❝ the skeletons in both our closets
plotted hard to fuck this up ❞

018. multiversal trespassers

𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒 — the unmistakable signs of Dr. Strange’s portals — began crackling to life in the dim, cramped living room, every eye turned toward Ingrid.

Evelyn’s small apartment had become a sanctuary for the group, a bubble of normalcy where they could momentarily let go of the outside world’s expectations. For Dylan and Lucas, it was a reprieve from overbearing parents and school pressures. For Ingrid, it was a brief escape from crowds eager to capture a glimpse of Spider-man's girlfriend and murder accomplice and, more recently, time altering spellcasters. Here, they were just friends, spending the afternoon in comfortable silence, noses buried in their phones, laptops, and books.

But peace shattered as Dr. Strange stepped through his portal, ignoring the trio's startled stares and fixing his eyes directly on Ingrid. His expression was a mix of impatience and something close to frustration, and she didn’t have to ask why he was here; she’d seen news footage of the latest 'incident' Peter had been caught up in. The chaos on the bridge, a new kind of battle, and Peter's face emerging in every possible news angle.

“I need you to come with me,” Strange said, his voice low and cutting, as if she’d been caught skipping class rather than relaxing with friends.

With a reluctant sigh, Ingrid slid her book into her bag, then slung it over her shoulder, readying herself for whatever awaited on the other side. She started to say goodbye, but before she could, Dylan leaped to his feet, laptop nearly flying off his lap as he slammed it shut. His eyes sparked with excitement, and he clasped his hands together in a dramatic plea.

“Can we come too?” he asked, voice brimming with excitement that his expression couldn’t quite contain.

Ingrid shot him a warning look, but before she could shut him down, Strange raised an eyebrow, arms crossed as he glanced over at the trio of hopeful faces. “Of course, because what every mission needs is a bunch of kids handling multiversal threats,” he replied dryly.

But the sarcasm sailed right over Dylan’s head. His eyes widened, mouth agape. “Wait, the multiverse is real?” Each word pitched higher with excitement, transforming his usually calm, scarred face into something almost boyish.

Strange let out a long, weary sigh but said nothing. The look on his face was answer enough, though — yes, it was very real, and yes, that was exactly the problem.

Ingrid could feel their stares, especially Dylan’s — an intense, pleading gaze that reminded her all too much of herself. She recognized that hopeful, eager-to-please look because she’d worn it countless times, practically begging to be included in things she probably shouldn’t have been part of. She felt a flicker of sympathy, but it was quickly overshadowed by a new sense of dread; she now understood just how grating that kind of relentless eagerness could be.

With a sigh of resignation, Ingrid looked to Strange, eyes set with stubborn determination. “They’re coming, or I’m not going,” she said firmly.

Strange’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. His eyes scanned the group, clearly doing some internal calculation before finally offering a curt nod. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

After a rushed scramble to gather coats and shoes under Dr. Strange’s relentless complaining, they finally stepped through the portal, first to pick up MJ and Ned. Ingrid immediately regretted not introducing her friends to them sooner; Ned and Dylan seemed like kindred spirits, their energy bouncing off each other in a flurry of excitement. Every detail seemed to fascinate them, even the mundane — and Strange’s irritation only fueled their enthusiasm. Evelyn, on the other hand, stayed close to MJ, sharing wide-eyed looks as they took in the surreal experience.

Strange’s patience dwindled even further by the time they reached the Sanctum Sanctorum. His usually composed demeanor was fraying, a visible annoyance creeping in with every delighted gasp and eager question from the group. When they finally stepped into the grand, towering space of the Sanctum, Ingrid was greeted by a familiar sight — the endless snow, blanketing the floor and relics, trailing along shelves, and coating every available surface in a soft, perpetual layer of frost.

Ingrid felt a smile creep across her face, unable to resist the irony. “Still can’t fix your little snow problem, huh?” she teased, crossing her arms with a glint of amusement.

