Archive of Our Own

“You’re late,” Johnny said by way of greeting. He was on the sofa, his bare feet  on the coffee table as he perused a magazine. He didn’t need to look up, because he knew it was Peter; they had a date, see. A bro date involving snacks and a movie, this time of Johnny’s choosing. He was stuck between Moulin Rouge and Practical Magic (he was in a Kidman mood) but he was going to be merciful and let Peter break the tie.

“Sorry, Torch,” Peter said as the door to Johnny’s apartments silently slid to a close behind him. “Something came up.”

“I doubt it was anything more important than what is that ?”

Peter sighed heavily. The young boy of about ten standing beside him didn’t look up from his handheld device. “It’s a child, Torch,” said Peter. “You’ve seen children before.”

Johnny sat up a little straighter, bringing his feet down from the coffee table and putting his magazine aside. “Why is he here?”

“Like I said, something came up,” was Peter’s enigmatic answer. “I was hoping you could maybe watch him? For a while?”

“On movie night?”

Peter looked at him with his large brown eyes and earnestly said, “It’s a big thing.”

“Uh-huh,” said Johnny, looking the kid up and down. He was a scruffy little thing, his dark hair sticking up in all angles, but his clothes seemed expensive. “So, what is he? An alien or something? A robot?”

The kid scoffed, but still didn’t look up from his console.

“No, he’s human,” Peter promised. “One hundred percent. So, you’ll look after him?”

Johnny pretended he was still mulling it over. “In a babysitting capacity, or a Human Torch capacity?”

“Both would be great.”

Peter seemed distracted, flustered. He was looking Johnny in the eye, but his thoughts were clearly miles away. Johnny sighed and got to his feet.

“Well, my date just cancelled, so luckily I’m free.”

“You’re the best, dude,” Peter said, stepping forward to pat Johnny’s cheek. Johnny endured this display of affection. “I owe you one.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s more than one. So you’re not going to tell me who he is or anything?” he asked, because Peter was already backing out of the room.

“Later, I promise.” Peter pointed a finger at the kid, then dropped it and licked his lips awkwardly. “Walter,”  he said. The kid looked up and blinked. “Be, uh... good,” Peter settled on.

“Yeah,” was the kid’s wordy reply.

“Okay,” said Peter. “See ya later!”

“Wait!” Johnny said, following him to the door. “Tonight, later, or tomorrow later? Do I have to pull out the sofa?” he asked in a low voice.

Peter thought on it. “If I’m not back by midnight, sofa bed it is. Kids sleep at midnight, right? That’s a decent bed time?”

“Lights out at eleven,” Johnny said, folding his arms across his chest.

“You’re the best, Torch,” Peter said again. And once again, Johnny pretended it didn’t delight him to hear those words. “See ya later.”

And the doors slid to a close, obscuring Peter from view.

Johnny spun on his heel to properly greet his new company, who didn’t seem to care much that his previously designated chaperone was now gone. The kid, Walter, was still standing in the middle of the room and typing away on his gadget. His right shoelace was untied, and he reminded Johnny of someone desperately — he just couldn’t place who.

“Hi, Walter, was it?” Johnny spoke up, putting his hands on his hips in a way he believed was affable. “I’m Johnny.”

Walter didn’t look up. “Hi.”

Walter clearly wasn’t that interested in who Johnny was. Did he even know where he was? Did the Baxter Building mean anything to him? Either this kid was used to mingling with celebrities or couldn’t see outside of the screen in his hands.

Johnny dropped his arms and swung them at his sides.

“You wanna watch a movie?”

Walter pressed a few more keys, and then looked over at the movie night set-up. The TV was turned onto Johnny’s media library and there were bowls full of popcorn and chips on the coffee table, along with two bottles of soda. Peter had an insatiable appetite and Johnny was a good host.

“Was this really a date?” Walter asked.

“What?”

“I thought he was dating a redhead lady.”

“He is, kind of. It’s complicated.” Johnny shook his head. “How do you know him, by the way?”

The kid shrugged. “I guess he’s, like, my dad or something.”

Johnny blinked.

“Your . . . your dad,” he repeated.

Walter fell onto the sofa, his eyes back on his device.

“Hngh . . .” said Johnny. His throat seemed to be tied in knots, and Walter didn’t seem to hear him. “Your father ?”

Walter shrugged again. “Think so. That’s what mom said, anyway.” He began violently pressing a combination of keys for about ten seconds, and then sighed with relief.

“Mom?” said Johnny when he was done.

“Do you have anything in black and white?” asked Walter.

Shit. He really might be Peter’s son.

Johnny gestured to the remote and said something, but he wasn’t sure what. Walter seemed to understand anyway, and abandoned his device for the fibreglass remote control that lay on the sofa armrest.

Johnny didn’t know how he made it to the intercom by the kitchen island because he couldn’t entirely feel his legs. “Sue,” Johnny hissed into the intercom. “Emergency. Now.”

Not fifteen seconds later, the doors slid open once more and both Johnny’s sister and Ben burst into the room, fists at the ready.

“ Jesus ,” said Walter from the sofa, the two liter bottle of coke Johnny had bought for Peter balancing precariously in his lap.

Sue lowered her fists.

“Johnny?” she said.

Johnny scrambled to her side and tugged on her arm. Ben muttered, “Oy vey,” and smacked him lightly upside the head before stalking back out of the room.

“You guys really all live together?” asked Walter. So he did know where he was. Well, he definitely got points for seemed rotoundly unimpressed.

Sue frowned, clearly confused. Johnny heard himself whispering, “He says he’s Peter’s son. That Peter’s his . . . his dad.” Christ , he could hardly say it.

Sue’s blue eyes widened.

“Peter . . . Peter Parker? Our Peter?” Johnny nodded frantically. “Does he know?”

“I’m thinking he does! He dumped him on me and left!”

“You’re a bad whisperer,” said Walter from the sofa.

Johnny widened his eyes at his sister, and she sighed and pulled him towards the hallway that lead to Johnny’s room, keeping an eye on the young boy as she did so.

“Do you need help babysitting?” she asked quietly when they were finally out of earshot.

“If it were any other kid, no! I’m great with kids! But . . .” He ran out of words, his entire mind going blank but for Pete’s a dad, Pete has a kid—

“Do we know who the mother is? I’m guessing it’s not Mary Jane.”

Johnny shook his head and cast a quick look over his shoulder. Walter was scrolling through Johnny’s list of movies, apparently unimpressed by the catalogue. “No, I don’t think so. No, he just called her a redhead lady. Maybe he’s from another dimension? Anything’s possible!” he added quickly as Sue began to frown.

“Anything is possible, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“My hopes? What hopes?”

Sue ignored him. “What did Peter say when he brought him over?”

“He asked me if I could watch the kid and said we would talk later.”

“Okay.” Sue nodded, processing. “In that case, I’d watch the kid and talk later. And he is a child, Johnny. Don’t interrogate him or do anything to make him uncomfortable.”

“Does he look uncomfortable to you?” Johnny asked. Walter had opened a bag of chips and was stuffing a fistful of them into his mouth.

Sue gave Johnny a look, but then she softened. “I can stay with you if you want. Val and Frank can come up. We can do a family movie night.”

“Oh, and that’s not gonna make the kid uncomfortable?” Johnny put a hand to his forehead and urged himself to breathe. “You know what? It’s fine, I got it. I just . . . had a meltdown. This is some soap opera level stuff, sis.”

“I know, I know,” Sue said, reaching out and rubbing his arm. “But we have seen weirder.”

“Have we?” Johnny winced. “Pete! A dad! Our Pete!”

“Try and stop thinking about it until he gets back,” Sue advised. “If you need anything, just call.”

“Okay.” Johnny started nodding, and didn’t stop. “If I need anything, I’ll call.”

Sue patted his arm and began walking back into the living area, only to stop ahead of Johnny and whisper, “He actually looks like Peter.” Johnny looked at her, and her eyes were wide once more. “You’re right. This might be the weirdest thing we’ve seen.”

“ See ?!”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“He doesn’t need two blond superheroes staring at him all night. Go. I’ll report back in the morning.”

“Please,” said Sue, and Johnny walked her to his door.

As soon as his sister was gone, however, he very much regretted telling her to leave. He was alone with a boy who was apparently his best friend’s son. Suddenly, the realization that he had not at all been very impressive washed over him. His best friend’s son totally thought he was a loser. Oh, boy.

“That was my sister,” Johnny explained, approaching the sofa.

“Really?” said Walter.

Johnny opened his mouth, then closed it. “Oh, ha ha. Funny.”

“I don’t know any of these films,” Walter sighed. Thank god, a change in subject. Johnny sat far enough away from him so as not to seem overbearing, and gestured for Walter to give him the remote.

“Then let me introduce you to a little masterpiece called Moulin Rouge . Only you have to close your eyes when I say so,” he added as an afterthought, scanning through the movie mentally and trying to pick out what was and what wasn’t acceptable for a ten year old. “How old are you, anyway?”

Walter straightened just a bit before proclaiming, “I’m twelve in two months.”

“Oh. That’s fine, then. I think.” It was hard to remember what a kid could take when the children in your family were super geniuses. Franklin had closed his eyes all on his own, however, when Johnny had made him watch the movie, proclaiming that kissing was gross. Val hadn’t seemed that impressed by any of it, but at least she wasn’t scarred for life. Not over Moulin Rouge , anyway.

Johnny watched Walter throughout the film with quick glances to gauge his reaction to iconic lines and shots. The kid seemed pretty unimpressed, which was really what drove the whole thing home for Johnny. He could see it. He could totally see this kid being related to Peter.

“You’re making me uncomfortable,” Walter said as Ewan Mcgregor sang through his heartbreak. There was a flicker of silver eyes that most definitely weren’t Peter’s.

