Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter didn’t remember what had happened to him. One moment he was in Tony’s arms, and the next… Well, it’s not like anyone is near him to help him remember.

All he can remember is burning pain. The feeling of his whole body peeling itself apart, over and over again. The taste of dust on his lips, the look on Tony’s face as he…

No. Don’t be a Debbie-downer, Peter. He mentally chides himself, frustrated with how pityingly his mind is already going to. He glances around, seeing that he is laying on a rooftop. Grime and blood staining its surface. Peter glances down, body in one piece, minus the blood coating his NY shirt. He winces as his torso tugs slightly, sharp pain making him let out a hiss.

Wait, NY shirt? He was just fighting Thanos… with all the others. In his Spider Iron suit. What happened to him when he blanked?? What confused him more is the green goop clinging to his body, seeped in his clothes.

Unable to get himself to sit, he lays on the rooftop, watching as the clouds and fog cover the stars. The bustling city streets move below, the sound of gunshots and screams intertwined with the cars, people, and noises from inside buildings. Taking deep breaths, he lays still, holding his body so that it won’t tug on the wounds.

Frustration bubbles inside of him, annoyed he can’t remember what happened after he turned to dust, and how he is in different clothes than what he was previously in.

The hair on his neck stand up, the air shifting slightly. Tears sting his eyes as he struggles to regulate his breathing as another sharp pain prickles his skin. The cold air makes him shiver, the streets making it sound like New York. Exhaustion pinning his body down. With no strength to fight, he falls asleep on the grimy rooftop.

—

His eyes re-open, the sun peeking out from the fog hovering in the crevices of the city. Taking a deep breath, he braces himself to sit up, holding his breath, but finding little pain in his torso.

NEW NEW NEW BEHIND

Peter turns his head sharply to glance behind him, Spider-sense screaming at him. But he finds nothing, only the rooftop door (that says no exit), and a billboard. Peter squints, staring at the smiling face on the board.

“Bruce Wayne..?” He murmurs, confused. Maybe he is new in the famous business? Peter certainly hasn’t heard the name before. He turns and jumps off the building, landing into a dirty alleyway.

Peter dusts off his shirt, spider sense going haywire. Sounds of the streets, noises coming from alleyways and apartments…

He wanders the bustling streets, not aiming for a specific spot. The architecture is worn down. Parts of the rooftops having chips in them, vines creeping on the walls. The windowsills bent by nature's strength, few bricks missing from their spots. He smells guns everywhere he walks. A father and son pass him, chattering. But even then, he can smell the harsh bullets in their pockets. This is so…

Concerning.

What city has.. is that gargoyles?! Okay, this city is officially insane. Like, who would put those on buildings? Where even is he?? Even where he’s walking is in a pointless aim.

Warning!! back BACK, BEHIND

Peter turns his head quickly, but doesn’t see anything. All he can see is a sidewalk full of people as they go about their days. Maybe his spider sense is out of it? After all, he barely even knows where he is. Just a creepy town with a love of gothic architecture.

He squints, trying to look for anyone staring at him. But he sees no one, just a suspicious amount of people that smell of bullets, food, or strong perfume. He still gazes into the streets, trying to find even one pair of eyes staring at him.

Just like looking for Ned or Mj in the crowds at school.

God, he misses them. A tug of sadness pulls on his heart, a small sniffle escaping him before he can smother his feelings.

If he can find where he is, he can find a phone. Call Tony, he’ll know what to do. After all, he and the rest of the Avengers can help him. They’ve woken up in places they don’t recognize, right?

And oh, God. Tony is so going to lecture him for getting lost. Peter groans, growing frustrated. He weaves through the streets, ignoring how his spider sense keeps screaming at him. Or at least, attempting to ignore it. But the volume and intensity of it is so much.

He can practically feel the guns against his body. Pressure of their barrels, pressing against every inch of his form.

Peter bumps into something, and glances up. Standing in front of him is a newspaper stand. Gotham News, written across the title of the pages.

Gotham? Peter squints as he picks up one of the newspapers, confused. What city is called ‘Gotham’? Also, he was not even on Earth last time he can remember!

“Hey, kid!” A thick voice barks at him, gruff and rasped from years of smoking. Peter looks up, hands clutching tightly on the newspaper. A man with a thick beard stares angrily at him, cigarette between two fingers.

“You gonna pay or what?” His voice snaps Peter back to reality, and he smiles nervously, placing down the paper. A face of two smiling back at him on the newspaper.

“No, sir.” Peter stutters, taking a few steps back. “But uhmm, where- where is this city?”

The beard man blinks, confused and irritated. “What? It’s New Jersey, kid. Now bugger off.” He waves his hand, dismissing Peter.

Peter gets the memo and walks off, dazed. New Jersey?? No, he was in New York. He had to be…

A library. That’ll help him find a way to figure out what’s happening!

Now, he just has to find a library. He turns and heads off, aiming mindlessly to find a place to research.

——

God, Peter's legs burned. How is it that trying to find one SINGLE library in this weird city is so impossible to find?

His head spins, his body weighs like the Earth and the moon pressed on his shoulders. No one here is helpful either! He’s asked like, a billion people! (that’s such a lie. He knows he only asked one lady, and she threatened to stab him) But still! If you asked him, he’d tell you there should be at least four libraries per city.

He grumbles and huffs, tired of walking so much. If only I could swing. But I don't have my Spider-man mask on me.. He huffs again, and promptly bumps into a sign.

Gotham City Public Library. The words written in a harsh black, with the exclamation point a bold red and green. Peter squints, trying to read the rest of the words under the big letters, but unable to because of the heavy graffiti.

But HALLELUJAH!! A library! Peter practically (weeps) cheers, finally getting to be in a library. To finally research wherever this place is. He’d say ‘whatever’, but it’s a place, so he supposes he has to be accurate. JEEZ, why is he talking in his head so much?

He enters the library, trying to shut out his inner monologue before he spends forever outside talking inside his own head.

But what he finds is utterly shocking. Instead of a bustling, happy and full library, all he sees is a place full of books with barely a soul to enjoy them.

“No, Double R- go to your OTHER left.” A woman's voice echoes from the front office. Peter jumps slightly, caught off guard by the exhausted grumble the woman speaks. To whom, he has no clue. And he’s really sure he doesn’t want to know.

