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Peter locks the door to his apartment, and walks the six whole steps it takes to get him to his bed on the other side. He flops face first onto the covers and sighs. Sometimes he really hates his job.
Not having the mental energy to face the last few months in a school full of people he knows but isn’t known by, Peter is now having to deal with the fall out of ‘orphan high school dropout’ on all his records.
Not a single tech company would take him.
Photography was always more of a hobby, but in a desperate attempt to find a job that might eventually boost his CV, he pulled out one of his most expensive and treasured possessions: his camera. It had remained in a box for a few weeks with all the other things that reminded him too much of May. She’d spent months saving up for this camera; Peter had asked her about all the extra shifts she was taking but she’d brushed it off as a short staffing issue.
She had told him every late night was worth it as she wiped the happy tears off his face on his birthday.
He’d lost a lot of time for hobbies once the Spider-Man thing began, and there was a bittersweet ache deep in his chest as he started taking photos again.
It took a while to build up a portfolio of sorts. But he’d had a little bit of money from the inheritance that kept him going to start off with. Eventually, he’d managed to pull off a few freelance gigs, and was actually making a little bit of money. Not quite enough to pay the bills though. And then he’d had an idea that made him feel slightly immoral. No one had good pictures of Spider-Man. Peter moved far too quickly to ever be in focus, let alone for anyone to get a nicely framed shot, and with more and more media attention on his super-sona, there was a universal call for any quality photos of Spider-Man.
Peter had seen an opportunity.
Did it feel morally right making money selling photos that only he could ever hope to take? Not really. But Peter did continuously put his life on the line for the people of New York, and he felt that maybe the city owed him just a little bit of monetary compensation. At least enough to get by. After all, who was going to save New York if Spider-Man was homeless and starving?
It was enough justification for Peter at least.
So here he is, four months after the world forgot about Peter Parker, selling photos of himself to media outlets like the Daily Bugle.
It’s a glamorous life.
He carefully puts his camera away and strips off his everyday clothes. The sun is barely setting, but it’s summer soon, so he doesn’t feel like it’s too early to start his nightly patrol. His photography work lets him keep a flexible schedule, but Peter has always found that nightly patrols are the best way to go about his work as Spider-Man. Ignoring the major catastrophes that is. Besides, it keeps him busy when he’d otherwise be wallowing in his apartment. He’d much rather be out fighting crime than sitting alone in his tiny apartment, in the lonely silence that seemed to follow him like a shadow these days.
He pulls on his suit quickly, relaxing into the now familiar red and blue — an homage that no one will ever understand — and he climbs out the window.
Most of his patrols are uneventful. Sometimes he’ll stop a robbery, or perhaps an aggravated assault… the darker crimes he stops always leave a sour taste in his mouth, and while he’d never turn a blind eye to someone in need of help, he hopes every day that he doesn’t encounter something too distressing. So it’s almost a relief when his sensitive hearing picks up the sound of a very strange disturbance indeed.
He hears startled shouts, and yelling, but nothing too panicked, and no one seems to be in pain. He swings his way over to the commotion, and almost loses his grip on his web as he rounds the corner and sees the situation. There’s a glowing, fiery portal in the middle of a semi busy street. Peter blinks and stares for a moment before he realises that just a few yards down the street there’s another one, and he has a hard time wrapping his head around the whole situation when he sees someone step into one portal, and appear out of the other.
Huh.
Peter has tried to avoid all of the other Avengers and extended superheroes since getting wiped from everyone’s memory. He’s really unsure how the spell would have affected them, and he hasn’t really wanted to find out that actually they barely remember working with Spider-Man at all. He’s not sure he could handle that revelation, not when Spider-Man’s existence is the only thing keeping him tethered to this world at all.
So he’s hesitant.
These portals are the work of someone gifted in the mystic arts, and the chances are, with his luck, they belong to Doctor Strange. He’s still feeling all kinds of guilty and emotionally tender about how things ended with the doctor, and though Peter knows the other man probably has no memory of the entire incident, he’s not sure he can handle facing the magic user yet. For the moment, he finds a fire escape hidden in shadow, but still in eyeline of the portals, and he waits, watching, trying to determine that this is all the simple… prank? it seems to be.
