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Six Months Ago
Peter had EV searching for any loopholes in Strange’s spell for years. He had forgotten about it entirely until this morning when EV got a hit.
“Someone in Newark Airport remembers you,” she told him. At first he thought he was still dreaming, but after a beat he jumped out of bed and stumbled to the computer, his overpowered reflexes the only things protecting him from getting tangled in his blankets and falling to the floor.
It was an old classmate. He barely remembered you. EV uploaded all sorts of inappropriate files about you on his screen but he didn’t even skim them. He just needed your name. Nothing else mattered.
He needed to speak to someone who remembered him. He needed to share space and time with someone who remembered his aunt and his history and his relationships with MJ, Ned, and Tony.
It was so lucky that you bumped into your old high school friend Peter Parker just when he was looking for a roommate and you were looking for an apartment. You just happened to bump into each other as you were visiting family and he was heading to the cemetery.
You remembered his aunt really well, and he actually cried when you recalled how she helped your class with volunteer work at the soup kitchens. You couldn’t hold him for too long—you were disabled and standing was harder on your body than sitting or even walking—but you were happy to embrace even if only for a moment.
And before you knew it, the two of you were living together.
Five Months Ago
Peter was different from what you recalled. Still a little dorky, but wow did he get jacked. You didn’t totally understand what he did for a living and why it was at night, but clearly it involved a lot of physical labor because the guy’s body was insane. You had started to have a little crush on him, but seeing all those muscles intimidated the fuck out of you.
You had dated a lot in high school and college and your various medical issues mostly made people kinder to you rather than interfering at all with your social or love lives. But you somehow got it in your head that Peter Parker would only be slowed down by someone like you.
He looked like he cared about fitness, and you condemned him for that. Someone like him probably would hate not being able to go for a long walk with you, or not being able to dance through the entirety of a song before having to sit down, you decided.
You also decided, very judgmentally, that you just weren’t good enough for Peter Parker, and so you pushed your feelings down as far away as they could go and went on enjoying your friendship instead.
Four Months Ago
Peter became a staple in your life. He wasn’t just a roommate. Your friendship developed very quickly. The chemistry was spectacular. You stayed up all night talking. You were the first person the other came to when anything interesting happened. You loved almost all the same movies. You played with Legos together. You tried to go out and make more friends, but tended to ostracize people with your inside jokes. You went on dates but your favorite part was leaving and getting to come home to hang out with Peter before he went to work again.
And he was so great with you in general. When you couldn’t get out of bed, he would bring you your toothbrush and a cup of water and helped you brush your hair. He would help you out of the shower with his eyes closed, into your bathrobe, and would walk you back to your bed. He did absolutely all of the cleaning in the apartment and never complained about it, and he was even learning how to cook your favorite meals.
You told him he didn’t have to do all these things for you, and that he didn’t sign on to have a burden for a friend, and that you were so sorry it had to be like that. He would just look at you like you were crazy, and ask if you wanted or needed anything else.
Three Months Ago
Along with Peter being a staple in your life, the stars mysteriously aligned and you had several absolutely wild encounters with the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, as well. You must have been blessed to live in his particular neighborhood because you had been protected by him from oncoming danger at least three times since you moved back to the city.
You were starting to flinch whenever you heard squeaky tires, because there were always cars crashing or being thrown around the city, but it was lovely when it ended well by you having your disabled ass saved by a fucking superhero!
Tonight, he was saving you in a much sweeter way. You had gone to a party with Peter, but he had to run off to work. You left to catch an Uber but by the time you came outside, you realized your phone was dead. You sighed and started walking to the Subway, only for Spider-Man to jump down in front of you.
“Hi- uh- hello, civilian,” he said, using a voice changer.
“Hello, Spider-Man,” you told him, leaning hard onto your cane as you stood.
He came over to you like he was about to pick you up into his arms, which he had done before, but hesitated and asked permission first. “I see you’re not well. I’m done with crime-fighting for the night and would like to escort you home.”
“Couldn’t find any elderly people awake at these hours?” you joked. “Had to find a cripple to help, instead?”
“Is- I don’t- that doesn’t sound like a very nice word. I don’t know if we’re supposed to say the c-word anymore,” he finally picked you up in his arms and started to swing you home.
You had your eyes closed very tightly, but he reassured you that he was as low to the ground as he could possibly swing, and that there was no way he would drop you. He’d never dropped anybody, yadda, yadda.
