Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Stephen.”

The sorcerer in question looks up from his book with the most oblivious expression in his face. “Yes, Wong?”

“What is this.” Wong demands, pointing at the body lying on top of the library table.

“As you can tell from the bright red and blue costume and the large..” Stephen squints down at the body, “..black eyes on the mask which currently seem to be shut, this, is Spider-Man.”

“What is he doing in the Sanctum.”

“Ah, I’m so glad you decided to ask why he’s lying passed out.” Stephen gets up with a different book lying open and shows it to Wong, ponting at the picture of a particularly messed-up looking worm-centipede hybrid. “He seems to be currently possessed by one of these.”

Wong’s face betrays nothing as he glazes over the name of the creature and then glances down at the masked hero lying on the table.

“You put him in a dreamless stasis to prevent him from hurting further,” Wong concludes pretty easily.

The Kkallakki, also knows as the Fear Eaters, are minions of the Fear Lord Kkallakku. They make their victims revisit their worst nightmares awake, feeding on that fear until the person is nothing but a shell of themself.

When Stephen went to inspect the minor dimensional rift at Queens an hour ago, he didn’t expect particularly harmful creatures to slip through, right in the middle of a crowded street in front of a Deli, invisible and thirsting to pounce on any weak prey.

But where Stephen panick-spiraled inside Mirror Dimension about simultaneously closing the rift and not letting the creatures run free, a hero clad in red and blue swung by and unexpectedly started diverting people away from the few demons that slipped out of Stephen’s grasp, even though he should not be able to see them. And in the process suffered a rather constant onslaught on his psyche until his mind couldn’t take it anymore, and fell to his knees on the sidewalk.

When Stephen slipped back into the physical dimension, Spider-Man had attracted quite the crowd, all of whom were kept at bay by the apparent owner of the Deli. Spider-Man had both his hands wrapped around his head as though he was expecting the Deli beside them to collapse in on him any second. He kept chanting “help I’m stuck, help me anyone” over and over, not responding to any of the Deli owner’s physical or sensory reassurances.

He was stuck in a live nightmare.

And he still would have been, had Stephen not put him in a magically-induced, dreamless sleep.

Now the question is, how is he going to get the demon out while also respecting Spider-Man’s privacy and not violating his secrecy of identity, when drawing sigils at the possessed’s forehead is a requirement.

Wong answers it without him ever asking out loud.

“This is no ordinary lesser demon, it is leeching on both his mind and soul. No matter what you do, exorcizing it will familiarize you to his soul, and him to yours.”

Stephen sighs. “So we’ll be able to sense each other’s presence in proximity, regardless of masks.” And Stephen will never forget the feeling of the hero’s soul, courtesy of his eidetic memory.

Wong nods once. “Now stop whining about it, you’re only helping him.” With that, Wong starts to walk out of the room.

“And where are you going?”

“I’ll go make tea.” Wong stops by the doorframe and turns to look at him. “For when you’ve calmed him down.” And then he is gone.

Stephen grumbles nonsensically. His friend just left all the hardest parts to him.

He glances down at the slumbering hero, completely unsuspecting of how his identity is about to be exposed to a complete stranger without consent.

He may not be up-to-date with superhero news — or, really, any news that doesn’t remotely pertain to the medical field — but he knows of the name Spider-Man, and knows how big of a deal his secret identity is. There are all kinds of conspiracy theories out there, ranging from him being super old to him having a burned face, to him being related to Stark. The Daily Bugle is infamous for calling the hero out for hiding under the mask, and Stephen has a suspicion that that is exactly the reason they have such low ratings.

Conspiracies and accusations aside, Stephen understands that Spider-Man puts great effort in hiding his identity, and it must be for good reasons if he has a family. And while Stephen may not be a threat to Spider-Man’s family, that’s not what this is about. It is about having trust of the hero enough to be privy to his identity; something that Stephen doesn’t have.

Which is why he is currently under the belief that lifting his mask — even if to help — will be a huge violation, and he wishes he could have the hero conscious to at least inform him of this, but waking him up will instantly put him inside a live nightmare and spare no space for coherent thoughts.

He sighs, closing the exorcism book he’s been scouring for alternatives. There aren’t, of course. Exorcizing an entity that has violated the mind always requires drawing some kind of sigil on some part of the head.

He reaches out to the Sanctum; it acknowledges him, and on his order, the surroundings shift. Rows of shelves of book change into stone walls and columns, etched with beautiful and intricate patterns. The hero, who was lying atop a table, now lies over the central elevated platform. They are now in the ritual room.

He circles around the platform and arrives by the hero’s head. Before he can third-guess or fourth-guess this, he wraps trembling fingers around the edge of the mask’s neck and pulls it off in one go.

His eyes widen at the sight in front of him.

“He’s just a kid..” He murmurs to nobody.

How old is he even? Middle school? This is the kid who saves people’s cats from trees and prevents robbery of Stark Industries transport planes?

This is the kid that people claim has fought in the ‘Avengers Civil War’?

“Unbelievable.” A strange sensation starts taking over Stephen’s system which he can’t quite name. He’s not sure if it’s due to the shock of the revelation, or anger towards the kid’s parents who allow him to do such dangerous things, or incredulity that the Avengers would hire a kid to stamp out their shitshow.

Or a combination of all of those.

Cloak senses his inner disarray and tries to caress a cheek with its collar; he cringes away. “Don’t,” he warns, and the collars wilt. He shakes his head, sighing in exasperation, and returns to the matter at hand.

Touching at the kid’s forehead with his index and middle finger, he channels dimensional energy and gently coaxes it to flow through the boy. As the other hand casts the rest of exorcizing spell, shapes and arcs of eldritch appear in the air, and a bright gold sigil etches itself at the boy’s forehead under Stephen’s fingers. As the complete spell snaps into place, magic rushes into the kid’s system, tearing away the demon from his mind and soul while never harming him. He gasps, his entire body shuddering once; a normal response to overabundance of magic suddenly rushing through a non-sorcerer’s body.

The Kkallakki’s essence is yanked out of the kid’s body and trapped inside a spherical cage of light before it has even completely manifested into its original form.

“Alright, creepy-crawly, go back to your bushland..” He absently mutters as he casts the banishment spell, and tosses the creature into the portal that would lead it to its home dimension. “And never come back.”

He blows out a breath, clapping his hands. The easy part is done.

Now comes the hard part.

He looks down at the young hero still blissfully asleep. Vishanti help him, he is not good with teenagers. As if that isn’t reason enough to easily turn this into a disaster, Stephen has always had atrocious bedside manners.

For a moment he contemplates just putting the mask back on and calling it a day. Stephen could just portal him back to that Deli’s roof on the street where no dimensional rifts exist anymore, awaken him forcefully, he will wake up disoriented & confused, will never even know his mask was lifted, and will swing away to his home. For how well Stephen now knows the boy’s soul, he doesn’t even know his name, so they will all just move on like nothing happened and won’t meet ever again. There’s no need to complicate this more than what it—

...

He couldn’t deny that Spider-man’s soul is intriguing and unique. Feathery yet resilient, with a delicate touch of sweetness; pure, vibrant, and beautiful like a crocus. Even without knowing Spider-Man, Stephen can tell from the positive notes that he is a good person on the inside.

A pure-hearted kid with enhancements, just swinging around Queens, wanting to help people.

No.

He can’t do that to the kid.

Stephen has already violated the teenage hero’s confidentiality as it is. The least he can do now is be transparent about it, it’s only fair to the kid.

So he reaches out to the Sanctum again; it shifts on his command, and suddenly they are in one of the unused bedrooms, the kid deposited on the bed. Setting the mask down on the nightstand, he rests a hand over the kid’s fluffy head and lifts the stasis spell.

He conjures a chair, acquires a book through a portal, and sits down, opening it at the bookmark.

He waits.

Chapter Text

“What do you mean his transponder is offline?” Tony snarls inside his helmet.

“I am transmitting over the entire planet, Boss,” FRIDAY responds, voice tense. “The Spider-Man suit is not responding.”

Tony glares down at the now deserted crossroad, as though the street will be intimidated and fess up exactly what transpired here.

It is 11:05 pm. May called him at exact 11:01 after Peter hadn’t returned at curfew and calling him had sent her straight to voicemail.

Peter had promised her to always pick up, no matter if he was hanging out on a roof or in the middle of a mission.

The last trail of his suit’s known location — 5 hours ago — led Tony to Delmar’s renewed Deli & Grill, and accessing Karen’s servers showed evidences of an anxiety attack building up right before she was shut down. Hacking security cameras of the area helped none; they all conveniently showed static.

“Play the last footage again.”

Compliantly, FRIDAY overlays the last recording saved in Karen’s servers on his HUD.

“Hey Karen, are you picking up anything unusual here?” Spider-Man swings across the street and perches on top of Delmar’s roof, looking down at the bustling street.

“I don’t find anything unusual in the scene, Peter. Is there anything in particular you want me to look out for?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I just have this feeling—OH!” Spider-Man swings down without a warning and stands tall in front of a couple of ladies who were about to step on the crosswalk. “Uh, hey, Ma’am!” He tries with a cheery voice, which mostly comes out awkward, but both the ladies just glee and gasp at the sight of Spider-Man.

“Oh my god, it’s Spider-Man!”

“Can I get an autograph?”

Spider-Man spares a quick glance behind him at the empty crosswalk and then turns back to the ladies. “Sure, uh, where? And do you have a pen?”

As one of the ladies fumbles with her purse, Spider-Man’s gaze moves down the sidewalk, and then rapidly jerks between the road and the sidewalk.

“I’m, uh, wait for me here!” He fumbles over his words as he runs away from the ladies, excusing himself as he runs into a few pedestrians, and now stands next to a man who was simply standing on the sidewalk — if too close to the street — busy on his phone. “Hello uh, sir, could you take a few steps back? It’s just that you’re standing too close to the street so.. y’know.”

The tall man seems utterly unimpressed from the order-that’s-more-like-a-request, until he looks up from his phone and his eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, wow, you’re Spider-Man.” As if a flip has been switched, he takes a few steps back and raises his hands in surrender, the hand with phone included. “It’s cool, man.”

“Peter, what are you doing?” Karen asks inside his mask.

Spider-Man gives the man two solid thumbs-up. “All good, cool.” He fully turns to the road again, seemingly scanning it as he murmurs to Karen, “I don’t know, I just.. something tells me to keep people away from the street.” He traces a car drive by. “..but not vehicles, apparently. Karen, are you sure there’s nothing wrong here?”

“Re-running all scans for potential threats,” Karen responds back as his eyes lock onto an elder woman walking on the other sidewalk, and the next moment he is swinging up in the air and landing right in front of the said woman.

“Uh, hello ma’am, do you need help carrying these?” He places a hand over her grocery bag, though not quiet taking it yet.

The video ends.

Logs say that Karen was up for another 2 minutes before shutting down, the last minute also logging Peter’s vitals spiraling towards an anxiety attack.

“What about witnesses?” Tony suddenly speaks up. “Any social media posts about people meeting Spider-Man? Run facial recognition on everyone in the recording and check their public socials.”

There is a beat of silence as FRIDAY scours the internet.

“None from the people seen in the recording. Only two mentions of Spider-Man in Queens today, one from a delivery guy who was helped by Spider-Man to unload heavy packages, another is a trending tweet thread by Ned Leeds in response to a defamation article by The Daily Bugle.”

No mentions of a hero suddenly walking by the street and fumbling over himself to save people from an allegedly non-existent threat.

“What’s on the street, FRI?”

“I have the same answer as Karen, Boss,” FRIDAY says downhearted.

If his helmet was off, he would be racking fingers through his hair.

“Call his guy in the chair.”

The kid picks up within one second and his face pops up in Tony’s HUD. “Hello who is—” His eyes widen as soon as they fall on the camera. “OHMYPUGYASFH— Tony Stark!” He honest-to-god starts vibrating.

“I need you to tell me,” Tony starts, not in the mind to waste time, “When was the last time you talked to Peter.”

The kid’s mouth flops a few times like a fish, before he finally swallows and inhales a shaky breath. He blinks, the question sinking in only now. “Uh, around 5?” Suddenly the kid’s expression grows a lot more serious and all the awe dissipates away. “May just called me and told me she can’t reach Peter. I’m trying to track him too but haven’t found him yet..”

“Did he tell you anything I should know?”

The kid’s eyes grow distant as he considers the question. “Uh.. no? He hasn’t been after any super villains after the Vulture, if that’s what you wanted to know.”

“Save this number, it’s my private contact. You find out anything about Peter, you call me. Got that?”

The kid stutters over a few words before replying, “Yes sir, understood, sir!”

“End call.”

FRIDAY ends the call as Tony takes off into the night sky of Queens.

“Check all the surveillance cameras on Queens.”

“Scanning,” FRIDAY obeys, and for a few long moments, Tony glazes down at the night city.

“No footage of Spider-Man exists after 5:59 pm, Boss.”

Something hot burns within Tony’s chest, and a heavy, dreadful feeling settles into his spine.

No witnesses, no footage, no bread crumbs.

“Where did he go!?”

He is stuck under rubble and concrete, the weight of an entire building pressing down on his back, keeping him pinned there helplessly.

“Help me! Help I’m stuck!” He screeches out into the void, voice choking.

“Spider-Man, can you hear me?” A deep, unknown voice echoes, but all Peter cares about that it’s someone. It’s a beacon of hope.

“Yes! Help!” He rasps. “Please I’m stuck! I can’t breathe!”

“Look at me, Spider-Man. You’re not stuck. It’s a dream.”

This is a dream? How can this be a dream? He can feel the weight on his back! It’s crushing him, all he sees around is debris, nobody knows where he is, nobody will come for him, he can’t breathe, he will be stuck in here and die—

“No, it’s okay, listen to me, look at me.”

A gentle, shaky touch lands on both his shoulders. He clings to that feeling and slowly, painstakingly, raises his head to look at the figure kneeling in front of him, standing out in the backdrop of dark and dust and debris. The figure’s glacial eyes stare back at him, his bright red cape slightly fluttering from a wind that Peter can’t quite feel on his skin.

“I’m trying to help you, but you need to stop fighting it, alright?”

His breath stutters feeling a kind of relief he doesn’t remember experiencing in a long time. “Please,” He sobs.

“It will be alright, Spider-Man.”

And then he knew darkness.

It is with those memories that he swims back to consciousness.

Was it really just a dream? It felt too real...

He opens his eyes and finds himself under a stable and intact ceiling. He squints at the ancient, intricate-looking designs. That’s not how the ceiling looked last night, was it?

“It seems that I—”

He jolts at the deep masculine voice and is instantly on his feet, standing tall on the bed.

“...misjudged how worn-out you were. You can get off now.”

Standing beside the bed, staring up at him, is the man from his dream with the red cape.

As though reminded of reality, he glazes at the room around him. Where is he, even? His eyes fall on the nightstand— there’s a red mask resting there.

A hand flies to his face.

No mask.

A cold chill creeps up his spine as he slowly turns to face the man.

