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Peter had been sleeping next to you. It’d always been easy for him to fall asleep with you, and naps during lazy afternoons like this were rare but always taken advantage of. The way your warm body curled around his helped shut his mind off. Helped him forget about everything else. And he had a lot he wanted to forget about. 

Your arm had snaked around his chest, fingers drawing shapes against his skin until you stilled and your breathing evened. Every little worry that clung to him like a second skin loosened its grip as his eyes grew heavier and heavier. The weight of you against his chest lulled him further until he finally fell asleep.

He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there when his eyes shot open, the sound of sirens in the distance breaking him from his dreamless sleep. The hair on his arms rose tall. Faint vibrations of crashes — from both cars and buildings — tingled across his skin. For just a moment, Peter stared at you as he let a long breath out, letting his heartbeat even. Then he began to slip from your grasp while you slept.

Sometimes, hiding Spider-Man from you ate at him — all the canceled plans, lies, and sneaking around sat heavy on his weary shoulders. Like now, you looked peaceful and just… happy. You’d accepted every part of him, even the parts of him he wasn’t ready to share with you yet. 

But he’d long accepted that this would always be a secret from you. He couldn’t do that to you. Couldn’t go through that again. He already hadn’t meant to pull you into his life at all.

But here you were. You had drawn him in so easily, like you had always meant to fit into his life somehow. A quick conversation in the Empire State University library about your shared English class turned into a coffee date that he hadn’t realized was even a date. That turned into dinner plans and movie nights and laughter like he hadn’t had in years. 

You cooked meals for him and picked him up coffee just because you wanted to. You listened to him talk through chemistry problems he didn’t quite understand and sat on his floor building LEGO sets until the sun began to rise. You brushed his hair back when it fell into his eyes and reminded him to get a haircut because he always forgot. You kissed him when he talked to you about not being good enough.

He’d sworn off getting close to anyone after leaving MJ and Ned. He knew people’s lives were better off without him. How could he not think that after everything that happened? But you had been determined to really see Peter. Some days, he thought you should’ve been pre-med with the way you surgically removed the walls he built around himself.

So he allowed himself some happiness, through you.

Peter rationalized it to himself late at night when he had nothing to distract himself from those memories. He promised to never tell you about Spider-Man or get you involved with it — a promise he had to keep to avoid repeating his past mistakes. And that helped quiet his guilt a bit, enough to fall asleep, and if only so he got to spend a little more of his life with you.

So while climbing out of bed, he watched your chest rise and fall in the dark room. Silently, he stepped into his suit. As he did so, he tried memorizing each and every curve of you — just until he got back from whatever threatened the city, and therefore you. And Ned, MJ, and Happy.

Even if they didn’t know it.

Slowly, Peter turned toward the window and let out another sigh. It’d be okay, he told himself. His hands gripped his window, fingers curling around the edge and pushing it open. He pulled on his mask and leapt.

He only swung a few feet before the world turned black.

Peter’s vision swam as he opened his eyes, his feet firmly on the ground a second later. He was no longer swinging through the New York City skyline. Instead, as the view in front of him became clearer, he saw dust and fire all around. Piles of twisted metal and bodies lay everywhere. Nearby, people stood exhausted and holding one another — people he knew.

In an instant, Peter recognized this place. He saw it in his nightmares, making him wake up sweaty and sobbing more times than he could count. He was standing on the planet Titan, watching Mr. Stark die.

Nausea began flooding his body, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. His mind raced to make sense of what he saw, but his thoughts seemed to stumble and tangle themselves into tangled knots. 

His breaths came short and fast, his chest tightening until he felt like his ribcage might collapse in on itself. Peter ripped his mask off, turning this way and that as his nervous system frayed at the edges. His hands came up and pulled at his hair until his scalp screamed at him to stop. This wasn’t a nightmare.

He stepped backward, looking away for something, anything, from having to relive this moment again. But movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. From the sky, another Peter swung in and walked toward Tony.

No, Peter wasn’t reliving this moment. He was watching it play out. His own voice, scared and weak, hit his ears.

“Mr. Stark? Hey! Mr. Stark. Can you hear me? It’s Peter.”

