Archive of Our Own

“You didn’t have to come with me,” Johnny says to Peter.

They’re waiting together, alone, in the silver hallway of Foundation, the space station Reed had built for his pupils, for Sue to fetch her husband, so that he, Sue, Johnny, and Peter can all jointly—as the first family of Earth—voyage to the Inhuman Royal Court in the wheeling space-city of New Attilan.

Today is the day Ronan the Accuser returns to the Kree homeworld, Hala, in order to fulfill the peace treaty between the Universal Inhumans and the Kree, thereby saving the Earth.

The price to be paid for peace is the dissolution of the marriage between Ronan and Crystal Amaquelin, the Inhuman princess Johnny once loved with all his heart.

Peter’s white-and-black mask is off, hanging loosely from the tips of the fingers of his right hand, so that when he turns to Johnny, Johnny has to lower his eyes to avoid Peter’s knowing look.

Right. Johnny’d forgotten that Peter had been there, as Johnny’s closest friend and confidant, in the dark days that followed Crystal’s decision to leave Johnny for Pietro Maximoff. Months it had been before Johnny’d been able to shake off the deep, soul-crushing depression that had followed.

Peter, evidently, is worried that all this will dredge up old feelings for Johnny. There’s nothing to worry about. What happened between Johnny and Crystal…oh, it feels like a lifetime ago. Johnny isn’t that sweet, innocent boy anymore. He hasn’t been for a long time. Even before…before all that’s happened to him recently.

He still loves Crystal as a friend, but the old fire he felt for her once flickered and died long ago. Not even an ember remains.

He doesn’t remember if he ever talked to Peter about this shift in feelings. It all seems like it was so long ago. There have been so many conversations of the sort between him and Peter over the years. Peter’s been there for Johnny at every difficult moment in Johnny’s life.

Johnny had forgotten precisely how closely intertwined the threads of his life and Peter’s have been, or for how long. Half a lifetime, it feels like.

Even if…for the last two years of his life, spent waiting in a cold, lonely cell in a Negative Zone prison, Johnny’s had nothing but the whisper of dreams and memory to keep their friendship alive, he can still feel it—that old pull, that old connection. A slight quirk of Peter’s eyebrows or a hunch of his shoulders continues to be enough to tell Johnny precisely what Peter’s thinking. At least that much, Johnny hasn’t lost.

All that he had in the Negative Zone is nothing compared to the reality of having Peter standing here beside him, alive and warm and, best yet, worried about Johnny. There had been days in that prison when he would have traded his soul for a glimpse of Peter’s face, so this—Peter’s protectiveness, his seeming reluctance to leave Johnny’s side—seems too good to be true.

Johnny’s never told Peter about any of that. There’s so much unsaid between them. It’s always been that way. Johnny’s never found the courage to tell Peter how he feels about him. He simply can’t…can’t imagine how Peter could possibly feel the same way about him. Peter is wonderful—strong, determined, heroic—and Johnny, for all his bluster, knows that he is…lacking.

He swore to himself while he was in the Negative Zone that if he ever made it back, he’d tell Peter the truth…but it’s difficult to follow through when Peter’s looking at him. Three weeks he’s been back, and he’s been coming up with every excuse he can think of to keep from doing it.

It would be so easy to do it now. To say, “You don’t have to worry. I was over Crystal a long time ago. The day I fell in love with you.”

Johnny opens his mouth to say it, but instead he hears himself say, “Yeah. Okay.”

Peter puts a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, and Johnny’s heart leaps disconcertingly. Oh, yes. All of the old feelings are still there. They haven’t faded, haven’t lessened, not one whit. If anything, they are stronger.

Johnny’s love for Peter is hopeless, but it was all Johnny had to hold onto in the Negative Zone. Coming back…and telling Peter.

“Just watching your back,” Peter says, brown eyes warm and kind beneath those bushy, messy eyebrows Johnny wishes Peter would let him pluck someday. “It’s what friends are for, buddy.”

Peter’s been so patient with Johnny ever since he returned. Johnny doesn’t know what he would have done without him. How he would have even begun picking up the pieces of a life half-forgotten without Peter.

“Right,” Johnny says solemnly. "Friends are for going with you to the Light Brigade's afterparty.”

“What?” Peter frowns. “No. Johnny. That’s not what I meant.”

“Kal’s still got some of that Kymel stuff, from what I hear. You know, the stuff that actually got you to loosen up. I thought it would take, like, a miracle.”

“I’m not drinking that again,” Peter says immediately. “It gave me one hell of a headache and I only remember…parts of that night.” He squints. “Did a blue lady kiss me?”

Johnny tries not to snicker. Els Udonta, the Stonethrower, did in fact kiss Peter, much to Peter’s chagrin. “I think you made out with like half of the Light Brigade, buddy.”

Peter gives him a withering glare. “I did not. I am not a floozy, even when I’m drunk. I’m a gentleman.”

“How do you know if you can’t remember?”

Peter’s mouth works as he tries in vain to come up with an answer. He holds up a finger and then tugs his phone out of…god knows where. Johnny’s never managed to figure out where he keeps it in that skintight suit, and he has spent many hours inspecting it thoroughly from afar. “I’m asking MJ. She won’t lie to me.”

“Uh-huh,” Johnny says, and pulls out his phone too, planning to text MJ and ask her to tell Peter he kissed the Hooud or maybe Kal.

Kal Blackbane, the Midnight Blade, and the Hooud were both members of the Universal Inhumans’ Light Brigade who had, as part of their ritual quest for a glorious death, been trapped in the Negative Zone. They’d been Johnny’s neighbors for the better part of two years, and the only ones who understood the full horror of his life there. If it could be called a life.

That’s why Johnny’s focusing on finding pleasure wherever he can these days, and there’s little he finds more enjoyable than messing with one Peter Benjamin Parker.

Peter stops texting and watches Johnny with great suspicion. “Uh. Pal? Buddy? Who are you texting?”

Johnny blinks. “No one. Just checking my twitter feed. I’ve been trending ever since I came back, you know.”

Peter does not believe Johnny’s lies. “Riiiight.” He pauses. “You’re texting MJ, aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Johnny says, because there’s no point in lying anymore.

Peter looks up at the ceiling, sighs, and lowers his phone, perhaps realizing the futility of trying to outsmart Johnny. “Of course you are.”

Smiling, Johnny puts his arm around Peter’s shoulder. “Hey, c’mon. What are friends for, buddy?”

“Not that?” Peter says ruefully. “Definitely not that.”

Johnny can’t help it—he laughs.

Peter’s one of the few people who can make him laugh—really laugh—these days.

Ever since Johnny so miraculously returned from the dead, Peter’s had an unsettlingly difficult time letting Johnny out of his sight. He knows he’s being paranoid, but he can’t shake the irrational fear that when he says goodbye to Johnny, it’ll be the last time.

The thing is, he knows that one day it will be, and now that he’s lost Johnny once…he can’t let it happen again. He won’t. He’ll die before he lets anything happen to Johnny again.

He suffered through two long months of hating himself for not having been there for Johnny that night. If he had been, it could’ve been him on the other side of that forcefield, and Johnny would have been safe. Alive.

Johnny had invited him, after all. “A quiet night in with Ben and the kids,” he’d said over the phone, “and then afterwards maybe you and I could hang?”

Peter’d meant to show up—he really had—but the Vulture and then Doc Ock had been up to their usual shenanigans, and by the time it was all over, Peter was too tired, a few too many bones broken. And so he’d been asleep, safe and sound in his bed, while Johnny’d been fighting and dying a few miles away. While Johnny’d needed Peter to watch his back, the way they had always, always promised each other they would, ever since they were just stupid kids.

Johnny’d needed Peter, and Peter…hadn’t been there. He’d failed him. The way he fails everyone he loves. He fails them again and again until one day they are lying in cold, cold graves and there’s nothing left for Peter to do for them except to remember to bring them flowers every year on the anniversary of the day he failed them.

So how can he turn Johnny away now? If something happens to Johnny because Peter’s not there, it’ll be Peter’s fault. Again.

Peter’s not going to let that happen. Never again. No one dies. Not on his watch. No one…but especially not Johnny.

So he goes with Johnny to the Inhuman Royal Court and he stays with Johnny throughout all of it. The whole terrible scene. Ronan’s frantic pleas to be allowed to remain with his wife. The sobs of a brokenhearted Crystal as her husband is torn from her side.

Peter doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it one bit.

But he stays for Johnny.

Watching Ronan dragged away from a sobbing Crystal proves to be more emotionally draining than Johnny’d anticipated.

He can’t stop thinking about that day many, many years ago when it had been him who’d had to be dragged away, screaming and in tears, from Crystal.

He’d thought his heart would never mend, but it had, and he knows Crystal’s will too. It doesn’t make watching the pain she’s in now any easier.

He watches as Medusa smooths a hand over Crystal’s hair and murmurs soothing words, while Reed and Sue share a look of horror. They’re not pleased that this was necessary, Johnny knows, but truly there is nothing any of them can do without risking yet another war with the Universal Inhumans and perhaps even the Kree, and the Earth, which had barely managed to fend off overlapping invasions from the Kree and the Celestials, cannot survive another apocalyptic battle.

Reed is accustomed to doing the impossible, but even Johnny has come, slowly, to the realization that the man he’s idolized since he was a child can’t always solve everything.

Johnny’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice someone walking up behind him until he feels the weight of a hand on his shoulder. When he turns to look, he discovers it belongs to Kal.

“Come,” Kal says kindly. “My Lord Storm. The duties we have had to perform this day have been unpleasant. Let us retire to my quarters, drink Kymel, and forget our troubles.”

This is why Johnny likes Kal the best out of everyone in the Light Brigade. “Yeah,” he smiles. “That sounds perfect, Kal.”

Peter, who is standing not a foot away from Johnny and Kal, knows that Johnny’s going to ask him to join him at that party, and he knows too that when Johnny asks, he won’t be able to say no.

Since Johnny’s been back, his need to keep Johnny safe has led him to agree to do things he never would have otherwise. Things that had his common sense blaring as loudly as his Spidey sense did every time Morlun laid eyes on him.

Agreeing to let Johnny be his roommate? Check.

Agreeing to let Johnny throw endless parties at their place when all he wanted to do was sleep? Check.

Agreeing to drink some weird milk that made him black out and gave him a pounding headache for two days? Check.

Agreeing to dance with a strange blue alien lady who wound up kissing him? Check.

Asking to be allowed to accompany Johnny to weird Inhuman Royal Court just in case something went wrong or it made Johnny sad? Check.

And it had. Johnny, over the years, has gotten exceptionally good at hiding his sadness beneath wisecracks and smiles, but Peter’s known him too well for too long to be fooled by any of it.

There’s always been an abiding sadness at the heart of everything Johnny says and does—Peter’s ashamed to admit that it took him years to see it—but he knows too that…whatever happened to Johnny in Annihilus’ prison only deepened that sadness.

Peter doesn’t know how to help Johnny. It’s not the sort of problem that can be solved by a punch to the face, which is Peter’s specialty.

But, hey, he’s a smart guy. He’ll figure something out.

But first…he supposes he has a party to go to.

Why is this his life? What did Peter ever do to deserve this?

Ugh. Parties. Peter loathes parties. Especially alien parties. They always just get weird.

Johnny, Peter, and the Light Brigade make their way to Kal’s quarters and down some of his precious Kymel—they even manage to talk a reluctant Peter into drinking some, a not unimpressive feat given Peter’s sheer, ornery stubbornness, but that’s what the Light Brigade does. The impossible.

The group is small at first, but as word gets out that the Light Brigade is holding a party, the room begins to fill.

Eventually, the crowd becomes so large that the party spills out into the hallway and then the next room and the next, until the entire floor is involved.

The Light Brigade’s legendary prowess on the battlefield, as Johnny discovered soon after his return to Earth, is matched only by their undeniable talent for throwing a party.

The Kymel makes Johnny feel warm, peaceful, and content in a way he so rarely is these days.

His good mood is marred only by the fact that Els is all over Peter.

Johnny tries his best to focus on helping Kal and Prax Ord, the Metallic Titan, improve their poker skills and not care at all about the fact that Els has tugged Peter’s mask up to his nose and is nibbling at his ear.

Johnny’s afraid that Peter’s beginning to enjoy the attention she’s lavishing on him. It was all good fun for Johnny when he thought Peter had no interest in her, but now—

His train of thought is interrupted when Kal leans over and whispers, “You had best enjoy the company of your houseboy. The Stonethrower has broken better men than he in two.”

“There aren’t any better men, Kal,” Johnny says matter-of-factly. “And I told you. He’s not my houseboy. He’s my roommate.” Eager to put a quick end to the conversation, he lays his cards down on the table. “I call. I have a flush. What’ve you guys got?”

Johnny doesn’t pay attention to their strange approximations of Earth lingo. He’s too busy not noticing Els’ right hand disappearing beneath the table, or Peter’s body jerking as though it’s been electrocuted. Els whispers something into Peter’s ear that Johnny’s too far away to make out, but he does see that it makes Peter’s face turn crimson.

Peter turns to look at Els then, who is practically sitting in his lap, her head on his shoulder, and Johnny can just imagine the hunger in his eyes beneath that rolled up mask. He looks like he’s going to kiss Els, and Johnny can’t bear it.

Johnny springs to his feet. “Hey, everyone!” he shouts, and people turn to look at him curiously. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we take this party to Earth and show the humans how it’s done?”

There’s a deafening cheer from the crowd.

“Your sister took the ship,” Peter says. He’s still a killjoy, but at least he’s not kissing Els, and Johnny thanks heaven for that. Her arms, however, are still around his neck, a leg swung over his lap. Johnny wants that to stop. “How are we supposed to get there?”

“Eldrac,” Kal says solemnly. “We need only wish to go where the party is hardest and he will take us there. He will not fail us.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Peter says, mouth twisting. “The last time I walked through him I wished I was on a beach with pretty ladies in bikinis and I wound up in Avengers Mansion staring at Jarvis in a three-piece suit.”

“He takes you where you need to be,” Kal tells him. “Don’t worry. We need to party at the moment, and so that is where he will take us.”

“If that fails,” Els purrs, “I have some rather skimpy outfits in my closet you might enjoy me in, Mister Spider-Pants.” She licks a long stripe up Peter’s neck. “Or perhaps you would prefer me out of them entirely? I know I would prefer you out of yours.”

Peter’s chin is only about three shades lighter than the red of his classic Spidey suit, which stands out all the more starkly against the white of his Fantastic Four uniform.

“Great!” Johnny says much too loudly, so that Peter doesn’t have the chance to answer Els. He claps his hands together. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go find this Eldrac now!"

Johnny’s never heard of Eldrac. He’s sure it’s one of those funky Inhuman things that will make sense when he sees it.

Everyone squeezes through Kal’s tiny door and follows Johnny down the hallway, ready and willing to party on Earth.

Peter’s not sure this is a good idea. He’s afraid that the Inhumans will start a riot, if he’s being entirely honest. Most of them are far past tipsy.

He is glad, however, that Johnny’s bright idea got Els away from him. He’d been trying to come up with a polite way to tell her he wasn’t interested, preferably one that wouldn’t cause a diplomatic incident between Earth and Attilan or involve a certain spidery someone getting cloven in two.

He is less glad about the fact that Prax has his arm wrapped possessively around Johnny’s shoulders, and Johnny’s head keeps tilting back as he laughs a little too hard at something Prax is whispering in his ear.

Peter decides then and there that he doesn’t like Prax. He’d been on the fence about him all along, but he can see now that he’s not a good guy. He’s too…shiny. And the red fin thing on his head is just…stupid.

He’s probably stuck up. Peter can tell by those cheekbones. The set of his smug mouth.

He certainly looks stuck-up, Peter decides. And rich. And he’s too tall. No one should be that tall. There should be a rule.

And, c’mon, man, put on a shirt! Peter’s got muscles too, but you don’t see him flaunting them by going shirtless everywhere. Besides, at least his muscles aren’t blue. That is not an attractive color for anyone.

