Chapter Text
Peter can barely hear the rapid beeping of the heart monitor over the chatter in the room. The aged woman in front of him levels him with an unimpressed stare as Peter asks smally, “I'm sorry. Could you please repeat that?”
“You are not in New York. This is Gotham. In New Jersey.” The name tag on her white coat reads Leslie Thompkins. Her sunken eyes don't leave Peter for a stretching minute, as if he is a puzzle she can't crack, before turning and picking up a clipboard from a nearby table. Peter zeroes in on her movements. “Listen, I didn't spot any head wounds when you were brought in and your pupils seem okay, but it would be safer to perform a CT scan on you.” She pauses when the beeping picks up. “And I need you to calm down.”
But how can Peter calm down when he woke up only a couple of minutes ago in an unknown location, in New Jersey of all places, and surrounded by too many people in a too small room. There is barely enough air to go around!
“No! No, I mean, an x-ray isn't a good idea.” His radioactivity would simply fry the machine, unless they have one created specifically for mutants, which he doubts. This just seems like a regular clinic for regular people.
The doctor's, Leslie's, eyebrow travels high up on her face. Her expression is practically screaming a dubious “ really?” but before she can open her mouth to voice her thoughts, the door slams open and a new patient gets wheeled in. The loud conversations in the room die down at the new presence. Peter is no stranger to blood and injuries but he quickly averts his gaze when the man gets into his field of vision, stomach churning.
Leslie is gone from Peter's side in an instant. “Batman?” she whispers to her acquaintance (not quietly enough for Peter not to hear) after reaching the patient and receives a grim nod in response. Leslie's face doesn't betray any thoughts she may have, a stark contrast to how visibly exasperated she was with Peter not even a minute ago, as she moves the man over to the only available bed and connects him with various machines. Curiously, Peter peers over at the man and he has to suppress a wince. If he had to guess, he would say that under all that blood is a balding man in his sixties. There are sports shoes on his feet. Maybe if his legs heal correctly, he can get back to whatever sport he likes doing.
Peter shudders. Whoever the attacker was, they are not to be messed with. The nurse mentioned a Bat-Man . Are they a new villain? Why haven't the Avengers been notified of them? It's not like they appeared here overnight if civilians aren't unfamiliar with them. Even if it's New Jersey they still gotta look out for people there! Or well, here. Peter is in New Jersey now.
The chatter, which quieted down when the man arrived, starts up again in full swing and Peter groans quietly as pain pulses through his head. His mouth is dry. On a small table next to him is a glass of water. But it is snatched away before his hand can reach it.
“Get your own!” barks a woman from the ground with an unfamiliar accent. It has got more drawl to it than a New York one. Peter wracks his brain, which sends another surge of pain through his head, before deciding he has never heard it before. “And if you are awake enough to move your ass then get off the bed. There are people who need to lay down more than you.”
Peter looks down at the angry woman. Half of her face is wrapped in bandages, her left arm is in a sling. The glass of water is clutched tightly in her free hand and facing a group of people who aren't much better off than her. A quick scan of the room proves that the patients who aren't unconscious on a bed, are scattered around the ground, sitting in solitude or leaning against each other. Peter really hopes the floor is clean. Are there no other rooms in this hospital or are they all occupied just like this one?
Peter clears his throat but his voice still ends up being rough. “I'm, uh, sorry.”
The woman's eyes go wide for a brief second before her face breaks into a grin. “Oi, lads!” She turns towards the group in front of her. “We got a New Yorka ova here!” she mocks in frankly a very poor New York accent.
One of her friends perks up at that. He is rocking a nasty black eye. “Welcome to Gotham, kid,” he drawls. His voice makes shivers run up and down Peter's back like ants. “You a tourist?” The group bursts into loud laughter that reminds him of a pack of hyenas. “I see that you got the best of Gotham experience if you ended up here at Leslie's.” Another round of laughter.
Peter is quick to mask his confusion with what he hopes is an appropriate response to this jab(?) “Um, yeah! For sure! What a nice city you have.” Better to play along and snuff out information by getting on their good side. “The view is just… great!” Yeah, Peter has no idea what he is doing.
