Archive of Our Own

Peter Parker ducked behind a sharply dressed waiter carrying a tray loaded with drinks of assorted colours that assaulted his nose with fruity notes and the cloying, sharp smell of alcohol before it was whisked off to a table somewhere. He had been at the party for a total of eight minutes, and the heady atmosphere was heavy with perfumes and voices low and pitched of an assortment of superheroes, vigilantes, and people who were just rich and influential. Some were all four at once, and those were the ones Peter avoided with the most fervour.

For all its glamour and all his complaints, the event was surprisingly tasteful. A beautiful deep red and creamy white were the colours of the night, draping every visible surface without offsetting the warm lighting from the sleek panels overhead, a setting that made Peter long for a camera in his hand and a lanyard around his neck that would proclaim him a member of the press, even as he doubted the merits of surrounding a bunch of people with superhuman abilities and traumatic backstories he could smell from a mile away with colours that resembled blood. What did Peter know about trauma responses anyway; he was no superhero.

And then he spotted, standing several feet away with a drink in hand and a smile on his face that could light up the world, his biggest problem of the night. Johnny Storm.

Peter decided the best course of action was to turn tail and run. He was not running away, definitely not. This was just a strategic retreat so as to not ruin his night. And of course, he wasn’t actually running: this was too classy of an event for that.

He stepped away, carefully avoiding running into any of the hundreds of people in the room, and did hos best to look invisible. That was easier said than done, especially since he no longer had his photographer lanyard to grant him the sweet mercy of avoiding judging eyes. There were round tables set up across the room, far enough apart to not impede any of the foot traffic but still plentiful enough to likely sit all the people here. Peter walked through rows of them, twisting and turning his way till he was almost as surely both lost and lost to Johnny. He was pretty sure he was near the back of the room right now, near the information cards and display cases set up to support the cause. There were fewer people here than he expected, but he was grateful for any relief from the thick crowds. So grateful, infact, that in his quest to read the giant text wrapped around a statue of a child with a hood draped over it’s face, surrounded by rubble, he ran headfirst into somebody.

“Oh shi- crap. I’m sorry.” He blustered, taking in the maroon striped tie and navy blue suit that lay across somebody’s well built chest that he had practically fallen into before finally looking up to meet their eyes.

Wide, light blue eyes framed by short, golden lashes. A broken nose that he was very familiar with. A scraggly beard that verged on unkept. “Parker?!”

“Danny. Hi.” He stepped back, avoiding Danny Rand’s probing eyes.

“I thought you were busy today! Studying, right? What are you doing here?”

“Supporting the youth.” He replied, waving his hand towards the statue. Danny followed his gesture before looking back at him with an almost-glare. Rand was just a few years older than him, but somehow he had that disappointed parent vibe around him that Peter loathed.

“Is everything okay?” And the disappointment turned to concern, making Peter feel even guiltier. “Is there some mission or something wrong here?” His eyebrows were furrowed together, making him look younger than he was.

“No.” Peter sighed and rubbed his eyes, cursing his luck. “No, Danny. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing for you to worry about here.”

“Then why are you…?” He trailed off.

Clint Barton, the guy who regularly fought with Daredevil about his right to seek cover behind (and in) trash cans in Hell's Kitchen and had an adorable dog that he let him pet, was a friend of Spider-man, as far from threatening as a superhero could be. Clint Barton, master spy and former assassin, was unfairly intimidating when he invited Peter Parker, regular human, to the gala with a grin that was as friendly as it was dangerous.

“Because Hawkeye is a menace, and none of the Avengers know my identity.” He replied, making Danny even more confused, if possible. “Just, forget it.”

“Okay. Well,” Danny brightened up, practically beaming like a human golden retriever. “Luke’s here too, if you want to hang out.”

“Sorry, but I can’t. There are some people I can’t run into here. I’m surprised you managed to convince Luke to come, though.”

Danny smiled, canines sharper than they had any right to be, letting through a glimspe of the Iron Fist he knew and was lowkey terrified of sometimes. “He lost a bet.”

“Ah.” Peter nodded, not entirely sure what sort of bet Luke Cage could lose. He eyed two men who were lingering nearby, glancing at Danny over and over again like they were waiting to corner him. Ugh, businessmen. Sharks who could smell money, the lot of them. “Thank you for the invitation anyway. Bye.” Peter fled the scene before he could be roped into more stuff he had no interest in.

J Jonah Jameson had decided one day that since Peter was the only photographer who consistently delivered quality pictures of the infamous Spider-man, he must surely be good at dealing with superheroes. Peter would like to state on record that the assumption was false. Deadpool had once asked Spider-man whether he wanted Peter killed after the Bugle published a particularly unsavoury article. He was still not sure whether the man had been joking. Johnny complained about the lack of good photographers in the industry. No one else gets photos of the action that aren't blurry messes. Are you sure I can't hire you to follow me around? I'm sure the Bugle would appreciate some variety on the front page.

Johnny had practically been pouting, the hot dog discarded at his side. When Peter used his webs to steal it for himself, the Human Torch did little more than glare half heartedly and listlessly swing his legs off the side of the Statue of Liberty where they were perched, looking such a sad sight that Peter almost gave in.

He let his eyes roam over the venue now, biting an appetiser on a toothpick slowly and trying to find a single spot that was free of people who would recognise him, and - there! The bar was safe. He swallowed and made his way over with a tunnel vision. That cost him a few seconds later, when a hand closed around his with an iron grip. "Parker?"