“If you’ve done anything to my aunt, I swear I’m going to make you regret it.” For how scared he feels, the words come out unexpectedly bold and clear. His fingers of his free hand instinctively curl around his web shooters.

The man lifts his hands in a placating gesture. “Relax, kid, I don’t even know who your aunt is.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He gets off the bed, carefully putting distance between them while never taking eyes off the man. “You were there at Delmar’s, weren’t you? I knew something weird was going on. What were you doing to the people on the street?”

The man blinks. “Exceptional proficiency in recalling. It seems like you’ve already recovered from the lingering effects of the possession.”

“What are you talking about?” He aims a web shooter at the man threateningly. “Tell me where I am and what you did to my aunt, or I’ll make you.”

The man quirks an eyebrow, completely unfazed by Peter’s intimidation, and crosses his hands. Peter internally curses at everything and nothing for making him look like a frail kid. “Make me how? By tying me up and hanging me upside down?”

Peter examines the room until he finds a curtain by the windows. Demonstratively, he shoots a web at the curtain and activates taser web. Electric sparks run through his web, leaving charring burns on the curtain’s fabric. “A current of 20 milliamps at 50 kV for more than a second is considered very lethal for humans.” He glares back at the man, hand pointing at him again. “My taser webs can conduct up to 5 amps.”

The man’s lips twitch a little in— is that amusement written on his face? Is he not even a little bit intimidated by Peter?

“Most people would be freaked out just from the mention of 50 kiloVolts. Why specify the current?”

Peter furrows his brow. “Well that’s not really— Current is how you tell the actual electron displacement in a circuit, but when tasing someone, you don’t really know the value of the actual current that’s flowing through the person’s body because of the variable resistance and other factors. So a very high potential difference needs to be applied to overcome the body’s natural high resistance and then the current is capped so that...” Peter trails off, only now realizing that he is rambling.

God, why is he rambling science to a stranger man from his dream who is likely his kidnapper?

The man on the other hand, doesn’t react, seemingly listening intently to Peter, a hint of smirk on his face.

Peter clears his throat and squares his shoulders. “You can either start speaking now or after you’ve been electrocuted. Where are we and where’s my aunt!?”

“I wouldn’t be able to speak much if I get a fibrillation or seizure, would I?” The man is outright smirking now. “177A, Bleecker Street, New York. Your aunt is wherever you saw her last, I’m sure.”

Peter blinks. “What?”

“You asked, I answered.”

He stills for a second, trying to make sense of the situation. “Well then, why would you kidnap me?”

“I did no such thing, you’re free to leave here right now if you wish.”

His stance no longer strong, he once again glances around the room. Relatively normal-looking, if a little out-of-style. The windows seem to be peeking out at buildings and trees under the night sky. He turns towards the man again. Old-school cosplay robes, he can’t see any visible weapons on the man. His spider-sense hasn’t tingled even a little bit since he awoke; if anything, there was rather a calming feeling, like he knew this man somehow.

None of this was anything one would expect inside a kidnapper’s lair.

“Then what were you doing on the street?” He asks, voice coming out smaller than he’d intended.

“I was working on closing the dimensional rift that had formed in the middle of the street while simultaneously catching invisible demons that were slipping out of the said rift that kept attacking your psyche until you were worn down and one managed to possessed you, which is why I had to bring you here and take off your mask to exorcize it.”

The information is relayed so fast that Peter almost misses everything.

After a long second, he blurts, “Demons aren’t real.”

The man nods once. “Right. Tell me, how do you know that I was at the street? Did you see me?”

Peter opens his mouth but no explanation comes out. So he goes through the scene in his mind again, or at least as much as he could recall before he had lost track of what was real and what wasn’t.

He never actually saw this man on the street.

But he saw him in his dream. How is that possible if he’s never seen the man before?

How does he even know now that the man was there at the street?

“So you didn’t see me, but you know that I was there. You also didn’t see the demons but were able to tell their presence and didn’t hesitate to become a meat shield for the people. How?”

Peter flops his mouth open and shut a few times, his logic betraying him. “I—I don’t know. But.. demons and magic and stuff isn’t real.”

The man tilts his head. “Proving the former will be less-than-pleasant, especially since you just recovered from a possession. The latter, though..” He brings his hands together, clasping them over each other. Peter barely registers a flicker of golden light underneath the clasp before the man is opening his palms. Suddenly, a kaleidoscope of beautiful, bright, blue butterflies flutter out of his hands.

Peter gapes, watching the scene awestruck.

They fly every which way, filling the room with their dazzling luminescence. A few of them land on Peter’s shoulders and head. He holds out a gloved finger in front of him, and one perches on his hand. His eyes trace the intricate glowing patters on its wings that seem to be pulsing light.

“How— how did you do that!?” He exclaims, looking up at the alleged wizard.

“I channeled dimensional energy through my hands and gave it physical form. In other words,” The man spreads his hands expressively, “I used magic.”

The butterfly perched on his finger lifts off. He fixates on it as it flies above them, exploring the room like many of its friends, until it decides to perch on the windowsill among a few others.

Magic is real…

“I don’t think I caught your name, sir,” Peter says, tearing his gaze away from the butterflies to look at the very real wizard who is now reaching for the nightstand to pick up Peter’s mask.

“My name is Doctor Stephen Strange,” The man says, stepping closer and holding out Peter’s mask. “And I believe I owe you an apology for lifting your mask without consent.”

Peter takes the offered mask, distantly noting the slight shake of the doctor’s hand and the scars marring the fingers.

Suddenly the surroundings change; Peter loses his balance and quickly stumbles to correct himself. Baffled, he gawks at the new room. The walls and ceiling are similarly old-but-intricate, the bed and furniture is gone, replaced with other furniture that seem to house antics, as well as cozy-looking couches near a fireplace.

“You may take a seat,” Dr. Strange announces as he walks over to the fireplace. With a flick of his hand, the fireplace lights up.

Peter walks over, clutching his mask in a hand, and sits down. As the other man takes a seat across him, a cup of tea suddenly materializes into Peter’s hand and he squints down at it.

“This was meant to help you with the disorientation one feels after waking up from exorcism, but you wouldn’t want to pass it anyway. It’s Wong’s blend.”

Peter drops the mask on his lap to wrap both hands around the cup. Its comforting heat seeps into his hands through the gloves. He inhales a deliberate breath and the tea’s strong & sweet aroma assaults his heightened senses. It has a mingle of spices Peter can’t quite tell apart, though he can tell the rich cardamom and pleasant ginger.

“Um..” Lips pressed into a thin line, he only hesitates for one more second before slowly raising a hand.

Dr. Strange acknowledges. “I see that you have many questions—”

“Is Doctor Strange really your name?” Peter blurts.

The older man exhales a long suffering sigh. “Yes, it is my very real name. Doctor Stephen Strange, MD, PhD in neuroscience, Master of the Mystic Arts.”

“Wait, you’re an actual doctor!?”

The doctor gives a disbelieving look. “What, you thought they give out doctorates in magic?”

“I.. uh..” Peter feels his cheeks flush as he lowers his gaze to the teacup.

Dr. Strange shakes his head in exasperation. “If you don’t have any questions of actual substance, shall we move on?”

“Actually..” Peter looks up again. “How come I’ve never heard about you? You seem like you’re one of the good guys, right?”

“The Order of the Mystic Arts operates from the shadows. We’ve existed for thousands of years, protecting Earth from interdimensional threats, like the demons you felt near that Deli. Nobody finds out because we don’t let them, unless it’s cases like you who end up requiring personal help, in which case we generally send them home with an amnesia spell.”

“...Oh.” Letting the new bit of information integrate into his mind, Peter takes a sip of the tea. His eyebrows shoot up at the sweet, robust taste. “This tea is.. really good.” He does a double take and whips his head up. “Wait. Are you saying that you’ll wipe my memory when I leave?” He gasps. “Like, a neurelyzer? Wait, are you guys like, the magic version of Men in Black, who monitors demons and magical beings on Earth?”

The doctor twists his lips thoughtfully. “I suppose that is a rough analogy, yes. And no, you’re not going to forget anything, since I owed it to you for lifting your mask. And there’s a certain time threshold to safely use the amnesia spell anyway, which you’ve long since crossed even if I wanted to use it now.”

Peter’s shoulders unconsciously sag in relief. Much as this is unbelievable, it is totally freaking awesome, and he would hate to forget this encounter. He takes another sip of the aromatic tea.

“Actually, I have some questions of my own.” Dr. Strange leans forward. “How did you sense the demons? You’re untrained and don’t have a high natural proficiency for magic.”

Peter frowns for a short second, before catching up on the context. “Oh. Well uh, I have this.. sixth-sense? It’s part of my powers. I get like this.. tingly feeling whenever there’s a danger nearby.”

The doctor scrutinizes him, slowly nodding. “Hm, interesting.”

“About that, um..” He shifts a little in his place. “Who else knows that I’m..” He vaguely gestures at himself.

“Technically no one. Wong hasn’t seen your face, and I don’t even know your name.”

Peter blinks. The man didn’t try to search him up?

Well, Peter muses, If he is apologizing when instead he could have easily used some Obliviate charm, he must be earnest.

Peter decides he likes this Doctor Wizard.

“Peter,” he chirps.

“What?” Dr. Strange’s eyebrows arch.

“My name. It’s Peter Parker.”

The doctor studies him, a ghost of smile on his face. “You’re a good kid, Peter. And brave.”

Peter feels his face flush with warmth. “I just try to help wherever I can,” He shrugs. “And thank you, sir, for exorcizing the demon out of me.”

“I just did my job, kid.”

Peter sips the last of his tea, sparing a stray thought for the fact that it hasn’t gone cold yet. As he places down the empty cup at the coffee table, Dr. Strange speaks up again.

“So before you walk out there, I’ll need you to promise me that you won’t tell anyone about this place or about me.”

“Right, because you operate from the shadows, like Men in Black.”

“Like Men in Black,” The doctor’s voice sounds wry.

“Okay, how about a deal, then?”

“What kind of deal?” Dr. Strange raises an eyebrow.

“You promise me to not speak about my identity, and I promise to not speak about yours.”

The doctor gives a tilted nod. “I can do that.”

Peter grins—until he remembers something else. “Wait. Do the Avengers know?”

“No, and you can’t tell them either.”

“But— don’t you think you guys could work together with them? We’re all protecting people here, if they—”

“The Order has functioned perfectly fine on its own since the Stone Age, we don’t need help from the Avengers.”

Peter’s mouth snaps shut. Since the Stone Age!? “Well..” He tries in a small voice, “I still think it would be nice to have some allies..”

“Absolutely not, I want no part of the Avengers or their politics.”

“Oh.”

“Now if that would be all,” Dr. Strange gets up, “Allow me to escort you back to Queens.”

“Wait, how about telling this to my friend? Can I do that?” Peter articulates, getting up as the doctor moves away from the couches.

“Depends, is your friend going to tell it to the press or social media?”

“Uh, not if I tell him not to.”

“Be my guest, then.” Dr. Strange reaches for a golden object on his belt and wears it; a two-finger ring? He raises both his hands in the air next, but then pauses and looks back at Peter. “How old are you?”

“15.”

“Then, I assume you have a curfew?”

Peter goes completely still. “What time is it?”

“11:14 pm.”

Panic rushes through his entire body as both his hands fly up to clasp his head. “Oh, no no no I—” Hurriedly, he takes his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it.

No missed calls.

Wait.

No signal?

“The Sanctums block the transmission of all kinds of networks unless they’re connected to our Wi-Fi,” Dr. Strange elaborates.

So that explains the lack of signal dead in the middle of New York. However.. that means if May has tried to call him, she’d have been sent straight to voicemail. After that she would have panicked and called Ned, but Ned doesn’t know anything either. So the only last place she could have gone for help is..

Mr. Stark.

Mr. Stark would have then tried to contact him through the suit.. but if all transmissions get cut off here, then his transponder wouldn’t have worked either.

For all intents and purposes, Peter has been missing for the past 15 minutes.

His panic quadruples.

“Hey, calm down kid,” Dr. Strange places shaking hands on his shoulders which quickly go firm. “Tell me what time is your curfew.”

“It’s exact 11 pm! If I’m even a minute late without informing— she must be worried sick and—”

“Hey, it’s alright, that’s not too long ago. You can come up with an excuse—”

“You don’t understand!” Peter holds the older man’s arms in return, careful not to exert his super strength. “I’m Spider-Man and I didn’t pick up her call past curfew, she’d think I’m in danger! She’d have called Mr. Stark!”

The doctor stares for a second, then groans, throwing his head back.

“Shit, shit,” Peter continues panic spiraling. “If he can’t track my suit he’ll definitely think I’m in danger, he’ll be searching for me, I’m fuc—”

“Language, kid.”

He wipes gloved hands over his face harshly. “He’s gonna ask for explanation, I’ll have to tell him—”

“No,” The doctor cuts him off. “You’re not telling anything to Stark or.. I’m assuming your aunt is the ‘she’.”

“Well then what am I gonna do!?”

Dr. Strange sighs. “They’re still under the safety threshold for the amnesia spell.”

Peter pauses. “You’re gonna wipe their memories?”

“Of their pointless panic of the past 17 minutes, yes.”

Peter bites his lip. “Do you really have to?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell Stark about our little Men in Black organization, Peter.”

“But— didn’t you say I’ve already crossed the safety threshold?”

“Your safety threshold was four hours ago. Their safety threshold — depending on the level of severity of their emotions — is either a few minutes from now or a few quarters from now. So the sooner we get going, the more effective the spell will be. Shall we?”

After pursing his lips for a thoughtful moment, Peter reluctantly nods. “Okay. But.. You said we’re in Bleecker Street? It’ll take more than a few minutes to get from Manhattan to Queens...”

Dr. Strange smirks in the way of reply.

Chapter Text

Stealthily hovering outside the New York prison, Tony contemplates if he really should go in and interrogate Toomes himself.

He knows Toomes had some associates prior to ending up in prison, some of which are still roaming free in some corner of New York. They had to have at least one engineer guy who was able to create those high-tech weapons. Seeing as any and all surveillance footage of Spider-Man was wiped as well as his transponder being off, Tony had to guess that it could only be done by someone extremely good with tech, and right now he was groping at thin threads of hope to find something, anything. He will take any lead he can get.

“Boss..” FRIDAY snaps him out of his brooding, “The transponder has answered.”

“What!? Where?”

FRIDAY overlays the map of Queens, pinpointing at a very familiar location on the 15th street.

His blood boils more with incredulity than with anger.

“Get him in line, right now!” He growls as he takes off into the sky, towards the Parker Residence. The call rings and rings, and Peter doesn’t pick up. This kid. Oh well, he is almost there anyway.

He halts above the apartment, but as he is gracefully lowering his armor to the roof, sparks of orange sweep all over his vision quickly, and he suddenly finds himself in the Avengers Compound lawn.

What?

Bewildered, he turns around as though that will change the scenery.

All it does is reveal to his vision a man wearing dark occult robes and a bright red cape, his hands somehow gleaming with light as he drew complicated gestures in air, drawing more light in geometric patterns.

