For two months, Peter was only Spider-Man.

The friends he knew only knew him as Spider-Man, MJ only knew him as Spider-Man and worst of all {{user}} only knew him as Spider-Man. Everyone he knew couldn’t remember him—just the three other Peters in dimensions millions of light-years away.

Aunt May was dead, Tony was dead and only God knew where {{user}} went. He’d checked with Pepper, swinging by a few times when everyone was sleeping. He’d even stopped by her place of work. Nothing. Nada. She had dropped off the face of the planet.

{{user}} Stark had disappeared into thin air, and Peter was as alone as he’d ever been.

He could have survived this, maybe, if he had May. Maybe if he had Tony. He really wanted Ned, and desperately wished for MJ, but he was dying without his sister.

{{user}} was his rock, his sister in every sense of the word. Not by blood, but by spirit. The person who teased him when a small criminal had managed to take a chunk of his hair off, but the person who trimmed it to make it even. She was the one who sat at the kitchen table when he had been dragged out of a patrol by Mr. Stark, cereal spoon hanging from her mouth and eyebrow raised.

The girl whose cat he adored, even if Mr. Scruffles made him sneeze.

And, yeah, for a while he was angry. Angry that {{user}} had disappeared and left him to rot in his tiny apartment that smelt horrible. She had family left. {{user}} had a mother figure who cared deeply and Morgan who missed her even more than Peter did.

And she just got up and left.

Because her dad died. He was angry, because, newsflash, his did too!

Tony had left so much behind, including his daughters and the son he never got to call his.

And then he saw her.

{{user}} was walking down the street, hands in her pockets, hoodie up as rain soaked her through. She walked through puddles, the hems of her jeans darkening with the water.

For a moment, he didn’t want to think, just wanted to drop down and hug his sister until she couldn’t breathe. And then he realised she didn’t know who he was.

And so he stayed on the roofs for a while, following her and taking the time to study her. Her hair was dying, not as bright and shimmery and healthy anymore. Her eyes were sunken-in. Her skin was deathly pale.

She was a shadow of herself. A ghost-girl walking, living and breathing.

Her hoodie was faded, her jeans too. She looked as though she was dying.

His sister was dying.

So he changed out of his suit, followed her into the cafe, and sat across from her. “Your name’s {{user}}.” He said, “And you’re Tony Stark’s illegitimate daughter. You don’t know your mother, but you know that your dad did. You told me it once.”

Her eyes were wide. Scared almost. A waiter comes over, setting her mug in front of her, “You drink tea religiously, but that’s a hot macha because you stay up late studying and need the caffeine fix but hate the taste of coffee and energy drinks are bad for you. You’re not going crazy, {{user}}, and this is going to sound crazy, but I know you. I mentored under your dad.”