you're gonna go far

"Doctor Strange? I was wondering if we could talk?" Peter peered through the peephole of the sanctum, careful this time not to startle the wizard, or Wong, for that matter. "It's me again. Peter Parker. I know you're probably really busy trying to figure out those runes, but..."

Before he could finish, the door swung open, untouched by a human hand.

"Oh. Alright, that's cool." He stepped inside, pushing a hand through the mop that was his slightly grown-out at-home haircut.

"You know, it's funny," said a voice from above Peter. He froze in his tracks. Steven Strange was standing at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister, the remnants of a portal sparkling behind him. "When you told me about that memory spell, I couldn't believe I would ever have made that big a mistake. Sure, slight... er— calculation errors can occur when working with these runes. But that? And all because of a teenager?"

Peter swallowed as the doctor rose into the air. "About that, sir..."

"You're lying to me, Peter Parker," Strange said, pointing a finger in his direction. "And it's dangerous. If I am to cast a reversal of any caliber, I need to know the exact story. No half-truths. If you lie to me again, we no longer have a deal. You will continue to not exist in this universe." He stopped to clear his throat. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"I’m delighted,” Strange said, though his face told quite a different story. “Now talk."

Peter told Doctor Strange everything. About Spider-Man, Mysterio, and how it had hurt his friends. He explained the failed casting, the villains, and Strange's ultimate successful spell that had erased him from existence. The story wasn’t hard to tell anymore. Sure, the first time with Wade was rough, but after another go just last week with Matt? It was becoming more of a fairytale than a recollection.

When Peter had finished, letting his previously animated hands fall to his sides, Strange lowered himself to the ground in front of him. "And you decided not to tell me this before. Were you expecting me to figure it out for myself? Your convoluted horror story?" He pressed his pointer fingers to his temples, massaging them lightly. "For fuck's sake. Your girlfriend was right."

"She's not my-"

"Right," Strange said, blinking tiredly. He looked exhausted. "Pre-memory loss girlfriend. God, you're a mess."

Peter grinned, shifting his weight. "So I've been told."

“I’m happy to reiterate,” he replied. “You do understand, Peter, that if I had done the reversal as you had originally instructed, the very fabric of our universe would have split at the seams?”

Peter nodded slowly.

“Young man, your communication problem could have destroyed an entire timeline.” He laced his fingers together, stepping toward Peter. “You think you’re protecting people by keeping things from them? Think they’ll be safer in the dark? You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“I understand, sir,” Peter said quietly, looking down at his feet. “I understand. I’ll— I’ll work on it. I have been working on it, I mean, but— for real this time.”

“Well,” concluded Strange, his tone softening considerably. He placed a delicate hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I can look into a partial counter-spell. With the right details, this time. Considering the multiversal implications of all this, I promise to try… but it’s unlikely your friends will regain their memories.”

The younger man swallowed at his tentative declaration. “If you can’t find a way to fix this… what am I supposed to do?”

“In the grand scheme of things, you already seem to be managing just fine. Your loved ones not remembering you is tragic, don’t get me wrong, but they seem to be desperate to connect with you.” He paused, looking Peter dead in the eyes. “My advice? Tell them everything. Before it’s too late.”

—

Peter knew he’d made a mistake as soon as he stepped into the office.

The room went quiet, whatever muted conversation had been happening stopping the second he pushed open the door. That was never a good sign. Peter hesitated, one foot still half out the door as he debated whether it was too late to turn around and pretend he hadn't been there at all.

Unfortunately, that option was almost immediately taken off the table. 

Foggy looked up at Peter with an expression that was simultaneously unreadable and extremely judgmental. Matt was seated behind his desk, his head tilting slightly in Peter’s direction, but he didn’t say anything, waiting for Peter to dig his own grave.

Great. Love that for him.

“So, Peter,” Foggy started, his tone casual in a completely fake way. Matt raised an eyebrow but still didn’t speak. “How long have you been doing... this?”

“This?” Peter echoed lightly, feigning obliviousness, although it felt like there was a rock in the pit of his stomach. Karen was next to Matt’s desk, sipping a steaming liquid from a striped mug. She didn’t know about Spider-Man yet, at least not to Peter’s knowledge, so why was Foggy still talking like— “Well, Mr. Nelson, I've been working here for a couple of months now.”

“Cut it out,” Foggy said through gritted teeth, his expression sharpening. “She’s a private detective, Peter. She probably knew before Matt did.”