Peter lifts his heels and walks on his toes towards the computers, not wanting to disturb the lady in the front office. A deep sigh escapes him as he sits down. He quickly hacks in, not wanting to ask her for any help. Especially with how her tone sounds. A shiver runs down Peter’s back, nervous.

Left side BACK!! Look friend? no harm stare

The hairs on his neck prick up, spider sense going haywire as it feels someone’s stare on him. No harm? Good. He doesn’t think he has the strength to fight, especially not with the pain in his torso still. He needs food, as his stomach growls quietly. The war fighting Thanos was so much energy, and he hasn’t been able to eat yet. Right after researching, he’ll check himself for cash and buy a bit of food.

Typing on Google, he searches up Tony Stark. Nothing. Peter leans forward, confused. Nothing? No, Tony exists. Next, he types Avengers. Still, nothing.

None of his searches are working. With reluctance, he types Gotham, still wanting to know where he is. Tons of articles pop up, hundreds to choose from. He clicks on one, and starts to read.

——

He doesn’t exist.

All the websites, all about the ‘Justice League’. A Batman and Robins.

No Avengers. No Spider-man.

Everyone- and everything- he knows doesn’t exist.

Even Peter Benjamin Parker doesn’t exist.

His entire life, existence, memories, is not real in this world.

What does he do?? No, find a wizard. Get help.

Where to find a wizard will be an issue. Can he ask around?

No!! Dumb idea, Peter.

Worthless. Can’t even find a way to get help.

Peter jumps in his seat as a warm hand settles on his shoulder, and he turns around. His spiral of panic cutting itself off.

How did my spider sense not see her?? is it broken is she magic how did she get around it—

“Hey, kiddo.” A red haired lady smiles at him, sitting in a wheelchair. “I’m sorry, but do you have a library card? I don’t think you’re registered in the library codes yet.”

Peter tenses slightly, glancing at the computer he’s logged into (A.K.A that he hacked into, but this red-hair lady doesn’t need to know that)

“Ah, well… it was already signed in under someone else’s account, so i just thought..” He trails off, struggling to lie.

He can practically hear Aunt May chiding him, her disappointment on his lie against how she raised him.

“Peter, you don’t need to lie. She seems trustworthy.”

No. He mentally shakes his head.

“-right, kiddo?”

His cheeks flush slightly as he realizes he didn’t hear all what the red haired woman said. His left hand goes to his wrist, a nervous tick he grew a habit to, the bracelets Ned and Mj made him. But all he finds is the bare skin of his own wrist, the objects of his memories of them gone.

Stare deep stare worried worried wor-

“I am sorry, can you repeat yourself?” Peter asks, putting his hand back on his lap, picking at the hem of his shirt instead. “I- didn’t catch all you said.” His neck and ears dust pink, embarrassment interlaced with the rosy color.

She chuckles, amused by his words. And maybe his embarrassment, but he can not truly tell.

“I asked if you wanted to get a library card, kiddo.” She repeats, nodding towards the front office. “I can help you get a card right now. All you need is an I.D. card, or a drivers license.” She smiles warmly at him.

Oh, god… he doesn’t have any. For all he knows, he doesn’t exist. During his research of where he is, the knowledge of everyone he knows does not exist. The Avengers, Tony, The Snap… none of it is real here. Peter Parker, Spider-man… he isn’t real.

Air want air breath stare worried waiting

“I- i forgot, my dad is waiting for me!” Peter stands up quickly, wincing as the chair scrapes roughly against the carpeted floor. “Maybe next time. Bye, Miss!” He says, like a big lying liar.

“Wait, kid!” She calls out, her tone laced with worry and nervousness- almost like she’s scared of him. That- would be weird, he’s a kid, not a monster. Nor is he one of the villains in this godforsaken city. Like, what city has a 100% crime rate?? Not even New York did, thanks to him and the Avengers. But mostly him, Peter will take a ton of credit.

Without stopping for the red haired woman's words, he all but speed walks out of the building, nervous ticks rattling the back of his neck, the cold touch dragging on his spine. Stupid, stupid stupid stupid-

She was just trying to help, yet he bolted off. He has no one here, all alone.

“All you are is a coward. Couldn’t even save Aunt May. your parents- happy, all of them are dead because of you”

“No..” Peter whispers, his hands scratching at his blank wrists. Not even his web shooters there. Everything he owned, gone. Not on his person. His nails dig deep, deep, even deeper into his forearms, a nervous itch. Skin crawling as though bugs live in his flesh, under the layers of his body.

He can not feel his mind. The crawling the itching the being of bugs in flesh all he can feel. Eight legs of thousands of creatures spreading through his limbs and organs. To his mind and hazelnut brown eyes.

Chapter Text

Peter doesn’t know how much time has passed. One minute he was leaving the library, spiraling deep in his mind. The next he remembers, all he can find himself is in an abandoned building, clearly a victim of a large fire that removed people from living there.

The good thing is, there is a semi-intact mattress on the floor, with a survived can of beans. With a sigh, Peter flops down onto the mattress, ignoring his spider sense going haywire on it. All it’s doing is screaming directions from everywhere, panicking and rotating around.

With a pained groan, tears slowly drip from his eyes, spilling onto his cheeks. Pure exhaustion weighs his limbs and tears, making it impossible to move.

He should be better. After all, he’s fought worse. what. a. coward…

The final thought rattles in his brain, terrorizing his dreams as he sleeps. The city rains in the background, city noises different than Queens rattling the air.

— —

He doesn’t know how many days have passed. All he could say was that the sun and moon had graced the sky through the heavy clouds and fog.

And all he has done is nothing. He can admit he did nothing. After all, he’s embarrassed that all he’s done is… well, he can’t really remember, but that’s normal!! But Peter has not been okay. But if you asked him? Of course he’d say everything is fine. The words of a lying liar.

He’s explored the abandoned building, taking supplies from half burned homes people used to live in. Small winces of pain jabs his heart as he thinks of everyone he knows. That he is not in his own world, that EVERYONE he knows does not exist here.

