Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Luke shows up first to Matt's apartment, Claire and the one of the other Peters trailing behind him. Matt can hear the kid's thundering heartbeat, a jackhammer poorly hidden behind a set of ribs. He can also smell that he probably hasn't showered since whenever his Peter had seen him last.

"Peter!" Peter yells, rushing over to the other man.

The guy lets out a soft 'oomf' and the fabric of his shirt rustles as he moves to reciprocate, squeezing the smaller version of himself until his bones groan under the pressure. "Hey," he says. His voice has a quiet sort of roughness to it. "You okay?"

"Better than I should be," is the answer, which prompts a small frown from Matt. "What about you? I thought you got sent back home! What happened? How long have you been back? What happened while you-"

Politely, Matt intervenes. "Peter," he says, and the air moves as two heads turn in his direction, "it might be best for us to wait until everyone is here. To save trouble."

Peter takes a moment to bite at his lower lip. "Okay," he says. He bounces forward onto the balls of his feet, body shifting as he diverts his attention to the other new arrivals, then back again to the other Peter. "Are you okay though? I don't wanna sound rude but you don't look so hot."

"Eh," mutters the other Peter. "Could be worse, probably." Matt can detect the faint yet distinct smell of the police station on him, plus a few other things. He wonders what this guy would define 'worse' as. His Peter just pulls other Peter into a second hug.

"So before the third Peter gets here," Luke speaks up, "we need a way to tell you guys apart."

Claire nods just as Foggy makes his way out of the bedroom where he'd been looking for blankets. "That's a good idea, avoid a lot of confusion."

"Plus Matt can't tell what you guys look like," Foggy adds. "Nobody wants to be referred to as whatever defining characteristics he's assigned you in his head. He can be brutal when he wants to be."

The corner of Matt's mouth twitches. "You make me sound mean."

"You are mean," Foggy tells him, indignant.

"We actually kind of already figured that out," Peter - Matt's Peter - pipes up. "I'm Peter One." He points in the other Peter's direction. "That's Peter Three, and the other one is Peter Two."

"I can work with that," Claire says. Luke nods his assent and Matt mimics the motion.

"Why don't you two catch up while we wait for the others?" he offers, catching the attention of the Peters. "I'm sure you've got a lot to talk about." More like he can feel how desperate they are to connect. It's strange, because while he knows that they're two separate people, the look the same to him in regards to what he can see with his senses. It reminds him of twins, only more. One is taller than the other, one has more muscle, and there's a definite age gap between them, and he knows that, is even consciously aware of it, but when he tries to look at them, to see their impressions in his world of fire, he can't tell them apart.

The two Peters graciously accept the offer and retreat to the kitchen area to talk in whispers that are definitely louder than intended. Nobody says anything against it, though, and Matt hovers awkwardly while Foggy chats up Claire and Luke. It's not long before Jessica is pounding on the door, and Peters One and Three are wrapping themselves around Two, the group of them a mess of flailing limbs and worried greetings and bumbling excitement.

Jessica surveys the room, eyes narrowed. "Where's Richie Rich?"

Matt cocks his head at the mention of their fourth teammate. "Iron Fist?" asks Foggy. Presumably Jessica nods because he goes on to say, "For all we know, he's with a fourth Peter Parker. Or maybe we're lucky and he found the wizard."

"Oh, great," Jessica groans. "So other people know about the wizard. I was kinda hoping Wonderbread over there was on something." She jerks a thumb in Peter Two's direction before moving to the kitchen to grab a beer out of Matt's fridge (something he has long since stopped caring about). "Also, Danny is going to be insufferable if he thinks we left him out of a team activity. Someone invite him so I don't have to."

Luke sighs. "I'll do it."

While Luke distances himself for the time being, Matt turns his attention towards the Peters. "It's late, so we probably aren't going to get much done tonight. I had Foggy pull out the extra blankets if you're comfortable spending the night."

"Thank you," says Peter Two, pleasantly surprised. Peter One's face moves in a way that means he must be smiling.

"There's no need to thank me," Matt tells him. "But you're welcome."

"We should probably get introductions out of the way, though." This is Claire, who's been hovering somewhere close by. "I'm sure you three are a bit lost. And I know that no one's explained the big picture to me, so I'm not really sure what we're even trying to do here."

Peter Three scuffs his foot against the ground as if he's just been chastised. To the group, Luke announces, "Kid's not picking up. I'll try again tomorrow."

Jessica says, completely deadpan, "Oh happy day."

It takes a while to get everyone introduced, mostly because a lot of things are hard to understand without context. The revelation that the entire world had forgotten Peter Parker is the catalyst for another Spider-Man hug-fest. Eventually, though, they all seem to come to some mutual understanding that as long as they know who is who and who can do what, they're good. Foggy divvies up the blankets and Jessica leaves with the promise of returning the next day because she "isn't sleeping in a halfway house for sad vigilantes".