Peter let himself shoot a final, longing glance to the blissfully superhero-free bar before turning around to face Natasha Romanoff. The hand released him swiftly as though it had never been there in the first place. The spy was wearing a black suit with a green vest thrown on top that barely classified it as the black-tie event the invite said it was. He was pretty sure she had just come from a mission. The smell of blood lingered on the back of his tongue, supersenses not helping him feel any calmer. Her eyes were the deep blue-grey of a lake in the spring, eyebrows drawn low with a confidence that Peter envied.

"Miss Romanoff!" He said with a smile he hoped looked more cheerful than he felt.

"Natasha, please." She replied, holding out a hand that Peter shook, hands limper than how Uncle Ben had taught him. He was not taking any chances with his identity. "How are you finding the gala so far?"

"It's beautiful here." Peter answered truthfully. "The guests are really interesting." Okay, maybe he was fibbing a little.

"Hmm." Miss Roma- Natasha glanced around him pointedly, as though she could tell he had not been speaking to anybody new.

Peter smile crookedly, bashful under the eyes that seemed to peel back his carefully crafted layers of what made Peter Parker Peter Parker.

"I'm glad you are enjoying yourself." Something in her eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly. "Don't feel afraid to talk to any of the people here. They may be super-powered, but I can assure you all of them are more human than they would have you assume." And didn't Peter know it. He had seen Thor baffled at the ingenuity of a fire hydrant. Reed Richards had accidentally set Sue Storm on fire twice in one day. He ducked his head in acknowledgment, unsure as to how to reply to what was clearly meant to be an attempt at comfort from the woman who had taken two years to warm up to his presence as Spider-man.

"You have a bit of rubble in your hair." He replied tactfully, pointing at the spot. Natasha dislodged the white powder and ran a hand through her curls, looking effortlessly cool and dignified. Peter could barely manage to look presentable most days. He was definitely not jealous.

She stopped holding him hostage after a long look and a pat on his shoulder, and it took all in him to not break into a run away from well-meaning, intimidating superheroes.

The bar was tucked away in the corner of the room, a bright, curved isle stocked with drinks he desperately wished would work on him. The woman behind the corner looked bored the way all bartenders did, topping a drink off with a thin peel of orange and handing it to a waiter nearby. She looked distantly familiar the way some staff at events like these did as she turned to him expectantly, but Peter barely met her eyes before slumping onto a seat, wiping away an errant drop of sweat from his brow. He could feel her staring at him curiously. "Hey." She said in a voice that was far softer than he expected. "You are the reporter guy, right?"

Peter looked up, finally recognising the woman. The catering crew and some of the staff had split leftovers in the parking lot of the last event of the sort that he had attended. The woman, now sporting green hair instead of the overgrown orange she had last he had seen her, and the smoky liner and black suit had been traded for a heavy eyebrow piercing and a white waistcoat. "Hello!" Peter responded, genuinely elated for the first time that night. "Yep, that's me. How are you doing? How’s the event?"

"Good, good, yeah. Better than the last one." It was said with a downward turn of lips and a deadbeat gaze that Peter believed were the mark of a true New Yorker.

"Oh?" Peter asked, interest piqued.

"There was this gang who burst in halfway through, brandishing these weird-ass pulsing laser-gun-things." She wiggled her fingers to emphasise her point, setting down the ice tongs and wiping her counter with practiced ease.

"That was last week, right? I think I saw something on the news." Peter actually had a front row seat to the show, having shown up four minutes into the ill-advised attempted robbery, having heard gun blasts four blocks away.

"Yeah it was crazy. Spider-man showed up halfway through though, so it didn't go too far, but the venue was shut down as a crime scene."

"Oh wow. Ya'll got the full wages for the service though, right?"

She shot him a small smile for the first time that night. "Yeah, no worries. The company's good."

Peter smiled back and opened his mouth, about to ask a follow up on whether she had gotten a good look at two of the armed men who had fled the scene, but a voice interrupted the conversation.

"Hello. Can I have your best vodka?" A voice Peter knew very well. He froze and angled his face away, trying not to make his movements seem too obvious. He felt somebody slide into the seat next to him. All he could think of while the bartender started asking follow up questions to the newcomer on how he would like his drink was, Johnny doesn't drink vodka.

The Human Torch started small talk then, because of course he did. Peter sat there, doing his best impression of a statue and regretting the choices that led him to this point while Johnny cheerfully asked the bartender her name (It was Shel; Aunt May would be sorely disappointed in Peter for not asking for her name) and whether she was enjoying the gala. It was when the drink was served and and the conversation died down that he realised he might have hesitated to leave for too long. He slid off the stool as soon as he felt those blue eys land on the back of his head.

“Hey. You look familiar-“ But Peter was already far enough from Johnny that the rest of his words were lost among the conversations of the people he weaved through. He did not stop moving after that, ducking his head every time he spotted a familiar face and pretending he didn’t hear Doctor Banner call out his name, feeling the slightest bit of guilt when the man’s face fell. Sorry, Doc, but this was for the greater good. In fact, he was so focused on getting away that he did not realise somebody had made their way up the raised podium in the middle of the room, the lights everywhere dulling down to throw the audience into sharp, hushed shadows.

