My Longest Trials Now Are Past
This is a story in three parts, and in all three of them, the ending is the same. The world turns even in sleep (or dreams or other realms or while a genius tries to figure out how much a spider really means to him).
1.
It didn’t take Ned too long to wake up after leaving Mr. Stark with kid Peter. He regretted not telling him more, but Ned was exhausted and he truly could not spend another minute there. When Peter returned (and he would return because the alternative was unthinkable), Ned would have many words with him (and hugs and slaps upside the head and blanket burritos and snacks), but for now, Ned had a mission.
He sat up and locked eyes with Stephen. In the past (the before times, when Ned and Peter and MJ sat around and fan-person’d over superheroes and spies and sorcerers), Ned would have taken one look at Doctor Strange, word-vomited his love, and most likely fainted like one of those over-excited goats that went viral on YouTube. But this was not the past, and Ned (kind-hearted, patient, overall-koala bear Ned) could not control the waves of rage that flowed through his body. He spent an excruciating eleven months trying to save his suicidal, sacrificial, too-good-for-this-world friend, watching him destroy his body and soul one drink, pill, knife, bullet, and fall at a time, all because the adult (the doctor with a literal degree that pledges to “do no harm”) in the situation couldn’t think on his feet.
Ned wasn’t stupid. A broken multiverse was nothing to sneeze at. But agreeing to erase the existence of a depressed teenager with poor coping mechanisms wasn’t just irresponsible—it was reckless and selfish. Ned knew that Tony had reached out to the other heroes after everything that happened with Beck. Ned knew that the Avengers were aware Peter was struggling—it was a lot of the reason that Ned and MJ both stayed at the safe house with him when the shit hit the fan. And Ned had a lot to regret about that day (not waking up when Peter sneaked out for one), but he never, not once, regretted casting that spell. Nor would he regret what he did next.
“Mr. Leeds, it is good to see you awake.” And if he had been more awake he would have detected a note of wariness in that welcoming, but as it was, Ned was hungry, tired, and thoroughly pissed off.
“I’d love to say the same, Doctor, but lying is kind of your thing, isn’t it?” Stephen flinched but didn’t protest. “Tell me,” Ned sat up gingerly, voice silky and soft, “what. the. fuck. were. you. thinking?” His voice rose as he got to his feet shakily, body still adjusting to the onslaught of memories and experiences from the past year. He steadied himself on the bed railing and began to walk over to the sorcerer, who had sat himself between Mr. Stark and Peter, in an attempt to oversee the completion of the spell. Ned found himself towering over Strange, whose look of guilt mixed with defiance did nothing to quell his growing anger. “Stand up and look me in the eye and tell me what the fuck you were thinking?” His voice had risen to the point that he didn’t hear the door behind him open, nor did he see the few people standing there, watching his confrontation.
Strange stood up, hands out placating. Ned swatted them away and stepped closer. He was a good few inches shorter than Strange, but at the moment, he felt 8 feet tall. He heard a whispered Ned from MJ and Col. Rhodes stepped into the room. “Hey everyone, let’s take a step back and talk a second.”
Ned let out a humorless laugh while rolling his eyes. Though she wouldn’t remember it, the Black Widow had taught him a thing or two about fighting, so the subsequent punch to the Doctor’s face landed as true and hard as he meant it to.
He turned around and looked at the stunned faces behind him.
“We need to talk.”
2.
It said a lot about Rhodey’s friendship with Tony that watching an angry young adult punch a wizard in the face and then demand to meet with the Avengers didn’t even register as Top 20 in the list of weird Christmases. He watched as Ned hugged Michelle tightly (we’ll talk in a bit, MJ, this is going to be hard), and walked past his watching audience to the living room they had just vacated. Morgan and Nate had already been sent to bed (after much protest—Rhodey suspected that Morgan was just waiting for the right moment to sneak back out of her room) and Lila and Cooper were watching a movie in the game room. The Ned that Rhodey met that morning was easy-going and relaxed, if not a little bit star struck—the Ned he was currently watching, however, seemed strung as tight as one of Clint’s bows, gaze assessing each one of them as they came into the room.
Everyone seemed to be waiting for him to speak, which, considering the group assembled was strange in itself, but Ned’s own nervous energy seemed to cast a spell over the room that no one wanted to break. Natasha’s arms were crossed as she leaned against the wall. Everyone else found a seat except Happy who elected to stand next to Natasha.
