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chapter seven
INDIANA JONES SHIT
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THE FIRST FEW MONTHS of Lena's final year of high school are starkly different from the first time. She'd been excited about the future. College applications had been stressful, but she'd been optimistic. Tony met her in the lab on some weekends to work on stabilizing her powers. And of course, she'd had petty crimes to fight if she was too restless to sleep.

Now all she's been able to feel is dread. The courts haven't been able to set a date for their public appeal, so while they aren't formally charged with anything, they're still ostracized. Half of the student body hates them. The other half stares at them with widened, starstruck eyes. People who hadn't spared Lena a second glance before this ordeal have suddenly become tongue-tied in her presence.

And, worst of all, their college applications keep getting denied.

The first one had been from New York University. It had stung, but hadn't been the end of the world; it was a backup school, anyway. A place she'd be comfortable, but not her first choice. Then had come Virginia Tech. It was a surprise considering their acceptance rate is fairly high in comparison to her other options. But still, she'd held out hope.

Rejection letters had come pouring in for Peter, Lena, and Graham all throughout September. Lena had been at her lowest point when Queensborough Community College had sent her the same reasoning as the other universities:

Dear Miss Santos,

We regret to inform you that your application to Queensborough Community College has been denied. Due to your involvement in the case against Mysterio and your connection to the vigilantes Specter and Spider-Man, we do not believe you would be an acceptable fit in our community. Our primary concern is protecting our current and future students. The nature of the controversy surrounding you does not align with our values.

Yours truly...

By the time early applicant decisions come out for Cornell, Lena is a wreck. Her under eyes are smudged with dark circles due to weeks of fitful nights of sleep. Her gut churns so violently that Ma has to force food down her throat, but everything tastes like ash. Graham and Peter have tried lifting her spirits, but with the decision dates of Juilliard and MIT weighing on their shoulders, they have their own worries.

At least Graham had still been able to audition for Juilliard— in spite of everything, that's a good sign. Even if Lena is rejected everywhere, as long as he gets to attend his dream school, she'll be happy.

It's getting dark in Happy's apartment as the day slips into night. The windows reveal a sky blanketed in pink and purple hues mixed like wisps of cotton candy, painting the skyline in colors as vibrant as a dream. Lena is slumped on the sofa with The Hobbit clenched in her hands — she's doing her third re-read — but her eyes have been staring blankly at the same three sentences for hours. Peter works on building a Lego set at the small kitchen table. Graham and Owen are doing homework on the floor while Max scrolls on his phone. It's quiet, maybe even peaceful, but Lena's tapping fingers and racing heart keep breaking the facade of calm.

Her phone buzzes. Lena glances at the screen, blinking at the meaningless words until they sink in.

From: Cornell University Admissions
Subject: Decisions Are In!

"Holy shit," Lena mumbles. At first, nobody pays her any mind, but when she sits up so quickly that her book falls to the floor and she doesn't even bother to pick it up, that's when she catches the others' attention.

"They're in?" Peter asks. The sound of plastic pieces clattering onto the table meets her ears as he drops his Legos mid-build. He immediately slides onto the cushion next to her, placing a hand on her knee.

Lena checks the clock. It's seven p.m. Decisions have been released right on time.

"Diyós ko." Ma rushes into the living room with Pa right behind her, excitement and apprehension at war on her face. "Don't tell me you have read it yet."

"She hasn't," Graham confirms. "I don't think she's breathed since she got the email."

Peter's hand shifts to her back to rub soothing circles on it. "Breathe, Lee. You're okay."

She doesn't feel okay. Lena feels like she's standing on the edge of a cliff, gazing over a thousand-foot drop. She has a box in her hands, and in it is either a pair of wings to fly over the cliff or a weight that will make her plummet straight down into it. All she has to do is open the lid to know her fate. But part of her wants to keep standing right on the edge, just before her stomach starts to drop, waiting. A state of in-between.

