The Trials and Tribulations of Spider-Man, the People's Hero

When the footage finally came to life, it was to the view of a lone vehicle driving across the countryside. The scene gradually faded to a shot of a demolished village, showing family homes, hotels and landmarks alike in ruins. Accompanying the vision of destruction, the words “IXTENCO, MEXICO” appeared on the screen, a clear indication of what they were looking at.

“Jesus,” Tony whispered, his traitorous mind unwittingly flashing back to Afghanistan, ruined by his weapons. He swallowed, a familiar guilt flaring up in his chest before he forcefully pushed it aside. I need to stop making everything about me, he told himself firmly. He turned to the kid seated comfortably next to Happy—desperately ignoring the God of Mischief—and asked, “What the hell happened there?” 

No one missed the regret that passed by Peter’s face as he tore his gaze away from the screen to look at Tony. “You’ll see,” he answered cryptically. Tony frowned, but Peter added before he could protest, “I wasn’t there to see it, but I can guess what happened.”

He sounds… angry, Tony realized. With himself? 

Happy rested a hand on Peter’s shoulder, sighing heavily. “It’s over, Peter,” he murmured in as reassuring a voice as Harold “Happy” Hogan, the most no-nonsense person Tony knew, could muster. He squeezed Peter briefly. “Everything turned out fine.”

Peter stiffened, heart stuck in his throat. But it’s not fine, he wanted to argue. None of it is fine. People died. Entire cities have been laid to waste. I was framed by the man who ruined my life. 

It’s not fine. 

But he swallowed down all of the arguments and nodded instead, allowing himself to lean against Happy briefly, taking comfort in the bigger man’s warm presence. He wasn’t in the mood to fight, not when this was the first chance he's had to see Happy—to see anyone from his old life before he’d become Peter Parker, Fugitive Extraordinaire—in months.

The car eventually rolled to a stop in the middle of the village, and two familiar figures disembarked.

“What the—? Hill? Fury?” Clint blinked in surprise, turning around to look at the two SHIELD members sitting beside him. “Why would you two have business in Mexico? This looks like it was done by a hurricane, and SHIELD doesn’t usually check out natural disasters—even when it causes destruction on a scale like this.”

“We know as much as you do, Barton,” Fury reminded him with a roll of his eyes.

Clint rolled his eyes and looked away, and the annoyance on Fury’s face faded to make way for concern.

As much as he hated to admit it, Clint was right: SHIELD wasn’t in the business of visiting areas trampled by natural causes. And it had been a long time since he, personally, had been on the field. If he was in Ixtenco, then there had to be more to this disaster than first appearances suggested.

On the screen, Agent Hill unknowingly seconded Clint’s sentiments: “Nick, this was a tragedy, but it’s not why we’re here,” she reminded him stoically. “What, are we fighting the weather now?”

Pepper choked audibly as she heard Hill’s words, turning to look at their version of Maria Hill in horrified shock. “Agent Hill,” she reprimanded, her voice coming out as a hiss. “That was unnecessarily harsh.” 

Maria’s jaw tightened in response, still reeling from the sound of her own words from years into the future. She looked appropriately chagrined by Pepper’s condemnation, but nonetheless she didn’t apologize for her future self’s indifference.

Instead, she inhaled sharply, ignoring the horror stirring in her gut, and replied simply, “But it’s the truth.” Without waiting to hear whether Pepper would scold her further or realize she was right, Maria turned away and hid a contemplative frown. 

How much had she seen by the kid’s—Mr. Parker’s—time (2024, was it?), to be so desensitized to the state of Ixtenco as it appeared in the footage? Even now, from the other side of a screen, Maria could see that the village was battered beyond an easy fix: the villagers on the screen—she spotted a woman struggling to carry boxes and books, perhaps the only remnants of her life before whatever happened to ruin Ixtenco, construction workers barely able to hold themselves up, a young man in tattered clothes sitting heavily against a collapsed wall—were all clearly burdened with obvious fatigue and hopelessness.

Ixtenco had fallen, and all her future self had to say about it was: It’s not why we’re here. Maria meant what she’d said to Pepper—it was the truth—but that didn’t mean it wasn’t unsettling, to see the type of person she would become over a decade into the future.

Fury shot Hill a pointed look. “Locals say the cyclone had a face,” he remarked as they carefully made their way down the street, inspecting the wreckage.

Hill shook her head. “People see things when they’re under stress,” she reasoned, as if desperate to deny Fury’s implicit suggestion. “That does not mean that this is the start to some other big world-ending—”

Before she could even finish her sentence, a green cloud of smoke appeared in front of them as something—someone—imperceptible landed on the ground with a thundering crash. Immediately, the two trained agents pulled out their guns, acting on pure instinct, and aimed at the smoke.

“Gotta say,” Tony remarked, leaning back into the sofa cushions, “the irony of that coincidental timing is not lost on me. It’s almost comedic—or it would be, if it weren’t for the situation.”

“‘Coincidental’,” MJ echoed, fingers forming air quotes. A wry smile curled on her lips as she remembered all of Mysterio’s lies. He’d woven such an intricate web of deception that, even months after his defeat, they were still entangled in his trap. Worst of all, they’d fallen for his trap, just as Mysterio had intended. “Sure.”

“Excuse me?” Tony blinked, eyes narrowing at the girl. “You sound skeptical. Am I missing something?”

MJ snorted. You can say that again, she thought to herself. We were all missing a piece of the puzzle for the longest time. She opened her mouth to reply, but Peter’s voice cut her off before she could.

“MJ…” Peter warned, twisting around to shoot her a meaningful look. MJ raised her hands in surrender, falling silent, and the breath whooshed out of Peter in an audible exhale. 

Tony frowned, but didn’t push, instead storing MJ’s all-too-telling reaction for later dissection.

Peter turned to look at the screen, struggling to shove down the maelstrom of hurt and anger and shame that burned inside him at the sight of Mysterio, and at the subsequent onslaught of memories (of his own foolishness) that his appearance dredged up. He’d genuinely trusted Beck. He’d thought of him as a friend, even; a brother-in-arms he could count on to help him fend off the Elementals. And yet all the while, he’d been clueless to Beck’s true machinations, blind to the reality that Beck was the one orchestrating every single one of those very attacks.

(Beck had been a puppeteer, and Peter his puppet. He’d let himself be played.)

No, MJ was right. There was nothing coincidental about Quentin Beck’s appearance in Ixtenco, so soon after Fury and Hill had arrived based on Fury’s hunch that there was more to the village’s destruction than met the eye. More realistically, Beck was the one who had lured them to Ixtenco in the first place—entirely on purpose—in order to initiate his grand plan to manipulate the whole world.

When the smoke faded, Fury and Hill found themselves face-to-face with a caped figure clad in gold-plated armor and wearing a strange glass bowl over his head. Inside the glass bowl, they could see swirls of misty blue and black, resembling a galaxy.

The figure straightened, and the bowl vanished from around his head, revealing the face of a haggard-looking man. “Who are you?” the man demanded, panting audibly from exertion. 

“Who the hell is that?” Hill balked. “Was Fury right? About – about the cyclone? Was it not a natural disaster? And if Fury was right, then is this new guy a hero, or... or a villain?”

“He looks familiar,” Tony threw in. “I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“Has he helped Iron Man before?” Bruce suggested, squinting at the caped man. “Maybe you met him during a mission.”

“No, no,” Tony denied, shaking his head. “I can’t place his face, but... I know for a fact that I didn’t meet him as Iron Man. And I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen a superhero wearing that ridiculous get-up before. It’s... it’s his face that’s bugging me.”

He quieted for a moment, chewing his lip in thought as he struggled to remember where he recognized the man from. Eventually, after a tense second, he groaned in annoyance and gave up. “I don’t know,” he huffed. “Maybe he just has one of those faces.”

“No, I think you’re right,” Pepper said suddenly, sitting up and leaning forward to assess the man. “He does look familiar.”

“Well, if you’ve both seen him before, you two probably met him through Stark Industries,” Bruce reasoned. “I’d ask if he was a fellow scientist, but I don’t recognize him from any articles or publications. Maybe he’s an investor?”

“Maybe,” Pepper allowed, but she didn’t look convinced. She drummed her fingers against her thigh and sighed. “I’m not sure.”

“He’s probably not important, if we’ve forgotten him,” Tony decided. “Let’s just see what happens next.”

Peter nodded hastily, gratefully taking the out presented to him. “EDITH?”

EDITH complied with a whirr, the footage continuing on. If only Tony or Pepper had bothered to look to Peter for insight earlier, they would have noticed his fraught, tense appearance as they debated the identity of the man on the screen. Maybe then Tony wouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss it as unimportant.

Almost immediately, a monstrous creature emerged from the ground behind them, causing Fury and Hill to whirl around, guns still outstretched. The creature—consisting entirely of rocks—roared, standing taller than its surrounding buildings, and the two agents began firing. 

“Holy shit.”

“Um, what—”

“What the FUCK—”

The stranger shook his head. “You don’t want any part of this,” he said, stepping forward and swinging his arms out in front of him. What appeared to be wispy green blasts began shooting from his hands. Seconds later, the scene faded to black.

“What was that?” Scott wrinkled his nose, captivated by the stranger’s powers. “I’d say it looks like gas, but... the explosive force behind it—”

“Uh, personally, I’m still stuck on whatever the fuck that rock monster was,” Sam said, a little hysterical, his voice strangled and high-pitched.

“Fascinating,” Shuri breathed, barely even hearing Sam. “Going by his words, I’d say he’s had a run-in with that rock creature before. That probably means that his blasts aren’t made up of gas, if he thinks he can go up against rock. I wonder if I could replicate the effects using technology.” Her fingers twitched subconsciously as her imagination ran wild. If only she could access her lab...

God, she was itching to tinker around in her lab right about now.

Halfway across the room, Peter snickered privately to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Happy prodded, confused, not having caught Shuri’s murmured words.

“Oh, nothing,” Peter replied, and it wasn’t necessarily a lie—he didn’t find Shuri’s words funny, not really, but it was ironic if nothing else. Replicate the effects using technology? Well, considering Beck is using technology in the first place, you could at least definitely make it better.