All Peter has done is mope, and whine, and sleep in his apartment all the time- thanks to diapause, curse that stupid radioactive spider- but still! He knows that he hasn’t figured things out, or done anything. Hell, that green goop is still clinging into his hair.

He winces as he sits up, his bones creaking in protest. Alright, Pete. Get up n at ‘em. With a deep breath, he gets up, tensing his body so he doesn’t pull on any unwanted energy.

Making a mental list, he packs a small amount of money he found into a small red backpack, sharpie details to make it look like a spiderweb. Ironic? Maybe, but he’s not going to be picky here. But seriously, what are the chances he finds a bag that looks like his Spider-man suit, even though Spider-man doesn’t exist in this world??

“Alright, Pete!” He chimes to the empty air, clapping his hands once. “Time to go… uhhhh, do something! Get a job!… Maybe.” He turns and climbs out the window, not bothering to hide his abilities since no one comes down into this neighborhood.

—

Stupid, stupid city. All he can smell is fear. Fear and guns and hear screams in dark alleyways. Even New York smelled and sounded better. Peter winces, since he’s unable to help people. With a small limp in his step, he continues walking the street.

behind QUICK foe friend? up BEHIND-

With a gloved hand quickly pressing onto Peter’s neck,
he gets slammed down onto the ground. A groan barely has time to form in his throat when the gloved hand speaks.

”hand over your wallet, child.” The voice rasps, knee pressing hard into his spine.

“Wha-“ He stutters, cheek dripping blood, smushed against the concrete sidewalk.

He squirms, irritated with the situation. If he had the Spider-man mask, he could web this man. But he can’t even fight this guy regularly like a normal civilian. Stupid burning metabolism, and curse that he has barely any money. Why isn’t he in his own universe? That would be so much better than this situation. Spider-man, the worlds greatest hero, getting robbed and pinned down.

God, if Ned saw this, he’d never let him live this down.

“-et, NOW child!” The voice barks out from on top of him, rude and impatient. Peter groans, annoyed.

“I don’t even have a wallet. Screw off.” He muffles, squirming slightly. He stops as his cheek scrapes against the ground again, warm blood trickling down onto the concrete from his face. “oh…”

A shuffling noise fills his ears. Then, the hands leave his body, the weight off from his spine. Peter turns his head slightly to look, and finds a man in a red helmet punching the gloved man, who honestly looks normal. Just a man with grey gloves and a bright pink hoodie.

“Stop robbing kids, man.” The masked man- he’s assuming the red helmet guy spoke, since the gloved man didn’t move his mouth- grits out.

The red helmet man didn’t even need to repeat himself. The other guy scampers away, leaving Peter and him alone.

“Thanks, mister.” Peter says, getting up, dusting off his oversized shirt. “I didn’t know what to do.” What a lying liar he’s become. If Aunt May found out…

His spider sense goes haywire as it sensed the red helmet guy staring at him

Dangerous friendly HELLO confused

Peter rubs the back of his neck, glancing at the ground. Trying to avoid showing his spider sense.

“You good, kid? Didn’t get roughed up too bad?” Now that Peter can hear better- since his face isn’t pressed against the ground- he can hear a rough modulated voice.

Huh. That’s… pretty smart, actually.

“Oh, yeah. I’m good.” He stutters out, hand going to his other wrist before he remembers that his web shooters and bracelets are there. Even without seeing the others' eyes, he can tell they’re tracking his movements.

“Uhh, thanks, mister.” He smiles slightly, turning to leave.

“Wait, kid.” The modulated voice calls out. “You have a place you’re heading to? These streets aren’t safe for a small’un like you.”

Peter blinks, caught off guard. He can’t tell this guy he lives in a burned down place, can he? No, that’s ridiculous.

“I do..” He says, growing slightly defensive. “What’s it to you?” God, he just saved you. Why are you being rude? Aunt May didn’t raise a brat.

“Cause these streets eat people alive.” The red helmet man crosses his arms, a hint of amusement in his muffled and changed voice. “So, where to?”

“…gettin’ some food.” Peter admits, shuffling his feet slightly.

“Parents don’t got any?”

“They do!” Peter retorts. Of course they do.. he just knows, they’re dead. Dead and gone and everything he knows doesn’t exist…

“They just- i want- i just wanted some poutine!” He blurts out, making a bold faced lie, like the big lying liar that he is becoming. “Y’know? It’s uhh, good?” Big lie. For hell's sake, he’s never even had any.

“And you decided to pass through Crime Alley.” Not a question, but a cold statement.

“Wait what? That’s a weird as hell name. Who names a place that??” Peter questions, confused.

“Who-“ The man sputters, the modulator making it sound scratchy. Before he can explain, or question Peter’s lack of knowledge, a man enters the ‘Crime Alley’.

Well, not exactly enters. More like, jumps down from a building. Who is dressed in a black and blue suit.

“Hey, Red H-“ Before he could get a word out, Peter punches him, his spider sense freaking out. Let’s call it automatic reflexes, from how many bad guys have jumped down at him to attack.

With the man crouched in pain, and the red helmet man- Red H?- distracted, Peter runs. Runs away from the scary tall men. Runs away from people who scare him, which is a bit humiliating, considering Spider-man is not scared of anything. But right now, he is Peter Benjamin Parker, a boy in a different universe.

Chapter Text

Jason Todd knows that life holds no candle to the cruelty of Gotham. If he was asked to explain how cruel life is to Gothamites, he could probably publish a book series longer than Percy Jackson.

But, as everyone else, he can find amusement in grim situations. In this case? His idiot brother getting punched in the stomach by a child.

“It’s not my fault!” Dick whines, sitting on a rooftop, an ice pack held to his stomach, where the kid punched him.

“Well, maybe don’t come flyin’ from them roofs, and ye won’t get beat.” Jason snickers. “And from a child no less.”

Dick shoves him playfully, accidentally knocking his helmet a few inches.

“Oh, it is NOT my fault!” Dick grumbles. “What kid in Gotham is scared of you or I?? People admire us! We save them!!” He rambles, waving his hands in the air like a madman.

As he continues to speak, Jason watches the streets below. His mind wanders to the boy in Crime Alley. How did he not know where he was?