And then that jackass Kal has the colossal gall to put an arm around Johnny’s waist, and Peter almost punches Kal then and there.

He’s a horse. Who talks. Does Peter really need any other reasons to dislike him? Peter doesn’t think so. So he has a stupid sword, so what? He’s overrated, is what he is.

Peter’s hands are fisted and he’s glaring holes into the backs of Prax and Kal’s heads and wishing desperately that he had Cyclops’ powers. Or just Cyclops. Where is Cyclops when you need him? Never around, that’s where.

He’s so fixated on the trio ahead of him he doesn’t even try to duck away when Els finally catches up to him. She drapes a long arm around his shoulders, takes one look at his scowl, and coos, “Who’s angered you, Mister Spider-Pants? Tell me who it is and I will teach them not to annoy you.”

“No one,” Peter spits out as resentfully as he can. “I’m fine, just fine!” It occurs to him that Els knows Prax and Kal very, very well. Maybe she has some dirt on them he can use to warn Johnny to look out. “Hey, what do you know about Fin-Boy over there and his buddy the talking horse?”

It takes Els a moment to figure out who Peter’s talking about. “Do you mean Prax and Kal?”

Peter nods. “Those are exactly the rats I was talking about,” he says through clenched teeth. “Please tell me they’re jerks. They look like jerks. Please say I can punch them.”

Els raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t advise that. They are mighty warriors, both of them. What makes you think they’re jerks?”

“Look at how they’re—“ He shakes a hand at them, the two people he hates most. Right to the top of his most hated list, both of them. “—they’re pawing at Johnny! Gentlemen would never do that. Johnny should be treated with more—more respect! He’s a great guy! The best! He deserves the best!”

Els’s eyes widen. She blinks at Peter, turns and looks at Johnny, then looks back at Peter again. “Why didn’t you tell me your affections lay elsewhere? If I’d known how you felt about Lord Storm, I wouldn’t have pursued you.”

Peter’s sure he doesn’t have any idea what she’s talking about. Regardless, he tries to shush her. On principle. “Shhhh! Keep it down, would you? I don’t want certain people getting wrong ideas. For the record, I don’t feel anything for Johnny apart from some general annoyance and maybe amazement that he remembers how to tie his shoes every morning. You think that’s why he wears boots?”

Els is hardly listening. “This is why you wouldn’t go to bed with me last time, isn’t it, Mister Spider-Pants? I knew it had to be something.”

Peter presses a hand to his face. “It’s Spider-Man.”

“What?”

“My name. It isn’t Mister Spider-Pants. It’s Spider-Man.”

Els thinks that over. “I believe I prefer Mister Spider-Pants. Have you ever considered changing it?”

Peter can’t take any more of this. He will go crazy and scream or hang off the ceiling and then Johnny will have him stuck in a padded room and Peter would prefer it if that didn’t happen. “No. But I’ll get back to you on that, Els. Right now I need to talk to Johnny, okay?”

She humiliatingly pats the top of his head, and Peter resents her. She is also too tall. “Take my advice, Mister Spider-Pants. Tell him you love him.”

“I don’t—” Peter starts, but Els vanishes into the crowd before he has the chance to say. “—love him.”

He doesn’t. He’s sure of that.

He sighs, shakes his head, and rushes to catch up to Johnny, who beams at Peter when he sees him. “Spidey!” he shouts joyously. “My favorite guy!”

At least someone’s having a good time, Peter thinks bitterly. Peter’s day has been a series of disasters and embarrassments.

Johnny extricates himself from Kal and Prax and Peter is disappointed because it means he won’t get to punch anyone, probably, and then Johnny squeezes Peter’s shoulders enthusiastically.

“What happened to Els?” Johnny says, grinning so broadly it almost looks forced. “You guys looked like you were getting along pretty well.”

“What?” Peter frowns. What’s Johnny talking about? “No, we weren’t.”

Johnny gives Peter a look that says he doesn’t believe Peter. “Dude, she was all over you. She was practically sitting in your lap. You don’t like her?”

“Me? No! I don’t like her. Do you like her?”

“Oh,” Johnny says. Peter could swear he looked pleased. “Huh. I thought you did. I thought there were going to be little blue spider-kids running around with fins on their heads.”

“The fins are weird, right?” Peter says, feeling oddly vindicated. “It’s not just me.”

Johnny scrunches up his nose. “It’s less weird than other stuff I’ve seen. Have you ever talked to the Hooud?”

“Uh-uh,” Peter says, casting a wary glance at the robed figure of the Hooud, off to their left. “Too weird for me.”

“Exactly. Head fins aren’t that bad.” Johnny grins and glances pointedly at Prax, whose head and unfairly broad shoulders are visible above the crowd directly ahead of them. “They can even be kinda sexy on some people.”

Peter’s not grinning when he realizes who Johnny’s looking at. It’s closer to a death glare. He’s glad he’s wearing his mask. “Did you and he—?”

Johnny’s smirking as he says, “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“We both know you aren’t a gentleman, so spill.”

“Excuse you,” Johnny scoffs. “I am definitely a gentleman. Very gentle. Very manly.”

“No one who’s ‘very manly’ spends as much time getting full-body waxes as you do. Or mani-pedis.”

“I was hairy! I was very hairy! Two years stuck in the Negative Zone! There was just so much hair, and I hated it, and it was definitely the worst part of being stuck there.”

“That you were hairy? Not the torture or the probably terrible food?”

Sometimes Peter wonders why he’s friends with Johnny.

“Definitely that I was hairy. Also, no haircuts! Bugs don’t really need to bother with barbers.”

“No,” Peter agrees. He squints. “I, uh, guess they don’t. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“That’s because you’re not as smart as me, Bug-Man,” Johnny says, and Peter, for once, doesn’t even try to argue.

“Huh,” Johnny says, as he stares up at a giant doorway everyone else says is Eldrac. “This is a person?”

“Yep,” Peter nods. “There are his eyes and his mouth’s the door.”

Johnny squints at Eldrac. He can sort of see it, he supposes. Gold and red lines follow the shape of what was once a face, the eyes are blue and glowing with a strange energy, the mouth—which comprises the doorway—open and, Johnny thinks, resembling that of someone screaming in agony. He supposes he gets it. He’d be angry if he turned into a door and had everyone walking on his tongue too.

What a way to go.

“So we’re supposed to step into his mouth?” Johnny says, pursing his lips.

He has a bad track record with giant mouths. Experience dictates that it’ll end with him getting covered in spit or goo or nearly swallowed.

Peter shrugs. “Hey, they’re your weird friends, not mine.”

“You don’t like them?” Johnny says. “But we invited them over to our place!”

“You invited them,” Peter points out. “I was not consulted.”

“But you went to the party!”

“It was in my apartment! I had no choice!”

“I threw that party for you, dude! As a thank you for letting me live with you! If you didn’t like it, why didn’t you just say so?”

“You threw the party for me but invited all of your friends?”

“I invited yours too! MJ was there and so was I! It’s not my fault we’re your only friends! A party with two guests would’ve been depressing, Peter!”

Peter makes an outraged sound. “I do have friends besides the two of you, you know,” he snaps.

Johnny looks skeptical. “Name one.”

“Harry.”

“Who isn’t a supervillain.”

“Flash?”

“Or your high school bully.”

Peter throws up his hands. “Well, if you’re going to invent a lot of ridiculous rules that don’t make sense, I’m not playing.”

“See? You have no friends. It’s because you’re rude, you know. Also maybe the bad haircut.”

“I am not rude! And there’s nothing wrong with my hair!”

“You’re a little bit rude, buddy, and everything is wrong with your hair. Everything.”

Peter shakes a finger in Johnny’s face. “Name one time I’ve been rude, I dare you!”

Johnny starts ticking things off on his fingers. “Well, let’s see: the first time we met, you broke into my house and started punching my family—”

“Who are superheroes! And I was trying to show you guys how good I was! Don’t leave things out and make me sound worse than I am!”

“—and then the second—or was it the third?—time you crashed a party I was throwing at my house and made me look like an idiot in front of my friends—”

“I didn’t have to help you look like an idiot, you were doing fine on your own! I was being charitable by helping you out, Johnny! Charitable!”

“—and then there was the time you went all the way out to my house in Glenville and picked a fight with me for no reason—”

“I went to ask you for help! You picked the fight! You’re the jerk, not me!”

“Hey! I am not—” Johnny starts, but he doesn’t get to finish because he’s interrupted by Kal putting his hands on Johnny and Peter’s shoulders.

“My Lord Storm,” Kal says diplomatically, “may I advise that you finish this lover’s quarrel with your houseboy somewhere more private? My quarters are at your disposal.”

Johnny looks around and realizes belatedly that his bicker-fest with Peter has drawn a bit of a crowd. Oops. That’s embarrassing. At least they aren’t on Earth and this probably won’t result in a front-page article in The Daily Bugle calling them both menaces and disturbers of the peace.

“I am not his houseboy!” Peter’s shouts hotly as he swats Kal’s hand away. “And this isn’t a—a—what you said it was!” He narrows his eyes and shakes a finger in Kal’s face. “Have you been talking to Els? Because I don’t know what she told you, but it’s not true!”

Kal looks a tad shocked at Peter’s burst of anger. He wouldn’t be if he knew Peter better. This is Peter in a relatively good mood. “I’m sorry, Mister Spider-Pants—“

Peter throws his hands in the air. “For the last time!” he hollers. “That is not my name!”

Johnny can tell, from Peter’s body language, that he is approximately ten seconds away from hauling off and hitting Kal. Johnny can’t have that. It would spoil the mood and Johnny probably couldn’t invite Kal over to his and Peter’s apartment anymore. “Wait. What’s not true? What does Els know that you don’t want me to know?”

That distracts Peter. “Nothing,” he says hastily. “I didn’t say anything. Forget I said that. In fact, forget I’m here.”

“Hey!” Johnny says, chasing after him. “Come back here!”

“No!” Peter says. “Let’s change the subject, yeah?”

“Not a chance, Spider-Pants,” Johnny says.

Peter whips around and shakes a finger in Johnny’s face. “Do not call me that! And definitely do not rhyme at me!”

Johnny laughs. Peter’s actually pretty cute when he’s angry. Sometimes.

In the moment they step across Eldrac’s doorway, Johnny’s busy wondering if he’ll ever be able to work up the courage to tell Peter how he feels instead of screwing everything up the way he always does, and Peter is fixated on worrying about why on earth Els and Kal think he’s in love with Johnny and how he can keep Johnny from finding out. It’s stupid, right? Totally stupid. Peter can’t be.

And that, perhaps, has something to do with why the place Eldrac transports them to is definitely not their New York City.

Peter shoves his hands into his eye sockets at the abrupt burst of blinding light that envelops them completely. It’s a disconcerting feeling—like he’s being pulled across unimaginable distances. “Ach!” he shouts melodramatically, wind whistling past his ears. “Too bright! Too bright! Turn it off!”

He feels his feet touch solid ground, and not long after, he hears Johnny’s voice.

“Where the hell are we?” Johnny wonders aloud. “I don’t recognize this place. Or this city.”

Peter takes the risk of removing his hands from his eyes and opens the latter slowly. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, no.”

Well. Eldrac did take them somewhere that resembles New York. But it is definitely not Peter’s New York.

He and Johnny standing in some sort of living room — the furniture’s a bit strange, it’s true, resembling the futuristic stuff Reed likes designing on his days off — but it’s what’s outside the windows that truly gives Peter pause.

Peter’d know his city anywhere, anytime, anyplace, so he can say that this city very much resembles New York. He can spot a few key landmarks from here—hey, he recognizes this penthouse view. They’re in the Baxter Building.

But, then again, Peter also doesn’t recognize about half of these buildings. They’re new and shiny and oh so strange.

Peter can see also, on the streets, the billboards, tech that hasn’t been built yet. The stuff that Reed and Tony dream about building someday, but have yet to get around to.

Peter walks to the window, spellbound, presses his hands to the glass, and gapes at the view.

It’s as though someone took his beloved New York and sped it up…forty years, maybe?

Amazing. Fantastic. He loves this part of superheroing. He’s overcome by the beauty of his city, its shimmering silver spires—oh, Reed and Tony have done a truly incredible job. She is gorgeous. Peter’s never seen her like.

“Have we….” Peter swallows. His throat is unusually dry. “…time-travelled? Or is this a different universe?”

He’s not sure which he’s hoping for. He can’t say he’d mind it if this were his universe—knowing that all of the hard work, the blood, the sweat, the tears, he’s put into keeping his city safe leads to this…paradise. It’s too good to be true.

“I don’t know,” Johnny says. He’s wandered over to the other side of the room, more interested, perhaps, in what has changed within his home than without. “Peter, come take a look at this.”

There’s something peculiar enough about the tone of his voice that it makes Peter pay attention and tear his eyes away from the view.

Johnny’s standing in front of a small table, pressed up against the far wall, that is covered in beautifully framed and carefully arranged photographs. Peter watches as Johnny reaches out and traces the tips of his fingers lightly across a face in one of the photos.

“Who…who lives here now?” Peter says. A feeling of dread washes over him. It’s going to turn out to be Dr. Doom or someone like that, isn’t it? This isn’t a utopia, it’s a dystopia. Peter just can’t see it from here. “Do we know them?”

“Yeah, Pete,” Johnny says tightly. He lets his hand drop away from the photo. “I think…I think we do. We live here.”

“What?” Peter says, flummoxed, and he rushes over. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

Why would Peter be living with Johnny? Does he mean Peter’s joined the Fantastic Four and is now living here with all of them? That seems unlike him. Peter likes his freedom, his independence, his right not to have Ben poking over his shoulder at everything he does for something to make fun of him with.

Peter suspects, by the way Johnny’s staring at those photos, that there’s something more to it than that.

Johnny points at the photos and Peter gasps. It’s—Johnny’s right. Peter and Johnny do live here, and these photos—they chronicle a whole life spent together.

Peter and Johnny are in every one, except that they’re kissing. Holding each other. Holding hands. And there’s one where they’re both dressed in ritzy tuxes and there’s a minister of some kind…and soon after that, they’re holding two young infants tenderly in their arms and smiling at the camera as though it’s the happiest day of their life. And then there’s a third infant, when the twin girls appear to be close to two years in age, and start to bear a striking resemblance to Johnny and Peter.

Peter wants to stop looking because this is all so disconcerting and overwhelming—a possibility that he’d never even considered—but he can’t tear his eyes away. He sees how he and Johnny and their three children begin to age, slowly, as the years pass. Peter grows a short beard that is very becoming, if he does say so himself, gray begins to come in at his temples, while Johnny’s hair remains suspiciously blond long after Peter’s hair is mostly white, until the one where it isn’t. He also grows a short-cropped, well-trimmed beard. Soon young children begin to appear alongside the older, until there are ten of them—grandchildren, Peter realizes.

Peter is aware, rationally, of what it is he’s seeing and the implications of it but he can’t…it can’t…this can’t be right.

“This,” Peter says roughly, “it’s a joke. It’s—this is a joke, right? You and your Inhuman friends cooked this up?”

Johnny’s blue eyes are a smidge too wide. “What?” he says. “No! Pete, I wouldn’t—not this.”

“Oh, son of a bitch!” says a voice Peter recognizes as his own, but gruffer, older. “Dammit, do we really have to do this today?”

Peter turns and is immediately disconcerted at the fact that he is looking at himself, but elderly. He’s the one from the photographs, in the flesh, accompanied by Johnny. He looks like he’s about seventy, and—

“Hey,” Johnny leans over and whispers. “You’re finally the grumpy old man on the outside that you’ve always been on the inside.”

“Hey!” Peter scowls. “I am not a grumpy old man! I’m not, I’m not, I’m not!”

“Well, I am,” Elderly Peter says exasperatedly. “Mind explaining why you’re here, and then, I don’t know, leaving?”

“Pete,” Elderly Johnny chides. “Don’t be so rude.” He turns to the younger versions and says apologetically, “Look, it’s just that it’s our fortieth wedding anniversary in a few hours, and we don’t want any superhero shenanigans ruining it.”

