Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Spotify Playlist: Whirlwind (Spideyhood)

Peter Parker

New York City — November 17, 2024

With great power comes great responsibility.

Peter Parker embodies this quote muttered by his late Uncle Ben. He carries this statement with him whenever he goes out at night—swinging between the tall buildings in New York City—looking for any sign of trouble because he knows he can help.

His newfound powers scared him at first. Back before The Bite, Peter wouldn't be able to break a pencil in half unless he used both of his hands and a lot of force. He'd struggle, sometimes, when opening a glass jar of jam for his Aunt May.

But now, he's able to lift a refrigerator with a variety of items inside it without breaking a sweat. He even broke his bathroom sink and crushed his bedroom's door knob with his bare hands by only using minimal pressure.

Knowing he was capable of crushing metal by curling his hand, he was afraid of what would happen if he held another person's hand. He'd most likely shatter their bones and cause harm to the people he loves.

He can't do that to them. He can't be a liability and a danger to them.

So, with his mind made up, he decided to learn more about his freaky situation.

It took him a while, and for his Uncle Ben to die, before he shook himself up and finally did something good with his powers.

Protecting the little guys.

That's what he reminded himself—that was his objective. That's what he told the curious citizens whom he'd assisted when asked for a reason for his actions. Whether from fighting off supervillains or assisting old people crossing the street, he would always be there to help and save the citizens of New York City from danger.

And Peter felt good doing it. The fact that he's able to help people by using his powers made him feel a little less like a monster. Like he has found his purpose—a reason why he had developed superhuman abilities.

It's a blessing, not a curse.

He reassured himself every time. Finding the good in his every action while ignoring the nagging feeling of dread that crept up inside of him. Every reassurance slowly started to sound like a lie he tells himself to fall asleep soundly at night.

And today, the stubborn knot that Peter felt inside his stomach since The Bite was proven right.

The other shoe just dropped, and now he stood face to face with the Master of the Mystic Arts, Dr. Strange—the man Peter so desperately begged to manipulate the memories of the citizens after finding out Peter Parker was Spider-Man—as he tried to correct the spell that had gone out of control.

'I'll always be a liability to everyone, huh?' Peter bitterly expressed to himself as everything that has happened for the past few months flashed in his mind. The bridge incident, the supervillains aiming for his life despite trying to help them, the angry mobs, getting rejected by MIT along with MJ and Ned because they were friends with Spider-Man, and lastly, May.

His Aunt May lying lifelessly, crushed between layers of debris.

Peter can still recall her bloodied face as she tried to reassure him that she was fine—that whatever happened wasn't his fault. He can still remember how her hand shook as she tried to cup his face—her heart beating slowly until it stopped. The way her eyes lost their light as she took her last breath, leaving Peter feeling miserable and hateful and angry—not towards her, but towards himself and Norman Osborn, the Green Goblin—the maniac who had a hand in May's death.

He looked up to see an angry mixture of purple, black, and orange as silhouettes of humans and non-humans started to emerge from the gigantic tears that littered across the morning sky of New York City.

'What have I done?' Peter closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath.

His heart ached in his chest—like a barbed wire tightening its grip on his heart—because he did this. He's responsible for what's happened. And now, there was only one way to fix it—fix everything he's done wrong.

“Cast a new spell,” Peter stared at Dr. Strange's appearance, who was struggling for control—his face contorted into something akin to discomfort as he tried to keep their world from falling apart.

Peter continued, “This time, make everyone forget who Peter Parker is,” He sent Dr. Strange a determined look—straining himself to look composed as he forced the words he dreaded to say out loud, “Make everyone forget me .”

Dr. Strange's eyes met with his and for a moment Peter could sense the despair and guilt swimming in them before Dr. Strange steeled himself—resignation clear on his face.

“Peter,” Dr. Strange pursed his lips and looked Peter dead in the eyes, “You gotta understand that would mean everyone who knows and loves you, we—” the magic user closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath before continuing, “We’d have no memory of you. It would be as though you never existed.”

It would be as though you never existed.

Dr. Strange’s last statement echoed in his head like an earworm he can’t get rid of no matter how many times he’d distract himself from it.

Peter’s eyes burned with tears that threatened to fall, but he wouldn’t let it. Not now. He didn’t deserve to cry about it at this moment. So, he sent Dr. Strange a reassuring smile—his heart thumping loudly in his chest despite his desperate attempt to calm himself.

“I know.” It’s okay.

Dr. Strange let out a sigh and nodded his head, “Then you’d better go and say your goodbyes. You don’t have long.”

“Thank you, sir,” Peter said as he readied himself to jump off the highest tip of the Statue of Liberty when Dr. Strange spoke again.

“Call me Stephen.”

Peter turned and stared at him with wide eyes, not used to addressing people older than him without an honorific, before replying softly, “Thank you, Stephen.”

“Yeah,” Dr. Strange scoffed and gave him a sad smile, “still feels weird.”

Peter let out a small, awkward laugh, “I’ll see you around.”

He jumped off and headed towards MJ and Ned. If it weren’t for his enhanced hearing, he wouldn’t be able to catch Dr. Strange’s goodbye.

“So long, kid.”

Peter bit his lower lip to distract himself enough with the physical pain. He took a moment to compose himself before landing in front of his friends.

“Peter!” MJ and Ned rushed over to him and pulled him into their arms.

Peter wrapped his arms around them and embraced them as tightly as he could without hurting them. Their warmth eased some tension from his body—feeling relaxed in their presence. He breathed in their scent—smoke, blood, and sweat hit his nose as he tried to find comfort in knowing they’re here .

They’re alive . He didn’t lose them.

Not yet.

He hasn’t failed them yet.

Peter was the first to step back from their much needed hug. He took in their appearances—disheveled and shaken, but unharmed. Mostly.

His breath was caught in his throat when he noticed a small cut—bloody, but drying—near MJ’s right eyebrow.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked MJ as he reached out his hands and gently cupped her face—afraid that she would crumble to dust with one touch from him.

MJ laid her hands on top of his own, and used her thumbs to caress his fingers as reassurance as she spoke softly, “I’m okay. I promise.”

Peter pursed his lips and nodded, pulling away to check on Ned.

Ned gave him a grin and a thumbs up to indicate he’s fine.

Now for the hard part: saying goodbye.

Peter didn’t have the words to break it to them gently, and he didn’t have much time to mull over the perfect words to say, so he decided to rip the bandaid off and deal with their complaints later.

“You’re gonna forget who I am,” Peter’s voice wavered slightly as he looked at both MJ and Ned, watching their reactions.

“What?” Ned asked in disbelief.

“What—” MJ inhaled sharply, “Peter, what are you talking about?”

Confusion, shock, and desperation were clear on their faces.

“It’s okay,” Peter gave them a small smile—the barbed wire wrapped around his heart tightened significantly when he saw their reactions, but he forced himself to stay calm before he continued, “I’m gonna come and find you, and I’ll explain everything.”

MJ stared into his eyes—trying to find a speck of lie in Peter’s words.

He stood firm—not giving her a chance to overanalyze his body language—because he will find them after all of this is over.

He will .

“What—What if it doesn’t work?” MJ cleared her throat as she tried to compose herself, but her voice still trembled as she rambled, “What if—What if we still can’t remember you? I don’t—I don’t wanna do that. I don’t want to do that .”

MJ’s voice held firm towards her last statement—her expression clearly indicated she won’t back down, and she didn’t trust this plan.

“There has to be another way,” Ned stared at Peter with a broken expression, and Peter had to look away before he’d crumble under the pressure and change his mind—go back to Dr. Strange and tell him to find another way.

But he can’t .

Because there’s no other way .

“There’s nothing we can do,” Peter gave them a weak smile, “But it’ll be okay. I’ll come back to you.”

“Promise?” Ned extended his arm—an invitation to do their secret handshake for the last time.

Peter closed his eyes as he started to feel his tears starting to fall.

“Yeah, I promise.” Peter grasped Ned’s hand as they did their secret handshake and ended it with a hug. MJ stood close by as she watched their exchange with a defeated look on her face. “I’ll come find you.”

Ned pulled away first with tears streaming down his face. He wiped them away, and he tried to compose himself, but it didn’t stop his body from trembling as silent sobs escaped from his lips.

MJ broke the silence first, “You better.” Her tears fell one after the other and her lips trembled as she spoke, “If you don’t, I’ll just figure it out. I’ve done it before, I can do it again.” Her voice sounded like teasing, but Peter knew it was a promise. She did it before, and she’ll do it again.

But he’ll tell them. He promised.

He’ll come to them with a speech ready, and he'll tell them everything that they’ve been through together. But a seed of doubt started sprouting inside him.

What if things can’t be repaired?

What if things will be different from how they used to be?

Peter doesn’t know if he’ll be able to accept that. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to accept the fact that he’ll lose everything because of his stupid mistakes.

And what about his relationship with MJ? They’ve just started dating. They haven’t done much as a couple after everything that happened with The Blip, Mysterio, and now this .

He won’t be able to rest without letting her know of his feelings if this plan goes sideways. So he has to do it now before—

“I love you.”

Those three words made Peter’s scattered thoughts come to a halt. He stared at MJ with wide eyes and opened his mouth to say them back, but before he could do it she interrupted him.

“Just wait and tell me when you see me again.” MJ smiled at him as she cupped his cheeks and caressed his face.

“Okay.”

Peter and MJ stared at each other for a moment before leaning in and kissed. Their hands wrapped around each other, gripping each other, desperate to ingrain each other's warmth on their bodies. Peter's chapped lips collided with MJ's tear-soaked ones—the salty and metallic taste overwhelmed Peter’s senses, but he didn't care. This could be their last kiss, and he wanted to savor every moment of it before they parted.

The sound of a rumble from a distance made both Peter and MJ reluctantly part as they shifted their gazes away from each other and onto the sky—magic runes can be seen moving in a circle.

All three of them watched as Dr. Strange was moving his hands towards the sky, orange energy leaving his palms as the spell started to work its magic and sealing the tears that connected their universe to other universes.

This is it.

Peter slowly stepped away from his friends—his home, his anchor—and readied himself to swing away. With one last look towards them, Peter saw MJ mouthed the words ‘I love you’ with a smile on her face and tears falling down her cheeks.