“I’ll order pizza,” Johnny said, jumping to his feet. “Are you a pepperoni man?”

“I’ll eat pretty much anything.”

Johnny nodded. “I respect that.”

After the pizza arrived, they made their way through the rest of the film without much incident. When it ended, Walter gave Johnny his honest review.

“That was terrible,” he said.

“Each to his own,” Johnny shrugged, pretending he wasn’t that hurt.

There was a brief and awkward pause where none of them said a word. Then Walter picked up his device. Johnny gave technology a quick thanks and got to his feet, because he did not trust himself not to interrogate the boy without Nicole Kidman mysteriously coughing blood between them. After he had cleared up the pizza, he sat at the kitchen island with his phone. He wanted someone to talk to about all this, but the only person he could talk to about this right now was just downstairs, and he didn’t exactly have any updates.

It wasn’t long after that Peter returned.

He came through the door looking like he had been knocked around a bit, a bloody cut on his lip brewing concern in the pit of Johnny’s stomach despite himself. He was mad at Peter. Maybe.

“Hey,” Peter said. Walter raised an eyebrow at the sight of him, seeming mildly concerned about the way his guardian was limping.

Johnny leapt to his feet and tugged on Peter’s hoodie to pull him aside.

“Daddy’s gotta talk to his best friend real quick,” he told Walter when Peter began to protest. That shut Peter up the way very few things did, and he followed Johnny through the hallway and into Johnny’s bedroom. It was slightly messy, disregarded clothes thrown across the floor and the bedsheets unmade, but Johnny reminded himself he had nothing to prove to Peter Parker of all people, and especially not right now.

“How are you, physically?” he asked in a low voice, not daring to close his bedroom door. He didn’t know what kind of danger Walter was in, if any, and while he didn’t want to have this particular conversation with the eleven-year-old looking heartily disinterested in the background. He wanted to be able to hear if Walter got around to being kidnapped. “How’s the face?” He gestured to his own mouth, and Peter winced.

“I’m fine,” he replied anyway. That was good enough for Johnny. 

“Okay. WHAT THE FUCK !?”

Peter closed his eyes wearily. “I know, I know. It’s been a crazy couple of days.”

“No shit!” Johnny squeaked. “Are you okay? Emotionally, I mean?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

“That does sound honest,” Johnny allowed. “Who’s the mom?”

“Oh, uh.” Johnny had very rarely seen Peter Parker blush. But sure enough, his cheeks were reddening now. “Felicia Hardy,” he said. “The Black Cat.”

Johnny wanted to die.

“Walter’s in danger, otherwise she wouldn’t have—I wouldn’t know, I guess. She needs my help with something. She’s going to leave him with me for a couple of weeks while she deals with it. I offered to help her, but she said the best I could do was . . . look after Walt.”

Johnny forced himself to digest this information, his thoughts fraying at the edges through a mantra of Felicia Hardy. The Black Cat. “Okay, and then what?” he asked. “Are you getting joint custody, or . . .? What’s the situation here?”

Peter put his hand on his forehead and stared at a spot on the floor.

“I, uh . . . I honestly have no idea.”

He looked exhausted.

Johnny softened.

“Does he know you’re . . . you know?” He made thwip motions with his wrists.

“I don’t think so. I don’t know what he knows. Johnny, I don’t know anything about this kid.” And the look on Peter’s face was so woeful, so lost, so hopeless that it very nearly broke Johnny’s heart in two.

“Okay, I’ll help you out real quick,” he said, straightening to level Peter’s eyes with his own. “He has your messy hair and I think he has your nose but, you know, unbroken. He’s pretty chill but that’s probably to mask an inner freak-out, and also he’s, like, a super genius. I live with super-geniuses, so I should know. That thing he’s carrying around? Pretty sure he made it himself. Also he hated Moulin Rouge, which is another thing you two have in common.”

Peter’s dark eyes shone. 

“Thanks, Johnny.”

“You’re welcome. Now is there anything I can do to help? We can do to help,” he clarified. “The Four.”

Peter shook his head. “Fel thinks he’s safe with me, because, like, who is Peter Parker? Just some dude from Queens. But you were a big help tonight. It was hard to come up with anywhere safer than the Baxter Building under the watchful and trustworthy eye of the Human Torch.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere ,” Johnny said, and the sparkle in Peter’s eye made it worth it. “If I can help . . . just me. Let me know.”

Peter nodded. There was a silence, the first real silence since Peter had arrived. Johnny drank in the sight of him, the circles under his eyes blooming in purple, his pupils darkened and glistening, his jaw tensed.

“I should—” Peter mumbled.

“Yeah,” Johnny agreed. “I think the kid’s pretty tired. D’you think I can call him Wally?”

“You can try,” said Peter.

In the living room, Walter was asleep on the sofa. His odd homemade device was slipping out of his small hands and a stray tuft of chestnut hair was falling across his eye. He looked so much younger like this, and Johnny felt a surge of affection for the kid.

Peter paused not too far from the boy and just looked at him, absorbed in the sight.

Then he jump-started back into action, taking the extra few steps towards the sofa and extending a hand to nudge Walter awake. He seemed to think better of it then, pulling his hand back.

“Hey, bud,” he said instead. “We’re heading home.”

Walter blinked blearily to attention.

“What happened to your face?” he mumbled. Peter stepped away to give Walter space to stand up.

“Some super-powered thug smacked me. But it’ll heal.”

“Hm. Has mom left?”

“Yeah. But she’ll be back in no time.”

Walter followed Peter to the door, his eyes downcast. Peter turned as soon as they reached it, his hand stretching over the button. “Uh, Johnny,” he said. “Thanks.”

Johnny smiled, as if to say, it’s nothing, even if it was sort of everything, and said, “Bye, Wally.”

Walter gave him a look before following Peter, his father, out into the hall. And then they were gone.

Johnny tried checking up on Peter through text messages over the next few days, but he didn’t get much more than the odd two-word reply from him until Sunday morning, when he once again showed up at the Baxter Building unannounced with his eleven-year-old at his side.

The family was having breakfast, Johnny and Franklin on the sofa watching cartoons as Reed read the paper and Sue chugged down her coffee. Ben and Val were fighting over the last chocolate-filled croissant but stopped upon Peter’s entrance, momentarily distracted. Val then seized the opportunity and plopped the croissant onto her plate, retreating to the sofa beside her brother and uncle.

“Hi, guys,” Peter greeted the room. “Hope you don’t mind me dropping in like this–”

“Not at all, Peter!” said Reed, taking off his reading glasses. “Not at all!”

“This is Walter, my son. Walter, this is Reed, Sue, Ben, Valeria and Franklin.”

Walter, my son . Even though this was not news to Johnny, the words were still a shock to his system. He dropped his spoon into his cereal bowl, suddenly not too hungry anymore.

“Hi,” Walter said to the room, much shyer than Johnny remembered him. Peter rolled his shoulders self-consciously.

“We were heading down to Central Park and I wondered if any of you guys were up for it.”

“That sounds great!” Sue said immediately. “Franklin, you’re not dressed–”

Franklin was not dressed, but in his pajamas, and currently staring at Walter with his mouth slightly open, as if he hadn’t believed the gossip around the Storm-Richards dinner table until this very moment.

“There’s no hurry or anything,” Peter cut in.

“Have a bagel, son,” Reed offered. “Walter, do you like bagels?”

“They’re alright,” Walter mumbled, his hands deep in his pockets.

Johnny shook himself out of it and nudged Franklin’s knee to startle him into action, too.

“Wally!” he said. “Long time no see!”

“Oh, do you go by Wally?” Sue asked politely.

“No,” replied Walter, meeting Johnny’s eye from across the room. “Never.”

Johnny pouted.

The family took no time at all to get themselves dressed and out of the door, an occurrence Johnny fully attributed to Sue. After Johnny’s night of babysitting, she had asked him for details while staying particularly respectable about the whole thing. She told Johnny that he should help Peter out if he could, because raising kids was no easy feat, but didn’t send Peter a text message herself so as not to come across as too intrusive or overbearing. He had come to Johnny first, after all, which counted for something. “He knows where he can find us if he needs us,” she had said sagely. And while she definitely appreciated the seriousness of the situation, Johnny guessed that she was secretly happy to have another superhero parent around.

Today, Peter had done just what Sue had been waiting for: he had come to them for help. So Sue had leapt into action, directing her family into civilian clothes with almost the same tone she requested they put on their superhero gear, while Johnny sat with Peter and Walter at the kitchen island and got caught up on how they had spent the past few days. Peter had taken Walter to almost every museum that wasn’t about art, the movies, and on a tour around the ESU campus. Johnny watched Walter’s face when Peter mentioned the University, expecting to see the kid roll his eyes or look deathly bored, as any normal kid would. Instead he quirked his mouth appreciatively, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

During the walk to the park, Franklin and Walter had gotten to talking about some video game they both played, and Johnny did not miss the relief that passed over his friend’s face at the sight of the two getting on. Valeria sat on Ben’s shoulders, her arms folded atop his rocky head, and Sue and Reed walked together with their hands intertwined, which left Peter and Johnny on their own at the rear. Peter wasn’t in a very talkative mood, which wasn’t very Peter-like at all. Instead, he watched the back of Walter’s head with rapt attention, his eyes following the younger boy's movements, his tense shoulders relaxing slightly when Walter laughed or pulled a face.

Sue bought the kids (and Ben) an ice-cream each from one of the stands in the park and Walter said thank you. When the kids ran off ahead, Peter said thanks to Sue, too.

“It’s nothing,” Sue waved a hand. “He seems like a wonderful young boy.”

“Oh,” Peter said, as if surprised. “Yeah. He’s good, right? He seems okay?”