The real Peter stood still for a moment, as if the hands of his memories gripped onto him — so tightly that its fingerprints etched themselves into the folds of his brain. And he told himself he deserved it, to watch.

But through that pain crawled out a small hiccup of hope. Some subconscious part of Peter made him step forward. Had he thought about it longer, maybe he wouldn’t have interfered. Maybe he would have left this horrible place once and for all. But Mr. Stark was here. Alive. If even for a few more moments.

So his feet began moving, kicking up soft clouds of dust with each step. Tears now slid freely down his cheeks, and he couldn’t even utter a sound. Tony’s head lulled back, his eyes unfocused.

Peter got ever closer, his fingers reaching out as he moved between Tony and the other Peter. Carefully, he intertwined his hand with Tony’s, resting them on his lap. He squeezed once; though he felt nothing in return. The dying warmth of his hand felt like stone against Peter.

But a second later, Tony’s head snapped toward him — suddenly moving and furious. His grip became impossibly tight, making Peter let out a strangled groan as he tried pulling his hand away. Tony just clutched harder. 

Just as he tried backing away, the other Peter turned to him too. In an instant, they both lunged at the real Peter, tearing at his suit until it began to rip and scratch into his skin. He let out a yell, empty and afraid, as he scrambled back away from them. 

They grabbed him, pulling him back. Tony wrapped a hand around his throat while the other Peter landed a punch after punch to his stomach and face. The real Peter looked into Mr. Stark’s eyes — somehow dead and volatile, hateful. He only squeezed Peter’s neck tighter.

“No, no. Mr. Stark, please,” Peter whispered, begged, while thrashing wildly against them both until he could no longer breathe. Slowly, painfully, his vision went black again.

When he opened his eyes, he was back at the start — as if nothing had happened. Slowly, he reached a hand to his throat, feeling the swallow that went down beneath his palm. He watched motionless as the other Peter landed in front of Mr. Stark again.

Peter tried blinking back the tears that threatened to spill once more. He clutched at his head, his jaw clenching until his teeth ached. He heard the other Peter’s voice — his voice — come again, but he couldn’t listen to it. Couldn’t let his final memory of Tony play out like this.

He swung away, searching for anything real. The horrible familiarity of his fight with Mysterio washed over him — the pain and confusion so potent and fresh like the sting of a reopened scar. But it couldn’t be. He refused to believe that. Mysterio was gone. 

A lot was gone.

Beneath him, Peter spotted one of Doctor Strange’s portals open up. He dropped right toward it. There had to be a way out, toward anything that took him far from all this. 

He went through it, landing on the ground below. And instead of the dust and death of Titan, he found himself on the destroyed shield of the Statue of Liberty. 

He was inside another memory. This time, he watched himself fight back and forth with the Green Goblin. He knew how this played out, felt the familiar disgust and guilt in his stomach for what he did. 

He tried steadying his breathing as the other Peter’s punches hit harder and harder, becoming more violent. The sound of bones cracking and injured grunts filled the air as the sun rose over the city skyline.

The real Peter moved again. Maybe he could stop his other self from going down that path — and stop the Green Goblin from hurting Peter 1. He could make up for his mistakes.

The other Peter lifted up the broken glider, ready to plunge it through Norman’s body. The real Peter swung toward them, throwing his wrist forward to shoot out a web. It wrapped around the other Peter’s face, making him drop the glider in a heap.

As soon as Peter got close enough, the other one ripped the web away and lunged at him with that same violence and anger. The two rolled and swung at one another. Peter tried pulling his punches even though the other didn’t. 

“Stop, he’s not worth it,” Peter grunted between hits, trying to talk his other self down — away from the hatred and darkness.

The other Peter just hit harder, his face morphing into a disgusted sneer. “Neither are you. You’re not worth any of this.”

Peter hesitated for just a moment at hearing himself say those words — the words he thought when he couldn’t forget about all the pain that followed him. The other Peter took the chance to grab him, dragging him toward the water. 

Peter’s hands caught the edge of the shield, holding his head barely above the water. His muscles strained and shook with the effort, his body beginning to give out. 

