Chapter Text
“Hi, my name is Peter Parker, and you– you, don’t remember me.”
Peter fiddled with the heavily worn down paper as he practiced his lines, making his way through midtown New York toward a very specific, very important, very cheap, coffee and donut shop.
"Won't remember me. Should I say won't, instead?" He questioned the lines upon the page. Because of course he did, he was Peter Parker/Spider-man and he had grown to be paranoid about every little thing.
He unconsciously dodged the few passerby, likely on the hunt for some very last minute Christmas presents, specifically thumbing over the words remember feeling where the hard worn ink bleed into paper and smudged from his countless edits and rewrites and moments of rethinking it all. Because was this truly a good idea? Wholly and truly? Did he consider the potential consequences of his actions in full?
Peter knew he had. Of course he did. Jesus, when wasn't he thinking of all of the wrongs he could or couldn't be committing? And all the ones already written and welded into the makings of the universe? Quite literally, considering the incident with a couple of world eaters out for his blood specifically and a magical spell gone wrong that was cast by a legendary wizard-hero that had forgotten of Peter's existence, last year.
Because he…killed, Aunt May less than a year ago. Five months, to be exact. Held her cooling corpse as she bleed out from shrapnel wounds, as she cupped his cheek and he begged for her to hold on just a little bit longer, as she whispered the words, "With great power, comes great responsibility," words that would haunt him for the rest of his remaining years. Of which he hoped there would be many, but in the end would he really deserve them? Deserve to live and grow while the people he loved rotted in the ground? May, Tony, his parents, and the thousands that died because of his misdeeds and failures. No one else's, just his.
Peter knew, instinctively, that he was hard on himself but, frankly, it was hard not to be. He knew that he did so much good as Spider-man, but what about the bad? The ugly? Even the good, had consequences. And would he be cursing MJ to the same fate? Would she bleed out in his arms like May? What about Ned? Would Peter watch him breathe his last, rasping breath? Happy? Dying gruesomely without Peter even being there to see it?
He shook himself out of it eventually, somewhere between Broadway and Seventh. But it rang around inside his head like an echo chamber, desperate to ring out and be voiced to whatever miserable sap was unfortunate enough to have to listen.
Peter stopped just outside the pavement outside of Peter Pan’s Donuts (no, the irony wasn’t lost on him) where the linoleum blue sign– despite showing years of wear and tear, partially worsened since Peter saw it last, likely because of the intense amount of snow they were getting– reflecting the light of the midday into the street. It looked pretty. As pretty as the musty streets of winter in New York could be after it hadn't snowed in a few days. He sat there for a few moments, too scared to look in and too scared to move, but also far too miserably attached to leave.
"Come on, Peter. Come on," he whispered the words to himself. It would probably be 'cringy' as MJ would call it if he weren't genuinely so worked up about this whole thing. "You can do this. It's just talking. You're good at talking. Everyone says you do way too much of it, anyways."
Tentatively, his eyes caught upon the window, frosted over and covered in miscellaneous posters and signs that read 'BEST COFFEE IN NYC' or 'missing dog, call this number' and what have you, but was more than easily bypassed with Peter’s enhanced vision. His breath caught when he saw MJ, leaned over the counter with her teal barista uniform and typical frazzled pony-tail, chatting up Ned, who was nursing a cup of probably shitty coffee and a sub-par donut with an open laptop. Really shitty actually, if Peter's memory was correct. But MJ served it so, really, how bad could it be?
Under his breath, Peter continued to practice with a hesitant mumble, “I have something to tell you that is going to sound crazy–”
-before being ruthlessly shoulder checked by a passerby with the apparent mission of throwing him off and getting to wherever he was going with a near-deadly speed. The man, with a long winter coat that nearly dragged through the dirty New York snow, curled his lip up at him and in typical local fashion spouted, “Get out of the middle of the fuckin' road. ‘M walking here, jackass,” without even missing a beat. He also made a particularly rude gesture as he was walking off.
Stunned and mouth agape at the mere nerve of some people, Peter whipped his body toward the man who was making a quick getaway and sputtered, “Wha, I was here first!”
The man who had to be well over thirty feet away from him now (again, walking like a bat out of hell) turned his head to face Peter again, not using his full body like the first time, and gave him a strange look. The kind he’s seen people– tourists, usually– give to addicts or miscreants or particularly ‘bothersome’ homeless people. It was a sentiment that Peter did not agree with obviously, but the look itself gave him a weird feeling.