Suddenly, the words “in memoriam”—printed in what appeared to be a childish Comic Sans font—flashed onto the black screen as the song ‘I Will Always Love You’ by Whitney Houston began to play in the background.

“Oh, shit,” Peter breathed when he realized what he was looking at, loud enough that those closest to him could hear. His earlier amusement died in a flash as his gut churned in his stomach and his hands grew clammy with sweat. He wiped his hands on his pants, but it didn’t help when the crux of the matter remained unchanged: he hadn’t realized they’d all find out what had happened—who they had lost—so soon. 

Goddamnit, he cursed, and for a brief moment, all he could hear was Steve Grant Rogers’ voice in his head, trying to instill some responsibility in him:

“Watch your language, son,” the memory of the supersoldier’s voice echoed in his ears, as serious as ever. Peter hadn’t seen any of the Avengers since the Daily Bugle’s scathing exposé put a bounty on his head, but he could still remember the look in Steve’s eyes as he’d stared Peter down: there had been a certain enlightened quality, a certain wisdom, to his gaze. Peter didn’t think he’d forget the feeling of being lectured by (former) Captain America any time soon. “There are people who look up to us—to Spider-Man.”

At the time, Peter had reacted with explosive fury. He’d shoved Steve away, relishing in a fleeting, temporary feeling of glory when the man stumbled beneath the force of it, and snarled, I’m not your goddamn son. He’d spun on his heel and stalked out of the room then, the phantom sound of Tony Stark’s rich laughter ringing in his ears. 

He hadn’t looked back.

(What if he had looked back? What if he’d apologized? 

What if he’d listened to Steve? Not to Steve's advice about censoring his language, no, but – to his warning that Peter possessed a great deal of influence over the general masses. 

“There are people who look up to us—to Spider-Man.” 

Peter laughed, cutting and poisonous. Well. Those days were long over. No one looked up to Spider-Man now.)

Peter shook his head. Not the time. This isn’t about me, he reminded himself, returning his gaze to the screen. This song. This stupid song. Except it wasn’t stupid, and he struggled to keep his eyes from watering as they drank in the title once more. 

In memoriam. 

He gulped audibly. “God,” he whispered, hands clenching into fists around the fabric of his pants. His elbows dug into the meat of his thighs and he leaned his weight forward, back hunching as if to try to hide himself. “God. How could I have forgotten about this stupid video?”

Happy turned to look at him, eyebrows furrowed. Before he could ask what was wrong, though, the image on the screen changed, and Happy immediately understood. 

Oh. Oh.

Because it was the face of Tony Stark that graced the screen now, a pair of his signature tinted sunglasses mounting his face. Stark’s head was tilted slightly, his lips unsmiling as he stared down whichever paparazzi had managed to track him down; he looked completely indifferent to the shock that rippled through the audience at the mere implications of Tony’s photograph following the opening frame entitled “in memoriam."

“What the fuck. What the fuck,” Pepper choked out, losing all sense of elegance and composure as she lurched forward in her seat. Beside her, Rhodey sat up in alarm, while Tony tensed. “What – what is this?” she stammered in denial, refusing to accept it at face-value. “This – this has to be a joke—”

“Pep,” Tony murmured in a low, quiet voice, resting one hand on her knee.

Pepper jerked away as if burned. Tony froze, his hand hovering uselessly above her. He’d forgotten, for a second there, that this wasn’t his Pepper; caught up in the moment, all he’d been able to think of when he saw Pepper begin to devolve into hysterics was comfort her comfort her comfort her. 

But, he reminded himself firmly, this Pepper Potts was beyond him. Did she even want comfort from him? 

“No. There’s no way,” Pepper managed to say, struggling to breathe in the midst of her growing panic. No no no — 

“Pepper,” Rhodey whispered, voice likewise drenched in fear. He didn’t even know what had happened in Peter’s timeline yet—what could happen in his own—but… there was no misconstruing the meaning of in memoriam. Those words felt heavy as they reverberated in the hollows of his mind, laden with meaning and significance.

He snuck a glance at the group of travelers from 2024 (plus the addition of Loki) and grimaced at what he found. Peter had huddled closer to Happy, burying his head in Happy’s shoulder while Happy murmured indistinct reassurances in his ear. Rhodey couldn’t see Peter’s face, but he could see Happy’s, and, well— there was no mistaking the pure, unadulterated grief that was etched across his friend’s face.

Rhodey felt sick to his stomach. 

Pepper looked like she felt just as nauseous. “God, no,” she moaned, resisting the urge to retch. “Rhodey,”—she turned to him in a panic, her eyes blown wide with distress—“please tell me I’m misunderstanding this. I can’t – I can’t lose him. I mean, even being without him while he was in space...” she trailed off, expression haunted with the memory of the uncertainty that had plagued her. She’d felt like she was in limbo, waiting for the axe to fall. “I can’t go through that again. Not forever.”

Rhodey swallowed down his own dread. I can panic later, he told himself. It can wait. It can wait. For now, he had to console Pepper; he had to be strong for her.

“It’s – it’s gonna be okay, Pepper,” he soothed, even though a large part of him didn’t believe it. How could anything ever be okay in a world without his best friend? He thought back to Peter’s and Happy’s words—he remembered his own indignation at Peter’s indication that they didn’t want to know how the Avengers from his timeline had reversed the Blip. He’s insane, he’d thought then. Why the fuck wouldn’t we want to know? 

Now, though… now, he understood. 

But he also remembered everything else Peter said. He remembered the desperation in Peter’s eyes when he‘d implored, “Maybe if you know ahead of time—maybe if you know everything we do—you’ll be able to reverse the Blip without paying that price.” And he remembered the determination in Happy’s voice, too, strong and steadfast enough to light up a flare of hope amidst the darkness of Rhodey’s misgivings: “It isn’t too late for you guys. There might still be another way to save your world—without the sacrifices of ours.”

Rhodey forced himself to calm down, a shaky exhale passing his lips. “It’s gonna be okay,” he repeated to Pepper, and the words came out steadier now, and with more conviction. “Happy and Peter said we can fix it, remember? It’s not going to turn out like this for us.” It can’t – it just can’t. “I won’t let it, okay?” he added, gruffly, voice rough and scratchy with half-terror from the magnitude of Tony’s uncertain fate, half-resolve from the need to watch his best friend live and thrive and grow old.

Pepper looked at him, eyes red-rimmed. It was the mark of tears, in the end, that expunged his terror and solidified his resolve. Because here was Pepper Potts, the most influential woman of their time—a woman who rarely ever allowed herself to look even a little bit out of place. But Pepper didn’t care about her reputation now; she wasn’t speaking as the CEO of Stark Industries, but as Tony Stark’s partner, when she clutched Rhodey’s hands in her own and begged, “Promise me. Promise me you’ll keep him safe.”

Rhodey smiled tremulously at her. “I promise,” he whispered, and hoped to god that he wouldn’t have to break it.

Meanwhile, Tony watched their interaction with more than a little wonder, feeling almost as if he was intruding. He felt... out of place. No matter how much he wished he could reassure them, he knew he couldn’t, because at the end of the day, he wasn’t their Tony. They weren’t his Pepper and Rhodey.

This version of Pepper and Rhodey— they felt untouchable to him. Unreachable. Whatever had happened between 2012 and 2018, it had changed them in irreversible ways. And he had no idea how to react to it.

“Tony,” Bruce whispered from beside him, drawing Tony’s attention to him. “Are you okay?” Tony blinked, and Bruce rushed to correct himself, “Sorry, that was a stupid question. I mean, we just found out you’re going to…” he faltered and trailed off, unable to make himself say it.

Tony mustered a smile at his new acquaintance—friend? Could he go so far as to call Banner a friend, now? “I’m fine,” he lied. As always, the lie came easy—natural—to him. If there was one thing that would never change, it was that Tony Stark could drop one persona and put on another within the space of a heartbeat. “It’s not like I was under any delusions about the mortality rate of people in my line of work. I came to terms with the risks that come with being Iron Man long before I first stepped into the suit.” 

Bruce nodded, biting his lip. He appeared skeptical, eyebrows furrowed slightly in unspoken curiosity, but he didn’t push.

Tony looked away, back to the screen, where the documentary had paused on his image—likely courtesy of EDITH, who was evidently able to read the room. Despite what he’d said to Bruce, Tony found himself growing uncomfortable the more he stared at his own picture. He hadn’t been lying—he did know the risks of being a superhero—but it still terrified him, a little, to realize his impending doom. To know that his expiration date had already been determined.

He glanced at the sofa situated to his right out of the corner of his eye, his heart stuttering when he saw the broken look on Happy’s face. It was a stark contrast to the usual expressions that adorned Happy’s face on a daily basis—the Happy he remembered only ever rotated between annoyance and anger. Happy, too, had clearly changed in the years that stretched out between them, and Tony had a feeling he knew exactly what—or rather, who—had sparked the change.

He swallowed and turned his focus to Peter, who had pulled his knees up to his chest and was now staring up at the screen in a daze. There was something lost about the look in his eyes that made Tony’s heart twinge with sorrow. Well, that explains his earlier reaction to my presence, he thought dryly to himself, fighting to distract himself from the unsettling, inexplicable compassion that threatened to burst forth whenever he let himself dwell on Peter Parker. I’m literally a ghost from his past. 

He sniffed and tore his eyes away before he could get emotional. He adamantly skipped over Loki, trying to ignore the stab of fear that invaded him whenever he remembered the feeling of tumbling rapidly through the air without protection, and instead zeroed in on the other two teenagers. The boy, Ned, was chewing nervously on his lip as he sent Peter a worried look every two seconds. MJ, on the other hand, kept her eyes resolutely fixed on the screen, her stare unwavering. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, the expression strained at the corners.

Tony shook his head. He bit back the desire to ask what had happened—how did I die?—and instead resettled in his seat, trying to ignore the feeling of Pepper's and Rhodey’s tear-stained gazes now boring into him, as if in an attempt to reassure themselves that he was real.

