Chapter Text
"As fun as this has been, Mr. hundred and one Dalmatians, I think I've gotta call it a day. The police— and hopefully the ghost of sir Issac Newton— will be here soon to arrest you for your blatant disregard for the laws of physics, and probably a whole bunch of other junk, too!" Spider-Man grinned under the mask for a moment, stepping back to view a job well done. The Spot is strung up with webs in the middle of a warehouse— if it wasn't abandoned before, it certainly will be soon due to all the wormholes messing with its structural integrity— and turns to leave.
He knows that the police must be on their way, as the fight had torn through a chunk of New York's industrial district. He doesn't even have to strain his ears to hear the sirens approaching in the distance. Good ol' NYPD, always showing up just a bit too late to get any fighting in— but Spider-Man wasn't complaining. Less people meant less collateral damage, and less police meant less getting arrested.
Spider-Man shoots out a web to snag his backpack from where he'd dropped it when they crashed into the warehouse (seriously, could the Spot have picked a time to go crazy when he didn't have his chemistry homework on his person?) and turns toward the door, when his instincts tell him to freeze.
The Spot's angry, slightly ditzy blabbering has suspiciously stopped.
One moment Peter Parker is walking away from his latest tussle with a science-fair-gone-wrong, and the next his spider sense is screaming in the back of his mind. While it usually feels more like a tingle, and usually gives him a direction to dodge or attack in, this time it feels like someone has placed a white hot iron against the base of his neck, and there is no indication of what, or where, the threat is. He whips around to face the Spot, already crouching slightly to brace for a hit, when he notices that the man's white skin (?), which is usually riddled with little black holes, seems to be in flux.
The mini portals are stretching, pulling, and absorbing one another like angry, dying stars until the rogue's entire body is an inky abyss. The man beneath it screams, an inhuman sound that grates at Spider-Man's sensitive hearing and echoes oddly around the warehouse.
Spider-Man takes one step towards the unstable violation of known physics, but is immediately forced backwards when his spider sense somehow redoubles its screaming. Whatever is going on here is not normal, even by his standards.
The cause of his senses unusual volume reveals itself when the Spot seems to rip himself apart under the force of his own wormholes. The massive blast of… of emptiness, Peter supposes, expands faster than Spider-Man can escape.
For a moment, everything is perfectly black. Peter can feel no indication of up or down, and his enhanced senses seem muted for the first time since he was bitten.
For a moment, he floats— totally alone in an empty void, his only indication of reality being the backpack handing loosely from his fingers.
For a moment, it terrifies him.
The darkness ends in a brilliant flash of light, and his senses return with a vengeance. There is so much input, it takes Peter a few disoriented seconds to feel the pain from being thrown backwards into a crate.
Scratch that, it's a pile of crates. He cracks his eyes open to find himself in a warehouse- but a moment's scrutiny reveals that it is not the warehouse he had just been exploded in. For one, the bricks were a dirty, depressing gray rather than a cheerful red, and he can hear the sound of thunder outside, whereas it had been a rare cloudless day in New York. Also, the light is coming in from windows- none of the warehouses near the fight had windows like that.
Peter stumbles to his feet, his entire body aching like it hasn't for a long time. Not since the spider bite, actually.
His thoughts are rerouted when voices reach his ringing ears. He can't make out exactly what they are saying yet, but he can tell they're getting closer- and he'd rather not deal with anyone after waking up in an unfamiliar warehouse, not to mention his potential spidey-nappers. He shoots webs towards the ceiling and launches himself into the rafters to watch the men as they enter.
"-dunno. Boss said he got reports of a big crash in the storage shed-" shed?! This was not a shed. This warehouse was bigger than the entire regular house he had lived in with Aunt May and Uncle Ben before— Peter shoved the thought aside, refocusing on the conversation happening below him.
"—eally don't care, anyways. Let's just sweep the place so we can tell boss it was just a clumsy pigeon and not the Batman, like he's so scared of. I mean honestly, ain't no bats' gonna care about a little deal in crime alley- hey, who left a backpack here?"
What on earth is a Batman? I thought I had the copyright for vaguely-Halloween-adjacent-critter-themed vigilantes. Unless the guy fights with a baseball bat? Wait, my backpack!