Something he definitely did not need going into this particular conversation. Parker luck.
Peter’s throat ran dry and he swallowed nervously. Right. More important things to do. That included, but wasn't limited to; getting his life back on track, making his girlfriend and best friend remember that he existed (or trying to anyways), trying to get the overall crime level in the city down, helping out the little guy, and maybe eat a donut, if he was lucky. A short enough list. Realistic? Probably not. But god he hoped. Even if Peter couldn't make them remember, if he just got the chance to explain--
And he would. He swore that much to them, that fateful night months ago, and he refused to go back on his word. Even if the anxiety was practically killing him on the inside. He turned to face the donut shop once more, his feet trudging upon the snow.
Hesitantly, he speaks again, “...But. It’s the truth.” He comes closer to the door and reaches for the handle, “And I know you’re going to believe me–”
He cuts himself off as soon as the door swings open and the typical bell rings out to announce his arrival. For a moment, Peter blinks and stands in the doorway awkwardly, hand still tightly gripped into the metal. Everything had a grainy, unreal quality to it, as if he was suddenly operating someone else's body and experiencing what they felt, only dulled by one hundred percent. He very rarely felt so out of touch, only in moments of extreme emotion or extreme comfort. Peter couldn't decide which one this, meeting his best friends for the first time again and having to explain everything, was.
“Oof. Jesus Jimeny crickets. Could you close the door?” Ned says it off-handedly, like one would to a friendly stranger. Because that’s all Peter was to him. A friendly stranger. The joke was probably at MJ's expense because she really loved those kinds of things. Weird jokes. Ned gave him a tight-lipped smile and an over-exaggerated shiver from where he sat at the metal table pulled closest to the counter and register, “You’re letting all the cold air in, dude. New York in December, no fun.”
Peter feels a tremor shake his body knocking him out of his momentary stasis quick, realizing just how cold it was outside despite the heaps of layers he had covered himself in, “Um, yeah. Yeah, yes! Sorry.” He clears his throat and shuts the door behind him with a little too much force. Thankfully, it's the regular-human amount of too much force, and not the enhanced-Spider-Man version. The handle, unfortunately, doesn't get the same treatment. Peter winced as pulled his arm away from the door and saw a distinctive, unmistakable hand marking entrenched into the metal handle.
At least, if they had to dust for finger prints on the thing, it would be a non-issue. Seeing as Peter didn't exist. Technically.
Peter turned back around to face the rest of the store. Not that there was too much else. It warm and dimly lit in the way that most low-tier food-service stores were during this time of year, to say that it was basically closed down. In fact, the only people in here were Peter and the two people he wanted to speak with most in the world. But he could only watch as his two best friends went back into conversation like he didn’t even exist.
Peter's stomach drops and feels himself begin to regret his own decisions that led him up to this point. Walking into this coffee shop. Making the entirety of the universe forget about his existence. Becoming Spider-Man. He backtracks on that last one almost immediately. He could never regret that. And he really, really, really didn’t want to regret this, either.
He slowly approached the counter, mulling over the idea of pretending to look like he was reading the shitty menu of shitty food that hung above the counter, trying desperately to glue his eyes at anything but the two of them. Difficult because, again, they were the only people in there. But maybe that was a good thing. It would save them all the embarrassment of how awkward this coming situation would be. Maybe Christmas time in New York did have its perks after all.
MJ looked away from Ned, for a moment, and caught Peter’s eye. He smiles at her, warmly. Familiar. She smiles too. Unfeeling and empty and the perfect picture of what Peter would imagine her trained customer service enactment to look like. It's a hard concept to sit with, considering the fact that he always saw MJ to be so anti-capitalist that the very idea of her having to conform and play nice for the sake of a few bucks shocked him. She leaned backward and tapped both of her hands on the counter, simultaneously, before beginning her slow inch over to the register, clearly trying to avoid her job for as long as possible.
“What can I get you?” Like her face, the plain customer service voice she used painted her out to be even more of a stranger that he didn't recognize. It felt like a betrayal, an erasure, a hurt that Peter couldn't even blame her for. Not that he ever could. But it hurt. Bad.
Peter swallowed back the tears that he knew were beginning to slowly form at the corners of his eyes. “Hi, um…” his voice broke as the words died upon his lips. He knew what he had to say. It was just his name. Just his name, goddamnit. But it just seemed like another impossibility that he had to face. He eventually just had to stare down at the sheet of paper that he had been nervously fidgeting with the whole time. Because it truly was as if he forgot his own name, along with the rest of the world. He managed, after a brief interlude, “My name is Peter Parker.”
