Chapter Text
North Pacific ocean
Sat, 1 January 1950 00:01:42 GMT-03:00
Approximately 1,000Km westbound from Boston shores
Aboard the commercial fishing vessel, Sea Shell
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“God?”
Peter felt like his insides had been scrambled in a blender. Clearly, he wasn’t dead. Or maybe he was and this was the afterlife. He tried to focus on the man who had unmasked him but it was difficult with the rainstorm raging around them and the constant swaying of the waves.
“Um, kid, could you let go of my wrist, you’re going to break it?!” The man yelled over the sound of the storm. Jolting away like he was burned, Peter took in his surroundings. He was on a small fishing vessel no bigger than 22 meters long. There was nothing but deep ocean as far as the eye could see and the giant waves threatened to capsize the boat at any moment. Heavy rain assaulted his skin and the violent winds almost knocked him over.
A particularly violent wave sent the boat tipping to the left and Peter screamed. He grabbed onto the man for dear life, still screaming, thinking he’d get to die a gruesome death twice. As the boat equalized, he realized who was the superhero with actual superpowers in this relationship, and let go of the fisherman.
Peter cleared his throat, embarrassed.
The man looked at him with a pinched expression. “Come on!” The stranger yelled. “Let’s get inside before the winds blow us away!” Before he could protest, Peter was dragged by the arm into the small cabin on the ship.
“What the hell ma-!” A hand covered his mouth and the stranger put a finger to his lips.
“Bobby, Why isn’t the transmission fixed, you dimwit!?” Came from somewhere out of sight. The man in front of him tensed. “The winds were too strong, Captain, I couldn’t get high enough to repair it!” He yelled back.
A scoff resounded from the other room, but no other grievances came their way.
“Let’s go to the storage room, then we can talk.” He whispered into Peter’s ear. The other man dragged Peter down into a small room, more of a closet, filled with crates. The man, Bobby, gently closed the door behind him, and Peter wasted no time pressing for answers.
“Ok, Who the hell are you? Where the hell are we? And how in the world did I end up here!?”
“That’s what I should be asking you! You just appeared out of nowhere out of some green ball of light. And, where on a fishing vessel in the Atlantic, by the way.”
Peter snapped his fingers. “That’s it, the pendant!”
“What?”
“So, I was just minding my own business, when I spotted these guys who were acting suspiciously suspicious. They drove a white van, you see, and everyone knows THAT’S suspicious. And, being the patriotic superhero I am, I chase them down to this shipping yard, and then they pull out this magical metal cube, I assume it’s magical anyway, and this beefy guy on steroids comes out…he’s not important, forget him. The point is, I tried to stop some bad guys from exporting a magical necklace to Russia, and here I am now.”
Bobby stared at him. “Okay, makes sense.”
He looked at the man incredulously. “You believe me, just like that?”
He shrugged. “I’m Christian, it wouldn’t be the first magical thing I’ve believed in. Anyway…you’re like, what, a knockoff Captain America? Boy-Scout America?” Peter shoved him. “Ha-ha, very funny. Do you really not know who I am?”
“Am I supposed to?”
“I guess that’s fair. I’m pretty small fry, even in New York.”
Bobby cleared his throat. “I feel like introductions are in order. My name’s Robert Lancaster, but most people just call me Bobby.”
Peter figured it couldn’t do much harm since the man already knew his face. “I’m Peter, uh, Peter Parker.”
“So, what are you gonna do now, Peter?”
The boy furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Like, when are you going to,” He wiggled his fingers, “teleport back, or are you stuck here?” Peter needed a second to reboot. That’s right, they were in the middle of the Atlantic and Peter was unfortunately not magic.
He grabbed Bobby and shook him. “How far are we from New York?!”
It was Mr. Lancaster’s turn to furrow his eyebrows as he wriggled out of the boy’s hold. “Kid, we ain’t headed to New York. This boat’s en route to Boston.”
“Can I call someone? Do you guys have a phone?!”
He arched an eyebrow again. “Ain’t no telephone on a fishing boat, just a radio, and that’s busted. The antenna snapped during the storm.”
He realized he was being stupid and tried activating Karen’s systems, but nothing was responding. In fact, it was as if all the tech in his suit stopped functioning.
