The greatest thing we've lost

They left quickly after sharing their plans with Dr. Strange, promising to be prepared for any news or portals he might send their way. Tony just had to snap his fingers and a car was there, awaiting his directions, and he ushered Peter into the back seat, climbing in next to him and keeping a steady grip on his arm, as if he would roll out and into oncoming traffic at any given chance.

He stared out the window as he made their way out of the city, keeping quiet and hoping the steady motion of the wheels wouldn’t lull him to sleep. 

Steve Rogers was there by the front doors when the car had finally stopped. He was there to escort him to his room, despite the pained look in Tony’s eyes when they parted. 

“I have to sort some things out,” He explained, even when Peter didn’t ask. “But I’ll be back as soon as I can,” He nodded, silently, knowing he had nothing to say, and not wanting to mention that it would make no difference to him, the Tony Stark in his world had been dead for years, he had gotten used to not having him around.

Tony looked at him, squeezing his shoulder and bringing Steve Rogers over, who had been standing by the entrance looking dazed and awkward. “Don’t lose him, Cap,” He said, his voice rough and serious, despite the manner of his words, and Steve replaced his hand as he took his leave. 

“Hey, Queens,” He greeted, and they watched Tony round the corner, shooting looks behind him every few steps. His hand was light against his shoulder, gentle, completely different than the death grip Tony had kept. “How…how have you been?” 

Peter wondered if he had interacted with Steve more in this world than his own, when he’d thrown an airport ramp on top of him and given him a curt little nod at the funeral. He wondered what it would be like to know Captain America on a personal level, if he would be much fun to be around. The detention tapes begged to differ. “I’ve been alright. Same old, y’know,” He said, and tried not to feel too offended at the incredulous look the older man was giving him. He backtracked. “I mean, like, this right now is pretty cool. Not the same old. Are you still Captain America?” He thought for another moment. “Have you ever been to the moon?” 

“Um,” Steve said, his face doing a funny little jig between amusement and increasing befuddlement. “I’ve never been to the moon,” He sounded genuine, if not confused, and Peter nodded. “Have you been to the moon?” He asked, politely.

Peter shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t think so. There’s a lot of like, gossip that's been around. I think you might’ve just gotten old or something, because Sam has your shield, but some people think it’s all a conspiracy. Like, maybe a publicity stunt? I don’t know. It would be cool if you were on the moon, though, like…cooler than if you just retired, I mean,” 

“Oh,” Steve said, his face a controlled type of blank. 

“Or I guess not here,” Peter corrected, after a few seconds. They had started walking, sometime in their exchange of words, and he looked around the flight of stairs they were almost at the top of. “I’m from somewhere else, and let me tell you, my universe is kind of wild,” He paused again, looking back towards the entrance, then in the direction that he had seen Tony go. “Was I allowed to tell you that?” 

Steve chuckled, a little pained, but sincere. “It’s good to have you back, kid,” 

The hallways all seemed to blend together, and if he weren’t thinking of a million other things, he would have been memorizing the turns they were taking. Peter had been to the Compound sparingly in his world, ever since he refused Mr. Stark’s proposal of joining the Avengers. It wasn’t made for him, he supposed, even when Tony tried his best to sneak him into the lab spaces. 

He had a room, one that apparently shared a wall with Vision, if he remembered correctly, but he had never used it as it was intended. He would set his backpack inside for the duration of his stays, maybe taking out a textbook or notebook at the desk, and leaving a sweatshirt around, but he never slept in the bed or left his clothes in the drawers. His mentor had offered to let him customize the space—paint the walls, hang a poster, fill the closet—but he had always refused.

It was kind of like a separating work and space mentality, where in his mind, his home was back at the apartment in Queens, and the Compound was a more glamorous part-time job. Tony never pushed him, and he never really changed his mind. He liked the freedom of wandering, between the Compound and the Tower, where he had treated his space there almost identically. 

Steve was walking with confidence, sure of where he was going and how long it would take him to get there. His long strides were matched by Peter, but he had to fasten his pace ever so slightly, a bit annoyed that he couldn’t spend more time looking around. He figured it was for the best, though, since he was technically supposed to be dead, and the fact that he wasn’t was a secret to most at that point.

