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Okay, look, it’s not like Ned expected everything to just go back to normal. Actually, that’s the last thing he expected, considering his “normal” had dramatically shifted a week ago when he was hit with a whole new set of memories. But within this new normal, it’s not like he expected everything to be normal normal. Or—
Getting lost in the weeds. MJ gets onto him about that.
Basically, he has his memories back. Or most of them. They’re a little hazy, but they’re there. He remembers Peter, Peter, his best friend in the entire world. And Peter was alone for four fucking years. So, yeah, it’s not like he expected Peter to be normal and fine after that, but… well, he’s not what Ned expected at all.
Four years changes someone. Obviously. It changed Ned! He went to college, made friends, dated some girls, dated some guys, the whole shebang. He’s older. Wiser (he likes to think). He’s different.
So, of course, Peter’s different, too. But where Ned spread his wings and got more social, Peter got reclusive. The boy in Ned’s memories, while he still carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, was happy. Awkward but charming, with an easy smile and easier laugh. He can’t count the number of laugh-till-you-cry fits they shared. But this Peter…
Laughs don’t come easy to him anymore.
If Peter smiles at all, it’s half of one. A crook of the lips, maybe a flash of teeth, like he’s afraid to let himself feel too much. There’s a tightness in his eyes when he does it. Ned can see the laugh lines, but they’re unused.
And he just doesn’t talk. Peter was always a talker (good luck getting him to shut up). He inevitably had something to ramble about at any given moment—movies or tech or what have you. And Spider-Man is still a talker, at least when he’s fighting. But Peter has grown quiet. Ned finds himself having to prompt him to respond to questions.
Like now, for example.
“Peter,” Ned says, softly.
His best friend jumps, eyes flicking up from the Lego project in front of him to meet Ned’s.
“I asked what you wanted for dinner?”
Peter blinks. “I’m not—”
“Thai it is,” Ned interrupts. He doesn’t need another I’m not hungry response. Peter is always hungry, he just hates Ned paying for him. But Ned’s a salaried man now, with an honest-to-God 9-to-5, and getting your ass kicked by the latest animal-themed supervillain doesn’t pay very well. “Massaman, spice level two?”
Peter blinks again, as if he can’t comprehend the words.
“With chicken,” Ned adds, already placing the order.
Like a spell breaking, Peter lurches forward. “No, you don’t—”
“And done!” Ned clicks the payment button, holding his phone out of reach. He’s well aware Peter could just web it out of his hands, but Peter hates using any powers against his friends.
(Peter used to do it as a joke sometimes. That doesn’t happen anymore. Ned figured that out fairly quickly).
Peter sits back on his heels, eyes drifting down to the Lego set. His fingers skitter over his pants, a nervous tick he didn’t have before.
Before, Ned thinks. God, I hate that there’s a before.
“You really don’t have to do that,” Peter mutters, a blush creeping up his neck. It’s nearly as red as his suit.
Ned’s mouth moves faster than his brain. “And when’s your next payday?”
Peter doesn’t answer, but he does flinch.
Shame curdles in Ned’s stomach. Dumbass! “I didn’t mean—” Ned cuts himself off before he can make a bigger fool of himself and instead reaches out to put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. It’s an awkward angle, with Ned being in the armchair and Peter on the floor, but he makes it work. “I didn’t mean you can’t take care of yourself. I know you can. I meant that your… job doesn’t pay much. And I sold my soul to the corporate machine, while you, like, save puppies and babies for a living. I can afford to spot you for dinner.”
Peter worries his bottom lip, but the blush does fade. He swallows. “Sorry, I… yeah. Sorry.”
Another new Peter-ism, the instant apology. Ned has come to know it well in the week since he got his memories back. He over-apologized before, that’s not new, but it’s the instantaneousness of it that’s different, like he doesn’t have it in him to do anything but apologize. “Dude, it’s literally fine. Besides, I wanted Thai food anyway. I just used you as an excuse.”
That gets a half-smile out of him. Ned takes it in, commits it to memory. He refuses to let any of these get taken away ever again.
The moment is ruined by an alert on Peter’s phone. He flicks it open, eyes scanning the screen, and mutters a curse.
Ned tries not to let disappointment color his tone. “Duty calls?”
“Bank robbery turned hostage situation,” Peter replies, disposition already switching to what Ned has dubbed superhero mode. His shoulders square, his eyes get a bit brighter, and his voice gets louder. The nervous Peter Parker disappears, replaced entirely by Spider-Man.
It used to not be like that. Fuck, it used to not be like that.