Strange’s gaze narrowed, a mixture of exasperation and resignation in his voice. “Maybe you could offer a hand with it… after you deal with your boyfriend’s latest problem.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes, but her gaze drifted toward Evelyn, who had crouched down to examine a handful of snow as if she’d never seen it before. Evelyn let MJ’s hand go just long enough to press the snow between her fingers, her expression filled with pure wonder. Ingrid had to stifle a laugh; somehow, Evelyn made even icy snow look like the most magical thing she’d ever encountered.

Ned, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with excitement. “I can’t believe I’m in the Sanctum Sanctorum!” he exclaimed, barely holding back a squeal as he spun in circles, his gaze darting from one corner of the room to another, trying to absorb every detail. Meanwhile, Dylan stood beside him, eyes wide but brows furrowed, clearly trying to rationalize the scene. Ingrid could almost see his mind working through the logistics of it, looking for an explanation beyond “it’s magic.”

Dr. Strange swept past them with a muttered, “Neither can I,” his voice carrying a distinct edge as he gestured for them to follow.

Lucas was the most unperturbed, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and mild annoyance. He watched the others with a raised brow, clearly hoping nobody would lose themselves in the frosty labyrinth that was now the Sanctum. His eyes lingered on Evelyn as she reached out to touch an icicle hanging from a nearby doorway, only to jerk her hand back at the sudden chill.

As they trudged after Strange, Ned sped up to catch him, sliding across the snow-covered floor with a grin. "So, how did you know you were a man of magic?" he asked, his voice full of admiration. "Because my Lola says that we have it in our family, and sometimes I get these tinglings in my hands—”

Strange didn’t even look back as he responded curtly, “You should talk to your physician.” With that, he marched up the snow-laden stairwell, leaving Ned blinking in mild confusion.

Ingrid stifled another laugh as she exchanged glances with Lucas, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Dylan and Ned, still buzzing with excitement, started whispering to each other, theorizing about magical powers and mystical artifacts. Evelyn, meanwhile, caught up to Ingrid, eyes wide as she whispered, “Is he always this… grumpy?”

“Only when he’s not in a good mood,” Ingrid murmured with a grin, casting a glance toward Strange’s retreating figure. “So yeah, always.”

Ingrid’s heart leaped the moment she spotted someone emerging from the shadows near the stairwell. Without a second thought, she breathed, “Peter,” and rushed toward him, feeling like a weight had lifted from her shoulders.

Peter met her halfway, pulling her into a tight hug, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Ingrid felt herself relax, melting into the familiar warmth and comfort of his embrace. Peter’s hands gently rubbed her back, his grip almost desperate, as if he feared she’d vanish the instant he let go. She didn’t mind. For once, she felt like she could actually breathe.

“Hey,” she murmured softly, her tone full of relief and affection. “Are you okay? You’re… okay?”

Peter pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, though his arms remained securely around her waist. “Yeah,” he said with a small, reassuring smile, nodding. “I’m okay.”

As the rest of the group shuffled over, their curious glances darting between Peter and Ingrid, he finally took notice of the unfamiliar faces, his brows lifting in mild confusion.

“Oh, right.” Ingrid blinked, mentally kicking herself for forgetting the introductions in her excitement. She gestured toward Lucas first. “This is Lucas,” she said, watching as Lucas gave a small nod of acknowledgment. “And the guy over there — the one staring at the ceiling like it’s the most interesting thing ever — that’s Dylan.” Dylan broke from his awe-filled gaze long enough to offer a sheepish wave. “And… you’ve met Evelyn.” At that, Evelyn flashed a friendly smile and waved, her energy a little more contained than the others.

Peter chuckled softly, his eyes sweeping over the group. “Yeah, hi.” He offered a genuine, if somewhat apologetic, smile. “I’m so sorry for dragging you all into this. You… you just gotta help me find these guys"

Before he could finish, MJ stepped forward, cutting him off with a look that was both stern and caring. “Hey. You don’t have to apologize, okay?” she said, her voice strong but gentle. "You got us a second shot at M.I.T."

“So,” Ned piped up, his face full of curiosity, "how did the bad guys get here?"

Before Peter could respond, Dr. Strange’s voice echoed down from the top of the staircase, his tone as exasperated as ever. "He screwed up a spell trying to get you into college."