Johnny seems to think Elderly Peter is hilarious. He points and laughs. “Tee-hee-hee! He sounds just like you except that he actually looks as old as you sound! I am loving this!”

“He is not like me!” Peter insists. “He’s not!”

Elderly Peter presses a hand to his face. “I am—Peter. I’m literally you. Literally.”

“But from another dimension, so not me,” Peter counters.

“Was I really that annoying when I was that age?” Elderly Peter asks Elderly Johnny.

“Was?” Elderly Johnny smirks. “At that age? What makes you think you aren’t still that annoying now?”

“If I am, I don’t know how you’ve put up with me this long,” Elderly Peter sighs resignedly.

Elderly Johnny claps a hand on his husband’s shoulder and says wryly, “I wonder that myself some days, babe. Anyways, why are you two here? Do you know yet?”

Peter shakes his head. “No clue. We walked through Eldrac on our way to a party and then we were here.”

“Huh,” Elderly Peter says. “That happened to us too, couple of decades ago, didn’t it, honey?”

Elderly Johnny glares at Elderly Peter. They have a whispered and very heated conversation that Peter can't make out, but Elderly Johnny doesn't seem pleased that Elderly Peter brought up their experience with Eldrac. Finally, Elderly Johnny turns and gives Johnny and Peter a very forced smile. “Now that you say that, honey. I think it did, yeah. Probably not exactly like yours, though. I mean, this is a different universe, after all.”

“Really?” Johnny says eagerly. “So how did you get back to your universe, and do you mind sharing?”

“Well,” Elderly Johnny says. “If I remember right, you just have to help out alternate versions of yourselves and then Eldrac will take you somewhere new.”

“But how do we get him to take us home?” Johnny insists. “I’ve done the whole being lost in another universe bit long enough and I am so over it.”

“Oh, you know,” Elderly Johnny says evasively. “Things will work themselves out.”

“Okay, so why are we here?” Peter says. “What do you two need help with?”

Elderly Peter’s eyes widen. “Aw, hell. Something’s about to go wrong with our anniversary party.”

After far more bickering between the Peters than either Johnny thinks is strictly necessary, everyone finally arrives at a consensus: young Johnny and Peter will escort the elderly versions of themselves to their anniversary party and remain with them throughout the evening.

“But after the party you both make yourselves scarce, you hear?” Elderly Peter demands, shaking a finger at them. “My husband and I have plans tonight that don’t involve either of you. There’s a fancy hotel room and rose petals and neither of you are coming anywhere near—”

“Well, uh,” Elderly Johnny cuts in, “I actually wouldn’t mind—”

Elderly Peter silences him with a glare. “No, babe. Whatever you’re thinking, no.”

“But it could be—”

“No.”

Elderly Johnny sighs. “You’re no fun.”

“You knew that when you married me,” Elderly Peter points out. “I never tried to hide it.”

“That’s true,” Elderly Johnny concedes. “You really didn’t.”

“Exactly,” Elderly Peter says.

“I’m fun,” Peter says, miffed. “I’m very fun. The life of the party.”

Both Johnnys laugh a tad too hard at that one.

“Sure you are,” Johnny says, wiping tears of laughter from his cheek. “Sure you are, Pete.”

Peter lays back on the bed in the guest room while Elderly Peter haphazardly fixes his bowtie and affixes his cufflinks. Elderly Johnny had shooed his husband out of their shared bedroom, insistent that Elderly Peter not see him in his tuxedo until it was time to leave. Elderly Peter had muttered something about Johnny’s need to make a dramatic entrance, but complied.

“Can I ask you something?” Peter asks, since there’s not really much to do other than stare up at the ceiling. He wedges himself up on his elbows and frowns over at Elderly Peter’s reflection in the floor-length mirror. Somehow he suspects that mirror was Johnny’s idea. It’s a nice mirror, he supposes, but not really the style of any Peter he’s ever encountered.

“I know that if I say no you’re going to ask me anyway, so I’m going to say no.”

“Great,” Peter says, only half-listening. “So how did you figure out you were in love with your Johnny?”

“Huh,” Elderly Peter says. “You know what, kid, it’s easier if I just show you.” He takes two steps over to the bed and whacks Peter on the back of the head, good and hard, and then barks, “You’re in love with him, you idiot!”

“Ow!” Peter complains, rubbing at the back of his head. “That hurt!”

“Well,” Elderly Peter says, not sounding very sorry at all, “you have a very thick skull. It’s going to take a while for that to sink in, but it will eventually.” He sighs. "Make that a very long while."

“Besides,” Peter says, as resentfully as he can muster, “I’m not in love with him. I just wanted to know how it was possible for a version of me to be in love with him. And maybe convince you that you’re nuts.”

“Was I really this much of an idiot?” Elderly Peter mutters to himself under his breath. “I can’t have been. Johnny would never have fallen for me. He definitely would never have married me.” More loudly, for Peter to hear, he adds, “Can I ask you something?”

“If I say no, you’re just going to ignore me, so. Ask away.”

“How do you feel when you see Johnny with someone else?”

Peter thinks about it. He remembers what it was like, Johnny with Kal and Prax's arms around his shoulders and his waist, head tilted back in a burst of laughter. Beautiful, as always. He remembers the surge of incomprehensible rage he couldn't seem to make go away. “I don’t know. It doesn’t bother me. Johnny’s a big boy. He can do what he wants.”

Elderly Peter presses a hand to his face exasperatedly and doesn’t say anything for a long time. “All right. Let’s try this. How did you feel when you found out that Johnny was alive after he came back from the Negative Zone? What exactly went through your mind?”

Joy. Joy so intense he'd never felt its like before. “‘Goddammit, he’s back?’ or maybe ‘Why me?’”

Elderly Peter sighs wearily. “Lie. Try again.”

“‘When will I be rid of him?’”

“Peter.”

“Yes, Old Man Me?”

“Be serious. You asked me for help.”

“I did, and then you hit me in the head!”

“I was helping!”

“That was not helpful. I might have a concussion now. I hope you’re happy.”

“It will be helpful, Young Annoying Me. Give it some time.”

Peter collapses back on the bed and wonders why the hell the other Peter sounds so certain of that.

He's sure there's no way that'll ever turn out to be true.

He doesn't love Johnny. He's sure of that.

“So what’s it like?” Johnny asks Elderly Johnny. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, after wandering through Elderly Johnny and Peter’s shared bedroom, wistfully looking at photographs of a life he’ll never get to live, side-by-side with Peter Parker.

Elderly Johnny’s eyes flick up to meet Johnny's in the mirror in which he's been fixing up his hair. It's nice to know Johnny never stops caring about looking stylish. “What’s what like?”

Johnny shrugs. “You know. Being married to Pete.”

“It's not always a fairy tale, Johnny,” Elderly Johnny says, punctuating each word with the passage of a brush through hair that is silver now but still tinged with its former gold. “It’s hard sometimes. You know what he’s like. He can be a difficult person to get along with. So stubborn it drives me up a wall." Johnny stifles a snort. "Unobservant and obnoxious and…”

Johnny can hear the fondness in his voice beneath the pretense of irritation. “You’ve loved every second of it, haven’t you?”

Elderly Johnny lowers his eyes and smiles. It’s quiet, intimate—the byproduct of a joy that Johnny will never know. Johnny feels strange—as though he’s intruding on someone else’s private life—even though he is, in a way, speaking to himself. “Yeah," he admits. "Even when I'm furious with him, I love him. Couldn't live without him. Wouldn't want to.”

“I know the feeling,” Johnny agrees. “You’re lucky. That he loves you back. I’d give—anything. If my Peter felt that way about me. If I got to have the life you've had with him.” He smiles sadly. “Guess I’m just. Not. That lucky, I mean. Or maybe it’s not luck. Maybe it’s just me, I don’t know. Maybe there’s nothing about me that’s worthy of being loved by someone like him. By anyone. When did that happen? At what point did he look at me and decide I was—that there wasn’t enough to me to love? That I was too shallow and a joke—that’s all I am. Maybe Pete's smart for figuring it out.”

Elderly Johnny sets his brush down on his dressing table, rises to his feet, walks over to Johnny, and settles next to him on the bed. “Peter doesn’t think that about you, Johnny. I know it’s difficult. You’re still so young—"

“I’m thirty,” Johnny corrects. “I’m thirty, and I’ve been a superhero since I was fifteen years old. I’ve seen more of the universe than most people ever will. And after—what happened to me, I know more about death than…probably anyone except maybe the Wolverines. Maybe I'm not as old as you, but I'm not naive.”

“But you don’t know yourself at all, Johnny,” Elderly Johnny says. “You always think the worst, and you never give yourself any credit for all the good you do. Peter sees you more clearly than you see yourself, but it—I know it took me a long while to believe my Peter. And the help of some good therapists. There are going to be some dark, difficult days ahead of you, Johnny...but more than a little bit of joy too. I made it through. So will you. Just remember that your Peter does love you, even if you can’t see that right now.”

Johnny starts to protest, but Elderly Johnny hushes him. “Whether it’s as a friend or a lover and husband doesn’t matter. He loves you and he’d die for you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Johnny says numbly. “He’d die for a stranger. It’s what makes him a hero.”

“So would you,” Elderly Johnny points out. “So what does that say about you?”

“But I do it because I don’t matter,” Johnny says. “Peter does it because it’s right. He’s better than me. Always has been.”

"He thinks the same thing about you, even if he'd never admit it."

"He doesn't. He thinks I'm just a loser. Just like everyone else does."

"No, he doesn't. Would he have let you live with him if that's what he thought of you? Would he call you his best friend?"

"He feels sorry for me. And I had nowhere else to go."

"Haven't you noticed that he never lets you out of his line of sight if he can help it? And that he never takes his eyes off of you if you’re in the same room?"

"What?" Johnny frowns. "No. What? He doesn't—my Peter doesn't do that."

"He does. Pay more attention to him."

"Why would he—I don't understand why he'd do that."

"You'll have to get him to tell you that. It's not my place. I wouldn't want to spoil things for the two of you."

"He doesn't love me," Johnny says firmly. He'd bet his life on that. "He doesn't. He couldn't. It isn't possible."

Elderly Johnny scrubs at his face frustratedly. “I know one conversation isn’t going to fix you. So how about this—promise me that you’ll talk to someone about what happened to you in the Negative Zone. Just—anyone.”

Johnny shakes his head. He doesn’t even want to think—doesn’t want to have anything to do with that. It happened, it’s in the past, and he doesn’t want to have to deal with it. He wants to get back to his life. His normal life, where there are no bugs crawling through his insides, weaving torn flesh back together, where there's no endless, agonizing cycle of death and rebirth that leaves him hollowed out and empty. His normal life, filled with adventures and fun and family…and Peter, always and only Peter. “No, I—I’m fine. Really. I don’t need—I’m okay. I'm handling it.”

Elderly Johnny squeezes Johnny’s shoulder. “Johnny,” he says softly. “You aren’t. You're avoiding dealing with this, and it's not good for you. You went through something very traumatic. You have to deal with it or it’s going to keep eating you up inside. The nightmares are only going to get worse. You can’t keep drinking yourself to sleep every night just to avoid the fact that you’re afraid that when you open your eyes in the morning you’ll be back there again.”

“I don’t do that,” Johnny says stiffly. He can feel his pulse thundering in his palms beneath the nails that are digging in so deep he is on the verge of drawing blood. It’s unsettling hearing someone else talking about secret moments of his life that he’s never shared with anyone.

“You forget that you’re talking to yourself,” Elderly Johnny says gently. “I went through the same thing. If you don't ask for help, it'll only get harder.”

Johnny shrugs off Elderly Johnny’s hand and springs to his feet. This conversation it’s—it’s too much. He can’t—not right now. He is having a conversation with a version of himself who is older, wiser, and more perceptive, and it is deeply unsettling to hear truths that Johnny hasn’t wanted to admit to himself spoken aloud by someone else.

“I’m gonna—“ he says, averting his eyes so he doesn’t have to look into Elderly Johnny’s. “Get some air. Something. Call me when it’s time to go.”

He rushes out of the room before Elderly Johnny can answer.

He’s up on the roof, wandering aimlessly through the exotic alien garden Sue and the kids planted decades ago and doing his best not to think about everything Elderly Johnny told him when the call comes.

Johnny and Peter watch from the roof as Elderly Johnny and Peter, both dressed in expensive tuxedos, climb into a limousine far below.

“If I spit on their heads from this height,” Peter wonders out loud, “do you think it’d kill them?”

“No, and don’t even think about it,” Elderly Peter’s voice says over the futuristic communicators with which he'd provided Johnny and Peter.

Peter’s eyes widen and rise to meet Johnny’s sheepishly. “Didn't know these were on,” he mouths silently.

"They weren't," Elderly Peter says, and the communicator clicks and falls silent.

"How'd he know what I said?" Peter frowns.

“He’s you, Pete,” Johnny says with a roll of his eyes. “He knows what a dork you are.”

Peter considers that, shrugs, and seems to accept it as a reasonable answer.

Peter and Johnny follow behind the limo in a stealth plane Elderly Peter just happened to have lying around in his hangar. A prototype, he said.

Everything is quiet for the first ten minutes of the journey. Peter even begins to think that nothing will happen tonight, and perhaps they’ll be stuck in this dimension for a week, and he worries that if he has to spend any more time around Elderly Peter, it’ll end with a battle to the death. Which he'll win, of course, since he's younger and healthier.

He realizes his worrying was for nothing, however, when his Spidey sense blares and moments later, there’s an explosion from the general vicinity of Elderly Johnny and Peter’s limo.

It’s impossible to tell what’s happening on the ground through the smoke and the screams. All he and Johnny know is that Elderly Johnny and Peter aren’t responding over their comms. There’s an eerie and endless burst of static, but that’s all.

They don’t waste any time. He and Johnny exchange glances, and dive out of their plane, down to the ground below.

Johnny funnels the fire and smoke away, flying high up in the sky with a trail of flame behind him. Peter reaches the elderly versions of himself and Johnny first, and what he finds is unexpected.

A man in an elegant suit astride a pile of rubble, smile as sharp as the edge of a blade as he surveys the carnage before him.

Peter recognizes him. The particular stench of his Machiavellian brand of evil. Daken Akihiro. The son of Wolverine. Possibly the worst of all of Johnny’s exes, and there is some stiff competition.

He hasn’t aged a day, somehow, miraculously. Even the mohawk is the same as it is in Peter’s day.

It would be a shame, Peter thinks, to mess it up. He aims both feet straight for the back of Daken’s head and swings towards him as hard as he can.

And hits nothing but air.

“You,” Daken growls from his crouch. “How are you here? So young.”

“Different dimension,” Peter says as he flips and lands a few feet away, every sense on high alert. “Nice to know you're a jackass in all of them.”

Daken is bad news. He worked side-by-side with Norman Osborn, and he did his best to beat Peter to a bloody pulp, and that is more than enough reason for Peter to loathe him.

Daken smiles, and its coldness sends a shiver up Peter’s spine. “I’m only here to claim what’s mine.” His eyes light up as he glances up, tracing the graceful arc of something as it flies down to the ground. “And here it comes.”

Peter has the unsettling feeling that he knows precisely what it is. He turns and looks, and there Johnny is, fiery and oh so beautiful.

Johnny sets down a few feet from Peter. “Daken,” he says. “Why are you here?”

“He wants my husband,” Elderly Peter says. His tuxedo is torn and covered in dust and smoke and grime, his face bruised and riddled with small cuts. “He’s always wanted my husband. Johnny turned him down in the end, even though Daken offered him everything, and Daken’s not used to being told no.”

Johnny's listening to Elderly Peter, wide-eyed with shock. "Daken?" he says. "Is that true? Have you just been—were you just using me to get to my family?"

Daken’s hands tighten. “I’m a god,” he spits out. “I offered you godhood. Instead, you chose him." His eyes flick to Elderly Peter. "Dull, boring, plain Peter Parker. What did you ever see in him?”

“You can’t understand it, can you?” Elderly Peter says. “What I had to offer him that you could never. Love, companionship, warmth. A family.”

