Okay, fine then. He could play along. âOh, Human Torch! Iâm your biggest fan! Sign my tits!â He teased, but then he shuddered. âTry to stay away from ESU during frat party hours, if you can. Drunk college kids are⌠something else. More concerned with getting a selfie than Vulture trying to cave in Frat Row, but go off, I guess.â It felt wrong to think that heâd been one of them not so long ago (not one of them, exactly; even in college, Peter hadnât been big in the party scene, but not so far off). May had the picture framed above the fireplace: Peter in a cap and gown mugging at the camera, pointing wildly at his diploma. (MJ and Harry were there too, clustered in tight. It was the twin of the picture next to it, only they were four years younger in that one, and Peterâs arms were wrapped tightly around the pretty young blonde missing from the college photo.) It wasnât yet three years old, but it was lifetimes ago. That was back when heâd thought he was about to start a real goddamn life as Peter Parker. Not whatever this was.
Johnny, however, would have an absolute blast being ogled on Frat Row. Peter wished he could have his breezy confidenceâthis would all be so much easier if he liked the attention.
And then he frowned, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. âEx stuff? Dude, Iâm so sorry. I got all caught up kvetching about my own shitâwhatâs going on?â There was the paradox at the heart of all of this: Peter swore he hated the attention, but some part of him, however small, ran on it. He was tunnel-visioning into it again. If the whole world was weighing on his shoulders, it was the only thing that existed. The only thing he saw. The only thing that mattered. It was just Peter and his echo chamber, a one-man pity party, everyone welcome to watch. He had, once again, forgotten that not everything was about him. Other people had problems, too. Even Johnny goddamn Storm and his perfect cheekbones had baggage. âNo, no, back up to the part where you said Loki and the part where you said dating and super the part where you said marryâ please donât tell me you married Loki. And if you did, please super send me the wedding registry because I donât want to be smited for stiffing the wedding party. Smited? Smote? Whatever. Just⌠unpack this, please.â
He exhaled, swinging his legs against the side of the building. He was trying, dammit. He was weak, he was rusty, and trying to crack a joke felt like he was trying to squeeze into an ill-fitting shirt heâd long since outgrown, but he was trying. Johnny helpedâit was the way he had a story to top every batshit thing in Peterâs life, sure, but it was something else. There was a warmth there, a familiarity built over the years, earned through trust and time and just kinda getting it. Sitting here with him, Peter saw who they were, who theyâd been, what they were meant to be doing. He could feel out the motions, but it was like swinging back through his old college campus or those two photos on Mayâs mantle: almost the same, not quite. (If you looked closely, you could see the way his eyes were brighter in the high school picture, his smile wider, his shoulders lighter. Unless you were looking for it, youâd miss the space between them in the later one. Just wide enough for her.)
âOkay, so. One, please stop reminding me about your sex tape. Two, thereâs wanted, and thereâs wanted. You, Torchie, are the first kind. Iâm the one that comes with a bounty.â Peter shrugged. âWait, what if I just leaned into the whole criminal thing, go all Al Capone or someshit? There, thatâs a rebrand. Think Felicia would go for that?âÂ
He dropped the teasing smile when Johnny mentioned May. Our own. Family. All of them, no matter how much Ben grumbled about it.âBut more family meant more people too caught up in his messes, more people to get burned in his wake. You canât count on people, Peter. You know that. No one else is getting hurt except you. âThanks,â he said, quietly, seriously. âReally. And I am not telling her to call you like that. Ugh. Thatâs my aunt, dude. Thatâs like me hitting on Sue. Althoughââ He cocked an eyebrow and smirked.