Having seen enough, Tony fires a repulsor at the man without a warning, which gets blocked by a large spherical shield of orange light.

“Who are you.” He snarls.

“The man of your dreams,” the occultist winks at him, and the next moment his vision is filled with light.

When Tony woke up earlier today, that was the first thing his mind threw at him. Darkness of night, a red cape, particularly sharp cheekbones, gray eyes, and a deep baritone voice.

The man of your dreams, it said.

A silly thing that someone quite literally in his dream said that line, he thinks. Tony wishes he could recall more of that person or their facial features with clarity, if only to imagine himself smoothly throwing back one-lines.

Or perhaps, he wishes he could recall the dream to get this odd nagging feeling out of his head, saying over and over that you’re forgetting something important.

Peering out of the floor-to-ceiling windows, he watches Happy’s car enter the Avengers Compound and come to halt at the lawn. From the back seat emerges a cheery teenager, energetically hopping towards the entrance, and that nagging feeling doubles.

Disgruntled, Tony rubs at his eyes before removing himself from the corridor in favor of making his way to his private workshop.

It’s the Peter Weekend.

Shortly after Peter declined to join the Avengers, Tony offered him a real internship instead, and so began Peter’s visits every alternate weekend of the month. It was meant to be part of the internship, but in just two visits it has grown into something more. Spending endless hours in his workshop with the kid while they work, sometimes on different projects, sometimes together, feels.. natural. Tony knows the kid is gifted, has known since the day he visited the kid for the first time. Yet, he hadn’t expected Peter to slot in so perfectly in his personal workspace.

And it isn’t just the workspace.

The two times that the kid came over, Tony was forced to follow a somewhat normal eating routine, more for Peter’s sake than his own. And then they spent nights binging movies (mostly Star Wars). In more than one occasion, Peter fell asleep sometime during the binge, leaning on Tony’s side. And the Engineer, not willing to wake Peter up, had to carry his surprisingly light weight over to his allotted room in the Compound while trying his best not to shuffle him in his arms.

Peter slots in perfectly in his life, like a piece he didn’t know was missing.

He marches into his lab and settles himself at a desk, expecting the teenager to burst in any minute.

There are quite a few things they are working on together. Tony absently picks up one of the twin stress ball prototypes lying on the table as he mulls over which of his project to work on today.

“Hey Mr. Stark!” Chirps Peter as he enters, and Tony turns on his chair to beam a genuine smile.

“Hey kid.” He throws the ball and Peter catches it without looking while stashing his bag on the table. Looking down at the ball, he squeezes it a few times, testing.

“Its more durable that the last one.”

Tony huffs. “Squeeze it with more strength, kid. It’s meant to be a stress ball.”

“Uh..” Peter looks unsure with himself for two seconds before squeezing it hard. The ball strains under his grip and bursts, polystyrene flurrying out of it and making a mess all around.

“Hm, still not enough.” The kid has already managed to break the punching bags Tony had specifically engineered for super soldier Rogers, and Tony is honestly starting to run out of ideas to make something non-metal that is durable enough to withstand that spider-strength. Perhaps it should have been frightening how strong the teen is physically, but unlike with Rogers, Tony has never once felt any bit of apprehension around Peter. The kid is too lively and cheery to be scary.

“Mr. Stark, I, uh, think you should give up.” Peter then immediately splutters over his words. “Like, don’t get me wrong! These are great, really, but I.. feel like there actually might not be a limit to my strength? I once tried to test how hard I could punch..” Peter trails off, biting his lip before continuing. “It still wasn’t the hardest punch but it ended up smashing the scrap car and left a large dent on the concrete ground, and I think I had fractures.. It hurt for a few days.” As if reminded of a phantom pain, Peter rubs his left fist with his right hand.

Tony stares in horror. “When!? Why was I not informed of this? FRIDAY—”

“It’s fine! It happened before we met. It’s really fine, it healed pretty quickly.”

Of course it healed quick, doesn’t mean it was okay. He huffs.

Tony is once again reminded with cutting clarity what happened the last time he withdrew supervision over the kid.

Footage of an abandoned warehouse in the dead of night. Nothing visible over the dust and darkness, the only voice echoing in the distance being that of a teenager, stuck somewhere under the rubble, begging for the help that never came.

Merely recalling the kid’s voice, so broken and terror-stricken, makes his insides twist in knots.

He never should’ve taken the suit. He should’ve protected the kid.

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, he looks up at Peter again.

“Okay, new rule,” Tony says, pointing a finger. “No punching so hard that it gives you fractures.”

“No objections here,” Peter raises his hands in surrender.

Sighing, he turns towards the table and brings up the schematics of Rhodey’s braces. His friend has been having issues adapting to the braces, and Tony has been constantly doing his best to upgrade and modify them according to Rhodey’s feedback.

“Are these Mr. Rhodes’ leg braces?” Peter settles himself on a chair next to Tony and promptly starts digging into the hologram of the schematics.

“Yup. I still can’t get the Myoelectric Interface right.”

Peter squints at the schematics as he grabs the second stress ball off the table with a hand. “Will a Neural Interface not work?”

That would be Tony’s first preference, of course. However.. “His spinal nerves are too damaged, kid. It won’t work without Intraspinal Microstimulation, but there’s very little research done on its effectiveness to heal spinal nerves.” Absently, he brings up the papers he found useful on that and scrolls through one in particular that is the most thorough, and has the potential to be so much more.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t been able to reach the doctor who published it.

“Uh, dunno what that is.” Peter rolls the ball gently between his palms. “I don’t think I know enough biology to help with this, Mr. Stark..” He sounds downhearted.

Tony pats the kid’s shoulder. “Don’t worry kid, I wouldn’t have expected you to. This requires deep understanding of the human body.” He glances at the research papers again. “If only a certain Doctor Strange didn’t strangely disappear off the grid, this would be a lot—”

The ball on Peter’s hand explodes, polystyrene attacking Tony and the holograms and everything else around them.

“...and now you’ve exploded my stress ball.” Tony brushes some of the styrofoam off of him. “As I was saying, this would be a lot easier if I had someone who’s an expert on the... Peter?”

Peter — whose mouth was tight jawed, eyes looking straight ahead like he was anticipating a ghost jumping out from behind the coffee machine — blinks, and subtly straightens his posture before looking at Tony with a completely innocent expression. “Yes, Mr. Stark?”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

Peter blinks multiple times. “Uh, n-no?” He smiles. “Oh, actually! You know The Daily Bugle? Apparently they posted another article about how I supposedly terrorized some bank employees by stopping a robbery, but Ned totally roasted them! It’s trending now,” He digs into his pocket to bring out his phone and starts scrolling to find the particular tweet.

Is it even a tweet? Tony scrunches his nose. The fact unexpectedly nags at his mind. Is he supposed to know this prior to today?

“Here,” Peter shows him the said post, and it is indeed a very long, very trending tweet thread. Ted has stated all the valid points against the false accusations of The Daily Bugle article.

Tony shakes his head as he reads through. “I’ll have to do something about that J.J.Jazzy.”

“You really don’t have to,” Peter shrugs. “No one actually reads his stuff for the content. Even all the comments in their articles are always making fun of them.” He giggles. “And Ned kinda enjoys roasting them.”

Tony notices the dates on the tweets; it was posted yesterday.

Something jolts in his memory.

“I didn’t listen to your patrol report yesterday,” He murmurs.

(And doesn’t notice the way Peter goes completely still.)

“FRIDAY, play Peter’s report from yesterday.”

“Uhhh I—”

“There were no voice messages received yesterday, Boss.”

Tony frowns and open his mouth, but is immediately cut off by a frantic rambling Peter. “I forgot! I was.. Just, I was tired when I came back and immediately fell asleep and then I totally forgot about it..."

Not for the first time today, Tony narrows his eyes suspiciously at Peter. “You never forget your patrol reports.”

“To be fair, I didn’t think you actually listened to those..” An embarrassed flush creeps up Peter’s neck as he looks away.

Tony huffs. “Kid, I even listened to your voicemails you used to send to Happy.”

Peter’s eyebrows shoot up as he turns to his mentor again. “Really!?”

“Yep, I even have some—” okay, many “—favorites saved. FRIDAY—”

“Wait, what?”

“—play the one with the orange cat.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

A voice recording starts filtering through the speakers. “Hey, Happy. Here’s my report for today. I was swinging by a park and saw this cute orange kitty stuck on a tree—”

“Oh no,” The real Peter mutters, hiding his face behind a hand.

“—so I brought it down and its owner, this elderly lady approached me, but as I tried to hand her the kitty, she started to beat me with her cain thinking I was trying to kidnap it.”

Tony breaks into a laughter while Peter thunks his head on the table.

“The cat got scared and climbed up another tree.” There is an audible sigh. “I had to go back up and get it again.”

“Please stop this, Mr. Stark. This is embarrassing,” Peter pleads.

“You and I have very different definitions of embarrassing, kid. You know what is actually embarrassing? FRIDAY, play the one with—”

Peter splutters, cutting him off. “No! Please don’t play it here, or I swear I’ll stop sending the voice messages.”

“You stop sending the reports and I’ll make you hear your past reports every time you’re here.”

Peter groans in defeat.

Tony sniggers. “Okay, I’ll bargain. Tell me your embarrassing stories of yesterday right now, and I’ll stop. FRIDAY, babe?”

“Voice recording is on, Boss,” FRIDAY sounds as amused as Tony feels.

“There was nothing embarrassing yesterday,” Peter murmurs, huffing, and Tony pays half attention to their conversation while he gets into playing with the leg braces schema. “And.. nothing interesting happened yesterday. I helped a FedEx guy unload some heavy crates.”

Silence. When it becomes obvious that there’s no further stories, Tony prompts, “And?”

“...There really wasn’t much to do yesterday. Well, I guess I met a magician. He’s pretty cool. He did some magic tricks for me.”

Tony nods along. “What kind of tricks?”

“He.. pulled butterflies out of his hat.”

Tony’s eyebrows rise as he glances at Peter. “That’s new. Generally it’s the rabbits. What’s his name?”

“Uh, Stephen.”

“Stephen,” Tony says to test the name in his tongue, what with it resembling too close to a certain ‘Steven’ he knows.. knew. He then scrunches his nose in thought. “Butterflies are fragile. I hope he takes care to not harm them while doing tricks. The butterfly conservationists won’t be happy if he doesn’t.”

Peter hums in agreement, but otherwise doesn’t speak, lost in his own thoughts.

For a while, there is silence as Tony continues to work on the holograms and Peter watches him, still lost in his thoughts. But as the silence scratches, Tony finds it really odd that Peter isn’t talking nor being active in any other way.

Finally, he pauses and turns on his chair to face Peter. “Kid.”

Peter snaps out of his haze and looks up at him. “Uh, yes, Mr. Stark?”

Tony contemplates what to say. Clearly, there is something going on; the kid is about as inconspicuous as a raccoon thrashing around a bin looking for food. Could it be some problem at home? His mind draws a blank on that front, and he’s been generously paying the Parkers for the internship so he can’t imagine it could be money related. Could it be problem at school? Girl problems? He knows that Peter’s ex moved out when her villain dad was arrested. Could it be that he’s hung up on her? He seemed fine.. Another crush, then? But he doubts the possibility of that only after 1 month of breakup — he knows that if it were himself, he wouldn’t have gotten over his ex so soon — but hey, what did he know, Peter is a teen. Not to mention, Peter is not Tony.

He sighs, stopping his mind from running in 12 different directions, and looks straight at Peter. “If there’s ever any kind of a problem, you can talk to me, alright? I won’t eat you for telling me. And who knows, maybe this billionaire genius might have a solution for it. Just, what I’m saying is, you don’t have to deal with your troubles alone. Alright?”

And if that commitment is also low-key a fuck you, Howard, then only Tony knows that.

Peter blinks a few times with mouth slightly parted, before pressing his lips together and nodding. “I— okay. Thank you, Mr. Stark.” He beams a small, genuine smile.

So, Tony’s not going to know today what the problem is. But he is content with the answer he received and smiles back lightly. Whatever it is, Peter should have the right to tell him in his own time. Besides, maybe it’s just nothing and he is overthinking things as usual.

“Alright. Now as much as I like being the center of attention, you’re allowed to do your own thing, you know that, right?”

Peter perks up. “Um— right,” he jumps out of his chair and beelines for his bag. “I actually have this idea to upgrade my web shooters..” He goes back into his chattering self as he digs his web shooters out of the bag and starts deconstructing them, the blabbering only pausing to grab a tool here and there.

Tony smiles fondly as he watches him. There he is.

“The man of your dreams,” he winks.

Tony wakes up to the low hum of A New Hope playing on the TV and a Peter-sized head leaning on his shoulder. Smiling down at the kid, he gently pats his fluffy hair.

Chapter Text

“Dude, where did you disappear that day!?”

Ned whisper-yells as he arrives by Peter’s side, who turns away from his locker to face his partner in crime with a gleeful expression.

“Ned! Oh you won’t believe what happened—”

“I know! I still can’t believe Mr. Stark called me! How cool is that!?” Ned’s eyes sparkle with stars inside them. “Then few minutes later you’re calling me telling me not to open my mouth- Peter, what happened!? Your suit was off for five hours!”

Peter grabs his friend by both his shoulders. “Ned. I met a real life wizard.”

“Wh—wait— really!?”

“Yeah!”

Ned gasps loudly, attracting a few passerbys attention, but both teenagers ignore it. “Oh, wow.. Did he— did you watch him do magic?”

“I did! He created this big swarm of butterflies out of thin air, it was so cool!”

“Holy shit!” Ned breathes as Peter closes his locker, and they both start walking down the hallway for their Physics class. “Wait— is it like Hogwarts? Do you think they’ll take admissions? My nana says that magic runs in our family, and sometimes I get this weird tingly feeling on my hands.”

“I’m not sure, but the wizard’s home didn’t look very Hogwarts-y. They’re more like the magical version of Men in Black.”

Ned gapes again, looking at Peter as they enter the class together. “No way. So they monitor all the magical creatures on Earth!?”

“Yeah,” Peter replies as they take their seats.

“Do they also have some kind of magical artifact that can wipe memory?”

As Peter opens his mouth to reply, MJ passes by them, greeting them with a “Hey losers.” Peter waits a second longer for her to move out of earshot and then replies. “Not artifact but he can just cast spells to wipe memory. He did that to May and Mr. Stark.”

“He WHAT?”

“Got something to share with the class, Mr. Leeds?” Both teenagers look up and realize the teacher has entered the class.

“Uh, n-nothing, Mrs. Schwartz!”

They settle into silence as the lesson on harmonic oscillators starts.

After 5 minutes, Ned whispers again, “What kind of wand does he have?”

“They don’t need wands,” Peter whispers back.

Chemistry lab.

“His name is Doctor Strange.”

Neds hums, nodding slowly. “Suits his profession. Bit too generic, though.”

“No, I mean, that’s his actual name.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah!”

Both the teenagers snigger.

Mathematics.

