Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pain. The first thing that Peter registers as he blinks himself to consciousness. A deep ache spread throughout his body, joints stiff. There’s a pounding in his head, he felt as if his eyes were going to burst from their sockets.

Underneath the heavy pounding, his sixth sense thrums in warning. It wasn’t a sharp strike at the base of his skill like when he was dodging bullets or Wade’s katanas when they sparred, but merely a dull twinge that warned him of the dangerous nature of his surroundings.

Not that he could feel much beyond the throbbing of his head, that was until he sat up and a white hot sensation burned from his ribs. Yup, they were probably broken, bruised at best Peter thought as he bit back a groan.

Peter manages to get into a defensive crouch, ribs screaming in protest at the movement, but he ignores it in favour of taking in his surroundings. He was definitely underground based on the lack of sunlight and smell of dirt, sewage and mold. His eyes scan over everything, just as Natasha had taught him, 

Survey your surroundings, they tell you everything you need to know. Be on guard at all times, use that spidey sense of yours and act on instinct, it’ll keep you alive. 

He cringed at the name he’d given his sixth sense, his spidey sense, he really was lame.

There may have been no natural light, however, there was a bright green glow that was coming from some sort of pit, the glow was coming from whatever substance filled said hole.

The matter was a vibrant green, and set his sixth sense off, danger, danger, danger it warned him.

Peter backed away from the pit, even as the scientist in him begged to take a sample and find out what it was, he’d never encountered anything of the sort.

He rose slowly, cradling his torso with one arm and keeping his senses turned for any sign of danger. Wherever Peter was, it was made of a mixture of stone, rock and metal pillars.

He didn’t know where he was but knew he needed to get out of there, the pit was dangerous and he didn’t want to stick around to find out why. So, Peter left, he followed the path, ensuring it was safe through his sixth sense.

The pounding in his head had lessened as his healing factor kicked in, he could already feel his ribs were feeling better. Not healed by any means, but better at least.

Peter made his way up and it appeared he’d been in a basement somewhere because he found himself to be in a rather large building, the building however seemed to be abandoned. There were holes in the walls and window, dust covered every surface, the only noise being Peter’s breathing.

Even so, he treaded carefully as he made his way through said building and out the front door, he needed to get to the city, get back home… if there was a home to return to.

Once outside the building, Peter’s sixth sense dulls, not completely quiet, but enough to know whatever that pit could do, he was safe from it and as such, Peter surveys himself once more.

He was wearing a tatted black hoodie, holes littered said item of clothing. The cool night air rushed through these holes, chilling Peter and bringing his attention to the dark sky above home, stars hidden behind the thick pollution in the air, but with his enhanced senses he was still able to see them with relative ease. Next Peter peered beneath his hoodie to find his shirt to be grey with the words  

Think like a proton, Stay positive.

Written on it in bold blue letters. He was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, a hole in the right knee that had been worn through. They were the clothes he’d been wearing on the bus before he’d put on his Spider-man suit and ended up in space.

It seems that his suit didn’t make the trip to wherever he was now. Oh well Peter thought, he was alive, hurt but alive and that’s what mattered. He could figure out his superhero business later, it wasn’t exactly his first priority. 

Food. Water. Shelter. Those are your first priority. I don’t care what you have to do to get it, steal, break in, do what you must. This is your survival, put yourself first, the needs of others, your morals, they come second, they’ll do you no good if you're dead. 

Natasha’s words came back to him, blunt as they were, he needed food, water and shelter. He could do that. Peter closed his eyes and searched out with his ears, he listened for the thrum of electricity, of people, of civilization.

It took a moment but Peter found it, to the west. So, with a hand still cradling his ribs, Peter started the trek towards the city, his sixth sense keeping him aware and stopping him from tripping on numerous occasions.

Each step shot sharp pains from his ribs, even as they healed more. He was no stranger to broken ribs, having broken them many times as Spider-man, especially when he was first starting out, but they never got easier, the pain still forced him to grit his teeth and take deep, even breaths.

It was silent as Peter walked, the only sounds the soft thump thump thump of his steps and his calculated breathing. He followed the sounds of the city which got progressively louder as he neared, the city coming into focus, the lights that were still on… and the large… bat? that was in the sky.

Peter faltered in his steps, stumbling slightly as he looked at what appeared to be a large light that shone in the sky, shaped like a bat. What on earth was that? He wondered.

The closer Peter got to the city, the louder his sixth sense was, and great, that was exactly what Peter needed, to be lost in a city full of crime.

Sighing to himself, Peter walked through the outskirts of the city, keeping to the dark shadows and concealing himself as much as possible, a run in with a mugger or villain of some kind is really not what he needs right now.

He makes his way through the city, not sure where he’s going but trusting his senses to make sure he was safe… even if his sixth sense was ringing loudly in the back of his mind, louder here than in other areas of the city.

But he wasn’t one to doubt his sixth sense, it had saved him countless times from a variety of injuries, from punches and knives to bullets and laser blasts.

So, he let himself be pulled in the right direction… wherever that may be, trying not to get lost in memories and questions, they wouldn’t be of any use right now, he could dwell on where he was and how he was going to get back later.

Eventually his feet stopped and Peter found himself to be outside what appeared to be an old fire station, now however, the windows were boarded up and there were holes all throughout the building, yet his sixth sense had deemed this safe enough.

Peter doesn’t want to force open the door or windows in case someone saw, so he went around the side of the building and that's where he found a fire escape.

Perfect.

He clambered his way up the fire escape and slipped through the window that hadn’t been boarded up, just smashed through. He was careful as he climbed through, glass littering the floor and he didn’t want glass breaking through his pair of shoes that were already on their last days, barely being held together.

Once he’d made it safely within the building, Peter’s sixth sense dulled to a low thrum, indicating he was safe… or as safe as he could be, in this building.

Therefore, he did a sweep through of the building, he didn’t find much, some old firefighter jackets, a locker room with showers that he prayed would work but didn’t have the willpower to try… just in case they didn’t, Peter didn’t think he could handle that tonight.

He’d also found the kitchen which surprisingly had a few cans of non-perishables in it, he near cried of relief.

Food, check.

Shelter, check.

Water… would hopefully be checked in the morning.

For now, Peter’s body begged him to sleep, his muscles aching and begging for relaxation. So, Peter gathered up the jackets and placed them in a makeshift bed in the corner of the floor, his eyes promptly falling closed as sleep took over. 

- - - 

Peter opened his eyes to find himself encased in glowing green liquid. He can’t breathe. Fear shoots through Peter, he opens his mouth to gasp but the green liquid fills his mouth, choking him.

Panic claws at Peter as he desperately tries to push his way out of the green liquid, body thrashing. His lungs burn as the rest of his body screams at him in protest at the movement, but he breaks the surface of the green liquid.

He breathes in desperately, coughing out the green liquid as he greedily gasps for air. Tears are streaming down his face as he splutters, the burning sensation in his lungs dimming.

He promptly throws himself out of the green liquid, his body falling to the hard ground a few feet away with a loud thump, a loud crack is heard. Shit. Were those his ribs?

B efore Peter can dwell on it, he’s blinded with pain and lets out a loud groan, followed by several whimpers. He tries to sit up but fails as black spots dance at the edge of his vision.

He tries again, words slurring as he attempts to get up and understand what was happening. He fails and this time he is swept away by unconsciousness, his body going slack.

- - - 

Peter shoots up with a gasp, the dream, memory? he wasn’t entirely sure, replaying again and again.

He cursed himself for not taking a sample when he had the chance, if it was a memory and he had been in that green pit of danger, he needed to know what was in it and any possible side effects.

His breaths were ragged as he stood, hands shaking. He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, instinctively seeking for the heartbeat of Aunt May or Mr. Stark

He found neither.

Their heartbeats had always calmed him when he panicked, now however, he had neither, nor Ned’s or MJ’s or any of the Avengers

He was alone and he had to deal with that fact.

He knew it wasn’t healthy but he needed to ground himself, to bring himself back to reality so Peter rolled up a sleeve and dragged his nail across his forearm, breaking skin. He watched as blood welled up from the wound before it closed.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Slowly, Peter’s heart slowed and breaths came out more evenly, his mind began to clear as his hands stopped shaking.

Deep down he knew he shouldn't, that there were healthier, better ways for him to slow his panic, to ground himself once more, but pain had always been the quickest and easiest solution. 

He’d first started after he’d gotten his powers, when he felt too much like a freak of nature, an abomination and he wanted to feel something other than disgust.

He’d turned to pain.

T hen after Uncle Ben had died and he felt ashamed in himself for not saving the man, he felt numb.

He'd turned to pain.

Or when the memories of Skip haunted him in his sleep, pain was always there, a safe haven of sorts to escape the memories, escape the numbness and loathing and nausea.

Even if it wasn’t right. 

Water.

He needed to wash the blood off his arm. He barely registers it as his feet move, leading him to the showers that he’d found the night before.

His hands find the handle and pull, at first there’s nothing before a trickle of water starts to leak from the showerhead. That trickle soon becomes more forceful until the shower is spraying with decent pressure, not great, but it was something and that’s what mattered.

Peter let out a sigh of relief as he thrust his arm under the stream of water, the coldness of the water waking him up and snapping him out of his daze. The water runs red as the blood washes from Peter’s arm and slides down the drain, his arm now clean, only a slightly pink scar left behind.

His healing factor was incredible, it healed his wounds at an amazing speed, yet, it never stopped his wounds from scarring.

He bore every wound he’d ever gotten, from his arms and thighs that were littered with cuts to the stab wound in his upper back and gunshot wound in his side. They healed quickly but all scarred, his body a canvas littered with scars, each telling a story of its own.

There was just one wound that had no scar, no proof that it had ever happened… his dusting. He didn’t have a raised white scar like his thighs did or the sunken scar he had on his shoulder, nothing at all. The only proof of him dying was well his own memories.

Or so he thought.

 Peter shut off the water and made his way to the sink, finding a broken mirror above it. Still he was able to see his reflection in it.

“What the fuck!” He exclaimed, grabbing at his hair.

For the most part, it was the same, his familiar brown curls, unruly as they were, sat atop his head, however, there was a streak of pure white hair that sat in the bundle of brown.

He blinked, rubbed his eyes and no it was still there. The hair didn’t look dyed or bleached, it looked like it had been there the whole time, it was perfectly white, a stark contrast to his darker curls and he had no idea how it got there.

Perhaps it was the dusting, or that pit he had been in (if his dream really was a memory). He didn’t know. He rubbed his eyes once more holy shit, why were they green?

His eyes were brown, like cinnamon Aunt May used to tell him. And though his eyes still had some brown, they were tinged green, an unnatural shade of green… a bright green that reminded him of a certain pit he had just left. 

“Shit,” Peter sighs in resignation, and now he normally wasn’t one to swear, but he's pretty sure this situation deemed it acceptable.

Whatever that pit was, it had done something to him and he needed to figure out what before things got any worse and with his luck it would get worse.

Peter took a deep breath and walked from the bathroom, he had lots to do today. He needed to figure out where he was, why he was here, how to get home and how to survive in the meantime.

Light work… right?

He let out a huff of dread at the thought of the long list of things he needed to do and figure out, but there was no point dwelling on it, so he makes his way through the fire station, out the fire escape and steps into the street. 

Chapter Text

The moment Peter stepped into the street his sixth sense became a low buzz in the back of his head as it had been the night before.

Peter faltered slightly, in New York there was danger for sure, but he'd never experienced this innate level of danger at all moments. Wherever he'd ended up clearly isn't anywhere good if his sixth sense is acting up like this.

At that moment said sixth sense spiked in warning and Peter allowed himself to be pushed into the wall, not wanting to give away his abilities in the unfamiliar environment; who knew what might happen to him if someone found out.

His face was shoved into the hard stone of the brick wall as a gruff voice said

“Give me everything you got,”

Peter sighed in resignation, he hadn’t even walked 10 paces and was already being mugged, cursing his Parker luck. When Peter made no move to get out a wallet and give the man anything he was pulled back and shoved into the wall with more force.

“I said give me everything you got,” the man demanded.

“Bold of you to assume I have anything,” Peter snorted.

The man paused, clearly not expecting this response.

The next moment Peter was being thrown to the pavement, a foot closed in on his stomach and his sixth sense screamed in warning, his ribs weren’t healed yet and a kick to the stomach would not help.

Should he have stopped the kick, probably, did he, absolutely not. He let the man drive his foot into Peter’s torso, a sickening crunch coming from his fragile ribs.

If there was any doubt that they were broken before, well, this man had just cleared it. Peter let out a groan of pain, it didn’t matter how many times he’d broken his ribs, they always sucked.

The man just sneered at him before stalking off down the street no doubt going to find someone else to mug after his unsuccessful attempt with Peter.

Peter picked himself up from the pavement, nobody paying him any mind, ignoring his presence. Pricks, nobody even cared to help.

Cradling his torso in an all too familiar way at this point, Peter continued down the street, a few broken ribs wouldn’t stop him from finding out where he was.

Did he have any idea where he was going? No, but he trusted that either he’d stumble upon something useful, like a library, and maybe he was hoping his sixth sense would help him like it had the night before.

So, he kept walking, his stomach reminding him that he hadn’t eaten the night before and would need to at some point today, especially with how banged up his body was.

He had been walking for a good 10 minutes when his sixth sense went off again, just like it had for the previous mugger.

Peter spun around to face this person, anger, red hot and searing burned in his core, it burnt its way through his body, setting his being on fire, his eyes were clouded by this fiery inferno of rage as he bared his teeth at the mugger and hissed

“Stay the hell away from me, you asshole,”

The mugger in question had turned pale, her eyes wide as she stumbled back from him, panic propelling her down the street.

And Peter did a double take, there was fear in the woman’s eyes. Fear directed at him. It wasn’t that people weren’t scared of him when he was Spider-man, there was fear in the eyes of the criminals he took down, fear of what would happen to them now that they were caught.

But this, this was different, the raw terror that he saw in her eyes

Because of him and his actions.

A wave of self hatred replaced the anger as it seeped from his body, where the hell did that come from?

Now, Peter wasn’t normally quick to anger, in fact he rarely got angry, he’d become very good at controlling his emotions after the spider bite had enhanced everything, including his emotions.

He’d learnt to control any anger that came when Flash’s words cut too deep or when someone got away from him as Spider-man. He’d never let himself lose control like that, he didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

And of course, Peter reacted reasonably and promptly panicked. His breaths were short and shallow, picking up in pace as scenarios ran through his head.

What if he gets angry and isn’t able to control his strength like normal...what if he kills someone?

He had spent months training his strength, understanding how much or how little he needed to do things without breaking them or coming off overly strong.

But now, if these fits of anger continued… what would he do, what might happen?

He continued to spiral down into this pit of panic and fear, he couldn’t hear the bustle of people down the street, he couldn’t see the cars zooming down the street at dangerous speeds, he couldn’t feel the hard concrete beneath his feet.

There was nothing, nothing but blind panic and fear consuming him whole.

“What’s 5 things you can see?”

What? Peter frowned… that sounded like… like Mr. Barton.

“5 things you can see squirt”

Peter rolled his eyes at the nickname the man had given him, but followed the instructions. He opened his eyes and let out a low whimper at the bright sun assaulting his eyes but Mr. Barton had asked and so Peter answered.

“Cars, people, lamp post, dog,” Peter’s eyes searched around for one more thing, just one more, “trash,” he gasped out.

“4 things you can feel,”

Peter’s hand reached out to the broken wall beside him, “Brick,” he started with, “Socks, Pants,” and reached a hand onto his head, “Hair,” he finished. His breaths had started to slow, becoming more even.

“3 things you can hear,”

“You, me, cars,” Peter heaved out with a low exhale, the panic within him simmering down.

“2 things you can smell,”

Peter sniffed and had to hold back a gag at the stench, his enhanced senses really work again him in this moment, but he pushed through and managed to say, “Garbage, hot dog,” because he could smell the hot dogs the vendor was selling many blocks away and his stomach grumbled in answer.

“1 thing you can taste,”

“Salt,” was Peter’s immediate response, only to realise it wasn’t salt, not really but rather his tears. He was crying. “Oh,” Peter said as he brought a hand up to wipe away the tears.

And he turned to look at Mr. Barton and thank him for helping him out of his panic… only he wasn’t there. Because he was in a foreign place and completely alone, he’d been hearing the man’s voice.

A memory of its own he supposed, Mr. Barton had found Peter in the room he’d had at Avengers Tower. Peter had been in the midst of a panic attack, he couldn’t breathe and he cried and cried.

Mr. Barton had helped calm him with that method and told Peter that it was okay to panic, that it didn’t make him weak. The look in the man’s eye had made Peter want to cry more, there had been no resentment or disgust in the man’s eyes; Just soft understanding.

Peter had thanked the man and the next time he’d been panicking, he’d found himself listing 5 things he could see and so forth until he could breathe again and if he’d given the man a bone crushing hug the next time he saw him,

That was no one's business but theirs.

Peter let out a shaky breath as the panic slowly fled his body, leaving him tired, hungry and thirsty.

This wasn’t the first time he’d been drowned in panic and highly doubted it would be the last and he knew that once he’d calmed down, something sugary and sweet helped.

And a nap.

Mr. Barton had done that for him too, got him some cookies and tucked him in. But there was no one to do that for him here and he didn’t have the time or money to be wasting on buying himself something sweet, he had things he needed to do.

He knew that it wasn’t the smartest idea to continue with his plans after having a panic attack in the middle of the street, but when had Peter ever had any sense of self preservation?

So, Peter put one foot in front of the other and again and again and again. He was walking down the street once more, letting the last of the panic leave him and filled his lungs with sweet, pure air… or as clean as the air got in this polluted city.

He continued his way through the city, focusing his hearing to try and find… something, he wasn't really sure what he was looking for in particular but still he listened.

His hearing reached out, he could hear the screaming match between a couple in a building further down the street, he could hear that same hot dog vendor selling his goods to many people.

He listened further, like Daredevil had taught him, the man had taught him a great deal of things, how to fight, control his strength and use his senses to his advantage; mainly his hearing.

The blind man relied on his hearing and taught Peter how to use his hearing in a similar way, pairing it with his sixth sense to feel his surroundings. But the man had also taught him how to hone his senses into specific things, how to look out for something in particular.

So, Peter closed his eyes and listened, letting his hearing expand further, reach farther and farther away, block after block he listened through until

“Welcome to Gotham City Library…” he heard a feminine voice saying.

Perfect, exactly what Peter needed. A library would work nicely, they would (hopefully) have computers for Peter to do some research on where he was and figure out where to go from here.

The edges of Peter’s mouth tilted up in a slight smile, relief relaxing his body as he followed the sound of the voice.

He didn’t want to invade the conversation the person was having, so he opted to just listen for snippets here and there to keep him on the right path.

It didn’t take too long for Peter to get there, he may or may not have been using some of his enhanced speed to walk quicker, but no one had noticed.

Probably.

The library was a large building with thick stone pillars out front and a number of statues as well. There was a wide set of stairs leading up to the building which Peter climbed up with ease, taking in the architecture of the building.

It looked well funded, expensive, nothing like the public library back home. It had been pretty run down, a number of the walls had cracks and the books had all been pretty ratty to be honest.

But this, this was grandiose, he’d have thought it was a pirate library if the words ‘Gotham Public Library’ weren’t plastered in big letters out the front.

Gotham.

That had to be the name of the city he was in, why else would they be plastered on the font of this library. It may have been the suburb to be fair, he couldn’t be sure.

But, now that he had reached the library, he may just get the answers he was looking for.

With newfound determination, Peter stepped through large wooden doors and took in the interior of the library. It was just as extravagant as the outside.

The ceiling was sky high, beams of wood climbing up the walls. There were rows upon rows of bookcases lined to the brim with books. He saw a number of signs displaying the genre of books. The monochromatic brown aesthetic, gave the library and old school feel.

It was nothing at all like what Mr. Stark would have designed. He loved everything modern, new tech, new design, new everything, this was in complete contrast to everything Tony Stark was.

“Hello, welcome to Gotham library. I’m Barbara, can I help you at all?” the familiar feminine voice came and Peter spun to look at the woman.

His sixth sense spiked slightly, warning him that she could be dangerous, but at this moment, was of no danger to him.

The woman had a lithe form, but Peter could see the muscle that she had, reminding him of his sixth senses warning. Who was this woman and why was she dangerous?

Her hair was a bright red that flowed past her shoulders, she wore a pair of glasses and had on a pair of jeans and a comfortable shirt. She was in a wheelchair and pushed herself closer to Peter, a friendly smile adorning her face.

“Hi,” Peter said quietly, his nerves tingling even if she was being kind, she could still be dangerous and he didn’t know why; it left him on edge. “I ah I um was wondering if you had any computers I could use,”

She smiled widely at this and nodded as she spoke, “Yes, we do, they’re just over there,” she said, pointing a finger to a corner of the library. And yes, Peter could see the computers, they seemed a little out of date but this was still a public library, no matter how fancy it looked, he shouldn’t be surprised.

“I um don’t have a library card?” Peter said it like a question, eyes downwards, he didn’t want to come off as a threat to the woman, Barbara, he reminded himself. He was also socially awkward by nature so could you blame him for being a mess.

Barbara let out a light laugh and replied, “Not to worry sweetie, you’re welcome to use them either way. There’s a username and password over there to sign in. But if you ever feel like getting a library card, feel free to come see me and I can get that sorted for you,”

“Thanks,” Peter nodded with a soft smile of his own and made his way over to the corner where the computers sat. He sat down at one of the desks, the computer facing the wall so no one par Peter would be able to see what he was doing.

Perfect.

Just like Barbara had said, there was a username and password that sat next to the keyboard which Peter typed in with quick hands.

As the computer loaded, Peter thought to himself, 'What am I supposed to look for? Where do I even start?'

There were a number of things he needed to do, but getting information was the most important so he could figure out where he was. This was priority number one.

Once the computer had loaded, he opened a search engine and looked at the search bar.

Tony Stark

was all he wrote before pressing enter…

No results found.

Chapter Text

‘Well fuck’

was Peter’s first thought, that couldn’t be good.

Iron Man he searched for next…

No results found.

Captain America. Black Widow. The Avengers. Thanos.

Peter typed frantically, hands racing across the keyboard, only to come up with the same result each and every time.

No results found.

“Shit,” Peter cursed to himself quietly, what had he gotten himself into now?

But there was no need to panic.

He wasn’t panicking.

Definitely not.

He was just in a world where The Avengers didn’t exist, he knew no one and nothing.

It was fine.

He was fine.

Right?

Deciding not to dwell on the fact that everyone he loved no longer existed, Peter instead did research on where he was.

His hunch had been right, he was currently in a city called Gotham, somewhere he’d never heard of before. New York still existed but it was different, he couldn’t find anything on Midtown High School or Delmar’s or anything.

At first, he thought he may have been thrown back in time, with the old vibe of the city, and the primitive technology but a quick look at the calendar told him that it was 2018, just like it had been before.

Before he’d died, Peter supposed. Therefore, he hadn’t time travelled and a new theory entered his mind.

It was outrageous… right? There was no way it could be true. It had all been theories, and hypotheticals, there was no way… was there?

It would explain it though, would explain why no one he knew existed where he was, why everything was different but the time period the same.

It was the only explanation.

Was he in a different dimension?

One where Tony Stark never existed, one where the Avengers had never been formed and instead had other heroes, or no heroes at all; he’d have to look that up too.

But then there was hope, if he was in another dimension, then surely multi-dimensional travel would be possible, it had to be, otherwise how else would he be here.

Was it probably those mystical stones that had control of the entire cosmos, yes, but there had to be a way for this dimension to travel to another one.

He refused to think of the alternative of him being stuck here forever. So, multi-dimensional travel had to be a possibility, a reality, and if multi-dimensional travel was possible, then he could find a way home,

Or what was left of it anyway.

Peter let his thoughts wander, how was Mr. Stark? Had he made it off Titan? Was he okay? Would he try to find a way to bring Peter home? Or had the man lost hope after watching Peter turn to dust before his very eyes? Did Aunt May survive the snap? Or Ned? Or MJ?

Peter had no way of knowing, left clueless and alone in a different dimension. But if he was to survive, he needed to understand the ins and outs of this universe before figuring out how to return to his own.

So, Peter turns his attention back to the computer and instead if searching for anything relating to his universe, he instead searches

Superheroes

And damn there were a lot of them. The first article that popped up was about something called The Justice League and after reading through said article, he discovered that The Justice league was pretty much this world's version of The Avengers.

They were a group of superheroes from varying origins who protected the world from both terrestrial and extraterrestrial threats. The Justice League seemed to be made up of 7 heroes.

There was Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, The Flash, Cyborg and Aquaman.

He didn’t have the time to delve too deeply but he got the general gist of who they were.

Superman’s an alien from space that can fly and shoot lasers from his eyes.

Wonder Woman is a badass Amazonian warrior.

Green Lantern has a magic ring.

The Flash can run super fast.

Cyborg is half human half robot.

And Aquaman can do stuff with water and sea creatures.

To put them all simply that is.

Finally there is Batman, and from what Peter could tell he’s basically Daredevils but dresses in the theme of a Bat who can actually see, further, Peter discovers that Batman protects Gotham, the very city he had ended up in, well that was alongside the number of other heroes/vigilantes? Peter wasn’t too sure.

There were seven other heroes (Peter decided to go with) besides Batman who took part in protecting Gotham.

God, Peter didn’t even want to think about the amount of crime there must be to warrant that number of heroes running around, though, if his sixth sense was anything to go off, the city certainly wasn’t safe by any means.

A slight spike from his sixth sense pulled Peter from his research, he looked up to find the source.

It’s Barbara, she is currently wheeling herself over, a regretful look on her face. Now Peter realises that he’s the last one in the library, no heartbeat par Barbara's and his own were within the building.

Ah, it must be closed. Peter thinks to himself, I'll just have to come back another time to finish my research, especially on all these heroes.

Peter logs off the computer and stands, an understanding smile overtaking his features.

“Sorry,” Barbara apologises, “but we have to close now,”

“That’s okay, I understand,” Peter replied, “I hadn’t realised how late it had gotten,”

Barbara nods a soft smile gracing her face, “Mmmm,” she hums understandingly, “Well, do you have a safe way home? Someone to get you?” She asked, an edge of worry leaking into her voice.

Peter, severely grateful that Natasha had taught him how to lie after his abysmal attempts, simply nods and answers, “Yeah, my dad’s picking me up, he’ll be waiting outside,”

“Good, you get home safe, love, the library will be open tomorrow at 9,”

“Thanks Barbara, you have a good night,” Peter calls cheerily as he steps into the frigid night air.

Now that Peter’s outside, he realises just how dark it is. The sky is an endless sea of darkness, small splattering's emitting a low glow.

The moon hides behind the dark grey swarm of clouds. There are few building lights left on as Peter starts his trek home… home?

Could he even call that building such a thing?

The darkness proved difficult to navigate through, forcing Peter to rely on his enhanced sight and sixth sense to make his way safely through the street.

By now, his ribs were healing once more, tenderly touching them, he can tell that there's still quite a number that are broken, the rest are all badly bruised.

He needed to eat to heal up quicker, meaning he needed to get back quickly. His stomach let out a loud rumble as if to agree with this thought, and it's at moments like this that Peter really hates his metabolism and just how fast it was.

It took a long time for Peter to get back, his ribs and the dark hindering his ability to get back smoothly, forcing him to take it slow and steady. The entire way Peter had heard shouts, screams, gunshots and more, his body screamed at him

Help Help Help.

Every fibre of his being told him to do something, anything.

He had powers, the ability to actually help, if he didn’t do anything… then what did happen was on him, he allowed it to happen when he could help.

He knew logically that he couldn't do anything without his suit, alongside his broken ribs, he wouldn’t be able to do much of anything to really help those in need.

But in the end it was fear that stopped him from helping. Fear that he wouldn't be able to control himself, that he'd have another fit of anger and accidentally hurt someone,

Kill them even.

He didn’t care what world or dimension he was in, his no killing rule would always apply, always!

So instead, he walked back, each scream and gunshot a dagger into his heart. The guilt of not helping was eating him alive, it gnawed at his gut, told him he was worthless and a coward and a horrible person.

Even now, as he climbed through the fire escape, he could hear the screams of people in need which drowned out the protesting of his ribs.

Their pain was more important than his own, he was enhanced, he was used to pain, they weren’t, not like he was, they didn’t deserve to suffer like this.

Not like he did.

Perhaps that’s why he was in this universe, as punishment for everything he did wrong in his own one.

For everyone he didn’t save.

It’s with these thoughts swirling in his mind that Peter makes his way into the kitchen and grabs out a can of beans. He uses his enhanced strength to rip the top off and begins eating them.

He doesn’t have cutlery, only his hands.

He doesn’t have a stove, just cold beans.

He doesn’t have anyone, just himself.

He finishes the beans quickly, scarfing them down as his stomach settles and ribs start to heal quicker.

He lets out a sigh of relief as he tosses the can aside, knowing his ribs should be better within a couple of days and he has more food to eat.

More cold beans anyway

Though perhaps that’s all he deserves.

Making his way to his makeshift bed, the screams of people in need still ringing in his ears, even as the thick concrete muffles them, Peter sags, exhaustion clear on his body.

He’d been there a day and he was already so very tired, he just wanted to be told everything was okay.

He wanted to be held in his Aunt’s arms, her grip firm and unwavering.

He wanted to work with Mr. Stark in his lab on upgrades to their suits, music playing in the background.

He wanted to laugh with Deadpool as the man rambled on and on about his life.

He just wanted someone.

Tears flow down his face as an aggravated noise leaves Peter’s throat, his fist slamming into the wall beside him before he could even think.

There’s now a large hole in the wall, cracks spreading out from the place of impact like a shattered piece of glass.

This only made him cry harder, what was wrong with him? Why was he like this? Could he fix himself?

He didn’t know and that was terrifying.

The tears continued to cascade down Peter’s face as he curled up into a ball beneath the fireman's coats. He cried himself to sleep, tear tracks staining his face as it went lax with sleep.

He thought he might find some peace and tranquility within the realm of unconsciousness

He was wrong, so very wrong.

Chapter Text

Peter stands on broken, uneven amber ground of the destroyed planet Titan. He wears his familiar red and blue suit and next to him stands Mr. Stark. The man is talking, but the words don’t register in his brain, not as he looks at his mentor, the last man he ever saw.

The man that held him as he died.

Peter looks, unable to move or speak, as he takes in Mr. Stark’s features, burning them into his memory. Who knew when… or if he would ever see the man again.

P eter continues to watch as Mr. Stark marches over to Dr. Strange, his red cloak billowing behind him. He tries to take a step forward, but finds he can’t move.

Peter frowns and looks down to find his feet stuck in a pool… a pool of glowing green liquid.

No, no, that wasn’t on Titan. That couldn’t be here, he couldn’t go back there. Peter tried to call for help, to scream, but no noise was uttered.

He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move no matter how hard he pulled at his feet, they wouldn’t budge.

Peter looks back up to call out to his mentor once more only to find the man staring right at Peter, blood pouring from his mouth whilst a massive sword is poking from his torso.

Peter tries to scream, but no sound comes out. He thrashes from where he’s stuck in the green liquid, but to no avail. Tears pour down his face as he watches the life leave his mentors eyes, the final words he utters nothing but a bare whisper,

“Why didn’t you help?”

Peter sobs, he tried, he did everything he could. He couldn’t move, there was nothing more he could do.

Or was there?

If he had just been faster, stronger if he had just been more then perhaps everyone would be alive, maybe then Thanos wouldn’t have been able to snap half the universe wouldn’t be dead. If he had just done more.

Why was he such a failure?

Mr. Stark’s face then morphed into his Uncle’s.

“You could have saved me,” Uncle Ben says.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Peter cries, or tries to but the words are stuck, he can’t speak. He can’t do anything. He’s useless.

Next it’s MJ telling him that she’s disappointed and was never his friend.

Then Ned’s telling him he wasn’t good enough to be Spider-man.

I t morph's from person to person, each berating him, telling him he wasn’t good enough, that he had failed. And it was true, he did fail. He failed them all, being stranded in another universe seemed a fair punishment.

He tried to cry to plead for forgiveness but no sound leaves him, nothing but puffs of air.

He finds Aunt May in front of him. Her brown hair is matted with blood, one eye black and bruised. Her arms are twisted at unnatural angles and blood seeps from her lips.

He wants to throw up, his Aunt. His kind, doting, loving Aunt and what had he done to her?

He’d killed her.

It was his fault she was like this, all his fault.

“You did this Peter,” Aunt May says, her eyes full of anger and disappointment. “You killed me, it’s all your fault,” Peter tried to apologise, he screamed and thrashed and cried and nothing worked. He was still silent.

“Nothing to say even now?” She continues, “I’m so disappointed in you Peter, I never thought you would be such a failure," and with those final words, she dissolved into dust.

The words cut deep, Aunt May was the closest thing he had to a mother, and her disappointment, it was like a stab to the heart.

