Chapter Text
Peter’s head hurt. A low buzz that pulsed along with the old fluorescent lights compounded the still fading lump from the previous night. He felt miserable, and tired, and his eyes ached. The lab was a little warmer than the freezing December streets, but Peter still found himself shivering sporadically. He’d accepted years ago he would never really be comfortable in winter, but that didn’t stop him resenting the fact this particular Tuesday night.
Peter shifted some petri dishes around in the fridge for the third time that hour before walking back to his desk as slowly as possible. He could still hear Gwen typing at her laptop near the front of the room, and mentally cursed her work ethic; he was almost out of web fluid, but it wasn’t safe to make any while she was still there.
Usually, he’d give up and go home. But she’d stayed past midnight for the past five days, and by almost out of web fluid , Peter meant he’d fallen from a thankfully-only-three storey building last night by overestimating how much almost was.
So, he didn’t have much choice but to wait her out tonight. He could look busy. He had tasks.
Peter dragged his feet from his desk to the fridge to the storage cupboards and back one last time before giving up and scrolling through his phone. A few minutes later, he heard Gwen close her laptop and pack her bag, and had to consciously suppress what would have been a very loud, very tired sigh of relief.
He stood up as she made her way to the door, ready to finally get started on what would be an extra large batch of web fluid, but he faltered when she shut off the lights.
“Oh, uh. Sorry, Gwen! I’ve still got a bit to do!” He called out as he rounded the corner to the doorway. He heard Gwen startle, and flick the switch back on. He winced at the sudden change in brightness.
“Oh, Peter! I’m so sorry,” She turned to face him, “I completely forgot you were here!” She looked sheepish, but Peter waved her off. It was far from the first time someone had forgotten he was there. If he ignored the dull, deep hurt that flared up each time, he could almost convince himself he was used to it.
“Don’t worry about it, I was in the back, so…” Gwen squinted at him a little suspiciously, and Peter quickly continued, “Anyway. I just have a few things to finish up and then I’ll be out of here too. So I’ll close up, it’s all good!”
Peter needed a win. Peter needed Gwen to leave.
Peter had never been that lucky.
Gwen leant her hip against the nearest bench. Peter felt the final dregs of his will to live exit through the door he wished Gwen would use.
“What are you working on? I checked the orders and everything’s been filled. I wouldn’t even be here this late myself if Dr. Sanchez didn’t ask for this report.”
“Oh, uh, just some stuff for class. Nothing interesting.” He fidgeted in place under Gwen’s unimpressed look, hoping she’d drop it. At this stage, though, he knew it was pointless.
“Oh, come on now. I’m sure it can wait till tomorrow. It’s almost midnight, and you should really get home. It’s the holiday season!”
“I’m nearly done, I just need a few more minutes!” Peter begged, but Gwen didn’t let up.
“I’m sure you can do it tomorrow, after some sleep.” She pointedly took in his appearance – Peter knew he looked haggard. The several layers he wore were topped by a stretched out grey pullover, with some fairly conspicuous holes around the collar, and did nothing to distract from the dark hollows under his eyes or pale complexion. Peter was just glad none of his bruises today were on his face or hands.
Gwen continued, “You take the subway, right? I go past the station. Grab your stuff, we can walk together!”
Peter protested even as he went to get his backpack and laptop, knowing it was impossible to change Gwen’s mind once she had decided something. He couldn’t exactly argue with her that he wouldn’t have to take the subway if he had some damn webfluid.
He’d have to come in early tomorrow and pray the lab was empty.
—
Peter scuffed his feet on some ice at the top of the subway stairs, trying not to squint as the streetlight flickered above him, and waved Gwen goodbye even as he swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.
She hadn’t even said anything bad – he tried to convince himself as he reluctantly trudged down into the stale air, nose stinging at the fumes – simply wished him a happy holidays, and to give her best to his family. Peter swallowed again, throat dry. Family.
Almost a year ago now, he remembered getting a spur of the moment coffee with Gwen, just after he’d got the position in the lab. She’d asked about his plans for the break, and he’d told her not much. She’d asked about his family, and he’d said he lived alone. Something in his face must have said what he didn’t, because she didn’t ask any more after that.
But, like all things these days, like all things since that day, the conversation didn’t stick with her. Peter didn’t stick with her – with anyone, really. And he’d known this, he knew this, but only after Gwen had introduced herself to him a second, and then a third time, and asked have you been here before? when they walked into the same cafe she’d taken him the week prior, had he finally understood. Finally allowed himself to understand.
The train pulled up to the platform, brakes squealing, and Peter couldn’t help but wince when the pain in his head flared to the point of nausea. He hated the subway, every sense protesting the noise, the smell, the taste of it. He pulled out his phone to set a few alarms for an ungodly time the next day – early enough to beat even the most keen of students to the labs – resolving that tomorrow morning’s subway ride would be his last.
Shoving his phone into his back pocket before slumping into one of the empty seats, Peter closed his eyes, knowing it was pointless to try and avoid the memories Gwen’s farewell had stirred in him.
After he’d told her he lived alone – that first time – Gwen had invited him to her family’s Christmas lunch, saying it was an open table kind of affair. Peter knew he should have declined, shouldn’t have allowed the small spark of relief that flared inside him to take hold.
But it had been a year of living alone. Of coming back to an empty house every night after patrol. Of dark rooms with dark corners, and even darker memories lurking in them.
