#galatially

The first time Peter Parker saw you was the fourth grade Valentine’s dance. 

You were wearing a white dress with red hearts going down the front and a tulle skirt that billowed out around your lower half and your hair was done up in a flat-twisted bun with heart accessories woven through them. You were all chubby-cheeked smiles and airy giggles that made his face heat into a blush. 

For the first time in his young life, he could definitively declare that you were the first person he’d call beautiful. 

By seventh grade, you were one of the most popular girls in school. People flocked to you like moths to flames but it didn’t make you cruel. Everyone always spoke highly of you, even those that envied you, and that solidified the ever-growing crush Peter had. The morning before a school field trip, you surprised him at his locker. 

“Hey, Petey. You want to sit next to each other on the bus?”

God, you were pretty. You’d started wearing your natural hair out more and his fingers itched to tug at the coils and curls that haloed around your face. MJ politely explained that touching a Black girl’s hair was akin to disrespect, he remembered, and opted to just admiring the whole of you instead. 

Today, you were wearing a fuzzy pink sweater, a jean skirt with pink roses stitched into it, and pink tights with pink and white Nike low tops. Your hair was done up in two puffs at the sides of your head with pink scrunchies. With the warmer weather, you were outside more and your skin was deepening as the sun stayed out longer. 

He could feel the heat of a blush coloring the tops of his cheeks and his ears. “Really? I mean — you usually sit next to Cindy and Betty on field trips.”

You smiled, your pink braces on full display. “You been watching me, Parker?”

“Oh, God, no! I — I just — ”

You laughed, clutching your sides. “I’m joking. Cindy and Betty are sitting with each other because they’re working on a project together for a different class and wanted to compare notes.” You shifted your weight from one leg to the other. “Unless you and Ned are sitting next to each other?”

“Ned’s out sick. ‘M supposed to take pictures for him.” He sheepishly held up his cellphone. 

“Then it’s settled! We can both get him pictures so we can cover all of the bases. I know how particular Ned is.”

That field trip was one of the best days of his life (even better than Aunt May getting him computer parts for his birthday) and he wanted it to last forever. You held his hand the entire day, dragging him all over the museum and taking pictures. When the class was called for a lunch break, you sat with him, asking him all kinds of questions. 

“Peter, what do you mean Pokémon is better than Digimon?” The wrinkle in your nose was added to the list of things he loved about you. “Have you even watched the show?”

“Ned says —”

You waved off his response. “I know Ned’s your best friend but he’s full of crap sometimes.” You tapped your index finger against your chin in thought. “Do you want to come to my house and watch it?”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I’ll ask my parents and let you know.”

“I’d really like that.”

You asked Peter out on a Tuesday during your sophomore year. 

You were having your lunch in the chemistry lab of Midtown High — Peter was working on a lab for extra credit and you asked if you could hang with him — and while he was carefully measuring liquid into a beaker, the words left your mouth. 

Peter was so shell-shocked that he spilled the chemical compound all over the desk. “What?”

“Go out with me tonight.” You stifled a giggle at the blush coloring his cheek and ears. “Just you and me.”

“I, uh — why?”

Your brows pinched together. “What do you mean?”

“You could date anyone. Flash, that Osborn kid in Cindy’s class.” He almost ran a gloved hand through his hair but stopped himself, his eyes on the table in front of him. “Why me?”

“First,” you held up your index finger, “I’ve had the biggest crush on you since the eighth grade. Two,” you held up your middle finger, “If I wanted to date Harry or Flash, I would’ve by now,” you held up your ring finger, “and last, I’ve had the biggest crush on you since the eighth grade and I’m tired of holding onto these feelings by myself. If you don’t like me back, that’s fine. I just wanted to try, y’know?”

Peter must’ve been as red as a tomato. 

This was literally the dream — his dream. 

He remembered the beautiful smile you gave him when he agreed to the date. It made his heart swell ten sizes bigger, damn near cracking his ribs. He’d do anything and everything for you to keep smiling like that for him. 

Your first kiss was clumsy (on his end) and mostly teeth, but he knew that it would ruin him for other people. You’d ruined him for anyone else.  

The moments you two shared played in his mind’s eye in the aftermath of his battle with the Green Goblin, committing everything to memory. His brown eyes flitted to the sky. 

“I think I know what I have to do, Doctor Strange.”

Stephen’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Then realization hit and he stared at the young hero in front of him. Like he was seeing Peter for the first time. 

