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Chapter Text

(1) Peter 1

Peter’s getting his ass kicked by the GED reading practice questions—it’s not like they’re hard, he just thinks himself into a tizzy and then bam! wrong answer—when he hears a knock at his apartment door. But it’s not just any knock; it’s a knock that sets off his senses. His Peter Tingle—

Peter freezes, brain slamming a wall in front of that train of thought. He doesn’t call it that. Not anymore. Not after May…

He shakes his head. Does it again with more force, like the thought will rattle around before tucking itself back into the shadows of his brain. It doesn’t work but hey, always worth a shot, right?

The knocking at the door starts again and Peter frowns, brow furrowing. Visitors other than his landlord are rare. He doesn’t get visitors anymore because to have visitors means having friends and yeah, he’s kinda lacking those at the moment. Peter squints at his calendar. Yeah, rent’s not due for another two weeks. Which means it probably isn’t the landlord, thank God.

Peter approaches the door cautiously, the hair-raising feeling at the back of his neck increasing tenfold as his hand grips the doorknob. He cracks the door open, tensing himself in preparation for—

“Peter?”

“Hi Peter,” the other Peter in his doorway echoes, all wide eyes and a crooked little smile. Peter 2.

“Wait. What? Huh?” Peter squeezes his eyes shut, batting at the other man’s chest. “This isn’t real. Uh-uh, you’re probably not real because I really need to sleep more ‘cause I’m obviously hallucinating. Unless—” His eyes shoot open. “Unless you got pulled through another portal? The spell didn’t work? Another tear in the multiverse—”

“Nothing like that,” Peter says gently. He looks older in civilian clothes. It’s comforting, somehow. “I just wanted to stop by and say hi. See how you’re holding up after everything.”

“You…you still remember me?” Peter says, internally cursing the little tremble in his voice. But he can’t help it; a sliver of hope after months of endless solitude is just too good not to grasp onto. Like a desperate, drowning man clinging to the last threads of life. “You remembered even after the spell?”

“Less that I remembered and more that I just…knew?” The other Peter taps his temple; hints of grey are starting to wind through the strands there. “You’re Spiderman. Ergo, you’re also Peter Parker.”

“Wow. God, that’s the best thing I’ve heard all month,” Peter says fervently, ushering the older man in. He watches as the other Peter examines his apartment, a wistful little smile emerging as he pokes around curiously.

“Some things don’t change,” he murmurs before spotting Peter’s studying materials. “Ah, the GED?”

“Yeah,” Peter says with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Gotta study hard, ace the test and all that so I can move on to where I need to be.”

“Aiming for?”

“MIT,” Peter blurts out, too eager to play it off as casual. But the other man takes it easily in stride.

“MIT,” he muses, picking up a worn throw pillow and shoving it behind his lower back as he sits down on the threadbare couch. And it’s such a familiar little thing, something Peter saw Happy and even May do sometimes after a long day on her feet. It somehow…doesn’t hurt to think about them like this. About her. All Peter feels is warmth in place of that customary sadness, a friendly little glow lighting him up inside.

This is real. He’s not truly alone.

“You’ve got a plan then, don’t you? I recognize that look,” the other man notes almost slyly. And Peter can’t help but shoot back, “Looking in the mirror a lot these days?”

The older Peter laughs, shaking his head. And it’s weird to watch it happen, see a stranger that’s also another version of himself laugh because damn, Peter gets it. He recognizes something in that laughter, like looking in a warped mirror and seeing both yourself and something else in the reflection. But there’s a kinship there too. A bond that’s tying them together, unbreakable because they’re both the same person. Like the same color but in different shades.

Wow. That’s a mindfuck.

“Sure, sure,” the other Peter chuckles, laughter tapering off as he shakes Peter from his thoughts. “So, tell me all about it. Your plan.”

Peter 2 is a good listener, all things considered. He winces in the right places in the story—because of course Peter ends up telling him about everything before the spell in painful, stuttering detail—he nods attentively and places a comforting hand on his shoulder when he talks about MJ and Ned and May.

Jeez. This is really the first time he’s gotten to unload all of this. Peter would feel worse about it if he didn’t recognize the deep understanding in the other Peter’s eyes, the familiar shadow of similar burdens being carried in his life, his universe.

It’s still a little embarrassing though. He hasn’t blabbered on like this in years.