Pepper Potts did not appear to have any weaknesses in the spotlight under the combined weight of the gazes of some of the most powerful, richest people on the planet. She carried herself with the grace of a panther as she grabbed a microphone from the podium and greeted the room. The next twenty minutes, she held the room utterly transfixed as she gave a moving speech about the prosthetics Stark Industries had been working on, and how the initiative to make available the latest technology to those who had escaped the wars the Avengers had played some part in had been taken in the wake of Colones Rhodes’ injury. The man himself nodded and smiled a media-trained smile, but even Peter could see the genuine happiness gleaming in his eyes. The details of the fundraiser for the same were given, and the attendees thanked for their time.

Peter could not help but clap along at the end of it, smiling proudly as he saw more than one head nod decisively and smile, the speech having done it’s job. Then the lights flickered back on, some slow tune picked up by the violinist in the live band. The light illuminated Peter’s latest problem, standing directly beside him. Reed Richards, in glasses that probably cost more than Peter’s entire apartment and a grey coat that resembled the white lab ones that he was so used to seeing on the man. Richards blinked away from where he was still staring at the now-empty stage with a slightly distracted air, eyes landing on Peter’s startled face. “Peter? Is that you?”

No, he was tempted to reply, then web his way away like he would have if he was Spider-man. Alas, the disadvantages of a secret identity. “Doctor Richards.”

“What are you doing here? I thought the Avengers didn’t know about your… hobbies.” Because a genius billionaire could not think of a way to make Peter’s second job sound less conspicuous.

“I am here as a photographer that they know. Apparently the last fight I photographed was well-liked enough to warrant a personal invite.”

Some of the confusion on the man’s face cleared up. “Johnny does say he likes your work, and I must agree. Have you met him yet? I think he was going to grab a drink, last I saw him.”

Peter laughed awkwardly. "I saw him around, but I didn't want to bother him."

"Nonsense. He’s always happy to see you.”

Yeah, and Peter wanted nothing more than to grab Johnny and escape to the top of the Statue of Liberty. But he had an identity to maintain, obligations to superheroes that somehow kept slipping their way into his normal life. Spider-man was supposed to be the one bearing these burdens, not Peter Parker.

He was blubbering his way through an explanation when Sue Storm dropped into the conversation, wearing a stunning silver dress that Peter was sure cost a fortune. “Peter! I didn’t expect to see you here. Have you found Johnny yet?”

Peter offered another vague explanation, sure that none of his excuses about how he did not want to intrude upon their family landing, if the couple’s identical raised eyebrows were anything to go by.

“Well, Johnny’s at the bar getting sloshed, if you want company. He lost a bet about how much vodka he could drink before he passed out or caused a public spectacle with Ben.” Peter laughed again and made his escape. Drunk Johnny was, frankly, hilarious, and gave the best hugs. Maybe he would not be that mad if he saw Peter here after cancelling their hangout in the first place if he was drunk…

Nah. It was fine. He could get through the night without running into him. How hard could it be?

Peter should have known better than to jinx himself by now. A familiar woman with a head full of red curls and a black fitted dress with a short ivory blazer stood in his path. He closed his eyes and turned away. Maybe if he pretended he didn’t see her? Before he could take one step, Mary Jane Watson’s voice rang out. “Peter?”

Her voice caught the attention of a handful of people around them. Peter winced and ran a hand over his face, turning back with a guilty smile. “Hey, MJ.”

MJ looked furious, with an errant strand of hair falling over her face and a look in her eyes that could kill. Peter was taken back to their high school days. The Trapster once attacked Midtown High on the opening night for a show MJ was a lead in. The night did not end well for any of them, but that murderous expression was the same she had sported back then.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, returning her hug. Her face did not waver in it's intensity.

"Harry invited me, once you denied his invitation to hang out. I had free time since you could not meet me today as well, so I accepted."

Peter was not a great friend. He never meant to ignore and hurt every person who cared about him, but Spider-man's problems always found their way to him. It had hit him that he was always going to be playing catch-up with his friends' lives, always missing out and falling behind when he missed one too many AcaDec practices in high school and was kicked out of the team. He felt it now, with MJ staring at him, waiting for an explanation. "I'm sorry. Barton invited me, and I could not turn him down." He replied, feeling woefully lost.

"Right." MJ's bitter look softened into something slightly less hurt, but not by much. "Right. Okay, then. When did you even meet him? Why did he invite you?" And Peter realised just how absent he had been. They had not texted in at least two months. He had no idea what was going on in the lives of one of his best friends.

"I- it's a bit of a long story." He tried not to pick at the hem of his suit, the shirt scratching at his arms. It had been Uncle Ben's suit, one he had worn for anniversaries. Peter tried not to think about how the pants rode up at the bottom, how the material stretched thin across his shoulders, too tight at the arms.

"I promise, MJ, that we'll meet up later, tonight after this is over or tomorrow or something, and we can talk."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see a blonde head in a blue suit and a drink in hand steadily making its way through the crowd, and it was sending off alarm bells in his head. She let out a frustrated sigh, following his gaze to Johnny's less than covert approach, and nodded slowly. "That better be a promise, Tiger." Peter saluted, grinning brightly and tamping down the feeling that he was failing at life.

Johnny standing five feet away, asking somebody whether they had seen a man with rat's nest brown hair, about my height, looks like a sad cat?

Some of the side rooms were opening up, small groups retreating to discuss business. Peter’s eyes trailed over Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes and Luke Cage standing by one of them, chatting happily.

He slipped behind a group, clearly headed to sit in one of the private rooms, letting Johnny's eyes pass over the group without actually landing on him. The moment the Human Torch turned his back to him, Peter smoothly detached from the group, intending on finding a balcony or someplace to breathe.

