Chapter Text
Peter is not in Kansas anymore. He knows that much, even if he doesn’t know exactly where he is. His Spider Sense is a dull buzz in the back of his head, calmer than it’s been the past few days.
When he opens his eyes, he realizes that he’s in a bright room. Its walls are stark white, and it’s oddly sterile. Peter brings a hand to his head and begins to sit up.
“Woah, there,” a voice says. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You took a nasty fall.”
Still, Peter lifts his head and turns to get a look at the person. The man sits in a nearby chair. In the light, he can better see the man’s tactical suit. The blue design on his chest is roughly shaped like a bird, and his suit is padded in specific spots: his chest, thighs, shoulders, and upper arms.
“I’m not sure how much you remember,” the man says. “But my name’s Nightwing.”
“I fell,” Peter murmurs absentmindedly. “You found me.”
“Right. Good,” Nightwing tells him. Peter, against the man’s earlier wishes, slowly sits up, still sore along his back and limbs. He rubs the back of his head gently.
“What else do you remember?”
“Mr. Stark… he told me to find Dick Grayson…”
“Yeah…”
Peter looks up at him, eyes narrowed slightly as he scans the man’s face. Nightwing stands, interlocks his fingers, and stretches, his back cracking.
“I’ll be right back, kid. I rang some bells with your sudden appearance, and it’s proving a little difficult to, uh… unring them.”
“What kind of bells?”
Nightwing just shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll explain everything later. Try to get some sleep in the meantime.”
Peter sits back against the metal headrest as Nightwing makes his way out of the room. The door automatically slides shut behind him, and Peter throws his blanket off. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and finally notices that his suit is gone.
He stands up, frantically looking around the room. Peter turns the covers over, as if he’ll find it under there, and checks under the bed. He spins around when he hears the door slide open and takes a defensive position, his hands loosely curled into fists.
The man who walks in is green, and Peter gasps unintentionally. The man - alien, Peter’s mind corrects - stops in the doorway.
“I do not mean to harm you,” the man-alien says, his hands up to ease the boy’s fear.
“Where’s my suit?” Peter asks. “Where am I? Who are you?”
“My name is J’onn J’onzz,” he tells him softly. Peter notes that his voice is a little accented and deep, but calming. At least, his Spider Sense doesn’t tingle any more than it already is.
“Where is my suit?” Peter asks again, fists still raised. That suit had been a gift. That suit had kept him alive through interdimensional travel. That suit was his.
“It was removed to assess your injuries. It was damaged in your… fall.” J’onn slowly approaches the bed. “You received a serious concussion and a few fractured ribs, as well as minor damage to your lower spine.”
Really? Peter feels fine. Though… ever since the spider bite, he has been healing a little faster. Peter slowly lowers his hands, the shock apparently evident on his face.
“You have been unconscious for most of the past week.”
His eyes widen even more. “What?”
“When Nightwing found you, you were injured and disoriented, likely because of the concussion you suffered. He transported you to receive medical attention in Gotham, but when it became clear that you would require more… intensive treatment, he sent for help.”
Peter grips his hair with one hand. “This is crazy. This is crazy. I have to be dreaming.”
He pinches the skin on the inside of his arm, hisses, and pulls his fingers away. “Okay, not dreaming.”
J’onn silently watches him pace for a few minutes before Peter suddenly spins on his heel to look at the alien.
“Where’s Dick Grayson?”
J’onn stays silent for a brief moment, his red eyes trained on the teenager. “Where did you come across that name?”
“I…” Peter pinches the bridge of his nose. “I was told to look for him before I got here.”
“I… will search for him. Perhaps you should lie down,” J’onn suggests, a gentle green hand resting on Peter’s arm.
“Yeah, that…” Peter rubs his eyes aggressively. “Yeah…”
He lets J’onn guide him back to the bed.
“My suit,” Peter tells J’onn. “I need it back.”
“I will bring it to you.”
“Good. Okay.”
Peter turns back to the bed, and his shoulders sag in exhaustion. The moment he crawls under the covers, though, he’s fast asleep.
J’onn waits several minutes for the rise and fall of the boy’s chest to even out before reaching forward and pressing his hands to Peter’s temples. He closes his eyes, centers himself for a brief moment, and opens them just as they begin to glow.
The memories at the forefront of this boy’s mind are littered with holes. His mind is slowly beginning to weave the ends together, and while J’onn could help him piece his memory together, his concussion would likely make it difficult for the boy.