Realistically, Lena knows she can't. Not going to the admissions website and reading her electronic letter isn't going to change whether she's in or not. So she inhales deeply to steel herself and navigates to her web browser to log into the admissions portal.

Everyone is here to witness this monumental moment. All five Seagers, May and Peter, Happy, and her parents all stare at her eagerly, clearly trying not to pressure her but feeling impatient all the same. She has the people she loves on her side no matter what.

Another notification comes through— a text from Cindy, asking, Did you get your decision yet?

Ned says, Are you ready to kick Cornell's *peach emoji*?!

There's no more waiting. Lena taps on the icon to reach her decision letter, counts to three, and reads it.

Dear Miss Santos,

Thank you for expressing interest in Cornell University's Ann S. Bowers College of Computing and Information Science. The Admissions Committee has given careful consideration to your application.

The Committee regrets to inform you that we are unable to accept your application...

Lena's eyes glaze over, every word after that fading to nothing but blurry text. Soul-crushing disappointment makes her heart weigh a trillion tons, sinking deep into her gut. She doesn't know why she'd allowed herself to feel hope when every other university had rejected her. Why would Cornell, an Ivy League school with an acceptance rate of 11%, let her in?

Because they already had before Thanos ruined everything. Because she'd had letters of recommendation from Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and Mr. Harrington. Because Tony had left her a scholarship just like he'd promised, ensuring that she wouldn't have to go into debt. Because it's all she's been dreaming about since she was a kid. Because — because — because... this one thing had to go right for her. Just this one thing.

There aren't any schools left. Lena has been rejected by every single one.

Ma doesn't say a word. She merely swoops down and pulls Lena into a hug the moment her tears begin to spill over — tears she hadn't even known were building. Pa joins a second later, and the room is silent except for the gut-wrenching sound of Lena's sobs.

This isn't fair. None of this is fair. She wants to kick and scream and spit on Quentin Beck's grave, but all she can do is cry. Something she feels like she's done so much of in the past few months.

"Oh, honey," May says, her voice heavy with despair. "Water. I'll get you some water."

She shuffles to the tiny kitchen. The air is thick with sadness as reality sinks deeper. Just when they think things can't get any worse, they do.

"I say we all revolt," Owen suggests. "Max, let's go to the closest bodega and buy eggs. Graham, look up Cornell's Director of Admissions on Facebook. I'm sure we can find out where he lives."

Mr. Seager clears his throat. "You will not be doing any of that."

Owen pulls a face but leans into Max's ear, whispering something about buying lots of plastic wrap.

The next week, Juilliard rejects Graham.

All three families are holding their breaths for MIT to mail their decision letters. By the time they arrive in early November, Peter is a nervous wreck, so Lena stays supportive to ease his nerves. An inkling of fear periodically creeps past a locked door deep in her mind, but she just as quickly bolts it back up. She can't allow herself to be pessimistic. Especially not when Peter is already terrified.

The tiny bell above the entrance to Peter Pan Donut and Pastry Shop jingles when they enter. It feels strange not to go to their usual hangout, the coffee shop Ristretto, but this is where MJ works, and Peter is so anxious that he wants her, him, and Ned to open their letters in sync while she's on shift.

The small shop is empty of customers except for Ned, who sits at the counter. Peter, gripping so tightly onto his envelope with both hands that the paper has started to bend, slides into the seat beside him. Lena decides to peer over their shoulders while Graham takes the spot next to Peter.

"Would it be bad to order a coffee right now?" Graham questions. When MJ shoots him a withering glare, he backs down. "Okay. Sorry."

"You ready?" she asks the other two boys.

"Jones, I asked you to take down the Halloween decorations," a man's gruff voice says from the back of the shop.

"Actually, that was Sasha, so..."

"Enough attitude. Just do it."

MJ pulls her mouth into a thin line, making it clear that the poor treatment isn't unusual from her boss. "On it."

"I feel like I'm gonna puke," Ned groans.

"Well, don't, because he will just make me clean it."

"This is our only shot. It's here, or nowhere."

"Know that feeling," Graham mumbles.