But he let the thought trail off and instead gave Johnny a shove. âOy, okay, Mister 'learning to talk was so hard with this silver spoon in my mouth.â Some of us are from Queens.â He clipped his voice up a few tax brackets into his best I summer in the Hamptons impression. âIâm Jonathan, and I spend more money on my hair than most people see in a year.â He slipped back into his own voice, which was not nearly as thick with New York as Johnny seemed to think it was, and blinked. âGonna be honest, I donât know what most of those words mean. I think MJ used that stuff?â
âWow,â Johnny commented, amusement flashing in his eyes. âDidnât think you were that kind of girl. Itâs always the quiet nerds wearing glasses who surprise you.â And young Peter Parker, wasnât that a thought. Johnny had known him, technically, while he was in college (and Johnny was, go figure, a college dropout), but he hadnât really known him. For Johnny, it had been all about Spider-Man. He tried to think back to if Peter really had been as serious as he remembered it. It was hard to imagine him as an average college student, kicking back his heels and letting his hair down. Something about the thought tugged at Johnny painfully. âWell, there is this thing called fun, that people like to have, Spidey,â he said, smile faint on his lips. âDonât be so hard on them. Whadda the kids say? You only live once? I donât think youâre doing it right, buddy.â Â
Then again, it wasnât like Johnny had really ever been good at normal himself. He stared at the crease forming at Peterâs forehead like it would have answers for him, let seconds drag by long and slow, world narrowed down to the space between Peter Parkerâs deep brown eyes. Peter was like that, a rock. He made things okay. But maybe not this.Â
Johnny shrugged. âDonât worry about it, man, itâs nothing. I just, uh, I ran into Daken again. Uh, Wolverineâs son? Havenât really seen him since he ghosted me and then came back and tried to kill my family and, I, uh...â Johnny cringed and looked away. There was really no good way to say, I totally fucked up and let the guy play me again, just let him get away. What kind of person is still hung up on a killer?  âI mean, it doesnât really matter, because Iâm probably married to Loki now. Dâyou think Iâd make a good god? I think Iâd make a good god.â He gave up after a second, but didnât look back at Peter, staring out at the skyline instead. âI donât know, Pete. I just... I always go for the wrong person.â
Nope, didnât feel better for having gotten it off his chest. It was still hard to look at Peter. Johnny was half afraid heâd see disgust in his eyes. Or what was maybe worse, disappointment. He was used to them both, but not from Peter, and Johnny was pretty well aware from him it would hurt a lot more. âOkay, one, you make it sound like I bring it up to you all the time or something, which I definitely donât. Two ... youâre literally the most boring person I know. Youâre not gonna cut it as a criminal mastermind, okay? You better just stick to being a hero, Spidey. It looks good on you.â Johnny finally managed a grin again. âWith the mask anyway. Glad youâre still wearing that. Like, just because weâve all seen your face now doesnât mean we need to see your face now. Youâre, uh, definitely keeping the mask as part of the whole ensemble, then?â
Heâd tried to make the question sound casual, but his smile was growing a little hopeful. Yeah, he doubted Pete was ever gonna ask him for anything, but at least he knew: family was family, and Spider-Man had been included for a long time in Johnnyâs. âHey, you wouldnât have to call me Uncle Johnny right away. May and I would want you to do it on your own timetable, when you feel comfortable.â Then Johnnyâs smirk dropped right off his lips, rising to the bait in a heartbeat. âEw. Stay away from my sister, you Spider-creep!â
Sometimes Johnny really didnât know why he even liked the guy so much. He was not as funny as he thought he was. Case in point: âOh, from Queens, are you? Yeah, didnât know, because itâs not like you mention that all the time,â Johnny said, eyes rolling at the voice Peter was doing. He really didnât sound like that, like, at all, but ... he did remember the big house heâd grown up in, how important his father had seemed. How Johnnyâd gone around talking about how he wanted to be a surgeon too. Yeah, right. Like that would have ever happened. Even before they died. But Sue had always shielded him from the worst of it, after. Sheâd practically put Johnny in a forcefield before she could even make forcefields. And yeah, Johnny had just let her do it all for him, coasted by while his sister gave up her life for him, until they were back on top again. Riches to slightly less rich orphans to riches again wasnât exactly the inspiring story of the year, didnât get much page time in the authorized biographies. Personally, Johnny liked that their story usually started with the flight to space. It was the way he liked to tell it, the better version of Johnny Storm, the day his life had finally meant something. Nothing else was like that feeling.
Except maybe this: Spider-Man sitting next to him, the skyline of New York stretching out in front of them. He returned Peterâs shove to the shoulder lightly, grimacing at him. âYouâre so hopeless,â Johnny said, shaking his head. It was, maybe, a little bit fond, he was prepared to admit. âEvery day, I donât understand how you make it through. Okay, Iâm gonna write it down for you. Do you need pictures? Iâm gonna do pictures.â
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