"She's nice," Peter Two assures his variants. They seem skeptical, but Matt can tell that he'd meant it. He isn't sure 'nice' is the right word for it, but he certainly appreciates someone willing to look past Jessica's many (many) layers of alcohol and sarcasm. "She said she'll help us get home. Her friend says he can tell she likes me."

Peter Three shifts his weight between his feet. Matt notices the change in demeanor and almost instinctively focuses his senses. "That's good," he says, and his heart stutters when he does. It's not like he can't feel any sadness from the other Peters - obviously there's going to be regret about leaving good people behind, memories that will likely remain just that. But this is less sadness and more of a deep ache, and Matt sense that whatever it is the kid is feeling, it's been in the making for longer than a week or two. "I mean, we don't even know if we can get back, though."

"True," frowns Peter One, "but we've got to try, right?"

"We can't let ourselves lose hope." Peter Two puts a comforting hand on the shoulder of his companion.

Clearing his throat, Peter Three says, "Right. Yeah. Yeah, of course."

Matt can sense the air around them getting tense so he graciously removes himself and motions for Foggy to follow him into the bedroom. "Can you pick out some comfortable clothes? I don't know about Two, but I'm fairly certain Peter Three has been living rough."

"On it." Foggy ruffles through his closet and Matt presses his cheek into the cool surface of the wall, leaning against it as he waits. "Holy shit, is this your college sweatshirt?"

"Is it?" Matt asks.

Foggy does that thing he does where he rolls his eyes with his whole body just so Matt is aware of it happening. "Another blind joke, really? You need new material, my friend." Matt doesn't dignify him with a response, so he just waves the sweatshirt around and continues. "I didn't know you still had it."

"You bought it for me," Matt reminds him. He's never been one to throw away gifts, on the rare occasion he gets one.

"That's sweet." Foggy takes a few more things off their hangers, handing a few things to Matt. "Here, that's for Peter Three. I'll get the rest."

Matt smiles gratefully. "Thanks, Foggy." He adjusts the pile of clothes in his arms and makes his way back out into the living room. When he gets there, however, there is one less heartbeat than before. He thinks he knows who it is. "Where's Peter Three?"

Peter One is radiating guilt. "On the roof, I think."

The sullen tone of his voice sends a surge of protectiveness through the lawyer. "What happened?"

"I don't know," One says. "I just- I think I said something about how much I would miss him and he got all upset and climbed out the window."

"Hey, it's not your fault," Peter Two assures him. To Matt, he says, "He's been through a lot."

He definitely hadn't needed anyone to tell him that - it was sort of painfully obvious. "You all have." He takes a few steps to the left so he can set the clothes down on the kitchen counter. "Foggy's getting you two some clothes. I can check the roof in the meantime."

When Peter Two thanks him, he wears a sad smile that Matt can only feel the barest impression of.

* * * * *

Peter Three hears the footsteps coming up the stairs long before the entrance to the roof squeaks open. He shudders against the wind, cold enough to bite at his ears and nose, and staunchly ignores the approach of whoever has decided to join him at the edge.

For a long time neither one of them say anything. Peter is too much of a coward to speak first, so he waits. Finally, Matt Murdock says, "You're shivering."

His mouth twitches into a half-smirk that fails to reach his eyes. "Self-heating didn't come with the bite. Would've been nice though." He doesn't look away from the horizon.

Matt asks, "Are you going to jump?"

Now Peter turns to stare at him; the other man has his head turned towards the horizon as Peter had. He's leaning against the guard-wall that borders the roof, a short distance from where Peter is sitting on its edge. "No."

"Were you thinking about it?"

Peter doesn't answer, and Matt heaves a deep sigh. "I don't need a speech," he says, because he doesn't. "I was just thinking."

"Okay," Matt says. He sounds like he believes him, which means that Peter must have meant it. That's more of a surprise than it should be. "I came up to tell you that I have a change of clothes set aside for you downstairs. The pants might be a bit small, but it's probably better than what you're wearing right now." Peter is hit with the realization that he probably smells like all the dirty places he's been in the last week, especially to someone with enhanced senses, and a wave of embarrassment washes over him. Clearly sensing it, Matt adds, "I'm guessing you didn't have much on you when you were dragged to another universe."

"Astute observation, Mr. Murdock." There is a moment of silence before Peter remembers to say thank you, face twitching in irritation as he does. "Sorry. I appreciate it."

"I won't blame you for being bitter," the lawyer tells him.

Peter digs his heels into the outer brick of the building. If he used more pressure, he'd fall forwards.