Peter’s worrying would give him wrinkles if he didn’t calm down.
Bobby looked at the kid panicking in front of him. He couldn’t be much older than his own son, which just cemented his decision. “Look, kid, I can’t let the others see you. They’ll probably think you’re some stowaway trying to rob them blind. They might tie you up and bring you back to Boston or they might throw you in the ocean, it’s hard to tell.” Peter gulped and Bobby moved passed him to open a small trunk. “That’s why you need to hide, we use this to store our fishing nets, but there should be room enough for you. That is, if a city boy like you can handle it.” The man smirked.
Peter was secretly relieved. For a normal kid his size, it would be difficult to fit in there, but he was spider-powered with the flexibility to boot. Bobby tapped the rim of the trunk in invitation and Peter slid a foot in, then the rest of him. It wasn’t the worst position to be in, all things considered.
The other man whistled. “Damn kid, you can bend. My old man knees are aching just looking at you. Anyway, I’ll bring you something to eat whenever I can, but don’t come out, okay?”
“Yeah, or I’ll be thrown to the sharks, got it.” Chuckling, Bobby closed the trunk and Peter was engulfed in darkness. Already, he was beginning to get uncomfortable in such a cramped space. Though, not the physical kind. He couldn’t help the memories of concrete on top of him and the taste of dust in the air. Despite this and the aching in his empty stomach, Peter was soon rocked to sleep by the waves of the ocean.
5 days and nights pass in agony. Soon after day 2, his stomach started feeling like it was eating him. He was constantly tired and lethargic. Not to mention, his whole body ached from being cooped up in that box. On day 4, Bobby was alarmed enough to mention his gaunt and sickly cheeks. The other man was a godsend for Peter’s sanity. He was very interested in the weird enhanced kid that fell out of the sky, go figure, and let Peter talk his ear off for hours. Often, the man would say things that would confuse the hell out of him, like his constant references to President Truman and movies he’d never heard of, but he chalked it up to a Boston thing.
When Bobby told him they could finally see land, Peter cried tears of Joy.
The tricky part would be sneaking Peter out undetected, so they came up with a plan. When everyone was distracted unloading the crew’s massive haul of fish, Peter, dressed in Bobby’s spare clothes, would slip into the crowd with no one the wiser.
There was one issue, however.
“What the hell are these?” Peter held up two strips of elastic fabric with clasps at the end. Bobby quirked an eyebrow. “They’re suspenders, have you been living under a rock your entire life?”
Peter’s face lit up in realization. “Oh, my grandpa used to wear one of these!” Bobby scoffed. “It’s not that old, brat. I know belts are more in fashion nowadays, but that’s an exaggeration.” Peter laughed it off, then struggled for several minutes to put them on.
To finish off the look, Bobby shoved a tweed hat on his head. Before he could object, the man pulled him out of the closet he’d called home for the last 5 days. “Come on, we don’t have all day, act natural.” Walking through the halls, he felt anything but natural. All around him were men dressed like they were in a period drama. He was baffled that no one batted an eye at his attire. Bobby shoved him in one direction and he let his feet guide him out of the vessel.
He casually walked out onto the deck that was bustling with activity. He easily slipped passed everyone and climbed down the ramp leading to the docks.
Peter looked past the dock and froze. Everything felt OFF. Everyone was dressed strangely. Parked to the side were old-fashioned cars, round edges and all. The architecture looked slightly off. His first thought was that this was the scene of a movie, but that idea was ridiculous.
Unease mounted in his gut. He walked passed the workers and to a small downturned crate laying near the doors of the factory. On it was a single newspaper and an ash trey. It was clearly abandoned by the workers in favor of helping the crew. He picked up the newspaper and flipped to the first page, eyes flicking up to the date under the title.
Wednesday, July 5, 1950
A hand landed on his shoulder. “Peter?” He flinched and dropped the newspaper. Suddenly, everything clicked. The odd references to things Peter didn’t understand. The bizarre fashion. Even Mr. Lancaster’s odd way of speech he’d originally chalked up to a Boston dialect.
That pendant hadn’t just teleported him to the middle of the ocean, it’d also thrown him back to more than half a century ago.