“He seems fine,” Sue assured him with a warm smile, and this seemed to comfort Peter more than everything Johnny had said or done over the past few days combined.

They soon reached the center of the park where Reed, Sue and Ben sat down on the grass, the three kids distancing themselves from the adults while gesturing wildly. Peter lingered to the side, and Johnny, after taking a deep breath, stepped towards him and nudged him with a shoulder.

“So,” he said, sure they were out of earshot of the others. “How’re you holding up?”

Peter let out a breath, his eyes fixed on the head of thick brown hair across the grass.

“I'm going crazy, Johnny,” he confessed. “I don’t know what to do with this kid! MJ bought me all these hyperspecific parenting books—” He turned to Johnny, a bit hysterical. “Did you know there’s a market for ‘So you have a sixth-grade son!’?”

“I could have guessed.”

“He knows I’m Spider-Man,” Peter continued, “and, frankly, he’s not that impressed.”

“Ouch.”

“I have no idea how to be a dad,” he admitted finally, his shoulders slumping and eyebrows knitting together in desperation.

“Okay, well, breathe,” Johnny said, stepping in front of Peter and putting his hands on Peter’s biceps. He squeezed, determined to not get distracted by how solid they were, not today, because he was a good friend.

Peter closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

No distractions, Johnny reminded himself. Peter’s eyelashes were nothing special, and neither was his bone structure. In fact, his pores were all clogged up, and his hair was in desperate need of conditioner. Johnny filed that away for a gift idea before clearing his throat and dropping his hands.

“Now, I don’t think there’s any solid proof you’re not doing the best you can. It’s not like there really is a ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ in these situations, and the kid seems pretty well adjusted, if you ask me.”

And way too skilled at climbing trees. How the hell had he gotten up there so fast? Franklin was struggling behind him, still trying to heave himself onto the first branch. Bless the kid for not resorting to super-powered cheating. Yet.

“And I don’t think he hates you either, which is huge.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “He doesn’t? I really can’t tell.”

“Well, he’s spending time with you, right?”

“His mom is in Europe. He doesn’t have a choice.”

“Kids run away!” Johnny pointed out. “And he hasn’t.”

“Oh my god,” Peter said, his eyes widening. “What if he runs away?”

This was clearly the opposite of reassuring.

“I don’t think he will. And if he does, who’s better equipped to find him than Spider-Man and the Fantastic Four?”

“This is the most bizarre pep-talk–”

“Listen, I don’t know what to tell you,” Johnny sighed, giving up. “I’m not a dad. I’ve seen Reed do it, and I’ve seen Sue do it, but they probably have a leg-up on you because, you know, they raised their kids.”

“Getting worse.”

“But you can still raise him! You’re raising him right now!”

“By dumping him on you guys.”

“He wasn’t dumped anywhere! You’re still here! We’re all here together, and it’s totally fine. The kid needs to hang out with people other than you. That’s totally normal, and it was good of you to set this up. It takes a village, you know? I babysit for Reed and Sue all the time.”

“I panicked,” Peter confessed. “We were walking and not talking and I panicked.”

“And it all worked out!” Johnny beamed. Then his mouth dropped open. “Holy shit.”

Peter spun around and only just caught Walter landing on the next tree, the trunk swaying under the weight of him, leaves dripping to the ground. He was smiling, the most emotion Johnny had seen on him yet.

“Is being a spider-person hereditary?” Johnny asked in a stage-whisper.

“I don’t know, but being raised by his mother might have had some effects.”

Franklin finally gave in and teleported to the branch adjacent to Walter’s, almost shocking the other kid off of his perch. That was when a lightbulb went off in Johnny’s head.

“Hey! Why don’t you take him out some time? Spidey-ing?”

“Are you serious?”

“He’s clearly got some kind of skills. It could be fun. Father-son bonding. You don’t have to, like, fight any criminals. But a little bit of swinging . . . could be fun.”

Peter studied Johnny, his expression unreadable. The sun had come out, and Peter squinted a little, his pupils shrinking. His eyes really were the best shade of brown.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Maybe.”

“I mean, disguise the kid or whatever if you’re worried. Or don’t. You’re his dad.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, his eyes searching for Walter once more. He puffed his cheeks and let the air out slowly. “Yes, I am.”

It was almost eleven when something heavy slammed against Johnny’s bedroom window. Johnny was well used to the sound, but he looked over immediately all the same.

Spider-Man was stuck to the glass, a small boy’s arms wrapped around his neck. Walter was wearing a ski-mask, but it was so big most of his face showed anyway. His cheeks were flushed pink, and when Johnny slid the window open he noticed how bright his grey eyes were.

He slid off of his father’s back and both father and son pulled off their masks in an eerily similar gesture. Walter was trying and failing to school his expression into one of impassivity, while Peter didn’t bother to try and hide the fact that he was beaming. 

In their smiles, he and Walter matched. Johnny’s heart clenched.

“We were about to get a snack,” Peter said breathlessly, “but I left my wallet at home.”

“Uh-huh,” Johnny said when Peter didn’t continue. Peter’s grin became more pointed, more charming.

“Wanna hang?”

“Empire State?” Johnny asked.

Peter winked. “You read my mind.”

“Let me get changed.”

“Why? You look fine.”

Johnny looked at him as if he had grown horns.

“I’m wearing sweatpants ,” he said, in case Peter hadn’t noticed. Peter sighed.

“Walt, tell him he looks fine.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Walter said, peering at the photographs on top of Johnny’s dresser. He pointed at one to the side. “Is that Beyoncé?”

Johnny put a hand on Walter’s shoulder proudly. Peter had pretended not to even know who Beyoncé was (at least Johnny was 60% sure he’d been pretending), nevermind the fact that she had taken a photo with Johnny at last year’s New Year’s Eve party.

“Yes, yes it is.”

“Well, skinny-jeans it up, Torch, we haven’t got all night. I’m starving.”

“No, we haven’t got all night. Walter should be in bed, you know that right?” Walter threw him a look, as if Johnny had just betrayed him deeply. “You’re eleven ,” Johnny reminded him.

“Torch! Unstable jeans! Hop to it!”

“Alright, alright, give me a minute!”

Fifteen minutes later, Johnny was ready to go.

Peter was face-down on Johnny’s bed when Johnny emerged from the bathroom, while Walter was sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed, tapping away at his mystery device. Valeria had been impressed by it, which meant something for sure.

“Finally,” Peter groaned, lifting his head and looking over his shoulder at him. “ Please tell me you’re done.”

“I just need shoes,” Johnny snapped. “You know, some of us have an image to look after.”

“We’re going to be on top of the Empire State Building, at night, when it’s cloudy.”

“And who’s gonna buy the tacos? You think they deliver up there? Walter, tell me you haven’t looked under the bed.”

Walter shook his head, not looking up from his phone.

“What’s under the bed, hot stuff?” Peter asked, sitting upright. 

Johnny hadn’t been embarrassed by that particular nickname in a long time. His eyes flickered to Walter, who hadn’t seemed to hear it. If he had, he certainly didn’t seem too bothered. So, moving on, Johnny took a break from tying his laces to point at him sternly, lips pursed in a way he hoped was intimidating. Peter raised his hands in surrender. 

Johnny did not trust him at all.

“Sure, swinging’s fine, but I have to say I think riding the wind on fire is slightly more impressive.”

“It’s less athletic, that’s what it is,” Peter said around an unhealthy mouthful of fries, his legs swinging freely beneath him.

“Do you have any idea how many calories being on fire burns up?”

“I literally have super strength. It’s all muscle mass, baby,” Peter said, flexing his arm.

Walter swallowed. “You two are so weird,” he said. He looked more relaxed than Johnny had ever seen him, his feet dangling off of the edge of the Empire State Building spire. His calm, if you asked Johnny, was only slightly worrying.

“You’re one cool kid, Wally, you know that?” he said. “I mean it. No offense, but I have an action figure. There are action figures of me. And you’re cool as a cucumber about the whole thing. That’s impressive.”

Peter rolled his eyes and told his son, “Ignore him.”

“I’m serious!” Johnny insisted. “You hang out with superheros often?”

Walter just shrugged.

“Is that . . . is that a yes?” He looked at Peter. “Is that a yes?” When Peter didn’t reply, Johnny spread his arms out. “See! You just shrugged ! Who does that? You’re cool, kid.”

“Okay,” Walter said.

“Ice cold ,” Johnny said.

“That’s enough,” Peter waved a hand. “Stop weirding him out.”

“I’m not the one who was literally flexing two minutes ago.”

“Okay,” Peter snorted, “alright.”

“Hey,” Walter said. “I am actually kind of cold.”

“You wanna head home?” Peter asked, his voice suddenly gentle.

Johnny was about to offer to warm the kid up, but he quickly understood that this was code for the fact that Walter was tired. He was fighting off a yawn with all his might, his knuckles loosening around what remained of his dinner.

“I’ll warm your hoodie for the road,” Johnny said, and Peter gave him a grateful smile before pulling his mask back down over his mouth.

Johnny’s phone dinged a few minutes after he got home. 

hey , Peter wrote. Thanks for hanging out tonight

Anytime , Johnny typed back as he poured himself a glass of milk. It was almost 2AM. Thanks for inviting me

He added a smiling emoji for good measure and watched the ‘typing’ bubble shrink and grow, shrink and grow.

You know all my other friends are broke

Johnny rolled his eyes at the ceiling. 

very funny, he typed back, and threw his phone onto the bed, dropping down beside it with a sigh. After a brief pause, he rolled onto his stomach to peer under his bed.

“Shit,” he murmured upon finding that one of his most prized possessions was missing.

He reached for his phone again, but stopped himself from grabbing it. Either Peter had it (which was a worse-case scenario), Walter had it (which didn’t have to be fatal), or this was all just a big misunderstanding. Maybe Johnny just misplaced it. Maybe it was on a shelf.

