Peter drifted up through the layers of blackness towards consciousness. He became aware of the air around him, of breathing it into his lungs. A dull ache of pain in his stomach made him remember laying on that gurney in the hospital, seeing his abdomen ravaged. He cringed.
The sound of a page turning in a book brought him fully awake. He blinked his eyes open, aware that he could see out of his injured eye, albeit with blurry vision. He definitely wasn't in a sterile, white hospital room. This looked like a bedroom decorated in the 1970s with wood paneling on the walls, heavy drapes over the window and a small desk in the corner. At least the mattress was comfy.
Peter glanced over at Strange, who sat next to his bedside in the wooden chair pulled over from the desk. The sorcerer studied a very old book, its leather binding split and disintegrating. Peter opened his mouth to say something but just trying to talk made his sore throat spasm into a fit of coughing.
Strange's eyes snapped off the book to Peter. Laying the book down, he grabbed a cup and scooped out some ice chips with a plastic spoon. "Here, this will help."
As the coughing subsided, Peter took the ice chips in his mouth from the offered spoon. They melted in his mouth, the cold water soothing the soreness as it flowed down this throat. He hungrily took more. "Thanks," he croaked when Strange put the cup down.
"I'm going to check your incision and then we're going to have a talk."
Peter sighed. Nobody ever wanted to hear those words.
Strange pulled down the blankets covering Peter, who still wore a hospital gown. "We all decided it was safer for you to recover here at the Sanctum Sanctorum than at the hospital. You were lucky to survive that kind of trauma and blood loss."
Relief flooded Peter from both Strange's words and the fact that they'd put underwear back on him as Strange pulled up his gown.
"Damn, that's just insane. This incision looks like it's about four days post-op instead of only four hours. Even your eye is open more," Strange marveled. "You must possess advanced healing abilities."
"Yes, sir," Peter answered as he gazed down at the neat, sutured incision in the middle of his abdomen. It was a far improvement from the bloody, gaping wound that had been there before. No intestines in sight. He'd have a scar but he had plenty of those. This would probably be less noticeable with the tiny sutures done by a trained doctor than the messy ones he'd done himself.
Strange pulled the gown back down, the blanket back up and settled into the chair again. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his thighs and looked intensely at Peter. "Talk."
Peter swallowed, his mouth suddenly going dry. "Ah, sir, I can explain...sorta. See, there was this spell..."
"You did a spell?"
"No, sir. You did a spell for me but I kinda messed it up. See, Mysterio, who was a total jerk, told everyone in the world my real identity. I had people harassing me up the wazoo! Some guy asked my girlfriend if she was having my spider-babies! Who does that? Two of my teachers at school built a Spider-Man shine to me! So creepy. I asked you to do a spell to make everyone forget that I was Spider-Man. It was the, umm, Kali Ma spell?"
"Kali Ma?" Strange snorted. "You got that from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. No, you're talking about the Runes of Kauf-Kaul."
"Right! That one!"
Strange frowned. "I've used that spell before and there's never been this level of disturbance in reality like I'm encountering."
"I told you. I messed it up. As you were casting it, I realized MJ would forget. And Ned. And Aunt May. And then I said everyone who knew Peter Parker was Spider-Man from before should remember! Then all these guys from other universes showed up here, all because they knew Peter Parker was Spider-Man, even if I wasn't the right Peter Parker!" Peter had to catch his breath after saying all that.
Strange closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, appearing exasperated. "I remember some of that but this makes it so much clearer." He opened his eyes and looked pointedly at Peter. "At the Statue of Liberty, I cast another spell. What was it?"
Peter drew in a shuddering breath. His voice cracked as he spoke. "The only way I could fix it was to make everyone forget Peter Parker."
"Everyone? You mean no one remembers you?"
Peter nodded solemnly. "My aunt said that with great power comes great responsibility. I had to protect them. But," he paused as he fought back tears. "The loneliness is crushing," he whispered, some of those tears slipping past his defenses.
"Oh, Peter, I'm sorry." Strange reached out and gripped his shoulder. "No man should ever be so alone." Then Strange let go and stood up. "You need to rest. Even with your advanced healing, you're still going to need at least a few more days to recover. You'll stay here, of course. You can get up and walk but you must take it slow. Bathroom is next door. Kitchen is down the hall but only liquids and soft foods. No junk! If you need something, yell. There's acolytes around."
"Thank you, sir. Thank you so much."
Strange turned to the door but stopped, turning back. "When we were together on the spaceship headed toward Titan, Tony Stark told you no more pop culture references for the rest of the trip. It's really bugging me that I can't remember what the reference was."
"Aliens," Peter smiled. "I didn't want anything laying eggs inside my chest."
"Ah," he said simply and walked out the door.
