Chapter Text
It had been six months since Peter had fallen into a different universe due to the kindness of a sorcerer. Six months since he had learned that he no longer had a home to go back to. Six months since he got all of the pieces of his old life back, just with a different past to their present.
Sometimes, he missed home. He missed, selfishly, being able to grieve in isolation. He missed how Ned knew him and his ticks after the Blip, how Michelle looked at him with softness and affection, how quiet it was when he went to the cemetery to see May. He missed a lot of ugly things; the suffering he thought he deserved, the consequences that he was forced into. He also hated how often he even forgot that he hadn’t been here all along.
He would find himself having fun, being happy, smiling and joking and loving so effortlessly in an environment that he was supposed to feel guilty in. He filled a role crookedly, easily, and he sometimes found himself being content with it. He liked being here. He liked being happy. He felt guilty, but even that was beginning to fade.
He began to work towards his GED again, once he was revived through a technicality on paper (some system implemented ever since the Blip, and he wasn’t going to complain that he didn’t have to jump through more hoops to exist again). Tony tried to argue, but he stood his ground that he didn’t want to go back and finish his senior year. It would be too painful, too awkward to try and reinvent a part of his life that he had to let go because of circumstance. His friends were already in college, his classmates would be far younger than him, and he had already gotten an alternative diploma once, it would be just as easy the second time, too.
His Aunt helped him with applications once he completed the courses and took the test. He wanted to pretend like he was younger, that they were back in Happy’s apartment and groaning over loans and scholarships. He wanted to apply to nearby schools, and he held his tongue about his initial ambition of M.I.T. Ned and MJ were experiencing it for him, and that was enough. He gave up dreaming of prestigious universities in different states, and he set his eyes on Empire State and NYU.
One of these nights, he was chewing on his lip, staring at the screen of a laptop Tony leant him until his eyes blurred. May joined him, quietly settling on the couch and watching him from the corner of her eye. He reminded himself to relax, unclenching his jaw and sinking into a slouch. May followed the invitation, pressing her hand into his hair, and he leaned his head on her shoulder. He was a little stiff, but she smelled like the apartment and cinnamon, and he knew that she loved him.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” He said, setting the computer down on the coffee table and waving a hand at it like it had wronged him.
“FAFSA applications can be confusing,” She agreed, and he shook his head. The smile on her face didn’t falter, but there was a different tone to it, something warm and attentive underneath the lines around her mouth. “This isn’t about that, is it?”
“No,” He admitted, then ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth. It wasn’t a bad day, but he was frustrated, and his head always seemed to find itself in the same place when negativity found him. “It’s still just…it’s still hard to try and pretend like I fit here,” She hummed, letting him take the lead, her fingers itching the right places on his scalp. He knew she probably had a million reasons to disagree with him, but he appreciated that she let him continue. He sighed. “It’s like…everything is the same, except people still know me here. Back in my world, I had to make my identity again, and that somehow seems easier than pretending to be someone else.”
“How is that easier?” Her tone was gentle, light, but held a deep kind of affection, one that made him feel heard. One that made him feel guilty.
He sighed. “I don’t know. I…got to choose how it happened. I think that starting with a blank slate was….simple. I had to fight to be known, and…I’m used to that. I’m used to working for something, or like, fighting for it. It’s harder to step back into things,” He trailed off, knowing he was making no sense, but feeling that frustration tight against his lungs, voicing the feeling he didn’t know how to describe. “I’m used to starting at the beginning. And now I’m being thrown in the middle, and I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Well,” May commented, slowly. “I think that changing that perspective is going to be hard. The beginning and middle are very different things,”
He pressed his face into his hands, pulling away to lean halfway off the couch, over his knees. “I know,” He bemoaned.
She poked at his spine, teasing, and he jerked further away, touching his elbows to his feet. “But isn’t it better? Isn’t it a little bit better to be in the middle than the start? You aren’t alone here, sweet pea, and you aren’t running blind to the finish. Is that so bad?”
He considered it, for a moment, and found that he didn’t really have an argument. It was objectively better to be further along, to have progress made for you to build upon. But it wasn’t his progress, and he still was so sure it wasn’t his to be stepping into. He stayed silent, and May poked him again, and he didn’t really have any more space to move unless he wanted to sink all the way to the floor.
“Things will take time,” She soothed, and he flopped back against the couch, into her awaiting embrace. “I don’t really think any of us know what to do, and I think everyone is going to be a little weird about it. For a long time, probably, but then? They’ll adjust. They’ll move on. And you’ll fit.”
He stared at his computer, looking past all of the writing and the tabs and the icons. He stared through it, trying to understand how his Aunt knew just what to say. “You aren’t.”
“I’m not what?” She asked, almost as if containing a laugh.
“You aren’t acting weird about it. You’re just…the same,” He stared at the dim reflection on the screen, the way the glare of the sun made her face visible, if only a little. She was smiling, but there was something else there, something heavy he knew both of them were carrying. “You’re normal.”
“I’m normal?” She repeated, teasingly. “I’m not sure whether to be insulted or flattered. With your track record, ‘normal’ could be comparing me to Olympic-level athletes,”
He let out a breathy sort of laugh, mostly just an exhale through his nose. “Yeah, but I mean like normal normal. You…you don’t act like it’s weird, and you don’t freeze up when I walk into the room, and you talk to me and aren’t afraid to tease me and…”
May pinched the skin just above his elbow, and he slowed down, inhaling. “And you’ve been getting a lot of caution?” She looked at him, her expression twisted, and he knew she had noticed.
“Something like that,” He buried his face into the space between her ribs and arm. “I’m glad to be here. I’m just…less glad to be a walking clone,” He continued, feeling his aunt take in a breath, ready to dispute it. “I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad you’re normal. I’m really just so glad it’s a little bit the same.”
