Chapter Text
He was up there for the view, he swore.
He would do what he needed to do afterward, he just wanted to watch the sunrise first.
Peter had climbed the side of the bridge for the view, to see the way the rising sun reflected on the water, to witness the few lights on in each building.
He had only come to watch the exact sunrise that he had sworn, for nine years now, he would be too dead to witness.
He wasn’t supposed to be alive.
He had broken his longest standing promise, by staying alive until this day. He was supposed to die last night, and this sunrise was supposed to be the first without him.
He was not supposed to be awake with those people in the windows. He was supposed to be resting, finally resting, for the first time that he could remember.
He was supposed to be dead, done.
But he had come for the view.
—-------
Peter Parker was definitely not an insomniac.
He could sleep just fine, as anyone who knew him for longer than a week would gladly tell you. He slept soundly, from eight at night until six-thirty in the morning, every single day without fail, as far as most people knew. You would never get a text, a call, even an email from him past seven-fifty-nine. Everyone who knew him could tell you that you would never see Peter up and functioning past eight.
Because Peter Parker had a very consistent sleep schedule. He was definitely not an insomniac. But Spider-Man certainly was.
Promptly at eight, every night, Peter Parker got to leave behind the horrible limitations of his bedroom and climb out the window to find a world delightfully full of people who wanted to kill him, and people who needed his help.
Spider-Man didn’t need sleep.
And if Peter Parker did, well, he wasn’t selfish enough to take it.
In the times before, he used to swing towards Stark Industries at eight-oh-one every day (after spending a minute to pet the stray cat who lived on his fire escape) and would work in Mister Stark’s lab until ten, when he would swing home with a full belly and stitches from laughing. He used to sing cheesy pop songs while swinging himself home and make it to his room safe and sound in time to crash in bed until seven the next day.
That was back when Peter Parker loved cats, and lab days, and cheesy pop songs. Peter Parker loved getting a full night's rest, so that he can feel his best the next day. That was back when Peter Parker loved anything.
That was back when Peter Parker was loved.
That was before.
But now, at eight-oh-one pm, Peter did not automatically turn the direction of Stark Industries. He didn’t pet the cat on the fire escape either.
Those were things the old Peter Parker did, and the boy who climbed out of the window this particular night wasn’t really known as Peter Parker anymore.
He wasn’t really known as anything.
At seven-thirty, Peter started tidying. His room was already neat, far neater than it typically was, but then again, this would be the last time he had to clean it. Might as well make it a good last time.
He had been having a few good last times recently.
Another last time came when he climbed out his window.
It registered vaguely that he had already had his last time climbing out his window in his suit, seeing as now he was in basic jeans and a hoodie with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He would never leave this apartment as Spider-Man again.
As a matter of fact, he had already had his last time putting on his suit. He would never be Spider-Man again, at all.
He straightened his backpack and wondered vaguely how the cat, which used to sit on the fire escape back in his old house with May, was doing. He hoped it was doing okay, that someone was scratching it behind the ears the way it liked.
Peter would never see that cat again.
He hoped it had found a new place to live, after the attack that killed May.
He climbed down the fire escape and jumped the last set of stairs, enjoying the dull pain in his feet when he landed from such a height.
He had long since stopped trying to minimize his injuries. The pain felt nice, like a reminder that he had a body.
He started walking before he could look back. First stop was Stark Tower. His last time heading to the tower, his last time following the familiar path of high-rises and skyscrapers which he had swung from for years.
He had missed this. He would miss this.
Nothing would ever be the same again, for him. Everything would be the same for everyone else, once he was gone.
—---
He decided to scale the building instead of bothering using his web shooters. He didn’t have much web fluid left, and climbing would clear his mind anyways. If he was spotted, well, he would be dead before they could do anything to him.
Maybe he could try and stop at Mister Stark’s lab, to see what he’s up to. Peter could peek through the window, maybe get a glimpse at the messy room he used to call a second home. Maybe he would get shot by security and killed in the process.
It would be worth it.
He dropped his backpack off, on the roof of Stark Tower, and secured it with the last of his web fluid. He left his empty web-shooters with the backpack. Inside the backpack was his spider-suit, his notebook containing the instructions to make web fluid, and a note explaining that Spider-Man wouldn’t be around anymore.
He climbed down quickly.
He never saw what Tony had been up to in the workshop.
—--
Next stop, last stop, was the bridge.