He told himself he would look in the morning before kicking off his shoes and heading into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Peter’s apartment building was certainly not the most secure in Manhattan. The main door was open when Johnny prodded it, and the elevator was out of order. He walked up the seven flights of stairs and waited patiently for Peter to open the door, which was in poor shape, the paint peeling off in a way that someone other than Johnny might find charming. He wondered if Felicia had seen the state of the place her son would be staying in, and if she had had second thoughts.

He heard the click of the peephole sliding to one side, and didn’t have the time to mask his surprise when the door opened to reveal a redhead in a baggy t-shirt and leggings, her toenails painted blood red. A reality TV program was playing in the background, dramatic music framing a shocking reveal.

“Oh, Mary Jane—,” Johnny stammered, blinking quickly. “You—Are you—? Hi!”

“No, I am not high,” Mary Jane said, leaning on the doorframe and folding her arms across her chest. “That would be an irresponsible thing to do while babysitting.”

“Oh! Babysitting!”

MJ grinned. “Don’t look too relieved there, Tiger.”

“I’m not—,” Johnny began, but quickly gave in. “Whatever. So where’s Wally?”

“Asleep.”

“Ah. Bummer. Great kid.”

MJ quirked a knowing eyebrow and shifted her weight. Her hair sat in a sloppy bun atop her head, and she definitely was one of the prettiest people Johnny knew. “It’s a little past his bedtime, so I have to assume you’re not here to see the eleven-year-old.”

Johnny shrugged. “You’d be surprised how little Peter knows about bedtimes.”

“I really wouldn’t.”

There was an awkward pause.

“I just can’t believe he would say something like that to me,” a woman bemoaned on the television set.

“I just wanted to check in on him,” Johnny said. “He sent me a freaky text message a couple of hours ago.”

“He did, did he?”

“Yeah, something about stopping a robbery . . . but it sounded slightly more violent than usual.”

“That would be the reason I’m here,” MJ nodded. “He had to blow off some steam.”

“I see.”

Mary Jane looked him up and down, then seemed to decide something. She wandered back into the apartment and fell back onto the sofa, folding her legs beneath her and pulling a tub of Ben & Jerry’s back onto her lap.

“Grab a spoon,” she said. “Join me.”

Johnny hesitated in the doorway. Sure. Why wouldn’t Johnny want to spend the evening with Peter’s ex-girlfriend who he clearly trusted to babysit Walter better than he ever could?

He closed the door behind him and made a quick spot in the kitchen, rifling around the sink for a clean spoon.

He sat down beside MJ just as ads started playing, and felt something uncomfortable under the sofa cushions. He leaned to one side and pulled out a dirty sock

“Oh, yeah.” MJ nodded when Johnny pulled a face. “He’s an animal.” Johnny winced at her choice of words, and she smirked. “So what’s the deal here?” she asked, gesturing at him with her spoon. Johnny avoided her eye and dug his spoon into the Chunky Monkey.

“There’s no deal.”

“Wally sure thought there was.”

Johnny looked over. “He lets you call him Wally?”

“Of course not. Seriously, he talked my ear off about you.”

“Walter talked? About me?”

“Probably because it makes easier conversation than the whole deal of Peter being his dad and Spider-Man, and his mom being in Russia stealing the tsar's jewel’s or whatever.”

“Uh-huh,” Johnny said slowly.

“He said Peter took you out on a dinner date,” MJ continued, wiggling her eyebrows.

“It wasn’t a date,” Johnny scoffed. “Walter was there, and he had no cash on him. So, what do you make of all of this?”

“My ex-boyfriend having an actual human son?” MJ looked towards the TV, at the ad starring a trophy husband who was very pleased with his new laundry detergent. “I wish I could say I was stunned at the news.”

“But you’re not.”

“Have you met Peter?” She sighed. “But Walter’s a really cute kid. He’s lucky.”

Johnny studied the freckles on her face. He wondered if she had ever wanted kids with Peter. He then wondered how to ask something like that.

The window beside the TV slid open.

“Why, if it isn’t two of my favorite people!” Spider-Man exclaimed, climbing through, a cold draft of air following him. “Conversing. Without me in the room. That’s what I like to see.”

“How’s hunting, honeybee?” MJ grinned, all traces of melancholy sinking away.

Peter just shrugged in reply, his mask still on. MJ patted the sofa on her other side.

“Join us!”

“I actually kind of need a shower. I spent some time in the Hudson. Where’s Walter? Is he . . .?”

“Asleep,” MJ said.

Peter’s shoulders relaxed.

“Great. Thanks, MJ. And . . . Johnny,” he added, like it was a question.

“He’s keeping me company,” said MJ, squeezing Johnny’s thigh with a manicured hand. If Johnny let out a small surprised yelp, no one outside of that room ever had to know.

“Great,” said Peter, his voice odd. “Well, if you don’t mind . . .”

“Go clean yourself up, hero,” MJ said. Peter gave a strange little nod, then disappeared into the bathroom. MJ waited for the pale blue door to close behind him, then fixed her eyes on Johnny. “I’m gonna head home. But you should stay.”

“Why?”

“You wanted to check on him, right? Ask him how he’s doing? Maybe give him a little massage to relieve the stress of fatherhood?”

“No massages,” Johnny said sternly. MJ slipped her feet into her vans and wiggled her eyebrows. Johnny let out a helpless sigh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to the few of us with eyes, flame-boy.” She smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

“I’m pathetic,” Johnny mumbled.

“Believe me, if anyone understands, it’s your girl MJ.”

“Yeah,” Johnny grumbled.

“Just stay safe, ‘kay?”

Johnny shrugged helplessly, and MJ leaned down and kissed his cheek. 

“G’night,” she said, pulling on her jacket.

“Good night,” Johnny said, sinking into the sofa by way of giving up completely.

He focused on the show Mary Jane had been watching, listening carefully to every word the participants said so as to avoid hearing Peter’s movements in the shower. It was a pretty futile exercise, seeing as by the time Peter emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and a damp t-shirt Johnny hadn’t learned the name of a single participant, nevertheless the name of the game.

“Oh,” Peter said, shaking his hair out with long fingers. “You’re still here.”

Johnny cringed inwardly.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I wanted to check up on you. See how you were. Friend stuff.”

Peter licked his lips and nodded. He began to walk towards the kitchen, then spun on his heel.

“Felicia went to fucking California to raise him. San Francisco!”

Johnny put on his game face. Here we go.

He rested his arm on the back of the sofa and twisted to address Peter properly. “And you would have gone with her,” he guessed.

“Of course I would have!” Peter said, throwing his hands in the air. “I might have renegotiated the city, but . . . And I’m mad–” He looked over his shoulder, at the door to his bedroom, and lowered his voice. “I’m mad that she took that choice from me. She could have given me some kind of heads up, you know? ‘Hey, Pete, it was fun exposing that mob last night, did you know I’m with child?’ Like, I replay our last days together in my head . . . The last time I saw her before she dropped off the map . . . Did she know, and talk to me, and not tell me?” 

He circled the sofa and fell down beside Johnny, his limbs going limp. He seemed to grow softer, his anger melting into sadness. “But . . . I understand. I was a mess back then. I still am. Not that she was doing great either, but I guess that’s why she didn’t want to have to deal with me as well as .  . . well, you know. She stopped being the Black Cat . . . or at least, she took a step back. But she said that I wouldn’t. Or she didn’t want me to.”

Peter then turned his big brown eyes on Johnny, who looked on, completely helpless.

“I just wish that she had said something,” Peter said. “Anything.”

And he dropped his head into his hands. Johnny pursed his lips, weighing his next words carefully. A drop of water was slowly rolling down the back of Peter’s neck, and Johnny clenched his hand into a fist to stop himself from reaching out and brushing it away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry that she took that choice from you. And I know this must be a lot.”

“But?” Peter asked, peering out at him from behind his hands. 

Johnny shrugged.

“What’s done is done, right? And he’s here now. And you’re here.” He looked up, then down again. “You’ve got this . . . this chance. Listen, Pete . . . Being an uncle is great. It’s the best thing about me. But, man . . . I think I’d do anything to have a kid of my own. As long as I can remember, I just . . . wanted that. A family of my own. You know. But it just hasn’t worked out.” He looked down at his hands. “This is stupid. But I would kill to be in your place right now.”

There was a silence. Peter looked at him, his own hands now fallen away from his face. One of them lay on the sofa between them.

“Johnny. I . . . didn’t know.”

Johnny shrugged, but said nothing.

“You must think I’m such a dick—,”

“No, no,” Johnny interrupted. “Not at all. I mean, you are, objectively, a dick.” The corner of Peter’s mouth twitched. “But not over this. You never wanted this. That’s not your fault.”

“I never daydreamed about it or anything,” Peter admitted. “It always seemed like a bad idea. Me, having a kid. But now . . . Johnny, I do love him. Since I found out, I love him. It’s automatic. I would die for him, without a second thought. And . . . and I don’t ever want to hurt him. And it’s a lot, and it’s so strange, because I would never give this up. For anything.”

Johnny took Peter’s hand in his, forcing Peter to meet his eye.

“I’m so happy for you,” he said.

Peter smiled wide. Then he sunk back into the sofa and let out a deep breath before looking over at Johnny, his head resting on the back of the sofa, his cheeks rosy.

“I love you, Storm. You gotta know that.”

Johnny let himself relax beside him, their arms and thighs pressing together. Peter smelled clean, of discount soap and shampoo. His wet hair was dampening the sofa.

“Sure, I know that.”

Peter opened his mouth, as if to say something.

Then he closed it.

“Good,” he said, and closed his eyes. They sat like that, in close silence, for the duration of two ads – one for a yogurt that could help the average business woman with her digestive tract, another for a car that looked too ugly for the amount they were selling it for. Then Peter spoke. “You know . . . I could sign that book for you.”

