sparkling orange rings - the portals that had brought them here. His eyes flicked up from the ring to meet Peter’s.

“Alright, Ned. Take us to him.”

Peter clung to the brick wall of the clock tower, with his older self perched above him. Moonlight cast a gentle glow upon their faces, on the rooftop, and on a teenage boy sitting below.

He’d forgotten how young this Peter Parker would be until Ned opened a magic portal to their high school (Wow, that might be the weirdest sentence he’s ever thought in his life). Another Midtown School of Science and Technology - wow, this version was more like himself than he’d realized.

At first glance, the kid appeared just like any other person - taking a break in their favorite spot, stealing a few moments of solitude. But then he looked closer, and he saw how his shoulders were shaking and his hands were trembling beneath him. The moon highlighted his torn and weathered suit, the blood in his hair.

“Is that him?” the oldest Peter whispered.

“Yeah,” Peter breathed, unable to tear his eyes off the teenager below. He’d known he was grieving - MJ and Ned had filled the two heroes in on the death of his Aunt May - but that didn’t seem like the only burden this kid was carrying. He looked wrecked. 

What happened to him?

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Ned and MJ climbing down the ladder onto the lower part of the school roof. Approaching him slowly, they left him plenty of space until MJ made it to her Peter’s side. He suddenly lifted his gaze away from the city skyline, meeting her eyes, and that’s all it took for his two friends to crouch beside him and throw their arms around his shoulders.

Silence hung heavy in the air, just for a second. There was a sniffle, a shaky sigh.

And then the youngest hero burst into tears.

Peter cursed his enhanced senses for the way the kid’s sobs filled his ears. His chest ached painfully for this young person with such great responsibility. No other virtual stranger had seemed so familiar with his struggles before. His eyes met those of his older self, whose expression mirrored how he felt.

The young man below had been crying with his head bent, trembling like a leaf in the arms of his friends. When Peter looked back at him, however, his body was rigid and stiff. His head slowly raised from its bowed position, turning slightly from side to side.

“Peter…” MJ leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “There’s some people here…”

He knew.

Peter knew that he knew.

As Ned and MJ began to stand, their Peter leapt into action. His focus immediately honed in on the clock tower in a way that only enhanced senses could allow. Throwing himself to his feet, he pushed his way in front of his friends and assumed a defensive stance.

His face came into the moonlight.

And what Peter saw there terrified him.

It was like meeting himself from years ago. The teenager was bitter, glaring up at him with an unspoken threat. Anger welled and mixed with the tears in his eyes, with an intensity that chilled Peter to his core. He looked furious, heartbroken - but hiding behind his most volatile emotions, Peter saw paralyzing fear.

This was himself after losing Gwen.

Peter was moving before he knew it, copying his older self’s fluid movements and landing on a ledge closer to the lower roof. His younger self thrust out an arm, flinching backwards as they approached him.

“Hey, wait, wait, whoa!” He attempted to bring his aggressiveness forward, but his shaking hand gave the fear away.

Peter showed his hands in a placating gesture, slowly rising to a full standing position. The older Peter remained in a semi-crouch, also raising a hand in an attempt to calm the scared teenager. He was skittish, confused eyes taking in the two strangers.

“Sorry,” said the older Peter gently as the youngest glanced back and forth between his two counterparts. “About May.”

The kid’s eyes widened in realization.

…

“I lost… I lost Gwen. My, um…she was my MJ.”

“ I stopped pulling my punches. I got rageful… I got bitter.”

“I just don’t want you to end up like… like me.”

…

“Even after she was hurt, she said to me that we did the right thing. She told me that with great power…”

“…Comes great responsibility.”

…

“Maybe she didn’t die for nothing, Peter.”

“What?”

“How did this happen?” Peter Two pressed. “Everyone forgot you?”

“I can’t believe you guys are here!” Peter One scrambled out of the sheets and sat cross-legged on the bed, bouncing with excitement. “It’s been so long!”

Peter Three frowned. “Dude, you literally saw us earlier today.”

“I know! Those were good hamburgers, by the way.” The teenager cocked his head and put on his best puppy eyes. “But it feels like so long ago.”

“Well, we’re here now, aren’t we?” Peter Three grinned, spreading his arms out and shaking his hands in a “ta-da!” pose. The youngest laughed easily, nearly fooling his older selves into believing the lie: that he was okay.

