Archive of Our Own

The sky looked as though it were about to collapse, fractured by the reflections of colliding universes. Something that should never have met was forced open by a single mistake, a selfishness committed by Peter Parker—Spider-Man. Who would have guessed that a single desire to fix his mistakes would bring the fate of the world to the brink of destruction. Guilt instantly enveloped him, especially since he had just seen his only family—the most important person in his life—killed because of his carelessness. Aunt May was gone, and Peter as Spider-Man couldn't prevent or save her. Fate seemed to be giving him a reprimand, or even punishment, for the selfishness he had wrought.

I have to make it right.

Standing before the sorcerer, Peter's eyes were filled with a settled resolve. If the world had descended into such chaos because of his selfish desire, then he would redeem it. His chin lifted, gazing at Dr. Strange for a long moment. His mouth stayed locked for a beat, drawing in a heavy breath.

"If this is too late, what if... what if everyone forgets who I am entirely? Not just part of it, but everyone in the world."

The words felt heavy. Words that should never come out of a sixteen-year-old boy. Peter Parker—standing there as the complete embodiment of a human and a hero who wanted to atone for his mistakes.

"What?"

Strange had never felt so shocked hearing something come out of the mouth of the teenager before him. Yet, remembering the memories they shared facing Thanos, and even when he looked into simulations of the future with the Time Stone—he should have already understood that the kid under Tony Stark's wing was quite mad.

Mad with a capacity for sacrifice and goodness.

"Cast a new spell and make everyone forget the existence of Peter Parker."

Peter stated it once more. His head held high, his breath steady, despite the wild pounding of a heart mixed with guilt, sorrow, and anger.

"That can be done—but it also means—I... all of us..."

There was no hesitation in Peter's eyes.

"Everyone you love will forget you completely."

"Do it. I'm ready to bear the consequences of my actions."

For the first time, Dr. Strange weighed the fate of the universe against the fate of a teenager living two lives. His lips pressed together as if reluctant to agree. Yet as a sorcerer, he had to ensure the universe stayed on its path and didn't collide until it shattered. There could be no selfishness in him.

With a heavy breath, Dr. Strange nodded slowly. Yet it felt as though something still caught in his chest, recalling a vital fact he knew about Peter Parker—something that might grant an exception to this agonizing request. His eyes stared deep, holding a feeling he had never experienced before. His mouth parted slightly and closed, then with a soft exhaled breath, Stephen spoke the truth.

"Peter, there is one thing you must know."

"Isn't the spell enough?? Then what if the world forgets Spider—"

Before Peter could finish, Stephen cut him off.

"That's not it. The problem is that erasing the existence of Peter Parker isn't enough. Your very existence has been an anomaly from the start."

Stephen take one heavy breath, " you are a force of nature."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Anomalous. How could his existence be an anomaly from the start? Peter was merely a boy born and raised by a single parent. His mother was declared dead when he was six, and after that, he lived with his uncle and aunt. He only gained his superpowers when he was thirteen. Everything changed only after he mutated and Uncle Ben passed away.

"You aren't from this world, Peter. Your home universe is very far from here."

Words failed Peter upon hearing this. Had he been living in the wrong universe all this time? How could that be? His brain was too exhausted to process it all. He only wanted the world's threat to end, all universes to return to their places without costing millions to trillions of lives. His duty as Spider-Man was to ensure everyone survived, even if he had to suffer.

"Then what's the solution?" That was all Peter could manage to say.

How ironic, causing chaos in a world that was never meant to be his.

"Not just a memory-wipe spell—I also have to send you back to where you belong."

Stephen felt his throat choke on threads of yarn. Guilt, regret, and hope. Erasing someone's existence and sending them far away to a strange world. What would Tony Stark feel if he were here and knew that his efforts to bring Peter Parker back through sacrifice had to go to waste.

Yet this was both atonement and a blank slate Stephen was handing to Peter. How that paper would be written or left blank—all depended on Peter Parker.

"Then do it. Anything, as long as they—they can survive and live normally."

Cold sweat dripped down Dr. Strange's temple, his hands trembling. The cracks grew larger; there was no time left.

"You're a good kid, Peter. This world is very lucky to have an anomaly like you—"

"I hope that world is good to you." A hope or blessing he wished to offer one last time.

