you're gonna go far

The joint patrol had been Matt’s idea. 

‘If you’re going to go out anyway, might as well be safe about it,’ he had said. 

Peter had almost managed to deny him, say something about being busy or tired or both, but then Wade had poked his head into the conversation with a taco in hand and said, ‘Wow, sounds like someone’s being a big sad broody baby again,’ and that was the end of that. So here he was, perched on a rooftop with Daredevil on one side and Deadpool (who was dangling off the edge like a particularly unstable gargoyle) on the other.

“So anyway,” Wade said, louder than before, as he was never quiet, “you still haven’t told them? Your little Scooby gang? Dude, what if they think you hate them? That’s origin story material right there. I’m seeing at least three therapy sessions in Ted’s future. Or a descent into deceit and villainy.”

“Shut up,” Peter muttered, fingers curling around the ledge. “You don’t get it.”

“I get it way too much,” Wade said, swinging his legs like a toddler. “That’s the problem. You think you’re protecting them. That’s cute. And stupid. Mostly stupid.”

He hadn’t told them yet. Despite what MJ had said, there was still a part of him that couldn’t tell them. Not after everything. Not when they had a shot at a normal life. What kind of friend would drag them back into his mess? What kind of friend would risk their safety just for his own selfish need to feel known? Still, it was their choice. What kind of friend would deny them that?

Wade was humming next to him. It was a Taylor Swift song, if Peter wasn’t mistaken. He didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know. Matt let out a long breath, as if he were considering pushing them both off the roof.

It was late; late enough that the docks were quiet, save for the distant sound of seagulls and the rhythmic slosh of water against metal. The kind of quiet that made it easy to think.

Peter hunched deeper into the rooftop. Wade continued to hum. He didn’t have the energy to tell him to stop.

MJ and Ned wouldn’t leave his mind.

It was stupid. They were fine. Safe. As far from this mess as he could keep them. But he couldn’t get the image out of his head— the pair caught in the crossfire, being used against him. Again. Ned, scared and wide-eyed. MJ, bleeding. All because they knew him. Because they loved him.

He didn’t want to lose anyone else.

Wade let out a low whistle and nudged him with an elbow. “You're spiraling, baby boy. I can smell it.”

“Don’t call me that,” Peter muttered.

Wade snorted but didn’t say anything else. They settled into silence again. Actual silence. Peter focused on the warehouses across the way, squinting into the darkness.

Movement. Two figures. Then more.

He tensed. Wade seemed to have noticed too, going still beside him. His humming cut off mid-note. “Hey, Matty, you see them?” A snort. “Or, like. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Matt said flatly, standing. “They’re moving stuff around. Hard to focus with you two idiots in my ear, though.”

“Hey!” Wade called, cupping his hands to shout at the men below. Their heads whipped up. 

Matt hissed out a furious, ‘Wade!’ with a glare present beneath his mask. 

Wade continued, “Hey, guys! Do me a favor and leave those suspicious-looking crates alone, please? Pretty please with sprinkles on top? I won’t break your legs if you do!”

The man grinned, teeth yellow in the flickering dock lights. His gaze settled on Peter. “Spidey! I know these assholes don’t care, but Kingpin wants to give you the chance to back off. He knows who you are, you know. He knows your friends. Where you live, and where they live. He’ll give you an out. You take this offer, or he takes the girl.”

Peter froze.

His insides went cold, and something in him awoke. Peter’s vision blackened.

He could hear Wade shouting something from the roof, a desperate plea echoing among the brick buildings. Could hear Matt’s footsteps coming in fast from behind. But all he saw was that grin. All he heard was the implication. That they knew . That he’d failed to protect them.

“He’s bluffing!” Matt snapped. “He doesn’t know anything about your friends. I can hear his—!”

But it didn’t matter. The world went dark, as anger swallowed up every rational thought he had. He didn’t remember lunging. He didn’t hear guns being cocked. He didn’t even feel the bullet until it had torn through his shoulder.