"Parker!" And his plan went out of the window. Clint Barton, the man who handed him the invite himself came over to greet him, followed by Bruce Banner.

Peter shook hands, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. "Mr Barton. Doctor Banner. Hi."

Bruce looked... better than the last time he had seen him, lying on the top of a water tank, having just been transformed back to his usual self. The Hulk knew his identity, but the part that really fucked with Peter's mind was that Banner had no idea who Spider-man was under the mask. Oh, to know the inner workings of a two minds sharing a body.

"Hello, Peter. How are you liking the gala? Everything okay?” Why was everyone asking him that? Did he have distress written all over his face or something? Actually, that might be accurate.

“It’s great. It’s tamer than I thought it would be.”

Barton chuckled and clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “You should come to one of the post-battle parties.”

Peter forced down a shudder and smiled in a way that he hoped was polite. “Doctor Banner, I was wondering if you have taken a look at the prototypes for the prosthetics. I had a few questions regarding the rpressure sensitivity that nobody here seems to have the answers to.”

Bruce brightened up considerably. “I have, yes.”

Barton stood around to hear Peter and Bruce gush about the new technology for about two minutes before he called someone over. “Kate! Come here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Bruce shot Peter an apologetic look. “We should probably mingle now and save the questions for later. Tell you what, I’ll give you my number, and you text me you questions. Tell me if you figure out the mutation projection you were talking about last time.” Peter’s brain was still stuck up on the fact that he was getting DOCTOR BANNER’S number. He handed over the phone on autopilot, and stood staring at the number typed till he noticed the person Clint had been calling was standing beside him.

Kate Bishop, looking annoyingly fashionable in a tailored, deep blue suit and flared pants, smiled at him without a hint of mockery. “Kate, meet Peter Parker, a photographer for the Daily Bugle. Peter, this is Kate, Hawkeye.”

Peter smiled back, strained around the edges. Kate hated Spider-man. Well, not hated him. They bickered like enemies, trapped each other in inconvenient situations (locked in a rooftop cage full of pigeons, stranded on top of a streetlamp in the middle of Times Square, you get the idea), and came to aid when the other called but not without holding it over each-other’s heads till the next emergency.

He wondered how mad she would be if she knew she was intentionally being nice to the same person who had declined an offer to join her on an unnecessary reconnaissance mission just to have an excuse to ditch the gala.

"It’s nice to meet you.” Peter nodded back.

“How do you two know each other?” Kate actually seemed interested in knowing the answer.

Peter was not an event photographer, a fact even JJJ conceded to. He was told to deliver pictures of any of the Avengers in action within a week, a task Peter would have scoffed at if he had not been offered the pay raise he was. What followed was a week of light stalking, acting like a regular photographer and following people rather than setting up cameras on rooftops, and jumping headfirst into danger without a mask on. He got photos of Captain America and Falcon in action the third day in, fighting off some kind of goo monsters. He even managed to get one of Spider-man joining in to help known Avengers fight of a threat. Jameson managed to blame Spider-man in the headline, but that was to be expected by now. Peter got the job, and with it came contact with the Avengers.

“Peter is the one who has been clicking the only good photos in news recently. We ran into him often enough to become friendly. Then he saved my ass five days ago, dragged me out of the way of that fire-breathing droid while I was knocked out."

It had been too late to change into Spider-man. Peter Parker had already been on a nearby rooftop, so carrying Clint down the fire escape, in a fireman carry for believability even if he could have carried him with one arm, was the least he could do while Iron Man blew up the droid responsible.

Kate laughed, seemingly warming up to Peter with ease. Spider-man was the one with the humour and easy charm. As Peter, it was difficult to know exactly what the right thing to say was in any situation. The mental split in his mind between the two masks was probably a thing to talk to his therapist about, if he could afford one.

Clint beamed at the two of them before bowing out of the conversation, with a warning at Kate to not scare him away.

"Is this your first gala?" Kate asked, grabbing two finger sandwiches wrapped in tissue from a passing waiter and handing him one. "Wait, you don't have any allergies, right?"

Peter waved her off. "Nah, and not really. I have covered for the Bugle's event photographer a few times, but this is the first Stark-funded one."

She nodded slowly, replying once the sandwich had disappeared down her mouth. “Yeah, Stark serves better food than most places, that's for sure." She then proceeded to stare long enough for him to burst out, “What?”

"You're the Spidey photographer guy, right?" And there goes Kate's goodwill, he lamented.

"Yes?"

"Oh. Cool."

"That's it?"

Kate glanced up at him. "Yeah? You do great work."

"Thanks." Peter replied, slightly shellshocked.

"What?" Kate huffed a laugh. "You expected a different reaction?"

"Spider-man doesn't always seem to get along with you." Peter approached the matter with uncharacteristic caution. Aunt May would be proud.

Kate shot him a sidelong glance, a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh yeah? Complains about me a lot, doesn't he?"

"Oh- um, well. I didn't say that."

"Oh really? You're friends with him, aren't you?"

"More like passing acquaintances. He tolerates me."

"Sure." Kate seemed to be humouring him.

"Have you met anybody here yet? I could introduce you to a few people?" She switched gears. Peter took a few moments to reorient himself before replying.

"No, thanks. I'm good."

"It's fine, really. Some of the people here are fun." Kate extended a hand. "Come on! Join me and make this night a little more interesting."