B ut he deserved it, because that’s what he was after all.

A failure.

He didn’t scream or shout or cry as the green liquid consumed him, he didn’t fight the sinking sensation or the burning in his lungs. He let the liquid fill his lungs, letting the green blind his vision, the words of his family cut into him like knives.

He didn’t fight it, didn’t try to swim to the surface, he simply let himself drown in it. Perhaps if he did, he wouldn’t wake up again. But as he sinks, the bright green envelopes all of his senses, taking over him completely.

He panics.

His heart race spikes as his hands clutch at his lungs, he knows it’s useless but he does it anyway. The panic is hot and burning and fills him completely and he-

Peter awakes with a strangled scream, a sob lodged in his throat. His memories continue to flash through his mind, the disgust on Aunt May’s face, the disappointment on Mr. Stark’s. The overwhelming panic that consumed him as entirely as the bright green liquid had.

It was all too much, everyone’s deaths were on him because he had failed, because he wasn’t good enough. The cost weighs him down; down like the building that had been dropped on him by Toomes.

Panic continues to claw through Peter as he throws the coats across the room, but it's dark, just like it had been under that building. He’s unable to breathe, memories flash through his mind, steel wings, concrete crushing him but he pushed it off him.

He got out, so why couldn’t he breathe?

Peter stumbles his way through the building, he needs to get out, he needs, he needs- thump. He falls to his knees, but that doesn’t stop him. He crawls, he drags his body through the building, he hauls himself up and out of the window.

Fresh air fills his lungs and he can breathe. There isn’t dust in his lungs, there’s no concrete crushing him, he’s alive.

Alive.

Peter continues up the fire escape and to the roof, allowing the cool night air to soothe the burning in his lungs.

Peter makes his way to the ledge of the building and sits down, legs swinging over the side. His hands are shaking where they grip the ledge, tears tracks stain his face, his eyes are rimmed red and unbeknownst to him have a green tinge tainting them.

He looks down at the cracked footpath, he’d thought of it before; of how easy it would be to simply ‘slip’ off the edge and fall. That it would be so easy to end all the pain and sadness that had been consuming him.

It had been the thought of Aunt May that truly stopped him from ever following through, because he knew that he couldn’t leave her alone. She’d lost her husband, she couldn’t lose the closest thing she had to a son too.

So he hadn’t, he had turned around and gone back home, ignoring the part of himself that told him to jump. But she was gone now, what did he have to fight for now? Half of his universe was gone at best.

Was it really worth it? To keep going, to fight to survive.

As these thoughts swirled in his mind, his sixth sense warned him of someone else's presence along the rooftops. Their steps were light, leaps fluid and natural.

A soft thump from behind him told Peter that this person had made their way to his building.

“Hello,” Came a deep masculine voice. Peter said nothing.

“Would you mind coming back from the ledge?” The voice asked cautiously.

Peter simply looked up and out at the skyline, something he’d taken to doing back home that always brought him comfort, but this view was unfamiliar and only caused an ache of longing to burn in his heart.

Peter did nothing as the man made a swift move and pulled him from the edge of the building, placing him softly on the ground.

“I wasn’t going to jump,” Peter lied, “I just came up here to think,” he said as he turned to face the man.

He was wearing a black suit with a blue logo on his chest, he had twin Escrima sticks, something Daredevil had taught him to use. The man had short dark hair with deep blue eyes. It was Nightwing if his research was to serve him right.

“Okay,” Nightwing replied, his eyes widening slightly as he took in Peter’s appearance. The hero didn’t sound convinced by Peter’s words as he continued, “Perhaps next time you could think inside, or anywhere that’s not the ledge of a roof,”

“Mhmm,” Peter hummed noncommittally.

“So, what’s wrong, kid?” The hero asked.

Peter brisked at the word, he hadn’t been a kid for a long time. “Nothing, I’m fine,” he replied, the words clipped.

“I find that hard to believe,” Nightwing sighed, a frown overcoming his features.

Peter forced himself to relax, and put on a fake smile, he’d become very good at faking those, “Promise,” he said with fake yet believable sincerity, “I was just up here to think. It’s quiet, time slows, gives me a chance to just be,” he knew that mixing some of the truth always helped with lies, letting people believe you more.

If the way Nightwing’s shoulder relaxed slightly and the nod he gave, it had worked.

“Okay,” Nightwing said, “Next time maybe you just stand against the ledge rather than sitting on it?” the hero phrased it like a question.

“Maybe,” Peter nodded with a smile.

‘Nightwing we need you, Firefly has been spotted’ Peter hears the words crackle through the hero’s comms.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Nightwing checked again. Peter frowned internally, why wasn’t the hero leaping away to help? Peter wasn’t worth the lives of everyone else that could be in danger.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Peter reassured, “Go, I’m sure someone needs saving elsewhere,”

Nightwing nods and pulls out a grappling hook. He looks back once last time before shooting out said hook and letting it pull him through the air.

Though he hates to admit it, his talk with Nightwing has left Peter feeling calmer. His heart no longer racing, and his tears have dried, a sense of ease now fills him.

Perhaps it was the illusion that someone actually cared about him. But it wasn’t the time to dwell on his calm, he had things to do today, and maybe he should be resting after that episode he had, but he didn’t want to go through that again, so he opted to go out.

And that’s how Peter finds himself walking down the street, hands in his pockets to keep them warm. His stomach is starting to make its presence known, but Peter wouldn’t be able to keep anything down, not whilst he kept seeing Aunt May’s broken body in his mind's eye, so he had forgone eating so as not to waste what little food he had left.

He didn’t know where he was going, but figured that his sixth sense would warn him of anything he needed to avoid.

Peter ends up walking around for hours, he takes notes of certain landmarks and such that would help him understand where he was in the future.

Mostly, he tried to avoid thinking, he busied his mind with whatever he could, whether it be the rat scurrying down the street or the spike of his sixth sense when he walked near a blocked off part of the city. He made mental documentation of everything he thought could be necessary and then some.

It kept his mind busy and that’s all he wanted to do.

The sun began peeking out whilst Peter was on the outskirts of town and he decided it would be a good time to get back to the library to do some more research.

He followed his sixth sense more as a precaution than anything. He probably could have made it to the library after the hours he’d spent exploring but he didn’t want to risk getting lost.

He marches on, trying to keep the exhaustion at bay. He’d gone much longer without sleep, he’d be fine. It didn’t matter that his stomach was gnawing with hunger, it didn’t matter that his body needed proper rest to function fully.

He was fine.

He was.

He walked slowly as to avoid getting to the library before it was open. As he was walking up to the building, he saw Barbara sitting at her desk, the lights on, showing that the library was indeed open.

Peter walked up and through the doors of the library, still amazed by the sheer excellence of the building. Barbara looked up and smiled as she saw it was Peter before a frown overtook her face.

“Honey, are you okay?” She questioned as she came over to Peter.

“I’m fine,” Peter nodded.

“Did you get any sleep, you’ve some heavy bags under your eyes,” Barbara furrows her brows in worry.

“I did get some sleep, don’t worry,” Peter assured her… “Just not much,”

Barbara sighed as if it were common for her to deal with such things, “Okay, sweetie, promise me you’ll get some good shut eye tonight,”

Not wanting to disappoint the woman in front of him, “I promise,” Peter replies with a soft nod, guilt churning in his stomach as he knows it’s probably a lie.

“Good, now you go do whatever nerdy computer stuff you need to do,” Barbara jokes with a gentle smile.

“Thanks Ms. Barbara,” Peter says as he walks over to the computers. “Just Barbara is fine,” she calls out after him. Peter won’t be doing that, his Aunt had raised him right… even if he was a disappointment to her, he could still have manners.

Peter logs onto one of the computers once more and rests his hands on the keyboard, time to begin researching again.

Nightwing

Peter entered into the search bar and thus his research continued.

Chapter Text

Nightwing seemed to be some sort of acrobat if the moves the hero pulled off were anything to go by. Though Peter pulled off his own incredible feats, but he was enhanced, and from what he’d read, Nightwing wasn’t enhanced.

None of the heroes in Gotham appeared to be enhanced (par just one) and well he found out why pretty quickly. Apparently, there was a ‘no meta’ rule within Gotham, which Peter had realised that ‘meta’ was this universe's way of saying ‘mutant’ or ‘enhanced’.

Peter frowned at this, was that morally right? To not allow anyone different into the city simply because of who they are and what they could do.

Peter didn’t think it was right, it seemed prejudiced and unfair. But if Batman, the main hero of Gotham had put this rule in place, well he certainly didn’t want to find out the consequences of not abiding by them.

This rule made Peter all the more wary of the city that he was in, gave him all the more reason to be subtle and blend in… to not get too close to anyone.

Peter delved deeper into the rabbit hole of superheroes, researching the large number of heroes from Gotham.

Researching Robin gave him a near aneurysm with the number of different ones there had been. If his hunch was correct, each of the current superheroes had once filled in the boots of Robin before moving on to their own superhero persona.

Peter was pleased to see that all of the superheroes were non lethal, that was apart from Red Hood who was very open about their lethality and use of guns.

And just Peter’s luck, said hero’s territory was Crime Alley, and from his own ministrations that morning, he’d discovered is the part of Gotham that he just so happened to live in.

Peter didn’t expect to run into the man but he kept it at the back of his mind to avoid him. Avoid all superheroes really, if anyone was to sniff him out as being a meta it would be one of them.

He’d spent a great deal of time learning how to hide his abilities back home, how to blend in, so he should be fine.

Blending in.

He needed to integrate himself into this new city, this new universe as a completely normal, healthy and definitely not homeless teenager. And first on that list, is school.

Barbara would notice if he was here instead of at school and his baby face wouldn’t allow him to age himself up. Not if he wanted to be believable at least.

So, he needed to enroll in a school. If he could get into one like Midtown High School that would be perfect. A prestigious school would have the chemicals he needed to create his web formula for when he inevitably went out as Spider-man again.

Gotham Prep seemed like the perfect place. It was a rich, private school that would have the chemicals he needed. He just had to get in which may be a problem.

He didn’t have rich parents to pay his way into this school or anything. He had nothing to his name whatsoever.

But, just like Midtown, they did seem to have an entrance exam for other students to get in via scholarships. Now, Peter wasn’t one to brag, but he would consider himself to be above average in intelligence. He could keep up with Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner, that had to account for something.

And luckily for him, the new term would be starting soon and as such, the entrance exam would be offered for anyone wanting to apply.

Perfect.

But as Peter went to apply for said exam he realised with a start that shit, he didn’t actually exist in this world.

He had no birth certificate.

No proof of his existence at all.

And that would become a very big problem if he wanted to ever get off the streets.

But he was no slack when it came to computers, both Ned and Mr. Stark had taught him a thing or two about coding and hacking, and as such, Peter was 100% sure he could create himself from nothing.

Okay maybe like 80% but still, it was better than nothing.

Peter first made sure that nobody would be able to see him; he really didn’t want to be caught doing this highly illegal activity.

But after a quick sweep over, and some help from his sixth sense, Peter determined that no one was watching, thus he sat up straight, cracked his neck, his knuckles and then began.

Perhaps Peter should be worried by how easy he found it to simply slip into the government records and simply create a birth certificate for himself.

He stuck to the same story from his home universe, he was Peter Benjamin Parker, born to Richard Laurence Parker and Mary Teresa Fitzpatrick.

It was a bit finicky to create identities for his parents as well, having to trace back their own timeline to create them a fake birth certificate as well and integrate them into society in some way.

He made sure there were some records of them, fake bank accounts and such, just in case anyone went digging.

He finished making his fake parents and included an article about a supposed plane crash that the two were in. It would be easier for him to keep his backstory here as similar to his own as possible, he had enough to worry about, he didn’t need a fake backstory on top of that.

Said backstory though, would raise questions if he had no legal guardian, and as such, Peter got onto making one last identity.

Tony Stark.

Tony wouldn’t have minded, he would have laughed and ruffled Peter’s hair the way he liked so much. But now wasn’t the time to bring up old memories, Peter needed to do this and quickly if the darkness seeping into the sky was anything to go by.

With renewed vigour, Peter’s hands race across the keyboard, he makes a final birth certificate for Tony, a small business man who has meetings all over the world. It would explain the man’s absence if anyone were to question such a thing.

After he had created a fake life for this fake Tony, Peter then created fake records of the adoption of one Peter Parker to Tony Stark.

He made sure to create a fake lease to an apartment building that he had walked by earlier that morning which he knew had a number of vacancies by the lack of sound within the building, as a precaution.

He didn’t want anyone to think Tony wasn’t providing for him, even if it was all fake, he didn’t want to tarnish the man’s name like that.

And with that, he had finally finished integrating himself into this universe, he had legal documents and everything - even if they were illegal, legal documents, they would work and that’s what mattered.

He was exhausted after having rushed through all of that on such little (and bad) sleep, but he had one last thing to do.

So, Peter rubs his eyes once before moving back to the Gotham Prep page where he signs up for the entrance exam that would be taking place later that week. Peter had just finished signing himself up when Barbara came up to him once more with the same guilty look on her face.

“No need to look so guilty,” Peter chuckled softly, “I understand, and have just finished,” he said as he logged out and turned off the computer he had been using.

“Still, I hate to kick you out,” Barbara replies, a slight frowning adorning her face.

“Don’t think of it as kicking me out,” Peter says, “think of it as you getting to go home and relax,”

Barbara let out an exasperated sigh but a smile tugs at her lips. “Alright Peter, you get home safe okay?”

“Of course, Ms. Barbara, you too,” Peter nods as he makes his way out the building.

“Just Barbara,” the librarian calls out after him.

Peter just waves as he takes off down the street. As Peter makes his way back, he mulls over everything he had done today. It had been highly illegal and if he was caught he would face very real charges, but it was necessary and his computer skills were good enough that it would take some serious digging to realise they were fake.

However, rather than worry over the hypothetical chance that someone would go digging and discover that all these documents were fake, Peter instead chose to worry about the very real, non-hypothetical test he was to take.

Now, Peter was intelligent, there was no denying that. He could have skipped a grade (or three) but his Aunt and Uncle hadn’t wanted that for him. They wanted him to stick with his peers and be a normal kid with them, not a young prodigy in classes filled with older students.

Even in the last year he had completed at Midtown was still (far) too easy for him, and he really hoped that the intelligence scale in this universe was the same as his own.

He may have been a ‘gifted’ student back home and been well beyond his peers, but what if that wasn’t the case here?

What if everyone was well beyond him?

If in this universe he was just marginal?

He prayed that wouldn’t be the case, but when multi-dimensional travel was involved, he really couldn’t be sure.

He banished these thoughts from his mind, he was tired and hungry and didn’t need to be worrying about that yet. He would cross that bridge when he got there.

By now, Peter had reached his temporary ‘home’, at least he hoped it was temporary, and clambered his way up the fire escape and through the window.

As he entered, his shoulders slumped, the constant twinge in the back of his head quietening. Peter dragged his feet as he forced himself to head to the kitchen and eat something before passing out.

He cracked open a can of soup and ate the food. It may have been cold but god was it good.

Peter would never take food for granted again.

He scarfed down the rest of the soup before gathering up the coats that littered the floor and pilling them on top of himself.

Darkness swept over Peter, pulling him into the land of unconsciousness, too tired to be worried about nightmares.

That had been a mistake.

Peter was walking down the street, just as he had been doing a few days prior, but now, now he saw it in a third person perspective.

He watched as he continued down the street and saw the mugger that had tried to get one up on him approaching.

He watched as his own form went tense and then spun around to hiss at the woman. He could see anger coursing through his body, the lines of tension keeping him stiff.

Peter kept his eyes trained on himself even as images of the pure fear written on the woman's face flashed through his mind, he kept his eyes on himself; on those bright, glowing green eyes that looked back at him.

The unnatural, glowing green eyes that reminded him all too much of the pit he had been drowning in the night before.

Even he was scared of himself, of those freakish eyes that poured with venom as his voice spoke with such malice he’d have thought the woman was Thanos herself.

Peter was frozen staring at himself, what had he become?

What had that pit done to him?

Except now he was back in his own body, only the woman staring at him wasn’t the mugger anymore, no it was his caring, warm Aunt who looked at him with such fear that Peter flinched back.

He’d never wanted anyone to be afraid of him, not truly, least of all the ones he loved. But the fear that was etched into his Aunt’s face was unmistakable, and the deep fear that Peter had pushed down, the fear that he wasn’t good, that he wasn’t someone worthy of love, of anything came rising back up.

If his own Aunt looked at him like this, what would others think of him?

Did he deserve to be alive?

Would it have been better if that spider had killed him?

If the panic on his Aunt’s face was anything to go by, he didn’t, not really. Maybe it would have been better if the snap had killed him, or if he had been drowned in the vat of green liquid, perhaps it would have been better if he was never born at all.

Never to be a burden to anyone… or a source of alarm and panic.

And then Peter was running, he was running through the streets, dodging pedestrians and cars alike.

He ran.

And ran.

And ran.

Tears streamed from his eyes as he sobbed. He screamed and cried and shouted, what had he done to deserve this?

Did the universe really hate him that much?

He continued to run, even as his shoes wore through, even as it was his bare feet slapping against the hard concrete, even as his feet began to bleed.

He just kept running, self loathing coursing through his veins, filling his very core. He never stopped, not even when his legs gave out.

No, instead he crawled, his knees becoming scraped and bloody. He didn’t care, he deserved it, deserved worse.

But as a soft hand gently cupped Peter’s face he stopped. He looked up through his tears to find the face of his loving Aunt, not a trace of fear in her face, not this time.

“I’m sorry,” Peter sobbed, “I’m so so sorry,”

"You have nothing to be sorry for,” Aunt May replied softly, “You are so strong Peter, so brave and I am so incredibly proud of you. Never forget that,” she said, gently wiping away her nephew's tears.

"B-but,” Peter stammered.

"I know,” she said, a knowing look on her face, “You have always been entirely too hard on yourself, setting expectations no one expects you to meet. But remember always that I love you, no matter what and that I will always, always be proud to call you my nephew. Don’t let yourself get in the way of remembering that,” Aunt May finished with a smile and a gentle kiss to Peter’s forehead before she faded into the wind.

But as Peter looked at his reflection in the shop of a store, he wondered how anyone could ever be proud of him.

Chapter Text

Peter awoke with a soft gasp, tears staining his face once more. He let out a tired sigh, was it so much to ask for a decent night's rest? And, judging by the darkness that stained the building, it was still well into the night, morning not having yet arrived.

Peter groaned as he rubbed his face, exhaustion set deep in his bones. Peter's eyes wandered and he found himself studying his reflection in the cracked mirror he could see the edge of.

He looked at the deep bags under his eyes and his hollowed cheeks. His hair was an unruly mop on the top of his head and his eyes, he could tell, even through the green sheen, that his eyes were full of pain and lost hope.

Of sorrow and loss.

He looked.. Broken, much like the mirror he thought. Broken beyond repair. Because he was, what could truly fix him?

Even if he did manage to return to his home universe, was there anyone to pick up the broken pieces? And how quickly had he turned from when to if.

He looked at himself bitterly, there was nothing worth saving anyway.

Peter tossed the jackets to the side and stood gingerly, his ribs still hadn’t healed.

After his nightmare the night before, he’d been running on some pretty heavy adrenaline, probably why he didn’t notice them before, or maybe it was just because he was so numb to everything that what even was pain anymore?

If he’d been eating proper, full (super) sized meals, his ribs would have been healed in a mere hours, a day at most. But here, with the little food he had, they were still healing.

He lifted his shirt to look at the deep purple bruise that was still there. He ran a hand over the bruise, not even flinching when he pressed lightly on the bruise. He runs his hand over his ribs which seem to be protruding from him, letting out a hollow laugh.

What would the people of New York think if they knew that the mighty Spider-man would be taken down by a lack of food? If they knew their great hero was no more than a pathetic, worthless waste of oxygen?

He’d always thought, hoped even, that he’d die saving the world. That he would have some heroic ending by laying his life down to save others.

He supposed it would be a fitting end for him to die here, alone, cold and hungry in a different universe.

After everything he’d done, and everything he hadn't, it was what he deserved.

Better even.

But he wasn’t quite dead yet and even as these thoughts of self-hatred and disgust ran through his mind, he couldn’t stop the memory of May’s words vibrate through him.

“But remember always that I love you, no matter what and that I will always, always be proud to call you my nephew.” She had said in that warm tone of hers. Warm like a blanket on a cold winter evening, like a cup of hot cocoa and a movie.

And even though he didn’t believe himself worthy of her love, of her respect, he clung to the words like a lifeline.

He couldn't stop himself as he tucked them away in a little corner of his heart, a reminder that she would be devastated if he were to die. That he needed to live and since he couldn’t do that for himself.

He would do it for her.

With this newfound encouragement, Peter pushed aside thoughts of self doubt and stretched, ready to crack on with the day.

He looked down at the clothes he’d been wearing for days now and decided he needed to get some new ones, but he didn’t have any money on him at the moment.

Peter sighed to himself, he’d worry about that later, for now he needed to find a place he could actually get clothes.

So, he climbs from the window and slips into the shadows of the street. He didn’t need anyone seeing him at this time of night, he’d rather avoid any unwanted altercations.

Keeping to the shadows, Peter made his way through the streets, he’d discovered an abandoned part of town the night before but hadn’t explored it, his sixth sense warning him of the danger within.

However, Peter could handle himself well, what could be so dangerous about an abandoned part of town?

It didn’t take too long for Peter to reach said part of the city, despite the long distance. He’d been using his enhanced speed, but only slightly, and he’d been so careful that no one had noticed, not wanting to be discovered as a meta in this city.

He ignored the barbed wire with signs all around which read

“CAUTION! DO NOT ENTER! TOXIC ENVIRONMENT!”

in favour of leaping over said fence, his body was filled with radioactive blood after the spider bite, what’s a little more?

His sixth sense was pounding heavily in his head, warning him danger, danger, danger. Peter had figured as much out himself, what with all the warning signs, but he also knew that it was okay.

Whatever was such a danger wasn’t enough of a danger to overpower Peter, whatever or whoever the threat may be.

If it had been his sixth sense would be screaming at him to get the fuck out of there, but this pounding told him that he should get in and out as quick as possible; there was absolutely no need to linger.

Taking a deep breath, Peter trudged on through the city. He looked around and wow, it was well and truly abandoned.

There wasn’t a breath, heartbeat, anything in the entire place, he was alone.

Peter frowned, if it wasn’t someone he needed to be worried about, it was something and he’d already had bad experiences with things from this universe, the glowing pit flashing through his mind.

Strangely enough, Peter found it more difficult to push the images of said pit from his mind, they clung there like his webs to criminals.

He focused on the words his Aunt had said to him in his dream and let them wash away the bad memories.

He needed to get a grip on himself.

Peter pushed his shoulder’s back and continued walking, taking in the abandoned buildings.

There were a great number of smashed windows and broken doors. The walls were crumbling and there were many scorch marks all over.

The footpath was cracked and broken, the roads uneven and smashed.

It looked like New York had after the Chitauri invasion.

What had gone done, for this amount of damage to have taken place? 

There had been no reference to any Chitauri invasion or such when he had done his research. Perhaps a different sort of attack, whether alien or human, Peter couldn’t be sure.

But now wasn’t the time for that, and with his sixth sense warning him not to dilly dally, Peter kept his pace up.

He found a number of stores, what appeared to have been a barber shop, he’d found an old cinema and even a supermarket.

He, nor his sixth sense, had been particularly keen on the idea of eating what was in the supermarket, he didn’t know what kind of chemicals could be in them, and with those warning signs, it could be dangerous for Peter to eat, regardless of his already radioactive filled body.

So he’d skipped past the supermarket and continued forth, determined to find some sort of clothing before leaving. He could only hope the clothes would be in better condition than the rest of the place.

Peter wandered through the streets for a few a short while before finally coming across a clothing store, he couldn’t make out the sign as it had been blown to pieces and what was left of it was cracked and worn with time.

But as he’d peeked through what was left of the window, he’d found a number of clothing racks full of different garments. Tentatively, Peter stepped through the door, careful to avoid the broken glass.

Much to his disappointment, the first rack of clothes had been shredded by the broken glass of the window. There were holes all through the clothing, making it unwearable.

He could only pray that the other clothes were in better condition than these as his sixth sense had slowly been becoming louder, warning him to leave sooner rather than later.

Peter walked through more racks full of women's clothing, he wasn’t opposed to wearing women's clothing, he’d just rather get men’s clothing if possible. But he could only be so picky with his current situation.

But, thankfully as he made his way further to the back of the store, there was a number of men’s clothing that were intact and actually wearable.

He groaned to himself as he realised he had no way of carrying them back with him. However, it seemed the universe was having mercy on him, perhaps Parker luck didn’t exist in this universe, as he looked around and noticed a section full of backpacks.

He thanked whatever deity was out there and was quick to grab one, it was a pretty standard bag.

It was black with a large back pocket and a smaller front one. He’d grabbed the backpack and went back over to the clothes. The backpack would only be able to fit so many clothes in it, but Peter could always come back for more, even if his heart sank with guilt at the idea of stealing all these clothes.

“No one else would use them anyway,” he said to himself quietly to ease that guilt, “It’s abandoned and toxic, no one else could use them,” He paused for moment before letting out a tired sigh, “Great, now I’m talking to myself,”

He shook himself out of his stupor and started to pack the backpack full of clothes. He grabbed three shirts, two pairs of pants, a handful of underwear and socks alongside a hoodie.

He made sure to neatly tuck away a nicer shirt and jacket for his upcoming test for Gotham Prep, he didn’t want to look homeless if he could help it.

By now, his sixth sense had become quite loud and Peter thought it was about time to take his leave. So he slung the back over his shoulder and snatched himself a pair of sneakers on the way out before turning back the way he’d come.

Peter decided it was better to run and began doing so, he shouldn’t have stayed so long, even with his radioactive blood who knew what this would do to him.

And with that very radioactive looking pit of an unknown green substance he’d found himself in, he really didn’t need any more contact with anything radioactive than necessary.

He was running down the street when suddenly he was back there. Dodging cars and pedestrians as he ran and ran and ran, his feet bleeding and sore.

Peter stumbled as he ran, ‘it was just a dream,’ he repeated to himself, ‘just a dream,’.

Even so, he ran faster, putting more of his enhanced speed into his steps, and before long he was leaping over the fence once more, his sixth sense lowering to a sharp thrum, still warning him of the danger of the town, but he was no longer in direct contact with said danger, so he’d be alright.

Still, that dream was replaying again and again and again through his mind, fear trying to latch to his lungs, his heart.

He tried not to let it, repeating May’s words over and over to himself, she loved him, she did.

But alas, the nightmares that haunted him clung like ivy, constricted tightly and refusing to budge.

He snarled into the lightening blue sky, he just wanted these thoughts to shut up!

More aggressively than he probably should have, Peter stomped through the streets, attempting to calm himself and rid himself of this horrid dream.

Deep breaths, he needed to take deep breaths.

In and out, he breathed, and again.

He continued walking, trying to calm himself. He was just about to enter the actually populated part of Gotham when his sixth sense screamed at him to stop, it was only because of years of experience that he didn’t flinch at the sharpness of his sixth sense.

Tensing, Peter fell into a defensive stance, only to realise that he wasn’t in any danger… he was the danger?

At first, he thought it was because of the fear and rage that simmered beneath his skin, but, with the welcome distraction of his sixth sense, he calmed more, his heart no longer thudding but a steady beat.

The bag, he realised with a start. He might be able to handle whatever toxicity stuck to the clothes and bags, but the people of Gotham wouldn’t be able to.

Fuck.

He’d been elated to find clothes, only to now realise that they’d be a danger to anyone who came into contact with them.

Perhaps, he could wash off the toxicity, it might have been wishful thinking, but surely Peter could clean them off in a river or something.

The mass amount of water would dilute the toxicity enough that the water itself wouldn’t become harmful and surely it would make his clothes safe for others to be around.

Right?

With nothing better to do, or any other ideas, Peter decided to go wash them in the river. He could hear the rushing water in the distance and followed the sound until he could see the source of said noise. It was relatively small yet quite the feisty river, and hopefully, it would work out.

Peter knelt on the riverbed and carefully pulled out the clothes from his bag. Not really sure of himself, Peter dunked one of the shirts in the water, he had no cleaning agent, but hopefully the water would make it safe enough for him to at least bring into the city.

He let the water rush over the shirt, making sure to flip it inside out, just in case. He rubbed the shirt against itself, hoping that it might help clean it or something, Peter really had no idea what he was doing.

After what Peter deemed a reasonable amount of time, he took the shirt from the river and wrung it out. He squeezed the shirt and shook it out, holding it up.

His sixth sense went quiet as if to tell him it was safe now. He breathed a sigh of relief, if that hadn’t worked, well, he didn’t have a backup plan that’s for sure.

Peter repeated the motions with the remaining clothes alongside the shoes and backpack. He made sure to double check each item with his sixth sense, just to be sure.

But, now he had a pile of wet clothes and a backpack, what was he supposed to do now?

He decided that he could hang dry them on a tree and come back for them that night, after he’d done some studying for the exam he had later that week.

So, Peter hung the clothes on a variety of branches and prayed they wouldn’t be taken, it was unlikely that anyone would come out this far, but not impossible.

And with Peter’s luck, he wouldn't be surprised.

But, he couldn’t sit there all day waiting for them to dry, so Peter left them there and headed back to town.

By now the sky was filled with warm yellows and pinks, signifying the start of morning. The library would be open by now, so Peter made his way there once more.

As Peter walked up to the library, he could hear Barbara on the phone and no he shouldn’t be privy to her conversation, but he couldn't help it that he had enhanced hearing, and well, her tone piqued Peter’s interest, he’d never hear her sound so angry.

“What do you mean he was on top of a roof?” She hissed to whoever was on the other side of the phone, “And you only chose to tell me now,”

Peter could have listened to what the other person was saying, but thought that might be just a bit too invasive. He was just walking through the library door when she started speaking again

“Nightwing…”

Peter didn’t hear the rest of the sentence, having frozen in the doorway of the library.

Fuck.

That was about him.

Chapter Text

Peter made to turn back and leave the library, but it was at that moment that Peter felt Barbara’s eyes on him. He couldn’t turn back now, she’d get suspicious.

So, Peter relaxed his body and put on a false air of calmness. He looked over at the librarian and gave a small wave and a soft smile, no need to act like he knew what she’d just been told.

Barbara returned the wave with a worried frown, concern shining in her eyes.

“Peter, how are you, hon?” Barbara asked, her words thick with worry.

Peter hated that, hated that she was wasting her time being worried about him, wasting her energy on him. He didn’t deserve her worry, he was fine, and voiced as much.

“I’m good thanks, how are you?” He replied cheerily.

Rather than soothing her anxiety like Peter had hoped, it seemed to have the opposite effect, instead causing her frown to deepen.

“I’m okay,” She replied and paused for a moment, seemingly thinking about her next words carefully before ploughing on, “Just, If you need anything, even just someone to talk to, I’m here if you need,” she said it with such earnest that Peter’s heart warmed at her words.

She didn’t even know Peter, and here she was offering her time for him but even so, he was fine, he could handle his problems himself.

“Thanks Ms. Barbara, but I’m good,” He denied her offer, unable to keep the defensiveness from sharpening his voice.

“Okay, Peter,” Barbara replied calmly, voice soft and gentle, “But it’s okay to not be fine,”

“I know that,” Peter said shortly.

Barbara just sighed and smiled softly at the boy as she nodded. Guilt gnawed at Peter as he made his way through the library, she’d been nothing but kind to Peter and how had Peter repaid her?

By being completely rude.

May had raised him better than that, he’d apologise to her when he left, he decided, but for now, he needed to get on with studying.

He could also deal with the fact that Barbara knew Nightwing later as well, Peter didn’t plan on running into the superhero again, so it would be fine.

Peter gathered a number of different books on a variety of different topics; sciences, geography, history and so on.

He decided to start with the history books, he needed to learn this universes history if he had any chance of passing the exam, he could probably just wing the science ones and pass, he’d always been good in those fields, mainly chemistry and biology, though he was no slouch when it came to physics either.

History on the other hand, he was pretty decent back home, his memory always having been good, but here, in this unfamiliar universe, he would be screwed.

So Peter flipped through book after book, soaking up all the information like a sponge. There were some major differences between his own universe and this one, but there were also a number of things that were the same, or similar enough anyway.

History wasn’t exactly that interesting to Peter, so he’d take breaks from reading through those books to instead read through some more engrossing ones.

Biochemistry, Engineering and such were more up Peter’s alley. It was much more enjoyable for Peter when he was flipping through a book of science, especially to understand just how far behind this universe was in the form of technology.

With no Tony Stark in this universe to boost technological advancement, this universe was sorely lacking when it came to clean and renewable energy.

He’d taken a short trip to the computers and dived a little deeper, there were a few projects on renewable energy, but not many. They were also all being done by Wayne Enterprises which seemed to be like Stark Industries just less advanced.

