It would only take the energy to fix it
Ned offered to walk him there, and Peter accepted, knowing quietly that it was more to keep him in his sight than to be courteous.
He wished he could reassure him, to promise that he wouldn’t be going anywhere, but this wasn’t his world, and he wasn’t their Peter. He didn’t like how it felt to declare empty promises, and he didn’t have it in him to make another one to Ned.
So he wiped his hands on the brand new jeans they had bought, glanced over at the tall windows of 177A Bleecker Street, and tried to find the goodbye he deserved.
Ned watched him, an exhaustion heavy on his features, and followed his gaze. “That’s where you need to go?” He asked, the smallest tremor in his voice.
Peter nodded, still not having the words for a farewell, wetting his lips. “It looks kind of boring on the outside, but it’s actually this super extravagant magic-y house. I haven’t seen much of it, actually, but the stairwell is impressive. The crypt is kind of boring, though,” He adjusted the collar of his stolen sweatshirt, coughing into his fist. “That’s where they do laundry,” He added, and Ned was looking at him again.
“You’re different,” He said, not unkindly, his expression open, genuine. “But you’re also the same. I don’t…” His voice broke, and he looked down at his shoes, the same beige work boots he’d had since freshman year. Peter’s heart clenched at the detail, but he tried not to think about it, clearing his throat again and waiting for Ned to finish.
He inhaled, deeply, a certain emotion behind it, catching in his throat. “I don’t know what you’re going to find in there, and I know you’re not from here, but I…I really don’t want you to leave,”
“Oh,” Peter said, very intelligently, his eyes feeling hot. He tried to think of something that would make him feel better, of some poetic speech, or worthy consolation, but his tongue was frozen behind his teeth. “Oh,” He repeated, feeling himself begin to tear up.
Ned was in no better condition, his eyes red and his face contorted, all of the lines melding into the most painful depiction of grief. “It’s been hard without you,” He sniffled, stepping close until their arms were brushing. “I have so much I want to say right now, but I’m just going to mess it all up, so I just want you to know that—that you’re my best friend,”
He sobbed, once, and then wiped his face, taking Peter’s hand into his and gripping tight. Peter felt the wetness on his cheeks, but made no move to clean it, so focused on keeping Ned’s eyes on his. “And I love you,”
“Ned…” He whispered, but the shorter boy shook his head, determined, wiping his eyes again and breathing deep.
“And I miss you more than anything,” He continued, blinking furiously. “I’ll never stop missing you, I think,”
Peter tried, one last time, to find the perfect goodbye, but it wasn’t something he could manage. Instead, he held on to Ned’s hand as hard as he could, crying. “He loved you, too,” He told him, because he knew it was true. If Peter Parker existed in a world with Ned Leeds, they were bound to be best friends, and they were bound to have the shittiest luck on the planet. “I love you,” He promised, because it was also true.
“What if you didn’t try to fix any of it,” Ned asked, his tone already tinged with doubt, knowing Peter, and knowing that he couldn’t let it be. “What if you stayed?”
“I don’t belong here,” He breathed, even when it hurt. “And I don’t want to hurt this world by being in it,” He dragged his gaze away, finding the door to the Sanctum Santorum, and feeling the weight of his last trip there linger around his lungs. “Messing with the multiverse is dangerous,”
Ned sniffled, then half laughed, half sobbed. “Speaking from experience?” Peter didn’t say anything, and he huffed out a breath. “Of course you are,”
“I’m sorry I came just to leave,” He said, squeezing his hand tight before letting go, stepping towards the street. “I’m sorry for everything, actually,”
Ned smiled at him, shakily, with all the broken pieces of his distress hidden between his teeth. “I’m not sorry for knowing you,” He stepped back towards him, his hand outstretched, and Peter barked out a laugh.
They slapped their palms together, then elbows, then palms again. It ended in finger guns, but as soon as their hands began to separate, Peter was lurching back in, taking his hand and then pulling him into a hug. Ned sobbed into his shoulder, once, and then laughed. Peter tried to memorize what this feeling was like, because he knew it would be the last time he felt it.
They broke apart.
“I guess…um, bye,” His voice cracked, and Ned’s eyes were sparking.
“Goodbye, Peter,”
He ran his hand under his eyes, feeling helpless when more tears just pooled there. “Goodbye, Ned.”
Neither of them moved for a few seconds, and then Peter stepped off the curb, giving him a long, heavy look. Ned watched him go, his lips trembling, and then Peter turned, hurrying across the road. He tried to wipe his sleeves along his face to seem more presentable, but knew his efforts were futile.
When Peter walked up the steps, the sleek blue door looming above him, he looked back, and Ned was gone. He was alone, now. He turned and reached for the doorbell, and just like the last time, the entrance opened before him. He took a deep breath, then entered.
His footsteps echoed as he wandered further into the entrance, a grand stairwell directly in front of him, the house creaking in an eerie silence. It seemed empty, no sounds or people to be seen, and he felt himself biting the inside of his cheek.
