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It’s hard to lose a parent when you are young.
Whether you handle it like a champ, or it awakens dark, visceral parts of you that you didn't realise existed. It’s hard.
It’s harder when your other parent locks themself in a deep abyss that you can't pull them out of, and you are left all alone to, in some ways more than others, take care of your remaining family.
Sue had seen a lot growing up.
But what mattered the most was who she had seen most growing up. Who she had basically raised, at some level.
She knew Johnny like the back of her hand. She was familiar with her brother, his mannerisms, his body language, the slightest twitch. Everything- it didn't take much for alarms to ring in her head when she noticed Johnny acting off.
This time, it just came so… out of nowhere that she had no way to prepare for it.
This time, when Johnny sat at the table during Sunday dinner, blankly staring at his food, Sue didn't know how to fix it. He hadn't given her any indication prior to this exact moment that he had been emotionally or physically disturbed.
Ben and Reed kept glancing between Sue and Johnny, while she kept her frowning gaze on her brother. She could sense the two others wanting to say something, to help in whatever way possible. But for that, as it always went, Sue would have to tell them what was wrong with Johnny.
And how could she tell them what was wrong, when she didn't even know it herself?
–
“---Pete? Hey, Peter! Peter Parker! Snap out of it, dingus!”
He shook his head softly, blinking as his attention snapped back to the present.
“You with me?” Nessa smirked, placing her legs up on the desk, hands busy fiddling idly with her tie, “Did you even listen to a word I just said?”
Peter leaned back on his chair, taking his glasses off and rubbing his hands over his face.
“Yeah no,” he sat up straight again, running his hands through his hair, “just tired, I guess.”
“Are you okay?” Nessa asked. Her brows closed together in genuine concern. She took her feet off the desk and leaned in closer to him, whispering, “Is this a spidey thing?”
“I’m fine, Leeds.” he stood up, exhaling audibly, "I'm going to go get a cup of coffee. You want anything?”
She looked at him for a couple of seconds, clearly disturbed, then shook her head with a sigh.
He nodded and walked over to the coffee station in the office, grabbing his designated cup.
I'm fine, he had said.
I'm fine. Except for the fact that I now know that I'm not the only Spider-Man out there.
Except for the fact that my reality has been shaken to the core by a high school version of me.
Except for the fact that I keep feeling like I am missing out on something, or someone incredibly important.
“The Fantastic Four!” somebody shouted in the lobby, making Peter jump and drop the scalding hot coffee on his hand. It didn't burn much, but it did make him wince.
He placed the pot down and moved into the main area, where everyone had moved towards the windows.
“Parker!” Nessa waved him over, “Look! It’s them! Oh my god!”
He walked over, shoving himself into the space next to Nessa.
There they were. The four magical wonders of the world. The defenders of Earth, the force to reckon with. The people that even the miscreants admired to some extent.
Peter did his bit as the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, yes. And without a doubt, the police would be nowhere without him. Not to toot his own horn, but he did stop about four robberies just that week. He did eighty per cent of their work for them.
And people liked him! They did!
But the Fantastic Four? They were loved and admired to a level he couldn’t even imagine attaining.
Well, not as long as Jonah was alive.
They had things. They had the love of the people. They had a team. A whole family. And that’s not to say that he didn't have that. He had Nessa, who might as well be his soulmate. And he had Mary Jane! And Harry! He had people! Though, okay, he would have liked it if Harry and MJ weren’t so goddamn loud with their love. He was over her, sure, but they were disgustingly PDA, always all over each other. But well, he was happy for them nonetheless.
Yes, he had family. Of sorts. And never before had he felt any sort of emptiness, or vacancy in his life. He’d had phases where he truly wished to have a romantic partner, to have a girl to hold and love, but he had never felt a hole, or a vacancy as such in his life.
Until he came back from the other universe.
–
It all started with a nightmare, a week after his return from the alternate universe.
He was leaving a creepy, haunted-looking house. It was thundering, but there was no rain. He was running. He was running faster than his legs could probably manage. In fact, he could feel his legs burning.
But whatever he was running towards was important. He could feel it. It was so important.
He heard a piercing, loud cry before he woke up.
And when he woke up in a cold sweat, he was almost thankful that his brain didn’t decide to stick around to see what he was running towards. He had a feeling that it wasn't something he was entirely ready to see. Or was wanting to actively see.
He’d thought that would be the end of it. He really did. When the next two nights went by peacefully without any nightmares, he really thought that was the end of it.
But when had the universe ever let him exist in comfort?
The next nightmare came a night later.
He was in the weird town again. The unnatural clouds above him roared. Something was off about them. So off. The lightning strikes were red. That wasn’t normal. Nothing about this dream was normal.
“Do you think we can step on the vines now?!” a voice asked, loud and rushed.
Nessa. That was Nessa. He knew Nessa’s voice like the back of his hand. What was Nessa doing here? What–
“Screw the vines!” another voice popped up.
And that was Mj
Yes. Without a doubt.
That was Mj
What the fuck was going on?! Why couldn’t he turn his head?
And then he was running into a forest.
This time he woke up to Nessa shaking him.
He really regretted giving her the keys to his apartment.
The third nightmare surprised him a week later.
This time, he wasn’t running.
Was he throwing… a molotov cocktail? At–
What the fuck was that?
What the actual fuck was that?
Holy fucking shit.
What was that?
What was–
He woke up panting, his shirt soaked with sweat.
The nightmares stopped for a while after that.
Mostly because he stopped sleeping as well.
It was after his third botched attempt at stopping a miscreant in two weeks that he had realised he couldn’t be Spider-Man and not sleep. Jonah had the time of his life that week, constantly painting Spider-Man as a threat to society in the newspapers.
He hit the sack as soon as he reached home, Friday night.
And without fail, the nightmares crept back to him.
He had an axe in hand. The haunted house was covered in vines. And he had an axe in hand.
Then the earth rumbled. And Mj was there, holding onto him. And Nessa was holding his arm. Oh god. Oh no. Oh please don’t let them get hurt—
And the world stopped shaking. It did.
And for a second, he thought this nightmare was over. It was over, and he would wake up soon. Dream-Nessa —god, what the hell was she wearing?-– sent a small smile at him as the ground stopped moving under them.
He should’ve known better; he really should have.
A vine came alive. Oh god. It came alive, and wrapped itself around Nessa’s ankle, and within the next second, she was slammed against the wall, the vines holding her up, wrapping around her entire body. And her neck.
She screamed a name.
She screamed a name that wasn’t his. Then she screamed another. And that wasn't his either.
He froze.
He fucking froze.
But Mj didn't.
She ran forward with a—
With a—
Was that a fucking shotgun?!
She slammed it against a vine.
His body moved without him willing it to. And then he was swinging the axe, trying to chop the vines that were actively choking Nessa.
He only got about three hits in before a vine wrapped around his throat, raising him up against the wall—
He woke up coughing and gagging, his eyes stinging.
A millisecond later, he was running towards his landline to call Nessa.
He cried actual tears of relief upon hearing her sleepy voice.
“There’s something going on with you, Pete. Her eyebrows were contorted into a worried frown. Her lower lip was folded in under her upper teeth. She looked scared. More scared than him, even. “What are you not telling me, dingus?”
Peter just let out a sob.
She held him to sleep after that.
She showed up because he needed her at four in the morning. And she held him. Because she always knew what he needed.
He never wanted to think about that nightmare ever again.
When he fell asleep for the second time that night, he found himself sitting in front of a… caravan?