He still had some time before sunrise, but he wanted to sit down. He thought it would be nice to wait up where he would fall, to see his last view. It wouldn’t be worth walking around the city one last time. He was impatient for death. He had waited patiently for this day, and it was finally time. After not being sure whether he would follow through, back and forth, for years, it felt a bit strange to know for a fact that he had made his decision. The time had come.
He thought he had retired his old plan, for a few years now. He had had Tony, and May, and Spider-Man, and MJ, and Ned. He had thought he was finally safer alive than dead. He had told himself that this day would be the same as any other, that when this day came, he would stay safe at home.
He had even come close to telling Tony about his scrapped plans, one particularly long night.
And then, Peter had died. He had come back. Tony nearly died. May had died. Tony had gotten busy. Peter's friends all got rejected from MIT, everyone found out who Peter was, and everything collapsed. Tony tried to help, but there wasn’t much he could do. When Doctor Strange had given Peter the option of being forgotten, he had taken it, knowing what it would mean about this day.
He would keep his promise after all.
Finally, the day had come. Only one person on Earth knows Peter’s name now. By the time the sun rises, nobody on earth would know his name.
It only took a few minutes to travel to the bridge closest to Stark Tower. He had never thought he would do it here, he didn’t want Mister Stark to have to remember him when he drove over it, but the spell had solved that problem. Peter doubted that his name would ever cross Mister Stark’s mind again, so it didn’t quite matter if Peter died in his line of vision.
Deciding he would rather not be stopped by pedestrians or police who might see him, Peter climbed up the arch of the bridge rather than sitting on the wrong side of the railing. The arch conveniently leaned outwards, so that Peter was over the water, rather than over cars. Perfect.
He settled in, sitting cross legged on the metal arch, and stared out at the water, the city, the last view he would see.
It was an odd feeling, now that he was here. He had to fight to stay in touch with his body. He didn’t want to lose the last few minutes of his life to his own inability to stay grounded.
To that end, he dug his fingertips into the soft skin at his hip, scratching at an itch that didn’t exist.
He had promised himself he would kill himself back when his parents first died, when every day felt like a battle and his only comfort was knowing that, eventually, it would end. He knew he would end up killing himself then, had fallen asleep by imagining the ways he could do it, and he eventually settled on the most beautiful option.
He had even picked out a date. Today.
It certainly was beautiful, up here. Younger him had had good taste.
Once he had picked out a date, back then, he had made a plan of how his life would lead up to the day it ended.
Four years before the chosen date, he would somehow convince someone to take out a life insurance policy on him, one that did not exclude suicidal deaths. He thought that person might be Aunt May, but really anyone would work. Anyone who needed the money.
Three years before he died, he would move away and start over, making new friends and cutting off contact with his aunt. It's easier to mourn a runaway than a death, and Aunt May deserved an easy life. Peter's mere existence made “easy” incredibly unlikely, but Peter could shoot for “easier”. Runaway nephew, not dead nephew. She wouldn’t have to pay for a funeral.
One year before the chosen date, he would distance himself from his friends until he was truly alone. He didn’t want to hurt anyone when he killed himself.
He wanted to be alone. He got what he wanted. Peter was more than sure, now, that he wouldn’t be hurting anyone who knew him by leaving. More sure than he could have asked for back when the plan was first made.
His plan hadn’t gone exactly right.
He had never gotten a life insurance policy written for himself. Once he met Tony Stark, he decided it wasn’t really necessary. Not only would Mister Stark throw money at whoever Peter pointed at, but the man would certainly have questions as to why Peter wanted a life insurance policy on himself. So, that part of the plan was scrapped.
Peter had never moved away either. After enough time as Spider-Man, he thought he had scrapped his plan entirely. He thought he would live to see his twenties. He hadn’t tried to distance himself from his friends, his aunt, Mister Stark…
He didn’t need to try, though. He should have known. Everything he touches turns to ashes, and there was no need to try and separate himself. The universe did it for him.
His younger self had envisioned the day enough times to know exactly how it was supposed to go on the day he died, and it had all gone according to plan so far. He woke up in an empty room, with no messages, and he had gotten rid of anything important to him. The day was going exactly according to plan, even if the last few years hadn’t.
He got rid of his prized possessions. That was the trip to Stark Tower. He wanted to return the spider suit. It would be better, much better, if it seemed as though spider-man had simply retired. The suit needed to be returned, rather than found, and ruining all that good tech would be a real shame. The suit had been returned without a hitch.
Everything had gone perfectly so far.