“EDITH,” he coughed, feeling uneasy, “please continue.” For a second, he worried she wouldn’t answer to him—Happy had mentioned that his future self had given EDITH to Peter, after all—but he sighed in relief when the video dutifully started playing again.

It seemed the surprises in store for them weren’t over, because Tony’s picture promptly transitioned into one of Captain America, looking regal and dignified—solemn—in his signature suit.

“Oh, hell no,” Bucky was the first to react to the newest blow. His metal fingers twitched violently on his lap as he spared 2012 Steve a backwards glance. He shook his head resolutely. “No. Nope. I refuse to believe it. I’ve lost Steve once already.”

“God,” Sam whispered, aching. Steve looked the same as he always did in his picture: confident, heroic, strong. He looked like every single poster of Captain America hanging on the walls of Sam’s childhood bedroom. Even after Sam had met and gotten to know Steve personally, a part of Sam had continued to see and idolize Steve as the all-powerful, unbeatable hero he’d first seen on his TV screen, he realized with a start. It was a harsh, jarring wake-up call to think that Captain America would one day die—and soon, in a matter of mere years, not in some far-off reality that Sam could pretend wasn’t real. “Steve, too? How many… how many people do we lose?”

“Uh, actually,” Peter jumped in, and they all whirled around to find Peter scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Steve isn’t – he isn’t dead. He… wasn’t one of the casualties,” he finished, his voice going soft and miserable at the end, eyes traitorously darting to Tony.

Bucky froze. A sigh of relief hovered in his ribcage, desperate to be released, but he restrained himself. Peter might have denied Steve’s death, but he hadn’t said anything about Stark, and that silence in itself was all too telling. He might not know Stark—not as a friend, anyway, he thought guiltily, unwittingly flashing back to cold snow and Siberian bunkers and Tony Stark lying conquered on the ground—but he didn’t wish Stark ill. 

“Wait, I – I’m not?” Steve blinked. “I don’t understand. It said in memoriam… and Tony—”

“You haven’t been seen in the public eye since the final battle,” Peter cut in, looking down at his feet. “That’s why...” he shook his head, waving his hand vaguely in the screen’s general direction as if to say that’s why they think you’re dead. “It’s hard to explain. Things happened, and—” A strangled sound of frustration escaped him as he gesticulated uselessly, one hand reaching up to tug at his hair. “Things happened,” he repeated himself, “but you aren’t gone. Not like that.”

“Then why wouldn’t I go out in public?” Steve pressed, frowning. “I’m Captain America, aren’t I? I’m an Avenger. Why would I stay hidden if— what if something goes wrong?”

“Something definitely goes wrong,” MJ snorted, mirthless, at the same time as Peter clarified, “You changed. Physically, I mean. You aren’t exactly in the shape to go out as a hero anymore. You’re still alive, though.”

Steve fell silent. What did that even mean? What could possibly keep him from fighting—from going out there and helping people? What had happened to him, if not death? Peter’s vague explanation had only served to give him more questions than answers, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to get anything more out of Peter. 

Without a word, EDITH pressed play.

Following Captain America, a picture of Natasha Romanoff came onto the screen. Unlike both Tony’s and Steve’s pictures, hers seemed to have been taken from the front page of a news article, evident from the fact that the chosen photograph was badly cropped. Even in the picture, Natasha seemed untouchable, face impassive and unsmiling.

“Shit,” Clint inhaled sharply. “Shit.”

“Clint.” Natasha laid a hand on his arm. 

Clint whirled around, shaking his head rapidly. “Don’t say my name like that,” he hissed. Natasha arched an eyebrow, question unasked, but he answered nonetheless, “Like – like you’ve accepted it! I don’t! I won’t!”

Natasha sighed, and he jabbed a finger at her. “That! That right there tells me you’re going to just take it. Well, I’m telling you no. The kid – the kid was right. If this is the price we have to pay, it’s way too high. There’s no way I’m going to just stand back and let you give your life—”

“Half of all life, Clint. They said half of all living creatures in the universe die,” she interrupted his rant, her voice hard and unyielding, punching through the haze of despair clouding his mind. “That’s trillions throughout the universe. Trillions! Men, women, innocent children.” Think of your children, Clint, her eyes conveyed where her words didn't, and he recoiled as if physically struck. “If I have to die to bring back trillions… I’d be honored to give my life for such a cause.”

“But why does it have to be you—”

“We’re Avengers, Clint,” she reminded harshly, but her face held no anger. She gave him a rueful smile. “If not me, then who? This is why we fight.”

Clint glared at her, blinking back tears, but he couldn’t find the words to refute her. Deep down, as much as he hated it, he knew she was right.

Half of all life. Shit. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, covering his hand with hers. He barely reacted, feeling numb and chilled all over, and she tightened her grip. Maybe, she thinks, this is what it’ll take to wipe the red off my ledger. Maybe this is how I atone. “I’ve made my peace with it.”

Clint sniffled and looked away. 

Peter watched Clint and Natasha’s interaction with silent regret, and he couldn’t help but think of how tragic it all was. Natasha was so determined to fight for their cause—she hadn’t even batted an eye at the news of her own death. She was willing to die, even, if it meant trillions more could live.

It was especially tragic, Peter reflected, because he knew how her story ended. He knew that Natasha Romanoff had sacrificed herself to make sure the soul stone fell into the Avengers’ hands, to make sure the Avengers would be able to save everyone else in her absence. 

And the Avengers had. 

Peter would still be dead if not for what Natasha had done—he owed her his life—and yet her sacrifice was not nearly as widely-recognized as Tony’s. 

It’s unspeakably tragic, he mused again, his heart drumming to the beat of it — tragic tragic tragic. His eyes fell to his lap, unable to bear the sight of Natasha Romanoff, heroic and resolute behind closed doors, any longer. She’s gone, and no one cares. She’s gone, and she isn’t even thanked for it. She died for a world that refuses to acknowledge her.

From the other sofa, in an attempt to lighten the somber mood, Tony commented, “It’s kind of sad that whoever made this video was only able to find a picture of you from the news.” He heard his own words settle in his mind and cringed, wondering if he was only making it worse. What a way to ‘lighten’ the atmosphere, Tony, geez, he applauded himself self-deprecatingly. 

(Whoever said Tony Stark possessed impeccable social skills had clearly never interacted with him for longer than ten minutes at a time.)

But Natasha didn’t seem bothered by his ungraceful subject change, merely rolling her eyes and shooting Tony a secretive smile. “You think it’s sad; I think it’s a good thing. If that’s the only picture of me there is out there, then that means I’m doing my job right,” she countered.

Tony huffed a laugh. “Right.”

A picture of Vision was up next. Despite the terrible blurry quality, his features were unmistakable—the red skin was a dead giveaway. (Emphasis on dead.)

Vision seemed unfazed at the revelation of his upcoming death. His companions, however, were not quite so unfazed.

Wanda, especially, appeared to be hit the hardest by the news. She clenched her fists tightly, an anguished mewl ripping straight from her chest. Around her, the air shimmered a vibrant scarlet, rippling outwards in visible waves. Her hair rose slightly, lifted by an invisible force.

Sam was the first to notice the change in Wanda when he nearly toppled over, feeling a pressure in the air push against him. “What the – oh, shit, Wanda!” Sam’s panic was magnified tenfold when he saw that her eyes had flashed a violent crimson in her trance. “Oh, crap. Oh crap oh crap oh crap. What the hell do I do?” he demanded Bucky.

Bucky looked just as helpless, staring on in trepidation. During their time on the run, he and Sam had become all too aware of the chaos Wanda tended to wreak whenever she lost control. And right now, she definitely seemed to be out of control.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. Usually, in the event that Wanda lost her grip on her tenuous restraint, it was Steve or Natasha who eased her back to awareness. Steve had always been the most fatherly and empathetic of the three men, after all, and as for Natasha, well, she’d regularly radiated maternal concern when it came to Wanda—despite her intimidating exterior. Wanda had gravitated towards Natasha naturally, with the two banding together due to their shared gender and mutual understanding of female entrapment under the patriarchy.

Sam groaned. “You’re useless,” he told Bucky matter-of-factly.

Bucky shrugged. “You can harp on me later,” was his only response. He knew not to take offense to Sam’s cutting insults by now. “Right now, we have to help Wanda.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam grunted. He hovered an uncertain hand above her shoulder, not sure if she would appreciate touch right now. The last thing he wanted to do was aggravate the situation and provoke a violent reaction from Wanda.

“Wanda?” he asked, keeping his voice mild and kind. “‘You with me?”

Wanda’s eyes flashed a darker red.

Sam gritted his teeth. “‘Guess that’s a no,” he mumbled to himself. “Awesome. Okay, now what am I supposed to—” 

“Wanda.” Vision’s voice was even and self-assured as he stepped in, relieving Sam of his duty. The android floated calmly in front of Wanda, looking unflappable even in the face of Wanda’s thrashing powers. “Wanda.”

His voice, thankfully, finally managed to pierce through the haze in Wanda’s mind. She came sharply back to reality with a strangled gasp, her eyes flickering rapidly before finally returning to their normal color. “V-Vis?” she stuttered, voice wrecked. “You…”

“I’m here,” he said simply. He waited a beat, just long enough to make sure she was fine, and then nodded stiffly and returned to his original spot beside T’Challa.

Wanda watched him go, her racing heart gradually beginning to slow down as the air around her finally lost its scarlet shimmer. I messed up, she admitted to herself, realizing just how much she’d hurt him when she’d used her powers against him back in the compound. I need to… I need to apologize.  

She snuck the TV another glance, noticing that the screen was still frozen on Vision’s image. She suppressed a flinch at the sight of it, but couldn’t find the voice to ask EDITH to keep going.

She swallowed, thinking of her own Vision, alive but still lost to her. It only reaffirmed her resolve. I’m going to make things right with him, she told herself firmly, her eyes prickling with tears. Before it’s too late.

Peter, watching as Wanda’s eyes spilled over with tears, the red red red fading at last, struggled to breathe. It felt like his ribcage was trying to squeeze the air out of his lungs. It had felt like that for months—it hurt, he thought, to go on about his life as if it had never been touched by Tony and Natasha and Vision. It hurt to breathe without them.