Peter gaped at Karen, who was leaning back in her chair, looking extremely amused. “I... um…”

“To be honest, I didn’t believe it at first,” she mused, tapping her fingers against the desk. “And I didn’t find out on purpose, either. I did a little digging into your background when you started here, obviously, but the fact that you show up bleeding or injured half the time, or manage to make it here from Queens in less time than it takes to walk to the nearest subway station, was another little hint.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess.”

Foggy exhaled, rubbing his face. “I mean, come on, Pete. Did you really think you would be able to hide your identity forever?”

Peter shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. “I mean, I wasn’t… I don’t know. Sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you can save your apologies,” he said dryly, crossing his arms. “Alright. Lecture time.” Matt winced, but Foggy continued, mercilessly. “What the hell, man? You’re what? Nineteen? And you’re out there every night getting your ass kicked?”

“I mean... I’m not a kid, Mr. Nelson,” he interrupted gently but firmly. “I've been doing this since I was fourteen. And yeah, it's a little harder now because of the whole... being erased thing, but— oh. I didn’t tell you about that, did I?”

“Matt filled us in,” Foggy said, waving him off. “And I mean, you’re still young for a vigilante, Peter. You’ve got a lot on your shoulders, and you’re refusing to rely on anyone.”

“I’ve got Wade,” Peter argued, giving a small shrug. Foggy wrinkled his nose, and Matt sighed in a way that said he’d been mentally preparing himself for that name to come up. “He gives me food and makes sure I don’t die. And it’s nice to have someone to talk to without censoring myself, y’know? He’s... sweet. I think. In his own weird way.”

A pause.

“Alright,” Foggy huffed, running a hand through his hair. “But you're not bleeding out in an alleyway anywhere, alright? If Wade isn’t there when you need him, call me.”

Matt gave Foggy a questioning look, to which the latter frowned. “You can’t drive, Matt. Shut up.”

Peter let out a startled snort, covering his mouth to smother it. Matt looked vaguely affronted, which was fair, but he didn’t argue.

Foggy opened his mouth like he was about to launch into another lecture, but Karen swooped in, thankfully saving him from further guilt tripping and lecturing. “Peter, could you do me a favor and help me with a coffee run?”

“Um. Sure?” 

Foggy sighed. “Just know that this conversation isn’t over, Peter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, ducking his head before sliding out of the door behind Karen.

—

Peter had scheduled to meet with MJ and Ned during one of the former’s breaks. He was a little late, having stopped on his way to move a pregnant cat to a safe perch on a fire escape. But sure enough, when he stepped into the cafe, they were sitting at a table near the back, iced lattes in hand. 

He steeled himself as he walked toward the table, his expression taught and falsely cheerful. ‘ Tell them everything.’ Strange had said. The words echoed in his mind. ‘ Before it’s too late.’ 

“Peter!” Ned called out when he noticed him, waving a hand in the air. “Over here!” He was dressed in a Star Wars shirt, one he had been wearing since their first year of high school, Peter recognized. MJ sat beside him, stoic, her fingers interlaced around her takeout cup. She was obviously unamused with his tardiness.

“You said this was important,” MJ said, making frightening eye contact with Peter as he sat down. “Sure doesn’t seem like it.”

“Well, there was this cat, and she was—” He stopped when he noticed the glare on MJ’s face intensify. “Pregnant… Anyway, I’m sorry I was late. Reason doesn’t matter.” Peter swallowed, running a hand through his messy curls.

Ned smiled at him, as always. Forgiving, trusting, loyal . Three things Peter could never be. “It’s okay. We understand.” 

“Do we?” MJ asked, not taking her eyes off Peter.

“No,” Peter conceded, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid having to see their expressions. “I screwed up.” 

“Go on,” said MJ, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. 

“I lied to the wizard— I thought it was the right thing to do, I didn’t think that— and I was just trying to protect you guys— this is why I didn’t tell you immediately. I screw everything up.” He took a deep breath, hoping it wasn’t obvious he was holding back tears. 

“What are you saying?” Ned questioned cautiously, still trying to make sense of Peter’s jumbled words. 

Peter paused. Not too late. “I don’t think you’re getting your memories back.” 

The statement hung in the air for only a moment before he followed it up with a whispered, “I should never have brought you back into this.”