But he knows one thing; that boy is not alive. It was clear with the white stripe of hair near his ear, the green liquid of the Lazarus Pit clinging to his shirt, the green mix in the brown doe eyes the kid has. The lost look of someone who has witnessed death itself, and somehow came back from its clutches.

He’s seen that look on himself, after his rage had left him. That the world will not hold him as life holds her children.

“Jay-bird!” Dicks modulated voice cuts through his thoughts, and he turns his head to look at the black cladded idiot, who is already doing a handstand.

“Jay-bird, you've gone quiet on me~” He teases, walking on his hands. “What has you thinking so hard?”

“That kid that punched you.” He says bluntly, rolling a gun in his hand. Dick winces, flipping back to sitting next to him. “He has the Pit on him.”

“WHAT?!” He exclaims, staring at Jason with shock, clear even if his domino mask hides his eyes. “You mean- there is another Pit around??”

Jason nods, tucking the gun back into its holster. “Yes. Someone has killed that child and brought him back alive.” He grits out, irritated.

After his time in the Lazarus Pit, he knows he wouldn’t even wish it on his worst enemies. Mostly because he wants them to stay dead, if they ever die, rather than them be back alive.

“But… he seemed so lost.” Dick murmurs. “Isn’t it usually rage when you come out?”

That’s what confuses him as well. How is it that child is so lost and like a deer, rather than violent and angry? Well, other than him panicking and hitting Dick.

Jason snorts that the last thought, making his brother look at him like he knows what he’s thinking. That's the unfortunate thing of being family with him, they all know what he's thinking. Perks of being detectives, he supposes.

“…maybe he didn’t just come out of the Pit.” He says, not looking at the streets any longer. “Not everyone can just hop into a shower and rid themselves of the water.”

Dick gasps, like the thought hasn’t even occurred to him. “You mean- this kid could have been alive with no help for a while?!” He stands up, and Jason grabs onto his wrist.

“You ain’t gonna follow him yet. Think this through, Dick-wad. If you were that kid, would you want someone who you punched hard following you?”

His brother purses his lips, looking away. “Well, no..” Dick mutters. “But what else can we do?? Like you said, this kid clearly has died and is back alive! we have to help him somehow!”

“I ain’t denying that, dummy.” Jason rolls his eyes, though the helmet hides his face. “We’ll get Timbo to search for him. The good thing of these damn cameras Bruce makes us wear; we can go back and see what we did.”

With that, he stands up, dragging Dick with him. “Come on, Nightwing. Let’s finish patrol before I put a bullet through your eyes.”

But they both know he won’t. That this time, he is joking.

“And don’t you dare tell Bruce about this crap yet. I ain’t gonna see that ol’ grump for a while yet.”

“Fine. But you can’t keep avoiding him forever.”

— —

Peter is lost. Lost and a bit feeling guilty. Like, how is he supposed to apologize for punching that guy hard in the stomach?! At least he didn’t punch the red helmet guy, he seemed cool. Well, scary, but cool!!

Turning his head, he finds himself back near ‘his’ abandoned apartment. Jeez, he really spaced out. He tilts his head, thinking.

“Should I go back to adventuring? Actually get to eat something?” He debates in his mind.

In the end, his stomach growling and the weight of lead in his limbs makes him settle on going back out to find food.

After all, what is a boy to do with no food?

Well, he can’t say anymore (big lie) because he finally has poutine!! Hot and warm and a large portion, just like what they served in New York.

Peter’s sitting on the rooftop of his apartment, munching on the steaming hot poutine, swinging his legs off the ledge.

Surprisingly, the city is already pretty quiet, even though the time is 10pm. What's with that, anyways? He thought that Gotham- what a stupid name-, New Jersey would be still pretty loud at night. Like New York!!

“What a weird place.” He murmurs, shoving another mouthful into his mouth.

The rustle of the wind, leaves knocked around, cars honking, all fill his senses. Yet as he sits there, a small disturbance echoes through his spider sense.

He’s never calling it Spider Tingle. Sorry, Aunt May.

—BEHIND friend?? HELLO—

Before he can turn and glance behind him, a male voice speaks.

“Hey, kid..” The voice soft and light spoken, like whoever is speaking is afraid of him.

Peter turns, and finds a man dressed in a tight black outfit with a blue bird on it, and a domino mask to cover his eyes.

The same man he had just punched a few hours ago.

“Uh- hi?” Peter stutters out. Crap, is he going to be confronted? No, he can fight… hopefully.

But to his surprise, the man walks slowly to him, like how you would to a skittish stray cat.

“Mind moving away from the ledge?” The man asks. He moves a hand slightly out, like an invitation for Peter to hold.

Why does he have to move? Peter blinks at him, confused.

“I’m good.” He mutters, growing suspicious. He’s too comfy to move, and why should he listen to a man in a tight body suit??

“C’mon, bud.” The man urges, running a hand through his dark hair. “I promise I won’t hurt ya, but it’s dangerous to sit on a ledge this high, ain’t it?”

With a munch, he finishes his poutine, ignoring the man’s pleads. “Nah, I'm good here.” He shrugs.

The guy’s shoulders slump, nervous. Peter’s spider sense itches his neck, making the hairs in his neck stand up.

This man… is dangerous. And yet, no harm is aimed towards Peter. But still, trusting a man he doesn’t know, that is a bad decision. Even if he makes bad choices, he isn’t going to make one like THIS!!

A sigh reaches his ears, and suddenly the man is sitting down next to him.

“Well, I can’t force you to move.” He grumbles. “But what has you so captured to this spot?“

“My food. And I hate being on the ground. In this city, being on the streets seems like a bad idea” Peter shrugs, opening a small bottle of water that was free with his meal.

“And besides, I like being this high.” He adds. The man stiffens, stealing a glance at Peter.

“You’ve… been at tall building ledges before?” He asks. Peter nods, acting oblivious to the man's worry.

“Yup.” He pops the ‘P’. “I go on ‘em quite a bit.”

Huh? Now that he isn’t so stressed, why does his voice sound a bit younger? Nah, probably just his mind tricking him.

“Hey, I’m uhh sorry for punching you earlier.” He mumbles, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “You scared me, but that’s no excuse. So, I’m sorry.”

The man laughs, ruffling Peter’s hair. He squawks, lifting his hand to fix his hair.

