Chapter Text
Peter’s phone buzzing on his nightstand woke him. Squinting open one eye, he groped for it half-blind. The cracked screen showed the time, 6:28, two minutes before his alarm went off, and a text from Ned.
Peter groaned as he unlocked his phone, opening the message.
Ned: holy crap it’s happening!!! ITS ACTUALLY HAPPENING
His phone buzzed again, another text from Ned, this time with a link to an article about the Kenobi movie being confirmed.
Peter: adflkhxv this is the best day of my life
He followed it up with a gif of a woman saying “I’m so used to giving and now I get to receive” before turning off his alarm as it went off and getting out of bed.
School was the same as ever. His chemistry teacher gave them a pop quiz which Peter passed with no problem, Flash tripped him in the hallway and Peter had to force himself to drop all his books and sprawl on the grimy floor. The news of the Kenobi movie kept him and Ned in a good mood, and they chatted about it over lunch. Immediately after school ended, Peter ducked into an alley, changed into his suit, and got to patrolling.
It was a fairly boring evening. He stopped a car accident, caught two purse-snatchers, helped a few lost tourists. He went home for dinner, a rather bland pork roast with mashed potatoes, and then went out again.
It was nearing his curfew when he heard what sounded like miniature explosions coming from a nearby alley. Excitement peaking, Peter swung over to the sounds, perching on a roof to get a better look.
There was a figure in the alley, muttering to itself as it made complicated gestures. Little circles of light kept appearing and disappearing quickly, emitting fizzing, sparking noises. Occasionally, two of them would collide with a bang and then vanish.
Peter wasn’t sure what to do. That person was clearly doing magic—he’d seen enough of it first hand from Dr. Strange. And while not necessarily illegal, something about the scene made the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stand up.
“Karen, what’s he doing?” Peter whispered.
“I believe he is performing some sort of ritual, Peter.”
“That’s bad, right? ‘Ritual’ isn’t usually used for good things.”
“I’m not sure,” Karen admitted. Peter sighed.
“Ok, well... let’s go ask.” He leaped from the roof, using a web to stop his fall at the last minute, landing silently behind the man.
“Hey, man,” Peter called. The guy whirled. Peter thought he’d just surprised him, but then he shot a swirl of purple colored light at Peter.
“Ok, so I take it you’re a bad guy.” Peter dodged the light easily, backflipping onto a wall and sticking there in a crouch. “Good guys usually ask for a picture or something.”
The man still didn’t speak, just sent another brightly colored wave of magic.
“Don’t give Harry Potter a bad name like this, Mr. Wizard Guy,” Peter reasoned. He shot a web, pinning one of the man’s wands to his side. He smiled behind his mask, but the smile fell when Merlin—that’s what Peter decided to call him—spat a few words and the webbing immediately melted off.
“Woah. Dr. Strange didn’t know that one.”
Peter tried just using more webbing, leaping around the alley walls and pouring half a bottle’s worth of fluid on Merlin, but the spell worked just as effectively.
“Crud.” Peter tried to take a moment to regroup, figure out a plan, but Merlin kept firing spell after spell and Peter didn’t have a second to think, just had to react on instinct and dodge wildly.
One of his bounds took him to a fire escape. Peter eyed the rusting metal ladder, then shrugged and grabbed it, ripping it from the wall.
He dodged another bolt of light, and hurled himself at Merlin. Bending the metal was easy with his strength, and after a moment he had one irate wizard tied up.
“Ha. Wizards: zero. Superheroes: one,” Peter cheered. “Karen, place a call to the police, will you?”
“Done, Peter.”
“Maybe I should call Dr. Strange,” Peter mused. ”Does he even have a phone, though? That’d kind of ruin the mystical sorcerer aesthetic he has going.”
Peter looked down, concentrating on changing his web-fluid vials. He shouldn’t have. In the space of a heartbeat, there was the groan of bending metal, then a blinding orange flash that sent Peter soaring backward. He slammed into a dumpster and fell forward to the ground, unconscious.
He woke up slowly, pain filtering through his back where he hit the metal dumpster.
“Ow,” he groaned, sitting up slowly. “Karen, what happened?”
“You had a fight with a wizard. He got away. Don’t you remember?”
“No. Do I have a concussion?” He asked. He’d had concussions before and it didn’t feel like one now. He hoped he didn’t—there was a protocol for concussions that meant Mr. Stark would be alerted and Peter would have to spend the night in the Medbay.