He had you tell him which one was your exact fire escape and even asked if you could guide you inside of your apartment, which you allowed. He waited as you washed your hands in the bathroom, and helped you get to your bedroom and bed.
There were maybe two other times this happened, where you were out late somewhere and getting home was a shitshow, and suddenly Spider-Man showed up to save the day.
“There is no way these are coincidences,” you told him the third time. “I know your secret.”
“What do you think you know?” he chuckled, but you could hear he was nervous.
“I know you’re friends with my roommate. I remembered something from high school, when he said you were going to drop by a party and he was going to introduce you. That’s why you keep taking care of me, right? Because Peter asked you too?”
“You got me,” he confessed. “Peter and I go way back. We used to work with Tony Stark together.”
And so not only were you besties with Peter Parker, you were actually kind of friends with fucking Spider-Man.
Two Months Ago
Peter was starting to act a little strangely. He was more awkward than usual, reminding you of when you were younger. He bumped into you a lot in the apartment, like suddenly the huge ugly loft was too small for two people. He started blushing a lot around you and it was excruciating. He was somehow even more attractive now than when you first met him. His behavior was making all of those feelings you kept buried deeply in the pit of your stomach start crawling to the surface.
So you started dating harder, and more often. Sometimes four dates on a weekend. You went out when your coworkers would invite you. You even made a friend with someone else in the building. You had to do everything you could to keep yourself from falling in love with that adorable motherfucker who you decided was too good for you and would never feel the same way about you as you did about him.
One Month Ago
Your pal Spider-Man was escorting you home again after one of the most terrible dates of your life. The guy was such a dick, you actually started crying while you were still at the bar with him. He made you feel like garbage, and you could barely text Peter through your crying. Then, weirdly early in the night, around 7 or 8PM, Spider-Man showed up as you were crying on a bench around the corner from that bar.
He attracted too much attention, so he swung the two of you onto a rooftop that had picnic tables and a garden. He sat beside you with an arm around you.
“I can’t believe Peter made you come get me,” you said through tearful hiccups. “He’s such a fucking angel, and so are you, Spider-Man.”
“It’s been a slow night, I promise,” he reassured you that he wasn’t letting someone else in the city get hurt by coming to take care of you. “Peter told me you’ve been dating a lot lately,” Spider-Man said through his horrible voice changer. “Is everything okay? You know you can talk to me if something’s wrong.”
You laughed at how ridiculous it was to be comforted by Spider-Man after a bad date. Friendly indeed! You cried into some napkins you took from the bar.
“You’re breaking my heart here. I hate seeing you like this,” he said.
You looked horrible. Swollen, blotchy, and pink, covered in tears.
“Can I ask you something pretty invasive?” he finally said.
“I mean, you’ve saved my life a few times. I probably owe you,” you laughed through your tears. “Just don’t ask me what that guy said to me, because it’s not even worth it and I’m going to try to delete it from my head.”
“I just think- I feel like I know Peter pretty well and- it’s just- do you ever- I mean- um. I think Peter’s into you. I think he was going to tell you before you went on this hyper dating spree. What- he was pretty sure you were into him too. It’s none of my business but- I guess- I don’t know what I’m trying to ask, actually. Never mind, it’s not appropriate.”
You were moved by how much Spider-Man cared about your silly little life, much less your silly little love life. “I like Peter a lot. I’m probably in love with him,” you confessed.
“Then what are you doing?!” he jumped up from the table, grabbing his head.
You laughed at his reaction, your crying fit starting to ebb. “Peter and I are incompatible, unfortunately.”
“Why do you say that?”
You picked up your cane from where it rested against the picnic table and shook it a little before setting it back.
“I don’t understand. Can you explain?”
“Well, Peter’s really hot, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Um-”
“Not just hot, though. Like, fit. People like Peter just don’t date people like me.”
“People who … use canes?”
“Yeah.”
“You think Peter’s some sort of ableist jerk or something?”
“No! Oh my gods, Spider-Man, no. I just think, like, he clearly cares about fitness and ability. He’s always running around doing stuff. I would just slow him down.”
“Slow him down?”
“Yeah.”
“… slow him down from doing what?”
“What?”
“Peter never does anything but work and spend time with you, and sleep. What exactly do you think you’d be slowing him down from?”