Peter could admit now that he had been hurtling towards a ledge he couldn’t come back from that first year, but a part of himself back then must have recognised it too. One night, when the cold shards of everything he had lost clung to the edges of his vision despite turning on every light in his apartment and the sweltering summer heat, Peter had opened up the webpages of every college within web-slinging distance.
He didn’t think about the decision at the time – had just chosen somewhere with a decent science program – and completed his application, forging the information about himself that didn’t exist anymore. Most of what he needed he’d already had to create for his apartment application, so it was easy enough.
It was a relief when he had started attending classes the next semester. Something to cling to other than the sound of his fists hitting some random thug’s face each night. His professors forgot his name every other week, and he was the last chosen for every group project, and it all made it impossible to deny the truth he’d been avoiding for ten months – that Doctor Strange’s spell worked a little too well – but it was a relief .
It had been easy enough to get a job in the labs after a few months; on paper it seemed Peter was less forgettable. And then he’d met Gwen, and he remembered that other Peter – Peter Two – had said he’d lost a Gwen. So maybe Peter hadn’t tried so hard to keep her at a distance, and accepted her invitations to coffee. Maybe he had thought something would be different, that they were meant to know each other.
So when Gwen invited him to her family Christmas he’d said yes with only a little hesitation.
He’d arrived at the subway station they’d said to meet at on the day, and watched waves of people smiling and chatting on their way to their own lunches. And he’d only had himself to blame when, two hours later, Gwen still hadn’t come to meet him. Peter didn’t eat lunch that day, nor did he patrol that night.
He shouldn’t have agreed in the first place, he should have known , a whole year since the spell, that he couldn't have that life anymore. But he’d let himself hope, let half explained truths from a different universe’s Peter lead him to believe that this time it could be different.
Two years since the spell, in the throes of another holiday season, Peter didn’t delude himself anymore. Even if Gwen thought to invite him to lunch this year, despite his best efforts to keep his distance the past few months, he’d say no.
He couldn’t help but sigh heavily, fully opening his slitted eyes as the train pulled into his stop. Peter’s heavy demeanour didn’t stop him from hurrying out of the subway, eager to be free from the onslaught on his senses. He sighed another heavy breath, this time of relief, when he reached the cold, open air of Queens. He was used to the heavy smog and engine exhaust after a lifetime of breathing it, and it was miles better than the stagnant, thick air underground.
It started to snow lightly, but the walk to his shoebox apartment was short, only five or so minutes, so he didn’t bother to pull out his umbrella.
When the back of Peter’s neck started buzzing with anxiety, Peter mentally brushed it off after a quick glance around as residual discomfort from Gwen’s farewell, or maybe the subway ride; there was no one else around.
Rather, there hadn’t been anyone else around. Peter rounded the corner to his apartment block just as his spider-sense flared, causing Peter to jerk his head towards a nearby alley. Before he could decide whether to just go upstairs and leave whatever was happening alone, or to give in to the voice inside — that always lilted with Aunt May’s cadence — telling him maybe you could help , there were a series of loud noises that sounded suspiciously like someone falling down a fire escape.
Peter would know, he was unfortunately familiar with the sound.
Decision made for him, Peter jogged around the corner, dodging a half frozen puddle, to see a man clad in a skintight black and blue outfit staggering to his feet.
Peter’s concern bled away, and was replaced by mild annoyance. He could recognise a vigilante outfit when he saw one, but he didn’t recognise this man. If his suit design was anything to go by, with nothing but a tiny, blue mask covering his eyes, this guy was pretty new. He wouldn’t be able to keep his anonymity long with that.
The man swayed where he stood against the wall, not having noticed Peter, and groaned a little as he looked around the alley.
Peter really didn’t want to deal with some inexperienced vigilante tonight; his head was still pounding, and he just wanted to go to bed so he could try and get some sleep before his early morning mission to the lab. But, even dressed as Peter Parker, he couldn’t leave someone to potentially freeze to death in a shitty New York alleyway.
“Hey man, you okay?” He called out as he approached the guy slowly, not wanting to startle him.
Despite Peter’s efforts, the vigilante jerked his head around with a rough “What?” and swayed at the sudden movement. Peter walked a little closer, and could now see the blood soaking into his black hair. The man had a deep gash on his right thigh, and was holding himself in such a way that it was clear his ribs were pretty messed up. Despite his annoyance, Peter couldn’t help a sympathetic wince; the man had to be hurting.
As Peter watched, he tried to stand up a little straighter, looking around to try and see where he was standing. He managed to make eye contact with Peter through the white lenses of his mask.
“Yeah… yeah, don’t worry kid, I just, uh.”
Peter could almost imagine the guy’s eyes rolling up in his head behind the white eyes of his mask as his body collapsed, knees buckling.
Peter rushed forward to catch him, not wanting to deal with a body if the guy’s already injured head smashed into the concrete once more. He was grateful no one else was around to see his slightly unnatural speed as he caught the man under his arms, doing his best not to jostle any of his visible injuries as he slowly lowered them both to the ground.
Sitting with the unconscious vigilante in the freezing alley, Peter briefly closed his eyes in resignation before adjusting his grip to pick him up, preparing to carry him up the four flights of stairs to his apartment.
So much for trying to get some sleep before his alarm tomorrow morning.