Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sky was red.

Not the beautiful sunset many could picture when reminded of the colour, but the bloody one. One of despair and loss, of uncertainty and an inability to find a way out. Red, that Peter once saw as a beacon of hope, was now nothing more than a reminder of what he had done. Of what he hadn’t done.

His incapability of protecting what should’ve been safe and sound, his family and friends bearing the weight of his failures. His indecisiveness as to what a true hero should do and who he should protect now came bearing fruits in the form of the rippling sky, an image so overwhelming that he could do nothing but watch. Watch the red sky in silence, seeing the immediate results from when he wasn’t capable of protecting his universe and the people he loved. Something he had failed at, all because they were connected to Spider-Man.

The monsters and villains that were a threat to the whole universe, the ones that were trying to breach through the distorted sky in order to reach them, were all but Peter’s fault. All because the power he had come with great responsibility. It came with the loss of childish innocence that he once had and opened his eyes to the real world, the world of cruelty and death. That no matter what he did, those he loved would eventually meet their end. Just like May.

And so Peter knew what he had to do, there was no other way.

He stumbled to his feet, clutching at his surely broken ribs, and trudged closer to Doctor Strange with a grim yet resolute expression. His voice was soft, quiet under the loudness of his failure and fear of being forgotten, but it didn’t shake. It was a ragged thread yet stable, as if he was sure of his decision, where in reality he was nowhere near being certain. “You said they were coming here because of me, right?”

Peter waited until Doctor Strange nodded, the older man distracted enough by trying to keep the invading threat in check to not immediately understand where Peter was going with the question, before continuing. “Then make everyone forget. Not just Spider-Man, but Peter Parker.”

Peter watched as Strange paused before turning to face him, eyes portraying shock, loss, and anger. The wizard must know this was the only way, must have understood Peter’s implications, and he wasn’t happy with it. But there was no other way. It was either Peter or the universe, but that didn’t stop him from at least trying to dissuade Peter from this sacrifice. “But everyone who knows and loves you, we’d...” his eyes widened slightly, as if only just now realising the severity of Peter’s offer. “We’d all forget who you are.”

“I know. But you know there’s no other option. I have to do this if I want everyone to stay safe.” Peter said, voice trembling slightly at his idea, but not enough for him to back out. Not when he could assure that Ned, MJ, Happy and everyone else could stay alive. They would get to be happy, as long as Peter wasn’t in the picture. “Just let me say my goodbyes?”

Strange kept staring at Peter, the young hero that lost more than he should have ever had, the boy whose life got taken from him the moment he decided to do good. Maybe even sooner. But despite his own opinion, he knew Peter was right. No matter what he thought, nor how Peter seemed so sure yet terrified at the thought of being forgotten, he knew it really was the only way.

So he nodded. Slowly, as if not yet believing this was actually happening.

Peter nodded back and immediately swung away from him, just in case he decided to change his mind, and landed softly by MJ and Ned, who overheard his conversation with Strange. His friends, his soulmates that he would have to leave, and live with the knowledge they got to be safe and alive as long as he wasn’t around. They would lose their memories, but Peter would lose his support. He would lose the only people left in his world that knew the real him and loved him for who he was. But it didn’t matter. Being forgotten was better than them being dead. He would still have memories of them. It would be enough.

For a moment, Peter just stayed right where he stood, taking in his friends for possibly the last time. Trying to remember exactly how they looked, so he could reminisce in the future, when he’d be all alone- Peter shook his head, it wasn’t important right now. He would deal with the thought later. Instead, he focused on clearing his throat and keeping his expression as normal as never. “You heard what we agreed upon with Stephen, right?”

Ned nodded hesitantly, tears in his eyes that spilled over his soot-covered cheeks. “Yeah, dude. Is there really no other way?”

“You know there isn’t, Ned. The sky is being torn open as we speak, so I only have a little time to say my goodbyes.” Peter explained sagely, because no matter how sure or unsure he was of his decision, it still hurt so damn much. The thought of losing his friends seemed almost unbearable. But instead of wallowing in his pity, at least for now, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Ned, who immediately reciprocated the hug.

They stayed like this for as long as time could allow before Peter eventually pulled away, misty eyes staring into Ned’s brown ones as he gave his best friend a small, strained yet real, smile. “I’ll miss you, dude.”

Ned sniffled, wiping at his eyes before calling back, “I’ll miss you too, Peter.”

With one last glance, Peter turned to the side and faced MJ, a person that was both his friend and a lover, and couldn’t help a single tear that slid down his cheek. MJ stepped towards him and put both her hands on his cheeks gently, which Peter couldn’t help but lean forward to. He closed his eyes and pressed their foreheads together, murmuring softly against her lips. “You won’t remember this ever happened, MJ. But know that I love y-”

Peter got interrupted by MJ pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, softly ending his proclamation of love as she looked at him, her eyes pooling with tears, yet her face looked as strong and brave as ever. “Stop, Peter. You will tell me when you find us again. You will make us remember, you hear me?”