“I think you just might get that plan to work,” the older man concludes by the time everything’s spilled out of Peter’s mouth and it’s nearly 1AM and his cheeks are embarrassingly wet.

“Y-you really think so?”

“You’re Peter Parker,” he says with a little shrug. “You’ll make it happen. That’s what we do.”

That’s what we do. What we do.

The relief Peter feels must be palpable because the other man grins, waving his hand. “Sadly, I definitely won’t be helping you with any of this studying. Once is enough for me and I think you’re plenty smart enough to get into MIT on your own.”

“I could use your—”

“Sure you could,” the older Peter interrupts with a shrug and a twinkle in his eye. “But something tells me you’ll pave your own way with no trouble.”

Peter grins, gaze flicking to the clock again. As much as he’d like to grill Peter on his past and get to know his take on life, it’s getting late and he’d planned to get a patrol in before bed, but he really doesn’t want to kick Peter out now—

The thought clicks right as his mouth drops open. Oh. Oh, duh, he’s sitting with Spiderman on his couch and he’s worried about kicking the man out so that he can go out and patrol? Jesus, his common sense is wearing down thin. He needs to get out more.

Peter glances back, arching a brow. “You wearing your suit?”

The other Peter grins, pulling down the collar of his flannel. “What do you think?” Red shot through with black lines peaks out and Peter laughs, giddy as he snatches his suit off the back of his chair.

“Well then, fancy taking a swing?”

Chapter Text

(2) Peter 3

Peter yanks his mask off, taking in a desperate lungful of New York City air as he grips the rooftop railing. Sometimes, patrols are a good way to clear his head. And sometimes, patrols only serve to make his head feel even more cluttered, memories snapping at his heels as he swings through the city, Gwen’s voice trailing after him as she reaches out, falling and falling and—

Shut up. There’s no point in dwelling on that.

Peter sits down hard, legs dangling off 20 stories up. Heights used to be something really exciting in the beginning, but everything less than 40 stories feels like chump change now. He can’t decide whether that’s a good or bad thing—

Something prickles on the back of his neck, senses narrowing to a point behind him. It feels like the very molecules of the universe are shifting, tearing themselves apart in a frenetic dance. He turns just in time to see a flash of bright light and… another Peter, standing in the afterglow. Peter 2, hopping through the multiverse?

Damn, Peter thinks in a daze, I need to figure out how that works ASAP.

“Hey man,” he says instead of voicing that thought, letting a genuine smile break through the exhaustion. “How’s the back?”

The other Peter grins, mirroring Peter’s motions to move in for a combination high-five handshake. It’s nothing too complex but they move in sync, routine completed perfectly despite having never practiced it before. Nice.

“Could be better, but age just does that to you, I guess.”

“Unfortunately. So, what brings you here?” Peter pauses, brow furrowing as he hops up to sit on the railing. “How did you bring yourself here?”

The older Peter shrugs, leaning against the railing. “You’re a scientist, you can figure it out.”

“You have so much faith in me.”

“Yeah, I do.” Pater watches him give a crooked smile. “Why wouldn’t I?”

And isn’t that a loaded question. There are a million reasons to have faith in Spiderman, but Peter Parker? The same Peter Parker who can’t remember when to take his meds, whose fridge is always dangerously close to empty, who can’t look the grocery store cashier in the eye most weeks because she had blonde hair and a smile too familiar to put him at ease?

Trusting that Peter Parker? Ha. That’s a laugh.

“Plenty of reasons,” Peter mumbles, heel smacking against the railing. His mask crumples in his hand. “You don’t know me.”

“Sure I do.” The other Peter jumps up nimbly beside him, shoulder bumping against his. “You’re me and I’m you, right?”

“But we’re still different,” Peter murmurs, voice painfully small. And he hates that, hate that he can’t even be comfortable in his own skin, let alone his self from another universe. But that self-doubt is suffocating, creeping in without warning. One minute he’s fine and the next minute it’s just…there. And it won’t go away.

“Not that different, are we?” The older Peter shrugs, rolling up his sleeve. Peter eyes the scar at his wrist, fanning out in a vague spiderweb shape. “We’ve both made it this far holding up the mantle of Spiderman. It takes a lot to manage that. So if we’re both handling it, you and I must be made of the same tough stuff.”

Peter huffs, feeling a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as the weight on his back lightens. Not a significant amount, but enough to breathe, to think. To live.

“Pretty good pep talk, actually. Did you practice that?”