“Aw, bud! It’s fine, don’t worry about it!” He chuckles, moving his hand away from Peter’s hair. “If anything, kinda my fault for just jumping from up above!”

He tilts his head, staring at him. “Hey, kid. If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?”

“…Peter.” He answers truthfully. He sees no reason to lie, after all. And how people have raised him, lying is NO GOOD!!

“Cool name, bud! I’m Nightwing.” The man- no, Nightwing- grins. “Nice t’meet you, Pete!”

“Yeah. Nice to meet ya too.” Peter smiles slightly.

He hears a small voice come from Nightwing, something about a crime in an apartment. He keeps his face level, knowing he shouldn’t be able to hear it.

“Sorry, bud.” Nightwing stands up, running a hand through his hair. “But I got to go. Get home safe, okay?”

He takes out a gadget- a grappling hook, something which Peter admired- and heads off, disappearing into the foggy night.

Later, when Peter rests on his half burned mattress, he thinks of the man, remembering how he flipped through the air like gravity could not take hold of him.

Moves that Peter had studied for years, so being Spider-man could be even more skilled.

But unfortunately, his sleep continues to be plagued with nightmares and the war with Thanos.

Chapter Text

The time being in Gotham turns to 6 days. How he knows, he spent pondering the newspaper he first saw. Flipping through his memories like a magazine, and his luck finally turning around when he stumbled across an abandoned newspaper. Granted, it was damp from the poor weather, but he’ll take what he can.

However, that just means 6 days of Peter sleeping, wandering around the burned apartment, and scraping money together so he can eat.

He taps a sharpie against the wall, thinking. The one clean wall he has, already half scribbled in notes and ideas he holds.

Ways to get home. Job opportunities he hears in passing, physics to try and figure out how to make a teleporter. How to get enough money to take care of himself before he can get home. Back to the war…

If anyone ever asked Peter, he would say he’d want to go home. But in truth? He doesn’t. Not when it means going back into space for that war. Not when it means everything he loves could die if he makes even a minor pause, or slip up.

Is that selfish?

“I wanna go to May..” Peter murmurs, resting his head against the wall, his head pressed against the words of what he’s found about the vigilantes of this city so far. Mainly, Nightwing. He hasn’t had time yet to go to the library to continue his research.

“Let me go rest.” He adds, tone almost pleading to the empty air.

But he shakes his head, going back to writing theories and ideas on the wall. The time passes longer and faster, the wall filling itself out with his scribbled words.

If anyone else saw this, he thinks, they would assume it is Latin. Peter winces, realizing how BAD his handwriting is when he’s focused.

He blinks, finding himself on the roof of the building. The memory of getting up here is blank, but he isn’t going to complain. After all, fresh air is better for the mind.

The gleaming sun pierced through the thick fog and clouds, the sunrise a beautiful thing, even in the most grim of situations.

Speaking of grim, Peter winces, he smells… not so good. Hell, he won’t even run a hand through his hair.

He stands up, a new determination entering his mind. Shower. God, if he puts this off any longer, he might just claw off his own skin.

— —

Peter breaks into a gym locker room through the small window. A good thing is that it IS the males restroom, with the scent of male sweat in here. It would be embarrassing if it were the female locker room.

God, it reminds him of his school’s locker room, with the horrid smell. He winces, remembering the horrible memories.

With a shake of his head, he strips off his grimy clothes, and steps into one of the shower stalls. Thankfully, this place actually keeps shower products in their stalls.

The steaming water rolls down his body, relaxing his tensed muscles. His hair feels better as he scrubs out the grime and that weird green liquid, scrubbing his skin down raw until he feels clean.

When he steps out, he feels like a new man. Drying himself off and putting on clean clothes- thankfully there was some in the apartment that wasn’t burned down- he notices his reflection in the mirror.

Instead of his 18 year old self, he finds himself looking how he did when he was 15. Doe eyed and slight baby fat on his cheeks still, curtesy of his late puberty in life.

But what surprises Peter the most is the white stripe in his hair, near his ear. The green speckles in his eyes. And, most importantly, the bruises marring his body. A deep purple and yellow bruise lines his collarbone and section of his neck, while a long and fresh wound lines his torso.

“What the fuck..?” He murmurs, watching as his reflection moves the same way he does.

No. Way. IS THAT HIM?!

Peter blanches, utterly shocked. Did that weird dimensional travel to this world change him this drastically?!

He leans in closer, quickly shrugging on the clean clothes, and examines the body he used to have 3 years ago.

Same scars, same sweet and round eyes. Yup, this is him alright. But why?? Why did he get subjected to this?

He groans, irritated. God, that means that being outside during school hours might get him questioned.

And he does NOT like that.

Because, first off, how is he to explain that a 15 year old child (him) has no school to go to??

Second, that he has no records!!

He glances at his hand, watching as blood drips onto the tiled floor of green and gold. Watching in surprise as the wound does not heal as quickly as it usually does.

“What the…” He repeats, in a daze of shock and awe. The wound slowly heals itself before his eyes, taking longer than what he grew used to.

“Is this world… SLOWING ME?!” His voice- now that he can hear clearly, sounds much younger than his mellowed 18 year olds voice- more like a boy suffering puberty. Ragged and cracking and soft.

“Oh, no no no” He paces the bathroom, bare feet barely making a sound. “It can not be. Must I study myself? Are my powers weakening? This can not be. No, I am Spider-man, not a normal civilian!”

But is he? The thought creeps into his mind's crevices without his consent, burying its self worrying until he can not think clearly.

“No.” He stops pacing, putting on his lucky red and blue shoes, the laces and soles of them having seen better days. “Do not go there. You are Spider-man.”

Peter gazes at himself through the mirror, glaring at his reflection. The changes standing out from his brown messy hair.

“You are not a…” Not a what? A civilian? Because as much as he wills his mind to deny it, in this world, he is just a normal teen boy. His powers UNKNOWN to this world.

His spider sense raises the back hairs on his neck, and he slaps a hand over them.

“Fucking hell.” He grits out. For the past 6 days, he hasn't been able to control his senses. This city, it’s crawling with filth and villains and wrong doers and everything he tries to stop. Making his senses go WILD.

Tony would be disappointed in him, wouldn’t he? For webs sake, he hasn’t even found a way home yet!