“You’re sure?”

“It’s the only way,” he declared solemnly. He glanced at you over his shoulder. “I have to say goodbye to her. She deserves that much right now.”

Strange nodded. 

The half-walk, half-limp felt heavier, longer the closer he got to you. 

You gathered him into your arms, a shuddery sigh of relief tumbling out of you. “Thank God.”

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” He hugged you tight. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll manage,” you said, snorting lightly. “Ned and MJ are still freaking out over the other Peters.”

He pulled back and cupped your face in his hands. He studied the soft curve of your nose, the two gold piercings on either nostrils that you almost took his hand off as you got them. Your deep-set dark brown eyes that he swore he’d never tire of looking into. 

“What’s wrong?”

Your thumb swiped along the top of his cheek, tears coming away with it. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying. 

“I love you so much. You know that, right?”

Your brows canted. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve loved you since the fourth grade and I love you more every day.” He smiled. “I’m pretty sure that I’m gonna marry you someday.”

“Peter, you’re scaring me.”

“I have to do something and you won’t see me for a while, okay? I need you to promise me some things.” His lower lip trembled. “Please.”

You eyed him for several long seconds before nodding. 

“Take care of MJ and Ned for me. They tend to get into trouble without me.” 

The corner of your mouth curved. “All of y’all get into equal amounts of trouble.”

“Make sure that May is okay. And let her know that I know she’s dating Ray and I’m fine with it.” Peter looked to the sky; the iridescent ripple is getting wider. “I don’t have a lot of time left.”

“Time for what! What’s going on!”

He pulled you in for a kiss, the salt from both of your tears emphasizing its finality. He pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Peter Parker.”

Peter Parker was having a bad day. 

He overslept and almost missed his first class. While he was trying to keep a building from collapsing, he ripped the lower half of his suit up the crotch (never has he been used his webbing to knock phones of hands so quick), he got rejected from another job interview, and he was out of cup noodles. 

All he wanted was a cup of coffee and a few minutes to himself. 

“Medium coffee for Peter!”

His heart stuttered. As he made his way to the counter, he couldn’t help but smile at you. He could recall your voice like it was his own and could still map every mole on your face and neck. The curls at the nape of your neck still came out of your ponytail. But a year was a long time and he didn’t know you anymore. Did you still read the same books? Listen to the same podcasts?

“Uh, sir? Are you gonna take your coffee?”

He blinked. “Oh! Yeah, I’m sorry!” His knuckles brushed up against your fingertips and he swallowed a soft gasp. “Thanks. Keep the change.”

You leaned in, your tone conspiratorial. “If you keep tipping me like this, I’ll be forced to name you my favorite regular.”

The tip of his ears warmed. “I don’t know about that.”

“Don’t worry, it’s very exclusive.” Your full lips stretched into a syrupy smile and he almost passed out then and there. “It’s you and one of my neighbors.”

“Well, thanks, I guess.” 

You cocked your head to the side. “Have we met before? I feel like I’ve met you before.”

Lead filled his chest. “No, no. I just have one of those faces.”

“I’ll forget a name but never a face.” You playfully wagged your finger at him. “Don’t worry. It’ll come to me.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Have a good day.”

“You, too.”

As he left the coffee shop, he caught sight of Ned and MJ coming up the sidewalk. He lifted the lapel of his coat with one hand and ducked his head, quickening his pace. 

“Hey! You dropped something!”

He half-turned, refusing to meet MJ’s gaze. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I can just get a new one.”

She raised a brow. “This is an iPhone 7 and it already looks smashed to all hell. Clearly you cannot get a new one.” She held the phone out to him. 

Peter reached out, his eye catching the leather braided bracelet he got her for her last birthday on her wrist. “Thanks.”

“Are these goons bothering you, Petey?”

His head snapped towards you. You were coming out of the shop, your gloved hands still on the door handle. Your brown eyes were playful, bright. 

“Goons?” Ned echoed. 

“He dropped his phone and I was giving it back,” MJ explained. “You know this guy?”

“Oh, yeah,” you waved your hands, “Petey and I go way back.”

“I’m just one of her regulars,” Peter stuttered out. 

“My favorite regular,” you clarified. 

“Uh huh.” MJ turned back to you. “You ready? We’re gonna miss the train.”

“Yeah.” You put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Same time tomorrow?”

His cheeks warmed. “Hopefully.”