He filed the company name away for later research when he had time to, his sixth sense telling him there was more to the story than meets the eye, or rather, more to Bruce Wayne, the man behind Wayne Enterprises than meets the eye.

But that was for another day, so Peter returned to his readings, flipping through more books.

He spent hours skimming through books, his eyes having barely even read a sentence before he was moving onto the next one.

It was quick work, with the pace that he was reading at, a refresher for him of the topics he had forgotten whilst fighting an overgrown grape and dying and waking up in another universe.

Just normal high schooler things.

He’d brushed up on all his sciences and delved quite deeply into the history of the universe, trying to compare this universe to his own had made it more interesting.

Geography was another big thing he needed to learn for this test, so he’d found a map of the world and studied it. There were a number of countries that were the same within his universe, however, there were also a number that were different, meaning Peter had to learn them.

After he’d taken some time to study the full world map, he’d delved deeper into America, thankfully a country he had in this universe and back home.

It seemed that it was largely the same, New York, New Jersey (where he was) and a number of other cities all stayed the same. There were however, a few cities that were different as well, Metropolis, to name one of them.

He tried to commit the names of these new cities to memory, praying that it would be enough to let him pass the exam and get into Gotham Prep.

He noted the pink that was seeping into the sky and knew that night wouldn’t be too far behind and he still had to get his clothes, which hopefully, were still where he left them.

So, Peter returned the books from where he got them and made his way back through the library. He couldn’t see Barbara as he was leaving the building and after checking, he couldn’t hear her in the building at all.

Guilt flared in his stomach once more, he hadn’t apologised to the woman after he had been incredibly rude to her and now he couldn’t even apologise.

He felt terrible and it was all his fault, his fault for being such a horrible, impolite person.

God, if May could see him now she’d be horrified at his lack of manners.

He followed his feet, not taking care of his surroundings as he walked, burrowing deeper into his guilt. His sixth sense failed to warn him in time to stop himself bumping into a passerby.

Peter looks up to see a tall, muscular man with dark black with a bright white streak to contrast the dark tone. A white streak that looked all too familiar to Peter’s own when he’d looked in the mirror.

The man looked at Peter with piercing green eyes. Green like that goddamn pit that seemed to haunt Peter’s every moment.

Whoever this man was, Peter didn’t want to find out, his sixth sense warning him of the danger that this man could pose, so Peter did the only logical thing and booked it.

He sped off down the street, not turning back to look at the man even when he heard a loud “Wait,” called out after him moments later.

He continued running, weaving in and out of alleys and building, just in case the man was following him.

Once Peter deemed it far enough, he allowed himself a moment to stop and listen, hearing nothing of suspicion, Peter let out a breath of relief.

There was someone else in the city, someone like him. The man had seemed fine on the outside, bright green eyes aside, but the danger that the man posed.

Would Peter become just as dangerous?

A scary thought, and not one he wanted to dwell on, so instead he returned back to the man’s eyes. They had been green, bright and unnatural, unlike Peter’s own which were simply tinted with green, the brown still shining through.

That pit had done something to him and to this man, and judging from the man’s appearance it had happened to him long before it had happened to Peter.

How long would Peter have until his eyes turned the same unnatural shade of green?

Until he was a danger to everyone?

Would it be fair for him to stay alive if it put others in danger?

If he was a threat?

But, perhaps there would be a way to reverse the effects of the, probably radioactive, pit and stop him from becoming a threat. To keep himself being Peter as long as possible.

With a groan, Peter added, get a sample of radioactive pit, onto his mental list. He’d already planned on getting a sample but now he had a time constraint, and now he really needed to get into Gotham Prep or else he’d be screwed.

They’d have labs that would hopefully have the equipment needed to break down the substance and figure out how to reverse engineer it.

Hopefully.

But, that would have to wait a few days, he needed to study more tomorrow for the test that would be the day after that and then he could go back and find a sample to work with.

Peter rubbed a hand over his face with a tired sigh as he continued his walk to the river from that morning.

How has his life fallen so far?

He went from being a straight A student with a loving Aunt and a team of awesome superheroes who were a pseudo family whilst also being a superhero that people looked up to, and now here he is, a homeless teen with anger issues, possible radioactive poisoning and no family.

Just great.

He’d reached the river by now, and forced those thought from his mind,

Time to look forwards not back’,

something Sam had told him at some point.

Thankfully, he was able to see the clothes still hanging from the trees, right where he’d left them.

Grabbing the backpack first, Peter grabbed the clothes and shoved them into the bag. Thankfully, they were dry by now, which meant it worked and if Peter needed he would be able to do this again.

Even if he was against stealing, did it really count if the clothing was thick with radioactive gases?

And now he’s trying to justify stealing, he really has fallen far.

But, he swings the backpack over his shoulder and ties the shoes to one of the straps before walking back to town.

Black was slowly creeping into the sky as Peter made his way back, footsteps light on the concrete as to avoid unwanted attention.

Based on his first impression from this universe and this city, people wouldn’t be afraid to try and take his backpack from him, so he kept it close to himself, always having one hand on it, just in case.

Mercifully, no one tried to grab his bag and he made it back with all his clothes intact.

He’d taken a moment to make sure that the clothes were safe when entering the border of the city, but, his sixth sense didn’t make itself known, so Peter assumed that the clothes were safe.

His sixth sense had never failed him before, it had saved him more times than he could count.

Once back, Peter unpacked the bag, folded the clothes neatly and placed them by the foot of his makeshift bed.

Peter inhaled two cans of beans. He hadn’t eaten in a couple of days and his enhanced metabolism only made it worse. The cans of beans sated his appetite enough, he could have eaten 10 more, but he didn’t have the luxury of wasting food like that.

After he’d eaten, Peter took a drink from the tap in the bathroom. Was it very sanitary? No, but it was water and he couldn’t really complain given his current situation.

At least he had water.

Peter stepped out of the bathroom and looked at the open space, the dust that layered the floor and walls. The mold that was in all corners. He really needed to clean the place up.

He’d neglected doing so as he had more important things to be worrying about, but now he had the time and it was doing his health no good continuing to live in this environment.

He searched the building for some cleaning supplies and was surprised to find both rags and some cleaning agent, albeit there wasn’t much left.

Going back into the main room, Peter got to cleaning. He sprayed and wiped down the room, brushing away the dust and chipping away the mold with the lid of the tin can from his dinner.

He threw the mold into the dumpster in the alleyway outside, and washed the rag with water when needed. He spent what he thought was an hour, judging by the black night sky, cleaning the room and it was… cleaner.

To some extent anyway.

He would need to do a deeper clean another time, but for now, he needed to sleep.

Before heading to bed however, Peter took a shower. Though he had no soap or shampoo or anything, showering with just water was better than anything.

He felt cleaner after he’d washed away the grime and sweat from the past few days, the water hopefully being clean enough for it to be safe for him to bathe in.

Ah well’ he thought, hopefully his healing factor, even if it is slower with his lack of nutrients, would fix any sickness he may get.

So, Peter crawled into bed and allowed his worries to wash away, his mind blank as oblivion took over.

Chapter Text

Nightwing:

Nightwing was leaping across the rooftops, flipping and twisting himself mid-air. He let a small smile tug at his lips, his body relaxing into the familiar movement. He enjoyed jumping between roofs, the dark of the night sky shadowing him.

The city was beautiful like this, despite its many flaws, Nightwing always enjoyed looking out at the bright lights of Gotham.

He allowed himself just a moment to appreciate the scenery before hearing a scream. He followed the sound and found a man cowering in the corner of an alley, a larger man towering over the other. The larger man was growling something at the other, but Nightwing didn’t care, instead leaping into action.

He made quick work of the offender, taking him down with a few strikes of his batons and a punch to the jaw. After making sure the man being attacked was okay, Nightwing made sure Commissioner Gordon was aware of the perpetrator and that someone would be over to detain the man.

Nightwing left the man tied up in the alley, grappling up to the rooftops once more.

He continued leaping between buildings, following his usual patrol route, however, a series of muggings had caused him to deviate slightly.

He’d ended up in Crime Alley, which wasn’t good, he’d never hear the end of it if Red Hood found out.

Nightwing sighed, thinking of the younger man, and turned to leave that part of the city, but stopped when he caught sight of a boy. Said boy was sitting on the ledge of the roof, legs swinging precariously off the side.

Nightwing rushed towards the boys locations, keeping their footsteps light so as not to alarm the boy, he didn’t want to startle the boy off the roof.

As Nightwing got closer, he could see the boy better, he had light brown curls, and seemed to be a teenager, couldn’t have been older than 16, 17 maybe.

“Hello,” Nightwing called gently as he landed on the building the boy was on.

No reply.

“Would you mind coming back from the ledge?” Nightwing said cautiously, he didn’t want to watch the boy plummet to the concrete below.

He needed to be careful and watch his tone and body language.

The boy just looked out at the skyline, like Nightwing had done earlier, though Nightwing looked out with joy, seeing the beauty in the city… all Nightwing could see on the boy’s face was sadness and… longing?

For what, Nightwing didn’t know.

Before the boy could react, Nightwing moved swiftly and pulled him from the ledge of the building, turning to place him softly on the ground.

“I wasn’t going to jump. I just came up here to think,” the boy said, turning to look at Nightwing.

And holy shit, the kids eyes were glowing bright green, green like Jason’s often were when he had his so called ‘fits’.

And if he looked closely, he could see a streak of white hair hidden beneath his brown curls.

Who was this kid and what had happened to him?

It couldn’t be good if the Lazarus pit was involved. Nightwing’s heart ached for the kid, he had barely lived and what had he been through already?

Why was the world so cruel?

“Okay,” Nightwing replied, not convinced. Everything about the kid screamed at him in warning, the kid's posture was curled in on himself, and the lost and faraway look in his eyes.

But, he didn’t want to make the situation worse, he’d just make sure to keep an eye on him.

“Perhaps next time you could think inside, or anywhere that’s not the ledge of a roof,” Nightwing suggested in hopes of convincing the kid that the rooftops weren’t the best idea. '

And that killing himself wasn’t either.

“Mhmm,” the boy hummed. Sadness bloomed within Nightwing, this poor kid.

“So, what’s wrong kid?” Nightwing asked, hoping to gain some insight into the boy's life; both for the kid's safety but also if he could find anything about when this kid was brought back using the Lazarus pit.

He thought the League of Assassins were run out of their base and it didn’t pose well that this boy had probably been brought back to life.

Perhaps he was trained as a new weapon?

They needed to be prepared for the worst.

The kid huffed slightly before answering, “Nothing, I’m fine,” the words clipped.

“I find that hard to believe,” Nightwing frowned, it was clear this kid wasn’t okay. He’d just been about to throw himself off the roof for goodness sake and here he was, pretending everything was fine.

The boy smiled at Nightwing, “Promise,” he said, “I was just up here to think. It’s quiet, time slows, gives me a chance to just be,”

It was said sincerely, and sounded truthful. He could understand that, the want to just have everything stop, even for just a moment, to just be without the weight of everything on you.

Nightwing relaxed slightly before replying, “Okay, next time maybe just stand against the ledge rather than sitting on it?” He said it like a question, giving the boy the power to do what he wanted.

It wasn't a command or anything, just a suggestion, one he hoped the boy would take.

Though he hoped the boy took his earlier advice and went inside instead, he found it hard to believe that the kid would do that. He’d take whatever he could get and was pleasantly surprised when the boy replied,

“Maybe,” he nodded with a smile.

It was at that moment that his comm buzzed to life, ‘

Nightwing we need you, Firefly has been spotted,’

He ignored the comm, wanting to make sure the boy was okay before heading off, he wouldn’t be able to deal if he found the boy’s broken body at the end of the night.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Nightwing checked once more.

“Yes, I’m sure,” the boy assured him, “Go, I’m sure someone needs saving elsewhere,”

Nightwing nodded and pulled out his grappling hook, looking back once more to make sure that the kid was okay before he was soaring through the air.

‘Nightwing, where are you?’ His comm crackled again.

“I’m here, where are they?” Nightwing responded.

‘Is everything ok?’ Oracle asked worriedly.

“It's handled, don’t worry,” Nightwing replied, at least, he hoped it was handled.

- Time Skip -

Nightwing alongside Red Robin and Batgirl took down Firefly before they were able to cause too much damage. Commissioner Gordon had thanked them as he took Firefly into custody, but Nightwing’s thoughts stayed with that young kid.

God, he was probably Tim’s age, what would he do if Tim had tried to, if Tim was going to-

He didn’t even want to think about it.

He felt slightly bad how he brushed off Red Robin and Batgirl as he leapt off into the night, grappling back to the building he’d found the kid on; but it was outweighed by the worry that weighed his gut.

As Nightwing approached, he was glad to see that there didn’t appear to be anyone on the roof anymore, and he let out a breath of relief to find no broken body on the footpath, or the alleyway or anywhere.

It seemed the kid had taken his advice and gone inside, leaving the rooftops to live another day.

The boy was alive, Nightwing could only hope it stayed that way.

He made a mental note of the address and decided he would make sure to check in, just in case the boy was ever up there again.

Tim flashed through his mind once more as he looked at the rooftop, and it was between him and himself alone that he let a tear slip down his cheek, his heart aching for the boy.

Barbara:

Barbara had been keeping an eye on the city as was her job as Oracle, keeping the team up to date on everything they needed to know. So, it was basically muscle memory at this point when she noted Firefly had been spotted and her hands flew over the keys.

She linked into Red Robin and Batgirl, confirming they were on their way to the scene. She also linked into Nightwing to get him there as well,

“Nightwing we need you, Firefly has been spotted,” she said into the heroes comm.

There was no reply.

Barbara frowned, it was unusual for any of them to not reply immediately, even when engaged in a fight, they would let Barbara know they heard her.

There was nothing wrong with Nightwing, everything checked, his vitals were good, nothing was out of the ordinary.

He did appear to be in Crime Alley, she sighed, the man knew better than to go there, perhaps it had something to do with his brother.

“Nightwing, where are you?” she tried again. This time, she got a reply,

“I’m here, where are they?” the hero's voice came back through.

“Is everything ok?” Barbara questioned, an anxious tilt in her voice.

“It’s handled, don’t worry,” Nightwing replied.

So Barbara had taken his word, he said it was handled and if it was really important, he’d tell her. So, she instructed Nightwing where to go and left it at that, not dwelling on the hero’s strange behaviour.

She hadn’t thought too much about it until a few days later when she’d brought up Peter to said hero.

She’d been catching up with Dick, the two remaining close friends despite everything that had happened between them.

He’d been telling her of some nonsense that Damian had been doing, in turn she’d been telling him of the goings on at the library.

She’d mentioned Peter, telling Dick of a cute boy who came in, how she worried about the boy and how tired he had been the day before.

“He doesn’t happen to be, say 16 with green eyes and fluffy brown curls?” Dick had asked, voice filled with sadness.

“Yes, though his eyes are both brown and green, I think,” Barbara had replied, surprise clear in her voice, “How did you know?”

“Remember on patrol the other day with Firefly how I didn’t respond and said it was handled?” Dick had asked.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to push and knew if it was important you’d tell me. I assumed it had something to do with Jason,” Barbara had said, confused as to how this would relate to Peter.

Perhaps, he’d saved the boy from a mugging.

“I don’t know how to put this gently… I,” Dick took a breath, steeling himself, “I was patrolling and found him sitting on the ledge of the roof…” the man trailed off, making it very clear what the end of that sentence was gonna be.

Anger raged through her, how had he only told her now? What if Peter had killed himself and she could have helped? How dare he not tell her!

“What do you mean he was on top of a roof?” Barbara hissed, “And you only chose to tell me now,” her protective side coming out in the form of anger.

“I didn’t even know you knew the boy until now,” Dick defended himself, “and I stopped him before he could jump. He was fine last I saw,”

“So, Nightwing found Peter on the ledge of a roof… was he really gonna…?” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

She knew the boy had issues, the bag under his eyes said a lot, but how did she not realise just how bad it was?

At that moment, Peter walked into the library and gave her a friendly smile and wave. Just how much hurt was that boy hiding beneath kind smiles and soft looks?

“I have to go, Peter’s here,” she whispered into the phone before promptly hanging up and returning Peter’s wave.

“Peter, how are you, hon?” Barbara asked, unable to keep the worry from seeping into her voice.

“I’m good thanks, how are you?” Peter replied with a happy smile. She frowned at this, why was he pretending to be okay when he clearly wasn’t?

What had forced him to pretend he was fine?

“I’m okay,” Barbara replied and paused for a moment, thinking of how best to voice her concern, “Just, If you need anything, even just someone to talk to, I’m here if you need,” she said earnestly.

She really meant it, she may not have known the boy for long, but she wanted to keep him safe and protected. He deserved to be happy, and not hide how he really feels.

“Thanks Ms. Barbara, but I’m good,” Peter denied, his voice defensive.

“Okay, Peter,” Barbara replied calmly, voice soft and gentle, “But it’s okay to not be fine,”

“I know that,” Peter said shortly.

Barbara sighed and smiled softly at the boy. She understood, it wasn’t easy to admit that you needed help, that you weren’t okay. Especially in Gotham.

It made sense that the boy would keep his feelings close to himself, and he barely even knew Barbara so she shouldn’t be surprised at the rejection, but still, she just wanted to help.

So watched as Peter left to go find some books and dialed Dick once more.

He picked up on the first ring, “Babs, is everything okay? Is he alright?” Dick said, voice filled with concern.

“I don’t know Dick, I really don’t know,” Barbara sighed sadly.

“Why, what happened?” Dick demanded.

“Nothing, just, he doesn’t take kindly to help, no one does,” she replied.

“No, he doesn’t, got all defensive with you too?” He asked with a sigh of his own.

“Yeah, I just want to help him. I want him to be safe, to be happy, but asking for help, accepting you need help is the hardest step,”

“I know, all we can do is be there and help in anyway we can,”

“I know, it just, it really fucking sucks,” she said with a resigned sigh. “It really fucking sucks,”

Jason: 

Jason had been having a pretty good day, he’d gotten some hotdogs at a local vendor and was currently thinking of ways to beat up and torture The Joker.

Fun things.

He’d been walking down the street, just checking to make sure there weren’t kids out and about without help. He did all he could to keep the kids safe in Crime Alley, having a safe warehouse if they needed, which had food and water.

It wasn’t much, it wasn't nearly enough, but it was something. A way to keep the kids away from gangs and crime, or an attempt anyway. A few of the kids still got caught up in all the crime of Gotham, there was little he could do to stop that from happening.

He’d been lost in his thoughts when he was suddenly bumped into by someone. He looked down at the person, ready to give them a grilling for bumping into him when the words got caught in his throat.

The boy, because that’s what he was, a teenager, probably 15 if Jason had to guess, was looking at him… with bright green eyes.

Green eyes that haunt him as he looks in the mirror, disgust filling himself whenever he catches sight of them. What’s more was the kids brown curls, brown curls that were tainted with a streak of white, all too similar to his own.

Fuck.

Whoever this kid was, it was obvious that he’d been revived by that fucking pit of green goo. He swore that if Ra's al Ghul was behind this he was gonna skin the man alive.

Before Jason could properly register what was happening, the boy was running off down the street. “Wait,” Jason called when he realised what was happening, he needed to figure out who that kid was and how he had been revived.

Who by.

The kid either didn’t hear him or just ignored him, Jason would guess the latter, as the kid continued running down the street. Jason thought about going after him but the kid was already round the corner and Jason was sure he’d be able to find the boy again.

How many zombie teenagers were there running around anyway?

He toyed with the idea of Ra's al Ghul having revived the kid to raise another killing machine and that the kid was playing the ‘scared teenager’ to lure him into a false sense of security.

That this was just the first part in the kids ploy to capture him and bring him to Ra's al Ghul.

He let out a loud groan as he realised he’d have to go to Bruce about it. If it was different circumstances he’d have sooner cut his own leg off, but where the Lazarus Pit was involved, he knew he needed to go to Bruce.

“Fucking Lazarus Pit, Fucking Bruce, Fucking hell,” Jason growled as he punched a wall, his own eyes glowing just like the boys had been.

Chapter Text

It was still dark out when Peter woke not in a cold sweat or filled with panic, but rather, from a gentle warning of his sixth sense. It nudged at him lightly, just warning him of a presence, not inside the building thankfully, but rather on the roof.

Nightwing, Peter would assume, probably making sure he wasn’t up there about to throw himself off the side of the roof.

But, as Peter was about to let himself drift back into the void of nothing he’d been woken from, he realised that there was someone else on the roof. The two were having an avid discussion, voices raising, making it easier for Peter to listen into.

“...other night. He was going to jump,” came one of the voices, Peter recognised it as Nightwing’s. There was a pause before whoever the other person was, replied.

“Fine,” came the person’s voice, another deep and masculine voice, “but, nothing more. Make sure the kid’s not dead then get the hell out of my territory,” it was said with a hard edge to it.

“Yeah, yeah Little Wing, I’ll get out of your hair,” Nightwing replied, his voice sounding tired, as if he dealt with this often. Whether it was people killing themselves or whoever was the owner of the other voice, Peter wasn’t sure, though he had a sneaking suspicion it was the latter.

Peter blamed it on his sleep-raddled brain, that he didn’t connect the dots immediately. The man had been telling Nightwing to get out of his territory, and whose territory did Peter reside in?

Red Hood’s.

Therefore, it must be Red Hood on the roof with Nightwing, and sue him, but he was curious to get a look at the Vigilante? Anti-hero? Regardless, Peter wanted to see the man up close, not from some grainy images off the library computer.

So, Peter decided to climb up the fire escape, keeping his footsteps silent, not wanting to alert the two of his presence.

He kept an ear out on their conversation, in case they let slip anything useful, what kind of information would be useful, Peter wasn’t sure, but he may as well.

Peter climbed up to the last rung of the ladder, he needed to get a look at the man, something in his body told him to; surprisingly, it wasn’t his sixth sense, more of a gut feeling.

He didn’t dwell on why his gut was telling him this and his sixth sense lay quiet in the back of his mind, instead he made a swift move to hide behind the broken rooftop AC unit.

“I saw a kid today,” Red Hood was saying “... he looked like me,” the vigilante said with a cold tone. The tone surprised Peter, what had this kid done to Red Hood for him to sound like that?

“When you say he looked like you…” Nightwing trailed off, there was something off about the hero’s voice, but Peter wasn’t able to place it.

Peter peered around the side of the AC unit, and saw the two men standing there.

Red Hood wore a black chestplate of sorts, a bright red bat painted in the middle. It was paired with a brown jacket along with black pants, an assortment of guns holstered in various places on the man’s body.

The man was taking off the red helmet on his head, and perhaps Peter should have stopped looking then, respect a hero's identity and all, but he didn’t.

He looked on and holy shit, it was the man he’d bumped into, even with the domino mask in place, Peter would recognize the white streak of hair and unnatural green eyes.

Which meant that the kid he was talking about, was Peter.

“The kid had some white hair,” Red hood said, toying with his own discoloured hair, “and green eyes, they were fucking glowing,”

Peter was taken aback at that, he didn’t realise his eyes were glowing, he knew they had a green tint to them, but they certainly weren’t glowing when he’d seen them last.

“Shit, Jay, are you-” Nightwing was cut off.

“I’m fine. Fucking dandy. Sunshine and rainbows,” Red Hood cut him off, a defensive edge to his voice, anger seeping into his words.

“This is serious, if Ra’s has made Peter-” Nightwing was cut off again.

“Peter?” Red Hood questioned.

“Peter,” Nightwing nodded, “He was the kid on the roof, a white streak of hair and green eyes, just like you,”

“He was gonna jump?” Red Hood asked. Nightwing nodded solemnly.

To Peter’s surprise, it wasn’t a look of pity, or sorrow that Red Hood gave, no it was one of rage and anger.

“If it is Ra’s fault, I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Red Hood said, voice flat and even. Nightwing, to Peter’s surprise, didn’t try to dissuade the other, instead letting out a sigh and saying, ”I know Jay, I know,”

Peter had stayed long enough, and now felt like he was intruding on a personal moment between the two, so he took his leave.

With silent movements, Peter slipped down the fire escape and into the street. His mind was too busy to go back to sleep, so he decided he’d wander as he sorted through everything he’d just learnt.

Peter lumbered down the street as he thought. That random man that he’d accidentally bumped into earlier just so happened to be Red Hood, the vigilante who protected Crime Alley.

Just his luck, perhaps his Parker luck had jumped dimensions alongside him. Peter was still caught up on the fact that whatever had happened to Peter with that pool of green liquid, seemed to have happened to Red Hood as well.

The vigilante had been angry when he’d heard Peter was gonna jump, the green in the man’s eyes glowing slightly, perhaps that had been what Peter’s eyes looked like, though he had a feeling he had looked worse.

But anger, Peter was confused, why would the vigilante be angry? He didn’t know Peter, his death wouldn’t affect the vigilante in any way.

‘Probably because it would ruin the vigilante’s rep, couldn’t save the depressed kid from killing himself,’ Peter thought bitterly.

That name though ‘Ra’s’ rang through Peter’s head, his sixth sense practically screaming at the thought of the man, so clearly said man was dangerous.

If he knew what was good for him, he’d steer clear of any and everything to do with him… But, if he could get answers as to what that liquid is, what it did to him and maybe even how to fix himself, would it be worth it?

He’d cross that bridge when he got to it, he supposed. For now, Peter continued to walk aimlessly through the city, sticking to the shadows, his footsteps silent; no need to alert anyone of his presence, especially at this hour.

Money was another issue that Peter would run into sooner rather than later. He didn’t have any of his own, and he’d run out of food, and he’s sure to need to buy some other things he’s sure.

He had the thought of going back to that part of town full of radioactivity, there was sure to be money in the registers. However, he dismissed it, trying to wash the money wouldn’t end well.

He’d need a job then, one with flexible hours if he wanted to become Spider-man in this universe as well, which he did. Helping people was a part of who he was, without it, he felt lost, more so than he already did anyway.

But between school and vigilante work, he wouldn’t have much spare time. If he even got into school.

Peter had a sudden realisation, back home, he’d gotten a job back home at Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children, it had been perfect. The hours were flexible and late into the night, perfect for school.

To be fair, he’d only had it for about two weeks before Deadpool had come back from a mission and threatened to chop off all of Weasel’s limbs for hiring Peter.

To avoid any bloodshed, Peter had quit, but the money had helped him and May, so it was worth it.

He just made sure Tony never found out about it… he supposed it didn’t matter anymore, the man couldn't do anything.

Peter wished he could.

He shook himself of the thought, now wasn’t the time to dwell on Tony, he needed to be strong, to keep going, he couldn’t break.

Not now.

Not ever.

So, he straightened his back and decided it was time to head back. He made his way back through the streets, he would be able to find that job after his exam.

He could only hope there was a similar type of bar in this universe and that they’d actually hire him.

For now, he just wanted to fall into bed, his body now tired and mind numb. When he got back, Peter did just that, he fell into his makeshift bed and was asleep the moment he lay his head down.

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

He got another few hours of sleep, thankfully devoid of nightmares. This time, when he woke, the sun was shining through the holes and cracks throughout the building, lighting the room and making it feel almost… warm.

Something that had been lacking since he’d arrived in this universe.

Peter let out a low groan as he stretched, sitting up. Rubbing at his eyes, Peter slowly got to his feet, grateful that his ribs had healed by now, they’d been a little stiff after running from the strange man, or Red Hood, Peter now knew.

But since he’d actually gotten some food in him, they were as good as new.

Peter stumbled his way into the bathroom and shoved his head under the tap before turning it on. The cold water streamed down his throat, Peter gulping greedily.

The coolness of the water did well to wake up the boy, now more alert and aware of his surroundings. Peter took one last gulp before turning off the tap and rolling back his shoulders, loud cracks bouncing off the walls.

God, sleeping on the floor seems to have really done a deal on his back. His entire body really.

But, Peter had lots more studying to do today for his exam tomorrow, and he was definitely not stressed about it.

No way, not him.

He was fine.

It wasn’t as if this exam determined whether he’d be able to be Spider-man again or analyse whatever that green liquid was.

Yup, definitely fine.

So, Peter got changed into his new clothes, a pair of jeans that didn’t have any holes, a soft blue shirt and a light grey sweater.

With a smile, and finally a sense of cleanliness, Peter made his way to the library once more.

He made it to the library without anyone trying to mug him and walked into the building. As soon as he entered, he felt Barbara’s eyes on him and turned to the woman.

“Hi, Ms. Barbara,” Peter said cheerily.

“Hey, sweetheart, you look nice,” Barbara greeted with a soft, if not surprised smile.

“Thanks, my dad got me some new clothes,” Peter said with a fake grin, it would be better for her to buy into this lie more and more, to keep her from thinking anything was wrong.

Not that there was anything wrong.

He was totally fine.

Totally and completely fine.

“That’s nice to hear, I’m glad” Barbara smiled.

“Well, I’d better be off Ms. Barbara, got an exam to study for,” Peter said, subtly trying to end this conversation.

“Oh, an exam? What for?” Barbara asked before Peter was able to escape.

“I’m taking the Gotham Prep exam tomorrow,” Peter answered, looking down shyly.

“That’s exciting, I’m sure you’ll do great. A friend of mine has brother’s who go there,”

“That’s nice,” Peter nodded politely, it wasn’t that he didn’t like talking with the woman, it’s just that he really didn’t want to fail. And it would be better for Barbara if she stayed as far away from Peter as possible.

“Sorry, dear, I’ll let you get to it then,” Barbara apologised as if realising his discomfort, and waved him off gently.

Peter smiled at her as he walked away, she reminded him of May. And nope, now way was he going down that rabbit hole, instead Peter picked a book at random and began reading immediately, drowning those thoughts with random bits of knowledge.

Peter spent the day studying, spending little time on science much to his disappointment and focused more on history and geography.

He did spend a good while learning more about the Justice League, he’d had to learn about the Avengers back home, so he figured it would probably be the same here.

Better safe than sorry regardless.

It was boring and Peter got distracted by books on biochemistry more than once, but he was pretty confident in his ability to pass the exam anyway.

If it was anything like the Midtown one anyway, he’d practically aced that one, he could only hope this one would be just as easy.

The day flashed by and before he knew it, the sky was dark and Peter was on his way back. It was just his luck that Peter was being tailed, by Nightwing nonetheless.

It seemed Barbara had spilled to her superhero buddy when he had left. Peter sighed into the air, he really didn’t want to deal with the man, he wanted to get back and sleep before his exam.

He’d taken more than a few tests on little to no sleep and he did fine, kept his straight A’s, but in this universe where he had no idea what the grading curve was like, he wanted to be at his best and most well rested.

Or as well rested as he could be sleeping in an abandoned building.

Peter debated giving the hero the slip, but he didn’t want to come off as suspicious, so instead he stopped. He turned to the building the hero had just landed on and raised a brow.

And perhaps letting the hero know that he knew of his presence wasn't any less suspicious but he figured this would be the better of the two. 

He could use the excuse of always needing to be aware in Gotham as an excuse, and it didn't seem like the hero was trying particularly hard to hide himself so hopefully he wouldn't be questioned. 

Nightwing’s stance was what Peter could only describe as sheepish.

Huh, Peter wasn’t expecting that.

Nightwing made his way down until he stood in front of Peter.

“Can I help you?” Peter asked not unkindly.

“Just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” Nightwing replied, the ‘and alive’ going unsaid.

“While I thank you for that, hero or not, I don’t tend to let people know where I live. Gotham and all. You understand don’t you?” Peter said with fake earnest, it was a believable excuse. “My dad said to not let anyone know where we live, for safety,” he tacked on, people liked it more when it was coming from an adult, even if they weren’t there.

“Okay, yeah, I get that. Gotham is a dangerous place, your dad’s smart,” Nightwing nodded in understanding.

“Thanks,” Peter smiled, “but he’ll worry if I’m not back soon,”

“Right, of course. Sorry, I’ll get out of your hair, just get home safe,” Nightwing grinned before taking off into the night with his grappling hook.

Peter was honestly surprised that it worked, he expected the hero to demand he walk him home, and his sixth sense didn’t alert him to any tracker, or anyone else following him.

Maybe those lessons with Natasha had rubbed off better than he expected.

Peter made it back without running into any further problems and was quick to toe off his shoes before basically collapsing into bed.

He groaned softly at the stiffness in his limbs, but most prominently, his neck.

When he got a job, he’d definitely invest in a pillow. But, that was for future Peter, for now, he curled up under the coats and was out like a light.

Chapter Text

Peter, despite having gotten an early night, had woken up many times throughout the night. He had tossed and turned, sleeping for no more than an hour or two before waking up once more.

So, by the time that it was time he actually got up and ready for the day, he was exhausted. His body was stiff, eyes threatening to shut at any moment.

Peter made his way to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. The cold water woke Peter up enough to register himself in the mirror.

He had some pretty bad bags under his eyes, though not as bad as he was expecting.

His eyes were mainly brown, just a slight tinge of green within the inner ring of his eye. He was relieved to see that they weren’t glowing like Red Hood had said they were.