As he held on, he stared down at his reflection. Drops of blood and sweat rolled down his nose, falling and creating small ripples. In the soft waves that butted up against the shield, he swore he somehow saw another image in the water — one that looked like you, scared and lost.

Before he could make sense of it though, Norman’s hands grabbed his head, fingernails digging into his skin. He forced Peter under the water with inhuman strength. Despite his struggling, Peter couldn’t lift himself up. Water filled his nose, then his mouth, until it surged into his lungs. His vision faded to black again.

He took a deep breath when he reappeared. And another. And another until he could push away the feeling of drowning still. Slowly, he turned to his memory and tried again, out of hope or maybe just guilt. But just as he stopped his other self from killing Norman, Peter 1 and Peter 3 attacked — hitting him over and over until the real Peter couldn’t get back up. He watched from swollen and bruised eyes as disgusted expressions crossed their faces. 

“God, he’s pathetic,” Peter 3 spat as his fist connected with Peter’s jaw.

Peter 1 landed a kick to his back. “The worst version of us.”

Eventually, when the pain grew too much, he accepted the darkness he faded into with unspilled  tears clinging to his eyes. The next time, Peter just ran away — something he seemed to be doing more and more. He swung through the air, shaking his head as if that could rid himself of the memory, of their words.

He planned on just landing on the side of an apartment and catching his breath, but as he touched the bricks, the building began to tip forward. He landed on the ground, rolling with the fall. Looking back, the bricks looked like a flimsy cardboard set from a movie.

Peter tilted his head, his mouth opening and closing. But the sound of seagulls squawking brought his attention back forward. He was on a ferry. No, it was the ferry the Vulture split apart, all because of Peter. 

Without thinking, he sent web after web out to hold the boat together, just like his other self. The metal creaked and bent as people screamed in fear. Despite everything Peter tried, the ferry split apart anyway, as if he was always destined to fail. 

Uselessly, he steeled himself for the shame of Mr. Stark’s disappointment that followed, but it did nothing. He couldn’t even bring himself to revel in this version of Tony, not when his angry words echoed around Peter’s mind — joining the voices of his other selves and eating at him from the inside out.

In a corner on the ferry’s floor, Peter let his body collapse. His legs wobbled, his muscles crying out and his mind so loud he couldn’t think. All he could do was sob, his ragged breaths coming out heavy and fractured. With his knees pulled up, he let his head drop forward in between them, his hands grasping at his hair. But the sting of it didn’t change the ache in his throat, his heart. 

His body shook with his cries, and he only thought about you. He couldn’t think about the people who were already gone, wouldn’t let himself fall into those fantasies. But he had you, and you could wrap your arms around him and whisper that somehow, despite everything, it’d be okay. Peter felt as if he was losing his mind, but he knew without a doubt that he had to get back to you.

So, all shaky and teary-eyed, he picked himself off the ground and pushed through the nearest door. He must have been needing you badly enough because he saw you again in the next memory. 

Walking through the coffee shop, Peter kept his head down to avoid watching his friends open their letters from MIT and get rejected — because of him. He aimed for the back door, humming under his breath as a distraction. Anything to keep from facing his friends and losing the little sanity he was clinging onto.

But as soon as his fingertips touched the door, he glanced at the front of the shop. Among the crowd walking past, he caught a glimpse of you. You pushed through the people, rushing toward — or away from — something.

He didn’t even open his mouth to call out your name before you were gone, as quickly as you’d come. Part of him hesitated, his hand curling against the door with white knuckles. But MJ’s voice broke him from the trance.

“Expect disappointment, and you will never get disappointed.”

Her voice hit his ears, wrapping around him like a familiar warmth of finally coming home again… just to find it burnt to the ground. Knocking his head forward against the door, he bit back the urge to cry or scream or punch and somehow commanded himself to step forward. Again, and again, until he left the memory behind.

Peter was ready for the darkness this time, but he startled at the fire and debris everywhere. The heat burned against his face, almost begging him to come closer. At first, the room was eerily silent except for the crackling flames. Then, groans echoed in the building lobby, followed by his own voice again. His heart had recognized this place before his eyes had.

It was the memory that haunted Peter the most. He didn’t wait for Aunt May to collapse into the arms of his other self or listen to himself pleading for May to stay alive. He couldn’t. 