"Spider-Man," Matt murmurs, like he knows.

"I have nothing here," Peter blurts out. "I don't exist. I don't know anyone and I don't have a job or a house or anything. But, where- the universe I came from, where I was before all this... I have nothing there too. Everything is just- it's all-" He's having trouble articulating himself. How does he even begin to explain the odd sense of relief he'd felt beneath all the confusion when he'd woken back up in a world that wasn't his own? Or that the thought of going back fills him with just as much dread as staying? That he's not even sure it's worth the effort, despite feeling like he should be feeling more about the whole situation. Instead, he just feels resigned to it all. "I feel like there's no point going back."

Blessedly, Matt nods in understanding. "But you aren't sure if you want to stay, either."

"Yeah."

Matt hums under his breath, fingers skimming the top of the guard-wall. Peter stares down at the ground and says nothing.

"Can I trust you up here by yourself?" Matt asks him.

It takes a moment for Peter to actually come up with an answer. "I don't know."

"Okay," Matt says. "Why don't you come back inside then? I forgot to mention, I also have a shower you can use."

And Peter, Peter is suddenly blinking back tears because this is all so overwhelming. Matt shouldn't be this nice, shouldn't be this caring. He shouldn't be letting Peter stay with him or giving him clothes or talking him off the edge of a damn roof. It's jarring to experience such unexpected kindness after leaning into his own social isolation for the past few years. He isn't quite sure how to accept it anymore.

He tries for a feeble, "Okay," because he has to say something, and he allows Matt to put a hand on his shoulder and guide his torso so that he's facing away from the edge of the roof. He gets down on his own after that.

Matt walks with him back to his apartment. He grabs him a towel and a pile of clothes and ushers him to the bathroom in good time. Peter notices that everyone seems to have moved to the bedroom, and he wonders if Matt had asked them to do so before going up to the roof.

Ignoring the hot flames of humiliation that burn in his stomach, he quietly says "Thank you."

"Of course." Peter goes to step into the bathroom, but a hand on the door stops him. Matt stands a foot or so away, his head turned slightly to the side like he's thinking. "Peter, I don't know what happened to you in your universe, but in mine we believe in seconds chances. If you decide you want to stay, I'll do my best to help you start a new life, if that's something you're interested in."

He doesn't wait for a response, simply pats the doorframe and turns to shuffle off, probably sensing that Peter is scrambling to process the offer. He stands there in the open doorway, mind in overdrive, for longer than what's probably acceptable, before he finally has the sense to close the door and turn on the shower. He gets in when the water is still cold and then waits until his skin feels close to boiling. He washes himself once, then twice for good measure. When he gets out he sits on the tile floor in Matt Murdock's pants that stop above his ankles and watches a drop of moisture dangling precariously from the faucet. Ready to fall, yet determined not to.

I'll do my best to help you start a new life, if that's something you're interested in. The words echo in his head. Another kindness he isn't quite sure he deserves. There seems to be a lot of that going around lately.

Still, he can't help but let himself think about it.

Maybe he doesn't have to fall.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Peter One wakes to the smell of breakfast. Quiet whispers drift over from the kitchen and he shifts on the couch, rolling onto his side so that he can press his face into the cushions. He isn’t sure what time it is, but he’s almost certain that it’s too early.

After a moment he forces himself to sit up. It’s a slow process, but by the time he’s peeking over the back of the couch, he’s already grabbed the attention of the others.

Peter Three is, hilariously, wearing an apron, and is busy flipping pancakes. Peter Two is sitting at the counter with that politely confused expression he can never seem to shake. There’s already a plate in front of him.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” teases Peter Two.

Peter makes a face and rolls himself over the back of the couch, somehow managing to land feet first. “Morning.” He shuffles towards the kitchen and pulls out the stool next to Peter Two. He risks a glance at Peter Three - he still isn’t entirely sure what had happened the night before, but the memory of how sad the other man had looked makes a pit form in his stomach. “Um. How are you doing?”

Peter Three gets his spatula under a pancake and flips it. He doesn’t look away from the pan, not entirely, just a few quick glances in his direction. “I’m better, I guess. As okay as I can be. But, uh,” he taps the head of the spatula against the rim of the pan. “I’m sorry. For running off like that.”

For a moment Peter isn’t sure that he’d heard him right. “Wait, why are you apologizing?” He’d spent a good thirty minutes the night before agonizing over how to apologize to his fellow Spider-Man for upsetting him. “It was my fault you were upset.”

Apparently it wasn’t, because Peter Three’s shoulders tense and he leans over the stove to turn down the burner so he can look in his direction. “No it wasn’t. I was- after…” he shakes his head, fingers coming up to drum a beat against his collarbone. “I was already upset. It was more of a final straw kind of thing.” Peter must still seem skeptical, or guilty, because he says again, “It wasn’t you. I’m sorry that I made you think it was.”