Unfortunately, his response is not satisfactory to the group and their expressions drop. The man's hand digs into his coat and whips out a gun . He starts fiddling with it thoughtfully. Peter stops himself from sputtering out apologies for apparently offending him when his Spider Sense doesn't warn him of a shot. But frankly, it has not once stopped buzzing under his skin since waking up so his shoulders are still tense, back ramrod straight, ready to bolt. How was he allowed in a hospital with a gun in the first place? “Nah,” the man says after a while. “She is a shithole.”
“She?” Peter tilts his head.
The man's eyes flash dangerously. “Gotham,” he specifies. “Careful, boy. She will snuff out any light that gets lit.”
“Except for gunfire,” the woman pipes in gleefully. Peter can only watch with utter confusion as the man puts his weapon back into its holster. The group returns to their previous topic, which loses Peter's interest quickly and he turns his attention back over to the rest of the room. Around him are people with various degrees of injuries, appearances, ages and ethnicities. All of them seem so different from each other but looking closer, they have one thing in common.
Their lifeless eyes.
The moment Peter catches that, a shudder runs down his spine, leaving a cold trail behind. Peter has seen eyes like these on corpses, on people he couldn't save.
On Ben.
Peter's nails dig into his palms.
How can anyone have let these people get this bad? How can they , the heroes, have let it get this bad? This place, Gotham , is an abandoned city. These are forgotten people. They have given up.
Familiar determination flares in his chest.
Peter, deep in his thoughts, completely misses when Leslie returns to his side. He jumps when a glass of water gets shoved into his hands. “Change of plans,” she announces, voice clipped. “I hate to do this but I gotta make you leave. A new wave of patients is waiting just outside and I need a free bed. You seem alright enough to stand so I am checking you out.” Her words slowly register in his brain as she fiddles with the machine he is connected to and Peter deflates with relief. “Is there anyone I can call to come pick you up?”
After a moment of hesitation, Peter nods. He beckons Leslie to come closer to him. Flaunting that man's name in public is never a good idea unless you want to get kidnapped for ransom or swarmed by paparazzi so he says in a low voice, “Tony Stark.”
But instead of getting flustered and scrambling to get in touch with his personnel, Leslie's face remains impassive and in a deliberately silent voice, as if mocking Peter's cautiousness, she whispers, “I am going to need more than that, buddy.”
That… that hasn't happened before. Everyone in America has heard of at least one of mr. Stark's scandals. And even if somebody isn't caught up with the freshest celebrity drama, they should still recognize Iron Man.
Peter's eyebrows knit together with confusion. “Um… the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist? Ring any bells?”
At least Leslie looks like she is actually considering his words. Realization sparks in her eyes but it gets quickly replaced by tired exasperation. “Are you one of Bruce's kids?”
“Bruce's? No, what?” Peter can't hide the confusion from seeping into his voice. What is he missing? His head hurts.
But Leslie stands up with pursed lips, seemingly having made up her mind. “I'll ask Bruce to come pick you up. God, I know he'd need a break from all of this . ” Her words go ignored by Peter as he just came to a horrifying conclusion, heart rate spiking.
He should have realized what was happening the moment this unfamiliar city was mentioned. Then he had an aching suspicion when a strange Bat-Man was brought into the mix. But the name Tony Stark not causing heads to turn? That was the final nail in the coffin. Because last year, a mission regarding a cat and mouse game with a slippery villain sent Peter to a small town, high up in the mountains, relatively left untouched by the quickly advancing technology of the rest of the world. They were still drinking water from wells and growing their own crops, after all. Peter had been enjoying a nice dinner with a hospitable family when one of them brought up mr. Stark’s latest scandal. Peter almost choked on his soup.
So for Leslie not recognizing that name would mean only one thing.
Peter is stuck in a different universe.
It's not even that big of a stretch.
Wow.