Through the smoke and loose wires sparking, he scrambled over crumbling cement toward a side door. He tried pushing and pulling at it, his muscles shaking with effort, but it refused to budge. The metal handle bit into his palm like sharp fangs. 

Instead, he swung toward the elevators, his fingers gripping the sides to pull the doors open. But they didn’t move either. His super strength had never failed him with something like this.

Stumbling backward, Peter began coughing as the smoke hit his lungs. He shielded his face from the fire’s heat, and from the memory.

“Somebody help! I need an ambulance! Please, somebody…”

His face screwed together tight. He shook his head once, twice, three times trying to block out the noise. He finally swung toward the shattered glass of the building’s front windows — where he knew the SWAT teams would show up any second. 

“What happened?” May whispered weakly, her voice worming into his ears.

But as he neared the front, the metal frames of the windows came to life, the beams breaking apart and shooting toward him. Before he could move out of the way, the metal moved like tentacles, twisting around his arms and legs. They pulled crushingly tight. Another beam snaked around his stomach, another against his throat. They yanked him until he was turned around, watching the memory and unable to look away.

Even as he struggled and grunted with effort, Peter’s super hearing caught May’s last words.

“I’ll just… catch my breath.”

A strangled cry ripped from his throat. His eyes clamped shut as he refused to watch her die again. He writhed against the beams, pulling harder and harder until a slight creak sounded. 

Inch by inch, they moved from his aching body. Washing over him in suffocating waves, Peter’s anger at the Green Goblin, at losing May and his entire life, coursed through his veins as he listened to himself plead for May to stay with him.

The metal bit into his skin as he ripped out from their grasp, his hands gripping the beams and yanking them from the windows. Glass shattered around him as he threw beam after beam away from him. He could barely see between the tears burning his eyes and the rage blinding him. All he knew was that he couldn’t survive like this.

But as he began to fling another one across the room, he saw a shape outside the windows that made him stop.

This time, Peter was sure you were there. Behind the destruction of the lobby stood you — eyes wide, muscles tense, hands open as if in surrender. He let the beam drop from his grasp with clang, making you jump.

He saw your gaze travel down his body to the Spider-Man suit, then eventually behind him to the memory still playing.

So quiet that he wasn’t even sure he heard it right, you breathed out, “Peter.” Your eyebrows furrowed together, not in confusion but fear.

Without a second thought, he took a slight step forward and reached a hand out. But you took a step back, shaking your head ever so slightly. And that was like you had slapped him across the face.

Peter could only imagine how he looked to you, bloody and bruised, chest heaving, and that rage still coursing through him. This had to be another cruel joke to see you here somehow. 

But the rest of them had been memories. You weren’t. You really were here, not just some trick of his imagination. And you saw the destruction he just created with his still-shaking hands.

As quiet words echoed in the air, your attention turned again to behind Peter. 

“May? May? Will you look at me, May? Please?”

He didn’t need to look to know what you saw. He just squeezed his eyes shut before opening his mouth. But nothing came out. His fists clenched at his sides, willing him to explain somehow.

“May? May? What are you doing, May? Please, will you just wake up and talk to me, please?”

Peter stepped between you and the memory, his hands out in soft caution as he ignored his own voice. “Wait, please,” he said, taking another step toward you. 

But just as you took yet another step backward, the SWAT teams finally pulled up — the sound of sirens, yelling, and guns cocking filled the air. He had to get you out of here.

But when he turned his attention back to you, there was nothing. You were gone. Flashes of red and blue lights filled the empty spot.

Peter’s heart skipped. He wasn’t sure which was worse — the possibility of this endless hell making you disappear like nothing, or that he scared you away.

And he found his answer as he ran out from that godforsaken building and onto the street. He spotted you running down the sidewalk — from him, from everything he destroyed. He raised an arm to shoot a web, but a burning pain suddenly erupted in his thigh. 

Peter stumbled onto his hands. Looking down, he saw blood pooling from his leg, a bullet-sized hole carved into his flesh. His fingers curled against the asphalt.

From the group of SWAT soldiers, a deep voice yelled, “He’s over there!” 