But Peter knew them. Ned and MJ. And though the were self (and let's face it, actual) weirdos, he knew that they could be judgy when it came down to it. He didn't have to look up to know that that the two of them were definitely exchanging strange looks with each other. Similar to the guy from before, if not the same. The kind that says, 'who-is-this-crazy-lunatic-and-what-business-does-he-have-with-me?' Or the very simple and sufficient 'weirdo.'
In fairness, Peter almost instantaneously realized as the words left his mouth, that his opening did sound nearly identical to all of Tony's stories about his fake wannabe kids that cornered and introduced themselves to him over the years. So no, not a great start.
But Peter truly found he didn’t care much about that, especially when he really thought about it and realized he probably did look a lot like a crazy lunatic with all of the bruises and wounds visible on his face from patrol. What he cared about, is what happened when he looked up from his sheet of paper: eye contact. Peter found himself looking into the eyes of the woman he loved and found no love and no familiarity staring back. It continued to shake him in a way that he didn’t fully understand yet.
MJ gave an awkward an stilted nod, the bridge of her nose furrowing for a second in justifiable confusion, “Hi. Peter Parker." She clearly tacked his name on to the end of her sentence to humor him in some way, god he was so stupid-
Peter mouthed the word ‘hi’ back. He didn’t trust his voice right now. Almost as much as he didn’t trust himself. Because could he really do this?
He saw them, before, in the windows, Ned and MJ, smiling. Laughing and having fun on what was one of the coldest and bitterest days of the year, without a care in the world. They were going to their dream school, studying whatever they wanted, and they were doing it without being ruthlessly stalked or followed or harassed. With the exception of Peter. But he hardly considered himself a stalker when he was just looking out for them for their benefit.
But that's besides the point. Could he-- someone who was supposed to save the world and its people-- damn the people he loved the most? Force MJ, Ned, and everyone else that he had even halfway-considered contacting into a life of terror and fear and a general, all-round lack of freedom?
MJ titled her head and the curly chunk of her hair that hadn’t been pulled back into the ponytail touched her shoulder. Despite it she looked older. More put together. “Are you going to order or…?”
“Yeah! Yes, um,” Peter quickly nodded, looking back down at his fully prepared speech again for a few moments.
With the questions, MJ’s question and Peter’s own, Peter decided no. Well, no to his own question. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t hurt the people he loved all over again.
To MJ’s question, Peter folded up his notecard and placed it in his jacket pocket, “Hi, my name is Peter Parker,” he winced as he accidentally defaulted back to the one line he had been practicing all night (because it truly did seem that he was forgetting it himself at this point), “and I’d like a coffee.”
Clearly weirded out beyond belief, MJ gave him a soft and slow nod, before doing a slow turn around to the pot behind her, “Coming right up.” He didn't miss the quick glance she gave to Ned, who only gave her a static shrug in return.
Peter could only watch as she turned and for the second time in a very short period of time, felt like his life was slipping away from him. Life being his best friends, his dream college, his mentors, his family, everything and anything seemed to just drop from his grasp.
He stood awkwardly by the cash register, unsure of whether or not to sit down at one of the nearby tables or to just move towards the end. He glanced at Ned, who was very clearly looking at him too, and they both had to give each other that awkward, polite tight-lipped smile. As was typical for strangers. Which was all they could be from here on out.
Peter’s mind was reeling, in all actuality. What…now? Was he just supposed to let all he had ever known slip from his life? He still had Spider-Man. That much was clear when he saw all the news headlines about everything that had happened– and apparently, had still continued to happen, even after the spell– but what about everything else. The people he loved, the places he’d be, everything that made Peter, Peter.
He didn’t have a lot of time to think on it as MJ quickly turned the corner and placed a lidless paper cup on the counter with a heavy hand.
“One-fifty,” she didn’t look at him as she said it, too focused on the register.
Peter didn’t move for a few seconds. He reached into his wallet, near barren as it was. He placed the money, all in coins, on the table, and reached for a lid and a napkin.
“Ah, wait. Let me help you with that,” MJ reached over Peter’s arm and grabbed a plastic white lid for him. Their hands brushed momentarily as they did and it only served to elevate Peter’s oncoming attack of grief, further. This would likely be the last time they ever made contact with one another. Physical or otherwise. And only one of them knew well enough to be fully devastated by this.