“They really need a receptionist,” Peter joked to himself quietly, walking to the side, where he knew the crypt lay. He didn’t know if he would receive much of a warm welcome, due to his circumstance, so he didn’t exactly want to start shouting his greetings.
He needed to get to Strange, somehow, knowing that he could at least web him up if he refused to help him. Everyone else was unknown, and he wasn’t sure Wong would be keen on doing anything besides removing him, if he were truly a threat to this universe. He was wishing he knew Stephen’s phone number when a door slammed open behind him.
Peter turned, facing the figure posed in the doorway, shelves of books with warm lighting peeking out from behind his shoulder. He recognized the red cape, the stern goatee and gray speckled hair. Dr. Strange waltzed further into the room, his gaze flitting around cautiously before settling on Peter, who tried not to feel too intimidated as he approached, rapidly.
He was out in the open, halfway past the stairwell, in the small pocket of space between the wall and entrance to the basement. Stephen’s eyebrows furrowed, and Peter straightened a little.
“Mr. Parker,” He said, his cape billowing in a nonexistent wind. “What a surprise,” He didn’t sound surprised at all. “You’re supposed to be dead, you know,” He clarified, and Peter almost rolled his eyes.
He stood his ground, lifting his chin a little and meeting his stare head-on. “So I’ve heard,” He replied, as calmly as he could muster. Something flickered across Strange’s expression, as if he was surprised, unsteady, before he schooled it.
There was a moment where they both looked at each other, one more intensely than the other, before Peter cleared his throat, falling into his more relaxed persona, despite the lack of a mask. “Obviously, I’m not, though. So…”
“You’ve become an anomaly,” Strange explained, interest leaking into his tone. “Some type of interdimensional outlier. It seems as if you’ve breached the barrier between worlds,”
“Right,” Peter agreed, slowly. He thought back to the last time the multiverse was broken, the sky falling apart, cracking along the seams of reality. He swallowed. “Can you get me back? I mean, I’m not like destroying this universe by being here, am I?”
The sorcerer waved his hand, almost dismissively, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards. “No, nothing like that. Which is even more curious. How did you manage to fall into another dimension with no consequence, Peter Parker?”
“I don’t know what happened,” The words rushed out of him, frustrated, and Dr. Strange just continued to stare at him, contemplative. “I was in Queens, and then I wasn’t. There wasn’t any portal, or–or sparks,” He ran a hand through his hair, quickly, nervously, and tried to place himself back to the night before. He had patrolled, and he had made it all the way back into his apartment.
He hadn’t spoken directly to Strange since the Statue of Liberty. He looked at the version of that man in front of him, identical, his expression controlled and analytical. He exhaled. “I need you to get me back,” He searched his gaze, hoping to find something other than the forced smooth lines of his forehead, the neutral line of his mouth. Trying to find anything more. “Please. I need your help, Stephen,”
There was a startled exhalation, coming from somewhere in the room with the books, and Peter felt himself freeze. “So he’s on a first name basis?”
Tony Stark entered the room, his arms crossed and a conflicting expression pulling at his lips. He was obviously trying to remain playful, but there was such genuine anticipation in his eyes, staring at Peter like he was seeing him for the first time.
Despite his gaze, he spoke to Strange then, his tone soft. “It’s him?” He asked, looking for confirmation. Peter felt unbalanced, desperate to run again, but knowing the sorcerer in front of him would be able to bring him right back.
Stephen’s face broke, then, revealing the relief and barely restrained mourning as he nodded, a weight heavy on his shoulders. “It’s really him, Tony,” He assured, and there were a few things that happened.
Tony sighed, deeply, striding towards Peter quickly, reaching for him. Strange stepped out of the way, running a hand down his face and watching, his own eyes grief-ridden but calmer. Peter watched both of them, swallowing as his eyes darted between them before tensing, his body anticipating a blow.
He remained stiff, cornered, even when Tony placed a hand on his shoulder, gentle and steady. “Hey, Pete,” He began, softly, his expression pinched and teary.
“Hey, Mr. Stark,” He rasped, trying to force his gaze to stay put, as it flickered between the man in front of him and the one a few paces away. He had just gotten undeniable proof that this was the real deal, that this version of his mentor was alive, solid as he gripped his arm.
Yet, he still couldn’t relax. Why couldn’t he stop trembling?
Tony smiled, small and broken, coming a little closer. “C’mere, kid,” He pulled him towards him, tightly and swiftly, as if he’d done it a thousand times before. Peter fit, a little awkwardly, his nose pressed into the other’s shoulder, warm hands against his back. He couldn’t bring himself to move his arms from his sides, stunned and shaking and exhausted.
“Oh,” He felt himself say, faintly. “I thought we weren’t there yet,”
“Oh, we’re there,” Tony laughed, his breath brushing the top of his head. “We’re there and then some,”
Peter looked at Strange, past the line of Mr. Stark’s jacket, not sure exactly what he was searching for. The sorcerer bowed his head, almost in understanding, a mute form of permission. Peter blinked, hard, and let himself slump, carefully, into Tony’s arms.
He deserved it, after all that he’d been through, didn’t he? He could worry about everything else later.
He hugged him back.