Chapter Text
Peter was falling.
He wasn’t sure why he was, or how he was, or even where he was. But figuring out the reason behind his downward descent could wait. Figuring out how to stop it was the priority.
Or it would have been the priority, had Peter’s rational brain been in charge. Unfortunately, he was falling so fast that all his rational thoughts were streaming out of his ears, and all he was left with was something like Oh shoot oh shoot ohshootshootshoot ahhhhhhh-!
By the time Peter managed to scrape together a full sentence of a thought (How do I stop?!), he no longer needed it.
Because he hit the ground.
Ow, was Peter’s last thought before passing out.
Peter woke up.
He hurt, and this place smelled bad.
He made an executive decision, and went back to sleep.
Peter woke up.
The place still stank, but he hurt less. He figured this might be as good as he got, and opened his eyes with a groan.
He didn’t immediately recognize his surroundings. It took him several long blinks and looking around to piece together the clues of the puzzle.
Brick walls plus concrete plus small space plus bad smell equals…
“An alley?” Peter said aloud. There was no dinging of bells to indicate that he had the right answer, so Peter made his own. “Ding ding ding, we have a winner… wait, what’s wrong with my voice?”
There was something different about the way Peter sounded. It was much higher than normal. Instinctively he reached up to feel his throat, and that felt off too, though he couldn’t identify why that was, exactly.
Groaning, he finally made himself sit up. He was sore, but he could move, so maybe nothing was broken. Or if something had been, it had healed already. Peter supposed it didn’t really matter, though Aunt May would be upset if he said he had broken another limb, regardless of its healed status.
Aunt May… there was something about Aunt May he was forgetting…
When it didn’t come to him after a minute Peter shrugged it off. Probably not important. He could ask Aunt May about it when he saw her again.
After double and triple checking that nothing felt broken, Peter stood up. It felt wrong in a way that was hard to describe. But according to his eyeballs, he was still sitting down.
He stood on his tiptoes to see if that would help. It didn’t.
Oh well. As long as he could still walk. He needed to find his way home, and staying put in a smelly alley certainly wasn’t going to do it.
Peter stepped out onto a city sidewalk that was only a fraction cleaner and a fraction of a fraction less smelly.
He took a deep breath and wrinkled his nose. Ew. Actually, somehow it was even more smelly out here. Not necessarily in a bad way; not all of the smells were bad, exactly. There were just a lot of them. It was overwhelming.
Since he didn’t recognize this part of New York, Peter picked a direction at random and started walking. He figured sooner or later he’d see some familiar feature or landmark, and then he could make his way back from there.
It was weird he was on his own, though. He had the strangest feeling that he had just been with other people, but he couldn’t quite remember who just at this moment. Had he been saving someone as Spider-Man?
…oh yeah, Spider-Man! Peter couldn’t believe he had forgotten his alter-ego for a moment. He’d be forgetting his own head next. He reached up and patted his hair almost unconsciously. Nope, still there. All good.
Getting another worrying thought, Peter glanced down to make sure he wasn’t just walking around wearing his Spider-Man suit. He was relieved to see that he wasn’t. He was less relieved when he didn’t recognize the clothes he was wearing. His pants were relatively normal, but he was wearing a t-shirt with a skateboarding dinosaur on it (not even a science pun! That at least would have been acceptable), and his shoes were Velcro! Velcro! He hadn’t worn Velcro shoes since he was seven!
So wrapped up in his inspection of his outfit, Peter didn’t notice that he had stumbled into a more populated area of the city. Not until he walked right into someone.
“Oop!” he said, taking a step back. “Sorry, sir.” Peter lifted his head to look the stranger in the eyes. And kept lifting. And kept lifting. Until he finally found a pair of worried eyes staring down at him from somewhere near the heavens.
The stranger asked Peter something in a worried tone, but Peter was too stunned by just how tall they were to comprehend what they were saying.
Peter quickly looked up and down the street. Sure enough, everyone he could see was at least double his height. He knew he wasn’t the tallest teen around, but come on, this was a little much!
“...pup? Pup, are you okay, can you hear me?” Peter realized the stranger was still talking to him.
“Hmm? Yes, I can hear you, Mr. Giant. I have to go now, I need to find my aunt. Sorry again for bumping into you.”
Peter took off determinedly down the street, ignoring the “Hey, wait!” that came from behind him.
More and more Peter found himself having to weave around the legs of these freakishly large New Yorkers. Most of them seemed quite happy to ignore Peter, but one or two would glance at him as he walked by, and something in their eyes made Peter pick up his pace.
Trying to take his mind off of that, Peter focused on trying to recognize where he was. Unfortunately, nothing was standing out to him. He wouldn’t say he had all of New York memorized, but he could generally find his way around from most places. But it was like everything had changed overnight.
He couldn’t find the Daily Bugle office, but he found a building for The Gotham Gazette.
He couldn’t find the New York Public Library, but there was a building with Gotham Public Library written over it.
Banks were Bank of Gotham, grocery stores were Gotham Supermarket, and even the sign outside a subway stop said “Welcome to Gotham.”
Why, if Peter didn’t know any better, he’d say he wasn’t in New York at all!
…
Wait.
Peter mentally smacked himself in the head. Then did it physically when that wasn’t enough. Okay, duh! That would be why he didn’t recognize anything and all the people were weird. He wasn’t in New York anymore! He was in whatever this Gotham place was. That explained all the weirdness. Like the fact that people were starting to surround him.
…
Wait again.