“There’s no easy way to say this.” He cleared his throat, but Rhodey could tell it wasn’t as much out of anxiety, as it was out of grief. He watched as Ned’s eyes watered and he swiped away the tears quickly. Bruce—ever the most sensitive of them—handed Ned a tissue and gave him an encouraging smile. Ned’s voice wavered but he went on. “Eleven months ago, we all lost someone important to us. You know him as Spider-Man. Benjamin Fitzpatrick.” Michelle stilled next to Ned—Rhodey remembered that she hadn’t been told Ben’s alter-ego before coming to watch Morgan that morning. Ned continued, “But Ben is not Spider-Man. And Spider-Man’s not who you lost.”
Rhodey took in the confused faces around the room. He was about to suggest that Ned lie down a bit longer (surely delirium is part of magical fainting sprees), when the kid held up his hands to stop anyone from interrupting him.
“I know that sounds crazy. Please listen. The boy you know as Benjamin is really named Peter Parker.” Happy sucked in a breath as his hand touched the pocket Rhodey knew was holding May’s picture. “You’ve all known Peter for a few years now—very well. Peter became Spider-Man after being bit by a spider on a field trip to Oscorp when we were freshmen at Midtown.” Rhodey watched as Natasha sat down next to Clint who was eying Ned suspiciously. “He went out as Spider-Man and Mr. Stark found him and asked him to go with him to Germany. He gave him a suit and an internship. Peter went to space with Mr. Stark. He fought in the battle against Thanos. He came back and split his time between living with the Starks and his aunt.”
Ned picked up steam, his voice taking on a hysterical, pleading note. “He went to Europe with me and MJ. A man named Quentin Beck pretended to be Tony, tricked Peter, and then blew up part of London. Peter fought him but Beck framed him for murder and revealed his identity to the world. Shit hit the fan. People started following Peter. May lost her job. MJ and I were threatened. Morgan was threatened. Someone tried to kill Happy. SI was drowning in lawsuits, there were calls to put Peter in The Raft or to give him the death penalty, and Tony was arrested. People started calling for all mutants and enhanced individuals to be detained. We begged Peter to stay put and let you all work it out. Colonel, you even had a meeting arranged with the President to talk about the situation. Natasha and Clint were trying to find proof that Beck tricked everyone. Peter snuck out of the safe house and went to the Sanctum Sanctorum to ask Doctor Strange to cast a spell that would make people forget he was Spider-Man.”
From there, the story got darker. May’s death. Pepper’s. Rhodey was glued to his seat, unable to tear his eyes away from the kid who was now standing and pacing. So much of it seemed unbelievable—there was a multiverse? And the only way to keep it from breaking apart was to erase the world’s memories of Peter Parker? Not just Spider Man’s identity, but any memory of Peter Parker himself?
The only thing stopping Rhodey from putting an end to Ned’s tale was the sinking feeling in his gut that screamed truetruetrue at him. Because three days ago, he stood in Ben’s dorm room and lectured him about drinking, while watching him fiddle with Tony Stark’s MIT ring, wondering where the hell he got it and why the hell he felt such intense concern for a stranger. Because two days ago, he watched Spider-Man jump in front of a bullet meant for the head of his best friend without any hesitation or regret. Because this evening, as Ben was eating spaghetti, Rhodey was struck with such a strong feeling of déjà vu that it was only when Ned fainted that he was jolted out of it.
It shouldn’t be possible. But Rhodey could think of no other explanation that fit. Their whole friend group had been thrown into a state of unrest ever since Benjamin Fitzpatrick floated into their lives—Tony most of all. And the feelings weren’t just shallow or passing. They were complicated and deep. They were tinged with unexplained regret and pain and even guilt. They were a mix of love and fondness and exasperation and anger—all for a boy everyone believed they had never met before December 20th.
The room was silent, Ned having stopped talking almost a whole five minutes before. Bruce cleared his throat a few times as if he were going to say something and then thought better. No one seemed to want to break through the thick atmosphere of grief and confusion to ask questions, and Rhodey was wondering if they were leaving him to do it. Him, Tony’s best friend, the military officer, the oldest in the room (and most reasonable most of the time). He thought it unfair that age dictate maturity though, because he was only in the mood for a nap and a time machine to take him back to when he didn’t have to deal with foolishness, magic, or the growing headache that was making itself known.
The silence lingered until he couldn’t take it anymore. “Well.” He cleared his throat, “Well, that is a story.” Ned looked like he was going to interject, but Rhodey put his hand up to stop him. “I…I believe you, kid. It’s just…a lot to digest.” He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “Our memories.”
“Excuse me a moment.” Clint walked out of the room. Natasha looked as apologetic as Natasha could, “Mind magic is a bit of a sore topic around here.” She sighed and fixed Ned with a glare. Rhodey was impressed that he didn’t step back, but held her gaze steadily. “If everyone’s minds somehow had to be wiped by magic,” and the room could guess her opinion on that, “then how are you telling us this?”