Peter's train of thought jumps its track when he realized that he had left his backpack down below in the pile of crates. That was odd- assuming someone had dragged his unconscious body into the warehouse after being thrown by the spots explosion, why would they bring his school bag? And what was crime alley? Sounds like the name of a comic book location, or a poorly themed bowling establishment.
As the mooks down below argued about the backpack- ("I dunno, maybe one of the guys left it here!" "Who would be dumb enough- besides you, anyways- to leave a kiddie backpack in the middle of the shed!") Peter craned his neck to see what was in the frankly massive pile of crates he'd woken up in, mildly offended by their assessment of his backpack. it wasn't his fault that he hadn't been able to afford a new one since 7th grade, and in his opinion the iron man theme was still cool.
One of the crate lids had been shifted by his less-than-gentle landing, and with a bit of squinting, he figures out what it contained.
Peter's heart drops into his stomach. That crate was undoubtedly full of guns. VERY illegal guns that Peter has a sneaking suspicion these guys were not supposed to have.
Just as he was about to start throwing hands— and maybe a quip or two— one of the nearby skylights shatters and a large figure drops through. The henchmen's heads snapped up at his arrival, eyes instantly widening in fear at the shiny red helmet covering the guy's head.
"Red hood?!" One of the mooks yelped, his compatriot elbowing him in the side as they shrunk away in fear.
"Ain't no bat gonna care about a little deal in crime alley, huh? That's a real intelligent thing to say when crime alley is the only section of Gotham that one of us has specifically claimed."
Peter watched as "Red Hood" (although that was definitely a helmet, genius,) stalked towards the cowering men. The vigilante (Peter was willing to guess that's what he was, at least, although he'd never heard of the guy. Also, he was pretty sure there was no "Gotham" in New York. Or anywhere, for that matter. How far had spot flung him?) towered over the two, deftly removing both of their weapons before knocking their heads together with practiced motions. Peter took the moment of distraction to yoink his backpack up with a web, silently moving through the rafters to get a better view of the confrontation. While he would usually swing right in to help beat up idiots with illegal goods, red helmet over here seems to be handling it just fine— and frankly, Peter is curious what his deal is.
The strange vigilante holds one of the men up by his collar -the other is unconscious- and shakes him roughly.
"You gonna tell me who this 'boss' is, and what you were planning to do with all them guns? Or am I gonna have to offer a bit of encouragement?"
The henchman was on the verge of tears by this point. When he started babbling names, excuses, and locations, referring to the vigilante as "Mr hood, sir," Peter decides it was time to go figure out where the heck he was, (because he was beginning to suspect he wasn't in Queens anymore, Toto) and that "hood" had it handled. This sentiment is further reinforced when he hears the distinctive crackle of a comm, and hood starts talking to someone called "oracle" about the situation.
Peter slinks out of the warehouse through Red Hood's shattered skylight, careful to avoid the sharp glass as he throws his backpack up onto the roof. He follows it out, hand reaching to ensure his Spider-Man mask is still firmly in place—
That is not New York.
That is definitely. Not. New York.
That skyline is something Peter has never seen before in his life. What is happening. What did Spot do?! Peter sits down hard on the roof, staring at the skyline and its imposing gothic architecture with a slacked jaw and even slacker mind.
A cold drop of rain hitting him directly on the nose, seeping into the fabric of his suit, is what shocks him into action.
Right. This isn't the first time Peter has had to deal with something strange, and it probably won't be the last. The first order of business is figuring out where the heck he landed.
He rapidly crawls down the side of the warehouse, deciding it might be wiser to walk around an unfamiliar city as Peter Parker rather than Spider-Man. He checks for cameras and prying eyes, then slips clothes on over the skin-tight spandex, throwing his gloves, mask, and web shooters into the bag. Shivering in the city's (Gotham? Is that what red hood had said?) cold air, he grabs his backup set of clothes from his bag and throws them on, too. He pulls his phone out to check the time, but it's dead. The screen has also acquired a new crack, so that's fun.
Peter's brain is still running a mile a minute as he exits the alley, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He's still aching all the way down to his bones, and now his wrists are itching as well. He usually itches when he's healing, but he hasn't taken any hits to his wrists recently. It's odd.