The other Peter smiles mischievously. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You’re just the older brother of our trio, aren’t you?” Peter laughs, slinging his arm over the other man’s shoulder. “Practicing pep talks in the mirror, visiting the younger ones when we’re down. Can you take me out for ice cream after and pay for me too?”

Peter 2 shakes his head, a wry smile curling his mouth. “I’ve always wanted brothers.”

There’s a sadness there, just enough that it tugs at Peter’s heartstrings. He of all people shouldn’t have been fooled by Peter 2’s cheerful and exterior. He’ll make sure not to do that again.

“Well, now you’re got us,” Peter says, nudging him gently. “For better or for worse.”

“For better or for worse,” the other Peter repeats thoughtfully, nodding as he stares out at the city skyline. It’s a nice view, all things considered. Good enough to stare out while you collect your thoughts, at least.

The minutes pass by peacefully, Peter’s arm still slung around the other man’s shoulder. The contact is nice, a simple reminder that he’s not alone.

“How’s the kid doing?” he murmurs after a bit, clearing his throat. The other Peter tips his shoulder down as he sighs.

“He’s having a rough time. Visit him soon, will you?”

“Can do, Peter.”

Peter 2 snorts. “Thank you, Peter.”

“Alright, alright, Peter,” Peter 3 declares clapping his hands together. “Enough of this quiet contemplation.” He checks his watch, lips pursing as he regards the time. “The night is still young, so what d’you say?”

Without waiting for an answer, he lets himself tip over backwards, legs kicking up as he falls off the building. The rush of air meeting his back is calming, almost peaceful enough to lull him to sleep. But Peter knows his timing. He flicks his wrist out, catching a lamppost with a web and swinging himself up with a practiced air. Landing on the roof of the building opposite to where he just sat is a piece of cake.

He spreads his arms and takes a little bow. Just for show, of course.

“Shall we be on our way?” he calls out, sweeping his arm to gesture at the city behind him. He catches a glimpse of Peter 2’s face, where a guileless and yet somehow incredibly smug smile grows. Peter didn’t know people’s faces could do that.

He doesn’t have much time to ponder on the fact though, as the other Peter takes a neat dive off the building. He twirls before throwing out a web, landing lightly on the side of the building and using it as a jumping-off point to ping-pong his way back and forth all the way to the top of the roof. Peter’s quite sure the little spin he does before back springing off his hand and landing on his toes is purely for show. But man, if it isn’t fucking awesome.

“Whoa. Nice one.”

“Yeah, been working on that,” the other Peter says proudly. “Except it’s just…” he trails off, rotating his hands with a wince.

“Yeah, the wrists, I know,” Peter says sympathetically, rotating his own wrist in solidarity. “You think we should invent some banging wrist braces? Get into the carpal tunnel prevention business?”

“I don’t see why not,” Peter 2 muses, brow furrowing. “I’ve got an artist friend who’d be willing to product test?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You’d like him.” He gives Peter a look. “You’d like like him.”

“Oh!” Peter lets out a surprised laugh, drawing his hand down his face. “What, is his name MJ or something?”

The other Peter shrugs, flicking a web out to a neighboring rooftop as he tugs his mask over his head. “Dunno. But if you can catch me, I’ll tell you!”

Peter’s laugh catches him by surprise, the sound quickly carried away by the wind. But his smile remains, grin spreading across his face as he tugs his own mask on.

Brothers. How annoyingly amazing.

“Oh, I’ll catch you!” he calls out, flicking out a web and tugging himself in Peter 2’s direction. “I’ll definitely catch you!”

Chapter Text

(3) Peter 3

It only takes a few months for Peter to figure out how to travel across the multiverse. Well…It’s closer to like 6 months, but still. He figured it out in pretty good time. Take that, Peter 2.

He understands about 80% of the calculations; the other 20% is a shot in the dark, some hand-wavey stuff that Peter kinda fudges around with—very scientifically though because he’s good at this—until a portal is opening and the unfamiliar familiar air of another New York City in another universe is blooming around him. Peter is pretty confident this is Peter 1’s New York, but you can never be too sure.

It’s close enough to his New York that he can almost navigate the streets perfectly. Almost. Muscle memory guides him through most of it, sans a few walls that he almost faceplants into. The place feels like it’s a part of a dream, familiar enough to be recognizable but different enough to seed doubt in Peter’s instinct.