Ingrid cringed, sensing Peter’s discomfort, while Dylan’s grin widened with interest. The rest of the group turned their frowns onto Peter, whose cheeks flushed as he pursed his lips, looking caught.

“Wait, what?” MJ’s voice was filled with a mix of disbelief and concern as she crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“You did it… with magic?” Ned whispered, awe and excitement clear in his expression, as if this revelation only made the situation cooler.

“Cool,” Dylan muttered under his breath, his eyes shining with amazement — though his enthusiasm was quickly met with a smack to the arm from Lucas, who rolled his eyes.

"I thought it was the M.I.T. lady you saved?" MJ asked, tone sharp but curious.

Peter shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze for a moment. “Uh… no, that was after,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Let’s just focus on the good news, okay?”

Though Dr. Strange didn’t let Peter off that easily. “No,” he interrupted, voice flat and cutting. “Let’s focus on the bad news. As of now,” Strange continued, with a sense of resigned annoyance, “you’ve detected exactly zero multiversal trespassers.” He threw his hands up, a mix of irritation and urgency on his face. “So get on your phones, scour the Internet, and—” he gave them all a pointed look, “Scooby-Doo this shit!”

Ingrid’s bitter scoff rang out, drawing the room’s focus. “I’m sorry,” she muttered with heavy sarcasm, her voice practically dripping with it. “You’re telling us what to do? Even though you’re the one whose spell backfired? Meaning all this—” she gestured broadly, as if indicating the chaotic mess they were now in, “is kinda your fault.” She raised an eyebrow at Strange, meeting his startled gaze with a challenging stare, arms folded defiantly. It was clear she wasn’t in the mood for following orders without making her opinion known.

Strange blinked, momentarily taken aback, but before he could respond, MJ chimed in, crossing her arms as she shot the sorcerer a disdainful look. “You know, I know a couple of magic words myself,” she said pointedly, “starting with ‘please.’”

Evelyn, standing slightly behind MJ, shook her head and chimed in, with an unusually bitter smile. “Yeah, we’re talking about the supposed Sorcerer, who’s three times our age,” she pointed out, emphasizing each word, “with way more experience.” Evelyn’s tone carried a layer of sarcasm that seemed to make Strange’s expression harden just a little more.

The three of them all wore identical smiles, wide and sugary sweet, though their eyes told a different story. It was the kind of smile that said they wouldn’t be backing down anytime soon.

Strange’s sigh was audible. His jaw clenched as he took a deep breath through his nose, visibly working to keep his patience. Finally, he muttered, “Fine.” He set his gaze on them, exasperated but defeated. “Please. Scooby-Doo this shit.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “finally.” But she didn’t push further, even as she shot one last unimpressed look in Strange’s direction.

“You can work in the undercroft,” Strange added, a bit pointedly, as if dismissing them.

Ned and Dylan’s faces lit up with immediate excitement. “The undercroft?” they exclaimed in unison, glancing at each other with wide eyes and grins that looked far too eager.

But as Peter led them down the narrow staircase toward the undercroft, the thrill began to fade. With each step, the lighting grew dimmer and the temperature gradually warmed, moving from the chill of the Sanctum’s upper floors to a stale, musty warmth. It was less ‘ancient dungeon’ and more ‘creaky, forgotten basement,’ and when they reached the bottom, they found themselves in what looked suspiciously like a dusty garage. Broken shelves, forgotten artifacts, and scattered tools filled the space, none of it exactly living up to their expectations of a mystical hideout.

As the others got the idea of where they were heading and their destination which was at the bottom of the staircase, Peter's steps slowed down.

Ned had already gravitated toward an old, dusty worktable where a crossbow lay, of all things. He picked it up gingerly, turning it over with awe, though he seemed to have no idea why it was there.

Peter rolled up his sleeves, taking a deep breath as if preparing for something big. He looked around at his friends, hesitating. “Guys, about this whole spell thing…”

Before he could finish, MJ stepped closer, meeting his gaze with a look that was both serious and reassuring. “It’s… totally okay.”

