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"Get in the van," Nick Fury said. "It's time to go home."
Gwen caught Peter by the wrist as he turned to follow and held on with all her strength.
"You need to hang on a second," she said, heels dug into the sidewalk.
"I don't think I can," Peter said, locking his gaze with Fury's. Nick shook his head no and gestured, none too subtly, at his watch. Peter looked back down at Gwen and tried to smile. "Sorry, time flies when you have to make it back to your own world."
She didn't budge, her sharp nails biting into his skin through the suit.
"Gwen," he said, aching with it. "I can't."
"Peter, I really need you to wait, okay?" she said. He wavered on the steps, every fiber of his being unwilling to deny this Gwen anything. "Just five minutes. Just -"
“Peter?”
Peter froze. Gwen let go.
Peter turned and almost didn’t recognize him, too skinny in his ripped jeans with a look on his face that didn’t belong on any world’s Johnny Storm. His hair was dyed black, blond roots showing through, and it did no favors for the bruise-dark shadows under his eyes.
“It's you,” Johnny said, voice cracking as he stared at Peter’s face. “It’s really - you’re him.”
“Johnny,” Peter said, reaching out on instinct, and Johnny, all of, what, seventeen at the most, hit him like a scrawny hurricane. Peter got his arms up around him partly to keep from being bowled over in his surprise and Johnny just clung on like a spider monkey, arms around Peter’s neck and legs around his waist, squeezing tight enough to hurt.
"Sorry," Johnny said, voice quiet like Peter had never heard it before. "Sorry, m'sorry."
“Hey, hey,” Peter said, getting a good enough grip on Johnny that he could slide one hand up his back, trying for comforting. What kind of world was this, where Mary Jane ran away from him and Johnny Storm hung on like it would kill him to let go? “Take it easy, I got you.”
“Peter,” Johnny said, voice all choked up.
“Hi, Johnny,” he said, soft, palm pressed between sharp shoulderblades as he moved to set Johnny back on his feet. Johnny made it a challenge, grabbing handfuls of the back of Peter's suit and refusing to let go, pointy chin dug in Peter's shoulder. His hair tickled Peter's cheek.
Peter should've known that no version of Johnny Storm would ever make things easy for him.
"Son," Nick Fury told Johnny, voice shockingly gentle. "He needs to come with us now."
"I just need a second," Johnny said. He was going to break Peter's already shattered heart. May, left without Ben and now without him, and this tiny, vibrant version of Gwen. Mary Jane's devastated face, the woman in the convenience store who'd touched her necklace and told him what had happened. Miles, too young, younger than Peter had been at the start - and now Johnny too. Peter's throat burned, his eyes prickled at the backs.
He was used to being the same height as Johnny, a trick he was convinced the universe pulled so neither of them would ever be able to hold anything over the other's head. This teenage Johnny either wasn't done growing or was made of shorter stock - it was so strange, looking down at him, and stranger yet when Johnny planted his hands on Peter's shoulders and leaned up on the toes of his battered sneakers.
The brush of his mouth against Peter's was so light it was barely a kiss at all.
"Oh," Peter breathed.
Johnny laughed in a way that wasn't funny, holding onto Peter for one more moment before he rocked back on his heels. Behind him Peter could see Gwen and May still watching, Gwen's hand on May's arm, and no real surprise on their faces.
"You were really short," Johnny said, voice thick, scrubbing at his face with the heel of his palm. "You grow up tall."
"Were we - you and I, him..." Peter said, ice in his veins. He couldn't get his tongue to work right, but Johnny shook his head before he could finish trying to get the words out.
"I never got the chance," he said. "I always thought - next time. When we don't have a paper or there's not eight million hot girls chasing after him or a supervillain or when his aunt's not watching. Next time, y'know?"
Peter knew next time all too well.
"And then there wasn't a next time," Johnny said, staring up at him. "Do you have a me where you're from? You recognized me, so you do, right?"
"Spider-Man," Nick Fury said. Peter ignored him.
"Yeah," he said, voice hoarse in his own ears. He tried not to think about how narrow a miss that was, how a couple weeks ago he would have had a different answer. Yeah, I used to. "Of course I do."
"We're out of time," said Nick, and Peter cringed, shoulders tight, fingers clenching. He reigned it in, closing his eyes briefly.
"He should tell you," Johnny said. Peter's throat burned. He looked over at May - his aunt, but not his aunt - and hoped she got the silent message. She nodded and took a step forward.