The logic of it didn’t stop him from trailing behind, slightly, when they began to cross between buildings, floors and walls of glass making him slow, looking out over the grounds. It looked peaceful, green, a few people milling about. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that. 

“Hey,” The Captain called from a few paces ahead. “Are you alright?” 

Peter forced himself to turn away, his eyes making an effort to stay glued on the grounds just outside the window. “Yeah,” He said, faintly, and shook it off. He was good at ignoring things, what was one more added to the list?

After going up another set of stairs, through a few doors unlocked by FRIDAY, they reached the section of the building with all the living spaces. The hallway was well air conditioned, and it looked clean; all of the doors were perfectly spaced apart, numbered to the right and displaying sleek paint and silver knobs. It made something prickle at the back of his neck. Peter could hear some faint chatter from one of the dining rooms but the bedrooms were silent. He knew it was the soundproofing technology they used on almost every room, but after living in a cheap apartment building in Queens, not hearing the bustle of lives behind each door was unsettling. 

Peter kept his eyes on the backs of Cap’s shoes, trying to keep his breathing even and his stomach from churning. They finally reached the door Peter knew to be his own, a small sticker left next to the handle, a tiny death star. He wondered if the other Peter had kept it there, or if someone had added it in his absence. Steve cleared his throat, leaning forward to open the door when it was clear that Peter wasn’t going to do it himself.

There was a click as the lock automatically slid back, accepting Captain America as authorized, and he wondered if it would do the same for him, after it all. There was a moment where only the door moved, sliding open quickly and revealing the room behind it, Steve hesitating when he didn’t move, or even breathe. It felt like he was crossing an invisible boundary, one with caution tape and an alarm and a tripwire. 

“Thanks,” He gritted out, through the tensed line of his jaw, and he nearly had to manually pick up his legs to get them moving. The room smelled like linen and cleaning supplies. He was glad, if there was any sign that someone had lived there, he might’ve vomited. There were a few details of what Tony must’ve gathered from his old spaces: notebooks at the edge of the desk, a hoodie folded over a chair, a few posters haphazardly taped up and torn at the corners. He remembered all of them, and it made a sudden wave of nostalgia hit him, swift and bitter. 

He half registered that Steve was still in the doorway, shifting awkwardly. “The bathroom is over there and well…you probably know all that, right?” 

“Right,” He said, and his voice came out a little thick. He cleared his throat, turning back to him and resisting the urge to cross his arms, burying them deep in his pocket. “Did…you need something else?” 

The older man looked at him, leaning against the doorframe a little, something so unbearably melancholy in his expression. “No,” He said, softly, when he’d noticed Peter staring, and then he smiled. “It’s just really good to see you,” 

Peter tried to muster up a proper response, a ‘you too’ or a ‘thank you’, but every semblance of words got lodged in his throat. His eyes itched a little, and he was blinking quickly as soon as Cap turned, shutting the door behind him without looking. Once he was alone, he wiped his face, exhaling heavily and looking around the room again.

He needed to shower. He needed to change out of his suit. He needed to sleep. He needed to do anything but stand there, surrounded by someone he used to be, feeling overwhelmed and inconsolably sad. 

He showered first. The water was hot the whole time he was in there, and his muscles relaxed. He stood under the stream for a while, letting the water hit him right in the face, contemplating if he could drown while standing up.

When he stepped out, his skin was pink and his hair was dripping water down his neck, but he felt clean for the first time in a long time. He wrapped himself up in a towel and wandered back into the main room, picking his way towards the closet and standing there, shivering under the cool air, staring at shirts and basketball shorts he never remembered owning. Tony was right, the shirt was a little short on him, and the shorts were loose around his waist, but at least they were good quality.

He double knotted the band on the pants and pulled a hoodie over the shirt, the sleeves that once billowed around his hands coming a little short around his wrists. It felt nice, in a way, to know that he hadn’t just imagined growing up. That he hadn’t just stayed the same. 

He sat at the edge of his bed for a while, at least until his hair dried enough to curl along his forehead, and he knew he should try to rest but his mind was racing too fast. He didn’t know when Tony would come and find him, and Steve hadn’t given him much instruction, so he decided to take a walk. His stomach was still grumbling, so he found himself heading towards the nearest kitchen. There was no noise from FRIDAY, though he knew she was watching, and his bedroom door opened just fine, so he told himself to be cautious but left anyway. 