Ned winces once he remembers that Lena and Graham are there. "Sorry, man."

Lena attempts a small smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "It's okay, Ned."

The truth is, it hasn't been okay. It's not too late to keep submitting more applications for later decisions, but Lena hates not having a plan. She isn't one to just let life carry her around. At this point in 2017, she'd already begun searching for a roommate at Cornell. She'd started saving money for dorm furniture and decorations. Now she doesn't know what to do— who will take her, if seven colleges and universities hadn't?

She supposes she could take a gap year and wait for this whole Mysterio scandal to blow over — if it ever does — but that seems unlikely. This stain on her record is permanent. And Lena has yearned for college since she was young. Pa had sacrificed his own education to raise her, and he'd always told her that he expected greatness. Lena was supposed to make her parents proud by being a first-generation college student.

"Okay," MJ says after inhaling a deep breath. "You guys ready?"

"Yeah," both Ned and Peter reply.

"On three." She looks at each face in their group before continuing. "One... Two... Three."

Peter tears the envelope open, and Lena's heartbeat is a roar in her ears, her hands shaking so violently from nerves that she has to tighten them into fists. She both wants to look away from him and read the paper over his shoulder. In the end, she does neither, instead relying on his body language to determine the letter's contents.

He's tense, his muscles coiled tight under his flannel jacket, lips moving as they soundlessly form the words while he reads them. Then his shoulders slump the tiniest bit. Peter's brows pinch together as if he can't trust his eyes, that there must be something wrong with them, that the wiring in his brain is causing him to misread.

Lena's heart pinches painfully. She understands that feeling.

Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder, but he doesn't seem to register her touch, so she pulls his head closer until her chin can rest on top of it. When you feel like the world is crumbling under your feet, having someone there to ground you can help put the floor back together.

MJ sucks in a sharp breath. "No."

"No," Peter says, his voice coming out like a whisper. He looks at Ned. "You?"

"'In light of recent controversy, we are unable to consider your application at this time,'" Ned recites from his letter.

"This is so not fair." Peter tosses his letter onto the counter as Lena's fingers absentmindedly thread through his hair. "I mean, this is so not fair. We didn't do anything wrong. And you guys definitely didn't do anything wrong."

"Expect disappointment, and you will never get disappointed," MJ says with a humorless chuckle.

The entrance bell chimes, causing the five of them to turn toward the door. Flash bursts inside wearing a burgundy MIT hoodie.

"NO SLEEP TILL — bum bum, bum bum — BOSTON!"

He points at them to celebrate with him (which they wouldn't have, even if they had gotten in), but he's only met with blank stares. Lena can't believe the disrespect he's just given to the Beastie Boys' "No Sleep Till Brooklyn."

"Read the room, dude," Graham tells him flatly.

To his credit, Flash seems genuinely surprised. His expression falls. "You guys didn't get in?"

"Yeah," Ned says. "Because we're actually friends with Spider-Man, Havoc, and Specter."

Flash blinks, letting the words sting him before checking his watch. "Uh, yeah... I better get going. There's a mixer for new admissions... and... Sorry, guys." The bell chimes as he backs out of the shop, muttering to himself, "Man, I bought that Cornell and Juilliard merch for nothing."

"Jones, what are you doing?" the owner's rough voice yanks them all back into the real world. "Get back to work."

"Yeah. Coming." MJ tucks her pen into her apron and then rips her letter in half. "You know what? I wouldn't change a thing I did."

"Me neither," Ned agrees, shredding his paper into smaller pieces that form a pile on the counter. He considers them for a moment before wincing. "Although, I should still show this letter to my parents."

He gathers the pieces together and shoulders his backpack, patting Peter on the back before heading out of the shop.

"You wanted a coffee, Graham?" MJ asks.

Graham blinks, confused for a moment before he remembers his request from before they'd opened the letters. "Oh, yeah. Sure."