Or, well… back to the war.

He shakes his head, irritated with himself. “No, Peter! You will not be the pumpkin eater today, you got that?” He snarls to his reflection, ignoring the dig of his nails in his palms.

He turns and sneaks out through the locker room window, heading back into the city of danger. Of brutes.

— —

No one would know if he slept in the library, right? His teeth clatters against themselves as he lays in the burned bed, staring at his writing on the walls.

Surely it would be warmer than this.

No, he can power through!! He has gone through worse. And besides, he can visit the red haired lady, ask her more things!!

Yeah! She seems like she knows this town well. Librarians always have more information than what they seem. He knows from his time helping at his high school's library, all the odd and new people entering. All with different problems and secrets.

His eyes gleam with excitement as his thoughts spiral into how he can help himself to this world’s knowledge, that he can figure out ways to go home.

Or, he mulls over the thought, breaking into a school. He does remember passing one when he was first hunting down the library, after all. What was it called? Oh, right. Gotham Academy. A rich kid prep school.

Yeah… going there wouldn’t be too bad of an idea. Especially since he should restock on his web fluids, if he wants to go back into the field of being Spider-man.

After all, this world needs as much help as it can get. And the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-man is perfect for the job.

Chapter Text

There were two things that Peter realized as he stared at Gotham Prep, eyes droopy with annoyance and exhaustion.

One, he had forgotten that his web shooters are not with him, so making the fluid wouldn’t help him for a while.

And two? Rich kids are spoiled.

Peter watches as teens roam inside and loiter the building steps, all dressed in uniforms. uniforms. God, that has to be uncomfortable, right? Peter winces as he notices a boy with dark skin dressed in the dark blue uniform, his eyes a sharp green, staring harshly at him.

Like he could tell that Peter did not belong.

Slipping into the crowd- and unfortunately sticking out like a sore thumb- (seriously, this would be easier if he had one of those stupid uniforms) he heads inside the school.

Sure, he knows he doesn’t have his web shooters, but with a bit of junkyard metal and tools, he can make himself some.

Just like his first when he first got bitten by the spider.

Weaving in and out of the halls, he follows the crowd, watching door signs to see if any says “science room.”

Lucky for him, he finds it pretty easily, and opens the door wide enough so he can sneak in.

”Oh, thank the webs.” He whispers, locking the door behind him. In opposite of his Peter luck, the room is empty of people- except for him, of course-, just leaving him alone with all the supplies he needs. 

Rolling up his sleeves, he gets to work with making his web fluids. salicylic acid, toulene, methanol, carbon tetrachloride, potassium carbonate, and ethyl acetate, all materials that are here.

At least with changing universes, some things are still the same.

Mixing the chemicals together, he hums the witches song from Hocus Pocus, when they mixed their potions together.

If only Ned were here… he would sing it with him..

“No, Peter.” He talks out loud to himself, sighing. “No being a debbie downer. You should know better.”

Finishing mixing, which he’s proud to say only took a few minutes, he holds up the vial of webbing.

”This’ll last me a few weeks.” He murmurs, tucking the vial into his backpack safely.

With a new skip in his step, he heads back out into the hall, which is not empty. Class clearly having started.

He heads down the stairs two steps at a time, not too worried if he’s caught. But when he reaches near the end of the stairs, he bumps into two boys. One with dark hair and skin, the other with pale skin and parted dark hair, holding a large cup of coffee with him.

”Hey, watch where you’re going, bud.” The dark skinned teen says, a smile contradicting the lecturing words.

“Sorry.” Peter stutters, a bit embarrassed on how he didn’t notice them. So much so that he bumped into them.

The teen with his coffee stares at Peter, like he’s watching his movements.

“What class are you supposed to be in?” The coffee guy questions. “Your grade is supposed to be in the theater for the safety assembly.”

“I- was just headed there!” Peter lies, shifting his weight nervously. Before they can say anything more, he bolts off, hoping they won’t stop and quiz him more.

Behind his back, the two boys look at each other, a look of worry crossing between them.

Yeah, rich kids really are weird.

Yeah, rich kids are really weird. Sure, Peter holds no hate against Tony, or T’Challa! They’re nice to him! He just… doesn’t understand rich teens who use Daddy’s money.

He feels the stares of the two teens on his back, his spider sense going haywire. But he refuses to look back, to see why they’re staring. Not after his spidey sense thought they were a threat.

After all, they are just two teenagers, yet the sense acted as though they were level to Green Goblin. A shiver runs down Peter’s spine as he thinks of him, the hairs on his neck standing up.

Eugh, he wishes that thought didn’t even cross his mind.

— —

He wanders the school, trying to find an exit so he can leave. Yet, as he does, he passes a gym and stops, looking in it. He finds a group of teens playing volleyball, jumping high into the air, cheering each other on.

Reminds him of being Spider-man.. people cheering him on as he wins a fight, reaching heights just by jumping. ‘Maybe I can join them?’ Peter thinks, tilting his head slightly.

But he knows he can’t, for multiple reasons. One being that he doesn’t even go to this school. But lord, does he wish to join them, have the feeling of people as a group with him. Another reason being that so far, in this new world, he can’t seem to hide his super powers.

Maybe- no, definitely- he should practice. He does know that the gym he showers at has a team of volleyball people practicing there…

With a sigh, he turns on his heel and leaves, heading back to wandering through the school. 

What he doesn’t know is that he didn’t fully zip up his bag, that running down those stairs and bumping into the two teens knocked the vial of web fluids out of his bag..

— —

Tim stares down the hall, blinking slowly like a frog, one eye before the other. His thoughts a scrambled mess of exhaustion, patrol from last night, and energy drinks.

“Was that..?” He murmurs, pulling out his phone. Yes, that boy was the same. A photo of the same young boy that he and Duke just ran into was the same young kid that Barbara AND Dick ran into the past week. The one which Dick got punched by, and also stopped from doing anything dumb on the edge of a 5 story building.

The boy who was covered in multiple bruises in the photo.

He turns to Duke, pointing down the hall, where the boy ran off. “I didn’t daydream that, right?” He questions. Duke shakes his head, a bit amused by Tim’s half coffeed state.

“Yeah, I knew I didn’t.”