He remained silent for a beat, his eyes closing as he tried to sort through all his thoughts being jumbled in his brain right now. But no matter how much he wanted to promise that, Peter couldn’t possibly lie to her in their last moments together. Because once they forgot about him, he had no intention of making them remember him once again. Not when they suffered so much, all because they were connected to Spider-Man.

So instead, he settled on a soft, “I’ll try to come find you the second you both are safe, yeah?” Peter met MJ’s gaze before giving her another soft kiss to her lips, foreheads still pressed together, before he had to grit his teeth and force himself to pull away.

He stepped back and simply held contact with Ned and MJ before he eventually managed to give them a big smile, all soft and hopeful like he always was, despite feeling anything but.

He didn’t let himself look back as he shot out a single web and moved away. Away from his friends, away from his last family that would no longer remember him. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain igniting in his chest when he picked up on the sound of Ned’s sobs. Tuning them out as he returned to where Strange was waiting for him on the other side of the destroyed plaza.

“I’m ready, sir.” He said in the most convinced way he could, not letting any despair or pain slip into his voice as he stepped forward until he was right in front of the wizard. “I’ve said my goodbyes.”

“...Okay, kid.” Strange nodded after a second too long before shocking Peter by opening a portal that showed his clattered flat on the other side. “I can give you two minutes to pack everything you think you’ll need before I won’t be able to hold the villains back.”

Peter didn’t need the man to finish his sentence before he was stepping through the portal, clutching at his chest, whether from the pain in his ribs or the sight of May’s their flat.

He took a shuddering breath in before willing his legs to work, limping fast through the living room that was once full of life, but now devoid of it, and towards his room that still had the broken, taped-up window as another proof of just how much of a mess he had made.

Peter ignored it in favour of packing his stuff, moving as quick as he possibly could so he didn’t keep Strange waiting. Grabbing his duffel bag, he grabbed his wallet and stuffed as many pieces of clothing he could until half of the bag’s space remained, managing to squeeze a few vials of web fluid and other gadgets he thought he could need before moving, always moving, never once stopping. Rummaging around the empty, too empty, flat in search of more necessities he would need in the unknown.

Peter placed his toiletries inside and headed back to the living room, stepping around the rubble and dirt as he filled the bag to the brim with any sort of imperishable food he could find and the few special protein bars he still possessed. He hesitated, just for a moment, before stashing the emergency fund he and May always kept inside, too, because no one would ever use it anymore.

Zipping the full bag shut, Peter hung it over his shoulder before making his way back towards the flickering portal, only to stop dead in his tracks when he spotted the photo album sitting innocently on the coffee table. He could feel tears brimming in his eyes, because once he was gone, no one would ever see and cherish these pictures as much as he and Aunt May did. No one would be there to remember the memories they held, no one would be there to remember the people in them. No one but Peter.

So it came as no surprise when he suddenly snatched the album and stuffed it into his already-filled bag before zipping it up for the last time. He barely spared the empty flat one last glance before exiting through the portal, momentarily blinded as he came back to the world outside. The world where he once again saw the red, red sky.

Peter took a deep breath and forced himself to appear as calm and confident as he could hope to, trying to hide his limp as he finally stood face to face with Strange and simply nodded, whether in gratitude or in farewell, he couldn’t decide.

“I’m ready, sir.”

He was met with yet another pitying look, the ones he hated because he always saw them right after losing his loved ones, and took a deep breath in. Steeling himself as the wizard performed another spell, ironically painfully similar to the one Peter had messed up so royally.

The second Strange finished chanting the spell, Peter could feel his entire being on fire, as if each and every particle of him was being pulled apart, torn before being put back, but in a wrong place.

He tried to breathe through the agony, gritting his teeth so hard he felt one of his molars crack. The last thing he heard were the quiet words of Strange, full of loss and pity, “I'm sorry, Peter. It was the only way. I promise you’ll find a family.” before everything turned black.

Chapter Text

It felt like forever till the pain subsides just enough for Peter to be able to feel anything other than the sheer agony of feeling like his self was being torn apart. Each and every part of him, every cell parting ways like the sea before being pieced together by some immovable force.

It hurt.

It hurt so damn much.

The molar that Peter cracked by gritting his teeth too hard was already healing. It shouldn’t be happening yet, though. He knew from experience — having once chipped his tooth when he slammed into an alley wall while in pursuit of a mugger, and it took two days for the void to be filled. Why was his tooth already on the way to being healed?

The confusion brought Peter from whatever void he had found himself in. Feeling all tingly, whether from having his body be torn apart or it being a sign from his spider sense, Peter couldn’t decide. He opened his eyes — when had he closed them? — only to see a colour he wasn’t ready to see.

And suddenly, as if the universe had been waiting for him to come to his senses, he could feel himself drowning. Instinctively, Peter opened his mouth to suck in a bit of oxygen only for some sort of liquid to immediately glide down his throat and into his lungs.

He tried to cough, which only brought more liquid inside his lungs, body convulsing as he thrashed from lack of air. His hands tried to find any sort of resistance, groping around the body of liquid that felt too sticky to be water, but only sifted through the green.