"I have to go," he said, unable to help brushing one thumb over Johnny's high cheekbone. He remembered this age - his Johnny had been the ultimate golden boy, confident, gorgeous, and devastatingly obnoxious. He'd driven Peter crazy. What had gone wrong here, to leave any version of Johnny standing sad-eyed on the sidewalk? "Johnny, go home, go - where's Sue? You should be with your family."
It was the wrong thing to say; Johnny's eyes grew hot and angry, the kind of look usually accompanied by a fire show. He grabbed handfuls of Peter's costume, trying to yank him down as he rocked up on his toes so they were eye-to-eye. Peter caught him by the elbows, trying in vain to anchor him.
"You were my family," he hissed, eyes sparking.
"John," May said, striding forward to catch him by the arm. "Come inside with me and Gwen, honey. He has to go now."
Her eyes met his, clear, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded. May reached out as if to palm his cheek, then pulled her hand back, settling it on Johnny's shoulder.
"Be safe," she told him. "I - we love you, Peter."
"Me too," he said, looking at each of them in turn, his vision swimming. "All of you. So much."
Then he had to turn around and nod at Nick. It felt like the cruelest thing he'd ever done.
Behind him he heard Gwen say, "I had to tell you," and Johnny's choked, "I would've lost it if you didn't," and he hung his head, breathing deep. He wanted to scream or break something. He wanted to punch Nick Fury. He wanted to look back and he knew he couldn't.
Miles kept glancing back over his shoulder at the house like he was loathe to leave it. His small hand curled around Peter's wrist and squeezed, comforting.
"Sorry," he said simply. Peter nodded, throat too tight to speak, and settled one hand on top of Miles' head, pushing his mask back down over his forehead.
"Some world," Peter said to Nick as they climbed into the car.
Nick sighed, long and low. Peter didn't know if he was old the way his own Nick Fury was old, but suddenly he looked it. "You've got no damn idea."
Back home in his own world the long hot shower did wonders for the usual post-fight aches, but the electric wrongness of being in another universe still clung to his skin. The revelation of his universe's Miles Morales hadn't helped.
He'd called his May, staying on the phone too long if the way she'd asked if he was alright was any indication. "Just wanted to hear your voice," he said, biting his tongue the moment he'd said it - like that would make her worry any less. Mary Jane had a flood of Facebook likes waiting for her on all her recent photos. And Gwen - he'd dug out an old photo of her, just to look at her face for a moment, grinning up at him from the front steps of some building. Frozen in time, perfect and happy. She'd been barely older than her alternate universe counterpart.
When he closed his eyes, though, the person he saw was Johnny.
Peter rolled out of bed and grabbed his suit from the floor.
The lights were still on in the windows of the Baxter Building's residential floors, so Peter didn't turn around or go find something else to take care of the restless mess of feelings trapped underneath his ribs. He remembered Johnny - his Johnny - saying once, mi casa, su casa, Spidey, echoed by the other Johnny's snarled, you were my family.
Johnny was stretched out on the couch in the living room, and he sat up with a yawn when he saw Peter.
"Hey," he said drowsily. "Something wrong?"
"Strictly a social call," Peter said, shaking his head. "Where's the fam?"
It had been bothering him since he'd gotten back to his own home universe - you were my family. Where had the others been? It seemed wrong, one without the other three. It had seemed wrong, too, the other three alone together when Johnny had been lost behind the gate. Like they weren't built to be apart.
Johnny stretched his arms high above his head. "Ben and Sue took the kids camping, but Reed's around somewhere. Probably in the lab, if you want to crash? Peter?"
He was being too quiet; Johnny's brow furrowed as he climbed from the couch, one hand held out.
Peter tugged his mask off, tossing it on a nearby chair. The Baxter Building's cool air felt good against his skin. "I'm okay."
"Yeah?" Johnny said. "Because no offense, buddy, but you really don't look it."
Peter sank down onto one of the FF's sofas, sighing. He loved this couch. He loved this whole room - it looked magazine perfect but it felt like home. He loved the Four so much. He hated that he'd probably never know what had happened to them in that other universe.
He shrugged, offering Johnny a grin he knew was half-hearted. "You know how it goes, Torch. Some days you hit the wall, some days the wall hits you."