When Peter suddenly slams into a brick wall of a man at the end of the alley, he barely stops himself from scaling the actual brick wall out of pure fright.
"Holy sh—! Kid, how on earth— what're you, a ghost? What're you doing sneaking up on me like that?!"
Peter's eyes snap up at the voice, having been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed Red hood standing at the end of the alley, typing on a phone. Apparently, the man hadn't noticed him either- his voice was at least half an octave up from when Peter had heard him in the warehouse.
"Uh… sorry, Mr. Hood, sir-" Peter mentally kicked himself for sounding way to much like the crooks Hood has just beaten up- "Didn't mean to scare you, just, uh, headed home! You know, ha…" he trailed off at the man's disbelieving posture, but didn't the wheeze of surprise still present in his breath.
Peter hadn't meant to be sneaky, it just kind of happened. Ever since the spider bite, he'd had to deliberately make noise so he didn't startle people around him inadvertently. He supposed the shock of waking up in an unfamiliar city and the bone deep ache in his body had distracted him.
"Well- I mean, you're fine kid, but sh**t, I must have been out of it for you to sneak up on me like that!"
Peter's attitude shifted a bit under the man's obviously inflated opinion of his own senses. Sure, Peter was sneaky, but unless the guy had enhanced hearing he shouldn't be this surprised. "Well, you were pretty absorbed in your phone, so…" he trailed off, giving Hood a pointed look.
Red Hood seemed to find his attitude funny, at least. Peter could practically feel the smirk the man was giving him through the helmet, even if the man's body language didn't give anything away.
"Haha, very funny. "
They stood there for a moment in silence, sizing each other up. Peter supposed that it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that the man was enhanced- he had to rival captain America in terms of buff-ness. He was about to open his big mouth to tell him so, but was saved when Red Hood got there first.
"So… did ya need somethin, kid? I mean, I make sure that kids know I ain't gonna hurt em, but most don't just stand there mouthing off to me."
Oh.
Well, if the man was offering…
"Actually, yeah. I'm new in town, and I might be a bit… lost," Peter played up bashfully rubbing at the back of his neck. "Could you… point me to the library?"
Hood stares at him for a second before breaking out in laughter. After enduring Peter's glare for a moment, he gasps for breath. "Sorry, sorry, kid I just… you're new in town, and you get lost in crime alley of all places?" The vigilante snorted again. "And instead of, I dunno, immediately leaving the crappiest place in Gotham, you spend your time jump scaring the local crime lord and asking for directions? D**m, kid, you've got balls. "
While it might have been slightly unwise to sass a crime lord (Peter filed that particular tidbit away for later,) he assumed May's famous 'are you done?' stance, waiting for the guy to come up for air again.
"Like I said, new in town. And you haven't offered me any drugs yet, so I figure I may as well get un-lost for it gets any rainier. So, have you got directions or not?"
Red hood snorted one last time. "Hey, kid, for that level of pure snark, I'll take you there myself. Gosh, you remind me of me."
Peter grinned, following the man out of the alley. While it may not have been the brightest idea to follow a strange man around a strange city, he figured he could defend himself easily enough. Also, his spider sense was surprisingly silent about the man, even though he claimed to be a crime lord. He may as well get to a library anyways- with any luck, they'd have a computer he could use to figure out where he was. "Sick. Was it the clever dialogue, or the crazy good looks that convinced you?" Peter asks, offering the man what Mr. Stark would describe as a "crap eating grin" and what aunt May would-
Peter clamped down on the thought. May was gone, and he wasn't going to soil her memory with anything less than good thoughts.
"Uh… kid? You good?"
Peter tuned back in to find Red Hood had stopped a few feet ahead, staring at him with concern. Peter shrugged, shoving the emotions down to deal with later.
"Yeah, just missing my— oh my gosh, is that your bike?!" Peter scrambled forward, cooing over the incredibly over engineered motorcycle. There were so many parts, and gadgets, and functions on the thing, Peter could have spent hours poring over it.
