Tergeminus

Stephen Strange had seen -for lack of a better term- strange things in his time. Hell, he saw them on a daily basis. He was just hanging over the mirror dimension’s Grand Canyon and that probably wasn’t even the most bizarre thing to have happened to him this week.

Still, when two men in near-identical Spiderman suits dropped out of the sky next to Peter Parker, Strange couldn’t help but oogle them speechlessly. This had not been on his list of anticipated problems from the broken spell, not by a long shot.

His world’s Peter frantically gestured at them, trying to explain something about new friends and “this is Peter Parker and this is ALSO Peter Parker-“ but Strange already knew. No one BUT Peter Parker would be running around with that ridiculous spandex suit on and the gigantic spider logo blazed across their chests.

As the youngest Peter babbled on, the two newcomers eyed him warily and stepped closer to their young comrade, their lithe bodies tense with their weight balanced on the balls of their feet. 

They’re protecting him, Stephen noted, with faint approval. They’re older… and less naive. 

His blue eyes flitting between them, taking in the thinner faces and furrowed brows. The tall one noticed and lifted his chin in a defiant manner, while the one with the big, grey eyes held his gaze with steely resolve, unflinching under the scrutiny. Maybe once upon a time, those eyes had been bright and youthful like the current Peter’s, but Stephen just saw years of grief, hardship and death scarred over by sheer determination. The eyes of a survivor. 

Stephen studied him the longest, wondering faintly what Tony Stark would have thought of this older, fiercer Peter Parker who was closer to their age than to his younger self.

As he worked desperately to control the unraveling reality around them, Strange kept an eye on the Peters as they fought, each swinging in their own unique ways. All three were agile and acrobatic, but he could see subtle differences in each. The youngest Peter had the grace and flexibility of a dancer mixed in with a boundless amount of energy, which resulted in him using the most webbing as he made frantic split-second decisions to change directions or dodge a punch. The tallest Peter had a more flashy style, more akin to the choreography of a circus performer as he swan dove off platforms and used dual webs to slingshot himself around corners. The oldest Peter, unsurprisingly, had the most efficient swings. He moved with an almost lazy grace, knowing exactly how far he could jump, flip or spin without shooting another web. He dodged attacks with just as much ease, as one would expect of a veteran who had spent decades honing his skills at reading opponents and his own spider-sense. 

They made an incredible team, and even Strange had to admit that he was proud to see how well they moved together once they figured out how to dodge each other’s webs. He saw out of the corner of his eye when the teenaged girl had fallen off the platform -when one Peter couldn’t reach her, another took his place without a second thought, driven by the deep need to do the right thing. 

Of all the people in all the universes, of course it’d be Peter Parker who’d make the best teammates with himself, Strange thought with exasperation and fondness. He allowed himself a fleeting thought as he looked around at the fraying fabric of the multiverse around him. Would he like himself if he met alternate versions of himself? 

Absolutely not, he thought grimly, reaching out with both hands to launch another containment spell. 

The world seemed to slow as the young Peter -only seventeen years old, Strange remembered with an internal twang of pity- made his decision. He was trembling all over with tears streaming down his bloodied cheek, but there was a steely resolve in his eyes that reminded Strange of the older Peters.

The sorcerer had tried, in his own roundabout way, to talk him out of it. He knew that there was nothing but pain and loneliness ahead if the boy agreed. He emphasized that there would be no one to help Peter in the future, not his aunt, not Tony or Stark Industries, not the Avengers and not even Strange himself. 

No one except…

Strange looked down, far down, at the two older Peter Parkers standing cautiously on the Captain America shield down below. The oldest was sagged against the other, clearly wounded, but his face seemed remarkably calm. Whatever stunt he tried to pull off moments earlier -Strange was too distracted to understand what they were doing with that Goblin stranger down there- he seemed at peace with his decision. 

Both of them weren’t even looking at him or his runes. They were giving watery smiles to their young counterpart, as if trying to convince him that they were okay with whatever nonsense was about to happen. 

Strange realized with a start that he had seen those exact expressions before, usually from family members about to be separated by surgery. Everyone present was terrified of the worst case scenario but they would try their best -with strained smiles and tears in their eyes- to convince their loved ones that they’d be fine.

Shaking from the effort needed to hold the spell intact, Strange looked back at Peter and took him in, from his tear-stained, ruddy cheeks to the faint limp he must have gotten in the fight minutes ago. He’d never be as close to this child as Tony was, but he could see what Tony saw in him -an ordinary kid with extraordinary abilities who had the biggest heart out of all of them. And now he saw proof that this boy could grow into so much more.

“Peter,” Strange’s voice was low and shaking, “Go find Ned.”

Confused at the sudden change in conversation, Peter’s brow furrowed. “W-What about him?” He yelled over the roar of the spell and the wind. 

“Take the ring from him.”

“But I don’t magic-“

“You’re smart, you’ll learn. TAKE it,” Strange’s eyes bore into the boy, trying to convey urgency without wasting words, “My spell will erase any memory of Peter Parker from this world. This world. That doesn’t mean every world.” His gaze flickered below to the shield and the occupants on it, and so did Peter’s.

It took a second, but the boy looked back at him with wonder and hope blooming across his face. “Y-you’d… you’d let me do that?”

“Well, I won’t remember in a few minutes, will I?” Strange grunted through gritted teeth. “Now GO.” 

Peter gave a wobbly nod and his eyes welled with tears again. “T-Thank you, sir.”

Strange felt an old, cold sensation inside -it was undefinable, visceral sadness, the kind that carves deep gouges in your soul and leaves gaping wounds. He hadn’t felt like this since he lost the Ancient One. “Call me Stephen.” 

Peter swallowed and gave a weak smile. “Thank you… Stephen.”

Strange forced himself to smile back. To his surprise, his own eyes were damp. “See you, kid.”