It smelled nice up here. The air was crisp, and the perfect temperature. Super-hearing and focus meant that Peter could hear the song of birds, somewhere far in the distance. A soft breeze kept Peter cool.
He could see everything from here.
In the distance, he could make out the roof of Midtown High. He wondered who the last one to sit on the roof of the school had been. Someone skipping class, or someone at lunch avoiding a bully, or a friend group laughing at an inside joke that Peter would never know. He vaguely remembered his conversation with MJ, back when everything had gone wrong, up on the roof of the school.
It felt like a faraway dream.
Mr. Harrison might be in that building now, preparing for classes. Neither of his friends would return to the building, and neither remembered a single moment they shared with Peter in Midtown. Someone was using Peter's locker, and Neds.
Peter hoped whoever used Neds and Peter's old lockers were friends.
There would be a ten year reunion there, at some point. Nobody would notice his absence.
Stark Tower stood out against the skyline, and Peter tried to remember exactly what each floor was, starting at the top. The roof, where he had sat countless times, watching the stars or looking out for trouble.
He would never sit there again.
Tony’s lab was easily identifiable by the landing platform outside it. Peter never had asked how the suit removal mechanism worked on the landing platform. There were a lot of things Peter never asked.
It was far too late now.
Not a single person in that building knew his name. Countless hours spent working on projects, making friends with strangers who were working on similar topics, stealing from Tony’s candy stash, working on homework with Ms. Potts, and it was all gone. Not a single person there remembered a moment of time with him. It was as though he had never stepped foot in the building at all.
Peter wondered if that was for the better.
He couldn’t see his old apartment from here, but maybe that was for the better as well. He knew they were reconstructing it, making the old plot of land a much more expensive and fancy apartment. May never would have lived there, in a place that fancy.
Everything that used to be there was gone. Every memory of May, every chance at figuring out how to go back to normal… gone. The old apartment might as well have disappeared with Peter. It was as if the world had meticulously extracted every last piece of Peter’s soul from New York City. Now his physical body just had to follow.
If he stood up, he could see the jail Toomes was being kept in. He was probably still there. Everything had changed, for Peter, since that day on the beach. Things were probably largely the same for Toomes. Every day that Peter had struggled, every high and low, every laugh of sob that escaped Peter’s mouth, it was all while Tooms sat in the same cell, in the same square mile. Everything was the same, for him.
Only now, Tooms doesn't know Peter’s name.
Maybe Peter should have gotten locked up with him.
It was as if Peter had been a professional all along, as if he had never been that eager child in a sweatsuit clinging onto the heel of his enemy. As if he had never been a child, as if he had never been anything at all. The mistakes he had made, of revealing his identity, of getting close to people, they had all been forgiven. His slate had been wiped clean. There was no more evidence of the desperate fifteen year old kid who had nearly died trying to atone for his mistakes.
Time pushes on.
Peter wasn’t anything like the kid on the beach so many years ago, desperately trying to prove himself to Mister Stark. He was done proving himself to anyone.
And if, after Peter dies, a deity is expecting Peter to prove himself worthy of forgiveness for all the hurt he caused, that deity would be met with a dead glare and enough indifference to fill the river coursing below him.
After another ten minutes, watching the water slowly drift by below, Peter’s stomach grumbled.
He hadn’t gone back to Delmar’s Deli, after May died. He didn’t think he could take it. They wouldn’t know his order, they wouldn’t recognize his face. Murph would hiss, there would be no comment about his family, everything would be the same and everything would be different.
He wished he had gone back though, now. Just once. Sitting inches from death would be more comfortable with a sandwich.
He was supposed to die hours ago. He was never supposed to see more than an hour of this day. He had come to see the view. He wanted to watch the sunrise, one last time. He just wanted to watch the view, and then he would fulfill his promise.
He had half an hour more to wait, and then he would die.
It was peaceful up here. The metal wasn’t too warm yet, with the sun not out yet, but the beginnings of daylight warmth were starting to reach the spot Peter sat. He was glad that, back when he decided when he would die, he hadn’t chosen the day. The burn of the sun into his back when he had hugged his loved ones for the last time still seemed to infect his skin, and he didn’t want to feel it a single time again.
He had managed to stay inside mostly, up until this point, but sitting on the bridge in the sunlight would have brought back awful, horrible memories of the last time the loss of hope pierced through his heart.
