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Snow drifts down slowly, the cold, New York breeze causing a few flakes to fly into his face, clinging to his lashes. It obscures his vision momentarily, blurring the words in front of him, akin to the way tears prevent him from seeing anything. He exhales, his breath turning into a cloud, and crouches down in front of the stone slab, reaching out to brush his fingers over the recently carved letters.
“Hey, Aunt May,” Peter Parker says quietly. He carries a white rose in his other hand, and he gently lays it down on top of the headstone. “Sorry I couldn’t make it the other day. I got caught up in some… stuff.”
The 'stuff' in question included getting caught up in a robbery. Peter also had to take a few pictures of himself (as Spider-Man) for his boss at the Daily Bugle. Also, he had to cram in some practice questions for his upcoming GED test since stopping crime gets in the way of studying.
Peter shifts his weight and grabs his right side with a grimace. He left the robbery earlier with a cracked rib after one of the crooks decided to swing at Spider-Man with a metal baseball bat, and all he could do was wrap his torso before making his way over to the cemetery.
“I went to see MJ again,” he begins, adjusting his beanie to cover his ears better. “Ned was there, too. I overheard them planning where they were going to live in Boston before MJ came over to take my order.” Peter sighs and clears off some snow from the ground to take a seat and rest his thighs. “It’s a little surreal to hear them talk about things, y’know? Especially when…” he trails off and shakes his head, tone rueful when he adds, “Best not to think about it, huh?”
He hears a bird chirping in the trees above his head, a few small lumps of snow falling off the branches and onto his head. Peter wonders if the birds are building their nest and sifts through the snow, searching for some sturdy twigs to leave in a pile at the foot of the tree. It’s the least he can do since they’ll be watching over May Parker’s grave.
“I wonder if I’ll be able to catch up to them,” he continues thoughtfully. “But that begs the question of whether they want to be friends with me or not. I know I’ve gone through it once, but can I go through it again?”
Peter thinks of the cut on MJ’s forehead and the tears in Ned’s eyes. He thinks of the letter that he wrote for MJ, the words still on the tip of his tongue, and of May’s blood on his hands. The memory of its harrowing warmth is enough to make his hands flex.
“I don’t think so,” he admits quietly. “Maybe I can become acquainted with them when we inevitably have the same classes, but that’s all I can allow for myself. Nothing more, nothing less. They almost died at the Statue of Liberty that night and that can easily happen again.”
With great power comes great responsibility, May’s voice echoes in his head, overlapped by his own voice and the ones of the other Peter Parkers.
He tried so hard to set that whole mess aside and look at what it cost him. So, Peter’s making a New Year’s Resolution to leave his friends alone no matter how much he wants them back in his life. If they somehow end up tangled in his web again, then he’ll accept that, but he’s not going to be taking the first step. That’s not a risk that he’s willing to take.
(No matter how lonely he is these days. Even then, he can’t help but get a cup of coffee and a donut now and again.)
“Mister Stark wouldn’t like this,” he remarks with a huff of laughter. “But, then again, he’d probably make the same choice, so he can’t really judge me for it, but I know he still would. It’s either that or he’d drag Doctor Strange out of his Sanctum to yell at him for letting all of this happen to me. Both, if I’m being honest, and then he’d make fun of me for using a sewing machine to make my new suit—oh, yeah! I made a new suit.” He smiles, a tad stronger than before. “I finally put those sewing skills you forced onto me to good use.”
He can’t help the pride that wells up in his chest. After looking at the suits of the other Spider-Men, Peter decided to forgo the Stark-tech suit (which he hasn’t worn since that night, the memories woven into every seam, still covered in his blood) and went with a more natural look.
Peter’s pretty happy with the final product.
“I think you’d like it,” he says. “And I wrote down how you washed the green crap off my old one, in case I might need it again. Some people still don’t like me because of the whole Mysterio thing, but it’s not as bad as before. Probably because they don’t have a face to the suit, y’know?”
His nose is getting cold, and Peter cups his hands around his mouth, breathing out harshly to warm up his hands and his face. He lost his gloves during the move into his new apartment, and he didn’t buy a new pair yet because he’d rather have food for the month. Unfortunately, his high metabolism means that it takes priority.
“You’re probably yelling at me right now,” he murmurs. “Telling me that I need to bundle up before I catch a cold. You’d probably give me some of Uncle Ben’s things. Actually, I have them with me, too, but… I can’t bring myself to use it. Not right now.”
Peter sniffs and wipes his nose before anything can stick to his face. “I miss him too,” he says. “It’s crazy to think that Uncle Ben died almost four years ago. I wonder what he’d say about me being Spider-Man. Do you think he’d be proud? Do you think he’d worry? Or do you think he’d ground me like you did after you found out?” Peter laughs, picturing it clearly in his head—right down to the way Uncle Ben would shake a finger. “Probably the latter, huh?”
He brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, balancing his chin between them. “They said that you didn’t die for nothing,” Peter says quietly. “I wonder if that’s the fate of every Spider-Man—to lose the people close to them. We all lost our Uncle Ben, and for me, that helped me find my purpose with my powers. Peter 3 lost his MJ, Gwen, and Peter 2 lost his best friend… I think… and then I lose you.” He huffs and adds, “I guess I lost my MJ and my best friend as well…”
A tear slips down his cheek, and Peter hastily wipes it away. “Why can’t we be happy?” he wonders aloud. “Why do we have to lose the people closest to us, huh? What gives the universe the right to do this to us?”
And suddenly, he’s angry. It’s hot and burning, the rage that courses through him. Peter wants to simultaneously tear up everything around him and throw himself off the highest building. “Why?” he asks again. “Why me? Why us? Just, why!”
His fingers find their way into his hair, where he tugs and tugs until the pain pulls him back from his uncontrollable emotions. Peter’s breathing hard as he lets his hands fall to his sides, staring at May Parker’s gravestone until the words blur again. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” he whispers. “Everything was going so well, and then I had to go and screw everything up. It’s my fault you’re buried here, my fault you’re gone. I’m the reason I’m so fucking alone.”
Peter takes a shuddering breath, feeling the way the cold air enters his lungs, chasing away any hint of warmth that he may have mustered up. The retreating anger leaves him feeling exhausted, and Peter falls back onto the ground, staring up at the trees. He can’t see the birds, nor hear them. Peter hopes he didn’t scare them off. “I’m so fucking alone,” he repeats, voice quieter. “But it’s better that way. Ned, MJ… I don’t deserve them.”
Don’t say that about yourself, a voice says in his head. It sounds too much like May, and it makes his heart ache. You’re worth everything, Peter Parker, and whoever says otherwise can go eff themselves.
These words are more fitting for the days when all he had to deal with was a school bully. Now, though? He’s already dismissing it, deeming himself unworthy of everyone.