A grunt left Peter’s split lips, the noise muffled by the sound of guns firing and bullets whizzing past him. He stumbled to two feet, weakly shooting out a web and pulling himself away.

Through the pain rattling his mind, he watched as you ran inside a laundromat. The bright neon sign outside lit up the street around it, but the inside looked pitch black. Instantly, Peter swung toward it, pulling the door open and following in after you.

His vision cleared a moment later, along with the wound in his thigh. He rubbed a hand over his suit there, the hole gone as if it’d never been there.

Raising his head, Peter found himself in a high school hallway. He didn’t recognize any of the posters hanging on the walls or the few students walking by — until one rushed past him, pushing his shoulder and making him stumble forward a step.

Turning to look at the student, Peter stilled completely. Despite not seeing her face, he recognized her without a second thought.

Your style looked different, your hair too. But the way you moved was so familiar to him, like it was second nature to know you. He followed behind you.

Though at the sound of a soft sniffle, he realized how quickly you were walking. How your hands curved around your head like you were trying to hide your face. He stuttered to a stop when you pushed into the women's bathroom.

Shuffling past him, a group of students appeared, circling around the door. Some of them quietly laughed, others pointing at the bathroom door. He ignored their looks and comments, focusing on you.

He could still hear you behind the door, your soft crying. He called your name, his chest aching. He got no response, and he debated going in when turned and saw you — current you.

But you only gave him one look before you rushed away, pushing through students while Peter chased after.

“Wait! Sweetheart, please,” he called after you.

You only slowed once you reached the library — the area full of dilapidated books and just one or two students. But your breathing continued coming far too quickly, your hands squeezing and releasing over and over again. As you finally turned to barely glimpse at him over your shoulder, a hiccuped gasp came from your throat.

You’d only let him see you like this a handful of times, but Peter saw the panic in your eyes. Recognized the signs in himself, too. 

He kept his voice even, his words like the warm memories of you napping together. “Hey, baby, it’s okay. It’s really me,” he offered, raising his hands in peace. Even though you’d just witnessed him nearly crazed and violent, he couldn’t ever be that way with you.

When you eyed him without running away, he reached a hand out ever so slowly. He pushed away the memory of Tony grabbing his outstretched hand and pulling Peter to his death. Instead, he focused on your shaking chest and tearful gaze.

“Peter?” you whispered, the syllables cracking beneath your gritted teeth.

He nodded, his own eyes growing watery at watching you. “It’s me. I’m here.” Silently, he begged for this to all be over, for your sake at least.

All in one movement, you grabbed his hand and pulled in close for a crushing hug. Your muscles felt rigid beneath Peter’s gloved hands, your chest still heaving.

So he ran a palm along your back and whispered, “Okay, just one breath at a time. Follow me.” He made sure you could feel as he inhaled slow and deep and exhaled in long breaths. “It’s just you and me.”

He felt a pang in his chest, his eyes closing until you hugged tighter. With each second, your body relaxed just a bit more. Your heart beating against him dropped from its racing pace.

Peter guided you toward one of the tables, pulling out a chair for you to sit on. As he sat down himself, he only rested a hand on your thigh and let minutes pass. The quiet of the library blanketed his skin until you finally spoke.

With your hands covering most of your face, just how your younger self did, you gave him a sad smile. “How much did you see?” you asked, voice quiet and tired.

Peter gave a flat grin in response. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I should ask you the same thing.”

You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. “Peter… what’s going on? Is this part of the nightmares? I saw my parents, my friend…” You trailed off, unspoken memories playing behind your eyes.

Then you looked back at him. “Is this,” you gestured to his suit, “really you? Was that you back there?”

He felt the weight of your gaze on him. Any other time, he’d welcome the crushing feeling of your undivided attention, but not now. Guilt squeezed at his throat until it hurt to swallow. He hadn’t meant for you to see any of this. Hadn’t meant for you to see that part of him — the part that’d stopped pulling his punches when the hurt and emptiness got too much.

“I’m sorry, I just…” he scrunched his face tight, frustration bubbling beneath his skin as he opened and closed his mouth. It was ‘just’ everything. His fingers came up to his hair and pulled, hoping the pain would somehow help him. 