The green?

Peter’s eyes widened further as his spider sense reacted even more ferociously, now realising through the haze of his asphyxiated mind that the tingly feeling had been in fact a warning. A warning he hadn’t managed to decipher.

greengreengreengreen

Why was everything green? Why was his mind filled only with the colour green?

Peter tried to think. Tried to find any meaning as to what happened and why exactly he was encompassed in a body of green liquid. Unfortunately, the lack of oxygen was already doing what it was supposed to do, and his eyes started slowly closing, his muscles relaxing against his will, against the burn in his throat.

Upwayoutescapeup

Up? Peter’s eyes opened sluggishly, if only out of consideration for his spider sense that never failed him, and he listened. The boy willed his hands to work, weakly kicking against the water as he swam higher and higher. Up.

It felt like forever when Peter’s fingers finally grazed the edge of the- tub? A water chamber?

He shook his head as black spots danced in front of his vision, throat burning from whatever liquid he had irrefutably swallowed. He put all the strength he had left to gather momentum and climb out of the thing he had found himself in.

Peter all but slid down the glass and collapsed in a heap on the cold and murky floor, taking in greedy gulps of air before hacking up his lungs.

The green burned. It burned as he coughed and hacked, it burned as he threw up the excess liquid. The green water splattered loudly against the floor with a loud splash, making his overwhelmed senses go haywire, suddenly hearing too much and too little at the same time.

His throat was raw and scratchy all over as Peter finally allowed himself to deeply inhale, only to send him into another fit of violent coughs. His hands formed into fists against the cold floor he was laying on as he brought his legs from under him, pushing all his limbs to their seeming limit before managing to sit up.

He took in a shaky breath, the oxygen staying down in his lungs until he exhaled, the position no longer constricting his airways.

He felt sticky all over, the green was still very much present, and everything hurt.

But why?

All he remembered was the sky suddenly splitting open, his universe under threat of getting destroyed, making his decision to be forgotten and packing his stuff to be ready for whatever was coming his way-

Wait. His stuff...his photo album!

Peter all but scrambled to reach the water chamber behind him, crazed eyes trying to see past the green water in hopes of spotting his duffel bag. The bag that held the last of his memories, the ones that no one else would ever remember, but him.

His eyes were trained on the glass before begrudgingly shifting to the side when he spotted no such thing as his bag in the water, but paused when he saw it lying innocently by the side of the machine.

He all but slumped in relief, slowly crawling over towards his bag and gently opening his -dry- bag, checking to make sure he had everything he had packed previously before zipping it back up. His album was all safe and sound.

Now that the most important thing was covered, Peter guessed he should probably figure out where he was. And what that green stuff was exactly. Because he certainly didn’t appreciate the way his suit clung to his skin and his curls were drying up in a crunchy, sticky way.

He ran his fingers through the crunchy hair and grimaced when his hand got stuck in the sticky goo, the mild annoyance filling him before it suddenly skyrocketed, turning his entire vision greengreengreen-

Why was he so angry? What was going on? It was only a few fingers in his hair, no biggie-

Peter unlatched his hand quickly from the sticky mess that were his curls and forced himself to take another deep breath.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

His whole body was trembling with the immeasurable anger that filled him, but he tried to fight against it. It wasn’t who he was. It was the green.

Peter was never a violent person, except for Green Goblin, and he wouldn’t start now.

So he focused his entire being and simply breathing through the sudden rage, eyes closed as he listened in for any signs of life anywhere near him, distracting himself from the emotions he felt and instead focusing on the world around him.

Each droplet of liquid cascading down the water chamber, each squeak of a passing by rat, feeling the ground beneath him breathing with life, the plants moving slowly as they grew at their own pace.

“At your own pace, Parker. Just like the plant.” He murmured to himself as he took in a deep and steady breath, brows furrowing at the pain in his throat. Why was he almost drowned- he quickly let the thought go when he could feel the green surge at the promise of any unwanted feelings of anger.

Finally, after what felt like minutes that could have very much been hours, Peter opened his eyes and focused on the world around him.

The dim light coming from above him suggested it was late afternoon, and he was in some sort of a... hole?

He shook his head and looked around some more, finding literally nothing except for his bag and the broken water chamber filled with the sickly green liquid.

Peter didn’t give himself a second to think over what he was doing before his fist flew right into the glass and sent shards flying everywhere around him. He watched in mild contentment as the liquid slowly poured down the glass walls and seeped into the dirty ground beneath him, leaving no trace or evidence behind, save for the damp spot and broken shards.

Okay, now that the evidence of his rather embarrassing drowning episode were gone, Peter could focus of getting out of the... hole.

Seriously?

Why was he in some sort of hole with the entrance above so tight he would have to claw his way out? And why was there some sort of water chamber inside, left unattended and broken. And more importantly, why was he inside, and what did that green stuff do to him?

Well, it didn’t matter right now. It’s not like there were any files or USB drives hidden around, so he figured that panicking over something he wouldn’t understand right now was pointless.

