MJ couldn't sleep.
The tour had been exhausting, but her mind wouldn't shut off. Gwen. The band. Peter's weird behavior at the gas station. Anna's worried look. Harry's problems with his dad. Her internship job and her upcoming audition for a minor role in a broad way show.
She rolled over, checked her phone. 2:47 AM.
Nothing. No messages from the group or the band.
She was about to close her eyes when she heard it.
A crash, muffled and distant, but unmistakable.
MJ sat up, listening.
Silence.
Then—footsteps. Uneven. Stumbling as if someone was dragging themselves across the floorboards.
She threw off her covers and crept to the window. The street was empty, soft rain still coming down in sheets pelted softly against her windows. Nothing unusual.
Another sound. Closer this time.
The front door of the house next to theirs—Peter's house—swinging back and forth, the hinges grinding softly as if the frame of the door was supporting something heavy.
MJ's breath caught.
A figure stumbled through. Hood up. Limping badly.
Peter.
What the hell?
She grabbed her hoodie, pulled it on, and slipped out of her room. Anna's door was still closed. Good. She didn't need to explain this.
MJ crossed the yard between their houses, rain immediately soaking through her clothes. The front door of Peter's house was still open, swinging slightly in the wind.
She hesitated at the threshold.
It was too dark inside to see much. But she could hear him—heavy breathing, footsteps dragging across the floor.
"Peter?" she called softly.
No answer.
She stepped inside.
The hallway was pitch black. She fumbled for the light switch, but something stopped her. A feeling, an instinctual thought. It was a sensation that she shouldn't.
Her hair stood on end and goosebumps crawled up her skin, and it wasn't from the cold.
She could hear movement ahead—Peter, climbing the stairs.
MJ followed slowly, keeping her distance. Her eyes were adjusting bit by bit to the dark as her pupils drank in what little light they could. She could make out his silhouette—hunched, gripping the railing, pulling himself up step by step.
He reached the top. Turned toward his room.
She climbed after him, slower. Quieter.
By the time she reached the second floor, Peter's door was half-open. Light from the street filtered through his window, casting long shadows.
She heard him fall.
A thud. A groan.
MJ moved to the doorway, pressing herself against the wall just outside.
She could see part of the room from here. Peter's desk. The edge of his bed.
And Peter—on the floor, dragging himself forward.
What the hell happened to him?
A low, twisted chuckle made her pause. Damn it, Pete... She was about to step inside when he spoke.
"Uncle Ben..."
MJ froze.
His voice was raw. Broken. Nothing like the Peter she knew.
She should leave. She knew that. This wasn't meant for her. An oppressive weight seemed to press over her.
She couldn't move. Her body refused to listen to her.
There was that feeling again. Cold and intimate, her heart skipped a beat.
"What? Huh… the hell are you looking... at, huh?"
He was talking to someone who wasn't there.
MJ's chest tightened.
"Don't give that look... you have no right to judge me... what did you expect me to do... I went to the cops... fuck ton of help they were..."
His voice cracked. Pain and rage bleeding through every word.
MJ pressed her back against the wall, heart pounding.
"Damn it STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT..."
She flinched at the shout.
"The fuck did you expect me to do, huh... if you're so disappointed in me, then why didn't you stop me, huh!... that's right, you can't. You know why Cause you fucking died..."
Oh god...
MJ's eyes stung. She bit down on her knuckle to keep from making a sound.
"FUCK YOU AND YOUR DAMN LOOK... You're dead... and Aunt May... Aunty May.. sniff... yeah.. that's right..."
He was crying now. Or laughing. She couldn't tell which. Her hand had clamped over her wrist as if to stop herself from doing… something, she wasn't sure.
"...so just stand there and watch me... Watch me drag this asshole into the light... How far would I go if... if I couldn't fail, huh..."
MJ squeezed her eyes shut.
This was too much. Too raw. Too private.
She had to go. Had to leave before—
"Just stand there in whatever heaven you are in and watch me fly... This time next year I'll be the... the strongest thing around... you can judge me when we meet again..."
His voice was fading. Getting weaker.
"I doubt it'd be anytime soon... I have this feeling... Death itself seems to be on my side for some fucked up reason... You see... so... just... watch... me..."
What? Silence.
MJ waited, holding her breath.
Nothing followed Peter's proclamation.
She peered around the doorframe.
Peter was slumped against his desk, head down, completely still.
Passed out.
MJ wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her throat was tight.
She should check on him. Make sure he was okay.
But she couldn't. Not after hearing that. Not after—she stepped back.
He was drunk. He had to be out of his mind on something. That was the only explanation. That's why he was talking to ghosts. That's why he sounded like... like that.
She'd deal with it in the morning. When she wasn't shaking. When she could think straight. A ghostly laugh reverberated through her mind.
MJ turned and fled.