Peter turned away and took a deep breath before he swung away.

Away from the people who loved him.

But he'll come back for them. He will.

He promised.

Bruce Wayne

Gotham City — April 27, 2024

Bruce Wayne had everything anyone could ever hope for—money, fame, and good looks. Everyone could take one look at him and proclaim how good he had it.

He wasn't deprived of food and entertainment—he had a butler to serve and assist him on simple, mundane things. He could afford healthcare, education, and other luxuries common people would never be able to afford all at once in their short lifespans.

In the eyes of the public, Brucie Wayne—as they liked to call Bruce—was carefree, a little bit of a dunce, and charming. His persona had nothing that screamed dangerous, calculating, and deceitful—atypical from the usual elites that paraded Gotham City.

Gothamites held no grudge against "Brucie” compared to the other affluent people despite the alarmingly large gap of wealth between him and the entire city of Gotham. Who would hate him when the guy has funded homeless shelters, free clinics, scholarships, and donated to organizations that helped rebuild their city and community?

His company, Wayne Enterprises, offered more than enough salary and benefits to their employees compared to other companies in the world. Given how frequently the Rogues attack Gotham City with no regard for the citizens’ safety, it was no surprise they'd compensate their employees through added benefits specific to Gotham's unique situation and incidents.

It was an open-secret that WE funded Batman and the Justice League which Bruce continued to neither deny nor confirm to the public. This led to a few unsavory rumors about Brucie Wayne, the playboy billionaire, using his money to seduce Batman and lure him to his bed.

A logical assumption in the perspective of the public due to his recurring scandals involving many men and women wrapped in his arms and frequenting classy, five-star hotels.

Bruce has never minded rumors that could help separate his civilian identity from his vigilante one. In fact, he encourages it even more to hide his secret identity. Although, the aforementioned rumors about Brucie Wayne and Batman left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Bruce shook his head to discard those thoughts and glanced at the calendar situated on the left side of his mahogany desk—a date encircled with red ink can be seen prominently without the use of his reading glasses.

He didn't need to check what was written on it. It was clear that today's occasion was a sad day for both Bruce Wayne and Batman.

Today was the day his son—his second Robin—died, buried underneath the debris of a warehouse that exploded courtesy of the Joker.

Bruce was a minute too late to save him. To save Jason. His son.

If only he was a little bit faster.

If only he paid more attention to Jason's behavior.

If only he showed how much he cared before Jason disappeared to Ethiopia.

If only—

Bruce took a deep breath and calmed his heart—spiraling into “what ifs” won't change the past. He made his decisions, and now he has to live with the consequences—no matter how painful it would be for him to go on like it doesn't bother him.

A headache was starting to emerge in his forehead, prompting him to massage it with his fingers to ease the pain. A sigh escaped from his lips as he recounted every decision he made that ultimately hurt his family.

Bruce has failed too many of his kids in the last two—almost three—decades of his life.

The first was Dick—his first Robin.

He treated Dick as a soldier instead of his son and fired him the moment it dawned on Bruce that Dick could die by accompanying him in his nightlife—removing the choice from Dick instead of letting him decide what he wanted to do.

The screaming matches they used to have that ultimately had Dick decide to leave the manor, cut off contact with Bruce, and made a name for himself in Blüdhaven as Nightwing.

Bruce simultaneously felt remorseful and prideful for Dick, but saddened by the fact that he'd never be able to tell Dick that he was proud of his achievements.

He figured it'd be too late to say it now given their current, fragile relationship.

The second was Jason—his second Robin.

His greatest failure.

Bruce found his younger self in Jason—both had lost their parents at a very young age which shaped the way they view their life and crime. He saw the potential in him for greatness—a path that he could guide Jason to protect instead of to take—and away from the life of crime.

He wanted Jason to be better than him—to give Bruce a new perspective while fighting crime. And they were a good duo for a while—Jason declaring that Robin gave him magic.

Bruce could still remember the way Jason laughed and smiled like he was on top of the world—lighting up the city as he swings between the buildings during their patrols.

But then, he died.

Jason died under his protection—if Bruce could even call it that.

He ignored Jason's pleas for finding his birth mother.

He looked away when Jason started barricading himself in his room—detaching himself from the world.

Bruce watched as Jason slipped away from his fingers—slowly dying in another country while he was busy saving another person's life.

When he should've saved his son's life.

It was his fault that Jason died.

It was his fault that Jason could never smile and laugh like he used to.

And it was his fault that Jason—a sweet, young boy—became violent, angry, and misguided.

Bruce could never forgive himself for taking that light away from Jason.

The third was Tim—his third Robin.

Bruce never wanted to take in another Robin after Jason's death. He could never subject another innocent soul into his life of fighting crime—he didn't want another blood in his hands.

Once was enough.

He didn't need another kid to take on half of his responsibility. 

However, Tim was persistent and forced his way into Bruce's life and, consequently, Batman's vigilante life.

Tim threatened him with his secret identity, claiming Batman needed Robin to prevent him from doing something he'd regret and for Batman to become the crime-fighting vigilante that cared for Gotham—regardless if they were criminals.

Tim reminded him why he created Batman in the first place—to instill fear in the hearts of criminals and not to act as judge, jury, and executioner.

But he can't afford to bury another child.

He can't.

And yet, he still took Tim under his wing.

And every child that donned the Robin suit after Jason—Tim, Stephanie, Duke, and Damian—had died at least once under his watch.

And every time it happened, Bruce felt like a failure for not being strong enough, not being fast enough, and not being good enough to protect them from ever experiencing death.

This is his fault.

Bruce failed every single one of them.

He failed to protect them despite the promises of safety and security while living under his roof.

Bruce's spiraling thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing—he received a text message.

He reached for his phone and opened it to see Jason had contacted him. He opened the message and read the text.

With a sigh, Bruce stood up from his chair, and made his way to the grandfather clock, changing the hour hand to point towards 10 and the minute hand towards 48—the time his parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne, were murdered.

The grandfather clock slid open to reveal the entrance to the cave and made his way down—calming down his heart as he went.

Bruce didn't want to face Jason today.

His current appearance haunts Bruce's nightmares—a constant reminder of how Bruce failed him.

He's a failure.

He caused harm to his family.

This is his punishment for his insufficiency.

Bruce's footsteps faltered near the end of the staircase before he steeled himself, shoulders squared, and entered the Batcave—a thought he can't get rid of echoed in his mind.

He'll always be a failure.

Chapter Text

Spotify Playlist:

Whirlwind (Spideyhood)

Peter Parker

New York City, New York — November 17, 2024

“Hi! My name's Peter Parker. You don't know me but—” Peter took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

He has been pacing in front of the Peter Pan Donut & Pastry Shop for 30 minutes—the cold wind of November left goosebumps on his arms underneath the thick coat he wore.

A piece of paper was crumpled between his fingers as he rehearsed the little speech he prepared for his friends—his heart was in his throat, and his palms glazed with sweat despite the near-winter air.

It's been hours since Dr. Strange's spell did its job, but Peter couldn't calm his nerves regardless of how quiet his spidey-senses have been.

It was unnerving, at first, as he walked through the streets of New York—half-expecting for strangers to recognize him and throw tomatoes or rocks at him—but was met with people barely taking a second glance at him.

Although he was glad that the spell worked perfectly, he was crestfallen when he realized what it meant— everybody he knew will have no memory of ever meeting Peter Parker.

Peter inhaled sharply—the cold air felt like burning fire on his skin as he fiddled with the crumpled paper in his hands.

A memory of Peter stumbling through the doors of Delmar's Deli and Grill came to mind. The smell of bacon and grease wafted through the air, beckoning him to eat.

Peter would look over the options on the hanging menu boards—acting like he'd try something new—when he knew he'd always go for his usual order.

Mr. Delmar would observe him from behind the counter with a smirk on his face, and he'd tell Peter, “I know ya ain't gettin’ somethin’ new, Parker! Ya can't fool me! I'll whip ya yer usual, so tell me what's new with ya.”

Peter would laugh and update Mr. Delmar about his life—joining his school’s academic decathlon team, the unfinished Lego projects he built with Ned, the Stark Internship, and other news Peter was happy to share excluding his dive into the vigilante life as Spider-Man. 

He would miss those interactions—petting Murph lying on the display case, exchanging banters with Mr. Delmar, and eating the best sandwich Peter ever had that Mr. Delmar knew how he liked it to be made.

It stung his heart that he'd have to start over and restart the relationships he'd built over the last decade, but he's made his bed.

Now he has to live with it.

Peter shook his head and read through his speech once more—the words caught in his throat.

‘This is the single, most nerve-wracking thing I've done in my whole life,’ Peter thought as he combed his fingers through his brown, wavy hair.

He peeked through the windows and let his eyes scan the pastry shop until his gaze landed on MJ—her brown, curly hair tied up in a bun and a scowl on her face as she worked on a customer’s order.

Peter chuckled lightly upon seeing her expression—he misses MJ.

It hasn’t been a day since he last saw her, but his heart longed for her all the same—like a young sunflower waiting for the sun to rise while wilting under the moonlit sky.

Peter decided to go inside—anxiety be damned—and just spill everything as soon as she spoke to him.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open—a bell rang above his head indicating a new customer came into the store. The sugary smell of donuts with hints of coffee wafted through his nose.

Peter’s heart skipped a beat when MJ turned and she locked eyes with him.

MJ’s face perked up and waved her hand in his direction—a glimmer of hope bloomed in his chest.

‘Could it be? Did she recognize me? But that’s impossible! How can she remember me if other people can’t? Maybe there was a flaw while Dr. Strange was performing his spell? Maybe our feelings for each other transcended the rules of magic. Maybe—”

“MJ!”

Peter’s thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice behind him. He turned his head to see Ned—his best friend since middle school—waving a white envelope in his hands as he excitedly walked over to the counter with a big grin on his face.

MJ nodded with a smile, “One sec,” she said as she made her way to Peter, “Can I help you?”

With that, the slight chance of being remembered by his girlfriend shattered and fell to his feet, never to be felt again. A lump formed in his throat as he fought the urge to scream and cry.

“Are you okay?” MJ asked—a look of concern and worry was displayed on her face.