His neck was hurting. But his brain didn’t seem to listen to his commands, and so he couldn't touch or inspect it.
“Not everything has a happy ending.”
He turned his head to the left. Nessa was sitting next to him.
“Yeah, yeah. Believe me. I know,” the words left his mouth on their own accord. He was not in control of his actions. He felt like he was trapped in a body that was both his own, yet entirely foreign, one he didn't know the controls of.
His eyes shifted out and away. And there stood Mj.
“I’m not talking about failed romance,” Nessa said, pouring kerosene into a glass bottle that he was holding. When the absolute fuck did he pick that up? “I just,” she spoke up again, and he looked back up at her, "I have this terrible, gnawing feeling that-” she paused, looking up at him.
“It might not work out for us this time.”
What?
What might not work out? What was she talking about–
“You think we shouldn’t be doing this?” and yes, that was his voice. It was absolutely his voice. But those weren't his words.
“I think,” she continued pouring the fuel, “We’re mad fools, the lot of us.” She quirked an eyebrow, a small smirk on her face, “but…”
Her eyes drifted out to the massive field in front of them. Where the hell were they?
She sighed.
“But if we don’t stop him, who will?”
Who are we stopping, Nessa? Who are we stopping? What are you talking about?
His own eyes drifted out towards the field, and towards M.J., and a young girl standing next to her. And—
And—
Wild, unruly curls flying in the air.
A trash can lid, and a child in front.
A leather jacket.
He knew him.
He knew him.
He needed to see–
He needed to see him. Who was he? Who was he?
Who was–
He woke up weirdly calm for once, with the sun shining on his face.
His head was resting on Nessa’s stomach.
His eyes fell to the clock. And then they widened.
Jameson was going to kill them.
He began noticing a pattern after that.
Alone, his dreams were terrifying.
But when Nessa, Mj or Harry were there? They were less horrifying, although still extremely disorienting.
The night after Nessa and him had fallen asleep together, Mj and Harry had shown up to get wasted on cheap liquor. And who was Peter to decline that offer?
He had fallen asleep on Harry’s shoulder this time, having downed about two bottles of what the label advertised as “VODCA.”
He woke up with vomit in his throat, having witnessed his uncontrollable dream-self call dream-Harry a bunch of colourful words that he really would rather die before repeating. He was almost happy that dream-Harry had beat the shit out of him for it.
Harry held his hair back as he threw up into a trash can that Mj had rushed to get.
“You’re hiding something,” Mj said, her eyebrows tensed up. She shook her head softly. They had all been sitting on the floor. Harry was holding Peter close with a hand on the back of his head, pressing his face into his shoulder.
Peter whined, closing his eyes.
“You can tell us, Peter,” she’d said, her eyes full of genuineness. Her lips turned downwards.
“Whatever it is. You can tell us.”
It was out of the question.
Nessa? Maybe. Maybe he would tell her. Perhaps.
She already knew about Spider-Man. She knew.
MJ and Harry? They knew nothing.
He planned on keeping it that way.
The conversation had dropped quickly after that.
He stopped sleeping alone.
Nessa temporarily shifted in with him.
His dreams remained pleasant for a while after that.
A couple of nights went by dreamlessly. And when he did dream, he dreamt weird, similar scenes. Of him and Nessa slinging ice-cream. Of him and Nessa in a video store. Of him and Nessa in a car.
But luckily, no nightmares.
No horrifying creatures that wouldn’t leave his mind. Not after the last one he’d seen.
He’d been Spider-Man for years now. Years. And he’d seen some truly disturbing shit. He really had. But what he had seen in that nightmare? That… that thing? It was the single-most horrifying creature he had ever seen.
He never wanted to see it again.
Eventually, Nessa had to go back home, after a whole month of slumber-parties with Peter. Her family had come over for the weekend. She promised to return as soon as possible.
He couldn't even last one night without her.
He was running through the forest again.
“Fuck!” a voice sounded behind him. Mj. “I dropped my gun!”
“I’ll buy you a new one!” his lips moved to say, “Leave it!”
The forest was deep. It was so deep.
And whatever was waiting on the other side of it; whatever he was running towards— he reckoned it wouldn't be waiting for long. He didn't have time. He was running out of time.
He woke up with a heavy chest and tears in his eyes.
He didn’t have work that weekend, so he was forced to sit with the nightmares.
He tried to distract himself. He tried to focus on cleaning up his apartment. And doing the laundry, and rearranging his cupboards. But he kept coming back to the dream.
And like an ice bucket to the head, a cold reality washed over him.
He wanted to know what would happen next.
He wanted his dream-self to exit that forest. He wanted to know what he was running towards.
He fell asleep that night, somewhat prepared for the horrors that waited for him.
Except they never came.
Now that he was ready, they did not come.
Instead, that night, he was back at the video store, Nessa by his side. Both of them were wearing ugly green vests.
They worked here, he realised. The vests were uniform.
“--and honestly, I couldn't care less, y’know? It’s not like I'm actively asking for a car for myself. I'm not even asking for a license!” Dream-Nessa yapped, shaking her head. The bun on top of her head bounced as she moved. “I am just saying, it would make their lives easier if they did buy one. They’re getting old! What are you going to do with that money? Shove it up your ass and take it with you to the grave?!”
He turned from where he was rearranging a shelf to stare at her. Though the action wasn’t of his own volition, it was close to what he consciously wanted to do anyway.
The little bell over the door rang.
He turned his head.
His heart immediately started racing.
Unruly curls. Leather jacket.
Add to it a blinding smile. Brighter than the sun.
“Ah, my favourite Santa's elves, the leather jacket said, leaning against the register counter.
And he felt as if someone poured hot chocolate directly into his heart.
For the first time since his return from the alternate universe, he felt his heart to be whole.
Are you what I have been looking for? He wanted to ask. But his heart already knew the answer.
His knees buckled. Well, mentally, at least.
Physically, his dream-self looked away with a sigh.
You absolute idiot, he wanted to yell at his dream-self, look up! Look up!
“What do you want, Munson?” he found himself saying.
The beautiful man in front of him grinned.
He woke up before he could get a reply.
He forgot the name his dream-self had called the man as soon as he woke up.
Sunday night, he slept with a marker in hand.
Monday morning, he woke up from a dreamless sleep.
He was irritated the whole day at work.
When Jameson asked him for incriminating pictures of Spider-Man for the thousandth time that day, he snapped.
“You think he just spends his free time robbing banks? And do you think I run at the speed of lightning?!”
He spent the rest of the day doing coffee runs as punishment.
Nessa showed up with dinner at around nine.
“You are crazy,” she said, biting into her hamburger. She swallowed before continuing, “Snapping at Jonah like that. What if he fired you? Hm? What would I do without my best friend at work?”
Peter grinned as he ate a fry.
“Oh please,” he said, chewing it, “He knows he can’t do better than me.”
Nessa rolled her eyes.
“You have it so easy,” she shook her head, “You get paid to take your own pictures all day long. Ugh. Meanwhile I have to compliment Jonah every day to keep my fucking job.”
“He’s an asshole,” Peter said, reaching for the Coke, “A Grade-A asshole.”
“You can say that again, sister,” Nessa said, sighing.
They clinked their soda bottles together.
That night, it wasn’t Peter who woke up shaking from a nightmare.
He’d woken up from a pretty dreamless sleep to the sound of sobbing.
He immediately got up, remembering who was with him.
“Nessa?” he called out, turning the bedside lamp on. She was lying in her usual spot, right next to him on the bed. Sleeping. And crying, in her sleep.
