Chapter Text
Peter Parker should’ve stayed home that day. Maybe then he wouldn’t have different powers. Maybe then he wouldn’t be in a different timeline where not a single soul has heard the name ‘Peter Parker’. Nor Spiderman. But it's not like he could go by that title anymore now.
Not if the wings in his back had anything to say about it.
It’s been four months since he woke up here. It’s not too bad. He found a nice, empty apartment to settle into. The landlord didn’t need to know the tenant was a minor. Why would he need to know that?
The manager down three blocks didn’t need to know that he faked his documents to get the job. Why would she need to know that?
And Peter didn’t know how he got wings. Nor where his spider abilities went.
Ever since he told Strange to complete that spell that would make everyone forget who he was- everything was turned upside down. Literally.
Everything in this timeline is different. That bodega down the street? Oh, that’s now a cigarette shop! Fun.
Peter tried to pretend he didn’t cry at night as he missed that shop. He definitely didn’t miss the shop owner.
He didn’t miss how he would go on patrols, a half eaten sandwich in his mouth as he swung to his normal perch.
He can’t swing anymore. He can’t climb.
But some things had stayed the same. Peter was grateful for those small things.
He still had a sense of danger. That was one. He was incredibly fast- faster than how he used to be, he thought. He has yet to test it. And he was stronger now. He has yet to test how much stronger yet.
The avengers were still a thing here. That was nice. Tony Stark was still Iron Man. As far as Peter could tell, nothing had changed. Except Thanos never snapped. That wasn’t a thing here.
It seemed like they won that first battle against the big shriveled grape himself. Peter cried when he read that. He got odd looks from the librarian, but he just said he was reading up on sad puppies in alleyways. She didn’t seem to believe him, but looked away.
Every week, or sometimes every other day, he goes down to the library and logs onto a computer. He tries to keep up with the news. The latest avengers battle. Politics on mutated humans. The works.
It feels as though he went back to before he was bitten. Watching crime from afar- too unsure of himself to do anything about it.
Except.. maybe he could.
He was gifted with wings for a reason. It was just like the spider bite- right? He could work with this. Hopefully.
First test. Controlling the movement of the wings.
But first he had to get them out of his back.
Sometimes they just- came out. When he felt he was in danger. It was like his fight or flight response. Literally.
So.. he just had to convince himself that he was in danger. Easy peasy. He could get his adrenaline going. It isn't very hard nowadays.
Peter sat up in the cot, shifting to the side to sit at the edge. The cot was made of a few blankets as a mattress, and a couple more as regular blankets. His pillow consisted of a bunched up jacket.
The rest of the apartment was run down. Stains on the walls. It was all one room- except for the bathroom. His cot was in the far corner- across from the kitchen. To his left was a window, leading to the fire escape.
Across the room and to the right was the rundown kitchen. No fridge. No microwave. Just cupboards. He kept spare foods scattered across the cupboards- all organized based on different states of his hunger.
Not that his job was awful at paying. It paid pretty well. But money was hard to find at a good price- not to mention he needed thrice the amount of the normal human. And his clothes. Turns out, birds needed warmth. There was a reason for the feathers after all. And, surprise surprise, he had no feathers.
He was also trying to save up for a run down mattress. And something to help him keep up with the news- maybe a radio? A phone was too much.
Peter took a deep breath. He shoved his shirt off. He didn’t want to rip it- the wings often did that when bursting out. Not to mention the shirt could get bloodied.
The wings did rip his skin to come out, after all. Unfortunately he wasn’t magic.
Now to get his adrenaline going. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to settle his mind for the moment.
“-on’t feel so goo-“
“-ay? May? Plea-“
“-ust wanna kill you mysel-”
Snap.
Peter grunted in pain as the wings tore through the back of his skin. He took short breaths, letting the wound heal up within seconds. The weird bit was the wing wounds healed so fast. But his other wounds weren’t so lucky.
He took a deep breath, wincing at the feeling of extra limbs fluttering. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the small limbs. They couldn’t be longer than two feet long. The feathers were small things- it seemed as though the feathers grew more the longer he had them out.
And he was pretty sure he could control the length of the limbs. There was one time he was flying away from a muggin and his wings bumped into each side of the alleyway. A stark difference from the puny things they were now.
Focus Parker. One task at a time.
He wasn’t sure what triggered the wings to slide back into his back. Sometimes it would go back right away, leaving him stranded on a random rooftop. Other times it could take days to go away.
At least two feet long wings were easy to hide. It just took baggier shirts than normal. And a quick prayer to whoever was above that no one would notice the small twitches under the shirt.
But it couldn’t hurt to try and slide them back in. At least he can say he tried afterwards.
Peter took a deep breath, slowly spreading his hands out on his pants. He closed his eyes again, feeling the weight of the limbs threaten to pull him backwards, the twitch of the anxious muscles.