“It should have been me,” Peter says, watching the grey clouds move slowly across the equally grey sky. He holds up a hand and peers through the gaps between his fingers, feeling heavy enough to sink to the ground and be with his family once again. Flesh turned into bones turned into the grass that’ll sprout from the ground after a rainfall. “I should be down there, May. Not you.”
It would have been well-deserved, too.
“He only came after you because of me,” he continues, subdued. “My friends almost died because of me. The other Peters got hurt because of me, and they had to deal with their old enemies, ones that they defeated already. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t gone to Doctor… Stephen. I could have called MIT and asked them to reconsider their decisions. If I had thought of that, then maybe…” Peter trails off, unable to finish the thought. “I don’t know.”
Peter stays on the ground until the cold seeps through his jacket and slips into the marrows of his bones, the chill a reminder of his guilt that’ll never go away. He sighs and sits up, shaking his body to try and rid himself of the snow. “I should probably go before it gets dark,” he says, squinting up at the sky. “I mean, I could safely swing my way home, but I feel like walking today.”
He pushes himself up to stand, idly stretching out his limbs. The snow is falling a little faster now. Peter imagines that he’ll wake up to a blanket of white covering New York, paired with the sound of angry drivers and people cursing as they slip on the icy sidewalks.
“I miss you,” Peter admits when he drops his arms, letting out a shuddering breath. It coils in front of him again—a smoke cloud filled with regret. “I wish I did things differently. I wish I didn’t try to run away from my responsibility. I wish…” Peter laughs self-deprecatingly and rubs the back of his neck. “I wish I’d stop letting myself think about this,” he says, lips twitching. “I bet you’d be hitting me over the head by now to get me to stop.”
Peter steps closer to the gravestone. He places two fingers against his lips and then rests the digits on top of May’s name, lingering for a moment. “I’ll stop by again soon,” he promises and steps back. His eyes well up with tears, obscuring his vision, and Peter quickly brushes them away, not wanting them to stick to his cheeks. He drops his hand and adds in a soft, longing whisper, “I love you.”
A tiny hand suddenly slips into his own, and the feeling of it is enough to make Peter startle. He keeps his reaction contained, not wanting to scare off the kid. His younger fans tend to barrel forward without inhibitions whenever Spider-Man is near. Peter makes sure to linger in semi-populated areas to offer them a high-five or a hug just to see them smile. It combats his loneliness on most days, reminding him of the importance of Spider-Man.
But Peter’s not Spider-Man right now, and his ‘tingle’ didn’t alert him to the presence of another person. Weird.
“Uh…” Peter tries to pull his hand away, but the kid doesn’t budge. Instead, they squeeze tighter, holding onto a couple of his fingers. He discreetly looks around, and when he sees no adult walking around the area, he says nervously, “I think you might be lost,” and finally looks down at the kid.
He’s struck dumb by the sight of brown hair tucked into a red hat, and a golden yellow scarf wound around half the kid’s face and neck, revealing chocolate brown eyes. They stare up at him with curiosity and joy, crinkling at the corners to indicate a hidden smile.
“Mor—” Peter cuts himself off before he can finish the name, staring at her with wide eyes. “Um, shouldn’t you be with your… parents, miss?”
Morgan H. Stark blinks up at him, her expression too innocent, too pure. “Petey needs me,” she says and then pulls her hand away to hold up her arms. The sleeves of her white puffer jacket swish against her torso. “Up, Petey, up,” she says expectantly, like she’s not six years old and growing.
“Okay,” Peter says, bewildered, and dutifully picks her up.
She immediately shifts around until she can rest her head on his shoulder, one gloved hand playing with the zipper of his jacket, the other tugging down the scarf. “I thought you might be sad today,” Morgan says. She kicks her feet, the zippers from her snow boots jingling pleasantly. “So I came to find you.”
The implication in her words nearly floors him. “You—” Peter says, voice shaking. “You remember me?”
“Uh-huh.” She nods, and her hair tickles Peter’s face. “Why would I forget my Petey Bird? I’m not like Mommy or Uncle Happy or Uncle Rhodey, who looked at me funny when I asked ‘em all about you. I remember!”
Peter swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, eyes burning fiercely. “Yeah?” he says, voice a touch hoarse. “You do, don’t you?”
Morgan nods again, and then she leans up, pressing a tiny kiss against his cold cheek, sending a burst of warmth through him. “Are you sad, Petey Bird?” she asks next, her voice a bit more solemn. “Uncle Happy says s’okay to be sad when you miss someone. He also says s’okay to cry. If you cry, Petey, then I won’t tell no one. If you want.”
He laughs shakily and brings a hand up, resting it on the back of her head. “Thanks, Morgana,” Peter says, the old nickname making the girl smile. He kisses her beanie-covered forehead and says, “I don’t feel like crying right now, but I’ll remember that.” Despite his statement, his eyes still burn, and he squeezes her carefully. “Who are you here with?” he asks curiously.
“Who else?” a voice says, and then a warm, mechanical hand covers his other shoulder. Peter stiffens momentarily, disbelief telling him that it’s just an auditory hallucination, but then the other person is turning his body, and he’s face to face with Tony Stark’s kind smile. “Hey, kid,” he says softly, and Peter breaks.
His vision goes blurry as tears spill over, searing hot against his snow-touched cheeks. Peter’s breath hitches and he tries to wipe them away, but a gentle squeeze on his shoulder causes him to inch forward unprompted, burying his face in Tony’s shoulder. Everything catches up with him now, and all he can do is cling to Tony and sob his heart out—his pain, his loneliness, and his grief turning into teardrops that stain Tony’s winter jacket.
“Sorry,” he sobs after a while and tries to pull away. “S-Sorry, I shouldn’t—”
A hand curls around the back of his head, keeping him in place, and he can feel a smaller one patting his back. “I’ve got you, kid,” Tony says quietly. “I’ve got you.”
Somehow, that just makes him cry harder. He thought that he was out of tears, all of them slipping free after May’s death, lost in the rain that poured down on him at the time, but it seems like that’s not the case. His chest heaves with each violent sob, torn out of him in a way that makes his body ache. Peter grips the back of Tony’s jacket and shakes his head, the material of Tony’s jacket roughly scraping against his cheek.
“She’s gone,” he manages to choke out, barely lifting his head. “She’s gone, M-Mister Stark, and I can’t—I don’t know—” Peter tries to get a breath in, but it gets caught on the lump in his throat, and he falls into another bout of sobbing. Snowflakes stick to his cheek, the sharp coldness another reminder of his lonely holiday season, and he brings a hand up when he has a bit of reprieve.
Tony’s already there, his hand gentle when he wipes Peter’s face with just his hand. “There ya go,” he murmurs. When Peter opens his eyes, he spies an expression of sorrow on Tony’s face. “I should have come sooner, kid.”