“Yeah—No—I mean, yeah, I’m—I'm fine!” Peter blushed as he stammered his way to a response, blinking away his tears.

MJ arched her eyebrow and gave him an amused grin.

“Okay, then! What would you like to order?”

“Just—a coffee please.”

MJ nodded and made her way to make his coffee—she grabbed a donut on the way and placed it in front of Ned who gave her a grateful smile.

Peter couldn’t help but eavesdrop in their conversation.

“Did you receive your letter from MIT?” Ned asked, eager to know her answer.

MJ nodded and pulled out the same white envelope from the too deep pockets of her bright teal uniform and showed it to Ned.

“Do you think we'll get in?” Ned asked with a nervous tone in his voice.

“Schrodinger’s cat. We won't know until we open the letters and read it,” MJ said with a shrug.

“Why aren't you nervous? I'm so anxious I feel like I'm gonna puke.”

“Don't. My boss will just make me clean it if you do.”

MJ sent Ned a playful glare while he let out a small laugh.

Peter watched their interaction in despondency—he yearned to join in, to laugh, and to joke with them just like the old times.

He glanced down at the paper—the speech he prepared and rehearsed repeatedly—and once again hesitated to reveal everything to MJ and Ned.

What if they won’t believe him?

What if after revealing everything, they’d decide to stop being friends with him regardless?

Peter’s breath hitched in his throat—his anxiety going overdrive as he clutched the piece of paper that contained his last bit of hope tightly in his hands. He could feel his pulse thumping against his skin, and a drop of sweat dripping down his forehead.

Everything suddenly felt too much.

He could feel every fiber of thread that made up his clothes—it was itchy, burning, and too much.

Too much.

The neckline of his shirt felt too small and too tight, making him feel woozy from the lack of air entering his lungs.

Make it stop.

The vibrating sound of the air conditioner's compressor invaded his ear—his heightened hearing making it sound piercing and grating.

MAKE IT STOP!

His heart pounded in his chest—like a wild animal desperate to escape its constricting cage.

He felt like dying.

He is dying.

He wants out.

Out!

Out out out OUT!

BREATHE!

“Excuse me, sir? Here’s your coffee.” MJ’s voice took a second to reach him, “What’s that in your hands? Feels like something you don’t want to lose.”

Peter snapped his head up and turned his gaze to MJ whose eyes are fixated on the tight grip he had on a piece of paper.

Breathe, Peter.

He blinked—the light blinding his sight before his eyes adjusted—and ignored his still thundering heart as he gave her a tight lipped smile.

In.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Hold.

Six.

Seven.

Out.

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid.” Peter breathed out as he tucked the piece of paper inside his coat’s front pocket and reached for his coffee with shaky hands. “Did you apply for MIT?”

“Oh—” MJ looked at him stunned, glanced at Ned before glancing back at him, “Right. Yeah, I did. How about you?”

“I did too, but I got a rejection letter.” Peter winced at the memory—he raised his right hand to soothe his chest in an attempt to ease the twinge of pain he felt.

MJ gave him a sympathetic smile, “Sorry to hear that.”

Peter shrugged, “It’s nothing.”

They both stood in silence for a moment until MJ mentioned his payment for the coffee.

“Right! Yeah. Let me just—” Peter hurriedly reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill. “Uh—Here,” He said as he placed the money on the counter in front of MJ.

“Have a good day,” She said as she handed Peter his change.

“Thanks,” He replied with a smile—his hand hovering over the money for a moment before grabbing it and stuffing it in his pocket.

Peter turned to leave the store, but his feet refused to walk him out the door.

He didn't want to leave just yet. He wanted to talk more with MJ, and eventually Ned, who was just a few feet away from them.

He wanted more time with them.

He wants to be with them.

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

‘If I don't speak now, I'll never be able to step foot into this place ever again,’ He thought, but his doubts and anxiety kept a firm grip on his mouth—the words dying in his throat before he could muster up the courage to speak.

But Peter persevered, and with a shaky resolve, he turned to look at MJ who was starting to make her way to Ned and said, “Do you guys mind if I hang around here? With the both of you, I mean.”

Both MJ and Ned snapped their heads towards his direction—MJ looked at him warily while Ned had a guarded but open expression on his face.

“Are you a serial killer?” MJ's eyes scanned him up and down, “‘Cause I gotta say, you're doing a terrible job at scouting your next possible victims.”

Peter's eyes widened in panic at her assumption and shook his head, “What? No! Oh god—No! No, I'm not—I'm not a serial killer, I swear! Just a—a normal guy who wants to be friends with the two of you…”

His voice faded by the end of his sentence—a blush creeping up on his cheeks.

MJ raised her brow, clearly still suspicious of him.

Ned, however, smiled at him which put Peter at ease.

“Don't mind her. She's like that with everyone.” Ned made his way to Peter and leaned in to whisper, “Between you and me, she's actually pretty chill. That's just her way of saying you're interesting.”

That made Peter laugh a little bit which made Ned grin wider.

“My name's Ned. She's MJ,” Ned said as he pointed to her direction then turned to Peter, “And you?”

That one single question made Peter’s heart twinge.

“Uh—Peter,” He said as he brought his lukewarm coffee to his lips and took a sip.

“Nice to meet you, Peter! Wanna sit with us? We're about to open our letters to find out if we got into MIT.” Ned led Peter to the counter where he sat just a few moments ago with MJ’s gaze following his every move.

“Are you sure you wanna be around us for this? Since, you know…” MJ tilted her head, alluding to their conversation about his rejection to MIT a few moments ago.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Peter reassured her with a smile as he sat down beside Ned, “Besides, I’m excited for you both. I sincerely hope you two get in.”

MJ smiled, albeit a small one. She reached for her envelope and raised it in front of her—Ned did the same thing and they both looked at each other with determination in their eyes.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Peter watched as they both tore their envelopes open and unfolded the letter inside it. Their scrunched up faces that were once filled with anxiety were now filled with joy as they read the content.

“I got in.” Ned gasped—his eyes twinkled in delight, “MJ?”

“Same here,” She replied, barely containing the excitement in her voice.

Ned had a big grin on his face while MJ tried to hide her smile by biting her lower lip.

Peter congratulated them with a smile of his own. He wanted to embrace them in a tight hug, but that would be odd to do as someone they just met. So, Peter kept to himself and opted to observe them instead.

“I gotta go and tell my lola about this! See you later, MJ! It was nice to meet you, Peter!” Ned hurriedly kept his acceptance letter in his jacket pocket and rushed out the door—a big smile on his face.

As the ringing sound of a bell faded, MJ and Peter were left in the silence of the pastry shop.

“Are you excited for MIT?” Peter asked, breaking the silence. It felt awkward not being able to converse with her like they used to before Dr. Strange erased their memories of him.

MJ thought about it for a moment before nodding.

“You know what? Yeah, I am excited, which is weird ‘cause I don’t really get excited about things.” MJ casually shrugged and rolled her eyes, “I kind of expect disappointment—”

“Because then you’ll never actually be disappointed.” Peter added with a smile, “Right?”

MJ gave him a confused, but impressed look—a look that expressed the question, “How do you know that?” without saying it out loud. The corner of her lip twitched upward into a small smile, “Yeah. Right.”

He was glad that Ned and MJ were getting a second chance. They deserved going to the school they wanted, dreamed of, without having to worry about it getting taken away by associating themselves with a vigilante.

“I should probably take my leave, too. I’ll see you around, MJ.” Peter drank the last of his coffee before turning to leave.

His hands hovered over the door handle before facing MJ with a small smile on his face, “Congrats for getting in. I hope you’ll have a great time at MIT.”

She smiled—a genuine one—and nodded. “Thanks, Peter. See you around.”

Peter waved then left the store—the bell ringing above him as he went out into the cold, November air.

He felt empty inside despite talking with MJ and Ned for a while. His stomach twisted into knots. A feeling he was oh-so-familiar with ever since The Bite.

Peter didn’t understand why he was so anxious.

He kept his promise.

He found them, and he’s re-establishing their relationship, and yet everything about their interaction felt wrong.

Peter shook his head to get rid of his anxiety-induced thoughts. What matters to him right now is to keep his promise to MJ and Ned. He’ll tell them about their situation and everything that happened soon.

He just has to find the perfect moment.

Tim Drake

Upper West Side, Gotham City — April 27, 2024

Grief has a habit of sticking on to people long after Death has gone and passed.

Bruce, Alfred, and Dick are a testament to that statement.

Tim has a hard time hanging around the Wayne Manor, especially when it was the day of Jason’s death anniversary. The atmosphere would be dreadful, quiet, and full of grief that he felt uncomfortable staying for too long.

On that day, Alfred would cook Jason's favorite meals or clean the library—where Jason used to frequent—in taut movements, but he never faltered—not a single movement wasted. Tim had seen Alfred run a rag over a dusty surface over and over again until he felt satisfied enough to move on to another surface. His harsh and stiff movements contradicted with the usual gentleness Alfred had when caring for the items in the manor.

But Tim would note how carefully Alfred would hold a book in his hand—like cracked glass that would shatter with a flick of his wrist—and stare at it in sorrow.

Alfred would caress the book for a while before he'd wipe away the dust with a clean rag and put it back to the shelf where it belonged.

Dick was a different story.

Instead of mourning in the manor, Dick would avoid Gotham altogether—opting to stay in Blüdhaven when the day of Jason's death came around the corner. He'd only visit when absolutely necessary, and when he does, Dick would visit Jason's grave in secret when everybody else would be busy with one thing or another.

Dick would never admit it, but Tim knows how he'd sob on top of Jason's gravestone—his strangled cries muffled by his hand.

And then there was Bruce.

Bruce would either waste his time away working on a case or spend his time looking at Jason's photos—the ones taken before Jason died—with a wistful smile on his face.

When Tim comes over for dinner, he would notice the faraway look on Bruce's face—dull, haunted, and pained—despite trying his best to hide it.

This was one of those rare times Bruce's stoic appearance would crack, and a piece of himself that Bruce desperately tried to hide from everyone—including Alfred—would surface.

It made him look weak .

But Bruce isn't weak—he's Batman. The Dark Knight. The Caped Crusader.

The very being that haunts the minds and hearts of Gotham's criminals.

He's strong and capable.