He’s there for about ten minutes, just making sure that no one hurts themselves, and most people simply walk around the portals, barely giving them a second glance. It almost makes Peter laugh, and he supposes that most New Yorkers have seen crazier things in the past. A couple of people go through the portals, mostly kids, and some guy jumps his skateboard through which makes Peter panic for a second until the guy pops out the other side unharmed, skateboard in tow. Peter’s about ready to leave, confident that no one seems to be in any immediate danger, when he spots a familiar man making his way down the street. They’d only met once, and it was in the middle of Peter’s life falling apart, but the blind lawyer had made quite an impression, and Peter immediately recognised the figure of Matt Murdock as he made his way down the path.
There’s a faint ringing in his ears as his spidey-sense focuses on the blind man walking directly towards a magical portal on the ground, and Peter looks around desperately for anyone else that might be able to save the situation. But no one else seems to have noticed, and despite the seemingly harmless nature of the portals, Peter assumes that suddenly falling through a magical hole when you’re expecting hard ground has the potential to be, at the very least, an incredibly unsettling experience.
Murdock is fast approaching the portal now and Peter grits his teeth and leaps off the fire escape. He lands firmly next to the lawyer, attempting to make more noise than normal so the other man is aware of his presence.
“Sir, uh, I’m sorry to bother you, but you’re actually about to walk into a magical portal? I know that sounds weird but uh, I can help direct you around it if you want? Sorry for bothering you.” Peter feels like an idiot for the string of words that comes tumbling out of his mouth as soon as he opens it, but Murdock only chuckles lightly.
“Well, that’s certainly not something you hear everyday. Thank you, I’d appreciate that.” The lawyer reaches out the hand not holding his stick and Peter is quick to hook his own arm underneath it. Murdock’s hand is warm where it rests on his forearm and Peter desperately tries not to lean into the first gentle touch he has felt in months. He clears his throat.
“Uh, it’s this way sir. And um, there’s another one up ahead too.” Carefully, he leads the lawyer to the side of the footpath, around the glowing portal in the ground. Beside him, Murdock makes a noise of interest.
“Are you Spider-Man?”
Shocked, Peter looks at the other man, whose face is still directed straight ahead.
“Uh, yeah, I am. How did you…?”
“I can feel the web design on your suit. Besides, not a lot of men go wandering around the city in spandex offering their help to a blind man in danger.” Murdock smiles and Peter feels a bit silly for not thinking of that. They reach the end of the second portal and Peter stops.
“Well, that should be all the magic successfully avoided for today Mr. M-” Peter almost says his name and then freezes, realising that is certainly not something he should know. Thankfully his cut off noise almost sounds questioning.
“Murdock. Matt Murdock.”
“Mr. Murdock. I, um, I hope you have a good night.”
The other man huffs.
“Please, Matt is fine. And thank you, Spider-Man. For everything you do.” Peter feels his cheeks heat up at the sincerity of Matt’s words and is very thankful for the mask.
“Just doing my part.” He manages to get out, and then with a nod, Matt is off, making his way down the street with a gentle tapping of his cane. Peter watches him go for a minute, even more intrigued by the man than when he had caught a brick with reflexes rivalling Peter’s own. He’s so focused on the lawyer that he almost doesn’t notice his spidey-sense go off before he’s grabbed by the shoulder and yanked into an alley nearby. He’s thrown the hand off his shoulder and is moments away from shooting webs when he realises who had grabbed him, and then he goes stock still.
“Spider-Man,” Doctor Strange says carefully. “We need to talk.”
Peter doesn’t know what to do. He stands there frozen and speechless while Doctor Strange opens another portal in the alley. Peter only has a second to process that the new portal leads to the Sanctum before he’s being manhandled through it.
“Come on, through here, don’t run away on me.”
They’re in the main lobby, and Peter tries hard not to think about the last time he was here. Doctor Strange is still talking as he takes off his jacket. “Do you know how hard it is to find you? I mean I know you have the secret identity thing going on, but I really didn’t think I’d have to lay a trap to get you to come talk.”
Peter’s struck by how much all of this is starting to sound like nervous rambling, and, confused, and still very unsure how to proceed, he clears his throat gently. Doctor Strange turns back to him.
“Um. Doctor Strange, sir. Uh… why am I here?”