You gave him another smile and looped your arm through MJ’s, pulling her down the sidewalk. You half-turned to call out to Ned over your shoulder, your laugh carrying back to Peter. 

He clutched at his chest; he used to be a part of them, following after you with love in his eyes and undone laces. You had planned to share an apartment. He was going to wake up to you every morning and fall asleep with you every night. He’d curl up on the couch with you while you read your novels, your glasses perched on the very end of your nose. How was he supposed to live in a world where he can’t be with you? 

He knew that he was only hurting himself frequenting your place of work. Knew that it wouldn’t change anything. As kind as you were, you wouldn’t catch his longing looks from across the shops. You wouldn’t laugh at his nerdy jokes. You were a stranger to him as much as he was to you. 

He looked down at his shattered phone screen and let out a silent cuss.

Today was the worst.

A loud crash shook you from your thoughts. 

“Ned, I swear to God, if you drop your phone one more time,” MJ warned. 

“I’m not doing it on purpose!”

“So, what, your phone’s got sealskin now?”

“Do you think that Peter guy from work looks familiar?” Your best friends’ eyes were on you. “I’ve been trying to figure out where I’ve seen him before but I can’t place it.”

“Looked like a regular white guy to me,” Ned answered. 

“I swear I’ve seen him before.” You chewed on your thumbnail. “Like, maybe he went to school with us?”

“There was, like, three hundred some odd people in our graduating class,” MJ argued, “how the hell do you expect to remember one random dude?”

You stood up from the loveseat. “I think I brought my box of yearbooks from home. Hold on.” You padded to your bedroom, searching your closet for the cardboard box with your mother’s neat scrawl on the front. Once you unearthed the box from beneath a pile of jeans (more than likely from last week’s laundry that you neglected to fold), you found the graduating class’s yearbook and tore through the pages, eyes flitting between the names and faces of your former classmates. 

You’ve seen his face before, you swore it. Every time he came into the shop, your mind’s eye brought vignettes of someone to you: messy, brown curls that fell into hazel eyes — more brown than green — that turned to honey in the sunshine. A shy, crooked smile that made your heart race. Large, calloused hands with scars on the knuckles that held your face so sweetly. They felt too real to be dreams but you couldn’t place how you knew the person. 

“Find him?” MJ was leaning up against your doorjamb, her arms crossed and a thick brow raised. 

“No,” you closed the yearbook, “But I know I’ve seen him before, MJ, I swear.”

“Maybe he’s in one of your classes.”

You shook your head. “No, I know him. I keep — ” You stopped. 

“Keep?”

“Don’t laugh at me, okay? I think I’ve been having dreams about him — not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.” She snickered. “Every time he comes in, it’s like pieces of memories play out in my mind.” You huffed. “I sound crazy, don’t I?”

“No more than usual.” You flipped her off. “Look, if it’s bothering you this much, just talk to him. Maybe you met him at a decathlon or something.”

“Maybe.”

She looked over her shoulder and back to you. “Not to rush you out but Ned’s been alone in our living room for, like, five minutes and I know he’s gonna try to put on Ancient Aliens if we don’t stop him.”

You chuckled. “Let me clean this up and I’ll be right out.”

“Are we ordering in or did you want to cook something?”

“I’ll check the fridge when I get out there.”

MJ nodded and went back to the living room, threatening Ned over the remote. 

You looked back to your yearbook; he wasn’t in any of the pages and it was bothering you. Everything in you was screaming that you knew each other. You packed the books back up and walked back into the living room. 

“We’re ordering out,” Ned announced. “I checked your fridge and all you have is eggs, bread, and milk.”

“I can make a lot of out of that,” you said, smirking. 

“Yeah, but I’m starving.” He handed you his phone. “Order whatever you want.”

“And we’re watching Love Is Blind,” MJ added. 

You smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

Someone was following Peter. 

He noticed it a few days ago when he was coming home from class one afternoon. They weren’t obvious at first, but once he got off the F train and started down 108th Street, he noticed them. By Thursday, they’d followed him from the Forest Hills Library and back to his apartment building. Never making themselves known but playing at his last good nerve of the week. It didn’t help that he’d had a bad run-in with Rhino and was still recovering from being body slammed into the side of a building. 

Tonight, he just wanted to go home and study for his Chemistry lab in peace. 

He was halfway to his apartment when he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Look, if you’re gonna mug me, can you hurry up and do it? I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“Are you always this civil to muggers?”