—

When Peter came to, it was on the rooftop again; a different one this time, he thought, though the haze in his head made everything feel both unfamiliar and too well-known. He was slumped against a warm, uneven brick wall, the surface scraping against the torn fibers of his suit. The sky above was bleeding orange, soft and streaked, the kind of sunset that would normally stop him in his tracks. Now it only made his head throb.

His shoulder ached like it was on fire. He couldn't quite move his left arm without wanting to scream, and his whole side felt wet, sticky, and cold in the breeze. The world spun each time he blinked.

Footsteps scraped across gravel. Then there was a thud. Something heavy dropped beside him. He turned, slowly, vision blurry and swimming.

Wade . Of course it was Wade. 

The man flopped down next to him, grunting as his forehead cracked against the concrete roof. Peter let out a sympathetic wince. One of his arms was very conspicuously missing from the elbow down, and what remained was soaked in drying blood, dark and crusted against the red of his suit.

“Oh, thank God,” Wade muttered, seeing Peter stir. His voice was muffled through the bottom half of his mask, breathless and ragged. “You little asshole. You're awake. Christ. I know I’ve got the whole immortal thing going on, baby boy, but you very nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Peter blinked at him, brow furrowing. “You look like shit.”

“You look worse,” he grunted back. “And fuck you. I look fabulous.” 

Wade exhaled sharply and slapped his remaining hand against his thigh. “You went insane,” he said, voice rising. “I’ve never seen you like that! You actually growled at some dude, Petey. Like a dog . You’re outta your fucking mind.”

Peter flinched. Not at the volume, but at the words. Because he remembered it now, the way the guy said it, smiling like he knew something Peter didn't, and the way Peter's body reacted before his mind had time to catch up. He’d seen red. Felt rage. Not like a slow simmer or a burst of frustration, but bone-deep and feral, like a caged animal. 

“He said he knew who I was,” Peter muttered, jaw tight. “He said he knew about MJ. That he had her.”

Wade slowly turned toward him. The blood smeared across his mask’s chin cracked when he frowned. “He was lying, Pete. He didn’t even say her name! And Matt could hear it in his heartbeat."

“I didn't know that!” Peter snapped, finally raising his left arm. It hurt— God, it hurt — and his shoulder screamed with the motion, but he powered through it. “I didn't know. I wasn’t listening to Matt, and I couldn’t risk it. Not again. Not them.”

Wade stared at him. The air around them quieted. “So you… what, decided to play body shield again?”

Peter looked away. “I didn’t ask for your help, Wade.”

“Because you’re literally incapable of asking for it!” Wade shouted, gesturing wildly with his currently regenerating stump.

Peter groaned too, though more from his head threatening to split open. “Shut up. Your arm hasn’t even grown back yet!”

“Thank God for that or I’d fucking strangle you!”

Peter blinked. “You can probably strangle someone with one arm.”

Wade considered that. “Nah, I don’t think so. It’s like how you can’t crush an egg with one hand.”

“I’m pretty sure I can crush an egg with one hand.”

“Whatever. Dude, all I’m saying is yeah, Matt is cool and all, but you already have people in your corner. And they want to help you.”

“I don’t want the help!” Peter snapped, more petulant than he meant to sound. He turned his head away, staring at the skyline. “I can’t keep risking everyone else’s lives. I won’t.”

“You’re so stupid,” Wade muttered. “You’re not alone. Yeah, okay, Matt is cool with his little lawyer suits and his bat sonar and whatever, but he has people in his corner. People who care. And you already have friends who want to help you. Hell, they’re practically chomping at the bit to get some of that Spidey action. ”

Peter didn’t answer.

The sun dipped lower behind the skyline, streaking the buildings gold. It was quiet again. Not peaceful, but quieter. Wade shifted beside him, the movement labored. He grunted softly, looked at his missing arm, and gave a tired sigh. “You don't want the help. I get it. It's easier that way, right? Being the only one who can fix everything. Being the guy who takes the hit.”