“Wait. If they wipe everyone’s memories, how come you remember?”

“He said he won’t wipe mine.”

“Because you’re a superhero too?”

“Not really, he just wanted to apologize for lifting my mask. Even the Avengers don’t know about them.”

“Whoa.”

Break.

“You’re not supposed to tell this to anyone, alright?” Peter says as they sit down on a table with their food.

“Dude, I keep your superhero identity a secret every day, of course I won’t tell anyone about this.”

That is the moment MJ decides to walk in and settles on their table with her sketchbook on her hand. “Won’t tell anyone about what?” She raises an eyebrow at Ned.

“Uh, it would defeat the purpose of not telling if I told you.”

She hums. “It would defeat the purpose if you keep whispering so noticeably all the time.” They have barely a second to guess whether or not MJ (and other people) have heard their talks when she continues, “You’re lucky that you’re losers, it’s the only reason no one pays attention to you.” With that, she shifts her focus to her latest sketch.

Both boys are a little dumbstruck, unsure what to say, though it’s hardly the first time MJ has so smoothly insulted them without it sounding like an insult at all, so Peter moves on pretty quickly and digs into his lunch.

He notices MJ observing him as she is sketching down. “Why are you sketching me?” He asks. “We aren’t in any crisis currently.”

“Yeah, it’s the complete opposite today,” Ned adds.

“Not you,” MJ says and then pointedly looks beyond Peter’s shoulder. He turns around and finds Flash sitting with his friends on a table. The group seems cheery and Flash smiles & laughs with them, but his face droops whenever he thinks no one is looking at him. Needless to say, he’s putting on fake smiles.

“Someone’s not having a good day,” MJ monologues as she sketches.

“Dude, you better stay away from Flash today,” Ned tells Peter, who gives a small nod in reply.

“Yeah, I don’t have any more classes with him I think, so I should be good.”

“So, Parker,” MJ starts again, not bothering to look up from her sketchbook, “Have you seen any magicians lately?”

Peter and Ned share a look.

“Uh, no?” He replies with a nervous laugh.

“Hm.” She looks up from her sketchbook this time. “What about you, Ned?”

“N-no? Why the random question?”

“Bullet catch.”

The two teenagers look at each other again, as though the other could explain what MJ just said.

She returns to her sketch as she goes on to explain. “One of the most dangerous magic tricks. An assistant shoots at the performer, who catches the bullet. 12 magicians died attempting it.”

“That’s horrifying..” Ned breathes.

She shrugs. “I’d like to see for myself if it’s really so good that it’s worth risking your life.”

Peter frowns. “No magic trick is worth risking your life.”

She glances up at him, raising an eyebrow. “The most impressive magic tricks often revolve around risking someone’s life.” Returning to her sketch she continues, “‘sides, where’s the thrill in that if there are no stakes.”

Peter will never understand where MJ gets that dark humor. Oh well, that’s classic MJ to you.

And if it’s one of the things that he kind of likes about her, nobody has to know.

“I don’t have any more classes with him,” Peter had said during the lunch while they discussed Flash.

Famous last words.

That dumbass forgot to account for their Academic Decathlon practice session. And so here they are, MJ assembling the flash cards as she silently observes the class. Flash is sitting on an unassuming desk, glancing towards the door every so often even as he has a physics book on his hand. MJ knows all too well what he’s waiting for. It’s no coincidence that he’s sitting on a desk that intercepts the path from door to Ned’s desk.

Soon enough, Peter enters the class and predictably beelines for Ned’s desk.

She’s not even surprised when she notices Flash sticking out his foot on Peter’s path. What does intrigue her, though, is that Peter discreetly rolls his eyes just as he’s about to trip and then ...proceeds to trip on Flash’s ankle, falling face-first on the floor. There’s a sickening crunch of a nose breaking and she wrinkles her nose half in pity and half in empathy.

“Peter!” Ned leaps out of his place first, MJ and half of the team following in a flurry to help Peter, while Flash is still sitting on his spot laughing hysterically. Peter lightly hisses in pain as he is helped up on a chair by Ned.

“Stop it, Flash!” Betty chides. “Peter is hurt!”

Peter is indeed very hurt; there isn’t a lot of blood over his nose but it’s clear that it is at least a little cracked.

“Yeah, he’s hurt because he didn’t watch where he was going,” Flash sneers all too gleefully. “Isn’t that right, Parker? Maybe you should wear your ugly glasses again, that’ll help your poor blurry eyesight for sure!”

MJ raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Flash and quips, “Oh wow, Flash, I didn’t realize giving fashion advice was part of your skillset. Maybe next time you can trip on your own arrogance instead of sticking out your foot for others, it might do wonders for your personality.” Leaving Flash to sputter by himself, she turns to the boys and instructs, “Ned, go take Peter to the nurse’s station. Rest of you, team up. We’re starting now.”

No one dares disobey her and she pays no heed to Flash’s annoyed look as she goes and picks up the flash cards.

As she watches Peter exit with Ned, she’s 72% sure his nose will already be all healed by the time they come back to class. She’s 46% sure that Peter is some kind of a mutant, and 27% sure that he’s actually Spider-Man. But she’s 100% sure that Ned is in on whatever secret they’ve got going.

It will be hilarious, she thinks, if Peter really does turn out to be a male escort. Not that she has a problem with that kind of thing, mind you, except for the part where Peter is a minor.

Whatever the mystery is, she’s going to reach the other end of it. She knows she will.

Chapter Text

“Peter, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to visit Doctor Strange without Mr. Stark’s discretion,” Karen’s voice filters inside the mask as Peter swings around from building to building.

Manhattan isn’t someplace he visits all that often for patrolling, but today he has planned to visit a certain Doctor at the village.

“Karen, please don’t inform Mr. Stark about Dr. Strange, he might end up trying to wipe Mr. Stark’s memory again and I don’t want that to happen any more than strictly necessary.”

“Magical trouble does not fall in the ‘gray area’,” his AI quips with sass. Oh god, since when did Karen get sassy? Karen and FRIDAY seriously need to be kept apart.

“He’s not trouble, he’s, well he’s kind of like me, a superhero with a secret identity. Only it’s not really ‘secret identity’ and more ‘working from shadows’. Anyway, Karen, please swear to me you won’t tell Mr. Stark or FRIDAY anything about this. If I really do get in some danger because of him then you can tell them, but unless that happens please don’t tell anything to anyone?”

Karen is quite for a moment and Peter wonders if it’s even possible to sway an AI. He is aware though, that she does have emotional intelligence and metacognition the likes of humans, just like FRIDAY.

“Alright,” she finally relents. “I will not inform Mr. Stark or FRIDAY about Doctor Strange, so long as he does not pose a danger to you.”

Peter pants as he backflips through the air. “Thanks, Karen.” Even mentioning the previous point about emotional intelligence, Peter is sure that the only reason he could sway Karen is because she had heard the entire conversation he had with Dr. Strange. She was active and listening the entire time — perhaps even monitoring Peter in his sleep — he would have known had he put the mask on. Only later did he learn this, as well as the fact that Karen’s connection to the cloud servers was cut off inside the building, limiting her locally on the suit. Checks out, with what the doctor mentioned about transmissions being cut off inside the place.

He perches on a building’s roof as he arrives on Bleecker Street. What exact address did the doctor give? Oops, he forgot...

He sighs, looking up and down the long street. He can’t just go knocking at every door and asking if it’s a home to wizards, people will think he’s crazy.

“Hey Karen, do you remember the address that— oh, wait,”

Something tugs at his senses. But unlike how his senses normally work, this doesn’t scream ‘danger’. He’s not even sure it’s meant to be alarming, because it’s not. It’s calm and unobtrusive, rather than urgent and reflexive. It just feels like a light pull, beckoning him with a gentle ‘this way’. And for some reason, he just instinctively knows that this.. whatever this is, will lead him to Dr. Strange.

So he listens to his senses and follows, swinging down the street, until he lands in front of an establishment which looks just a little odd in the neighborhood, courtesy of the large circular window at its forehead. This is it, his senses seem to tell him.

A little unsure with himself, he walks up the short stairs on the porch and stands in front of the bluish large doors. Raising a hand, he prepares to knock his knuckles at the door, but then suddenly the scenery changes and he feels a loss of balance. He stumbles only a single step, now finding himself inside the building.

“Oh,” he whispers weakly, looking at the large circular window now in front of him from, evening light filtering in and illuminating the room.

“Parker,” the familiar deep baritone calls him from his left, and he turns to find the wizard sitting on a desk, eyes fixed on a bulky tome even as he addresses Peter. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Um, hi,” Peter takes an awkward pause to pull his mask off his face, and runs a hand over his hair to smoothen it a little. “I—I just wanted to visit, I guess.”

Dr. Strange finally looks up from his book and gives Peter a stern, slightly unimpressed glare. “I have too many responsibilities to cater my time to teenagers. Now, do not come to my Sanctum if the only reason is for your own entertainment.”

“Sorry!” Peter rambles. “I guess I should’ve asked beforehand if you’re free, it’s just that well I had too many questions and I sort of wanted to know more about you guys, but then I realized that I don’t have your number so I thought I should just drop by to meet you here. Uh, sorry...” He trails off.

The doctor stares at him for a long moment as though expecting more spew of words, and when nothing more follows he sighs. “You talk a lot.”

“Sorry..” Peter feels his cheeks heat up a little as he rubs at his neck with a hand.

“And apologize a lot.”

“Sorr—”

“Say that word one more time and I’ll have you thrown out of my Sanctum.”

Peter presses his lips shut.

Dr. Strange sighs again as he shuts his heavy book and gets up from the desk. “Let me make this very clear, Parker,” He walks closer to Peter as he continues, “This isn’t like the Avengers Compound where you can just walk in and out whenever you like, the Sanctum is...” He trails off as his face grows into a slight frown.

Peter realizes the taller man has come too close to his face and instinctively tries to lean away. Dr. Strange, however, grabs his chin with shaking fingers to keep him in place as he scrutinizes his face. Peter could break away too easily if he wants, but he lets the doctor have his way, too confused by what the doctor saw in his face.

“You broke your nose,” The doctor finally speaks and Peter’s brow rises in realization. “It healed wrong,” Dr. Strange adds. “It was fine just the other day.”

“Um— yeah, it happened in school so I couldn’t fix it in front of others. By the time I was alone it was already healed.” He shrugs. It’s not even that off, May said that the kink isn’t even noticeable to the naked eye, so it’s a surprise that Strange saw it. Then again, he is a doctor. “My powers include enhanced healing so it healed too quickly for me to fix. I’ll just fix it the next time it breaks.”

The doctor lets go of his chin and looks at him like he’s lost his mind.

Peter tries to give a sheepish shrug.

Strange slightly shakes his head, then the surroundings abruptly change and Peter finds himself sitting on a chair. “You need to stop doing that!” Peter complains as the doctor comes to loom over him. “I can walk, y’know. And crawl. And generally be way faster than you, you don’t need to teleport me around like that.”

“Shut up, and don’t move.” Strange draws his hands closer and they light up with bands of beautiful golden light in geometric patterns and incomprehensible symbols. Peter can’t help but awe at them.

“What are you doing?” He asks as some of the golden light is directed to his face. Warmth seeps into his skin with the light and he finds it nice and comfortable.

“Fixing your nose, what else.”

“Um, but it’s kind of already healed..”

“I know, stupid kid. It’s a simple spell that can fix minor kinks and faults post-healing.” The golden lights fizzle out into orange particles until there’s no more magic in the air. The doctor takes a step back, letting his hands fall to his sides. “I’ve placed it, it’s self-sustaining now.”

Peter feels up his nose with a hand and frowns a little. “Are you sure you did it right? I can still feel it here..”

Strange gives him an affronted look. “I’ve done it perfectly, and contrary to your belief, not everything gives instantaneous results with magic. Check yourself in the mirror next morning.”

With that, the doctor starts to move out of the room. Peter jumps out of his chair to follow after him. “Um, thank you, by the way. For whatever it is you just did.” He conveniently decides to leave out the statistics of how likely he is to break his nose again while fighting the next baddie of the week. “But what is it that you just did? Also how does magic work? I mean it’s magic so, I guess it doesn’t really follow classic logic, but there must be some laws that it follows, right? And the portal thingy— how do they work? Are they like a stabilized Einstein-Rosen bridge? But how would you—”

Peter bumps into a rigid chest and comes to a stop, both physically and verbally. He looks up until he finds Dr. Strange’s eyes, who is looking down at him with an unreadable expression.

As the wizard opens his mouth to say something, Peter’s senses start ringing, though not quite as loud as the chimes and bells now ringing from everywhere and nowhere. Puzzled, he pulls his mask back on and looks around wildly, trying to find the source of the bells. “What’s that!?”

“That’s your cue,” The doctor replies dryly, and the next thing Peter knows, orange sparkles are sweeping across him and his field of vision spontaneously changes into a familiar rooftop at Queens.

He’s been deposited on Delmar’s roof, bells no longer audible, the wizard no longer in his proximity, his senses no longer blaring.

“Oh, come on!” He whines.

Next day, he swings to Greenwich Village again.

The doctor rudely and abruptly ended his visit the previous day, and that too just when there was some trouble! Not cool. Peter could’ve really helped out, the doctor didn’t need to practically kick him back to Queens..

Well, he muses, the doctor can’t get rid of Peter that easily. Especially when Peter is determined.

Hence he lands on the porch of the familiar building he found only yesterday. Today he doesn’t feel the odd ‘pull’ that he felt yesterday, and somehow the lack of it makes him uncomfortable, even though, logically, the sensation of pull itself should’ve been the thing to make him uncomfortable.

Maybe he should ask Dr. Strange about it.

He walks up the short stairs to the door, half expecting to be teleported in again just like last time.

Nothing happens.

Huh, he thinks. Did the grumpy wizard really did consider his protest about not teleporting him around?

He steps closer to the door and firmly knocks his knuckles on it once, twice,

Before he can knock thrice, the door opens up, revealing the other side to be empty.

“Um, hello?” He hesitantly walks in, which is ironic given that he’s been here twice already, though never entered through the front door. After he’s inside, the doors shut by themself and he jumps a little in surprise.

“Spider-Man?” A voice calls from the grand staircase, a voice he hasn’t heard before. He looks up.

A new man descends, features suggesting that he’s asian, wearing dark multilayered robes that are kind of similar style to what Dr. Strange wears. This must be another wizard, Strange did mention a name the first day Peter was here.. What was it? What was it, brain?

“Oh! You must be Wong,” Peter guesses.

The man in question doesn’t give a reply, instead looking up and down at Peter with a poker face. “Strange is not here,” he finally says.

“Oh.. okay..” He fidgets a little, unsure how to interact because of just how stoic this man seems. At least Strange gives some reactions, offended scowls and twitches of amusement. This man (Wong?) wouldn’t even confirm if that’s really his name. “Um, do you know when he’ll be back?” He resorts to ask.

“He won’t be back today,” is all Wong gives him.

“Oh. Is he alright? He’s not in trouble, is he?”