“It’s okay,” Peter tells him. “If it’s not my fault, it definitely isn’t yours either.”

This earns him a smile, which he readily returns.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter Two offers.

The other man shrugs. “I dunno. I already did with Matt. It’s just… it’s stupid.”

Peter thinks that is probably not true in the slightest, but he holds his tongue. “That’s okay,” Peter Two says. Then: “I think the pancakes are burning.”

“Shit!” Three jumps into action, scrambling to salvage what he can. The frantic flailing of the spatula sends the other Peters into a fit of laughter that doesn’t die down until Matt and Foggy make an appearance, the latter of whom is still in his pajamas.

“Did you make breakfast? Pour moi?” he asks, eyes wide as he sidles up to the counter. Then Peter Three turns around and he barks out a laugh.

“What is it?” This is Matt, head tilted to the side as he tries to detect the source of his friend’s amusement.

“He’s wearing the apron I got you.”

Matt frowns. “And that’s funny?”

This just earns him another laugh. “It does when it’s way too short on the person wearing it.” To Peter Three, he says, “You look like a goon.”

Peter Three blushes and turns his chin up. “A goon who is no longer serving you breakfast.”

Foggy gapes. “What? No! You can’t do that!”

Despite the protests, Peter Three sets his spatula on the counter with dramatic flourish, grabbing the rest of the unburned pancakes and dividing them between three plates. One of them has a few less pancakes than the others, which he hands to Matt. Peter One gets the other.

“This is discrimination,” Foggy protests. “I don’t know what for, but when I figure it out I’m suing.”

“Here,” Matt says, and he slides his plate over so that it occupies the space between them. “We can share.”

Foggy grabs a pancake off his friend’s plate with a smug grin. Peter One watches the exchange with a smile on his face. He likes Foggy - he’s funny and kind and smart and even Matt is brighter around him. He’s suddenly filled with gratitude for the both of them, who’d done so much to help him and asked nothing in return. The warm feeling in his stomach makes his hands twitch with the urge to move. He doesn’t want to stim too obviously in front of the others, so he bounces his leg.

And then all at once he remembers May.

It’s stupid, the things that remind him of her. It’s never the big stuff, the obvious stuff. It’s the shit he doesn’t expect; small and inconsequential. Like how, after his diagnosis, she’d caught him bouncing his leg and told him that he could flap his arms and jump around if he needed to. Other than Ned and Uncle Ben, she’d been the only person in his life like that - not even Tony was aware of his diagnosis. May was so, so good to him. In vain, he wishes that she were here.

Because how can he be sitting here smiling after everything that’s happened? It’s barely been over a week. Isn’t grief supposed to last longer than that? Peter remembers when Ben died; it’s almost cruel how similar his death had been to May’s, now that he thinks about it. They both took their last breaths in his arms. They were both killed by someone Peter could’ve done something about and yet had chosen not to. (That’s not to say that he regrets helping Norman Osborn, because he doesn’t. He can’t let himself regret that, because it had been what May wanted. He just wishes she were alive to know what had been accomplished because of her.)

But with Ben, it had been so much worse. Aside from his parents, Peter had never been so close to death before. It had torn him apart from the inside out. He’d been depressed for a while, and then being sad eventually gave way to being angry and vengeful, so he’d made that first shitty mask and pushed himself through it. Even now, when he’s swinging down the streets or stopping a mugging or returning a lost dog, he can sometimes feel those emotions bubbling under the surface like they’d never really left. Peter had never caught the man who’d shot his uncle, turning away from his personal vendetta to focus on helping out the little guy. Sometimes he wonders if because of that, the wound had never truly closed.

The point is, Peter is no stranger to grief. He knows what it feels like to lose someone. Frankly, he’s fed up with how often it seems to happen to him.

So then why doesn’t he feel like the world is ending?

He must be wearing his emotions on his damn face, because he is suddenly aware that the noise of the kitchen has died down around him.

“Peter?” Matt asks. “Are you alright?”

He stares down at his plate for a moment. He can see little pockmarks along the surface of the pancake, flat and brown and probably cold now, and he doesn’t think he’s hungry anymore. “I’m full,” he mutters. He pushes his plate towards Foggy and carefully extracts himself from his chair. There isn’t anywhere private to go that isn’t the bathroom other than Matt’s bedroom, so that’s where he goes. He hopes Matt doesn’t mind.

He sits on the edge of the bed and puts his head in his hands. He can already hear two pairs of footsteps approaching. There is a lump forming in the back of his throat.

The door slides open and closed, and Peter’s spider-sense flares up for a moment before settling, just like it had when he’d first come across the other versions of himself.