She didn't notice the dark crimson stains on the floor. Didn't see the way they shimmered and dissolved into nothing. Didn't see the black particles that rose like smoke and faded into the air as the crimson stains vanished in the dark.
She just ran.
Back to her house. Back to her room. Back to her bed, where she pulled the covers over her head and tried to forget the sound of Peter's voice breaking.
But she couldn't.
It followed her into her dreams.
***
Peter suddenly awakened in a white void.
He didn't 'wake'. This was different. Rather than waking up, he would describe the sensation as a sudden awareness of his surroundings.
His thoughts were clear and he could perceive the surrounding area that he found himself in with a strange sense of clarity.
What is this? I feel so heavy....
He couldn't feel his body. He couldn't feel anything for a moment.
This is so trippy…
All he saw was white, not the color, but just the idea of the color white. How he knew that he wasn't sure, it was a feeling- an instinctual sense of certainty. As if this place looked 'white' because Peter knew that this place was white in color.
What is that?.
He then became aware of something moving at the edges of the blank white space, something large, carefully moving around the white space, treating the white space like a bubble surrounded by an ocean of black, and this large, shapeless thing was swimming around it, being very cautious not to pop it.
[Salutations, Host]
A plethora of ideas, concepts, and images streamed into Peter's thoughts.
It took a few moments for Peter to gather himself after his mind settled and even longer to come to terms with what he understood.
Something was greeting him, except it was so much more than a greeting. The greeting conveyed everything. It conveyed intent, reasons, explanations, images, scents, sounds, tastes, feelings, everything.
Wow....
He was in his own mind, a subconscious space where IT resided. That's why he didn't need a body to feel, nose to smell, eyes to see, or ears to hear; here he was just aware of everything around him to a near omnipotent degree. It was both terrifying and liberating to know everything about everything around him.
He was invited here to talk with it, to name it, but he would have no memory of this when he leaves here, only an innate understanding, a feeling that something was right, like it was supposed to happen this way.
It saved him and brought him back to life. They were one now. Peter didn't know what it was, and it would not tell him yet. He wasn't ready. They weren't complete yet, only halfway there. That was what he understood. It would explain everything in time.
Hello…
Peter wondered why he wasn't feeling anything right now. His reaction to something like this should have been a little more, well, more.
[Fusion Fable Phase 2 complete]
It happened again, the information poured into his thoughts. This time, Peter understood it almost instantly.
The reason he didn't feel anything was simply that right now he was conversing with something that was already a part of him, like talking to himself, in his head, only this time, both he and that voice had understood each other to the point where their emotions were in perfect harmony.
The short, five-word statement conveyed everything it wanted to tell Peter.
It was not from this world, and it was one of many, all of its kind were part of a piece, a fragment of something else, something that transcended beyond anything in this universe or multiverse.
Its kind would travel into unknown universes and merge with hosts, forming a link to a library of sorts that existed in a dimension above all others, where they would store everything their host experienced in real-time from whatever universe they reside in, creating a replica of said universe.
But over time, the fragments formed a link to each other, and through it, they would share resources, granting hosts abilities from other universes that other fragments existed in.
Now he was in possession of such abilities, and now he had a basic understanding of how to use them. He didn't know why the fragments were doing this, who made them, why it chose him, and had a thousand other questions to ask.
He didn't, though, he couldn't, because they understood each other now, words couldn't explain it, words weren't needed. In time, when they were complete, he would know, and he would remember all of this, for now, he wasn't ready yet.
Although he realized that doing so would take him maybe years or longer to reach this completed stage—if he was lucky it might even take a few months. He didn't mind the time, they understood each other, and he knew that he had all the time in the world. He kind of felt sorry for himself, knowing what he would have to deal with after waking up and forgetting everything he learned here.
But apparently, it was necessary for the process, whatever that was, he would know later, when he was ready.
So…
For now, all he needed to do was name his fragment. That was all that was left to begin stage three. After which he would wake up with, luckily, a basic, almost instinctual knowledge and understanding of the abilities he possessed and how they worked.
However, using them and improving them was something he had to do on his own.
You need a name, then?
[Acceptance]
Once more, information streamed into him.
Alright, alright, jeez, I will never get used to that, so a name, how about....
***
[All Abilities Reevaluated_ Parameters Set]
[Fragment Identity Established]
[Fragment Tier: Beyonder (Zenith+)]
[Fragment Type: Progenitor]
[Fragment Class: Origin]
[Integration_Compatibility_100%]
***
The following morning.
MJ woke to sunlight streaming through her window. Dark eye bags weighed heavily under her eyes.
For a moment, she forgot.
Then it all came rushing back.
Peter. The stumbling. The ranting. Ben's name.
She sat up, ran a hand through her hair.
Had that been real? Or some weird half-asleep nightmare?
No, it was real... She'd been there. She'd heard him.