Peter glanced at MJ, taken aback by her unexpected support. "Wait, really?"

MJ shrugged, a faint, knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah," she replied, before backtracking a bit. "I mean, like, I get it. You were... just trying to fix things.” She looked away, struggling to find the right words. "Maybe just run it by us next time, you know? That way, when you're thinking, "Hey, I'm about to do something that could... break the universe", we could like, help you. Workshop something, or... brainstorm ideas."

Peter let out a breath of relief, nodding. “Deal,” he said softly, as though finally breathing a bit easier. Then he turned to his best friend. “Ned?”

Ned looked up from the crossbow he’d been admiring, blinking like he’d only just tuned back into the conversation. He shrugged with a casual smile. "Oh, dude, I don't care. It's seriously not a big deal. Um..." Then his attention drifted back to the shadows, and his eyes lit up with sudden excitement. “Oh! A torture rack!” He pointed eagerly and hurried toward what looked like a dark, bulky contraption half-hidden behind an old shelf.

Ingrid raised an eyebrow, her expression alight with curiosity and a playful, sadistic grin crossing her face. “Really?” But her excitement quickly faltered as she moved closer and realized the 'torture rack' was nothing more than a dusty Pilates machine, old and stiff with disuse.

Lucas, who had been examining old Lucas, who had been rummaging through an assortment of old eighties workout gear on a nearby shelf, chuckled and held up a jump rope. “Pretty sure that’s just a Pilates machine,” he called, twirling the rope absently around one hand.

Ingrid groaned in disappointment, muttering, “Well, that’s anticlimactic.” But her attention was quickly pulled toward the other end of the undercroft, where, instead of a wall, the space opened up into a wide, gaping entrance shrouded in shadows. She squinted, taking a few instinctive steps closer. “Is that…?”

Peter nodded, following her gaze. “The crypt,” he confirmed quietly, voice dropping just slightly.

MJ broke the moment of silence, her voice light but determined. "Okay, so we get the rest of the guys. You zap them, Doctor Magic will send them back and, when we get into MIT, round of stale donuts." She flashed all of them a grin. "My treat."

Ned pumped his fist, gripping the crossbow with renewed enthusiasm. “Let’s catch some multiverse men!”

"Hey! Who the hell are these lot?"

Ingrid’s attention snapped to the shadowy depths of the crypt, her gaze landing on a figure standing under a shaft of dim light. The man had slicked-back dark hair, tinted glasses perched on a long, severe nose, and a trench coat that hung heavily over his shoulders. But what held everyone’s focus were the four monstrous, twisted metal arms that moved independently around him, clawed and gleaming like something out of a nightmare.

And he wasn’t alone. Across the crypt, locked behind another cell’s shimmering magical barrier, was a towering creature covered in scales the color of moss and sludge. It crouched low, its enormous, razor-sharp talons scraping against the stone floor, rows of dagger-like teeth glinting menacingly as it eyed them, each low growl vibrating through the space.

Peter took a breath, then cleared his throat, forcing his voice to sound a bit louder and more confident than he felt. “Uh, yeah, um… These are my friends. This is Ingrid, MJ, Ned, Evelyn, Dylan, and Lucas.”

“Hi!” Evelyn chimed in cheerfully, flashing a smile as if she wasn’t currently standing across from multiversal tresspassers.

Lucas tilted his head, glancing at Ingrid as he whispered, “Wait… what’s his name again?”

Ingrid gave a helpless shrug, then turned back toward the man in the cell.

“Doctor Otto Octavius,” came the answer, his voice low and laced with an air of menace.

A few of them couldn’t hold back their laughter, their grins widening as they tried — and failed — to stifle it.

Peter’s laugh was the loudest, though it tapered off when he realized no one was joking. “Wait, no, seriously… what’s your actual name?”

Peter's laugh died out, and he continued, a sheepish smile, sign of another wave of laughter crossing hia features. "Wait, no seriously, what's your actual name?"

Doctor Octavius glared, but before he could answer, Ned blurted out, his eyes widening as he pointed at the creature in the neighboring cell, “Oh, is that a dinosaur?”