“I don’t have any indication that you hit your head, Peter, apart from the forgetfulness. Would you like me to call Mr. Stark anyway?”
“No, that’s... that’s alright. What time is it?”
“It’s ten minutes to midnight.”
“Shoot, May will be pissed if I miss curfew,” Peter cursed, forgetting about the fight with the wizard as he hurried to swing home.
He got home with three minutes to spare. He poked his head out of his room long enough to let May know he was home and brush his teeth, then changed into pajamas and collapsed on his bed. He was exhausted. His eyes fell shut just as the digital alarm clock clicked over to 12:00.
Peter’s phone buzzing on his nightstand woke him. Squinting open one eye, he groped for it half-blind. The cracked screen showed the time, 6:28, two minutes before his alarm went off, and a text from Ned.
Peter groaned as he unlocked his phone, opening the message.
Ned: holy crap it’s happening!!! ITS ACTUALLY HAPPENING
His phone buzzed again, another text from Ned, this time with a link to an article about the Kenobi movie being confirmed.
Peter sat up on his bed, read the message again. Why was Ned freaking out about stuff they already knew?
Peter: Uh, yeah, dude. You told me yesterday, we talked about it all day at school
Ned: What?? The news broke like an hour ago man what are you talking about?
Peter huffed, scrolling up in the conversation to screenshot the texts from the day before. The last one was from Sunday afternoon, Ned asking if he was going Spider-Manning that day. Peter frowned at his phone, exiting the app and opening it again to see if it just had a glitch. As he did, he noticed that his phone still read yesterday’s date.
Peter: my phone is freaking out, it’s saying it’s still Monday
Ned: it IS monday
Ned: did you get hit in the head again on patrol??? you know youre supposed to tell Iron Man if you get hurt, dude
Peter’s confusion only grew, but his alarm interrupted his thoughts. He shook his head, turned off the alarm, and threw his phone on his bed. He’d talk to Ned at school.
He showered, dressed, and are breakfast, all while puzzling over his conversation with Ned.
It had definitely been Monday yesterday. But Ned, and his phone, and May when he asked her, all said it was Monday again.
Peter ran through all the things he’d done the day before—school, patrol. The usual stuff. He tried to think about the things that had happened on patrol and found that the details were fuzzy. He knew he’d been knocked unconscious at some point, but couldn’t remember how or who did it. He’d have to ask Karen to remind him.
When he got to school, he found Ned waiting at his locker.
“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” Ned asked, shining his phone flashlight directly into Peter’s eyes.
“Ah, Ned,” Peter snapped, slamming his eyes shut. “Sensitive eyes, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Peter squinted open one eye, looking blearily at Ned.
“’s fine. And no, I don’t think so. I did pass out at some point, but usually I can feel concussions for a couple days,” Peter explained, entering his locker combo and yanking it open.
“Huh. And you still think yesterday was Monday?” Ned asked, looking genuinely interested, not like he thought Peter was crazy, which he appreciated.
“Well, I mean... yeah, I remember coming to school and everything. But it must just be like some crazy déjà vu,” Peter said shrugging.
“Maybe you’re developing psychic powers!” Ned gasped in awe.
“Spiders aren’t psychic, dude,” Peter sighed, plowing through the crowd of students toward his Monday home room, no matter how much it felt like he should go to Tuesday classes.
“Were you exposed to gamma radiation?” Ned asked thoughtfully.
“No, Ned.”
“You wouldn’t... see it,” Ned pointed out, but quickly dropped the subject when Peter sent him a withering look.
Peter told himself to just forget the two Mondays in a row thing, and he managed it pretty well until Chemistry.
“Pop quiz!” His teacher announced with glee. Peter sat up, surprised. That was... weird.
The paper landed on the desk in front of him and he looked down, scanning over the questions. They were the same as the ones he’d... dreamt? Had a vision of? He solved the problems by rote, and was the first one to hand his quiz in, earning a glare from Flash. He didn’t care, he was too busy thinking about his Monday problem.
After class, as he was leaving with Ned in tow, still lost in thought, Flash stuck out his foot in the hallway, trying to trip Peter. But Peter was so distracted, he forgot to let himself fall, and instead ended up kicking Flash’s foot so hard the boy’s eyes filled with tears as he hopped on one foot and called Peter a freak.
“Sorry,” Peter stammered, then hurried away.