“Peter, we’ve gotta talk to you about this,” said the oldest Peter. “Something isn’t right here.”

“Oh yeah! Someone, or should I say two someones, left the window open.” Scoffing in mock frustration, Peter One leapt to his feet and began crossing to the window. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Peter -”

“Man, I’ve never had you guys in my apartment before!” the teen exclaimed. “Whaddya think? It’s small, sure, and a little on the dusty side - but throw in a couch and a sewing machine and it’s cozy enough!” He laughed as he walked, for all the world seeming like a carefree and happy kid.

But his older selves could see past it.

“Peter.”

“Did I tell you I learned how to sew?” Peter One added, grabbing the top frame of the window and pulling it inward. “It didn’t come easy, but I managed to get the hang of it after lots of practice. LOTS. I stuck myself with the needle like three times - ”

“Peter!”

“I made new additions to my suit! Do you guys wanna see it? It’s super cool -”

“What happened between you and MJ?”

Peter One froze, hands on the window lock. Several seconds passed, and he remained completely still.

Peter Two waited nervously, internally kicking himself a little. He didn’t want to go too far, but they were getting nowhere with the constant deflections and topic changes. Peter One had cared deeply for his MJ, just as she did for him - something else might have split them apart. 

The youngest met the oldest Peter’s eyes. His expression shifted into one of sadness, maybe slight nervousness. But mostly, he just seemed exhausted -  different from the quippy version of himself at the Statue of Liberty. He had been grieving then, but that grief seemed even more present now.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Peter,” Peter Two pressed gently. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Peter One sighed shakily, playing with the frayed hem of his Star Wars T-shirt.

“We saw them,” Peter Three filled in, “Ned and MJ. She was working, Ned was a customer of hers. We’d been searching for you with no luck, so we thought they might know where you were…”

“You talked to them?” A surge of anger had the teenager rushing towards them. “You told them about me?”

“We didn’t mean anything bad by it. We just wanted to see you.”

He nodded, the sudden anger leaving immediately. The sewing machine on the table suddenly became very interesting, and he didn’t look away from it as he asked one more question.

“And?” he whispered, low and desperate.

“Nothing,” Peter Three said. “They had no idea who we were asking about. They couldn’t recall me or Peter Two…the memories were gone. I’m… I’m so sorry, Peter.”

Peter One looked down at the floor. His shoulders began to shake again.

“What happened?”

He was silent.

“You can talk to us. I mean, you are us! We love you, man, and we want to help you.”

“It’s true,” Peter Two added. “We’re here for you. And take it from your two older selves - you gotta tell someone. Internalizing it is bad news. That pain only grows when you keep it to yourself.”

The snow drifted onto the streets outside, the wind ebbed and flowed in intensity, and the three Peters stood there loving each other inside a cold one-bedroom apartment in Queens. 

Peter One looked up and gave them a watery smile. “Man, I love you guys.” Then he looked up at the clock, showing ten till midnight. “It’s kind of a long story.”

Peter Three responded to that by flopping onto the couch, kicking his feet up on the armrest. “I’ve got plenty of time. You working or anything in the morning, old man?”

Peter Two rolled his eyes as high as they could go. “Nope, day off tomorrow. MJ’s out of town, so I don’t need to head home yet. And you’re not so young yourself there, Junior.” Peter Three cackled.

Pushing Peter One onto the couch, the oldest pulled out the kitchen chair and sat down. “Okay, Peter. Tell us.”

Chapter Text

"Okay, Peter. Tell us."

Peter told them.

He told them about the spell and what it really caused, in order to save them and their universes. He explained how he’d made the decision, on the crown of the Statue of Liberty, to accept a world where no one remembered him. Where no one even knew he existed.

He told them about that first day, when he’d gone back to his apartment after months of hiding. Swinging to his bedroom window felt like a dream, and he mentally pinched himself the whole way there in hopes that he would wake up. In the cover of the hazy morning light, he’d successfully snuck through the window and into his room.