But that one look made him more fragile.

More human.

Tim couldn't get used to the fact that Bruce can feel more than anger and paranoia.

That Bruce has real, genuine emotions that he hides away to keep up appearances—to appear tough and reliable.

Tim was glad to know his adoptive father isn't secretly a robot—the slight moment of weakness Bruce showed proved that to him.

So then, why does it feel cruel?

Why does it feel so unfair?

To Tim, Bruce was angry and standoffish. Bruce pushed him away when he tried to help. Bruce neglected him even though Bruce took him in after the death of his parents—Jack and Janet Drake.

And Bruce never smiled—he never laughed when he's with Tim.

Tim couldn't help but feel bitter and pissed .

If Bruce was capable of showing care and love, why hasn't he shown it to Tim?

Why does Bruce keep him at a distance?

Why the hell did Bruce adopt him if he'll only treat Tim the same way his biological parents treated him?

Neglected and alone.

When it came to the other members of the family, Bruce was good and a father. Something Tim could never even hope to be at the receiving end of—it was something he assumed to be unattainable.

A hopeless dream.

His wishful thinking.

Why was he the only one left at the sidelines?

So, when Jason came back from the dead, Tim had thought that was it.

He'll be abandoned once again.

Bruce got his son back, and Tim should feel happy.

He is— was.

Until he found out Jason was the Red Hood—the brute who tried to kill him not once, but twice.

Tim felt weak, vulnerable, and inadequate. He struggled during his recovery—he was scared of being abandoned because of his incompetence. He felt like a burden to Bruce for getting hurt because Batman needs Robin—that was the reason why he took up the mantle in the first place after Jason passed away.

So, when Tim discovered Jason was the Red Hood, he felt relieved. 

He hasn’t lost his place in the family.

He can still be useful.

He can still be Robin.

However, Batman started teaming up with the Red Hood. Then, it didn’t take long for Bruce to open up his home to Jason.

Tim felt betrayed—confused—but most of all ignored.

It felt like Bruce was indifferent towards Tim’s history with the Red Hood. He almost died because of him for fuck’s sake!

Tim wanted to scream, sob, and break.

Why does it feel like everything he does is not good enough for Bruce?

Why does he have to beg for a little bit of Bruce’s attention—his affection?

Tim was envious of Jason; he didn’t have to beg like Tim had to while living in the manor.

Jason was the golden child—Bruce’s favorite son and Robin.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize that fact.

Tim recounted the time he was avoiding Jason whenever he would visit the manor. He’d find a reason to excuse himself from brunches and dinners despite Dick and Alfred’s strong opposition.

Then skipping meal-times turned into escaping the manor and bunking with friends for a while—not ready to face the person haunting his nightmares.

That was a good routine for a while until Jason decided they needed to have a talk.

Jason had caught him trying to sneak out of the manor. Tim had one foot out the window, and a hand on the windowsill trying to stealthily leave the premises without ringing any alarms when Jason opened the door to his bedroom without so much as a knock to indicate his presence.

Jason was on the other side of the room by the opened door—a concerned look was plastered on his face as he watched Tim tense under his stare.

Tim was overwhelmed with feelings of anxiety, distrust, and fear. He was unable to move past the thought that Jason might try to murder him—for Jason to take back what was rightfully his in the first place.

Jason had noticed his apprehension and raised his hands as a sign of goodwill—to show Tim he had no ill-intentions. Then Jason opened his mouth and uttered the words Tim never thought he'd hear, “I’m sorry.”

Tim had stared at him in shock, unable to comprehend the situation that happened before him.

“What?” Tim breathed out in disbelief. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he spoke. Then, white-hot rage began to consume him and replaced his anxious state.

Tim glared at Jason, and with a newfound courage, he left the window and stalked towards him. Jason’s towering figure intimidated him as he neared, but he steeled himself. Tim jabbed his pointer finger on Jason’s chest—eyes seething with rage, mouth formed into a sneer—and stared at Jason dead in the eyes, “If you’re so sorry, you would’ve said so the moment you first got here!” Tim exclaimed with a sharp bite in his tone. “Do you even know how hard it was for me? The sleepless nights, the nightmares, the paranoia of getting jumped in my room where I should have felt safe?”

Tim’s question hung heavily in the air and neither Jason nor Tim said anything for a while.

Tim ran his fingers through his messy, black hair and threw his head back to let out a mocking laugh. He couldn’t believe this was happening inside his room.

He gritted his teeth while his eyes were quickly being filled with hot, burning tears, but he stubbornly held them back. He didn’t want to cry in front of Jason—he didn’t want to expose his vulnerability and give Jason more reasons to get rid of him.

Tim swallowed the lump forming in his throat and turned his attention back to Jason who had chosen to keep his mouth shut and observe Tim.

“Those two moments you tried to kill me, all I could feel from you was rage,” Tim said, “I didn’t understand what was going on, but how—how can I when I was busy trying to keep myself alive from some—some psychopath!” He threw his hands up as he once again filled the silence with his labored breath and continued barreling Jason with his words, “Why—Why were you so angry? What did I—What did I do to receive such—such hatred? Was it because I replaced you? Is that it? You hated the idea of me being Robin so much you wanted to kill me to take back the mantle? Is that it?!”

Tim couldn’t help but let a few tears fall, and he wiped them away with his hand in frustration.

Silence wrapped them both for a moment—Tim opted to look up at the ceiling so no more stray tears would fall while taking deep breaths to calm his frantic heart—when Jason decided it was time for him to speak.

“I was never angry at you, Tim,” Jason said with such certainty and conviction that Tim whipped his head to stare at Jason with wide eyes. Jason sounded serious and sincere that it made Tim’s resolve falter.

Tim staggered a few steps back—confused about Jason’s confession—before he forced his hands to stop trembling, and his voice to stop shaking to ask Jason a question that burned his mind ever since Jason attempted to cut his life short. In a soft whisper, Tim asked, “Then why? Why did—why would you do that to me?”

Jason sighed as he looked down at his hands, shame and regret flashed in his eyes, “I was furious at Bruce for taking in another child after I died. My death should've been a lesson for him not to take in any more orphans and force them into this lifestyle.” Jason had a remorseful look on his face like it physically pained him to recount those incidents, “I shouldn't have done that to you. I went about my intentions in the wrong way. I was just so—so angry when I found out another vulnerable, innocent kid was dragged into this life that I acted rashly.”

Tim stood motionless in the middle of the room as he let Jason’s words sink in. His hands itched to throw something— anything at Jason to release the bottled up emotions that he kept close to his chest, but his body refused to move.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me, Tim,” Jason said in a soft and gentle voice, “I just—you deserve to hear an apology from me. I want you to know I regret my past actions, and I do intend to hold myself accountable and take responsibility for causing you agony.”

“Then don’t just say it—do it.” Tim spat out, “Show me your sincerity instead of just standing there and—and telling me all these things.”

Jason nodded and turned to leave the room when he stopped in his tracks and tilted his head to look at Tim for the last time that night, “I know you’re sneaking out of the manor to avoid me, but you don’t have to do that anymore. This is your home, Tim, not mine. Not anymore.”

The clicking sound as the door closed echoed through Tim’s bedroom, leaving Tim to sit in his own thoughts. His hands curled into fists, and his nails dug into his palms hard enough to cause temporary indentations on the skin.

Tim didn’t know how to feel about their conversation.

He was angry, sad, but also relieved.

Tim had felt guilty for pushing away Jason from his home, but it was also Tim’s home.

He deserved to feel safe and secure, and Jason’s presence disrupted that. Having Jason far away from the manor—a decision Jason made on his own—assuaged Tim’s fear and anxiety.

He didn’t force Jason to leave. Jason left on his own accord.

Tim had reassured himself as he moved to sit on the edge of his bed. His shoulders hunched, and his head in his hands as he repeatedly soothed his doubts. But the gnawing feeling in his chest never let up even when beams of sunlight shone through his open window.

It has been a few years since that night, and Tim still felt guilty for lashing out at Jason.

Their relationship started off rocky and strained—only acknowledging each other when they needed to, and Jason kept his silent promise of staying away from Tim unless Tim seeked him out first—but now, Tim could say their relationship has progressed into something amicable. Although they still argue on occasions due to clashing personal beliefs, Tim could describe them both as brothers.

Tim snapped out of his thoughts when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He took it out and checked who sent him a message and was pleasantly surprised to see it was Jason.

Those two sentences made Tim tense. A million thoughts ran into his head, but he didn’t have time to ponder about them.

Tim didn’t waste any time and went into vigilante mode. He moved swiftly across his apartment and out the door in 10 seconds flat. He rushed down into the garage, got inside his car, and sped away to Bristol where the Wayne Manor was located.

If Jason was asking him for help, then it must be something serious. Time was of the essence, and one second wasted could mean blood on his hands.

Tim gripped his steering wheel tighter until his knuckles went white. He controlled his breathing to calm his heart, but his anxiety only grew.

Tim just hoped that by the time he got there, no one had died yet.

Chapter Text

Spotify Playlist:

Whirlwind (Spideyhood)

Jason Todd

Batcave, Gotham City — April 27, 2024

Death hardly phased a man who has been through it once.

Jason didn't want to visit the manor today. Not when Bruce would be extra broody, and Alfred being a sudden clean freak during this time of the year. Even Dick would be absent and less cheerful when the day came around. It took him by surprise the first time he observed how they processed their sorrows.

He knew what day it was and how it affected the people who knew him before he died, but it still doesn't sit right with Jason. However, he held his tongue and let them grieve.

Point is, the atmosphere in the manor would be weird, and he'd rather be anywhere else than at the epicenter of grief. Which is why whenever his “death anniversary” came around, he'd spend time with The Outlaws, check up on Crime Alley kids, read a book in the library, and just breathe and be present at the moment.

Alas, those activities had to be postponed for a case he'd been working on for the past few weeks.

Jason tapped his foot impatiently as he leaned on the desk of the Batcomputer with his arms crossed in front of his chest, waiting for Bruce and Tim to converge in the Batcave. He didn’t have a great history with them, but they were the perfect people to discuss the information he just received.

He was reluctant—at first—about contacting them, but this situation was bigger than what the Red Hood can handle alone. He hated to admit it, but he needed the Bats’ help on this one.