School seemed to drag on forever, with Flash staring daggers at him and the lectures all eerily familiar. Plus, he was anxious to get into his suit and ask Karen about last night.
Finally, the last bell rang. Peter was up and out of seat almost before it started ringing, but Ned caught him before he could dash out.
“I still think you should tell Mr. Stark about this, Peter,” he said, looking worried.
“I’ll ask Karen what she remembers and then talk to him, alright?” Peter promised. Ned seemed satisfied and waived him onward.
Once Peter was sitting on a random rooftop, his suit snug and familiar around him, Peter finally asked the question that had been on his mind all day, his stomach clenched in anticipation.
“Karen, what day is it?”
“It’s Monday, April 30th, Peter,” she responded cheerily. Peter took a deep breath.
“And what day was yesterday?”
“Sunday, April 29th. Is everything alright?”
Peter sighed deeply. “You don’t have any record of yesterday being Monday too?”
“No. I also can see no signs of tampering with my memory.” She sounded concerned, and Peter was once again momentarily amazed at how much effort Mr. Stark had put into Peter’s AI.
“Play the footage from last night’s patrol,” Peter requested. Sure enough, the Baby-Monitor playback only showed the purse-snatcher and would-be mugger from Sunday night.
“Great, I really am going crazy,” Peter groaned, rubbing at his forehead. He doesn’t understand how he could vividly remember an entire day that never happened. If it was just déjà vu, it was the most intense déjà vu he’s ever had.
Peter thought about his promise to talk to Mr. Stark about it, but it just seemed so stupid. Like he was a kid who couldn’t handle it when things got a little weird. It’s not like there was anything wrong, necessarily. He was probably just overreacting.
“Karen, let’s go fight some bad guys,” Peter announced, pushing down the little twinge of guilt at breaking his promise to Ned. If he asked tomorrow, Peter would tell him that Mr. Stark hadn’t been able to see him.
The first mugger was pretty easy—it was in the same alley as one Peter had stopped on the not-Monday night before, and the fight felt familiar, but Peter was sure that at that point it was just his mind making connections that weren’t there.
Not everything was exactly the same. After helping a cat from a tree, Peter wracked his brain to remember if he’d done that last night, and he hadn’t. It helped ease his nerves, assuring him that he really was just being paranoid today.
He put the whole thing out of his mind as he followed a man into an alley who was harassing a passing girl.
“Man, don’t conform to what the patriarchy wants you to be,” Peter called down from where he was crouched on the wall. “You can be better than that.”
“Spider-Man?” the guy asked, squinting up at him with bleary eyes that made Peter think he was drunk. Ick. Peter hated fighting the drunk ones. One of them had vomited all over him once and it was the grossest thing he’s ever experienced. “Get lost, this is none of your business.”
“It is, actually. You were scaring her. I protect people who are scared.” Peter swung down to the ground. He could hear the girls frantic footsteps rushing across the street a block away. He just had to buy another minute or so, than swing over and escort her home.
“Now, let’s take a second and learn about respecting women, alright?” Peter said. He was going to keep going, but the man reached out both hands and shoved Peter away.
Peter backed up a couple steps, his hands up. “If you’re going to get violent—”
The man advanced again, pushing Peter’s chest with all his might once more. Peter took a few more steps back, trying to avoid an actual fight. “Dude, chill out, ok?”
The alley was closing around Peter, hiding what was happening from passersby. The man walked a few feet forward, Peter fell back.
He didn’t look quite as drunk as Peter had originally thought.
His spider-sense jumped and Peter whirled to find another person appearing out of the shadows.
“Woah, you brought a friend,” Peter remarked.
His spider-sense screamed again, and he turned once again only to suddenly feel a hand come down on his head, grab a fistful of his mask and hair, and pull.
His mask slid off his face, along with a chunk of hair that left his scalp stinging. Before he could react, there was a blinding flash of light and the distinct sound of a camera clicking.
Uh-oh.
He heard footsteps running away, but by the time his eyes had recovered from the light, they were gone. And what was he going to do? Accost them in the middle of the street and break their phones?
He sighed, collected his mask from where it’d been dropped on the ground, and stood.
Looked like he was going to see Mr. Stark after all.
Peter hopped up over the balcony railing and walked forward, the door opening for him.
“Thanks, FRIDAY. Where’s Mr. St—oh.”
Tony was waiting for him, leaning against the nearby kitchen counter with his arms crossed.
