Chapter Text
The day lasts forever.
There is only the burning sun, the grass, MJ’s legs entangled with his. A lazy Friday afternoon. The moment stretches into this – this endless expanse of pure happiness.
Sitting in the park next to the university, amidst students rushing to classes or chilling on the grass too, this is what life is supposed to be.
“I know you’re not actually studying,” MJ says, a reproachful tone in her voice. But she’s smiling.
Peter has missed her so much. He missed her because –
Because –
Whatever. He doesn’t have to miss her anymore. She’s right here, close enough to touch, sunlight golden in her hair.
“I so am,” Peter says. “You know me, super studious, super dedicated. I’ve just been reading for hours. Hours and hours.”
He waves his biochemistry textbook in the air demonstratively.
“That’s really convincing. Except... you’re actually playing Candy Crush.”
“Wha -” Peter sits up quickly. “How could you possibly know that?”
“I can read minds,” MJ says seriously, holding eye contact for longer than would be comfortable.
“Uhhh,” Peter says and squirms.
MJ snorts.
“Kidding. Your phone is making noises.”
Peter looks down at the phone he was hiding inside his open textbook. It beeps.
“Oh. I thought I put that on silent.”
MJ scoots a tiny bit closer on the picnic blanket.
Her voice drops.
“And I thought Spiderman was supposed to be observant.”
“That’s only for, like, important things like crime... web swinging... taxes.”
Peter fiddles with the strap on his backpack. She’s looking at him too much. He’s not used to being looked at anymore. Not unless he’s wearing a mask.
“Right. Cause that’s what matters and not, say, your exam next week?”
“Oh, come on, like you’ve been studying this whole time!”
His gaze drops to the yellow-bluish cover of her own textbook, propped up on her stomach. MJ’s grip tightens when she catches him looking, but he makes a dash for it anyway and she’s no match for superstrength.
Behind the textbook, there’s another, slimmer book. Her drawing pad. And a drawing of him, wearing the Spiderman suit without the mask, and – slipping in the shower?
He laughs.
“Have you just been drawing me this whole time?”
“No, I haven’t! I was also reading... probably.”
She crosses her arms, in a way that’s kind of shifty. Peter’s smile softens.
“Yeah, right. Do you seriously think I wear my Spiderman suit in the shower?”
“As if you ever take that off. I’m not stupid - you’re wearing it under your clothes right now. For all I know, you could be a never-nude.”
“A never-nude?” Peter laughs again.
“Like in Arrested Development.”
“Right. Well, I’m not. Can’t you ever draw me in a flattering position?”
“I dunno, can you try being in one?”
She pushes his shoulder and he lets her tackle him into the grass. He puts his chin on his intertwined hands, like he’s trying to look cute, and blinks up at her.
“This is plenty flattering, isn’t it?”
“Maybe I need a closer look...”
She’s staring at him, wide-eyed, and her face is coming closer... His breath hitches – and hers is warm on his skin. He hasn’t felt like this in so, so long...
“This is sweet,” MJ says. Something is different in her voice.
“What -” Peter coughs once, his palms going sweaty. “What do you mean?”
“This whole set-up,” she says, pushing herself away with one hand on his chest. “This little scenario.”
A shadow of sadness passes across her face. Why? Everything was fine a second ago, why is she suddenly so far away?
“Come here,” he says softly and reaches out one hand. “Come back. Please.”
She only looks at him, expression empty.
“I like it, you know. The college campus. The picnic in the park. Even if it’s a little cliché.”
His hand still hanging there, reaching, reaching, reaching.
“Do you not want to?” His voice falters half-way through.
She sighs.
“I do,” she says. And she takes his hand, fingers in fingers, and lies down next to him.
It’s perfect. Everything is perfect.
(I thought Spiderman was supposed to be observant.)
The warmth from her hand. Tips of her hair tickling his skin.
(Not always.)
“It’s sweet,” MJ says again, all quiet. “But I already graduated uni. In the real world, I mean.”
“You’re talking nonsense.”
“And you never went at all. You were a real slacker, you know?”
“Everything is fine, right?” Peter says quickly. “You – don’t ruin it. Stop running it.”
“You would have noticed if you were paying attention. How everything is a little – fuzzy around the edges.”
But her face is clear, so, so clear, like it was only yesterday he kissed her on the tip of her nose. Her face is clear and the sun is bright and it would be all perfect if she just stopped talking right now.
“You haven’t talked to me in weeks. Since the last time you saw me. And do you remember what I said to you?”
“Stop it.”
“I said ‘I don’t love you. I don’t even remember you.’”
“Just stop, please.”
“And there’s a pain in your temple, isn’t there? Cold and persistent and pushing. Don’t you know where it comes from?”
Peter squeezes his eyes shut, squeezes her hand. It’s real, it’s warm, it’s right there. He can’t let go. He’s never letting go again.