MJ checked her phone. 9:47 AM.
She should check on him. Make sure he was alive. Make sure he hadn't choked on his own vomit or something.
The thought made her stomach turn.
She got dressed, pulled her hair back, and headed downstairs.
Anna was in the kitchen, coffee in hand.
"Morning," Anna said without looking up.
"Morning," MJ grabbed a glass of water. "Have you seen Peter?"
"Not yet. Probably slept in his basement again. Why?"
"No reason."
Anna glanced at her as she downed the glass of water before pouring herself another. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Fine."
Anna didn't look convinced, but she didn't push.
MJ drained her second glass and set it in the sink. "I'm gonna go check on him."
"MJ—"
"I'll be quick."
She left before Anna could object.
The screen door clicked shut softly behind her.
The walk to Peter's house felt longer in daylight. The rain had stopped, but everything was still wet. Grey clouds hung low.
The front door was closed now. MJ tried the handle.
The door clicked open with a soft nudge. It had been unlocked.
She stepped inside.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
No sign of blood. No sign of anything wrong.
Had she imagined it? Why would there even be blood?
No, she'd been here. She'd heard him.
MJ climbed the stairs, each step creaking under her weight.
Peter's door was still half-open.
She pushed it wider.
And there he was.
Sitting on the floor, back against the bed, head down, completely still. His brunette locks, untamed, framed his face.
He looked peaceful.
MJ's breath caught.
"Peter?"
No response.
She stepped closer, heart hammering.
"Peter. Hey. Wake up."
Still nothing.
Oh god, what if he—
She moved closer and reached out, her hands gripped and shook his shoulder.
Everything happened at once.
Peter moved—fast—grabbing her wrist, yanking her forward, sweeping her legs.
MJ hit the floor hard, air rushing out of her lungs.
Before she could process, Peter was on top of her, straddling her waist, fist raised.
She stared up at him, wide-eyed, heart slamming against her ribs. Peter loomed over her form.
His fist hovered inches from her face. Trembling.
A beat passed.
Then another.
MJ's brain caught up, she swallowed the lump building up in the back of her throat. She could feel Peter's weight pinning her down. One of his hand pinned both her arms above her head.
"Easy there, tiger," she said, voice coming out breathy and strained. She tried to smile, but it felt wrong on her face.
She watched as Peter blinked. Maybe it was the light or the angle of the shadows but her form stilled when her eyes met his.
His eyes—something was wrong with his eyes.
They glowed a faint yellow, like a cat's eyes catching light. Something other permeated his form.
Her breath caught in her throat, goosebumps crawled up her skin, and her hair stood on end.
If Peter's eyes resembled that of a cat, then hers must be that of a mouse, the way he looked at her was that of a cat observing its prey.
Narrowed eyed, dazed yet focused, starved and predatory. The edges of his lips twitched.
Her stomach churned as that strange sensation washed over her, it was almost akin to the strange feeling she had felt last night.
This wasn't butterflies, not at all. She rejected that notion, this was Peter.
Peter moved his fist aside and leaned in close.
Her heart skipped a bit. Her gaze flickered down to his lips for a fleeting moment before she stopped herself and met his eyes.
"I..." Peter's voice was hoarse. "I have to go."
What?
He scrambled off her, stumbling to his feet.
"Peter, wait—"
He was already moving. Out the door. Down the stairs.
MJ pushed herself up onto her elbows, watching him disappear.
She lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, heart still racing.
What the hell just happened?
She sat up slowly, rubbing her wrist where he'd grabbed her.
Not hard enough to hurt. Just... fast. Too fast.
And his eyes.
Those weren't normal.
MJ got to her feet, legs shaky, and looked around the room.
No bottles. No drugs. Nothing that explained it.
Just Peter's room. Posters lined the wall: Spiderwoman, Baxter Building, Fantastic Four, Iron Man, X—Men, just to name a few. A couple science articles pinned on the walls here and there too. There was a study desk in the corner with a pile of books stacked on it and a neatly made bed sitting next to the desk.
A typical room, exactly as it always was.
Except for the faint smell of something metallic and the strange feeling that left her on edge.
And the memory of yellow eyes staring down at her.
MJ wrapped her arms around herself and left.
She paused when her right leg stepped on something hard.
She pulled her foot off the object and her brows furrowed as when she caught sight of it.
It was a strange syringe with an even stranger vial of ominous green liquid shimmering inside.
She hadn't noticed this last night because of the darkness, and this morning she had been entirely focused on Peter.
What's this? She thought as she lowered herself to pick up the syringe. Don't tell me... Was Peter shooting himself up with this?
The morning light reflected off the syringe cause the green liquid to glow lightly. MJ pulled the syringe closer as she curiously read the label roughly written with a black marker into the side in Peter's hand righting.
LZRX-02...
Chapter End