But he makes it in one piece to an apartment complex he knows is Peter 1’s. The prickling sensation at the back of his neck eases as he swings to a window, knuckles curling to knock against dusty glass. He doesn’t think about Gwen and her pristine windows. He doesn’t think about her hunched over her desk, scribbling down lists of things to do and plans for the next 10 years of her life and probably the 16 different ways she was going to drive him up the wall.

He doesn’t think about her. He knocks again.

The other Peter’s eyes widen in recognition before he’s scrambling to open the window, letting Peter slip in and shut the window behind him.

“Got time for your friendly neighborhood Spiderman—”

He’s barely got the words out before Peter is barreling into his open arms, giving him a rib-crushing hug that borders on desperate. Man, Peter 2 was right. This kid’s having a rough time of it all.

Fortunately, Peter’s good at giving hugs and it’s been a long time since he’s gone all in on one.

Peter 1 looks a little steadier once he pulls away, smile genuine and excited.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” he blurts out, words almost tripping over themselves. “I mean, yeah, I knew you would probably come eventually because Peter 2 said he’d visited you and that you’d figure out the calculations eventually. Not that you’re only coming because Peter 2 said you would, I know—”

“Dude, don’t worry,” Peter laughs, clapping his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “It’s fine. I’m here.”

Peter practically vibrates under his hand. “I know!”

“Yeah.” Peter grins. This kid’s energy is infectious. “Good time for me to drop in? I’m not interrupting you or anything?”

“No, no! I was just…thinking?”

It’s a perfectly innocuous statement, except Peter 1’s shoulders are slumping just enough to be noticeable. His eyes begin to glaze over in thought and Peter can recognize someone getting a little too stuck in their own head.

“Wanna talk about it?” He offers, the way he wishes someone had offered to him when he most needed it. But isn’t that what being an older brother is about? Wishing you had something and then making sure your younger brother is never without it?

Peter’s never been an older brother before. But he’s still willing to try.

“You’re allowed to talk about it,” he adds gently, watching the younger man roll his shoulders.

“She doesn’t remember me,” Peter 1 says in a rush, knuckles white against his thighs. “MJ, the spell, it…it worked. Which is what was supposed to happen, I guess.”

Peter nods, makes an encouraging sound. Peter 2 had already explained it all to him, but he’s not gonna deprive the kid a chance to let it all out. And he has a feeling that Peter 1 might be willing to share more with him than with the older Peter. Just a hunch, but it’s one that eventually proves correct after a bit.

“MJ, she—she still wears the necklace I gave her,” Peter says slowly. Painfully. “Even though she doesn’t remember. It doesn’t make sense.”

“In my experience, most things girls do just don’t make sense. Best get used to that early on,” Peter replies quietly. He can feel the pressure building up behind his eyes, the dam he thought he’d patched up threatening to break.

“Did…did you…”

“I tried to catch her. Gwen. My MJ. I was too slow.”

A tear slips. Dammit.

“Oh.” Peter 1’s eyes widen. Peter can practically see the gears in his head turning, remembering how he’d saved MJ. “Oh, I’m so sorry—”

“Nah, don’t apologize.” Peter quickly swipes his hand over his face. “It’s not your fault.”

“Not yours either.” The younger man ducks his head at Peter’s disbelieving look, staring at his knees. “I mean, I don’t know how she—how she died and I don’t wanna pressure you into talking about something that, like, obviously still hurts you a lot and I get it, I almost lost MJ if it weren’t for you saving her—”

“Peter.”

“But her death’s not your fault,” Peter says firmly, gaze flicking up. “No matter what you think. And I’ll bet she—Gwen, would agree if you could ask her.

Something burns in Peter’s chest, a flicker of pain that blooms into something more. His lungs tighten, an unforgiving grip holding him back as he gasps. Gwen. He can see her in his mind’s eye, that sly smile playing at her mouth and that twinkle in her eye.

You didn’t push her.

She wouldn’t blame you.

Peter takes a shuddering inhale. The kid’s right, she wouldn’t, she’d never—

But he can’t. It isn’t—it can’t be that easy to forgive. It’s never been easy to forgive for her, but with himself, it’s impossible. Peter Parker doesn’t deserve to be forgiven because Peter Parker is Spiderman and Spiderman never fails—

A careful hand touches his wrist. “Sorry,” the other Peter whispers, eyes wide and earnest and just a little bit afraid.