Still, he could gather enough from what he could see to piece together how he ended up here: A defeat on one of the moons of Saturn, following the most difficult battle of his life. A battle in which the heroes lost, and the universe was put in peril.
J’onn readjusts his fingers and digs a little further into the boy’s mind. Images flash a little faster: The alien, J’onn finds out, wore a gold gauntlet with several glowing stones embedded in it. A stone was freely offered to him by one of their own, leaving one final stone for him to retrieve. The alien left them stranded on Titan, and the heroes gathered to wait, knowing it was up to those left behind to defend Earth. And after several agonizing minutes, a heavy feeling filled the air. Peter watched the others disappear into dust, his sixth sense growing louder and louder, warning him about his impending fate. A bright light blinded him, and then he was falling. The throbbing in the back of his skull lessened to a tingle down his spine. He fell and fell for what seemed like forever until his back hit solid stone.
J’onn pulls away, having seen enough to piece the boy’s story together. He looks down at the sleeping teenager for a brief moment before straightening and walking out of the room.
Nightwing raises his head from where he’s leaning against a nearby wall and joins the Martian when he walks past.
“What’d you find, J’onn?”
“He cannot yet recall why he was sent here, though likely for his own safety. Perhaps to send for help. Perhaps for another reason altogether,” J’onn tells him. “It is very likely his mind will recall the events without further prompting.”
“How do you know?”
“He has accelerated healing.”
“Him? He’s been unconscious for a week.”
“His fractured ribs have healed. The damage to his spine has been reduced to superficial bruising. His mind seems to be the only lasting injury. Though how much of it is physical remains to be seen.”
“What do you mean?”
J’onn stops in his tracks and turns to the acrobat. “You and I both know how trauma can affect one’s mind, Nightwing.”
“… Right.” Dick rubs the back of his neck. “Is he going to be alright at least?”
J’onn nods curtly.
“Good. Thanks, J’onn,” Dick says, voice laced with relief.
The Martian nods once more, and Dick steps ahead, leaving the way to a smaller conference room. Batman sits to the right of the head of the table, his eyes on the new schematics he must have managed to pull from Peter’s suit.
Superman sits at the head, silently observing the blueprints as Batman swipes through the holographic screen. The Kryptonian’s deep blue eyes fall on Dick and J’onn when they enter, and he smiles politely.
“Nightwing. J’onn. How is he?”
“He woke up for a few minutes. Talked to me, and then J’onn,” Dick explains, making his way further into the room. The door automatically slides shut behind them, sealing them into the conference room. He sits to Bruce’s left.
“Did he say anything?”
“Nothing new.” Dick shakes his head.
“He brought up the name Dick Grayson once again,” J’onn tells them, making his way to the table and sitting opposite Batman.
“Yeah, that’s on repeat,” Dick sighs, reaching over to look at Batman’s tablet. “Are those the schematics of Pete’s suit?”
Batman nods minutely.
“It’s an advanced form of nanotechnology,” Superman explains. “The closest thing to it that I’ve seen is Blue Beetle’s armor.”
“Beetle’s suit is alien technology. This is manmade,” Batman explains. “This is more in line with the work Dr. Palmer is doing. Maybe even the work that Dr. Ivo did with Amazo.”
“Yeah, Oracle had a heck of a time trying to hack into it,” Dick says, sitting back with a sigh.
Dick reaches forward and plays with the holographic image of Peter’s suit, his eyes on the large navy blue logo on the chest. Its arms stretch out toward the shoulders and waist. Dick narrows his eyes for a brief moment before realizing that it’s a large spider.
“Huh.”
The next time Peter wakes up, he’s alone in the sterile, white room. His Spider Sense has settled a little more since the first time he woke up, and the headache that has been plaguing him the past few days is mostly gone.
He stands, a hand on the bed to support his sore body. There’s a healing bruise on the side of his ankle, but he’s able to put his weight on it, so he doesn’t give it a second thought.
Peter makes his way to the door. It’s white metal, the same as the rest of the room. He rests a hand on the cold door, and it doesn’t budge. There’s a panel next to it to put in a code.
He presses on the door harder, using both hands and all the strength he’ll allow himself to use reasonably. The door doesn’t budge.
Peter turns to the keypad. If he had more time (and his suit), he would consider hacking. But for now, he raises a fist and makes quick work of smashing the console. The door opens immediately, and an alarm goes off.