He got the impression that Hood was experiencing a bit of emotional whiplash, as the man stood there for half a second before re-focusing on Peter. When he spoke, his voice gave away how pleased he was at Peter's praise of his ride.
"Yeah, built it myself." He straddled the bike with practiced ease. Peter could hear the grin leaking through his voice. "Hop on, squirt- one trip to Gotham public library, leaving now."
Peter stood frozen for a moment. "Uh… Mr hood, you don't have to drive me— I mean, I appreciate it, but I'm sure you have more important… things… to… do. Um," Peter trailed off at hoods unimpressed posture.
"Just get on the d**m bike, kid." his arms were crossed against his broad chest, his entire body radiating bemused impatience.
"Ok," Peter squeaked, slipping over the back of the seat. he'd never ridden a motorcycle before, even with another person, but he supposed there was a first time for everything. he flinched when the bike turned on, barely catching hood's muttered "Sorry," over the roar of the bike. his hands wrapped around the larger man's midsection, his body instinctively sticking to the seat so he wouldn't go flying off. it was unnecessary— the man's driving was practiced and smooth, even though Peter was positive he'd broken several traffic laws. Just as the noise was starting to become too much for Peter's enhanced senses, they came to a rumbling stop.
The courtyard was big. Like, big big. There were plenty of buildings around, and a pretty impressive fountain in the center. Beyond that was a huge, ornate building, with gargoyles at the corners of the walls, supporting the roof (Gargoyles. are you kidding me?!) and the words "GOTHAM PUBLIC LIBRARY" carved into the stone. A large clock tower emerged from the sloped top of the building, its huge white face placing the time a 4:42 pm. The building was gorgeous.
"Wow," Peter said under his breath. Red Hood snorted at him.
"Well, I guess this is my stop," Peter laughed nervously. there were a couple other people milling around the courtyard— kids with their families, Businessmen in suits, and college students rushing in and out of the library and the surrounding buildings. "Thanks, Mr. Red Hood— "
Hood shrugged. "Don't worry about it, kid. it's my job. needed to talk to a friend here, anyways."
Peter blinked, contemplating how "acting as a taxi service for random teenagers" fit into the job description of "local crime lord who also beats up criminals sometimes".
"Oh. Um, okay. thanks anyways."
Hood nodded again as the two awkwardly walked up the library steps. Some of the more well-to-do looking businessmen gave Hood dirty looks, while a few of the college students waved at him cheerily. one of them even did finger guns at him, further confusing Peter as to what the man's 'role' was.
"No problem, kid. you gotta name?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm Peter, nice to meet you," even if Peter wanted to trust the man, he was at least smart enough not to give his full name to a stranger and possible crime boss. but he was still polite.
The man snorted. "Red Hood." He said sarcastically, shaking Peter's offered hand with a firm grip. Peter was careful not to use too much strength in response.
The doors of the library opened, and Peter was shocked again. Somebody better call doctor Who, cause he could swear the place was bigger on the inside. Two upper floors ended in balconies that looked over the lobby, and the place was absolutely filled with books, tables, chairs, and anything else you could imagine. it was the best thing Peter had seen all day.
Noticing his awed look, hood turned away, muttering under his breath, "great, I've got another Tim on my hands. "
Peter didn't respond, as he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be able to hear that.
"Well, welcome to Gotham library. tons of books here, not that anyone in this dumpster fire of a city cares to read 'em. have fun, kid."
Peter thanked Hood again and scooted further into the library, looking for a computer he could access to figure out where on earth- well, hopefully on earth- he was. "thanks again Mr. Hood, see you around!" he whisper-shouted over his shoulder.
"Hey- not in crime alley again! It's not a place for kids, Peter!" Hood yelled back. Peter snorted when the librarian at the front desk, a woman in a wheelchair with red hair smoothed back in a neat bun, snapped "quiet, Hood! This is a library!" At the large man. A quiet "shut up, Babs." reached his ears as he walked away.
Even if he was a crime lord, Peter decided, the man had to have a pretty soft heart if he was toting teenagers around on his bike and getting effectively scolded by sweet librarians on the regular.
Barbara Gordon peered up at Red Hood with a quizzical look, one eyebrow quirked above the frame of her cat eye glasses. "So, you running a taxi service now? I know you've got a soft spot for kids, but you don't usually go toting them around."