"Thank you, Dr. Strange."

"Go. Meet them and say your goodbyes. You don't have much time."

When seconds felt so meaningful, everything moved in slow motion. Each second ticked away as Peter swung down to meet...

Peter's steps felt impossibly heavy as he walked back to meet those remaining amidst the widening, gaping tears in the sky. This decision would flip his life 180 degrees. Everything he had built would vanish. The world would move on as if he had never been born or lived here. His swing halted; he walked carrying the memory of every second of his life in this world. It felt like walking across a collapsing bridge. There was no foothold to turn back. All that remained was to move forward and face this sentence.

His eyes landed on the two figures he cherished so dearly—MJ and Ned. And behind them stood Peter Two and Peter Three, the alternate versions of himself who seemed to understand what was happening. Peter was truly grateful to have them, even if only for a brief moment. It felt like having older brothers helping him fix his mistakes, giving him the courage to take risks and remember who he truly was. A hero named Spider-Man. They all knew what the look in Peter's eyes meant. They could feel the vibration of despair and sincerity radiating from the teenager's frame.

"Peter..."

MJ's voice trembled violently. The girl stepped forward instantly, wrapping her arms tightly around Peter's body as if knowing that if she let go even for a second, her boyfriend would vanish from her world forever.

"Don't tell me this is... what are you going to do?" Her voice shook. For some reason, MJ could sense this was the last time she would ever see Peter. Whatever foolish thing he was about to do this time, she would utterly hate him for it.

A warm embrace heavy with meaning. Slowly, Peter returned the hug with every remaining ounce of strength he had. His chest constricted, his throat choked by suppressed tears he held back with all his might. He wanted to say everything would be fine, that he would find a way out like he always did. But for the first time, there was no way out. Everything felt too heavy. Time was choking the air from his lungs.

"I have to do this, MJ," Peter whispered, his voice cracking near the girl's ear. "It's the only way so you guys... so this world stays safe."

You can't be tied to me anymore. Let me bear it all.

His best friend, Ned, drew near, joining the embrace with tears flowing heavily. Ned understood the principles of Peter Parker's life all too well. His best friend had a bad habit of self-sacrificing selfishness.

Ned's voice sounded soft, frightened, and wounded. "Man, don't do this. We can find another way. We're a team—"

"There's no time left, Ned," Peter interrupted softly, gently pulling away from their embrace. He looked intently at his best friend and his girlfriend, recording every detail of their faces in his memory, acutely aware that a minute from now, they wouldn't even remember his name. And they would start fresh as normal teenagers. Both were brilliant, their futures secured. Peter didn't need to worry about anything.

"Thank you for sticking by me all this time. I promise I'll never drag you into any dangers involving the multiverse again. Maybe just college assignments."

That's right, you'll live happily.

Every nerve in his body tried to capture the warmth of the two of them. A bitter, sincere smile curved across his bruised face. Slowly, Peter turned his gaze to the other two versions of himself. Peter Two and Peter Three watched him with eyes full of profound empathy and deep respect—fellow Spider-Men who both knew what it felt like to lose everything for the sake of saving others. And they knew how selfish they could be when it came to everyone else's safety. They could only look at Peter One with eyes full of meaning.

Peter Two stepped forward, giving Peter's shoulder a firm pat. "You're doing the right thing, Kid. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Stay a good kid."

Peter Three nodded, a warm expression hidden behind his unmasked face. "Hey... wherever you end up, remember one thing: you're never alone. You're amazing, Peter."

Peter wiped his eyes for a second, taking a shaky breath. There was no use hiding anything from himself, even if they were alternative versions.

"It's an honor to meet and fight with both of you. I'm so grateful. I'm sorry for everything," he murmured.

"Don't think about it, we're glad to help." Peter Two gave a gentle pat to the top of Peter's head. His smile was truly regal, warm, and comforting.

"Remember Peter, never hesitate to start a fresh page."

Peter Three nodded, giving a thumbs-up.

"And remember, with great power comes great responsibility."

A phrase he had heard before Aunt May died. It would serve as his guiding principle from now on. Therefore, this was the beginning of his atonement. In his new world, Peter would never give himself the chance to be selfish again. Peter swore it.

"Alright, see you all."

