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Ned knew that Peter was Spider-Man. That was fine in theory, because in another timeline, Ned had been the first to know this fact. The thing was, that was apparently the only thing Ned knew about him, recognizing the name from when MJ had called after him and not from some past pre-spell life. Still, the muscle memory for their handshake had to mean something, right? Not to mention, Ned had just known a lot about his web fluid too, so there were signs that he could remember things about Peter without knowing that they’d been about him.
Peter had wanted to say so much more after Ned whisper-shouted about how cool it was to know Spider-Man, but the ache of getting his hopes up only to be crushed again had been too much. MJ had said Ned could handle it, and Peter didn’t doubt that for a second, but he can’t help but wonder if that’d be worse. It fell into the same fear that kept him away for so many years, that telling them would put them back in danger—but he’d caused that already, hadn’t he? More selfishly, he feared finding out in finality that it wouldn’t be possible, that he would tell them everything and they would know they missed something and yet the gaps would never be filled and all the what-ifs he’d been deluding himself with for years would be proven impossible.
Worst of all, he feared that he was just messing with magic he couldn’t understand again and that as soon as he started tampering with it, the seams that held the world together would become undone again. Then, all these years of anguish would be for nothing and he’d just need to disappear further into nothingness all over again.
Peter left the bodega with the promise to talk to Ned more about it later, but after donning his suit in a back alley, he was surprised to find himself swinging towards the Sanctum Sanctorum instead of his own shitty little apartment. He hadn’t been back since the casting of the spell. The caster wouldn’t be immune to its effects, Stephen had said so himself that everyone who knew and loved him—he’d said we, he loved Peter too despite the fuck-up that he was—would forget him, and it had been proven true on the few times they’d crossed paths defending New York since then. Sometimes, Stephen would remind him of Tony, and it would be the only times that Peter was glad he was no longer here because he didn’t think he could handle being forgotten by Mr. Stark, who held him when he disappeared in the snap and hugged him again on the battlefield not long before Peter had to listen to his heart stop.
The Sanctum looked exactly the same as he remembered. He wasn’t sure how long he stood outside the front door, heart pounding in his ears. He still heard the familiar flutter of a cloak and feet meeting the ground on the other side, waiting for him to make the first move. Trying to swallow the lump in his throat, Peter finally raised a hand to knock, only for the door to swing open before he could make contact.
Stephen stared down at him, dressed in his usual wizardly attire, eyes seeming to scrutinize him as he froze. “Spider-Man,” he said in greeting. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” By tone alone, Peter was pretty sure he didn’t view this as a pleasure at all. At the very least, Stephen was wary, which Peter supposed he had every right to be.
“Ste—uh, sir! I, um, had some questions about magic. If you have time?” the boy stammered, rethinking if this was a good idea. The man who said to call him Stephen was gone.
The look on Doctor Strange’s face turned quizzical, stepping aside to let him in. “I’m not sure you understand what kind of sorcerer I am, but I will humor you.”
The last time Peter was here, it was covered in snow, and yet the Doctor’s familiarity then had still been warmer than this. It wasn’t exactly rude, and they did still work together well, but any human connection outside of their superhero personas had been long lost. He stepped in regardless, waiting for the door to fall shut before beginning his explanation, “Actually, it’s a spell you’ve cast before, so I know you’re at least familiar. It was called the Runes of… something, basically a spell to forget things. You still know that, right?”
Eyes narrowed. “The Runes of Kof-Kol, yes. How do you know about it?”
When Peter tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, gaze downcast, the nerves still felt more suffocating than the suit did. It was now or never, it seemed. Stephen wouldn’t know him, but he could at least understand the magic, and that was more than he’d had in a long time.
“Years ago, you used it to help me. I made a mess, it was all my fault, you helped me fix it, and…” He hesitantly raised his head to meet the other’s eyes again, “You forgot me in the process. It’s for the best, at least it was then, I just… wanted to talk to you about it.”
“Am I understanding properly that I cast this spell in such a way that I can’t remember doing so? Intentionally?”
Peter nodded. Stephen studied him again, expression unbearably unreadable but at least it didn’t seem harsh. He turned to start walking, gesturing for the other to follow, so of course Peter did.