He sucked in a breath and whipped around; it was you. You were dressed in jeans and a pink sweatshirt, your hair pulled back into a large puff. “What are you —? How did you figure out where I lived?”

You rubbed at the back of your neck. “You’re gonna think I’m weird.”

“Depends on what you tell me.” 

“I think we’ve met before.” His eyes widened some. “I know it sounds crazy but I know that I’ve seen you before. Not just at the shop but from years ago. Like, we were…something to each other.”

Peter’s heart was pounding in his ears; this was impossible. You weren’t supposed to remember anything from the old timeline, let alone him, at all. Doctor Strange assured him. 

“Peter?”

I’m gonna regret this, I know it. 

He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “You wanna come up? This might take a while to explain.” He hoped you’d say no. Called him a creep and went back home. 

“Sure.”

Peter’s apartment was…bare, to put it mildly. 

The walls were this drab greenish-grey that almost made your chest ache for him. His kitchen and living room were less of an open concept than they seemed like afterthoughts to the contractors that built it. You’d surmised that his bathroom and bedroom were off the little hallway to your right. There were no pictures on the wall, no knick knacks or trinkets on the shelves. A needle and thread were sitting beside a former cookie tin on the coffee table along with Physics textbooks and open notebooks. 

“S not much but it’s mine,” Peter said in a low voice. He was still by the door, his hands tucked behind him against the wall. His gaze on you wasn’t predatory but curious. Hopeful. 

“Me and my best friend’s place is brighter but pretty much just as bare bones,” you offered with a small smile. “With school and both of us working, we’ve barely been able to decorate the way that we want to.” You nodded to the couch. “Okay if I sit?”

“Please.”

You eased down onto the small couch, your knees lightly bumping into the edge of the table. You turned to him. “So you said you needed time to explain.”

“Can I”  — he cleared his throat — “Can I just look at you for a second?”

Your brows cinched together. “Why?”

He pushed up from the wall and took a small step towards you. “We haven’t been in the same room in a year and a half.” He took another step. “I’ve dreamt about this, y’know? About what I would say to you when we were together again.”

“How do we know each other?”

“We grew up together. You were my best friend,” he croaked. His eyes were glassy and his nose started turning red. “You asked me out our sophomore year of high school.”

A part of you felt relieved; the images your mind kept digging up were memories, not delusions. But that didn’t answer the important question: “Why don’t I remember that?”

He ran a hand through his curls. “You know that guy that’s been running around lately? Red and blue suit?”

You nodded. You’d been hearing from some of your classmates that he’s been stopping in crime in the five boroughs the last eight months but no one knows his real identity. “He calls himself Spider something, right?”

“Spider-Man.”

“What about him?”

Peter lowered down, his hand in front of him to steady himself, and jumped. 

Your eyes widened and you jumped up, your knees knocking against the table. “You’re — ”

“— on the ceiling,” he finished. “Also, I’m Spider-Man.”

“Fuck,” you huffed out. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. “That’s one way to impress somebody.”

He snickered. “You’re still as funny as I remember.” He flattened his palms against the ceiling and kicked his feet off — now he was hanging from the ceiling — before dropping back to the floor. He was a foot away from you now and you couldn’t help but give him a once over. Even in a loose fitting t-shirt and sweats, you could tell how broad Peter was. His hair was longer than it was in your memories — past life? — and his eyes weren’t as bright. Your name came out rough on Peter’s tongue. “There was…an event that happened two years ago. Me and Doctor Strange — ”

“That famous surgeon from Manhattan?”

“Yeah. He’s…” He paused, cocking his head to the side. “He’s important but not important at this very second. Anyway, he and I had to do something to save the world from getting sucked into a time chasm and disappearing from reality.”

“Like a dimensional rip?”

His lips twitched. “Exactly like a dimensional rip. The only way to close it was to sacrifice someone.”

Your throat tightened. “You.”

He moved closer to you, stretching his hand towards you before putting them back to his side. “If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. MJ, Ned. Everyone that I loved and cared about wouldn’t have existed, period. I couldn’t live with that.” He blinked back tears. “I don’t regret my choice but I hate not being with you, hanging out with Ned and MJ. Hugging my Aunt May. The first couple months, I distracted myself; getting my GED, starting my crime fighting career over. I was getting used to being alone.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t even think our paths would cross. But one night after class, there you were. Sitting on the F train a few seats away from where I was standing. 