He might not have been particularly close with either Natasha or Vision, but he missed them nonetheless, with a fervent and intransigent intensity.

Natasha had been private and secretive in life, rarely inclined to talk about herself, but she’d always been willing to listen. She’d protected him fiercely and cared about him just as fiercely. 

Vision had always treated him with the utmost respect and consideration. Even though most would argue that he didn’t possess true sentience or empathy, he’d demonstrated more kindness than most humans Peter knew. He’d been thoughtful and patient, unfailingly willing to lend Peter a hand even if Peter’s problems oftentimes confused him. He didn’t necessarily always get it—Peter’s uncontrollable emotions—but he’d earnestly tried to, and that made all the difference. It meant the world to Peter. 

Tony’s loss was unshakable, one Peter doubted he would ever fully recover from. He noticed Tony’s absence constantly, like a gaping hole in his heart, a missing limb he didn’t quite feel solid and whole without. He missed Tony all the time—it was a grief that stuck with him, always, even when he was happy. 

Next came another image of Tony, standing in front of an assortment of jets. 

The image was clearly a throwback to the days when Stark Industries was one of the largest weapons manufacturers in the world, and in the audience, Tony winced visibly at the reminder.

He wasn’t the only one to react poorly to the symbolism of the picture: Wanda flinched and curled in on herself slightly, flashing back to her past, littered with explosions that seemed to always be accompanied by the name STARK. 

She growled under her breath, digging her fingers into her thighs. Stark. Merchant of Death. She closed her eyes in remembrance—the keening wail of a baby, the weeping sobs of his mother, the quavering pleas of his father—and shuddered violently. Murderer. 

Wanda gasped, her eyes yawning open, when a tingling pain prickled at her legs. Her gaze fell down to her lap, catching on the rivulets of blood that trickled down the side of her thighs. And at the heart of it all: her nails, buried in her flesh, as feathery tendrils of vermilion light danced across the patch of skin where her fingertips met her thighs.

Wanda sucked in a hissing breath, uncurling her fingers and splaying them flat across her thighs. The pain eased, but the red never faded.

How many babies have cried because of Stark’s weapons? How many boys, girls, men and women? 

The vermilion flared outwards, stretching across her skin and consuming her fingers in a deep, vivid shade.

Merchant of Death.

Murdere—

But before Wanda could succumb to her own powers again, her sphere of telepathy unintentionally expanded outwards and caught snatches of Tony’s thoughts, laced with utter derision and self-loathing, in its web: I’m never going to be able to escape my past, am I? No matter what I do, it won’t erase the blood on my hands.

Wanda stilled. 

She was all too familiar with the hint of self-contempt in Tony’s inner voice, and for a second, she found herself sympathizing with him. It was only for a second before she caught herself, but she couldn’t deny that she’d felt it.

Stark’s weapons had wrought chaos and destruction. His weapons had delivered her parents to death’s door. 

But not him.

It was a tiny, but consequential, distinction.

Tony Stark had never been to blame for her parents’ deaths. 

Wanda inhaled, exhaled, and turned away, burying her power deep inside herself. It’s in the past, Wanda, she told herself. (A baby’s cry. A mother’s scream. A father’s prayer.) All in the past. He didn’t know. 

He didn’t. 

The picture was, much to the audience’s relief, the last that depicted a supposedly fallen superhero. Tony’s profile faded away to a clip of birds flying across the sky, and then, finally, to an image of candles stolen from the internet—the watermark “Getty Images” clearly visible.

“Getty Images, really?” Tony scrunched up his nose. “Whoever made this video really deserves an A+ for effort,” he added sarcastically.

Pepper exhaled heavily through her nose, her eyes already rolling to the back of her head before she had even fully processed Tony’s words. She knew to brace herself for his particular brand of Stark humor whenever that tone of voice emerged. God, only Tony, she thought, exasperated but infinitely fond. Without her consent, a doting smile crept up her lips. Only he could find it in himself to joke at a time like this. 

But despite her annoyance, she couldn’t quite bring herself to scold him—because as loath as she was to admit it, she found herself feeling grateful for his snark, and the reprieve it gave her from thoughts of his death. 

He’s not dead yet, she reminded herself firmly, picking up the pieces of her heart and rebuilding herself layer by layer. The Avengers didn’t need a grieving would-be widow, not right now. (There was nothing to grieve yet.) He’s still alive. 

And if we play our cards right, he won’t have to die at all.

The video tribute minimized to show Midtown High’s news program, with two students seated behind a desk. One of the students, a girl with pin-straight blonde hair tucked into a headband, immediately jumped in to fill the silence: “Gone, but not forgotten,” she narrated in a grave voice.

The student next to her, a boy with curly hair, broke the serious mood as he finger-gunned the viewers and chimed in, sounding much more upbeat than his cohost, “Thanks to Kenneth Lim and Vihaan Ramamurthy for their help with that touching”—he thumped himself on the chest as if to emphasize how moved he was, though the gesture only elicited a humorous vibe—“video tribute.”

“Touching,” Tony snorted. “Not exactly how I would describe it, but sure. Let’s go with ‘touching’.”

“Well I, for one, was very touched,” Natasha drawled, lips slipping into a smirk. “Honored, really.”

“Give them a break, Nat,” Clint snorted, but the playfulness in his voice sounded forced. “They’re kids. They probably chipped in, what, thirty minutes of their time to put it together.”

“And yet it’s still better than anything you could ever hope to make,” Natasha gibed. “We all know how well you do with technology.”

Clint’s jaw unhinged. “Nat!” he yelped, clutching at his chest dramatically. “The betrayal, honestly. You wound me, Nat.”

“Both of you, stop it,” Fury snapped, giving them both a warning glare. It was the same glare they’d received hundreds of times before—usually because of something stupid Clint did, but occasionally because of something reckless Natasha did, too. “This is hardly the time, don’t you think?”

Clint quietened, his cheer draining out of him immediately. “You’re – you’re right,” he conceded, choked by shame and grief. “Sorry.”

Natasha noticed the subdued look on Clint’s face and glowered at Fury, frustrated by his interruption. Shut up, she wanted to lash out. Let him have this. Let him have a moment of laughter.

But she’d never said anything to protest against Fury before, so she didn’t say anything now.

(Besides, it was too late. The damage had already been done, and the moment was over.)

The logo of the two students’ high school popped up on the bottom of the screen, with the words Midtown Technical High School looping around it. On either side of the logo, the students’ names appeared beneath their profiles—JASON IONELLO for the boy, and BETTY BRANT for the girl.

“Midtown,” Rhodey whispered with a start, realization dawning on him. “Peter, that’s your school, isn’t it?” he addressed Peter, but despite his phrasing, the words came out as a fact, not a question. The first time Tony had introduced the kid to Rhodey, it had been with a delighted grin and an unquenchable pride. He’s a genius, Rhodes, Tony had jumped at the chance to boast about Peter’s accomplishments, he goes to school at Midtown Tech—a prestigious STEM school—and he’s at the top of his class. I’m telling you, he’s the future, platypus, and I can’t wait to see what he’ll achieve. 

(Rhodey would never forget the way Tony had sounded when he'd talked about Peter that day, or the way Tony had looked at the kid—with endless joy and satisfaction. Everything Peter did seemed to drive Tony closer and closer towards true peace and contentment.)

Peter confirmed Rhodey’s thoughts with a nod and a grimace. “Yeah,” he affirmed. “Midtown High. Joy.”

His friend, Ned, barked with laughter, loud and high-pitched enough that half the room turned to stare. The girl—MJ—just rolled her eyes at the two of them and muttered a warm god, you dorks under her breath, more than used to their behavior.

Pepper rolled her eyes as well, though her exasperation was directed at Rhodey. “What did you expect, Rhodey?” she snorted. “EDITH told us from the very beginning that this is about Peter, remember?” But despite aiming for a mocking tone, Pepper’s voice instead came out soft and strained, weaker than intended; as hard as she’d tried, she still hadn’t fully recomposed herself after finding out that her fiancé was doomed to die.

(Then again, she asked herself, how was one supposed to react to a revelation like that?

She wished she didn’t have to know.)

“This year has been nothing short of—”

“—this shit is crazy,” Jason interrupted Betty before she could finish, though his curse was conveniently censored by a beep. He shook his head in incredulity. “It’s, like, insane.”

Betty turned to Jason, visibly annoyed by his interruption. “Jason,” she snapped. “No swearing.”

Jason paused for a second as if to consider it, before reasoning, “Nah, it’s like the last day of school. We’re good.”

Bucky couldn’t help the deep, rumbling laugh that emerged from his chest at the distinct contrast between Betty’s seriousness and Jason’s easy-going, laid-back demeanor. “They make for a funny news segment,” he remarked, grinning. “Their attitudes do not match in the least.”

“The girl looks like she’d strangle her classmate if it wasn’t illegal,” Sam added. “I’d watch my back if I were him.”

“They’re a little like the two of you,” Scott commented. He would have had to be blind and deaf to miss the explosive dynamics Sam and Bucky shared. If it weren’t for the situation they were currently in, he had no doubt that they’d be at each other’s throats by now. “Except, you know, you’re both the boy in this scenario.”

“Wha— I can be serious!” Sam protested. “I’m not like Bucky.” His nose scrunched up like he’d smelled something sour. “I don’t always make a joke out of everything.”

“Oh, please,” Bucky snorted. “Who are you trying to kid? You emulate the boy’s ‘reckless fool’ vibe way better than I do.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “Like hell I do,” he snapped, face settling into an indignant glower. “You better check yourself, Barnes. Remember when I said I’d watch my back if I were the kid? Yeah, well, that goes for you, too. I’m not afraid to throw hands.”

Bucky’s eyebrows skipped high up his forehead. “Well, you should be afraid,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I’m the one with the enhanced strength, remember?”

Sam fumed. “Shut up,” he told Bucky. “I swear to god, I will snap your neck in your sleep.”

“I don’t sleep,” Bucky replied without batting an eye. 

