Fate Has Doomed My Future Now
On that day, almost a year ago, Peter Parker stepped into the foyer of the Sanctum Sanctorum with an odd mix of trepidation and bravado. He had considered all his options with all the confidence of an 18-year-old faced with the epic implosion of his world. He had come in, soaked from the rain, hoodie hiding him from the world outside. If Stephen had seen his face, he would have been taken aback by the dark circles under his eyes and his chalk white complexion.
“Dr. Sorcerer Stephen Strange, Sir…can I talk with you?”
On that day, Stephen sighed, distracted by several pressing problems, and was unable to give his attention fully to the kid he had grown to respect. He wasn’t sure why Peter was there—last he heard, Stark was hiding him somewhere safe until the Spider-Man problem could die down. In fact, last he heard, Stark had demanded that Peter stay at an undisclosed location upon threat of “grounding until you are as old as Star Spangled Ice Pops.”
On that day, SI was dealing with many lawsuits (some against them, many initiated by them) after some con-man with a grudge outed Peter’s identity and framed him for murder, or, if the public were to be believed, accurately accused him of murder. Stoked by the fires of media, public hysteria, a police force increasingly hostile to vigilantes, politicians eager for incendiary sound bites, and a bunch of criminals and opportunistic agitators, it seemed like it was turning into an impossible uphill battle as Peter and those associated with him were being devoured.
On that day, SI stocks were plummeting, the boy’s aunt had lost her job, there were bomb threats at Peter’s high school and Morgan’s elementary school, and Stephen caught the news reporting that Stark had been detained for questioning just that morning.
“What is it?” Stephen barked, annoyed and with a disturbing lack of sensitivity to the growing distress of the teen in front of him.
On that day, he was regaled with a tale of trauma and trains and glasses and stolen faces, and a story of a child feeling entirely at fault for the suffering of his loved ones.
And, on that day, if Stephen had been kinder or even had a shred of emotional intelligence or a drop of humility, he would have turned Peter around and sent him back to his family with a safety plan and a plea to help the kid heal from the shitty past few years. He would have suggested rest and rehab and ensured a supportive community and, if he felt like showing off his artistry, he would have offered his services to restoring the public’s faith in Peter.
However, on that day, Stephen was not kinder.
On that day, instead, after much pleading and guilt-tripping, Stephen granted the boy his wish for anonymity (and to “just make it stop, please, for the love of my family, it’s the least they deserve, Dr. Strange sir”) and used a spell to make people forget Peter was Spider-Man.
And in his arrogance, he refused to explain what it would do.
And in his arrogance, he got distracted.
And in his arrogance, he got annoyed.
And on that day, the spell messed up and ripped the multiverse and the sad, traumatized boy found himself surrounded by other sad, traumatized boys, fighting villains who didn’t care at all.
And on that day, Peter Parker, who knew loss as well as his own self, who loved deeper than any Stephen had ever met, who held more compassion and empathy and goodness in his pinky than Stephen did in his whole body, watched the brutal murder of his beloved guardian and aunt.
And on that day, Harold Hogan held the broken body of his fiancé and screamed for Peter to “get the hell out and be safe, for God’s sake, I love you, we’ll get through this, just don’t do anything stupid, Pete.”
And on that day, Tony Stark, with all the force and power and terror of a man about to lose his son, threatened the state of New York with a lawsuit they couldn’t afford, to end his detainment and rush down to the fight being held near Liberty Island.
And on that day, Pepper Potts and Morgan Stark and Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones, safe in their undisclosed location, watched in horror as Peter 1 and Peter 2 and Peter 3 fought against horrible odds. And on that day, they took a cab to save their depressed boy who had snuck out on their behalf and, instead, found themselves in the crossfire.
And on that day, Peter Parker, who knew death as if it were his obsessed stalker, whose heart for his family dwarfed his heart for himself, who only wanted everyone to be okay, was forced to make a choice between saving his 7-year-old sister in all but blood or his in-all-the-ways-that-matter mom from falling to their deaths.
And on that day, Tony Stark held the broken body of his wife and screamed for Peter to “get back here and forget whatever it is you think you have to do, for God’s sake, we’ll figure this out, don’t go, Pete.”
And on that day, Peter Parker, looked at a horrified Stephen, and begged him to save the lives of every single human at the expense of his own.
And on that day, Stephen, overwhelmed and unpracticed and completely out of his element, agreed.
And on that day, Ned Leeds, with all the power of his family’s magic, with all the determination of a best friend who knew the consequences of this choice, with all the intention of saving the life of the depressed, self-sacrificing, idiotic boy that he loved more than anyone in the world, said, “fuck you, Stephen Strange,” and cast a spell tying his own life force to his friend’s.
And on that day, Peter Parker was forgotten by everything and everyone but an ancient spell and a dream-world determined to make it right.
Ned collapsed.
Peter’s head ached.
And Stephen Strange stepped into Tony Stark’s kitchen with a mystery to solve about a boy he forgot and the friend who refused to leave him behind.