/ / /
“Why are you telling me this? Why now?”
Stephen respected Spider-Man, even if he thought the young hero talked way too much. He could tell he was young from his voice and dated references, but never tried to put a number to the age. He would always get this bad feeling if he thought about it too much, how young Spider-Man seemed now, knowing that they’d fought to save the world together five years ago. He’d call him a kid and then pray that he wasn’t when he dusted away on Titan, so far from home and almost everyone he loved—everyone except Stark. Stephen was gone before the boy was, couldn’t even remember how it happened or what he looked like. He only remembered the look of agony that crossed Tony’s face as he turned away from Stephen toward the boy he was about to lose too.
He really, really hoped that Spider-Man wasn’t a kid back then.
“Well, you see,” Spider-Man rang out his hands, visibly nervous despite his obscured face. “There’s people who I want to know. I’ve spent four years now, completely alone, afraid that everything would break again and trying to protect those I love from my past and the dangers that still follow me. But danger is still finding them, and I want to protect them, I just—I want them to know. I don’t want to do magic about it, not again, I just have to know if it’s possible, and if doing so will undo everything that the spell has protected.”
Four years, completely alone.
Stephen had to know, to understand. He couldn’t just speculate on the level of risk if he didn’t know what he was risking. He’d protected himself from the truth with that spell, and likely for good reason, but if anyone could be capable of handling the truth, it should be him. He tried to ignore that it was accompanied by the feeling of protectiveness that America Chavez brought out in him as well as he thought again, four years, completely alone. Whether or not Spider-Man was a kid, no one should endure that isolation. No one could without going mad, so Stephen reasoned that it was probably best for the city’s safety that he have someone to tell.
“What was the spell, and what were we trying to protect?”
The way the lens move in the Spider-Man suit had always been oddly expressive for as long as Stephen had known him, and yet he was still surprised to find how well they conveyed guilt.
“My identity was revealed to the world and it ruined the lives of everyone who cared about me. I… I asked you to fix it with the spell, but then I went and messed it up because I was scared of it ruining things with the people I wanted to know, and it created a rift between worlds to other Spider-Mans and their villains. I lost someone I loved and would’ve lost the rest if it wasn’t closed. The only way to fix it was if everyone forgot me, the person beneath the mask. You told me it’d be like I never existed… and it worked.”
It was hard to imagine forgetting about the world’s near end. Spider-Man wasn’t looking at him again as he processed this new information. As impossible as it sounded, Stephen couldn’t fathom why he’d make it up, when the tale of failures reflected so poorly on him. Young and naive. Now, however, the reality was that according to every record, he never existed in the first place. No birth certificate, no social security, no family who would miss him. How did he keep himself alive, fed? Did he have a place to stay?
At the very least, he’s seemingly spoken the truth into the world and it hadn’t fallen apart.
“You want to know if it's possible for the people who forgot you to remember before, rather than get to know them again?” Stephen questioned. It’s not like he didn’t understand; even if Christine would never love him again, at least they had their memories of it. Did Spider-Man have someone like that? That kind of sentiment could be dangerous, and yet being erased from history was drastic.
Spider-Man winced, arms wrapping around himself as if setting a barrier, or trying to hold himself when no one else could. “I’ll live without if I have to, I just want to know if it’s possible. There’s one… this girl, she was targeted because a mind reader knew what she meant to me before, and she found out. She doesn’t remember, but she knows that she’s missing memories. I want to know if it’ll only hurt her to find out more.”
So he did have someone like that.
“I don’t know,” Stephen hated to say, but it was the truth. If someone’s memories were erased, it was usually for good reason. There’d been sorcerers that had been tortured for information that had been scrubbed from their minds and never did have any answers to offer. But that was when a spell had been focused on an individual’s memories, not a blanket sweep of the world, where things were bound to slip through the cracks.
“Nothing has happened with you telling me, but I have no memory of these events either. I can’t guarantee that anyone could remember, even if they wanted to. It could cause great strain on the mind, it’s best not to push for the sake of one’s physical health…” Stephen could tell that the boy’s face had fallen beneath the mask, so he continued, “but if memories were to resurface, I don’t imagine it would be the end of the world.”