“That’s bullshit,” MJ said, her teeth gritted. “We chose to go along with you, Peter. That first day you tried to talk to me, I could have easily ghosted you. Never spoken to you again. I could have threatened to call the cops, but I didn’t, and not just because the NYPD is a gang. No, I trusted you enough to introduce you to Ned.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. “You made the right choice telling us. At first. I want to know why there are gaps in my mind. I want the full picture of my life. But you’re scared. You have this weird savior complex— you act like we need protection; like you put us in danger. If you’re telling the truth, and I’m in danger just by being associated with you, then it’s not doing us any favors not telling us what to look out for.” 

MJ leaned over the table, words whispered but cutting. “I have to get back to work, Peter. You will tell me who you are on my break on Thursday, or you’ll never come near me or my friends again. I am not afraid to use my rape whistle.”

—

Patrol had been a mistake.

Peter was angry, and bitter, and stupid. He knew shouldn't have gone out when he was emotional. It was dumb. He knew he was going to move too slow or hit too hard, which would only make everything worse.

He could hardly just stew at home, though.

It went about just as well as Peter had expected it to. Not a ton of crime; it was daylight hours, so other than the occasional bike thief and pick-pocket, it had been easy. There was a robbery, though, in one of the smaller bodegas, and Peter had been so focused on the guy with the gun in his hand that he hadn't had time to react to his buddy before he felt a knife slice through the fabric of his suit.

The blade sank into his side. It wasn’t deep—not really—but it was enough to make him clench his teeth and curse under his breath as he webbed up the guy who’d done it. The bodega owner was shaking, hands clutching the edge of the counter, eyes wide with fear and gratitude. He had just been threatened at gunpoint, after all.

Peter finished securing the last guy, yanking the web tight (with a little more force than necessary), frustration bleeding into his movements. He wasn’t supposed to get hurt on these little outings. This was supposed to clear his head, not make things worse. Apparently, the universe had disagreed.

He sighed. “Uh… you wouldn’t happen to have a bandage, would you?”

The owner blinked at him, clearly startled by the request. “Man, are you—” He glanced down, observing the gloved hand Peter had pressed to his side. “ Jesus . Hold on.”

Peter leaned against the counter, waiting as the man rummaged through a first aid kit that had seen better days. He handed over a roll of bandages with a wary expression. “You sure you don’t need, I don’t know, a hospital?”

Peter shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. Just a scratch.” He unwrapped the bandage with one hand, trying not to wince as he maneuvered around the wound. “Thanks, though.”

He stepped into a nearby alley to wrap himself up properly, stripping off his suit just enough to get to the injury before tugging a hoodie over his head. The fabric pulled uncomfortably against the fresh bandage, but it was better than walking into work with blood seeping through his clothes. Probably.

The walk to Nelson, Murdock, and Page was long and miserable. By the time he made it, he was exhausted and sore, his side aching with every step. He slipped in through the back, hoping— praying he could make it to his desk without anyone noticing.

No such luck.

“Peter.” Matt’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. He was standing just inside the office, arms crossed, his posture as rigid as a statue. “You’re late.”

Peter forced a sheepish grin, even though he knew Matt couldn’t see it. “Sorry. Got caught up with something.”

Matt tilted his head, his unseeing eyes narrowing slightly. “Something dangerous?”

“Nope. Totally normal. Super boring.” Peter winced as he shifted his weight, the movement pulling at the stitches in his side.

Matt frowned, his senses zeroing in on it like a laser. “You’re hurt.”

Peter froze. “What? No, I'm—”

“Don't lie to me.”

Peter sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

Matt’s frown deepened, his head tilting slightly, and Peter could practically feel the disapproval radiating off him. “Right,” he said flatly. “And the blood?”

Peter blinked. "Uh…" He glanced down at his side and cursed under his breath. The bandage he’d slapped on earlier had completely soaked through, the dark red stain spreading across his hoodie. “Okay, maybe it’s a little more than a scratch.”

Matt took a step closer, his expression unreadable. “You need to sit down.”

“I’m fine, really,” Peter insisted, already backing away toward the breakroom. “Just need to grab a Band-Aid or something.”

Matt followed him anyway, moving with his eerie, unerring precision, like a shark that had locked onto a particularly dumb fish. Peter felt like a dumb fish. Damn, he really shouldn’t have come to work today. He should have known this would have happened. “Peter.”

Peter groaned. “Look, it’s just—”

“You are bleeding, correct? That’s not someone else’s blood?”