“Families,” Daken scoffs. “Families are a poor fiction. Meaningless. What use has a god for a family?”

“You’re not a god, Daken,” Elderly Peter says. “Stop saying that. You’re a petty, vain, egotistical man.”

“Japan belongs to me,” Daken says. “And there, they worship me. I have everything I’ve ever wanted. I have the power to do whatever I want, take whatever I desire, and no one could ever stop me.”

“Then why are you here, Daken?” Elderly Peter says. “Why do you want my husband?”

“Maybe I want one more jewel to add to my collection,” Daken shrugs. “Or maybe I can’t stand the farce of your marriage. Children and anniversaries and family picnics—it’s a farce. A joke pitiful people tell themselves because they can’t handle the truth of our existence. We are born alone and we die alone.”

“That’s not why you’re here, though, is it, Daken?” Elderly Peter says. “You’re here because you’re bored, and torturing Johnny and me is always so entertaining for you.”

Daken smiles again, and Peter wishes he’d stop. “He’s so pretty when he begs.”

His eyes rake over Johnny’s body in a way Peter cannot stand. As though he knows exactly what Johnny looks like when he is naked, and that’s exactly what he’s imagining. Peter moves to step between them, shielding Johnny from Daken’s lewd gaze.

He starts to walk down his pile of rubble, heading straight for young Johnny. Peter has to fight the urge to back away. Daken has the uncanny ability to radiate menace with every step. Peter’s only ever met one other man who was capable of that feat—Victor Von Doom.

He’s not going to let Daken lay a finger on Johnny. He’s not.

It turns out that Johnny has other ideas. Before Peter can stop him, Johnny is pushing past him and heading straight for Daken.

“Leave them alone,” Johnny is saying. “Daken. Why are you talking like this? This isn’t you. This is what they made you. But you don’t have to be this. We can help you. You wanted to be a better man, remember? It's why you came to us for help.”

Daken’s demeanor changes, softens, as quickly as though someone had flipped a switch. “Johnny,” he says. “Do you mean that? If I...tried to be better again, would you...would you help?"

Peter feels as though he is watching a spider luring its unsuspecting prey into its web.

Johnny reaches up and cups Daken's cheek. "Of course," he says. "Daken. Everyone deserves a second chance. If you really want to change, I can help you."

Daken leans forward then and presses his lips against Johnny's, softly at first, but soon he deepens the kiss, and Johnny doesn't push him away. Daken’s eyes flick up to find Peter's, smug and victorious, and then he slides his hands down to Johnny's ass.  

Something ugly boils up inside of Peter at the sight of Daken’s hands—his lips—on Johnny. It fills his chest and burns and burns as scaldingly hot as molten lava. His fists are clenched tight and shaking with rage. He wants—no, needs—to hurt Daken until it fades away. It’s the only thing that’ll help.

“What you’re feeling right now?” Elderly Peter says in a low voice that only Peter can hear. “That is jealousy. You idiot. You want to be the one kissing Johnny, and Daken knows it.”

Peter stiffens. No! That’s not what this feeling is! “Maybe,” he spits out. “Just maybe I don’t like supervillains manipulating my friends.”

Elderly Peter gives Peter a look that is dripping with contempt and then he sighs, looks up at the moon, and says, “Aunt May, how the hell did you ever raise such a moron for a son? I’m so sorry that I’m like this.”

Peter is not going to dignify that with a response. It is beneath him. “I’m going to put a stop to this,” he says instead and he marches right over to Johnny and Daken, intent on dragging them apart or throwing a bucket of cold water on them—he doesn’t care which. Whatever works, as long as Daken stops putting his hands on Johnny.

Peter yanks Daken away from Johnny and punches him hard enough to send him sprawling to the floor. Daken makes himself look pathetic and wounded, wiping blood from his mouth. 

"Peter!" Johnny shouts, furious. "What are you doing? I was helping him!"

"You're defending him?" Peter shouts. "He's toying with you, Johnny! He doesn't want to change! Guys like him don't change. He just wants to use you! You can do better than him, Johnny! You deserve someone who loves you!"

Johnny takes a step back. "I don't hear any better offers, Pete."

"What?" Peter says. He has no idea what Johnny's talking about. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Don't worry, Johnny," Daken says as he rises to his feet. "If you stay with me, I'll make sure you never have to be alone."

He puts his arm possessively around Johnny's shoulders, and there it is again, that damn smirk. 

Elderly Johnny's voice rings out in the silence. "Daken," he says, as he strolls towards them across the rubble, not a hair out of place. He brushes a hand against Elderly Peter's as he walks past, almost as though he's trying to be reassuring. "Leave the boy alone. He's young and stupid—"

"Hey!" Johnny scowls.

Elderly Johnny shushes him with a warning glance, and Johnny falls silent.

"What kind of a victory is that?" Elderly Johnny continues. "I'm the real challenge. Don't you want to see if you can convince me to leave my husband? That's what you've been after for years, isn't it? You want me to be yours."

Daken seems to consider it for a beat, and then he smiles, reminding Peter for all the world of a shark.

"Why settle for you, old man," Daken says, the arm he has around Johnny's shoulders tightening possessively, "when I can have him?"

Elderly Johnny sighs. "That's what I thought you'd say. Now!"

Daken jerks as though he's been electrocuted and falls to the ground. Standing behind him is Elderly Peter with some sort of gadget in his hand. "Wow," he deadpans. "God doesn't fall very gracefully."

Elderly Peter steps over Daken’s unconscious form and walks back towards his husband, who he high-fives. "Good job, babe."

"Ditto, babe," Elderly Johnny grins.

"What just happened?" Johnny says, eyes fixed on Daken's prone figure.

Elderly Peter holds up the silver and blue gadget he has in his hand. "Neural paralyzer Reed designed to take down Logan one time he went rogue. Figured it'd work on Daken too."

"I went back home to get it," Elderly Johnny shrugs. "Passed it off to Peter, distracted Daken long enough for Peter to get close enough to use it, and--" He gestures at Daken. "Downed supervillain."

Johnny sinks to his knees next to Daken and brushes his fingers through Daken's mohawk. "But...I was going to help him."

“No,” Elderly Johnny warns. “Don’t try that one, Johnny. It always ends badly. Believe me. You can’t save a man from himself. Especially when he doesn’t think he needs saving.”

Johnny's eyes meet Elderly Johnny's, and some sort of silent conversation happens between them that Peter doesn't understand.

Johnny looks back down at Daken and there is something longing about it, but he squares his jaw, steels himself, pushes to his feet, and dusts himself off. "Right."

"Hey," Elderly Peter says. He points off in the distance. "I think your ride is here."

Peter turns and looks, and, sure enough, there is Eldrac, waiting for Johnny and Peter to walk through him and get whisked off somewhere new.

"But..." Peter says. "We didn't...actually help. You guys did everything."

Elderly Peter claps a hand on his shoulder. "I wouldn't say that. You distracted him for us. Bought us time for Johnny to go get the tech. Couldn't have done it without you. Now my husband and I just have to figure out why he was really here. Daken wouldn't have come all this way personally if he wasn't plotting something else."

Peter frowns. None of this makes sense. Elderly Johnny and Peter could have done this alone. They didn't need their younger counterparts. Why did Eldrac bring them here?

"Don't overthink it," Elderly Peter says. "Just go with it. Everything's going to turn out fine. Believe me."

"Okay," Peter says uncertainly. "You're sure you're all right here?"

Elderly Peter glances at his husband, who is having a quiet conversation with Johnny. "Yeah," he smiles. "Better than all right. Perfect." He glances down at the ruins of his tuxedo ruefully. "Although I think the anniversary photos might not turn out as well as Johnny wanted."

"He'll get over it," Peter says. "He has you."

When the blinding white light finally fades away enough for Johnny to make out where he is, he finds himself staring directly at himself.

Or, rather, a version of himself who is clearly a good five to ten years younger, with overly-stylized hair that sticks up nearly to the ceiling.

It is not a good look, Johnny thinks. He’ll have to have a chat with himself about his terrible hairstyling decisions because everyone knows that a good haircut is a pivotal part of looking good. Johnny cannot live with the knowledge that there is a version of himself out there in the multiverse with taste this terrible.

The other Johnny is standing in front of a floor-length mirror in a fancy, expensive tuxedo, putting the final touches on his godawful hairdo. They’re in what seems to be the Baxter Building and is definitely—Johnny takes in his surroundings—the other Johnny’s bedroom. The sprawling mess of clothes and discarded chip bags is too distinctive to mistake for anyone else’s.

When the other Johnny catches sight of Johnny and Peter, he squints and says, very calmly, “Lemme guess. Alternate universe?”

Johnny doesn’t see any point in denying it, so he nods. “We think we’re supposed to help you with something, and then a magic door will appear and take us…back home or somewhere else.”

The other Johnny nods. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by being in a room with another version of himself. Almost as though it’s a normal occurrence, which, Johnny supposes, it nearly is. “Awesome. Help me fix my bowtie.”

Johnny exchanges glances with Peter. That can’t possibly be why Eldrac brought them here.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Peter says, shrugs. “I don’t know anything about bowties.” He claps a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “This is all on you, big guy.”

Johnny grumbles something unpleasant about Peter’s mother beneath his breath, but goes to help the other him anyways.

It’s weird staring at his own neck from this angle! What if he realizes it’s wrinkly or there’s an unsightly birthmark? What’s he supposed to do then? There are some things people just aren’t meant to know about themselves!

“So what’s with the monkey suit?” Johnny asks as he expertly ties the other Johnny’s silken bowtie into a perfect knot and tries not to stare at his own neck. He’s tied more of these than he wants to think about, although, admittedly, it’s usually from a different angle. “Got a charity dinner or something?”

Other Johnny smirks. “Nah, man, it’s my wedding day.”

Johnny freezes. He glances over at Peter, who is looking about as trepidatious as Johnny feels. He thinks they both know exactly where this is heading. “Uh…so who are you marrying?”

Bridegroom Johnny raises his eyebrows coolly. “Dude. I’m marrying Peter. Duh. He’s a loser and totally annoying, but, y’know, if I don’t marry him he’ll probably cry for a week or something, which would be so lame. Like he is. Besides, we look hot together. His hair really brings out my eyes.”

“Gee, thanks,” Peter says dryly. “You want me as a fashion accessory. I can just hear the love.”

Bridegroom Johnny shoots an amused grin at Peter’s reflection in the mirror. “If I wanted a fashion accessory, babe, I would’ve married Wyatt. He’s way prettier than you. Also richer.”

“Definitely doesn’t have a body like mine,” Peter says. He shamelessly stretches out his arms over his head to show off his muscles. Johnny hates him sometimes. He doesn’t make being hopelessly in love with him easy. “And he definitely can’t do all of things I can do in bed.”

“Is your Peter that full of himself?” Johnny can’t help but ask Bridegroom Johnny.

Bridegroom Johnny snorts. “Oh, yeah.” He shrugs, and then lowers his voice to a whisper, probably in the hopes Peter won’t be able to overhear. “It starts seeming kinda cute after awhile, don’t you think?”

“Hmph. He’s delusional. He can’t possibly be as good in bed as he thinks he is.”

That is enough to get Bridegroom Johnny to finally stop preening in the mirror. He stares at Johnny, eyes wide. “You mean you don’t know? You haven’t hit that yet?”

“Johnnys,” Peter cuts in. His hand is pressed against his face. “Come on. I’m standing right here. I can hear everything you’re saying. You both suck at whispering. Which I guess isn’t surprising.”

“Yeah, we know you’re there, genius. Why do you think we’re saying all of this?” Bridegroom Johnny rounds on Peter and says accusingly, “Why haven’t you slept with other me yet?”

Johnny mimics Bridegroom Johnny’s stance—hands on hips, scowl on face—and says, half to give Peter a hard time and half because he genuinely wants to hear the answer, “Yeah, Pete, why haven’t you slept with me yet?”

“What yet?” Peter says, throwing up his hands. “There’s no yet! We’re just friends!”

“Yeah,” Bridegroom Johnny scoffs, and then, with air quotes, he adds, “‘Friends.’”

“Ridiculous,” Johnny says, shaking his head. “Totally ridiculous.”

“Right? I mean, my Peter was my best friend too,” Bridegroom Johnny says. “Still is, actually. Doesn’t mean I can’t suck his dick when I feel like it.”

“Exactly,” Johnny nods. “That’s what friends are for.”

Peter explodes, and it is all Johnny can do to keep from laughing. “No! That is not—no one thinks that—THEY ARE NOT! Stop enjoying this, Johnny!”

“Dude, c’mon, I’m so not!” Bridegroom Johnny says. “I’m really asking you!”

“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to him!” Peter says.

“Well, that wasn’t clear at all,” Johnny tells Bridegroom Johnny. “Was it, Johnny?”

“No, it wasn’t, Johnny. Maybe he should just point next time.”

“Nah, Sue says pointing is rude. He definitely shouldn’t point. She’ll get mad.”

“Yeah, let’s not get Sue mad. Bad things happen when Sue gets mad. My stuff disappears! Like my cars! She disappeared my brand-new car one time! I couldn’t find it for a week! It was the worst. Definitely no pointing.”

“How about nicknames? You could be Smokin’ Hot Johnny and I could be Flamin’ Hot Johnny.”

“I am not calling either of you either of those things,” Peter scowls. He shoves a finger at Bridegroom Johnny. “You are Matchstick and he’s Hot Stuff.”

“I think he just admitted that he thinks we’re hot,” Bridegroom Johnny says. “Do you think he knows that?”

Peter definitely doesn’t know that, but Johnny gets a small thrill whenever Peter calls him that anyways. “Nah,” he says. “He calls me that all the time. He thinks he’s insulting me.”

“How is calling you hot insulting you?” Bridegroom Johnny scoffs. “It’s so not.”

“I dunno either. But you know how he is sometimes,” Johnny says.

Bridegroom Johnny nods in agreement. He does know. Of course he knows, he’s marrying Peter. Maybe Johnny should be asking him for Peter advice, given that he’s managed to get Peter do something Johnny’s only ever dreamt of getting his Peter to do. “Totally. Totally oblivious?”

Johnny nods. “Mmm-hmm. That’s him!”

Peter’s head is in hands and he’s muttering something to himself under his breath. Johnny feels a little sorry for him. Maybe he’s been giving Peter a little bit too much of a hard time.

“I don’t like you when you’re around yourself,” Peter tells Johnny. “You get obnoxious. Well. More obnoxious than normal.”

No, Johnny thinks, he deserved all of that.

He opens his mouth to make some crack about how Peter’s really the obnoxious one, but he’s interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.

“Johnny,” Sue’s voice says, “are you decent?”

“Never!” Bridegroom Johnny shouts back. “But I’m fully clothed if that’s what you’re asking!”

The door opens, and Sue stops dead in her tracks and blinks at Johnny and Peter when she sees them. “Alternate universe or the future?”

“Alternate universe,” Johnny and Peter say in unison.

“We’re supposed to help your Johnny somehow, and then a magic door will appear and take us home,” Peter explains for the fiftieth time, not that Johnny’s counting.

“Huh,” Sue says. “Okay.” And that’s it, she’s clearly done with them. She turns to Bridegroom Johnny and tells him, “We’ve got a problem.”

Ah, Johnny thinks. This is why he and Peter are here.

He glances at Peter, who sighs and rolls his eyes when he catches Johnny looking at him.

Johnny knows exactly what he’s thinking. Here we go again.

“What’s the problem, sis?” Bridegroom Johnny frowns. “My flame limo not get here on time?”

“No,” Sue says. “It’s not that, it’s just that—“

“Oh, no,” Bridegroom Johnny says, horrified. “Sis. Please don’t tell me that Peter’s wearing the tux I told him not to wear. I can’t believe he would do this to me, I told him it was hideous and I would, like, divorce him if he even tried to wear it—“

“Johnny!” Sue shouts. She puts her hands on his shoulders and looks him right in the eye so he’ll pay attention. “It’s not Peter. It’s Namor. He invaded New York. He’s demanding to talk to you. Says if you don’t he’ll destroy New York.” She squints. “Or the surface world. You know what? He wasn’t too clear.”