He grabbed her arm softly, shaking it.
“Ness,” he whispered, shaking her again. She whimpered.
“Nessa!” he shook her harder.
Her eyes opened wide, her breathing out of control.
“Hey, hey, breathe,” he said as she sat up, her hand over her heart. He placed a hand on her back, rubbing softly, “Breathe, Vanessa. Breathe.”
“Pete,” she whimpered, sounding so incredibly small. Tears ran down her face. His heart broke into a million pieces at the sight. He pulled her towards his chest.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he whispered, rocking them back and forth.
They fell asleep in each other's arms yet again.
“I need to tell you something.”
Peter paused.
“Uh,” his voice echoed in the tiny room. He frowned.
He placed the bar of soap down.
“Can this wait until after I shower?”
“No,” Nessa said from the other side of the curtain. “No, it can't. I can say it now, when you’re not looking at me. And so I can safely exit this apartment when you inevitably get disgusted by me.”
He frowned, peeking his head out from behind the curtain. “Ness, what–”
“No, don't!" she said, grabbing the curtain and pulling it over him again, “Let me just– god. It took me ages to get this much courage. Don't ask me to be braver than I already am being right now. Please.”
Peter paused.
The water kept running. He stood under it, frozen.
Nessa was silent. He could hear her heavy breathing.
The silence stretched for another ten seconds before he decided to say something.
“Ness-”
“Shut up, Parker. Just, shut up,” she said in a shaky, wobbly voice. Fuck. She was crying. And Peter couldn’t do anything but shut his eyes and listen.
She took an audibly deep breath.
“Do you remember Gwen?”
He frowned, opening his eyes.
“Stacy?”
“The one and only.”
He hummed. Of course he remembered Gwen Stacy. She’d been his first love.
“You remember how you used your brilliant deduction skills to come to the conclusion that I kept staring at her because I was jealous? That I wanted to be your girlfriend instead?”
His face flushed. He ran his hands down his face, groaning, "Haven't I apologised enough for that–”
“No, no, you have. You have,” she rushed out, “Not that you had anything to be sorry about. No. It was a valid deduction.”
He nodded, but stayed silent.
She took another deep breath.
“I was jealous.”
What?
Wait, what is she–
“Wait, no, I should've framed that better– shit. Okay, rephrasing,” she rambled, almost panting. “I was jealous. But not of Gwen.”
Peter was still as a rock.
“I was jealous of you,” she breathed out, her voice breaking yet again. A sob. “I wanted to be you,” she let out, barely audible over the running water. “I wanted to be her girlfriend. I still do.”
He turned the water off.
Holy shit. Had she just–?
He was breathing heavily now as well, his own heartbeat racing.
“Pete,” she sobbed outside, “Pete, say something.”
He couldn’t move.
She sobbed again.
The sound of the door opening sounded a second later.
He jumped into action.
“Wait, fuck!” he said, peeking out, “Ness!”
She stopped, her hand still on the handle. Tears ran down her cheeks without any signs of stopping soon. Her body shook with her sobs. She looked so, so small.
“Hand me my towel, will you?” he asked with urgency, “Quick, quick!”
She handed him the fresh towel with a shaky hand.
He let the curtain drop as he rushed to wrap the towel around his waist. “Don’t move,” he said, as gently as he could manage. Then, firmer, "Do not move.”
He almost ripped the curtain off the pole with how fast he pulled it back, momentarily forgetting his stupid spidey strength.
She stood there in front of him, tears rapidly flowing down her cheeks, body shaking. Her scared eyes looked into his; watery, terrified. Oh god, His silence made her feel this way.
He couldn’t have moved faster.
He threw his arms around her, pulling her against his wet body.
Her barely remaining resolve broke, and she began openly sobbing. Ugly, guttural cries ripped from her throat. Her arms, held down by the sheer pressure of his own arms, wrapped around his waist, holding him as tight as she possibly could.
“I love you,” he reminded her, and she let out another cry. “I love you so much, Vanessa. I am so proud of you. I am so proud of who you are,” he said, his own eyes watery, “I will love you forever. I promise. I promise you. I will love you forever.”
They ended up calling in sick. Both of them.
The day was spent cooking, eating, and gossiping. Mostly about Robin’s terrible romantic interests.
“No, she doesn't!"
“Oh she totally does!” he reiterated, laughing, “do you not remember when she sang the national anthem during my basketball finals? It was so nasally! And oh my god!” he laughed, “Her fucking cover of ‘stand by me’ last year at the reunion? It was like–” he cleared his throat, beginning to belt out Ben E. King’s beautiful song in a horrendously nasally note, “when the night has come, and the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we’ll see–”
Nessa started laughing too, hand over her mouth, “Okay, okay, I admit it. Jenna Watkins does sound like a muppet.”
“Come on, join me, Leeds,” he said, fully invested in his own performance now, continuing immediately afterwards. “No, I won’t be afraid, Oh, I won’t be afraid---”
Nessa did, in fact, jump in soon enough, with her own terribly nasally rendition of the song.
God. As long as he had her, he really needed no one else. The hole in his chest felt non-existent as they sat there on his couch, singing the lyrics of an otherwise incredible song in the most terrible note they could muster.
“Why today?”
“Hm?” Nessa turned on her side to face him. He was already facing her, his body turned to its side.
He placed his hand under his head. “Why did you tell me today? After all these years?” he asked, his voice low, "I mean, I am very, very happy that you did. That you trusted me enough with it. But why today?”
She sighed. Her eyes closed.
“Yesterday,” she began, almost in a whisper. She folded her arm to lay her head on it. “At dinner, with my family, Aunt Rachel kept asking me when I was planning on getting married,” she bit her lip, opening her eyes just a tad bit, her gaze fixed downwards, “And why I haven't married you yet, considering how close we are,” she let out a scoff. She looked up, finally, into his eyes. “And it got me thinking. We are close, we are so close. Yet you have no idea who I am,” she said, “You don't know this huge part of me. And it… broke me, you know? The fact that the person I love the most didn’t love me fully, because he didn't know all parts of me fully.”
His lips contorted into a soft, pitiful smile.
“And it was like, a voice in the back of my head was yelling at me the whole night. I had this nightmare where I told you,” she gulped, her eyes teary again, “And you looked at me with so much disgust. You told me you couldn’t possibly be seen with a d-”
“Hey, hey,” Peter cut her off, his hand reaching out to grab her arm, “hey. Come here,” he whispered, pulling her towards himself. She went in without any fight.
He combed his fingers through her hair. “I meant what I said,” he whispered, “I will love you forever, Vanessa Leeds.” he pressed a kiss into her hair. “Every single part of you.”
That night, his dreams took him to a bathroom stall.
Ness sat opposite him, both of them dressed in dark blue… sailor outfits?
“I wanted her to look at me,” dream-Nessa said, her eyes fixed away from him. “But,” a subtle, pained smile spread on her face, “She couldn’t pull her eyes away from you and your–” she turned to look at him, her gaze trailing up to– “stupid hair.”
He just stared. Not like he could do something else, even if he wanted.
“And I didn't understand because you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor,” she said, almost disbelieving, “And you asked dumb questions, and you were a douchebag!”
Okay. So apparently he wasn't very well perceived in this weird dream reality.
“And-” her voice broke, “And you didn't even like her and…” she sat there, mouth agape, struggling to form the next words, “I would go home… and just scream into my pillow.”
In the next moment, he truly understood why this version of him was being perceived as a douchebag, because the next words out of his dream-self’s mouth were–
“But Tammy Thompson’s a girl.”