One of them comes over and sits down next to him. The one still standing asks, “What’s wrong?” It’s Peter Three, meaning that the one next to him is Two.

“Not, ‘Are you okay’?” Peter asks.

His weak attempt at humor falls flat. Peter Three says, “That would be redundant. You’re clearly not.”

The bitter laugh that comes out of him is unintentional, but he doesn’t apologize for it. “Thanks.”

Peter Three puts his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging. I just want to help.”

“You know you can tell us anything, right?” Peter Two says. He sounds so earnest, voice soft and gentle, heartbeat steady, and it’s this that makes Peter unclench his jaw.

His fingers tangle themselves together, a product of his anxiety. “It’s not bad or anything.” Then he pauses. Reconsiders. Tries again. “I feel like I should be more sad. About May, about- about everything.” He swallows. “When Ben died, it was like this hole in my heart that kept growing. The only thing that helped was becoming Spider-Man, and Mister- uh.” He scrunches his face up when he remembers that neither of his variants know who Tony is. “I thought losing May would be worse. But it’s not. It’s one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me and I just feel… I don’t know.”

“Like you shouldn’t be allowed to be happy?” guesses Peter Three.

He gets it right on the nose. Peter looks up at them - not quite making eye contact, but enough so that they can see his face. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“Oh my god, no.” Peter Two doesn’t even ask before he reaches out and pulls him into a hug, crushing his cheek against his chest. “Of course there isn’t.”

Peter doesn’t hug back, just closes his eyes and leans into him like he’s the only thing keeping him upright. “I don’t want to forget her,” he says, and his voice trembles just enough to be noticeable.

The arms around him squeeze tighter. “Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting someone. If anything it helps you to remember them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Grief is a funny thing,” he explains. “When it’s fresh, it’s the only thing you can think about. It creeps into every other part of your life and it chokes you, and the only thing you can focus on is their absence.” The pain in his voice is palpable and Peter is suddenly reminded of the fact that his past is full of death and destruction too. “You aren’t ever going to stop being sad. You know that. But you can’t let that sadness consume you. Allowing yourself to heal means that it doesn’t hurt so much to think about them. You get to remember the times before they died. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Peter nods into his chest, fighting back the urge to sniffle. He does, however, finally lift his arms to hug him back. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Three says, arms wrapping around the both of them. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

When Peter Two nods, the bottom of his chin bumps against the top of his head. “You aren’t a bad person for being happy, okay? Or for needing a shoulder to lean on.”

“May wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back for her,” adds Peter Three. There is a short pause before he adds, voice thick with emotion, “Not May. She was too good for that.”

Was. Peter makes a strangled noise. His eyes are wet - he can’t remember when he’d started tearing up. “Yeah.”

Peter Two must have noticed something he didn’t, because his next question is directed towards the third variant. “You too?”

It takes a moment for the answer to come. It’s just a single word: “Cancer.” Still, it says so much.

Two nods again in understanding. “Heart attack,” he whispers.

Peter is so damn tired of losing people. He says so out loud.

“Me too,” Peter Two admits quietly. “But that’s all the more reason to make sure they’re never truly lost.”

* * * * *

When she arrives, Jessica sits down on Matt’s couch as noisily as she can. “I don’t even know why I’m here,” she admits. “I got hired to help find Peter One. I did that.”

“You didn’t get hired, though.” This is Luke, who’d gotten there a few minutes before her. Honestly, they should’ve just carpooled; save the fucking planet or whatever. “Technically you did it for free. Which is unlike you, by the way.”

Jessica shrugs it off. “Maybe I was curious about the wizards.”

From the seat next to her, Matt says, “You don’t get curious. You get pissed about not knowing something.”

The fact that he’s aware of this is annoying, but Jessica doesn’t hate him enough to correct him. That said, she doesn’t like him enough to agree with him either. She settles for crossing her arms.

“She’s glaring at you right now,” Foggy announces. He’s on Matt’s other side.

Matt just smirks back at her. “Good. That means I’m right.”

The bedroom door opens as Jessica is rolling her eyes. The three Spider-men file out into the living room and she nods at Peter Two when he smiles at her. “Sup.”

“We all ready then?” Luke asks.

Matt quirks an eyebrow. “What about Danny?”

“Busy,” is the answer. “Said he’s back in China for some business thing.” Jessica isn’t too put out by it. She’s not exactly a people person, and there’s already too many in the room for her to be comfortable.

Peter One glances around the room. “If no one else is coming, then yeah. But uh, are we sure all of us need to come?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Luke asks.

Everyone looks to Peter One, who bristles under the sudden attention. “Um, well, the wizards are sort of really secretive, so I don’t know how they would react to a group of-” he pauses to count heads, “seven strangers appearing on their doorstep. It’ll probably take a lot of work just to convince them that I am who I say I am.”