“This scenario, it’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but you could have come up with something a little more believable. Wouldn’t I still be mad at you a little bit, even if we talked again?”
“That’s not real,” Peter says past the lump in his throat. “This is real. You and me. Just you and me, right? Aren’t you happy here?”
It’s a bit like floating, like all the pain has gone numb. She’s saying words words words but there’s the ghost of a smile on her lips. When was the last time someone touched him, not to punch? She’s still holding his hand. He can’t let go.
“Can’t you just stay?” His voice has gone all rough.
“Oh, Peter. Maybe if this was just a beautiful dream. But it’s killing you. You feel it, don’t you? The pain.”
“No. No. I don’t.”
He shakes his head, it makes him nauseous, he shakes it harder.
“You’re dying. You have to wake up, Peter.”
But would that be worth losing this? Losing her? Again and again and again. The last time he kissed her, she was an illusion too. A cruel hope.
What if he just – didn’t?
Spiderman has to do the hard thing, time and again, but what if he didn’t, just this once? What if he just kept holding her hand? Cause that’s the easiest thing in the world.
What if he closed his eyes and lived here just a little bit longer?
All sunshine and no mistakes?
“The world doesn’t need Peter Parker,” he says, a heavy truth.
He looks into her eyes, her hazel eyes, and they still look fond. Fond of him, even when he doesn’t deserve it. Even when he’s done nothing to fix his mistakes.
“But the world needs Spiderman,” she says gently. True too. “Am I right?”
He lets out a shuddering breath. Wants to cry. Wants to scream. Wants to yell ‘this isn’t fair’. But when has the world ever been fair to him?
“If you’re a dream, then you’re supposed to convince me to stay, right?” he says, his last-ditch effort. “Isn’t that how that works?”
A pleading look. She used to be susceptible to that. A long time ago.
“Maybe. But this is a dream in which I love you.”
She brushes a strand of hair out of his forehead.
“So you can’t stay,” she says.
How many times will he have to let her go? How many mirages? How many weeks, months, years, before her ghost stops haunting him?
“Okay,” he says. He doesn’t say, can we pretend? Just a couple of minutes? A few seconds? I’ve missed this, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed having a name. Can we pretend I have a home, just this once?
Can I knock on your door and believe for just a second that everything will be okay?
(He knows the answer anyways. He’s always known.)
“Wake up,” MJ says, but she is using Frank’s voice. “Wake up!”
Peter takes one breath to brace himself. And then – suddenly and painfully – he lets go of her hand.
The world goes –
Bright.
The creature, hideous and with far too many legs, the size of a basketball, lets go of his face and crumples to dust on the floor. That thing. That’s what was eating his brain.
It all comes back to him slowly, hunting these creatures after seeing the police report. All these people who died. Tracking down the nest and killing most of them. One of them must have gotten the jump on him instead.
It’s insidious, the way this thing hunts. It lulls its prey into a sense of security, gives them a beautiful dream, and then it takes whatever it wants. Like a parasite.
You’re in love, and you’re happy, and it’s killing you.
Isn’t that how the story always goes?
Peter blinks as his eyes adjust to the bright overhead lights. He’s slumped against the wall of this room – white floor, white ceiling, white everything. He came in here, right? Some lab or corporation, to look for the nest.
Frank has been yelling obscenities in Peter’s face from the moment he opened his eyes in the real world - the shitty rotten hellhole of a real world.
All of Peter’s limbs are as heavy as rocks. His eyes don’t want to stay open. He just woke up from a dream but it feels like he ran a marathon to get here.
Who cares if Frank didn’t get his beauty sleep or whatever he’s blubbering on about?
“You crazy lunatic,” Frank says, “do you even know how long it took me to get you out of that freaking nightmare? You complete bastard. How could you let it trap you this long? What is it, are you stupid? You’re stupid, you’d just let that thing eat your brain that easy?”
Peter’s face turns sour. He can’t hear it, the lecturing, the admonishment.
“Come on, Frank,” he says, still trying to be reasonable. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”
“Bullshit,” Frank spits immediately.
“Really?” Oh, Peter’s had it. “If you saw Maria standing there -”
“Don’t say that name, who gave you the right to speak her name -”
“If she took your hands and she told you, it’s okay, soldier, you’ve waited long enough – are you telling me you would say ‘no thanks’ to that? You would say ‘fuck off’?”
Frank takes a step back, his face like marble. Speechless, which is really damn rare, but Peter is on a roll.
“You would crumple like a piece of paper,” Peter says and advances on him to jab his finger into Frank’s chest once. “You know you would.”
And then his face does crumple – falls in on itself completely.
Peter freezes. He didn’t expect that. He thought Frank would huff and puff and posture and yell like he always does but this is – different.
Peter regrets everything immediately.
“Is that – are you crying?”
“No.”
“Oh my god. You’re crying. I’m so sorry.”
His anger is suddenly all evaporated.