He gets out of his seat and heads to the register to order. Lena slides into his now-vacant seat. Peter is sitting still as a statue, his brown eyes reflecting the orange glow from the wizard-shaped lights strung around the shop as they turn glassy. His bottom lip is sucked into his mouth to hide its trembling.

Lena takes the letter out of his hands and sets it aside. Her voice is soft when she says, "Hey."

Peter looks at her, his eyes rimmed with red. It breaks her heart.

"We'll figure this out," she promises.

He swallows thickly before he can talk. "Do you really think that?"

No, Lena instantly responds in her mind. No, she doesn't know how they'll navigate this. She has no idea what the future holds. And she would hate for her parents to have spent so much money on her future, which had once looked so bright but now seems darker than Graham's shadows.

Maybe Beck had only intended for them to get thrown in prison. Maybe he'd meant for something more. But whatever he'd planned, it's going exactly his way. Their lives have been ruined beyond comparison. Every time something seems to turn in their favor, the world beats them five steps back. And Lena is tired. Tired of being stared at like she's a freak, like she'll blast someone with a burst of energy if they look at her wrong. She wants her old confidence back.

Beck hadn't only tampered with her life. He'd destroyed those of everyone she's held close to her. And that, she can't live with.

Peter's hand abruptly takes hers, causing her to focus on him again. His eyes seem a little brighter when he says, "I have an idea."

-♕-

The first thing that hits her when the doors to the New York Sanctum blow open is bitter cold. Lena tugs her yellow denim jacket closer to her, frowning at the chill that's more potent than the one outside. She squints at the burst of frigid air that blows her hair back and makes flurries of snow stick to her head.

"What the hell?" Graham asks, also hugging himself as a defense from the unexpected chill. He isn't wearing a jacket at all — instead, all he has to protect himself is an unbuttoned shirt with red and green vertical stripes and a pair of cuffed copper-colored pants. Lena feels even colder just looking at him.

The inside of the Sanctum is a winter wonderland. The grand staircase leading to the second floor is covered in thick layers of ice, forming wicked-sharp icicles that hang from the intricate iron railings. Every piece of furniture is white with frost. As they step inside, using careful steps in case there are patches of ice beneath the snow, it crunches loudly under their shoes. Lena wiggles her toes to keep feeling in them, grateful that she's wearing combat boots.

The doors shut behind them on their own accord, cutting them off from any warmth of the outdoors. The Sanctum is eerily quiet except for two people shoveling snow into metal buckets. Maybe the snow is enchanted — they don't seem to be making much progress.

The trio glances at one another, silently asking what they should do. Graham eventually elbows Peter. This was his idea, so he gets to do the talking.

"Uh, hi," Peter says.

The two people finally acknowledge them and halt their movements, but their expressions are blank. This is weird.

"Hi? I'm, uh..."

Peter cuts himself off when an orange circle appears to their right, shooting sparks from its perimeter. A stout man in a heavy winter coat steps through with a suitcase in his hand. Due to the fur-lined hood concealing his face, Lena doesn't recognize him until he speaks.

"The most famous person in the world, I know," Wong says as he drops his bags on the snow-coated ground. When he straightens up and removes his hood, he regards them. "Or, should I say, people. Wong. Try not to slip. We don't have liability insurance."

Lena nudges Peter when the sorcerer turns away. "That's the wizard from Bryant Park. He severed that giant alien's hand off with a portal."

He creases his brows. "When was this?"

"While you were getting beamed up into that spaceship."

"Oh, yeah."

Wong gathers a few more things from the portal before it closes, leaving him in the foyer with them.

"Is all of this for a holiday party?" Peter asks, referencing the snow.

"No," Wong answers bitterly. "One of the rotunda gateways connects to Siberia. Blizzard blasted through."

Graham nods like this is a casual occurrence.

A gust of frigid wind causes Lena to look toward the top of the staircase. The light shining through the large window on the second floor makes it difficult to see when it reflects off the ice, but she can see the silhouette of a cape and a man floating down the stairs.

"Because someone forgot to cast a maintenance spell to keep the seals tight."