Now that there was no green in sight, and he wasn’t in immediate danger, Peter allowed himself to pick his precious duffel bag and drape it around his back, rolling his shoulders to relieve himself of the tension and making his way towards the nearest wall.

“Okay. Just climb up the wall. Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy.” And it was that easy. Peter easily stuck himself to the clay-like hole and started climbing, his strained muscles working in tandem as he reached closer and closer to the slot of space up the hole that could pose as an exit.

Peter huffed as he reached the top and unlatched one hand off the wall, easily punching through the ground and climbing his way out the hole, laying down on the grass he had found himself on and simply breathing in the surrounding smells.

Well, they weren’t pleasant very much. They were overwhelming, actually. It seemed like everything here had a different scent, smoke and gas(?) tickling his nose until he sneezed and covered it with his hand, trying to breathe through and get used to the onslaught of smells he was experiencing.

After a few minutes, the assault on his senses finally dimmed enough for Peter to be able to breathe normally, and that’s when he decided it was probably high time to move. It wouldn’t do him any favours if someone found him, laying in his Spider-Man suit and there being a suspicious hole underneath him.

With that thought in mind, Peter swooped to stand up only to face-plant right back into the grass, groaning weakly at the injuries and cracked ribs he was sure he sported, which he had somehow completely forgotten about.

“Mmmm, not ideal, Peter. Not ideal, indeed.” Peter mused to himself as he, slowly this time, stood up, wiping at his brow when he felt blood trickle down his skin in a sluggish manner.

Okay, first of all - information, then he should probably find some place to crash and sleep off the disaster of the week he had had and, if possible, ignore any emotional problems that were raising flags in his brain, which he swiftly put under a safe lock deep inside his mind.

Peter finally started moving, trudging slowly down the grassy field - that was definitely a barren park - until he found himself at the juncture between two streets and the park he was currently in.

The surrounding smells intensified, and he immediately brought a hand up to cover his nose, grumbling, rather loudly, mind you, “Ugh- It stinks in here-!”

Peter froze when he heard a harsh scoff, whipping his head around just in time to avoid a swing at his head - thank goodness for his spider sense - and stared incredulously at the man that has just tried to smack him. “What the hell, man?!”

“Keep yer musin’ t’ yerself, damn brat. Fuckin’ New Yorker tourists...” The man grumbled as his fist didn’t connect with Peter’s head, and as if that was a perfectly normal interaction, he turned and started walking down the street on the left of the park.

“Wow, how rude, dear sir.” Peter huffed as he stared at the disappearing figure of the very rude man. Man, that was some ugly accent... Wait. That didn’t sound like a New Yorker accent- It sounded like the one people in New Jersey had.

...New Jersey? The New Jersey?

No, no, no, no, no.

Peter ran down the street to chase after the man that tried to smack him a few seconds before, wheezing slightly at the strain on his cracked ribs.

He finally reached the man and gasped when he - once again - narrowly missed a sudden punch being thrown at him, his spider sense thankfully saving the day, “Dude-!” Peter exclaimed indignantly before continuing before the older male got the urge to try to smack him for the third time, “Are we in...ugh, New Jersey?”

The old man levelled him with such a deadpan stare that Peter paused for a second before he finally answered, “T’s not jus’ New Jersey, brat. Y’er in fuckin’ Gotham.”, leaving the boy in the dust as he started walking off once again, seemingly over the conversation with the teen.

Huh? Gotham?

Sure, he wasn’t a prodigy at geography, but he knew his way around the whole United States and ‘Gotham’ definitely wasn’t something he knew.

Which was weird, because it was a pretty memorable name, especially with the whole emo, edgy look the city had going on.

He could ask Karen, but with the way she was sure to be fried from the green goo he was in, it seemed like a futile dream.

If he wanted to fix her up a bit and let her in the servers of this city, and if he wanted to figure out anything, it would probably be best to head to a library. They were sure to have computers.

Chapter Text

Gotham was scary and loud.

Each street was filled with people who screamed danger, who made Peter’s spider sense tingle in warning low enough not to alarm him, but high enough to let him know of imminent pain if he dared to approach.

The sky was dark, the atmosphere grim, the air stuffy and the overwhelming smells were still something Peter was slowly getting used to.

As the boy walked down the street — more like limped his way forward, really — he looked up at one of the high, gray buildings. The ones that seemed to take up most of Gotham’s infrastructure. Spotting gargoyles staring down at him from high up. Their statuesque canines seemingly sneering down at him, adding to the creepy feeling of the city.

Peter shuddered, whether from cold or the sinking feeling that he didn’t fit here; wasn’t supposed to be in this city filled with crime and bustling life of people who had nothing to lose, of people who saw too much for their innocence to remain unscathed.

So Peter walked, pushed himself further, navigating through the bamboozling maze of same-looking streets and alleyways that seemed too dark to be stepped in, determined to find some sort of library, to find some answers and have some time to safely check if Karen was working properly.