The mechanical eyes dilated with hope, Spider-Man fixing his posture to stand a bit straighter. The lenses were impossible to see through, and yet for some reason, Stephen was certain that beneath were brown eyes, wide like a doe’s. He contributed it to the memory of America, the only other young soul he’d been tasked with looking after. He really should visit more…
“Are you sure? I won’t break anything?” the young hero asked, a new energy overtaking him. This was closer to the Spider-Man that Stephen recognized from fighting alongside.
“As sure as I can be with magic. And if anything goes wrong, you know where to find me.”
Maybe he was being too forgiving to someone who admitted to nearly tearing a hold through the multiverse, but this was Stark’s protégé, wasn’t he? It was surprising, for someone who seemed so deeply good to his core to come from Stark’s influence, but that had to be worth something.
Spider-Man had stopped walking. They were never really going anywhere, conversation just flowed easier when they weren’t static, so Stephen stopped as well.
“Thank you Doctor Strange, sir. That’s… that’s really all I wanted to talk to you about, I’m sorry to bother you.” The boy started to backtrack, turning to leave, before—
“Spider-Man.”
Stephen had so many questions, but he understood that many of those answers needed to be protected. However, he wasn’t blind to the world around him, so when the other paused to look back at him expectantly, he couldn’t help but bring up, “I saw you on the news. Critical condition. It’s a little soon to be swinging around, are you sure you’re alright?”
There was a distinct shift in body language, seeming to shrink inwards as if bracing himself from the memory of the injury, and yet he nodded. “Could’ve been worse. I’m fine now, I regenerate a lot faster than most people.”
He wasn’t really sure how much he believed I’m fine now, but it wasn’t his place to press. Did he deserve to care for this boy he erased? Had there really been no other way? He didn’t have a right to know, didn’t really expect an answer, but still asked, “How old are you?”
A beat of hesitation.
“Twenty-two, sir.”
He was just a kid.
Stephen gave a single nod, despite the emotions warring with him. “You know how to reach me if you have any more questions or updates on the spell. Do you have a place to stay?” Please say yes.
“I have an apartment?”
The way it sounded more like a question than a statement was less than reassuring, but at least it was something.
“Good. And… if you need to run any memories by someone, I’ll be here.”
It was Spider-Man’s turn to nod wordlessly, resuming his path back the way they’d come. Stephen took it as the rejection it was probably meant to be, instead trying to think back once more to the faceless teen that had helped save the world. Had Stephen liked him? Had they been friends? The fact his respect for the boy still lingered even after forgetting his true identity must’ve meant something. This kid had been putting himself at risk for years in this unforgiving city, and he’d said that revealing his identity (How had that happened? Did he even want to know?) had ruined his friends' lives, prioritizing that over his own.
Stephen remained standing in that same spot for a while after the Sanctum doors fell shut again, staring blankly after the arachnid superhuman as hundreds of thoughts raced through his head. He wasn’t sure how long had really passed before his phone buzzed and he dug it out from his robes, assuming it would be some update from Wong. To his surprise, it was an unknown number.
???
Sorry, I hope it’s not weird that I still have this number
Thanks for your help and everything
I'll let you know if anything magic happens
You can call me Peter BTW :)
Sincerely,
🕷️
Stephen blinked a few times. With the risk that his identity had posed all those years ago, he was giving his name away now anyway? Maybe it was a fake name, an easy out... or maybe the loneliness had really gotten to him. Maybe he still trusted Stephen after everything. Whether or not he ever remembered Peter, he hoped to get to know him, to make sure he at least had someone looking out for him.
Stephen Strange
This number is for hero business and emergencies
Or if you need me to buy you lunch
Stay safe, kid
Peter
I literally just told you I'm not a kid :(
But thank you sir!
(Might as well be a kid, he doesn't say.)
Stephen Strange
You can call me Stephen
He isn't quite sure why he said that, and reading the response of "Thank you Stephen! Call me if you need any hero help 💪" still felt weird, but he didn't correct it. Nor did he plan on calling on his help any time soon, considering he'd been in critical condition only days before and surely still needed rest, but it couldn't hurt to check in from time to time. Peter seemed like he needed it.