Peter gave one last look at Ned and MJ. Offering a final smile. His shoulders felt heavy when both Peters clapped his shoulders simultaneously, giving him a small push to swing back toward Dr. Strange.

"Journey well, Spider-Man."

The sky grew wilder—the fractures couldn't hold much longer. Peter could see Dr. Strange pouring every ounce of his power to hold them back just so he could offer one final farewell. His body stood tall, hands clenched. A single nod was enough to show he was ready. But Stephen looked far from ready to lose everything.

"You're a good kid. Tony—we're proud of you."

Hearing that name brought a wistful smile to Peter's face. From now on he would never be able to meet him—nor Mrs. Potts, Morgan, Happy, Happy, Harry, all the Avengers. A fair price for the mistakes he had made.

"See you, Dr. Stephen Strange. Thank you, and I'm sorry."

"Yeah... See you."

"Journey well, Peter."

The next second, the spell began to be chanted. The air vibrated, the universe being rewritten. The tremor of every multiverse filled Peter's nervous system. His body slowly wrapped in a light that was cold—yet felt familiar. As if every single molecule in his body yearned for it, or rather, returned to where it belonged. His soul felt pulled out right along with his physical form. Though blurry, Peter could witness the shift of worlds. The cracking sky transformed into empty space—his body floated for moments before being reeled in by a powerful source of gravity. Empty space instantly morphed into a sky that looked both the same and entirely different. The sky looked so gloomy, and his spider-sense instantly flared with danger—or caution. His head ached terribly, his heart felt squeezed, and breath caught in his throat. One thing was certain:

—he was falling from the sky.

---------------

Everything hurt, every single inch of his body feeling as though it were being pierced by a thousand needles. The shift in atmosphere and gravity made his head spin. His body struggled to adapt. His spider-sense went haywire—too many potential threats creating chaos within the sensors of his brain. Heaven only knew what kind of world he had entered. Peter could only hope his home universe wasn't all that different from the one he had left behind.

Peter fell, yet it didn't hurt, even though he could sense the velocity of his descent was fast and extreme enough to kill him—or leave him severely injured. Instead, it felt somewhat soft, whether because his body had already gone numb or because the magic that brought him here granted him a stroke of luck. Everything felt like too much, his ears ringing loudly. Peter tried to move his body, to focus his vision. Trying to process where he was right now. His vision slowly began to form, shifting from staring straight up to finally being able to glance around.

The sky, which had previously been filled with clouds, was now turning dark. The air around him began to shift, and there was no good omen in this change of time. Not with the condition of his body, which still wasn't fully recovered.

C’mon, Peter move. Don’t give up right now.

“Hah—“

His body jolted upward, followed by a rapid, gasping breath. His chest ached, his hands clutching his left side. Pounding far too fast. His eyes squeezed shut, trying to restore a stable rhythm. His left hand touched a layer of concrete—it seemed he had fallen onto the roof of a building. Peter groaned as he forced his legs to move, which of course didn't go according to plan. He fell a few times because his knees felt weak. In the end, he crawled to find a wall to support his body. Interdimensional travel turned out to be agonizing.

“Shi—this is bad,” Peter groaned, running a rough hand through his hair.

Something was strange; this place looked grim. Way too grim, and the night sky made his spider-sense go crazier. Peter detected many dangers nearby. For some reason, his body felt different too. His voice—sounded much smaller and higher-pitched.

No—that’s not what I should be concerned with now. I gotta find a safe place.

Right. Peter needed to find a safe place now. He needed to hide and recover. His injuries weren't too severe; his body just needed time to adapt. His eyes stared around; the buildings as far as the eye could see looked utterly Gothic. There were statues resembling demons or something akin to bats. Things that probably only existed in horror movies. His home universe couldn't possibly be a world full of horror, could it?? Could it?

“Alright, ignore those first, let’s see if I can move, walk, or run—or just check if I'm in good shape and what things I have on.” Peter shook his head rapidly. Trying to ignore the pain in his body. This was nothing; he’d been crushed by buildings before and was still alive. This is nothing.