He gripped tight when he felt the weight of your hand on his wrist, squeezing until he slowly loosened his grasp. You held onto him as his arms lowered back down to the table.

With nothing but understanding and unearned kindness behind your words, you asked, “Who’s May?”

And that made Peter freeze. He looked at you for a moment before turning his gaze anywhere else. “May’s my-” he caught himself with a shake of his head. “May was my aunt. And…. And I got her killed because I–”

“Hey,” you interrupted, squeezing his arm again. He finally looked back at you, tears stinging his eyes. Your thumb began to swipe back and forth, over and over. “Tell me about her. What was Aunt May like?”

He felt a tear streak down his cheek, a lump forming his throat as he let the memories creep to the surface. “She was… everything. She raised me, along with Uncle Ben. She always knew what to say. She could barely cook dinner without burning it.” Peter laughed, shaking his head at the many failed attempts. You laughed too, and he hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear it.

He intertwined his hand with yours. “And she was kind,” he breathed out. “Kinder than anyone I ever knew.”

You offered a smile. “Seems like a common trait for the Parkers.”

His lip began to quiver, and finally, the tears broke from his waterline and spilled freely down his face. You surged forward and held onto him again. You didn’t say anything, just let him slowly wrap his arms around you.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered again, his voice muffled against you. You just shook your head; and in that moment, he knew Aunt May would’ve loved you. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

You pulled back, cradling his face in your hands. Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. He felt his mind go quiet, if even for a moment before you rested your forehead against his. 

“You’re Peter Parker. And apparently Spider-Man. I can’t think of anyone who’s helped others more than you. Who’s sacrificed more than you. Peter, you deserve everything good in this world.” You leaned more into him, your fingers holding on tight.

He tried shaking his head, but your grip stopped him from moving too much. “I can’t do this to you. Can’t put you in danger, not like what I’ve done to others,” he whispered, voice strained like every word hurt to utter.

“That’s not up to you, Peter.” You pulled back, forcing him to look at you. “I can’t just go about my life when the man I love is right here.”

For a moment, Peter just blinked at you. His mind tried fighting against your words, your kindness toward him. But it had no retaliation for the look in your eyes, the sincerity in your expression. He finally said, “I love you too.”

And before he could add any “buts” or retorts, you smiled so wide a pang ached in his chest. “Great,” you said, “It’s settled then.” As if that was how simple it was to you, how simple things could be.

Peter couldn’t find it in himself to say anything as you lay your head in the crook of his neck, ghosting a kiss to the bottom of his jaw. You asked, “Do you know how to escape this hellscape?”

His head brushed against you as he shook it. “No,” he said, letting out a sigh. “But I’m glad you’re here. Well- not like I’m happy that you’re going through it, just that you’re with m-”

You didn’t let him continue his ramble as you stood up, pulling him up with you. Your mouth growing into a soft smile, you lightly tugged on his hand. “I know,” you told him as you began to walk toward the library exit. “Me too.”

But you barely made it one step before Peter pulled you back into his arms, kissing you. This time, his mouth moved against yours as if memorizing every inch of you. As if he could kiss you enough to prove how much you meant to him. 

Your hands snaked up his arms and around his neck, your fingers playing with the hair at his nape. He swore you breathed life into him with each kiss.

When you finally pulled away, you both breathed heavily, your exhales mingling in the air between you. Then, hand-in-hand, you walked out of the library and into a dark classroom. 

This time, the darkness gave way to an apartment Peter didn’t recognize. The off-white walls of the hallway had no pictures or decorations. Sporadic piles of clothes and wrappers sat on the floors. 

From another room, the sound of yelling began to fill the space. But he barely had time to make sense of it before you were yanking him through the apartment.

You tried to keep Peter moving, but he stopped in his tracks once you reached the living room. You pulled on Peter’s hand harder, but he couldn’t do anything but watch the memory play out. A memory of you and some man shouting at one another. 

The man stood tall over you — like some silent threat of intimidation. Peter could barely make out any words being shouted, but he saw the man’s face turning red and his finger pointing in your other self’s face. And he saw that you were crying and the man wasn’t. 

