Thank you so much to everyone that has been reading and reviewing! I'm going to be posting another chapter later today and the final chapter tomorrow :) I hope you enjoy!

Strange

September 17th: 3:04pm

Peter lay on the hospital bed in the room where he had been talking to Mr. Stark, stretched out on top of the blankets and somehow comfortable. He was tired. He'd felt it from the moment he'd woken up, but he hadn't said anything to anyone. Not Mr. Stark, who had reluctantly sat back down at the board to tell Peter that he'd be back soon after Sam had insisted he eat something. Not Sam, who had, once Mr. Stark had been gone, sat on the floor across from him and asked him a couple of questions. Are you okay? Do you really not remember anything? It's okay if you did it. You won't be in trouble.

Not Steve, who hadn't believed at first. Who had practically laughed in Sam's face, rolling his eyes the whole time the man had dragged him into the room with the ouija board on the floor. Finally, after being coaxed and practically bullied into it, Steve had sat, huffing out a sigh and refusing to look at the place where Peter sat, his fingers resting on the triangle that Mr. Stark had called a planchette. And despite his growing exhaustion, Peter had moved the little triangle to the same letters he had with Mr. Stark and with Sam.

"Hi."

At first, Steve had lifted up the board, then the planchette, demanding to know what was happening. If this was some kind of trick. But as soon as Sam had been able to get Steve to replace their set up and rest his fingers on the triangle once more, Peter had moved it, telling him the same thing he'd told Mr. Stark.

"Not your fault."

Sam had knelt beside him as he'd placed his head in his hands. "See. Even the kid says it's not your fault."

Peter had wanted to reach out too. So, despite the growing exhaustion and how hot the man's skin was, he had reached out, hovering his hand over Steve's. Steve's head had jerked up, and he'd nearly looked right at him. "Peter?" he'd whispered, voice so faint that Peter nearly didn't hear him. He'd waited until Sam had nudged his hands back down to the planchette before moving it once more.

"Yes."

Steve hadn't asked him any questions. He'd just sat there, hands resting on the planchette, their hands nearly touching, but not quite, before Sam had urged him to go eat. To take a break from standing guard. And Steve had started to argue before Peter had moved the planchette down to 'goodbye' prompting both men to laugh a little.

"Fine," Steve had agreed with a smile, moving his hands away from the planchette. As soon as he'd done so, the piece of plastic or wood or whatever it was went back to a normal object. Just like the cup, Peter's fingers went right through it unless it used all of his focus, and he was too tired to even try that again. Instead, he'd watched Sam give his friend a hand up, then turn to him.

"We'll be back, okay kid? Just, uh...hang out here. Don't run off." Peter had wondered if that part was a joke as he'd moved to the bed, which was where he'd remained, even as an alarm in the other room had gone off. His eyes had started to drift, chest giving an uncomfortable, almost painful twinge, and he'd heard voices yelling. But he didn't get up. Didn't open his eyes, not until a voice started shouting.

"Peter! Come on, kid! Peter?" Mr. Stark called, and Peter looked up from where he'd been laying as if he was jerking awake. How long had he been in the bed? "He's not answering me! It's like he's...he's not even here!" Mr. Stark cried, and he looked up to find Mr. Stark on the floor, Sam in the doorway, lips pursed in concern. "Peter!"

And despite his exhaustion, Peter forced himself to get up...to sit across from Mr. Stark and put his fingers on the planchette and moved it. "Hi."

"Shit, kid…" Mr. Stark closed his eyes and shook his head, and Peter tried not to notice the tears. To let himself think about how much this was hurting the man he loved so much...the man who had become like his father after he'd already lost two of them.

"Sorry."

"Don't...don't be sorry, bud," Mr. Stark murmured, as Sam moved to sit next to him, looking haggard. Had anyone told Sam to take a break yet?

Peter moved the planchette again, hoping that he wouldn't fall asleep mid-conversation. "Sam eat. Sleep."

It took the men a moment, their eyes narrowing in confusion, but Sam got it first and chuckled. "I'm fine, kid. We all ate lunch."

"Where were you?" Mr. Stark asked, still seeming shaken.