Yeah.
No shit, Sherlock.
Nessa looked at him brokenly, defeated. She whispered, “Steve…”
Steve.
Steve.
Who was Steve?
Was he Steve?
“Yeah?” his dream-self, Steve, said, douche-ily.
She stared at him.
He could read Nessa like a book in any universe, it seemed.
“Oh…” he let out.
She huffed, nodding. Mockingly, she repeated, “Oh.”
“Holy shit,” Steve leaned back. And god. He wanted to punch himself.
Nessa thumped her head back against the wall too.
“Yeah,” she said, “Holy shit.”
He reached for the marker on his nightstand the second he woke up.
STEVE, he wrote, in capital, across his forearm.
He fell back asleep the very next second.
“Who in the world is Steve?"
He sighed, putting the coffee pot down.
He should've anticipated it, honestly. He should’ve known that Mj would be the first to spot it and inquire.
He also should've thought twice before rolling his sleeves up, despite the heat.
“Just…” he turned around with his cup, taking a sip. He shrugged. “Someone I met last night,” he said in a high-pitched voice, putting the cup on the counter to roll his sleeves down.
Mj quirked an eyebrow.
“You,” she started, tilting her head, “Wrote the name… of a random person…” she inquired, her expression disbelieving, “On your entire forearm... In permanent ink…?”
He sipped his coffee again, then nodded.
“Yep,” he said, eyes fixed on the ground, “He was a nice guy. Had um, a family. I’m sure.”
She looked at him as if he had grown four horns.
“What are you even–”
Luckily enough for him, they were interrupted by Harry sneaking up behind her and pressing a kiss into her neck.
It was usually very hard to get Mj off your trail, but if you had any chance at it, it was by sending Harry in. He was a pro at distracting her.
She sent him one final disturbed look before turning to face Harry and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Harry smiled at her, then at Peter, asking if they were still down to hang out that weekend. Once Peter gave a nod in confirmation, he whisked Mj away to his own desk.
He started keeping a notebook.
The first thing he wrote was the name. STEVE. In block letters, right on the first page.
Then, he started writing the nightmares and dreams. He wrote, and wrote, and wrote. Every dream he remembered, every nightmare still haunting him. The haunted house, the forest, the earthquake, the running; the video store, the car rides; the disturbing dream with Harry in it. Yeah, this Steve was a fucking douchebag, alright.
And then on a separate page, he wrote about the man with curls and the leather jacket.
So now he had records. He had pieces of a puzzle.
To solve this puzzle, though, he would need to let himself look at it properly.
Which meant he had to allow himself to experience the nightmares again.
Which meant he couldn't let Nessa stay over.
“But why?” she asked, raising her hands, “You still haven't told me why!”
“Because!” he said, raising his own hands. He really didn't have a better explanation. Or any explanation for that matter.
“Pete!”
“Ness!”
Her expression fell then.
“Is this…” she asked softly, “Is it because of what I told you? About um, me being…. Lesbian?”
“What?” he let out, almost offended that she would think so, “Absolutely not. No, never, Ness. Never!” he rushed out, pushing off his kitchen counter to stand close to her, “No, I would never do that. Never.”
He sighed. “It’s just… something I am going through. I need to handle this on my own, okay?”
She stared at him for a second. He could see from her expression that she wanted to fight him, that she wanted to ask further questions. She could never leave well enough alone. It was one of the things about her that, weirdly, Peter found the most endearing.
She sighed, then.
“Fine,” she said. He let out a breath of relief. “Fine,” she repeated, grabbing her bag, “But!” She turned to him. “One week. I give you one week before I pressure you for answers. Okay?”
He grimaced. “Give me three.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
“One.”
“Two it is,” he said, raising his hand.
She glared at him.
Then met his hand for a shake.
He was drowning.
He was drowning, and something on his ankle kept pulling him deeper into the water.
Why was he drowning? He knew how to swim. He knew how to swim!
When he broke the surface, he coughed, choking on the water in his lungs.
His lungs burned.
When he calmed himself down enough to look around, he found himself back in the horrendously creepy town again. The sky was still just as dark, and the lightning strikes were still bright red. That's great. That's just great.
He stood up slowly from the pile of vines he was lying on. Great. He still had no control over his body.
A loud shriek echoed behind him, making him jump and turn around.
And… what the fuck was that? Oh god, not more weird creatures.
Something flew towards him at full speed.
Another shriek from another direction. He turned around in fear.
Multiple shrieks, and multiple…. Bats? Flying towards him.
He looked around. God. Fuck. Fuck.
Peter’s consciousness wasn’t registering what Steve's body was doing.
Steve ran towards a pile of vines.
An oar. There was an oar there. Yes! Good job, Steve.
He woke up gasping for air after nearly being choked to death in his nightmare.
He didn't even allow his body to catch up before rushing to grab the notebook on the nightstand.
Over the week, he collected more pieces of the puzzle.
On Wednesday night, he saw Steve– he had started referring to his dream self as Steve– in some sort of basement, being punched and kicked to a pulp by what sounded like Russian soldiers, begging them to stop, telling them over and over how he worked for Scoops Ahoy. But they didn't stop. They didn't.
He woke up with a nauseating headache, but managed to scribble down SCOOPS AHOY on a new page.
Thursday night, he found Steve injured– how was he always beaten up?! – in the back of a car driven by a child. A fucking child. He was yelling and screaming for the young girl to stop the car, his own head, once again, in incredible pain.
He woke up when the girl swerved the car to a stop.
He wrote down “friends with bratty children,” next to SCOOPS AHOY.
Friday night, he was in an ice-cream shop.
Scoops Ahoy, his brain provided. He was at Scoops Ahoy.
He was running out of a room and—
“Henderson!” he said, excitement barely disguised. He threw his hands in the air as he ran towards a small kid in the front of the ice-cream counter.
He remembered that kid. Yes, he did. He was in the previous night’s dream too.
“He’s back, he's back!”
He woke up actually concerned for Steve's social circle.
He wrote HENDERSON in his notebook, nonetheless.
The notebook filled up rather quickly. He’d filled it up halfway in just about a week.
He didn't even know what puzzle he was solving. He wished he had the other Peters with him, not for the first time since this whole nightmare debacle started.
He just wanted a proper night of sleep.
As he stood in his kitchen Saturday evening preparing snacks for the group hang, his brain was already in his dreamworld.
What was this dreamworld exactly? Was it just a horrifying manifestation of his fears as Spider-Man? Though, that theory was laid to waste from the start, considering how detailed these nightmares were. Almost as if they weren't dreams. As if they were memories. Memories from a life he didn't remember living.
Alternate universes existed. That was established months ago. His role as Spider-Man existed in other universes. Perhaps, even with people who weren't Peter Parker; Perhaps there were spider-men, or women, out there who weren't Peter Parker.
If there were people out there who were spider-men, but not Peter, did that mean he still existed in those universes as Peter? Or as another spider-man? Why was it only the four of them, the four spider-men, who got to meet? Where were the rest? Were there more?
And did everyone forget who Peter Parker was? If the purpose of the doctor’s spell was to erase Peter Parker from everyone’s memory, was that spell only bound to that specific universe’s Peter? It must have been, right? Because his people still remembered him. They all remembered him.
They looked different, he remembered. All of them. Each Peter looked different.
But his Dream-Self still looked like him. He had seen him once, in a mirror.
Steve looked exactly like him.
Where did that leave him?
The most plausible theory seemed to be theory number one. Or well, more accurately, thought number one.
A life forgotten. A life he didn't remember living.