Sam just groaned. “I hate you,” he groused, mostly sure Bucky was just joking.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky flapped his hand in a dismissive wave, already turning around as if to signify this conversation is over. Without giving Sam the space to retort, he added smugly, “Keep telling yourself that, Wilson. I can tell I’m growing on you.”

Sam grumbled in exasperation.

Scott blew a breath out through his nose, quietly amused. Definitely at each other’s throats.

Betty just shook her head, deciding to ignore Jason as she turned to the camera again, concluding her previous statement as if he’d never cut in: “—Historic. Over five years ago, half of all life in the universe, including our own Midtown High, was wiped from existence.”

As she spoke, a video clip of Midtown High’s gymnasium overlaid her image on the screen. Random members of both the marching band on the court, and the supporters on the bleachers, began to crumble to pieces—literally. In a matter of seconds—no, split-seconds—approximately half of the people in the gym turned into nothing more than specks of dust in the air.

“Fuck,” Tony whispered in horror. He wasn’t the only one in the room swearing. “How is that – how is that even possible?” It was one thing to hear Peter’s story of what would happen; it was another thing entirely to actually see it happen.

(Seeing was believing, after all, as some would say.)

It was, without a doubt, the worst thing Tony had ever seen. The worst thing any of them had ever seen.

In a fit of desperation, he swiveled around and pinpointed Peter on his sofa, a thousand different questions already beginning to brew at the tip of his tongue. Tony was immediately silenced, however, when he found Peter trembling beside Happy, his eyes squeezed shut.

Happy had slid off his seat and was kneeling in front of Peter, one hand resting lightly on Peter’s knee as if to ground him to the present. “Peter… hey… it’s just me… shh… it’s gonna be okay,” Happy’s voice murmured quietly, drifting over to Tony in snippets. “You’re okay… we’re all okay…”

Peter shuddered violently, a sheen of sweat gathering on his forehead. “No—” he gasped, the plea snatched straight out of his chest. “Please,” he whimpered, “I don’t want to go—”

“Shit,” Happy exhaled, and that was definitely panic Tony could see painted across his face. “Okay. Okay. It’s okay, Peter. I’m right here. Breathe for me, okay? I need you to breathe, Pete—”

“I don’t want to go—”

“You’re not going anywhere, Peter,” Happy soothed. “I won’t let you go anywhere, okay? I promise. You’re staying right here with us.”

“Mr. Happy,” Peter’s friend, Ned, spoke up, his voice quivering with real fear. “Is he – is he gonna be okay?”

Happy cast Ned a sideways glance. “He’ll be fine,” he said in a hurry, before returning to his attempts to placate Peter. “Peter, breathe for me. I need you to breathe for me, buddy. In, out… in, out… Shit, I don’t know what to do,” he fretted, turning back to Ned. “He hasn’t had an attack in ages. Or, well—I guess I haven’t even seen him in person in ages, shit—”

An attack, Happy had said, the words carrying with them an earth-shattering weight. An attack. 

Oh, god. Peter was in the throes of a panic attack, Tony realized with breathless horror. Seeing people Blip away was terrifying even for him, but for Peter who’d had to actually live through it?

Fuck. This isn’t just some faraway nightmare for Peter. It’s his reality. It sounded impossible, unimaginable, but Tony knew it was true. This was Peter’s life. He’d gone through this—

He’d gone through it. 

It made it uncomfortably, unsettlingly real for Tony. The threat of Thanos was tangible and all-too-inevitable, and Peter had faced it. He’d faced Thanos, and he knew, intimately, what it felt like to die at the hands of the Mad Titan. 

God, I can’t even imagine—

(He didn’t want to imagine. Didn’t want to think about Thanos and all that entailed, but –

But.

Tony looked back at Peter, shivering and gasping, and understood. He understood distress, he understood pain and suffering. He understood trauma. 

He understood what it felt like to be lost and trapped in your own mind, to feel like you were imploding from the inside out, to feel like you were drowning and suffocating, to feel like the walls were closing in on you and no amount of air could possibly be enough take you from one second to the next—

Tony understood. All too well.)

“Please—” the broken plea was wrenched from Peter’s lips again, and Tony’s heart wavered and shattered. Peter was taking in large, gulping gasps of air, as if the cavity in his lungs simply refused to work, collapsing in on itself and restricting his airways, crushing his windpipe in a vice grip. “I don’t – I don’t want to go—”

“Shit shit shit,” Happy hissed. “Peter, hey— Peter. Just focus on my voice, okay? Come back to me, kid. I’m right here. I’m right here.”

“We’re right here,” MJ added, joining Happy on the floor. Ned didn’t hesitate to follow suit, kneeling beside the other two. “You’re okay, Peter. You’re okay. You’re not disappearing.”

“You’re not on Titan anymore, Peter,” Ned contributed, and for once, there was no trace of childish joy or lively enthusiasm in his voice. Gone was the excited, animated kid who’d rambled himself out of breath when he’d tried to introduce himself to them. Now, kneeling in front of his best friend, Ned’s voice was nothing more than a reassuring murmur, warm and gentle. “You’re not. I promise. You’re safe.”

“I don’t... I—”

“You’re safe,” Ned repeated, his voice hitching and flickering, but refusing to break. This was a boy who was unreservedly determined to be there for his best friend, Tony realized. “You’re safe.”

Peter lurched forward and heaved, nearly collapsing onto the floor. “I’m sorry,” he keened. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—”

Happy caught him before he could fall, carefully settling Peter down against the foot of the sofa.

“It’s over,” MJ whispered, taking over. “He’s gone, Peter. He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe.”

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

Peter’s friends repeated the sentiment over and over again until finally Peter’s tremors stopped and his strangled cries tapered off. “N-Ned?” he whispered. “MJ?” He exhaled unsteadily, still looking so, so fragile. Vulnerable. “Happy?”

“We’re right here, Pete,” Happy reassured, shuffling closer. (And what a sight that was, Tony mused, looking at his long-time friend. Happy didn’t look even a little disgusted to be kneeling on the floor.) “We’re right here. Can you open your eyes for us, bud?”

Peter did, his eyelids fluttering open painstakingly slowly, as if he was terrified he would find himself trapped again in the recurring nightmare that was Thanos. “Happy?” Peter pleaded again, frantic for confirmation, and Happy swore he felt his heart break.

If desperation could speak, Happy imagined it would sound a little like that.

(He hadn’t heard Peter sound this scared, this distrusting, since he’d landed in a tulip field in the Netherlands and found Peter bruised and bloodied and broken in front of him, shouting at him to stay back! and tell me something only you know.)

“Yeah, kid, it’s me,” Happy answered, keeping his voice as light and reassuring as he could. “It’s me.”

A shaky breath of relief shook Peter. “Oh, god,” he moaned. “Happy. I couldn’t – I couldn’t… I couldn’t breathe. It felt like I was back there again. With Thanos.”

Thanos. It was all he needed to say.

“You’re okay, Pete,” Happy whispered, putting on a brave smile like it didn’t kill him to watch Peter fall apart. “He’s gone. Thanos is gone.”

Peter descended into silence.

And in its wake, no one dared to fill the stillness, rendered mute by the evidence of Peter’s suffering.

Tony couldn’t help but feel like he’d stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have, like he’d witnessed something incredibly personal and private. He looked around the room—at Loki’s horrified pallor, at Thor’s hunched shoulders, at Bruce’s shaken mien, at Natasha’s inscrutable and carefully-schooled devastation, at Clint’s pinched expression (Tony didn’t know, couldn’t know, but when Clint looked at Peter, so small and tiny as he sat tucked under Happy’s arm, he couldn’t help but see his own children, young and carefree and helpless)—and knew he wasn’t the only one.

The threat of Thanos was nothing more than a far-off, intangible concept to most of them, but not to Peter. 

To Peter, this was a trip down memory lane to the worst moment of his life—to the greatest tragedy that had ever hit him.

“But then eight months ago, a band of brave heroes brought us back.”

Another video clip of the same gymnasium played: a group of students were running across the court, seemingly in the middle of a basketball game, when members of the marching band abruptly manifested out of thin air.

“Oh, thank god,” Pepper gulped in air. If watching the Midtown students disappear had brought back the feeling of crushing horror that had overwhelmed her that fateful day, then this video clip did the opposite. “It’s really, truly reversible.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey murmured, voice shaky with relief. “It’s – it’s a goddamn miracle is what it is.”

A miracle. 

Truer words had never been spoken, Pepper thought. After so long struggling to stay afloat in a world wrecked by the Decimation, she hadn’t allowed herself to hold on to hope—until today. For once, it felt like the future had bright things in store for them; it finally felt like the darkness would eventually make way for light. Pepper could hardly wait—

Hold on. Pepper’s brimming ecstasy careened to an abrupt halt as she came to a startling realization. Did she say—

“Wait a second— eight months ago!?” Pepper echoed in horrified disbelief. As astute as ever, she was the first to put two and two together: “Oh my god, Peter, you said you were from 2024, didn’t you?” In a moment of horrifying clarity, she recalled his introduction. At the time, she hadn’t even paid much attention to it, simply assuming that it had been a while since his revival. Now, she knew otherwise. “Your schoolmate… she said people disappeared five years ago, and then she said they were only brought back eight months ago.”

“You mean it – it took us five whole years to reverse what Thanos did?” Rhodey stammered, coming to the same cognizance. “That’s—... five years. Oh, god. Five years,” he repeated dumbly, struggling to wrap his mind around it.

They both turned to Peter in a moment of mutual urgency, begging him to deny it, and found him gazing up at the screen with a bittersweet expression. He, his two teenage friends and Happy had all since reseated themselves on the sofa in their original positions. No one dared to mention Peter’s panic attack; they all uneasily ignored its glaring significance, as if it had simply been swept under the rug.

“Five years,” Peter agreed, voice clear of his earlier breathless agitation. It was only two words, but they carried an unshakable weight. Five years meant nearly two thousand days’ worth of missed chances—missed birthdays, missed quiet dinners with his aunt, missed Decathlon meetings where he would invariably arrive late and his teammates would tease him mercilessly, missed movie nights with his friends, missed lab sessions, missed patrol nights.