It wasn’t until 40 minutes later of mindless walking and a near-experience with a Gothamite’s pocket knife that Peter finally reached a building, equally dark as the others, that had a wonky sign on the storefront with a simple ‘Gotham Library’ written on it.

After a moment of brief hesitation and making sure his spider sense didn’t tingle, Peter slowly pushed the double-doors open and trudged inside, looking around the surprisingly spacious place before heading towards the receptionist’s desk, where someone was already sitting at and looking at him.

Peter ducked his head in a polite greeting as he neared the woman, who he assumed was the librarian here, and spoke up quietly, wincing when his throat hurt more than he imagined — making his question come out all broken and raspy. “H-Hello, do you have any computers…available?”

The woman levelled him with a stare that suddenly made Peter feel self-conscious of how he must look — clothes hastily put on that were most likely bloodied and dirty, not to mention the way his face looked, like he had a fight with an elephant and definitely lost.

Before Peter could back-track and possibly make a break for it, the woman’s eyes turned kind and gentle as she smiled at him. “Hello, sweetheart. Are you new here? We don’t have a lot of visitors, so I know most of them.”

Peter frowned slightly at being called ‘sweetheart’ — surely he didn’t look that pitiful to be warranted being called a pet-name? Regardless of his opinions on the matter, Peter smiled politely at her and cleared his throat before speaking up again, because Aunt May didn’t raise no rude kid. “Yes, ma’am. I was wondering if I can go on a computer or if I need a library card?”

“You can use a computer up to an hour if you don’t have a library card, but if you want to be able to use it for longer than that, then you’d need a library card. Would you like to make one?”

Peter nodded quickly, his crunchy hair staying in place rather than when it would usually bounce with each of his movements had it been clean and washed, already fishing through his duffel bag to find his wallet that held his identification. “Yes, please! What information do I have to fill out?”

The kind looking woman gave him a smile before wheeling herself to the other side of the desk to grab a set of papers that were probably some sort of paperwork for him to fill out to get the mentioned library card, handing them to him. “Just your name, date of birth and home address.”

Name, easy. Peter Parker. Age? Technically, he was twenty-two on his ID, but because he was Blipped, Peter wrote down that he was seventeen. Now, next was his home address — Wait.

Peter froze, involuntarily looking like a deer caught in the headlights when he read the part of needing to provide a home address. He couldn’t exactly tell her he woke up in a body of green liquid in an unfamiliar city and was currently homeless now, could he?

He simply stared at the piece of paper, fingers trembling slightly around the pen from where he was already filling out the rest of the paperwork before he realised he didn’t fill out the empty space for a suspiciously long time, willing his aching throat to work as he made up an excuse on the spot. “Ah, I’m really sorry, ma’am. I just moved here with my… guardian, so I didn’t yet memorise my new address.”

It seemed like Peter had got better at lying when the woman simply nodded, keeping the easy-going smile on her face as she took the rest of the not-fully filled paperwork from him, quickly reading through it. “It’s quite alright, sweetie. We mostly ask for an address to mail a notification when borrowed books are nearing their due date.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s smart.” Peter sighed a sign of relief at her reassurance, fingers gripping at the hem of his shirt to calm down his still-racing heart and peering at her from above the counter. “Then is everything done here for me to get a library card?”

She nodded before pausing when she got to his age written out on the paperwork, looking up from the papers, “You know that people can get library cards without being over sixteen, right?”

Peter nodded in confusion, of course he knew that. Was she just saying that, or was she surprised that he wrote he was seventeen? I mean, come on, Peter knew he had a baby face, but surely she wouldn’t think he was a total kid.

Regardless of the woman’s thought on his age, she still stored the form in one of the drawers at his desk and handed him a pre-made, shiny library card with a small smile.

He took it with grateful hands, peering at the shiny card that held his name written in ink on the bottom of it, flashing her a small but genuine smile. “Thank you so much, miss…”

“Barbara.”

“Thank you so much, miss Barbara!”

“You’re welcome, Peter. The computers are on the other side. The library closes at 10 PM.” Miss Barbara told him swiftly, to which he nodded and murmured another quick ‘thank you’ before grabbing his new library card and heading towards where she pointed the computers were at.

He quickly settled down in front of the computer that was second closest to the wall, turning it on and waiting for it to begin working. The computers for some reason looked ancient? And didn’t look like Stark Industries products at all? But who was Peter to judge? He was sure libraries didn’t get the best of funds to invest in some StarkTech computers.

After around two minutes, the screen finally turned white and the first thing he noticed was the date in the corner of it that caught his eyes.

21st August, 2015.

Huh.

Were these computers that outdated? Or was there some sort of glitch?

Before panic could set in, Peter immediately went onto the search engine, which wasn’t StarkWeb, but… Gooble? Okay, he could understand that the budget might be low, but Mr. Stark had made sure that his creations were accessible all around the world and not immeasurably expensive. Surely they were just stingy in Gotham, right?