He shouldn’t be mean to Frank - even if Frank is a non-stop asshole, he did save Peter’s life just now.
Frank wheezes.
“I’m not crying,” he says, his voice all wet and high-pitched.
“Oh wow, I didn’t think this could happen. I can’t believe I made the Punisher cry. What can I do?”
Peter waves his arms around, unsure whether touching Frank would help or just make him lose his hands.
“You can fuck off,” Frank spits. Literally. There is a lot of mucus.
“Tissues? You need tissues? Maybe some water?”
“Go away.”
“It’s okay, Frank. It’s healthy. Let it all out.”
Frank furiously wipes at his face, then uses one arm to cover it.
“Stop looking at me.”
“Don’t be ashamed to cry, Frank. Don’t worry, you’re still manly, uh, muscly - dangerous. Intimidating and all.”
Frank lowers his arm to glare. He looks very, very done but that’s pretty much his default expression.
“I’ll kill you.”
Peter makes a face.
“Too soon.”
“I’ll kill you ten fucking times.”
“You should really go to therapy about this,” Peter says, shaking his head. “It’s okay to cry.”
“I swear to God -”
Frank goes for his gun and Peter does not need to stick around for that.
He runs to the window, and goes to climb out.
Then he turns around on the window sill.
“I’m sorry, buddy. Let’s call it even. You know, when you almost killed me that one time? You’re forgiven.”
“I just saved your life because of that!”
“Much appreciated,” Peter says and does a two-finger salute.
“You tell anyone about this and you’re dead meat, Parker,” Frank yells after him.
“Maybe I’ll tell Red,” Peter says. “Would that ruin your big bad reputation?”
“Don’t you dare,” Frank yells and shoots in his general direction, but Peter has already jumped out the window.
He swings through the city for a while, toward the setting sun. Past the skyscrapers and the office buildings and the hotel chains. He swings until his lungs are burning and his palms chafing. He swings until his head is screaming too loud for him to ignore.
He comes to a halt on some random rooftop, his shoulders shaking and that’s when it all comes crashing down.
The grief hits him so hard it makes him fall to his knees. It’s not new grief. It’s over four years old and it keeps growing and growing.
Being Spiderman, bantering with Frank, keeps this feeling at bay. But at some point, it always falls apart.
And seeing her again, MJ, being fooled again – that’s more painful than anything. And how many times will Peter keep falling for the same trick?
He was supposed to be over this by now. After all, he has his answer. He did the brave thing and got rejected and now he can move on with his life instead of pining over someone he lost years ago. Make healthy life choices from hear on out. Let the years heal everything.
Yeah. He didn’t think so either.
His head is SO LOUD. A million voices and they hate him they hate him they hate him.
Don’t you remember?
(Once upon a time you held the whole world in your hands.)
Tear your hair out, make it hurt.
(You’re a smart kid. Future bright, bright, bright.)
Run however much you want, you can’t run from this.
(Once upon a time, Tony Stark was your friend. And he didn’t survive long enough to forget you too. How lucky. Isn’t it wonderful? He knew your face until the day he died.)
Peter screams.
(Once upon a time, you laughed at Ned’s joke while holding MJ’s hand. Walking home to dinner with your aunt. Penne alla vodka, warm sauce, the kind that feels like a hug.)
Peter screams but it never down out anything, nothing ever works.
Punching walls doesn’t work. Kicking criminals doesn’t work. Introducing yourself as Maynard or Ned Leeds or a million strangers never works.
(Once upon a time, you held the whole world in your hands.)
He should be over this by now.
He laughs, darkly then desperately.
If he was better at this, at being a hero, at being alive, he would be over this by now.
And this is the joke – the voice that sounds like a crazy supervillain taunting him, the voice that follows him everywhere, the voice he can’t defeat like all the others – this voice is really his own.
It’s his own.
It’s loud and it’s stupid and it just won’t die.
Even when he has Frank, however much you can have Frank, even when he has some pieces of Ned again, this voice won’t die.
It’s not enough.
Things between him and Ned will never be the same. For one heart-splitting second, Peter thought Ned remembered him after they did their handshake. But that’s muscle-memory and Ned only remembered that Spiderman’s name was Peter – it didn’t take him long to connect the dots after that. And it was good but it was not what Peter wanted.
And if MJ still wanted to see him again, if she wanted to try again, that would never be the same either. But she doesn’t want even that much – she remembers him as a creepy loser she talked to once. He shouldn’t have told her – no. He should have told her sooner, before she moved on with her life so thoroughly that there was no space in it left for him.
One thing is clear, he needs to stop chasing after fantasies. He needs to somehow muster the strength to stop.
He needs to stop dreaming about MJ – about being loved – about what once was.
There must be some other way to bring back Peter Parker. After everything that happened with Jean, he knows he can’t keep Peter Parker buried in a grave.
There must be some way to bring him back without getting lost in the past and choked by wishful thinking.
One day.
He’ll figure it out one day.