Five years where he simply… hadn’t existed.

Five years that could never be reclaimed.

The billions who'd vanished—who'd died—might have been revived, but the Thanos-shaped impact on the Earth had still yet to fade. Beyond the lives Thanos had suspended for five years, the snap of Thanos' fingers had ultimately led to millions more deaths.

The first week after Peter had stumbled home to his aunt, face smudged with blood and ash, he’d holed himself up in his room and let news reports from the last five years wash over him.

He’d barely made it through thirty minutes of KAREN murmuring the reports in his ear before he’d yanked off his mask and staggered into his bathroom, retching into the toilet. He’d made himself sick over the thought of all the hopeless people who’d been driven to suicide, all the patients who’d died on the operating table as their surgeons dusted away, all the civilians who’d met gruesome fiery deaths in plane crashes and car crashes as pilots and drivers disappeared from behind the wheel, all the children who’d been left to starve on the streets without parents and homes as orphanages across the states reached full occupancy and were forced to close their doors.

Those deaths were irreversible—they should have been preventable—and the damage Thanos had wreaked on their universe felt beyond repair.

“They called it 'the Blip.'”

“‘The Blip’, really?” Sam echoed skeptically. “That’s actually the official name? I thought you guys were just messing with us, but...” He shook his head, face twisting with both amusement and confusion. “Of all the names, they chose the Blip? What a way to downplay the severity of the situation.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” T’Challa murmured, his eyes entranced by the screen. He knew he wouldn’t forget what he’d seen any time soon—both the sight of people disintegrating piece by piece, and the sight of people re-materializing. In less than a minute, EDITH’s footage had both broken and fixed his heart. “Maybe it’s their way of coping with it.”

Sam had nothing to say to that.

“Those of us who Blipped away came back the same age,” Betty continued to give her account of the situation, accompanied by the image of a teenage girl—'Sue Lorman, 5 years ago', the caption read. Shortly after, the words “5 years ago” were replaced with “today”, though the girl looked unchanged. “But our classmates that didn’t Blip had grown five years older.”

On the other half of the screen, a picture of a little boy revealed itself (captioned 'Brad Davis, 5 years ago'), before it was replaced by another image of the same student, appearing drastically older (captioned 'Brad Davis, today').

Scott shivered at the picture Betty's words painted for them all. “That must have been so freaky,” he commented. “Suddenly sharing your class with a bunch of strangers.”

Peter smiled wryly. “Oh, yeah,” he agreed, a flicker of annoyance zipping through him as he observed Brad Davis on the screen. “Not the weirdest thing, and nowhere near the worst thing, but it was definitely a shocking change.”

Brad was the biggest shock out of all of his new classmates, Peter reflected. Brad had taken it upon himself to take Flash’s place as the biggest jerk in Peter’s life—Flash, meanwhile, had calmed down after the Blip and its reversal, rarely speaking up in mockery of Peter nowadays as he stuck mostly to himself, a deeply ingrained uncertainty in his eyes. 

(The Avengers may have overturned the Blip, but it didn’t erase the damage: Peter saw the long-lasting impacts of the Blip everywhere, in the presence of a young girl with Mr. Stark’s eyes, in the exhaustion Clint Barton carried with him everywhere, in even the constantly preoccupied and troubled look in Flash’s eyes.

Flash hadn’t changed completely, of course—he could still put on a damn convincing facade of a snob when he wanted to—but he’d become… softer, somehow. He was more subdued, more withdrawn and distrusting, these days.

The Blip had left a mark on everybody. Somedays, Peter felt like its imprint would never fade.)

Brad, though–– Brad didn’t share Flash’s newfound reservations. Peter hadn’t known Brad before the Blip—and he didn’t think Brad had known him—but Brad certainly seemed to have it out for him now that they were in the same grade. Most of the time, it was over MJ’s affection that they butted heads. In fact, the last time he saw Brad, only one day before he’d taken MJ out on their last date and he’d been exposed to the world as Spider-Man, Brad had stared him dead in the eyes and declared, completely self-assured in his own righteousness, I’m going to figure you out, Parker, and when I do, MJ will leave you in the dust. 

Peter had laughed in his face.

He definitely wasn’t laughing now—he hadn’t laughed in a long time—but. But–– Peter glanced sidelong at MJ, admiring the way her eyes glowed, illuminated by the colors reflecting off the screen while shadows dappled the side of her face. 

(Beautiful.)

MJ jerked upright and twisted her head around, sensing his stare. She locked eyes with him before he could look away, and slowly, secretively, her lips quirked into a small smile.

'You good? she mouthed at him.

Peter bit back his own smile. He had lost a lot of things since Beck had outed him to the Daily Bugle and consequently the world, but MJ was one thing that had remained constant. In the months since he’d fled Queens, he’d taken as many chances as he could to call back home, with EDITH running interference to make sure the authorities couldn’t trace his calls. Between hurried phone calls as he skipped town after town, and stolen moments in the night staring up at the same sky, they’d tried to forget they were miles apart.

Running was difficult. But it would have been even more difficult if he’d been truly alone. Honestly, Peter wasn’t sure he could have gotten this far at all if it hadn’t been for the constant outpour of support from his aunt, his girlfriend, his best friend, and even Happy.

You were wrong, Brad. Sure, you figured me out—everyone did—but MJ stayed. She’s right here. 

He shook his head, taking a moment to mouth back yeah, I’m good at MJ before turning around to face Scott once more. “A lot of things have changed in our lives,” he reiterated, “most of them bad. Five years is... a really long time.” His voice cracked at the end, but he soldiered on, reminding himself of his friends’ steadfast, unwavering presence in his life. “And even though sharing my class with a bunch of strangers was objectively far from the worst part of the Blip, it’s hard to stay objective. All I know is that things would have sucked a lot more if I’d been completely surrounded by strangers.” 

(Translation: Things would have been a lot worse if I had no one. If I didn’t have you guys.)

Ned, for once overlooking Loki’s intimidating presence between them, reached out and clasped Peter’s hand tightly. Ned didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to. 

It was enough.

Peter felt the beginnings of a smile—perhaps his first truly genuine one since he’d woken up to Ned’s face hovering above him—touch his own lips. He squeezed Ned’s hand wordlessly.

(Translation: Thank you for being here for me.)

Loki rolled his eyes between them, grumbling irately under his breath, “You do realize I’m still here, right? I ought to stab you both.” Despite the ruthlessness of his words, Loki didn’t do anything to remove their hands from where they were clasped over his lap, unwilling to upset Peter. Peter's earlier panic attack was still fresh in his mind, and Loki couldn't deny he was rattled.

“I realize,” Peter said, grinning knowingly at Loki’s inaction. Sidling closer towards the god, he tentatively laid his head on Loki’s shoulder. “Thank you. To both of you.”

A strangled sound left Loki as he stared at Peter’s head on his shoulder in shock. He didn’t dare move a muscle, lest he disrupt Peter’s tranquility. He told himself it was only because he could sense the kid’s hot-tempered bodyguard glaring at him as if to warn him of the dire consequences that would befall him should he distress Peter, but he knew the truth: it had nothing to do with Hogan’s unspoken threat, and everything to do with his growing desire to see Peter happy.

Chrissakes, Loki cursed to himself. What the hell is this kid doing to me? I blame black magic. Still, when Peter burrowed deeper into Loki with a contented hum, Loki felt his mouth twitch into a helpless smile without his permission.

Peter peeked up at Loki and noticed his indulgent—dare he say tender—expression. Relief surged within him, and his smile widened subconsciously. This is nice.

“Yeah, like my little brother is now older than me,” Jason added, looking thrown.

“Yeah, it’s math,” Betty responded, annoyed. She took a moment to regain her composure, and then resumed speaking professionally even as the camera continued to capture Jason’s obvious befuddlement: “And even though we had Blipped away halfway through the school year and had already taken midterms, the school made us start the whole year over from the beginning.”

“It’s totally unfair,” he chipped in, shaking his head and throwing his hands up in the air. “It’s not right.”

“Ah, teenagers,” Rhodey sighed wistfully—bitterly, almost. “The world ended, and yet still their biggest problem is their school exams. I envy their carefreeness.”

“Can you really blame them?” MJ retorted, speaking up in defense of her peers. That was how she had always been: willing to stand up for what she believed in, and willing to go up against those above her to make sure her opinion was heard. “You said it yourself—the world ended. Their worlds ended. In the months after the Blip was reversed, it was all we could do to try to regain our version of normal. Because that’s all we had left. Normalcy.”

“Besides, it’s not as if any of the Avengers disclosed what actually happened,” Ned gave his two cents. “I mean, I’m lucky in that respect. I understood more than most other kids, thanks to Peter. But my classmates who were Blipped away? They were just confused. As far as they were concerned, they died due to strange, unexplainable circumstances and were brought back to life due to even stranger circumstances, and no one would talk about it. They have no idea about Thanos. They weren’t told anything—not about how they died, or what it took to revive them. The Blip is practically a taboo topic in our time.”

“You may think it’s naive and childish, but they’re just trying to cope,” MJ finished. “They’re just trying to live in a world they no longer recognize.”

A world they no longer recognize. 

Rhodey swallowed. “I... didn’t think of it like that,” he admitted, shame-faced. He’d been upset, annoyed even, to hear Jason and Betty complain about having to restart the school year. But MJ and Ned both had a point: school was the only constant in these students’ lives in the wake of the Blip’s reversal—the only familiar and comfortable thing they recognized—but all of a sudden, even that was ripped away from them. “I’m sorry. It isn’t my place to judge,” he tacked on, earnestly apologetic. He felt out of his depth.

“It’s fine. It’s just... Well, like I said,” Peter interjected, “five years is a long time. And five years’ worth of changes—in both our personal lives and public society—is a lot. The people who Blipped away... we missed five years of the world turning on its axis, of people moving on and building new lives without us. We’re grateful the Avengers brought us back, of course we are, but no one can deny that we all came back to an entirely different reality from the one we knew. And some people were unlucky enough to come back to nothing—some people felt like there was no longer any room for them in their old lives.”