Thirty seconds passed. A minute. Five minutes.
Peter slumped, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. He paused as his bangs hung low over his eyes. He needed a haircut. He hesitated. He wouldn’t mind going to see a barber- but finding one may be tough.
It couldn’t be very difficult overall. But some part of him was still scared- worried. Anxiety fueled.
Something could go wrong. Maybe the blade would nick him somehow- set off his fight or flight. Peter took a deep breath. He opened and closed his fists. He needed to calm down- it was unlikely anything would happen.
But first he needed to find someplace that would take a teenager without an adult. Surely that couldn’t be too hard, right? It was New York- anything could happen. But first things first, he needed to get rid of these wings for now.
He glanced over his shoulder at the shaking, puny limbs. He imagined the wings folding back into his back. Nothing happened. At first. Then the limbs twitched, shakily folding up against his back.
That.. wasn’t exactly what he wanted. But it would be easy to hide at least. He glanced around his room. He had various clothes around- most of which he bought from thrift stores. He needed to save as much money as possible. Especially if he was hoping to keep up with his rent.
He tugged on a baggier shirt, reveling in the soft texture of the sweater. He adjusted the sleeves over his arms. It felt odd not to have his web shooters on his wrist- but he was slowly adjusting.
The streets here were slightly different. Things smelled slightly off- this shop wasn’t as busy in his timeline. That bus stop didn’t have graffiti.
And Clint Barton didn’t use to have that watch.
Wait, what?
Peter barely had a second to pause before he walked right into the back of Hawkeye himself. Peter grunted, stumbling back- his gaze catching on the bright, shining watch for the second time. He hesitated, stuck on the shining material for a second before he ripped his gaze away.
”-id? You alright?”
He paused, glancing up to meet Clint’s gaze. He hesitated for a second. His heart screeched in protest- begging for some form of comfort. He wanted to scream of how things were wrong, how he knew Clint-
“Uh, yes- yeah, I’m alright, thank you-“
Peter ducked his head, making a beeline for the cross walk beyond the man. Clint held out his hand, the kid barely stopping himself in time. Part of him longed to turn around and tackle the man in a hug. Clint was always so nice- he loved joking around and playing games with him.
But this Clint was different. His gaze held a lighter look to it- a certain shine to it that left when Thanos came around the second time. Or maybe it came before then, around the time of the Civil War battle. He wasn’t sure.
Peter knew this Clint was happier.
“I didn’t steal anything from you, sir-“
”No, no, I know that kid,” Clint pointed to his face, “You look under the weather. You alright?”
Peter paused. He thought back to the last couple of days, his brain swimming through fog and muck. He couldn’t remember a whole lot of specific things, but he didn’t remember getting mugged. He shook his head.
”I’m fine- really, I’m alright-“
Clint shook his head, “Let me buy you some lunch.”
He paused. Lunch? He didn’t think he was that skinny now- was he?
Clint huffed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, guiding him to the nearest cafe. Peter flinched, the touch wasn’t unwelcome, it’s just that it’s been so long since someone has been this affectionate.
The last person to do that was Ma-
Peter dug his fingers into his palms, taking deep breaths. In for six, out for seven. Or was it eight? He always messed it up. At this point, he was going off his own techniques now.
The hairs on the back of his neck pricked up. He quickly stretched his hands out. Someone was watching. A glance to the left confirmed his suspicions, Clint was staring with a swirl of emotions in his gaze. Worry. Confusion. Others that he couldn’t identify.
Clint gave a small smile when he caught Peter’s eye, “Sorry. Sorry, bad habit.”
”Spy stuff. I get it.”
Clint raised an eyebrow, “Whatcha mean by that, kiddo?”
Shit, shit, shit, shit-
Stay cool, Parker. Stay cool. He can’t- doesn’t know. Keep it cool.
“Your Hawkeye. Right?”
Clint’s eyes sparked with surprise. His gaze darted around for a moment, darting among the crowd. But no one turned their heads at Clint, no one pulled out their phones to take pictures or record.
“Well, shit, kid. When did you realize?”
Peter shrugged, “It took me a minute to realize where I’ve seen you.”
”Have I saved you before?”
Peter huffed, more of amusement to himself, “Sort of.”
Clint reached past Peter, swinging the door open. Warm air hit Peter, settling the cold in his chest. Clint glanced over at him for a few seconds. Then pat his shoulder and sauntered over to the line. Over four or so people were in line- most of them on their phones. There wasn’t much of a chance Clint would be recognized here.
Peter glanced around, taking in the warm, inviting atmosphere. The paintings were done locally. The mural on the right wall. The seats spaced apart to give everyone personal space.
It was.. safe. The feeling settled deep in his chest. It calmed some deep part in his brain that was always on alert. Not here.