When Peter said nothing again, MJ filled the silence with, “These lids are really finicky. And wouldn’t want you to lose your cup of the ‘best coffee in all of New York.’” She puts it in air quotes and Peter is suddenly reminded of the silly signs that covered the windows. The ones he had to peer through in order to see her, living her best life. The one he had decided to nearly ruin.
Peter swallowed, tears undoubtedly welling up in his eyes, and said, “No, wouldn’t want that. At all,” he’s sure it sounds weirdly emotional to them but god forbid a guy be a little sensitive in this situation. He hesitates for a few moments before saying, “Thank you, MJ.”
MJ’s eyes widen a fraction, and Peter can tell that she is about to ask him if he knows her somehow, before she is instantaneously reminded that she is at work. She glances down at the name tag that reads Michelle Jones. “Oh. You’re welcome.”
And that was that.
Peter must have left the encounter like that, dissociated and completely distant from his body as all get out, because the next thing he remembers is being about a block away from the store nearing another crowded intersection when he finally sips his first bit of the coffee.
He really always valued the idea of savoring things. Keeping keepsakes and what have you. Something that would be mighty helpful in reminding him of his old life before, if it hadn’t been destroyed in the explosion that wiped out most of his belongings and his life along with it. Metaphorically speaking. Though if he was being honest, Aunt May really was his life. The one who cared for him, the one who nursed his wounds, the one who first introduced him to the shitty movies and then to the greatest franchise of all time, Star Wars.
Peter swallowed the sip of coffee, entirely black and bitter and all distinctly wrong, and brought his hand down slowly, trying not to fall down that particular rabbit hole of thought. He found himself down another when he looked past his crappy brown jacket to the plastic cup in his hand. The one that read 'We are happy to serve you' in a big, greco-inspired font. He smiled for a moment. If anything MJ was far from happy to serve him or any of the other customers that happened to wander into that joint.
It was the same cup that MJ last gave to him. The same hand that MJ last touched. He stared, transfixed by it, for a few moments, before reaching out with his other hand and brushing over top the two very gently.
To the outsider– which nowadays, included everybody that was not himself– this must have looked strange. But he was in New York so strange was the baseline, really. But to Peter that touch upon his hand and the gift of a cup represented a final goodbye.
A goodbye he really just wasn’t ready to have just yet.
Peter wiped at his eyes, which had spilled over the tears that had been forming onto his cheeks a long time ago. That was one of the other good things about New York. No one really gave a shit if you were crying on the streets, so long as you weren’t bothering them. The only real issue was that it was freezing out and Peter could practically feel the crystalized frost kicking in along the tear tracks and around his wounds and lets just say that frostbite was not the way Peter wanted to go out.
Goodbyes were always a particularly tricky thing. Goodbyes without closure, even more so. And Peter had faced a number of those throughout his career.
The children that he managed to save from a burning building that had to watch as the only home they had ever known go up in flames. The family that was separated from one another on the streets by a police force out to get them. The millions that apparently suffered-- as Peter wasn't around at the time to see it-- after the Snap having to adjust to complete and total disappearance from their families and friends and neighbors.
Peter, Spider-Man, did what he could to help. Supported those that needed it, fought back against injustices when he saw them, but there was only so much he could do. Only so much anyone could. Especially with all the goodbyes that he had to be making himself.
No, not goodbyes. These were wounds. Mental wounds that lay in these broken-off relationships. MJ had been his girlfriend, Ned his best friend. They had been inseparable and they’d stuck with each other through thick and thin. But Peter was in the thick of it now. Without them by his side. And he didn't know how much more of this he could manage.
Peter thought back May and her goodbye. Her last goodbye, to him, "You have a gift. You have power. And with great power, there must also come great responsibility." He had always taken that to mean that he had to carry the burden that others couldn't. And he needed to, still did, Peter knew that much. But...
Was it so bad that he wanted to share that with others?
Peter immediately tried to mentally backtrack at that, almost physically recoiling as he walked throughout the streets of the frozen over Queens. No, no. He couldn't share his powers, he couldn't share his gift. The responsibility was his and his alone to carry the burden of.
But the Peter's-- two and three-- had said it themselves. They didn't have to be alone anymore. They just had to grow strong enough to protect the ones that they loved.
