Chapter Text
Peter:
Peter hates this.
He hates being alone.
He misses his friends. His aunt, Mr. Stark.
They aren’t gone.. Well, not all of them. Most of them aren’t gone, they’re still alive. But everything’s different. Everything’s gone to shit for Peter. Ever since that stupid spell Dr. Strange cast, his life is basically just: go to work, hope he gets paid on time, submit some Spider-Man photos for J. Jonah Jameson, then patrol. No time for friends, no time for family. If he even had friends or family. (which he doesn’t, not anymore).
He had the chance to get his girlfriend back, get Ned back, figure everything out with the Avengers.. Tony.. but he didn’t. He couldn’t. How could he? The original plan was to show some pictures of everyone together, but that died as soon as he realised he’s even blurred out of photos!
An old picture of him and May? Just May.
Him, Ned, and MJ? Just MJ and Ned.
He panicked and sobbed when he first realised there really was no going back. He cried for hours. He even stopped patrolling for a while. How could he not? He can’t get his old life back. He can’t just go up to the Avengers and say, ‘Hey, fellow Avengers! So, not-so-funny story, I’m an Avenger too! But you all don’t remember me because I almost got the world destroyed for the 67th time, and the only way to save it was to make everyone forget who I was!’ See? He’d sound insane. There’s no way they’d believe him.
Peter stares blankly at the wall of his small apartment, trying to think about literally anything other than how fucked up his life is right now. His gaze drifts to the far room, his kitchen. If it can even be called that.
God, he needs to clean up his apartment. There’s trash littered everywhere. On the table, on the counter, in the sink. For god’s sake, he wouldn’t bat an eye if there were leftovers still in the microwave.
Chores.
He always hated chores.
He never complained when May or Ben asked him to do laundry or clean up his room. He just inwardly grumbled and then got it done with. Because he was doing it for someone else. He loves doing stuff for people. Saving someone, buying gifts, helping them around the house? Hell yeah. But doing stuff for himself? That’s the issue.
He could almost see May giving him the Disappointed Aunt Look™ every time he procrastinated picking up his house. Or at least his bed. He’s pretty sure he’s sleeping on more trash and clothes than sheets at this point.
Peter groans to himself, pushing off from the bed, and grabs his web shooters. He stalks the short walk over to the couch and pushes aside some tech parts to sit down. Peter glances around briefly before he finds the remote. Too lazy to actually get up, he thwips out a web and yanks it over instead. He clicks the TV on, then flips upside down to watch. What? It’s comfy. His legs are hooked around the back of the couch, and his back is on the actual couch cushions.
He absently scrolls through channels, choosing a random one before setting the remote aside. At first, he’s not really paying attention. He’s staring at the half-disassembled Stark tech pieces on the coffee table.
But then he hears a painfully familiar voice.
Tony’s voice.
Peter freezes, head snapping up to actually pay attention to the TV.
Sure enough, there he is. Tony Stark.
“-and Stark Industries will be expanding its clean energy initiative across the eastern seaboard,” Peter’s old mentor says from behind the podium.
Peter’s heart clenches.
Tony looks exactly the same. He’s joking with the reporters in the exact same way. Got that same self-assuredness Peter failed to replicate multitudes of times.
Everything is exactly the same as before the spell. Everything but Peter.
Peter just stares at the TV. For longer than he probably should have. Long enough to remember what it was like to work next to Mr. Stark in a lab. Or hear his voice praising him for making some sort of advanced tech piece work. The Tony Stark that remembers Peter Parker. But that Tony Stark doesn’t exist anymore. He probably won’t ever again.
Peter sniffs and snaps out of it, flipping to sit upright. He buries his face in his hands with a half-whine, half-groan. He just listens to Tony’s voice. In some odd, painful way, it’s comforting. It almost makes him hope. Almost. But Peter knows better. He knows better than to get his hopes up. He can’t do that. He won’t.
He wrenches his head up and to the side, only to be met with the hybrid spider suit glinting in his closet. Peter had changed some of the Iron-Spider suit. It was.. Too much for him. Felt too much like home. Like what he can’t go back to. So he modified it. Obviously, it still looks like Spider-Man, and he kept Karen.
Peter’s gaze searches the suit as if it could hold the answers to all his problems.
He sighs, stands, and walks over to his closet. He runs a hand down the fabric, feeling the spiderweb patterns line the suit. Even with the modifications, it still carried traces of Stark tech, his edge, his only real connection to the past. His jaw clenches. Peter pulls it off the hanger and grabs the mask.
“..Okay,” He mutters to the empty apartment. “Pity party’s over.”
He pulls the mask on.
“Spider-Man has work to do.”