On one hand, he still had to avoid certain people. On the other hand, Kate actually seemed like she would make the evening bearable.

Peter took her hand before he could overthink it.

Peter met Tony Stark next. Kate wasn't the one responsible for that one. Stark called him out by his name. After years of hearing that voice yell Spider-man in a mildly disapproving tone, hearing his name was like ice poured over the back of his neck. "Parker! Enjoying yourself?"

Peter straightened, feeling like a kid caught misbehaving. "Yes, Mr Stark."

"Good, good. Kate, where's your handler?"

"Stealing all your explosives." Kate shot back, smiling. "We are trying out a new trick arrow."

Stark looked mildly interested, pushing his glasses further up his nose and raising an eyebrow. His hair was coiffed in a manner that reminded Peter of Harry in middle school, grey streaks present among the brown. "Peter, have you met anybody here yet? There are some people here that you would find fun."

Peter bobbled his head, smiling tightly. "Kate's showing me around." A non-answer. Peter felt like the man could sniff out any lie he told.

Stark seemed to catch it, eyes gleaming behind the glasses. "Oh? How nice of her.”

Peter heard a voice say something in Stark’s ear; Happy Hogan, if he was not mistaken. He stepped back, flashing a peace sign and cutting the conversation blissfully short. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy dinner, folks.”

They continued onwards. Peter caught sight of Johnny rushing somewhere looking frazzled and took the moment to point out something on the opposite side of the room. Kate introduced him to an Avenger he was yet to meet: Shang Chi. The man was honestly nice, which was something he could say very rarely about superheroes. Their conversation was short, but Peter made a mental note to have Spider-man introduce himself to the guy. He looked like he could use some vigilante friends outside the run-of-the-mill, SHIELD-approved superheroes.

Peter stepped away from the meeting feeling almost pleasant. Almost two hours into the gala, and nothing had gone terribly wrong yet. Of course, this was when things went wrong.

"Peter Parker, meet Harry Osborn." The tension in the air was frigid. Harry raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow, looking immaculate in a deep purple suit. His face maintained it's bored, distant facade. Peter felt smaller than Harry than ever, even though he was an inch taller.

"Look at what the cat dragged in."

Peter looked away, wincing. "Hey, Harry."

"Oh, so now you remember I exist."

Kate's eyebrows were climbing higher with each word. "You two know each other?"

Harry glanced at him coldly before turning to face her entirely. "Parker had to study, you see, for some internship or research paper or some damn thing that mattered more than meeting up with me for the first time in months. Instead, I find him here, dressed to the nines and looking like there was no place he’d rather be.” Kate was listening, transfixed. If Peter had his mask on right now, he would have elbowed her in the ribs. As it was, he could only droop in on him further on himself. “Harry-“

“And,” Harry continued over him, “Best part of all this is that he has been ghosting me for the past year as though everything we went through, all the promises about being there for me, meant nothing!” Harry voice was steadily rising the entire time, almost a shout at the end. People were staring.

Thankfully Kate was the one who dragged both Peter and Harry by the arms to a nearby side room, because Peter was too distracted to actually do something about the attention.

“Harry.” He pleaded quietly, when the outside world had been locked out behind the closed doors. “It’s not like that. I wanted, to help, I really did, but after everything, I thought you…”

Harry’s mouth was twisted to the side, spite shadowing his eyes. “You though, what? That I would not want my best friend at my side after my father’s death?”

Peter glanced at Kate uneasily. The young woman was uncharacteristically sombre, eyes fixed at a spot on the ground and eyebrows raised as she listened to their conversation. He continued when it was clear she was not going to be moving anytime soon. “You know what happened. How it happened. I thought you would blame me. That it would be painful having me at the funeral.” There were tears prickling at his eyes, making it difficult to breathe.

“No more painful than having nobody beside me!” Harry yelled out, eyes alight with fury as he took a step towards him. “You should have taken the blame then, and been there for me.” His voice quieted down, then, the mad look in his eyes fasing to soemthing bitter, something worse. “Like I was there for you.”

The room was quiet. Peter could barely hear anything more than the blood rushing in his ears, guilt and shame and dread forming a clusterfuck soup in his mind that raged and pulsed, higher and higher every second. Harry had been there for him after Ben’s death. He was the reason Peter had not slipped off the rails with all the new powers and anger that he had held tight inside his chest. There were definitely tears on his cheeks now, hot as they burned a path down his face. Harry was panting, his chest rising and falling like he had just run a marathon, but Peter though he could see his eyes gleaming in the low lighting with unshed tears. The face he had known as well as his own now stared at him, challenging and hard, as though he could barely stand to look at Peter.

A knock at the door broke up the moment.

“This room is occupied!” Kate called out. Peter jumped, having almost forgotten she was there to witness this. What a great first impression.

The knock came again, more insistent. Peter and Harry were statues as they watched Kate make her way to the door. The moment the door was unlocked, MJ pushed her way past a startled Kate, settling on the arm of a couch before meeting both their eyes.

“MJ.” Harry finally said, voice hoarse and low. “You don’t need to-“

“I’m not here to intervene or calm you down. I’m just here to make sure you two don’t kill each other.” A calm, collected voice. Peter wondered if she was putting her famed acting skills to use right now, or if she truly did not care anymore. He couldn’t blame her for the latter; he had made more than his fair share of mistakes, but god did it sting.