He paused, looked away as if deep in thought. Rhodey bit his lip and tried to scrutinize Peter, but there was no penetrating the clouded, far-away look in his eyes. 

("Dread it.")

Peter shook off the echo of Thanos’ words and sighed. “We all have our problems,” he concluded. “Both the people who Blipped away, and the people who didn’t. We missed five years—but they had to grieve us for five years. They had to find their way to some semblance of peace in a broken world. So yeah, we came back, but... the victory will always feel bittersweet. There’s an irreparable gap between the Blipped and the survivors that seems impossible to bridge. That’s why Thanos and the things he did… they’ll never leave us.”

("Run from it.")

He laughed then, sad and coated in tragedy. “He wanted balance,” he spat the word like it was venom on his tongue. “There is no balance in the new reality he carved out of our old one.”

("Destiny arrives all the same.")

Peter’s smile was vitriolic, like betrayal. “All he did was destroy us. No matter what, we’ll never be able to get back what he took from us.”

("I am... inevitable.")

“There’s no going back,” Happy added in a hushed whisper. “Not for us.”

And, unspoken: But you... you’re a different story. We can’t rewrite our own reality, not anymore, but you can. You all still have the opportunity to write yourselves a better happy ending.

Thanos doesn’t have to be inevitable. Destiny can change. Nothing has been set in stone, after all: the future isn’t static.

EDITH exploited the lull in conversation and continued the documentary, seeming to sense the others’ speechlessness.

At this point, Betty seemed to be disregarding Jason's input completely. “Tigers,”—the sound-effect of a tiger growling played—“it’s been a long, dramatic, somewhat confusing road.”

The footage shifted to capture the bustling hallways of the school, taking in students and teachers alike as they went about the school-day. Betty’s voice continued in the background: “As we draw this year to a close, it’s time to move on…”—on the TV, she shot Jason a pointed look—“to a new phase of our lives.”

“Did anyone else catch the undertone of that ‘move on’?” Tony asked no one in particular. “Something definitely happened between them.”

“Tony,” Pepper chided, sighing, “not the point.”

Tony would have argued, if it weren’t for the lump in his throat that he was convinced stemmed from Pepper’s reproving sigh. In that moment, she’d sounded so unavoidably similar to his own version of Pepper—who was probably going crazy back in his original timeline, wondering where he was and what he’d gotten himself into this time—that he couldn’t bring himself to speak and shatter the illusion.

“Pray nothing crazy happens again because are the Avengers even, like, a thing anymore?” Jason tacked on in an outburst of uncertainty-induced agitation. “Does anyone even have a plan!?”

“Wait, what? What is he talking about?” Steve asked, a deep frown marring his face. His frown, steeped in disapproval, was the same frown as the one he wore in every single one of his Rapping with Cap videos. It was also, strangely, the frown that had marked his expression for the better part of the War of 2023. Peter couldn’t help but think that all of Steve’s frowns were the same: characterized by Captain America’s signature Eyebrows of Disappointment™. “Why wouldn’t the Avengers be ‘a thing’ anymore?”

“You haven’t exactly been seen in public for a while now,” Happy answered, unfazed by Captain America’s Eyebrows of Disappointment™, because of course he was. Happy had his own Look of Disappointment that he’d taken the time to refine and perfect since meeting Peter. “That is to say, the Avengers haven’t popped up in the news at all since the War of 2023.”

“But why?” Steve was relentless. “Why would we stop Avenging? How could we just ignore the plight of the people?”

Ask yourselves that, Happy was tempted to say. But Peter’s fingers were digging pointedly into his arm, and Happy had an inkling that Peter would not be pleased if Happy made the Avengers out to be selfish and inconsiderate.

(Peter truly was too forgiving—too good—to them all, Happy thought. Peter had never even considered blaming the 2024 Avengers for his ongoing situation, even though Happy firmly stood by his personal intolerant assessment of them. They had made the choice to leave Peter high and dry, after all, after Beck had thrown Peter to the wolves. The Avengers’ official support would work wonders for Peter’s eventual exoneration, but they’d kept their silence. It was infuriating.)

“The War of 2023 left a severe mark on us all,” Happy said finally, letting go of his anger for the moment. It wouldn’t do any of them any good, right now. “We’re all still dealing with the consequences. And the Avengers... It’s not that they’re ignoring the people’s troubles. But they’re struggling, too,” he excused them with difficulty, vexed that he had to release the Avengers of the guilt he thought they deserved to feel. It wasn’t even just that they’d left Peter in the dark; they’d also left the people without a hero—they certainly weren’t going out there to keep the streets safe at night. 

Where were his Avengers now? Where were they when they were needed?

The scene immediately cut to the inside of a classroom—most likely the art classroom, going by all of the artwork hung up around the room. 

Pepper’s eyes watered when she took in all of the Iron Man drawings pinned to the wall in the back of the room. Oh, Tony. She’d always known he was more loved than he thought himself to be, but this made it clearer than ever. As gratifying as it was to finally see the world appreciate her fiancé, it pained her to realize that it had come at the cost of his death.

Not in my world, she vowed to herself. It won’t take him dying to get the world to realize his worth, because he’s not going to die. He’s not.

Peter pulled out a chair and sat down in front of, presumably, Ned. “I have a plan,” he announced. 

“Oh, no. Oh, god.” Peter moaned in embarrassment, burying his face in his hands and sinking down in his seat. “Seriously, EDITH? You had to include this?”

The documentary paused momentarily as EDITH reminded him, “The primary objective of Project Freedom is to portray you in a positive light, Peter. This includes showing clips of you in an everyday setting—which, in your case, means your high school life. Hopefully, if the public were to become aware that you are just an ordinary—innocent—teenager, it would detract attention from the current widespread perception of you.”

Peter sobered. He’d forgotten, for a moment there, that EDITH had done all of this to vindicate him. Thus far, he’d been too caught up in the hopes of changing the outcome of the War of 2023 to even think about his own problems, but now that EDITH had brought it back to his attention, he realized she had a point. “Right, right,” he sighed. “Well, I still don’t like it.”

“Why’s that?” Happy asked curiously. “What, exactly, happens here?”

Peter flushed at that, refusing to look Happy in the eye as he answered, vaguely, “Stuff.”

“‘Stuff’,” Happy repeated.

Peter nodded resolutely. “Stuff,” he reiterated.

Happy rolled his eyes. Figuring he wouldn’t get any more out of Peter, he turned to the other culprit instead. “You wanna tell me what’s up, Leeds?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Uh…” Ned chanced a look at Peter. “Sorry, Mr. Happy, but Peter kind of has you beat in the brute strength aspect, what with his enhancements and all, so I’m going to have to say no.”

Peter sagged in relief, and then shot Happy a cheeky grin. “Yeah, sorry, Mr. Happy,” Peter imitated, clearly poking fun at Happy.

Happy just sighed. “You two do realize that we’re all going to find out what happens soon enough anyway, right?”

Peter’s merriment fled him at that. He let out a loud groan and flopped back down into the sofa, trying to bury himself in the cushioning. Too busy dying of embarrassment, Peter never noticed the growing amusement on Loki’s face.

This kid, Loki thought, shaking his head with a silent chuckle. This goddamn kid.

“Okay, first, I’m gonna sit next to MJ on the flight.”

“Oh, god.” Sam burst out laughing. “Oh, my god. Please tell me this is going where I think it is. This is priceless!”

Peter sulked and stubbornly looked away. His gaze caught on MJ as he did so, and he wondered if he was merely imagining the flustered, blushing look on her face. It was dark in the room, but… no, he decided, he definitely wasn’t imagining it, or the shy smile that slipped onto her lips.

He turned back around to the TV and hid his own bashful smile.

Ned hummed. “Mhm.”

“Second,” Peter continued eagerly, “I’m gonna buy a dual headphone adapter and watch movies with her the whole time.”

MJ couldn’t help but smile ruefully at that, recalling their plane ride to Venice. She didn’t doubt that she would have enjoyed sitting next to Peter (although she probably would have hid it with a roll of her eyes and a teasing of course you’d have a dual headphone adapter, loser).

“Okay.”

“Three,” Peter counted off. “When we go to Venice—” he paused, glanced up at Ned, and checked, “Venice is super famous for making stuff out of glass, right?”

“True,” Ned confirmed half-heartedly, looking entirely done with Peter.

Clint guffawed. “That’s true friendship right there,” he snickered. He turned to Natasha and winked. “Right, Nat?”

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, refusing to indulge his antics.

(And if the corners of her lips upturned into the faintest hint of a smile after Clint had turned back around, then, well, that was no one’s business but her own.)

Peter beamed, either not noticing or not caring about Ned’s exasperation. “So I’m gonna buy her a black dahlia necklace because her favorite flower is the black dahlia because of, well…” he trailed off, giving Ned a significant look.

“The murder,” Ned chimed in knowingly.

“The murder,” Peter agreed. “Four, when we go to Paris, I’m gonna take her to the top of the Eiffel Tower, give her the necklace, and then, five, I’m gonna tell her how I feel.”

“You look so satisfied with your plan, you dork,” MJ poked fun at him, because she knew that if she didn’t take the chance to laugh at his expense, she’d instead be cooing and gushing over the sheer amount of forethought he’d put into this. And Michelle Jones was not a gusher. “Only you, Peter. Only you.”

“It was a good plan!” Peter argued, but his eyes twinkled with mirth and there was no heat behind his words.

“A cliché one,” MJ hedged. “I mean, the Eiffel, really? God, you utter sap. It’s very dramatic.”

Peter flushed. “Maybe you deserve dramatic,” he said softly, and MJ’s teasing look faltered in the face of Peter’s earnest sincerity. “You deserve the best.”

MJ’s heart caught in her throat. You deserve the best. After a moment, she cleared her throat and said, a little uncomfortable but still genuine, “And I have it.” She gave him a secretive smile then, this moment only for them, and he smiled timidly back at her.

“Cliché or not, I think I would have loved your plan,” she said after a while. “But for the record,”—she added before he could frown and spiral down a hole of guilt and self-pity—“I loved how it actually happened, too. Crazy as it was. That way, it was more true to our lives, you know? Chaos abound and all.”