Stephen Strange — or, as Lena had once called him, Necklace Wizard — is also dressed in a puffy coat to combat the cold, a mug in one hand and his other casually slipped in the pocket of his dark jeans. His dramatic entrance is somewhat ruined by his boots sliding on the ice when he lands.

Wong's voice is tight and clipped, refusing to look at Strange as he says through gritted teeth, "That's right. He did. Because he forgot I now have higher duties."

"Higher duties?" Strange repeats incredulously.

"The Sorcerer Supreme has high duties, yes."

"Wait, I thought you were the Sorcerer Supreme," Peter says to Strange. He rubs his hands together, fighting to get warmth back into them.

"No. He got it on a technicality, 'cause I blipped for five years."

Lena doesn't think that statement is fair. From what she'd seen in Bryant Park, Wong is a fantastic sorcerer. Not to mention he's been one longer than Strange. He'll be a wonderful Sorcerer Supreme, whatever that is.

"Oh." Peter's eyes shift to Wong. "Well, congratulations."

It's then when Lena gets a good look at the mug in Strange's hand. It says, Oh for ___ sake with a cartoon fox in the middle, which causes her to grin a little bit.

"I like your mug," she tells him.

"Thank you." Strange gives her a nod. She realizes this is the first time they've ever spoken directly to each other. "If I'd been here, then I'd..."

"Burn the place down," Wong says dismissively. Clearly, this is an argument they've been having for months, and Lena really doesn't want to get caught in the middle of it. She almost sighs in relief when Wong points at the two others in the foyer. "You two, no one sits. Start shoveling."

Strange rolls his eyes, but begins to walk toward a fireplace encased in ice. "So, Peter, Lena, Graham — nice to meet you, by the way — to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Right, um, woah!" When Peter almost slips on a patch of ice, Graham's arms instantly shoot out to catch him and place him upright again. "Thanks. I'm really sorry to bother you, sir, but—"

"Please. We saved half the universe together." Strange waves a hand, lighting the fireplace with a burst of golden flame. The heat that washes over Lena makes her shivering body grow looser. "I think we're beyond calling me 'sir'".

"Okay, uh... Stephen."

"That feels weird, but I'll allow it."

"What about us?" Graham questions. "This is literally my first time meeting you."

"In that case, 'Your Ultimate Highness' will do."

Lena tilts her head to the side. "Isn't Wong the Ultimate Highness?"

Strange fixes her with a sharp glare. "You kids and your meddling. I swear, I see where you get it from, Peter. Anyways, that was a joke, thank you very much. Strange or Stephen is fine. I know you both, anyways."

That's unsettling, considering Lena barely knows him, but she decides to dismiss it. It must be a sorcerer thing.

"When, um..." Peter starts to explain, trying to choose his words carefully. "When Mysterio revealed our identities... our entire lives got screwed up, and... I was wondering — I mean, I don't really know if this would actually work — but I was wondering if... maybe you could go back in time and make it so that he never did?"

"Peter, we tampered with the stability of space-time to resurrect countless lives," Strange reminds him with a furrowed brow. "You wanna do it again now just because yours got messy?"

"This isn't... it's not about me," Peter assures him. "I mean, this is really hurting a lot of people. My, uh... my Aunt May, Happy, my best friend, Lena and Graham's families, their futures are ruined just because they know us, and they've done nothing wrong."

"My parents' immigration records are being scrutinized," Lena says, raising her chin a fraction higher when Stephen Strange's calculating stare lands on her. She won't let him intimidate her into backing down. "They're from the Philippines and are citizens now, but some people think they're illegal immigrants."

"And my dad, brothers, and I are the targets of racists," Graham pipes up. "Do you know how many people have now called Specter a thug just because I'm half black?"

"I am so sorry, but, even if I wanted to, I don't have the Time Stone anymore," Strange says.

"Yeah, the white man is always just 'sorry,'' Graham mutters bitterly.