“I convinced myself that I was dreaming. There was no way that the universe would be so cruel.” His cheeks flushed pink. “I followed you one morning, on your way to work.”

Realization flashed in your eyes. “That was the first day we met.”

“I didn’t mean for you to see me, really. But you were so nice to me and I started falling for you all over again.”

“But if you getting erased from reality worked, why do I remember you?”

“You don’t. Not really.”

You shook your head. “I’ve been having these dreams? Memories? I don’t know. But I…see things about you, us, whenever you came to the shop.”

Peter frowned. “Like what?”

Heat licked at the nape of your neck. “I remember the way your hands feel on my face. How your eyes look like honey when the sun’s in them. The birthmark on your stomach that’s shaped like a baby Ditto. The bouncier curls at the nape of your neck that I used to tug to watch it spring back into place.” It sounded so embarrassing saying it out loud. “The first time it happened, I thought it was just a random dream that I was remembering. They’ve gotten more frequent over the past year.”

He cussed under his breath. 

“Is that bad?”

“I don’t know.” His expression was grave. “We’d have to go to Doctor Strange to figure it out.”

You wrinkled your nose. “What, he’s some kind of magician or something?” Peter stared at you. “Shut the fuck up. He can do magic?”

“He’ll be the only person that remembers me.”

You grabbed at his wrist. “Well, let’s go!”

“It’s almost eleven-thirty on a Friday. I’m still healing from a fight I had two days ago and I have two labs to finish before I pass out.” 

“Fine. Then we’ll go tomorrow afternoon. I have a short shift at the shop. MJ and Ned are visiting some friends at NYU so we can hang at my place afterwards.” You reached into your pocket for your phone, holding it out to Peter. “Here. Put your number in.”

He opened and closed his mouth, his eyes hopeful. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I’m not having these memories for no reason, Peter. Even if I’m the only person to remember who we all used to be besides you, you don’t deserve to be alone anymore.”

A smile cracked across his face. “I’ve really missed you.”

Your heartbeat sped up. Flashes of you both — your old life — played in your mind: your head against his chest, breathing in tandem. You tending to his wounds in the bathroom of your childhood home. Little pieces of a bigger picture. “I…think I’ve missed you, too.”

Sleep had been evading Peter for hours now. 

He’d fallen asleep on the couch, his phone screen reading that it was a little past one o’clock in the morning. Once he was done with his modules for class, he told himself that he’d sleep in his room. But he’d caught whiff of your perfume against the parts of the couch you touched and couldn’t bring himself to move. It was amber, musk, sandalwood, and you. He’d pressed one of the throw pillows to his nose and chest as he slept. 

You’d been having dreams about him. Since the day he’d happened upon you. The information thrilled him; in some small way, you remembered him. His mark hadn’t been wiped away.  But what did it mean that your mind refused to let him go? Would there be another time catastrophe? Would you be burdened with being split between two realities? He couldn’t protect you if he didn’t know what he was up against. 

His phone chimed; a text from you. 

YOU: U still up?

PETER: I just woke up

The message bubbled stayed on the screen for a full minute; you were either sending him a long ass paragraph or you were typing and deleting. 

YOU: Is it weird that I’m excited for later? 

He smiled. 

PETER: You’ve always been a little weirdo. Why stop now?

Another message bubble. 

YOU: No coffee for you tomorrow scrub

He chuckled. You really hadn’t changed at all. 

YOU: Go back to sleep. We have to get to Strange’s bright and early

PETER: Aye aye captain

Nine o’clock snuck up on you.

You vaguely remember MJ quietly bidding you goodbye this morning before she left. You also vaguely remember hitting snooze on three alarms. So when you groggily roused from your slumber, eyeing the sunlight slipping through your curtains with bleary confusion, you had no one to blame but yourself. You clambered out of bed and rushed into the bathroom. As you were flushing the toilet, you heard your phone ringing from your bedside table and groaned. 

The Caller ID read Peter’s name. 

Shit.

“Hey,” you said breathily, “I’m sorry. I overslept.”

“I figured,” he said, chuckling. “Open up your window, coffee’s getting cold.”

You frowned, looking up. “My window?”

“The one in the living room. I’m on the fire escape.”

You padded from your room to the living room. Sure enough, Peter was sitting on the fire escape. You shook your head as you opened the window and hung your phone. “Do I wanna know how you got my address?”

“You have your location turned on. It was a fifteen minute ride over.”