Yes. That was it. That was something perfectly reasonable that Peter could aspire to. Strength, power, and humanity. It's what Aunt May wanted him to stand for, and it still allowed Peter the chance to keep the few people that he had left. Or that he would hope to still have left.
He’d…figure out some way to keep them safe. Maybe they wouldn’t have to know that he was Spider-Man, this time around. He’d get better at keeping own secrets and figure out how to lie to MJ and throw Ned far enough course so that they'd believe that things were okay and normal and safe. And strong.
Strong enough to fight against his own enemies and keep the people he loved safe. It was idealistic. And unfortunately hopeful. Both of which Peter Parker, Spider-Man, had no right to truly be. But at the end of the day, Peter didn’t think that he could live without them. MJ and Ned. Idealism and hope. Peter Parker and Spider-Man.
As soon as he’d made up his mind Peter turned on his foot and immediately began speed-walking back to the donut shop. He’d immediately nixed the speech from his mind. Well, most of it anyway. Anything he’d said would come from the heart and probably sound like word vomit but at least then they’d know right then and there that it was truthful.
He’d nearly plowed down a crowd of pedestrians on his trek over and actually did run into the man from the street in the very beginning, the one who flipped him off and gave him a weird look back, this time bumping into him up front. In a much better, more chatty mood, Peter called after him as he ran straight past him with his mind solely focused on getting back to the shop.
“Sorry again, buddy!” He wasn’t in a race against time but, boy, did it feel like it. For the sake of his own mental health, he needed to get this all figured out and fast.
He heard the man say the word, “Again..?” admittedly a little less angry and a bit more confused then he expected. But nothing was going to rain on Peter’s parade!
He saw the familiar linoleum blue Peter Pan’s Donuts sign and the frosted over windows, and threw the door open with a rattle. This time, it bordered more on the lines of enhanced abilities then just man on a mission. Two twin heads, separated by the cheap plastic counter that MJ was leaning upon, turned to look at the newcomer eyes wide.
Peter swallowed the heavy breathing he had been doing. Yeah, that definitely bordered along the lines of enhanced abilities. Again, he instantaneously felt his confidence skyrocket downwards.
Thankfully, it seemed that MJ couldn’t sense that weakness and she seemed entirely unaffected by him coming running back into the shop like a guy in a romance movie. And boy would she hate that thought. Peter couldn't help it though, that was essentially what this was to him.
MJ gave him a thin lipped smile as she leaned over the register, her chipped nails wringing over the edge, “Welcome in, what can I get started for you?” Her voice sounded just the same as before. All polite, no personality.
Peter stood awkwardly in the door for a few moments, stilted and still trying to regain that same confidence that he lost in embarrassing himself. He figured he’d work it out as he went, and started toddling his way over to MJ, scraping out, “Um, I was just in here, and I wanted to say-“
“Earlier? Did you lose something?” MJ furrowed her brows, again. She lazily pointed towards her phone which was lying on the counter next to the register, “We had someone else working that shift, but I can text him if you want.” She slides back over to her phone, not that far from Ned, "We get a lot of shit left here, most of it ends up getting taken though but hey, that's New York for you."
Peter froze up. Was he that forgettable? He really doubted it, considering the glances that MJ and Ned were making to each other the entire time that Peter was ordering.
“I was in here," his voice comes out uncomfortably tight. He liked to think himself a planner but as you could see, Peter tended to throw any semblance of that to the wind the moment things shifted. And things had most definitely shifted in a direction that he couldn't quite pin down. He continues, "Two minutes ago.”
He looked at her, in her bright teal uniform with her hair pulled in a messy-but-put-together style that he'd never quite seen her wear before (though, she rocked it.) Then at Ned, who had paused whatever work he was doing on his crumb covered computer to watch their interaction, sipping what Peter presumed to be a cold cup of coffee. Then really looked at her again. It was the same unfamiliar, polite, un-weirded out this time, face. Same perfectly polite– as polite as MJ could be– voice. She thought him to be a stranger.
MJ looked embarrassed at that. Not awkward, which she frequently was. Embarrassed. By whom she thought to be a stranger.
"Oh, um. I’m sorry,” She laughed in that same stilted, cool way she always does when put in weird situations. Playing it off by the skin of her teeth. He'd seen her do it maybe a hundred times before, first to him and Ned-- who never really got it-- and then to dozens of others-- who also never did. Because nobody understood MJ and Peter, like Peter and MJ. Usually, she'd go in and attempt to make a dark, unfunny joke from here.