Wong pauses for a second before replying, “He’s safe.”

Peter purses his lips inside his mask and nods. “Alright. I’ll, uh, I’ll be back tomorrow then. Could you please let me know I dropped by? Thanks.”

And he leaves the Sanctum.

Another day, another visit.

He stands at the front door again, but nobody teleports. So he knocks twice and the Sanctum doors open automatically, just like yesterday.

“Doctor Strange?” He calls out as he lets himself in, the doors closing by themself again.

No reply comes and he wonders if he’s going to be turned away again. But when no one shows up for 30 seconds, he decides he’s waited enough.

He climbs up the grand staircase and takes a moment to marvel at the architecture. The Sanctum is nothing like what you would find in a modern house, and yet it is beautiful and stylish in its own way.

The staircase deposits him on the first floor where the hallway seems to be stretching infinitely. Weird, the building doesn’t look that big from the outside. He has half a mind to go exploring the hallways, but as he takes a few steps he is suddenly wary of being lost, as though it were a large hostel he knows nothing about. Very weird.

He abandons the first floor and keeps going up the stairs. After climbing a flight, he expects there to be a hallway for the second floor but.. somehow there’s nothing. As if the second floor has been seamlessly barricaded.

Very very weird.

With no other choice, he continues up the stairs and finally comes face-to-face with a meditating Doctor Strange, floating mid-air in lotus position with his cape dramatically flaring, the circular window behind him forming a kind of odd halo.

He takes off his mask and walks closer very silently, not wanting to disturb the doctor’s meditation. Even in his meditation, his facial features are tense, stretched as though in concentration. Peter won’t claim to know the first thing about meditation and stuff, but he’s pretty very sure that step 1 is to relax and calm your mind.

Belatedly, he notices a stitch on the doctor’s temple. Quickly reassessing, he also finds a faded bruise on the side of the doctor’s jaw. Oh. He got hurt from whatever happened the other day. That’s why he wasn’t here yesterday, he was recovering.

Peter huffs. Maybe if Dr. Strange had allowed him to help, this wouldn’t have happened. He could’ve prevented the doctor from getting hurt, if not anything else..

Next time, he tells himself. He won’t let Dr. Strange get him with the portal trick again, and he will help next time when there’s some trouble.

Right now though, he’s bored. And Doctor Magic is no fun when he’s meditating like that. Peter groans. Why can’t he ever have one decent, uninterrupted conversation with Dr. Strange?

Maybe he can wait around a little for the doctor to finish.

He roams around the room, glancing at the various antiques and artifacts neatly arranged on shelves, tables, and interestingly, glass cases.

There’s a pot that seems to have some hot glowing content inside it. Cool.

There’s a glass case with three very long staff, one of them with a purple glowing gem at its head which lowkey sets off Peter’s senses a little. Creepy.

There are several swords and axes hung on the wall. They look quite heavy but outwardly there’s nothing magical about their appearance. But what does Peter know. Maybe one of them sets itself on fire or something.

There’s a ...a curtain covering ...something behind it. Out of curiosity, Peter steps closer to it and stretches out a hand to remove the curtain—

Suddenly he’s attacked by something red and velvety. He lets out a muffled scream as the piece of cloth effortlessly wraps tight around him and lifts him up in the air.

Struggling a hand out of the cloth, he pulls it away from his mouth. “OhMyGodWhatAreYou? Are you alive!?”

In answer, the red cape simply flies him down all the flights of stairs. He tries to struggle out of it but soon understands he can’t without unintentionally hurting the cape-thingy.

“Okay seriously, put me down and let’s talk this out peacefully. Can you talk? Wait, do you understand what I’m sayi—”

The cape opens the front door, unceremoniously dumps Peter on the porch as he fumbles to quickly put his mask back on, and shuts the door.

“Hey! What did I do!?” Peter yells at the now closed door, and when no reply follows, his shoulders slump in defeat and he swings away.

Chapter Text

It’s Thursday. November winds are progressively getting colder with each passing day.

Though, that’s not what has Peter troubled as he sits on his apartment complex roof messing with his web shooters.

What really has him troubled, is whether or not he should keep visiting the Wizard Doctor.

He’s still not sure why exactly was he thrown out yesterday, he was simply looking around and hadn’t even planned to touch anything (okay maybe he could have touched a thing or two, but his senses would have told him well on time if something was too dangerous to be touched, he’s sure of it). And he was thrown out by a cape, no less. A living cape, apparently, but a cape nonetheless.

He’s not even sure if Dr. Strange appreciates his company. The doctor is blunt at best, outright mocking at worst. Maybe in reality he just finds Peter really annoying.. but if that were the case he would have said so long ago and never let him in.

Oh well, Peter thinks, if he really doesn’t want Peter around he can kick him out today again.

And with that, he sets out for the Sanctum again.

When he lands on the porch and walks up to the front this time, the doors automatically open for him even without prompting.

Huh.

He walks into the silent building which isn’t as silent today as the other days. Specifically, he can hear two familiar voices talking in one of the rooms, even if the sound is distant and muffled. The only reason he can make it out is due to the lack of background noise and his enhanced senses.

He follows the voices up the first floor and into the seemingly never-ending hallway. As he closes in, though, he can make out the words being said. Belatedly, he realizes that it’s not a talk but rather an argument, of sorts.

“I don’t need another day off,” says Dr. Strange. “I’m in perfect health now.”

“It’s your birthday,” Wong says matter-of-factly.

Peter’s mechanical lenses widen at the information.

“Well what do you want me to do about it, sit on my room twiddling with my thumb?” Strange quips. “Because I certainly am not organizing a party, I left that kind of life behind long ago. And no one would show up even if I did.”

“One would,” Wong says.

Peter realizes that he has arrived at his destination. Not wanting it to look like he was intentionally eavesdropping, he enters the room through the open door, catching the attention of both the adults. Wong’s immediate reaction is squinting at him with a judgemental gaze, while Strange’s brow furrows a little as he glances at the teen.

“Um, hi,” Peter waves at them. “I wasn’t actually trying to listen in but— is it your birthday today?” He directs at Doctor Wizard.

“Tomorrow,” Strange corrects him, and continues, “How did you— I didn’t let you in. Did you break in?”

Peter’s white eyes widen. “What? No! When I came here the doors opened by themself so I sort of just, assumed that you knew I was here ‘cause ‘magic’ and were letting me in.”

Strange glances at Wong, who glances back.

“The Sanctum also allowed him in the day you were healing at Kamar-Taj,” the Asian wizard informs.

“Hm,” Strange just hums neutrally and turns to Peter again.

“Um, you didn’t let me in?” Peter asks. “What does that mean, then? How did the doors open?”

“It means that the Sanctum has taken a liking to you,” Strange explains.

“The building likes me..?” That does nothing to clear Peter’s confusion.

Strange sighs. “Yes. The Sanctum is sentient, and if it decides that you’re allowed inside, then it will always let you inside.”

“Oh,” Peter breathes. “That’s really cool.” He looks up and around, not sure where exactly he’s supposed to look. When talking to FRIDAY it’s easy enough to just look at one of the cameras, but he has no idea how to communicate with a sentient building. “Um, thank you, Sanctum. I really like you too.”

Wong gives one last scrutinizing look at Peter, then looks at Dr. Strange with what Peter would consider to be the man’s ‘amused’ face, given the lack of general expression in his face. In return, Strange gives Wong something akin of a death glare. The Asian man then leaves the room without another word, leaving the two behind.

“So,” Peter promptly jumps into the latest question he has in his long list of questions. “If the Sanctum likes me, does that mean you can’t kick me out rudely again?”

“First off, the cloak prevented you from lifting the veil from a very ..troublesome artifact. Secondly, I can kick you out or lock you out whenever I please, as the master of this Sanctum. The Sanctum itself won’t be very pleased with my action, which is beside the point. So do not go touching relics in my absence again.” Strange gives him a stern glare once.

“I wasn’t going to touch anything okay!? I was just curious,” He shrugs, and then in a smooth movement gets rid of his mask.

“Curiosity could cost you your soul if you touched the wrong thing, Parker,” Strange says and then their surroundings change into the room with the large circular window. This time, Peter manages to not lose his balance. Oh hey, maybe he could figure out how to adapt to this teleporting thingy.

Without another word, Dr. Strange proceeds towards the desk — the same one as the other day — while the red cape comes off of his shoulders and zooms off. Peter watches it disappear through a door.

“Is you cape alive?” He blurts out as the doctor is opening a book on his desk.

“The Cloak of Levitation,” Strange says with extra emphasis, “is a sentient relic capable of making its own decisions. I recommend not pissing it off, I will not be held accountable if it tries to strangle you.”

“Oh.. do not piss off sentient cloaks, got it.” Peter nods once.

The doctor immerses himself into the ancient tome as though he’s not interested in further conversation, so Peter decides to grab a chair and sits across from him.

The doctor looks up at him with slight hints of irritation marring his features. “Why are you here, Parker? Shouldn’t you be on patrol? Saving cats, catching bike thieves, doing that sort of thing?”

Peter shrugs. “I just wanted to get to know you a little bit better. But you never seem interested in talking..”

“Astute observation. Congratulations,” the doctor says wryly.

“But you don’t want me to leave either,” Peter states like it’s a fact, not a guess.

Strange narrows his eyes at him, leaning closer. “And what exactly makes you think that? I can easily throw you out in the blink of an eye.”

Peter leans closer as well, challenging. “And yet you haven’t.”

They stare at each other for 5 long seconds. The wizard makes no move, but doesn’t back down either. Peter huffs and slumps back. “You know, I get why you’re all cold and grumpy like this.”

“Oh, do you now?” Strange narrows his eyes dangerously.

Peter nods. “You’re lonely.”

The doctor abruptly leans away, stupefied.

“I’m not lonely.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter nods nonchalantly. “Is that why there’s only one person who’d be willing to see you on your birthday? Actually, if you do in fact manage to call this person to invite them tomorrow, I’ll eat my web shooters.” Peter folds his hands at his chest, as if daring the wizard to contradict him. “You act all harsh and push people away. You talk down to them and act like you don’t care. But in reality you really crave connection and want to have people who you can care for and who will care about you in return. But you think no one will care about someone like you and are scared of being hurt, so you keep them away.”

Peter would know; after all, MJ is much the same. She acts like a lonewolf, never misses a chance to quip at others in the most dignity-obliterating way, and avoids developing attachment. Only after he started observing her more and more, did he understand just how much of a misdirection is it to say that MJ is heartless. No, she is not heartless, she craves connection just as much as any other human being. And she’s scared to pursue it.

He saw this pattern on Strange since day 1 of meeting the wizard. And after hearing that short conversation with Wong, Peter didn’t have to guess.

And so, inside a silent room of a lonely sentient building, a 40-something year old man stares at a 15 year old boy like he’s just been punched in the gut. Dumbfounded, bewildered, speechless; these adjectives don’t even come close to describing it.

It’s the most expressive Peter has seen the doctor’s face be in the short time he has known Dr. Strange.

When the silence stretches uncomfortably long, Peter starts to wonder if he has broken the wizard.

“Um, hello?” Peter leans forward, waving a hand in front of the doctor. That seems to catch his attention and he finally reacts, face composing into a neutral glare.

“I believe you have overstayed your welcome, Mr. Parker.”

That’s all Peter hears and the next moment he finds himself teleported onto the pavement in front of the Sanctum, his mask somehow back on his face.

Peter sighs.

Maybe he overstepped a little.

Or a lot, depending on who you ask.

(probably a lot lot.)

It is 11 pm.

Stephen stares at his phone screen, Christine’s contacts open, the call button taunting him to press it.

He can’t seem to get the kid’s voice out of his head. Maybe, he thinks, it would have been easier to forget if he didn’t have an eidetic memory.

Or if he had the spine to use the minor amnesia spell on himself.

“You think no one will care about someone like you and are scared of being hurt, so you keep them away.”

Stephen’s colleagues never knew. Christine never guessed. Even Wong, whom he’s found a trustworthy companion and friend in, doesn’t know him. The only one who understood him was The Ancient One, ever seeing through him as easily as reading an unguarded manuscript. Everyone else? They chalk it up to his arrogance, see him for an asshole, don’t linger near him. Exactly as he wants them to.

Yet, a 15 year old kid saw right through him.

And more; he met Stephen head-on, challenging him to kick the boy out.

He shakes his head. Why does he even care about something a kid said to him? The boy likely didn’t even truly mean it. He was just shooting arrows in the dark and it just so happened to pierce Stephen.

Whatever. What the kid said doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything, he’s just a stupid teenage kid.

His shaking thumb hovers just shy of the call button.

“If you do in fact manage to call this person to invite them tomorrow, I’ll eat my web shooters.”

He shakes off all his thoughts. He’s not doing this because of what the kid said. He’s not. He just wants someone, something, some semblance of happiness for his birthday, because he’s selfish. That’s all.

He presses the call button and brings the phone to his ear. It rings and rings, and for a second Stephen is convinced that it’ll go to voicemail.

“Stephen?”

His heart stutters at hearing Christine, and he finds that he’s lost his voice.

“Everything alright? Did something happen?”

He swallows a lump in his throat and forces his voice out as neutral as he can manage. “It’s— fine, nothing has happened.”

“That’s good,” She responds, voice relaxed in contrast to a second ago.

Stephen suddenly realizes that the last time he talked to Christine at all was when he was half-dead from cardiac tamponade, after which he promptly left, only to return again with The Ancient One’s emergency and then leave again for Hong Kong.

He winces.

Bad call. He shouldn’t have let the kid’s words get to him. He shouldn’t have called Christine. He should have kept himself isolated, never contacted her again, she deserves bette—

“Stephen?”

Her soft voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

“How have you been?”

So gentle and concerned, even after everything he put her through, everything he said to her in rage and anger. He doesn’t know why she would still want to know how he’s doing, and he will never understand what he did to have her in his life for as long as he did. He wishes he could make up for all the times he didn’t treat her the way she deserves.

Blinking back unshed tears, he replies.

“It’s— a lot has happened since..” he trails off.

“Since you popped into the hospital with a stab wound on your chest and then disappeared to save the world?” She taunts, but Stephen can clearly hear the undertones of amusement in her voice.

He chuckles once. “Yeah. I was actually wondering if we could meet up tomorrow to catch up?”

The line is silent for the second, and just when Stephen is starting to fear that she’d decline, she replies.

“I’ll come over, text me your address.” There’s a hint of smile in her voice.

Stephen closes his eyes and exhales a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Christine.”

“Right after my usual shift. Takeout from our favorite italian place? It’s on me.”

“Sounds good,” he smiles to himself, reminded of the countless memories of the past.

“Alright. See you, Stephen.”

“See you.”

They end the call, and Stephen stands in front of the Window of the Worlds, feeling much lighter than he has felt in a long while.

(And if Wong overheard part of the conversation from the shadows, he doesn’t make it known.)

It’s November 18th.

It’s Dr. Strange’s birthday, and Peter wonders if he will be welcomed back at the Sanctum at all.