Walking into the living room slapped him in the face. May’s coffee mugs were all strewn across the counter from when she’d searched for her favorite to bring to Happy’s. The fake fruit that she always threw at him, testing the reliability of his “Peter-Tingle”, slumped sadly in the wicker bowl on the kitchen table. The knit throw she loved so much, handmade in gratitude by an elderly woman from the F.E.A.S.T. shelter, hung over the arm of the sofa.

He lay down, clutched the blanket to his chest, and cried.

When he woke up, it was dark. Changing into fresh clothes, he stepped out into the hallway. It was desolate, almost eerily quiet. He’d turned around to go back inside, and on the front door was a notice that the tenant was deceased and the lease would be terminated, as there was no next of kin to pass it on to.

He would have to leave.

In his room, he gathered as many possessions as he could carry in a few cardboard boxes. Clothes, a thin blanket and the pillow from his bed, an Emperor Palpatine figurine and some cooking supplies. Aunt May’s sewing machine, after great consideration, took up most of the room in his second box. Her throw and a few framed pictures fit in the remaining space.

He hoisted the boxes downstairs and went outside. Snowflakes were beginning to fall, lightly dusting the streets. Placing the boxes behind the Dumpster in the nearby alleyway, he zipped his jacket and curled up out of sight.

He slept there for three nights, teeth chattering and wiry frame shaking in the cold, before he found a lease he could afford with May’s emergency cash. Working up as much courage as he could muster, he found a pen and wrote a short speech on a slip of paper. If there was any hope left for him, it was worth a try.

Practicing the lines all the way to the café did little to calm his nerves, and he was standing outside the Peter Pan Coffee Shop before he knew it. With a deep breath, he pushed the door open with shaking hands and went to tell MJ the truth.

“Hi, my name is Peter Parker, and I…”

Come on.

“My name is Peter Parker, and I…”

Just say the words. Explain everything, and maybe - just maybe - she’ll remember.

“And I…

…would like a coffee, please.”

He told them how the words lodged themselves in his throat, and how he’d frozen at the sight of her. He detailed the exact moment his heart broke into pieces - when she looked at him and didn’t know him at all.

Ned and MJ chatted happily across the counter about studies and MIT, their friendship intact and strong. They didn’t remember, but they were happy. It should’ve been enough for him.

But it wasn’t.

The coffee cup from that day was still on his kitchen table, a stark reminder of what he’d lost.

Back in the apartment with the other two Peters, Peter One stopped talking abruptly. His brow furrowed as he gathered his courage and his words. 

“Go on,” encouraged Peter Three. “No matter what it is. You can tell us.”

When the teen spoke again, it was quiet and through broken sobs.

He told them about that first week, when his older brothers weren’t there. For several days after the battle, the three kept their distance from each other. Uncertainty about the rings and difficulty with smoothing over the effects of their sudden disappearances kept Peter Two and Peter Three busy.

The youngest hero, however, had no one to reassure and nothing to resolve. He was alone.

So after his grief-filled night in May’s apartment, he went out on patrol to fight crime. Do some good. The Spider-Man way.

A woman in Midtown had her purse stolen, and a burly older man was pinning her against a wall when Peter dropped in. Webbing the purse away from the thief and ushering the woman to safety, he rebuked the man angrily for his actions. 

Why does there have to be so much evil in the world?! Can’t you see that people suffer everyday without your actions on top of it? 

With a smirk and a tip of his head, the thief signaled to another man hiding in the shadows. Then another.

Turns out, the man had friends.

Peter began to see red as they surrounded him, all clenched fists and deadly grins. He trembled with rage when he spotted the blood on the first man’s hands, the blood of the woman whose purse was stolen.

Peter fought to win. He fought to survive.

He stopped pulling his punches.

When the men were down and he was through, the sting of his knuckles exhilarated him. It was the first thing he’d felt all week that wasn’t all-consuming sadness, or grief for what he’d lost. It felt like relief.

And then he remembered Peter Three’s words, and the look on Peter Two’s face when he stopped him from using the glider. Their warning, and their belief in him to do the right thing.

The men’s grotesque, bloodied faces were visible in the late night glow, and Peter gasped for breath when he saw them.

It’s my fault.

He’d brought them to the nearest hospital and took off for his apartment. He didn’t go patrolling for another two days.

“I needed to know,” he said, “that I could go out and actually help people as Spider-Man. That I could find dangerous people on patrol and restrain them, not maim them.”