After brushing his fingers through his hair in an attempt to neaten his curls, Peter ate some breakfast before heading out.

Though it was still early, Peter needed to get to Gotham Prep before 9:00 am. Peter didn’t have any money for a bus or train, all the more reason he needed that job, and resigned himself to making his way there on foot.

By the time Peter reached the school, there were a number of people milling about, clearly also here from the exam.

A burn of jealousy and longing shot through Peter as he watched these other kids be dropped off and wished luck by their parents.

He wished May was there to see him off, to wish him luck and drop a kiss on the top of his head, filling him with warmth. But she wasn’t, instead Peter stood there alone, a cold feeling filling him.

He followed the line of people to the office where he signed in and was told where to go. Peter made his way to the class he was assigned to and waited, wringing his hands in anxiety.

What if he failed?

What if he didn’t get in?

What would he do?

Before he could continue spiralling, a call was shouted.

“All right everyone, settle down!” A voice boomed, deep and gravely. “Now, you’re going to come in, phones off and in your bags at the front. I want nothing but pens on your desk. You will be silent, take a seat and will not, I repeat, will not open the booklet on your desk.” the man instructed and waved the kids in.

Peter fell back, waiting for the others to shove their way through the door before making his own way into the classroom.

He didn’t have a phone or bag, just two pens in his pocket that he’d swiped from the library.

Peter was silent as he sat down, placing his pens on the desk and sat still, waiting. The other kids swarmed around the class, taking their own seats, loud rustling assaulting Peter’s ears as everyone got themselves situated.

“Good.” the man nodded once everyone was settled. “You will have 3 hours to complete this exam, you may not leave within the first 45 minutes nor the last 15. You may start at 9:00 meaning you have until 12:00 to complete your tests. There is a clock here,”

the man said, gesturing to the object on the wall,

”and I will be keeping track of the time on the board as well.” he continued, and Peter now noticed that on the board at the front were half hour intervals from 9:00 to 12:00.

“If I catch you cheating, that includes speaking, I will throw you out and your chance of getting admitted will be ruined.” The man’s words were blunt, but they relaxed Peter’s nerves.

Matt was always blunt, and his presence had always managed to calm Peter. Rather than getting emotional over this man reminding him of his (probably dead) friend, Peter let the tone relax his frayed nerves and took a deep breath he could do this.

“You may begin,” the man stated as Peter tuned back into the man’s words.

Peter took a breath, wrote his name on the front before flipping the front page.

He could do this.

The first section of the exam was English based. It hadn’t been his strong suit but after becoming friends with MJ, he understood the deeper meaning within texts and was able to pull things from different books and poems.

He was thankful that he’d spent so much time with her because he breezed through the English based section of the exam.

Next, was the science based portion and Peter frowned as his eyes flicked over the questions.

Was it really that simple?

Come on, he’d been doing work with electromagnetic energy since he was 10, he’d read Dr. Banner’s theories on Gamma radiation when he was the same age.

Peter knew he was ahead for his age, but still, he swore his year group couldn’t be this behind, this was supposed to be a smart school, like Midtown had been.

Not that Midtown had really challenged him either.

Only Mr. Stark had really done that.

So, he sped through the science questions, slightly sad that they weren’t more challenging but also relieved they were so easy.

The maths section of the exam was simple, he’d been doing this sort of Calculus for years, tying in together with his engineering in Mr. Stark’s Lab.

He breezed through the questions, X went here, Y over there, rearranged, set it equal to zero, and so forth. Really, it should be more challenging, but he wasn’t going to complain, it meant he had a pretty damn good chance at getting accepted.

The rest of the exam passed by, Peter was pretty sure he’d done well enough in the history and geography segments, well enough to pass and hopefully get into the school anyway.

And if he didn’t do well enough, hopefully his (almost certainly) perfect science score would make up for it.

But, instead of panicking about how badly he did or didn’t do, Peter went over his answers once more.

And then again.

He’d triple checked his answers before looking at the time to see how much longer there was. 5 minutes based on the time of the clock.

So, Peter sat there waiting for 5 minutes, breathing evenly to calm his nerves.

“Time's up! Pens down!,” the man called out. Peter pocketed his pens and sat there, waiting as the man went around and collected every applicant's exam. His own test was plucked from his desk last as the man made his way back to the desk at the front.

“All right, make your way to the cafeteria whilst I get these all scanned through. Lunch is provided and you’ll find out if you got in or not once we’ve finished,” The man ordered as he picked up his own bags.

At the command, the students rushed to grab their bags and hurried out the door and to the cafeteria, following the other kids already in the halls.

Once more, Peter held back and waited for everyone, par the professor, to leave before making his own way out.

He followed a few paces behind everyone else, mind swirling over his answers in doubt.

Had he got that right?

Did he balance that equation correctly?

All he could do was wait, he supposed.

Peter joined the line of kids, grabbed a tray and got some lunch. Sandwiches and fruit was on the menu it seemed, Peter’s mouth watered as he grabbed his food, having not eaten anything other than canned beans since he got to this god awful universe.

He found a seat in the corner of the cafeteria, away from where others were mingling, it was clear some knew each other beforehand and had taken this exam together.

Peter ate and observed the crowd of students. There weren’t too many students applying, which Peter’s senses were thankful for, he didn’t want to deal with his sense being overwhelmed.

Once Peter finished his meal, his stomach sated for now, he sat there fiddling anxiously with his wrists. He wasn’t sure how long it had taken until a throat was cleared and a feminine voice rang out through the cafeteria.

“Quiet down please, we have finished scanning through your exams. We are pleased to invite 10 students to join Gotham Preparatory High School and apologise to those of you who did not make the cut. You are welcome to try again next time of course.”

Her voice carried through the space, commanding and concise.

“Now, I will call out those of you who have made the cut, I ask you to stay behind for further information. For those of you who do not get called, you are free to leave,” The woman continued.

Peter stayed still, teeth digging into his lip, heart pounding, though by the sounds of it, so was everyone else’s. He could hear the erratic heartbeats of everyone in the room, at least they were all just as nervous as he was.

“Dylan Smith,” The first name was called. Peter heard an accompanying gasp of relief, presumably Dylan’s.

“Zuri Davis,” another name was called alongside another breath of relief.

Another name. Another relief filled sigh.

And another.

And another.

And another.

Peter’s panic grew, had he not gotten in? What was he supposed to do? He didn’t have a plan B. Before his panic could escalate, the woman’s voice rang through the room again.

“Peter Parker,” she called last, and Peter sagged where he sat, letting out a breathy laugh filled with relief, he had gotten in.

He’d passed.

It was okay.

“That is all, thank you for taking time to come and take this exam, apologies to those of you who did not make the cut. You may leave now,” The woman spoke rather bluntly Peter had to say as he watched the other kids leave the room, disappointment clear on their faces and in their hunched postures.

Once the other teens were ushered from the room, the woman began speaking once more.

“Congratulations on doing exceptionally well on your exam, some of the highest scores we’ve seen in a while,” she acknowledged with an approving nod. “Now though, we have more pressing matters. If you’d follow me,” she moved on quickly, turning and starting to walk.

Peter and the other students rushed after her, not wanting to be left behind.

“We are going to get you your uniforms, you will get two sets of uniforms that are expected to be worn appropriately at all times. That means neat, tidy and clean. From there, we will enrol each of you in the classes you would like to take, and based on your scores, perhaps some AP classes would be good." The woman opened a door and stepped through, Peter and the other students following behind.

The room was relatively small with different uniforms filling the room. There were the normal school uniforms alongside what appeared to be sport uniforms, not that it mattered to Peter, he wouldn’t be doing any sports.

He didn’t need to expose himself as a meta, especially with how much this city hates them.

The woman, who Peter still hadn’t learnt the name of yet, went through each student, asking for their size and grabbing the corresponding uniform.

She was gracious enough to put the sets of uniforms in a tote bag with ‘Gotham Preparatory’ stamped on it.

Peter felt relief flow through him, he hadn’t bought his bag and really didn’t want to have to carry it around with his arms all the way back.

“And you?” the woman questioned as she turned to Peter.

“Medium,” Peter said softly. She nodded and turned to grab his uniform before handing it to him in said tote bag.

Peter thanked her as he took the bag and gently swung it over his shoulder.

From there, it wasn’t far from another office where they were asked to sit outside and got called in one by one. No-one spoke as they sat outside, waiting for everyone to be called in.

Finally, Peter was called through and he tentatively stepped into the office and took a seat opposite the woman. Her fingers tapped against she found what he guessed was his school file.

“We were very impressed with your score Mr. Parker,” the woman said, her voice softening slightly, her tone not so harsh. “Perfect mark on the science, maths, and english sections with decently high scores in the history and geography parts.”

“T-thank you,” Peter replied, unsure how to take the compliment. It really hadn't been that hard.

“I believe it would be best to place you in AP classes for Calculus, English, and your choice of science or sciences of course.”

“I- that would be great thanks. I um I was hoping to do Bio and Chem if that’s okay,” he needed to take Chemistry to make his web fluid. “I wasn’t sure if you guys offered an engineering, computer or mechanical course.”

“Of course, that is more than fine. We offer a mechanical engineering and a computer science course, if you were wanting to take them both,”

“If that's okay, and I ah don’t really think I’d need geography o-or english, if that’s okay,” It would hurt too much, the thought of MJ with every assignment, every reading, every lesson.

He wouldn’t be able to do it.

Wouldn’t survive.

“Of course, completely fine. So, you were wanting to take, AP Calculus, AP Biology, AP Chemistry, Computer Science, Mechanical Engineering and History,”

“Yes please, that’d be great,” Peter nodded with a smile.

“Perfect, and you are all set to go, you may wait outside with the other students, I will be there momentarily.”

Peter stood and made his way outside, taking his previous seat and sat there in silence with the rest of the students.

It wasn’t long until the woman, Peter, really needed to learn her name, and her job title - probably the principal based on her taking them around and her commanding aura - made her way out and spoke to them all once more.

“Thank you for coming, we are pleased to have you joining our school. The new term begins not this coming Monday but the following one. On Monday you will come to the office to get your timetable, a tour will be given to you from a fellow student to help settle you into the school. Congratulations once more on being accepted into Gotham Preparatory, we look forward to helping you thrive. Thank you, and have a wonderful day, you are free to go,” There was a murmur of thanks from everyone before they all left.

Peter was quick to slip away from the group, not wanting any unnecessary social interaction, he was already dreading the tour that had been mentioned.

But he had got in. He had actually done it and was beyond relieved.

Not only would he (hopefully) be able to make his web fluid in Chemistry, but he just might be able to work with his Mechanical Engineering course (and some probable dumpster diving) to create some tech for when he went out as Spider-man, namely a voice modulator.

No need for anyone to be able to track Spider-man to Peter Parker, and with his New York accent, it was a dead give away.

Peter let himself go through the motions as he returned home. Taking turns as his sixth sense saw fit, his mood was the best it had been since getting here.

Perhaps his luck was turning around.

Of course at that moment the building opposite Peter exploded.

Chapter Text

Peter crouched, bringing an arm up to protect his face as debris flew towards him.

He wasn’t Spider-man, couldn’t hide behind the mask out here so Peter stayed cowering, allowing himself to be hit with any rubble that came his way.

His sixth sense was screaming at him to move but he forced himself to stay curled up. A particularly sharp warning from his sixth sense had Peter flinching before the rubble even hit him.

It smacked Peter in the shoulder, sending the boy sideways. He was just a civilian, no normal person would be able to keep themselves steady after being hit by concrete the size of a basketball so he let himself be thrown off-kilter.

Eventually the rubble stopped cascading down on Peter, but he could hear the screams and cries of others, those in the building and nearby. People who were hurt and scared, hearts thumping like crazy.

But in the midst of all this panic, Peter could hear the unmistakable voice of Nightwing calming people as he got them out, saving their lives, his heartbeat a steady thump thump thump for Peter to focus on as his senses were being assaulted by all the screaming.

There was someone else there, a feminine voice ringing out as she too saved the injured, her heartbeat just slightly quicker than average.

She was newer than Nightwing, less sure of herself but she hid it well with the way she spoke; much like Peter had been when he first started.

Peter had hidden his fear and uncertainty behind quick quips and false smiles, she was better than Peter had been at hiding it though.

Peter had come a long way from when he first started, he’d stared down a number of villains without flinching.

He certainly had the ability and strength to help Nightwing and this other hero, but with a wave of self loathing, Peter stood and slipped into the shadows.

The screams of fear and pain carved themselves into Peter’s brain as he took off, he was a coward. His life wasn’t worth more than theirs, he didn't deserve to run off safe whilst their lives were in danger.

He should have stayed and helped, faced the risk of being discovered as a meta and taken away.

These thoughts swirled around Peter's mind as he made his way back and clambered onto the roof of the fire station.

Peter slid down to curl into a ball, head resting on the ledge of the roof. Tears slid down his face as he continued to listen to the hurting people.

Their screams like daggers to his heart, he was a selfish bastard, he should be there helping those people.

Peter stayed there listening until the screams died down as Nightwing and the other hero leaped into the night once more.

Not 10 minutes later, Peter could feel that he had been spotted by Nightwing, hearing as the hero began making his way towards the boy.

Peter debated going inside, slipping away before Nightwing could reach him but thought better, he didn't want Nightwing to realise Peter knew he was on his way; it would only make the hero more suspicious of him.

He’d chosen himself over all those injured people, he wouldn't make it be in vain by Nightwing discovering him as a meta now.

The hero landed quietly on the roof, even to Peter's enhanced ears, and made his way over to the boy cautiously.

“Peter?” Nightwing called softly.

“How do you know my name?” Peter questioned coldly, he may have already known how, but the hero didn't need to know that. The hero was thrown off by the question, freezing where he stood.

“Oh ah um,” the hero stutters.

“It’s not very heroic to stalk people,”

“No I wasn’t stalking you,” Nightwing is quick to say, the man’s cheeks reddening.

“As long as your not gonna sell my information to some villain or something,”

“I- no, I-I’m not gonna sell anyone anything,” The hero stutters out, distress clear on his face.

Peter takes pity on the man and starts laughing, “Kidding, I won’t ask, I trust you,”

Nightwing relaxes and sits down with Peter, his tone sheepish. “Thank you,”

“Did you get everyone?” Peter asks, all humour gone from his voice.

“Pardon?” “The building that exploded, d-did you get everyone. Please say everyone’s okay,” Desperation creeped into his words. If someone got hurt when he could have helped, he’d never forgive himself.

“Yes, we got everyone out in time, and caught the culprit too,” Nightwing assured, the hero's heartbeat was steady, no fluctuations.

He wasn’t lying.

Relief seeped through Peter, body sagging as he let out a deep breath.

“Good, that’s, that’s really good,”

“It is,” Nightwing agreed, “But how are you?”

“Oh I’m fine, I didn’t get that hurt or anything,” At these words the hero does a double take as worry blooms over his face,

“Wait, you were there?” Nightwing asks, urgency creeping into his voice.

“Yeah, but I’m fine,” Peter shrugged, it didn’t matter that he was there, he wasn’t important or anything.

It mattered that everyone else was safe, he certainly wasn't worth worrying about, stating as much to the hero, “you don't need to worry about me,”

“Are you hurt? Do you need medical attention? Are you okay?” Nightwing asked quickly, words tainted with concern.

Concern that Peter didn’t deserve.

He wasn’t worth it.

“No, I wasn’t hurt” It was a small white lie, one that barely mattered anyway, the few injuries he had sustained were either healed or would be within a day.

Despite Peter's words, the hero's frown deepened as he took survey of the boy. It was clear to Peter that Nighting was looking for any injuries, the man's eyes scanning over him - like Mr. Stark had done on numerous occasions.

It hurt to see the concern written on the man’s face, reminding him too much of his old mentor.

Because that's what he was now, his old mentor, Peter didn’t think he'd ever see Mr. Stark again.

“Still, it can be scary to see something like that, are you sure you're okay?”

“I’m sure, these kinds of things happen all the time,” In New York crime certainly hadn’t been as common or expected as it was in Gotham, but stuff like buildings exploding still did happen and far more frequently than Peter would have liked.

“It does,” Nightwing sighs sadly, “but if you need anything, even just someone to talk to, I’m here,” The offer warmed Peter’s heart, the hero didn’t even know him yet here the man was giving him his time; even if Peter knew it was just the mans ‘heroic’ duties.

Peter had done similar things himself, he’d sat with people and listened to their problems, he’d helped kids with their homework when they needed it, he’d offered time to everyone.

It was what heroes were supposed to do.

The warmth in his heart vanished though, leaving him cold and empty. Nightwing didn’t actually care about him, he reminded himself, the hero just wanted to make sure that Peter didn’t kill himself.

The hero didn’t actually care.

Why would he?

“You need something?” Peter asked not unkindly.

“Just making sure you’re okay, glad to see you weren’t sitting on the ledge this time,” Nightwing said, making light of the situation.

Peter was thankful for it, bad jokes he could handle, raw concern he couldn’t. And Peter couldn’t break down, not now; he didn’t have the time or safety to break down.

Not now.

Not ever.

“Maybe your advice wasn’t so bad,” Peter laughed softly. Let the hero think he was okay, that everything was fine and maybe he would be able to convince himself of that too.

Nightwing chuckled at his words as a small smile tugged at the man's lips. Peter returned the gesture with his own smile, forcing to not let it fall.

He was fine.

Peter was thankful the hero didn’t bring up his red rimmed eyes, he didn’t want to try and lie his way out of why he was crying; he was already tired and doubted he’d come up with anything believable.

Instead, the hero had sat down with the boy and looked out to the skyline. Neither said anything for a while, just sitting in silence.

Peter found himself enjoying the presence of the hero, a strong pillar as his life crumbled around him.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, Peter scolded himself.

Don’t get attached, he thought, it’s not worth it.

He’s not worth it.

And knowing Parker luck, the hero would die just like everyone else in Peter’s life, he couldn’t let that happen. Peter stood, he needed to distance himself from the hero, from everyone.

“I think I’m going to turn in for the night, I’m sure my dad will be worried if I don’t get back soon,” Peter said detachedly, the hero couldn’t die; the city couldn’t afford it.

“Of course,” Nightwing nodded, there was something in his expression but Peter was too tired to dissect what it was.

Instead, Peter smiled and made his way down the fire escape. He didn’t slip through the window, Nightwing was still on the roof and the hero didn’t need to know Peter lived in the abandoned fire station.

Peter walked across the street, feeling as Nightwing followed him with his eyes. Rather than following him like Peter had expected the hero to do, the man swung off into the night, perhaps the hero had taken in Peter’s words from the other night. Or his ‘dad’s’ words anyway.

Once Peter was sure the hero was gone, he slipped back into the fire station and practically collapsed onto the pile of coats; black creeping into his vision as the world fell away into darkness.

BOOM!

A loud explosion rang through the air. Peter fell to his knees as debris rained down on him, his sixth sense pounding.

Leaping to the side, Peter managed to miss being hit by a massive piece of concrete, but as he moved, another slab fell on top of him; the last thing he saw was the pure terror in the faces of those inside the building.

On May’s face.

Peter yelled in Panic, Aunt May was there, she was scared. He could save her, he had the powers to do so.

His Aunt’s face flashed through his mind, the pure terror on her face haunting him, the sounds of her screams like knives to her heart.

She was in danger, and Peter could save her; he’d saved many before, he needed to save her.

Pushing against the slab of concrete that had buried Peter, the boy groaned at the exertion.

Nothing happened.

Peter pushed more and more, panic blinding him. And suddenly, Peter was under the warehouse again, the sound of Vulture’s laughter ringing in his ears.

Black.

Black.

Black.

It was all Peter could see, totally enveloped his senses. Dread filled Peter, no he couldn’t be back here, he’d gotten out.

He had.

Peter pushed and pushed and pushed, using all of his strength to get the damn thing off of him. He couldn't breath, the weight crushing his lungs. Tears streamed down his face as Peter gasped for air, begging for help.

“P-please, help,” he sobbed, voice rising as panic tried to strangle him, “HELP! PLEASE, SOMEONE, HELP!!” Peter screamed, fear wrapping around his heart.

But he understood, he didn’t deserve help, why would anyone help him? He had to do it himself, he was alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Heaving, Peter shoved, bones creaking. As he pushed, Peter heard a sharp crack, his rib had broken and by the hot pain that came from his chest, had punctured his lung.

Peter coughed out a mouthful of blood, but he persevered, continuing to push against the concrete surrounding him. Continuing to push even as another resounding crack rang through the air, and another.

That made three broken ribs, but he had to do it. He had to save May, to get out, to save himself.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

There was no one to save him.

With a roar of pain, Peter lifted the concrete off him and threw himself out from underneath it. He didn’t give himself a moment, immediately standing up, ignoring the burning pain throughout his entire body.

He looked around and he wasn’t underneath the warehouse, Vulture wasn’t taunting him, there was no plane flying off.

It was worse.

May was standing in the building as it burned around her, blood streaming down her face, one of her legs bent at an unnatural angle. He refused to let himself fall, even as his legs threatened to give out beneath him, he had to save her.

“May,” he called out for the woman, the woman who had taken him in and loved him as if he were her own. The woman who had lost her husband and still managed to look after Peter. The woman who had given him everything she had to offer.

Because as much as she would always be Aunt May, she had been his Mother, Mary would always be his mother but May had taken on the maternal role in Peter’s life and that’s all that mattered.

At the end of the day, that woman was his mother. And he was too weak to save her, he wasn’t good enough, he was useless. He watched in horror as the woman fell from the building, leaping towards her.

But she wasn’t Aunt May anymore, no, it was Gwen falling from the building. Gwen’s hair covered her face from Peter’s perspective but he still knew the look that she wore.

Her mouth open in fear as she fell, her eyes wide and filled with tears. That look haunted him and always would, she knew that Peter wouldn’t be able to save her, knew that he was a failure.

But even as she knew this, she was scared, scared to die that night and it was all Peter’s fault. Peter raced forwards, screaming out to the falling woman, she had been too good for Peter, too good for the world.

She would have done wonders if it weren’t for him.

Even as his legs finally gave out under him, causing Peter to fall to his knees, the boy didn’t stop. He crawled forwards, dragging his legs behind him.

She was falling quickly, too quickly for Peter to do anything. If he had been faster, better, he could have saved her.

Her body hit the pavement with a loud smack, one that had been burned into his ears after having heard the woman’s back break that fateful night. Tears blurred Peter’s vision as he crawled towards the body on the pavement.

Why was he such a failure?

Peter was able to crawl to the body only to find that it wasn’t Gwen lying on the ground, it was Uncle Ben.

Blood pooled around his body, as Peter begged to the air around him. Begged that they give him back, that he be okay, even if Peter had heard the moment the man’s heart stopped.

Ben didn’t deserve to die, not like Peter does. Uncle Ben was good, he protected people and kept them safe as a cop.

He had taken his brother’s child in with no complaint and gave Peter the best life he could. He had always made sure to get Peter the latest science books even when they were on a tight budget.

He had always made time for Peter and his science fairs or robotic tournaments.

Always.

And how had Peter repaid him, he’d gotten the man killed. If Peter had just stopped the robber, if he’d actually used his powers for good, if he had done something, anything, then Ben wouldn’t be dead.

It was all his fault.

Why was he such a failure?

He couldn’t save his family, hadn’t been able to save Gwen or Ben and now had failed May too. He was a disappointment, a failure, he deserved all this pain and suffering.

Deserved to be sent into a shitty universe to live out his days because he was a worthless, useless, no good hero.

What was the point if he couldn’t save those he loved?

Peter sobbed and cried and screamed as he hovered over the man’s body, Peter’s hand covered in the man's blood.

His own blood flowed from his mouth as he coughed, falling onto the man’s body. Peter cried harder, wailing hysterically as he cursed himself for being so useless.

His tears mixed with the blood, forcing Peter to look away.

He looked up to the sky, screaming in rage, as green began to taint it, the blue slowly bleeding into green.

Rage consumed Peter as he growled into the air, everything slowly being consumed by green, so slowly as if to mock him.

His senses were consumed in a bright neon green, but he didn’t fight it, not this time, he let the rage take hold of him.

What would be the point anyway?

Chapter Text

Peter awakes with a wail, one filled with rage, despair and… pain. The more Peter blinks himself awake, the more the pain hits, his body aches with it, his ribs the epicentre.

What had happened?

He’d gone to sleep last night and now he’s somewhere unfamiliar but as Peter looks around he realises it is familiar. Dread pools in his guts as he takes in the lab equipment that surrounds him.

He hadn’t gone into the room but when he’d first woken in this god forsaken universe and was on his way out he’d spied a room full of lab equipment.

It seems he was in that very room now and with the way his sixth sense was buzzing in the back of his head he knew he was back.

Back with that horrible green pit.

Fear filled him at the realisation, how did he get here?

Why was he here?

And why did he have the same injuries that he got in his dream?

Because it was a dream, it couldn’t have been real, both Gwen and Uncle Ben were already dead.

Then why were his ribs broken?

He didn’t have any answers and it scared him. It had to be something to do with the pit, he was sure of it, there had to be a reason he was back here specifically.

A reason why he went to sleep and woke up here.

There had to be.

Peter got to his feet, having to use the table to stabilise himself as pain shot through his legs. He let out a grunt, pushing through the pain as he took stock of the room.

He didn’t have any answers, that may be true, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t get any.

He had everything he needed right here, a lab and the pit.

All he needed was a sample.

It may not have been his original plan to use this lab but it was a better one. He’d be endangering everyone at Gotham Prep if he analysed the pit at school, it was safer for everyone if he did it here.

Everyone but him and that was okay.

He didn’t matter. 

Peter found a test tube that he would be able to get the sample with but he’d rather not touch the substance if possible and after a little scrounging, Peter found a pair of Crucible tongs that he would be able to use.

Now he just had to get to that pit again.

He hated to admit that he was filled with terror, tried to push it down but to no avail.

He was scared, scared of what that pit could do to him if he went down to it. His sixth sense was yelling at him in warning, danger danger danger, which just made it worse.

He should always trust his sixth sense, it had kept him alive more times than he could count and now he was just going against both his sixth sense but also his own common sense. Yes.

He had to, if he didn’t, more things may happen to him. He might hurt someone by accident, might become dangerous.

He couldn’t let that happen.

So, with his resolve hardened, Peter stumbled his way down to the pit, retracing the steps he’d taken to get out. He grit his teeth as he made his way down, ignoring the pain.

He’d had worse.

He was fine.

Everything was fine.

He needed to do this.

Peter continued making his way down, using the wall to balance himself. He stopped just outside the cavern. This was his last chance to turn back, to go back to the fire station and pretend nothing happened.

He could do it, could pretend like nothing was amiss, pretend he hadn’t woken up here again.

But, it wasn’t worth the risk, the only person that could be hurt this way was him.

And he didn’t matter, so it was fine.

With a steadying breath, Peter stepped forward, eyes immediately drawn to the glowing light. He staggered towards the pit, knees wobbling dangerously as he did so.

He was able to push through even with his screwed up legs, lowering himself by the edge of the pit with a huff.

Pulling out the test tube and tongs he’d stowed in his pockets, Peter lessened the distance between him and the pit.

He hated this, hated how close he was to this no good substance, hated the fear that was embedded into his very core, hated the way his hands shook as they neared the liquid.

He hated himself.

With an annoyed growl, Peter got it over with, dipping the test tube into the strange substance and filling it. He was withdrawing his hand when it bubbled, the liquid leaped towards Peter, as if to drag him back into its depths.

The substance coated his hand and Peter saw green.

Green.

Green.

Green.

Everything was green, it clung to him, wrapped around him in a tight grip. He couldn’t breathe, green filling his lungs, a tight cord around his throat.

Green.

Green.

Green.

It poisoned his blood, toxicity flowing through him, consuming him, eating him.

Green.

Green.

Green.

The stench filled the space, it stuck to him, sharp and bitter, burning his nostrils.

Green.

Green.

Green.

His heart beat green and he let loose a scream.

Gwen. Uncle Ben. Aunt May. Mr. Stark. Pepper. Natasha. Matt. Wade.

Person after person rushed by him, each more beaten and hurt than the last. Blood streamed down their faces, their bodies.

Bright green and glowing blood.

Green.

Green.

Green.

It spilled from their wounds, their noses, their mouths, their eyes. It was everywhere, they were everywhere.

He desperately tried to help them, tried to grab them as they flew past, he failed.

Like always.

He couldn’t stop them, couldn’t stop this. If only he was stronger, faster, better... maybe then they wouldn’t be dead. 

It was all his fault.

T heir injuries were getting worse, their faces pale, blood pouring from their bodies.

Green.

Green.

Green.

Peter cried as he continued to try and grab them, to wrap their wounds, to stop the bleeding. He just wanted it to stop. For it all to stop. He begged and pleaded and screamed, but to no avail; sharp words now accompanied them as they flew by.

Your fault. I know.

Weak. I know.

Useless. I know.

Worthless. I know.

Unloved. I know.

Pathetic. I know.

Unwanted. I know.

Freak. I know.

They were all there now, encircling him as they closed in on where he had collapsed to the ground. Their words, their truths, spoken harshly.

H is fault.

Blood trailed behind them as they stalked closer.

His fault.

T heir words became louder and louder until they merged into a loud roar in his ears, reverberation around his skull.

His fault.

They came close enough to touch him if they so pleased, not that they would. He was poison to them all, he’d gotten them all hurt or killed. They loomed over him, eyes glowing with fury and disgust.

G reen.

Green.

Green.

And then they were suddenly liquefying, their faces melting as they screamed. Peter could only look on as their eyes went white before dissolving into the same green that their faces had melted to.

Even with their faces gone, their painful screams were ingrained in his brain. His fault. The rest of their bodies followed soon after, skin dripping as it turned an unnatural green.

Before long, they were nothing but a pool encircling Peter.

Green.

Green.

Green.

His vision was clouded as a green smog encased him.

He hoped it would kill him.

He wasn’t so lucky, it seemed, as Peter blinked himself into full consciousness; still alive and breathing. Not that he deserves to die, he deserves the suffering.

He expected to feel angry, to have that hot simmering pool in his gut that begged to get out. He expected to scream and rage and shout, but he didn’t.

He just felt numb.

Numb to the world around him.

A boy stood and stumbled his way up and out of the cavern, brown hair caked with dirt.

Static filled the air around him, a loud hissing noise.

The boy kept moving up, eyes bloodshot and glowing green.

Hiss.

The boy continued to hobble his way to the lab, wincing ever so often.

Hiss.

The boy made it into the lab where he placed a tube of green liquid in a rack.

Hiss.

A plethora of devices and equipment was pulled out by the boy, placed on a table with the strange tube.

Hiss.

The boy grabbed the tube and took the cork out.

Hiss.

A wince caused the boy’s hand to shake and a small drop of that strange liquid tipped out and onto his hand.

Hiiiiiiisssssssssssss.

Peter frantically wiped his hand on his hoodie, desperate to get it off of him. He hated it and the things it did to him. To his relief, nothing happened, no visions of his dead loved ones, no fits of rage.

Nothing.

He didn’t dwell on it and turned to his work station and blinked.

Had he done that? He didn’t remember doing any of this.

So who had?

Did it matter?

At this point, Peter didn’t honestly care who had done it, he was too tired to care and if anything bad happened to him, well, he’d deserve it.

He pushed down the thoughts and almost robotically Peter took a pipette and sucked up a small sample of the pit. He placed said sample on a slide before placing it under the microscope.

This was easier, no need to dwell on his problems when he could drown them out with thoughts of science.

Peering into the lenses, Peter adjusted them until he could see the substance clearly. He frowned at what he saw, it was both familiar and unfamiliar at once.

Most of it he understood, familiar with seeing such things on a microscopic level but there was something about the structure of it, the way it moved that was very foreign to Peter.

The thing had bought him back from the dead though, so it shouldn’t be surprising.

He ran a few more tests on the substance, if he wanted to find a way to cure himself or as close as he’d be able to get he’d need to understand it on a molecular level.

If he could figure out what it was really made of, he could find a way to counter its effects and hopefully return him to normal.

At the very least, he wanted to find a way to stop his rage from showing its ugly face, he could really hurt someone if he wasn’t careful.

He might deserve pain and suffering, but others didn’t.

Peter spent 5 hours running various tests. Many of these tests had taken a while, needing Peter to simply observe the effects on the substance.

Whilst these tests were running, Peter had found the electric system that ran through the building and hooked up to the computer in the lab.

He had been able to use different items lying around to fix the electrical system and get it up and running again.

He was disappointed to find all the files wiped clean from the computer, he had been hoping it told him something about the pit. Make his job easier, but of course why would the universe let Peter’s life be easy?

He had input all the data he’d collected into the computer though, creating a system to analyse the substance as well.

It was difficult, with this universe's shitty technology and all, but he managed to dumb it down enough to get a pretty thorough reading of the substance.

What would have taken maybe 30 minutes back in his universe took 2 hours in this one. Peter had groaned loudly, he really missed how advanced his tech back home had been.