He wishes he could go there, but after one short conversation with Karen, he has been reliably informed that bringing up such deep-buried emotions or even doing what basically amounts to psychological assessment after knowing a person for 4 days does not make a good impression on the said person, and that the best course of action may be to leave the doctor alone for the time being.

On Peter’s defense, he truly only wanted to get to know the doctor better, and the observation happened rather naturally, which made him want to connect to the doctor even more.

And he understands that he has overstepped a line he didn’t even know existed, so he will leave the doctor alone. No matter how much he wants to apologize or wish him a happy birthday.

It’s Friday, and after 4 days streak of visiting the Sanctum, Peter doesn’t go to the Greenwich Village.

When she visits, Stephen and Christine talk.

They talk a lot about everything, from the two teens who had to be held off by almost the entire security team to prevent them from going another round inside the ER, to the little dragon baby Stephen and Wong ended up babysitting when they had visited another dimension for some negotiations.

They talk a little about the past, and Stephen apologizes for everything, in earnest. Christine, the angel she is, of course accepts his apologies.

When Christine leaves that night, they promise each other to keep in touch.

And if Stephen regrets having kicked out the spider kid yesterday, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

Chapter Text

“Aaaand, done.”

Peter slaps his notebook shut and gets up, eager to stretch himself after sitting on the same position for the past two hours.

The November weather has been getting colder, so basking in the late morning sun at The Central Park while completing school assignments with his friends has been nice. They’ve even completed it much sooner than expected.

“We still got.. an hour and almost half before our families expect us,” MJ says, checking her phone. The time blinks ‘11:04’.

“What do you guys wanna do?” Ned asks.

“I don’t mind,” Peter shrugs. “Got any ideas?”

“Hm,” MJ hums, browsing through her phone. “There’s this new cat cafe down at the village, they’re doing huge discounts for promotion right now. I’ve also heard good reviews.”

“Ooh, cat cafe!” Ned beams. “I’ve only been to one once before.”

“Me too,” Peter sympathizes. “It was many years ago so I don’t really remember. I always wanted one as a pet but we couldn’t afford the expenses.”

“I always wanted one, but then I’d be pretty much the only person taking care of it because my family is like that so,” MJ shrugs. “Anyway, let’s go.”

And that’s how, 15 minutes later, the three teens find themselves on Mulberry Street, following the map to the cat cafe.

Bleecker Street is only one block away, and Peter can’t help but try to seek out that strange, calm, tugging sensation he’s felt a few times from the Doctor Wizard’s house.

Sure enough, he senses it; distant and muffled, but there.

“..right around the corner of this block,” MJ murmurs, half focused on the map and half on the street.

The teens collectively pause as a delivery van turns into a small alley in front of them, then continue walking. Peter vacantly registers the jewelry shop they pass by.

Then, his senses tingle.

He freezes, his mind putting together vague clues.

His friends continue walking, until Ned turns around to see why Peter got left behind. Peter does some rough hand gestures which even he doesn’t understand himself, but somehow Ned instantly understands. His friend turns away to the front and starts chattering to MJ, telling her he can’t wait to pet the kittens and they should hurry up or something.

Peter slips into the alley where the van stopped. He doesn’t have his suit with him; all he brought with him is web shooters. He really should have brought his mask at least. Now he will have to take care of whatever this is without trying to reveal that he’s Spider-Man.

The van is empty, so he goes in through the door which he assumes is a backdoor to the jewelry shop. Inside, he finds a security guard knocked out on the floor of the short hallway. He kneels down next to the guard to make sure he’s alive. Thankfully, there’s a steady pulse. He gets up and goes through the other door at the end of the short hallway.

It opens into a large storage room. Shelves upon shelves of different-sized boxes, some glass cases housing the more delicate looking jewelry, and amidst it all, a man is holding a worker at gunpoint as the worker unloads several different colored gems from their casings and into a normal looking bag that must have been provided by the robber. There’s a second robber, standing by another closed door, holding a gun at his hand. Neither of them are masked, and Peter is not sure if it’s because they’re too confident or just plain fools.

He can’t just go in, he has to refrain from using his super strength or web shooters as much as possible. He has to sneak around and jump them, while also ensuring the safety of the worker.

No pressure at all.

He inhales a deep breath, then exhales it. First, the robber on the worker.

He sneaks around the shelves making no sound at all. He can’t jump the robber from behind because the other guy is literally watching his back. So instead, he gets as close as he can from the front while going undetected.

Unfortunately for him, Parker luck strikes right then, and he accidentally moves an empty box near his foot.

Both the robbers’ eyes snap to his supposed direction, still hidden behind a shelf.

“Ey, who’s there?”

Damn it.

“If you don’t come out right now, I’ll shoot this guy!” The robber shoves the mouth of the gun at the worker’s head.

“Hey hey, it’s cool man,” Peter steps out, raising his hands in surrender to placate the robbers.

“It’s just a kid,” the door guy scoffs, and neither of them pay heed to the way Peter slowly and subtly walks forward, hands still raised.

“Hey, how’d you get in here?” The first robber asks in a gruff tone.

“Uh, the door was open over there..” he points at the door he came from. Both robbers foolishly look that way for just a split second.

And that split second is all Peter needs.

He launches himself forward, effortlessly takes the robber’s gun off his hand, and lands a good enough punch to instantly knock him out without killing him.

It all happens in just the blink of an eye.

“Hey!” The door robber shouts and is quickly aiming his gun at Peter. His senses flare. Peter can too easily dodge it, he knows.

But a thought makes him freeze.

The worker is right behind him. If he dodges now, the worker will be hit. If he tries to turn around to move them both away, there won’t be enough time left to dodge.

His senses blare deafeningly loud, and he stays rooted in his place, only shifting to move the aim away.

The bullet hits him on the shoulder, and pain flares through his body.

He clutches his shoulder, face contorting in pain, as the worker behind him screams in horror. The door guy is now running towards them, thinking he will have the control of situation back. Another mistake on their part, because as soon as the guy is close enough, Peter lands a kick at his crotch, making him drop the gun and then drop to his knees in pain.

“Uh, do you have some rope, sir?” He asks the worker who is now looking flabbergasted between Peter and the incapacitated robbers, while trying to keep the pain out of his voice.

“You got shot!” The worker splutters, coming closer to him, then looking at the other guarded door as though only now realizing that he can finally go get help. “Wait here, I’ll get security and someone for medic.”

“It’s really fine, sir,” Peter says as he watches the worker leave for the other door, “The bullet only grazed me!”

It’s a lie; the bullet is still stuck in there, but now they won’t try too hard to search for a supposed injured teenager who miraculously stopped a robbery and quickly disappeared thereafter.

He can ask Karen to deal with the security recordings later.

When the worker has left through the door, Peter quickly rushes to make out of the exit door he came from, and stumbles back into the alley.

Only now does he truly realize his predicament.

He is mere steps away from a busy street, bleeding out, no mask, and with no easy way to get himself home.

Oh god, what is he going to do..?

He hears commotion through the door he just came out of, and so runs deeper into the alley, hiding himself behind a dumpster. He closes his eyes, trying to calm himself. It has the opposite effect and his heart stammers in his chest, which doesn’t help at all for the gaping wound.

Where to go, where to go, where to—

His eyes snaps open as one place comes to his mind.

177A, Bleecker Street.

He can go there. Sure, the doctor kind of doesn’t like him right now, but at least he’ll probably be fine giving Peter a portal back home.

He inhales a deep breath and looks down at his wound. It is bleeding crimson all over his clothes. He exhales a shaky breath.

Taking his backpack off his shoulders, he flips it around and puts it on so that the backpack is covering his chest — and conveniently a large portion of the red stains too. It hurts his wound even more to have the backpack in this position, but it’s fine. The doctor’s place is just one block away.

He looks around to make sure the alleyway is clear, inhales a breath of determination, and runs.

Stephen is sitting by the Window of the Worlds, reading about soul bonds, when he senses someone approaching his Sanctum. Before the Sanctum has even informed him who it is, he already knows. It’s that feathery, sweet, crocus-like soul.

Stephen smiles to himself, closing his book and getting up.

The Sanctum finally informs him of the boy when he’s arrived at the door, and Stephen instantly teleports Peter to him, dramatically turning around to face the teen.

“You sure are persistent as a pes— what in the name of the Vishanti!?” Stephen exclaims, horrified to find the boy bleeding out as he takes his backpack off of him.

“Um, I’m really sorry to disturb you sir—” Peter says, a hand going to clutch at the wound on his shoulder and Stephen’s doctor instincts scream at him to get that hand off of there. “—but I was wondering if you could send me—ooph!”

Stephen teleports them both to his own room, forcefully making the kid sit down at the edge of the bed as he wordlessly slips into the bathroom to get all his medical supplies. He’s out just as quickly, and places his medical box at the nightstand, opening it.

“Um, wh—”

“Is the bullet still in there?” Stephen asks, not bothering to let Peter complete whatever he was going to say.

“Y-yes,” Peter stammers out.

Stephen sighs, looking down at his shaking hands.

“Take off your shirt,” he instructs the kid, then flicks a wrist to sterilize the room. It’s a really quick thing, and the spellwork is neither rigorous nor long lasting, but he knows he will make quick work of the kid’s injury.

Another flick of his wrist and he conjures medical instruments of pure energy. Conjuring different kinds of weapons made of eldritch energy is something he already mastered in the dark dimension; using that expertise and his intimate knowledge of the tools he used for so many years, it’s not hard at all for him to create medical instruments of orange light.

The kid has taken off his hoodie, his expression a little twisted in pain. Stephen has no idea what happened and how the kid was even able to come here running, but he’s glad the kid came to him.

“I’m going to put you to sleep while I get the bullet out of you, alright?”

Peter nodded with pursed lips. “Could you wake me up quickly after?”

Stephen sighs, remembering how long Peter ended up sleeping the last time. “Alright, I will.”

He reaches for Peter’s forehead with a hand, and easily lulls his body into a state of unconsciousness.

Finally, his hands.

He closes his eyes, and concentrates on the flow of dimensional energy in his hands, carefully directing them to the right places that he knows will turn his hands stable. Once he’s done, he knots the flow of energy to lock it that way, so that it will constantly keep flowing through his hands and keep them stable.

He opens his eyes, and finds his hands as steady as he imagined. And just for a second, he allows himself to relish in it, to feel the euphoria of having the perfect hands.

This won’t last forever. While he has locked the flow of magic to keep his hands stable, he can’t use the said magic to do anything else at all. It’s either one or the other. Eventually, he will have to open that knot in order to use magic, and his hands will go back to being weak and trembling.

But just for this moment, he can live in a dream.

He shifts his attention back to the unconscious boy lying in front of him, and switches to doctor mode.

When Peter finally comes to, he feels a little groggy, as though woken up in the middle of the night.

That thought instantly makes him jolt upright, and he winces at the shockwave of pain that courses through his right shoulder. It dulls the next second, and Peter notes the light pressure over the wound, and the feel of his hoodie's fabric on his chest.

“Don’t move it too much, unless you’re trying to undo my work,” says a familiar baritone voice, and Peter looks to his right to find Dr. Strange sitting on a chair beside the bed. He has a book in his lap, but now he closes it to move his eyes to Peter instead.

And in his eyes, Peter sees a sharpness he hasn’t seen before.

“Now, you want to explain why, exactly, you had a bullet in your shoulder and half bleeding to death when you stumbled into my door?” The doctor asks, his tone demanding and his body language practically radiating disapproval. It reminds Peter of the worry in May’s features every time he returns from a patrol all banged up, of Mr. Stark’s sharp glare every time he gets himself into something he shouldn’t have gotten himself into.

Peter winces, realizing exactly what this is. “Uhh, I was stopping a robbery..?”

Dr. Strange stares at him incredulously. “How are you not dead yet?”

“Uhh.. my sixth sense..?” Peter shrinks in on himself a little from the intensity of the glare.

Dr. Strange shakes his head in disdain. “How can your aunt even allow you to do such dangerous things? Did Stark force you into—”

“Mr. Stark did nothing,” Peter cuts him off defensively, looking him in the eye. “He only helped protect me better. He gave me a suit light years ahead of my old one. He teaches me better fighting techniques every alternate weekend. And my aunt, she’s taught me to help others. So that’s what I do, I help people who need it.”

The doctor stares at him speechless for a second, and only then Peter realizes he came off stronger than he meant to.

He deflates a little, sighing. “Sorry. Just.. everything that I do, it’s because I want to, and no one can stop me. Because I won’t stop when I know that I have the power to change things for the better. So please don’t blame it on Aunt May or Mr. Stark, because it’s my choice to be Spider-Man, and they help me every step of it.”

Peter watches Dr. Strange’s expression shift to something that looks like.. understanding, and whatever remaining words the doctor had planned to speak die in his mouth.

Someone clears their throat, and Peter whips his head towards the door to find that Asian man standing by the doorframe, a cup of tea clutched in a hand.

“Wong,” Dr. Strange glowers at the man from his position on the chair. “I told you not to come in,”

“And I didn’t,” Wong deadpans, not taking a step further through the doorframe.

The doctor keeps up his glare for two more seconds before he gets up and crosses the distance to take the tea from the Asian man. The said man chooses that opportunity to jut his head towards Peter and ask, “Who’s the kid?”

Peter fidgets a little under the other man’s unreadable, yet intense stare.

Dr. Strange looks back at Peter as though humoring the Asian man’s question. “Oh, just some kid I found in the dumpster. He looked awful so I took pity,” he drawls, almost a sarcastic hint in his voice, as he comes back to Peter’s side and places the tea on the nightstand.

Wong keeps staring at him for a few more moments before speaking,

“You’re Spider-Man.”

“No.” Is Peter’s instinctive reaction.

The man scrutinizes him for another moment. “So you are.”

“I’m not! I—” He stutters out, but before he can say anything, Wong simply gives a firm nod and leaves.

Peter looks at Dr. Strange, weakly pointing at the door. “Um—”

“He won’t go around advertising your identity, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He nonchalantly sits back down on the chair and points at the tea sitting on nightstand. “That will help accelerate your body’s regeneration.”

Peter sits up, leaning his back against the headboard. “I have enhanced healing, but thank you for this.” He picks up the cup with his good hand and takes a sip. Instantly he can tell that it has much different herbs than whatever he had last time. But it tastes just as nice, if not better. He cradles it in his palms, drawing comfort from the warmth. “Uh, thank you sir, for all of this. You didn’t have to fix my bullet wound.”

The doctor looks at him like he just said something absurd. “Of course I had to, kid. I’m a doctor.”

Technically Peter had only come here hoping to maybe get a free ride home, but he’s quite glad for this turn of events. He can only imagine how May would have reacted to him coming home with a bullet in his shoulder, and Ned—

His entire world freezes.

Ned and MJ.

He just left them without a notice.

“Oh, shit!” He raises his right hand to run his fingers over his hair, but then winces at the pain and lowers it down.

Dr. Strange sighs. “I am not going to brainwash another person for you, so you can forget that.”

“No, that’s okay, um,” He looks around for his backpack but doesn’t find it in sight. “What time is it?”