Rhodey spent another twenty minutes listening to Ned’s explanation about the spell he cast, his estimation of the boy growing with each word. There was a desperate quality to Ned’s voice—and as Rhodey heard about Ben’s (no, Peter’s) declining mental health before Strange even came into the picture and the subsequent attempts Peter made to end his life after the spell, his concern grew to alarm.
Clint had returned at some point, and everyone seemed vaguely sick. Ned fixed them all with a look. “I am not in the business of doing anything to your mind without your permission. I need to know if you want your memories back?”
Happy laughed incredulously—wetly—“Why the hell wouldn’t we?”
Ned looked uncomfortable. “Um. See, the spell Doctor Strange used was pretty irreversible. Saving the universe and all that.” He did half-hearted jazz hands. “But there’s another that will open someone’s mind to things they forgot—even if they were made to forget them. I can do that to each of you.”
“Is it dangerous?” Bruce asked him.
“Oh! No, not…not to you!” He was bright about it, but Rhodey’s eyes narrowed. MJ apparently picked up on it as well.
“Is it dangerous to you?” It was the first thing she said since Ned called them in there. She was twirling her necklace with one hand and subconsciously picking at her cuticle with the other.
Ned straightened his back and looked in her eyes. They were having a silent conversation with each other until he said, “I can handle it.”
3.
Stephen Strange was not someone who lent himself to many regrets. Even before his life was mixed up in the mystic arts, he practiced medicine with the confidence and hubris required to be the best surgeon in the world. And yes, he was still egotistical, and yes, he was still prone to believing he knew best, but he liked to think he had learned much during his time as Sorcerer Supreme. And if someone were to press him (really press him, and then promise not to speak of it ever again), he would say that both Spider-Man and Tony Stark had been, if not his friends, at least good acquaintances.
So it absolutely floored him, almost a year ago, when Tony showed up at the Sanctum, grief-stricken by the death of his wife, demanding to know what he did with Spider-Man. Stephen had not seen Spider-Man in at least a month, and told Tony so. Tony didn’t believe him but when pressed on why he was so upset, he couldn’t tell Stephen. He kept saying, over and over again, “It’s your fault. I know it. I don’t know how, but I know it is.” His bodyguard had to pull him out and Stephen hadn’t seen him since.
Grief does funny things to people, Stephen knew this, but couldn’t help but wonder, late at night, if there had been something to Tony’s accusation. He put it aside, however, ignoring all the little things that kept popping up over the months. A misplaced book here. A spell gone wrong there. And this itching at the back of his mind telling him that something happened. An itching made worse when he got a call yesterday from Dr. Banner. Bruce was the only person Strange respected more than himself, and he was intrigued by the story of the boy with the quick healing gunshot wound. The boy who they found out was Spider-Man apparently. Knowing Tony’s inexplicable animosity, Stephen was concerned about barging in, but Bruce sounded desperate and the itching reached a crescendo and he knew, the way he knew magic deeply, that that was where he was supposed to be.
So he went. And when he showed up he walked in on the unthinkable. A foolish boy using magic far beyond his capabilities and another trapped in an inescapable hell. Stephen was ready to make things right—to preen and get a pat on the back from Stark (that would show him)—and move on his merry way. Until he felt for the magic and found his own staring back at him.
And boy wasn’t that a smack in the face (which hurt far more than the one Ned Leeds gave him later). The Avengers asked why Ned would risk the Guardian Tree and Stephen lied because Stephen was cowardly. Because Stephen realized that whatever he did—even if it were for the greater good—forcibly erased a kid from the lives of his family.
Stephen listened in as Ned explained things to the group in the other room. The boy was right—the spell he used was irreversible. He would have guaranteed it if the actual multiverse was at stake. But he was also right that there was a way to recover people’s memories one person at a time. It wouldn’t restore the world’s, but it would work in much smaller numbers.
He heard Bruce. “Is it dangerous?”
Yes.
It was.
Which was why there was no way Stephen was going to let Ned do it. He didn’t expect redemption for any of his decisions—without having memories of the situation, he couldn’t even say for sure that there were any other options available to him. (Ned seemed to think so, and Ned had a pretty good right hook, as well as an innate sense of magic, so Stephen was inclined to at least humor him.) But this boy spent eleven months holding a bond that was designed to break in mere days, this boy donated his life force to his best friend, possibly leaving himself weakened for the foreseeable future. This boy didn’t need to take on the risks of retrieving locked memories.
“I can handle it.”
Stephen sighed and walked into the room.
“No, I’ll do it.”
This is a story in three parts, and in all three of them, the ending is the same. Hope grows even in the darkest of places—or the most magical of them. It can come with a well-landed punch, a shocking revelation, or a sorcerer’s sacrifice. And in the case of Peter Parker—it came with all three.