His Spider Sense throbs in his head, and for a brief moment, he lets instinct take over. His feet leave the ground, and he finds himself on all fours on the ceiling. He stays as close to it as he can and begins crawling down the end of the hall.
It’s a maze. Costumed men and women run past Peter from below. His head pounds, making him wince. He feels the alarm through his hands and feet. The lights are bright, and he can sense the movement below in the air.
His senses are all in overdrive, including his Spider Sense. His skin grows clammy, but he continues crawling until fewer people are roaming around and he’s in a part of the building that looks somewhat like a museum.
Peter’s feet swing off the ceiling, leaving him hanging by his hands for a brief moment before he lets go and lands on the ground. On the floor below him, civilians walk by, eyes scanning the exhibits in the large room.
His Spider Sense tingles again, and he ducks around the corner. He finds a doorway that opens to a stairwell and quickly makes his way down to the ground floor. He’s in oversized sweats, so once he reaches the crowds, it’s easy to blend in.
Peter shoves his hands into his pockets and begins looking around. It’s like that Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian, only… there are dozens of artifacts from dozens of heroes, villains, and anything in between. There are newspaper clippings, old photos, and old memorabilia.
“Who’s your favorite?”
Peter stiffens. He turns to his left, where a boy, maybe around 8 years old, stares wide-eyed at the old costumes in front of them.
“Oh, uh… are you talking to me?”
The boy nods, his grin wide. “My favorite’s Batman. He’s just a man and doesn’t have any powers, but he’s so cool.”
“Yeah,” Peter swallows. “Cool.”
“But my best friend thinks Superman would win in a fight ‘cause of his superpowers.”
Peter hums. “Superpowers aren’t everything. It’s not what matters.”
The little boy looks up at him, and Peter swallows. “My, uh, my Uncle Ben. He used to say that with great power comes great responsibility. And… sometimes that power isn’t superpowers. Just… normal people, doing the best they can to help others.”
“Does that mean I can be a hero?”
Peter gives the boy a gentle smile. “Yeah. Anyone can be a hero.”
The boy turns back to the display, some newspaper clippings of a hero called Superman. Peter tries to read them, but his mind is racing too much to focus.
“My name’s Reilly,” the boy interrupts. “What’s yours?”
“Peter,” he murmurs. “Parker.”
“I should go find my dad,” Reilly tells him. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too, Reilly.” Peter forces a small smile until the boy weaves his way through the crowd.
He turns to the next exhibit - some heavy-duty freezing equipment.
“With great power comes great responsibility, huh?”
Peter stiffens. His Spider Sense doesn’t spike, so he knows it’s nonthreatening. He tears his eyes from the wall and turns on his heel.
The man isn’t much taller than him, 5’10”, maybe, and is lean. He has long dark hair that curls just a little bit toward the ends, and deep blue eyes.
He looks a little like…
Peter opens his mouth, but the man beats him to it.
“I heard you were looking for me,” he murmurs.
“You’re…” Peter tries to force the words out, but his tongue betrays him.
“Dick,” the man offers. “And you shouldn’t be here.”
The man sticks his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker and slowly approaches Peter, who doesn’t take his eyes off him. His Spider Sense doesn’t tingle, but he’s wary of ending up in that white room again.
Dick just smiles at him and comes to stand next to him, scanning the exhibits.
“In your world,” Dick says quietly, “this didn’t exist.”
Peter gives a soft laugh. “It still doesn’t. A museum? The government barely wants any of us around.”
“I meant a team,” Dick explains.
“Is that what all of this is from? Your team?”
“Not mine.” Dick shakes my head. “But they’re friends. Some of them are more like family, honestly.”
The nearest case holds one of the… first Black Canary’s costumes (are there multiple? Peter asks himself).
“You’re in the Justice Society section, though,” Dick tells Peter.
“The what?”
“Right.” Dick nods once. “Tell you what. How about I give you a tour of the place?”
“I…”
“C’mon.” Dick grins, turning on his heel. He waves for Peter to follow. Against his better judgment, Pete’s feet move to catch up. He leads the boy through a large doorway, and Peter stops in his tracks.
His eyes widen, and he gawks at the large gold statues in the entrance hall. Seven heroes, six men and one woman, stand tall, and Peter recognizes the man on the far right. The green man. J’onn.
“Welcome to the Hall of Justice, Pete.”