He stands, grabbing the bag where his suit is stashed and tossing it into the bathroom to change. “Can’t these guys get more creative? This is, like, the third attempted robbery this month.”
“Careful what you wish for,” Ned says, without thinking, like a dumbass.
Peter’s eyes flick over to him, a flash of remorse skittering over his expression. Ned kicks himself.
But he’s in the bathroom before Ned can apologize, and when he comes back out, he’s suited up, eyes steely. He pulls the window up, allowing the cool night air to creep into the apartment. “I’ll be back.”
“Be safe!” Ned calls, but he’s already swinging away.
Dinner arrives ten minutes later.
-0-
It’s two in the morning when Ned hears squeaking. It creeps into his dream first, manifesting as his car horn making the wrong sound, but then it gets loud enough to wake him. He blinks open bleary eyes. When had he dozed off?
The squeaking comes again, metallic and grating, and then the sound of the window opening. Ned jumps and turns to find Peter climbing through the window, still fully suited.
He tugs his mask off, and Ned does a double take.
It’s not the injuries that catch Ned off guard—though there are plenty of them. No, Peter’s eyes are black. Like, fully black, no whites or nothing. Demon possession style, a la Supernatural. Fuck, does he have a crucifix? He hasn’t been to Mass in years.
“Ned?” Peter asks cautiously. “Are you okay?”
“Peter?” Ned says instead of answering the question.
“Uh, yeah?” He cocks his head, which would be cute if it weren’t for the aforementioned demon eyes.
“You, uh—” Ned starts, hand creeping up to point at his eyes, but Peter beats him to it. His hands shoot up to his face, eyes wide.
“Shit! Sorry!” Peter turns around to face the wall, hands still on his face, muttering curse words under his breath. He has a nasty looking slice running from the bottom of his neck into the suit.
A door creaks, and both Peter and Ned whip around to face a bleary-eyed MJ. “What’s all the—woah.”
Peter turns back to the wall. In fact, he starts crawling back out the window. “I’ll—sorry—fuck, I’ll go. Sorry. Shit.” He hits his head on the frame.
“Nope!” Ned grabs his arm and tugs him back inside, and fuck, Peter’s arm is rock solid. Ned remembers it being like that before, but it’s like… ten times more now. He doesn’t even know how to describe it. Regardless, Ned manages to sandwich himself between Peter and the open window.
Peter stares back at him with normal, human eyes. He looks between Ned and the window a few times before his brain seems to jumpstart itself, and he’s back to apologizing. “I’m so—I’m sorry, I’m not always—it’s hard to turn it off sometimes! I’m still figuring—I only really got it a few weeks ago, and then I got shot—it just doesn’t always—”
“Stop,” MJ says. Peter flinches but shuts his mouth.
“New power?” She asks, with about as much tact as a brick wall. Her arms are crossed, a single eyebrow quirked. She doesn’t remember, not like Ned at least. She has flashes of memories, but not full ones, and that fact is something Peter is painfully aware of.
Peter swallows thickly. “I, uh, metamorphosized?”
There’s a beat of silence while that clicks in Ned’s brain, then, “that’s so fucking cool!”
Ned doesn’t even realize he said it at first, but the boulder is already rolling down the hill. “So you got new powers? When did that happen? How did that happen? I didn’t even think you could do that! Is it like a mutation, or—” he cuts himself off when he sees Peter start to cringe into himself.
MJ’s glare is like a hot iron directly into his brain from across the room. No memories, but at least she knows when to shut the fuck up.
“I’m still figuring it out,” Peter says, voice barely above a whisper.
Awkward silence settles over the room. Peter doesn’t look at either of them, eyes trained on the floor. Ned shares a wide-eyed look with MJ. She motions toward Peter, her head tilting in a do something, dumbass way.
It comes to Ned in a flash of brilliance. “Massaman curry?”
Peter’s head pops up, startled.
“It’s in the fridge. I’ll pop it in the microwave.”
Peter blinks, staring at Ned like he hung the moon, and Ned’s heart breaks all over again. How long has it been since anyone warmed Peter up some dinner after a long night? How long has it been since someone fucking took care of him?
Ned knows the answer.
Four years is a long time to be alone.
“C’mon, Spider-Man. Let’s get you fed. And then you can tell me all about your cool new eyes.”
Peter laughs. It’s more of a huff than anything, but it’s a laugh, one of the rare few he lets out nowadays, so Ned takes a moment to memorize it. He slots it into the after that’s forming in his head, this new version of Peter he’s trying to know. And maybe, eventually, they can work on bridging that gap between before and after, and Ned won’t have to get to know his best friend. He’ll just know him. Like he once did.
Like he was always meant to.