“S’okay,” Peter croaks out, sniffling. “I didn’t expect you to r-remember.”
“We’re gonna have some words about that,” Tony says, but there’s no anger in his voice, only fondness. “But that can wait. Right now, I want to take you out to get some dinner, and then you’re gonna show me where you’re staying.”
Peter leans forward again, resting his forehead on Tony’s shoulder. “Okay,” he says softly, closing his eyes. He feels the inkling of a headache, and his cheeks are starting to get itchy. “Can we stay here for a bit?”
Tony wraps an arm around him, strong and sure, and Morgan rests her head on top of his. “Of course,” Tony says. “Whatever you want.”
“I want hot chocolate,” Morgan says promptly, and that makes both Peter and Tony laugh.
Peter stays there, content to stay wrapped up in the warmth of his two favorite Starks, and smiles. It feels like the first one in a long time. “I’ll get you some hot chocolate,” he promises. “I think I’ve got some lying around somewhere in my apartment.”
“So you’ve got an apartment, huh?” Tony muses. “You cool with me outfitting it with the best security system in the world? Monitored by yours truly?”
“It’s not like I can stop you,” Peter says.
“You’re absolutely right. You can’t stop me, so I’m going to do it. That’s your only warning.” He combs his fingers through Peter’s hair with his mechanical hand, the joints in the fingers whirring softly. It’s a comforting sound. “Gotta make sure my kid is protected out there in a world that doesn’t remember him,” Tony adds with a smile that makes the white Lichtenberg scars on the right side of his face stretch. He peers at Peter from over his red sunglasses. “You’ll tell me all about it, right?”
“Right! But, uh, it’s a long story,” Peter says somewhat sheepishly. His chest flickers with warmth over Tony calling him his kid. “A really long story.”
“Well,” Tony says. “You can tell me all about it over some hot chocolate later. And maybe some donuts. I hear there’s a good place that has them.”
“Yeah, uh…” Peter glances away, heat crawling to his cheeks. “I’ve been working my way through all of the donut flavors that they have. The cashier that works there seems to appreciate my efforts in determining which ones should stay, which ones should go, and what they should throw out when they get stale.”
“Uh-huh.” Tony sounds amused, but he doesn’t say anything more. “Let’s get moving before Morgan starts eating the snow off the ground.”
“Daddy,” Morgan says with a huff. “I did that one time!”
“She was testing a theory,” Tony explains, exasperated, but there’s no denying the undertone of fondness to his words. “Her words, not mine. Morgan wanted to see if it would taste like a snowcone without the flavor. And then she grabbed some grape juice and poured it all over the snow. It was a mess.”
“Daddy ate some too,” Morgan says to Peter, a cheeky little grin on her face. “He said it was tasty, but not as tasty as juice pops! And then Daddy gave me a juice pop while he cleaned up the mess so Mommy wouldn’t be mad.”
“Wow,” Peter says, covering his mouth to hide his smile. “Great negotiation skills, Morgan. Juice pops for keeping a secret.”
“Alright, alright,” Tony says. “Let’s move on from the subject, okay? We should get our donuts and skedaddle. You do want to see where Peter’s staying, right, Morgan? And you wanna make a pillow fort in his room?”
“Yeah!” Morgan nods.
“I’m gonna need more blankets for that,” Peter says wryly. “And some pillows. I don’t have a lot of things in my apartment. It’s still kinda new.”
“Hmm.” Tony looks contemplative. “Alright, how about I buy you some? And I don’t want to hear you denying me the chance to offer you a housewarming gift. You could probably do with some new sheets, too.”
Peter’s mouth clicks shut, all the protests swirling around in his head dissipating with that simple statement. “Thanks, Mister Stark,” he says quietly and offers a small smile.
“You do know that Tony is my name, right?”
“I don’t think there’s a person in the world that doesn’t know your name,” Peter replies dryly. “You make a point of announcing your presence no matter where we are.”
“Lies and slander,” Tony says with an indignant sniff. He lets go of Peter and turns away from them, already walking in the direction of the exit. “Come on, Morgan! Let’s leave this loser in the cold snow.”
“Make me taller, Petey Bird,” Morgan demands, completely ignoring her father. Already knowing what she means, Peter carefully moves her until she’s sitting on his shoulders, smiling when he hears her joyful giggle. Peter holds onto her legs while he makes his way over to Tony, who gives them a wounded look, a hand on his chest.
“How could you, Morgana?” he despairs dramatically. “My own daughter, my flesh and blood! After everything that I’ve done for you! All the juice pops that we shared!”
“I love you 3000,” Morgan says in the smallest, cutest voice in all the universes (and this is Peter’s completely expert and unbiased opinion).
A smile stretches across Tony’s face, and he looks so fucking happy that it makes Peter smile as well. “I love you 3000,” he says back, voice soft. His eyes flick down to Peter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Both of you.”
“Yeah,” Peter says, marveling at the bud of contentment that’s flowing through him. He ducks his head, dragging his heel against the snow, and says, “Love you 3000. You and Morgan.”
He takes a moment to look back at May Parker’s grave, leftover flowers swaying in the small breeze. “See you next time,” Peter says quietly. Neither Tony nor Morgan says a word, and he’s grateful for that.
They walk out of the cemetery together; Peter Parker, the man who was forgotten by all, and two Starks, both the only ones in the entire world to remember him.
Tony stops beside a car, and the window lowers. Peter can see Happy in the driver’s seat, staring at him quizzically. “I’m gonna walk,” Tony informs him before Happy can say anything. “I’ll call you when I need to get back home, but I’m probably gonna spend the night with Peter here. Just let Pepper know that we’ll be okay.”
“She’s gonna wanna call you to confirm,” Happy says, narrow-eyed gaze fixed on Peter. It makes him feel a little sad to see the mistrust in his eyes, but he gets it. “And she’s gonna do a background check on the guy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tony says, waving a hand. “Just get out of here. You’re cramping our style.”
The window rolls up after a beat, and then Happy drives off. Peter can picture the look of displeasure on his face, the one he always got whenever Tony or Peter dismissed his orders. Peter huffs out a laugh, gently squeezing Morgan’s legs, and starts walking in the direction of the bakery that he likes to go to, the one with MJ and Ned.
Tony stops them before they enter the building. He unwinds Morgan’s scarf from her neck and places it around his own, using it to cover up most of his face. “I’d rather not be spotted right now,” he explains as he opens the door, the bell jingling above their heads. “It’s better if Pepper finds out where I am from Happy, not the press.”
“Because then she’ll yell at you,” Peter says, pulling Morgan off his shoulders and placing her down on the floor. She runs over to the counter closest to the donuts, standing up on her tiptoes to look at them. “And then you’ll be sleeping on the couch, and you’ll cry yourself to sleep.”