Jason sniffed from under his helmet. "Kid was lost in crime alley, and looked like he just got beat up. I was on my way here anyways, may as well give him a ride." he sighed after a moment. "Oh, and he snuck up on me."
Babs paused.
"You got snuck up on by a teenager?"
"Yeah, scared the… crap out of me," Jason said, avoiding the curse word when Babs glanced meaningfully to the group of children reading nearby.
"Huh, odd. Maybe you're getting old, Jason…" Babs smirked conspiratorially when Jason glared at her. Although she couldn't see his face, the man was easy to predict— and to provoke.
"Har har. Just figured I'd let you know I busted another of black mask's weapon storehouses. I estimate about a week before Red Robin tracks him down again."
Babs' smirk returned. "Wanna bet?"
"Nope. I know you, I'm never taking a bet from you again, thanks but no thanks. You got anything else I should know for today?"
"Nah, it's been pretty quiet lately. B's been trying to work up the courage to invite you to family dinner again."
Jason smirked. "Nice try Babs, but B can fight his own battles. He's a big boy."
Babs glared at him. "I know he hurt you, but the rest of us miss you, too. Agent A keeps politely needling Bruce about it now, too."
A sigh. "Well, maybe I'll come for his sake- if B can ever work up the courage to talk to me!"
Babs winked. "Yeah, yeah. well, get back out there— I'm gonna head up to the clock tower pretty soon, get an early start on prep for tonight."
Hood nodded. even though he worked alone most of the time, he could still appreciate the extra leg up that oracle gave his fami— that is, the Bats, through her steady stream of info and tech support.
"sounds like a plan. see y'around, Babs."
Peter sat on a chair in front of a computer model he hadn't seen since elementary school, knees tucked up to his chest. He knows libraries usually had outdated tech, but this was ridiculous. It had taken the thing three minutes to boot up, and even longer to load in the library's login screen.
He'd stopped paying attention to Red Hood and "Bab's" conversation a few seconds ago. The only useful thing he'd discovered was that whatever vigilante scheme hood was running, Babs was in on it— she was probably the 'Oracle' Hood had been talking to earlier. A couple other names came up, which he would investigate when this stupid computer loaded, but they wouldn't do him much good right now.
He sighed in relief and exasperation when the computer finally opened. He blinked when he saw the date on the computer— it was a couple years behind. He brushed it off as old tech being dumb, but paused when he opened Google.
Or, apparently, Gooogle. He was sure there were only two O's in the browser's name.
It only got worse when he started 'gooogle'ing things. The word 'Gotham'? The results came up as "Gotham, New Jersey" with a ridiculous amount of news coverage for a city he had never heard of. (Also, New Jersey? Ew.) It seemed like the city was riddled with enough crime to give even the worst parts of New York a run for their money.
Searching "Spider-Man" resulted in "did you mean: 'Superman'? And pulled up a ton of info about a hero Peter had never heard of. The names 'iron man' 'captain America' and 'daredevil' got similar treatment.
Starting to dread what he'd find, Peter looked up the current date. It aligned with the computer's built in calendar, which was distressing to say the least.
More heroes came up. The Flash, Wonder Woman, Batman, Green Lantern, and dozens of others whom Peter had never heard of. Some familiar historical events were different, too- captain America had never existed, his role in World War Two instead being filled (kinda) by 'Wonder Woman'. Searching the names of the other avengers— both monikers and civilian names— came up empty.
Could Peter have fallen into a different universe?
The Spot had said something about the multiversal theory in his villain monologue, but Peter hadn't been paying attention. Had the man's wormholes broken not only space, but space-time and the fabric of reality?
Ok, this is officially catastrophic. A different universe.
Peter doesn't allow himself to break down. Not yet. He pulls up everything the internet knows about Gotham and its 'bats', and while it gives him some info, it's not a lot.
Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Spoiler, Black Bat, Bat Woman, Signal, Robin (why were there so many robins? Weird,) and maybe even more seemed to be the mysterious, cryptid-like vigilantes of Gotham city. Peter learned about the justice league, Gotham's history of terrorism and crime, and everything else he could get his hands on until he felt moderately up to date on the universe he had found himself in. looking up his own name only resulted in random people sharing the name- there was no 'Peter Parker' on the roles of Midtown High, and no May and Benjamin Parker. He didn't exist here.