If he was going to get wrapped up in time travel shenanigans, he’d have liked it to be more like Back to the Future and less like Jaws.
Swallowing, he turned to face Bobby and smiled shakily.
“Is everything all right, kid?”
“Yeah, just feeling a little queasy… and hungry.” As if on queue, his stomach began to growl and Bobby laughed good-naturedly, slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders.
“I’ll tell you what, once I’m finished up here and get my cut of the profit, I’ll treat you.” Normally, Peter would refuse, not wanting to burden such a generous man. However, the boy didn’t think he had the will to refuse with how much his stomach hurt.
He mustered up the energy to smile. “I’d love that, Mr. Lancaster!”
Peter hadn’t been completely lying when he said he felt queasy, just not for the reasons Bobby thought. Looking back, he took a closer look at the paper that had rocked his world. It was in mint condition.
Why did this happen?
Dampness pricked at the edges of his eyes. After spending the past 5 days cramped in a box, left starving and scared, he was at his wit's end.
“Fuck this!” He tore the Newspaper in half.
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Boston, USA
Sat, 5 January 1950 17:23:10 GMT-04:00
2 Pleasant St, Charlestown
Inside Warren Tavern
Peter let the greasy tavern food soothe his frayed nerves. Bobby had let him keep the clothes, which was so nice of him. Even back in his time when superheroes weren’t that weird, a guy in spider-themed red spandex drew a fair share of eyes.
Now, they were only staring at him for the obscene amount of food he was eating. Screw them, Peter hadn’t had a proper meal in 5 days, and with his super metabolism, that was tantamount to starvation.
“Geez kid, you’re gonna eat me dry of money. Though, with the look of your cheeks, you need it.”
Peter would usually feel bad about spending someone else’s money but he was too busy being hungry.
“You're so kind, mister-” Peter shoved another bite of the massive burger in his mouth. “-you’re a lifesaver, I don’t know what I’d do without you!” The boy covered his chewing mouth to maintain a semblance of politesse.
Bobby’s cheeks turned a little pink at the praise and he rubbed self-consciously at the back of his neck. “I have a boy around your age at home, and a daughter a few years younger. My wife would never forgive me if I left a kid in need out to dry when I could do something to help, ya know? She’s such a great soul and I try to be more like her.”
Peter gulped. “I get it. When you can do something to help, but you don't, and then bad things happen, it’s like they happen because of you.”
Bobby snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “Exactly! That’s exactly what she says.”
The teen smiled while tearing off the meat on a rib. “Your wife sounds like a great person!” Mr. Lancaster puffed up his chest in pride, but then he slumped, not looking the boy in the eye.
“Peter… I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” He stopped eating and gave Bobby his tentative attention. “If you’re willing, I think the house can squeeze in another kid, though you’d be sleeping on the couch, It beats a crate any day!” He tried to joke, but he was obviously awkward, which was unusual for Bobby Lancaster, the self-proclaimed fearless fisherman.
Peter wiped his hands on a napkin to give him time to think up a response. The man’s heartfelt declaration warmed his heart and his spirit felt lighter knowing such kind people existed in this world. He’d never even done anything for Mr. Lancaster, but the man was giving so much, which is why he had to smile and say, “That’s so kind of you! You have no idea how much it means to me but… I have to catch the next train to New York, duty calls, after all!”
Bobby’s face crumbled. “I see… but how are you going to pay for the train tickets?” Peter hadn’t thought of that. Though, he was certain he could sneak into one easily enough. Or hitchhike. He heard people back in the day hitchhiked. The man smiled and fished out his wallet from his back pocket. He was ready to protest when Bobby pushed a 5-dollar bill and 4 25 cents at him.
“This should be enough to pay for a ticket to New York. They can be a bit pricey.” To Peter, the meager amount seemed like it would hardly pay for a snicker bar and a Pepsi at a gas station, let alone a ticket from Massachusetts to New York. However, he had to remember to keep inflation in mind.
“You really don’t have to!”
“I’m just helping America’s next hero, Boyscout America.” The fisherman gave him a cheeky grin. “Take it or I throw it, kid.” He didn’t want to see if the man would make good on his threat and quickly pocketed the money. Bobby’s face lit up in realization. He took out a pocketbook and a pen, scribbling something down. He ripped out the page and passed it Peter’s way.