“Oh, great!” Bridegroom Johnny complains. “That guy is officially the worst.”

“Uh,” Peter says, raising a finger in the air. “Why does Namor care that other Johnny’s getting married?”

Bridegroom Johnny and Sue exchange puzzled glances.

Bridegroom Johnny frowns at Johnny. “Wait,” he says. “Your Namor isn’t creepily obsessed with you?”

“What? No!” Johnny says. Namor? In love with him and not Sue? “He’s obsessed with my sister. I was only fifteen when I met him.”

“Ugh,” Bridegroom Johnny says. “You’re lucky. I was already twenty. Between trying to blackmail me into marrying him and kidnapping me like every Tuesday, he’s just the worst! And now he’s gonna ruin my wedding day! Aw, man,” he whines, “this totally sucks.”

The way Johnny sees it, there’s a pretty simple solution. “Why don’t I go deal with Namor?” he says. He doesn’t really want to. He’s seen what Namor’s like when he gets all possessive with Sue. People she loves tend to get hurt. Usually Johnny. “You go get married, and don’t worry about it. Pete and I can handle it.”

Bridegroom Johnny brightens. “Really?” he asks hopefully. “Would you?”

“Johnny,” Sue chides, “you can’t let them do that.”

“Why not?” Johnny says. “I’m pretty sure it’s why the magic door brought us here. We can handle Namor. I’ve fought him tons of times on my own. I’ve even won sometimes.”

“Except for the time he tied you to a dolphin. Oh, and every other time you’ve fought him,” Peter says.

“It was a porpoise,” Johnny says. “And I definitely won.”

“You did NOT—“ Peter starts, but Sue cuts him off.

“Boys. Argue later. We have a wedding to save. Look, Johnny, you said yourself that your Namor didn’t have a thing for you. You don’t know this Namor. If you did you’d know you definitely shouldn’t let him clap eyes on Peter, because he will try to kill him. He hates Peter for taking you away from him.”

“Everybody hates me,” Peter says flatly. “Believe me, I’m used to it. I can handle him. And if you think I’m letting Johnny go up against him alone, you don’t know me at all.”

Sue looks at Peter, sees the resolute expression on his face, and sighs. “All right. Go. Stop Namor. Save the day.”

“Will do,” Peter grins as he pulls on his mask. “It’s what I do!”

He leaps out of the window and starts web slinging away before Johnny can stop him.

“I didn’t tell him where Namor was,” Sue says.

“I know,” Johnny sighs.

“What an idiot,” Sue says. “Why do you put up with him, again, baby bro?”

“Because I love him,” both Johnnys sigh, and then laugh.

Sue tells Johnny where to find Namor, and Johnny races after Peter, who’s managed to get halfway towards the wrong beach, and point him in the right direction.

When Johnny and Peter arrive, Namor is standing atop a giant sea monster, raging gleefully at a crowd of onlookers about the superiority of Atlanteans, how New York is his birthright, and how he’s going to kill all of them if Johnny doesn’t agree to be his consort.

Johnny doesn’t know why everyone’s filming him and snapping pictures instead of running away and screaming, which would be the smart move. Things are going to get ugly fast.

Namor goes instantly silent when he spots Johnny and keeps his eyes fixed on Johnny with a disturbing intensity as Johnny flies past him.

Johnny sets down lightly in the street directly in front of the sea monster, flames off, crosses his arms, and waits for Namor and Peter to come to him.

There’s a not insignificant part of him that enjoys being the center of attention, he has to admit, and having all of these very hot guys fighting over him.

Man, but this Johnny has it good.

He has the chance to marry Peter, the greatest guy on the planet, and there’s a hot undersea prince in a very becoming green speedo and abs that you could sharpen a knife on who is obsessed with him. What wouldn’t Johnny give for a tenth of what this Johnny’s got?

It only reinforces Johnny’s belief that he’s the unluckiest Johnny in the multiverse. None of what he’s seen on this trip has convinced him otherwise. Maybe that’s his universe’s awful trick on him. He craves love desperately, but he’ll never, never find it.

There’s a dull thud as Peter hits the asphalt next to him. It’s comforting, knowing Peter’s here beside him, watching his back, because Namor…won’t be easy to talk into backing down.

Johnny’s seen what Namor’s like around Sue in his universe. Can’t take no for an answer. Always trying to tell her how she feels about him, about Reed, about her life and who she loves, and won’t ever believe her when she tells him he’s dead wrong. Baits Reed into fighting him, which Reed always falls for. It’s annoying.

Namor flies up into the air and the crowd oohs and aahs.

“He thinks he’s so cool,” Peter mutters sourly. “Hmph. The wings on his feet look stupid. I’m gonna tell him.”

“Peter!” Johnny hisses. “Do not make fun of the wing feet. He’s very sensitive about them.”

“But they’re—“

“No!”

Namor lands softly in front of Johnny. “Oh, my love,” he sighs amorously as he takes Johnny’s hand and kisses it passionately, “you look ravishing in white. Fit to be my prince.”

It takes a great deal of effort for Johnny to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, yanking his hand away. “All right, enough with the hand kissing. Why are you here, Namor?”

“To stop you from making a terrible mistake,” he says solemnly. “Come away with me to the shimmering halls of Atlantis, my love, and you will never regret it. I will make you a prince and give you jewels and raiment that match your astonishing beauty.”

“Marry him, boy!” someone in the crowd shouts, but Johnny ignores her. “If you don’t, I will!”

There are a baffling amount of assenting murmurs from the crowd.

Ugh. People are so shallow. Just because Namor’s hot and passionate or whatever doesn’t mean Johnny’s going to marry him. He doesn’t marry every hot guy he meets. That’s just ridiculous and impractical and probably illegal.

“I love Peter,” Johnny tells Namor in no uncertain terms. “I’m not leaving him for you. I don’t love you.”

Namor is undeterred. “Then why does your pulse race every time you see me?”

“So I think you look hot in those swim trunks,” Johnny says indifferently. “Just because I’m not blind doesn’t mean I want to be with you, dude. I chose Peter. Because I love him and I don’t love you. Lust isn’t love.”

Namor’s eyes flash. “Impossible,” he snaps. “I love you and have claimed you for my own. You are mine.” He grabs Johnny by the biceps—hard enough that Johnny can feel his fingers digging into skin, and he knows he’s going to have bruises in the exact shape of Namor’s hands—and pulls him in close. “I will take you to my kingdom by force if I must. You will learn to love me in time, boy.”

Johnny doesn’t even have a chance to fight. There’s just a blur of motion, and Namor goes flying.

“You don’t talk to Johnny that way!” Peter hollers. “No one talks to Johnny that way! He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want!”

Namor’s eyes flash at Peter from his sprawl on the ground. “You dare!” he bellows. “You dare lay a hand on a prince of the blood?”

“Yeah, I dare, Fish-Face,” Peter says. He balls up his hand into a fist. “And I’ll dare again and again if you’ve got the balls to come over here.”

Namor rises to his feet. “Try that again, boy,” he growls menacingly, “when I am ready for you, and we will see who emerges victorious.”

“You mean I’ll see,” Peter says unflinchingly. “You’ll be too busy being unconscious.”

Is he suicidal? Peter’s not as strong as Namor! Ben can hardly keep up with him!

“Do you truly think you can triumph against my might?” Namor scoffs. “If you do, you are too much of an idiot to be worthy of such a one as Johnny. You don’t stand a chance, boy. Surrender now. One way or another, Johnny will be mine today. He will dine with me in the halls of my palace this night.”

“Sorry, Fish-Face,” Peter says. “He’s mine, and he’ll never be yours.”

Peter charges at Namor then, and the fight commences.

Johnny should probably try to stop them, but he’s enjoying being fought over by two incredibly hot men.

He wasn’t expecting Peter to react like this. He sounds…jealous. Is this an act? Is he genuinely angry? He sounds good and furious. Peter’s not this good of an actor. And what was with that “he’s mine” crack? Since when?

Johnny’s head whirls.

Namor flies out of reach, but Peter shoots a web up at him, swings down onto him, and begins punching for all he’s worth.

Peter gets thrown into a building on the other side of the street, and there’s a crash as the glass shatters around him. Not even ten seconds pass before he’s up on his feet and slingshotting himself at Namor, feet first.

No. Johnny has to stop this. Namor’s too strong. He’ll kill Peter. Peter doesn’t stand a chance.

“Stop!” he shouts, but Peter and Namor don’t seem to hear him. So he sends a stream of fire their way. “Stop!”

This time, they do. They freeze and stare at Johnny, bemused, as though they’d forgotten he was even there. Namor’s got his hand around Peter’s throat, Peter looks like he was squeezing Namor’s skull as hard as he could.

“Namor,” Johnny bellows, “let him go!”

Namor doesn’t. He seems to be thinking over whether or not he’s going to do what Johnny says.

Johnny does the best imitation of Sue he can muster. He puts his hands on his hips and hollers, “I mean now, mister!”

That does the trick. Namor lets Peter go. Peter’s costume is in tatters and bloody in more than one spot. Great.

Johnny marches over. “Now, listen here, both of you. You,” he says, pointing at Namor, “I choose who I love and who I marry, and I am marrying Peter.”

“Exactly, you ass,” Peter sneers. “I win.”

“And as for you,” Johnny says, no less testily, “I don’t need you fighting my battles for me, Peter. I don’t need you protecting me. I’ve been a part of the World’s Greatest Superhero Team since I was a kid. I can handle Namor.”

“But I was just—” Peter protests.

“Being a jackass,” Johnny says. “So zip it.” He turns to Namor. “Well? Are you going to accept that this is my decision or aren’t you?”

“You cannot possibly be in love with that,” Namor snaps as he gestures scornfully towards Peter. “I don’t believe it. He does not deserve someone of your beauty, your courage.”

“But I do love him.” Johnny hopes Peter doesn’t notice the sincerity with which he says it. “With all my heart. And I definitely don’t love you.”

“Then kiss him,” Namor challenges. “Kiss him and prove to me that you feel for him the same passion you feel for me.”

“If I do, will you take your armies and leave?” Johnny asks.

Namor nods. “If you convince me that your love is true. That he loves you with the passion, the fire, with which you deserve to be loved.”

Johnny turns to Peter. This isn’t what he wanted his first kiss with Peter to be like. In front of an audience. To save New York City, not because Peter loves him.

But he supposes Namor hasn’t left him much choice.

Johnny cocks an eyebrow at Peter. He knows Peter will know what he means: “You up for this?”

Peter rolls his eyes and shrugs. Johnny understands it to mean, “The things we have to do.”

Peter tugs off his mask, and Johnny’s heart is beating so hard it feels as though it’s going tumble out of his chest. This is really happening. Peter Parker, the right Peter Parker, is really going to kiss him. This is the moment he’s been dreaming of for years.

He’s not angry at Eldrac anymore. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Well, fourth best. The moment he heard he was going to be an uncle the first time, seeing his nephew for the first time, and then, Valeria. And then the Peter kiss.

Still, this ranks pretty far up—

Every thought in Johnny’s head vanishes the moment Peter puts a hand in the small of Johnny’s back. He feels as though he’s on fire even though he knows he isn’t—

He hasn’t dared look at Peter’s face because he’s afraid of what he’ll see there—disgust, indifference, annoyance—but he steels himself and looks and Peter’s eyes are—they’re dark and hungry and Johnny doesn’t even have time to register his shock because then—oh, and then! Peter kisses him, and it’s the best thing Johnny’s ever felt.

Johnny knows the crowd must be cheering and wolf-whistling and shouting out not entirely polite comments, but he doesn’t hear any of it. His whole world narrows to Peter’s warm lips and a pair of strong arms around him, holding him close, keeping him safe. Safe, the way he’s felt so rarely since he returned from the Negative Zone.

Johnny’d expected Peter to kiss him hesitantly, reluctantly, but he doesn’t—he kisses Johnny, really kisses him, as though he’s been dying to kiss Johnny just as badly as Johnny’s been dying to kiss him.

Does Peter love Johnny? Can it be true? No one could fake this. No one could fake this!

Johnny stops holding back, stops, for once, being afraid of letting Peter know how he feels. He kisses Peter with all of the frustration and need and want that’s accumulated over ten lonely years of loving Peter without hope, without expectation. He kisses Peter until he’s dizzy, everything around him swirling, except for Peter, who is steady and solid and realer than anything he’s felt since he came back from the Negative Zone.

There’s not an inch of Johnny that doesn’t feel that kiss.

He never wants it to end. If there is a heaven waiting for Johnny after he dies, it’ll just be him, caught in this moment, this joy, for eternity.

But, sadly, the kiss can’t last forever. Peter tries to pull away, although Johnny chases him, and then his lips—his wonderful, intoxicating mouth, which Johnny will never be able to look at without remembering this moment—vanish, and Johnny comes crashing back to reality.

He’s sure his face is flushed, he’s out of breath, and his legs are unsteady at best. And he’s being watched…and filmed…by hundreds of nosy onlookers.

He’s glad this isn’t his reality, because he’d never live this down. Ben would have it on a loop in the Baxter Building and cackle at the look on his face every time he walked by.

“So,” Johnny says to Namor, whose face contorted into the fiercest scowl Johnny’s ever seen, “convinced?”

Johnny wishes his voice was less hoarse, and he was less obviously struggling to catch his breath. Now he doesn’t know how he’ll ever look Peter in the eye again, and it’s also, somehow, the only thing he can think about.

Does Peter love him?

“Yes,” Namor spits out. “I can see that the bug man loves you. I will go.”

He begins shouting commands at his guards, and, sure enough, they begin to retreat. Johnny and Peter stand side by side and watch silently as they retreat.

The silence between them is awkward and unnatural. Johnny and Peter normally never stop talking, quipping, joking, but now they can’t seem to muster anything to say, because they both know that if they do, they’ll have to talk about…that kiss.

“Kiss” seems like such a poor, paltry, insufficient word to describe that earth-shattering event.

Johnny wants to ask Peter what it meant. He has to ask Peter. He has to know.

He also doesn’t want to know, because at least this way he has hope. If Peter says he doesn’t love him, well, that’s that.

He doesn’t have the chance to decide either way, however, because Eldrac appears before them.

“Time to go,” Peter says. He almost sounds relieved. He definitely looks tense. Johnny wonders what’s going on under those brown curls. This is one of those times when he’d kill to be Emma Frost.

Johnny doesn’t trust himself to say anything, so he nods.

Yeah, he agrees, it’s about time they got out of here.

The place itself may be easy to leave behind, but Johnny doesn’t think he’s going to shake what happened here for a long time, no matter how things end up working out between himself and Peter.

Peter can’t bring himself to look Johnny in the eye. He hadn’t meant to kiss Johnny like that! He has no idea where that came from, or what it means.

He was going to do a little showy dip and kiss, nothing serious, just enough to convince old Fish Face to back the hell off, but he…got carried away, and he has no idea why. He couldn’t seem to stop kissing Johnny once he started, and there’s still a part of him that’s dying to push Johnny up against that wall over there and kiss him over and over again, until they’re both panting and Johnny’s flushed and moaning—

Oh, god. That’s hot. That’s—Peter wants to do that. Peter needs—he’s going to—

No. No! Why does he feel this way? Where is all of this coming from? Johnny is his friend, and that’s all. He’s never felt any other way about Johnny, not ever.

Okay, sure, Johnny’s remarkably beautiful and Peter’s not blind, he’s noticed—it’s hard not to when one of the most beautiful men in the world makes a habit of parading around your apartment in nothing but a skimpy pair of underwear and an apron. Sometimes even less than that.

(Peter has to find every tiny towel he owns and burn them, because Johnny, invariably, decides to wrap himself in those after he showers, and they don’t cover much, and it drives Peter crazy. Makes—makes him furious, he means. Not—not the other thing.)

And, yeah, sure, it’s hard to get that image out of his head sometimes, and it’s led to some very awkwardly specific thoughts that involve Johnny’s abs, that can of whipped cream in the freezer, and Peter’s tongue.