“Um, hi,” Peter greeted awkwardly, reaching up and pulling off his mask. The tender spot at the top of his head stung.
“Well, kid, you’ve sure gotten yourself in a pickle,” Tony said without saying hello. He was eying Peter like he was either sizing him up or checking for injuries.
“You already heard?” Peter asked, his eyebrows furrowing. He twisted his mask in his hands.
“Pete,” Tony started, his tone serious enough to make Peter’s stomach drop with dread. “Everyone’s heard.”
“Wha...”
Tony gestured toward the television behind Peter. He turned to find CNN playing on mute.
SPIDER-MAN’S ULTIMATUM: PAY $10,000 OR HAVE ID REVEALED
The ribbon running underneath the headline was talking about an anonymous call received ten minutes prior, where a man claimed to have a photo of Spider-Man’s face.
Peter’s legs went numb. He swayed and Tony hurried forward and grabbed his elbow to keep him standing.
“Ho—Wha—I don’t have ten thousand dollars,” Peter finally stammered.
To his consternation, Tony chuckled. “Kid, obviously I would pay the money.”
“Mr. Stark,” Peter started, but Tony kept talking.
“But that’s only if we decide that that’s the best way to handle this.”
Peter swallowed hard. Tony moved away toward the living room and Peter followed, feeling like the world was crashing down around his ears.
“Is... is there another way?” Peter’s voice trembled. Tony glanced at him and seemed to register how pale he was because his voice was softer when he spoke again.
“Well, in my experience, buddy, it’s never a good idea to give in to blackmailers. The best solution might be to just... let it happen.” Peter sat down heavily. “But either way, we’re not doing anything tonight, ok? You can sleep on it, let them stew in their juices a bit.”
“What if they get tired of waiting and release the picture?”
“So there is a picture,” Tony verified. He nodded jerkily.
“They... they ambushed me, I wasn’t expecting...” Peter trailed off, feeling like an idiot. He let two ordinary people get a jump on him, a superhero, and was now facing the possibility of having his identity revealed to the world because of it.
Tony sighed, patting Peter heavily on the shoulder. Peter couldn’t look at him.
“It’s ok, kid. I’ve planned for this.”
“You have a contingency plan for when I screw up and reveal my identity,” Peter said bitterly, staring at the floor.
He felt Tony’s eyes on him.
“Peter, I have over a thousand contingency plans, ranging from if Hawkeye’s bow breaks to if Cap goes dark side and needs to be taken out, alright? It doesn’t mean I don’t trust you or think you can’t handle this or whatever other angsty crap is running through your head right now. Capiche?”
Peter glanced up and found Tony looking intently at him. “Yes, sir.”
Tony’s eyes softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Come on, bud, let’s get your mind off this. I’ve got a project I’ve been saving just for you and a stack of pizzas big enough to challenge even your appetite on the way.”
Peter’s stomach was twisting so much that even the thought of pizza didn’t tempt him, but he tried to smile back and stood to follow Tony when something he said came back to Peter.
“Do you have a plan for if I go dark side?” Peter asked, curious.
Tony went rigid so fast Peter heard his spine crack.
“No,” he said, voice hard. Peter regretted asking.
Mr. Stark wouldn’t let him go home that night, just in case. It made Peter worry about May, but Mr. Stark assured him that she was under watch and would be fine.
“It’s all going to be ok, kid,” Tony promised as Peter fiddled with the too long sleeves of Tony’s MIT sweatshirt that he was wearing for pajamas. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait, Mr. Stark,” Peter called before Tony could walk down the hall. He’d remembered suddenly, his whole... déjà vu, living the same day twice problem.
“Yeah, Pete?” He sounded tired. Peter bit his lip.
“Just, uh... thanks for everything.” It didn’t matter. The day was almost over anyway.
“Anytime, kiddo,” Tony said quietly, offering a small smile before turning and leaving.
Peter settled into his huge guest bed and tried to decide what to do about the identity issue. His eyelids grew heavier as the time ticked on, and as the clock clicked over to midnight, Peter was asleep.
Peter’s phone buzzing on his nightstand woke him. Squinting open one eye, he groped for it half-blind. The cracked screen showed the time, 6:28, two minutes before his alarm went off, and a text from Ned.
Peter groaned as he unlocked his phone, opening the message.