“The main entrance was too conspicuous for you?”

He carefully climbed over the windowsill, handing off the drink carrier. “This was smoother in my head.”

You raised a brow. “How so?”

“I used to show up on the fire escape of your parents’ brownstone after a patrol or a really bad fight all the time in high school.” His cheeks and ears were tinged pink. “I don’t know, I was feeling nostalgic, I guess.”

Your features softened and the corner of your mouth lifted. “Make yourself at home. I’m gonna hop in the shower and then we can go.”

“Cool. I’ll put your coffee in the fridge for you.”

“You — that’s right. You’ve probably known my order for years.”

He smiled broadly. “Brown sugar matcha with oat milk and marshmallow cold foam also made with oat milk.”

The walk to the train station was charged. 

You and Peter’s hands kept brushing against each other and whenever one of you started to speak, the other spoke over you. You’d slipped into this silence that wasn’t quite awkward, but wasn’t comfortable, either. You took a long sip of your matcha, glancing over at Peter. Curls spilled from under his beanie and the wintry air colored his cheeks and bridge of his nose a pinkish-red. You didn’t notice when you were at work but he was considerably taller than you. If you’d allowed your impulses, you’d loop your arm with his and rest your head on his shoulder. 

Did the other you do that? He said that they’d grown up together, were dating. She wouldn’t overthink wanting to reach out for him. 

“Careful!” A hand tugged you over and you were up against Peter’s side. “You okay?”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

“You almost walked into that fire hydrant,” he explained, his brows pulled down in concern. 

“Oh. Thanks. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

You looked down at your feet, your face hot. “Nothing.”

He eyed you for a few seconds longer before nodding to your cup. “You didn’t spill, did you?”

“No. All good.” 

“Okay.” He started to pull his hand out of yours but you squeezed tight. His hazel eyes held yours. “We don’t have to keep holding hands if you don’t want. I just wanted to — ”

“If you let go of my hand, Parker, I’ll make this train ride the longest you’ve ever been on,” you playfully threatened. 

He chortled and held your hand firmly. “Yeah, yeah.”

Standing in front of Strange’s brownstone made Peter both giddy and nervous.

The last time he was here was to deal with the villains from the other Peters’ timelines. He’d like to think being the former Sorcerer Supreme meant he remembered Peter, regardless of the aftermath of his decision. But standing here with you in tow, he was unsure. 

“Do we just…stand here?” you asked. 

“Give me a minute. I’m gathering my nerves.”

“I thought you said that he knew you.”

“Theoretically speaking, he should. But I’m not a hundred percent sure,” he admitted. 

You rolled your eyes and stomped up the steps, the side of your fist pounding on the doors. 

Peter hissed your name. “Hold on!”

The doors swung open, a gust of wind sucking you inside. Peter followed after you and the door slammed shut behind him. He wasn’t wearing his web shooter and the momentum from the wind didn’t propel him enough forward to be able to grab at your coat sleeve. Then, you both were suspended in midair. 

“Peter?”

The brunet turned to the voice and his face lit up. “Wong!”

The current Sorcerer Supreme narrowed his dark eyes at the superhuman. “What are you doing here?” He looked over to you. “Who’s this?”

“Are you holding us like this?” you asked, your voice breathy. 

“Oh!” Wong snapped his fingers and you both hit the ground. “Sorry about that. I’m training new students and they keep opening and closing the doors.” He looked to you again. “Wait a second. Are you the girlfriend?”

You stood up with a groan. “Technically?”

He spun to face Peter. “I thought she wasn’t supposed to remember you?”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Peter explained. “I wanted to make sure that this wasn’t some dimensional hiccup and that the timeline is still intact.”

The deep sigh that Wong let out made Peter’s head lower in embarrassment. “Strange is in the basement. But be careful; he’s been crossing multiverses so he’s gonna be easily startled.”

Peter nodded, holding his hand out to you. Before he passed the staircase, he moved to pull Wong into a hug. “It’s really good to see you.”

Wong smiled and patted his back. “You, too, son.”

The path to the basement of the Sanctum Santorum was just as Peter remembered: dank, dark, and buzzing with magical energy. 

“So who’s Wong?”

“Current Sorcerer Supreme and friend of Stephen Strange. They both trained under the Ancient One to learn magic.”

Your brows canted in confusion. “Ancient One?”