Deep in Peter’s stomach, a rage desperate to come out quickly spread through his body. It snaked through his ribs and around his muscles that his purposeful deep breaths did nothing to satiate.

Peter glanced at the real you, nerves feeling like live wires, but you stared off into the corner — as if waiting for him to say something terrible, judgmental, about your past. But he only asked two questions, his voice holding restrained anger behind clenched teeth.

“Is this Travis?”

He’d remembered you talking about your terrible ex-boyfriend and the way he would treat you — the same way this painful memory played out. Quietly, you let out a long sigh as your hands wrung together. Then, “Yes,” you whispered.

“Can I hit him?”

You looked up from where you’d been eyeing the carpet, eyebrows furrowing tight. But Peter held still, his shoulders tense and jaw tight. His fists clenched by his sides. They eased a fraction when a small smile spread across your face.

“Please,” you breathed out, your eyes wide.

Instantly, Travis turned from your other self to Peter, all grease and undeserved bravado, shouting, “Oh yeah? You think you can hit m-”

Peter shot out a web at Travis’s mouth, silencing him. From the corner of his eyes, he could see both versions of you visibly relax. Then Peter swung on him twice, once in the gut and once in the jaw, before Travis lay on the ground. 

Maybe he should have felt bad about it, but Peter couldn’t find it in himself to care — not while a sick satisfaction filled him at seeing your piece-of-shit ex unconscious and bloody.

And not when you wrapped your arms around him from behind, leaning your head against him. Still, he turned around and said, “Sorry.” He pulled you in, running a palm down your back. “Shouldn’t have made you relive that.”

You shrugged, risking a glance at your other self and seeing her begin to dry her tears. “I’m okay.” And after a moment of watching her, you whispered, “Thanks.”

You let Peter pull you toward the apartment’s front door, though you couldn’t resist sending a kick at your ex on the way. You rubbed your thumb along the back of Peter’s hand, following him into the darkness ahead.

Peter tried preparing himself for the next terrible memory, but this time, the world shifted differently. The air around you two felt warmer, more inviting, and Peter felt like he could breathe easier again. In an instant, you were instead back in his apartment. He still gripped your hand, his senses on alert for the other shoe to drop — because one always did. 

Slowly, he walked to the window. The sun began to peer from behind clouds, and the all-too familiar darkness dripped away from the world like the tide beginning to recede. It shrank from the light as a weight lifted from him. 

Yet Peter saw the crowds of confused people below and destruction littering the streets. He immediately gripped the edges of the window, about to crawl through once again, but he stopped. He looked to you, a silent question on his face. A question he no longer had to hide from you.

Before he could move, you surged forward and wrapped him in a hug once more. Against him, you whispered, “Never change, Peter.”

He felt your hands curl against his back while he buried his face into you. Neither of you had to say anything about what had happened, but still, he let out a quiet, “thank you.”

And you just nodded, pulling away and letting him leave. Looking back at you, exactly as he had this afternoon, Peter climbed through the window and leapt — swinging to save his city again.

--

“So, you remember that girl I said asked me out?” “yeah, Ivy right?” Mindy’s face lit up at the name which verified your guess was correct. You listened with a smile as your best friend rambled on with details of the date as she mindlessly pulled snacks out of the pantry for your sleepover. You set your bag on one of the chairs at the table before leaning against the counter and taking one of the chip bags from Mindy. 

By the time Chad had gotten to the kitchen, Mindy’s arms were full, and her rant about the pretty girl was far from over, so Chad took it upon himself to carefully maneuver his way throughout the room to not get in his sister’s way before slinking his arms around your waist and hugging you in one swift movement. Mumbling a “hi” into your hair and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before moving away from you and to the fridge, leaving you suddenly cold. 

You smiled, setting the bag of chips on the table by your backpack and crossing your arms, “so wait, did you kiss her or-“ Mindy cut off your question with harsh shushes, earning a laugh in return, “you need the full rundown before I tell you the best details”

“So she did kiss her” Chad answered, deciding the fridge was boring before grabbing a water bottle and closing the door, taking your previous place against the counter. 