“What book–?” Johnny began. Then he froze. He knew what book. Aerial View , Peter Parker’s published photography, all in one place, including bonus never-before-seen images of New York City’s favorite acrobat crime-fighter. “Oh. Of course. You did take it.”

Peter’s eyes were alight, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What was it doing under your bed, Torch?”

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

Peter looked thoughtful. “Well, I asked a question . . . That usually means I’d like an answer.”

Johnny shook his head and heaved himself onto his feet, looking around for the jacket he didn’t bring.

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” he said, and Peter leaned forward, tapping his bare feet on the rug riddled with coffee stains that sat in front of his television set.

“You know, I found a weird stain on page 48, wanna talk about that?”

“Not really,” Johnny said briskly, and bowed. “Have a nice night.”

Peter pouted exaggeratedly.

“How can it be when you’re leaving ?” he bemoaned, throwing his head back in despair.

“Because your sofa is so inviting.”

“And if I told you it was a sofa- bed, ” Peter said, stroking the sofa pillow nearest to him and looking up at Johnny from beneath his eyelashes, “would that sweeten the pot?”

“I know for a fact that it is not a sofa bed,” Johnny told him, his casual tone inspirational.

Peter brought his legs back onto the sofa and lay across it, propping his head up on the opposite armrest and giving Johnny a smile that was probably illegal in some states.

“It can be anything you want it to, baby,” he said.

Johnny swallowed.

“Charming, webhead. Charming.” The joke of course being that it wasn’t charming. Not in the slightest. “See you around.”

With a rueful smile, Peter raised a hand and Johnny closed the door. When it clicked shut, Johnny was able to breathe again. He closed his eyes and reminded himself that he had pulled a dirty sock out of that sofa. It was not an appealing place to be at all, and he definitely did not aspire to return to it.

Besides, Peter had definitely been fooling around. Which was great. Because he knew about the book, and oh, god, Johnny would never be able to ask for that back now. Peter was going to hold it over him forever.

Oh, god, Peter was going to hold it over him forever.

But in fact, Peter was surprisingly civil during their next encounters. Sure, Peter Jr. was present for every single one of them, give or take any of Johnny’s family members, but you certainly wouldn’t be able to guess that Peter had recently (jokingly) propositioned him in the middle of the night, or that Peter had found suspicious stains on photos of his alter-ego in compromising positions.

Which was just fine. In fact, Johnny was thankful for it. It wasn’t like he had begun to doubt what was real and what was a dream or anything like that. Plus, spending time with Peter and his son was great. He got to help when things got awkward, and he liked to help. Peter was openly grateful to him for it, and Walter had stopped frowning so much when Johnny called him Wally, which was a victory in itself.

Did Johnny miss spending time alone with his best friend? Maybe. But in the scheme of things, that kind of thinking just made him feel guilty, and mean, and usually resulted in his buying a meal for his friend and extra fries for the kid.

So Johnny and Peter movie nights now also included an eleven year old kid. They were both in their thirties, so this was probably just the natural progression of things anyway. Sure, Johnny hadn’t expected it to happen so suddenly, or to skip the whole baby and toddler phase, not to mention the marriage phase -- 

Peter marrying someone else, that is. Not Johnny. Probably Mary Jane. Or some other beautiful model. Not that Peter was shallow. Okay, so Peter was a little shallow. Lucky for Johnny, he wasn’t too bad looking himself. Not to say that Johnny’s looks had anything to do with Peter and his friendship, because it was a friendship, and a good, solid one, unaffected by Peter’s sudden and surprising fatherhood. In fact, it was probably even strengthened by the arrival of Walter. Because now Peter knew that without a doubt, no matter what, Johnny would stick by him. And it was important that Peter knew that. It was.

“Please, no singing,” Walter begged Johnny after the announcement that he was picking the movie.

“You heard the man,” Peter agreed, even though Johnny had it on good authority that Peter enjoyed Singing in the Rain .

“Pushover,” Johnny scoffed, and put on The Matrix .

Walter sat between Johnny and Peter on Peter’s sofa. It was an incredibly uncomfortable sofa, Johnny mused, as he leaned on the armrest and did his best to get comfortable. He should probably focus on the film, instead. He didn’t even like this film, not really. It was too dreary and depressing for his taste, even if Keanu Reeves sweat a lot and often. He just thought that Walter might be into it, and Peter had seen, like, five films in his lifetime before Johnny had come around so it was pretty much guaranteed to be new to him.

“I just don’t like this kind of stuff,” was Peter’s review as the credits rolled. “ What’s real? Are we real? That kinda thing. Tackling Mysterio kinda took it all out of me.”

“I thought it was pretty cool,” said Walter, and Johnny pat him on the arm.

“ Thank you , Wally,” he said, shooting Peter a look. “It’s a classic for a reason.”

Peter shrugged. “I know it’s a classic, doesn’t mean I gotta like it.” Walter heaved himself off of the sofa between them with the air of a much older man, and left for the bathroom. When the door closed behind him,  Johnny raised his eyebrows at Peter, who shrugged again. “I’ve spent way too much of my life wondering if I’m actually a clone. I don’t need the extra stress.”

“Yeah, what about your actual clones?” Johnny asked, shuffling closer. “Why haven’t I met them?”

Peter seemed to consider. “I thought I’d introduce you to my son, first. Then take you home to the woman who raised me — obviously — then my clone brothers.”

“I’ve known your aunt May almost as long as I’ve known you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Peter mused. “Guess I’ll have to set a dinner date.”

“Can I have a cheese sandwich?” Walter asked from the bathroom doorway, and only then did Johnny realize how close he and Peter had gotten. They were facing each other, their arms almost touching along the back of the sofa.

“Sure thing, squirt.” Peter slapped the top of the sofa and pulled away. “But then straight to bed,” he added, which Johnny knew was for his benefit.

Johnny watched Peter hop over the sofa and head towards the kitchen, ruffling Walter’s hair along the way. He himself stayed seated, stretching his arms out either side of him with a sigh. “I should probably head home. It’s pretty late.”

“No, stick around,” Peter said as he opened a cupboard, his back to Johnny.

It wasn’t an eloquent request, or a very heartfelt one, but Johnny found himself glued to the sofa all the same.

“We can watch the second one next time,” he told Walter, who was rubbing his eyes blearily now that his dad wasn’t watching.

Peter groaned from inside of the fridge, but Walter ignored him.

“Sure. That could be cool.”

“Next time,” Peter said, dropping the cheese packet on the counter, “ I’m picking the film. And it will probably be in black and white, Johnny. Just giving you a heads up.”

“Great.”

Walter rested his arms on the back of the sofa and leaned towards Johnny. This was the first time Johnny noticed a mole on Walter’s neck identical to the one on Peter’s.

“Maybe we can watch it next time Peter’s busy,” Walter said.

“Oh, yeah. Good idea. Hear that, Pete? We’re sparing you Keanu Reeves and existentialism.”

“Keanu Reeves I have no qualms with,” Peter said, waving his spatula over his shoulder.

“Also, I make way better cheese melts than Peter over here,” Johnny said in a stage whisper.

“So I guess I’ll give yours to the alley cats,” Peter shrugged, and Johnny lit up.

“You made me one?”

Johnny and Walter talked about the movie over their midnight snack, while Peter sat on the armchair in the corner and pretended to be studying something on his phone. This did not at all fool Johnny, who knew perfectly well that Peter was enjoying their conversation from afar, happy to just sit near them and listen. Because Peter was very happy. Johnny could just tell.

Johnny began clearing the coffee table of the mess they’d made during the film while Peter took Walter to bed. Part of him wanted to hover over Peter’s shoulder, for he was suddenly overcome with curiosity. Did Peter tuck his son in at night and turn the light off as he left? Of course, it was better Johnny hide himself busy safely away from that whole ordeal, just in case his heart grew ten sizes and exploded. There was also an ugly surge of jealousy coursing through him, one he tried hard to suppress as he put their plates in the sink and turned on the faucet. He wanted that. He wanted what Peter had, and who knew when he would get it, if ever. He was in his thirties, for God’s sakes. Unless there was some parallel universe mishap, or an ex-girlfriend of his own appearing out of the blue (which seemed highly unlikely), his chances of having what Peter had were running slim. 

“Watch out!” Peter yelped, appearing out of nowhere to push Johnny away from the sink. “Ow!” he hissed, and quickly turned the faucet to the side. “Shit. I forgot you were fireproof. Idiot. The water heat in this building is messed up, I thought you were going to burn the flesh right off of your hands. Which, of course, stupid.”

“I didn’t notice it,” Johnny said truthfully, but could now see the steam rising out of the sink.

“Clearly not,” huffed Peter, turning the faucet off now that the sink was full. “MJ complained to me about it last time she was here.”

“Is she here often?”

Peter turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“Why? Jealous?”

Johnny lowered his gaze and folded his arms.

“Asshole.”

Peter chuckled at that before turning his attention on the dirty dishes.

Johnny didn’t know what to say after that, and he was very rarely speechless around Peter because there was always something to say; a jibe to make, poor personal grooming to point out. But Peter was being weird — the lines of him were softer, somehow, and there was an odd tension around him,  something Johnny didn’t dare try to break through. 

Peter began to whistle quietly as he worked and Johnny watched his back moving through his t-shirt until he realized what he was doing. He cleared his throat.

“So,” he began conversationally, ignoring how his voice made only a small dent in the silence. “It’s been nearly three weeks.”

Peter nodded but didn’t turn around. “Yeah. And I haven’t heard from her. I’m starting to get worried, actually. I didn’t want to say anything in front of the kid. I’m, like . . .” He fell quiet and gripped the side of the basin. “Maybe I should have gone with her.”