Johnny sat down on the arm of the chair opposite him, staring at him with open concern. The light from the hall fell across his face, the sharp edge of his jaw and his high cheekbones. He'd come back from the Negative Zone too thin, just muscle and bone. It made Peter's arms ache, like if he could hold Johnny he could fix it, somehow. It was a shallow fantasy; Peter had been at the hero game too long to think there was anyway to undo whatever had happened to Johnny beyond the gate.
"Where've you been, anyway?" Johnny asked. "Sue wanted another chaperone, and apparently I'm a quote-unquote bad influence on the fish kids. She called you a bunch of times."
"Would you believe me if I said - wait, of course you would," Peter broke off with a laugh he didn't really feel. "I fell into an alternate universe."
"Oh, fun," Johnny said, then took a second look at Peter's face. "Not fun?"
Peter pressed his hands over his eyes, trying to banish the images - Gwen's stunned face, so alive, and May's faint. Miles, just a kid, and Mary Jane's dead run away from him and always, always the raw grief twisting Johnny's features.
"Not fun," Johnny said. "Tell me about it?"
Peter opened his mouth to brush it off, say it was fine, but he couldn't find the words. Johnny smiled after a second, a little brittle, and turned back towards the TV. "Or don't. Whatever. Hey, you want to watch -"
"I was dead," Peter said, too quickly. Johnny's head snapped up, the split-second of devastation on his face too close to the other universe's Johnny for comfort. "The other me, that world's me, anyway - he was just a kid, and he's dead."
Johnny swore, climbing to his feet.
"Stay there," he said when Peter moved to follow him. He came back with two small glasses and pressed one into Peter's hands. "Here. You'll feel better."
Peter didn't drink often, and the alcohol burned on its way down. It braced him, though, shocked him a little back into his skin and away from his memories. He could look at Johnny and not see his sad, strange teenage double.
"You were my family."
His mouth twisted to the side; so much for that. "Thanks, Torch."
"Hey, no," Johnny said, so unguarded it hurt to look at him. He tilted his head to the side, smiling, his hair a soft fall across his forehead. Peter must have really been a sight, to make Johnny sound so gentle. "I know something about being dead, right?"
Peter cursed, hand to his forehead. "I didn't think -"
"Stop," Johnny said. "It wasn't a dig. Peter. Look at me."
Peter did, and he instantly regretted it. It was like having double vision: his own Johnny, returned the same but not, serious and strange sometimes when he'd never been either before, and the other universe's Johnny with his dyed hair and his scuffed sneakers and his lips against Peter's. You were my family.
Johnny's eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes searching. "What aren't you telling me?"
Peter tried for a smile. "Sorry, Torch. Long day. That's all."
Johnny didn't look like he bought it, but in a rare moment of grace he let the subject drop. Peter ached with gratitude. He waved a hand at the paused television. "It's not like I was doing anything before you crashed."
"Mm," Peter said, rubbing at his eyes. "Reality TV, Torch?"
"I missed a lot, don't judge," said Johnny. He looked Peter up and down. "You don't look like you're in swinging shape. Stay over?"
Peter shouldn't, but he was so tired, and being around Johnny was soothing. Here, at least, was one Torch back where he belonged. He wanted that for the other one, too.
"You just want to make me watch Top Chef again," Peter said, yawning. Johnny took the other side of the sofa, grinning at him a little.
"Did I tell you I was a guest judge?" he asked. Peter stifled a smile.
"Multiple times," he said. "And now the whole family is banned from the network."
"Good times," Johnny said, watching him with his new strange smile. Peter groaned a little, perfectly aware of what he'd walked into. "Hey, let's watch it again."
Peter woke up groggy, the numbers flashing on the DVR telling him it was just past three. There was a warm weight on his chest. It took him a moment to realize it was Johnny, stretched out on top of him, his head on Peter's shoulder, like he'd listed to the side sometime in the night and they'd just ended up like that, legs tangled together, one of Peter's arms hanging off the couch.
Someone - Reed, maybe - had draped a blanket over them and turned off the TV. Johnny was still snoring softly, blissfully unaware, and Peter watched him for one sleepy moment, the sweep of his eyelashes and his soft mouth.
He should tell you, the other Johnny's words floated back to him. He'd been so sure, like he couldn't imagine any alternative. Peter had always envied him his certainty.
"I should tell you, more like," he said to the dark room, his breath ruffling Johnny's hair. "I missed you."
He let his eyes drift shut, lulled by the distant sounds of his New York's busy streets and Johnny's steady breathing, the comforting warmth of him. He wrapped one arm gingerly around Johnny's shoulders. In the morning, maybe. One more next time.