But it doesn’t mean that he’s in love with Johnny.

…does it?

Peter honestly doesn’t know anymore.

This whole trip has got him so mixed up he hardly knows how he feels anymore. Does he just want to be in love with someone, anyone, or is it specifically Johnny that he wants? He needs to get home, get somewhere far away from Johnny, and figure out how he feels.

Of course, he can’t make that happen. It all depends on an infuriating magic door that never takes him anywhere he really wants to go.

Peter’s been so lost in his thoughts that he hasn’t noticed that Johnny’s been talking to him for the last five minutes.

“Pete!” Johnny’s shouting, waving his hand in front of Peter’s face. “Peter! PETER!”

“I’m listening, I’m listening!” Peter scowls. He fixes his eyes somewhere in the vicinity of Johnny’s nose. “What’s up?”

Before Johnny can say whatever it is he had to say, another Peter walks in from the kitchen, carrying a glass of water, which promptly goes tumbling to the ground and shatters into a thousand pieces.

The blood drains from the other Peter’s face, although it’s half obscured by a shaggy, unkempt beard. He stands there, mouth open, paralyzed, staring at Johnny as though he’d seen a ghost.

Peter has a bad feeling about the look on the other Peter’s face and his general appearance, which is unusually haggard. Why is he looking at Johnny like that? Why is he so thin? Why does he look like he hasn’t slept in a month?

“Uh, hi,” Johnny ventures, breaking the silence. “By the look on your face I’m just gonna guess that you know who I am.”

That seems to break whatever spell the other Peter’d been under. “Oh, my god,” he says, as he rushes across the room, takes a bewildered Johnny into his arms, and kisses him. It doesn’t last long—a few seconds later, he falls to his knees in front of Johnny, presses his face against Johnny’s stomach, and holds him close, and…is he crying?

Peter thinks he’s crying. Oh, god. This isn’t good. Peter doesn't cry unless he can't stop himself.

“You’re alive!” the other Peter’s saying, over and over. “You’re alive. I knew you weren’t dead. Everyone said—even Sue—but I knew. I knew you’d come back to me. I knew you couldn’t leave me.”

Peter is horrified when he understands, in a flash, exactly what happened. This universe’s Johnny is dead—recently dead, judging by this Peter’s reaction and drawn features—and…this Peter thinks Johnny is his Johnny, miraculously returned from the dead.

Johnny has both hands raised in the air as though he doesn’t have any clue how to react to this, but it doesn’t last long. Something like sadness, tinged with pity, flickers across Johnny’s face, and then, tentatively, he begins to smooth his hand gently through the other Peter’s hair and comfort him. “Shh, shh, shh,” he murmurs. “Everything’s going to be all right, Pete. I’m here now.”

Except he’s not, and the other Peter will be devastated when he learns it.

“Johnny,” the real Peter says quietly. “You have to tell him.”

Johnny’s eyes are brighter than normal when he glances up at Peter. “I know,” he whispers back. “I know. But…not yet. Let him—let him have this. If this were—were you, I’d want…someone to do this much for you.”

It’s disconcerting, Peter decides, staring at yourself as you—he grieves over the loss of a love you’ve never had.

Johnny drops to his knees and holds Widower Peter until he feels his body grow steadier, until it ceases being wracked by desperate sobs.

It’s impossible to comfort Widower Peter, while not letting his own Peter know that his heart is breaking, over and over.

He’s glad he’s never had to see his Peter in this much pain. He doesn’t think he could bear it.

When Widower Peter finally calms down enough, Johnny hesitantly tells him the truth. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone look so devastated and heartbroken.

Widower Peter sinks down onto a sofa, head in his hands. “So he is dead,” he says dully. “My Johnny is gone.”

“I don’t know,” Johnny admits. He supposes that it’s possible that, out there, somewhere, the other Johnny’s still alive. “I honestly don’t know. I just know that I’m not him.”

Widower Peter nods. “Yeah,” he says miserably. “I can…I can see that now. My Johnny never got to wear the white-and-black costume. He died before Sue designed them.”

“So your Johnny died in the Negative Zone?” Johnny asks. Hope flickers briefly to life in his chest—if he survived, perhaps the other Johnny did too? “Because I died in the Negative Zone, but Annihilus brought me back to life. Loads of times.”

Peter’s head whips over. “‘Brought me back to life’? ‘Loads of times’?” he asks sharply. “What do you mean?”

Johnny doesn’t answer him. He’s never actually told Peter—or anyone, for that matter—the full details of what happened to him in the Negative Zone. He’s not ready to process the full horror of everything he had to go through just yet. If he tells Peter or Sue, they’ll look at him with pity and dismay in their eyes, and it’ll all feel so…real. In a way it doesn’t now. 

When he’s around Peter, the pain feels…distant. Far away. Like it happened to someone else. A different life, a different Johnny.

All he has to do, he tells himself, is get back into the swing of his own life, and it’ll be like it never happened at all. He can put it behind him, never think again about the cold, lonely nights spent in a bare jail cell, the slice of Annihilus’ cold scythe through his insides, the peaceful oblivion of death, the disturbing sensation of bugs crawling around inside of him, weaving his body back together, the despair he felt every time upon waking to that hell…he’ll never have to awaken in a cold sweat in the middle of the night to assure himself that it’s real, he’s back home, he’s alive and not hopelessly far from home and everyone he loves.

He knows what Elderly Johnny advised but...Johnny's not ready.

So Johnny says nothing to Peter. Instead, he sits next to Widower Peter and lays his hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure he’s dead?” he asks gently.

“Yes,” Widower Peter says, hunched over, hands thrust despondently in his hair. “I saw the body. I buried it. I’m sure.”

“Oh,” Johnny says, surprised. “Reed actually managed to get, uh, my—his—body back?”

He didn’t, in Johnny’s dimension. Reed told Johnny what had happened—Reed had briefly reopened the gate and demanded Johnny’s return, but he’d been stymied by Annihilus showing him the bloodied remains of Johnny’s uniform. Reed had assumed that Johnny was dead and knew also that reopening the gate would mean the Annihilation Wave would pour through and overrun Earth. It had broken his heart, Johnny knew, but he’d closed the gate and kept it shut, the way Johnny would have wanted. Johnny had made sure to tell him that because he could see Reed’s guilt written all over his face. He blamed himself for not saving Johnny, for not making sure he was truly dead.

“No,” Widower Peter says dully, his eyes distant and full of pain. “Reed was killed by the Mad Celestials the day of the invasions. Galactus arrived too late to save him. There was nothing anyone could do. There’s just three of us left now. Me, Ben, and Sue. All of us lost a husband and a brother that day. The kids lost their father. Nothing’s been right since you—my Johnny died. We—Ben, Sue, and I—got the—the body back later. What was left of it, anyway.” There’s a burst of white-hot rage. “He left it to rot! Annihilus just—left my Johnny, my husband, the love of my life, to rot in that wasteland! Like he was nothing! The bugs had eaten—there was nothing but bones left—I wanted to—I would have—“ He clenches his hands so tightly that his knuckles are white, and he looks about ten seconds away from putting them through the coffee table and shattering it into splinters. “I’m going to kill him if it’s the last thing I do.”

The cold fury with which he says the last part is truly chilling. Johnny thinks he means it. That he’s going to try to murder Annihilus. He can’t. It’s suicide. Alone against Annihilus’ Cosmic Control Rod and the Annihilation Wave, Widower Peter will die. Or go through what Johnny did, and Johnny…doesn’t want that. He can’t let that happen.

“You’re not—serious,” Johnny says. “Pete. Peter. You can’t. You’ll die.”

“I don’t care,” Widower Peter says defiantly. “Without you, what’s the point?”

“What’s the point?” Johnny rages. His fury overflows into a flash of fire, bursting from his head and shoulders. “What’s the point?!”

Widower Peter glances at Peter coolly. “Explain it to him. You know it’s true. Without Johnny, there’s no point. He’s everything to us.”

“Whoa,” Peter says quickly. “Hold on, now. Johnny and I aren’t dating. We’re just friends. That’s it. We’ve never been anything else to each other, and we probably never will be.”

The words are like a punch in the gut for Johnny. He knew—he’s always known that Peter doesn’t love him, but he’d allowed himself to hope…after that kiss…that perhaps Peter did love him back.

His flame flickers and dies out slowly. Like the last ounce of hope Johnny had. Oh. Oh. So it was all…it meant nothing. Johnny means nothing to Peter. Oh.

Johnny’s eyes feel as though they’re prickling and wet, so he ducks his head to hide them. He doesn’t hear anything Peter is saying.

When he looks up, he discovers that Widower Peter is watching him intently while Peter blathers on about alternate universes and how environment impacts personality, and even though this universe’s Johnny and Peter were in love, that doesn’t mean all of them are, and Johnny mostly doesn’t care.

Johnny feels a surge of panic. Oh, god. Does Widower Peter know? Johnny…was being obvious about his feelings, but he’s done it before and his Peter has never noticed.

He looks at Widower Peter pleadingly.

Please, he’s trying to tell him. Don’t tell my Peter. Don’t.

He wants quiet acquiescence, but what he gets instead out of Widower Peter is boiling, raging fury. He’s on his feet before Johnny can stop him, hands balled up into fists. This is going to end with a fist-fight, Johnny knows it.

He recognizes that gleam in Widower Peter’s eye. Inevitably, someone is going to end up with Widower Peter’s fist in his face, and it’s probably going to be Peter.

“Are you telling me,” Widower Peter says, voice shaking with barely contained fury, “are you telling me that you’re lucky enough to have a Johnny who’s actually alive, but you’re too stupid to love him back? Do you know—do you have any idea what I would give to have my Johnny back? To have even—even one more chance to say goodbye? And here you are, wasting every chance you get to tell your Johnny how you feel about him, that you’d do anything for him, like a—a complete moron?”

Peter’s eyes get that hard, stubborn glint that Johnny’s come to dread. There’s no reasoning with Peter when he gets like this. He tilts his chin up. “No,” he says mulishly. “I’m telling you that I don’t love him. So there’s nothing to tell.”

Widower Peter makes a noise of complete and utter outrage. “You’re Peter and he’s Johnny, and if you’re anything at all like me, and I think you are, you’re nuts about him.” He takes one, menacing step closer to Peter. “The only difference is, you’re too stupid to know it.”

Peter’s eyes flash. “Why, I oughtta—”

“You oughtta what, moron?” Widower Peter spits out. “I’d like to see you try.”

Johnny thinks it is, perhaps, time for him to intervene. “Okay,” he says, grabbing his Peter by the elbow, and pulling him away from Widower Peter. “Maybe we all ought to cool down now, because this isn’t getting anyone anywhere and I—”

“Don’t tell me that,” Peter hisses. “Tell him that.”

Johnny has not failed to notice that Peter’s hands are still curled up into fists. He’s ready to fight. These two Peters are like a powder keg together.

This isn’t going to work.

“Can I talk to you in private for a second?” Johnny hisses. He turns to Widower Peter, who is glaring holes into the back of Peter’s head. “We’ll be right back.”

Widower Peter slams back down onto the couch, arms crossed, eyes never leaving Peter. “Do what you want. I’ll be right here, waiting.”

“Did you hear that?” Peter says, outraged, as Johnny shoves him towards the kitchen. “He was threatening me! I can’t let that stand, I have to go over there and—”

“I heard,” Johnny snaps. He’s so fed up with Peter right now. “Kitchen. Now.”

While Johnny was busy comforting Widower Peter, Peter was busy looking around the room—there are pictures of the other Johnny and Peter on the mantle, of their wedding day and vacations, and the entire life they had together. And this, Widower Peter’s grief, the loss of the other Johnny, the dead Johnny, it is Peter’s worst nightmare come to life. Yet another failure to protect the person he loves most.

Looking into that other Peter’s face, seeing the pain he is going through—it’s terrifying. That could be Peter someday. That was Peter, up until the miracle that brought Johnny back to him just a few weeks ago.

Peter couldn’t handle it. He can’t lose anyone else.

He admits, blowing up at Widower Peter like that was maybe uncalled for, but he shouldn’t have insulted Peter like that.

“Would it have killed you to be a little nicer to him?” Johnny shouts, the moment they’re alone in the kitchen. “He just lost his husband!”

“What?” Peter squawks. “Why am I getting yelled at? He was being the jerk! He started it!”

“You were both being jerks,” Johnny snaps. “But you were definitely more of one. Dude. That was not cool. Why do you always have to get into pissing contests with yourself? Newsflash, asshole, neither of you would win if you fought because you’re the same person!”

Peter has never been so insulted in his life. “I could beat him. Lemme at him. I could beat him. I would punch his lights out.”

He’s not sure why he wants to, but…he wants to. No, he does know—how could that Peter ever have let his Johnny die? How could he have been so careless, so irresponsible, with someone as precious as Johnny? It’s unforgivable.

“What is wrong with you?!” Johnny hollers. “He just lost his husband and his brother! He doesn’t need you punching him!”

That’s not true. Peter does know himself better than Johnny does, it seems. “Well, actually,” he says. “I tend to get mad, not sad. I mean, when people I love die, punching the people who did it is the only thing that helps.”

Johnny presses a hand to his face exasperatedly. “So, what, by antagonizing him you were actually doing him a favor? You aren’t the person who killed other me, you know.”

“Hey, he yelled at me first,” Peter snaps. “I was just going along with it.” Before he can think better of it, he says, “Besides, he blames himself for other you’s death. Punching me would’ve been therapy!”

Johnny lowers his hand from his face and frowns at Peter. “What makes you think he blames himself? I didn’t hear anything that even implied—”

Peter freezes. Oh. He’s said…too much. He should probably jump out of a window and avoid this conversation, the way he’s been doing ever since Johnny came back. He’s never been able to bring himself to tell Johnny. “No reason,” he says hastily but not too convincingly.

Johnny’s chin gets that little jut to it that says he’s not giving this up easy. “Peter. I can tell when you’re lying, you know.”

Peter’s annoyed. “It doesn’t matter. And anyway, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure we’re here to help him get over his survivor’s guilt, so, yes, it does. If he blames himself for other me’s death, that’s important. I kinda need to know why you think that, Peter.”

Ugh. Johnny has a point. Peter sighs, and looks up at the ceiling. “I know because…he’s me, and I blamed myself. When you died. I carried that guilt around for…a long time, Johnny. I still feel it. I failed you that night, and I know it, and I’m sorry, Johnny, I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me. I let you down.”

“What?” Johnny says, like he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. “What? How was any of what happened your fault? Pete. How? This is—even for you, this is—”

The words just come tumbling out now. Peter can’t stop them. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve protected you. You needed me, and…I wasn’t there. You asked me to hang out with you that night. I could have helped, but I didn’t. I was at home asleep, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. I should’ve been there for you. Then I could have been the one—you wouldn’t have—you would have been safe.”

“You’re the worst, you know that?” Johnny says fiercely.

Johnny hates him now. Peter knew he would. He closes his eyes. “I know. That’s what I said.”

“No,” Johnny says. “No! You’re the worst because you’re just—you’re—you’re worse than Reed, you know that? Always blaming yourselves for other people’s problems even if there’s nothing you could have done! You listen to me, Peter Parker. My dying wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault except Annihilus’ and, sure, fine, maybe his bug soldiers too. You had nothing to do with it. You don’t get to blame yourself for that, Peter. That’s not on you.”

Peter can’t bring himself to meet Johnny’s eyes. He wishes he could believe Johnny, but he knows better. That’s not how it works. When people Peter loves die, it’s always on him. “You died because I wasn’t there,” he says quietly. “It was my fault.”

Nothing Johnny can say can convince him differently. Johnny’s death was Peter’s fault, just as surely as Uncle Ben’s, George Stacy’s, Gwendy’s, and so many others Peter can hardly keep track. The weight of his guilt is crushing, suffocating, impossible to ever get out from under.

Peter’s anger’s all but evaporated. Not a trace of it left. Instead, there’s only a deep and abiding sadness and guilt. It’s one Peter’s felt before, too many times to count.