Clint glanced over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised in a silent question. Peter glanced over at the man, feeling his face grew red. He shrugged, gaze darting down to the floor.
“It’s.. calming.”
Clint hummed and nodded. He turned to the counter, gaze darting around the display case of pastries. He nodded to the variety of foods.
“Whatcha want, kid? Coffee cate? Cupcake? Bagel?”
Peter glanced between the various foods. His mouth watered. He wanted it all- and none of it at the same time. None of it sounded good. Nothing sounded tasty- but he wanted the food so bad. His stomach cramped, his hand twitching.
Clint nudged him gently, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up for a few moments, “Kid. You gonna choose? We’re almost up.”
Anxiety bubbled in his chest, swirling around and eating at his lungs. Peter glanced between all the different foods, hands slowly clenching to a fist. He hesitated before clearing his throat.
”Just a plain bagel,” Peter paused for a moment, “Please.”
Clint glanced over at the display case then nodded. That was fine. Not that he was going to have a say over what the kid ate- but he wanted to make sure he would eat enough.
Soon enough the two were up. Clint put in an order for a coffee, something sweet, and Peter ordered a plain bagel. The girl working the register looked tired and so done. Peter could understand that. He felt done with society as a whole at the moment.
As Clint paid, Peter chose a table near the back with two seats. He chose the seat facing the door. He couldn’t help it. He may not be much of a vigilante anymore- but habits die hard. It may not even be a bad habit to keep up either.
A few minutes passed, Peter sat at the table, content to watch the people come and go. It was one of his favorite things to do while being under the mask. People always reacted differently as soon as they noticed him. It was fun to watch- he could do it all day. Or night. Either one was fine.
“-inking hard kid?”
Peter jumped out of his skin. He snapped his head up, eyes wide in panic. His danger sense didn’t alert him that Clint was coming. It had alerted him to everything else Clint did- why not this time?
Clint raised an eyebrow, gently setting his coffee and the bag down on the smooth table. The man sat down across the table. He grunted, as though he was in pain. He sighed softly before taking a swig of his cold coffee.
Cold. Cold coffee. When it was fall.
He didn’t think Clint was this weird in his timeline. Or maybe he was- Peter never got the chance to meet Clint very well. They knew each other, sure, were friendly- but weren’t as close as some others.
“Kiddo?”
Peter perked up. He had zoned out again. He frowned, sighing softly under his breath. He unwrapped his bagel from the bag. He hesitated a second before he put it in his mouth. He lowered it after a moment, glancing up to see Clint with a worried expression.
”I’m.. sorry. I have a hard time focusing.”
Clint paused, tilting his head to the side. He nodded after a moment. Whatever Clint was thinking of, he seemed to confirm his suspicions. The man smiled gently at Peter. He took another swig of his drink, sighing in content at the taste.
Peter hesitated, opening and closing his mouth as he weighed a question. Sue him, he wanted to know how his old fam- friends were doing. Instead, he shoved the bagel inside his mouth. He ripped a piece off, as though the bagel had personally offended him.
Clint stared at Peter from over the edge of his coffee. He paused, raising an eyebrow. The man lowered his drink down, swirling it in a circle gently. He stared at Peter with a curious, yet demanding look in his eyes.
Peter slowly stopped chewing, swallowing the bite he had, “What?”
“Alright, spit it out. You have a question you want to ask. What is it, if Steve curses? If-“
Peter broke into a small smile. He knew Steve curses at times. He shook his head, fiddling with his food. His stomach rumbles, begging for more food while protesting the bit it gained at the same time.
“No, uhm.. I was just- how is the alien crisis doing?”
Clint paused, raising an eyebrow. He took a sip of his coffee, pondering the question for a few moments. He slowly lowered the coffee cup.
”They’ve been gone for months.”
Ah shit.
Clint raised an eyebrow, “You been living under a rock, kid?”
Peter cleared his throat, glancing down at his food. The hairs at the back of his neck stood up. He forgot Clint wasn’t just a friend. He was a spy. And at this moment, Clint had no reason to trust him. To know who he was.
And that made him dangerous.
”I uhm.. suppose I have. My parents don’t allow much internet access- gotta focus on schoolwork, you know?”
Clint hummed, slowly taking another sip of his coffee. Peter glanced down at his food. He quickly balled it up into the paper bag, rolling it closed. He flicked his gaze up to Clint, smiling softly- a small shake to it.
”Thank you for the food. Really- I mean it. I uhm- owe you.”
Clint opened his mouth to protest, but Peter beat him to it, “No- please, it’s alright- thank you, sir-“
Peter sped past Clint, shoving his way through and out the door. He hurried down the street, clutching the bagel like a lifeline. It may be the best food he can gather for a few days.