“I called you.” Now everybody was looking at him. Kate was still at the door, now leaning against it with her arms crossed. “After it… happened. I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

Harry was quiet for so long, Peter thought he would not reply. “Everybody watches the news when you hear there’s a fight between Spider-man and Green Goblin. I saw it happen.”

Peter nodded slowly, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Wait.” Kate stopped leaning and stood straight, arms dropping to her side. “Spidey?” Peter froze.

It wasn’t that he didn’t entirely trust Kate; she was Barton’s partner and that position came with respect, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to know his identity.

Her face was going through a complicated series of motions, and he stared as she went through all their interactions, matching it to the person she saw in front of him, before finally settling into something like indifference. “You are skinnier outside the suit.” Her voice was light, not quite the arrogant drawl she usually used, but it was acceptance. Pater managed a weak quirk of his lips. “Right, sorry for interrupting. You can go on.”

Harry stared at her, expression caught between amusement and judgement, before shaking his head and turning back to Peter. The humour on his lips disappeared. “Well?”

“I’m sorry, Harry.” Peter said sincerely. “I tried to do what I thought was right, but I was just doing what was easier than facing the fact that I was responsible for the death of- of the Goblin.”

“For God’s sake, Pete! You didn’t force him to detonate the bomb! You tried to stop him, to save him!” Harry’s finger was digging into his chest, his face a foot away from his own, sharp ice blue eyes digging into his. “I am not angry about that. I am angry because you decided your guilt mattered more than our friendship.” Harry’s hand came to rest on his shest in a fist, right over his constricting heart. “I am angry because you never fight for your relationships, that you can accept that somehow we will always end up apart, that we’ll stop caring. Well, newsflash! I am still here, MJ’s still here. I don’t want you to be perfect, but I want you to try.” Harry was scowling at the end of the tirade, hair falling out of its carefully set style.

"It's not safe to be around me. You remember how often Midtown used to get targeted? What happened to Gwen? To Uncle Ben? To Doctor Connors?"

Harry closed his eyes, hands white-knuckled at his side. "Peter, my father was the Green Goblin. I'm always safwr with you than anywhere else. You attract danger like nobody else I know, but you are not dangerous. You are not responsible. Fuck your guilt complex, and stop pushing us away, you asshole."

Peter let out a watery laugh at that, the fight not draining out of him, exactly, but he was realising just how tired he was. God, he was tired of fighting, of stopping himself from enjoying life, of hiding from the people he cared about.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, passive-aggressive even as he saw Peter relax, his shoulders lower and lose their tension.

"Yeah." Peter replied, the word an exhale more than anything.

Peter wasn't sure who moved first. It was probably Harry, but the next thing he felt was arms wrapping around his shoulders, trapping him in a hug that he returned with equal ferocity. There were probably tears running down both their cheeks. "I love you, you know that?"

Harry let out a scoff even as he tightened his grip. "You better. I don't get over being ghosted by just anybody." And then quieter. "I love you too."

"Well, isn't that sweet." Kate's voice rose over the sound of Harry's heartbeat so close to Peter's ears.

"Adorable." MJ agreed, sarcasm dripping from her words even as she beamed at Peter from where she was sitting. He dropped his head into Harry's shoulder, groaning even as Harry laughed and stepped back. One hand remained slung across Peter's shoulders, and he leaned into it.

"Wow, Spiderboy. Your life is even more of a mess than I assumed."

"I can hear you not saying the hyphen, magpie-eye. At least let your insults be accurate."

"No like for real though. How are you friends with your arch nemesis' son? No offence, Harry."

"None taken." Harry shrugged back easily.

"The Goblin was never my arch-nemesis. That spot is taken up by Flash. Or Amadeus Cho."

Peter loathed that kid. It was one thing to be a child genius. It was another to beat Peter as the leading scorer Acadec, back when he still competed.

"Who's Flash?"

MJ answered her before Peter could. "Nobody you want to associate with."

They went outside after that. Thankfully, nobody had missed their presence. Peter clung to Harry like a man drowning, while MJ slipped her hand through his arm. Kate lingered to her right like a guard dog, the two of them talking excitedly about some show Peter had never heard about, Harry interceding occasionally with an opinion that made Kate grimace and MJ laugh.

They were stopped a few times by people Harry or Kate knew, and Peter hung back with a small smile on his face, thinking about how much lighter, how much more cheerful the world felt around him than two hours ago. The only thing that could make this better was-

"Peter?" Said the voice of Johnny Storm, the Human Torch and probably Spider-man's closest friend.

Peter whirled around, mind running through the list of excuses he could use. Then he took one look at Johnny, cheeks flushed, hair mussed up and standing there looking lost, and all his resolve broke down. "Hey, Firefly."

"What are you doing here? I thought I saw..." Peter could see Johnny's eyes roving over his company, taking in his suit and arrive at a conclusion that Peter probably disliked. "Never mind."

"Hey, are you okay?" Peter stepped forward, catching Johnny's eyes and forcing him to look back.

"Sure." Johnny replied, lips twisting up into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Peter missed his usual cocksure grin terribly. "Like you care." Those words were muttered under his breath. Having super-hearing sure could hurt sometimes. "I was searching for you." He continued, voice still sounding wrong. He never sounded this uncertain with Peter.

"I know." Peter replied, unsure of what else he could say. "I didn't want you thinking I ditched you because I didn't want to hang out." He ended up settling for the truth.

Johnny huffed out a laugh. "How is that working out?" Sarcasm thick in his voice.

"Miserably."