“Then who goes and who stays?” Foggy asks.

“We’ll take one car,” Matt says. “All of the Peters need to go. We also need someone who can drive.” He gestures to the pair of glasses he’s wearing as a reminder of his inability to do so.

“I think we should bring Jessica, if she wants,” Peter Two suggests. Jessica blinks at him. She’d never say it out loud, but she’s oddly touched by the fact that he’s considerate enough to give her the choice. Most people just demand things from her and get angry when she refuses. “She’s resourceful. Plus she doesn’t take no for an answer. We could use that.”

Matt nods. “Jess? What do you think?”

She pretends to take a few moments to think about it. “I guess,” she says. “It’s like you said, I can’t stand not knowing something. I’d like a word with these wizards.”

Peter Two is either amused or excited that she agrees. “Fair enough.” He sends her one of those trademark slightly-awkward-smiles and she can’t even regret her decision.

“I’m assuming you’re tagging along?” The question is directed at Matt, from Foggy.

Matt’s lips stretch into a smirk that somehow manages to look polite. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Well if we’re taking my car, then that’s everyone,” Jessica says. “Unless one of you is willing to sit on someone’s lap.”

The general consensus seems to be that nobody wants to do that, so the five of them pile into Jessica’s car while Luke and Foggy end up going home. All three Peters are sharing the backseat. It looks a bit cramped, but none of them seem to mind. They’re ridiculously cheerful together, and it would be nauseating if it wasn’t also sort of adorable.

She heads to Greenwich Village first, and Peter One directs her when they start to get close. It’s baffling to think that some secret society of wizards is just hanging out on Bleeker Street. In her experience, these kinds of people tend to stick to either bunkers or high society - two of the most out-of-touch places a person could possibly be. Hell, these guys probably buy their groceries at Whole Foods.

When they finally arrive, Matt elects to stay in the car while the rest of them get out. Peter One leads the way to the door.

He hesitates before knocking. He’s bouncing in place, radiating anxiety, and Jessica nearly reaches over his shoulder to knock for him when the door opens on its own.

There is a man in front of them. Jessica isn’t sure if he looks like a wizard or not. She doesn’t have much experience. “What are you doing here?” he asks. His voice is clipped short, clearly irritated by their sudden appearance. “Who are you?”

Peter One manages a nervous smile. “Um. Hi. I’m Peter Parker.” He gestures towards the rest of them. “This is Peter Parker, Peter Parker, and Jessica Jones. Your name is Wong. Could we get some help, maybe?”

Wong stares at Peter. He doesn’t move, but Jessica recognizes the shift in his posture from skepticism to apprehension. “You’re not in danger,” she tells him. “Just let him explain.”

This only makes Wong look over at her. “You’re Jessica Jones,” he says.

Of all the things she’d expected to come out of his mouth, that was probably at the bottom of the list, if it was even on the list at all. She narrows her eyes. “Yeah, he just said that. Congratulations on your working ears.”

Peter Two gets her in the side with his elbow. “Jess,” he warns.

Wong shakes his head. “I’ve heard about you. How you helped fight The Hand. How you stopped Kil-”

Jessica stops him before he can say it out loud. “Let’s not go there. How’d you hear about that?” She had no doubt that Matt is eavesdropping from the car, and he’s probably curious. It’s The Hand, after all. Even a hint of their influence means trouble.

“You show up on my doorstep and ask me questions,” he says, but he sounds less irritated and more exasperated, like this is something he deals with often. He turns back to Peter One. “Why are you here?”

Despite wanting to press him for answers, Jess reluctantly lets One take over again. “Um. Would you believe me if I said that I used to know St- Doctor Strange? And that I’m Spider-Man? And we fought in space together, with Iron Man, and that I was there for the final battle against Thanos? And that a guy named Mysterio tried to frame me for a bunch of crimes after I beat him, and Doctor Strange agreed to cast a spell to make everyone forget that I was Spider-Man, except we kind of screwed it up and accidentally pulled a bunch of people from different universes into ours, including different versions of myself, and the only way to fix it was to make everyone forget I existed? Including you guys?”

Wong looks at Peter One for a long time, not saying anything. Then: “You almost said Stephen.”

“Huh?”

“Instead of Doctor Strange. You were about to call him Stephen.” Jessica doesn’t know why this is a big deal, but apparently it is.

Peter’s wringing his hands at top speed when he answers, “Well, he sort of told me to? But that was before he forgot who I was, so I guess I shouldn’t anymore.”

“Right,” says Wong, slow and skeptical. “And why should I believe you?”

Spider-Man doesn’t seem to have an answer for that.