“Jason.” A gruff voice pulled Jason away from his thoughts.

A few feet away from him stood Bruce, intimidating as ever with his stiff posture and stone-cold appearance. Despite Bruce’s large build, it still fascinated Jason that he could move silently—always light on his feet.

“Bruce.” Jason nodded his head in greeting. “Tim’s not here yet—”

“I’m here! I’m here! I came as fast as I could!” Tim’s frantic voice echoed through the cave as he stumbled through the doors and scurried over to Bruce’s side. “What happened? Am I too late? Did someone die?”

Jason hummed and straightened his posture to stare at Bruce and Tim standing before him, “No, but it’s worse.”

Bruce and Tim stiffened at Jason’s reply. Jason wished it was just a case of murder, then he’d be happy to hunt down the criminal all on his own. But this case he’s about to tell them is different and had the involvement of two of Gotham City’s biggest crime lords after the Red Hood.

“I received a tip from my informant in Black Mask’s gang about a metahuman fighting ring operating underground.” Jason reached for two filed folders beside him and gave them to Bruce and Tim to read over. “Exact location is still unknown. It’s believed to be a members-only event, hence the secrecy.”

Jason had his goons infiltrate Black Mask’s gang long ago to keep tabs on their organization. It was a risky move, but it had paid off considering the amount of times Jason had terminated a handful of their dangerous operations that could endanger the whole city of Gotham.

The soft, rustling of paper filled the cave as Bruce and Tim browsed the report he’d made about the case. Bruce hummed with a stern look on his face as he scanned the documents in front of him. Tim had a similar expression on his face except he was gnawing his bottom lip as he read the case file.

“You think this is connected to the recent missing persons cases?” Tim asked as he flipped through the pages.

Jason nodded stiffly. “Not only that, but Cobblepot’s been acting suspicious. Word on the street is he found a meta with capabilities beyond that of an average metahuman. There are currently no reports of a meta wreaking havoc on the streets, but it’s best to keep an eye out just in case.”

“How can you say this meta’s abilities are above the average?” Bruce glanced over to Jason as he closed the file in his hands.

“Because of this.” Jason held up a USB drive and moved to connect it with the Batcomputer. As they were waiting for the video to load, Jason looked back at Bruce and Tim who were waiting in anticipation, eyes glued to the screen. “Black Mask and a few people in his crew were invited by Cobblepot to the last underground fighting match which happened over a day ago. Luckily, one of my men was included in the invite. He was able to sneak in a phone and capture a video of Cobblepot’s meta during a match. When I tell you this meta’s insanely good, I mean it.”

Just as Jason finished speaking, the video came to life with hollering and cheering coming from a crowd. The video was grainy, dark, and shaky, but the light coming from the stage gave them a good enough view of the match going on.

A figure cladded in black—except their face was covered with a full, white mask—was cornered by two towering figures wearing red clothing accompanied by the same full, white masks to cover their faces.

“The one in black is Cobblepot’s meta.” Jason informed them as the camera focused on the stage—more like a cage if the wired fence encasing them was any indicator.

Red 1, the figure on the left side of Cobblepot’s meta, attacked first. They delivered a high kick to the side of the meta’s face, presumably, to knock out his opponent in one move except it didn’t land. As if anticipating the attack, the meta blocked the kick with the palms of their hands before quickly changing positions—folding their right leg up and covering their head by raising both their arms to block a mid-kick from Red 2 who aimed for the meta’s right side.

That kind of reaction—making a split second decision while also protecting their vulnerable points in the middle of a fight—was impressive even from the perspective of an experienced fighter. Almost like they knew of danger before seeing it.

Jason saw Bruce tense ever so slightly in his peripheral vision as the fight continued on as they watched.

The meta jumped high as both the Reds charged at them from both sides. The Reds collided into each other while the meta hung above them on the ceiling—hands and feet planted firmly as they crawled their way to the corner and watched the Reds pushed each other to get back up.

“What the—How?” Tim uttered in disbelief, his eyes glued to the meta clad in black who had no trouble maintaining their position several feet away from the ground.

Jason could understand Tim's confusion. Even if the wired fence had big enough holes for fingers to grab ahold of, there was physically no way for anyone to hold their position without slipping or gravity pulling them down—unless they used some kind of device or had great core strength.

The meta pushed themself off the fence and as quickly as they landed, they delivered a kick to Red 2’s chest hard enough to send them flying across the stage. The meta’s stance faltered as they watched Red 2 land with a loud thud, lying limply on the floor.

Red 1 saw this as an opportunity to charge at the meta, hands balled into fists and twisted their body to deliver a rear hook while they were distracted. In an instant, the meta moved before Red 1’s fist could hit them, grabbed Red 1’s arm with their right hand and socked Red 1 in the face with their left elbow.

Red 1’s white mask cracked from the strength of the attack. They stumbled a few steps back, clutching their head in pain. The meta stalked towards their prey, pulled their hand back and punched Red 1 in the gut which sent Red 1 to their knees, clutching their stomach, but the meta didn’t stop there. They hopped and kicked Red 1’s head with their knee as the final blow, and Red 1 collapsed to the floor with a thud while they towered over Red 1’s unconscious body, heaving as they looked down at their opponent.

The crowd roared and started chanting, “Dusk! Dusk! Dusk! Dusk!”

Then the video faded to black.

In the blackened screen, Jason observed the stiff postures of both Bruce and Tim through their reflections. A mix of concern, astonishment, and wariness painted their faces. The video went on no more than two minutes, and yet the meta—Dusk—was able to apprehend his opponents under one.

“You mentioned the location of the ring was still unknown,” Bruce noted. “Did your informant fail to mention where the ring was located?”

“No,” Jason turned with furrowed brows and slowly shook his head. “When I asked about the location, he had a dazed look on his face. Said he can't remember much about going in and out of the place.”

“You don't think that's suspicious?”

Bruce’s hidden implication in his statement set something off in Jason.

‘What is with him today?’ Jason scowled.

“Yes, Bruce, I do think it's suspicious,” Jason clenched his jaw as he forced the words out of his mouth. “You think I'd keep that crucial information to myself? Sorry to break it to ya, but that's kinda your thing. Not mine.”

Jason reached into his leather jacket and grabbed the vial of blood he had hidden inside the pocket. He extended his arm and handed it over to Tim.

“Here,” he said.

Tim held the vial in his hands and examined it closely.

“That’s Pimento’s blood.” Jason informed him before Tim could ask whose blood it was in the vial. “I had it extracted the day he came to me with the information and couldn’t pinpoint the exact location of the ring.”

“You think the place was dosed with something? Or the organizer drugged them before leaving?” Tim asked while still eyeing the curious vial in his hand.

“Maybe.” Jason shrugged. “Or they could have a meta that can hypnotize or manipulate the memories of a mass of people. I’m just crossing out plausible scenarios before tackling the other theories.”

Tim stared at him nonplussed.

“Why not ask Dr. Thompkins to examine the blood for you?” He asked, curiosity laced in his tone.

“Figured you’d do a better job at it,” Jason confessed. “Plus, the Batcave has advanced technology and higher quality equipment that couldn’t be compared to Dr. Thompkins’ equipment back at the clinic. So, here I am asking for both of your help.”

Tim shifted uncomfortably under Jason’s stare before nodding stiffly in understanding and tucked the vial in his pocket to examine later.

“What kind of metas were the other two?” Bruce’s gruff voice cut through the awkward tension that was quickly building up between them.

Jason cleared his throat before turning his attention to Bruce and responding, “I was told the fight was between three metahumans with enhanced strength. But, as you may have witnessed from watching the video, Cobblepot’s new treasure—Dusk—clearly has more than one ability, and is stronger too by the looks of it.”

“Or the Reds could be coincidentally weaker than the said meta. The video can't be used as proof that they're stronger just because they managed to fling a person across the stage. We need something that's more concrete,” Tim said with a calculated look on his face—his left hand resting comfortably below his chest holding up his right arm with his pointer finger and thumb pinching his chin in deep thought.

“Were you able to obtain an item that can be used as a DNA sample by chance?” Tim turned to Jason with a hunger for information in his eyes. “Anything from any of the metas would do. It would help us identify and connect them with the missing persons cases. Once we know who they are, we can run facial recognition to search where they were last seen, and we could go from there.”

Jason shook his head in dismay. Tim cursed under his breath, but Jason could tell his mind was running through various possible solutions to their current dilemma. With no current leads except that vial of blood—that may or may not have been laced with drugs that could be traced back to its source—their investigation was hit with a temporary dead end.

He had already covered all the bases—potential hideouts, suspects, and the like—but he came up empty-handed every time. He has grown frustrated these past few weeks trying to find a new lead only to end up with nothing. There was only so much he could do on his own.

And so, when his subordinate working undercover in Black Mask's gang approached him with intel about what might have become of the missing kids the Red Hood was investigating, Jason sprung into action and all but rushed to the cave while sending a hasty text message to Bruce and Tim after hesitating about contacting them for a second.

After a brief moment of silence, Tim announced he'd be in the lab to start the process of finding out if there were any traces of drugs in Pimento's blood. As soon as Tim was out of earshot, Jason focused his attention on Bruce.

“So, what's the plan here, B?” Jason addressed Bruce casually with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Bruce grunted in response, making his way to the Batcomputer and pulled up the video once again. He replayed the video and started messing with the audio—isolating vocals and muting the background noise—but it was still a garbled mess that they weren't able to get any new information from it. With a sigh, Bruce glanced at Jason before straightening his posture.

“We need someone to infiltrate the organization itself.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Jason snorted and rolled his eyes. “How are we supposed to do that, Sherlock?”

Bruce's stance tensed ever-so-slightly, but his expression remained neutral. His silence was all Jason needed for the puzzle pieces to fall into place. As soon as it did, Jason shook his head in denial.

“Wait—You're not—You don't mean what I think you're implying, do you?” Jason's eyes widened in disbelief, searching Bruce's face for any indication that his assumption was wrong, but he was only met with Bruce's cold, hard stare—unflinching and absolute.

Jason barked out a laugh, refusing to believe the conversation they were having right now. ‘Bruce can't be serious, right?’ He thought as he ran his fingers through his hair to calm himself, or at least release the tension building in his shoulders, but he only felt more dismayed at Bruce’s lack of response.