Ned: holy crap it’s happening!!! ITS ACTUALLY HAPPENING
“Oh, man,” Peter whispered to himself. He looked around at what was definitely not Mr. Stark’s guest room where he had gone to sleep, and the ragged t-shirt he had definitely not been in last night.
Hurriedly exiting his messaging app, Peter googled “Spider-Man identity.” The top hit was a Buzzfeed article speculating the Spider-Man was an alien hybrid. There was no evidence of last night’s story, despite the fact it had been covered on every local station and a few national ones.
I’m in a time loop.
It was the only thing that made sense. He’d seen Groundhog Day enough times that he didn’t have to work hard to figure it out.
And just like Groundhog Day, Peter had no idea what started it. Karen had no records, Peter had no memories from that night, and no one else thought that day had even happened.
He thought about Ned urging him to tell Mr. Stark, but... he remembered how tired Tony had looked last night while he’d tried to clean up another one of Peter’s messes. And it’s not like Tony could magically snap his fingers and fix it.
Peter bolted upright in bed. Magic.
He needed Dr. Strange.
After he was dressed and had said goodbye to May, pretending he was leaving for school, he stopped dead on the sidewalk. He had... no idea where Dr. Strange lived. Or what his phone number was. Or if he had a phone.
So Peter had to figure out how to get ahold of Dr. Strange without calling Tony and asking him.
He considered for a moment, then thought of his suit in his bag. He grinned.
Twenty minutes later, a helicopter was flying over head, filming Spider-Man as he wove around the Brooklyn Bridge spelling out “Dr. Strange” in webbing.
Just as Peter was putting the finishing touches on his design, a glowing circle opened up in the air a few feet away. Peter grinned behind his mask, saluted to the helicopter, and dove into the portal.
“Part of being a sorcerer, Mr. Parker, is keeping a low profile. I know with Tony Stark as your mentor that’s a difficult concept to grasp,” Dr. Strange was snapping before Peter had even regained his footing.
“Dr. Strange,” Peter panted. Portals always left him feeling a little dizzy. “I need your help.”
Dr. Strange raised an eyebrow, his cloak shifting around behind him.
“Hi, Cloaky,” Peter greeted, and Dr. Strange’s lip quirked up as he fought a smile.
“Peter, you have four missed calls from Mr. Stark,” Karen chirped in his ear.
“Later, Karen,” Peter muttered, very aware of Dr. Strange watching him.
“So you need help that you can’t go to Stark for?” He asked. When Peter hesitantly nodded, Dr. Strange sighed. “What’d you get yourself into, Peter?”
Peter looked down at the ground and pulled his mask off. “I... I’m stuck in a time loop. I figured you were the person to ask, since all the time... stuff.”
A shake, and the room around them changed. Peter sat heavily on the armchair suddenly behind him.
“You and I both know the time stone was destroyed. Now tell me everything,” Strange instructed.
“Well, I... two days ago I... went on patrol and I was knocked out, but I don’t remember what did it. But when I woke up the next morning, it was the same day. I woke up to the same text that I’d gotten the day before, I had the same quizzes in school, and no one remembered anything. And the same this morning.”
Strange nodded, and the room changed again. Suddenly they were surrounded by bookshelves, the thick tomes on them covered in so much dust that Peter’s nose instantly began tickling.
He pulled a seemingly random book off the shelf.
“Keep talking,” Strange said.
“Umm... so far some things have been exactly the same, like the text I wake up to and Flash trying to trip me. But some things are different too, like something... really big happened yesterday that didn’t happen the first day.”
Strange hummed, then seemed to bounce around the room almost faster than Peter could see.
“I’m sorry, Peter. I can’t find anything like you’re describing.”
Peter’s shoulders drooped. “So... so what do I do?”
Peter apparently looked so dejected that Strange’s cloak floated over to Peter and patted him on the shoulder consolingly.
“I’ll keep looking,” Strange said. “Until the loop resets and I forget, which I assume will be tonight.”
“Yeah, I’ll uh... test that out. Maybe try to stay up all night or something.”
The room switched back to the entryway, the large round window casting multi-colored light on the wooden floor.
“Wouldn’t hurt to try, I suppose. Tell Stark he needs to keep a better eye on you. I’ll get in contact if I find something.”
“Right,” Peter said lamely as he walked out the door. The sidewalk was teeming with people on their way to work.
He sighed, then perked up. He could have some fun with this, really. If anyone was prepped for being stuck in a time loop it was him, the guy who’s seen every episode of Star Trek.
How bad could it be?