“Don’t,” Peter croaks, clearing his throat as he pins his gaze to the carpet. His nails dig into his palm as he forces himself to breathe evenly. In, out. In, out. In, out…

He’s trying. The kid’s trying. They’re all trying so hard. And maybe…someday, there’ll be room for forgiveness in there. Between the late nights and long hours and the cuts and bruises, there’ll be a kindness that lingers in the shadows, waiting to emerge. Like the half-finished mending draped over the back of Peter’s chair back home, stitches crooked but sturdy and sure. Not abandoned, just…waiting to be finished. With time. And love.

“Thank you,” Peter says hoarsely, covering the younger man’s hand with his. “It means more than I can say.”

Peter 1 nods carefully and Peter steadies himself.

“Gwen’s gone,” he continues, “But MJ isn’t.”

And the kid’s smart, can recognize a blatant topic change when he sees one.

“She is,” he replies quietly. “She’s there but I feel like I’m moving so slowly. Like I’m never gonna catch her at the rate I’m going.”

“But you’re still going to try.”

“Of course,” Peter 1 says, almost indignant. Peter smiles crookedly, watching the younger man sink back into the couch with a sigh.

“I have faith that you’ll catch her eventually,” he says with a nod. “She’s a good kid and she’s got you in here—” he taps Peter 1’s chest. “Somewhere. Just a matter of time, yeah?”

The younger Peter nods eagerly and Peter smiles, hoping that it’s enough. Because as much as he wants to provide a steady platform for the kid to launch himself from, he isn’t going to promise anything that isn’t for sure.

Peter Parker knows better than to promise things he can’t keep now.

Chapter Text

(4) Peter 1

Peter 2 and 3 have been visiting him a lot. It’s flippin’ awesome.

But Peter can feel the itch under his skin to try something new. Something big. In hindsight, getting used to fighting with the Avengers and all their weird missions and tech was a terrible mistake. Because now, devoid of their connections, things are…slower. Boring.

Well, crime-fighting is never boring. But it’s a dull in a different way. Petty crime really doesn’t cut it once you’ve fallen through the Earth’s atmosphere with no guarantee of survival. So, universe-hopping will have to fill that hole for now. The equations were hard, but luckily Peter 2 was willing to help, in part because Peter is not above pulling the desperate starving student route to get some hints. He’s smart enough to figure it out, but he’s also burning the candle at both ends these days and math advanced enough to hop universes is…a lot.

He’s also pretty sure Peter 2 would have given him the numbers without the puppy dog eyes, but it doesn’t hurt to butter him up every once in a while. And he knows Peter 2 takes it easy on him because he sees him as a kid. Peter 2 and 3 both do. Peter doesn’t blame them, in all honesty. He is a kid.

But being a kid in a room full of grownups is a feeling he’s getting tired of these days. Nobody knows who he is now, knows the things he’s done and is willing to do for the people of this planet, this city. Nobody knows that he can kill, has killed, and regrets every moment where he has to hold himself back from killing again. Because he does feel the urge, an anger bubbling up inside of him, too large for his body. An anger that he doesn’t understand and can’t quite control, the kind that makes blood collect under his fingernails and spread across his palms, clinging to his skin in a metallic stain.

He can’t wash it out, no matter how hard he tries. He can’t tell anyone about it, no matter how hard he tries. Peter Parker is a lonely 18-year-old with blood on his hands in a world where nobody knows or cares. It sucks.

If things were up to him, Peter would combat things by taking the night off to go out to dinner with May and just bask in her company. Or he’d game with Ned, taking his anger out on nameless characters on-screen while laughing his head off. Or maybe he’d sit with MJ and let her card her fingers through his hair while she’d read true crime Wikipedia articles aloud to him. But he can’t do any of that now.

The sink cracks under his grip.

Fuck.

A memory flickers in Peter’s mind. The fight before Doctor Strange’s spell, when Peter 2 tried to calm him down but got stabbed in the back for his troubles. He remembers Peter 3 calling his name, tossing him the serum. It was scary; the split second before he caught it, Peter wasn’t sure whether he’d been tossed the serum or a knife to plunge into Green Goblin’s side. It’s even scarier that he’s not so sure he would have minded if it were a knife.­

In that way, it feels like Peter 3 knows him better. There’s a thread connecting them, loss and anger and loathing coalescing into a bitter mass they have to swallow back more and more as time goes on. Not that Peter 2 doesn’t experience that kind of loss too, but…it feels different with Peter 3. It feels like a taboo kinship, unspoken but recognized.