Well, it didn’t matter much, because what was more important was the questions Peter needed answers to -where exactly was Gotham, why did Doctor Strange send him here and not left him on the plaza in New York where all the shit had gone down and maybe, just maybe, he could check on his socials to see if MJ and Ned got into their dream universities.

So he held his breath and wrote down on Gooble.

Spider-Man.

No results found.

Peter Parker.

3 results found.

The results showed two different Facebook pages and an article about some old guy, who clearly wasn't him. Well, that was actually a perfect thing that he couldn’t find anything on himself, because it meant the spell worked. But to have no results for Spider-Man? Peter didn’t think Doctor Strange also removed everyone’s memory about his hero persona. Or maybe the computers were just really that outdated. He decided to dive into news from before the date on the computer.

Chitauri Invasion, 2012

Did you mean "Xenomoprh Invasion, 2013?" No, he obviously didn't mean that.

Iron Man.

Black Sabbath's Iron Man drops from Billboard's Hot 100 charts-

Tony Stark.

2 results found.

None of which were his Tony Stark. How could you not know Tony Stark?

The Avengers.

Did you mean "Avenger"? The newest Jeep on the market shows remarkable-

Okay, Peter was starting to really freak out. It didn’t matter how outdated the computer could be, when not even the older searches brought any results. It showed no Avengers, no Iron Man, not even an article about the Chitauri Invasion from 2012.

It shouldn’t be possible, it was as if they didn’t exist here.

Oh.

Oh.

They didn’t exist here.

They didn’t exist here, not in the library, not on the internet, not in Gotham, not in this world.

Peter’s breath hitched, trembling hand clutching at the mouse pad, and if it weren’t for his control over his powers, it would have crumbled to dust. Just like he did back on Titan.

Okay, Peter, deep breath. The green is creeping back in the corner of your eye.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Let’s backtrack and think about everything that has happened to Peter over the span of the last few hours.

Dr. Strange’s spell was intended to make everyone forget not Spider-Man, but Peter Parker. Was made to forget such a person ever existed. And he existed in his universe — the one that was under threat of being invaded.

After the spell and subsequential void, Peter had found himself in an unknown city, in a questionable body of green goo. The technology here was outdated, which seemed unlikely given the proximity New Jersey had to New York, it had no mention of Tony Stark nor any other hero Peter had ever had the pleasure of working with, the date was all wrong, and he has never ever heard of a city called Gotham.

Which could only mean one thing. This wasn’t his world, his universe.

And the worst part of it all, was that it made perfect sense. Peter Parker as a civilian was a threat to his old universe. His presence threatened the peace and lives of everyone else. What if Dr. Strange didn’t just make people forget about his existence, but also the universe. What if he moved him to an alternate universe that didn’t have neither Spider-Man nor Peter Parker there.

Is this what the wizard meant by “It was the only way”?

Was it really?

Yes, it was, Parker. No use beating yourself over something that had to be done. He needed to accept his new reality, accept that he now had no way home, accept the fact he was here all by himself. Alone. Always alone in the end.

With a shaky inhale, Peter focused back on the computer that destroyed his sense of reality mere minutes ago. He had to figure out everything about this place if he were to stay here and possibly forge a few documents about his life, because if he didn’t exist here previously, then he had no files on him.

It started with a simple search full of foreboding doom.

Gotham.

4,097,120 results found.

--

Damn.

Just damn.

Peter, all thanks to his Parker Luck, has found himself in a city riddled with crime. One that was prejudiced against metas — and wasn’t that a nice thought — and had more vigilantes than Peter ever imagined New York having.

Apparently, this Batman guy, who was a total furry by the way, had a swarm of teenagers and adults respectively, fighting crime alongside him in the starless nights of Gotham. Fighting against their residential rogues.

And god, where the rogues here, another topic.

There were so many of them, some were psychos and some were serial killers — or both, if one were to discuss Joker — who kept constantly breaking out of Gotham’s prison, Arkham, like it was child’s play.

But until Peter could find a semi-stable place to sleep and had time to become Spider-Man, he wouldn’t be getting into that tonight.

Now, the last thing Peter had to do was check if Karen was still working, or if he was utterly alone. She would help him with any inaccuracies and have some additional articles drawn up for him to better understand this world — how much it differentiated from his own, because based on the heroes he read about, the history was ought to be slightly different too.

So with a heavy heart full of anxiety and hope, Peter slipped a nanobot off his suit into the computer and waited.

Waited for a sign of life from Karen.

Waited for the only familiar being that was left for him in the otherwise alone world.

Waited for his last piece that held the same memories as him.

He waited.

And then the computer started showing a rapid onslaught of code on its monitor, something that Peter watched with keen eyes, as if to make sure he couldn’t detect any bug in Karen’s code.

His eyes watered slightly, his breath hitched, and his shoulders slumped with sheer relief.

Because on the monitor shone a single sentence that suddenly didn’t make Peter feel all alone.

“Hello, Peter. I can’t detect any Stark satellites in the stratosphere. Are you hurt?”

Chapter Text

Peter slumped down into the chair, teary eyes peering at the sentence showing up on the monitor, the sheer relief he was experiencing reverberating through his heart.