First, Peter was still wearing the Iron Spider suit. That was a good sign, meaning he still had his defense and Karen. At least Peter wasn't entirely alone here—Karen was still around, though she seemed to be malfunctioning. He needed to fix that—Peter needed a computer or something that would allow him to access programming. It looked like his luck wasn't entirely terrible. Then Peter's eyes shifted to an object nearby—his backpack! It seemed Lady Luck had taken his side. Or rather, Dr. Strange had provided a tiny bit of assistance before he was completely forgotten. Without a second thought, he grabbed the bag and checked what was inside.

This is...

Peter’s eyes locked onto a single object. A storage box Peter had kept for a long time. A memento from his mother, which Peter received after news of her disappearance or death. Aunt May and Uncle Ben were the ones who handed it over. A box containing several videotapes, polaroid photos, and letters. A bitter smile touched his lips; he still remembered clearly when he was little, whenever he missed his mother or even his father, Peter would always play the videotape showing an acrobatic circus performance. A tradition on his birthday, reading every written letter, watching the circus video, and imagining his mother right beside him to hug him. A small image of himself no older than 6 years old, imagining what it would be like if his father was there too.

Mom, I'm sorry... I wish you could be here with me. I’m now back to where I should be in the first place.

A heavy sigh escaped Peter's lips, and he placed the box back into the bag. His hands began searching for something that could help him now. Aside from that box, there were five one-hundred-dollar bills, not too bad. Peter could buy something useful to survive here. Or at least he needed to figure out how much the cost of living was. For all he knew, this world had an even harsher capitalist system or perhaps a better one.

“I gotta find a hideout shelter first. Let’s check this building first.”

He slung the backpack over his shoulder. Peter deactivated his Iron Spider suit; thank goodness nanotechnology made everything easy. Peter didn't need to store or wash it. One press and the Iron Spider suit transformed into a pair of headphones. Peter also activated the sensory overload treatment feature, ensuring his ears wouldn't hurt too badly from hearing too many sounds at once. He needed to get used to his spider-sense so it wouldn't act up so wildly—or at least keep it under control.

Ignoring the pain in his body, Peter entered the building using the door—or rather, forcing open the iron latch attached to it. Peter needed to find a hiding spot immediately, because his spider-sense was telling him—or rather, screaming inside his brain—to get off the rooftop right away. Not wanting to take any risks, Peter quickly shut the door and bolted down the stairwell.

Peter moved on pure instinct, opening every door and hallway to figure out if there was still a space he could occupy. He didn't have much time; the injuries and overwhelming sensory effects from the spell Dr. Strange cast on him were starting to take their toll. He could only rely on adrenaline and survival instincts to keep running in silence, avoiding any window corners that might be exposed to CCTV cameras.

As Peter turned the corner of a dark corridor, his spider-sense—which had been screaming—suddenly shifted into a constant hum; not an immediate threat, but a warning of a trap.

Peter stopped, narrowing his eyes against the darkness. Before him, an old, dusty wooden door looked completely ordinary, hanging half-crooked on a single rusted hinge. But his spider-instinct sensed something was wrong. Something heavily guarded.

Slowly, Peter adjusted the noise-canceling intensity of his headphones; he had to make sure there wasn't a single soul inside this room. But all he heard was the sound of static breaking and crackling in his ears. The silence of an empty corridor. This door in front of him looked quite suspicious; his spider-sense was telling him to be careful. There was a trap.

Using his fingertips, Peter relied on his heightened senses and remaining agility—he felt along the doorframe. Sure enough. There was an extremely thin optical pressure sensor and a hidden tripwire connected to an improvised explosive device. If he had stepped carelessly, that door would have blown up half of this floor.

A safe house.... The owner must be some sort of secret agent or hero or vigilante.

Instead of opening the door, Peter chose another way. He leaped over the sensor-rigged floor, crawling lightly along the damp wall like a shadow, then slipped through an upper ventilation shaft whose glass had broken long ago. Peter didn't want to risk his presence being known by the safe house owner. He just needed to borrow—to stealthily ask for a first-aid kit and water to wash up. That was all.

As soon as he landed silently on the floor inside the room, a familiar scent greeted him: the smell of fresh gunpowder, high-grade gun lubricant, the scent of cold coffee drying in a ceramic cup, and a faint hint of antiseptic. Peter's suspicion was right; the owner of this place was someone dangerous, or at least someone mixed up in the underworld or a vigilante.