“His name’s Yao and he’s, like, a thousand years old. He lives in Kamar-Taj and trains all of the magic students with Wong,” Peter explained quickly. “I’ve never met him but Stephen said he’s cool. Kind of kooky, though.”

“Uh huh.” You looked down at your joined hands. “So, once we find out answers, what happens then?”

Peter looked at you from over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not the same version of myself you knew.” That you loved. “Are we just supposed to acknowledge that part of me and live separate lives again? Am I gonna have to try to dredge up all of those memories just for you to be frustrated that I’m not like her?”

He opened his mouth to speak but a loud rumbling stopped him. He cradled you in his arms and he quickly moved down the stone steps towards the point of impact. When he came up on the familiar stone altar, he saw Strange’s cloak flapping in the wind. “Stephen!”

The rumbling ceased and the figure glanced over his shoulder. “Parker?”

Peter gently set you down and ambled up the altar. The older man — Stephen Strange, world renowned surgeon — stood up and let Peter gather him into a hug. “You do remember me!”

“Of course I do,” he said matter of factly. His grey eyes found you and his features fell. “Is she —”

“The girlfriend? Technically,” you answered with a small wave. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“She remembers you?”

“Not fully,” Peter said. “Her memories of the old timeline have been resurfacing. I didn’t know what else to do so I brought her here.”

Stephen nodded and waved his fingers. You floated towards him, the squeal you let out echoing. 

“I really need you mystics to start telling me you’re about to rip me through the air,” you said bitterly. 

Stephen’s mouth twitched. “Noted.” He put his hands on the sides of your temple, his eyes fluttering closed. Then, an explosions of images: you and Peter in elementary school, Cindy and Betty with you, Peter, Ned, and MJ at your seventeenth birthday party. The last kiss you and Peter shared that fateful day. All of them surging forward and filling your mind all at once. Stephen’s hands left your head and you sank to your knees. “Interesting.”

“What the fuck was that?” you spit. 

“Those were your memories from the old timeline. They haven’t converged with your current ones which is strange considering you shouldn’t have them. You locked them away.”

“How could she do that?”

“If she were a normal human, she couldn’t have.” He turned back to you. “Are there any magic users in your family? Mystics?”

“I don’t know,” you pressed the heel of your palm to your forehead, “My mom had a weird aunt that collected crystals when she was a kid.”

“I’m being serious. Only high-level mystics and magic users could’ve prevented this version of you to remember the former version. Somehow, you’ve bypassed the spell I cast but you haven’t caused an imbalance.”

Right. Magic operates on balance in the natural world. A give and take in the name of order. 

“So you’re saying that you don’t know why she remembers?”

“I’m saying that I’ve only seen one other person who can bend reality like this and she’s currently a witch for hire.” Stephen put a hand on your shoulder. “Your girlfriend is a mystic, Parker. A nexus being, to be specific.”

“A nexus being?”

“Rare beings that can alter the flow of the Universal’s Time Stream. The fact that the TVA and the Time-Keepers have left you alone is impressive.” He put a finger to his chin. “The Queen of Nevers implied that nexus beings always appear as twins to have great power.”

Your blood froze. “I was born a twin but I absorbed them in the womb.”

Peter turned to look at you. “I never knew that.”

“That’s not something that my parents liked to advertise.”

“It’s been resolutely disproven that there can only be one nexus being per universe but this would explain why you’re so powerful,” Stephen mused. “I wonder what your powers are.”

“Hold on,” you put your hands, “So I’m a mystic because I absorbed my twin?”

“You’re a nexus being,” he clarified. 

“Whatever. That’s why I have two different sets of memories?”

“I’m ninety-five percent sure.”

“So, this timeline is still intact? Even with her being a nexus being?”

“Like I said, the only other nexus beings are the Maximoff twins and they’re just as alive and well as we are. Wanda, of course, still remembers the old timeline because of her chaos magic and Hex powers.” His grey eyes lit up. “I can call her and have her study you as well!”

“Study her?” Peter’s stomach turned. 

“Don’t look so scared, Parker.” Stephen took your hands. “We’re merely going to scan her with our magic to see how powerful she is. Wanda’s more proficient in it than I am, is all.”

Peter looked to you. “Are you okay with that?”

You looked to Stephen. “Will it hurt?”

“Maybe. But I’ll try to make you as comfortable as I can.”

“Can I die?”

He snorted. “God, no. If anything, your powers will manifest and act as barrier for you during the process.”