Peter, noticing Strange's sharp eyebrow raise, quickly adds, "That's right. I'm really sorry if we wasted your time."

Strange shakes his head, his expression turning slightly soft. "You didn't..."

"Just forget about it."

"He will," Wong cuts in. "He's really good at forgetting things."

Lena had temporarily forgotten that he's also in the room, along with the two others who are still silently shoveling snow. She glances over her shoulder to see the Sorcerer Supreme shouldering a heavy backpack and grabbing a suitcase in both hands.

"Wong." Strange points at him. "You've actually generated a good idea."

"What?"

"The runes of Kof-Kol."

"The runes of Kof-Kol?" Peter repeats, his face pinched in confusion.

"Sounds like some Indiana Jones shit," Graham says.

Lena nods in agreement. "'Indiana Jones and the Runes of Kof-Kol.' Coming to a theater near you this Christmas."

Strange carries on as if they'd never made the comment. "Oh, it's just a standard spell of forgetting. Won't turn back time, but at least people will forget that you were ever Spider-Man, Havoc, or Specter."

Peter's eyes light up. "Seriously? That would be—"

"No. Not seriously," Wong interrupts again, causing Lena's hopeful smile to drop from her face. "That spell travels the dark borders between known and unknown reality. It's too dangerous."

"Indiana Jones shit," Graham repeats.

Strange's eyes roll so dramatically that the action is almost audible. "God, we've used it for a lot less. Do you remember the full moon party in Kamar-Taj?"

"No," Wong says.

"Exactly."

The tension in the foyer is thick, with the teenagers' heads turning back and forth between the two sorcerers like they're watching a tennis match to the death. Lena has no idea if Strange is telling the truth about the full moon party or not, and since they're talking about a spell of forgetfulness, there's no way they can prove it. Strange may be pulling that out of his ass. And from the expression on Wong's face, he's considering that fact.

"Come on, Wong," Strange says. "Haven't they been through enough?"

The two sorcerers stare at each other for a long moment as Wong weighs his options. Strange raises his eyebrows, asking for a decision. A beat later, during which Lena shifts slightly closer to the flickering fire to soak in its warmth, Wong wordlessly creates another portal to wherever he's headed off to.

"Just leave me out of this," he whispers with a glance at the two people shoveling.

"Fine," Strange agrees.

Wong steps through the orange ring. "Fine."

The portal closes with a swooshing sound. When Lena looks at Strange, she finds him smirking triumphantly. Evidently, pointing out their suffering had been part of the plan to get Wong to fold.

She ponders if this was a good decision as the trio follows Strange down a long, dark staircase framed by damp, brick walls. Graham must feel right at home with the shadows smothering everywhere that the light of a few flames against the wall doesn't touch. They cling to him naturally, making him almost impossible to see even if he's right in front of her. She treads carefully so she doesn't bump into him.

They stop in a creepy room made of rock. The ceiling is cavernous, with pale light shining from somewhere Lena can't see. As they look around, Strange places himself before a mysterious bowl backed by a plinth.

"What is this place?" Peter questions. His voice bounces off the high walls in resounding echoes.

"The Sanctum's built at the intersection of cosmic energy currents," Strange answers as he sprinkles something orange into the bowl. It forms a glowing, holographic ring around it. "We were the first to seek them out. Some of these walls are thousands of years old. And they shot an episode of Equalizer here in the eighties."

"Really?" Lena questions. "Sweet."

"I think this place is cursed," Graham deadpans as he inspects a strange carving in part of the wall. Its looming shadows are accented by flickering candlelight, making them dance along the rock. He puts a hand in them and makes it disappear into the darkness, then pulls it back out.

"Well, I, um.. really appreciate you doing this for us, sir," Peter says to Strange.

"Don't mention it," he says. As he speaks, he pours a glowing liquid into the center of the ring-framed bowl, then allows a grin to pull up his lips. "And don't call me sir."

