Chapter Text
Rain beats against the sheet metal roof of his makeshift shelter. Thunder booms overhead and Peter hums even louder, trying to drown out the sound of the storm around him. The alleyway he’s claimed as his home is almost a rushing river from the water pouring out of the gutter at the dead end, causing him to use his stickiness to recline on the outer wall of the building his shelter is set up against rather than curl up on the ground as he normally does. He's been cold most of the time since he arrived in this city, but the rainy weather only makes it worse, causing shivers to wrack his frame and his teeth to chatter.
Gun shots sound in the distance, barely heard over the roaring thunderstorm, but they’re there all the same. The ever present crime in this city doesn’t even stop due to unfortunate weather, it seems. That’s not Peter’s problem, though. It hasn’t been Peter’s problem since the night he ceased to exist.
“I can’t hold them off! They’re still coming through…because of you.”
Dr. Strange’s words echo through his mind, causing Peter to grind his teeth together and increase the volume of his humming even more. Perhaps if he fills his mind with ‘The Imperial March,’ he won’t be able to hear the voices of all the people he’ll never see again. Behind his closed eyes, GREEN begins to cover the black.
No, no, no. The last time the GREEN came, he’d found his shelter destroyed and his few stolen belongings shredded and shattered.
In…One…Two…Three…Four…
Out…One…Two…Three…Four…
The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like Karen as he guides himself through the breathing exercises the AI had once taught him. A pang of longing lances through his chest at the thought of his electronic companion. He doesn’t even have the pleasure of artificial company anymore.
“Make them forget me.”
If he had been less selfish, he could have avoided all of this. If he had just asked Dr. Strange to make everyone forget in the first place, May would still be alive.
GREEN.
“Everyone who knows and loves you…We won’t remember you.”
But they would be safe. Alive. Happy.
Peter opens his eyes, staring at the back of a dumpster that sits barely two feet away from him, making up another wall of his shelter. GREEN tinges the edges of his vision. He needs to move, rain be damned.
He flips over on the wall, crawling along the side of the bricks until he’s out from under the sheet metal he’d lodged between the dumpster and bricks back when he laid claim to the alley. Peter is immediately soaked, the constant chill he’d had in this universe seeping into his bones as the cold water drenches him. The GREEN distracts him from his rapidly numbing extremities as he climbs upward, crawling up the wall and toward the roof.
“But it would work. Make the world forget Peter Parker.”
The universe had forgotten him too.
Peter gets to the top of the six story apartment building and clambers onto the roof, flipping himself over the low wall. The height brings a bit of calming back to his mind, feeling safer in the air than he ever does on the ground. A few streets over, he hears the sound of a mugging. Across town, a pile up is occurring on the smaller bridge. Dogs bark in the distance, chasing a feral cat that is yowling as it tries to escape. Lightning strikes nearby and thunder booms so loud that his ears ring. Peter hears it all and doesn’t acknowledge any of it, hopping up on top of the low wall he had just jumped and using it as a balance beam to walk the perimeter of the building. As he hums, ‘The Imperial March’ is switched out for Rhianna’s ‘Umbrella.’
“You are meant for greater things than the failure of death.”
Peter stumbles, having to turn over into a handstand and stick his hands to the bricks so he does free fall back into his alley. GREEN edges in again, heart rate picking up. That was not Dr. Strange’s voice, nor was it his own. That was his mother.
Well, not Peter Parker’s mother. No, Mary Fitzpatrick-Parker had never spoken to her only son in such a harsh tone, had never laid hands on him in anger or disappointment. Mary Fitzpatrick-Parker had been a scientist, a wife, a mother. Peter Parker had only known love and acceptance from his mother.
This universe’s Peter had not been so lucky. Peter Fitzpatrick was raised in his mother’s lab, learning the science of genetic mutations first hand. Mary Fitzpatrick is a strict and disciplined woman, raised to know nothing of failure. Mary Fitzpatrick is a scientist, a spy, a mother. Peter Fitzpatrick had only ever known his mother’s disappointment and ire, up until the day he died.
It’s odd, having memories of two different versions of himself. He’s not quite sure where Peter Parker ends and Peter Fitzpatrick begins. Which Peter came first? Did Peter Parker’s mistakes lead him here when his universe forgot him? Did Peter Fitzpatrick’s death draw in the next closest Peter that needed a place to belong? Is this where Peter belongs? On the streets of a strange city, lost and not even attempting to be found. Why should he be found? Knowing Peter Parker only led his loved ones to their deaths. Being Peter Fitzpatrick only ever included experiments, torture, and his mother’s indifference. Here, in his alley and on his roof, can be Just Peter. Not Parker, not Fitzpatrick. Not Spiderman. Not a failed experiment.
Peter flips out of his handstand, cartwheeling across the surface of the roof as rain continues to pelt his skin. ‘Umbrella’ fades into the melody of an old lullaby that he can’t remember the words to.
“Hush, my little Robin. Tati’s here.”
That’s his dad. Or Peter Parker’s father. Richard Parker, from what little Peter Parker can remember of him, was the exact opposite of the Mary Fitzpatrick of this universe. Of course, Mary Parker was nothing like her multiversal counterpart either, but Peter Fitzpatrick’s version of her has soured Peter Parker’s memories. Richard Parker had had nothing but unconditional love for Peter. Peter holds the memories of the only father either version of himself has ever known close to his chest, the old lullaby and soft words helping to hold the GREEN at bay.
Peter allows himself to fall out of his final cartwheel, lowering himself until he’s starfished out on the rooftop, eyes closed as water falls over his face. He continues to hum, the GREEN finally ebbing out of his mind fully, leaving only numbness.
In the city around him, crime and life continues without a care. He notes the sounds of muggers and vigilantes alike roaming the streets in the cover of dark and rain. Just Peter allows himself to float away on the cloud of numbness, ignoring the noises of a city he ignores, just as it ignores him.
Just Peter may not be anything other than a lost boy in a body that may not be his own, in a universe that may not be his own, but he has his alley, his roof, and his father’s voice singing in his head. Perhaps he may just continue to survive in the dangerous streets of Gotham.