That’s what makes him travel to Peter 3’s dimension, catching him on patrol.

“Peter!” he calls out, landing nimbly on a rooftop. Peter 3 clutches his chest as he swings by before letting out a surprised laugh.

“Hey Peter 1,” he says with a wiggle of his fingers as he doubles back and lands next to him. “Come here often?”

Peter gives him a shrug, mouth opening as his mind scrambles for a quip to throw back. But in the second where he pauses, Peter 3’s stance shifts, head tilting warily.

“That kind of night, huh?”

Damn. Caught already.

“Yeah.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry I’m not good company right now, I can leave the way I came, no need to see me out—”

Peter 3 drops his hand on his shoulder, pulling off his mask as he gives him a long look. Peter holds back a wince, preparing himself to hear useless platitudes of “It’s alright” or “Wanna talk about it?” or “It’ll get better”. But Peter 3 doesn’t say any of those things.

“Wanna go kick some ass?” is what he says instead.

Peter’s head whips up, brow furrowing as he takes in Peter 3’s wry grin. It’s all boyish charm on the surface, but he can see understanding hiding in the corner of Peter’s mouth and weary acceptance tucked behind his teeth. It’s the smile of someone who’s been in the same boat as him, time and time again.

“It’ll be good,” Peter 3 says in the face of his silence. Don’t overthink it, Peter can almost hear him add.

“Can you—” Peter winces at the crack in his voice. “Can you, y’know, hold me back if I…if I can’t…”

“I know,” Peter 3 says gently, tugging his mask over his face. “C’mon, let’s go let it out, yeah?”

He swings away without a backwards glance, trusting Peter will follow close behind. So he does, cool New York night air whipping over his uniform as he flicks his wrist out over and over again in a soothing rhythm.

Let’s go let it out.

Things must be weighing on Peter 3’s mind too. Though, there isn’t much time to inquire; a scream echoes in his ears, senses pulling the sound in from far away. Without a word between them, their paths both veer right towards the cry for help, motions as easy as breathing.

That’s the nice thing about all of this. Being Peter Parker is hard. But being Spiderman is the easiest thing in the world.

Peter throws a web down, yanking the assailant back before easily plucking the knife out of his hands. The two punches to the man’s stomach are wholly unnecessary and very much not his usual style, but Peter 3 doesn’t say a word about it, and the lack of admonishment on his actions makes Peter gather up the opportunity greedily in his hands, tucking it into his fists as he fights his way through the evening. The world doesn’t give him many favors these days; he’ll take what he’s given.

Though, the urge to beat crime back with his fists lessens and the night winds on. Having Peter 3 there is helpful in its own way, something loosening in his chest knowing that someone has his back. The support is easy enough for Peter to tether himself to, like web spooling from his fingertips into a guiding thread that he clings to. It’s been months since he’s felt this grounded, this safe, and it holds him together through the night, through the streets of this familiar unfamiliar city, all the way to a little bubble tea shop that’s somehow still open despite it being…damn, almost 4 am. He needs get home soon.

Except the thought of standing in his empty apartment once again is almost too much for Peter to bear. So he sits on a rooftop next to Peter 3, legs swinging idly over the ledge as he chews the pearls into halves and then quarters and then little indistinguishable bits that don’t stop up his throat when he swallows.

“Thanks for this,” he mumbles through a mouthful of sugar, bracing himself for questions or advice or disappointed looks. But Peter 3 does none of that; he merely ruffles Peter’s hair before slinging an arm over his shoulder.

“Anytime. Love you, man.”

“Love you too,” Peter mumbles back, leaning into him. Once upon a time he might have hesitated or laughed nervously or kept chattering on about something or other. But it’s been a long night, a long year, whatever. And whatever little filter he had is gone, leaving only the truth behind.

And the truth is that the “I love you” comes out easily, despite how long it’s been since he’s said it. Love is like riding a bike, Peter supposes. You can’t forget how to do it, no matter what life’s thrown at you. That’s the beauty of it all.

“Thank you,” he whispers as an afterthought, feeling Peter 3’s knee bump gently against his.

The sun’s rising now, sky soft with smudges of pink and orange that pave the way for a new day. And they sit together, watching it all unfold.