“Okay, where is all of this slander coming from?” Tony wonders, pointing at him. “What happened to the sweet, innocent boy that couldn’t even say my name?”
“I dunno, Mister Stark,” Peter drawls, biting back his smile. “I guess he grew up.”
Tony stares at him for a long moment, and then his face softens. “Yeah,” he says and ruffles Peter’s hair. “I guess he did.”
“Daddy! Petey Bird! Come look at the donuts!”
Peter chuckles, half-heartedly pushing Tony’s hand away from his head. “Guess we better listen,” he says. “Who knows what’ll happen if we take too long.”
“She’ll start eating the donuts,” Tony says with a sigh. “And then I’ll have to pay for them all since she’ll only take one bite out of each flavor.” He claps a hand onto Peter’s shoulder, pushing him towards Morgan. “Get whatever you want, okay? I’m paying.”
MJ is standing at the cashier already, gazing down at Morgan as the little girl chatters away, talking about what they’re going to do after they buy the donuts. She looks up when Peter steps up to the counter. He swallows when she offers a smile. It’s not the customer service one, and that makes his palms sweat a little.
“Hey, Peter Parker,” she says, a teasing lilt to her words. “Who’s this lovely lady with you?”
“Princess Morgana,” Peter introduces, resting a hand on Morgan’s head. “Morgan. She’s… She’s my sister, and she decided to visit me for the day. We plan on buying some donuts to eat with our hot chocolates back at my place.”
“Sounds fun,” MJ replies. She leans down, her elbows on the counter, so she’s eye-level with Morgan. “What can I get for you, then?”
“Daddy likes sprinkles,” Morgan tells her.
“You mean he likes giving you sprinkles,” Peter corrects with a smile. “He likes the ones that he can dip into his coffee. Then again, he can’t really do that with hot chocolate, so I think he might appreciate some sprinkles. Or a glazed one.”
“Look, Petey,” Morgan says, standing on her tiptoes to peer over the counter and point at one of the donuts. “That one has tree sprinkles.”
“So it does,” Peter says. He tucks a strand of her hair into her hat and looks up, heart jumping in his chest when he sees MJ gazing at them with a small smile. “Uh, I guess we’ll be having the tree sprinkles, then.”
“How festive of you,” MJ says blandly, mirth dancing in her eyes. “How many do you want?”
“Three of those Christmas donuts, please, and then we’ll get… Uhh…” Peter looks back at Tony, who’s flicking through the discarded newspapers, but the way he glances over at them and back tells him that he’s listening. “Can you do a box of a dozen? Just so we have variety, y’know? And maybe some for the morning, too.”
“You wanna include any of the ones that you haven’t tried?” MJ asks, grabbing a box from under the counter. She puts on a glove, grabs three sprinkle donuts, and then gazes at him expectantly, a strand of her hair falling in her face. Peter has the strongest urge to tuck it behind her ear, and he clenches his hand at his side, swallowing hard.
“No, thanks,” he says. “I’ll save those for another day. How about we do… two glazed, two chocolate sprinkles, three plain, and…” Peter peers down at Morgan. “Any requests, Princess Morgana?”
“Umm…” She points at one of the odder ones, covered in pieces of cinnamon cereal. “That one? It looks tasty.”
“Two of those, then,” he says with a smile. “A perfect dozen.”
“Alright, I’ll just get that ready for you. Would you like anything else?”
You, Peter thinks, drinking her in. The band-aid above her eye is gone now. All that’s left is a pink scar—the only indication that he was once involved in her life. He shakes his head, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he’ll confess everything just to have her back. She nods in acquiesce and turns to grab the other donuts, and he looks around the bakery to try and rid himself of this excess energy.
Ned is sitting at his usual spot. He’s staring down at his phone with furrowed brows, probably scrolling through Twitter or Reddit, or maybe even looking up the prices for the Lego Star Wars set that’s coming out soon. Peter almost calls out to him, but he knows that all he’ll get is an expression of polite interest, a false smile that people use around strangers, and that’ll make the hurt fester even more.
“Here you go,” MJ says, breaking him from his thoughts. She holds out a box, and Peter takes it, breath hitching when their fingers touch for the briefest moment. She stares at him for a couple of seconds, a touch of confusion entering her pretty brown eyes, and then she shakes her head. MJ moves over to the cash register and taps a few buttons on it, meeting his gaze when it dings pleasantly. “Your total is $8.99,” she says.
“I got it,” Tony finally cuts in, holding up a crisp, twenty-dollar bill between his index and middle finger. He walks over, face still covered, and MJ takes him from him, a perplexed look on her face. The cash register opens with a soft ding, and Tony waves a hand. “Keep the change as a tip.”
“Wow,” MJ says, only a smidge of disdain entering her voice. “Thank you so much.”
Tony knocks his fist against the counter. “You’re welcome,” he says brightly and then takes the box from Peter. “Let’s go, Morgana, or I’ll feed all your donuts to your favorite bird, and then he won’t be able to fly.”
“Bye, Miss Donut Lady,” Morgan says with a smile. She turns toward Peter and holds up her arms, and Peter scoops her up without a second thought, balancing Morgan on his hip. “Come on, Peter!” she says, tugging on the collar of his jacket. “Or else you’re gonna stop flying!”
“We can’t have that,” Peter replies, amused. He makes his way over to the door and quickly turns back. “Thanks for the donuts,” he says, meeting MJ’s gaze for a split second. “I guess I’ll see you around?”
“You will,” MJ says and jabs a thumb back at all the donuts. “You’re not even halfway through the list.”
“Uh, yeah! Right!” Peter smiles, pushing the door open with his back. “Then I will see you around.”
“Yup,” MJ says. “See you, Peter Parker.”
The cold air greets him when he steps outside. It’s sharp against his warm cheeks. Tony takes off the scarf with one hand and drops it onto Morgan’s shoulders, and the smile on his face makes Peter roll his eyes. “Don’t even start,” he says, holding up a hand. “Let’s just get to my apartment before the snowfall gets stronger.”
“I wasn’t even going to say anything!” Tony complains.
“Yeah, sure. ”
“How come you never believe me, huh? You, Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy! None of you believe me when this happens!” Tony scoffs, shaking his head. “I’m going to fire you all from my life, and then I’ll just buy myself some new, better friends that’ll appreciate my comments and my presence.”
“Your Daddy is a drama queen,” Peter stage whispers to Morgan, grinning when he hears her giggle. Tony whirls around to glare at them, but then he gets a dopey smile on his face when Morgan laughs louder, the sound carrying over the snowy winds.