Either that, or just meaningless dreams.
He was leaning towards the former, after everything he had seen.
“--And it’s just so… ugh! So annoying! Because he knows I'm better! He knows!” Mj groaned, “But he will still send any other male reporter out before considering me. I hate this, I hate him!”
Pete hummed, his eyes fixed on her.
They were all lying on the floor of his mini-living-room yet again. Nessa sat with her back against the couch. Peter had his head in her lap, gladly enjoying her fingers in his hair. Harry was sitting on the bean bag that he himself had gifted to Peter. Mj sat sideways on his lap, her head against his shoulder, a glass of sipping whiskey in hand.
“He is an absolute douchebag, Ems,” Harry said, his hand rubbing circles on her hip, “Anyone who doesn’t see your talents and potential is an actual asshole,” he said with sincerity, “You are better than any of those assholes in there. Especially Brock.”
Peter frowned.
“Which one’s Brock, again?”
Mj groaned, throwing her head back in annoyance, before turning to face Peter again. “Eddie Brock. This new reporter. Just because he’s older, and a man, he is— he– Peter? Pete?”
Peter’s eyes were busy rolling to the back of his skull.
“Holy shit! Holy shit! Peter! Pete, please!” were the last words he heard before his consciousness drifted away from their plane of existence.
He was back in the forest.
He was closer now. He could feel it in his bones.
Or well, Steve's bones.
Their bones?
In the bones.
A blood-curdling scream echoed through the forest.
Not a shriek, like those demon bats had let out. No.
This was human. This was a human screaming.
Steve started running faster.
Then he screamed as well.
“Dustin!”
He was so close. He was so close.
“Steve!” a cry echoed in response. A pained, distraught cry.
“Dustin!” he screamed back, his throat aching due to the volume he’d achieved.
They’d exited the forest now. They were on a road. Mj and Nessa were right behind him, he remembered from the prior dreams.
He was running as his life depended on it.
The crying got louder as he reached the entrance of what looked like a trailer park.
“I'm coming! Dustin! I'm coming!”
“He’s not breathing!” the voice bellowed out, “Steve!”
He spotted a figure hunched over on the ground.
A sense of dread enveloped him.
He wondered if it was Steve's dread that was seeping into Peter’s consciousness.
“No!” Steve screamed as he reached closer, speeding up immediately as his eyes set upon the scene. “No, no, no!”
Nothing could have prepared Peter for what he saw.
“No! Fuck!” Steve collapsed onto his knees, taking off his jacket, all while Peter’s consciousness tried to swallow down what he was looking at, “Fuck you, Munson! Fuck you! Fuck!”
The curls were the first thing he noticed.
The crimson-red stained clothes were the second.
His closed eyes were the third.
“Eddie, you piece of shit! You absolute idiot! Fuck you! Fuck you, Munson! Fuck you–”
“Eddie!”
His body lurched up.
“Woah, woah, woah!”
“Easy! Easy there, Parker!”
He panted, placing his hand over his heart.
“Breathe,” a familiar, safe voice said. He found himself following the simple instructions.
His hazy eyes settled on the man in front of him.
“Breathe,” Harry repeated, his hand on Peter’s shoulder, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“Here!” Mj appeared in front of him, a glass of water in hand. She sat down on her knees, pressing the glass to his lips, “Take a sip. Slowly.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head rapidly, pulling away. “No,” he grumbled, “No,” he panted.
He needed his notebook. He needed to write the name down. He needed to write it before he forgot.
“Move,” he grumbled, pushing himself up. His body ached, his head throbbed. He fought through it, standing up shakily, almost falling over again. And then he ran. He ran into his bedroom.
He stumbled and nearly fell over at least five times in the pursuit of his notebook.
It wasn’t until he scribbled EDDIE MUNSON on a blank, empty page, leaving no space for anything else, that he felt safe enough to allow himself to collapse onto his bed.
His peace was, however, disturbed by a splash of water on his face.
“Oh, what?!” he groaned, sitting up again, wincing at the spark of pain the movement brought.
“You are going to explain,” Mj said, standing over him, his notebook in her hand— oh shit, his notebook was in her hand— “And you’re going to explain now.”
Nessa stood to her right, looking apologetic; Harry stood to her left, staring into the open notebook in her hand.
Being in the nightmare realm almost appealed to him at that moment.
“And how long exactly,” Mj asked, eyes closed, fingers massaging her temple, “Have you been Spider-Man?”
In no way could he have predicted where this average Saturday-night-hang would land him. Not in a million years could he have predicted that this would be how he would tell his closest friends that he was, in fact, Spider-Man.
But well. Life worked in strange ways.
He bit his lip.
There was no answer he could give that wouldn't warrant yelling.
“Since,” he gulped, looking anywhere but at his friends, “The start? Since Spider-Man has been around?” he said, almost as if he was questioning it himself, "I mean, I have always been Spider-Man.”
“Wow,” Harry said, staring at the ground, “Wow.”
“Yeah,” Peter scoffed, “Wow.”
“And you,” MJ turned to Nessa, narrowing her eyes, “You knew? All along?”
“Not all along!” Ness said, defensively, raising her arms, “I learnt when he came to my house at 3 a.m. one night after getting his ass handed to him by local thieves—”
“Okay, that is a bit of an exaggeration–”
“Like he was bleeding everywhere, and I had to fix him up in the kitchen because if I had taken him upstairs, my parents would've heard–”
“It was not that bad!”
“Okay! Okay, you two,” Mj said, clearly frustrated, “Okay. And when was this?”
Nessa gulped.
Harry and Mj stared at her.
“Uh,” she rubbed her neck, flushing, “like, senior year? Or something? I don't know–”
“Wait, senior year of school?” Harry asked, eyes wide, “You have known that long?”
“I'm sorry, okay!” Nessa blurted out. Peter shoved his face into his hands. “I'm sorry!” she repeated, “He made me promise not to tell anyone!”
“For everyone’s safety!” Peter groaned, raising his head, “for all of your safety,” he reiterated. “I didn't want you to be the collateral in case the secret gets out. I’m not just fighting local thieves, you know,” he glared at Nessa, who sent him a sheepish smile, “I’m fighting real dangerous people too. And I cannot afford for any of you to be caught in that!” He said, "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I was the reason that anything ever happened to any of you!”
“Did it ever occur to you that it's a risk we're willing to take?” Harry asked, a frown on his face.
Peter raised an eyebrow.
Harry scoffed.
“That’s just typical Peter Parker. Making everyone’s decisions for them.”
“Hey now–”
“Don’t we get a say in this?” Harry asked, his voice raising just a bit. He stood up from where he was sitting on the bed. “We’ve been friends, best friends, since elementary school!” he yelled out, “I have known you for more than twenty years! That can't possibly be your excuse! That you didn't want us to get hurt,” he said, visible tears fogging up his eyesight.
Peter sighed, “Harry–”
“No!” Harry cried out, “No. No, this is not okay.” he shook his head, anger and sadness both evident on his face. “You were a child too! You were– oh god. You’ve been hit by trucks, and cars, and–and holy shit, that octopus-arms-guy!” Harry was hyperventilating now, “I have seen Spider-Man being beaten to a pulp on the TV! I have seen–”
He stopped rambling and started sobbing the second Peter got his arms around him.
“It’s not fair,” Harry cried into his shoulder, muffled by the fabric, “It’s not fair. You’re not fair.”
“So me and Vanessa are both in these dreams-slash-nightmares?”
“Yep.”
“And Harry?”