Peter watched with furrowed brows and his chest constricted as Johnny rolled his eyes. He took a deep breath, eyes locked onto Peter’s with an intensity he never saw outside a battle-

And closed his mouth with an audible click, face paling rapidly and eyes widening. Peter stepped forward in concern, hands coming up to grasp at Johnny’s shoulders just as he bent forward, projectiling vomit all over his shoes.

“Oh, wow.” He heard MJ say from behind.

“You good, dude?” Kate.

Johnny looked up from where he was hunched over with his hands on his knees, eyebrows drawn and eyes tinged with red. “I think I might be drunk.”

“Yeah, buddy. I got that.”

The staff at Stark galas were surprisingly hard to rattle, as Peter soon found out. The vomit was cleaned up rather quickly, the guests shepherded over to dinner while Peter apologised profusely to the man with the mop on Johnny's behalf. Tony came by to take a look at the commotion, thought he only laughed, winked at Peter, and left.

Ten minutes later, it was like nothing ever happened.

Still, it only took Johnny to whine 'I want a hotdog' for Peter and the others to agree to just skip dinner altogether and step outside. They ended up on the rooftop of a random building nearby. Turns out climbing up a fire escape without making noises is difficult for a drunk person. They crossed two floors before Peter gave up and just scooped Johnny up in his arms. What was the point of everyone there knowing his secret identity of he couldn’t actually use his strength? Johnny clung to him like a sweaty koala, refusing to let go even as they settled on the edge of the roof.

"You are going to be so embarrassed when you are sober." Peter told him.

He groaned but detached from him and threw himself against the wall to the back. Peter would be concerned if Johnny couldn't fly. As it was, he slouched and let the day's stress melt into the cool night wind. MJ was sitting on his left, legs swaying in front of her. Harry had a leg on either side of the ledge, and was surreptitiously glancing at the ground ten stories below them. The city lights were shining gently of their faces, painting them a soft myriad of colours in the dark night. Few people walked the streets below, though he could hear vehicles rushing over roads nearby, and a woman was closing up a shop in the building in front of them.

It was a much more pleasant end to the night than he had expected. He felt Johnny shift beside him and turned, watching the way the other man's face went through expressions faster than he could read them as he stared at Peter.

"I'm sorry about vomiting on your shoes." The red and black sneakers had been Peter's constant companion for more than half a decade, but even he could not deny the sorry state of that beat-up, threadbare pair. He wasn't sure if they could survive the hose-down it would take to get the vomit out of the crevices. "I'll pay you back." Johnny said.

"It's fine."

"Though I guess the vomit sort of makes up for you lying and running away from me all night."

"Eh." Peter shrugged. "I think throwing up all over me at a gala might be a slightly bigger offence."

Johnny flipped him off. Peter smiled back sweetly before adding. "I am sorry about tonight." Johnny hummed and sat back.

He listened to somebody clang their way up the metal fire escape, and watched Kate make their way to them, arms laden with enough hot-dogs to feed an army. "My treat. I sort of feel responsible for dragging all of you together back there."

"Aw, Hawkeye. I didn't think you knew what an apology was."

She raised an eyebrow, handing MJ and Harry a hot dog each. Harry was sniffing at the wrapper doubtfully. Rookie mistake: never question what goes in street food. “So you don't want free food?"

Peter was not above begging. "I'm sorry, please, you are awesome."

He was handed five hot dogs. Kate was a gift from heaven and could do no wrong.

Johnny, the only other person there with increased metabolism tore through six with a speed Peter admired, after Harry offered him his second one with a politely disgusted smile. They were quiet after they finished the, frankly, impressive amount of food, Kate helping put away the remaining three hot dogs.

Harry was the one who moved first, spreading his jacket on the ground beside the ledge and slipping down to sit on it. "What?" He snapped when he saw Peter's teasing smile.

Instead of poking at him some more, Peter joined him, legs spread out in front and letting his shoulder rest on Harry's.

MJ hitched her dress up and pushed Peter out of the way till there was space to sit on  Harry's jacket. "It's designer." Harry said, staring at the cloth lying sprawled on the ground. "You sat on it first." She muttered back. He did not seem to think that as justification enough, since he continued looking at it mournfully. Peter glanced down at the various bits of dust and gravel accumulated beneath him and looked away resolutely.

Johnny was draped over him a second later, one leg sprawled on top of his and his face resting at the place his neck met his shoulders. "You're cold." His voice sounded muffled.

"Thanks. You can find another person to lay on."

He let out a sound that could have been a groan or a curse equally.

"Ya'll are nasty. That's probably pigeon poop you are sitting on." Thanks, Kate, for forcing him to think about something he was desperately trying to avoid.

"Yeah but it's more comfortable than that ledge." MJ shot back. Harry said under his breath, "Because you are sitting on my jacket." Peter covered a laugh with a cough.

"You scared of heights or something, Pete?"

"You take that back." Peter glared at Kate, itching to web her mouth shut.

"I got a part." MJ's voice broke up the fight before it could start in earnest.

"What?" He turned his head so fast his neck cricked.

"Ensemble, understudy to the lead. It's off-Broadway, but there is a chance at moving up a a larger stage.”

“Holy shit!”

“Whoa, congrats!”

"MJ! That's amazing!" Peter just stared at her with wide eyes before hugging her, arms tight around her waist. He was grinning wide enough that his face hurt.

“You deserve a good role.” Kate said sincerely.

Peter felt MJ’s shoulders shake as she let out a laugh. “You barely even know me.”