The journey to Peter’s apartment is pretty short. He wanted to be relatively close to the city to make it easier for him to head out and do his Spider-Manning. Also, it helps that the bakery is a short walk away, giving him the chance to gaze at his two friends freely with the pretense of being a simple, curious stranger.
“We’re here,” Peter calls out when they reach his building. He makes his way up the steps and presses a few buttons on the panel beside the door, waiting for it to buzz before tugging on the door handle. It creaks loudly as he holds it open for Tony, and then Peter follows, making sure it shuts correctly behind him.
“Kid,” Tony says as he stands in the empty lobby. “This place is shit.”
“Shit!” Morgan repeats happily and falls into a fit of giggles when Tony sighs, shoulders slumping in place.
“Pepper’s gonna kick your… behind… over that,” Peter says, holding back on what he really wants to say because Morgan is in his arms. He shrugs, then, and adds, “It was the cheapest listing out here, and it’s kinda safe.”
“I’m not gonna gamble on ‘kinda,’ Peter.” Tony sighs, shaking his head. “Alright, let’s go see this apartment of yours while I order some crap on my phone.”
“I don’t think anyone’s gonna deliver right now,” Peter points out.
“They will if I tip them a hundred bucks.”
Peter considers that and nods. “Fair point,” he says and walks over to the elevator. He slams a fist against the button, holding back on his strength, and sighs in relief when he hears a loud, metallic creak after a few seconds. “Sometimes it comes up,” Peter explains when he catches Tony’s perplexed look. “And sometimes it comes down. It’s never a guarantee. I usually just go out my window, but obviously, I can’t do that right now.”
“Obviously,” Tony echoes, glancing at the elevator doors with reproach. He arches a brow and says, “Maybe I should graciously donate some money to this place so they can afford a better elevator.”
“Mister Stark,” Peter admonishes. “You can’t just keep throwing money at everything! I just want a nice, simple life out here. What’s simple about a sparkling new elevator in an old building and advanced security cameras on my floor?”
Tony rolls his eyes. “At least let me put some in your apartment?” he pleads, just as the elevator dings and the doors open. Two people come out, muttering amongst themselves, not even sparing them a second glance. “You can monitor the cameras from your phone!”
“Fine, fine! I’ll accept that.”
They enter the elevator, Morgan peering around curiously and Tony gazing at the buttons like a bug just crawled across them. Peter rolls his eyes and leans forward to press one of them, the number to his floor, and the doors shut with a loud clang. It sputters to life and slowly carries them upwards, creaking and groaning. He almost laughs when he catches the hint of fear on Tony’s face, while Morgan laughs openly.
“Elevator sounds funny,” she says.
“More like deadly,” Tony mutters.
It safely takes them up to Peter’s floor, and all Peter has to deal with is hearing Tony’s continuous complaints until they get to his door. He keeps holding Morgan as he fishes out his keys, and then he unlocks the door, jabbing an elbow against it to get it unstuck. It swings open, and Peter steps inside, setting Morgan down on the floor when she starts squirming in his hold.
“Welcome,” he announces. “to Peter Parker’s apartment.”
Tony walks into the place with careful steps, looking around with a critical eye. “It’s, uh…” He sets the box down on his coffee table, the one that Peter bought at the local thrift store for fifteen bucks since it was missing a leg. “Um.” Tony gesticulates with his hands for a second before crossing his arms, frowning. “It’s okay.”
His expression says otherwise. “Thanks, Mister Stark,” Peter replies, nonetheless and goes into the kitchen. He scours the cupboard and smiles when he finds a box of instant hot chocolate, some foreign brand that May used to love. “Alright, I’ll start heating up some water.”
“Water?” Tony says indignantly. Peter hears footsteps and then he’s knocked out of the way. “Nuh-uh, you’ve gotta have milk in that fridge of yours. Go check. Right now.” He scoffs and shakes his head. “Water…”
“It’s a perfectly fine substitute for instant hot chocolate,” Peter protests, but he dutifully follows Tony’s order and opens the fridge. There’s a carton of oat milk on his shelf, alongside other various food items, and he pulls it out. Peter twists off the cap and tentatively sniffs it, but he knows it’s good. Oat milk doesn’t go bad for at least two months, depending on when he bought it.
“Oat milk?” Tony gives a full-body shudder. “Alright, fine. I guess we can go with that.”
“It’s vanilla flavored.”
“Vanilla and chocolate? Ugh, we’ve gotta sort out your taste buds.”
“Would you rather have me spinning webs in the corner of the room and eating dead flies?” Peter shakes the carton of milk, arching a brow. “This is healthier, Mister Stark, and it’s probably something that you should be drinking. Especially when you’re lactose intolerant.”
“Hey!” Tony frowns. “Who told you about that?”
“DUM-E,” Peter says, holding out the oat milk. “When he made me a smoothie with soy milk instead of regular and motor oil.”
“Dang. I knew I shouldn’t have left him with Happy.”
Tony takes the carton and sets it and the box of hot chocolate aside, searching through his cupboards. Peter moves past him and grabs a pot from one of the bottom shelves, handing it over. He’s shooed out of his own kitchen soon enough, and Peter heads to the living room where Morgan’s sitting on the couch, kicking her feet happily while she wears his Spider-Man mask.
“Where’d you find that?” Peter asks, bemused.
Morgan hops off the couch, runs over, and then tries to climb him. “I’m Spider-Morgan!” she declares. “And I’m gonna control all the spiders and make them make me a castle!”
“I don’t control spiders, Spider-Morgan,” Peter says, picking her up and placing her on his shoulders yet again. She barely reaches the ceiling like this, but he’s not sure Tony will appreciate him crawling on the ceiling with her. “At least, I don’t think I do.”
“Can you talk to spiders?”
“Sadly, no.”
“I wish I could talk to spiders,” Morgan says glumly. “Daddy takes them outside when he finds them in my room, but only when Mommy’s not home. If Mommy’s home, then Daddy makes Mommy take them outside.”
“I bet the spiders wish that they could talk to you,” Peter says. “Because you’re Spider-Morgan, and you’re cool.”
“Cooler than Daddy?”
“Yep!”
Morgan giggles, and curls forward, pressing a kiss on his eyebrow. “Thank you, Petey Bird,” she chirps happily. “Now, put me down! Do you have cartoons on your TV? Can you put FRIDAY on the TV? Can we watch Scooby-Doo?”
“Scooby-Doo, huh?” Peter carries her over to the couch and then pretends to crash into it, holding her carefully in his arms. She laughs and laughs, and her hair is a mess when he finally slips the Spider-Man mask off of her. “I think I have a copy of the Witch’s Ghost around here. It should work fine with the DVD player.”
“You did not just say that,” Tony says as he enters the room, holding three steaming mugs in his hands. He sets them down on the coffee table beside the box of donuts and then pulls out a wad of napkins from his back pocket. “A DVD player? Really? Are we living in the 2000s out here?”