Thankfully, one of his variants does. Peter Two steps up and says, “How can we prove it to you?”

“You said that the first spell was fixed by everyone forgetting you,” Wong says instead. “So why are there three of you right now?”

“See, that’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Peter Three explains. “The whole ‘forgetting’ part worked, but I think my friend Peter Two here would really like to get back to his own universe.” Jessica notices how he doesn’t include himself in that statement. She doesn’t point it out. “So, if you could just point us in the direction of Doctor Strange, that would be super great. Awesome, actually.”

Unfortunately, that steller pitch does nothing to convince the man in front of them. “You claim to be Spider-Man.” He points at the other Peters. “And since you claim to be like him, I assume you are as well. Show me.”

Peter One glances around. “Like, right now? On the street?”

“No one knows who you are,” Wong reminds him. It’s a challenge, Jessica realizes; prove yourself when you say you have nothing to hide.

Lifting his arm, Peter One quirks his fingers and a line of webbing shoots past Wong. He ducks and lets himself get pulled forward, sliding neatly under the wizard’s arm. Wong shouts when he hears a crash, falling back into his hideout. Jessica and the other Peters are close on his heels, and when they stumble through the doorway it’s to the sight of Peter One crawling up the wall in a zig-zag.

“What,” says Wong.

Peters Two and Three exchange a glance before they each let out their own webs, following the younger’s example and heading for the walls. They zip around, moving to the ceiling and hanging from the fingers of one hand, standing horizontally with the wall as a foothold, using their webs to lower themselves back to the ground they’re done.

Peter One smiles, crooked and nervous. “Well?”

“What the fuck,” says Wong, and then his head is in his hands. “Why me.”

Honestly, Jessica can understand how he feels. “So do you believe us?” she asks him.

Wong still hesitates. “Come on, man,” Peter Three groans. “What else is there?”

There is another long pause. Then, finally, a sigh as he turns to Peter Two. “You said you want to get back to your own universe, correct?” The Peters all nod in agreeance. “Then although I believe you, I cannot help you.”

Jessica doesn’t have much of a reaction; sure, it’s unexpected, but she isn’t the person who needed the help in the first place. Peter Two, however, looks gutted. “What?” he croaks.

To his credit, Wong does look guilty. “I know what spell you’re referring to. If it went wrong like you said it did, and you had to resort to worldwide amnesia to fix things, that isn’t something we can just mess with. The universe is already fractured as it is because of what you did. I will not let you make those cracks bigger.”

Peter One pales. “Wait, so- so the multiverse wasn’t fixed when everyone forgot me?”

Wong shakes his head. “It was. But it’s like keeping a car together with duct tape. There are parts that need to be replaced, rearranged. It will take time.” Peter Two opens his mouth, but Wong cuts him off to add, “Even then, I would not do it.”

“What about Doctor Strange?” tries Peter One. “He’s the one who did the spell, maybe he knows something you don’t?” The look on his face says he knows it’s a long shot, but desperation usually overrides probability.

“Not here,” says Wong.

“What? Why not?”

Wong quirks an eyebrow. “Likely because of your spell-gone-wrong. Just because we don’t remember you, doesn’t mean we weren’t aware something happened that shook the foundation of reality. Something that happened because of Stephen.”

Peter One sucks in a sharp breath. “But- but I asked him to do it! That’s not his fault.”

“But,” Wong reminds him, “he could have told you no.”

Peter does not have a rebuttal for that.

“Can you at least tell us where he is?” Peter Three asks. “He’s not in like, wizard prison, or anything? Do you guys have your own version of Guantanamo Bay? Oh my god, do you have Azkaban? Does Azkaban exist?”

“No, Azkaban does not exist,” Wong says tiredly. “And I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Why doesn’t Azkaban exist or why can’t I tell you where he is?”

Jessica rolls her eyes. “Being facetious doesn’t suit you,” she tells him. “Just give us a straight answer and you can kick us out sooner.”

Wong lets out a long, loud breath. “Because-”

“I’ll get you Beyonce on vinyl!” Peter One blurts out. Jessica nearly smacks him upside the head for his idiocy before she notices that Wong has frozen mid-sentence, head cocked to the side like he’s interested. “All the albums, even the special editions.”

Peter Three looks skeptic. “Do you even have that kind of money?”

Jessica knows he doesn’t. “I’ll take care of it,” she offers. By ‘taking care of it’, she means she’s going to bully Danny into giving her his credit card information, but none of them need to know that. Peter One looks up at her gratefully.

“See?” he says, gesturing. “Beyonce.”

“On vinyl, too,” Jessica adds. “That’s a pretty good deal.”

Wong squints at her. “I don’t have a record player.”