He had twenty-five minutes left. He had kept his watch when he left his apartment. In previous years, if we wanted to avoid notice, he would have left it behind. But now there wasn’t anyone to look for him, nobody who would bother tracking the tech to find him.
So he kept his watch. 25 minutes to go.
He had given himself too much time to think, or maybe not enough. He couldn’t stop glancing at Stark Tower. Every floor had its lights on now. Peter wondered if Mister Stark had slept last night.
When Peter first told Mister Stark about the spell, the older man looked about ready to die himself.
Peter had promised to find Mister Stark again, after the spell. Mister Stark had made him promise that Peter would find him and explain, he would make sure Tony remembered.
Peter had agreed, and it was one of the only lies he was glad he told.
He never found Mister Stark again. He actively avoided his attention, being far more careful with his superhero identity than he had at fifteen.
He knew Mister Stark was actively trying to figure out who Spider-Man was. The man kept showing up to Peter’s fights, and had tried to engage Spider-Man in conversation more than once. Peter had a sneaking suspicion that, when Peter had said goodbye to Tony, one of Tony’s pleas to FRIDAY had somehow worked, and the AI was warning the billionaire that he was missing something, and he would find that something with Spider-man.
Peter was almost sure that Tony knew nothing about his identity, but one could never be too cautious once you have the attention of Tony Stark. As a result, Peter had occasionally slept outside after fights, to avoid being tracked back to his apartment.
Peter was well aware that he had been a headache for the Stark family, back when he lived in Stark Tower after the blip, and regardless of how much joy he brought Tony Stark (back when he was still the Peter Parker Tony recognized) he wasn’t willing to insert himself in the man's life again. It would ruin his plan. Peter had finally managed to get himself in the situation he had daydreamed about since he had lost his parents, and he wasn’t about to ruin it and get close to someone again.
All Peter could do was hope that Mister Stark had found peace without him. Hopefully, Mister Stark would find something to do with the suit Peter left at his tower.
The sky was a dull pink, almost orange. Fifteen minutes to go.
He sat up and brought his hands together. They were cold.
Would they ever be warm again?
With ten minutes to go, the sky started to lighten up noticeably. It was like the sun was racing Peter’s heart to see which would fly first.
Hopefully it will be a very close race.
Peter, meanwhile, was starting to second guess himself. He should have destroyed the spider-suit, leaving it to Mister Stark was far too suspicious. And he could have left some note for Ned and MJ, somehow, in case the spell wore off in any way. Peter didn’t want them to get back their memories and then be left wondering where he was. He didn’t think they would check the bottom of the East River, somehow.
Would his death break the spell? Would everyone remember, right as he wanted most to be forgotten? He hadn’t had time to ask Doctor Strange the specifics of his fate, being so busy saying goodbye to everyone, and now he would never know.
Seven minutes left.
An increase in noise made Peter look downward to find that a traffic jam had formed far below him. How many times had he sat in a traffic jam on this exact bridge, in Happy’s car, while the pair made their way to Stark Tower? Every different spot on that bridge, every piece of asphalt the wheels touched, and he had been in a car in that exact spot. He had sat where they sat. And he never would again.
Peter looked back out to the sky. An aggressive shade of orange bled out across the horizon, as if the sun had taken over the entire sky and was about to rise, entirely overtaking the blue.
Someone had told him once, maybe he had read it in an article, that nobody would know if the sun exploded until eight minutes after it had happened. Peter checked his watch.
The sun could explode now, and he would never feel a thing.
Five minutes to go. Peter closed his eyes.
Peter wondered exactly what MJ and Ned were up to now. They could very well be awake, at some fancy new job, or have pulled an all nighter, or out on an early morning jog. They could still be asleep. This is an average day for them, most likely.
An average day for Mister Stark too.
Thinking of the billionaire made Peter imagine the sound of his suit, the whistle of cutting through the air, the push of his thrusters. He had never asked to use the suit, never asked to fly. He wondered if it sounded the same, from the inside of the suit. He closed his eyes and laid back on the narrow seat he had balanced on.
He didn’t have to think about what May was up to. She was the same as him: waiting in vain for anything to change. Just, May was six feet under and Peter was a lot higher up than that. He would join her soon, though. Not long.
Not long now.
The wind whipped around him, raising the hair on his neck.
His spider-sense alerted him of another presence only after the voice had rung out into the otherwise empty air. Apparently, the spider-sense didn’t consider the speaker a threat, and thus didn’t warn him.
“Hey, Spider-Man. Need a hand down?”