“For fuck's sake, Bruce! We are not sending Duke to that wretched place! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“That is the only way we can—”

“No!” Jason growled, effectively cutting off Bruce in the middle of his sentence. Jason's hands twitch to reach for something— anything —to keep him grounded. “I don't give a fuck if sending him there prevented the end of the world. We are not letting those lunatics kidnap Duke just to solve this case!”

By the time Jason was done talking, he was heaving and clenching his hands hard enough to draw blood. His loud, uneven breathing filled the silence in the cave. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths to force himself to calm the fuck down. He could feel his blood pulsating against his skin and hear his heart thumping against his flesh.

“Jason—”

“Don't.” Jason glared at Bruce with such ferocity, Bruce barely held back a wince as they stared at each other. Jason rubbed his face, exhaustion visible in his overall being.

‘I need to get out of here. This was a mistake. Telling Bruce was a mistake.’ He thought as he gathered his case files that were piled on top of the Batcomputer's desk.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the cave, and they got louder as they went nearer towards Bruce and Jason.

“Is everything…okay?” Tim's voice cut through the tension like a knife. His tone was concerned but guarded—it held an edge to it like he was prepared to intervene if everything went to shit.

Jason faced Tim with a scowl on his face before turning back to continue gathering his case files. “Everything's fucking peachy, Tim.”

Tim flinched at Jason's venomous tone and hesitated before he spoke once again.

“Jason, why are you packing the case files? We still need those to review anything we might have missed.”

No one responded to Tim's sentiments—only the sounds of papers rustling can be heard.

Tim sighed. “Bruce, what happened?”

When Bruce didn't respond as quickly as Jason liked, he slammed his hands on the desk and crossed his arms as he continued to glare at Bruce. Tim winced at the sharp sound, but Bruce continued to look unbothered which only fueled Jason's anger.

“Yeah, Bruce. What happened?” Jason sneered. “Care to share with the class what you told me, Batman?”

Tim glanced nervously between them, unsure of what was happening and what to do. Bruce sighed like explaining himself was a burden he wished he could pass off to someone else.

“I suggested we have Duke infiltrate—”

“—get kidnapped by—”

“—the organization—”

“—a metahuman trafficking ring—”

“—in order to locate their base of operations.”

“By endangering one of your sons in the process.” Jason kindly finished for Bruce. “Honestly, why do I even bother? You're never gonna change, Bruce. I should've known when you replaced me not long after I died.”

Files on hand, Jason strode across the cave towards the vehicle exit and hopped on his bike. Tim called out to him, told him to give Bruce a chance to explain, but Jason only responded by revving his motorcycle and drove off without a word or a glance to the people he left behind.

Jason should feel rage—and he does—but his disappointment overshadowed his anger. He really thought Bruce had changed, but clearly his judgement was wrong. Clearly, he knew Bruce less than he thought.

With a sigh, Jason headed towards one of his safe houses in Crime Alley. He needed to come up with a plan—a better one that didn't involve Duke being subjected to violence more than what they've already gone through with their vigilante lives.

He'll make sure of it.

Peter Parker

Peter Pan Donut & Pastry Shop, New York City — November 25, 2024

Parker Luck always had a way of disrupting Peter’s life when he least expected it.

Peter’s week had started out great—he got himself a cheap micro apartment, he made himself a new suit, and he has been frequenting the Peter Pan Donut & Pastry Shop to hang out with Ned and MJ.

Ned opened up to him pretty easily, especially after learning Peter liked Star Wars as much as he did. They went on and talked about their favorite Star Wars movies, scenes, characters, and TV shows.

Peter knew Ned’s favorites by heart, and Ned used to know his favorites, but Peter didn’t mind telling him for the second time if it meant rekindling their once close relationship.

MJ was a little harder to crack. She still felt wary around him, but Peter didn't let that bother him too much. He’d give her space when she needed it and offered her his company when it felt right. As long as they were talking to each other, Peter was content with their current relationship.

He just had to try harder.

He can deal with a few more awkward silences if it helped MJ to open up to him once more. Honestly, Peter would do anything just so they can go back to the way things were supposed to be.

Which was why in a few days, he would tell them about Spider-Man and The Erasure. He simply needed more time to think about how he'd tell them. But, of course, that didn't stop anxiety-inducing thoughts invading his mind.

All the “What-If's” that constantly echoed in his head made it difficult for Peter to think clearly— logically— without spiraling into another anxiety attack which has been happening quite frequently, lately.

Peter strongly ignored the gnawing feeling growing in his gut and instead chose to focus on Ned's voice. He didn't need a nervous breakdown ruining this peaceful moment he had with his friends.

“You wanna come over to my house and build the LEGO Death Star?”

Peter snapped his head towards Ned's direction—a surprised look on his face. His heart swelled at the thought of finally, finally, Ned had trusted Peter enough to invite him over to his house.

Peter couldn't stop the big smile forming on his face. He's just so, so happy about the progress he's made with Ned as a friend.

Ned had a similar smile of his own as he watched Peter's reaction.

“Yes!” Peter answered a little too quickly—a blush crept up to his cheeks as he realized, “I mean—yes, I would love to build the Death Star with you.”

Ned and Peter looked at each other with matching grins on their faces—an excited glint in their eyes.

“Wow, that totally sounds like a proposal.” MJ butted in as she gave them their free donuts—an original glaze, and the other one a chocolate glaze with rainbow sprinkles.

Heat spread to Peter's cheeks as he replayed what he said to Ned.

“I—no—I mean—that was not what I meant at all!” Peter sputtered as he tried to explain himself. Ned and MJ only laughed at his reaction which made Peter blush an even darker shade of red.

“Anyways! So,” Ned drawled, taking a bite off his donut. “This Saturday sounds okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds—that sounds great!” Peter nodded eagerly. That was three days away. He could wait a few more if needed. As long as he gets to spend more time with his best friend.

“Awesome!” Ned reached over to the table napkins and scribbled his address on it before giving it to Peter. “Here. Make sure you don't lose it! Don't want a stranger suddenly showing up at my door with guns blazing.” He joked with a lighthearted smile.

“I solemnly swear to protect this information with my life. ” Peter swore with his right hand over his chest where his heart was located. Then, he and Ned glanced at each other before erupting in boisterous laughter that echoed throughout the pastry shop. MJ joined them not a moment later, her soft chuckles sending goosebumps down Peter's spine.

This moment right here. This is what keeps him going. This is what he wants to preserve: their smiles, their laughter, their peace. Peter would do anything to protect the few loved ones he had left.

If Peter—no, if Spider-Man failed again, he wouldn't know what to do with himself anymore.

He can't lose them for the second time.

He can't be the reason they leave him again.

“Wanna join us, MJ?” Ned asked, effectively pulling Peter out from his spiraling thoughts.

“I'm not helping you build whatever LEGO set you nerds are building,” she said as she wiped down the counter, “But I will be bringing my sketchbook to show you guys how much of a geek you both are.” MJ smirked as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Ned and Peter shared a look before shrugging. “Sounds fair,” they both said.

The three of them fell into idle chatter, and their voices filled up the tranquility of the pastry shop. Warmth filled Peter's chest as he basked in the stillness and peace—soaking up every bit of familiarity and comfort this moment had brought to him.

As the rays of sunlight retreated behind the tall buildings of New York, leaving behind a golden glow on everything it touched, Peter said his goodbyes to MJ and Ned and headed towards his new home.

Creaky floorboards, a rusty door knob, and barren walls greeted him in his tiny apartment. Cobwebs decorated the corners of the ceiling, and Peter's pretty sure he saw a rat run along the edge of the room and disappear under where his bed was situated.

Unfolding the piece of napkin from his pocket, a melancholic smile formed on Peter’s face. His right thumb lovingly brushed over the blotted writing on the tissue, and a light chuckle escaped his lips.

He's already had Ned's address memorized, but to have something concrete—a reminder of the past they used to share—filled Peter's heart with warmth.

This was his chance.

A chance to get back what he used to have—friends, family, a normal life.

Or as normal as he could have it while keeping his vigilante identity, Spider-Man, a secret.

‘Speaking of…’ Peter's eyes trailed to the direction of his desk where a notebook laid closed on top of it.

With the tissue on hand, he made his way to his desk and opened the notebook on a specific page. There, nestled between the pages, was the piece of paper containing the short speech he prepared for MJ and Ned.

His hand hovered over the folded, worn-out paper, barely brushing against it with the tips of his fingers, and decided to fold the tissue and gently laid it on top of the paper before closing the notebook with a sigh.

Despite having decided to tell MJ and Ned the truth, a part of him still felt unsure. If he were to tell them everything, how is he certain nothing would change—that MJ and Ned would act like how they did before The Erasure?

To them, Peter was just a random guy who wanted to be friends with them. A stranger-turned-friend whom they've only met a little over a week ago. They have no memories of him before The Erasure. No shared, fond memories to reminisce and to assure them that he hadn't changed. That he's still the Peter Parker that they knew who loved awful science puns, photography, robotics, and Star Wars.

To them, Peter was just another guy. It was true that they started opening up to him, but he was still a stranger. An outlier who managed to squeeze his way inside their little duo of friendship. A jigsaw puzzle that fit but felt out of place.

An enigma they can't quite place.

Peter sank into his bed, head in his hands, and let out a shaky breath. The cold breeze sneaking through his open window bit his skin and rustled the paper-thin curtain as it went, sending goosebumps up his arms and shivers down his spine. His hands moved from his head to his arms, rubbing them to simulate heat.

He got up from his bed and looked through the window. Snow fell from the dark sky, slowly covering his windowsill. Winter season was right around the corner and that made Peter feel concerned for his well-being during the upcoming months.

Ever since his mutation from that spider bite, regulating his body temperature during cold, winter nights had been a challenge. If it weren't for his and Aunt May's apartment having a heating system before The Erasure and The Blip, he felt he'd be able to sleep through the harsh winter season in New York.

With one last look at the city's glowing, bright-colored lights, Peter closed his window and drew the curtains. He settled in his bed, his dimly lit apartment mocking him of his current predicament.

If only he hadn't given E.D.I.T.H. to Quentin Beck.

If only he hadn't been stupid enough to trust that charismatic stranger.