“When you’re barely getting paid at a minimum wage job, yes,” Peter replies dryly.
“And what exactly is your job?”
“I’m a photographer for the Daily Bugle. I take pictures of Spider-Man.”
Tony just stares at him, and then he releases a long-suffering sigh. “You’re wasting your skills there,” he says succinctly. Tony takes a seat on the couch beside him, grunting when Morgan throws herself from Peter and onto Tony’s lap. “How about this,” he says, wrapping an arm around the girl. “You continue taking pictures of yourself for the newspaper that hates you, and you also continue your internship with me. How does that sound?”
“Mister Stark, I—” Peter struggles to find the right words, staring at Tony with wide eyes. He swallows and takes a breath, and finally gives his answer, “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know if I’ll have enough time for it. Between my current job, me being Spider-Man, and studying for my GED…”
“It’s not gonna be a hands-on internship,” Tony says. “You’re basically just gonna fetch me coffee and watch over Morgan while I work.” He shifts until he’s facing Peter, gazing at him seriously. “Look,” he continues. “This is for purely selfish reasons, Peter. I don’t want any competition to scoop you up, and I get to make sure you’re safe for a while.”
That defuses any argument that Peter was going to make. He settles for a weak smile and ducks his head. “Alright, alright,” he says with a sigh. “I’ll take the internship, but I’m only doing it for Morgan. Who knows what she’ll get into with your bots…”
Morgan tugs on the sleeve of his jacket, insistent. “Petey,” she says. “I want a donut.”
“Alright, I’ll give you one,” he says. Peter peels off his jacket first and drapes it over the back of his couch. Then, he grabs a napkin and leans forward, opening up the box and picking up the donut with tree-shaped sprinkles. Morgan fixes herself on Tony’s lap and holds out her hands, gasping when he places the donut in her palms.
She peers down at it with a smile and then shoves her face in it, making appropriate monster noises. Peter glances over at Tony, questioning, and Tony sighs. “She watched Jurassic Park the other day,” he explains, reaching around her to grab one of the mugs. “And now she acts like a dinosaur when she eats.”
“Is that an age-appropriate movie?” Peter wonders.
“No, but it’s not like I can stop her. Morgan will just ask FRIDAY to put it on for her and, unfortunately for me, FRIDAY will listen because she likes Morgan better.”
“Everyone likes Morgan better.”
Tony points at him. “You’re not wrong.”
Peter stands up to put on the movie, gently pushing the Scooby-Doo disc into the DVD player and changing the TV to the right input. Morgan settles between them after he returns to the couch, licking chocolate frosting and sprinkles off her hands. Peter chuckles and cleans her hands with a napkin, and then helps her hold one of the mugs. It’s cooled down enough for her to sip it, and she seems happy with the drink.
He nibbles on one of the cinnamon donuts, the flavor bursting on his tongue. It’s part of the select few that he already tried at the bakery, and so far, it’s one of his favorites. Peter makes sure to eat it slowly to prevent a stomach ache—not eating well (or regularly) has made him very aware of how much sweets affect his body, so he tries to take it easy.
Halfway through the movie, someone knocks on the door. Tony gets up to answer it and brings several bags into the living room, pulling out a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and handing it over to the person at the door.
Peter rolls his eyes. “You really didn’t have to get me these things,” he says. “Also, when did you order all of this? And how?”
“Made some calls when I was getting the hot chocolate,” Tony says. “And yes, I did have to do this. I don’t want you freezing and going into a spider hibernation out here. Plus, we did promise a blanket fort for little miss Morgan.”
“It’s true,” Morgan agrees.
And so, Peter works hard to make a blanket fort on the floor in front of the TV. He uses the plastic chairs he found on the side of the road the other day to keep it up, making sure all corners are straight and sharp. Peter creates a small nest inside using pillows and extra blankets, sitting back proudly once it’s finished. “There,” he declares. “All warm and cozy for Princess Morgana.”
Morgan slides off the couch and crawls over to the fort. There’s a smile on her face when she flops onto the blankets. “Thanks, Petey!” Morgan chirps. She then peers at him curiously, patting the space beside her. “You’re gonna sit with me, right?”
“Of course, I will,” Peter says and carefully maneuvers his way inside, taking a seat beside her. He wraps an arm around her, keeping her in place, and she leans against him as they finish up the movie.
Eventually, he feels all of Morgan’s weight pressing against him. When Peter glances down at her, he sees that she’s starting to fall asleep, head falling forward. The credits are rolling on the screen, so Peter scoops her up and makes his way out of the blanket fort, carrying her over to his bed (which has fresh new sheets and a ton of blankets and pillows; Tony probably changed them while they were in the fort).
Tony’s already waiting on the bed, fixing up the blankets for Morgan. He eyes them with open joy and warmth but says nothing as they draw closer.
“I missed you,” Morgan suddenly says sleepily, resting her head on his shoulder. “I wanted you to come home and see what I made with Daddy, but Mommy didn’t know who I was talking about, and Uncle Rhodey didn’t know, and even Uncle Happy didn’t know! But Daddy knew, and so, Daddy brought me to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter says thickly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I didn’t think you remembered me.”
“I’ll never forget you, Peter,” Morgan says, and the promise is strong in her words, paired with the fierce expression on her face. “Never ever. And you’ll never forget me, right?”
“Never ever,” Peter says back. He carefully drops her onto his bed and covers her up with the blankets, making sure to tuck them around her body tightly so she won’t get cold. “You get some sleep now, okay? And then we’ll have some donuts in the morning.”
“Mmkay.” Morgan yawns, closing her eyes. “Love you 3000, Petey Bird.”
“Love you 3000, Morgana,” he says, kissing her forehead. Tony takes over from there, speaking to her in a low voice. Peter makes his way over to the couch and drops into the seat, his butt sinking into the cushions.
He watches Tony and Morgan discreetly, feeling a flicker of something akin to longing when he sees the smiles on their faces. Peter looks to the TV, which is stuck on the menu for the Scooby-Doo movie, and shuts it off, getting up to clean off the napkins and crumbs, lest he get some bugs visiting his home.
A song drifts to his ears while he’s tossing the trash away. It contains foreign words, but it’s familiar, too; he hears Tony speak it sometimes, and the older man told him that it was a language his mother taught him—Italian, he thinks.
It stops after a while, and when Peter returns to the living room, Tony’s already on the couch, slurping something that’s definitely not hot chocolate. He probably found Peter’s stash of coffee beans.
Tony finishes the drink with one final slurp, smacks his lips together, sets the mug down, and then looks at Peter with his hands folded in his lap. “So,” he says. “Why did I see three Spider-Men fighting a weird lizard creature at the Statue of Liberty?”