She snaps her fingers. “Done,” she tells him. Danny wouldn’t even notice a purchase that small. Huh - maybe she’ll get something nice for herself while she’s at it.

Even though Wong looks very, very tempted, he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I can’t. I know what you’ll ask him to do.”

“Please,” Peter Two begs.

Wong looks at him carefully. “It’s this or the world. You or the multiverse. You call yourself a hero: which would you choose in my position?”

Jessica is a proud asshole, so she would probably say herself just to make a point. Peter Two, however, is too good for that. He just hangs his head in defeat and that’s answer enough.

“So we can’t go back,” says Peter Three.

“I’m sorry,” Wong tells him. “Truly.”

Peter Two is, to Jessica’s horror, holding back tears. “It’s okay,” he says. His voice cracks and his smile doesn’t get anywhere close to reaching his eyes, and Jessica is suddenly filled with anger. It’s not directed at anyone in particular - she’s just angry. She’s so over bad things happening to the people she cares about (because fine, maybe the guy had grown on her a little bit). “Thanks- thanks for your help.”

It seems stupid to thank him when all he’d done was tell them no, but Wong accepts it graciously. “Good luck,” he tells them. “And I am sorry.”

“Right,” says Peter Three. Jessica can’t decipher how he’s feeling about this. His face is twitching like he isn’t sure what expression to make. Peter One is easier to read: he looks guilty.

When they get back to the car, Peter Two breaks down and cries in the backseat.

Jessica makes a decision.

* * * * *

When she gets home, she slams her door so loudly that by the time she’s opening her laptop Malcolm is approaching her desk. “That bad, huh?”

She grits her teeth. “He wouldn’t help. Says that the fabric of reality is too fragile, whatever the fuck that means.”

Malcolm chews on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know, that sounds like a pretty good reason to me.”

“It’s bullshit,” she spits out. “If you can fix the universe once, you can do it again.” She shuffles through one of her drawers, pulling out a blank notebook. “Besides. Next time I’ll be there, and I won’t let those idiots fuck up the spell.”

It takes until she finds a pen for Malcolm to answer. “Next time?”

“The guy most likely to help wasn’t there, and the guy who answered the door wouldn’t tell us where he was.” She gestures to herself. “I’m gonna look for him.”

“Hey, hey, wait,” Malcolm says. He puts his hand in front of her screen and she smacks him away with a frown. “This is magic we’re talking about. You can’t just glare it into submission. Call me crazy, but I’d rather the multiverse stay intact, for my benefit and everyone else’s. That includes you, by the way.”

Jessica doesn’t know why Malcolm thought bringing her into it would do anything to change her mind, considering she doesn’t give two shits about herself. She fixes him with a look.

He tries again. “Okay,” he breathes, “Okay. How about this: if you fuck it up, it’s gonna suck for your new friend Peter. And that’s why you’re doing this right? For him? How do you think he’d feel if you accidentally destroyed the universe trying to help him?”

“I won’t ever have to find out because It. Won’t. Happen.”

This time, instead of trying to block her view of the screen, Malcolm shuts her laptop altogether. She swears colorfully at him, which he ignores. “Where is he even staying?” he asks. “Right now, since he can’t go back? Where is he?”

Jessica clicks her tongue. “Matt’s house.”

“Wrong. He’s staying with me.”

“Good for you,” Jessica tells him. “Don’t get too comfortable only paying half the rent though.”

“Jessica.”

This is getting annoying. “Malcolm,” she snaps back. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

Malcolm blinks at her. “What kind of question is that.”

She groans. “Let me rephrase. Do you trust me?”

“Yes, but this is-”

“Shut up. Do you fucking trust me, Malcolm, yes or no?”

Jessica is almost offended by how long it takes for Malcolm to answer. When he does, though, the wait is worth it because he mumbles a quiet, “Yes. I do.”

“Good,” she says. “Because you know you can’t stop me from doing this, right?”

Despite himself, Malcolm barks out a laugh. “It would be the first time.” Jessica is secretly glad that he says it, because it means that he isn’t really angry with her.

Still, she decides to indulge him. “If it helps, I really won’t go through with it if it looks like trouble. But if I can get him home, I will.”

Malcolm takes a moment to study her, and her shoulders tense under the attention. “You’re seriously doing this?”

Jessica raises an eyebrow. Completely deadpan, she says, “No, because I’m known for being such a prankster. You’re actually being punk’d right now.”

Malcolm looks at her. Looks down at her laptop. Looks back at her, then at the blank pages of her notebook.

He tilts his chin towards the ceiling and if Jessica didn’t know any better, she’d think he was sending up a prayer. “Fine,” he says eventually. “Fine.” He grabs the back of one of the chairs meant for clients and drags it around to her side of the desk. “I hate you so much sometimes. How can I help?”