…Moving on.
Next on the list, basic needs. Shelter, food, water— for all of those, he needed money. Peter mindlessly scratches at his itchy wrists and snorted at his own thoughts, before looking up the Daily Bugle.
He know some things had carried over to this universe from his own, so maybe-
No. Way.
How is it that J. J. Jameson is a constant between universes? …and why isn't he calling the bats 'menaces'…?
Feeling only a little offended, Peter begins formulating a plan. While the bats are a very popular topic within Gotham, (only being surpassed by the antics of local billionaire Bruce Wayne), there are very few clear pictures of them to work with, most news outlets relying on illustrations or the same few blurry photos. Peter still has his camera, and assuming JJJ acts the same between universes, be can pick right back up with his photography job, easy as pie. because of the danger posed by Gotham as a city, hero photography is an untapped well of profit- and Peter's particular skills are going to let him monopolize it.
Peter logged out of the computer nearly an hour later with a half-formulated plan in mind. (after wiping his search history, of course. No use in cluing in the local vigilantes on his plan before he even set it in motion.)
Priority number one was food, and then shelter. he had around 20 dollars in his backpack, along with the uneaten half of his packed lunch. Not a great start, but better than nothing.
Unfolding his slender limbs from the computer's chair, Peter glances around the library. Out of habit, he notes the security cameras, and their various blind spots. The library is surprisingly well guarded, with the exception of a single, nondescript broom closet labeled 'employees only' on the uppermost floor, towards the center of the building. The security cameras' only obvious blind spot is the door, and the area around it. curious, Peter sneaks up to the door. he doesn't hear anything behind it, and his spidey sense doesn't indicate danger— but the strange gap in the security coverage piques his interest. he carefully eases the door open, not sure what to expect. If nothing else, it may be a good place to eat his leftover food without the inconvenience of leaving the library (or putting the precious books in danger.)
At first glance, it really is just a closet- a couple brooms lean against a rack, with various other cleaning supplies filling the shelves. With his enhanced senses, however, Peter can detect a hidden panel in the drywall; with what seems to be a stairwell behind it, based on the echoes.
why would a janitor need a hidden stairwell? based on the location, and proximity to the building's clock tower, the staircase seems like it would be a simple maintenance pathway to the clock face, but it's hidden— and Peter's spider sense tells him there are cameras on the other side.
A hatch in the ceiling, however, gives him an idea. A bit of climbing reveals what seems to be a service elevator shaft, which peter easily scales. another maintenance hatch at the top opens up into the clock tower's attic.
a quick glance reveals that the space is almost completely unused. a few pallets are left over from construction, and there is a single power outlet set into the wall. the far end of the room holds a couple feet of frosty glass— the very top of the clock face, a large LED fixture hanging from the ceiling behind it to light it up at night.
While the space is incredibly dusty, it might be a good place to hide out until Peter can scrounge up enough money to get his own place— and if his suspicions are correct, he will be able to hear the Bats' 'woman in the chair' directly below him. It's an incredible stroke of luck, but Peter suspects he might deserve one after getting unceremoniously dumped in a different freakin' universe.
It only takes around 30 minutes to get set up in the space. While he doesn't have a cable for his phone, the outlet will be useful once he can get his hands on one— and something to charge his camera battery with. he has a couple web fluid cartridges left in his bag, so using a bit to weave a hammock for himself doesn't waste too much. The light from the clock-illumination light might get annoying, but placing his hammock higher up in the rafters will hopefully keep it dark enough for him to sleep— and being up high feels better, anyways.
"Home sweet home," Peter grumbles with a sigh, looking at his meager possessions. a single change of clothes, his camera, a notebook, his wallet, and some extra web fluid was all that his backpack had contained. The remains of his sack lunch disappeared quickly into his stomach, so he'd have to use his remaining 20 dollars wisely.
"Nothing to do until the bats come out," he decides, and clambers into his hammock to sleep off some of the effects of inter-dimensional jet lag.