He’d begun working on other tactics. Webbing up criminals and leaving them stuck to walls instead of beating them senseless. Practicing his aim accuracy so he could target and remove weapons from their hands. Instead of letting his anger control him, he snuck into the abandoned junkyard two streets down from his apartment. There, he could throw cans and kick boxes and scream until his throat was on fire - all without any repercussions. When a noise complaint would inevitably be called, he cleared the premises before the police could scout the area. 

That worked well enough. He never harmed another person like he did that night, but the emptiness within him didn’t go away.

And then the bank robbery happened. Peter took on a team of masked invaders trying to empty the inner vaults, and he was webbing them to the ceiling in a row like a string of odd Christmas garland. One of the men still untethered threw a switchblade in his direction, and he dodged it effortlessly.

Or so he thought.

It actually wound up buried in his upper thigh, with a burning sensation that sent Peter crashing to the ground. He saw the man’s eerie mask looming above him, fresh knife in hand. Even staring death in the face, Peter was almost disappointed - after all the life-threatening and otherworldly danger he had endured in his young life, some thief in a mask would be the one to end it all?

You’ve got to be kidding me.

And then the other two Peters showed up.

“When I saw you guys, I knew that I would be okay,” he said, nearly out of breath. “I really needed you guys then, and you came.” Fiddling with his hands, he glanced up nervously at his two concerned counterparts.

“I’m proud of you.”

Peter One’s eyes bugged out of his head, so wide that the others would have laughed under different circumstances. “What?! ”

“I’m proud of you,” Peter Two repeated, with a kind smile. “You faced one of the most difficult situations that a person could face, and you kept going.”

“But I hurt people!” The youngest held out his shaking hands, staring at them like they were still covered in the man’s blood. “I punched a guy in the face so hard that he could barely see. That’s, like, the exact opposite of what Spider-Man is supposed to do!”

“It is,” admitted the oldest. “And you did - you hurt people. But you realized that what you were doing was wrong, and you worked to change yourself for the better.”

“You did, man.” Peter Three shifted a bit so he could reach the youngest hero, patting his shoulder. “You didn’t let your anger consume you. Now you can do a lot more good in the world, and a lot more good for yourself.”

Peter One’s eyes watered. “Thanks, guys,” he sniffled, ducking his head to hide his tears. “I really thought I’d never be able to tell anyone this - it feels so much better to say it out loud.”

The tallest Peter shifted a bit in his chair. “But - why didn’t you tell us sooner? We could have helped you.”

“You HAVE helped me!” Peter One perked up, sitting up straighter with a too-bright twinkle in his eye. “Since you guys showed up, I mean - I’ve been way less lonely, and I have the two greatest brothers in the whole world.” He blushed at the last part, ducking his chin with an embarrassed smile. “I couldn’t be more grateful…to have you both in my life.”

His leg twitched as he sat there, under the stunned eyes of his concerned fellow heroes. Right as his unease reached its peak, when he seemed ready to leap off the couch and go busy himself somewhere in the apartment, Peter Three made the first move. He leaned over and threw his arms around the youngest, who melted into the hug.

Peter Two sighed. “C’mere, you two.”

They came to his side, and he held them until his arms were numb.

“I love you guys,” he said.

His two younger brothers smiled up at him, still hurting, but definitely not alone. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

“We love you too.”

Tick, tick, tick.

A gentle gust of wind drifted through the meadow, ruffling the soft grass and stirring up leaves. A white petal, carried by the draft, floated lazily to the ground.

Tick, tick.

That damn watch. Beautiful and ornate, clicking routinely with each passing second. 

Always perfect. Always on time.

The exact opposite of me.

She gazed up at the peach trees, full of fruit swelling with ripeness. It was her job to pick them, to gather them before they fell on their own and bruised. Her basket was already half full, and she had three more trees to go.

She would need another basket.

“Wanda.”

She didn’t move, hand frozen on the peach she was currently picking. Her nails grazed the soft, fuzzy skin. Such a delicious, interesting fruit.

Why do they have fuzz?

She turned around, eyes full of ice. Tilting her chin up, she faced the man who knew her name.

Dark hair - swept up into a curl with too much gel. A grizzled goatee on a pale face, and a red billowing cloak.

“Doctor.”

Stephen Strange nodded slowly back.