He wasn’t all alone anymore.

Despite losing everything he had, any person he has ever come to love and being forgotten by everyone, he wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

Not when Karen, his sweet AI, asked him if he was hurt — prioritising his well-being over the obvious befuddlement she was experiencing from the lack of familiar servers surrounding them.

“I’m mostly fine, Karen. And about the satellites… We’re in a different universe, I think. One where no StarkTech exists.”

“I understand, Peter. In that case, it will be necessary for me to undergo an update in favour of this world’s servers. Will you be alright while I’m gone?”

“Yeah, of course. Just let the nanobots react when you’re done.”

And so, Peter was alone again, but thankfully this time only momentarily, because he knew Karen would come back in two hours tops. She would come back with prepared articles about Gotham for him, even if he didn’t ask for them immediately, because she was good like that.

Deciding not to waste time on simply waiting for Karen to update her servers, Peter got to work on his own intel. If he didn’t exist in this universe, then he would need to forge quite a few documents and create a trail of his life here. Just like Ned and Mr. Stark had taught him.

But that could wait for when Karen comes back — she was an AI, and no matter how good Peter could be at coding, no one would be able to beat that.

So instead, he spent the rest of the time on searching through Gooble — ugh, it will take some time getting used to — and looked up the general history of this world. Because it surely wouldn’t do him any good if he started talking about Captain America’s influence during WWII, who didn’t exist here.

If he were to ignore the lack of his world’s heroes and villains, the history here seemed pretty similar to the one of his own world, except for a few things.

For example, instead of Captain America who helped during the war, it was Wonder Woman. And apparently, there was no Thanos here, no Blip nor Ultron. Which seemed like a blessing in disguise, except for the fact he wouldn’t be able to explain why his ID clearly said he was 22, when he looked 17 at most. Next thing on the list to forge.

His dive into the dark void of the internet showed Peter that this world was pretty underdeveloped in terms of technology compared to Earth 616, which wasn’t really a surprise, since they had no Tony Stark here, henceforth no StarkTech.

But the little things that stumped him were the parallels overlapping with his previous life.

Back in his world, they had Doctor Strange, who now had a doppelgänger who bore the name of ‘John Constantine’. Their looks may not be all too similar, but the powers were. The magician could cast spells, could supposedly travel dimensions and what if maybe, just maybe, he would be able to send Peter back to his world-

No, his world was almost destroyed because of him. He would never come back. Moreover, he had no one to come back to.

Anyway, there was also Justice League, which just seemed like a cheap rip-off Avengers, in Peter’s opinion, but who was he to judge, really.

But the most glaring, the most heart-wrenching of them all was the fact that the billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and genius image Peter had learnt to associate with Mr. Stark now belonged to a certain Bruce Wayne. The man also had a humongous tower, Wayne Enterprises, located in the middle of the city and played a huge part in making people’s lives here more manageable.

It wasn’t until he started reading Poison Ivy’s, previously known as Pamela Isley, study about advanced botanical biochemistry that Peter’s bracelet started buzzing.

It was the same bracelet he retracted his nanobots into whenever he wasn’t wearing his suit, which meant Karen was back at 100% and ready to face the new uncertainties with him.

“You back in the game, Karen?” Peter glanced at his the adornment on his wrist and gave it a tentative shake, smiling gleefully when it buzzed again in confirmation.

“Yes, Peter. I have drawn up any and all information I could find on Gotham that I believe will give you a better understanding of where we are. Would you like me to display it?”

That’s his AI right there — knowing exactly what to do and prepare, without him even having to ask. But as useful as the additional intel would be, Peter still needed to forge his documents and hack into a few government-owned archives.

“Maybe later. Right now there’s a more pressing matter at hand — I literally don’t exist here, so I need a fresh set of documents and a paper trail as if I had always lived here.”

“May I suggest that you read the information I gathered while I deal with that for you, then.”

Peter sighed in relief at being able to do both immediately, nodding in affirmation as Karen got right to work — the screen in front of him almost ablaze with the amount of codes and images passing through.

And while Peter read about this world, happy it wasn’t all too different, getting to know more about the vigilantes here — Karen had gathered a concerning amount of information on them, actually — his AI worked quietly, the computer buzzing softly in the otherwise quiet and comfortable silence.

When Peter read almost everything and was now confident in the knowledge of this world, Karen pulled up all the finished forgeries for him to check out.

Sweet, he now had a birth certificate, proof that he existed from the paper trail Karen created; doctor’s visits, grades from him being ‘homeschooled’, a bank accounted directly linked to his guardian’s — listed as Tony Stark, who had his own set of forged documents and proof of existence. It made him feel only a tad bit guilty at the thought of tarnishing his resting in peace mentor, but he figured that Mr. Stark would simply roll his eyes and say something akin to “Just don’t get caught, Underoos”.

Additionally, he now sported a new identification that will be posted to a P.O. box in a few days the AI listed as his home address, which was conveniently close to the library. She even created a fake job for Mr. Stark at LexCorp — Peter read about it, and it was shady enough that it wouldn’t be weird if there were some inaccuracies in their paperwork.