The room was dim, illuminated by the faint glow of a yellow neon light. Unlike the rundown exterior, the interior was remarkably neat. There was a steel workbench cluttered with dead computer monitors, sturdy shelves holding ballistic-plated tactical vests, neatly labeled ammo crates, and an open wall safe displaying a row of short-barreled firearms. In the corner of the room, there was a simple folding cot with a worn military blanket.

This is clearly someone who is like Bucky or a Deadpool kinda person. Those weapons are stacked—ready to use.

Luckily, no one was there. Peter let out a long breath, his tense shoulders finally dropping slightly. This place was empty, quiet, and most importantly, dry and safe from the street-eyes of Gotham. Peter could borrow this place briefly; he wouldn't take more than necessary. He just needed to tend to his wounds a little and clean up. At least Peter needed to look normal so as not to draw suspicion or extra attention from the city's inhabitants.

With heavy footsteps, Peter set his bag on the floor. He began to walk; this place had a clean bathroom and hot water. At least that would make his body feel much better. And Peter was sure that taking a box of first-aid supplies wouldn't make the safe house owner angry or even notice. Peter was just borrowing it; he would definitely return it once he was much more stable.

I hope the owner doesn't mind too much... But just to be sure I gotta erase my steps here.

“Alright, let’s get cleaned up and clear this wound.”

As soon as he stepped into the bathroom, Peter stripped off all his clothes. There was only one spare outfit left in his bag, and Peter was extremely grateful for that. He just needed to wash his clothes more often. Immediately he shed his loose garments—

Wait, loose??

Peter’s face twitched for a moment. He began to notice that his body looked much smaller. His hands still had muscle, as did his frame—it just looked softer or smaller. His head instantly snapped toward the mirror, which seemed too high up compared to usual, yet he could still clearly see his reflection in the glass.

“Huh.”

“Huh?!”

“HUHHH?!”

Peter’s eyes widened in shock. His hands frantically felt his face, which looked completely different from what he remembered. This face was the face of himself around 10 or 12 years old. Was this a side effect of interdimensional travel or the spell? Why on earth did he get younger?? Peter was completely speechless. It seemed Lady Luck was laughing at his miserable fate.

“O-okay... Peter calm down... it’s fine. You just look younger, that’s it.”

IT’S NOT FINE.

His breathing turned ragged, Peter tightly gripping the sides of his head. The reality that had just hit him was enough to give him a mild heart attack. With him being back under fifteen years old, it would be terribly hard to find a job to make money. His survival conditions had instantly jumped to hardcore mode.

Peter shook his head. Finding money could wait; he’d think about it later. Right now, the priority was showering, cleaning his wounds, and getting outside to gather information. Instantly, water began to rain down from the showerhead, warm water washing over his body. Dirt, dried blood, and sweat melted away from his skin. His hand reached for the bottle of body wash, dispensing as much as he needed.

Mr. Vigilante, mercenary, or whatever you are—thanks for the help, I swear I’ll repay you one day.

It didn't take long for Peter to finish cleaning up. He dried himself off with the clothes he had used earlier for a moment before changing into the dry clothes from his bag. A little loose—but that was better than wearing nothing at all. Peter grabbed the first-aid kit sitting there, stuffing it into his backpack. He needed to erase his tracks here, ensuring nothing was left behind. Peter immediately walked over—crawling up to the ceiling using the ventilation shaft to exit the room. At least his shrunken body gave him that advantage.

“Alright, let’s see what kind of world universe I'm in right now.”

I gotta do something to fix Karen.

Peter actually wanted to use the computer equipment inside this safe house. But that was far too risky, what if there was an alarm or an auto-signal triggered the moment the computer was used. Even though the computer looked a bit outdated—a model maybe five years behind—the owner of this place was definitely no ordinary person, and Peter refused to take the risk. He would look for a public library or salvage scrap parts that could still be used.

With careful movements, Peter crawled back through the exact same ventilation shaft, making sure not a single speck of dust or trace was left behind inside the safe house. He clutched his backpack tightly to his chest. The cold air instantly greeted him the moment he pushed open the unlocked attic window and leaped out onto the fire escape outside the building.