The series of expressions that dance across the doctor’s face is both impressive and baffling, and eventually it lands on something pained.
“I don’t know how-” Strange cuts himself off, runs a hand through his hair, and gives an almost pleading look.
“Peter.”
Peter’s blood runs cold at his name. There’s a buzz in his ears and panic rising in his chest as his mind immediately jumps to the last time someone found out his identity, but Doctor Strange is speaking again before he can even think about running.
“ Peter .” He takes a hesitant step forward. “The spell doesn’t affect the caster.”
It takes a second for the words to register. When they do, Peter feels himself sag as the fight and panic completely fall away.
“Oh.” He doesn’t know what else to say. He meets Doctor- no, Stephen’s eyes. The older man’s face is painted with raw, naked concern, and Peter watches him spread his arms slowly, offering.
It’s embarrassing how quickly he runs and collapses into Stephen’s arms.
The weight of the last four months comes crashing down on him. The loneliness has been overwhelming and before he knows it he’s releasing a hiccuping sob into Stephen’s shoulder. Instantly there’s a hand in his hair smoothing it down and the gentle tremors he can feel are surprisingly soothing.
Between his gasps he can hear Stephen murmuring and tries to quiet his crying enough to hear what the older man is saying.
“I’m sorry, kid, I would have said something if I knew. I’m sorry.”
It brings more tears to Peter’s eyes and he clings tightly to Stephen’s cloak. He’s startled for a moment when the cloak moves under his fingers and he lets out a wet giggle when it tries to wrap him in a hug too. Stephen chuckles.
“Guess I wasn’t the only one you made an impression on.”
Peter feels his face warm and he pulls back from the hug, feeling a little embarrassed at his extreme reaction. He looks up at Stephen and finds no judgement on the older man’s face, just guilt and… fondness. Peter’s really not sure what to do with that.
Thankfully, Stephen doesn’t seem to notice Peter’s awkwardness and herds him to a chair before pushing a mug of warm cocoa into his hands.
“Kid, Peter… I can’t begin to express how sorry l am for… everything really.”
Peter shrugs before taking a small sip of the hot drink. It’s exactly how he likes it.
“It’s not your fault, si-Stephen.”
The older man smiles.
“What you did was incredibly brave, Peter, and incredibly difficult. And I am so sorry that I haven’t been there to help you through it.”
Peter puts his mug down on the table in front of them and fiddles with his fingers.
“Can I ask… why now? It’s been four months…”
Stephen winces and guilt washes over his face.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me at first. Not after everything that happened. But then I tried to find you just to keep tabs on you and… well, do you know how hard it is to find someone the world has forgotten? Setting up some mild danger for Spider-Man was kind of my last resort.”
Peter is stunned to hear that the man had been looking for him for months. He had no idea he was that hard to find, especially for someone that was able to use some pretty powerful magic.
“Is there not a spell for finding people?” Stephen startles and Peter watches, fascinated, as his checks flush with colour. There’s a loaded silence.
“I-” Stephen looks down. “I’m going to be honest I didn’t even think of that.”
There’s another best of silence before Peter can’t hold it in any longer and bursts into gasping laughter. Stephen rolls his eyes indulgently.
“You know,” Peter says after composing himself. “For someone that saved the world with magic, you’re not a very good wizard.”
Stephen huffs, before his expression turns serious again.
“Look, Peter, if there’s anything you need…” He trails off as Peter shakes his head.
“No, I’m okay. You’ve done so much for me already.”
Stephen frowns.
“But-”
“No I mean it, um…” Peter’s voice drops to a mumble. “It’s honestly just nice knowing I’m not alone.”
He doesn’t look at Stephen but he hears a sharp intake of breath and can only imagine the look on the older man’s face. There’s a shuffling sound as Stephen gets up and crouches in front of Peter, before gently taking Peter’s hands in his own. Peter looks down, sees the scars and the tremble, and thinks that maybe Stephen understands loss more than Peter had given him credit for. He lets Stephen squeeze his hands.
“Peter, look at me.” Peter listens, lets his eyes settle on the other man’s fiery, determined gaze.
“You never have to be alone again.”
For the second time that night, Peter finds himself crying into the warm embrace of Stephen’s arms. And he thinks that maybe, just maybe, things will be okay again.