"Tired," Peter answered, closing his eyes so he wouldn't see the worry on Mr. Stark's face.

"Tired," the man repeated in a whisper. "You're tired?"

"Yes."

"Okay...um...do you want to rest some more?" Mr. Stark didn't seem to want to ask the question. Didn't seem to want to let him go. So Peter asked another question instead.

"What happened?" Mr. Stark just looked at him, reluctant, but it was Sam that answered.

"Your heart stopped. Again." Sam spoke matter-of-factly, but not unkindly. Peter wasn't fooled. Sam was just as scared as Steve.

"They're doing the best they can," Mr. Stark put in, words coming out in a rush. "You're going to be fine."

"Doctor Cho called a colleague of hers. He's on his way. She thinks he might be able to help." Sam glanced at Mr. Stark. "He should be here soon. He's gonna help you." Sam seemed to believe it. And it was a nice thought. A thought that Peter wanted to hold on to.

"Peter? How are you feeling? Tell me the truth, kiddo," Mr. Stark murmured, leaning forward, and so Peter told the truth.

"Tired."

"Okay…" He glanced over at Sam, then nodded as if to himself, a smile softening his face a little. "Why don't you rest for a little while? We'll be close by."

Peter didn't argue. Instead, he moved the planchette. "OK." And then he climbed back into the bed and closed his eyes. It was almost like napping...almost like rest, but his mind kept wandering back to his body. His body was dying. He knew it like he knew his own name. But why? Why was he awake? What would happen if he got back into his body? Would he wake up?

What if he didn't? What if he never woke up again?

"He was in here."

Once more, a voice snapped him out of his rest, and he blinked blearily at the door as it opened, revealing Mr. Stark and a man he'd never seen before. The second man was tall, with dark hair striped with a light gray and a goatee almost like Mr. Stark's. This man scanned the room, eyes lingering on the Ouija board for just a moment, one eyebrow raising. "And you were using that to communicate?" he asked, his voice deeper than Mr. Stark's. Slower. Like a man that had all the time in the world.

"Yeah. Since this morning."

The man nodded, then turned to Mr. Stark. "I'd like to see his body."

Mr. Stark flinched at the term, and Peter did too. Still, his mentor gave a stiff nod and turned, heading toward the hallway once more. "We'll be right back, Pete," he called, ignoring the second man as he hesitated, his hand resting on the doorframe. "You can come if you want."

Peter did. He wanted to figure out what was going on. But his whole body was so heavy and he was tired and he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could take a nap. A real one. And then, when he woke up, he could figure out what was going on. So he closed his eyes, wishing he could jump up like he had earlier in the day, getting close enough to Mr. Stark that the man would know he was there. But it felt impossible...like when he'd been bitten by the spider. All he could feel was exhaustion and the pain in his chest, an ache that spread out to all of his limbs.

He drifted for a long time. Or what felt like a long time. But then the soft, deep voice returned, this time closer. "Hello, Peter."

It made him jump, and his eyes shot open, head jerking upright to find the man standing beside him, hands clasped in front of him. He was looking at Peter...not near him. Not around him. Right at him, their eyes making contact. "You...you can see me?" he whispered.

The man nodded, speaking mildly. "I can. My name is Doctor Stephen Strange. It's nice to meet you."

"Oh...um...you too." Peter forced himself upright, using his hands on the bed to hold himself there. Doctor Strange seemed to be observing him for a moment, then nodded, as if to himself.

"Your body is dying," he told Peter without preamble. "This is partially because of the damage done by the medication you took. It is also because your spirit is not with your body. The longer you stay in this plane, the more tired you will feel until your body dies completely."

Peter just blinked at him, stomach flipping uncomfortably. "Oh," he whispered, blinking rapidly.

The man softened, moving to sit on the bed beside Peter, hands resting in his lap. "Stark told me that you don't remember what happened."

"I don't," Peter all but whispered. "I...I was at school. And then I woke up here."

"I see." He nodded, reaching out and putting a hand on Peter's shoulder. That action alone...the feeling of a warm hand on his arm, made tears spring to his eyes. How long had it been since he'd felt someone touch him?