But, after 2 hours he’d gotten his results and with all his findings together, had gotten a pretty good idea of what the pit was and how to try and counteract it.

He stretched, joints popping as a gasp of pain leaves him. Right, broken ribs, he’d forgotten about those.

He also didn’t have any food on him so they would take longer to heal much to his chagrin. Realistically, he knew his metabolism was fast, far faster than he’d ever let on and with that, his healing factor was affected by his food intake.

He’d never told Aunt May or Mr. Stark about how much food he really needed. How that sharp pang of hunger always sat with him, lingered in the back of his mind.

At first it was because May worked so many long, hard hours and it was barely enough to keep them living as is. He didn’t want to add to her plate because he wanted more food, so he’d stayed silent.

Eaten as much as he was given and never asked for more, it had worked. The hunger had once been loud and painful, wrenching his stomach with need, but he’d ignored it.

By the time he was comfortable with Mr. Stark, he didn’t want to bother him or have the man spend lots of money on food for him.

He didn't deserve it.

He was fine.

He had survived that long without it and he would continue to do so. The man had already done so much for him, he couldn’t ask for more.

Wouldn’t.

Even so, he could always count on three meals a day, no matter what. And his healing factor had been great, incredible really so it didn't matter. He didn’t need to heal any faster so he didn’t need any more food.

He was fine.

But now, now he didn’t have a reliable source of food, or money so he was rationing what he did have. On good days he got a meal on others he didn’t eat anything.

It wasn’t anything new though, he could ignore the hunger, suck in his stomach to stop the rumbling.

It worked.

But this lack of food also meant his healing factor was far slower than it used to be, but it was fine. He wasn’t Spider-man at the moment, he wasn’t getting into fights and regularly getting himself hurt.

So it was all fine.

Really it was.

Rather than dwell about his lack of food or broken ribs, Peter cracked his neck, he needed this done and quickly too. He didn't want to be out and about when he could hurt someone because he got a little mad.

He had to protect others from himself.

He was dangerous without a way to stop himself and deep down he knew that not even the Bats couldn’t stop him.

Not really, he was enhanced, he could take them out with one hit. If he wanted everyone to be safe, he needed to cure himself and get rid of the rage that constantly simmered at the bottom of his gut.

It was the only option.

Chapter Text

Peter fired up a Bunsen burner and began his experimentation. He was thankful for the array of chemicals that were at his disposal, it was clear this lab had been some kind of bio-chemical lab and was perfect for what Peter was doing. 

Now that he knew (mostly) what made up this substance, he would be able to figure out how to reverse its effects or at the very least tamp them down enough to keep others safe. 

The substance was very acidic, so he’d grabbed some Lithium hydroxide to balance it out. He measured out a 2:1 ratio in comparison to the substance and mixed in the Lithium hydroxide. 

Placing this to the side, he got another beaker and measured out more of the green liquid. He repeated this process another 4 times, changing the ratio of substance to Lithium hydroxide each time and labelling them accordingly. 

He had to be very sparing with the amount of the substance he used, not wanting to have to go get more. He knew he’d have to at some point, but wanted to put that off for as long as possible. 

Placing all 5 beakers to the side, Peter started on his next experiment. He’d have wanted to do more than just 5 tests, but he only had so many resources at hand so he could only do much and 5 would have to do. 

Peter grabbed a petri dish which he filled with Benzyl Chloride. He placed the petri dish under the microscope before taking a pipette and placed a couple of drops of the green liquid into the petri dish. He studies the effects carefully, watching as the bright green morphed into a vibrant yellow.

Not what he wanted. 

He put that petri dish to the side and filled a different one with Toluene, another colourless liquid. Once more, Peter placed a couple of drops of the green substance into this petri dish. 

This time, the green changed into a deep purple colour. Taking a third petri dish, Peter mixed a solution of Benzyl Chloride and Toluene, a 1:1 ratio before placing in more drops of the green substance. 

Rather than turning colourless and melting into the solution like he’d hoped, the green turned a light brown. He was getting closer, the ratio of the solution was off though.

It took another 10 tests before Peter was able to get the green substance to turn totally colourless and blend into the solution he’d created. 10 different ratios of Benzyl Chloride and Toluene but he’d managed to do it.

And though he’d managed to do this, he was far from finished with his workings. He typed up all his findings onto the computer, encrypting it just in case anyone went looking. He was doubtful that anyone would but he didn’t want anyone to know he was here; it wouldn't be safe for them to come looking. 

- - - - - - 

For three days Peter kept at his work, mixing chemicals and testing them against the substance. He picked apart the inner workings of the substance and found ways to counter its effects, as best he could anyways. 

He may not have gone to college but he had done work with Dr. Banner which came in very useful. 

He’d not slept either, but it was a small price to pay for everyone else’s safety. Three days of painstaking work and various experiments. 

By now his ribs had pretty much healed, still tender and fragile but mostly healed. Enough for him to forget they were hurt unless he moved too sharply or quickly. 

But now, three days later and one trip back to the green pit that left Peter trembling, he finally had his first attempt of an antidote. 

It wouldn’t completely rid him of the problem, he knew that, he hadn’t been able to figure out how to completely remove it from his system but if his antidote worked, it would tamp down that simmering rage of his. 

Would keep others safe from him. 

His only test subject was himself, Red Hood may have the same problems that he did but Peter was expendable, Red Hood wasn’t. 

It wouldn’t matter if the antidote killed him or something went wrong, it was only Peter that would be hurt. And that was fine. 

Only him. 

So Peter grabbed one of the many syringes and filled it with the antidote. For this to work, he’d need to be in what he’d dubbed a ‘fit of anger’ to truly see if this antidote would have the intended effect. 

For now, all he could hope for was to get rid of the burning rage when it took over, to calm himself before anything bad happened; it would come back of that he was sure but when he did get angry his antidote would stop the anger from taking over completely. 

He hoped at least. 

So he let the rage take over, let the burning hot anger fill him from the inside out. A deep growl came from the back of his throat, eyes glowing a dangerous green. 

Peter let it all happen, allowed the fury to completely overtake him, blinding him from seeing sense no matter how much it scared him. 

He let it. 

Once the anger had taken over, a green tinge overtaking the world, his jaw set and body shaking with it, Peter jabbed the needle into his shoulder and released the antidote into his system. 

At first, it seemed to be working, the green seeped from the world, the burning hot rage began to simmer down. It was going well until Peter was throwing up in the corner. 

Blood poured from his mouth as he heaved, pain shuddering through him. Tears ran down his face as he continued to spit blood from his mouth.

The anger stayed, even as Peter desperately tried to rid himself of it, it stuck to him and refused to let go. 

He let out a hiss and then his mouth was filled with a bitter taste. It was different to the coppery taste of blood, it was sharper and more biting.

Peter spit out a mouthful of blood mixed with something else, a toxic yellow colour. 

He frowned at the colour, what the hell was that? 

He bit his lip in concern only for a sharp pain to shoot through his lip. Peter flinched back in surprise. Raising a hand to his mouth Peter found that his canines were longer and sharper than normal. 

He traced the shape of them, what had that antidote done to him? 

Or was this more effects from the green substance? 

He had sharp canines, like they were… fangs. 

But he couldn’t have fangs, right? 

He wasn’t an actual spider, not really but his teeth seemed to think otherwise. 

Peter presses down on one of his fangs and his mouth is filled with that same sharp, bitter taste. Rather than spit it out like before, he grabs a breaker and fills that instead. 

He sighed to himself, great, exactly what he needs right now; more shit to do. 

Rubbing his hands over his eyes in exhaustion, Peter lets out a noise between a scream and sob. What is his life at this point? At least the green had gone from his vision, the anger replaced with confusion.

Peter went to go analyse the yellow substance that filled the beaker, he had a sneaking suspicion it was a venom of some sort. 

The toxic yellow colour and fangs, it's the only thing that would make sense but he still needed to be sure. 

However, as he made his way over his vision blurred, black creeping in from the edges. His legs wobbled, threatening to give out beneath him. 

Right, he hadn’t eaten in three days. He wasn’t sure how long he could go without food before real damage was done but figured it was soon. 

He ran a hand over his chest only to feel each of his ribs. Was he really that thin? Peter walked to a broken window and lifted his shirt to peer at himself in the glass. 

He blinked at the reflection that looked back… did he really look like that? His stomach was hollowed looking as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, he could count his ribs just looking at himself. 

There were large bags under his eyes, his hair matted and dirty. He looked horrible. Even his collarbone stood out. 

Starved is how Peter looked, just three days without food and he looked starved.

He turned away from the glass, not wanting to look at himself any longer. He may not have always been happy with the way he looked, even after he gained abs and muscle from the spider bite but he’d never hated the way he looked so much until now. 

He needed food to fix himself, and water but he was dangerous if he went out. 

What if he hurt someone? 

He wouldn’t, he told himself, he had gone this long without hurting someone, had managed to force the anger down whenever it bubbled to the surface. 

He would be in and out, no unnecessary risks and it would be fine. 

With this goal in mind, Peter turned back to the beaker full of yellow and was quick to set up a few experiments, ones he wouldn’t need to be watching over to happen. 

He set up the analysis system from the computer as well, may as well make sure he’s getting data whilst he’s out. He leaves the system running as he finishes the last of the experiments.

Once satisfied, Peter turns and marches his way from the building. If he didn’t go now, he wasn’t sure he would.  

He steps out and the sky is dark, huh, he hadn’t realised it was so late. 

The cold air nips at him, causing him to wrap his arms around himself. Curse his inability to thermoregulate. Shivering, he began a brisk pace down the road, he wanted to be quick. 

Under the cover of night he was less likely to run into anyone and therefore would be less likely to hurt anyone. It was perfect. 

It didn’t take long for him to reach Gotham except this time he actually knew where he was and what he was doing. Kind of anyway. 

Slipping through the shadows, Peter avoided any and everyone that he might have run into. He made sure to slink into alleys if someone was coming, he needed to keep himself away from them. 

Making it back to the fire station, Peter snuck in through the window. He hadn’t planned on showering but the dirt and grime that crusted him was enough to have him stopping and cleansing himself quickly. 

Once he’d finished with his shower, he changed into different clothes and grabbed his bag. He filled it with a number of cans and filled a few empty ones with water after having taken a long drink from the tap himself. 

He placed the opened cans filled with water at the bottom of the bag, meticulously placing the cans of food on top to try and limit any spillage occurring. 

Not that his balance wasn’t enough, because it would be, but he’d rather take the extra precaution than not. 

With his bag packed, Peter made his way out of the fire station and back into the street. He started retracing his steps when a voice called out,

“Peter?”

It was Nightwing. Fuck. No one was supposed to see him, why hadn’t his sixth sense warned him of the man? Why hadn't he heard the man?

He didn't have time to think about it, he needed to get away. So Peter ignored the man and started walking faster, making sure to keep his head down. 

“Peter,” Nightwing called out again, his footsteps light as he leaped between buildings. “Peter stop,”

Peter did no such thing, quickening his pace even more, begging for the man to leave him alone. 

“Peter,” the man sighed as he leaped down from a building and landed in front of Peter. 

Peter sidestepped the hero and went to keep on walking but an arm reached out and grabbed him. Peter flinched away from the contact, swivelling to finally look at the man. 

“Where have you been, I was worried?” Nightwing asked. 

Worried. 

The word repeated through Peter’s head, the hero shouldn’t be worrying about him, he had more important things to do. Peter wasn’t worth worrying about.

“Don’t be,” Peter replied, tone cold. If he could keep the hero away from him, he wouldn’t get hurt. 

“Of course I’m going to be worried,” Nightwing frowned, “I haven’t seen you in days,” 

“Keep it that way,” Peter knew he was being rude, knew that the hero didn’t deserve this treatment but it was the only way to keep him safe. 

To keep him as far away from Peter as possible. 

A brief wounded look overtakes the hero's face before it’s replaced with an understanding, pitying look. 

He hated that look.

The rage that bubbled just beneath the surface began to rise once more. Shit. He shouldn’t have come, he should have finished the antidote first. But he had been selfish, put himself before others. 

Like always. 

“I’m not gonna leave you,” Nightwing said softly, “I care about you and-” 

“Stop, leave me the fuck alone,” Peter cut the man off with a growl. The anger continued to rise, began overflowing. 

Peter couldn’t keep it down anymore. 

Green invaded the edges of his vision, his hands clenched into fists, eyes narrowing. “Stay the HELL away from me,” he seethed.

Nightwing raised his hand placatingly which only made Peter more angry. 

“I am NOT and child who needs placating,” he hissed, “Just leave me the FUCK alone,” 

Peter’s core burned with anger, eyes flashing dangerously between his brown and a bright green. 

“Okay,” Nightwing nodded, “I will,”

The hero’s heartbeat fluttered, he was lying. This just enraged Peter more, of course the man was. It was all anyone ever did. Lies upon lies upon lies. 

Staring dagger into the man, Peter let out a frustrated roar. The hero took a few steps back, but surprisingly there was no fear in the man's eyes. 

Peter didn’t care though, sending one last snarl his way before turning and running off into the night. 

Chapter Text

Nightwing was quick to action when he’d been told of the building exploding. 

He swooped in and grabbed as many people as he could carry. Taking them out of harm's way before leaping back in for more. 

Batgirl was helping him as well, each of them taking more and more people out as the building crumbled beneath their feet. 

He kept his breathing steady, comforting words spilling from his mouth. It was second nature at this point, to comfort those in danger, even if they didn’t like it.

That was Gotham he supposed, no one readily accepted help. 

Much like Peter. He stopped his thoughts from trailing to the young boy, he needed to keep his head in the game and it would do him nor these civilians any good if he were distracted.

He could worry about the boy later. 

Back to the task at hand, Nightwing swept back through the burning building once more, the flames licking at his feet. The screams of injured scared people filled the space, propelling Nightwing to move quicker. 

Thankfully, he and Batgirl were able to get everyone out and those injured to medical for help. 

They had also found the culprit, a man who was mad his girlfriend broke up with him and blew up the building in retaliation. It really was too easy for people to get dangerous weapons in Gotham. 

Nightwing handed the man over to Commissioner Gordon who was on the scene and helped with some of the cleanup. It didn’t take long before Nightwing was leaping into the night once more, a nod at Batgirl who leaped off in the opposite direction. 

Nightwing let his thoughts drift back to Peter now that everyone was safe, the boy clearly needed help and he desperately wanted to give it to the boy.

If only he’d let him. 

He let out a sad sigh, it was clear the boy had issues, which wasn’t exactly uncommon in Gotham but this was different. This had to do with the Lazarus pit.

And maybe it was because Nightwing felt guilty for everything that had happened with Jason, everything he hadn’t done but even so Peter needed help. 

Whether he wanted it or not.

Nightwing decided he’d swing by Peter’s rooftop, just in case the boy was there. As he neared the building, he was able to see a small figure curled up in the corner of the roof. 

Peter was huddled in on himself, head resting on the ledge of the building. The poor boy looked so small on the large roof, so incredibly small it made Nightwing falter in his steps. 

Nightwing knew the world was cruel, but it was at times like this that he truly hated just how cruel it could be. How it would hurt the wrong people.

Because whether Peter was a secret assassin brought back to life by Ra’s or not, he didn’t deserve the pain that he was clearly in.

Nightwing continued to the rooftop and landed softly on the roof, making his way to Peter hesitantly. He didn’t want to spook the boy, and from here he could see the tear tracks that stained his face. 

Why was the world so cruel?

“Peter?” He called quietly.

“How do you know my name?” Peter questioned, a hard edge to his voice. 

Nightwing froze, shit, he fucked up. Shit, shit, shit. What was he supposed to say? That he was just casually stalking the boy because he was worried and possibly thinks he’s a zombie. Like that would go well. 

“Oh ah um,” is all he managed, heart rate spiking. 

“It’s not very heroic to stalk people,” Peter continued. 

Nightwing swears he’s going to have a stroke, Peter knows he’s stalking him. Fuck. What can he do? How can he salvage this? Shit! 

“No I wasn’t stalking you,” Nightwing lied, embarrassment warming his face at the boy's words. 

“As long as your not gonna sell my information to some villain or something,”

And oh my god, Nightwing thinks he’s going to die on the spot. Sell his information to villains?!? What?! He would never. At this point, his heart is on the verge of beating out of his chest, god what was Peter doing to him? It was kind of his fault, he supposed, he let the boy's name slip. 

“I- no, I-I’m not gonna sell anyone anything,” he stuttered out, shocked at the boy's words. Did Peter really think he’d sell his information? 

“Kidding, I won’t ask, I trust you,” Peter laughed, a smile tugging at his lips. 

Nightwing is eternally grateful, his body relaxing, erratic heart rate slowing down. God this boy was gonna be the death of him. 

“Thank you,” he said sheepishly, breathing a sigh of relief. 

“Did you get everyone?” Peter asked, tone changing to a serious one. It surprises Nightwing, not expecting the words.

“Pardon?” he blinked.

“The building that exploded, d-did you get everyone. Please say everyone’s okay,” Peter’s voice gains a note of hysteria, worrying Nightwing. 

“Yes, we got everyone out in time, and caught the culprit too,” he assured the boy softly, perhaps he knew someone that lived there. 

“Good, that’s, that’s really good,” Peter breathed a sigh, the tension leaving his body.

“It is,” Nightwing agreed, but he wanted to make sure Peter was okay, the boy's red rimmed eyes causing concern to flow through him. “But, how are you?”

“Oh I’m fine, I didn’t get that hurt or anything,” Peter shrugged nonchalantly. 

The words register in Nightwing’s mind and he does a double take. Wait, had Peter been there? Worry tensing his body. 

“Wait, you were there?” he asked urgently.

“Yeah, but I’m fine,” Peter said as if it were nothing. As if he couldn’t have been injured or even killed. A shiver ran through Nightwing at the thought of Peter dying, images of the boy sitting on the ledge of this very roof flashing through his mind.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Peter tells him.

“Are you hurt? Do you need medical attention? Are you okay?”the concern filled words spilled from his mouth, he needed to make sure Peter was okay. It was clear the boy had enough going on he didn’t need more things making it worse.

“No, I wasn’t hurt,” Peter shook his head.

Even so, Nightwings frown deepened, his eyes scanning over the boy. He was looking for any signs of injury, anything that indicated the boy needed help.

“Still, it can be scary to see something like that, are you sure you're okay?” Nightwing pushed, wanting to be sure the boy was okay. 

“I’m sure, these kinds of things happen all the time,” Peter assured, and though his words were true, they weren’t exactly reassuring in any way. Nightwing knew that this kind of thing was common in Gotham, Gotham being crime central but he’d hoped the boy wasn’t used to it.

Perhaps it had been naive of him.

And despite his best efforts a seed of doubt planted itself in his mind, was the boy used to it because he’d been raised around worse. 

To do worse?

He doesn’t linger on the thought, instead sighing sadly, “It does, but if you need anything, even just someone to talk to, I’m here,” Nightwing doubts Peter will take him up on his offer, but it wouldn’t hurt to give him the option. 

The boy's face remains annoyingly blank, not giving Nightwing anything to go off. It wasn’t outright disdain like many citizens of Gotham would give at such an offer so he’d take it as a win.

“You need something?” Peter asked not unkindly. 

“Just making sure you’re okay, glad to see you weren’t sitting on the ledge this time,” It may not be what he really wanted to say, but he does. He’s already on thin ice with the whole stalking him, he doesn’t want to make the situation worse and is pretty sure Peter would rather him make a joke than show real concern.

He doesn't think that would be accepted well.

“Maybe your advice wasn’t so bad,” Peter let out a soft laugh, it seemed to be the right thing to say.

Nightwing chuckled, a small smile on his face. He was glad to see Peter return the gesture.

He took a seat next to the boy, pleased that he wasn’t pushed away, and alongside Peter looked out at the skyline. Neither spoke, just sitting in companionable silence. 

Nightwing debated asking more, trying to figure out how to help the boy more but thought better of it. Now wasn’t the time. 

“I think I’m going to turn in for the night, I’m sure my dad will be worried if I don’t get back soon,” Peter said, voice distant. Had he done something wrong?

“Of course,” Nightwing nodded, trying to figure out what he’d done. He watched as Peter made his way down the fire escape, the urge to help string but he fought it. He didn’t want to push the boy away any more. 

He watched as Peter walked across the street and debated following him. In the end, he didn’t, the boy had let his stalking go but doubted he’d let it go if he followed him home. Especially if his dad told him not to let anyone know where they live.

Even if he was a hero it made sense he listen to his dad. Peter was still young, despite carrying a weariness and hurt that no one his age should. He would trust his dad far more than he would a man hiding behind a mask. 

He could only hope Peter’s home was okay. That he was safe.

With one last glance at Peter, Nightwing turned and leaped into the night, worry still flowing through him. He hoped the boy would be alright. 

It had been 5 days since Nightwing had seen Peter, having checked that same rooftop every night. There was no sign of him.

This itself may not have been worrying but Barbara hadn’t seen him at the library either and he’d been there frequently. What’s more, even Jason hadn’t seen him and he always kept an eye out for ‘alley kids’ as he labelled them. 

He was beyond worried, worse and worse scenarios running through his mind. What if he was taken? Kidnapped? Killed? Or, what if he was revived by Ra’s and went back to the man for further instructions, or punishment or any number of things. 

He’d put off letting Oracle search the city for him for 3 days, not wanting to invade the boy's privacy more than he already had. But after that, he’d asked her to find him and was panicked when she couldn’t find any trace of him.

He wasn’t in Gotham. 

For another 2 days there had been radio silence, Peter hadn’t been sighted at all and between himself, Oracle and Red Robin the program was being monitored constantly. 

They hadn’t dug into the boy's personal life yet, Nightwing wanted to put that off for as long as possible, he really didn’t want to break whatever it was the two of them had by finding out where he lived. 

Peter had been adamant no one know where he live and Nightwing didn’t want to breach that boundary between them. But, if he was missing for more than a week he would find the boy no matter what. 

There had been no missing child posters put up by his dad, that was  all Nightwing had to convince himself the boy was safe. 

It was on day 5 when they finally got an alert, it was late and Nightwing had already been on patrol when Oracle said Peter was finally spotted by a security camera. The boy was seen heading towards the abandoned fire station, the same rooftop he frequented oh so often. 

Nightwing was immediately grappling between buildings, pushing himself faster and faster. He needed to get to Peter, to make sure he was okay. 

Nightwing had just pulled himself onto the building opposite the fire station and saw Peter walking down the street. The boy was carrying a bag and despite his clean clothes and wet hair, it was clear that something was wrong. 

“Peter?” He called out to the boy. Peter seemed to freeze, as if not expecting Nightwing to be there. Instead of turning around like he hoped, Peter started walking faster, keeping his head down. 

Nightwing frowned, why wasn’t the boy stopping?

“Peter,” he called again, following the boy along the rooftops, “Peter stop,”

Peter didn’t, instead starting to walk even faster. 

Nightwing leaped quicker before falling down and landing in front of the boy, “Peter,” he said again, he needed to make sure he was okay. 

Peter stepped around him, and went to keep walking but Nightwing reached out an arm and grabbed the boy's own. Peter flinched, not just a small shiver, an entire, full body shudder. 

Nightwing let go immediately as the boy turned around to finally look at him.  And shit, the boy had massive bags under his eyes and his clothes seemed more baggy on his body. The boy had been skinny before but now, he looked even more so.

He looked almost skeletal. He could only imagine what the boy looked like beneath the clothes and it made him feel sick. What happened?

“Where have you been, I was worried?” He asked gently.

“Don’t be,” Peter replied coldly. 

“Of course I’m going to be worried,” Nightwing frowned, did Peter not know that? He thought he’d made it clear, “I haven’t seen you in days,” 

“Keep it that way,” Peter glared at him. Nightwing is hurt for a moment, but understands what the boy is doing. He won’t let him.

“I’m not gonna leave you,” Nightwing said softly, “I care about you and-” 

“Stop, leave me the fuck alone,” Peter cut him off with a growl, green begging to seep into the boys eyes. “Stay the HELL away from me,” he seethed.

Nightwing raised a hand to calm the boy, he’d seen Jason’s fits before and didn’t want Peter to go through that. Neither of them deserved to go through that. 

This seemed to have the opposite effect that Nightwing was hoping for,

“I am NOT and child who needs placating,” Peter hissed, “Just leave me the FUCK alone,” 

Peter’s eyes were flashing dangerously now, the green overtaking the brown more and more. 

“Okay,” Nightwing nodded, “I will,” Peter didn’t need to know he was lying. 

Peter glared at him before letting out a roar of anger, his eyes now fully green, now brown left.  Nightwing took a few steps back, not wanting to provoke the boy any further, he wasn’t scared of Peter, just worried and sad for him. He didn’t deserve this. 

Peter sent a snarl his way before turning and running off into the night, Nightwing let him, now wasn’t a good time to get involved. It would just end up with someone hurt. 

Still, worry surged up in Nightwing more than ever, it was clear that Peter was experiencing the same pit rage that Jason did but Jason at least had had time to figure out how to get it under some semblance of control. 

Learnt what it meant to be in pit rage, and Nightwing doubted Peter had and the boy was probably alone and scared. Hopefully his dad was able to help. Maybe that’s why they hadn’t seen Peter, his dad had taken him to a safe place until the pit rage had run its course.

He hoped that’s what it was anyway.

Chapter Text

Peter was running, it was better this way, he reminded himself. This way no one else would get hurt. He didn’t stop running until he reached the lab once more. 

Anger still surged through him, hot and burning. Despite his best efforts to calm himself, to even out his breathing and slow his heart, the world around him remained tainted with green. 

He was still angry. 

He tried the breathing exercises that Matt had taught him, the man having his own troubles with his emotions. They didn’t work. 

Peter groaned in frustration, grabbing an empty test tube and shattering it against the wall. It left behind a large indent in the wall but Peter didn’t care. 

He picked up a shard of glass and threw off the hoodie before dragging it across his forearm. 

Again. 

And again. 

And again.

He slashed at his arm, his thighs, his stomach, any and everywhere he’d cut into. He focused on the pain, relished in it even, he was feeling something. 

Something other than anger. 

He didn’t stop, continuing to pierce his skin, the previous wounds having mostly healed. More and more gashes littered his body as he kept cutting. 

The pain was hot and sharp, a different kind of heat to the burning anger that bubbled within him. This was sweeter and felt so much better. 

Felt good. 

The pain successfully distracted him, cooling the anger within him. The green started to seep from his vision as his breaths evened out and he set the glass down. 

He spied himself in the broken window outside the lab and looked at himself in disgust. The wounds are healing but his body is covered in blood, and he’d just showered too. 

He watched as the wounds started to stitch themselves shut, leaving behind nothing but a raised white scar. Not wanting to look at himself any longer, Peter goes to stand but stumbled back to the floor, his vision blacking out for a moment. 

He feels lightheaded, the room around him spinning. Right, blood loss. He tries again, reaching up to stabilise himself using the table but collapses back to the floor. Black fills his vision once more, only this time it doesn’t clear; Peter falling unconscious. 

When Peter awoke his wounds had fully healed, even his ribs were no longer tender as they had been. He felt far better than he had the previous night, able to stand without nausea. 

Peter grabbed one of the shirts he’d taken from that store, not wanting to ruin one of the few things he still had from his universe, and wiped the now dried blood off of him. 

Once he’d cleaned himself as best he could, Peter grabbed his hoodie, chucking it back on himself. He hates his body, the number of scars that littered it, and now the way his ribs stand out. Everything about him screamed unhealthy and gross. 

He’s ugly. 

Ugly and broken.

The scars hadn’t bothered him at first, they had been a representation of all the good he was doing as Spider-man. Now they only served as a reminder of everyone he had failed. 

Everyone he had gotten killed. 

And just how broken he really is. 

Not wanting to think about it, Peter throws himself back into work. He grabs his experiments and studies them thoroughly. He also pulled up the results of the analysis he’d left running. 

Between the two, Peter was able to break apart the venom and understand how it worked. What it did. It was made of a variety of salts, small organic molecules, peptides, proteins and there was a paralytic toxin. 

Huh. 

That could be… useful? Right? Aside from the fact that he didn’t exactly want to go round biting people, not that he could with a mask, it could come in handy. Especially if something like Thanos happens in this universe. 

What’s more, if he could isolate the paralytic toxin within his venom he might be able to break down the part of the pit substance that caused a massive spike in Epinephrine - which was causing the massive high of adrenaline that led to the anger coming so rapidly and fiercely. 

If he could isolate each of these, he might just be able to use the toxin to force the epinephrine to stop, to tone it back and dissipate altogether. That would determine whether an antidote using his venom would work. 

Perfect, this would keep him, and more importantly, his mind busy. He just had to figure out how to extract the venom from himself. Should be easy, right? 

First he tried to push at the gums above his canines, trying to ‘activate’ his fangs. 

His teeth remained flat. 

Next, he attempted to pull at his teeth, not too hard, but just trying to elongate them into his fangs. 

His teeth remained flat. 

He ran his tongue over his teeth, gums, even the roof of his mouth, trying to stimulate his mouth into revealing his fangs. 

His teeth remained flat. 

Debating whether he should inject himself with his first attempt at an antidote, that’s what had last gotten his fangs out, he ultimately decided against it. He didn’t particularly feel like spending more time throwing up in the corner, and he needed to find a better alternative if he wanted to:

a) understand how his fangs worked in case he needed to use them; figuring out how to extend and retract them, and 

b) how to extract his venom to continue being able to make his antidote (if it even worked) when he inevitably ran out of it. 

Using his failed antidote wouldn’t be a long term solution. 

And he needs to be able to control it so his fangs don’t randomly pop out in the middle of the street. Or worse, at school. 

Speaking of school, that wasn’t too far away from starting, just 3 days away meaning Peter really needed to get this antidote sorted. He couldn’t miss the beginning of the term but also couldn’t put everyone there in danger. 

With this thought in mind, Peter rolled his shoulders, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do this. As his senses were dialled up to 11, Peter sought out the feeling of his fangs within his mouth. 

He was able to concentrate on the change in his mouth, or more specifically, the change in his gums - where the fangs had grown from. There was a tingling sensation, it was barely noticeable but if Peter focused on it, he could feel the way it itched at his gums, his fangs just waiting to come out once more. 

With a steadying breath, Peter willed his fangs out, to his surprise he felt as his teeth shifted, elongating and sharpening, becoming fangs. 

Now that Peter wasn’t freaking out over his fangs, he was able to focus. Feeling them once more, Peter was able to feel that they had an open tip, his fangs must be hollow so that the venom could come out from said opening. 

And now that his fangs had come out, he was able to feel something else within himself. It was strange, felt foreign yet also as if it was supposed to be there. It sat just behind his jaw and if he focused enough he could tell they were connected to his fangs. 

Venom glands. That’s what they must be, he had to produce the venom from somewhere it would only make sense for him to grow venom glands as well. Now, he just needed a way to stimulate said glands to produce his venom so he could use it in his antidote. 

Turning back to the computer, Peter searches for ways to extract venom out of spiders. There weren’t many results, clearly not a common occurrence in this universe, but he found something nonetheless. Clicking onto the website he decidedly ignored the way the title was “Venom collection from spider, Milking venom glands,” he was not a cow, he refused to think of it as ‘milking’ himself.

He was simply extracting the venom from his venom glands. Yes, that sounds much better. Reading through the article he found three ways that venom was extracted. 

The first was voluntary extraction which induced the animal to willingly release its venom.

The second was involuntary extraction where the animal is through electrical stimulation, glandular massages or the administering of chemicals to extract their venom. 

The third and final method was surgical procedures to access the animals gland tissue and be able to extract the venom from there. 

He’d already rejected the idea of putting chemicals in himself to produce his venom again and didn’t particularly want to electrocute himself either. Besides, it reminded him too much of what Senator Ross had thought of him - nothing but a bug to be cut open and used. He shivered at the mere thought, he was more than that. More than a science experiment to poke and prod at. 

Even he didn’t deserve that… did he?

He also couldn’t exactly perform surgery on himself so that ruled out the third method as well. This left just the first option which had already sounded the most pleasant. He just needed to figure out how to produce his venom voluntarily. 

He was back to square one. The article didn’t exactly explain how these spiders were induced to willingly produce their venom which meant he’d have to figure it out himself. 

Great. 

It was fine, he’d managed to get control and understand all of his other powers and he’d gotten all of them at once. He just had to focus on this one thing, which should be much easier than it had been to control the rest of his abilities. 

How hard could it be? 

Focusing on the venom glands that sat behind his jaw he could feel the liquid waiting to be sent through to his teeth and into someone. It was practically begging to be released. 

Peter took a breath, grabbed a beaker and held it under his teeth. He concentrated on the venom glands and relaxed his jaw, letting the venom flow through him. A steady drip drip drip came from his fangs, the venom filling the beaker. 

Peter held back a laugh, not wanting to interrupt the process in case he couldn’t get the venom flowing again. The venom soon began flowing heavier, the line of yellow rising rapidly. 