That’s all Peter’s life has been, it feels like sometimes. Devastating tragedies and the time in between, when Peter is just biding time, waiting until the next befalls him and the people he loves. Sometimes he sits alone in his apartment and wonders which of the people he loves will be taken from him next. It’s inevitable.

He admits, he never thought it’d be Johnny. He and the FF have always been so much larger than life. The genius scientist and his family who stole a spaceship and, against all odds, became heroes. Who took a terrible tragedy and nobly turned it into a chance to help other people and make the world a better place.

“Okay, moron,” Johnny says, and Peter’s so tired of people calling him that tonight, “let’s do this. So it was your fault Annihilus was trying to invade our dimension. It was your fault Reed’s portal wasn’t working the way it should have and someone had to stay on the other side to close it. Peter, c’mon, do you get how ridiculous that sounds?”

“No,” Peter says listlessly. He can’t bring himself to feel much of anything right now. “Those things aren’t my fault. It’s my fault that I wasn’t there to go with you. Or instead of you.” With the utmost sincerity, he adds, “I would have, you know. Died to save you. In a heartbeat.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted that,” Johnny says immediately. “What the hell makes you think I would ever want that? You know what? I’m glad you weren’t there. I’m glad I didn’t have to watch you die. I would never want anyone I love to go through what I did. Me dying? That was my decision. I did it to save my brother and my niece and nephews and the whole goddamn world and, yeah, that includes you, and I’d do it again today if I had to, even knowing everything I had to go through afterward. You’re not the only one who would die to protect the people he loves.”

Peter twists his mask between his fingers absently. “That’s not your job. It’s mine.”

“So what’s my job? Standing around looking pretty?”

“Well,” Peter says, nearly smiling but not quite. “It is what you’re good at.”

Johnny’s hands clench. “I beat Annihilus. By myself. Without Reed and Sue there to hold my hand. I command the Annihilation Wave. I hold the Cosmic Control Rod. And I’ve been a superhero a damn sight longer than you have, Peter Parker. So how about you stop treating me like I’m some helpless old lady?”

“Old ladies aren’t helpless. Haven’t you met my aunt?”

“Yes, Peter, I’ve met your aunt. She went on vacation with us like ten times!”

“Well, she’s not helpless. Did I tell you what she did to the Chameleon that one time—“

“Peter!” Johnny shouts. “I don’t care about that right now!”

Peter blows out a puff of air. “You know you’re never going to convince me you dying wasn’t my fault, don’t you?”

Johnny takes a step closer, eyes flashing. “And you know that I’m never going to stop trying, don’t you?”

“Johnny, I just—“ Peter shakes his head. His throat feels tight. “I don’t—I can’t—”

The next thing Peter knows Johnny's arms are around him, and he’s holding Peter so tightly he can hardly breathe.

“You’re really stupid, you know that?” Johnny says, chin digging into Peter’s shoulder as he talks.

Peter’s hands are shaking as he hugs him back. He can’t make them stop. It’s infuriating. “I missed you, you know, while you were…gone. God, I thought about you every day.”

“You’re so corny,” Johnny says, but Peter can hear a smile in his voice, and the arms around him tighten.

“Well,” Peter smiles. “Sometimes it was dumb stuff, like seeing oysters listed on a menu and remembering how much you hate them.”

Johnny laughs. “I do hate them. So much. They’re the worst. Where were you that there were oysters on the menu? Sounds fake.”

“I eat at fancy restaurants sometimes!” Peter scowls.

“For you fancy is anything that doesn't come out of a cart." He pauses. "You were with your aunt, weren’t you?”

“Well,” Peter admits, and he hates that Johnny knows him so well. He can’t get anything past him. “Yes.”

Johnny laughs warmly, and Peter remembers how much he loves making Johnny laugh, even when it’s at his expense.

Peter can’t stop himself from asking. He’s been wondering ever since Johnny came back. It’s easier to talk about this when Johnny’s not actually looking at him. “Hey, but…did you…while you were there…did you…?”

“Think about you?” Johnny supplies. It’s uncanny how he always seems to know what Peter’s thinking. He shifts a little in Peter’s arms. “Yeah. Pete. I guess I did. All the time. I…missed you too.”

Peter buries a smile in Johnny’s shoulder. It’s good to feel Johnny in his arms, here and warm and so alive, the way Peter’d been afraid he’d never get to do again. He’d do anything to keep him here where it’s safe, never let him go, even though he knows Johnny’d never let him.

Johnny pulls back, not far, not all the way, but just enough that Peter finds himself staring at a pair of intense blue eyes.

“Pete,” Johnny says breathlessly, eyes falling to Peter’s mouth. “Are you sure you don’t—Pete.”

There’s something about the way Johnny’s saying Peter’s name that Peter’s never heard before—it’s low and soft and…it makes Peter’s heart throb.

Peter feels as though he is on the brink of something momentous. Something that could—could change everything…but he has no idea what.

He feels the way he does when he’s in his lab, working on a complex equation, and he’s on the verge of a breakthrough, but he hasn’t quite gotten there yet.

Sometimes it’ll take days, weeks, of poring over the problem, turning it over in his mind, to finally have that burst of inspiration, that moment of glory, where he at last understands, and then it’s so obvious he doesn’t know how he hadn’t seen it all along.

Peter searches through the depths of Johnny’s blue eyes for the answer and feels as though he is diving through a clear blue ocean, the answer slipping through his fingers like one of those nimble, silver fishes.

“I don’t what, Johnny?” Peter asks.

Johnny’s mouth works as though he wants desperately to say something, but he doesn’t. He lowers his eyes, takes a step back, out of Peter’s arms, and shakes his head, mouth tight. “No, it’s—it’s nothing, Pete.” He smiles halfheartedly. “You should—go. I’ll handle him. The other you, I mean.”

Peter nods. He wants to ask Johnny what he was going to say. Well. Half of him wishes Johnny’d said it, the other half…is glad he didn’t. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll be back later.”

“Yeah,” Johnny says. He puts his hand on Peter’s shoulder, and Peter feels a disconcerting jolt of electricity he’s going to have to figure out later. “I’m not kidding. It wasn’t your fault, Pete. Stop beating yourself up for things that aren’t your fault, buddy. It isn’t worth it. You’ll just make yourself miserable.”

“I don’t need any help with that, pal,” Peter says, and thinks of Uncle Ben, of Gwen Stacy, of the child he buried.

He pulls his mask on, tells Johnny goodbye, and leaps out of the window.

He hears Johnny say something, but it’s lost to the wind whistling in Peter’s ears as he swings away.

He glances back when he’s webslinging down the block—familiar, and yet so different—and discovers that Johnny’s still in the window, bathed from behind in golden light, looking, for all intents and purposes, like an angel.

It takes Peter’s breath away. He’d forgotten, he’d truly forgotten, while Johnny was away in the Negative Zone, exactly how beautiful Johnny is. Peter could look at him forever and never grow tired.

His beauty suits him, Peter thinks. Peter’s been lucky enough to know a great many good men in his life, but there are few who are as unwaveringly good, compassionate, and heroic as Johnny.

Peter feels lucky to know him and luckier still to be his friend.

Johnny waits at the window, watching until Peter is well out of sight.

Oh, man, tonight is is going to be emotionally draining. He can tell that already. He was so close to telling Peter everything, how he feels, the nights he spent dreaming of him when he was lost and alone in the Negative Zone. How he’d give everything he had for the chance to be with Peter, even if it—it didn’t last.

None of Johnny’s relationships ever do. His partner always realizes eventually that Johnny’s not good enough for them, and that’s that.

But Peter…Peter who knows him so well, who has already seen Johnny at his very worst…oh, maybe, just maybe, Peter wouldn’t leave him. Maybe Peter would be the one who stayed. Maybe Johnny would finally be able to give someone all of the love he’s been storing up inside of him all these years. Maybe Peter could give Johnny the love, the family of his very own, the children, that he’s always longed for in return.

He lingers in the kitchen for a few moments longer than necessary, readying himself for the conversation he knows is waiting for him in the living room.

Good god. All of these Peters are going to be the death of Johnny. One is more than enough for him.

The other Peter’s pacing back and forth on the ceiling when Johnny walks in, and Johnny can tell he’s agitated from the hunch in his shoulders and the set of his jaw.

The other Peter comes to a halt when he catches sight of Johnny and flips down onto the floor, landing right in front of him. “You’re back,” he says. “Where’s the other one?”

“Went out for some air,” Johnny says. “And to cool off.”

Widower Peter smiles at him—an odd mixture of fondness and sadness. “You always were good at calming me down.”

“Yeah,” Johnny says quietly. Widower Peter is looking at Johnny, but Johnny is sure that he’s not who Widower Peter is seeing. He’s seeing the ghost of someone long dead. It’s disconcerting. “Speaking of that. I wouldn’t want you to kill Annihilus, you know. It’s the last thing I’d ever want.”

Widower Peter bristles with a righteous fury. “He took you away from me,” he snarls. “He took away the life we could have had together. That’s what I can’t stop thinking about, honey, that’s what’s killing me. All of the anniversaries and birthdays and children we’ll never get to have together. The happiness he took away from us. That’s what he deserves to die for that. I swear, I’ll see to it that it happens. It doesn’t matter if you’d want it. It matters that it’s what he deserves.”

Johnny doesn’t even flinch in the face of his rant. “Maybe it is,” he says coolly. “And if it is, he’ll get what’s coming to him, one way or another. But I don’t want you to have anything to do with it. And I want you to promise me you won’t try.”

Widower Peter hesitates as he considers it, but dismisses it almost immediately. “No. Can’t do that, honey. It’d be a lie. He’s going down, and I’m the guy who’s going to do it, even if it takes me the rest of my life to figure out how.”

How does Johnny explain to Peter that a lonely, isolated, miserable life spent in the pursuit of vengeance in Johnny’s name isn’t acceptable to Johnny? This is why he’s here. Why Eldrac brought him here. He knows it. He’s supposed to help this Peter do the right thing. Help him start the long process of moving on.

“I wouldn’t want you to become a murderer for me,” Johnny snaps. “I would never want that for you. I’d want you to find some way of being happy without me. That’s what I’d want.” He smiles thinly. “Also a giant statue and a national holiday commemorating my heroic death. So. Maybe get on that instead of the whole killing thing.”

“I can’t do nothing. I have a responsibility—”

“To the other me?” Johnny cuts in. “Yeah, Pete, you do. If you murdered someone because of me—him—it’d be disrespecting his memory. If I were him, I would hate you for it. I don’t approve of murder, especially when it’s done in my name. Never have, never will. Peter. You know that. You need to find some other way to be happy.”

“Without you?” Widower Peter says, eyes too bright in the dim light. “I can’t. You were my whole life. I need you. I can’t be happy anymore, honey. Not without you. Impossible.”

Johnny cups Widower Peter’s face in his hands and presses his forehead against Widower Peter’s. Widower Peter’s breath catches, his red-rimmed eyes grow wider. “Maybe you’ll never be as happy as you would have been if the other me had lived, but I do believe you can find some kind of happiness, Peter. You at least have to try. Do it for me.”

Widower Peter’s hands settle familiarly on Johnny’s waist. “Honey. I wouldn’t even know how to begin.”

“You let the people who love you help you,” Johnny says. “Sue and Ben. They’re hurting too. Let them help you. Talk to them.”

“Oh,” Widower Peter says. “Oh, Johnny, they all miss you and Reed. I can see it every time I look at them. I think they need help just as much as I do.”

“So help them. Instead of hurting Annihilus, take care of my family. That’s what I would want. Make sure they’re safe. Make sure they’re as happy as they can be. Peter. Please.”

Widower Peter shuts his eyes and breathes. Johnny can feel the fight go out of him. He nods. “Yes. All right. I promise. Your family. I will do everything I can for them.”

“And no killing Annihilus.”

“Johnny, I—”

“He can’t die, you know. Even I couldn’t kill him.”

Widower Peter’s hands squeeze Johnny’s hips a little too tightly. “Okay,” he says at last, fingers relaxing. “All right. I won’t go out of my way to try to kill him, but if the opportunity ever arises, I’m not promising I won’t.”

It’s the best Johnny’s likely to get out of him. He smiles. “Okay. That’s good.” He smooths his fingers through Widower Peter’s scraggly beard. “You know, you could use a shave.” He leans forward, sniffs Widower Peter’s shoulder, and makes a disgusted face. “Ugh. And a bath. And when was the last time you ate?”

A faint smile flickers into being on Widower Peter’s lips. “I forgot how much of a mother hen you can be.”

“I picked it up from Sue,” Johnny says. He shoves at Widower Peter’s shoulder. “Now go take a shower and then shave. I’m ordering us a pizza.”

Peter has found that his moments of greatest clarity often come when he least expects it. Oddly enough, many of those moments seem to happen while he’s busy kicking someone in the teeth.

There’s something about the mindless ease with which he can take down unsuperpowered criminals that he finds soothing. It’s like meditating, almost. Like Peter’s own personal brand of yoga. Very Violent Spider-Yoga. Maybe he should market that.

Regular people move so slowly for Peter, he’s never in any real danger. To them, he’s a blur of movement, there and gone almost before they can register he’s there at all.

Bullets look like they’re crawling through the air when he moves like that. It’s almost fun, ducking out of the way and hearing them hit the wall behind him. It makes him feel untouchable.

One second, the bad guys busy mugging some poor unsuspecting guy, the next they’re hanging by their derrieres off a lamp post while Peter writes a sarcastic note for the cops and kicks them in the shins a few times, just for fun, just because they were being so cruel.

Peter stops exactly five muggings while he swings through his city. No. Scratch that. Not his. One that simply resembles his but isn’t.

This is someone else’s territory.

The fact that all of the bad guys seem so floored by his presence is an irritating reminder that this isn’t home. He supposes Widower Peter hasn’t really been out on the town much since Johnny died.

A man in a black ski mask who’d been threatening a terrified young couple even asks Peter—with an odd degree of kindness—how he’s doing since his husband died.

Oh, that explains the strange behavior. Peter’s secret identity isn’t so secret here. He supposes it makes sense—as part of the FF, Widower Peter would have much more protection than that to which Peter’s accustomed.

Peter lets his mind wander as he swings and ruminate on his special brand of problems.

Peter’s spent the last few weeks not wanting to let Johnny out of his sight, now all he wants is to be as far away from him as possible so he can sort out the jumbled mess of emotions that have been accumulating over the last few days. Maybe longer?

How long has he felt like this about Johnny? How the hell does he feel about Johnny?

Peter’s always thought they were just friends. Sure, it’s occurred to him a few times that Johnny’s not exactly hard on the eyes, but that’s normal when someone gorgeous enough to be a supermodel is standing in your kitchen wearing next to nothing and cooking you breakfast.

It doesn’t mean he has—has feelings—No. He doesn’t.

Johnny’s. He’s. He and Peter don’t fit together.

No. Peter always used to think that. That they were too different to work together as a couple, But. After everything he’s seen lately? The happiness, the joy other Peters have found with other Johnnys? Peter can’t deny that somehow, for some reason, even though they are both so very different…they work together.

But that was other Johnnys, other Peters. That doesn’t mean he and Johnny would be happy together. It can’t.

It’s while he’s stopping the sixth mugging of the night, the heel of his foot knocking out at least three of the man’s teeth in a satisfying little spray of blood, that Peter arrives at an epiphany that floors him. It changes his whole life.

He’s in love with Johnny.

He doesn't care about whether or not their relationship will work out. All he knows is that he loves Johnny more than anything and wants to spend the rest of his life with him. Every second he has left.

He realizes in a second burst of inspiration that this isn’t recent—suddenly the way Peter sees his entire relationship with Johnny changes.

His obsession with Johnny when he was in high school, the way Johnny always got under his skin like no one else ever could—it’s not because he hated him. He never actually wanted to punch Johnny’s lights out—he wanted to kiss him! He'd just been too young and stupid to understand what his feelings were.

And those dreams! The disconcerting dreams he’s been having every night since Johnny moved in, all involving a very naked Johnny—he’s been having them because he wants Johnny. Badly.