“Your voice changer thingy is so annoying by the way, you sound like a slasher.”
“I’ll get a new one. Can you answer my question?”
“Well, when you ask it like that, it makes it seem like I’m being irrational or something, but I promise you, I’m not good enough for Peter Parker! Ugh, you know how you sometimes help me wash my hands when you take me home and then help me to my room and to my bed? He helps me with all that shit, too. We’re in our 20’s and he’s taking care of me like I’m 90 years old. It’s just not the vibe.”
“It sounds like he’s not the one who has a problem with it.”
“Spider-Man!” you said to him, but only because you didn’t know what else to say. Was he right? Had you been pushing Peter away for no good fucking reason?
“You’re right, I’m sorry for prying.”
You smiled at him, and you wondered what expression he had under his mask.
“Peter’s going to tell you that he’s into you. Maybe you should think about what you’re going to say.” He offered you his hand to help you stand and took your cane and handed you that, as well. He snatched you up in his arms with ease.
“Are you single, Spider-Man?” you teased him as he took you home.
“I’m married,” he laughed. “With children. Twins.”
“That’s a shame, but what a lucky little family to have you.”
He led you in your apartment and helped you get settled on your bed, but stopped for a moment before leaving.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. I just wanted to tell you that Peter would be very lucky to be with you, and he knows that. And if you’re not into him, that’s one thing, but if you’re dating every loser in the city because you think Peter has any issues with you being disabled, then I think you’re not giving yourself or him enough credit.”
“You’re a really good dude, Spider-Man. Let me know if things ever go awry with the missus.”
He laughed and left, closing your window behind him.
Three Weeks Ago
Peter was pacing around the apartment. He was going to sit you down and finally confess his feelings for you.
He tried to do it the day after your talk with Spider-Man, but you were still upset about your date and were still crying on and off. Apparently, the guy at the bar had an issue with you using a cane, which Peter now understood must have been really triggering. So he waited another day, and then another day. But now you’d stopped talking about it and stopped crying and were back to your as-sunny-as-you-could-possibly-be-while-in-almost-constant-physical-pain self.
“Peter, I have an announcement to make!” you told him, as you came into the living room and settled yourself on the couch.
He wanted to hug you and kiss you but instead walked over to the couch and sat beside you. “What is it?”
“I’m getting a wheelchair.”
He blinked, and waited. No thoughts were coming to him. He needed more information? He didn’t know what to say. “Con- congratulations?”
You laughed, and he felt relieved. “Yes! I’ve been in denial that I need one and I thought it just wouldn’t look cute and you know how important looking cute is to me,” you joked. “I’ve decided that I’m not going to torture myself any longer. I’ve thought about getting a manual one, but I just don’t have the upper body strength,” you laughed again. “So I saved up some money and I’m getting a fancy electric one!”
“Wow. You should have told me if money was standing in the way of that. I would have helped.”
“Oh my gods, Peter, stop it. That’s so embarrassing. I can’t be disabled and poor, that’s just too many injustices from the universe on one person.”
He chuckled, but none of this conversation was as funny as your laughter was implying. “Okay, so, um. Is it being delivered or can we pick it up or?”
“It’ll be here tomorrow so you’ll have to help me open the box outside and recycle it and stuff.”
“No problem.”
“And figure out all the scary shit about how to charge it and how long the batteries last.”
“I can make any improvements on it that you might need,” he was already thinking about all of the different things he could try to make it better for you.
“Thanks, Peter. I’m really excited. I am sad Spider-Man won’t need to spider me home anymore, now that I’ll have my Big Wheels.”
“I’m sure Spider-Man can handle an electric wheelchair. He’s very strong. I’ve seen him lift a car.”
“Oh my gods, Peter, I am not going to let Spider-Man carry me and my wheelchair, how fucking embarrassing. Can you imagine? Stop, I don’t even want that image in my brain.”
“Were you always like this about your medical stuff?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You never really talk about how hard it is for you, and I can understand that. But you just called it embarrassing. I didn’t know it could be embarrassing to be disabled. Isn’t embarrassment, like, for committing social faux pas? You’re not doing anything socially or morally or in any other way wrong by existing as a disabled person.”
“Okay, someone’s been on social media this week.”
“Can we please talk about this? I mean, I know you’re uncomfortable, but, like, if you’re not talking with me about it, can you promise me you’ll talk to anyone else? Maybe a therapist or something?”