“Can I help you?” Peter asked, starting to feel a little cornered as he watched three people approach him. The only reason he wasn’t already running away or crawling up the walls was because all three had concerned faces, and in his experience muggers typically were only concerned when in handcuffs (or webs).
“Pup, where are your parents?” the only woman of the three asked. She smelled aggressively sweet, like homemade cookies. Peter wondered if she worked in a bakery or something. The two men on either side of her also smelled strongly, like a middle school kid just learning about body spray.
Peter addressed one of them. “No offense mister, but you do know there’s such a thing as too much cologne, right?”
The man shared a confused glance with his companions. “What?” he asked gruffly.
“Nevermind, that was rude of me,” Peter said, backtracking. What would May say about his manners?
Speaking of May, he needed to get back to her. He couldn’t remember exactly why, but he knew that he needed to get back to her, her and someone else. Who else did he need to find, again?
Peter was so lost in thought that he completely missed what the people were saying to him.
“Sorry, but I left my wallet at home,” Peter said, interrupting. “I don’t want any of what you’re selling.”
“Selling?” the woman repeated. She looked one step away from tearing her hair out.
The man who hadn’t spoken yet eyed Peter critically. “And where is home, exactly?”
“Umm…” Peter looked around, before pointing across the street. “That way!”
“Crime Alley?” If the woman didn’t look like she was going to pass out before, she certainly did now. “But-!”
Peter missed the rest of her sentence, already halfway across the street. “Good luck with the soliciting!” he waved back behind him.
“Wait!”
“Come back!”
Peter glanced behind him once he was on the other side of the street. The group looked like they were about to follow him, and were only stopped because of a light change and a street now full of cars. Though one of the men seemed to be debating making a run for it anyway.
They must have had a very slow day of canvasing, if they were so desperate for Peter’s sale. Peter mentally wished them luck, and then hurried off down his newly-chosen direction.
After about ten minutes, Peter had good news and bad news.
The good news was that this part of town was much less crowded, and people weren’t coming up to him nearly as much.
The bad news was that this was clearly a bad part of town to be wandering around lost in. If the abandoned-looking buildings, piles of trash, and suspicious-looking stains on the sidewalk didn’t clue him in, then the way that the few people Peter saw glared at him with suspicion (bad) or hate (worse) or interest (BADBADBAD) in their eyes certainly did.
“Get a grip, Parker,” Peter muttered to himself, trying to avoid the eye of a man holding a six-inch knife casually in his hand like it was a common fall accessory. “You’ve been in worse situations before.”
Yes, but then you knew where you were, Peter’s traitorous thoughts shot back at him. You didn’t have any gaps in your memories. You weren’t a stranger in a strange land with giants. You knew how to get help.
“You’re right,” Peter said to himself, half-thinking that if nothing else, maybe people would stay away from the crazy kid talking to himself. “I need a plan.”
You need help.
Peter compromised with himself. “My plan is to get help.”
Now where could Peter get help? He knew several heroes, but having no way to contact any of them, plus not even being sure if they would be in this Gotham place, Peter dismissed the idea. He could call someone, but he didn’t have a phone.
…he didn’t have a phone, right? Peter quickly patted himself down. No phone, which Peter should have been disappointed by, but mostly he felt relieved. That would have been embarrassing if he could have called for help this whole time.
Searching himself did give him another idea, though. On rare occasions, Ned and Peter had been able to send each other messages using their soulmarks. It was an inexact science, and somewhat depended on if their soulmarks wanted to cooperate, but Peter figured it was worth a shot.
Peter closed his eyes and scrunched his face up in concentration. Ned, Ned, Ned! It’s Peter! I need help. Come find me, please! Or send someone to get me! Love, Peter.
Just to be safe, Peter repeated the message a few times. He was on his fifth repeat when yet another person tried to talk to him.
“Kid, what the hell are you doing?” The voice was deep, and familiar in a way Peter had a hard time placing.
“Concentrating,” Peter said, eyes still closed.
“On what?”
“Getting help.”
“And you think standing with your eyes closed in the middle of Crime Alley is the best way to get help?”
“Yep.”
“And you can’t see any flaws in that logic?”
“Nope.”
“... you’re a weird kid.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Peter knew on a purely logical level that he was being, perhaps, just the tiniest bit, dumb, but for some reason, standing here with this stranger a mere foot away was the safest he had felt since waking up. He hadn’t even realized how his spider sense had been constantly buzzing at the back of his mind until it suddenly quieted. He kind of never wanted to leave.
The stranger, though, was dead-set on ruining his plans. “Kid, open your eyes.”
“No,” Peter said petulantly.
“Yes.”
“Make me.”
The stranger didn’t say anything. They just reached out and with no warning started tickling Peter’s side. Shocked giggles erupted out of Peter, and he squirmed and opened his eyes for a moment, catching a glimpse of cargo pants and black combat boots. The tickling stopped as soon as Peter’s eyes opened.
Peter closed them again.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” The tickling began again. Peter tried to hold out, but soon laughter was bursting out of him, and he was on the verge of opening his eyes again.
“Say uncle!”
Peter held out for a few more seconds, but none of his Spider-Man training had prepared him for this new form of torture. Eventually he caved, opening his eyes and staring at the sidewalk. “Uncle!” he panted.
The stranger stopped, and Peter tried to catch his breath. “Uncle, uncle…” he repeated, as he slowly turned to look up at the stranger.
His third thought was: But that’s impossible.
His second thought was: I’m so happy to see you!
It was his first thought that he voiced out loud.
“Uncle Ben?”