"I wouldn't have done that. I promise. I don't remember but I wouldn't have tried to kill myself! I wouldn't have done that to Mr. Stark or May...or Steve! I promise!"

"Stark was adamant on this point as well," the man told him, keeping the hand on his shoulder. "When I examined your body, there was magical residue there. I believe you were placed under a spell."

"A...a spell?" Peter repeated, voice dubious despite the situation.

"Yes. I am a doctor, but I'm also a sorcerer." Peter's mouth tugged upward, but the man remained completely stoic. Serious. "I believe that a sorcerer came into your home and placed you under a mind control spell. They obviously wished to harm you."

"So...why not just kill me there?"

"My best guess is that they did not wish to be traced. It is most likely that they knew you were Spider-Man, and wanted to eliminate you as a threat. Mind control spells are difficult to control, and use a lot of energy the more specific they get. So if they implanted the idea that you must kill yourself, it seems likely that they did not specify how."

"But...then why would I go to the tower? Why not just...jump off a building?" Peter asked, shuddering a little.

"My best guess? You were still somewhat in control of your actions, and you knew that your best chance of survival involved being as close to the Avengers as possible."

"Okay...but why me?" he practically cried. "I'm not even an Avenger! And I didn't know that sorcerers were real so it's not like I was any threat to them."

This made the man pause, lips pursed. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I would need to examine your apartment to see if I can get any leads on magical energies there. But first, I need you to go back to your body." Peter felt himself blanch, but the man went on. "The sooner you do so, the better your chances are."

"But…"

"Peter, I can feel you fading. We don't have a lot of time before you won't have the option to return to your body. Stark asked me to save you. I'm going to do my best." He hesitated, then stood, holding out a hand. "Come. I'll let you speak to Stark first."

Peter let himself be tugged along, wondering why the man didn't grab the ouija board...or maybe he couldn't. He was able to touch Peter, so maybe he was a ghost too. It didn't make sense until the man stepped into Peter's hospital room where his body sat in a chair next to Peter's, slumped over with his head hanging limply on his chest. As though it were the easiest thing in the world, Doctor Strange sat down in his body, and the man came back to life, making Mr. Stark, who sat on Peter's other side, jump.

"Holy shit, doc," the man muttered, shaking his head tiredly. "What the hell?"

"I spoke to Peter," Doctor Strange told him without preamble. "His spirit is fading, and if he does not return to his body, it will die. Soon"

Mr. Stark blinked at him for a minute, then jumped to his feet, shaking his head. "But...wait, so if he gets back in his body, he'll be fine?"

Doctor Strange hesitated. "I didn't say that."

"Then what the hell are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if Peter returns to his body, there is a chance that he will survive. If his spirit remains outside of his body, there is not."

Mr. Stark stared at Peter's body for a moment, lips pressed tightly together as he seemed to focus on his breathing, taking one deep breath after the other. His hand reached out, clasping Peter's, and Peter wished he could feel it. Wished he could wrap his arms around the man and tell him not to cry...that it was okay. That he was sorry.

Doctor Strange stood off to the side, lost in thought, before he looked up once more and spoke, his voice gentle this time. "Would you like to speak to him first?"

Mr. Stark's head snapped up. "What?"

"Would you like to speak to him? Before he returns to his body?"

Immediately, Mr. Stark nodded. "Yeah...yeah. Let me get the board."

"Actually," Doctor Strange said, lifting a hand, "I had something a little different in mind."

Peter watched, leaning against the doorframe, as Doctor Strange had Mr. Stark sit down in the chair he'd vacated, his mentor's hands clasped uncomfortably, eyes shooting around the room. "You're sure this is safe?"

"I'm absolutely sure."

"And I'm really going to see Peter?"

"You are."

"And I'll be able to return to my body?"

"You will. It's as easy as climbing back into yourself." Mr. Stark grimaced at that, and Peter laughed at the man's expression. "Are you ready?"

"To see Peter? Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready."

And then the Doctor pressed his fingers into Mr. Stark's forehead, pushing gently, and as Peter watched, Mr. Stark's spirt was shoved backward, coming to stand behind the chair, wild eyes moving first to his own body, then to Doctor Strange, and finally, around the room until they landed on Peter.

Thanks for reading!