“12 o'clock,” Dr. Strange replies, and does a spinning gesture with his hand. A small, vertical portal appears above his head and his backpack falls on the bed.

Half an hour. He left his friends for half an hour. Even more than that if he counts the actual robbery scene.

Oh god, what is he going to tell MJ?

He quickly fumbles around his backpack to grab his phone and unlocks it.

No service.

“Um, I really need to make a call—”

“Connect to the WIFi called NY Sanctum,” Dr. Strange says before Peter is done fumbling with his words. “Password is WongKnowsBest, no space, first letters capital.”

Peter speeds through the authentication, not even bothering to make a joke at such a nice opening.

Cell service is back, he has no idea how that works but he is so very going to research all about it later. For now, he watches as multiple missed call notifications assault his phone, all from Ned, except for two that are from MJ.

He quickly calls Ned.

His friend picks up on the fifth ring. “Dude where are you!” He whisper-yells.

“Ned! Man I’m so sorry—”

“It’s been half an hour, Peter! MJ has been completely chewing me—”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry!” Peter chants. “There were these robbers in the jewelry shop but I didn’t have my suit so I had to hold myself back, and then I got shot and—”

“You WHAT!? How are you!? I’m calling May—”

“No, Ned! Not May. I’m fine, it’s fine, I just—” Peter rubs a hand over his face. “Where’s MJ? What did you tell her?”

“We’re both still in Purrfection Cafe, she’s playing with a Maine Coon right now. Initially I told her that you ducked out into a shop to buy something real quick, but you weren’t coming back so I had to tell her that you walked into a relative who lives here and they dragged you their home for a visit. I’m going to warn you right now that she’s not buying it.”

Peter sighs. Technically that’s a really good lie, but the problem is the fact that they’re lying to MJ. She has a very inquisitive nature, she won’t let them get away with half-formed lies, and she will most definitely call them out the moment she finds an inconsistency.

“But seriously dude, how are you? Is it bad? I can tell her that you’re not coming back—”

“No, don’t tell her that, or she’ll chew us harder about it on Monday. And I’m fine, really. Remember I told you about Dr. Strange?” Reflexively, Peter’s eyes dart to Strange for a reaction. The doctor simply raises an eyebrow.

“The wizard guy? Duh.”

“Yeah, he fixed me up. I think my healing is also kicking in so it should be fine.”

There is an audible sigh of relief. “Alright, alright. What should I tell MJ now? She’ll have questions.”

Peter groans. “She will.” Peter imagines she will have a myriad of questions about this supposed non-existent relative. And Peter will have to come up with everything on the fly. “Okay, uhhh, okay. Don’t say anything to her right now. I’ll just come over and then talk to her as she asks.”

“Alright. Be quick.”

“Yeah.” He ends the call, quickly stuffing his phone back into his backpack. He then realizes that he hasn’t finished his tea, so gulps too much of it in one go. The tea is too hot, and he hisses at the accidental burn he gives to his own throat.

“Vishanti, slow down, kid. It’ll do more harm than good if you drink it like that.”

“No time, MJ’s going to kill me if I don’t go back right now.” He hurriedly sips more of his tea.

“And MJ is..?” Dr. Strange prompts.

Peter finishes up his tea, setting the empty cup on the nightstand. “Our friend. Anyway, thanks again for all of this, really, but I gotta go.” He grabs his backpack, and only now notices the lack of crimson stains on his hoodie. He had almost forgotten that little detail. “Oh. Thanks for this too,” he says, inspecting his hoodie.

“Kid. You were shot not an hour ago, and are more concerned about having left your friends right now?”

“MJ doesn’t know that,” Peter says, getting up with his backpack, wincing a little at the pain. “And I’m trying to keep it that way, so I can’t just get myself out of this. She’s too observant, she’ll know something’s off.” He slings the backpack around his shoulders, and a small hiss escapes his lips at the excess pressure on his wounds.

Dr. Strange gives him a flat look. “If she’s as observant as you say, she’ll know the moment she sees you that you’re two steps away from keeling over in pain.”

“I’m not!” Peter has a little flippant desire to prove as much, so he demonstratively walks two steps, keeping his face completely devoid of emotions.

Well, the last part doesn’t work out very well for him.

At least he tried.

Dr. Strange gives him an unamused stare, then sighs and gets up. He mutters something about ‘teenagers’ under his breath as he closes distance to Peter. “For Vishanti’s sake, take that off your shoulders, kid.” He expectantly raises his palm open, silently asking Peter to hand over his backpack. “If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought you were trying to undo my work out of spite.”

Peter huffs. “I can carry my backpack. I’ve lifted an entire building while injured before.”

The doctor looks thoroughly unimpressed, not taking his hand back, pinning Peter with his glare.

Peter sighs and gives up, taking his backpack off to hand it to the doctor. He notes the way the red cloak’s corner wraps around the strap right next to the doctor’s hands as he lifts all the weight off of Peter’s hand.

“Now,” the doctor says, slinging it over one shoulder in the same beat as his cosplay robes suddenly change into normal, casual clothes. “Where did you say your friends were?”

Peter gapes.

Chapter Text

MJ waves the feather wand around the cat tower, the Maine Coon all too eager to chase after it. Her big and heavy body makes the entire tower wobble, disturbing the other cats’ nap, and it’s quite funny.

From the corner of her eye, she squints at Ned, talking to someone on the phone all the way on the other side of the room. He’s trying extremely hard to be nonchalant about it, as if it’s just some random phone call, but MJ already knows her guess is right about who’s on the other end of it.

It’s far from being the first ever time Peter has suddenly ‘disappeared’ during a group activity.

It started all the way back in September, when they went to Washington for Decathlon Nationals and Peter skipped because he had a ‘bad stomach ache’. Soon after there was Homecoming, and what do you know, Peter ducked out again and left Liz hanging, which, dick move by the way.

After that it never stopped. Disappearing during breaks in school only to come back in the middle of a class, vanishing out of sight as soon as the last bell rings, making post-school hours plan together and canceling at the very last minute, among other assortment of circumstances.

So right now, Peter disappearing because he got caught up in meeting a relative? Yeah, MJ is not buying it.

And she is so very going to interrogate the truth out of him today, no matter what.

Ned has concluded his phone call and is now looking at the front glass walls with a gaping mouth. Intrigued, MJ follows his line of sight.

And finds Peter outside the glass door, chatting with an older man next to him who is carrying his backpack, his simple muted clothes juxtaposed to the bright red scarf around his neck making him stand out like a traffic light.

She raises an eyebrow. Was he really not lying this time?

They are saying something back and forth. From the way Peter seems to be speaking faster than he can think as well as the older man’s flat look, she guesses that the man is insisting on coming with Peter, who is refusing to allow it.

She smirks.

Quickly crossing the distance, she arrives at the door and opens it.

“I really think you shouldn’t—”

“Hey nerd,” MJ greets Peter, cutting off whatever he was about to say, and he jumps up a good feet into the air before whirling around to face her. She feels more than sees Ned joining them behind her.

“Oh uh, hi MJ, hi Ned,” Peter greets back in that squeaky voice of his that he seems to be using whenever he’s flustered or surprised.

“Hi,” Ned responds in a weak voice.

“And you must be the one who stole Peter from us,” she directs at the man, who narrows his eyes ever so slightly on her.

“And you must be the one because of whom my time with Peter is being cut short,” the man throws right back at her.

Ohhh, spicy. She thinks she could like this man.

“Ehm, so anyways!” Peter stammers out, stealing his backpack from the man, “He was just leaving.” Then, turning to the man, “Right?”

“Oh, is he?” MJ raises an eyebrow, crossing her hands. “To me he looks pretty interested in staying. Are you trying to shoo him away, Parker? Hmm?”

“Yeah, Peter, are you trying to shoo me away?” The man raises an eyebrow as well, mimicking MJ’s posture as he turns to Peter. MJ would have thought it a mockery aimed at her, had she not sensed the teasing in his voice.

“I-I’m not! I just..” Peter stutters out looking between the two, before he settles on the man. “I don’t wanna keep you away from your work!”

The man shrugs. “I’m free for a couple of hours. Even if I’m needed, my house is just two blocks away.”

“Cool. We should go in now because we’re kind of blocking the way,” she remarks dryly, gesturing at them all just standing at the door.

“I agree, let’s go in,” the man says with a smirk and Peter is all too helpless as they all walk in.

“I didn’t catch your name,” MJ prompts at the reception when she’s checking in the two of them.

“Doctor Stephen Strange.”

She registers Ned’s dramatic gasp behind them as Peter joins him and starts murmuring urgently to his friend. She files that reaction away for later assessment and turns back to the receptionist, relaying necessary info to her.

“I’m also gonna extend our time,” she tells Ned. “Your families will be alright if we get back home late?”

“Yeah, I’ll message May.”

“My family will also be cool since it’s weekend.”

“ ‘Kay.” She turns back to the receptionist with that additional request.

“Let me pay,” the doctor adds just before she’s about to pay the bill.

“What? No no,” Peter interrupts. “You pay it and put his bill on my Splitwise.”

The doctor narrows his eyes at the teen. “Nobody said that you’re allowed to—”

“Look, I don’t care,” MJ interrupts the duo before it escalates. “I’m just gonna pay and log it to Peter’s Splitwise, and you guys can sort out your thing later and not while we’re standing here.”

It works like a charm and they both fall silent, though still continue the impromptu glaring match.

Soon they are back to their cozy table on the corner, right next to the beautiful cat tower with, currently, two visible cats. Additionally, MJ’s favorite Maine Coon is splayed on top of the table and she’s glad it decided to stay.

Ned slides into the right hand side bench of the table. The doctor eyes the Maine Coon with curiosity as he walks over to the left side of the table. As though sensing his gaze, the cat rouses from its half-napping state and looks back at the doctor with.. curiosity? Interest? In its feline eyes.

The doctor sits down on the left long bench, right opposite to Ned, and MJ immediately slides next to him, leaving Peter to sit with Ned.

Peter coos and pets the Maine Coon as he slides into the last remaining space. It is then that MJ notices, Ned keeps stealing glances at the doctor with something akin to ‘stars in his eyes’.

She subtly squints at that. Something is definitely going on with him.

“Oh, can I eat these..?” Peter points at the two plates of sandwiches on his side of the table; the sandwiches she and Ned ordered a while ago and forgot to eat, too busy playing with cats.

“Yeah, sure, take mine,” Ned allows and Peter immediately tears into the sandwiches, eating like he’s been starving for days. MJ raises both her eyebrows.

“Since you’re looking famished, guess I’ll take pity on you and let you eat mine too,” she comments.

Peter thanks with a mouthful of sandwich that she doesn’t really pay attention to, her eyes closing in on the subtle, awkward movement of Peter’s right shoulder.

The doctor clears his throat. “Not even going to introduce me to your friends, Peter?”

“Oh, sowwy,” Peter blabbers unintelligible words through a full mouth. “I waw juft,” he swallows, “really hungry. Uh, this is—”

Ned stands up in his place and starts absolutely gushing about himself in full speed. “Hello sir, my name is Ned Leeds, I’m Peter’s best friend and confidante, we go to school together and we do almost every activity together, I also help him with his Stark Internship and am a really big fan of everything that has to do with superheroes and mysteries, and also my Lola says that magic runs in our family.” He pants, catching his breath as he sits down.

The doctor raises an eyebrow. “Alright..?”

“..Yeah, that,” Peter conveys, then turns to MJ. “And this is—”

“I’m MJ,” she introduces herself and extends a hand to him.

He stares down at her extended hand but doesn’t take it. Instead, he looks back up at her and returns, “Hello, MJ.”

She doesn’t quite raise an eyebrow, but it’s a close call. Now that she thinks about it, she hasn’t had a glance at his hands yet... He kept them in his pockets all the time, and even now they are hidden under the table.

The Maine Coon meows at the doctor, looking up at him with what MJ can only describe as pleading eyes, but the doctor merely studies it with curiosity, not looking like he is going to pet it anytime soon.

“And um, Ned, MJ, this is.. Doctor Stephen Strange.” Peter adds nothing after that, no relation between them, no description, no nothing. And it’s enough to make MJ squint at him.

She takes one look at Ned, and finds him with stars still in his eyes as he gawks at the doctor. A hero worship of sorts?

Who is this man?

She wants to interrogate him, but he suddenly excuses himself and walks away, leaving her to turn her attention to the boys.

She isn’t quite sure how it’s possible, but despite eating two whole servings of sandwiches alone, Peter looks quite very hungry.

Next to him, Ned is twitching with too much energy, watching the doctor as he talks at the counter service. Peter takes notice, and judging from the soft thump sound under the table, reminds his friend to act normal by hitting him with a leg.

“So who exactly is he, Parker?” MJ asks.

“He’s.. someone.. close to me?” Peter replies vaguely, and even that comes out as a question. Very smooth.

“How close, hm?” She places her elbows on the table, leaning in closer.

“Quite..” Peter responds.

The doctor comes back to the table and sits back down on his place. Good, now MJ can interrogate him.

“So, how are you related to Peter?” She metaphorically pokes at him.

The doctor doesn’t immediately reply, his eyes flickering to Peter for half a second with a hint of confusion before coming back to her. “Pardon?”

Peter gasps dramatically, catching all of their attentions. “Oh my god it’s a kitty!”

A distraction. Interesting, MJ thinks. He wants to avoid the topic.

“Kitty!? Where?” Ned gets up and looks around. Sure enough, there’s a tiny blue head peeking out of a box compartment on the cat tree, its amber eyes looking straight at the doctor specifically.

Ned skips past Peter’s seat and rushes toward the kitty. In response, kitty jumps out, climbs up the tower at impossible speeds, and swiftly escapes by jumping and running across the cat shelves on the walls, occasionally rousing the asleep cats there.

“Awh man,” Ned says dejectedly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be gentle with them?” The doctor states. “Of course it will run away if you scare it like that.”

“Sorry,” Ned mumbles as he comes back to his place. “I got a little too excited. I just really love British Shorthair, their fur is so beautiful!” Ned’s shoulders slump further, trying to search out the kitty that ran away from them.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Peter raises his right hand to pat Ned’s shoulder in comfort. MJ doesn’t miss at all, the way his action looks ..robotic, as if it pains him to even move his hand. “At least we’ve got a Calico and a Ragdoll.”

Ned perks up and looks at the cat tree, but there’s only the two Domestic Shorthairs — both of whom are curiously watching their group. “Where?” Ned asks.

Peter pointedly looks at the wall their table is backed up on. On the cat shelves there, are a beautiful Calico and a slightly smaller-than-adult Ragdoll perched, eyeing the four of them.

No, MJ realizes. Not them. The cats seem to be paying special attention to the doctor in particular.

Neither of the boys notice, though. Peter extends his right hand up towards them, then pauses, wincing a little. MJ notes the hard glare the doctor gives Peter, after which he meekly retracts his hand back.

Ned grabs a feather wand and flicks it around. Both the cats fall for it and jump down to them.