The beaker was full in no time, brimming with his venom, only, it didn't stop. Venom continued to drop from his fangs, forcing Peter to stumble to the table and place the full beaker there. He attempted to grab another beaker, however, there weren’t any in close proximity and the venom was still coming. 

Rushing to the corner, Peter stood over his pile of vomit from earlier, if he’s gonna make a mess, may as well contain it to one spot right? He let the venom drip to the floor, what he wasn’t expecting was for the venom to eat away at the vomit on the floor. 

A sizzling filled the room as his venom came in contact with his bile, a slight smoke emitting as his venom ate away at the puke. He wasn’t expecting that, his venom hadn’t held any corrosive (or life threatening) qualities. It was acidic, sure, but definitely not corrosive. 

Even so, he was watching as his venom very clearly dissolved his vomit until there was nothing but a scorch on the floor to show what had happened, his venom finally slowing to a stop. 

And yet, he’d tested his venom thoroughly and it had never had any sort of reaction as it had just then. Nothing had come close. But, it was good for Peter, this proved that in some form his venom could corrode and break things down. 

And if he was able to do everything right and not kill himself in the process, he’s sure he'd be able to create an antidote to destroy the anger as it surfaced. It had been theoretical before, he had been going to try and isolate the paralytic in his venom, but this was better. 

It would surely work. 

Now that the venom had stopped dripping from his teeth, Peter was able to head back to the table where the beaker full of venom sat. Ignoring the itching that came from the dried blood that still covered him, Peter sat down and got to work.

He took a small sample of the venom as well as a small sample of the green substance, grabbing the microscope alongside a petri dish. After mixing the two samples together, Peter slid the petri dish under the microscope and took a look. 

It was fascinating really, Peter watched as the yellow of his venom ate away at the green, the molecules from said substance being slowly consumed. Before Peter could celebrate this victory, it stopped. 

The green began to eat away at his venom instead, Peter watched as the molecules of his venom were essentially consumed by whatever the other substance was. 

Shit. 

He’d need a more concentrated form of his venom if he wanted this to work, something stronger that could actually finish eating away at the damn green liquid. 

Peter grabbed some trifluoroacetic acid that was sitting in one of the shelves in the lab and brought it back over to his station. Grabbing another sample of his venom, Peter mixed it with the trifluoroacetic acid before putting the mixture over a bunsen. 

This way, the acidic nature of the trifluoroacetic acid should dissolve the peptides within his venom, and alongside the evaporation from the bunsen, Peter should achieve a highly concentrated form of his venom.

Fingers crossed anyway.

Peter let the mixture bubble for a minute before removing it from the heat, placing it to the side to cool. The mixture, which had been a bright yellow, had gained an orange tint, now an amber colour. 

It was pretty in a way, the way the light shone through it. 

But, right now wasn’t the time to admire the colour of his concentrated venom mixture, he needed this antidote done. He needed it done yesterday. 

Peter swore it took forever for the mixture to cool enough for him to use, having spent his time aimlessly scrolling through the computer; he still had lots to learn about this universe after all. 

But finally, it was cool to the touch, having returned to its normal temperature which meant Peter could work with it once more. He grabbed a clean petri dish and mixed together a sample of the green substance and his newly acquired concentrated venom. 

The moment the two touched, the amber seeped into the green as if poisoning the other substance. Peter rushed to put it under the microscope, not wanting to miss any observations. 

The so called fight, as Peter liked to think of it as, was over before it truly began. He watched as the molecules within the green substance were burnt away, corroding into nothingness. Soon enough, there was nothing but amber left on the petri dish. 

Perfect.

He could work with this, this concentrated version of his venom had been able to dissolve the green substance into nothing, to burn it away before it could take hold. Which meant that it could also burn away the anger before it could take hold of Peter. 

He had done it. 

There were still a number of kinks to smooth out but he’d really gone and done it. In an abandoned lab no less. He’d be able to keep himself in control, keep the anger from getting to him. 

He could keep everyone safe from him. 

Chapter Text

Now that Peter had figured out how to hold back the anger when it threatened to spill over, he just needed to find a way to make it safe for him to take and to target his anger whilst not burning through his insides in the process. Because, whilst he did want to get rid of the anger, he doesn’t want to kill himself from the inside out in the process. 

How hard could that be?

He seemed to be thinking that an awful lot lately. Sighing to himself, Peter took a different syringe and set himself up to take his blood. Once ready, Peter pierced his skin with the needle and suctioned out some blood from his body. 

Not wanting to take too much, Peter filled a small beaker with his blood before stopping the process and removing the needle from his arm. Perfect. Now that he had his blood, he could see what the concentrated venom would do to it. 

Grabbing a different petri dish, Peter did just this. He placed a small amount of his blood on the dish and placed it under the microscope. Peering into the lenses, Peter carefully placed some of the concentrated venom directly in the middle of the pool of blood. 

Immediately the venom ate away at his blood, consuming the haemoglobin within it, turning the red blood a light yellow colour which mixed with the amber of the venom to create a more honeyed-amber colour. Good thing he hadn’t tried on himself because that would have absolutely killed him.

Huh. If he ever needed a quick way out-

No. What would May think? She’d be more disappointed than she already is. He couldn’t do that to her. 

Not right now. 

He deserved this. He didn’t deserve the sweet relief of death. 

Shaking himself of the thoughts, Peter turned back to his current predicament. He needed a way to protect himself whilst the antidote flowed through his bloodstream and neutralised the anger. 

He thought about turning the venom into a pill of sorts, one that would make its way through his system in a capsule before acting against the anger. Sadly, this wouldn’t work, looking into his blood he’d found it altered more than it was before. 

The green substance had changed his very genetic makeup. 

Just what he needed. To be even less human. 

Because of this, it meant that the antidote would have to enter through his bloodstream to counter all the anger that flowed within him, else it wouldn't work. Not fully anyway. 

Peter ran a hand over his face tiredly, just more obstacles to jump over. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy to create an antidote for whatever this was, but he had been foolishly hoping to go better than this. That his first attempt would actually work. 

He couldn’t give up now though, he was so close, the end was within reach. And with the start of school closing in, he needed to get his shit together. 

With this in mind, Peter turned back to his work, he needed to find a way to have the antidote specifically target the effects of the green substance and ignore everything else in his body. Theoretically, if he could treat the antidote like a typical pain medicine, he could get the antidote to attach to the receptors within himself and prevent his body from releasing Epinephrine. 

Hopefully. 

Peter turned back to his blood and after a few hours, he was able to isolate the structure of the receptors that the green substance had transformed. Using the information, Peter would be able to edit the structure of his antidote to allow it to bind with these receptors and effectively tamp down the anger when it surged. 

He had everything he needed to create a successful antidote, all the right information, he just needed to figure out a way to finish it so it won’t kill him when he uses it. 

By now it was getting late and Peter had 3 days worth of sleep to catch up on, the nap he’d had earlier having given him enough energy to get till now. He couldn’t put off sleeping forever and decided it was better to get some rest now before he collapsed from exhaustion. 

Again. 

So, Peter grabbed his bag and took out a few of his clothes, draping them over himself in a makeshift bed. He’d curled up in a corner of the room - one that he hadn’t thrown up in and spilt his venom everywhere - getting himself comfortable before his eyes slipped shut. 

He didn’t sleep for long, eyes flicking over to the computer to see he’d be out for just 2 hours. His body may not need as much sleep as normal people, but he’d been hoping to catch up on some more sleep than he had. 

Oh well, he’s awake now, may as well get back to work. So, Peter clambers to his feet, loud cracks come from his body as does so. His back protests his movements, still unused to sleeping on the floor. Hopefully his body would get used to it soon enough, having stiff muscles and joints wasn’t pleasant. 

Eyeing up his work from the previous night, Peter groaned. God he was tired of working on this, he’d much rather be creating a new Spider-man costume and gadgets to go out and help people. 

But he was stuck here creating an antidote so he didn’t hurt others. Because he's dangerous and someone who needs to be protected from. The knowledge hurt, he’d worked so hard to be someone that others looked for safety, for comfort. 

Spider-man had anyway. 

Peter Parker though had never been anyone of anything really, he’d been skinny and weak and never stood up for himself. He certainly wasn’t someone to go to for safety. But he hadn’t been dangerous either. 

Now he was. 

He was dangerous and that’s why he’s here creating a remedy to stop himself from becoming dangerous. To keep everyone safe. He shouldn’t be complaining about it, not when he’s protecting innocent people.

Even if he’s protecting them from himself. 

With this in mind, Peter was more determined and got back to work. He studied the structure of his blood and more specifically the receptors he’s been able to isolate within them. 

If he could oxidate the venom, he may just be able to achieve the wanted results. Searching the lab, Peter looked for anything he could use, it was highly unlikely that they’d have anything for electrochemical or biochemical oxidation but they may just have something for catalytic oxidation. 

He looked through the number of shelves and the floor where many things had been scattered. He’d not bothered to clean the mess that the lab was in, he didn’t plan on staying longer than necessary and figured it would look odd if one room was clean whilst everything else was gone. 

He was losing hope, having looked through just about everything when a dark black powder caught his eye. Making his way to the back corner where he’d spotted said powder, Peter bent down to pick up the small container. There was a large crack running through the middle, so Peter was careful when picking it up, not wanting the powder to spill everywhere. 

Holding the container above his head, Peter looked at the label which read ‘Copper Oxide’

“Yes!” Peter shouted in relief, he had something he could use. 

Ignoring the embarrassment he felt at having screamed over finding a powder, Peter took the Copper Oxide back to this workstation. It was perfect, he would be able to actually finish his antidote. And it should actually work this time. 

Hopefully. 

His body would latch onto anything foreign and remove it before it had the chance to do what’s necessary, however, the Copper Oxide would convert the water and carbon monoxide to hydrogen, carbon dioxide. This way, his body wouldn’t see the antidote as a foreign body and it would be able to stop the spike of Epinephrine. Stop the anger. 

Therefore, Peter took his concentrated venom mixture and added in some of the Copper Oxide. For the process to work, he’d need to wait a few hours to fully ensure the reaction had been successful. 

Peter placed that concoction to the side and now didn’t have much to do. He’d fairly certain that this antidote would actually work and he didn’t have any other ideas for if this didn’t work. 

So, rather than panic on whether or not this antidote would actually work, Peter decided to extract more venom and concentrate it. It would both keep his mind busy and if the antidote actually worked it would mean he could make a lot of it so he would have extra to keep at the firestation. 

Peter did just that, he willed his fangs back into existence, the sharp teeth piercing his bottom lip once more. From there he grabbed a large beaker this time, not wanting to overflow a smaller one. Again. 

Relaxing his jaw, the venom flowed from his teeth, filling the large beaker. His mouth filled with the bitter taste of his venom, causing Peter to scrunch his nose in response. 

It really did taste gross. 

Once he’d filled the large beaker with his venom, he mixed it with trifluoroacetic acid and put it over the bunsen burner to achieve an amber colour once more. Perfect. 

Now that he’d finished concentrating his venom, he didn't have much else to do. He couldn’t leave because he was a danger to others and he couldn’t do anything more with his antidote until the oxidation process had finished. 

He probably should get some more sleep but he just wasn’t tired. There was no point in going to bed if he wasn’t actually going to end up sleeping. 

But, there was one thing he could do, and he had everything he needed. The computer and time. Lots of it. 

With this in mind, Peter grinned as he sat himself down at the computer, fingers eager to start typing away. He didn’t want anyone to find his work though, didn’t want anyone to steal it or anything so he created a secure network before beginning. 

He wrote firewall after firewall, mixing multiple different types of coding languages. He swapped between coding languages half way through a line of code, leaving behind fake weak spots as well to trick whoever may go looking. 

He set a multitude of ‘traps’ in case someone went looking to kick them out and in turn, automatically find all of their information, sending it back to Peter. That way he’d know who was looking and then he could find out why. 

In the end, he was pretty sure it was virtually impenetrable, the only way you could get in is if you were well him. In this universe anyway. 

Ned and Tony had taught him well, that’s for sure. 

Once he was happy with the security of his network, Peter got to work. His hands flew over the keys, line of code after line of code being typed into existence. He used both his intelligence and what he remembered from when Ned and him had hacked into his suit to continue writing his code. 

The code got longer and longer, becoming more intricate and detailed. If he was honest, he was pretty proud of how it was coming along, he still had a long way to go, but everything was looking good so far. 

Great even. 

Before he knew it, 5 hours had flown by, and yet his work was nowhere near complete. But, now that it had been a few hours, Peter could check back on the antidote. 

Peter’s heart beat loudly as he made his way back to the antidote, if this didn’t work he was screwed. The once honeyed-amber liquid had turned into more of an auburn, the Copper Oxide having clearly done its job. Peter prayed it did it right. 

Before he could test the antidote fully, he needed to remove the Copper Oxide that was currently sitting at the bottom of the beaker. He grabbed a sieve off one of the shelves as well as a second beaker. 

Straining the antidote through the sieve Peter took a deep breath. ‘It was okay’ he repeated to himself, the worst case scenario was that he’d have to try again. 

It was okay. 

Once he’d finished putting the antidote through the sieve, there was nothing left to do but actually test it. Once he’d put aside the Copper Oxide currently sitting on the sieve, Peter poured the antidote into a small vial. 

Grabbing a syringe Peter filled it up with the antidote, the auburn liquid seemed both extremely menacing and entirely safe at the same time. Once he’d filled the syringe, Peter made his way to the corner with the scorch mark. If he starts throwing up again, may as well do it in the same corner. 

With that, Peter searched inside himself for that pit of rage, the anger just begging to be let out. 

He let it. 

His gut burned hot, his blood boiled. 

He let it. 

The world around him tainted green, a low growl coming from the back of his throat. 

He let it. 

The anger rose to the surface and spilled over the edge, all consuming. 

He let it. 

Then, he was plunging the syringe into his shoulder once more, releasing the antidote into his system. 

And he waited.  

Chapter Text

The green seeped from his vision, the burning anger bubbled away into a cool calmness. His heart slowed to a steady thrum, the tension leaving his body. 

It had worked. 

Peter slumped against the wall, a few tears finding their way down his face. He let out a breathy laugh filled with relief. 

It had actually worked. 

A small smile tugged at his lips, he would be able to keep himself in control. Keep others safe. It was okay. He was okay. 

Peter let himself bask in the happiness for a few moments, a low laugh bubbling from him. Looking up to the ceiling, a large grin overtook his face. 

It had worked.
And just in time too, school was literally in 2 days time and he couldn’t afford to miss it. But now everything was okay because it had worked. He had done it. 

So, with a pep in his step, Peter walked back over to his work station and grabbed the large vat of his concentrated venom. He repeated the process he’d just done, only increasing the quantity of everything by a lot. 

Soon enough, he had a large batch of his working antidote which he then distributed into much smaller vials. Vials that he could carry around inconspicuously to use when he needed. 

Reaching for his bag, Peter had planned to shove the many vials into his bag alongside a number of syringes, only to find his bag stuffed with clothes and food. Right, he’d forgotten that he’d bought those with him. 

He still had some more food at the fire station, and it wouldn’t be a bad thing to keep a backstock here. As much as he hated it, he’s fairly sure he’d be back, it’s the only place that he can work on a number of things. 

Spider-man for one. 

The fire station wasn’t exactly optimal for making gadgets and web fluid and such, but here, in this lab, was the perfect spot. So, leaving some food here wouldn’t be harmful, it would actually be rather useful. 

With that in mind, Peter took out the cans of food and hid them away, placing them in the corner of the room, behind some fallen chemicals. Ones that weren’t spilt all over the floor anyway. No need to be risky with his food. 

If someone came looking, he didn’t need it to be obvious that he was using the space, he’d rather keep it private that he was ever here. No need for him to become someone suspicious. 

Once he’d finished hiding the food from plain view Peter filled his bag with the vials of antidote, grabbing handfuls of syringes as well. He stocked his bag full of the two, not wanting to come back more than necessary. 

Swinging his bag over his shoulders, Peter’s eyes swept over the space and landed on the computer. Right. He’d forgotten about that, about the project he’d started. 

He wanted to finish it, but he hated the constant sharp presence of his sixth sense, the way his body urged him to leave, how wound up and tense he was just being here. 

It wasn’t worth it. 

He’d come back another time, when he needed to and work on it more then. Or, he’d get himself a computer of his own and he could work on it at the firestation. He could even work on it at the library if he needed to. 

He had options that weren’t here in this haunted lab. With the very essence of green that clung to him with every movement. 

He didn’t have to do it here. 

So, Peter left, walked right out of the lab and the abandoned building as a whole, beginning his trudge back to Gotham. 

He was in desperate need of another shower, the crusted blood still hiding beneath his clothes. A constant itch at his skin, yet another reminder of how broken he is. How disgusted his family would be. 

Did he even deserve to call them his family? 

He wills himself to not cry at how pathetic he is, how utterly pitiful he is. It’s what he deserves, he reminds himself. He deserves to be alone, to be this broken.

He doesn’t deserve to be okay. 

Soon enough Peter was walking through the streets of Gotham once more, the rotting scent of the city filling his nostrils. He still hadn’t quite adjusted to the city yet, his enhanced senses needing more time to get used to everything. 

The smell. The noise. The danger. 

All of it. 

Queens had never been this bad, it had been horrible when he’d first gotten his abilities, suddenly being able to hear, to smell, to feel everything had been torture. But he’d adjusted, figured out how to instinctively block out the noise of those 5 blocks away, to breathe lightly and avoid the scents of the sewers beneath the road. 

Gotham was so much worse. It was harder to block out the noises of gunshots and screams, harder to stop the stench of the city getting to him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it. 

Rather than throw up on the side of the road like Peter currently felt like doing, he pushed through. Pushed aside the extra input coming in from all of his senses, long enough to be able to get back to the fire station at least. 

He made it back to his current place of residence and was quick to strip his clothes and step under the cold steam of water coming from the showerhead. Scrubbing the blood from his body, Peter rolled his stiff neck and stretched his sore joints. 

Loud pops came from his body as he stretched causing Peter to let out a low groan of relief, eyes threatening to close as his body relaxed beneath the stream of water, despite its cold nature. 

Deciding he should get out before he fell asleep in the shower, Peter turned off the shower and dried himself before chucking on some clean clothes. 

His stomach growled in need but Peter was too tired to bother eating, instead shuffling over to bed and promptly collapsed to the floor. He was able to drag a few jackets on top of himself before his eyes fluttered shut as unconsciousness took over. 

Peter awoke to the sound of heavy rain, a shiver running through him at the cold temperature. Curling in closer on himself, Peter pulled the jackets closer on himself, blindly reaching for a few more to drag on top of himself. Once he was sufficiently swamped in jackets and his other clothes, Peter glared up at the ceiling. 

Of course it was raining, just what he needed. He should have expected this, the sky constantly dark and grey, threatening to start raining at any moment. He’d naively thought it would take longer. That he’d have more time to prepare for this kind of weather. 

He’d been foolish. And now he was paying the price. 

Cursing his past self, Peter spied the various holes that littered the building, the cold air seeping through them. Many of the holes had been boarded up, but there were even more that weren’t. 

There wasn’t much he could do either, the fire station not having the resources to block the holes and keep the water out. A number of small puddles were forming around the building as the rain continued its harsh descent. 

It wouldn’t have been so bad if Peter wasn’t who he was. If he could actually thermoregulate. 

Thanks to the spider bite, Peter was no longer able to regulate his temperature - as spider’s were cold-blooded creatures, it had turned Peter much the same. His body couldn’t make its own heat, rather, if he were too cold, he’d go into a state of hibernation, his body matching the temperature and slowly shutting down. 

Mr. Stark had nearly had a heart attack when he’d found Peter in such a state, and then promptly made sure Peter’s suit had a working heater to keep him warm. 

If only he had that suit now. 

But he didn’t, so he’d have to figure something else out before his core temperature dropped too low. He wasn’t sure he’d survive if it did. 

If the library was closer he might have been able to go there, the warmth of the building protecting him, but it was too far. He wouldn’t make it that far before collapsing. 

The lab hadn’t been much warmer, the abandoned building having a number of holes of its own, but it was still warmer than the fire station. However, that was too far for Peter to get to as well. If only he’d stayed another night, if he’d just pushed through the nausea he felt just being there, then he might not be in this predicament. 

But he was, and he needed to figure something out. Quickly. 

It wasn’t the smartest idea he’d ever had, far from it in fact, but it would give him a better chance of surviving. If he could find somewhere in that abandoned part of town that would keep him more sheltered he could wait out the rain. 

If the toxicity didn’t get to him first. 

He had no other ideas as to what to do, so, this was it. It was the only option. 

Taking a deep breath, Peter threw off the jackets before quickly adding more layers onto himself. He ended up with 3 shirts and a hoodie before he deemed it good enough. 

Peter’s stomach rumbled, reminding him he’d put off eating the night before. Groaning, Peter ripped open a can and promptly shoved the contents down his throat; he'd rather not eat it after it’s been contaminated with whatever was in the air of the abandoned part of the city, so he scarfed it down here. 

Once he’d finished, Peter grabbed one of the fireman's jackets and shoved his arms into the sleeves. It was humongous, completely swamped Peter. It brushed Peter’s shins, the sleeves extending far past his hands, but it would keep him warm and protect him from the rain as he moved. 

Pulling the hood up, Peter buried his hands into the pockets and slipped out of the window. He repressed a shiver as the cold air assaulted him, rain pelting him as he jumped from the fire escape. 

The dark sky helped cover his movements as Peter stumbled through the city, the only reason he hadn’t fallen over his enhanced senses and sticky powers. He ran quickly, despite the slick concrete, using his enhancements to his favour. 

Perhaps he should have been more cautious of using his powers but he had bigger things to be concerned about. And hopefully the weather would shadow him from anyone's view so no one would actually be able to see anything significant about him. Any defining features. 

It didn’t take long for Peter to reach the abandoned part of town, his enhanced speed extremely useful. Ignoring the barbed wire once more, Peter leaped over the fence and slinked through the streets.

His sixth sense was buzzing lowly in the back of his head as it led him through the city. Peter let his sixth sense lead him to a building that looked no different to the others. It was crumbling, large chunks of concrete falling away from it’s once study structure. The windows were shattered, shards of glass littering the floor.

Peter frowned as he looked around, this was no better than the fire station, worse even, so why did his sixth sense bring him here? Still, Peter let it tug him further into the building, taking him past the entrance and through a series of hallways. 

It stopped. 

Peter glanced around, there was nothing of great significance here, but his sixth sense brought him here for a reason, in the middle of a random hallway and a random building. He just had to figure out why. 

So, he closed his eyes and searched. He let his senses explore the area around him, felt out with his sixth sense and listened for whatever it could be he was here for. 

He hadn’t noticed it at first, the thrum of electricity that ran through the wall, heading down. There was something here, something beneath this building. Something that had survived whatever attack had happened on this place. 

There was no other electricity in the entire abandoned area, Peter checked, expanding his senses further and further. Nowhere else hummed with power, no crackle of electricity as it flowed through wires. 

This was why his sixth sense had bought him here. To find whatever ran deep beneath the building. 

There was nothing significant about the wall, the paint was peeling but other than that, it was plain and boring. Yet, there had to be something otherwise his sixth sense wouldn’t have led him here. 

Closing his eyes once more, Peter felt out with his hands. He brushed his fingertips over the wall, feeling each dip and crevice. The chipped paint was sharp compared to the smoothness of the rest of the wall. 

He continued to brush his hands against the wall, until there. It wasn’t noticeable, not to someone who wasn’t looking for it but there was a slight divot, this one different from the others. Thicker, more purposeful. 

With bated breath, Peter gently pushed against the divot and then a low whirring sound came from the wall. Suddenly, a small section of the wall was parting, a keypad taking its place. 

He’d found it. 

The keypad was sleek and still in perfect condition. It was also more advanced than anything he’d seen in this universe. It was clear whatever was beneath the building wasn’t meant to be found, not by the likes of him anyway. 

But he doubted whosever's it was, was using it - his sixth sense would warn him if it was dangerous, and though his sixth sense had gotten louder as he’d stayed here longer, it wasn’t warning him of any danger from whatever lay underground. 

The toxic environment likely kept them away, not everyone could handle radioactivity like his body could. 

Now he just had to figure out the password to get in. If he had more time and equipment, Peter could have easily hacked his way into the device and overridden the password to let himself in. But, time was a luxury he didn't have. 

By now, his sixth sense was getting louder, turning sharper at the base of his skull. He really needed to find a way in. Peter inspected the pad closer, his enhanced eyesight allowing him to see every detail more clearly. That included the numbers and how worn they were. 

0,1,4,8. Those were the numbers to the password, the keys most worn at having been pressed. The slight cracking in each of these numbers, how they were looser than the other keys is what told him this. And though it was very useful, he had no idea what order they went in. 

Peter’s finger brushed over the 8 only for his sixth sense to buzz sharply. Not the 8 then. He let his finger hover over the 4 next, another buzz. When he placed his finger atop the 0, his sixth sense hummed as if pleased. Huh, it had never done that before. 

He knew that there was much more to his sixth sense than sensing danger, but never had it felt pleased. It had always been dialled up anxiety, always a sharp warning, a blunt shove in the right direction. This was new, not bad per say. But new. 

He repeated the process, letting his sixth sense warn him against the wrong numbers. Eventually he had the numbers in the right order, at least, if his sixth sense was right. 

Not one to doubt the extra sense, Peter punched in the code. 0481. A hum came from the wall which started to vibrate. Peter took a cautious step back, falling into a defensive stance. 

The wall continued to buzz until the walls were suddenly splitting apart. A clean line split the wall in half before each side pushed away from the other, the hole getting larger and larger. 

Once the walls had fully retracted, Peter took a tentative step into the large hole before him only to be met with a strange sight. 

There was an elevator. 

Chapter Text

The walls closed behind Peter, enveloping him in darkness. Even so, he could still see, but it was different than normal. Better. 

His enhanced eyesight had always helped him see in the dark, letting him navigate the streets at night, but this, he could see near perfectly. His eyes felt strange, they felt… thinner? in a way. And he could see almost as well as he could in daylight, there was an obscurity to everything, a slight unfocus because of the dark, but he could still see far better than he’d been able to before. 

First fangs, now this. Was he becoming more spider-like? Would he even be human by the time he finished mutating again? Because that’s what had to be happening, that green pool he’d been dunked in had done something to him. Triggered more changes. He was mutating more.

He could only hope he remained more human than spider.

He didn’t want to think about how much more different he was becoming, so he walked into the elevator. The doors automatically shut behind him and his sixth sense immediately quietened. 

The pounding at the back of his skull stopped, his body untensing as he got further away from the danger he had been in. Further from the toxicity he’d been drenched in. 

The elevator continued its descent, the noises of the world above getting more and more muffled the further down Peter got. It didn’t take long before the elevator shuddered to a stop, the doors opening to reveal a large expanse of empty space. 

Peter stepped into the large tunnel, looking left, then right and finding that it extends both ways. He could see that on either side the tunnel split off in further directions, likely a maze of different passages. 

At least he was safer down here than he was up there.

Curiosity filled him as he looked around him, where on earth had that elevator taken him? And why did this place even exist?

At first, he’d thought it could have been sewers, but it was lacking water and the accompanying stench. This was different, it seemed like large tunnels underground. But what were they for?

He decided there was no harm in finding out, his sixth sense remaining quiet as he walked through the large tunnel. He kept close to the wall just in case someone or something came by. 

He reached the crossroad in the tunnels and his sixth sense nudged him to the left, his feet stumbling forwards. Peter kept on that path, continuing deeper and deeper into the tunnels. 

It was clear this was something important, or led there anyway. The security that had been installed to keep people out was very high tech, indicating a high profile client. 

He could only hope it didn’t land him in more trouble. 

Further and further through the tunnels Peter walked, letting his sixth sense nudge him into the right direction. He was eternally grateful for the change in said sense, how it was doing more than just screaming at him to move. 

The tunnels were surprisingly clean, they weren’t pristine by any means, but they were a far cry nicer than he expected underground tunnels to be. Definitely better than the subway tunnels anyway.

It was nice to wander through the labyrinth of tunnels, the space exceedingly quiet. There was no noise but the light shuffling of his jacket as he walked. He let his mind drift, his body going through the movements mindlessly as his sixth sense kept him on track. 

To where, he still didn’t know. 

After a while, his sixth sense picked up, becoming a light tingle at the back of his mind. It was warning him to keep his wits about him, to keep himself hidden. Wherever he was going, whoever was there wasn’t necessarily a threat, but they weren’t to be trifled with either. 

So, Peter crawled up the wall and onto the ceiling of the tunnel. He kept the hood of  the jacket on, if he was caught on the ceiling he’d rather not have anyone recognise him.

He slinked through the tunnel, opening his ears to the sounds coming from further down. The faint click of keys reached him, the familiar buzz of electricity accompanying it. There were low voices talking, but they were too far that Peter couldn’t quite make out the words. 

Suddenly, a deep rumble started up, the tunnel vibrating with the noise. Peter frowned, plastering himself closer to the ceiling, peeking at the ground below him. The sound got louder and louder, Peter’s body shaking as he clung to the concrete. 

There was a bright light that came from around the corner of the tunnel and then a large black car was speeding past Peter. He blinked at the vehicle, it was long and sleek, the engine loud in the confined space. 

Peter spun his head around to look as the vehicle flew past, noting the wing like features on the back. Bat wings. 

Shit. 

Had Peter accidentally stumbled into Batman’s base? Had Batman been driving the car? Had Batman seen him?

No. If he had, Peter wouldn’t be clinging to the ceiling right now, he’d be running from Batman. So, the hero hadn’t seen him. His sixth sense seemed to agree with his words, warming the base of his neck. 

Peter slumped from his spot on the ceiling, dropping carefully to the ground and letting some of the tension leave his body. Batman hadn’t seen him. He was still safe. 

He probably should have turned tail and left, going back to suffer through the cold and the rain, but, when had Peter ever done something he should have? Instead, he continued through the tunnel, turning the corner that the car had come from and holy shit! 

The tunnel opened out to a massive cave, there was a path that led to a station of sorts, clearly where the car that had just left had been. Beyond that was incredible, and was the a fucking dinosaur? 

Peter was overwhelmed as he took in the cave, it stretched higher and higher, massive pillars keeping the cave from collapsing. There was a huge coin alongside the green dinosaur. It seemed electronic if Peter’s ears were right. 

Spinning around, Peter took in the entire cave, the sound of bats sleeping above finding him. There was a massive playing card, a manic grin plastered on the face of The Joker. It was unsettling to say the least. 

Peter was quick to look away and his eyes landed on a massive computer, with what had to be 5 different screens. There was someone sitting there, fingers clicking on the keys as they worked. 

Peter slipped into the shadows, quick to conceal himself from anyone’s view. He took a closer look at the person on the computer, they wore a red and black suit a black cape flowing behind them. 

Red Robin. 

That’s who sat at the computer. A younger vigilante, probably around Peter’s age if he had to guess. Their fingers flew over the keys, their voice reaching Peter. 

“Central Gotham B, Clayface is there, Wing’s on his way,” the vigilante was saying. 

Peter was too far away to hear the reply, but figured it was words of understanding if the small nod Red Robin gave was anything to go by. He was about to sneak closer when the shuffle of his jacket warned him against it. 

Frozen, Peter stared at the vigilante, heart pounding at the thought of being caught. Red Robin, however, hadn’t seemed to have heard, their focus still on the screens as he spoke through the comm system he had in. 

Peter let out a soft sigh of relief, carefully extracting himself from the jacket before creeping closer. He kept his movement silent and precise, using the number of things littered around the cave as cover. 
 
Once he was close enough he noted the map on one of the screens, a number of red dots moving through the city - likely Batman and the other vigilantes out that night. 

Red Robin continued directing Batman and Nightwing to the right area, keeping them updated with information on Clayface. Aside from the two male voices belonging to Batman and Nightwing, there was another voice, this one a higher pitch compared to the others. 

Barbara’s voice. 

Just how close was the woman to these vigilantes? He knew that she’d been in contact with Nightwing, but to find out she was on their comm line, that was something else entirely. 

Did she know who they were beneath the masks? 

Even if she did it wasn’t any of his business, not really. Respect another vigilantes identity and all, he’d hate it if they went looking for his identity. Not that he was Spider-man. Yet. 

So, he decided he wouldn’t pry into who they were, he’d leave them alone. Even if it would make it easier to avoid them as his civilian form so they couldn’t discover him as a meta, they didn’t deserve that. 

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t stay for now, he was more than a little curious as to the inner workings of the Bat vigilantes. Bat-colony? Bat-clan? Whatever they called themselves, he wanted to see how it differed from the Avengers. 

Though Peter worked solo, only teaming up with Daredevil or Deadpool when necessary, he had on occasion helped the Avengers with larger threats and had been connected to their comm system. 

It had been a loud, bickering experience, but also one filled with understanding and respect. They understood each other and were able to work effectively, even if they disagreed at times. 

Perhaps a part of him hoped that they would be similar, that he could find a small part of home in the way these vigilantes interacted. Maybe he just wanted to torture himself more. 