“A therapist? What the hell?”
“I’m just worried that you’re, like, suffering in silence or something.”
“Spider-Man told you about our conversation, didn’t he?”
“He told me some things.”
“Alright, Peter, I’ll talk to someone.”
“You will?”
“Yeah, Spider-Man made me think about it and I think I have some issues I might need to get over. The wheelchair is a step in that direction, actually, kind of like a deeper acceptance that I am the way I am, or whatever.”
“That makes me so happy. I’m so proud of you,” he leaned over to hug you and you hugged him back.
Two Weeks Ago
You were really having a hard time with it. The wheelchair felt enormous, like you were rolling down the street in a tank. You felt every single bump and crack in the sidewalk. There were places you literally couldn’t go unless you parked the thing outside, and there were places you could go but sometimes just avoided them because getting inside of them caused too much of a commotion. You felt like everyone was looking at you all the time.
You and Peter had plans to go to see a movie in the morning on a Saturday and you decided you wouldn’t even bring the wheelchair. You met Peter in the kitchen with your cane.
“You ready?” he asked with a puzzled expression.
“Don’t give me a hard time, please, Peter,” you started walking toward the door. You handed him your purse, since sometimes it was too heavy for you to carry, and he seemed to love carrying your shit for you.
“I have questions,” was what he told you, which he hoped wouldn’t count as giving you a hard time. “Maybe we skip the movie and stay in today? Do a movie marathon instead?”
You paused in the doorway and sighed, turning around and heading over to the couch. “Yeah, that sounds like a better idea.”
You were either moping or genuinely depressed, and he was worried either way. He made some popcorn and poured some sodas and was back on the couch with you as soon as he could be.
“Spider-Man’s been asking about you,” he told you, trying to cheer you up.
“He’s married. I asked,” you joked, and he loved seeing you smile again.
“What’s Spider-Man got that I don’t?” he joked back, and then realized what he’d said. He turned to look at you, but you didn’t seem phased.
“Well, first of all, the super strength thing.”
“I’m strong!”
“Yeah, but you’re too strong for a human.”
“Wait, so it’s cool that he’s strong because he’s a superhero, but if I’m strong it’s bad?”
“Yes, exactly,” you were teasing, and even though he hated what you were saying, he wanted you to keep having fun. If that meant being mildly cruel to him, he would take it.
“Okay, what else?” he encouraged.
“Well, the voice changer. That shit gets me so hot-” you fanned yourself.
“I can get a voice changer. That one doesn’t count. Next!”
“Okay, um, he flies me around the city?”
“Okay, fair. I guess I can’t do that. But how important is that in a romantic relationship?”
“Oh, it’s becoming very important to me,” you joked. “I would say it’s almost a dealbreaker. I think he’s ruined me for all men. I can only date superheroes now.”
Peter rolled his eyes while smiling.
“I guess you’re equally kind, and you’re both very easy to talk to. You have the whole not wearing a mask thing going for you. Unfortunately, masks are not a kink of mine.”
“Okay, so we’re 2:1 in his favor. Is there anything else about me that’s better than Spider-Man?”
You looked at him, and he would have done absolutely anything to know what you were thinking when you looked at him like that, like you were allowing yourself to really see him. You spent so much time looking away, walking away, or rolling your eyes. He wanted to bask in this moment, in whatever obviously positive thoughts about him were going through your head.
And then the moment was gone. “No, there’s nothing else. I’m going to become his second wife one day. I don’t care if I have to wait until I’m 90.” You were joking, but your heart wasn’t in it.
He sighed. He felt like he did finally confess to you and you rejected him. And why did he think you wouldn’t? He really thought that after that one conversation with Spider-Man, that you would see how good the two of you were together. But you clearly didn’t want to be with him.
“Peter?”
“Hm?”
“What’s up? You’re all lost in thought or whatever.”
“You know I love you, right?”
Cautiously, you said it back. “I love you, too, Peter.”
He looked at you for another moment, and then turned toward the television. He picked up the remote and handed it to you. “Alright, you pick the first one,” he finally said.
One Week Ago
“I have a surprise for you!” Peter said as soon as he heard you close the front door behind you, coming back into the apartment from work. You sat in the chair by the door to take off your shoes. Peter stood in the living room, bouncing a little as he waited. The coffee table was pushed back and there was something enormous in the middle of the living room, hidden under a tarp.