“BLT for two,” says a waitress as she arrives at their table with two plates of sandwiches. MJ momentarily wonders why the doctor ordered two servings, but soon the intent is clear.

“Thank you,” Strange tells her. “Please place them over there.”

MJ gently pulls the large body of the Maine Coon more towards her so there’s more space on the table, though the cat nudges itself closer to the doctor rather than to MJ. The waitress places the two new plates, picks up the empty ones, and walks away.

“Peter,” the doctor calls, and the teenager in question perks up. “Eat those.”

“They’re.. they’re for me?” Peter asks, a little surprised.

“No, they’re for the cats.” Strange rolls his eyes. “Who else here looks like he wants to empty an entire refrigerator of food?”

Peter’s cheeks turn a little pink. “I’m not really that hungry..” he mumbles, playing with Calico.

“Oh, you aren’t? Then let me just—” The doctor does nothing more than lean in a little, and Peter is already fumbling in his place and pulling the plates towards himself.

“I didn’t say that I won’t eat them!” He then picks up a sandwich and starts eating.

MJ’s attention goes back to her favorite Maine Coon who, it seems, has had enough with being ignored. It meows loudly at the doctor as it gets up, and struts forward until both its front paws are firmly placed on the doctor’s lap. It leans itself closer to Strange’s face as though wanting to bestow him with a kiss, and the doctor progressively leans away from it with the most incensed expression she has ever seen in her life.

The scene she is witnessing is downright hilarious.

“Aww, it likes you!” Peter croons.

“Well, that doesn’t give it a free pass to invade my personal space. Get off of me,” he mutters when he has leaned too far away in a posture that in no way could be good for his spine. MJ isn’t sure if the cat really complies with his order or decides to give up, but it does lean away until its paws are on top of the table and not the doctor’s lap.

He huffs out a breath. “Thank you.”

Spoke too soon, MJ thinks to herself as she watches the cat move once more, this time placing its paws right on the doctor’s chest, and quickly leans in to give him a lick on his nose. The doctor makes a startled noise, and the three teens around him burst into laughter. He grabs the cat’s face with a hand and pushes it away.

He looks thoroughly scandalized.

The doctor groans as the cat moves away for real, wiping his nose with a hand.

MJ’s eyes widen as she takes in the scarred back of his hand. She quickly conceals her reaction by grabbing for the feather wand to busy the Maine Coon.

Whatever happened, she’s pretty damn sure that the man is not a working doctor anymore.

On the other side of the table, Peter has already inhaled all the sandwiches again, and the two of them have gone back to playing with Calico and Ragdoll. “You know, a cat licking your nose is a sign that it trusts you,” she directs at Strange, just to initiate a conversation.

“I don’t want its trust, though?” The doctor replies her.

She shrugs. “Doesn’t look like they care about that.” She pointedly looks at the wall behind him.

He turns around to find three new cats now perched on the wall shelves, all diligently watching him. His shoulders fall. “Oh, come on.”

MJ is also aware of the new assortment of cats slowly coming to the cat tower next to them. This man has got to be some kind of a cat whisperer. She is quite curious to see how many cats he will have attracted by the end of their visit. It will definitely be amusing to see the doctor’s reactions, if nothing else.

“So, did you become a cat sitter or something after retiring from your medical profession?” She asks, petting the Maine Coon to appear nonchalant.

The doctor sharply turns to her, his expression hardening. Ah, so she pressed a button. Which means she is indeed correct about the latter part.

“I don’t believe I told you anything about my job status,” he comments.

MJ hums, and doesn’t miss the way he tucks his hand out of sight again. “No, you didn’t. But it’s not hard to guess.”

He continues to glare at her, and damn. She wasn’t aiming to get in his bad graces, per say.

“Or maybe you’re observant to a creepy level,” he scoffs after a moment.

“Or maybe I’m the normal level of observant and everyone else around me is just too inattentive,” she easily quips back.

“Hm,” the doctor hums, his glare shifts into a different expression which.. she isn’t quite sure what it is, but it’s definitely not a negative reaction.

Peter and Ned get up from the table to fetch some more toys for the increasing number of cats accumulating around their table.

“So, Peter hasn’t really told us anything about you..” MJ prompts, fishing for anything she can get, while giving a chin scratch to the Maine Coon.

“It appears he hasn’t,” the doctor replies with a hint of smirk, giving her absolutely nothing.

Fine, then. Never let it be said that Michelle Jones is scared of launching direct attacks.

“Are you Peter’s dad?”

It takes the doctor a few seconds to register her words, and when he does, he reels back with an absolutely gobsmacked expression. “What?”

She merely raises an eyebrow. “Are you?”

The doctor is slightly flustered and completely speechless, but finds his voice soon enough. “I— how do you even arrive at such a conclusion, I cannot comprehend.”

Not a denial, she notes.

“Well, it looks like that idiot hurt his right hand or something, and you were carrying his backpack for him. You care about him, and you two seem really at ease with each other but there’s still this weird tension. Different last names; did you lose custody? Peter never mentions about his parents at all, only an aunt, so there’s possibility open for family drama. And you did say outside that I was stealing your time with him. Oh, and though you guys don’t seem to share facial traits, genetics were never that reliable to begin with.” She shrugs. There is also the fact that Ned definitely knows of Strange, and she knows that Peter shares all his secrets with Ned.

The doctor blinks blankly a few times while Peter and Ned arrive back at the table, chattering amongst themselves.

“Please do not psychoanalyze people,” Strange says at last. “It’s creepy, and by the way you’re completely wrong.”

That denial came too late, and MJ deems it unreliable, because it means that either her assessment was thoroughly wrong (which she doesn’t believe could be true, though she may simply be biased toward herself) or it means that she struck the mark and the doctor was too surprised to be able to instantly deny.

“Wait wait, what did MJ do?” Peter perks up, having heard the doctor’s words, but then that conversation point is immediately shot down my Ned’s words.

“Hey, don’t you feel like there’s a lot of cats around us?”

Finally, the clueless idiots have noticed that something’s weird.

The cat tower next to them is entirely full of different colors and shapes of cat, the three cats on the wall shelves have multiplied to six, MJ can see a cat near Strange’s feet playing with his jeans, and now there’s a pretty large golden Siberian wrestling with the Maine Coon for the space on top of their table.

And looking around the rest of the cafe, it looks pretty damn deserted of cats. Not only that, but also several people are now staring at their group that, in their perspective, is hoarding all of the cats.

Okay, MJ stands corrected. This is no longer amusing. This has escalated way too much.

“Excuse me, sirs, ma’am,” a worker arrives at their table and god damn it. “We’re glad that you’re enjoying the company of our cats, but could you please not keep them all to yourself? Some of our other patrons would also like a chance to interact with them.”

“We’re not keeping them to ourselves,” Ned says, frowning. “They just came to us.”

Next to him, Peter is looking a little dumbstruck at the scene, and MJ notes the doctor has splayed his hand wide over his face.

The cafe worker looks partially unsure and partially exasperated. “Look, I’m not sure how you all are doing it, but you need to stop it.”

“Apologies,” Strange says, getting up from his place. “We’ll try not to keep them to ourselves.” His voice is sarcastic, but MJ doesn’t think the worker cares much, only concerned about having the cats spread out in the cafe again.

“Yes, thank you,” the worker replies.

“Excuse me,” Strange murmurs and walks off towards the restroom. The worker carefully picks up two cats and saunters off as well.

“Well this is weird,” Ned comments, watching as a few of the cats instantly leave them as though a switch has been flipped, though rest of the cats stay right where they are.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. “I think we should help with spreading them out a little, you know?”

“Yeah, okay.”

The two get up and start picking up some willing cats to take them to the other cat structures or tables. MJ notes the way Peter is still moving his right hand very much robotically as he carries the cats.

They murmur to each other while they do so, and really, they couldn’t be more obvious about it. She can practically read their lips even without being able to hear.

‘Do you think he attracted the cats for us?’ Ned asks.

‘Nah, I don’t think it was intentional,’ Peter responds.

And then there’s some more hero worship thing with Ned praising the doctor’s ability which she doesn’t catch fully.

At least this confirms yet another of her theory. The doctor does have some sort of ability that allows him to, apparently, attract cats.

The man in question arrives near their table, then pauses to watch the two teens sauntering about the cafe with handfuls of cats. Maine Coon instantly perks up and meows at him, seeking attention.

He turns to it and huffs. “You’re quite the menace, you know?” Despite the words, there’s a subtle curve of his lip upwards. He reaches for the cat with a trembling hand, and doesn’t even have to run his hand over its fur, because the cat rubs its face and chin against his hand and purrs.

Peter and Ned come back near their table, and Strange immediately halts Peter with a hand on the teen’s arm, and stares at his shoulder as if his eyes are equipped with MRI, allowing him to see everything that he wants to. He then murmurs something to Peter in a tone which MJ will most definitely categorize as ‘scolding’.

Deciding that she will let the two have some ‘father-son time’ or whatever, MJ gets up from her seat and joins Ned’s side of the table.

When the doctor finally lets Peter off the hook, the teen gives a slightly confused look to MJ for swapping places, but takes up her place anyway.

After that, cats still keep coming to their table, but don’t completely crowd them anymore. Any further attempts MJ makes at trying to fish for information fall flat with Peter loudly directing their attention to literally anything else.

She huffs, crossing her hands. She will know the truth, sooner or later, about who this man is.

A Calico — the same one that Peter was previously playing with — is perched on a shelf super close to Strange’s head, who is completely oblivious to that fact, his attention fully on a talkative Peter.

The cat eyes him like it would eye a prey, looking ready to pounce. With a cute little butt wiggle, it launches itself on the doctor and lands on his head and shoulder. For the second time during their visit, the doctor exclaims a startled noise and Peter snorts.

MJ thinks she notices gold glitter in his hand for the smallest fraction of a second, but its gone too quickly.

The doctor, with an ‘I’m so done’ look, waits for the cat to walk off his shoulder and onto Peter’s lap, then fixes his hair.

“Do you not like cats, sir?” Ned asks.

“How can you not like cats? They’re so cute,” Peter comments.

Strange eyes the Calico in Peter’s lap. “I don’t not like them, I’m just.. not sure what to do with them.”

“You.. don’t know ‘what to do with them?’ ” Ned parrots. “Dude, just pet them! I mean if the cat is willing, of course.” Demonstratively, he runs a hand over Maine Coon’s coat, and it leans onto his touch.

Strange observes the action. “Well, yes, but I don’t know how to tell if it’s willing, or what it wants for the matter. I.. my family used to own a farm, so I grew up around a lot of animals, and learned that each species has their own needs and need care in a different way. We never had cats, so I didn’t learn much about them or their language. I don’t want to mistreat these cats.”

That.. is not something MJ expected to hear today, but she has to say, she’s quite impressed. Despite the rather closed-off and grumpy demeanor the doctor displays on the outside, he’s definitely a real softie on the inside.

“I think you’re overthinking this,” Peter remarks. “Here, I can teach you some basic cat language. When you meet a cat for the first time, you should let them sniff your hand to familiarize. Keep your fingers like this so they don’t bite you..”

Their talk goes on, Peter chatting about how to behave with cats and Strange completely enticed by his chattering, the Calico contently loafed up on the teen’s lap.

The scene sparks something inside MJ...

She grabs her backpack from the corner and fishes out her sketchbook. Flipping to an empty page, she takes one contemplative look at the scene in front of her.

The two of them are sitting comfortably close as the doctor offers his shaky hand to the cat on Peter’s lap, hushed murmurs on their lips of words that are shared equally comfortably. Peter giggles when the cat captures Strange’s hand between its paws like it owns his hand, and Strange grumbles when he is unsuccessful in shaking off the super sociable Calico.

The scene looks so.. domestic. And nice.

Correction; the smile on Peter’s face looks nice.

MJ starts to sketch out the two.

She pauses. He would look good with a cape. Dramatic.

About 15 minutes later, when it’s time for them to leave, she looks down at her outline with satisfaction.

Strange and Peter, sitting together on a wooden bench in Asian-inspired Royalty robes, with beautiful and complex layers of clothes. Peter has a cat on his lap and a grin on his face. Strange has a cloak around his shoulders that drapes to the ground, a hand resting on the backrest behind Peter. The man and the boy are looking at each other.

It’s a far cry from the things she usually draws. She can’t recall when was the last time she drew something so.. wholesome.

How strange, she thinks, looking at the doctor who is now crouched in front of the blue kitten that ran away from them an hour ago, gently encouraging it to sniff his hand.

She shall name her sketch,

The King and the Prince.

Tony stares at another ‘failed’ batch of nanites, wondering what he’s missing here.

He’s tried several different combinations of alloys, and while the nanites do have a high structural integrity, it’s not.. perfect, yet.

He supposes, if he could have access to some vibranium..

“Colonel Rhodes is here,” FRIDAY announces, and Tony looks up to see his bestie slowly walking in through the workshop’s door.

“Honey bear! Perfect timing,” Tony beams, hopping out of his seat to lead Rhodey in. “I made some upgrades to your braces, take em off so I can—”

“Tony,” Rhodey cuts him off. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Uhh..” Tony opens his mouth, then closes, then goes on to flop it a few more times like a fish.

“56 hours ago,” FRIDAY supplies.

“Oh,” Tony says silently as Rhodey shoots him a disapproving look.

“Tony, bed. Now.”

“But I’m not feeling sleepy!” Tony whines. “Besides, there’s still a lot left to be done so—”

“Have you looked at a mirror?”

Tony shrugs. “Not for a while, but I’m sure I look as handsome as ever. Don’t need a beauty sleep.”

“Tony.”

He sighs. “I can’t sleep, Rhodey,” Which, really, isn’t much of a breaking news.

Oddly enough, the last time he remembers having a restful and nightmare-free sleep is that one time when he saw a gray-eyed man in his dream. He tried to remember more about that dream, but now the only thing he remembers at all is that smooth, deep voice.

The man of your dreams.

How strange.

Rhodey is still looking at him with that disapproving look, but Tony realizes that they’ve been silent for quiet a few seconds.

“Hm, fine then,” Rhodey says. “You’ll have fun handling Peter with that sleep deprived mind, I’m sure.”

Tony blinks. “What?”

Rhodey raises an eyebrow. “You forgot? It’s the Peter weekend.”

“Shit, is it?” Tony gets up and subconsciously starts to rearrange the lab, getting all explosives out of sight.

“Yeah. In fact, he’s right now on his way to the compound with Happy, right FRIDAY?”

There is a short pause which Tony doesn’t really notice, too busy scanning the workshop for explosives.

“That is correct, Colonel Rhodes,” FRIDAY chimes.

“I thought he was here just the last week,” Tony murmurs, mostly to himself as he rearranges things around.

“Nah, that was two weeks ago. Time sure flies by fast when you’re holed up in your workshop all day,” Rhodey drawls.

Tony squints at him, pointing a screwdriver at his friend. “I’ve got very important projects to complete in my workshop, I’ll have you know.”

“Sure do.” Rhodey gets up and slowly walks toward the exit. “Good luck with your teenager package.”