Peter was close enough now that he could clearly hear the people on the other side of the comm, and with only a slight amount of guilt, listened in. 

“...Nightwing,” A deep voice said, the words sounded cold in a way. Like Bucky’s did when they were taking down a Hydra base. 

“Yeah, Yeah, B. I’m on my way,” another voice sighed, and that was Nightwing. Peter recognised the lilt in it, the exasperation that was clear as he spoke. Like Tony’s when someone (mainly Peter) did something he would classify as ‘stupidly self sacrificial’. 

“You know, if you’d just let me-” Red Robin started only to be cut off by Batman,

“No, you’re still recovering,” the words practically a growl, “You’re not going out on patrol for another week,” 

“But B,” Red Robin whined, sounding so much like a teenager it forced Peter to pause for a moment. Is that what he sounded like when Tony grounded him from patrol? It was so… innocent. 

The words sound wrong coming from a vigilante, coming from someone who risks their life night after night to protect others. 

But the vigilante was a minor after all, couldn’t have been much older than him and god that hurt. Peter knew first hand what it was to start vigilante work young but was this how others saw him when he was out fighting crime? 

Had they seen someone too young with too much on their shoulders? 

Red Robin deserved to be a teenager, to be angsty and rude and deal with dating problems. Did he deserve that as well? 

It didn’t matter he supposed, the universe had dealt him a shit hand that he had to run with. He’d made it work and he would never regret being Spider-man, wouldn’t regret all the people he’d saved. 

Even if it was at the expense of his childhood. His innocence. 

He was a small price to pay for the lives of many. 

“...bed now,” Batman was saying as Peter turned back into the conversation. 

“But I can help. I’m not tired, I can still-,” once more Red Robin was cut off. 

“No. That’s final,” Batman said, “Go to bed, you have school starting soon,” 

And god did that sound like Tony when he was grilling into Peter for staying out late on patrol. He’d wanted this, he reminded himself at the sharp twinge in his chest, wanted to hear the similarities between these vigilantes and the heroes from back home. Even if it hurt.

“Fine,” Red Robin huffed, before getting up and walking away, a slight limp in his step. He had a leg wound, that’s why Batman wasn’t letting him patrol. Good, Peter thought, the vigilante needs to rest if he wasn’t to heal properly. 

School. Peter also had school soon, did Red Robin go to Gotham Prep? Was he in his year? No, it doesn’t matter, Peter scolded himself, he wasn't going to pry into the personal lives of vigilantes. 

Peter watched as Red Robin walked through the cave and past a series of cases, vigilante suits on display. There was the one for Spoiler, Batgirl, and Robin from what he could see. 

The suits were well crafted from what Peter could see. He intended to take a closer look, however, Red Robin had turned into a room and was likely getting changed back to his civilian clothes. 

Not wanting to intrude and discover the vigilante’s identity, Peter turned and scurried back to the coat he’d taken off. He had no idea what the time was, but he could still hear the faint pattering of rain from above, so he knew better than to go back to the fire station. 

Instead, Peter shrugged the coat back on before scaling the wall. He climbed further and further up into a dark crevice of the ceiling. Careful not to disturb the bats, Peter instinctively went to shoot out a web, forgetting that he didn’t have his web shooter. 

Only, a faint splat met Peter’s ears and he looked down to find a thin web extending from his wrist. A small lump sat on his wrist now, blood slowly oozing from where his web extended. 

Shit. 

Chapter Text

Peter stared down at his wrist, shock freezing him. He had just shot a web out of his wrist. A biological, actual spider's web just came out of his body. 

What. The. Actual. Fuck. 

He wasn’t supposed to mutate this much, wasn’t supposed to go as far as becoming an actual spider. It was terrifying. The thought that he might grow another set of eyes, perhaps more arms. 

It wasn’t out of the question. He had fangs with venom and now biological webs. Who knew just how far these mutations would go. 

He didn’t want to be a spider, didn’t want to become more animalistic than he already was. If he wasn’t on the verge of hibernating, Peter might have cried about. Might have panicked about what other mutations were to come.

However, as his movements became slower, his body not having yet shaken the cold from his body, he simply shot out another web. And then another. 

He created a hammock of webs before curling himself in it, praying the warmth of the cave - which had no right to be as warm as it was - would keep him from actually going into a hibernating state. 

With that, he burrowed inside the large jacket before his eyes slipped shut, sleep overtaking his body. 

Peter awoke hours later to the feeling of his body falling, his arms automatically reaching out to shoot a web. 

Nothing came out. 

He continued to fall until he landed on the floor of the cave with a loud thud, the noise echoing around the walls around him. A low wheeze left him as he gasped for breath, the air having been knocked out of him. 

Wobbling to his feet, Peter ignored the pain that was radiating from his back, spreading to the tips of his fingers. 

The sound of an elevator descending reached Peter causing him to panic. He couldn’t be found here, he had no idea what would happen if he was caught. 

So, he ran. 

His first steps were shaky, Peter needed to gather his bearings after having just woken up and falling from the ceiling of the cave. But, he needed to get out of here, the sounds of footsteps now racing towards him. 

Tightening the hood of the jacket, Peter bowed his head as he picked up the pace, his footsteps silent to avoid them hearing him; thanking Natasha for having taught him how to run like that. To keep himself silent. 

Voices shouted after him as he turned the corner of the tunnels, the vigilantes in heavy pursuit. He continued to run swiftly through the tunnels, but the vigilantes were closing in on him. 

Spike. 

Peter rolled and a sharp object went flying over his head, embedding itself in the wall in front of him. It was in the shape of a bat, edges glinting even in the dim tunnels. 

His momentum didn’t stop, bouncing off the wall as he turned the corner and continued to sprint through the tunnels. He began tracing his steps, going back the way he’d come. 

If he could just get to the elevator again, he’d be able to slip on top and stop them from using it. Get into Old Gotham where they (hopefully) wouldn’t follow. 

Putting just a small bit of his enhanced speed into his steps, Peter continued running, the bats still not far behind. 

Spike. 

Peter leaped onto the wall as 3 of those same objects came flying by, he used his sticking ability to help him keep his balance before pushing off the wall and keeping up his running. 

He was getting closer, just a little bit longer until he’d be there. Until he’d be able to escape and make his way back to the fire station regardless of whether the rain had stopped or not. 

The further away from the cave they got, the colder Peter felt, the cool air seeping beneath the coat and chilling his bones. Ignoring the shivers that threatened to overwhelm his body, Peter continued running. 

Spike. 

Too late. Peter had been too slow to dodge them this time. He’d thrown himself to the side, and had managed to get away from 2 of the 3 objects, but the third hit its mark. 

The sharp object sank into his shoulder, ripping through the fabric of the coat. A low grunt left him, a hot stinging pain emanated from where the weapon lay, spreading down his arm and tingling the tips of his fingers. 

Peter cursed his sixth sense for bringing him here, for guiding him to Batman’s hideout of all places. It couldn’t have been a different underground bunker, no, it just had to be Batman’s. 

He could deal with his sixth sense taking him here of all places later, for now, Peter put on a burst of speed, dashing through the last of the tunnels.

The sounds of the vigilantes were getting further away, their shouts fading as he dated down the tunnels. 

There, Peter spotted the elevator he had taken down, still open and waiting to be taken up one more. Rushing into the elevator, Peter leaped onto the ceiling of the elevator. 

He pried open the escape hatch before slipping into the elevator shaft. The space was smaller than Peter would have liked, the dark passage bringing memories of being crushed beneath a building to the forefront of his mind. 

He couldn’t afford to be distracted by memories though, so Peter shoved them down and grabbed the sharp object that was still sticking out of him. Using the edge of the bat-shaped object, Peter sliced the lines of the elevator, keeping it from being used. 

He could only hope Batman had no other way of climbing the shaft. 

With that, Peter began his ascent, slipping the weapon into the pocket of his jacket - sue him for wanting to take a closer look when he wasn’t currently running for his life. Clinging to the wall of the shaft, Peter scuttled his way up, movements fluid despite the wound in his shoulder. 

It was all too easy to ignore the burning heat that came from his shoulder, simply pushing away the pain as his arm moved. He was about half-way up before the vigilantes caught up with him. 

Their voices carried up to meet Peter, echoing within the confined space. There were just 2 of them, one he recognised as Nightwing, the man’s voice and heartbeat easy giveaways. 

The other had to be Batman, the authority with which he spoke to the person on the other side of the comm he had in, the way Nightwing deferred to him. Batman was the only option. 

His sixth sense was not particularly fond of the man, despite having literally taken him to the Batcave. Said sense was now humming with warning, getting louder as Batman got closer. 

Yes, Peter knew that Batman was dangerous, thank you very much, he wasn’t the one that decided to take him to the man’s lair after all. 

By now, the 2 men had gotten into the elevator and after a few moments clambered their way through the escape hatch too. Peter didn’t look down, not wanting to expose any of his face to them, he couldn’t let Nightwing recognise him. 

He leaped from wall to wall, avoiding the various objects thrown at him, until he finally made it to the top and slipped out of sight of the vigilantes. 

“Don’t,” Batman’s deep voice commanded. 

“But-” Nightwing was cut off

“That leads to Old Gotham,” 

“What! We have to stop them, they’ll get themself killed,” Nightwing exclaimed. 

“We can’t do anything, our grappling hooks can’t get us up in this tight space and now it's certainly too late,” Nightwing opened his mouth to speak, but Batman cut him off once more, “They are likely a meta, if they were able to climb the wall like that. I doubt the chemicals will kill them,” 

“They could be dangerous,” Nightwing said instead. 

“Yes, that is why we will figure out who they are and why they were in the Batcave,” Batman said to Nightwing, “We will catch them. No matter what,”

Peter shivered at the words, the threat really. Batman was looking for him now, the exact opposite of what he had been hoping to do. 

“Oracle, search the camera’s and find him,” Batman ordered. 

“Already on it,” A familiar feminine voice came. Barbara’s voice. 

It shouldn’t have been so surprising, Barbara talked with Nightwing, why wouldn’t she talk with Batman too? And Oracle was her codename, it was admittedly rather cool, even if she was against Peter in a way. 

Maybe she’s like their version of Ned. It was a nice yet rather painful thought. He had no idea what happened to his best friend, the last he’d seen of him had been on the bus on their field trip before Peter had taken off and ended up in space. 

Peter missed his friend, the boy had always been able to cheer Peter up. Whether they built lego’s or a robot using spare parts, if they watched a movie or simply talked. No matter what, Ned was always there for him. 

Always. 

Except, now he wasn’t, because Peter was in a different universe and Ned was probably dead and it was all Peter’s fault. If only he had been better. Faster. Stronger. 

But he wasn’t, he’d failed and now he may never see Ned again. Perhaps it was better for his friend to stay as far away from Peter as possible. 

He’d dwell on the loss of his friend later, the sadness blooming in his heart would not be helpful when keeping himself from being caught. So, he did just that, locked away the sadness and pain, buried the hurt deep enough that he could pretend it didn’t exist. 

Pretend that he was okay. 

Now though, Peter walked a few steps and the walls in front of him shifted to the side, opening to reveal the doorway he’d come in through. Once he stepped past, the walls immediately closed behind him, nothing but a soft huff indicating anything had happened. 

The danger that had come from Batman eased, but the warning of the environment around him, the chemicals he was currently inhaling spiked harshly. 

He needed to leave. 

Now. 

Peter was quick on his feet as he rushed through the building, keeping clear of the camera’s dotted around. He didn’t think they worked, his sixth sense made no warning, but thought it would be better to avoid them anyway. 

Just in case. 

Here, he was able to use his enhanced speed properly, Batman and Nightwang not having followed meant that he was able to push himself faster. He sped through the broken streets of the town, zigzagging in and out of buildings to get him out of there as fast as possible.

It took mere minutes for him to reach the edge of the town and leap over the fencing around it, his sixth sense quieting to a low thrum. 

Now that he wasn’t in any direct danger, Peter let himself take a breath, only now noticing the rain had stopped. The ground was still wet, the clouds grey, but it was no longer pouring. 

Hopefully it wouldn’t rain again soon, not until he was able to fix up the fire station enough to combat the bad weather. Though, with Peter’s luck, he wasn’t holding out any hope. 

The jacket was a dangerous thing to keep with him, it was the main defining feature that Batman would have seen. It would be what they looked for, who was wearing such a jacket. 

With this in mind, Peter took the weapon from the pocket of the jacket and slipped it into the pocket of his pants instead. He took off the jackets, his body immediately wracked with shivers as he did so. 

Peter threw the jacket over the fence and back into Old Gotham, hopefully it would keep the bats from grabbing it. The only reason Peter didn’t do more is because he knew that he didn’t exist in this universe, his DNA was nowhere to be found. 

The jacket couldn’t be traced back to him. 

With that dealt with, he began his trek back to the fire station, keeping away from the view of the camera’s. He’d wanted to use the rooftops to do so, but hadn’t wanted any vigilantes to be out and catch him doing so. 

He walked quickly, needing to get to the fire station before he started hibernating, or alternatively just froze to death. If he was at the fire station he would be able to warm himself back up using the large number of other jackets that were there. 

It had been fine, everything had been fine. Peter had been dodging the camera’s just fine despite his sluggish movement as the cold seeped further into his bones. 

He’d been daydreaming about the warmth that awaited him at the fire station, that and the food he would be able to eat. 

It had all been fine, that was until a voice called out to him,

“Peter?” 

Oh shit. 

Chapter Text

Peter spun around, cursing his sixth sense for not warning him of the man’s presence. The tall figure was quick to sweep in front of Peter, their posture hunched as if to appear non-threatening. 

“I thought I told you to stay away from me,” Peter said coldly. 

It’s better this way. Safer. Keep everyone at arm's length, don’t let anyone get close enough to end up dead.

Not again. 

“I know,” Nightwing sighed, voice heavy, “But, I just needed to make sure you were okay, Batman and I have been chasing someone and I wanted to make sure you’re not hurt,” he explained. 

“I’m fine,” 

“That’s good,” Nightwing nodded, eyes scanning over Peter to confirm his words. “Just be careful, I don’t want you to end up getting hurt,”

“Why would you care?” Peter scoffed, the man didn’t actually care about Peter, he was just fulfilling his duty as a vigilante. 

And Peter was okay with that. 

Really he was. 

Nightwing frowned, clearly wanting to rebuff the words but seemed to remember the last time he’d done such a thing. Remembered how Peter had reacted. 

“Because you don’t deserve to be getting hurt out here, you should be sleeping right now not walking the streets alone at night,” 

“It's fine, I’ve been through worse,” Peter rolled his eyes at the man. 

God Aunt May would be so disappointed if she could see him now; she raised him to be respectful, kind and courteous. She raised him better than this. 

Nightwing’s frown deepened, mouth thinning into a worried line as he took in the words. “That’s not a good thing,” 

“It’s whatever,” Peter shrugged, he’d long gotten over the fact he had been through far more than most people his age. Dwelling on the fact wouldn’t change anything, it would only make it hurt more. 

Nightwing opened his mouth only to close it again, shaking his head as he thought over his words. The man started speaking, his mouth moving, but Peter was more focused on the rumble that was heading their way, the swift sounds of wheels against concrete. 

Moments later, a motorbike rounded the corner, speeding down the street until it stopped abruptly beside Peter and Nightwing. Red Hood was sat on the vehicle, hands wrapped tightly around the handlebars. 

The other vigilante swung himself from the bike and marched over to them, body thrumming with tension. 

“The fuck are you doing here dickwing?” Red Hood growled. Peter’s fairly sure the man is glaring at Nightwing, though he can’t actually see behind the man’s helmet. 

“Just making sure Peter here is safe… me and Batman are looking for someone,” Nightwing explained, looking at the other man with something akin to longing and perhaps some sadness mixed in there too. 

“I don’t care,” Red Hood hissed, “Batman and the rest of you lot need to stay out of my territory,”

“I’ll get going soon, Hood,” Nightwing sighed. 

“Now,” The man’s voice dipped lower, hands clenching into fists. 

Peter’s sixth sense hummed lowly, warning him of the danger the other man could become if provoked further. He knew that the rage was bubbling beneath the surface, that Red Hood was itching to let it fly free, to be overcome with green and just let it out. 

He knew it was only a matter of time until it overflowed. 

“Get out of here Nightwing,” Peter said, “Go find that person you’re after,” 

Nightwing opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again, he too realised what was happening to Red Hood. 

“It’s not safe-” Nightwing started.

“Now,” Peter ordered, “I’ll be fine,”

Nightwing still looked hesitant but did pull out his grappling hook before swinging off down the street in search of someone he wouldn’t find. 

Red Hood was standing still, his breaths ragged as he grappled with the anger that was no doubt simmering so desperately beneath his skin. 

Even if Peter did have the cure with him at the moment, he didn’t want to test how it would work on someone normal. Someone without his biology, his healing factor. Instead, Peter looked up at the man, schooling his face to a look of boredom. 

“You here to annoy me as well?” Peter drawled, putting as much disgust into his voice as possible. 

Red Hood turned to face Peter now, a low snort leaving him. “They’re good at that aren’t they?” 

“Yeah, they are,” Peter shook his head in fake annoyance, keeping the man’s attention on Peter and not his own anger. “You seem pretty cool though,”

Red Hood tilted his head at that, surprised at Peter’s words. Despite the man’s surprise he did agree with Peter, “I’m very cool,” 

“What does your motorbike do?” Peter asked, his words earnest this time. He did actually want to know what the various buttons on the man’s vehicle did.

“Whatever I need it to,” Red Hood answers, unbothered by Peter’s abrupt change in topic. The man’s body is beginning to loosen, his hands no longer clenched tightly, his heart beating slower. 

It was working. 

“Can it use a grapple?” 

“Yes.”

“Can it shoot bullets?”

“Yes.”

“Can it drop grenades?”

“Yes.”

“Does it have a seat warmer?”

Red Hood snorted at that, “Yes.” 

“Can it self-destruct?”

Silence. 

“That’s a no then?”

“Not yet,” Red Hood hummed, thinking over the possibility of having his motorbike self-destruct. 

“Cool,” Peter breathed, he definitely wanted  to pick that apart. He’d worked with a few car’s with Mr. Stark and they had been pretty cool, but this was a modified bike for vigilante work, and that beat out the car’s Mr. Stark had. 

“You're not getting your hands on it,” Red Hood warned, arms now folded over his chest. 

Peter deflated at that, though he supposed it made sense. Red Hood certainly wouldn’t want some kid screwing around with his bike for fun, but still, Peter desperately wanted to. 

“Please,” Peter begged, eyes wide and pleading. Mr. Stark had always fallen for this trick, had given Peter whatever he wanted if he just asked with wide eyes and a slight pout. 

Red Hood hesitated at that, opened his mouth based on the puff of air that left his mouth before sharply looking away, voice gruff as he spoke, “No,” 

“Fine,” Peter replied, lowering his head in defeat, letting his eyes shine ever so slightly. He hunched over, playing into his smaller stature. 

“...you can look at it, but no touching,” Red Hood relented, though his words were firm. 

Peter grinned brightly at the man, a large grin overtaking his features, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he squealed. 

“You know exactly what you’re doing don’t you?” Red Hood huffed, though humour laced his voice. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Red Hood sir,” Peter replied innocently. 

Red Hood sighed but led Peter over to his bike. Peter was more than happy to circle the vehicle, leaning in to inspect various parts of the bike. He was able to see where and how the bike was modified to do the things Red Hood had said they did. 

Or agreed they did anyway. 

There were more modifications than Peter was expecting, so many in fact that it seemed as though the bike was built from scratch for this very purpose rather than actually being a modified bike. 

It was built for Red Hood. Or he built it himself. Either way, it was beyond cool. 

Peter crouched down to inspect the wheels and exhaust. It was made to go fast, far faster than any normal motorbike, though Peter shouldn’t be surprised - not everyone had webs to swing around on and vigilante’s needed to be able to get places quickly. 

Red Hood was watching Peter carefully as he inspected the bike, he supposed the man might think he’d try and steal it from him. That’s what’s expected in Gotham. 

Peter didn’t mind, he would happily let Red Hood observe him because he could tell that the anger had receded. The man was more focused on Peter and his body had untensed, unfurling in a way that showed he was no longer ready to attack. 

He hadn’t done much, not really, but is glad to have helped the man all the same. Though he’s fairly certain the man had been dealing with this rage for far longer than Peter had, Peter knows that it sucks to go through an episode either way. 

And no matter who the man was, or what he’d done, Peter doesn’t think he deserves to go through that. 

Peter continued to examine the bike for a few moments longer, letting Red Hood calm down fully from his anger. Once the man slumped slightly, his body going more lax as the last of the tension bled from his muscles, Peter stood. 

It was exhausting, not just having the episodes, but fighting against them. Trying to keep the anger at bay and others safe from you. Red Hood needed to rest and couldn’t do that whilst Peter was still there. 

“Alright, I’m heading off now, you have a good night,” Peter said as he turned to leave. 

“Your name is Peter,” Red Hood stated before Peter could move away. 

“Yes,” Peter nodded. 

Even beneath the mask Peter could tell the man was staring directly into Peter’s eyes, as if trying to search his soul. 

The memory of Nightwing and Red Hood floated to the forefront of Peter’s mind. Red Hood had been worrying about who had made Peter the way he was, why they had done it. He supposed the man was searching for answers. 

“That hair of yours is interesting,” 

“Thank you,” 

“How’d you get it?” 

“Honestly, not sure,” Peter decided to mix some truth in with his lie. He didn’t know how it happened, didn’t know why the pit had turned his hair pure white, but he did know what had done it. Not that he let Red Hood know that, 

“I think it was a prank from my foster father before he left on a trip,” Peter let an amused smile overtake his face, presenting the illusion that he was fondly exasperated over the man’s action. 

Red Hood paused, mulling over Peter’s words, thinking about his own carefully, “You don’t know how it got that way?” 

“Nope,” Peter shrugged, “I’m sure my dad will tell me when he gets back and we’ll laugh,” 

He knew it wasn’t the answers that Red Hood was looking for, but he didn’t want to accidentally incriminate himself because he didn’t know anything about this Ra’s person.

It was safer if he let Red Hood think he had no idea what was going on with him or why. Safer if he pretended to be completely in the dark. 

Even about his own death. 

This time when Peter left to move, Red Hood didn’t top him. Peter waved at the man calling out a farewell as he made his way down the street. 

After a beat too long, Red Hood grunted out his own goodbye, clearly still lost in thought. Hopefully the man wouldn't dwell on Peter for too long, would just forget Peter existed and move on with his life. 

Though, knowing Parker Luck that wouldn’t be the case. 

He could hope anyways. 

Once he rounded the corner of the street, Peter was quick to slip into the shadows, moving in and out of alleys as he headed back to the fire station. Thanks to that interruption, the sky was now getting lighter, the dark black turning into a softer grey. 

Despite the way he woke, that had still been the best night’s rest Peter had gotten since arriving in this universe. He felt more rested than he had in a while and decided to take advantage of that.

Rather than heading to the fire station, Peter instead took a left and headed the other direction, towards the denser part of the city. He wasn’t 100% sure what he was doing but figured it would be a good time as any to go searching for a job. 

Now that school was starting tomorrow, Peter would have a consistent schedule for his week and figured the next thing on his list was to get a job. Now, if he could just find a bar like Sister Margaret’s.

How hard could that be?

Right?

Chapter Text

Turned out that finding a bar much like Sister Margaret’s wasn’t the problem, it was finding one that didn’t have his sixth sense vibrating against the base of his skull, sending sharp shocks through his body. 

He’d planned on going into various different bars only for his sixth sense to shove him further down the footpath, keeping his pace brisk as he moved on from said bars. 

It was mildly infuriating, the number of jobs he had to pass up because his sixth sense deemed them too dangerous, but he knew to trust his extra sense. It was just keeping him safe. 

In the end he spent what was probably close to an hour having to turn away from bars, and just let his sixth sense shove him in the right direction. Whatever it deemed the right direction anyway. 

He had thought about going into one of the many bars anyway, the last time he’d trusted his sixth sense it had led him to Batman’s lair and he ended up with him being chased by said hero and Nightwing. 

Still, it had kept him out of the cold and stopped him from going into a hibernation-like state - perhaps it had been the only safe (ish) place for him to stay. So, he listened to it and moved on.

He kept on walking until his sixth sense hummed gently, a sharp contrast to the previous shoves and shocks he’d received before. Turning to the doors on his left, Peter found himself in front of what seemed to be a newspaper publishing building. 

Peter snorted at that, of course his sixth sense would take him here. He had been the number 1 photographer of Spider-man back in his home universe, it had been some easy money and he knew that Aunt May needed the help. 

It had been no hassle seeing as he was Spider-man, he simply set up some cameras and swung by when he knew they would be going off. He’d sold them to Jameson for less than was probably reasonable, but Peter had to make do with what he could get. 

Now, it seemed that his sixth sense had the same idea in this universe too. The only problem was that he wasn’t Spider-man. Not yet anyway. He hadn’t made his return to his vigilante work as of now and didn’t see himself starting soon enough. 

He was in desperate need of money and without said money, he’d never really be able to go out as Spider-man. Wouldn’t be able to get the resources to do so. 

Even so, Peter let his sixth sense push him through the doors and into the building. It wasn’t great, he wouldn’t lie, there was a layer of dust covering many of the desks and there were only a few people actually working. 

This place was likely going to go under if they didn't find something to boost their sales soon. Perhaps that’s why his sixth sense brought him here, so that he could help these people, even if it was in his civilian form. 

Walking up to the front desk Peter noted the stone faced man sitting there, fingers clicking on his keyboard as he worked.

“Hello,” Peter greeted as he stepped up to the counter. The man’s eyes flicked up and scanned Peter as he raised a brow.

“I was hoping to speak to someone about taking photos for this paper,” Peter answered the unasked question. 

“We’re not hiring,” The man said, voice monotone. 

“Please, I’ve got experience taking photos of vigilantes,” Alright It was only one and said vigilante was him but still, with his enhancements he figured it wouldn’t be too difficult. 

Hopefully. 

“I’m sure your paper could use some of those,” The words may have been rude, but he wasn’t exactly wrong, the place was nearing its end. 

“Alright,” The man said gruffly before jutting his chin out towards an office on the side, “Head in there, Evelyn will deal with you,” 

“Thank you,” Peter nodded to the man as he walked over to the office, getting a grunt in return. 

Knocking on the door, Peter was greeting with a sharp feminine voice telling him to come inside. Pushing the door open, Peter stepped inside before shutting the door behind him. 

In front of him sat a woman, she had short curls, the dark brown littered with grey’s. Her face was lined with age and wore a pair of glasses on the edge of her nose. She looked up at him through her glasses, gaze sharp and calculating. 

“And who might you be?” She asked. 

“I’m Peter,” he answered, “I was uh hoping to talk to you about perhaps taking some photos for this paper,” 

“What makes you think we’d take you?” 

“I mean no offence when I say it looks like you could use some,” he gets a snort for that, “and I mean I’ve taken some photos of some heroes before and yeah,” 

Evelyn remained silent for a few beats, just staring as she contemplated his words. 

“And how do I know if they’d be any good? I’m not going to hire someone who can’t actually take photos,” 

She made a good point, Peter didn’t have a portfolio, at least not in this universe, and had no actual proof of his skill in photography. All she had was his word, and in Gotham that meant very little. 

“I guess that’s just a risk you’ll have to take,” Peter replied, “But if you don’t hire me I’m sure someone else will, and then how will you fair when it’s another paper with my photos and not yours?” He knew he sounded cocky and more than a little full of himself, but he figured confidence might give him a chance.

“And you think your photos are that good?” Evelyn questioned, doubt lacing her words. 

“I think you’ll have to find that out for yourself,” 

Evelyn studied him once more before one side of her mouth lifted in a shallow smirk, “Alright, I’ll give you a camera and if you come back with something half decent, we’ll see about getting you that job,” she said finally. 

Peter thanked whatever deity was in this universe - he doubted Thor would do him much good here - that Evelyn had agreed, that he’d sufficiently piqued her interest. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Peter beamed at her, bouncing lightly on his feet, “You won’t regret it. I promise,”

“See to it that you don’t,” Evelyn nodded, her words sharp and full of warning. Peter just smiled sunnily at her, from what he’d seen from this universe, the photos of the vigilantes were few and far between. 

The few photos that did exist were either blurry or too hard to fully distinguish what was person and what was shadow. He figured that it couldn't be that hard to do better than whatever photographers had taken those.

Evelyn rustled through a cabinet behind her before pulling out a camera. The camera looked similar to his old model, the Yashica Electro GSN 35, though it did seem slightly different. Perhaps a version or two prior to the one he had had. 

The model he had wasn’t exactly a high end model, but it had been Uncle Ben’s and meant more to him than any new camera ever could have. He missed that camera. He missed Uncle Ben. 

This camera would be perfect though, he was familiar with the way it worked and it wasn’t too bulky, meaning he would be able to move around easily with the camera to avoid being seen by anyone. 

Evelyn held the camera out so Peter took a few steps closer and reached a hand out to grab it. Her grip remained tight as he grasped the other end of the camera, 

“If you break this or try to run off with it I will hunt you down and find you. You may not have any money but I will find a way to make you pay me back,” she stated, her words firm and held a certain bite to them. 

“Of course, ma’am,” Peter nodded in understanding, repressing a slight shiver at the woman. She reminded him of Natasha’s bluntness, her words sharp and precise; scarier than any villain he’d ever faced. 

“Good, now get out of here and don’t come back until you have something worthwhile,” Evelyn ordered. Peter nodded again before he scampered from the room, head lowered to hide the large grin on his face. 

He breezed past the man at the front desk and past the other workers, quickly exiting the building. Holding the camera close to his chest, Peter started making his way to the fire station. 

Now that he’d done what he’d planned, he had nothing else to do for the day besides prepare himself for school the following day. He had a love-hate relationship with school. 

On one hand, school was all about learning, something Peter enjoyed doing. He loved to learn new things and understand the world in ways he hadn’t before, expanding his knowledge of the way the world worked. 

On the other hand, school included socialising, something Peter had never been very good at, and more often than not included bullies (read: Flash). It also tended to be too easy for Peter, having understood the material covered years prior. 

But, he’d signed himself up for school already, there was no good trying to back out now. Not that he couldn’t, there was no one there to force him to go to school, and he doubted the Gotham police would care much either. 

He’d hate to end up falling behind because he was in another universe, he didn’t want to be behind the rest of his classmates if he got back to his home universe. 

How quickly had when become if? 

Shaking himself of the thought, Peter continued his march back, thinking over his plans to photograph the vigilante’s of Gotham. He could go out that same night and try to catch them, but figured that he should at least try and get a full night’s sleep for school. 

He’d like a clear head when starting the new term and didn’t think a night out trying to catch glimpses of vigilantes would help with that. It was fine, Evelyn had said to come back when he had something worth her time, he didn’t have a time constraint. 

Not a proper one anyway. 

Still, he’d rather do that sooner than later as he’d like to get some sort of money to use in this universe so he could start his own vigilante work. To debut as Spider-man once more. 

It wasn’t long until Peter found himself climbing back into the fire station, his movements more muscle memory at this point. He hated that, hated that he had gotten so used to climbing through the broken window in this universe. 

It had become as natural as climbing the staircase in his apartment back home. 

He’d not even been here 2 weeks and he’d already gotten too comfortable. He hadn’t even tried to find a way back home. What kind of nephew did that make him?

What kind of hero?

There wasn’t much he could do without the proper resources he told himself, and to get said resources he needed money and a comfortable space. He needed to get himself sorted before being able to find a way home. 

So why didn’t he believe himself?

With his heart heavy, Peter put the camera in a safe spot before clambering into his bed, forgoing food for the night. He should save it for when he needed it more; even if his stomach was racked with pain. 

It would be fine, he’d eat in the morning before school. He’d need the food more when dealing with his first day of school. It would no doubt be filled with loud, chaotic students and more than likely a few Flash’s. 

The school was prestigious, filled with rich children who went because of their parents' money. Peter, a scholarship student with no friends or connection was prime meat for bullies to sink their teeth into. 

And with his superpowers, he couldn’t risk fighting back - especially with the anger that bubbled in his gut. Antidote or not, he couldn’t be injecting himself with it in the middle of school where everyone could see him. 

He would just have to ignore them as best he could. He’s spent a lifetime ignoring Flash’s deep cut words, he could do this too. 

Sighing to himself, Peter snuggled closer, curling into a ball beneath the jackets. Ignoring his growling stomach and jittering nerves, Peter closed his eyes and was swept away in a wave of green.

Chapter Text

Desolate. 

Ash. 

Red. 

Titan. 

Peter’s flying through another portal courtesy of Dr. Strange, his fist connecting with Thanos. The orange spark appeared in front of him once more and suddenly Pete was behind the alien, another punch landing. Again. And again. And again. 

He threw quips at the mad titan to hide the fear that replaced his every nerve, joined only by the pure adrenaline coursing through him as he fought. His sixth sense screamed at him about the alien’s presence but more importantly the stones on the gauntlet worn by Thanos. 