“Okay, what is it?” you remained seated in the chair, needing to rest a bit after the walk home from work.
“Are you ready?” he asked you.
“As ready as I can be,” you smiled if only to mirror his excitement.
He lifted the tarp and said “tada~”
It was your wheelchair, only it was decorated. It had originally been an ugly yellow color, but now it was painted all black, with glittery spiderwebs drawn everywhere. Somehow the change of color and addition of design made it look more fun.
“I know you said you wanted it to be cute, but you don’t actually like cute things at all, so I thought what if it was cool instead? Now doesn’t this look like something Spider-Man would proudly carry around the city for you?”
You used your cane to help you stand, and could tell through Peter’s body language that he wanted to go over to you and help you, but he stopped himself. “It’s okay, come help me get closer,” you told him, and he immediately got close to you, put your arm around him, and helped you over to the couch, where he set you down so gently.
“Okay, I mean, it looks something a kid with cancer would ask for, but I kinda love it,” you told him, surprised that you felt a little choked up and weepy about it.
He squatted down in front of you and held your hand. “You okay?”
You waved your other hand. “I don’t know why your stupid gift is making me emotional,” you lied.
He smiled. “Doesn’t it look cool as fuck now? Can we take it out? Maybe go for a walk in the park together?”
You started crying and nodded your head. “The yellow was so ugly!”
“It was so ugly,” he laughed and reached over to where there was a box of tissues on a table and handed you a few.
“It’s still pretty terrible, you know. A bunch of paint and glitter doesn’t make this actually any cooler,” you told him.
“It is so, way, cooler!” he insisted.
“Come here,” you pulled him closer to hug him.
And he kissed you instead.
Today
“So I heard you and Peter are together, congratulations; I’m happy you were able to figure things out for yourself.” Spider-Man was webbing through the city with you in his arms, only he had your wheelchair attached to his back with straps that Peter built special for this. The fucking superhero carried your wheelchair like a backpack!
“You’ll have to bring the missus and the twins to the wedding. Do you want to be my maid of honor or Peter’s best man?”
“Matron of honor, is what they’d call me, since I’m married.”
“You’ve known Peter longer but you’d still rather be on my side of the wedding?”
“No contest,” Spider-Man told you. “You’ve been together for a week and he’s already proposed?”
“Obviously not, but a cripple needs a new thing to daydream about, now that the cripple has their man.”
“I still don’t think we’re supposed to be using that word.”
“You’re such a good person. You know, Peter doesn’t like when I use words like that either.”
“I imagine he wouldn’t, since they’re slurs!”
“He and I were talking, actually, about all of the different things you and him have in common.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, and it made me realize something. Like, I’ve never seen the two of you in the same room together, you know, that kind of stuff.”
“Oh? That’s funny, I didn’t realize-”
“Yeah, and how Peter has every Avengers phone number in his phone, but doesn’t actually have yours, and yet the two of you talk all the time-”
“Well-”
“And I’ve asked a couple of people who have spoken to you, and they were surprised to hear me say that you have a voice changer. They said Spider-Man doesn’t use a voice changer, and that he has a thick Queens accent.”
“What a silly-”
“I know it’s you, Peter.”
“See, that’s tricky, because I can’t exactly prove to you that I’m not Peter, because I’d have to lift my mask. And then you’d know my real secret identity.”
“Uh huh. EV, turn off Peter’s voice changer.”
“What, EV is not just going to follow your commands.”
“Then you ask her.”
“It’s not a her, it’s an … it.”
“Why are you fighting me, I already told you I know the truth.”
“Fine! EV, turn off voice changer. There you go, are you happy?”
“Are you serious? I’m dating Spider-Man? I’m fucking ecstatic. Maybe next time someone is in their head about their feelings about you, you tell them you’re a fucking superhero. That would have really tipped the scale in your favor.”
“Well, we superheroes always have to know you love us for who we are first, and all that.”
“Lame!”
“You can’t say that word, either! What is it with you and ableist slurs? Can you settle down, please?”
“Whatever, Peter. Now that I know you’re not just strong, but fucking superhuman strong, you can just carry me in your arms everywhere.”
“Are you serious, because I’ve actually thought about that-”
“No, I’m not serious.”
And you lived mostly happily, and disabled, ever after.