“She needed you here,” Johnny reminded him. “With Walt.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. Nine lives, right?”

Peter hummed quietly, clearly lost in thought. Johnny came to rest his hand on the counter beside Peter, which seemed to bring him back to Earth.

“Hey, Pete?”

Peter glanced at him briefly, then back down at the sink full of soapy water.

“Yeah?”

“Do you . . . Do you love her?”

“Of course.”

He said it so quickly and so clearly that Johnny’s heart sunk to the pit of his stomach before he even had time to steel himself.

This was fine, he told himself. He had known this would happen. How could it not?

“But, I don’t know,” Peter said then, wiping the last plate down and placing it on the dish rack. He finally looked at Johnny, and there was that odd softness again, so clear in his eyes and the lines of his face. “It’s not . . . It’s different. There’s so much of her in Walt, and . . .” He shook his head, messy curls moving with him, and placed one of his hands on the counter beside Johnny’s. “You know, before this all came up, I was thinking.”

“Doesn’t sound like you.”

“It feels like a lifetime ago, now.”

Johnny knew what he meant, and he wasn’t the one with a surprise son. But there was something odd in the sentence . . . something heavy in Peter’s gaze. It landed hot in Johnny’s belly.

Johnny opened his mouth, maybe to speak, but all he ended up doing was sucking in a breath of hot air. Peter’s eyes dropped, and Johnny followed his gaze to where their hands sat, Peter’s fingertips brushing Johnny’s.

“Pete,” Johnny murmured in a failed attempt to break whatever haze had fallen over him. It didn’t work. Peter kissed him.

Peter’s lips were dry and warm. Johnny could feel Peter drawing his own strength back, could feel his restraint in the gentle press of his lips. It made him ache all over.

If Johnny had a single thought in that moment, it was nothing clear or distinguishable. He kissed Peter back (of course he did). He pushed into the kiss enough to dismantle a fraction of Peter’s resolve and was rewarded by Peter’s fingers digging into his hip, his hand pushing him so that the small of his back dug into the edge of the counter. All Johnny could hear were waves roaring in his ears, all he could feel was the hot slide of Peter’s mouth against his, the weight of Peter’s body pressing into him and the stuttering of his heart threatening to burst out of his ribcage.

“Torch,” Peter mumbled into his mouth, and it sounded like a song.

Somebody cleared their throat.

“Ah!” Johnny yelped, because Felicia Hardy stood not two feet away from them, a black designer duffle bag on the floor beside her and large shades obscuring her eyes. She looked, Johnny noted mournfully, like a movie star. Her hair was cropped short into a silver-white pixie cut that made her cheekbones look higher and her jawline sharper, and she wore a black jumpsuit with a deep V down the center of her chest.

Peter pulled away from him but left his hand on Johnny’s hip, readjusting his grip and pressing his fingers into Johnny’s waistband.

“Fel,” he greeted, his voice strangled. It was almost comforting to know that even Peter Parker was not beyond shame.

“Hello, lover,” Felicia drawled, pushing his sunglasses into her hair. She took her time observing their closeness, time enough for Johnny to wish for a super villain so, so badly. “Johnny Storm,” she said finally, her silver eyes finding his. They were Walt’s eyes.

In fact, there was a lot of her that Walt had so clearly inherited. The heart-shaped face, the mouth, the quirk of the eyebrow (more elegant than anything Peter could ever pull off). 

She raised her chin.

“Where’s my boy?”

“Sleeping,” Peter replied immediately. “In my room.”

She nodded.

“We were just talking about you!” Johnny blurted out. “Funny!”

Felicia raised an eyebrow at him. Then she looked back at Peter, and her face softened.

“It’s over,” she said. Peter’s grip finally fell from Johnny’s waist, and he took the few steps necessary to envelop Felicia in a hug. With her chin resting on Peter’s shoulder, Felicia closed her eyes. 

Seeing Felicia relax in Peter’s arms scared Johnny more than any glare of hers ever would. Johnny hadn’t even known a softer, more vulnerable side to her even existed, and now he saw Peter bring it out in her and hold her through it.

“I should, uh . . .” Johnny began, and faltered. “Congratulations.”

The pair parted and looked at him. They had a child together.

“You’re still cute,” Felicia assessed, tilting her head slightly.

“Thanks?” said Johnny. His voice may have squeaked a little.

“Mom?” a small voice behind them. Walter stood in Peter’s doorway, bleary-eyed and yawning in one of Peter’s old t-shirts that was way too big on him.

Felicia’s face lit up in a way Johnny had never seen, and she said,  “Kitten!” before running to her son and lifting him off of the floor.

Peter drifted over to Johnny while mother and son reunited, Felicia cooing into Walter’s ear as they swayed in the center of Peter’s living room.

“I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” he said, reaching out to touch Johnny’s arm. Johnny snatched it away, then cleared his throat. Do not look at his mouth, do not look at his mouth . . .

“Yeah, sure, of course. Whenever . . . whatever you need. Um . . . Bye.”

For an odd moment, Johnny feared Peter might try to kiss him goodbye. He swerved out of the way in a panic and was forced to make a beeline for the living room window instead of the front door. It was sadly, jammed, and Johnny thought he might burst into tears or scream when suddenly it sprung upwards and he was able to climb out and flame on without another look over his shoulder.

Johnny didn’t know what Peter had meant by ‘later’, but the truth was he was too afraid to actually pursue the matter any further himself. He had no idea what Peter was thinking and he didn’t want to know. He just wanted everything to carry on as usual, and for the memory of Peter’s lips on his to vanish from the forefront of his mind. There was an issue downtown the next morning, which had helped him take his mind off of things as he tried to minimize the damage a guy named The Tornado caused in a science lab Reed had tried talking to Johnny about one morning a couple of weeks prior. But once that whole issue was dealt with and the family was back at Baxter Building, Johnny was forced to bother his family members in order to keep himself busy.

Reed endured his presence in his lab until something blew up, and Sue didn’t ask too many questions when Johnny suggested they go grocery shopping.

But then night fell and brought Peter Parker with it. He walked in on the family having dinner, causing Johnny to choke violently on his broccoli while Ben thumped his back a little too hard.

“Hi, guys,” he greeted, sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “Sorry to barge in, but somebody wasn’t answering his phone and I was in the neighborhood.”

“It’s no trouble, Pete,” Reed said while Sue looked at her bright brother with suspicion. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing serious. I just wanted to talk with Johnny.”

“Sit and join us,” Reed offered. “I’m sure there’s some extra food in the kitchen.”

“No,” Johnny said abruptly. The rest of the table turned to look at him, and he pushed his chair back. “I was finished, anyway,” he lied, but no one challenged him. Not even Ben.

“If Johnny can leave, can I go watch TV?” Franklin asked as Johnny led Pete towards the elevator, not daring to look him in the eye. Nervous sparks were bursting from his fingers, and he clenched his fists to stop them.

“No,” Reed said easily, and Johnny just knew Franklin was slumping in his chair in response.

Peter burst the second they stepped foot in the elevator.

“Felicia’s staying!” he beamed, a rapidly growing smile threatening to break his face in two.

“What?”

“She’s staying in New York! I get to see Walt every other weekend! And Tuesdays and Thursdays after school! And that’s just for now, we’ll adjust as we go along!”

The elevator doors slid open and the lights on Johnny’s floor lit up.

“Are you serious? That’s amazing!”

“Yeah, it’s great!” said Peter, and then his eyes softened. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“That’s not true,” Johnny managed, and stepped into his living room.

“It’s absolutely true,” Peter said, following him.

“What about Mary Jane?”

Peter looked confused. “I mean, yeah, she helped. She babysat a couple of times.”

“And Sue helped out,” Johnny reminded him.

“Yeah, Sue helped out . . . But so did you. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m happy for you. This is awesome.”

“Yeah, it is,” Peter agreed. Then, something flitted over his face and his shoulders slumped. “I uh . . . Fuck it. Listen, can we talk?”

Johnny folded his arms across his stomach and shifted his weight. “Shoot.”

“Okay,” said Peter. “Um. There’s something I wanted to tell you before, you know, this whole thing--” He mimed an explosion with his hands. “And then I wasn’t sure, because, well, because of everything, but now I . . . I’m more sure than ever.”

“Cool.”

“Cool. Okay.”

Johnny waited.

“Great,” said Peter. Then he kissed him.

This kiss was warmer than the last, less of an experiment and more of an explanation. There was motive behind it, and Johnny’s knees buckled beneath him. Even so, he somehow managed to place his hands on Peter’s chest and push him back.

“Stop doing that!” Johnny stammered, already regretting his decision to push Peter away instead of closer.

“Sorry,” said Peter, only looking a little bashful. His eyes were shining and his mouth was wet. “I’m not good a . . . speaking. But I like you, Johnny. A lot. As . . . more than friends.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I really do.”

“You’re . . . you’re someone’s dad .”

“And, what? Is that a turn off?”

Johnny’s eyes bugged out. A turn-off!?

“It’s–Felicia,” he said instead, trying to explain. “And Walter. You’re a family.”

“I hadn’t seen Felicia in over a decade before a few weeks ago!” Peter chuckled. “You’re not exactly homewrecking . . .” His face fell. “Do you . . . Did I read this wrong? You jerk off to my photos of Spider-Man , I thought maybe–”

“Are you serious?” Johnny interrupted. “Peter, you have to promise me you’re serious.”

Peter stepped back into Johnny’s space and put his hand on Johnny’s hip. “I’m serious, hot stuff.”

Suddenly, it was very hard to breathe.

“What about Walter?” Johnny insisted. “Wouldn’t he like to have you and Felicia . . .”

“Together? Maybe.” Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. But I don’t want to… I wouldn’t want to mess anything up. That’s something I don’t want for him.”