Maybe it's because she doesn't have the same bond with him as Peter does, but something about Stephen Strange makes chills snake down her spine. Maybe it's knowing how powerful he is. Or how it's likely that he isn't doing this out of the goodness of his heart. Before he'd become a sorcerer, Dr. Strange hadn't exactly been a surgeon known for his kindness.

"Right," Peter says with a small smile of his own. "Sorry."

But if Peter trusts him, then she has to, as well. After all, Strange had made him smile.

"You ready?" Strange asks.

Peter takes a deep breath. "I'm ready. Guys?"

"Yeah," Lena says.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Graham answers.

The sorcerer pinches his index fingers to his thumbs and crosses his forearms. "Nice knowing you, Spider-Man, Havoc, and Specter."

Peter and Lena's brows furrow at the same time. What?

Strange doesn't pay their confused expressions any mind. He unfolds his hands, forming a circular shield in one palm and taking a string of energy from it with the other.

"Wait, excuse me?" Peter questions.

Without taking his eyes off of the runes he's drawing with the energy string, he replies, "The entire world is about to forget that Peter Parker is Spider-Man, Lena Santos is Havoc, and Graham Seager is Specter. Including me."

Orange runes begin taking shapes in the air surrounding them, casting warm glows over their group. Strange is using the string of energy to draw their intricate shapes. They gradually form a ring that encloses them, slowly rotating around them.

"Everyone?" Peter darts forward, his voice tinted with panic. "Can't some people still know?"

"That's not how the spell works, and it's very difficult and dangerous to change it mid-casting."

Lena's stomach drops. Nausea sucker punches her in the gut, forcing her to swallow before she can bring herself to ask, "Well, I mean, we won't forget about each other, right? We'll still be a team? Because there's no Havoc without Graham — he kinda created her."

The runes begin to shake. Strange sighs and waves a hand to diffuse the shield in his palm. With a complicated hand motion, he pushes the circle down and begins drawing another one on top of it.

"Everyone in the world is gonna forget you're Spider-Man, Havoc, and Specter except each other," he says.

Peter sighs. "Thank you so much." Then, his eyes bug wide open and he exclaims, "Oh, my God. Ned. Ned!"

The shaking resumes. Strange summons a symbol from the circle and examines it before tossing it into the bowl. "What is a Ned?"

"He's my best friend, so it's really important to me that Ned knows," Peter explains.

"Can you also add Cindy Moon and Abraham Brown in there?" Lena asks. "They're my friends, too."

"And my brothers," Graham adds. "They're just gonna find out again, anyway."

Strange's nod is more like an annoyed jerk of his chin as he breaks the circle and shoves it down with the first one. He draws a third set of runes, stiff with irritation but clearly trying to stay calm for the spell.

"Okay," he says, his voice a steely calm over thunderous rage, "let's not change the parameters of the spell anymore while I'm casting it."

"Okay, I'm done," Peter says. "I swear I'm done. But my Aunt May should really know."

"And our parents." Lena points to her and Graham. "I can't have Pa going back to hating the Avengers again. I couldn't stand the way he used to look at Havoc."

Strange draws yet another circle, but this time, he warns, "Peter, Lena, stop tampering with the spell."

"Once May found out that I was Spider-Man, it was really messy, and I don't think that I can go through with that again," Peter rambles. "So, my Aunt May? And their parents?"

"Yes!" The sorcerer isn't bothering to mask his anger anymore. By now, there are four circles floating around them, creating a dizzying effect that makes Lena even more nauseous.

"Oh, thank you. Happy?"

"No. I am annoyed."

"No, it's a nickname. Harold 'Happy' Hogan. He used to work for Tony Stark but then he was kinda—"

His words are muffled by the trembling of both the runes and Strange, the ground under their feet rumbling like an earthquake. The spell wavers, becoming increasingly unstable the longer Peter's tangent continues.

"Could you... just stop talking?" Strange begs through gritted teeth.

