In his friend's embrace, the world stood still. There was no time, no wind, and no rain. Nothing else seemed to matter. Peter's mind was at peace for the first time in his life. In the end, everything began to disappear in front of him, and Peter could only watch.
He held tightly onto MJ and Ned with all his might. All around him, the world swirled, but his two dear friends grounded him. Their embrace was brief but definite: Everlasting and unforgettable. He would never forget them. They would haunt him until the day he undoubtedly died, and even then, they still wouldn't leave him.
The other Spidermen disappeared in a flash of light, along with the villains that had come to their world. They were like brothers to him, for better or worse. They shared a bond that few people could ever hope to understand. Wherever they would return to, Peter hoped they would be happy. Far happier than he would ever be.
His world exploded, and he could no longer feel the tight and familiar arms of his friends. He felt ripped from them like a destructive tornado barreling through the countryside. Clouds gathered all around him, silver-fade, from the strongest gray to softest whites.
He could hear voices all around him. They were whispering, disembodied voices emanating from all around him, calling his name in slurs. It was like they were the cries of the dead reaching out their pale hands to greet a loved one they yearned to see again. Whether they were calling out to Peter in good spirit or not, it didn't seem to matter.
But then, all at once, there was nothing.
You can never really picture what nothing is until you've experienced it. There was no sound, no light, no smells. At that moment, the world itself seemed to cease to exist.
All he knew was the darkness that took over him.
For a few moments, he felt like he was floating through the air. It was like Peter jumped out of an airplane without a parachute or swung through the streets of New York City on his webs. But then, his body slammed to the ground and splattered against the concrete in a heap.
When he opened his eyes, he was lying on the familiar cement sidewalk outside his Queens Apartment. All around him, people in the crowded city sidewalk moved as if unseeing hands dragged them this way and that, pulling their eyes to one thing and then another. They respond in predictable ways, each to achieve for the day. Their faces glued to their phones with a cup of ice coffee in hand.
None of them know who he is. No one did: Not anymore.
Peter Parker no longer existed. Maybe that's how it always should have been.
He pushed himself off of the ground, his muscles spasming. His arms and legs were still littered with cuts and bruises from the fight. He wasn't wearing his suit. Instead, he wore a graphic t-shirt, jeans, and zip-up hoody. The young boy must have looked like some gang beat him up to anyone watching. He was barely standing, wincing with every step he took.
Peter's eyes roamed all around him until they landed on a familiar DVD player lying next to him.
Strange.
What was it doing out here?
He picked it up off of the cracked, simmering sidewalk and dusted off the dirt that had formed on it. He looked at his apartment complex and debated walking in. With conviction and a shake of his head, he walked towards the door. Every step felt like his body was on fire. Blood still leaked from his face, and it covered him from head to toe in sweat. He could tell; the fight cracked a few of his ribs. He would have to wait to check how bad it was in his apartment.
It would suck if everyone he knew forgot him, only for him to die.
There was so much that he was going to have to do. And he wasn't sure where to even start. He would have to find a new apartment, a new suit, and a social security number. He had no idea how he would achieve any of these things. He had no money, so it wasn't like he could buy himself a new identity.
Maybe, he should contact the Avengers. They didn't know who he was, but perhaps he could explain what had happened. That is if they didn't shoot him first.
He looked around him more and saw an expensive car parked outside his house. It looked like Happy's car. But of course, it couldn't be because Happy didn't know who he was. He would have no reason to be in Queens.
Strange.
His Aunt May was dead, leaving his apartment very much empty. He could grab anything he needed from the home to take with him. He hoped his things were still there. Knowing his luck, they probably disappeared along with everyone's knowledge of him.
It took him a few minutes to gain the courage to enter the door of the small apartment where he grew up. He breathed in and out to prepare himself for what lay beyond.
The apartment was like a scrapbook of everything from his life. Pictures littered on the walls of him and his Aunt. Legos crammed in strange places and empty takeout containers still sat on the table. But, The moment he entered the apartment, he knew something was wrong. His tingle, or spider tingle, as Ned loved to call it, was tingling like it never had before. It was like pure energy was running through his body.
Something was wrong. Peter didn't have his suit or web-shooters. If someone chose to attack him, he would very quickly be defeated.
"Peter." A voice said. All of the air left his body, and he felt himself freeze.
That one word was impossible. No one should have known Peter's name. Doctor Strange had erased him from the memories of everyone. So, Why was someone calling for him?
What was even impossible was the person that said his name. It was a voice that was as familiar as his own. It was his Aunt May.
He turned around to face her, and he couldn't help his eyes to widen.
Two ghosts were sitting in his living room, as solid as he was. They were talking as if they weren't dead, as if he didn't see them both die in front of him.
Mr. Stark was in the room. Very Very Alive, chatting with his Aunt over coffee and walnut loaf.
It was remarkable and very impossible.
His Aunt flung herself off of the couch; her eyes were wide. "Peter, what happened to you?"
"I…I…," He stuttered, not entirely sure what to say. What could he say? It wasn't like there was a guidebook for loved ones coming back from the dead. "Mr. Stark?" Even as he said the name, he couldn't quite believe it.
"You okay, Kid?" Mr. Stark said, snapping him out of his reverie. "You're dripping blood everywhere."
He was dripping blood everywhere. Somehow, he had gained an enormous gash on his leg during the fight. Sticky and warm blood flowed freely from his leg down to his Aunt's floor. That was going to stain.