“Showed up once. Beat the shit out of me.”
Harry smirked humorously, body and mind calmer than before. “Resisting the urge presently as well.”
Peter glared at him.
Mj bit down a smile.
“Okay, but there are also extra characters,” Nessa said, picking the notebook up. She flipped the page, “Like, who the fuck is HENDERSON?”
“He actually showed up in the dream with you,” Peter said, leaning his head back against the backrest, “He’s a child. A literal child.”
Nessa raised her eyebrows, “And… he’s your friend… in these dreams…”
Peter sighed, “Looks like it.”
Nessa nodded, visibly containing her laughter.
“But these nightmares,” Mj started, frowning, “they only come to you when you sleep, correct?”
“Yes.”
She nodded, “Then what triggered your little episode in the living room?” she asked, “What was that?”
“I don't know,” he shrugged, grabbing his notebook from Nessa’s hands. He sighed, turning to the last thing he wrote in it. “I mean, it was absolutely the same kind of nightmare as the previous ones. I just have no idea–”
EDDIE MUNSON.
There it was. The last thing he had written, just less than an hour ago.
He frowned.
“Hey Em?”
Mj hummed.
“You were talking about an Eddi, before my episode, right?”
She frowned.
“Brock?” she nodded, “Yeah. You started convulsing immediately after I said his name, actually.”
Peter nodded, clicking his tongue.
“Right,” he said, standing up from the bed. He went to his desk to grab a pen.
He placed the notebook on the bed, opening up a new page.
Then, he looked up at his friends.
At Nessa, his rock. The person who had been with him since middle school, through thick and thin. The person who literally saved him multiple times.
At Harry. His childhood friend. The person who got him through school. His anchor.
At Mj. Smart, intuitive, incredibly Mj. He really didn't know where he would be without her.
These people had saved him, time and time again. From others, from himself.
God. He was really doing this, wasn't he?
“Okay,” he sighed, sitting down on the floor beside the bed, his knees folded under him, “Okay. I’m going to ask you all to help me. Okay?” he said, gulping, “I’m not going to fight this alone. But–” he put his finger up noticing everyone’s huge smiles, “but, your lips have to be absolutely, one hundred percent sealed. Okay? No one can know. No one can know. This stays with the four of us.”
“Of course,” Harry said, “We’d never betray your trust.”
Peter nodded.
“And,” he added, “No freaking out when I do dangerous things. I have already suffered through that with Nessa–”
“Oh, I’m so sorry that I care if you live or die–”
"---I don't need you two worrying too, okay? You have to trust that I know what I am doing,” he said, looking up at Mj and Harry. Both of them wore twin worried looks. But they nodded.
Peter smiled.
“Okay,” he said, picking up his pen again.
“Let’s try to solve this.”
Within the hour, they had a list of all the people from the dreams that Peter could remember.
“Okay,” Mj said, picking up the notebook, “We’ve got Steve, who is apparently you,” she said, quirking an eyebrow, “Dustin Henderson, who is a small child, and apparently your friend,” Peter pinched Nessa before she could laugh, “And Eddie Munson. Who is apparently your biggest trigger,” she said, leaning back to lay her head on Harry’s chest, sideways. She pulled her knees up, placing the notebook on top of the. “And then we have me, Ness, and Harry as supporting characters,” she bit the back of the pen. Her eyes shot up to meet Peter’s.
“How sure are we that these are not just dreams?” she asked, “How are you so sure that they mean something?”
His hand stopped stroking Nessa’s hair.
He had to tell them.
He had to.
He sighed.
“Okay,” he bit his lip.
“There is something else that happened a couple of months ago–”
“And… uh–” Mj asked, staring at the ground, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, despite her wide-blown eyes, “Nessa… you knew about this too?”
“Who do you think covered his ass at work for the whole week he mysteriously disappeared?”
“Huh…” Mj let out.
Harry lay by her side, eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at the ceiling.
“There are more of you…” he mumbled, seemingly in shock.
“Yes,” Peter said, sipping from the beer bottle that Mj had gotten for all of them midway through the retelling of the multiversal events Peter went through.
“And multiverses exist…?” Harry questioned, still in shock.
“Also yes,
“Right,” Harry nodded softly, “Just checking.”
“So you and your… versions… essentially just proved the multiverse theory,” Mj scoffed, a smirk on her face, “Do you think that is what this is? Could these be memories of a different you? From a different universe?”
“I thought so, initially,” he said, turning his head to face her, “But we all looked so different, you know? All of us Peters… we all were so different,” he pushed his hair out of his eyes. “But Steve. Steve looks exactly like me. One hundred per cent.”
“Huh,” Mj clicked her tongue, “Okay,” she picked the pen up.
The room fell quiet.
“Does this imply,” Mj broke the silence again, a second later. “That you still exist in their universes? In the other Peters’ universes?” she asked, “Just not as Peter Parker?”
He frowned.
Huh.
That kind of made sense.
“And what happens in the universes where Peter Parker doesn’t exist?” she asked, staring at a spot on the mattress, “Do you still exist? Again, just not as Peter?”
“That… wow,” he said, sitting up, “That makes sense.”
“That would explain it,” Harry piped up from where he was lying sideways on the bed, legs hanging off the edge, “If you still exist as someone in universes where you are not Peter Parker, it is entirely possible that in one such universe, you exist as Steve,” he said. Then he wrinkled his nose. “Wow. So glad you’re not named Steve in our reality. Imagine being seen with a Steve.”
Peter kicked him on the side. Harry chuckled.
“Do you think you can control these dreams?” Nessa asked, her head resting on Peter’s shoulder, her back pressed against Peter’s side, “Have you tried?”
“The most control I have is through who I fall asleep with,” he said, biting his lip, “The worst nightmares hit when I'm alone.” he looked up at the others, “When I'm with you guys, they’re not as bad. They’re like memories, more than nightmares.”
Silence took over again.
“I love how this kind of implies that we find each other in every universe,” Harry whispered when the silence stretched for too long. “The four of us. We’d always find each other.”
Peter didn’t mention the absence he felt in his bones.
He didn't mention the name that came to mind with the absence either.
“Do you think we could find the others?”
Nessa mumbled sleepily from the bed, her body draped over Mj’s legs.
It must have been around midnight. They were all so getting scolded at work the next day when they inevitably fell asleep on their desks.
“What do you mean?” Peter asked from where he was lying on the floor.
She peeked over the edge.
“I mean,” she said, “Me, Mj, and Harry, we are right here,” she pointed at all of them, “so this,” she scrambled to grab his notebook, then peeked over the edge again, “This Dustin Henderson. Do you think he exists in this timeline too? And this Eddie Munson?”
“It makes sense,” Harry said, rolling over onto his side next to Peter, “I mean, he might have a different name here. Both of them. But they probably do exist.”
“Do you think we should find them?” Peter asked softly. He was terrified of the answer.
“I mean,” Harry shrugged, his head resting on his fist, “Maybe it would stop the nightmares? Or maybe they would know more about why they are occurring in the first place?”
“What if they don’t?” Peter whispered to Harry, “What if I probe too much, and ruin the lives of absolutely normal people?”
Mj scoffed from the bed.
“Normalcy is a thing of the past, Parker,” she said, “The Storm-Richards household changed the meaning of that word ages ago.”
Right.
Of course.
“And who’s to say,” Harry shrugged again, lying down on his back once more, “Maybe they’re both missing you just as much.”
–
Sean had a raging headache.
He’d had the headache for quite a while now. A little over a month, he would say.
He hadn't been going to school during that time either.