“If you’re sure.” You sighed and took your phone out of your back pocket. 

“Who’re you calling?”

“I’m texting MJ to tell her that I’ll be late for dinner.”

“Fascinating.”

The dark-haired woman was at your eye-level, a wide smile on her red lips. 

“You’re more versed with nexus beings than I am,” Stephen said, crossing his arms. “Is she a threat to the timeline?”

“It’s not quite that simple,” Wanda began, “We nexus beings are essentially time and the universe compacted into a human body. We hold together the integrity of each universe we inhabit.” She smiled to herself. “Even the Great Forces fear how powerful we and our offspring can be. The more of us there are, the higher our theoretical odds climb.”

“So I’m one of the people holding reality together?” you asked. 

“To put it crudely, yes. But, again, that’s an oversimplification.” Wanda pushed up to her feet, crossing her arms as she studied you. “You might even be on track to be the Ultimate Nexus, considering.”

“And what the fuck is that?”

Wanda snickered. “I like you. The Ultimate Nexus is a theoretical being that that would have the power to control over all possible realities in all possible worlds across the multiverse. You’d have access to all nexus powers.” She lifted a shoulder. “I was almost Ultimate Nexus once.”

Peter spoke up now. “Why aren’t you?” 

“I didn’t want it. Being around my brother amplifies my own power and that felt dirty. Like, my brother was only there to keep me powerful. Wasn’t worth it.” She looked to you. “But because you absorbed your twin, you’d already be born on the path to becoming Ultimate Nexus.”

Your head was spinning; how were you supposed to tell your parents that you’re a reality-bending witch? Would you have to go to Kamar-Taj indefinitely to train like Wanda and Strange? Will she be locked away in case she has a meltdown and destroys a timeline?

The floor shook beneath you. You could faintly hear Peter’s voice calling out to you. 

When did he get so far away?

Wanda called to Stephen. “Get me a damp towel. She’s hyperventilating.” She pressed a hand to your forehead, softly saying your name. “Breathe with me, okay? Inhale.” She took in a breath. “Exhale.” She blew the breath out. “Inhale.” In. “Exhale.” Out. 

You copied her, each breath calming you. Your ears stopped ringing, your pulse slowed. You loosened your fists. 

“Better?” Wanda asked. You nodded. “Good. I don’t think Wong would invite you back if you blip the Sanctum into a random void.” 

You gave a breathy chuckle. 

“Hey. Look at me.” You did. “You’re not gonna be alone in this, y’know? You’ll have me, Stephen.” She smiled. “Peter.” 

“It’s just…a lot to process,” you confessed. 

“Oh, honey, ‘a lot’ barely begins to cover it.”

You fell asleep on the train home. 

You didn’t realize that you’d even closed your eyes until the car screeched to a stop, jolting you sideways and into Peter’s arms. 

“Good afternoon,” he joked, his cheek dimpling. 

You let out a yawn and wiped at your eyes. “Did I sleep the whole way?”

“As soon as the doors closed.” He stood up and held a hand out to you. “C’mon. This is our stop.”

You let him pull you up and lead you out into the station. It was the lunch rush and people were whizzing and shoving past you, hands raised to signal for someone to hold the doors. 

Peter glanced at you over his shoulder. “We’re going back to my place, right?” 

“If that’s okay with you,” you said. “I don’t know how I’m gonna explain all this to MJ.”

“I don’t know,” he started, “She’s always taken the weird shit that I’ve dragged us into pretty well.” You got to the turnstiles and swiped your transit cards to pass through. He was still holding your hand. “Besides, you don’t have to tell her right now. You can wait until you get a better understanding of what’s going on.”

You hummed. 

“Also, full disclosure, I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping and I’m in between jobs at the moment, so lunch is gonna have to be takeout.”

“That’s fine. My treat.” You were leaving the entrance of the station, the sunshine blinding you as you came up the concrete steps. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Peter argued. “I think I got stuff in the cupboards that I can make.”

“I know I don’t have to, Petey. I want to.”

His lips quirked up. “I like that you still call me that.”

“What?”

“Petey. That should’ve been my guess that you remembered me because everyone else either calls me Peter or my last name. Aunt May called me Pete. You were the only person to call me Petey.”

You squeezed his hand. “I guess my love for you was so profound that it crossed timelines.”

Peter smiled. 

“Yeah, I guess so.”

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — the way that this took me so long to get out is CRIMINAL