Lena reaches over, about to slap her hand over Peter's mouth, when the first circle of runes breaks. Strange is blasted back by the force. Each ring of runes starts spinning around them in a disarray of diagonal, vertical, and horizontal movements. The ground crumbles under her feet. Lena yelps as she's lifted into the air by an abrupt, powerful wind, kicking her legs in a futile attempt to seek purchase on a floor that's no longer there.

Peter fires out, "Basically, everyone who knew that we were Spider-Man, Havoc, and Specter before, should still know!"

The outside ring obliterates the room. Lena's eyes widen as she observes the purple mass of clouds surrounding them. When she looks to her left, it appears like a white figure is reaching to grab her. Panicked, she tries to struggle away, but the spell has her locked in the floating position. Not even her energy works here.

Peter yells as a piece of debris flies past him, narrowly missing his head. Graham looks like he's in agonizing pain. It takes Lena a second to realize that he might be trying to disappear into the shadows for safety. But this place — whatever it is — doesn't have any shadows. It's just a void of purple and blue, filled with so much energy that Lena can feel it thrumming in her blood.

Strange cries out as he forces the circles together, eventually containing them into a tight enough ball to trap them inside a hexagon gemstone. The room pieces back together with a deafening BOOM. Lena drops back onto her feet, moving her tangled hair out of her face with a huff.

She has never heard silence be so loud.

"Did it work?" Peter asks.

"No," Strange answers in a dangerously low voice, and this... this is why Lena had been wary of him. The expression on his face is murderous. "You changed my spell six times."

"Five times," Peter corrects him.

"Not the time, dude," Graham says.

"You changed my spell. You don't do that! I told you, and that is why!" He points to the barely-contained set of rings bouncing around in the hexagon, begging to be set free.

Lena can't help but feel like that is a very good representation of herself— always filled with insatiable energy that's too much for the vessel it's contained in.

"That spell was completely out of control," Strange continues. "If I hadn't shut it down, something catastrophic could've happened."

"Stephen, listen..." Peter wets his lips, painfully aware of how dire the situation is. "I am so sorry."

"Call me sir."

Peter clearly feels the sting of those words, but he swallows and obeys. "Sorry, sir."

"We should've thought about the terms of our request before we came here," Lena says. "That's on us. We're so sorry."

The man pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment before speaking. "You know, after everything we've been through together, somehow I always forget... You're just a kid. All three of you are just kids."

Lena isn't sure she's going to like what he's leading up to.

"Look, part of the problem — it's not Mysterio. It's you. Trying to live two different lives. And the longer you do that, the more dangerous it becomes. Believe me, I'm so sorry about you and your friends not getting into college, but if they rejected you, and you tried to convince them to reconsider, there is nothing else you can do."

Lena and Graham share a wide-eyed glance that says, Uh oh.

Peter catches it, too. "When you say 'convince them', you mean like, we could've called them?"

"Yeah," Strange replies as if it's obvious.

"I can do that?"

Strange furrows a brow. "You haven't called?"

"Well, I mean, I got their letter, and I assumed that—"

The sorcerer's crystal-blue eyes grow dark with barely-restrained rage. His tone is condescending when he slowly steps toward them and demands, "I'm sorry, but are you telling me that you didn't even think to plead your case with them first before you asked me to brainwash the entire world?"

Peter's ears are pink with embarrassment. "I mean, when you put it like that, then..."

A wave of Strange's hand has them back at the stoop of the Sanctum, where the door slams in their faces.

Lena is stunned into silence by how quickly that had happened, but Graham shrugs nonchalantly. "Calling admissions wasn't going to stop the racism, anyway."

_______

a/n:

making memes for this book brings me so much joy, y'all don't even understand

the spell part was so difficult to write because things happened so quickly, and writing magical things is always a challenge for me, so i hope things made sense!

also, a formal goodbye has been made for lena's short hair and bangs. she is officially back to her long, curly/wavy hair. the end of an era😔

lastly, here are lena and graham's outfits for the chapter (lena is wearing a plain white shirt under the jacket so the focus is on her jeans and jacket)

—kristyn

TRANSLATIONS:

Diyós ko: My God