If only he trusted himself enough—trusted Mr. Stark's confidence in his skills.

If it wasn't for his naivety and insecurity, none of this would've happened.

He wouldn't be in this situation.

It was his fault his life fell apart.

It was his fault his last living relative died.

And it was his fault that instead of continuing Mr. Stark's legacy, it died with him.

Peter bit his tongue, inhaling sharply as he closed his eyes to stop the tears from falling down his face. He laughed at his own demise, sounding wet and wry while his thoughts spiraled further down to the pits of self-hatred, shame, and regret until he fell asleep.

🕸️🦇🕸️

Queens, New York City — November 28, 2024

It was a quiet night in Queens, unusually so. Spider-Man wasn't used to the quiet. That typically means something big was going to happen, and he wasn't so sure if he could handle another life-altering event a little over a week after The Erasure.

[Something will always go wrong.]

The knot in his gut tightened along with the chains wrapped around his heart. He let out a shaky breath, his head in his hands as he sat on the edge of a random building. He was never good at dealing with his anxiety. He had too much on his plate to focus on himself that it tended to fade away when he busied himself with saving New Yorkers or fighting big, bad guys. So, the fact that tonight was a not-so-hectic night, he's left alone with thoughts he desperately tried to bury in the deep recesses of his mind.

[What would May think about you now?]

Spider-Man lifted his mask halfway up and hooked the edge of it on the bridge of his nose, breathing in the chilly, winter air.

[Are you sure you're still needed?]

He flicked his fingers as a way to expel some of his nerves and anxiety, taking slow, deep breaths when he could feel his chest constrict as self-deprecating thoughts started to seep through the cracks of the mental walls he built.

[You'll never be enough. Not as Peter Parker. Not even as Spider-Man.]

Before he could spiral any further, his spidey-sense acted up, raising goosebumps on his neck and along his arms. With his super hearing, he heard a string of threats a few blocks southwest of his location. Tugging the mask down, Spider-Man leaped into the night and swung towards the sound of danger.

It didn't take long for him to arrive at his destination. It was a standard robbery scene, one he has seen too many times in the narrow alleys of Queens even before Peter Parker became Spider-Man. Except this time, he wasn't rescuing a stranger from an armed thief.

Tucked at the dead end of the alleyway was MJ and Ned approached by a highly agitated and skittish man dressed in all black with a gun in his hands. Spider-Man landed on the roof peering over the situation before him and slowly descended—head first—using his webs behind the suspect.

“You know, robbing people in a dark alley is getting kinda old. Don't you have any originality?”

The robber whipped his head and hastily pointed the gun at his face. “You!”

“Moi?” Spider-Man dramatically put his hand over his chest and tilted his head, his lenses exaggeratingly wide, mimicking his widened eyes behind his mask. The robber didn't think it was funny though and started waving the gun around, switching from the two cowering victims and Spider-Man.

“If—if you move from your spot, I swear—I swear to god I'm gonna shoot!” The man said frantically. His hands trembling as he held the gun, making Spider-Man flinch at the sight of the trigger-happy man.

Spider-Man couldn't afford for him to open fire. Not when Ned and MJ were cornered on the other side of the alley with nowhere to run or hide. So, he raised his hands in a placating manner (although it looked ridiculous considering he was upside down) and shook his head.

“Whoa, okay! Chill, man. Just let me get down from here, and let's have a talk. Yea?” He started unsticking himself from his web when his spidey-sense flared up. He immediately moved his body to the side just as the loud, deafening sound of gunfire invaded his ears making it ring from overstimulation.

“Spider-Man!”

“Shit!”

Without hesitating for even a second, Spider-Man webbed the guy's feet to the ground and knocked him out before making his way towards Ned and MJ who were cowering—MJ angling her body slightly in front of Ned.

“Are you guys okay?” He asked as he approached them cautiously, staying a couple of feet away from them. His eyes scanned their bodies to see if they had any injuries. MJ was glaring at him while Ned stared at him with wide eyes, still shaking from the events that transpired.

“Oh, my god. MJ! It's the real life Spider-Man!” Ned whispered while gripping tight on MJ's sleeves.

“We're fine, thanks,” MJ answered Spider-Man, completely ignoring Ned's obvious fan reaction.

“Good. That's—that's good.” Spider-Man nodded. “Come on. Let's get you guys—”

Just then, his spidey-sense flared up once more. He whipped his head and was faced with the thief who was on his stomach, the gun clutched in his hands as he aimed the muzzle at them. Ready to pull the trigger.

‘The gun! How could I forget about the gun!?’ Spider-Man panicked. He quickly aimed his web-shooters at the firearm to yank it out of the man's hand, but no webs shot out of his wrist. His breath hitched in his throat as he stared at his web-shooters in shock. ‘Why now when I need it the most?’

Spider-Man angled himself in front of his friends so that his body would cover both Ned and MJ from the firearm's range. His spidey-sense screamed at him to move, get out, and run away, but he steeled himself to protect his friends.

He didn't want them to get hurt.

He doesn't want to be the reason they got hurt again.

A loud bang echoed through the darkened alley, making him flinch. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the blood and pain when he was pushed to the side, making him stumble and watch as his friend stood in front of him. Taking the bullet that was meant for Spider-Man.

“Ned, no!” Spider-Man reached out to pull him aside, but it was already too late. Ned had taken the bullet from him. His blood decorated his clothes and the concrete below him as it dripped down his sides.

“Oh, my god!” MJ gasped.

The world felt like it stopped spinning, or maybe time had slowed down. Peter couldn't tell the difference anymore, and he didn't care.  All he could see was red and blood and so much red. His breaths came out shallow, and his heart felt stuck in his throat. Everything felt sharper but muddier and muffled but clear. MJ stood frozen behind him with her eyes wide in horror.

The only thing that snapped him out of his panicked state were the pained groans of his best friend.

“Jacket.” He muttered, his eyes never leaving Ned's body.

“Wh—what?”

“Just give me your jacket, MJ!” He snapped as he whipped his head towards MJ who flinched at his raised voice.

She nodded and shakily removed her jacket and gave it to him. With trembling hands, Peter laid the jacket on top of the wound and started to put pressure on it, hoping, praying, it would help stop the flow of blood.

[Pathetic.]

“Call 911!” He heard himself scream, shaking MJ out of her frozen state. She nodded and fished out her phone from her pockets and started dialing.

[You can't do anything right.]

“Hey—hey! It's—It's okay. You're gonna be okay. I got you,” Peter said. He tried to make his voice sound cheery, but he knew it fell flat with how shaky he sounded. “Everything's gonna be fine, alright? Everything's—everything's gonna be fine.”

At this point, Peter didn't know who he was trying to reassure—was it Ned or was it himself?

[Maybe you are bad luck to the people around you.]

“The police and ambulance will be here in five minutes.” He heard MJ tell him as she crouched down beside him. Peter let out a breath of relief, his shoulders relaxing a tiny bit.

“Here, put your hands on the jacket. Keep exerting pressure, so he doesn't bleed out.” MJ complied, and Peter took that chance to pry himself away from his best friends to deal with the perpetrator a few feet away from them.

[You don't deserve a second chance.]

Spider-Man stalked towards his prey who had passed out a second time with the gun still in his hands. He kicked the gun to the side, away from the mugger and tied him up with the zip ties he carried around in his suit in case he ran out of webs.

He had been careless and stupid. The number one rule when apprehending armed suspects was to always, always, disarm them by taking away their weapon. And yet, Peter had been stupid enough to forget it. Now, look where that got him. His best friend was on the ground bleeding, dying, hurting, all because he forgot to disarm a freaking bad guy.

The wailing sirens of the ambulance and police cars in the distance snapped him out of his thoughts and took a chance to look at his best friends. Ned was still bleeding. MJ was pale and shaking as she kept her hands on Ned's wound just as he instructed. Looking at them now, his friends looked so… vulnerable. Defenseless. Fragile. He felt sick to his stomach. Once again, because of him, they were put in danger. He caused them pain.

All he does is hurt the people around him.

[Maybe it was better you remained forgotten.]

Peter climbed up the wall, not even bothering to say goodbye as he pulled himself up on the rooftop and ran away. Away from his friends. Away from the painful truth. Away from everything he once knew.

His chest tightened as he gasped for breath. The soles of his feet burned as he ran with every bit of energy he had left. His tears flowed freely, making his mask stick to his face in an uncomfortable way. His breathing became ragged as every minute that passed made his mask feel suffocating. He clawed at his mask, desperate to take it off. To breathe. To be free. But all it did was stick itself stubbornly to his face as he sobbed uncontrollably.

Somewhere along the way, he tripped over his own feet and fell off the side of an apartment building. He bit his lip to suppress a scream when his back collided with a dumpster. He was pretty sure he dented it in the process. Peter moaned at the ache of cuts and bruises patching itself as his healing factor kicked in.

He deserved that pain.

Peter continued to lay there, his tears slowly coming to a halt, but the ache in his chest never faded. The events of that night replayed in his head. Ned's limp body burned in his mind. Reminiscent of the warmth slowly leaving his Uncle Ben's body in his arms. Like a broken record, his thoughts reiterated that he's incompetent.

That he's weak.

Careless.

Foolish.

[With all the strength that you have, you can't even save the people you love.]

He could still feel the warmth of blood on his hands. The metallic smell stabbing his nose. He could still hear their pained moans and groans filling the silence in the alley.

He should've checked his web fluid before heading out. He should've reacted faster. He shouldn't have left the robber alone with a gun mere meters away from his unconscious body. He should've stayed and made sure his friends were okay.

No. No.

Being near them was the reason they got hurt in the first place. If he hadn't been so selfish…

Peter winced as he tried to push himself off the dented dumpster. He could feel his back pulsating as he limped towards the direction of where he hid his civilian clothes.

Everything felt like a blur after that.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on his creaky bed, staring up at the moldy ceiling. The quiet and stillness in his tiny apartment forced him to confront his thoughts. Memories of his loved ones suffering and dying replayed in his head, and one recurring variable was always present during those times.

Peter.

Peter brought his arm to cover his eyes and gritted his teeth.

He is, and always will be, the catalyst to all of his loved ones’ suffering.

Bile rose up in his throat, but he swallowed it back down.