Maybe it had been the adrenaline that had stopped him from feeling anything. But, slowly, he could feel his arms and legs radiate with pain. Each breath he took became harder and harder.
"Mugger." He managed to spit out, "Took all my money."
"Some mugger," Mr. Stark said with a smirk.
Beneath his feet, the wooden floor felt soft. It felt like he was standing in the quicksand that slowly pulled him under the earth. He staggered backward, his mind swirling, his breaths shallow. Peter felt the blood slowly drain from his face. It was as if his heart had suddenly stopped beating, and all the blood had run down into his boots. He felt his legs give out and landed harshly on the floor.
"Peter!" He heard his aunt yell.
He felt strange arms wrap around him and help him up to the couch. "You're okay, kid." The voice said. "Everything will be okay, I promise."
"I should call an ambulance." His Aunt said.
"No!" Peter yelled, and the two adults grew strangely quiet. "No hospitals."
He really couldn't go to a hospital. They might realize that he had spider blood and wasn't fourteen years old anymore if he did. There was no possible way to explain how he was now seventeen years old and a part spider. The doctors would have him sent off as some science experiment.
"Peter. You're bleeding everywhere."
"No hospitals." He pleaded.
"Kid, you need some medical attention."
"No hospitals." He said. He looked deep into Mr. Stark's eyes, willing him to understand. At this point, they had already figured out Peter was Spiderman. He had to realize why he couldn't go to a hospital.
"Okay," Mr. Stark nodded, a look of understanding on his face. "No hospitals. I can take him to the tower, May. I have doctors on sight."
"Mr. Stark?" She asked. "Are you sure?"
"Of course, I can't let him die on my watch. What kind of man would I be?"
Mr. Stark started to lift him from the coach. "What-what are you doing? Hey! Uh, I'm-Im-I'm Peter."
He almost flinched. Why did he say that? Mr. Stark knew who he was.
"Tony." Mr. Stark said. Peter almost laughed. Who didn't know who Tony Stark was?
It was crazy and impossible, but he remembered this day. This was the day Mr. Stark had asked him to join him in Germany. This was the day his life changed forever. Only last time he lived it, he hadn't been bleeding profusely. He didn't need to go to a hospital.
Something terrible must have gone wrong with the spell Doctor Strange cast. Instead of everyone forgetting who Peter Parker was, he had traveled through time.
He knew time travel was possible. Happy had told him how all of the Avengers had gone back in time to get the infinity stones. But what kind of repressions would there be with him in the past. It was like Peter's hands were a bomb, and everything he touched fell apart in front of him.
"What are you doing here, Sir?" There was more confidence in his voice than the last time.
"Right now, I'm taking you to some doctors. Where does it hurt the most, Pete?"
"Ribs, sir. I think I cracked a rib, and I think my leg is bleeding."
His Aunt ran into the kitchen to grab some washcloths and handed them to Mr. Stark. He rolled up his pant leg to reveal a long gash still seeping blood. Her face went white when he saw it. It was far worse than he could have imagined.
He heard his Aunt wince, and he could help but to flinch when Mr. Stark put the cloth on his leg. "Come on, kid. Can you walk?"
He nodded. Mr. Stark helped him stand. The moment he put weight unto his legs, he almost fell back down, but Mr. Stark was there to catch him - just like he always did. Pain erupted from his leg and permeated throughout his entire body. He could feel his body shake, crying from the memories of the people he watched die. He pulled his head back and wiped the tears with his calloused fingers; even this roughness brought more relief than his heart could hold.
Mr. Stark picked him up from the ground as if he weighed nothing and walked out of the apartment door.
Peter still could believe it. He couldn't fathom what was happening.
Peter felt himself drift in and out of consciousness. They were now in a car, that much he could tell. He could feel the car bump over the dilapidated New York streets. Incessant car honking fluttered all around him. Voices whispered in the car next to him. They were worried, that much he could say. He couldn't exactly blame them. It wasn't every day a fourteen-year-old showed up bloodied to a pulp.
Light streamed down onto him as he opened his eyes. It took him several moments before he could fully adjust and be able to look around the room. He was hooked up to an IV. Wires jutted across his chest into machines he couldn't fathom understanding. The cold air of the hospital hit him first, and then he could smell the familiar clean smell that came along with it.
A doctor whispered to Mr. Stark in the corner. It was fortunate that he had enhanced hearing to hear what they said.
"In addition to his cracked ribs, he has a concussion, a broken wrist, and cuts all across his body. What the hell happened to this kid, Stark?" The doctor asked.
"No idea. He hasn't said anything yet."
The doctor shook her head. "It was smart of you to bring him here. There's something unique with his DNA."
"Unique?" Mr. Stark asked, crossing his arms, his face scrunched up.
The doctors pulled out a tablet and showed Mr. Stark something. "I've never seen anything like it. It's like his DNA has been mixed with a spider."
Mr. Stark laughed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why am I not surprised?"
The doctor's voice went lower. "His injuries remind me of yours after the battle of New York. He's suffered through serious trauma. No Seventeen year old should have to go through this."
"Seventeen?" Stark asked, "The kid is fourteen."
"Really? He looks older than that. I would have sworn he was almost an adult from his blood test. "
"You're right; he does look older. Maybe the kid can explain?"
Shit. They were both looking at him.
"Umm…Hi?"
How on earth was he going to explain any of this?