“Uh…” Peter rubs the back of his neck, ill-prepared for this conversation. But, like most things in life, Peter’s just going to pretend that it’s okay and get through it. He takes a seat beside Tony and opens his mouth, ready to tell his tale, “Well, it all began when Mysterio revealed my identity to the world…”
After an hour of talking, they take a break and have some more donuts. Peter’s got a fresh mug of hot chocolate in his hands, and Tony is halfway through his second cup of coffee, gazing at him with pursed lips, eyes curious.
“So,” he says. “This… Osborn guy, he’s the one who—”
“Yes,” Peter says quickly. He sets the mug down on the coffee table when his hands start to shake, and he clenches them in his lap, tapping a fist against his thighs. “He—Yeah, it was him. But also, not really? See, he had this… other personality, I guess, and it seemed like he never remembered what happened after it took over. I know I shouldn’t blame him for that, but every time I think about him, I just—” Peter cuts himself off and breathes out harshly, nails digging into the palms of his hands.
“You just want to hurt him,” Tony says. When Peter looks over at him, he sees that his eyes are kind, understanding. “Maybe even do more, depending on the day, but all you can remember is his face when you think about the one you lost.”
Now, Peter knows that Tony’s not referring to Osborn. He nudges Tony’s foot with his own in an attempt to offer comfort and receives a smile in return. “The bad guys were basically people who knew that Peter Parker is Spider-Man,” Peter explains. “So, somehow, the Spider-Men of those universes ended up getting pulled into ours.”
Tony leans back, clicking a tongue. “Huh,” he says, contemplative. “And they were both named Peter Parker as well?”
“Yup.”
“They didn’t look like you, did they?”
“Nope. Both were very different. One was really tall and, like, handsome, and the other was older than us both. The older one, Peter 2, seemed kinda put-together, and the handsome one, Peter 3, was a bit… less. Both were carrying a bit of weight on their shoulders, but they were willing to help me when I needed it.”
“That’s good to hear,” Tony says, voice quiet.
“I wish I could see them again,” Peter laments. “And help them out in their own universes with whatever they need, but everything should be okay for them. The bad guys that came through… We saved them from their fate. They were all doomed to die fighting Spider-Man, and I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Of course not,” Tony says with such confidence and nudges Peter’s side with his elbow. “That’s not who you are.”
That’s not who he is, MJ’s voice echoes in his head. Her confidence in him, and Aunt May’s belief that he could do it, are the two things that get him out of bed these days. “We saved them,” he continues quietly. “But then the spell was going to mess up even further, bring in more people, and I thought it’d fix things if Stephen just made everyone forget me like the original spell intended.”
“I assume your two little friends don’t remember you either.”
“No, uh… No.” Peter sighs. “I made a promise that I’d tell them about everything after the spell, but then I saw the band-aid on MJ’s forehead, and I just… couldn’t. I thought they’d both be safer without me. I mean, they almost died at the Statue of Liberty that night, and I—” He exhales shakily, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want that to happen again.”
“Okay,” Tony draws out, pinching the bridge of his nose. “First, we’re gonna talk about why you should ask for a second opinion before going to a wizard to try and fix things, and we’ll sprinkle in a lecture about you and your self-sacrificing self.”
“I think that’s a little hypocritical,” Peter points out, gesturing to Tony’s mechanical arm. Now that his jacket is off, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up, Peter can see that it’s the hot-rod red one today.
Tony rolls his eyes and continues, completely ignoring Peter’s correct statement, “Then, I’m going to have a few words with the wizard. I might kick his ass a few times, with and without the suit on, and I might even let Morgan kick him in the shins.” He holds up a hand. “Rest assured,” he says. “He’ll have a bruise or two on him afterwards.”
“It won’t matter,” Peter says, shaking his head. He grabs his mug of hot chocolate and cups his hands around it, leeching off the remaining vestiges of warmth. “He doesn’t remember me, either, so there’s no point in yelling at him about it. Doctor Str— Stephen warned me of the consequences, and I didn’t listen, so this whole mess is on me.”
“He shouldn’t have told you about the spell.”
“Maybe, but I also should have taken responsibility for everything once it started to fall apart. If I did early on, then maybe…” Peter trails off and shakes his head. “Anyways, there’s no use getting mad at him. I have a feeling he’s going to be in a lot of trouble with the Sorcerer Supreme.”
“I thought he was—”
“He was,” Peter says, lips twitching. He takes a sip of his hot chocolate to hide his amusement. “But then he got blipped, so Wong ended up getting the job while he was gone.”
“Probably for the best,” Tony muses. He places his arm on the couch and drums his fingers along the cushions. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave Stephen alone.” He makes a face when he says the name, something akin to disgust. “But next on the list is installing those security cameras and also adding Karen to your phone.”
“You don’t have to do that!”
“I know I don’t have to, Peter,” Tony says, face open and earnest. “I want to.” He leans back against the cushions, a sigh leaving his lips. “Besides, she misses you, and I have the feeling that you don’t want me to make you another suit with her already installed.”
“You’re right,” Peter says, shaking his head. “I made one this time.” He gazes down into the murky brown depths of his drink, shoulders heavy. “It’s better than the one I was wearing when I first became Spider-Man, and it’s definitely not as good as the ones you made me, but it’s still mine. That’s what really matters to me.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Tony says, a hint of reproach to his words. “You can do so much with that brain of yours, Peter Parker. Honestly, you could probably even build a better Iron Man suit.” He shifts closer, curling a hand around the back of Peter’s neck and squeezing it gently. “It looks good, Pete.” A small, sad smile appears on Tony’s face as he says, “I’m proud of you.”
His eyes well up with tears, and Peter sets his mug down on the coffee table, hastily wiping them away. “Thanks, Mister Stark,” he says thickly.
“I mean it, Peter. You’ve done a great job for yourself, but you’re not alone anymore. I’ll be here for you, and so will Morgan.” Tony spreads his arms and beckons him closer with his hands. “Come on,” he says. “You look like you need it, kid.”
Peter practically dives into his arms, clinging to Tony with the abundance of a lost child reunited with their parent after getting lost in a supermarket. He hiccups on a sob, and then he starts crying again. Much like earlier, Tony doesn’t say a word. His mechanical hand rubs Peter’s back, warm in spite of the metal, and the other one gently massages his scalp.
It’s the comfort his dad used to give him when he was a kid, the memories hazy with time but giving him a burst of nostalgic warmth. May used to do this with him, too, when things were a little too overwhelming.
“Don’t leave me,” he pleads. Maybe it’s childish, but Peter doesn’t care. His mind flicks back to the day when Tony saved the world, the moment where they all thought he wasn’t going to make it, blue light flickering in his chest. It’s a miracle that Tony managed to survive, only losing an arm and gaining a few scars on his face. “Don’t ever leave me, dad.”