Johnny nodded as he processed this.

“And what does MJ think about all this?” he asked suddenly.

Peter frowned. “MJ and I aren’t together.” 

“She babysat for you,” Johnny pointed out.

“Yeah, she’s my friend!”

“I know she’s your friend!” Johnny snapped. Peter’s eyes widened. “Peter, your life . . .”

Peter threw his hands up in the air and took a few steps back. “Fine! I get it! I’m a mess! That’s . . . I get it. I got the message, Torch. Thank you for your honesty.”

“Do you have any idea . . .?” Johnny trailed off and shook his head before he could let anything slip. “I’m sorry, I just don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

“I’ve–I just told you, I thought this through. What the fuck, Johnny? I just said–”

“You said that you wanted me before, and that you still want me.” As he said the words, it finally sunk in. Peter actually wanted him. Johnny’s stomach flipped, and he forced himself back on track. “But it’s not the same, now.”

“Because I’m a dad.”

“Well, yeah !”

“So the fuck what!? Walter already thinks we’re dating!” Before Johnny could ask about that , Peter continued. “But you think I haven’t thought this through when I have, alright? I’ve thought about how if my son ever pays attention to me and ever chooses to see me as a role model for even one second , I want him to see someone who goes after the things he wants. Someone who tells people how he feels when he feels it! That’s what I’ve thought about! I’ve been self-sacrificing before, and it does not work out. I already learned that lesson. So don’t act like I don’t know what I’m doing, and like I haven’t thought things through, when I have.”

Peter’s nostrils were wide and his thick eyebrows were trembling. He meant it. Everything he was saying – had said up until now – he meant.

Johnny swallowed.

“I’m sorry—”

Peter nodded before Johnny could go any further. He understood what Johnny meant before Johnny could even say it. They were best friends.

“Okay. Alright,” he said. “See you around.”

And he went to the elevator, and Johnny didn't stop him.

The next night, Sue found her brother lounging on the sofa in the common area wearing a blanket and little else. He was staring at the TV, cartoon animals racing across the screen, but he didn’t seem to be too invested in it, and a forgotten box of cereal sat on the coffee table.

When he noticed Sue was there, he merely looked briefly in her direction with a wan smile in greeting.

“Johnny?” Sue yawned, rubbing at her eye and pulling her dressing gown tighter around her. “What’s up? It’s late.”

“You know how I’m, like, in love with Peter?”

Sue stopped in her tracks.

“Oh, boy,” she sighed, and gave up on her glass of water to sit down beside her brother. He moved his feet out of the way, curling in on himself, and she patted his knee. “Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

Johnny looked at her.

“Then why isn’t it easy?” Why isn’t it easy like you and Reed? is what he meant. Sue studied him closely in a way that only she could.

“What happened?” she asked.

“He got mad at me,” Johnny told her. Sue raised her eyebrows, and Johnny gave in. “Well, first, he, uh . . . said he liked me. He kissed me—twice—then told me he liked me.”

“What? Really?”

“Right? Out of nowhere!”

“No, it’s not that . . .” Sue said, shaking her head. “It’s just been forever!”

“What has?”

“Everything! Johnny . . .” She seemed at a loss for words. “It’s been forever.”

Johnny set his jaw and said nothing. His throat had begun to burn, just a little, and Sue no longer looked sleepy.

“So . . .” she pressed. “Why did he get mad?”

Johnny looked at his hands.

“I told him it wasn’t a good idea.”

“What?” She didn’t sound accusatory, just surprised and maybe a little worried when she asked, “Why not?”

Johnny glared at her. “He has a son .”

“You love Walter,” Sue reminded him, a small crease appearing between her eyes. “You get on great!”

“And Walter has a mom . Who Peter told me he was still in love with.”

Sue faltered, and Johnny knew he had won this round.

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “He said that?”

“See!” Johnny laughed, the bemused expression on his sister’s face doing wonders for his self-pity. “Not easy!”

His sister pulled a face at him, then sighed, readjusting her seat beside him. She tucked her foot underneath her and rested her head on the sofa, looking over at Johnny with eyes that matched his own. He remembered when they were kids and Sue suddenly started letting him join in on whatever she happened to be doing instead of telling him to keep away. When they had started to become friends.

“That boy really isn’t as smart as he looks,” she said finally.

“Is what I’ve been trying to tell everyone for the past fifteen years!”

“Johnny,” Sue sighed, “Peter’s a little in love with everyone he meets. But he chose you. Right?”

“I . . . Yeah. Maybe.”

“These things are never easy, but at the same time, they always are. There are a hundred reasons to do something and a thousand reasons not to. Things come up, people change. The universe ends a couple of times. But in the end it all comes down to yes or no. If you want it to be, it’s easy, Johnny. You just say yes. And trust that if it all goes wrong, your big sister will kick his ass.”

“You think you could take him?”

“I know I could,” Sue said soberly, and Johnny believed her.

Johnny buried his hands in his face and sunk deeper into the sofa, kicking his blanket up and groaning.

“It’s Peter , Johnny.”

“I know .”

“I’m not going to tell you what to do . . .”

“I know!”

“So you’ll talk to him?”

“First thing tomorrow,” Johnny said, ignoring the nervous jolt in the pit of his stomach. His sister looked impressed.

“Alright,” she said with a smile and patted him on the knee once more. “Now, I’m going to go back to bed. I do not know what time it is and I don’t wish to.”

At that very moment, Reed rushed into the living room.

“Oh, good, you’re both up,” he said approvingly. “There’s an emergency downtown. A portal of some sort opened near Time Square. We’re leaving in five. BEN!” he yelled as he marched towards the elevator.

Sue sighed deeply, then pulled her hair out of her ponytail.

“Why are we superheros again?” Johnny mumbled, pulling the blanket off of him. Sue didn’t answer, just threw him a glance as she got to her feet. Game time.

The four managed to contain the portal at first, and from there on Reed had it transported to his lab. It took a few days for things to die down, however, so Johnny wasn’t able to speak to Peter until they returned to Earth from the ice dimension where they’d been trapped. The trip had tired him out, seeing as he had been the group’s biggest source of heat for the time they had been there, so he made sure to catch a nap and a long shower before leaving the Baxter Building on his self-appointed (only slightly less reality-threatening) mission.

Once again, the door to the apartment building was open. Once again, Johnny climbed the staircase to Peter’s floor and knocked on the door. This time, however, there was no Mary Jane to answer it. In fact, no one answered it. Instead Johnny turned the doorknob experimentally and it opened before him.

“Who’s there?” Peter called from a room away. Johnny didn’t have time to answer before he stepped into the main room, wearing sweatpants and nothing else. “Oh. Hey.”

“It was open,” Johnny said weakly, gesturing to the door behind him. “You should probably see about locking that thing.”

“I can take a burglar or two,” Peter shrugged.

“What about Walter?”

“So, once again I’m not good enough to take care of my kid?”

“That’s not – You’re such an idiot.”

“Cool,” Peter said dryly. “Real glad you stopped by.”

Johnny deflated, his shoulders sagging, and he very badly wanted to leave. He stepped further into the apartment, casually placing his hands in his pants’ pockets.

“Where is Walter?” he asked in what he hoped was a less confrontational tone. Peter assessed him carefully, then seemed to relax. He moved over to the small, round table for two behind the sofa and took a seat.

“With his mom,” he said, turning sideways so he was facing Johnny, one elbow resting on the table. The plastic was peeling off and there was a take-out box on it from who knows when. “They just moved into their new place.”

“Oh, cool,” said Johnny. He sucked in his lips and faux-casually walked across the room and sat across from Pete, his back to the window. Peter drummed his fingers on the table surface, his brown eyes on Johnny’s face. “Okay,” Johnny said, sucking in a breath. “I wanted to talk about the other day.”

“Which day would that be?” Peter enquired.

“Don’t be an ass. Sorry. I just . . . I guess I didn’t believe you thought things through because it doesn’t make sense that you would think things through and still choose me.”

Peter’s entire demeanor changed. His fingers stopped drumming on the tabletop and his lips parted in surprise.

“Are you kidding?” he asked, gripping the edge of the table with wide eyes. “You’re GW’s Sexiest Man Alive!”

“GQ,” Johnny corrected. “And that was two years ago.”

“Might as well be every year in my book,” Peter said earnestly. Johnny could feel his ears beginning to warm up at the praise. “And I know a lot of sexy men,” Peter added.

“You do,” Johnny agreed. That was the superhero business for you. And just Peter’s personal life. How did he meet these people?

“Johnny,” Peter said softly, reaching out for Johnny’s hand. Peter ran warm, even Johnny knew this. In fact, Johnny was probably the most qualified to speak on the topic, even if at that moment his thoughts were reduced to a tentatively happy static. “You have to know that this has been a long time coming.”

Johnny closed his eyes and shook his head gently.

“What?” Peter asked.

“Sorry. I kinda feel like I’m dreaming. Ow!” He pulled his hand away with a yelp, his skin stinging where Peter had pinched him.

“See. Not dreaming.” 

“Asshole!” Johnny said, rubbing the red skin, but he was laughing.

“So that’s a yes?” Peter asked, eyebrows raised hopefully. Johnny feigned confusion.

“What was the question again?”

In one swift movement, Peter threw his chair aside and slid to his knees beside Johnny, placing both hands on each of Johnny’s knees and shaking playfully.

“Date me, Johnny Storm,” he said, looking up at Johnny with his stupid brown eyes. “We can hang out, grab food, do movie nights. Same old, same old . . . but with a few added bonuses.”

“Such as?”

Peter tilted his head thoughtfully. “You can meet my clones, for one.”

“Now that is more along the lines of a dream I once had.”

“Not in a million years,” Peter warned, “and I am dying over here, Storm.”