“I know Spidey is good people, and by association and the fact that you put up with him makes you a saint.”

“Thanks, Kate. That’s actually why I wanted to meet you today, Peter. To let you know.”

Oh. Oh.

“MJ, I am so sorry, I-“

“Save the apologies, Parker. Just, try to do better next time.” She smiled at him, not angry the way he would expect her to be. She just looked tired, but happy, fond. She looked like she grew up from the girl-next-door he used to know.

“I promise.”

He let his head rest on top of Johnny's curls instead, the cold sneaking its fingers inside his jacket and down his chest, but thankfully Johnny ran hot.

He remembered being sixteen and meeting the Human Torch for the first time. The Fantastic Four had first formed a few months after Spider-man began. They were young, hotheaded and woefully undertrained. He hated Johnny's perfect smile and his perfect, straight teeth, the way he was surrounded by family and adored by the world. It took two years for the world to accept that Spider-man was a real person and not an urban legend. The Fantastic Four rose to power and fame within a week of existence.

They were a study in opposites, till Peter once extended a hand to Johnny after a hard fight and realised just how familiar and lonely the other boy was.

"How did we end up here?" He asked, words carrying over the group with the wind and hanging there.

"Bad choices." Kate answered immediately. "Like seriously, I'm pretty sure there is a dead mice in the corner there."

"No, I mean-" Peter exhaled heavily through his mouth, breath fogging slightly. It was nearing winter the city. He would soon have to fix the heating of his suit, but not just yet. "Life's a mess." He explained without really explaining.

"When was the last time it was not?" MJ asked, sounding curious.

"When I was five?"

"Life was great till mom died." Harry added quietly.

"Till I was eight. Then the Battle of New York happened." Kate sounded serious, almost vengeful in a way Peter never heard.

Johnny lost his parents young, grew up with just his sister.

Were shitty backstories truly the prerequisite for wanting to help people? And what did that say about the future?

The night sunk deeper into itself, the city lights dying down without really losing its brightness. New York was stunning in the dark. They didn't move even as the clock approached midnight, cabs beginning to make their way down the street as they left Stark's gala a few blocks away.

They spoke, instead. Harry told him about his plans, about how he was not ready to come out of academia after college. 'Masters in Robotics at MIT' he said with his usual polish that never sounded arrogant, only true and raw with a hint of nerves. Kate was working as an Avenger. 'That's all I wanted to do in life. Sports and competitions never scratched the urge that doing something good with my abilities did.' Johnny messed around with cars, and he had a way of working with the machine instead of forcing it to work the way he thought it should. He travelled with the Fantastic Four, going on missions and forming intergalactic treaties. He had sobered up a little as the night carried on, drinking an entire bottle of water and not moving from his place at Peter's side even as he started participating in the conversation.

"We're growing up." He said at one point, stealing the words right out of Peter's mind.

You all are, he wanted to say. All of you are figuring out how to do life, how to succeed and be happy.

Peter was happy, sure. He took photos of himself to sell to a man hellbent on ruining his reputation. He worked in biochemistry, interned at the Baxter Building, but fell off the face of the earth after writing two research papers. Gwen's death and Doctor Connor's predicament did not make it any easier for him to return to academia. Spider-man did good, he saved people, he was a hero and he was the reason Peter lived the way he did: on the edge of humanity. Maybe one day his identity would be revealed, and unlike the billionaires and war-heroes under most masks, the world would have to dig through the fringes of society to find out a mention of Peter Benjamin Parker. A name at the bottom of Bugle's photos. A name written on papers about mutations and DNA and prosthetics, one of them co-authored by Doctor Connors. A student at Midtown High, clearly burnt out halfway through when he quit every single extracurricular. A student at a state university, acing his exams and projects and missing enough classes for his GPA to be exactly average. Maybe he could have been somebody. Maybe he could have chased his dreams, maybe he could have gone to MIT like he wanted to but did not bother applying; Aunt May had been ill from a city-wide alien virus attack. Life moved on. Maybe, at one point, he moved on. Maybe, he didn't want the same things he used to; maybe that's why he did not bother chasing dreams that didn't sing to him the way they used to. Maybe he was fine living a life recorded in the gratitude in the eyes of families of the people he saved out of burning buildings and pulled out of the way of rampaging monsters and children whose pets he got out of trees, whose school projects he helped with and bullies he helped redirect to ways of life he hoped were better. Spider-man was rooted in community. Peter was fine being somebody who could be found in the photo galleries of his friends' phones and the exasperated, fond smiles they shot him, the chances they gave him. He was fine helping Aunt May at her charity on the weekends and eating out at cheap restaurants after. He was happy with the life he had, because he was Spider-man just as much as he was Peter, and he was trying to do good, be good with the lives he had, with the people he had.

He smiled a real smile when Johnny accidentally set his own hair on fire, seemingly burning the rest of the alcohol out of his system in his efforts to put the fire out. He smiled as he said goodbye to MJ and promised to attend the first of her shows he could, hugged Harry and said he'd text him next time he had a weekend off, and even thanked Kate for the night, who waved it off even though he was sure she turned red. The three of them headed back to the gala, Harry to grab his car and drop MJ off at her place while Kate just wanted to attend the afterparty.

“The Statue of Liberty?” He asked Johnny, already reaching for his web shooters.

“Race you there.” The Human Torch took off before Peter finished nodding. He bit back a frusturated grin and leapt ahead, letting himself freefall before shooting a web at the last second.