“Say that to how you were just talking about your hallucinations.” Duke sighs. “I really got to tell Alfred about the trashy coffee you drink.”

“WHAT?! Duke, my man, don’t do that to me!” Tim follows after him as they go back to walking. He takes out his phone, shooting a text quickly to the family chat

— —

BatChat.

Timbo: hey babs i thin mthe boy you were talking about yestersy is here

Dicky-wing: he was?? was his bruises visible? is he eating??

Bab-O:  did he look okay? last time i saw him he looked lost

Sword child: many children in this city is bruised in some way. why does this one matter?

Multiple people are typing…

Chapter Text

The smell of steak filled his senses. A row of men and women alike sat in seats of shadows, masks and blurs covering their faces. Chatter and snickers and laughter and whispers filled the air, movements and clinks of silverware weaving in the void of pauses. 

A seat was underneath him, cloth of red and blue gloves muffling his senses even more. A tip, a tap, a clink of dishes set onto the table, lobster and bread rolls and caviar salads and plates of fancy dishes all set out for everyone to dine in.

The taste was bland, the stares piercing his skin. 

“Lord, lord, lord.” Whispers of the one word repeated into his ears over and over again.

Shadows and dances and movement all blended together, filling into one mix of a time he wished to forget.

Touch crawled his skin, the feeling of spiders and beetles crawling under his skin, drowning out the air in his lung and throat. 

“You will come back, our Lord.” The whispers continue, hands roaming farther than they should, strangling him and pinning him down.

The hands turn to be the Green Goblin, cackling as he fights back.

To Tony, lecturing him for his mistakes.

The Avengers, watching him silently.

Dr. Octopus, his mechanical limbs twisting his limbs farther and farther, snickering and taking notes.

The sinister six, giggling and murmuring and teasing.

The bugs crawled under his skin, the spider that cursed him larger than him, biting him over and over again. An endless repeat of torture and shame and gaze of disappointment and murder from everyone in his life.

“With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Get up, Peter!”

“Why can’t you get up?”

“You’re Spider-man?? That’s so cool!”

Over and over and over again. Spider sense haywire, limbs weighed down by the lead and spiders.

— —

Peter wakes up in a cold sweat, breath rapid and ragged. He finds himself in the corner of his ceiling, his bed and supplies on the floor below him.

Wait, ceiling?! He turns his head in surprise, and registers how high above the floor he is, hands and feet holding him up on the ceiling and high wall.

Oh, he must’ve panicked again. With a deep breath, he relaxes his body, letting himself slip down back to the ground with a dull thunk. That was… a terrifying dream. Everyone he knows, hovering over.

Their words echo through Peter’s mind, a dull throb pounding and clunking against his skull. As he lays there, it grows louder.

Bang.

Bang.

bang.

bang bang

bang baNG BANG

BANG

BANG

BA-

He doesn’t know how long he lays there, cradling his head tightly in his arms, curled in a tight ball, as tight as he possibly can. Considering how flexible and small he is, it’s quite incredible. If he wasn’t in so much pain he would be amazed. 

Peter thinks over all the causes of headaches, trying to find the cause so he can fix it.

stress, dehydration, poor sleep, skipped meals, alcohol, or eye strain. 

without thinking of it too hard, he can already say it's dehydration, stress, crappy sleep, and barely any meals. He sighs, tired of the situation. Tired of the pounding in his skull, like his brain cells are taking hammers against his bones.

“if only Aunt May were here..” Peter mumbles, a choked sob catching in his throat. “she knows… what to do.” He sniffles, curling back into the ball. 

But no matter how long he lays there, sleep escapes from his grasp. The pain racks his body, a never ending battle from sleep and suffering.

“Stupid, stupid body.” Peter whispers, shivering. Oh, curse how his body can’t generate its own heat. If he could, he’d sell his powers just to be a normal boy again.

But he can’t. He’s Spider-man!! Giving up on people is NOT what heroes do, no matter what!!

It’s so hard to be a hero. He was 18… 18 and fighting Thanos, fighting and getting hit by a moon, getting hit down and down again.

Has he.. even graduated high school? 

With a shaking hand, he wipes away his tears, growing irritated with himself. Stupid teen body, stupid puberty, and CURSE this damn Peter luck.

— —

Peter stares at the spider web hanging from the thrift store's sign, watching as a small spider works on making the web. The intricate details spun into the thin webs, more detailed than he could make.

With a heavy step, he enters the store, tired from another day with no food. He mentally goes over his list of what he needs, and how much he has. Okay, so 40 bucks in his backpack, and he needs some clothes and hygiene supplies.

After all, the shower hygiene is still with him, but he needs to take care of his teeth. Otherwise, Aunt May will chide him.

Oh… right. She’s not here, nor is Tonyn.

He wanders through the isles, picking out clothes from the kids section with a burning embarrassment in his cheeks. Being stuck in his 15 year old body sucks, with how short he is. A small sigh escapes his lips as he grabs some underwear, a few shirts of old bugs and bands, and a couple pairs of pants. Oh, and socks, a couple sweaters- god, he wishes this place wasn’t so cold-, and a thick jacket. thats… enough, right?

Peter blinks, staring at his handful of clothes. The one lucky thing he can thank is that this thrift store keeps its clothes extremely cheap. like, all he got is 25$ worth cheap!! He ain’t complaining, that just means that the Peter luck is turning around!

As he heads to the counter to pay, he finds an old MP3 player, next to a small set of headphones. It isn’t… too bad of an idea to splurge, right? Really, he can’t stand empty silence, his thoughts are something he doesn’t really like to be with.

He picks up the MP3 player, the headphones, deciding just this once, he needs this.

After paying, which by the way, the cashier kept glaring at him like he was going to rob her, (like, she had a gun!!) he shoves the clothes into his bag.

Unfortunately, he bumps into something- seriously, what is it with him and bumping into things here??- he looks up. Instead of a regular person, he finds a man well over 6 feet tall, built strong, a white stripe in the man's hair.

Oh. Lord have mercy on Peter’s soul, this man could snap him in two. Sure, he has powers, and could probably snap him in two, but still! 

His gaze falls to the white hair stripe, remembering about the weird white stripe in his own hair. He has the same thing?