“Are you blind?” Peter snapped, his voice tinged with exhaustion and sarcasm. “Of course, it’s my blood!”

Matt’s head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable. “I am blind,” he said evenly, closing the drawer with a quiet click. 

Peter groaned. “Touche. You can probably smell what the guy ate before he stabbed me.”

“Sit,” Matt just gestured toward the chair. “Now.”

Peter huffed but complied, mostly because he was pretty sure that if he didn’t, Matt would find some other way to guilt him into it. Or blackmail him, since he worked for the guy. He tugged off his hoodie with a wince, exposing the gash in his side. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever gotten, but it was still deep enough to be annoying.

“Jesus, Peter,” Matt muttered, already moving to grab the first aid kit. “When were you planning to deal with this? After you bled out on my floor?”

Peter leaned back, frowning at the ceiling. “Nah, I figured I’d make it at least back out to the sidewalk before passing out. More dramatic that way.”

Matt made an unimpressed noise. “Hold still.”

Peter bit back another complaint as Matt started cleaning the wound. It hurt a little, but no more than usual. It was nice not having to do it himself. Although, he’d been spoiled recently with Wade helping him out more often than not. 

Hm. Maybe it was nice to have other people there for him, sometimes.

“Matt, have you seen my— Jesus Christ, the kid is—” Foggy’s voice cut off sharply as he took in the scene.

Peter gave him a weak wave. "Hey, Foggy."

Foggy looked from Matt to Peter, then back to Matt again, who spoke. “Yeah, and before you say anything, he’s going to refuse the hospital.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Foggy said dryly before he crossed his arms. “So, you just decided to stitch him up here?”

“Unless you’ve got a better idea,” Matt shot back, not looking up from where he was already threading a needle. “I’m not going to go to Claire with a teenage vigilante. She’s already got me to deal with on a weekly basis, and we can’t trust that she wouldn’t call CPS. Until further notice, the kid’s here.”

“I can literally leave at any time,” Peter tried, only for Matt to press down a little too hard with the antiseptic pad. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Or I can stay. That works too.”

Foggy sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’m going to get another coffee.” Before turning to leave, he winced. “ Please don’t get blood on that rug, Peter, it was hard enough getting Matt’s out when he chose this as a place to crash.”

Matt didn’t acknowledge the comment, fingers deftly working with the needle. Peter, for his part, was trying very hard not to squirm, but he hated getting stitched up. It was one of those things that never got easier— or if it did, it was only barely tolerable. Never easy.

“So, let me guess,” Matt murmured after the room faded into silence. “You’re planning on going out again after this?”

Lying was futile, but Peter tried anyway. “…No?”

As expected, Matt looked up, his expression unimpressed and his eyebrows flat.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed. “Yes, that was my plan.”

Matt nodded. “Thank you for telling the truth. You won’t be going out.”

“What are you, my dad?” Peter asked, scowling. 

“No, I’m your boss,” Matt shot back. “But I will follow you.”

“I’m a minor.”

“Peter. For fuck’s sake.”

Peter groaned, dramatically letting his head fall back to the edge of the chair. "Fine! I’ll sit out for a little! Are you happy?"

“Absolutely ecstatic,” Matt deadpanned, crossing his arms.  Peter grumbled something under his breath, slumping further down into the chair. The man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m pushing back the plan until tomorrow. You’re not going out in your condition.”

“What? No, we can still go-”

“Peter,” Matt’s voice took on that specific tone that meant this was a discussion only in the most technical sense. “You’re not going. Either you stay home, or Wade and I handle this without you.”

Peter considered this, then shrugged, making a show of pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. “Okay.”

Matt’s eye twitched.

Peter didn’t have to see it to know. He could feel it. Matt’s head tilted just slightly, his jaw tightening, and Peter could tell that the guy could hear the lie. “Peter,” Matt said, slower this time, voice flat.

“Mm-hm?”

“What are you actually going to do?”

Peter scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I was thinking about—”

“Peter.”

“—going home and, y’know, resting up like a responsible young adult who listens to his elders—”

“Peter.”

“—but I might also possibly, maybe, just a little bit—”

Matt’s fingers twitched like he was fighting the urge to hit something. “Peter.”

“—do some very light, casual, non-strenuous reconnaissance—”

“For fuck’s sake,” Matt muttered under his breath. “If Wade or I catch you out tonight, I’m getting him to drag you back to your apartment. You really want Wade on babysitting duty?”

Peter stuck out his tongue in response.