“It’s just I’ve never seen you before a day in my life.” Wow. That really wasn't funny at all.
But he knew that it wasn't a joke. MJ always thought the funniest parts of life were the tiniest realities that nobody but her were able to admit to. She loved pointing out as such and watching people's skin crawl at the indignation.
It was then, that Peter realized, truly and fully what it meant to be a stranger in front of people you once knew and loved.
Because MJ and Ned saw him as a stranger. But not a stranger that she had ever seen before.
Michelle Jones had a lot going on.
For starters, she had just finished up her first semester at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology on the biomedical engineering track, which was no easy feat if she did say so herself. She was working her old high school job over the course of winter break in order to make a quick few bucks (hey, sue her, Boston ain't cheap). And she also had to cater to Ned and customers and all of their needs, of which Ned made up the vast majority.
Thankfully, it was almost Christmas. Which meant that instead of coming out in the frigid winter to get donuts and coffee, people were at home with their families. Which, lame. Not that families were lame. But she was severely lacking in the tips department which did not bode well for her bank account for the next coming semester. As for the customers, she had about five-- save Ned--the entire day.
There was the one guy on his way to the office job, who literally just pointed at the donut and coffee he wanted because he was too busy on the phone. Yes, Michelle considered spitting in his coffee. No, she didn't. Her boss would be disappointed. And cameras existed.
There was a mom and her two kids that were bugging her the entire time she was trying to order. She seemed stressed, and ended up ranting to Ned and her all about how her nightmare of in-laws were in town and all of the shit she had to deal with because of them. Michelle threw in an extra donut into the woman's box. What? She felt as though she was in a holly, jolly, good mood, as Ned would put it.
Then there was the two teenagers which-- barf. She hated having to serve kids her own age it was so demeaning. They both insisted on splitting their orders separate which annoyed Michelle to no end because she had to enter them into the register twice, so she counted them as two customers.
And then there was...
"Hey, what are you thinking about?" Ned interrupted her train of thought. He was fidgeting with his computer on the table in front of him, probably trying to take a look at next semester's class schedules or what have you. Academically driven bastard.
"Um," Michelle tried to rack her brain as she couldn't quite figure it out, it all seemed to just blur together. Which she'd normally appreciate for a long shift but it felt odd this time around, "Not sure. Just lost my train of thought."
"Wow. The great mind of MJ, defeated by a menial nine to five. Whatever will we do? What about the rest of us poor, dumb, saps?" Ned threw his head back in fake lament. Maybe he should have been a theater major instead.
"Har, har. Laugh it up all you want," Michelle rolled her eyes, "At least I'm the one that'll have some cash to work with in the spring."
Ned grimaced, "Eugh. Don't remind me." Ned's grandma didn't want him overworking himself during the winter break and was content with him just hanging out and eating for the extent of the holiday. Ned thought otherwise, but what Mrs. Leeds wanted, Mrs. Leeds got.
Michelle focused back in. The customers. Right.
...guess there was only four, after all.
God. Maybe she was losing it.
Peter bought another coffee. Because of course he did.
It was the cheapest thing on the menu, because people actually came into the city and wanted to get those stupid donuts, and Peter’s wallet was running a bit thin at the moment.
So now he had his legs dangling off of a random, under-construction rooftop in the middle of Queens, nursing two black coffees that he didn’t even like. Mourning the life that he once had. And clearly could never have again.
It was embarrassing to try and explain what was happening to MJ and Ned, who went back to looking at each other with that slightly concerned ‘are-you-seeing-this?’ stare. He just said that he was confused.
“Just finished up finals,” Peter had said, acting all sheepish when on the inside his heart was pounding and he was terrified out of his wits, tears once again threatening to pool over the side of his face. “I’m getting all of the days mixed up.”
The took that excuse at face value, laughed and said they understood, and for a moment Peter felt as though he was back at the lunch table in the cafeteria, laughing and groaning about some upcoming test that they hadn’t studied for yet. Still dreaming and pining after MIT and all of the amazing things they would do upon graduating Midtown, much to Flash’s chagrin.
It was instantly evaporated the moment they told him to get some sleep, seek some help, and maybe go relax with his friends. They said it without them knowing that all of his friends were in that same room, unaware to the fact that they even knew him beyond this polite conversation.