He deserved to be alone.

Ned and MJ were better off without him.

He deserved to be forgotten.

🕸🦇🕸

Queens Hospital Center, New York City — November 30, 2024

Peter fiddled with the piece of tissue paper in his hands where Ned's address was written. It took him two days to gather enough courage to face him after that night. He gazed at the hospital across from him, the opened doors and the rush of people going in and out beckoning him, but his feet stayed planted on the other side of the street.

The blinding rays of sunshine enveloped his body with warmth, but his skin felt ice cold. He shoved the tissue paper back in his pockets and took a deep breath. He had rehearsed this day over and over in his head, but now that the moment was drawing near, he wanted to turn and disappear from their lives quietly. No explanation. No more lying. Just quietly detach himself from the lives of his friends. It would be easier to do so since they didn't know him personally anyways. Not anymore.

But he didn't want to do that. Not to them.

So, Peter took a hesitant step forward. And another. And another. Until he passed the threshold of the hospital entrance, and a blast of cold air greeted him that sent shivers down his spine. He made his way towards the reception area when a familiar voice called him from behind.

“Peter?”

He tensed ever so slightly and turned to face MJ. He tried to give her a smile, but by the look on her face, he didn't succeed.

“Are you here for Ned?” She asked.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “How—how is he? I went to his place this morning since today was supposed to be LEGO day, but when I got there, his neighbors told me he was in the hospital. Is—is he gonna be okay?” His voice cracked at the end of his sentence. He was lying, of course. He never went to Ned's house, but it was true that he's worried about Ned's condition. There was so much blood that night, soaking the jacket, coating his hands, pooling underneath Ned's limp body.

He clenched his fists as the memories flooded his mind once more. MJ stared at him, almost like she was assessing him before she spoke again.

“You can see for yourself. I was about to visit him, anyway.” Without waiting for his reply, she walked away and headed towards one of the elevators with Peter trailing not so far behind her.

They were quiet on the way to Ned's room. The buzz of doctors and nurses rushing around them filled the ever growing silence between them. Peter itched to ask how MJ was doing. She was pretty shaken during the whole ordeal, but Peter wasn't there that night. It was Spider-Man. The last thing Peter wanted was to reveal his secret identity and endanger his friends again. Ned already got shot, and it happened even without him knowing Peter was Spider-Man.

He had to keep his distance. To keep them safe. The more he's involved in their lives, the more pain and suffering await them. He can't subject them to a life of adversity. He was an incarnate of misfortune. A jinx.

He never should've approached Ned and MJ in the first place.

Peter was brought out of his thoughts when MJ announced they'd arrived. She opened the door and they were greeted by Ned sitting up on his bed, a remote in his hands as he watched the TV in the corner of his room in boredom. He was hooked on several machines, making his heart clench at the sight. When Ned heard them come in, a smile immediately formed on his lips and turned off the TV.

“Peter, you're here!” He exclaimed. “I'm sorry we couldn't build the LEGO Death Star today. I feel bad for getting your hopes up.”

Before Peter could reply, MJ scoffed and glared at Ned's statement. “What? No! Ned, don't apologize. You got shot by a mugger and survived. That's more important than some dumb LEGO set that can be built any other day. What matters is you're okay, and you're safe.”

Both Peter and Ned's eyes widened at MJ's scolding. It was the first time either of them experienced her express of angry concern. They've never heard her raise her voice before hearing it now was damn terrifying.

Peter cleared his throat, gaining the attention of both MJ and Ned. “MJ's right,” he said. “Don't worry about it and just focus on recovering, okay?

“Thanks, guys. I appreciate that.” Ned gave them a grateful smile, a bit shy but the appreciation was there. “Hey, good news! The doctor said I could be discharged in a couple of days. As long as my blood tests come back good, and I don't develop an infection, I'm good to go!”

“That's great, Ned!” Peter gasped.

“Good.” MJ nodded.

“So, with that said… Pete, wanna reschedule our LEGO day next week? I promise I won't get shot again.” Ned joked as he looked at him expectantly, his wide smile never leaving his face.

Looking at Ned's expression, Peter felt that ugly, uncomfortable feeling in his gut again. Twisting and coiling on the inside.

‘This is it.’ Peter thought as he sent an apologetic smile to Ned.

“Yeah, about that…” He rubbed the back of his neck, breaking eye contact and swallowing the lump forming in his throat. “Actually, I'm moving tomorrow.”

“What?”

“You're moving? Where?”

Both Ned and MJ stared at him in shock. Their gazes pierced through him as he tried to find the words he'd rehearsed a thousand times before. He fiddled with the hem of his windbreaker, grating his sensitive ears with a scratching sound. After a beat of silence, he finally found his voice and answered them.

“New Jersey. I've exhausted all of my options here in New York. I have no family left that lives here, and I can't afford an apartment on my own in this ridiculously expensive city. So, my aunt offered to support me while I study for my GED and a job, but I had to move in with her.” He explained rather quickly while his eyes refused to meet theirs.

He lied to them, again. How many times does he have to do this before it all comes crashing down on him? He didn't want to see the disappointment on their faces, especially not Ned's. Peter's resolve would crumble immediately, and he'd most definitely take back his words and play it off as a joke. So, he looked anywhere but in the direction of his friends.

They were quiet for a moment, still processing the news Peter dropped them, when Ned broke the silence.

“Will you stay for a while? Since we won't see you again once you've moved away,” he said in a quiet voice.

That got Peter's attention. Ned was staring down at his hands, making Peter's heart ache at the sight of his best friend since first year in middle school looking and sounding so timid when talking to him.

Peter's eyes softened. “Of course, dude. I planned to do so, anyway,” he said, making his voice sound cheery to reassure Ned. He locked eyes with MJ who had an unreadable expression on her face. He sent her a reassuring smile too, but she only stared at him and looked away.

After that, they eased into easy conversation. They talked about anything and everything under the sun. Peter set aside his worries and instead focused on appreciating and savoring his time with his friends before he leaves them. Again. They stayed that way, enjoying each other's company, until a nurse came in and informed them that visiting hours were over.

With a last goodbye, Peter and MJ made their way out of the hospital and into the direction of their homes. The sun was starting to set in the horizon, basking their environment with a warm, orange glow. The wind grew colder, biting into their exposed skin. They'd been walking for around ten minutes, neither of them choosing to break the silence between them, when MJ suddenly grabbed onto Peter's arm and dragged him into an empty alley.

Peter yelped in surprise, wincing at the way MJ's nails were digging into his skin despite the jacket he wore. Before he could speak and ask what's wrong, MJ glared at him and spoke in the most monotonous and icy tone.

“You lied.”

Peter's breath hitched in his throat, and his heart started pounding in his chest. He instinctively took a step back, his hands glazed with sweat as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Eventually, he answered her calmly.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” He denied as he put on his best oblivious face.

MJ raised her brow and scoffed at his facade.

“I know that you're Spider-Man, Peter, and don't even think about denying it because you called me and Ned by our names that night.” She scowled. “I already had my suspicions before, but that incident a couple of days ago proved it.”

Her confession made Peter's brain short circuit.

“What do you mean by that?” He asked carefully, eyes widened in disbelief. He thought he was hiding it well. They were never supposed to know. He had been careful.

Hadn't he?

MJ pursed her lips and looked away for a second before fixing her gaze at Peter. “That day when we met at the pastry shop, I had this vague sense of familiarity when we talked. I thought it was just another case of déjà vu, but I noticed you started acting like you knew us before we even met.” MJ shared as she watched Peter's reaction intently. But Peter's mind was still stuck on the fact that MJ had noticed from the start. He thought he got better at hiding, but MJ was able to unravel his secrets the moment they met.

That wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to know. And yet, here she was in front of him, revealing how she caught his lie. Tears threatened to spill, but he held them back and listened to MJ's explanation with more attention.

“I started becoming comfortable around you, trusting you, when I haven't even known you for that long! I don't get easily attached to people because people have disappointed me before.” MJ's voice went soft by the end of her sentence. A sense of pain hung on her every word like it physically hurt her to admit these things. Peter could only watch as her hardened expression slowly turned into a face full of confusion and desperation.

“So, please… tell me why, whenever the three of us are together, it feels like I gained back something I didn't even know I was missing? Why do I feel so anxious when you're not there? And don't even get me started on how I felt whenever I see Spider-Man on the news!” Her voice raised by the end, but the rawness and desperation stayed as she searched for answers in his eyes.

Peter looked away and closed his eyes, severing their connection as he chose to ignore her pleas.

“Peter, please.”

“I can't.” He rasped.

“Can't or won't?”

Her question hung in the air, and Peter refused to catch it. He didn't want to tell her the reason. Not anymore. It was already made clear that the more they let him in, the more damage he would cause. He didn't want to be the reason they get hurt anymore. He was tired of losing more people. Telling her nothing was for the best.

“You guys were the best thing that's ever happened to me.” He admitted with a bitter smile on his face. “But I can't stay. Hanging around with you guys will only endanger you more.”

“You don't get to decide that, Peter! We can take care of ourselves!”

“Yeah, and how did that end with you? With Ned? He got fucking shot, MJ! And you would've been too!” Peter spat out, glaring at MJ who stared at him with wide eyes. Realizing what he'd done, Peter took a deep breath and stepped back. He rubbed his face with hands, exhaustion clear on his face. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice, but you have to trust me when I say I can't stay with you. You're only going to get hurt or worse when I’m around.”

‘I'm trying to protect you’ was left unsaid, but it was acknowledged.

MJ stood in front of him quietly, her hands turning into fists with tears streaming down her face. She angrily wiped her tears away and sniffled.

“Then before you go, just answer this one question for me.”

Peter sighed. “MJ—”

“Just—please.” Her voice cracked as she pleaded. She looked into his eyes once more, searching for something Peter didn't want to know. “Was there something going on between us? From before?”

The way her voice wavered as she asked him broke Peter's heart, but he couldn't give her an answer. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but he couldn't. The words he so badly wanted to say died in his throat before it could even leave his tongue.

“Take care of yourselves, MJ.” He told her instead after a brief silence. “Let's not meet again. For all of our sake.”

With that, Peter walked away. Leaving behind the life he desperately wanted, and a piece of his heart with it.