He was almost all the way into the room, pulling down on his sweatshirt sleeve and thinking about finding a bottle of water when the sound of a chair scraping caught his attention. 

“Who are you?” 

His heart was beating fast at the way she had jumped out at him, but he inhaled sharply to contain the worst of his surprise, trying to think of the most unsuspecting way to remove himself from this interaction. Crawling on the ceiling was the only thing he had come up with thus far. He was fucking screwed. 

“Hi,” He managed, and then his brain promptly checked out. 

“Hi,” The girl repeated, and then squinted at him. “Who are you? Have we met before? Why do I know your face?” She looked to be a few years younger than himself, with dark hair and sharp features. He didn’t recognize her immediately, but he knew he must’ve seen her somewhere before. 

“Um,” He said, after a moment. His brain was still stuck on whether or not it would be appropriate to climb out the window at this point. He wasn’t supposed to be seen, he wasn’t supposed to be alive. “Hi?” 

She frowned. “Are you famous?” 

“Who are you interrogating?” A new voice chimed in from over the counter, and a boy popped into view, a drink in his hand as he took a seat next to the chair she must’ve been sitting in. Peter tried to keep himself from crumbling to the floor—how could he have screwed up so bad? “Oh, I didn’t know we had any new recruits,” He said, amiably, with the barest hints of a southern accent melding his syllables. 

The brunette was still staring at him, her mouth pulled to the side in contemplation, which just made her whole expression a bit pained. “You just look so familiar, I can’t put my finger on it….” 

The boy elbowed her, and she clicked her tongue at him, continuing her thoughtful examination. He tried to subtly step away from the counter, which he hadn’t even realized he was about to run into, but he felt her gaze on him, sharp against his senses, so all he could do was shuffle his feet. “Don’t mind Cass, I’m not sure she’s ever learned social etiquette,” Peter smiled as politely as he could while simultaneously feeling his stomach tie itself into knots. He knew exactly who this boy was, because in his world, they had met the day of Tony Stark's funeral. “I, however, am well versed with manners, so…” He cleared his throat, opening his mouth with a small flourish of his hands.

“You’re Harley Keener,” Peter interrupted, feeling guilty for cutting him off but needing to do something with his mouth before he cracked his teeth with how hard he had been clenching his jaw.

The boy closed his mouth so fast his teeth made a noise as they collided. He narrowed his eyes at Peter for a few seconds, almost a mirror reflection of what the girl next to him was doing. “Are you a psychic?” 

He tried not to laugh at the serious undertones of his voice. “No,” He said, and Harley just seemed more confused. “I’m just…well, I’m from another universe. Where you look exactly the same. Which is kinda freaky when you really think about it, but also really cool,” Why did he say that?

Harley sat back in his chair, quickly. “Huh,” 

“I’m Peter,” He added, after the pair of their eyes on him seemed to be the only distraction as they stretched into an awkward silence. 

The girl snapped a finger at him, suddenly, and he blinked a few times at her, not having as strong of a reaction as Harley, who jumped at her outburst. “You’re Peter Parker! You’re Spider-Man!”

“What?” Harley exclaimed, looking between the two of them wildly. Cassie’s gaze was triumphant, as anyone would be after solving a puzzle of face to name. Peter didn’t know what to say to either of them, so he sort of shrugged, tucking his hands under his armpits to keep them steady. “Oh my God,” Harley said, rather eloquently, and his face did a funny thing where it scrunched up and then slackened. “Oh my God, aren’t you dead?” 

Peter winced. Then felt bad for wincing. “No. Kind of? Well, not me, but yes. Me. From here. Other me,” He frowned at his own sentence, wondering when the day would come where he would learn how to speak like a normal human boy. “I’m not dead. As you have probably surmised,” 

“This is so cool,” Cass muttered, her eyes still trained on him, but widened, and he was oddly flattered at the genuine adoration in her expression. It was less frequently directed at him, but he knew the look of hero worship when he saw it. His face must’ve followed this line of thinking, because she snapped her fingers again, almost nervously, and rushed to explain herself. “Not that you’re dead. Or not dead, I guess. Just the whole Spider-Man thing. He was my favorite superhero,” 

Was. He was my favorite superhero. Peter tried to keep the corners of his mouth pulled upwards, but his stomach was clenched so tightly it felt as if his organs were shutting down. He was so used to walking among ghosts the past few hours, he never let it settle that he was one. He felt clammy, and if his hands weren’t safely tucked away, he knew they would be shaking. 