“Uh- sorry.” Peter mumbles, going to move around the man. “Didn’t see ya…” 

Truth be told, he doesn’t want to get into a fight. He knows that he doesn’t seem to have control of his powers in this world yet, and also this man is making his spider  tingle sense FREAK.

“i’m just gonna…” He moves around the man, managing to get a few steps before a hand grabs his collar.

“Hey, kid.” The voice of the tall man speaks. “You’re that kid that Red Hold told me about.”

“Red.. Hood?” Peter blinks, confused where this conversation is going. Has he even met someone named Red Hood?

“Y’know, tall man with a red helmet on, guns and pretty strong?” The man cocks an eyebrow, waiting for Peter’s next words.

oh. ohhhhh. “Yeah, I met him. But, you know him?” God, can this be any less confusing? 

“He’s a… friend of mine.” The man finally lets go of Peter’s collar, tucking his hands in his jacket. “Says he and his buddy’s been lookin’ fer ya.”

With no sense of lying from this man- the spider sense ain’t helping a bit since it’s still saying this man is dangerous- Peter nods slightly.

“Okay.. well, I’ll say hi to him if I stumble across him again.” He turns slightly, ready to leave.

“You hungry?” The man blurts out, nodding his head towards a place called… is that called Bat Burger?? “I know a good place.”

Even if he wanted to say no, he’s starving. That poutine from last week is not there anymore, not settling his stomach from the endless gnawing hunger.

“…okay.” He mumbles, following the man to the burger place.

In the end, he got a regular burger meal since he still has to keep the pretense of being a 15 year old boy. But Lord does he wish he could’ve gotten more.

“So, kid..” The man speaks, eating his own burger. “What’s your name?” 

“Peter.” He answers honestly, chowing down his fries. “And you?”

“Jason.” The man- no, Jason- answers. “You ain’t from ‘roun here, huh? That’s a New York accent. What' s a twerp like you doin’ in Gotham?” 

Peter’s face flushes, embarrassed on how easy his accent is to notice. “Uhhh my dad came here for work, and brought me with him.” He lies, like a big ol’ lying liar. “He’s.. busy a lot.”

He ain’t going to tell this Jason guy that he’s in an alternate universe, no way!! So he lies, pretending that he could just be a boy with his working father.

Jason nods, finishing up with his food. “So you just wander around instead? This ain’t a safe place, kid.” He points out.

“Yeah, I understand that. I mostly just hang in the library and home.”

He crosses his arms, like a silent dare for Jason to argue, to try and poke holes into Peter’s story. But the man doesn’t, simply shrugs and moves on to his fries. 

— —

This kid talks so damn much. Jason stares at the small kid across from him, who still looks rough from the night when Jason saved him from being robbed.

If he’s telling the damn truth, then this kid's dad is shit at protecting him. What old man would let his injured son walk the streets of Gotham with no protection?

Clearly not a good one, if that’s for certain. Or, maybe no dad at all.

But damn, this kid talks a ton. Even more than Tim during his long nights of no sleep, or even Dick when he’s excited.

But that also gives him information. Whether Peter knows it or not, he’s giving him a ton of information and just oozing sadness.

No matter how much he wants to keep this child far from the Bats- like, this kid looks like he’s 13- he should probably tell them to look out on the rooftops for him. For the past 3 nights, he found this kid staring down the edge of the building.

With a huff, he stands up, placing a card and a handful of cash in front of Peter.

— —

Peter blinks, watching as Jason places the money in front of him.

“Wha-“ He starts, but Jason interrupts him. “Here. If you ever need to find Red Hood for anything, go to this address. He helps people, he’s trustworthy.”

“O-okay?” He stutters out, nodding slightly as he takes the card and cash. With that, Jason leaves, leaving Peter sitting at a booth in Bat Burger, confused on all that happened.

Chapter Text

OKAY so basically there is a timeline, so this chapter is just going to explain the timeline to clear up a few things. Just to note, this is a bit of a mix between the different versions of Spiderman!

Peter becomes Spider-man at 14 years old, and continues until he is 18, where when he's 18 is where he fights Thanos in the war.
Between 14 to 18, he fights many villains- including Green Goblin- over the period of the 4 years. I bring up the Green Goblin as like a strength level/a bad memory. Since he is one of Peter’s main villains, he’s more of a thought that plaques him quite a bit.

Bringing him up is to be like an expression of the danger levels of the others. With how strong and dangerous the Bats are, Green Goblin is around the same level of danger as them, which is why in Chapter 5 that's brought up.
In the Marvel universe, Peter fights the Green Goblin, long before Thanos was introduced into the films.

As well, I want to mention that Peter still thinks of Aunt May as though she is alive, because of his grief and sorrow. She is dead in the timeline, so please do not get confused when he “talks” to her in his mind, or talks of her in present tense.
I’m gonna quick summarize, actually.

— —

Peter gets bitten by the spider when he’s 14 at the field trip, gets spider powers and becomes Spiderman. He gets recruited by Tony at 16 to join the Avengers. Fights Green Goblin a lot within that time. Aunt May dies. Basically a ton of what happened in Andrew Garfield's and Tom Holland's versions of Spider-man movies mixed together within the 4 years. At 18, the whole Thano’s fighting war happens. Then, BAM!! this is where this story starts.
I hope this makes sense?

Physically, Peter is his 15 year old version of himself. Which, because he doesn’t get hit by puberty at that age, he looks like he’s 13. But mentally, he is still his 18 year old self, with all his knowledge.

But they interact with him like he’s a child, since he seems younger than them. Calling people kiddo, or kid, doesn’t make him even younger than how he looks, it is simply just a way they can call him without knowing his age. Especially since he looks younger than 15, curses to his looks. It’s something a ton of people say to anyone younger than them, or someone they’re trying to not spook.

Think Andrew Garfield from Sugar Rush. That is basically what he looks like in this story, since he looks young and innocent, like this version of Peter my story kinda portrays. (that i try and portray)

THE AGES OF THE BATS AND A FEW OTHERS:

Bruce- 47
Stephanie- 18
Cass- 19
Jason- 21
Dick- 25
Tim- 17
Duke- 17
Damian- 13
Peter- 15
Alfred- ?? he’s old