He’s in love with his best friend…who maybe doesn’t love him back.

Oh, hell.

Why does everything always happen to him?

After the pizza arrives and Widower Peter emerges from the shower, he and Johnny set the pizza down on the coffee table, grab a few plates and beers from the kitchen, and start to eat on the sofa in the den.

Johnny takes the opportunity to examine Widower Peter more closely out of the corner of his eye. Now that the beard is gone, he can see how haggard and unhealthy Widower Peter looks in comparison to his Peter. He even looks…older, although he’s the same age. Johnny swears there’s some grey coming in at his temples. At the tender age of thirty.

He really hasn’t been taking care of himself. And now his Johnny’s not around to look after him.

“Do I really look that different, Johnny?” Widower Peter says softly.

“No!” Johnny says hastily. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring. “You look—fine. Just.” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Sad, I guess.”

“Well,” Widower Peter allows. “I guess I am at that. It’s been hard without you.”

“How’d you two get together, anyway?” Johnny says. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“No, I don’t mind talking about him. Maybe it’ll help.” He sets his plate down on the coffee table. “I’ve been in the FF since I was fifteen years old. Only superteam I ever wanted to join. Reed was like—like a father to me. My idol. The guy I wanted to be when I grew up. I always wanted to officially be part of the family, you know? So when I fell for Johnny, when I married him, it was like—like a dream come true. We were eighteen when we got married. Just kids. Didn’t know anything. We ran away to Vegas because we knew Sue would never approve. She, Ben, and Reed made us have another ceremony here after we came back from our honeymoon just so they could be there. Ben and Reed cried like babies.” Widower Peter’s smiling, eyes shining as he remembers. “It was a lot of fun in the beginning. We were two dumb kids just starting our life together, but, my god, we loved each other.” He crumples his napkin into a ball and tosses it onto the coffee table. “I’ve never loved anyone else. Never thought I ever would.” His mouth twists. “Do you know what it is to have someone be so much a part of you that don’t know where they end and you begin and then have them torn away from you?”

Oh, god. Johnny hadn’t realized that this Peter had been with the other Johnny for so long. A decade at the very least. This is worse than he’d thought. Johnny can’t even imagine what it’s like. “No,” he says. “No one’s ever loved me like that. No one’s ever stayed with me long enough to let me love them like that.”

Widower Peter looks at Johnny, and Johnny feels as though he is made of glass, every one of his secrets laid bare. “But you love him that way, don’t you?”

Johnny swallows. He’s never admitted this to anyone—Ben, maybe, one drunken, miserable night Johnny only half remembers, but Ben’d just held him patiently as he wept and never mentioned it again, although there's a hint of worry in his eyes when he sees Johnny and Peter together now that hadn't been there before. 

He had asked, when Johnny told him he'd be staying with Peter while the Baxter Building was rebuilt, if Johnny thought that was...a good idea. Johnny had pretended he had no idea what Ben was talking about, and Ben had left it at that.

“Yeah," Johnny admits. "Yes. I—Yes. I do. Or I could. If he’d let me.”

“You’re sure he doesn’t love you back?”

Johnny reaches out for his beer and takes a long swig. He doesn’t like beer, he has to admit, but right now he’ll drink anything that’ll dull the pain. “I’m sure. He doesn’t even know that I love him. I’ve never been able to work up the courage to tell him. And—what’s the point? He doesn’t love me anyway. I know he doesn’t. I mean, he loves me as a friend, but. He doesn’t want anything else. Not from me. Guess I'm not—not good enough for him or whatever.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“What can I do?” Johnny says. “I guess I’ll have to figure out how to get over a guy I’ve been in love with half my life.” He smiles thinly. “You know what? I don’t know how to start either.”

Widower Peter’s quiet for a beat. He rubs his thumb along the rim of his beer bottle as he thinks, and when he finally speaks again, what he says floors Johnny. “Stay with me."

Johnny freezes, beer bottle halfway to his lips. His eyes widen. “What?”

“Your Peter doesn’t love you, my Johnny is dead,” Widower Peter says earnestly. There’s a light in his eyes Johnny’s never seen before. He reaches up and cups Johnny's cheek tenderly. “You want someone to love you. I will. I’ll love you—you don’t have any idea how much. Stay. Here. Or—or I’ll go with you. There’s nothing keeping me here. Not anymore.”

Johnny swallows. “I’m not—I’m not him. Your Johnny. He’s—not me.” How does Johnny explain all the pain he’s been through, all the heartache this world’s Johnny never experienced? How does he describe all the intangible ways it’s broken him, shattered his heart over and over until he fears it’ll never be whole again? “I’ve been—alone a lot longer than he was. Things have—have happened to me. Bad things. My life has been—I’m—I’m different.”

“I can get to know you. I can help you. We’ll be happy together. This is why you’re here. I just know it. Out of all of the universes you could have ended up in, you came here. This is meant to be. I know it. You and me. We’re destiny.”

Johnny…doesn't know. He wants this to work, but a part of him suspects that Widower Peter is so desperate to get his Johnny back that he’ll do anything.

And also…this is a Peter, but he’s not…the Peter Johnny’s in love with. He’s just not the same. Johnny doesn’t love him. Maybe he could, but he doesn’t, not yet. Is he willing to give up his whole life on the off chance that he can love this Peter?

Johnny licks his lips. “Kiss me,” he says. This’ll—if there’s any attraction at all between them, this’ll let Johnny know.

Widower Peter doesn’t hesitate, almost as though that’s exactly what he was waiting for Johnny to say.

His kiss is…different than Johnny’s Peter. Even the way his mouth tastes isn’t quite the same.

But it’s—he’s good. Very good. He knows exactly how Johnny likes to be kissed, exactly how to hold him, exactly how he likes to be touched and where. It doesn’t feel as intense as when the real Peter kissed him, but there is undeniably an attraction there.

Johnny can feel himself melting beneath Widower Peter’s expert lips. Maybe this isn’t his Peter. But he can pretend, when his eyes are shut tight, he can pretend that he’s being kissed by the man he’s wanted almost as long as he’s been old enough to want.

He’s dizzy and out of breath by the time Widower Peter pulls away. He doesn’t open his eyes right away either, too busy savoring the kiss.

“So?” Widower Peter asks. “Did you—was it okay?”

Johnny opens his eyes, and he likes what he sees. “More. Again.”

Widower Peter’s mouth crashes against Johnny’s, and he kisses Johnny senseless.

Johnny has the impression that the kissing goes on for a long time—he knows he’s flat on his back against the couch, Widower Peter’s hard, lean body pressing him down into the cushions.

It all happens so fast. One moment Widower Peter’s tongue is in Johnny’s mouth, Widower Peter’s palm rubbing deliciously against Johnny’s crotch, and the next Widower Peter’s being torn away, flung across the room, and slammed into a wall hard enough to dent it, while Johnny watches in shock and horror.

“Keep your hands off of him!” Peter is hollering at Widower Peter, and Johnny has no idea what’s happening right now. “This Johnny’s mine, not yours!”

“Peter!” Johnny says, stumbling unsteadily to his feet. “Whoa! What are you—?”

“Well, if you don’t want him,” Widower Peter shouts back, “if you’re not going to make a move, I’m going to take him. As a matter of fact, he’s already agreed to stay here with me.”

“Whoa! No, I didn’t—“ Johnny says. “I haven’t agreed to anything! We were talking it over! That’s it!”

“With his tongue down your throat?” Peter says accusingly.

That’s it. Johnny snaps. “No!” he shouts. “No!” He doesn’t understand why Peter cares. “You don’t get to blow up at me for that, Pete! You told me not even an hour ago that you didn’t love me!”

“I didn’t know I loved you!” Peter shouts before he can stop himself.

Johnny’s jaw drops and he goes very, very still.

“I didn’t know,” Peter repeats, more softly but with utter sincerity. “Johnny. I didn’t know.”

“Peter,” Johnny breathes. “Peter. What exactly are you—“

“I love you,” Peter says simply. “I think I always have.”

Johnny doesn’t know who lunges first, him or Peter, but he does know they meet somewhere in the middle. They miss each other’s mouths—Peter’s ends up around Johnny’s cheekbone—but they course-correct almost immediately.

Johnny was wrong, so wrong about the kiss they’d had before. This one is better, so much better, because it means that Peter is his, all his, forever. It means that everything Johnny’s wanted for so long is his at last.

“I love you too,” Johnny says when they stop long enough to catch their breath.

“Figured,” Peter says, and kisses him again.

Unsurprisingly, when they part for breath again, Eldrac’s doorway is shimmering behind them, waiting to take them home.

“Go without me,” Johnny tells Peter. “I’ll catch up.”

Peter’s eyes flick over Johnny’s shoulder towards the spot Johnny assumes Widower Peter is standing and then back at Johnny. “Okay,” he allows. “But don’t be long or I’ll come get you.”

Johnny snorts. “Well, I don’t want that. You’ll just punch him again.”

“I will definitely punch him again. And I’ll enjoy it too.”

“You idiot. Now go.”

Peter gives a melodramatic roll of his eyes, but he does as he’s told for once.

Johnny waits until he’s certain Peter is well and truly gone, and then he turns around. Widower Peter is leaning back against the wall, hugging his arms to his chest protectively, eyes downcast and gloomy. He knows what’s coming as well as Johnny does.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny says, walking towards him. “I wish I could stay, but—“

“You have your own life to live with your Peter now,” Widower Peter finishes. “No, Johnny, I know. I was just...being selfish by asking you to stay. I can see that now.”

“It never would have worked, you know,” Johnny says, trying to ease the pain. “When you look at me, you don’t see me. You see a ghost. I couldn’t live with someone I knew was in love with someone else, someone I reminded him of but wasn’t. And every time I’d look at you, I’d wish you were him.” He shakes his head. “It’s better this way, Pete. Easier.”

Widower Peter agrees. “No, I understand. Go. Be happy with your Peter. Knowing that there’s a version of me that’s happy with a version of you kind of makes me feel better. Even if other me is kind of a dick.”

Johnny smiles. “Just other you?”

There’s a faint smile playing around Widower Peter’s lips. “Okay, so all mes are kind of dicks.”

Johnny ducks his head and laughs. He likes this Peter. Likes him so much he truly wishes he could stay.

“I never told you,” Widower Peter says wistfully. “It’s adorable when you do that. I wish I’d told you.”

“Peter,” Johnny says. This is the last time this Peter will ever see a Johnny, probably. He has to make this count. “I really meant that, you know. I do wish I could stay with you.”

“I know,” Widower Peter allows.

“But, Pete, just…look after yourself.”

“I will.”

“I mean it. Bathe regularly. Shave. Eat. These are all important.”

Widower Peter smiles thinly. “Yes, dear.”

“And look after my—his family for me. Make sure they’re happy. He’d want you to do that. I know he would.”

“Yes. I can do that.”

“And no killing Annihilus.”

Widower Peter hesitates. “I won’t go hunting for him,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “More than that I don’t promise.”

Johnny sighs. “Fine. I’ll take it.” He bites his lower lip. “And Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Try to be happy. For me? I don’t want to know that there’s a version of you out there that’s this miserable. It’s depressing.”

“I’ll try.”

Johnny nods. Yes. He supposes he can’t ask for more than that. He takes a deep breath and says, “Do you…maybe want to kiss me goodbye?”

“Are you sure he’s not going to come back through the magic door and punch me again?”

“No,” Johnny admits. “I’m not. I mean, he might.”

Widower Peter huffs out a laugh. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me? I’m less of a jerk.”

“Of course you are,” Johnny smiles. “You had me around for fifteen years to smooth out all of your rough edges.”

“That I did,” Widower Peter smiles, and kisses Johnny for the last time.

Peter steps through Eldrac and arrives in what is doubtlessly his apartment. It’s the right universe. He can feel it. His bedroom is just as he left it. The dishes are piled in the sink in exactly the right way. This is home.

He sits on the couch and waits impatiently for Johnny to appear. There’s a part of him that fears he won’t, that perhaps he’ll decide to stay with the other Peter.

Peter doesn't know what he'll do if that happens. He loves Johnny with all his heart. He's sure of it.

His fears are baseless, however, because Johnny shows up not five minutes later—it’s disconcerting. One moment he’s not there, the next he is, standing right in front of Peter and looking like something out of those dreams Peter can finally admit he's been having.

Johnny examines his surroundings and then cocks an eyebrow at Peter. “Home?” 

“Home,” Peter confirms. He rises to his feet, bounds over to Johnny, sweeps him off his feet, and jumps onto the ceiling with Johnny in his arms. “I’m here and you’re here—“

Johnny loops his arms around Peter’s neck and grins cheekily. “So what are we waiting for, Webhead? Bedroom’s thataway.”

Peter doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy.

Several hours later, Peter sits bolt upright in bed in the dead of night and shouts, “Did we just get matchmade by a goddamn door?”

Johnny’d been on the verge of falling asleep, but now he’s doing his best not to laugh too hard at the disgusted scowl on Peter’s face. “You just figured that out?”

“It’s a door, Johnny!” Peter says so resentfully that it’s hilarious.

“Pete,” Johnny says. “Let it go. Please?”

Peter drops back down onto his pillow, arms crossed, and shows no signs of abating. “A door! Johnny, a door!”

Johnny sighs and puts a pillow over his face. He can tell this is going to be a long night. He hopes it’s the first of many.

EPILOGUE:

Peter is holding Johnny close as they dance close together, cheek to cheek, on the dance floor of their fortieth anniversary party. Peter's tuxedo is a bit worse from wear after their run-in with Daken, and after dealing with the cops and the EMTs, they were a good hour late to their own party, but neither he nor Johnny can seem to bring themselves to care. They're together, and that's all that matters. That's all that's ever mattered.

Forty years Johnny and Peter have been together, but the thrill Johnny feels when Peter holds him close has never abated, never lessened.

Johnny can hardly believe it’s been so long. He’s been so busy being happy that the time’s just flown by.

“So how long do you think it’ll take them to figure it out?” Johnny wonders aloud.

“You already know when they figured it out because it already happened to you.” Peter sighs. “Honey. We’ve been over this.”

“Well,” Johnny says. He asks again even though he’s heard it before fifty times. “When’d you figure it out?”

“I think I started thinking we were them around the time you and I got together,” Peter admits. “But I knew for sure when little May and Susie were born. Too much of a coincidence.”

“Yeah,” Johnny agrees. “I always kind of hoped they were us, but I never thought it could be true.” He smiles fondly as he remembers the events that took place, oh, a lifetime ago. The door, the trip across time and space that had culminated with him and Peter finding their way to each other at long last. “Older us-es seemed so happy, and I was so miserable without you. I couldn’t imagine ever being that happy.”

“But you are?”

“I am.”

“Me too,” Peter says, satisfied. “You make me happier than I ever thought I could be.”

Johnny smiles. He loves Peter so much. Fifty-five years he’s loved him, and it’s never gone away. “No regrets?”

“Well, there was that haircut I had when I turned forty that I regret. Why didn’t you tell me it was awful? The kids won’t stop making fun! They call it my midlife crisis hair.”

Johnny chortles. “I tried! You didn’t believe me! And why didn’t you tell me that shirt I wore when I was thirty-one was terrible?”

“What shirt?” Peter grins, right before he dips Johnny. “I never notice what you’re wearing. When I look at you, I always imagine you naked.”

“Ooo,” Johnny laughs. “Sexy.”

“I know I am,” Peter says, still grinning, “but what are you?”

“Sexier,” Johnny says, without missing a beat. “Definitely sexier.”

Peter pulls Johnny into a warm, adoring kiss, as though he can't bear not to be kissing Johnny for one second longer.

Oh, but that’s Peter all over. Peter, Johnny’s wonderful husband who he’s shared forty blissfully happy years with, raised three loving children, ten beautiful grandchildren—oh, what a life they’ve had. Full to the brim with joy, love, companionship, and everything Johnny’s ever wanted. Everything he never thought he’d get to have.

Johnny wouldn’t change a moment of it.