Thanos had 4 of the 6 infinity stones and Peter thought his head was going to split apart with the way his sixth sense howled in warning. He hated to think about what would happen if the alien were to get the other 2. 

Peter continued to send sharp kicks and punches at the alien, using Dr. Strange’s portals to confuse the alien. His sixth sense was a help in dodging the Titan’s arms as they grabbed for him but it was harder than normal, the constant buzz of his sixth sense making it harder to differentiate what to dodge and what was passive danger. 

It felt like hours that they fought Thanos and despite Peter’s enhanced stamina he wasn’t invincible. He couldn’t fight forever. But Mantis had managed to get on top of Thanos and had poured her abilities over emotions into the other man. 

Dr. Strange, Star-Lord and Drax were all keeping Thanos bound, keeping him from thrashing out of their hold. Peter and Tony were pulling at the gauntlet on the alien’s hand, Tony using his suit and Peter his enhanced strength and stickiness to hold it better. 

But he failed. 

He wasn’t strong enough. 

If he had just pulled harder, used more of his strength, just pushed himself further. 

It was his fault. 

It didn’t matter that Star-Lord got mad after learning that Thanos had killed his girlfriend and had punched Thanos leading to him escaping their hold and being able to fight back. It wouldn't have mattered if Peter had just been faster. 

Been better. 

But Thanos had fought from their grip, had pulled back the gauntlet just as it was slipping from his fingers. The alien had thrown the Guardian of the Galaxy forcing Peter to web his way to each of them and catch them before they went crashing into the ground. 

By the time he’d returned Mr. Stark was going to die, Peter was too far away he wouldn’t be able to get there in time. He was going to fail his mentor. 

Again. 

But Dr. Strange had offered up the Time stone, had given the mad titan another infinity stone in exchange for Mr. Stark’s life. Peter’s sixth sense had gone haywire at that, shrieking at him of the danger that the stones were capable of. That Thanos was now capable of. 

Thanos had smiled as he took the green stone, basking in its power as he placed it in the slot ready on his thumb before looking at them all with pity and taking off undoubtedly to earth. To vision. 

They had failed. 

Peter had failed. 

There was nothing they could do, not anymore. Everyone had been pissed at Dr. Strange for giving the time stone away, but there was a haunted look in the man’s eyes. Peter seemed to be the only one that saw it. 

His sixth sense had turned cold when he’d looked at Dr. Strange, as if it too sensed what the other man was feeling, what he knew had to be done. Peter could never hope to fathom what Dr. Strange had done what he’d been forced to look at as he watched every possible timeline where they failed. 

So Peter didn’t get angry at the man, he knew the man had his reasons for doing what he’d done and he couldn’t grasp what they were. They were for him to know. The man had also given him more time with Mr. Stark,

Even if he didn’t deserve it. 

He didn’t care though, not as he sprung over to the man, desperately making sure he was okay. He couldn’t watch someone else he cared about die, not like he had Uncle Ben. 

It had been fine, Peter had made sure Mr. Stark was okay. 

That Tony was okay.

Tony had been fine, battered and bruised but alive. They were all alive. 

It hadn’t been for long. 

Peter could tell that Earth’s last line of defence had failed, he knew the moment his sixth sense spiked, battering against his skull to get out, to run. He knew before Mantis began disintegrating that they had failed. 

Before he started disintegrating. 

Because, despite what Tony might think, Peter’s wasn’t the last one to turn to dust, far from it. He was the first. 

He felt as every atom in his body began to fade away, his healing factor trying desperately to piece him back together. It was torture, the pain the coursed through his body as it began to fade away into nothing. 

It was scary, so terrifyingly scary, to feel as his body failed him, as it started to turn into nothing but dust. His healing factor was incredible, healing his wounds so incredibly quickly it was the reason he wasn’t dead yet. 

It wasn’t infinity stones good though. 

It wasn’t good enough to heal him faster than he was disintegrating. 

But he didn’t want Tony to know that, didn’t want Tony to know just how much excruciating pain he was in. So he pretended, he put on a different kind of mask and pretended like he couldn’t feel body being torn to shreds. 

He watched as Mantis faded. 

And Groot.

Then Star-Lord. 

And Dr. Strange. 

He watched them all turn into nothing but specs of dust, glad to see that it didn’t hurt them the way it hurt him. He could hear their heartbeats quicken when Mantis was dusted, but there were no signs of any pain as they disappeared. 

For that, he was thankful. 

Being turned to dust was the single most painful experience of his life. He didn’t think anything would ever compare to it. But no one was supposed to know how badly it hurt, it was his healing factor working against the dusting, the others didn’t work the same. 

They didn’t know. 

He prayed that others out there like him had it quicker than him, he hoped that it was his spider-DNA that was dragging it out. 

He wouldn’t wish this slow, painful death on anyone. 

Peter tried so hard to pretend like everything was fine, tried to act like he didn’t know he was about to turn to dust right before Tony’s eyes. But he knew, and Tony knew as well. All he could do was hold back the scream that threatened to expose him. 

So he stumbled over to the man and had pleaded with the man, telling him that he didn’t feel so good. That he didn’t want to go, not yet. 

It was only half true. 

Tony could do nothing, they both knew that. For as great as Tony was, even he couldn’t reverse death, he couldn’t outpower the infinity stones. 

No matter how much he wanted to. 

Peter lay in his lap as he finally, finally turned to dust beneath Tony’s fingers, glad for the darkness that took away his consciousness. Took away his pain. 

Took away his life. 

Peter shot up with a gasp, sweat dripping from his body. He heaved desperately for air, tears streamed down his face and dripped from his chin and onto the jackets surrounding him. His body was wracked with sobs as he relived the experience. 

It was fine, he was fine. He’s alive now, he’s not dead. Not anymore. 

Grabbing at his chest, Peter felt for the pounding that lay beneath his ribs. His heart was right there beating blood throughout his body, keeping him alive. Because he’s not dead. He’s alive. 

He’s alive. 

He ignored the disappointment at that thought and threw the jackets off him, standing on unsteady legs. Despite his imbalance, Peter made his way to the window and hopped out into the cold night air. 

The cold was a pleasant shock, worming its way into Peter’s very essence and reminding him where he was. He’s not on Titan, not in a pool of green liquid. 

He’s in Gotham. He’s in an abandoned fire station. He’s in a different universe. 

Thanos can’t get him here. 

No one can. 

Not even Mr. Stark; if the man would even bother to look for him. What use was Peter to the great Iron man? He’d failed his hero, had failed to save the world. It was all his fault. 

Why would anyone look for him?

His fingernails were digging into his arm, the sharp pain grounding him. He had to look after himself, he couldn’t rely on anyone else to do it for him. And he couldn't rely on Mr. Stark or anyone else coming for him. 

He was alone. 

The dark sky told Peter it was early in the morning, the stars still prominent through the thick air. It gave him time to get to school, gave him time to push down his thoughts and feelings. 

If he didn’t think about them, they didn’t exist. It was just another thing to work around, another emotion to block out and push so far down it had no way of coming up. It was fine. 

He was fine. 

He had to be. 

With a few more shaky breaths Peter turned back to the inside of the fire station, looking around what he now called home. He missed his apartment back in New York. He missed the small trinkets littered around the flat. He missed his science books and Lego figurines. 

Most of all, he missed Aunt May. 

‘I will always, always be proud to call you my nephew. Don’t let yourself get in the way of remembering that,’

His Aunt’s words came back to him. They may not have truly been her words, may have just been the version of her in his head but he clung to them desperately. It was the only thing keeping him going. 

So, he made his way back inside and walked over to his bed, grabbing the uniform he’d been given before slipping into the bathroom. He had a quick shower, using the water to wash away the surface grime and dirt - he really needed to invest in some soap. 

Hopefully with whatever picture’s he’d be able to get of the vigilante’s would be enough to get him some cash for soap. And shampoo, his hair greasy and matted, not having been cleaned in far too long. 

But, he didn’t have any now, so he wiped himself down with water, it was better than nothing. Better than what a lot of other people had - at least he had water. The cold water woke Peter up as he showered meaning he was much more awake by the time he was getting into his uniform. 

School was something he could do, he’d always been good at it. He had straight A’s back home, had been in a number of AP classes and he had done lots of  extracurriculars - before Spiderman got in the way. School he knew, it was familiar, it was easy. 

It made May proud. 

She’d always been so happy when Peter returned home with another A or spouting off something he’d learnt at school. It had made her so happy that he had been as smart as he was. As smart as his parents were. 

Even so, she made sure to tell Peter that she’d love him if he was failing, if he was getting C’s or D’s. No matter what, she would love him. Always and forever. 

But it didn’t matter because he was smart, so incredibly smart that it had been mildly intimidating for her at times - to have such a gifted child in her household. One that she could never truly understand, being so far ahead of his peers as he’d been. 

It didn’t matter though, she had always made Peter feel so incredibly loved and appreciated. Even if he didn’t deserve it. 

She was everything, and making sure that he kept up his grades, kept up his intelligence was the least that he could do for her. For if he got back. 

For when he got back. 

It had to be when - he didn’t know he’d survive otherwise. 

So, he ripped open a can of beans and promptly swallowed them down. After having taken a long drink of water at the tap, Peter took out the clothes and other unnecessary things in his backpack before swinging it over his shoulder and making his way out of the fire station, heading towards Gotham Prep. 

He had made sure to leave in the antidote he’d made, he refused to become a threat to every student there because he couldn’t control his emotions. May would be disappointed if he did, she’d be horrified. 

Other than that, he didn’t actually have anything besides the few pens he’d swiped from the library for the entrance exam. The principal had said that they’d get a tour on their first day by a different student and would also get the necessary equipment. 

Perks of going to a rich school. 

Not that Midtown had done the same, but this school was clearly more prestigious than his last and he figured they had a higher budget than his previous one. It probably helped that Bruce Wayne’s children had gone there, a few still currently going. 

It reminded him of Flash. The boy hadn’t been all that intelligent, don’t get him wrong, he was stupid or anything but he wasn’t beyond his peers. Not like Peter was, not like a number of the other students had been.

But, the boy’s father, Harrison, was well known and donated a lot of money to the school. It was why Flash bullied Peter so much, because there was nothing that could be done if the school wanted to keep their funding. 

And Peter certainly wasn't with the cut that would incur. 

He could only pray that they were nothing like Flash, but knowing Parker luck it wasn’t likely. It would be fine, he could handle it. He literally had superpowers, he could handle anything. 

What was school when he’d nearly been crushed under a building. When he’d died on an alien planet. When he’d come back to life in a different universe. School was nothing in comparison. 

So why was his heart racing so much?

Chapter Text

By the time Peter made it to school there were already a number of people loitering outside the building, students greeting their friends with bright smiles and hugs. Their voices overlapped as they spoke excitedly about their breaks and everything they’d done. 

Peter missed his friends. He missed the way he and Ned would always greet each other with their secret handshake. He missed MJ’s snarky words and sharp retorts. 

He missed home. 

A deep pit formed in the bottom of his gut as he made his way into the building, getting colder with each step, each shout of happiness as someone saw their friends once more. 

At least it wasn’t burning with rage. 

He went through the motions of walking to the office, barely noticing his surroundings. All too soon Peter opened the doors of the office, walking up to the woman sitting at the desk. 

“Hello,” Peter said timidly, hands clasped together. 

“Hello,” The woman greeted, “How can I help?” 

“Um I’m a new student here and ah was told to come here on my first day,” Peter explained. 

“Of course, and what’s your name?” She nodded. 

“Peter, Ma’am. Peter Parker,” He answered. 

“I’ll just pull you up in our system, just a moment,” She said as she clicked away on her keyboard. Peter nodded as he stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

“And here you are,” She said with a nod of her own, typing a few more things before a whirring began to sound. Looking behind the woman, Peter noticed the printer that had started up and soon enough a sheet of paper was spit out of the machine. 

The woman grabbed the page before handing it over to Peter, “This is your schedule,” she explained, “I’ll get the rest of your things too, won’t be a moment,” she said before standing and making her way deeper into the office. 

Peter waited for the woman, listening to the sounds of other students arriving and making their way through the halls. Soon enough, she returned with a small stack of supplies. 

“These are your books and stationary for the year,” the words were accompanied by a small thud as she placed them on the desk between the two. 

“Thank you,” Peter smiled as he grabbed the supplies and was quick to put them into his bag. 

“You have been assigned Tim Drake to show you around today, he shares most of if not all of your classes with you and will help get you settled in,” The woman continued, unaware of Peter’s inner dread. “He shouldn’t be too far off if you just want to take a seat and wait for him,” she finished with a nod to the seats in the corner. 

Peter just nodded at her as he took a seat in one of the chairs, unease filling him. What if Tim Drake was as bad as Flash? And now Peter would likely be spending most of his classes with the boy. 

It seemed Parker Luck had followed him across universes after all. 

All Peter could do was wait, barely noticing as the other new students came in and got their own timetables and supplies. The other new students sat in the seats near Peter as they waited for their own ‘buddy’ to come and collect them. 

Peter thought it was slightly ridiculous, they were in high school, they definitely didn’t need to have a ‘buddy’ show them around. It’s probably just for good press, he thought, it meant the school could brag about helping new students adjust to the school. 

It was all bullshit if you asked Peter. 

But, he couldn’t get out of it no matter how much he wished he could. He could only hope it wasn’t as bad as he thought it was going to be. One by one, the other new students were taken away by their own ‘buddies’ who all seemed rather nice from what he’d seen. 

And he was stuck with Tim Drake, son of Bruce Wayne, what Peter would consider this world's version of Tony Stark. Which is to say ‘really fucking rich’ - Tony’s words not his. 
 
If he’s as pretentious about his wealth as Flash, Peter’s gonna lose it. He doesn’t want to be dealing with his already problematic anger issues because some asshole rich kid is being a dick to him. 

Even in a different universe he couldn’t catch a break. 

It was a few minutes later that Tim finally walked through the doors, his eyes immediately scanning the office. They landed on Peter and widened, his mouth falling open slightly as his heart pounded. 

Peter raised a questioning eyebrow at the boy, what had he never seen a poor kid before? 

“I- Hi, I’m Tim,” He introduced himself, sticking out his hand. 

“Peter,” Peter replied, shaking the boy's hand. He had a surprisingly strong grip for someone of his stature, though Peter knew better than to judge someone based on appearances alone - just look at him. 

There was something oddly familiar about the boy and the way his heart beat now that it had slowed. It was steady and strong, something he’d heard before. 

His voice tickled something in the back of Peter’s mind too, some memory that he couldn’t quite pull forward. His sixth sense warmed the back of his neck as if to agree with him, and that was something. That practically confirmed the fact that Peter had met him before. 

But where? When? How?

Homeless Peter Parker and Rich kid Tim Drake don’t exactly have a lot in common with one another, they certainly wouldn't have any reason to have met. But Peter recognises him in some way, and it was clear that there was something about him that Tim recognised too. 

So why couldn't he figure it out?

“Alright, we’ve been given first period off to give you a tour of the school and then I’ll take you to second period. I’m fairly sure we both have AP Chemistry then,” Tim explained. 

Peter just nodded in return and stood to follow Tim out of the office. Tim turned and pushed open the doors before walking his way through, Peter following closely behind. 

Peter’s eyes immediately zoned in on Tim’s leg as he walked, the way he was trying to avoid putting any weight on it. It was something Peter knew all too well. His leg was injured but he was very good at hiding it, Peter wasn’t sure he’d have noticed without his enhanced senses. 

He could see the way Tim was favouring his left leg, and after focusing more on the boy’s other leg, he could hear the last of the bone tissue being made by the Osteoblasts. What would have been a fracture had basically healed and was just in its final stages of getting back to normal. 

A familiar heartbeat. A recognised voice. A leg injury. 

No, no, Peter did not need to connect those dots, he can’t. He’d made a rule not to, he said he wouldn’t. He can’t let his brain go there because he knows that once one dot connects he’s helpless to stop the rest from following. 

He can’t know. He’s not supposed to. 

MJ had liked to say that it would be his own smarts that got him killed, he was always asking questions or searching for answers. Answers that weren’t supposed to be found. 

And okay, she may have had a point, but Peter knew that his parent’s death’s weren’t natural. There was no way that plane should have gone down the way it did and he was right. He may have hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D to find that out but that was neither here nor there. He had found out his parents were S.H.I.E.L.D agents and that their plane was taken down by Hydra and he didn’t even get caught. 

Still, MJ may have a point because if Peter were just a little more like Rose Nylund - yes Peter uses Golden Girls references, you can thank Deadpool for that - he wouldn’t have connected the dots. He could have basked in his own obliviousness. 

But he’s not Rose Nylund, no, his brain was already moving too quickly, connecting everything he didn’t want to connect. 

He knows. 

Even though he doesn’t want to.

He refused to think about it at school of all places, so Peter shoved the thoughts as far down as he could and focused back on the other teen. Said teen was leading Peter through the school, pointing out various classrooms and different blocks within the school. 

Peter hummed to show he was listening as Tim showed him the gym and the changing rooms, something Peter was glad he wouldn’t have to use. Back home it had been hard for Peter to hide all of his scars from his vigilantism, he’d either have his P.E gear on underneath his clothes much to Flash’s amusement or he’d get changed in the stall. 

People had stopped questioning it after a while, figuring it was just one of Peter’s strange quirks. Ned though, would sometimes get a sad look in his eye whenever he saw Peter move to the stall, the boy was far more perceptive than people realised. 

He knew it hurt his best friend to know that Peter’s body was so littered with scars he couldn’t even get changed in front of his classmates. Peter would always nudge his friend during class and get him chatting until the crease in his brow smoothed out and a happy grin overtook his face once more. 

Peter hated seeing Ned look so sad and lost because of him. 

He hoped Ned was okay. 

“You okay?” Tim’s voice brought him back to the present. Right, Tim was far more perceptive than the normal person, saw things that others wouldn’t think twice about. 

“Fine,” Peter nodded, “...just glad I don’t have P.E,” 

Tim laughed at that, “Yeah, me too. I’m more of a book smarts kinda guy,” 

Peter smiled at the words, nodding along as if he didn’t know that was a bold faced lie. Though, perhaps it wasn’t a total lie, the boy’s heart didn’t skip a beat nor were his palms sweaty when he spoke. You could do lots of physical exercise and still hate gym class. 

Peter certainly hated it and it wasn’t (completely) because he had to hide his enhanced stamina and strength every lesson.

“Yeah? What kinda book smart?” Peter asked hesitantly, bracing himself for a verbal attack. If Peter had even thought about asking Flash the same question he’d have been immediately thrown into a locker and then berated about his dead family. 

“Hmm, well I enjoy computer science but I won’t say no to some robotics,” Tim answered after a moment of thought. “What about you?” 

The question was genuine, there was no double meaning, no bullying remark or scathing tone. It was a real, proper, genuine question. 

Huh, maybe Tim wasn’t as bad as Peter though he was gonna be. 

“I like Chemistry,” Peter smiled softly, thinking of the number of trials it had taken for him to perfect his web fluid, “And mechanics,” he added, his smile turning slightly pained; thinking of the number of nights spent in Tony’s lab as the two work of various projects until Pepper dragged them out and sent them to bed. 

“Nice,” Tim replied with a smile, “Maybe we can share ideas some time,” he offered.

Peter blinked owlishly, had he heard that right?, “What?” 

“I mean we obviously don’t have to or anything, but I don’t know,” Tim shrugged helplessly. 

“You want to share ideas with me?” Peter questioned. 

“...yeah?” Tim said though it came out like more of a question. 

“You’re not what I expected,” Peter replied. 

“What did you expect?” Tim frowned. 

“I’m not sure, definitely not so… nice though,” Peter shrugged in response, he couldn't just tell Tim he thought he was going to be a rude and egotistical brute. 

“Oh?” 

“I um, there was a guy back home who loved to flaunt his wealth in everyone’s faces. I guess I was just preparing myself for the worst,” Peter said in a rather small voice. Great, he’d just gone ahead and completely stereotyped this teenager and now he probably thinks Peter’s a total douchebag. 

“Ah,” Tim nodded sagely, “We do have a few people here like that but I like to think I’m not like them,” 

“I don’t think you are,” Peter shook his head, voicing gaining its strength back, “I’m  normally a pretty good judge of character,” - alright it mainly because of his sixth sense but still - “and I can tell you’re a good person,” 

“I- thanks,” Tim replied, scratching the back of his neck nervously. 

Thankfully, the bell rang at the moment, signalling the end of first period and stopping Peter from embarrassing himself further. 

“Alright, well we both have AP Calculus right now,” Tim said as he led Peter though the school, weaving through the swarms of students as they left their classes and made their own way to their next class. 

God, what Peter wouldn’t do to have his hearing adapters that Tony had made for him right now. The sheer amount of noise coming from the students as they bustled their way to class, talking loudly to be heard over one another was giving Peter a headache. 

The hearing adapters that Peter had would let him control the amount of input he could hear. He could turn it down so that he wasn’t overwhelmed by the noise of high school or turn it up if he wanted to hear the comforting beat of Ned’s heart. 

But, he didn’t have them at the moment and his senses were quickly being flooded with noise. The only thing he could do was focus on the steady thump of Tim’s heart as they wormed their way through the mass of students before finally arriving at their class. 

They walked in and Peter followed Tim to the back of the class where they took their seats. Even though they were in the classroom and no longer in the hallway, Peter still focused on Tim’s heartbeat, letting the even rhythm lull his senses.

He continued to count the beats of the teens heart until he was able to expand his hearing once more without it feeling like his skull was being stabbed by knives. Letting out a steadying breath, Peter turned to see Tim looking at him with a slight frown, a calculating expression on his face. 

“Sensory issues,” Peter explains to the other boy. It wasn’t uncommon for people to have such issues, they weren’t just for people with enhanced senses after all. 

An understanding look overtakes Tim’s face as he nods, “Anything I can do?” he asked in a low voice. 

“Nah, it’s fine now, just a little overwhelmed by the noise,” 

Tim hummed at his words, opening his mouth the reply but was cut off by the teacher,

“Alright class, I am Mr. Collins and I will be you Calculus Professor this year,” the man introduced himself and thus began Peter’s first class in a different universe. 

Chapter Text

Mr. Collins took no time to get into the lesson, immediately writing numerous equations on the board and asking the class to begin solving them. Peter took out one of the books he’d been given and after labelling it accordingly he opened the book and began writing.

The equations were basic, just your run of the mill differential and integral equations. It was nice to have some sense of normalcy as he wrote line after line of working, figuring out the answers with ease.

He could almost pretend he was back at Midtown, sitting next to Ned as the two of them sped through the work so they could talk about Star Wars or their latest projects they were working on.

Almost.

Because he wasn’t in Midtown, he was in Gotham Prep, in a different universe with a different teacher, a different class and no best friend to make funny jokes with. No matter how much he wished or prayed or anything of the sort, Peter wouldn’t magically transport back to his universe.

He was stuck.

Stuck and alone.

Except at that moment, Tim tapped him gently on the arm. Peter looked over at the boy, a questioning brow raised.

“You doing, okay?” Tim asked softly.

“Yeah, why?” Peter blinked, was it that obvious how out of place he was, how alone, how broken he was?

“You were having sensory issues, just wanted to make sure you were feeling alright,” Tim explained.

“Oh,” He was surprised that Tim cared that much as to check in again, they’d known each other for maybe an hour tops and Tim was already concerned about Peter. “Yeah, I’m good now thanks, just loud with everyone getting between classes,”

“Yeah, I get that, happens to me sometimes too. I’ve got some headphones you could have if you wanted, nothing major but they’ve got some noise cancelling to them which helps,” Tim offered, a small smile on his face.

“That’s really kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to take them, especially if you need them too,” Peter declined the offer, though remained slightly shell shocked at the offer.

Only Ned and MJ would have ever offered such a thing back home, but he was good friends with them, had known them for along time. Tim barely knew him and was offering to lend him headphones to help with a problem he’d known of for a whole 10 minutes.

He really had misjudged him.

“Oh, I don’t really need them,” Tim smiled, “Just on occasion, I used to get overwhelmed a lot more, but It doesn’t happen nearly as often anymore,”

“How about you let me borrow them if it gets worse at all, I’ll be fine for now but promise I’ll let you know if I could use them,” Peter compromised, not wanting to take Tim’s things like that, no matter how much it would help him get through the day.

“Sounds good to me,” Tim nodded.

“Boys,” Mr. Collins said at that moment, looking directly at Peter and Tim, “Since you are both talking so much, I assume you have both finished the work?” his tone displeased and sharp.
Sniggers erupted from the other students in the room at the obvious growling the boys were getting, however, Peter and Tim both said, “Yes, sir,” at the same time.

Peter blinked at the other boy, unaware he had also finished his work.

Doubt flickered across the Professors face as he continued, “Alright then, Mr…. Parker, is it?” he paused briefly to scan the attendance sheet.

“Yes sir,” Peter nodded.

“What is the answer to question 1?”

“y(x) = e-2x (6x + 1)”

“…That is correct,” Mr. Collins nodded in pleasant surprise, a smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Aside from Mr. Parker and Mr. Drake, have any of you completed the work?” the man turned his attention to the rest of the class.

He was met with silence.

“Alright, well the rest of you may continue, I have something else for the two of you work on,” Mr. Collins said, nodding to Peter and Tim.

As the rest of the class got back to work, Mr. Collins grabbed two sheets off his desk before heading over to where Peter and Tim were sitting.

“I’m impressed with the two of you, having completed the work so quickly already. I’ll be expecting great things from you both this year. Now, I have these,” The man said as he placed a sheet in front of each of the boys, “which is slightly more advanced than even what’s taught in this class. Now don’t be discouraged if you aren’t able to figure these out, they are college level however they’ll definitely be more challenging than the work you just breezed through and really put those brains of yours to work,”

“Thank you, sir,” Tim thanked, Peter repeating the sentiment before the man turned and went to sit back at his desk, leaving the two boys alone.

“I wasn’t expecting this for my first class,” Peter snorted, he knew he was smart but to already be given harder work in an already AP class on his first day, his first class was not how he expected the day to go by any means.

“Yeah, a bit of a crazy start,” Tim laughed, “but at least it’s something to do,” he shrugged as he turned his attention to the sheet.

Peter did the same, scanning over the questions littering the page and found himself slightly unsure, the questions were supposed to be university level questions, yet when he flicked through them, he found they were still high school level.

He had already been doing those sorts of equations in school in his original universe. He felt disappointment spread throughout his body, he’d really been hoping to be challenged at this school, to have harder work given to him.

At Midtown, despite Peter being in the top classes available, he still found the coursework too easy and often found himself bored in class with nothing to do. The teachers never had anything else for him and just let him work on his own projects or other classwork when he was finished.

And despite being given harder work in this universe it was still too easy for him. Perhaps it made sense, after all, this universe didn’t have a Tony Stark to boost technological advancements decades ahead of it’s time.

And whilst Bruce Wayne, and Wayne Industries as a whole were doing lots, they were no Tony Stark and didn’t have the arc reactor to boost sustainable technology forward.
But he’d settle for what he could get, and if that happened to be university level work that to him was just regular sophomore work then so be it. But what he wouldn’t give to be back in the lab with Mr. Stark.

He craved how the man challenged him, gave him actually tough things to work on; forcing him to think and problem solve. He wanted to be back in the lab sorting through various formulas or fixing cars or trying to create new version of his web formula.

But he couldn’t. No matter how hard he may wish and crave and want to go back to the lab, Mr. Stark’s music playing softly in the background so as not to disturb Peter’s enhanced senses, the steady thrum of his mentor’s heart, he couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure he ever would again.

“Think you can handle it?” Tim’s question dragged Peter back to the present.

“Hmm?” Peter blinked, his heart aching for home.

“Think you can handle it? The questions,” Tim repeated, gesturing to the papers in front of them.

“Oh, um yeah probably,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke - he’d always been nervous when showing off his intelligence, not wanting to make anyone seem dumb or inferior simply because he knew stuff they didn’t.

Flash didn’t help, the boy had been making his life a living hell since they were children and Peter had outshined him in every aspect of class. The boy was jealous, that much was obvious, but it still made Peter hesitate and become shy whenever talking to someone new.

Tim however, studied him before speaking, “You don’t have to hide your intelligence you know,”

Peter blinked at the other boy, it’s not the first time he’s heard the words, Aunt May constantly telling him as he grew but this was different. This random boy who he’d only met today and known for not even 2 hours had just read him like an open book.

He felt unnerved.

The way Tim studied him felt too knowing, as if the boy was stripping him of his walls, his skin, his secrets. He felt exposed, bare, like the boy could see everything that Peter was, everything that Peter had done.

How he’d failed.

“I know that,” he replied shortly, turning his full attention back to the worksheet. He was getting defensive, he knew that, and perhaps Tim didn’t deserve the cold tone he’d taken on but it was the only way he knew how to cover up the cracks that were forming the constant walls that surrounded him.

Why did this one boy get through them so easily? What made Tim different that he was all to quick to understand Peter and his thoughts? That he was so perceptive to everything Peter did, everything he was feeling.

No- he doesn’t know. He refused to know anything, he can’t know anything. It doesn’t matter why or how Tim is so observant, just that he is. There doesn’t have to be a reason behind it, and definitely not a technically illegal one.

STOP. Peter berated himself silently, he can NOT be thinking about this, he needs to move on, to think of something else, he needs to stop connecting dots.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything of it,” Tim apologised. Immediately guilt flowed through Peter, Tim didn’t deserve that, he was just trying to help.

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped,” Peter was quick to refute.

“It’s okay, I understand,” Tim shrugged. The two fell into a comfortable silence after that, both scribbling away at their sheets. Occasionally Tim would glance over at Peter, opening his mouth as if to speak but never actually said anything.

Peter breezed through the worksheet, writing down line after line of line of working till he eventually found the solution. It may not have been as difficult as he’d have liked, but at least it was something to do.

Some form of normalcy when his entire life was falling apart.

Before long the period had ended with a loud shrill of the bell. Peter winced slightly at the loud noise which didn’t go unnoticed by Tim.

“I’m fine,” Peter was quick to assure the other boy. Tim closed his mouth at that and nodded, though a concerned look remained on his face. They packed up quickly and followed the rest of the students into the corridor.

Once more the loud bustle of students as they reached for their lockers assaulted Peter’s ears, conversations overlapping as everyone spoke up to be heard over one another.

Too many people, too many voices, too much noise. Not to mention the students brushing past him, uncaring as their shoulder and bags thwacked him. There was so much going on, and it was only getting worse.

He could smell the number of perfumes the students were wearing which mixed with the cologne others had on. The cafeteria was starting to prepare food for lunch which drifted to Peter’s nose as well. The lights seemed like small suns burning his eyes.

There was so much input, too many things, he was getting overwhelmed. Green began to tinge the edge of his vision as he struggled to breath without wanting to throw up. He took a shaky breath in through his mouth, willing himself to calm down.

He couldn’t let himself lose control, especially not here with so many kids he could potentially hurt. He’d never forgive himself if he hurt someone because he couldn’t control his emotions, couldn’t keep the green from infecting him.

Another breath. Then another. And another.

Still, it wasn’t helping. The green wasn’t fading, in fact it was getting worse, he could feel it latching onto his heart like tar, thick and unmoving, refusing to wash away.
He needed to find a bathroom so he could inject himself with the antidote. However, before he could even begin to find a bathroom, he suddenly found his ears encased and the bustling of everyone severely muted.

It was instinct that caused his entire body to tense as he spun around, automatically getting into a defensive stance. It was only Tim; the boy having put headphones over Peter’s ears to help him. Tim looked at him apologetically but pulled out a pair of sunglasses and carefully placed them on the bridge of his nose.

Peter tensed further at the action causing Tim to mouth ‘sorry’ as he rubbed the back of his neck, a light pink dusting his cheeks.

Despite his discomfort at the unexpectedness of Tim’s actions, Peter found himself grateful. The headphones couldn’t quiet everything considering how enhanced his hearing was but gosh did it make things better.

The sunglasses helped with the bright lights, his eyes no longer searing from the lights. He took one slow breath after another, the green slowly fading from his vision as he did so.
Peter looked to Tim and opened his mouth to thank him only for his throat to constrict, no words coming out. It was something that would occasionally happen after an episode of overstimulation, an inability to speak.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it’s that no matter how he felt or what he wanted, he couldn’t find words, his throat would close up and refuse to let anything past. Tim seemed to understand to some extent and simply nodded at Peter, understanding what the other boy couldn’t say.

Still, Peter didn’t think it was nearly enough and brought his fingertips to his chin before arcing his hand forward.

‘Thank you’ he signed, not even sure if Tim would understand what he was saying. It was clear he didn’t need to worry however, when Tim raised a flat hand to his chin, touching just his index finger there before rotating his hand down to touch his chest.

‘You’re welcome’ Tim signed back, a gentle smile on his face.

Peter was okay, Tim had helped him and now he was okay. Everything would be okay.

If only he could actually believe that.