That day was supposed to be his return to the world of education.
The second he entered the campus, though, his head started throbbing.
“Whoa, easy tiger.” A hand grabbed his bicep, pulling him up straight.
“Can’t change the world if you can’t even enter the classroom,” Miles said, smirking. Sean grumbled in response.
Miles winced. “Migraine still there, huh bud?”
“It’s not a migraine,” Sean grumbled, thumping the heel of his palm against his temple.
“It’s not a headache, dude,” Miles scoffed, “Any headache that lasts this long is a migraine.”
“Go to hell, Morales,” Sean said, walking towards his locker, “Go snog Kate, or something.”
“She’s busy,” Miles said, leaning against the locker next to Sean’s, “You know, studying. Like you could be doing, if you would just get your migraine checked out–”
“It’s not a migraine!”
“Whatever you say, Cassidy,” Miles sighed, pushing himself off of the locker. He began walking backwards down the hallway. “See you in class?”
“Yeah,” Sean nodded and opened his locker, already exhausted.
Miles smiled at him pitifully before walking away.
For the first time in his entire life, Sean chose to sit in the back row of a class.
Miles gave him a weird look as he passed him by to go to the back.
“Okay, what the actual hell was that?”
“What are you yapping about?” Sean grumbled, walking ahead.
“Why did you sit in the back row?” Kate asked, catching up easily, “We saved you a seat, you know?”
“I know,” he said, walking towards his next class, “I just wanted to sit in the back. Is that so weird?”
“Uh, yes?” Miles piped in, making Sean roll his eyes. “Of course it is weird! You haven't sat in the back row since Mrs Smith made you sit there in tenth grade because we wouldn't stop talking.”
“I just–”
“Hey Steve! What’s up, man?” Some student yelled at his friend in the hallway.
The last thing Sean heard before blacking out was his own pained scream.
–
— And so, we return to the start.
“The Fantastic Four!” somebody shouted in the lobby, making Peter jump and drop the scalding hot coffee on his hand. It didn't burn much, but it did make him wince.
He placed the pot down and moved into the main area, where everyone had moved towards the windows.
“Parker!” Nessa waved him over, “Look! It’s them! Oh my god!”
He walked over, shoving himself into the space next to Nessa.
There they were, flying away in their stupid Fantasticar, with Johnny Storm leading the way.
“Brock, there is a large-scale fire in the school on the corner of Fifth! They’re saying it's deliberate! Go, go, go!” Jameson shouted, rushing out of his office, “Take Williams!” he yelled. Then, he turned to the crowd gathered near the windows. “What is everyone doing?! Get back to work!”
Brock rushed to grab his equipment. The crowd dissipated.
Peter took a step away from the glass.
“Parker!”
Peter turned around.
Jonah walked towards him with determination in his eyes.
He stopped right in front of him.
“He’s going to be there,” he spat out, way too close for Peter’s comfort. “Spider-Man,” he said his name as if it were poison. Peter tried not to smirk. “Go with Williams. Get me pictures!”
“You’re okay! You’re safe, I’ve got you!”
The woman in his arms shrieked as he swung her away from the debris. Her arms tightened around his neck, almost to the point of strangulation. Okay. His fault. He signed up for this.
“It’s okay!” he said into her ear. He let himself drop onto the street a block away where a huge crowd stood gathered, watching the Fantastic Four do their thing from a safe distance.
“There,” he panted, placing her on her feet. His hands hovered near her shoulders. “Hey, you’re okay!” he repeated for the sake of her benefit, “You’re fine. I have to go now, okay? You will be okay, ma’am.”
“Great,” Reed Richards remarked monotonously, leading a man out of the building as Peter landed near him, “The neighbourhood bug is here.”
He scoffed under his mask.
“Been here the whole time, old man,” He said, climbing up onto a broken car, “Someone had to clear out the civilians on the streets too.”
“Ground and First are cleared,” Reed said, not paying much mind to his comment, “Johnny cleared the roof. Ben is clearing fourth. Go clear second and third.”
He shot his web upwards, sending a mocking salute to Reed. The older man rolled his eyes as Peter pulled himself up to the second floor.
Johnny had already absorbed the flames. The building was no longer burning. Sue Storm was standing in the middle of the street, keeping the structure together while Johnny and Reed, and now Peter, helped get everyone to safety.
The windows were all broken. Getting inside was not a hard task whatsoever, considering only the skeleton of the building was left standing. He manoeuvred inside, pushing his body through two structural bars that were half bent. The building was at the brink of collapse. It would collapse the second Sue decided to let go.
He rushed about, yelling out.
“Anyone here?!” He walked into the foundation of a room. It was empty, nothing but burnt school furniture.
They’d already cleared out the children, it seemed.
This was the final sweep in.
“Is anyone here?” his voice echoed.
Okay.
The second floor was clear, then.
He walked over to the edge of the floor, shooting his web upwards once more, pulling himself up to the third floor.
“Anyone here?” He repeated the dialogue, “Hello?”
No one.
He yelled out again.
“Is anyo-”
His eyes fell down to a foot popping out from under a large chunk of debris.
“Shit!” he yelled out. He rushed, grabbing the edge of the chunk. He lifted and threw it away with ease.
A kid lay under it.
Shit.
Shit, shit. Shit.
“Hey,” he said, falling to his knees beside the unconscious boy, his face covered in soot and dust, traces of blood mixing in to create a brownish shade. A child. It was an actual child. “Hey, buddy,” he sat down, patting his cheek roughly, “Hey, wake up, come on.”
He pressed two fingers to his neck. Okay. There was a pulse. There was a fucking pulse. It was not too late.
“Wake up, come on, kiddo,” he said, panicking just the slightest bit. The pulse being strong did not mean there was no damage. There could be a vast number of injuries internally, which could get much worse if the kid did not wake up.
“Come on, buddy,” he said, a little desperate. He made a fist with his right hand, and placed his knuckles against the centre of his chest, rubbing up and down harshly. “Come on, come on.”
A cough.
And another.
Peter let out the breath he had been holding as the kid turned to his side, coughing hard enough for his body to shake.
“Oh, thank god,” he breathed, his head dropping back, eyes closing under his mask in relief. Fuck.
The kid rolled onto his back once the coughing stopped, now panting. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus his eyesight, no doubt.
“You’re safe,” Peter said, placing his hand under his head. “Don’t move, okay? I will call for help. Don’t move your neck–”
“I’m fine,” the kid let out, coughing immediately after. He pushed himself up slowly.
Peter placed his hands behind him precautionarily, to catch him if he fell.
“Easy,” Peter said, sliding his body behind him, just in case.
The boy blinked. He was clearly disoriented.
He groaned, squinting his eyes shut.
Peter placed a hand on his arm. “Does it hurt anywhere? What hurts?”
“My head,” the kid said, thumping the heel of his palm against his temple. He shook his head violently, blinking his eyes open again. He looked around.
His face fell pale.
“No,” he mumbled, pushing himself to stand up. He stumbled, Peter standing behind to catch him. “No, no. no. shit!”
“Hey,” Peter rushed to his side, “hey, it’s okay. No one is hurt. No casualties. Let’s make sure it stays that way, okay? Let’s get you out of here–”
“No!” the kid yelled out, pulling away from Peter. He stumbled a few feet, shaking his head rapidly. “Holy shit. Holy-”
“Kid, it’s okay, it’s okay-”
“No! No, it’s not! It’s not! It’s–”
“Hey. Hey! Breathe with me! You need to calm down–”
“Shut up!” the kid groaned, his eyes squinting shut again. He looked pained. “Shut up! Just– shut up!”