Tell a ten year old Peter that it's more likely for him to be stranded in a different dimension than willingly visiting New Jersey and he'd laugh and say it's just as likely to get bitten by a radioactive spider that gives him super strength and an unexpected weakness to bug sprays.
Ahem. Anyways. He should tone it down with the New Jersey slander. He actually holds no grudges to the people there. But making fun of that state is a lot better coping mechanism than actually facing the problem. Sorry not sorry to any New-Jerseyers, who for some reason happen to be reading his mind right now.
What had mr. Strange told him about transporting to an unfamiliar universe? Keep calm, wait for rescue and don't buy souvenirs (that last rule was added after Peter’s probing). Well, it was naive for mr. Strange to even humor the idea that Peter will be following any of these rules.
First things first, gotta get in touch with the Avengers. Because the Avengers have to exist here. Who else would keep people safe from threats? Although… Peter stops his train of thought as his eyes skim over the people in the room with him and his heart aches for them. The heroes in this universe couldn't even keep them safe from this Bat-Man fellow. Who is to say they can help Peter?
No. They will help not only Peter, but the people of Gotham as well. He will make sure of it.
Leslie picks up her phone and Peter realizes he needs to skedaddle before that Bruce fellow actually shows up and turns everything a lot more awkward than it already is.
Peter swings his legs over the side of the bed the moment Leslie turns her gaze to dial the number. But the amused reactions of the patients quickly alerts her to his doings.
“Hey, kid! Hold up!” Leslie calls but by the time she manages to whip around, he is already bolting for the door. The people part to make way for him, sneering and laughing at the “entertainment”. Peter is pretty sure it's not okay of them to let a patient run away but ever since waking up, nothing has been necessarily okay here.
He throws open the door and his steps falter at the sight that greets him. The hallway is filled to the brim with people sitting either on benches or on the floor, shoulder to shoulder. An elderly woman is covering a burned arm with a wet cloth. A young man barely older than Peter is crying while clutching an amputated leg. A toddler is screaming next to a delirious woman.
Peter's stomach churns as he runs through the hallway. He feels like he is moving through sludge as he takes in every single face he passes, refusing to tear his gaze from them. From those hopeless eyes.
Nobody stops him as he reaches the exit and throws the doors open with a bit more strength than necessary. Peter is greeted with a strong smell of smoke and substances one would only encounter at the sketchiest of New York streets. Despite it being night, the streets are bustling with life- cars are roaring down the street, ignoring all and every traffic law, people are yelling and laughing venomously, a window shatters, Peter can hear a helicopter hovering in the distance.
The sheer sound of everything knocks him back a step and his hands fly up to cover his ears.
Peter stiffens as his Spider Sense prickles under his skin. It’s causing him to blindly whip his head around, trying to find the threat. But the buzzing doesn't stop even as he backs into the shadows, crouching low to make himself smaller. Feet pound past him, a car’s signal starts blaring.
Suddenly, his Spider Sense spikes and Peter rolls away just in time to avoid getting his head busted in with a bat. He spares a glance behind himself and makes eye contact with a sneering man. “Shove it, kid!” he yells. But the volume of his voice gets drowned out by the sounds that surround them, all meshing into one incoherent mush of noise. Peter misses what the assailant follows up with as he pushes himself to his feet and darts down the street.
He tries to duck into the nearest alley but there is a gang, leaning idly against the wall. They freeze once they spot Peter. He bolts in the opposite direction the moment they reach for their weapons.
The honking of a car sounds like it’s coming from underwater. The only thing that saves Peter from getting hit head on is his Spider Sense screaming into his ear. He flips over the car, landing in a messy roll. The vehicle swerves dangerously before straightening itself and driving on like nothing is amiss.
Peter doesn't stick around there much longer after that. The escape from that part of the city passes by in a blur. By the time he has reached a quieter area, one where it doesn't look like the purge is a year-long holiday, his Spider Sense has retreated into something quieter. It is still there, actively keeping Peter’s guard up, reminding him that he is never safe, but not as fiercely as back there.
One thing’s for certain though, the only way to make Peter go back to that place is by dragging him kicking and screaming.