Peter took a sip of his coffee. The first one he got. It had long grown cold but Peter paid for it and he couldn’t exactly be letting things go to waste in his situation. It tasted acrid on his tongue.
Peter had even considered that maybe if he walked in another time, maybe then MJ and Ned would remember him. Third times a charm and all that. Magic worked in mysterious ways and maybe the saying had some truth to it.
He doubted it. And even then, he didn’t want to run the risk of ruining anymore chances. Even though it seemed like he had an infinite number of them now.
“Everyone who knows you and loves you…we’d have no memory of you.”
That much, Peter expected. When Dr. Strange had told Peter that everyone would forget him he was able to come to terms with it. He didn’t like it, would never, like it. But for the sake of the good of the world, he could handle it. There couldn’t be a Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man if there was no neighborhood. Or world, at that.
“It’d be as though you never existed.”
It was the non-existence that he wasn’t okay with.
There was a concept in AP Psychology that Peter had learned about. It was Sophomore year, they were reviewing notecards, and he actually could pinpoint the exact memory in which he first heard the concept. The smell of lightly scented markers on paper. The projector blaring at the front of the dark room. MJ and Ned.
Object Permanence.
The cognitive understanding that people, objects, and places still exist even when they cannot be seen, heard, or touched.
And it seemed that all of the sudden, the world completely lacked any sense of ‘Peter Permanence’ at all.
Peter snorted to himself, kicking back slightly off the beam that he was sitting on and letting his feet reach up and touch the base of the skyline where the buildings began bleeding into the twilight. Ha. He should trademark that.
Then again, what name would he actually be able to trademark under? Because it seemed like he had none.
At first, Peter thought it was just the people that loved and knew him. Dr Strange mentioned as much. Maybe it was an extra-strength spell put in place so that the universe as they knew it wouldn’t be destroyed? But Peter thought long and hard on it and, In fairness, he should have noticed a long, long time ago.
There was his landlord, a bumbling and older man who constantly forgot that apartment seven-B was occupied and kept on going to show it off to potential tenants. Peter and the old man both just thought it was dementia kicking in.
Or all of the job applications that he sent in that ‘never got seen?’ Like they vanished off of the face of the earth? And the receptionists– who he specifically talked to multiple times to ask– claimed to not remember anything of the sort, in a very polite, very professional manner. Peter wrote it off as them not wanting some non-citizen, non-existent person working with them
Even the stray dogs that he attempted to feed always seemed to attempt to bite at him and treat him with the utmost suspicion! Peter was never really sure about that one but now the puzzle pieces were all adding up.
But Peter hadn’t interacted with many people as himself in a long, long time. Since before the spell, really. And even then it was limited to a short number, seeing as he was constantly being interrogated and stalked by the media.
Truthfully, this was the most amount of time as ‘Peter’ that he had since May died. He’d been just Spider-Man ever since.
Peter furrowed his brows and wiped at his eyes clumsily as he thought deeper.
People remembered him as Spider-Man. There was no absence of people taking notes and recordings on what Spider-Man was doing or saying. It was just Peter Parker that was didn’t exist.
It is what he asked Dr. Strange for. To keep the hero facade and erase all of the person underneath, to protect the universe in turn.
Peter just hadn’t expected it to turn out like this. Where there was so many unknowns. Himself included.
He watched the city from up above. The tower that they were building had to be at least a fifty stories, maybe more. Whatever was going to be put in here would be massive. An eye-sore for the city skyline just as Stark nee Avengers Tower was.
Peter smiled at that thought as he was reminded of the nostalgia that came with thinking of simpler times. Working with Tony in the lab. Excitedly and awkwardly interacting with the rest of the Avengers for the first time. Still learning the ropes as a hero.
From hundreds of meters in the air, Peter heard a cry from a few blocks over. A very distinctive mugging.
Peter placed the coffee down– deciding it would be in nobody’s best interest if he brought a bucket-load of caffeine to a fight– swung his legs until he was in a standing position upon the steel beam that he had been hanging out on, the feet of his red and blue suit making hard contact as he prepared to launch himself off.
Spider-Man knew he was a hero long grown, at this point. A veteran in the making.
He pulled the flimsy mask out from his jacket pocket and onto his face, slipping it over his injuries like an extra strength bandaid. It kept all the wounds, physical and otherwise, sealed in. Spider-Man fell forward and was immediately swallowed up into the wind tunnel and protruding darkness of the city.
The real question was, did Peter still know who he was? Or did he forget alongside the rest of the world?