“My address, if you ever find yourself in Boston again and need a place to crash. You’re a smart kid, I couldn’t even begin to wrap my mind around the stuff you would say to me back on the boat. Maybe even the next Howard Stark.” He winked, “And you’ve got a heart of gold, I can just tell. That’s why my doors will always be welcome to you.” The man patted Peter on the head and said. “Well, we should finish up here or the wife might get worried.” Tearing his eyes off of the older man, he hurried to finish his plate.
They stood out in the chilly July air, facing each other.
“Goodbye, Peter. I hope I get to see you again one day, hopefully under less magical circumstances.”
Instead of a reply, he jumps at the man and envelops him in a warm embrace. He lets out a little ‘oof’ but returns the hug.
“Thank you, Mr. Lancaster, for everything. I don’t know what I did to deserve it.” He mumbled into the lapels of the fisherman’s clothes.
“Does someone have to have a reason to be generous?” He smiled down at the boy and released him.
Peter wouldn’t let himself cry in front of such a cool guy like Bobby Lancaster, so he stepped back and gave a mock salute. “I have to start treating the future Captain of the Sea Shell with proper respect, or he might just throw me in a crate again.”
Bobby laughed. Peter was happy to be able to part ways on a light note.
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Boston, USA
Sat, 5 January 1950 20:02:09 GMT-04:00
700 Atlantic Ave
South Station
Peter was determined to ignore all his emotions regarding time travel until he got to New York. In fact, he blatantly didn’t let his mind wander to the implications of being stuck in 1950 and instead thought deeper on the mechanics of time travel. He’d theorized about it with Ned on more than one occasion but it had always been in the hypothetical.
When he got back, he’d be able to geek out with Ned and pour over the new data.
The lady at the service desk looked at him weirdly as he fumbled through asking for a train ticket to New York. Nevertheless, she’d given the boy a ticket and told him the train would be there shortly.
Peter marveled at the interior design and the ancient-looking trains. They all looked straight out of a history book to him. More than a few people stared at his gaunt, sickly appearance. On the other side of the room, there was a crowd of waiting passengers by the tracks. He went to stand with them, feeling giddy. Despite everything, the scientist in him couldn’t help but marvel at these feats of outdated engineering.
His spidey sense went off, shaking him out of his reverie.
He looked around frantically, trying to identify a threat, when his eyes landed on a man to his right.
He was tall, white, with generic features, and dressed in a fancy dark blue pinstripe suit. The man was looking down at his watch, the other hand clutching a briefcase. His heart pounded in anticipation. His whole world narrowed to just that one man and his eyes raked over him, trying to find the danger.
The whistling of a steam engine had him practically jumping out of his skin.
He set a hand over his heart, trying to calm it down. Seconds later, an old-fashioned steam train was braking in front of them. People started embarking on the train and Peter hurried to follow. When a Stewart asked him to show a ticket, his hands fumbled to dig his out of his front pocket, feeling unreasonably nervous. He was let in with nothing more than a suspicious side-eye.
His eyes scanned over his cabin, looking for the man.
“Sir.” A firm hand caught his shoulder, causing him to flinch. He turned his head and saw a shorter stewardess wearing a customer service smile. “I have to ask you to take your seat, the train will be departing soon.”
He mumbled some incoherent apologies and hurried to follow her instructions. She didn’t seem like the kind of person you should keep waiting.
After such a long period of radio silence from his sixth sense, Its sudden reappearance was making him antsy.
‘Come on, Spider-Man, get it together!’ He shook his head and took out the crumpled ticket to find his seat number.
‘Seat 62, seat 62, seat 62, seat 62, ah here!’
His was an aisle seat next to a gorgeous brunette in a dark blue overcoat and a red fedora. She looked a lot like Mary Poppins, and Peter wondered if it would be rude to tell her that.
She arched an eyebrow when she saw him just standing there.
“Aren’t you going to take a seat? The train is about to start. I promise I don’t bite.” She said playfully, her accent distinctly British.
He froze, then jerkily sat down, heat rushing to his cheeks.
This was going to be a long ride.
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To be continued