Peter didn’t look at him, just rested his head back against the bricks and let his eyes slip closed.

“They forgot me,” he said quietly. “Everyone. The whole world. They forgot who I am. And it was supposed to be for a reason. They were supposed to be safe. But now it’s all starting over again. I can’t let them get hurt, Wade. I can’t lose them again.”

Wade was silent.

Then he reached out and flicked Peter in the temple.

“Ow!”

“You’re so dramatic sometimes. Jesus.”

Peter glared weakly at him. “You’re the one missing an arm.”

Wade looked down at the bloody stump and then shrugged. “Eh. It'll be back by dinner. Or breakfast. Breakfast for dinner? Maybe I’ll make crepes.”

Wade stood, made a noise like a sigh and a groan, and offered his good arm to help Peter up (which Peter ignored). Matt showed up shortly after, bloodied but not limping. He crouched beside Peter and gave him a once-over. His eyebrows drew together, and Peter could practically feel a crease in his brow form. “You need stitches,” he said simply, voice flat.

Peter sighed. “I know.”

“You’re an idiot,” Matt muttered.

“Thanks,” Peter said. “You say that like it’s new.”

—

“Sit.”

Peter let himself get dumped unceremoniously onto Matt’s couch, head lolling back. He felt Matt crouch beside him, the air shifting as his hands hovered over his injuries. He didn’t even need to say anything; Matt could probably hear the way his ribs weren’t moving quite right and smell the blood seeping through his suit. Sure enough, Matt made an irritated noise and tugged at Peter’s mask until it was over his nose.

“You’re bleeding through your suit.”

“Yeah, I do that sometimes.”

“Shirt off.”

“Okay, but if I die, I’m haunting you.” Peter sighed dramatically but peeled the ruined top half of his suit down to his waist, wincing at the way it stuck to his side. “You’re bleeding too, y’know.”

“Noted. And most of this isn’t my blood.” Yikes . Would hate to see the other guy.

Peter would have commented on this, but alas, the second Matt touched an antiseptic pad to his shoulder ( pain on top of pain, stinging on top of burning ), he was down for the count. 

—

Peter drew his legs up underneath him, cross-legged on Matt’s couch. A bandage peeked out from under a borrowed Columbia Law School t-shirt, gauze carefully wrapped around his side. The throbbing pain had dulled into something more manageable—less like fire and more like dull, smoldering coals—and his suit, still a little stained with blood, was draped over the armrest. Matt had insisted on washing it. Or burning it. The jury was still out.

Peter's fingers curled around a mug that Matt had handed him upward of ten minutes ago. It had gone mostly untouched; the tea inside turned lukewarm.

“So,” Matt began. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you haven’t told your friends about Spider-Man.”

There was a pause. Peter stared into his tea, trying to take a breath that didn’t hurt. The silence stretched.

“I’m not telling them,” Peter said, finally.

Matt turned his head slightly. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a bad, selfish idea.”

Matt was quiet. Not judgmental, not impatient, just quiet, like he was waiting for Peter to unpack that sentence on his own. This, of course, made it worse.

Peter exhaled slowly and tapped the side of the mug. “They deserve better. They had better. They forgot about me, and they got to have this clean, safe life where they didn’t have to worry about me crashing through windows or showing up at midnight bleeding on their fire escape or dying .”

“And?”

Peter clenched his jaw. “And I don’t want to take that life away from them.”

Matt tilted his head. His voice was soft, but firm. “You’re not giving them safety. You’re giving them distance .”

Peter swallowed thickly.

“I get it,” Matt continued. “You think you’re protecting them. You’re terrified of what could happen if they get pulled back in. But I’m telling you, isolating yourself from the people who love you never ends the way you want it to.”

Peter’s laugh was bitter. “Oh, sure, because that worked out great for you.”

There was a pause.

“Exactly,” Matt said.

Peter blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

“I did the same thing. With Foggy. With Karen. I thought I could keep them safe if I just pushed them out, lied to them, kept the Daredevil stuff separate.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I almost died. And they almost died.”