All of a sudden he was sitting at the counter, a can of Dr. Pepper placed in front of him, and a gentle hand brushing his shoulder. 

“Hey man,” Harley was saying, calmly, his fingers light as they patted his back soothingly. “Just take a breath, man, it’s all okay. Just take a second,” 

“Yeah,” Peter breathed out, forcefully, then squeezed his eyes shut on the inhale. “I’m good. I'm good, thank you,” He raised his head enough to look at Harley, earnestly, and he nodded, taking the stool next to him and carefully retracting his hand. 

“Sorry,” Cassie said, from his other side, and he waved her off. “Are you, like, okay?” 

He cracked a small, soft smile, glancing at his hands and then at the soda in front of him. “I’m still, uh, adjusting. You’d think after everything I’d be used to the madness, but…” He looked over at Cass, whose face was pinched with guilt, and made a vague motion with his hand, gesturing around them. “I’m still getting used to being dead. Or, to a version of me being dead, at least,” 

“No, that’s understandable,” Harley said, kindly, his expression a little softer than it had been moments before. “I don’t know what I would do if I found out I was dead in another universe,” He tapped his fingers along the table, then sort of laughed. “I actually don’t know what I would do if I knew anything about another universe, let alone traveled to one,” 

“It’s kind of amazing,” Peter admitted, trying to allow his breathing to even and his shoulders to relax. “I mean, it’s fucking freaky, for sure, but also…I mean, to think that there’s the possibility that a world is almost completely identical to your own, down to the faces and personalities and experiences of the people in it…” He laced his fingers together, staring at the Dr. Pepper instead of trying to decide which person to look at.

“I’ve met alternate versions of myself, and they were so different. There were similarities, sure, but the ages, the lives they lived, the ways they looked—it wasn’t me, y’know?” He sighed, finally glancing over to Harley, who seemed completely gobsmacked. Apparently, being experienced with the multiverse was something to be admired. “It was easier to separate myself from them, if that makes any sense. Like, here, I was the same, complete twins with that version of me. It’s…freakier,” 

“Wow,” Cass said, right as Harley inhaled, preparing to speak. They each looked at each other, then at Peter, and he wasn’t sure where to keep his eyes. Cass continued, so he swiveled to face her. “I mean, what’s your universe like, that you’ve just been…through the multiverse?” 

Peter grimaced, flashes of that night at the Statue of Liberty hot against his eyelids, easier to look at now that he had some time between it. He sighed. “Well, I think it's almost the same as here. I mean, I did some googling but I didn’t get very far, honestly. But it's similar. I know the alternate versions of me didn’t even have the Avengers, thought I was talking about a band or something,” He laughed lightly, closing his eyes and falling back into the memory.

His body was bruised, and his adrenaline was rushing, but there were a few moments of calm, discussion and collaboration between him and his other selves. They were kind to him, they understood him. It was nice, even if everything else wasn’t. “I’ve never been to another universe, not, well, I guess not until now , but…” He ran a hand through his hair, falling into easy conversation, and Harley eagerly reciprocated.

Peter remembered talking to him at the funeral, very briefly, but Pepper had mentioned him a few times afterwards. He was a kid when Tony had first met him, and he was a super genius just like Peter, probably even more so at this point. There was something about a potato gun floating around in his head, but he tried to remain present in the moment, nodding and interjecting at all the right times, letting Cass speak, too, though she seemed more content just to watch the two of them. 

The soda was good against his throat, the carbonation providing a sting that grounded him. At some point there was water placed in front of him, and that felt even better. After the way his day had started, he was grateful to talk about nothing, and everything; speculating about multiversal theories, talking about their favorite superheroes, about school and soda and pointless memes.

He felt like he was with Ned and Michelle again, the easy banter and unobstructed flow of conversation. He felt like, if only for a moment, he belonged somewhere in the multiverse.