“And different,” May muttered, going right back to running her fingers along his head. “In all the good parts.”
“Yeah,” He agreed. “In the good parts.”
He spoke to Sam Wilson a few times; supposedly he was licensed to listen to his problems, but it felt more like he was talking to a friend, or to his own version of the man, someone to fight beside and trust wholeheartedly to watch your back and keep you moving. It was hard, sometimes, to believe that he was allowed to adjust, allowed to exist without the weight of another life and another him. He felt like no matter how many times he explained his side, Sam would always look at him and nod, and then give him a reason to reconsider.
Some days it helped to hear a different voice in the back of his head, a voice telling him to reconsider something, to stop being so stubborn and allow himself to be happy. Some days he despised the rationality of it all; he didn’t want to hear that he was being guilty because of a psychological response, that he wasn’t meant to be debilitated by it, that he should try to grieve without so much blame. Sam would tell him that it wasn’t his fault, and some days, Peter wished more than anything that he would tell him it was.
He adjusted. Everyone adjusted. Ned and MJ went back to school, and Harley helped him waste his free time building useless inventions in the lab. He tried not to get sad, but he would, and there would always be someone there to sit with him and wait it out.
Eventually, after a lot of discussion and preparation, he was ready to officially re-enter society. He was excited that he wouldn’t have to sneak around just to get home in Queens. He was absolutely horrified that he would have to be known, publicly and irreversibly.
“Are you ready?” Tony asked, placing a hand on each shoulder. “You aren’t going to give me a moral conundrum and walk out of this press conference scott-free again, are you?”
Peter huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes and shrugging his fretful grasp away. “Now you’re giving me ideas,” He joked, and his mentor pretended to look horrified, his eyes going wide and his jaw dropping. “I’m ready. I think I just need like…thirty seconds so I make extra sure I don’t throw up.”
Tony nodded, sagely. “I think it would be good if you didn’t throw up.”
He checked his tie, and his mentor brushed the sleeves of his suit, one last comforting effort in making him presentable. He had gotten his hair cut back to the length he liked; longer than it was as a teen, but short enough that it couldn’t curl around his ears so easily. He knew he hadn’t slept well the night before, and his posture was a little bad, but he looked at his Aunt and Happy, waiting for him just by the door to the other room, and he found a little bit of courage.
He turned back to Tony, holding his chin up and squaring his shoulders. “I’m ready,” He declared, and was swept up into a hug. He spluttered for a moment, and he heard May laughing at a distance, and he had to stand on his tip-toes to keep his balance.
“I’m so proud of you, kid,” Tony whispered into his hair, and he melted. “And I’m so damn happy that you’re alive.”
“Daaaad,” He grumbled, but his eyes felt hot, and his voice sounded a little hoarse. “You’re going to make me cry in front of NBC,” Tony just held on tighter, and he pressed his nose into his collar. “They’re going to make my tears viral on TikTok and Instagram reels. My crying face will be printed on t-shirts,” He emphasized.
“Alright, alright. We wouldn’t want that,” He pulled away, at last, and Peter caught him wiping at his eyes. He cleared his throat, and Happy came over to straighten both of their jackets, and then Pepper stepped through, the door creaking from behind her.
“It’s time,” She gestured them forward, and Peter felt his knees lock up.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his feet to cooperate, his fists clenched to stop his fingers from shaking. Tony held the door open and Pepper stepped away, giving him a wink before turning back to his awaiting audience. “Do I just…” He gestured forward. “Go out?”
“Yeah, kid,” His mentor put his hand back on his shoulder, urging him forward. “We just go out. And smile. And you introduce yourself, give them a glimpse of your charm, and off we go to ice cream and Star Wars.”
He went to reply, his mouth quirking into a smile, but he crossed the threshold, and it was like the world exploded. Cameras shuttering and people chattering consumed the air, pressing against his skin and filtering uselessly in and out of his ears. He followed Tony’s guiding hand, past the security guards and the wires, towards the podium at the very center of the stage. He was blinking away the bright lights when he realized a hush had fallen over the room. Pepper stepped away from the microphone, and Tony flicked his ear with his pinkie.
“You’re on, Pete,” He reminded him, a breathy sound. Peter nodded, looked down at his feet to make sure he didn’t trip, and stepped up to the stand. Only once he got there, looking out over the faces of people with wide eyes and slack jaws, did he remember that he didn’t have a script.
Introduce yourself, he swallowed, and give them a glimpse of your charm.
“I’m Peter,” He said into the microphone, and he sort of liked the way it rang out into the conference room. He was here, he was real, he was heard. “And I’m an interdimensional refugee. Also, I’m Spider-Man,” He glanced toward Tony, grinning at his side with misty eyes and a tight grip on his shoulder. “Did I say those in the wrong order?” He whispered, but it was still caught on the mic, and laughter rang out through the room.
“I think you’re allowed to make the order,” Tony commented, dryly, and he nodded to himself, turning back to the sea of eager reporters and live television feeds.
“I’m allowed to make the order,” He informed the crowd. “Sorry, this is my first time doing the whole identity reveal thing in front of, um, the whole world. Also kind of my first time coming back from the dead, when I didn’t actually die,”
He pulled at his tie, fiddling with the button on his suit and waiting for the giddy feeling to leave his chest. It didn’t. He had his mentor at his side, and May was waiting for him just behind the stage door, and he had people who would recognize him and know him by name. He had his name back, and a life to live, and he was starting to be at peace about that.
Tony’s hand stayed firm on his shoulder, and he looked back into the cameras, and he smiled wide. “Does anybody have any questions?” The crowd swelled, and Peter was sort of okay with it.