“Yes.”

“Yes . . .” Peter repeated dubiously. Then his eyes lit up. “Yes?”

Johnny put his arms around Peter’s neck and nodded. 

“I, uh, like you. Pete.”

“See, I thought you did! With the, you know, stains in the book—,”

“Okay,” Johnny cut him off. “That’s just proof I think Spider-Man is hot.”

“What’s he got that I don’t?”

“I heard it’s huge,” Johnny confided, leaning in just for a moment. Peter pulled back, his eyebrows lost under his hair.

“You heard — Geez, Storm. Straight for the jugular, huh?”

“Well, is it?” Johnny pushed.

“I think I heard it’s a pretty decent size. Some would say impressive. Certainly above average.”

“Really?”

Peter nodded exaggeratedly.

“So I should probably go see what Spidey’s up to instead, huh?”

“Shut up,” Peter said with a snort.

Johnny leaned down and kissed him.

Peter smiled into his mouth and butterflies burst in Johnny’s stomach. With his arms around Peter’s neck, he pulled him closer, and Peter lifted himself higher at Johnny’s prompting, his tongue pushing into Johnny’s mouth. With his eyes closed and liquid fire rushing through his veins, Johnny let himself do everything he’d missed out on the first two tries; he ran his fingers through Peter’s hair, felt his way down down Peter’s hard, conveniently naked chest and, after Peter had pushed his way between Johnny’s open legs, reached down and squeezed his butt through his sweatpants.

Peter let out a little surprised yelp and Johnny pulled back apologetically, his heartbeat faltering at the sight of Peter’s lips red and swollen.

“Sorry,” he breathed. “Been wanting to do that for a while.”

Peter levelled him with a stern look, staring at him from under thick eyebrows.

“Never apologize for squeezing my ass,” he said. “Now come ‘ere.”

Johnny was taken off guard when Peter put his hands on the collar of Johnny’s shirt and gruffly pulled him downwards and onto him. They tumbled onto the floor awkwardly, Johnny’s knee banging against the floorboards and the back of Peter’s head knocking into the back of the sofa. Laughing, Johnny clambered on top of Peter and kissed him again. Peter’s hands cupped Johnny’s ass and pulled him closer, and as they rolled over Peter pressed small kisses to the side of Johnny’s mouth, his jawline, his neck.

“You’re hot stuff, Torch,” he mumbled, right before Johnny moved to catch Peter’s mouth in his again. “Real hot stuff.”

Sure, Johnny was on top of the guy, his legs on either side of Pete’s hips, but he still felt himself turn pink at the moderate compliments. “I can’t believe we’re making out on the floor of your apartment.”

“Well, you’ve turned down the sofa already,” Peter reminded him, dropping his head back, his brown hair spreading on the floor. Johnny didn’t want to know how dirty his hair would get . . . but then he thought of a shower.

“So you were serious?”

“Kinda. Walt was in the bedroom. But I was willing to be a little bit irresponsible,” he admitted. “You drive me a bit crazy.”

Johnny swallowed. “You have to stop saying that kind of stuff.”

“Hm? Why’s that?”

“Well, it drives me crazy.”

“Good.” Peter grinned, reaching up running a thumb along Johnny’s cheekbone. “That’s kind of the idea, blue eyes. Gotta level the playing field somehow.”

“The playing field is so . . . level . . . You have no idea.”

“Oh yeah?”

There was a sparkle in Peter’s eye.

Johnny shucked off his jacket and threw it behind him, ignoring any possible damage to the fabric in favor of Peter’s hands sliding up his t-shirt, his thumbs pressing into Johnny’s hip bones. He sat up to help Johnny pull the shirt off and watched him with darkened eyes as Johnny tossed it onto the back of the sofa.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, and pressed his mouth to Johnny’s collarbone. “I have to warn you,” he whispered as he kissed a line across Johnny’s chest. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Johnny groaned, because of course he wasn’t.

Peter jolted away, eyes wide.

“Torch—you’re burning up.” He put a hand to his lips. “Oh my god . . . Do you get hot when you get hot ?”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Johnny began, but cut himself off as he felt something near his crotch. “That turns you on ?” he asked in disbelief.

“A little bit,” Peter admitted with a shrug.

“You’re such an idiot,” Johnny breathed, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck and pulling him closer once more.

Peter wrapped his arms around Johnny’s back and they both of them tumbled to the side, this time knocking into what had been Peter’s chair, only now there was no laughter.

Peter fumbled for the zipper on Johnny’s pants as they kissed messily, their teeth knocking together as Johnny lifted his hips to help Peter with the zipper.

“It’s stuck,” Peter panted into Johnny’s mouth. “Can I just rip it?”

“I will kill you,” Johnny replied, and Peter groaned either in irritation or arousal. He then gave up on the zipper and pulled himself on top of Johnny, pressing his hips into his. “God, your floor is filthy.” 

“You’re so annoying,” Peter huffed. He kissed him again, and he pulled back again.. “I like you so much, Torch. Johnny. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“I like you, too, Pete,” Johnny said, his hands tangled in Peter’s curls. Peter ground his hips downwards and Johnny lifted his own, chasing that feeling. “So much.”

He felt ridiculous, dry humping his crush on the dirty floor of an apartment with no working locks and uneaten take-out on the table above him. He felt like a teenager. He felt happy.

A ringing tone cut through the air around them. Peter froze, and Johnny pushed him gently away.

“You should get that,” he said softly.

“You sure?”

Johnny nodded, and Peter took a deep breath. He kissed Johnny one more time and peeled off of him, jumping to his feet with astonishing ease. In a surprising act of chivalry, he offered Johnny his hand.

“I’m just gonna stay here,” Johnny told him, shooing him away. “Reflect.”

“I’ll be right back,” Peter promised, and jogged out of the room.

Johnny studied the ceiling. As the seconds rolled by, he realized exactly how hard the floor was, and how rough it was on his shoulder blades.

He pulled himself upright and looked around the apartment. He was now a changed man. He had made out on the floor with Peter Parker.

Peter padded back into the room, his hair sticking up at all angles, his expression apologetic.

“Walt?” Johnny asked, but Peter shook his head.

“Spider-Man, actually.”

“Oh. Anything I can help with?”

“Not really.” Peter grimaced. “I’ve been working on this thing with Jess and Luke . . . They’ve sent me a million texts,” he said, scrolling through his phone with his eyebrows furrowed together. “I mean, you can come along if you want—,”

“I’ll pass,” Johnny said, folding his arms across his chest, only then remembering that he was shirtless. “I’m still pretty beat from interdimensional travel.”

“Of course you are,” Peter said fondly. “I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t life or death, I swear.”

“You don’t have to tell me about superhero stuff. Get going, you sexy vigilante.”

Peter pocketed his phone and walked over to give Johnny a kiss. It was soft, and sweet, and Johnny might have melted if he weren’t fire resistant.

“Pete.”

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re a great dad. For the record. And also, the fact that you’re a dad is definitely a turn on .”

“Okay.” Peter grinned. “Good to know.” He pat Johnny on the chest, squeezed one of his pecs for good measure, then backed away pointing at him meaningfully. “We are not done here.”

“You’ve got my number.” 

Peter made a small triumphant fist with his hand. “Yeah, I do.”

“I’ll let myself out.”

“I’ll call you. Like, it’ll be annoying how soon I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” Johnny said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, superhero.”

“Those are the only ones I seem to know how to make,” Peter said apologetically, one foot in his bedroom. He paused and put a hand on the doorframe. “I’m really glad you said yes.”

“Me too. Now get out of here. Stop some crime already.”

Peter pulled a face, drummed his fingers on the doorframe, took a deep breath and disappeared into his bedroom.

Just as Johnny reached the apartment door, his t-shirt and jacket both back on his person, he heard Spider-Man exit out into the world.

“Good evening, New York!” he hollered as he swung off, heard through the open windows of his apartment.

Johnny smiled to himself and closed the door.

***

“You’re late,” Johnny announced, not bothering to look over to see who had just entered through the elevator.

“It was Peter’s fault,” Walt said before Peter could get a word in.

Johnny turned to check for confirmation and Peter bowed his head.

“Yeah, it was my fault,” he admitted. “I got caught up at the Bugle.”

Walter dropped onto the sofa beside Johnny and pulled out his device. It was, Johnny had found out, the smartphone he had made for himself when Felicia had suggested that he couldn’t have one until he was eleven. Once he had turned eleven he had opted to keep his own invention, seeing as it was better for online gaming. The most surprising part of this story was Strict Mom Felicia, even though Johnny had already found out that there was a lot more to her than he had at first imagined. 

“So if I’m not back by eleven . . .” Peter began, leaning over the back of the sofa.

“Sofa bed,” Johnny nodded. “I got it.” 

“Great,” Peter smiled, and leaned further over to plant a chaste kiss on Johnny’s lips.

Walter was decidedly not looking at them, instead even more interested in his phone than usual, which was something.

Peter looked over at him, then grinned.

“You two have fun,” he said, patting the sofa, “getting your minds blown or whatever.”

“I’m sure Wally will give you a very sensible review later on.”

“I’m sure he will,” Peter said, ruffling Walter’s hair. Walter ducked away from him, but Johnny could see a poorly hidden smile on the eleven year old’s face. “I’ll see you guys later!” Peter kissed his hands and spread them out as he retreated out of the room. “Love you both! Mwah! Buenas noches!”

And with that, the elevator doors enveloped him and he was gone.

Walter was watching Johnny carefully.

“Are you okay?” he asked finally.

“Huh?”

“You look like you’re gonna cry.”

“Okay, that’s enough of that.” Johnny clapped to dim the lights and pressed play on the movie. In the dark, as the second Matrix movie began and Walter relaxed into the sofa beside him, Johnny pressed a smile into his hand.