The room went still.

Matt leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “They were already in it. People knew I cared about them, whether I said it out loud or not. Keeping them in the dark just made it harder for them to protect themselves. I thought I was sparing them. I was just leaving them vulnerable.”

Peter’s throat tightened. “But it’s different. I asked for this. I chose for them to forget. It was supposed to fix things.”

Matt’s voice was gentle. “Peter… did it?”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it. His fingers curled tighter around the ceramic mug. “I brought them back into this. It would have stayed fixed if I hadn’t broken it.”

Matt stood, stretching slightly, and walked into the kitchen. Peter tracked the sound of his steps and the clinking of a kettle being moved. He didn’t move from the couch, but his legs bounced with nervous energy, restlessness he couldn’t shake.

“I just—” Peter’s voice cracked. “I can’t lose them again. I can’t watch them get hurt because of me.”

“And what do you think is happening now?” Matt called from the kitchen. “You’re hurting. You’re alone. And they’re still in danger, because people still care about Spider-Man. Whether or not they remember why, whether or not they know it’s you, there’s still a connection.”

Peter frowned. “That’s a stretch.”

“Is it?”

Matt returned, holding a fresh mug of tea and placing it on the coffee table near Peter. “Kingpin already knows you care about people. Even if he doesn’t know who. He’ll use that. He’ll use your friends to turn you into one of his pawns.”

Peter stared at the steam curling off his tea. “I’m still not telling them.”

Matt sighed and dropped back into his chair. “Fine. But you’re not coming back to work until you do.”

Peter’s head snapped up. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s—” Peter gaped. “That’s not fair! That’s abuse!”

“Damn,” Matt said, straight-faced. “I’m not sure about that. You’re gonna need a lawyer.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Shame I don’t know any good ones.”

Matt’s lips quirked up. “You’re fired.”

“Wow. Unbelievable. Can’t believe I came here for medical attention and got blackmailed into emotional vulnerability.”

Matt leaned back and crossed his arms. “I’ve done worse.”

Peter huffed. He knew Matt was right. About all of it. But that didn’t make this easier. He looked at the tea, then let himself slump sideways against the couch, legs sprawled, exhaustion weighing him down like wet concrete. A moment passed. Then two.

“What if they hate me?” he murmured into the cushions. The cushions didn’t respond, but Matt did.

“They won’t.”

Peter wasn’t sure he believed him. But he wanted to.

—

Peter tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie as he stepped into the coffee shop, scanning the crowd until he spotted them. MJ and Ned sat at a corner booth, MJ scrolling through her phone with the kind of unimpressed look that flicked up to him as soon as she made eye contact with him, while Ned had a half-eaten muffin in front of him, idly peeling off the paper wrapper.

Peter swallowed. He hadn't been this nervous to see them since... well, since he saw them again for the first time after the spell. But this was different. He was going to tell them the truth. The whole truth. No half-explanations, no dodging. Just honesty, finally .

Taking a deep breath, he made his way over. “Hey.”

MJ stared at him, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “You're late again.”

Peter winced. “Yeah, sorry. Uh, I had to—”

“Don’t say ‘had to take the scenic route’ again, or ' sorry, I got held back at work.' Be honest or stop talking. Just sit down.” He did, sliding into the booth across from them. Ned looked between them, but said nothing. That was rare for him, and it only made Peter feel worse. MJ sighed, tucking her phone away. “So. Last chance to talk. You gonna actually do that, or am I going to scream and pepper spray you in the middle of this quiet cafe?”

“Right. Yeah. Talking. I can do that.”

Peter rubbed his hands together, then let out a long breath. “Okay. So. Uh. The thing is…” he tried, face pinching. Say it, Parker. Now or never. “I'm Spider-Man.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

MJ snorted, and Ned's expression shifted into one crossed between excitement and disbelief. “Sure,” she said flatly, setting her phone on the table. “And I'm Iron Ma—”

Peter webbed her phone off the table, flicking it towards him. Whatever she was about to say died on her tongue.