You laughed as Mindy glared at her brother before she threw a majority of the snacks into a reusable bag from the grocery store, holding the few that didn’t fit in the bag in her hands. 

“Come, sweet Y/n, I’ll finish the story while we set up for our movie” Mindy announced, pointing at you while she picked up the bag and started for the living room. “Hey, so what are we watching?” Chad asked as the two of you followed Mindy. 

“Y/n/n and I will be watching Silence of the Lambs, you will be butting out of our movie night” Mindy responded matter of factly, ignoring the sympathetic smile you shot Chad as she abandoned all snacks on the coffee table. 

Chad scoffed, “You know she’s my girlfriend right? not yours?” Chad asked sarcastically, “Yeah, only after you stole her from me” Mindy scoffed back, accidentally reminding you about the fact they were twins as you watched the encounter, setting up the couch. “Y/n?” Chad said, getting your full attention, those brown. puppy eyes just waiting to work their magic on you. 

“No! Nuh-uh! don’t put her in that weird trance you do!” Mindy snapped her fingers in front of her brother’s face, causing you to laugh once more before slapping your hand over your mouth to stop it. “We have our date tomorrow night! think you can last till then?” You asked, smiling at Chad, watching as he rolled his eyes and took one of the bags of chips from the snack bag. “I’ll be waiting for you when you inevitably get bored of hearing about Ivy, babe,” Chad said pointing at you in a similar way to how Mindy did a few moments earlier before he turned around and started for the stairs, not missing the way Mindy called him an asshole as he flipped her off without turning back.

A few hours had passed now as you cleaned up the empty soda cans and a few beer bottles from the table when Mindy’s phone lit up with a text, initially you both ignored it, laughing at some dumb comment you had made about Hannibal Lecter as Mindy tied the trash bag and set it on the floor. It lit up a few more times this time catching your attention, “Tara maybe?” you asked with a shrug, Mindy mirrored your action before picking up her phone. “Oh my god it’s Ivy” she smiled, her face lighting up from the light on the screen. “What’s she saying?” You smiled, picking up the empty popcorn bowl. “Oh,” Mindy’s smile dropped before she shoved her phone into her back pocket, picking up the bag of trash. “She just wanted me to come over,” She shrugged, following you into the kitchen so you could put the bowl in the sink. “Told her I can’t, too busy with my Y/n,” she said teasingly, smiling at you as you scoffed. “You should go, movie’s over, it beats studying til we pass out,” You said with another shrug, “you’re sure you’re okay with it? I’m not gonna ditch you for a girl," 

"not ditching if I told you to go, it’s just for tonight! Maybe next movie night it’ll be a group thing” you teased, smiling at your friend as she let a toothy grin fall over her lips. 

“Okay, but only if you’ll still be here when I get back,” Mindy said, “let's go take this trash out and then I’ll go,” She smiled once more, practically skipping as you two went out the backdoor to the trash can. 

You were met back in the kitchen with Chad, cleaning your popcorn bowl as Mindy ran past him to get upstairs and find a different jacket. Making your way over to him silently, you laid your head on his arm as he turned off the water and shook his hands carefully to not splash you before reaching with his free arm for the rag and drying his hands. “Where you guys going?” he asked, tilting his head towards you. “Mindy got invited to Ivy’s, I told her to go” you responded, moving to look at his face properly. 

He smirked that half smile he always does before turning fully and pulling into his hoodie-covered chest, earning a laugh as he did so. “So, that means it’ll just be us?” 

“at least till she gets back, yes” You responded through a muffled laugh.

“Later losers! I’m getting laid!” Mindy called to you both as she rushed back down the stairs, as if on cue all three of you called out I love you at the same time before the door opened and swiftly shut. 

“Just me and you” Chad sighed in content, “now what?” you asked in response, leaning back just enough to look at his face, but quickly moved back into him for a kiss this time, a quiet hmph being heard as your lips hit his but seamlessly falling in tune with his movements. 

“I missed you” he mumbled into your hair after pulling back and hugging you once more, “ you saw me at school earlier” you laughed.

“That was forever ago,” he said through laughs. 

“I missed you too, let's go watch a movie,” you said, pulling away completely and taking his hand, leading him to the couch littered with blankets and pillows.