“But-”
The boy fell to his knees, his head in his hands.
He started sobbing.
Before Peter could react, the building started shaking.
“Shit,” he fell to his knees next to the boy. “Hey, listen. I know it’s hard. I know it’s so hard, seeing all of this. I know your head is hurting. But we need to get out of here, okay? We need to get out. This building is going to f–”
“I did this…”
Peter froze.
“What?”
“I did this,” the kid repeated, turning his head to face him, “I don’t know how. But I did this.”
The building shook again.
“Spidey!” he heard Richards scream from outside, “Get out of there! Sue can’t hold much longer!”
Peter stood up.
“Okay, kid," he said, “We’ll talk, okay? We’ll… we’ll figure this out. But we need to leave. Now.”
The kid sobbed. “I can’t–”
“Yes, you can!” Peter said, trying his hardest not to sound panicked, and failing. “You can, okay? I–” he sighed.
Okay. Plan B.
“Here,” he said, grabbing the edge of his mask and pulling it off in one swift move, “Here. Look at me, come on, kid.”
“No, no–”
“Look at me,” Peter urged, hands outstretched, “Come on, buddy.”
The kid took a deep breath. Then another.
He turned his head slowly, looking at Peter with terror-struck eyes.
Peter nodded, smiling softly.
“Good. Good. Listen to me now. I need you to–”
“Steve?”
All the air from Peter’s lungs vanished.
He stood up straight, all emotions except disbelief vanishing from his face.
“What did you call me?”
The kid’s eyes were wide as saucers as he stared at Peter.
Any potential response was cut off by a whoosh of fire in front of his eyes.
“Get out, Webhead!” Johnny yelled out as he flew away with the kid in his arms.
Peter couldn’t breathe.
–
“The kid Johnny brought out last!”
“I don’t know! He must be at the hospital!”
Peter groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration.
“He’s safe now, Spider-Man,” Sue said, placing a hand on his arm, “You don’t have to worry-”
“No,” he sighed, “I can’t–” he paused, pursing his lips. How could he possibly explain this? “I can’t explain, okay? I just really need to talk to him.”
“I can’t give you information on a minor without an urgent monitored cause, kid,” Reed said, opening the car door.
Peter stared at Reed through his mask, hoping the emotionless eyes somehow conveyed the irritation he was feeling.
The building had fallen down the second Sue had let her hold go.
Luckily, Peter had swung out in time.
Luckily, the collateral didn’t spread far. It was a contained fall, thanks to Sue.
Reporters and civilians had stormed the streets when they thought it safe. Everyone had immediately crowded the Fantastic Four. The family in question responded as quickly as they could, before rushing to their car. Well, everyone except Johnny. He stood there in the sea of reporters, more than happy to answer as many questions as required.
Peter sighed.
“Fine,” he grumbled, stepping away from the car.
He caught Sue’s worried look before he turned around.
The street was full of yells and cheers. Everyone was celebrating the heroes that saved the day. A couple of reporters came up to him, but he simply shook his head when they asked him questions.
“So modest, Spidey.”
Johnny bumped his shoulder against Peter’s as he walked away from the crowd.
He looked over his shoulder at Peter as he walked towards the Fantasticar.
“Take some credit,” The blonde smirked.
And...
And, And, And–
He watched it happen in real time.
The gears in his brain turned.
The image in front of him shifted.
It shifted like static between two panels.
He saw Johnny Storm, in his bright, burning, blazing glory.
And the next millisecond, in a glitching panel, he saw unruly hair and a leather jacket.
He saw–
“Eddie…”
He whispered the name he had been longing to associate with a human for months.
Johnny, who had turned away, stopped.
He stopped.
He turned his head again, so comically slow.
His brows were furrowed, his mouth agape.
They stared at each other, unable to pull their eyes away.
“Oh my god, there’s a woman there!”
Peter turned fast enough to get whiplash.
The crowd started yelling upon noticing a woman lying near the building. Her leg seemed to be pinned down by a piece of debris. She struggled to move it. How had Peter not noticed her? How had he missed her?
She groaned, lifting her head as she exerted pressure. Her red hair fell back to reveal–
Peter stumbled.
And then he ran.
“Mj!” he yelled out, crossing the road at inhuman speed.
He kneeled next to her.
“What are you doing here?!” he asked, grabbing the piece of debris that had fallen on her and chucking it away, “You’re supposed to be in the office!”
She panted, staring at him with narrowed eyes. “Pete?”
“Yes, obviously,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Come on, arms around me. Quick.”
She groaned in pain, but followed the instructions.
“Oh god,” she moaned in pain, her hands locking behind Peter, “Harry is going to kill me.”
Peter scoffed, scooping her up with one arm.
“It would be warranted,” He said, shooting his web up at the closest building.
He turned around one last time.
But the Storm-Richards family were long gone.
–
Sue knew Johnny like the back of her hand.
She was familiar with her brother, his mannerisms, his body language, the slightest twitch.
Everything.
It didn't take much for alarms to ring in her head when she noticed Johnny acting off,
This time, it just came so… out of nowhere; he had no way to prepare for it.
She stood outside his room after Sunday dinner.
When he didn’t answer her knocks, she entered anyway, only to find him sitting in complete darkness.
“Go away,” a voice echoed in the darkness.
She scoffed. She was reminded of a younger Johnny, and how he used to act similarly to how he was acting now; all grouchy.
“Where are the lights, champ?” she asked, the room only illuminated by the dim light coming from the hallway. Even the blinds were drawn shut.
A second later, Johnny raised a flaming hand, whilst lying on his bed.
She shook her head fondly.
With a wave of her hand, the plate she had been holding flew away to land next to Johnny on the bed.
“Eat,” she said, pointing her chin at the sandwich on the plate. She walked over, sitting down on the chair next to his bed. “You didn’t eat at dinner.”
“Don’t feel like eating,” he said, continuing to stare at the ceiling.
She hummed.
“Want to share why?”
Johnny stayed quiet.
The silence stretched for far too long.
And Sue knew when to back off when it came to Johnny.
She sighed, standing up, and started walking towards the door.
“He called me Eddie.”
She turned around.
Frowning, she walked over to the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry?”
He turned his head to look at her.
“Spider-Man,” he said, sitting up.
“He called me Eddie.”
Sue frowned, shaking her head softly in confusion. “So?”
“It's like,” he squinted his eyes shut in frustration, struggling to put the feeling into words, “it's like, imagine you're walking down the street tomorrow,” he extended his arm out, “and someone calls you, say,” he rubbed his temple with his other hand, “Nancy! Say someone calls you Nancy!”
She leaned back on the backrest, still not following where her little brother was leading.
“You wouldn't turn around!” Johnny flailed his arms about dramatically, his frustration with the situation rather visible in his movements, “you wouldn't react because that is not your name. But I… I reacted, Sue,” he brought his arms back to hug himself, “I turned around,” his eyes met hers, confusion and some sort of… pain, clearly visible.
“Couldn't it just be that you reacted to a noise?” She asked, scooting closer silently to offer unsaid support, “It could've been a muscle tick.”
“That's the thing,” his eyes followed hers, red and oh-so-confused, “it was a muscle tick. But not to the noise. There were all sorts of people shouting in the street. And nothing made me turn,” he shook his head softly, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his head on top of them, “he didn't even shout. It was as if my body and mind knew how to react to that name, to him saying that name. Even if I consciously didn't.”
Sue didn’t know how to make it better this time.