“ Dude .” Ned smacked the table, making MJ’s coffee slosh. “You’re telling me right now that you are—?!”

“ Please don't shout this in the middle of the cafe,” Peter begged, and Ned's jaw clicked shut.

There were a couple of moments of silence.

MJ's expression pinched. “You're really him?”

Peter blinked. “Yeah.”

“This is so cool.” Ned’s voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes practically sparkling. “I could be like, your guy—”

“You were my guy in the chair, Ned.”

Ned’s jaw dropped. “I was ?!” Peter nodded in affirmation. “So, can I be the guy in the chair again ?” He was beaming from ear to ear.

MJ had been staring at Peter, her expression contemplative, but now she let out a breath that sounded vaguely like a laugh. “That… actually makes so much sense.” Her face darkened slightly. “But also, it doesn’t. You being.. him … doesn’t explain why you lied to us for so long.”

Peter winced. “Yeah, about that… Look, I never wanted to lie to you. Ever. But back then, it was dangerous for you to know. And then… you forgot me, and I didn’t know how to tell you, and I was afraid—”

MJ raised an eyebrow. “Of what? That we’d be mad?”

“That you wouldn’t believe me. That you wouldn’t want to believe me.” He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “I was scared that if I told you and you didn’t want to be a part of it anymore, I’d lose you again. But worse. I’d lose you in a moment when you hated me.”

MJ’s expression softened. Ned looked like he was still mentally buffering, but he nodded like he understood.

Peter exhaled. “I should’ve told you the second I found you again. I wanted to. But I didn’t know how. And I kept telling myself that maybe it was better this way, that I could keep you safer if I stayed away, but… I missed you guys. So much.”

For a long moment, MJ said nothing. Then, finally, she crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. “You’re an idiot.”

Peter let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat in it. “And you're lucky we still like you.”

Ned grinned. “Yeah, dude, I mean... this is kinda the best news of my life. I knew there was a reason I liked Spider-Man so much.” A pause. “Wait, can I swing from a web? Like, just once? I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

Peter laughed, the tension in his chest finally easing. “Maybe.”

MJ shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m still mad at you, for the record. But… I guess I get it.”

Peter met her gaze, feeling lighter than he had in months. “I’ll make it up to you. Both of you. I promise.”

MJ hummed, reaching for her coffee again. “You better. I’m gonna need, like, a ten-step PowerPoint apology. Minimum.”

“Can I do it with my own background music?” Peter asked, smiling when she snorted into her coffee.

Ned leaned in. “No offense, man, but I feel like you have terrible taste.”

“I’m offended and hurt.”

“Good,” MJ said with a smirk, brushing her hair back.

Peter couldn’t find it in himself to stop smiling.

The café had grown quieter. Rain tapped lazily at the windows, soft and slow, and the warm overhead lights cast everything in gold. It felt safe. Familiar. For the first time in what felt like years, Peter wasn’t pretending.

He watched as MJ stirred the foam of her second cappuccino, half-listening to Ned go on about a new D&D campaign he was building. She caught him staring, raised an eyebrow, and Peter shrugged, helpless and a little dazed.

“I missed this,” he said softly, and both of them quieted.

MJ tilted her head. “ Us , you mean?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “You guys. This. All of it.”

It had taken so long to get here. It felt like everything had been lost, torn apart, and stitched back together. There was a lot that Peter hadn’t told them yet– he felt a little soft and tender, like a morning-after bruise, but he’d started the conversation. And they were here. They didn’t remember him, but they believed him.

That mattered more than anything.

He hadn’t expected this, not really. A part of him still thought they’d walk away, now that they knew. That the risk would outweigh the missing memories and their blind trust in him. But instead of fear or rejection, he’d been met with loyalty. Trust. Familiarity. Jokes . With two people who, even now, after everything, chose him.

Peter exhaled, letting that truth settle deep in his bones.

Everything was going to be okay.