Tony hugs him tighter. “Never,” he swears.
Peter feels the promise settle over him. Permanent, like a scar. Hope flickers in his chest, burning as bright as the sunrise, and he buries his face in Tony’s shoulder, trusting the older man to keep him together.
☆ ☆ ☆
Peter wakes to the sound of his phone vibrating on his bedside table. He reaches out with one hand, the other one numb underneath Morgan’s body, and spits out some of Morgan’s hair. She’s stretched like a starfish across both Peter and Tony, snoring away.
They went to bed sometime after his crying session, which lifted a weight off his shoulders and left him with a small headache. Peter and Tony crammed into it on either side of Morgan, making it creak dangerously. She stirred after that, grumpy and curious, but Tony lulled her back to sleep with the same Italian lullaby from earlier, and Peter quickly followed.
He squints at his lock screen (it’s three in the morning), and he’s surprised to see a few messages waiting for him. There’s also a notification informing him that someone added him to a group chat. At first, Peter thinks that it’s Ned and MJ, but when he clicks on the log, he sees two unknown numbers—it can’t be his friends, then, because he still has them saved in his contacts.
The area code is also weird. It’s similar to the New York one, but there’s a number off on each, and it’s not a match to any other state. Peter memorized all of the area codes with Ned when they were bored, waiting for some neighborhood crime to happen.
[Unknown Number]: IT WORKED!!! IT FINALLY WORKED!!! 😤😤😤 I DID IT!!!
[Unknown Number 1]: What worked? Also, who is this?
[Unknown Number]: It’s Peter 😌
[Unknown Number]: Parker.
[Unknown Number]: Peter 3, I mean.
[Unknown Number 1]: Oh! Hey! I definitely didn’t expect to wake up to a message from you.
[Unknown Number 1]: I assume the other number is Peter 1?
[Unknown Number]: Should be! Hopefully. Maybe.
[Unknown Number]: Peter 1, please respond. 😔 I need to know if I fucked up.
“Interdimensional text messaging,” Peter murmurs, eyes wide. “Cool…” He quickly saves the numbers in his contacts, giving them names, and swipes through his keyboard to respond. It’s slow since he only has one free hand, but he doesn’t care. There’s joy bubbling in his chest, pleased to know that he’s not truly separate from the only other people that get it.
[Peter 1]: Hey, guys! It’s me! Sorry, it’s kinda late. The messages woke me up.
[Peter 2]: Sorry about that. I guess different dimensions also mean different… time zones? Dimensional time zones? I don’t know how to label it.
[Peter 3]: Dimensional time zone is a cool name… 🤔 I guess we can call it that??? Seems real enough to me!!!
[Peter 3]: Also, it’s the middle of the afternoon for me. I’m having a sandwich on top of the Empire State Building. Waiting for the sunset…
[Peter 2]: Nice. I’m fixing up breakfast for MJ. She’s craving pancakes and ice cream. Benjy should still be asleep, but I think I hear him starting to wake up.
[Peter 3]: How’s the stab wound?
[Peter 2]: Already healed. Otto made sure to patch me up. We ended up in the same place when we went back to my world, and he made sure I was stitched up nice and neat before sending me on my way.
[Peter 2]: How are you two doing?
[Peter 3]: Could be better, but that’s every day.
[Peter 2]: I get it.
[Peter 1]: Today was a bad day, but it got better.
[Peter 2]: That’s great to hear! I was worried after you told us what was going to happen to you. How are things otherwise?
[Peter 1]: Oh, you know. I still don’t exist to almost everyone in the entire world. I visit Aunt May’s grave to update her on my lonely life, and I think I’m about to spiral into a deep depression.
[Peter 1]: The usual.
[Peter 3]: I appreciate the fact that self-loathing isn’t just a ‘me’ thing and that it’s, in fact, a Parker thing, but I’m telling you right now that there’s only room for one unstable sibling in this Spider-Family and it’s already me. ✌🏻😤
[Peter 3]: Wait, what do you mean by almost everyone? 🤔🧐
[Peter 2]: You two need to lighten up a little.
[Peter 3]: Easy for you to say.
[Peter 1]: Uh, so it turns out my mentor/father figure and his daughter/my sister somehow remember me out of everyone in the entire world? I don’t know why or how but I’m just going to be grateful. Also, my theory is that they’re just too stubborn to forget.
[Peter 2]: I’m happy for you. Glad you’re not alone. Even then, you’ve got us now thanks to this interdimensional group chat.
[Peter 2]: How did this even happen, by the way?
[Peter 3]: 🤷
Morgan suddenly shifts against him, and Peter stills, gazing at her with wide eyes. The girl lifts her head, brown hair a tangled mess, squinting at him with a pout. “Petey Bird,” she mumbles, one of her sticky, frosting hands pushing against his cheek. “Why you awake? Go sleep.”
“Sorry, Morgana,” he whispers, rubbing a hand over her back. Peter watches as she puts her head back down on him, eyes already starting to close. “I’ll go back to sleep right now, okay? Just give me a sec.”
“Mmkay,” Morgan replies, and then she falls back asleep.
He almost envies her ability to knock out easily, but he knows that there’s a difference between himself and her. The biggest one is that he’s older and has already had to deal with more than she can imagine. Peter hopes that she never reaches a time where she worries about going to sleep, unsure if it’ll be insomnia or a nightmare that plagues her for the night.
Peter peers down at Morgan, who is still asleep, and then taps out a message for his… brothers? That might be the best way to describe them.
[Peter 1]: I gotta go. My sister wants me to go back to sleep and whatever Morgan wants, Morgan gets.
[Peter 2]: It’s the same with Benjy.
[Peter 3]: Who is Benjy again?
[Peter 2]: My son!
[Peter 3]: Your WHAT
A laugh slips out, but he makes sure to keep it quiet. He can imagine Peter 3 atop the Empire State Building, probably exclaiming his surprise aloud, scaring off the birds that hang around there. Peter turns off his alarms and sets his phone back down on the bedside table, curling an arm around Morgan once more. He makes sure his foot is still touching Tony’s leg and settles into the pillow.
This is real, Peter tells himself, closing his eyes. Morgan and Tony remember you, and you’re not alone in your room. This is real, Parker. You’re real.
He feels a metal hand curl into his hair, stroking through the mess with a gentleness that makes his chest tight. A low hum fills up the room, and Peter recognizes the beginnings of an Italian lullaby, the one that Tony sang to Morgan only hours earlier.
There’s a lump in his throat again, but this time it’s from simple joy and not sadness. A smile makes its way onto Peter’s face as he feels the edges of sleep grasp at him gently. The feeling of safety and warmth surrounds him, as well as one of belonging, and this time, Peter’s not afraid to fall into dreams.