The atmosphere outside immediately assaulted his senses. This strange city in the middle of the night wasn't just any ordinary place; it felt alive in a dark and suffocating way. The sky was covered in thick, dark gray clouds, nearly black, without a single star daring to pierce through the pollution and thin fog creeping among the tall, Gothic-architecture buildings. Streetlights cast faint, flickering yellow glows, reluctantly illuminating streets slick with leftover rain.

The scent of wet asphalt, old factory smoke, and the distinct smell of the sea blended together, creating an atmosphere that instantly made Peter’s spider-sense vibrate with low-level caution.

What kind of universe am I in right now... this is kinda worse than New York, Peter muttered internally, taking a long sigh as he pulled the hood of his oversized hoodie down to cover most of his small face. Even with the headphones over his ears, he could still catch unpleasant sounds from the streets below.

From the rooftop where he stood, the view of the city stretched out before him. In the distance, skyscrapers rose sharply like giant fangs ready to tear the sky apart, adorned with stone gargoyle statues watching the streets from the heights. This place was much gloomier, dirtier, and felt infinitely more dangerous than Queens or Manhattan. There were no bright neon billboards or bustling tourist crowds. All that remained was a chilling silence in narrow alleyways, punctuated by distant police sirens wailing far off and the occasional pop of gunfire.

Peter leaped down lightly from the fire escape, landing silently on the cracked concrete sidewalk. Even though his body had now shrunk to the size of a ten-year-old, his muscle reflexes and spider strength remained perfectly intact. Peter was grateful the dimensional shift hadn't stripped him of his powers—otherwise, he’d be sinking even deeper into a streak of bad luck.

He pulled his hoodie tighter to seek warmth, hiding his hands in his pockets, and began walking down the deserted sidewalk. His eyes vigilantly scanned every street corner, dark alleyways, and shady strangers passing by with suspicious movements across the street. With his current size, Peter knew he was easy prey for Gotham’s street thugs if he wasn't careful.

Stepping faster, Peter navigated the gloomy alleys. Hoping he wouldn't get mugged or harassed by criminals. The vibe in this place was thoroughly unpleasant, much too humid. It felt as though a natural whisper urged people toward crime.

Okay, my theory is solidifying, this world is definitely a horror universe.

“I gotta go silently and fast,” he whispered softly to himself. Peter made sure he didn't get caught by any security cameras around the city. Several times he crossed paths with pedestrians—but they looked terrifying and on edge. Peter had no desire to ask them for directions.

Peter’s feet kept moving at a brisk pace until he reached a convenience store that was still open. As soon as he stepped inside, Peter could feel the cashier’s eyes lock onto him. The man’s posture turned defensive, one hand resting inside a drawer where Peter could hear the unmistakable click of a firearm. Nervously, Peter walked closer.

“Uhmm... excuse me, I’d like to buy a newspaper—oh, and some drinks and snack bars too.” His voice sounded small and timid. Peter tried hard not to look like a robber. What kind of place was this, where even a cashier felt the need to be on guard against a kid??

The cashier’s expression didn't soften into friendliness—Nico was the name printed on his nametag. The man simply gave a sharp nod with his chin. “Just grab it and pay, kid. I’ve got a gun, so don’t try anything funny.”

Peter quickly grabbed a few protein snack bars and two bottles of water. Heading back to the register, he picked up a newspaper sitting there. He opened his backpack and pulled out his cash. He was slightly surprised by the prices, which turned out to be a bit cheaper than he anticipated.

“Thank you,” Peter immediately stuffed the snack bars and water bottles into his bag and left the convenience store. He ducked into a small alleyway, squatted down, and began reading whatever information he could gather from the newspaper and flyers.

“Gotham City... New Jersey??”

My luck really isn't any better than before...

“Wait—why did I even buy a newspaper? I should’ve just gone to a library—though I did need a guide map for this city.”

With a small sigh, Peter folded the newspaper and tucked it away. It could double as a sleeping mat later. He just needed to use the flyer map to navigate Gotham City. Find a public library—or some place with electronic equipment.

“Huft... Let’s see—“

Just as Peter wanted to resume his journey, his steps froze when he felt something watching and approaching him. His spider-sense flashed a minor warning.

Peter snapped his head upward.

Oh great--

“The hell are you doin' out here, kid?"