Peter grinned at her.

“Crazy?” Sam echoed. “What actually ended up happening?”

Peter and MJ shared a conspiratorial smirk and laughed. MJ replied cryptically, “You’ll see.”

“And then six,” Peter added as an afterthought, the excited look on his face chipping away at the edges, revealing a quiet nervousness, “hopefully she tells me she feels the same way.”

MJ blushed. She kind of definitely felt the same way.

“Oh, don’t forget step seven,” Ned interjected.

“Step seven?” Peter inquired keenly, twirling the pen in his grip in preparation to take notes. 

“Oh, geez, kid, are you seriously writing this down?” Tony asked in amusement. He tossed Peter a grin, surprised to realize that he was genuinely enjoying himself as the footage moved from more difficult topics to Peter’s lighthearted school-life. “Wow, you really are a nerd, aren’t you?”

Peter didn’t dignify that with an answer. 

(It was pretty obvious either way.)

“Don’t do any of that,” Ned supplied, shaking his head rapidly to ward Peter off from executing his plan.

Peter deflated at once, his expression growing confused and slightly irritated. “Why?” he deadpanned.

Ned didn’t seem to take notice of Peter’s visible irritation. “Because we’re gonna be bachelors in Europe, Peter!” he reminded Peter enthusiastically, as if that explained it all.

A bark of unrestrained laughter slipped from MJ’s lips before she could catch and smother it. “Ned, I can’t believe you’re being an even bigger dork than Peter usually is, right now. You two are hilarious,” she chortled. 

Ned shot her a sheepish, apologetic grin, but MJ just shrugged, unbothered. She wasn’t offended. She liked to think she knew how Ned and Peter worked by now; she knew Ned didn’t mean anything by his comments. 

Now that she and Peter were actually together and giving the whole “(long-distance) dating” thing a shot, Ned was arguably their biggest and most ardent supporter. 

(…Don’t tell Aunt May that, though. She would not take kindly to the thought of anyone taking her title.)

Peter stifled a frustrated sigh. “Ned—” Peter began in protest, already starting to shake his head.

“Look,” Ned cut him off, “I may not know much, but I do know this: Europeans love Americans.” He enunciated his ‘fact’ slowly and carefully, making sure to look Peter in the eye so there was no misunderstanding him.

“Really?” Peter looked skeptical, squinting at Ned doubtfully.

Ned nodded rapidly. “And more than half of them are women!” he added.

“Okay, sure,” Peter allowed, “but… I really like MJ, man, okay? She’s awesome, she’s super funny in a kind of dark way, and sometimes I catch her looking at me, and I feel like I’ve stood up way too— she’s coming now. Just don’t say anything!” he hissed in a panic, flipping closed his notebook as MJ strolled up to their table.

He thinks I’m awesome, MJ thought giddily to herself, feeling like a little girl who’d just discovered her crush liked her back. In some abstract way, she’d already known that, of course. Peter wasn’t the type to lie or lead people on, after all. But even if she’d been aware of his feelings for her, it still made her chest swell with warmth to hear Peter say it out loud. He actually said it: ‘she’s awesome.’ God, what is happening to me? I feel like I’m turning into a freaking fangirl. 

And even better, he'd complimented her humor. She knew some people found her particular brand of funny to be weird or even disturbing, so it made her heart flutter to hear Peter rave about her sense of humor.

“What up, dorks?” she greeted, just a shade off from stoic. If Peter had been unnecessarily animated and upbeat as he detailed his plan, MJ was his complete opposite. “Excited about the science trip?”

“Wow, you guys are just the perfect couple, aren’t you?” Tony teased, referring to the vastly different vibes they put off.

“Well, they do say opposites attract,” Rhodey pointed out with a smirk. You and Pepper prove that better than anyone, he added privately to himself.

“Hey, uh, yeah,” Peter stuttered. “We’re just… talking about the trip.”

“Yeah, and Peter’s plan,” Ned contributed. 

“You had one job, Ned, one job!” Peter whined now.

MJ blinked, bemused. “You have a plan?”

“I don’t—I don’t have a plan,” Peter denied, shaking his head furiously. Out of the corner of his eye, he glared at Ned for exposing him.

Ned cleared his throat, finally realizing his mistake. In his attempt to come up with a believable excuse, he blurted out, “No, he’s – he’s just going to collect tiny spoons while we’re traveling to other countries.” He winked at Peter as if to say 'I’ve got your back' and leaned back in his seat in satisfaction, figuring that would do it. 

“Like a – like a grandmother?”

Shuri nearly fell over with the force of her laughter.

Ned just groaned and dropped his head in embarrassment. 

Peter looked like he was deciding whether to throw himself off a cliff or skip town and change his identity. “I’m not collecting tiny spoons,” he said finally. And then, viciously, he pointed his pen at Ned and threw his friend under the bus, “He’s collecting tiny spoons.”

“Heartless,” Ned declared. “No sense of loyalty.”

“I stand by my decision,” Peter defended himself, adamantly not apologizing. “You’re the one who exposed me first! You totally deserved that.”

“Okay, so maybe I did,” Ned conceded.

“Oh,”—she looked decidedly unconvinced—“okay, well... that was a real roller coaster.” To clarify the meaning of “that”, MJ gestured in their general direction, eyebrows still raised in clear skepticism. 

“Mhm,” Peter agreed, chuckling nervously.

MJ squinted at the pair of them, but ultimately decided to move past the awkward moment. “By the way, travel tip: you should probably download a VPN on your phone, just so that the government can’t track you while we’re abroad.”

“Smart,” Peter remarked, already bobbing his head up and down eagerly. He was looking at MJ like she’d hung the stars. “Will do.”

“Ah, young love,” Clint sighed dreamily. “So sweet. Those were the days.”

Peter made an embarrassing squeaking noise. MJ just locked eyes with Clint and, without missing a beat, retorted, “And I’ll bet ‘those days’ were a long time ago for you. What are you, pushing fifty?”

Clint squawked. (“So that’s why they call you Hawkeye,” Bruce remarked mildly, to which Tony doubled over laughing and slapped him on the back. “Why, I didn’t think you had it in you, Banner,” Tony beamed.) “Did you – did you just – ”

“Yep,” MJ replied nonchalantly, not once backing down.

(“That’s my girlfriend,” Peter whispered to himself in awe. “Wow.”)

MJ offered them her signature half-smirk and left. Ned sighed in relief just as the bell rang.

“Dude,” Ned laughed, voice hushed. “I think that went really great!”

Peter didn’t bother to dignify that with a response, merely turning to stare at Ned with a distinctly unimpressed look on his face. You think? Really? his expression seemed to say.

“God, that was entertaining to watch. Serious comic relief, I’m telling you,” Scott joked, his laughter trickling off into silence as he wiped away the mirthful tears that had gathered in his eyes. “You just don’t know how to keep a secret, do you, kid?” he added playfully.

“Uh…” Ned stammered awkwardly, not sure how to respond to that. His face twisted into a half-grimace, half-nervous-smile, as he tried to play it cool with a laugh of his own.

Peter frowned. He could tell Scott was only teasing, but the discomfort on Ned’s face unsettled him. Or, more accurately, the trace of guilt lying beneath the discomfort unsettled him.

Ned had nothing to feel guilty about.

“Of course he can keep a secret,” Peter interjected, making up his mind and defending Ned. Scott meant no harm, sure, but Peter didn’t want anyone to misunderstand his and Ned’s friendship. “I trust Ned with my life. He knew I was Spider-Man before nearly anyone else.” Granted, Ned had found out purely by accident, having stumbled across Peter in his suit, but even then he’d known he could count on Ned to keep his secret. He had a feeling he would have eventually spilled the beans to Ned, anyway, even if he hadn’t already discovered Peter’s secret identity on his own. 

He meant what he’d said: he did trust Ned. And since uncovering Peter’s alter ego, Ned had only proven Peter was right to have faith in him. Sure, Ned could be a little overeager and loose-lipped at times, and he didn’t always know when to keep his mouth shut (the whole “Peter knows Spider-Man!” incident came to mind), but when it came down to it—when it really mattered—Peter knew that Ned would never intentionally betray his trust.

His mind unwittingly flashed back to the night of their Homecoming dance, when Peter had donned his old home-made suit and left in search of the Vulture, his guy-in-the-chair keeping him company over the comms. 

(“Peter!” Ned’s voice came through after Peter swerved Flash’s car sharply and ultimately crashed, sounding urgent. “Are you okay?’

“Yeah,” Peter grunted, leaping over the side of the car. “Just keep trying to get through to Happy.”

“It’s been an honor, Spider-Man.”

“What are you doing here?” a new voice—recognizable as their physics teacher, Ms. Warren—appeared from Ned’s end of the line. “There’s a dance.”

“Uh…” Ned stalled. Peter couldn’t see it, but Ms. Warren was staring at Ned sternly. “I’m… looking at porn.”)

Peter set aside the memory, the thought of Ned’s nervous but determined voice keeping him warm even now. Even when threatened with disciplinary action, Ned had refused to sell Peter out, sticking to his story. Ms. Warren had been scandalized. Principal Morita had been horrified. His parents had been appalled, and then furious, and then disappointed. And through it all, Ned hadn’t wavered, choosing to quietly accept his punishment rather than expose Peter; for his troubles, he’d received two weeks’ worth of detention from the principal and an even longer grounding from his parents.

And in the end, Ned hadn’t even held it against Peter in the slightest. He’d simply bounded up to Peter the next time they’d seen each other, as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever, and said jubilantly, I saw what happened on the news. You kicked ass, Peter! 

Ned hadn’t once blamed Peter for dragging him into his mess. In fact, he never so much as brought it up, though Peter had never forgotten.

One thing was clear: not once had Ned ever given him any reason to doubt his friendship or loyalty. Peter said as much now: “Ned’s always had my back. That has never been in question, not even for a moment.”

Peter saw Ned blink back tears, glimpsed the sheer gratitude in his wordless expression, and knew he’d done the right thing.