“Alright, girl. We did everything we needed to do for now. What do you think about hitting the road and looking for a place to stay at?” Peter asked as he stood up from the chair, stretching his taut muscles and grabbing the duffel bag on the floor, draping it over his shoulder once again.

“I think that’s the best course of action. Should I look for suitable buildings that won’t have a health hazard for you?”

“Yup. Thanks, Karen.”

“You are most welcome, Peter.”

Ah, how nice it felt to finally have someone, Karen could think for herself so it technically made her a person, who knew him, who didn’t make him feel alone and shared the same memories as he did.

With the reassuring presence of Karen with him, the comforting weight of the bracelet on his wrist, his well-documented existence, and the knowledge he knew about this world as much as he could have in these few hours, Peter actually felt confident.

The green that has been continuously creeping in around the dark corners of his mind and the unreasonable rage he experienced were actually quite dimmed right now and didn’t make him act irrationally, as if Karen’s mere presence was keeping them away.

With that, Peter headed towards the exit of the library, shooting Miss Barbara a small but polite wave in farewell as he stepped into the cold air of Gotham’s streets and felt like he could finally take a deep breath.

---

Barbara has seen a lot of things, had experienced events that no normal person would, and was friends with vigilantes. There were fights, injuries, blood, and pain. She had seen a lot.

But this interaction might have been one of the weirder ones she has ever had the pleasure of experiencing. And all because of one peculiar boy.

This boy, Peter, as his paperwork said that she met in the library she worked at. A tiny and cute-looking child that made her soften despite herself.

But the boy also looked like he went through hell and spectacularly lost. His clothing, despite smelling fresh and having no wrinkles, was covered in fresh blood, his face was a mess and his hair was so unbelievably crunchy-looking that she wasn’t sure if he was ever going to be able to get it back to normal.

There was the clear doubt of whether he was homeless, or maybe even abused. Because even though he said he didn’t remember his new home address when it was asked of him, he acted skittish and looked beaten-up enough to raise every red flag she possessed.

And that unmistakable streak of white in his otherwise supposedly-black hair, the acidic green of his eyes that could only come from having been dunked in the Pit.

But the child didn’t act like he was under the Lazarus Pit’s control. He was polite and kind, if maybe a little awkward, knew his way around social cues and behaved normally.

There was no sign of the usual side effects, none of the ones she saw in Jason when he was still learning to live through the green haze. Peter looked like any other civilian, if one were to ignore the injuries. He was responsive, he was normal.

So why did she have such a bad feeling about this?

Maybe it was the way the young boy reminded her of someone, but underneath all the grime, she couldn’t for the life of it figure out exactly who.

But the years of acting as Oracle taught her one thing, and it was to always trust her instincts, whoever stupid they may sound.

So she pulled out her phone when Peter went to the computers and opened her chat with Jason, wanting someone to know and possibly reassure her that she wasn’t just looking too much into things.

Babs: Jay, I might have something for you to look into.

Jason: You know I don’t care about none of that, Barbie. Why bother me specifically?

Babs: It’s a kid. A beaten-up kid.

Jason: …

Jason: Go on.

Babs: Right, so there’s this boy that just came into the library. Says his name is Peter and wrote down that he’s 17, but he looks 12, maybe 13 tops. But Jason, he’s all bloodied, and he got the white streak…

Jason: Fuck. Alright, I’ll try to look into it when I’m free.

---

Peter was feeling pretty good right now, despite his circumstances.

Karen was running a search for a suitable building for him to squat in for now that wasn’t a complete health hazard, and he actually knew his way around the dark streets of Gotham, thanks to reading through a few maps back in the library.

But he should’ve known that no good feelings ever last when it comes to Parker Luck.

He was walking down the street when his eyes caught onto his reflection in one of the shop’s windows, stopping in his tracks when he finally saw his face.

Not only was it covered in bruises and blood, his hair uncomfortably stuck to his head from the green goo and his clothes tattered, but what shocked him to the core, was his face.

Because it wasn’t his face. It wasn’t him.

He was currently looking at his own reflection, but Peter couldn’t even recognise himself. His face was too young, cheeks holding onto the baby fat he finally lost when he turned 15, his eyes huge, sparkling yet also somehow hollow, as if they have experienced every sort of loss, which he basically did. He looked just like he did when he was thirteen.

But the eyes he was looking at — they weren’t his eyes. Instead of the milky brown, they were now acidic green — a neon flash that seemed inhuman. And his hair. God, his hair. It wasn’t brown anymore, held no memory of whom he used to be as he stared at the black, crunchy mop of hair that he was supposed to call his own from now on.

And he had a weird-looking patch of white in it. A streak of the striking colour right at the top of his hair that could be considered stylish, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t a choice.

Why did he not look like himself? Who was the person he was peering at in the window?

And then suddenly, as if waiting for him to make another contact with the acidic colour in his eyes, the green erupted.

It was following him, filling his every sense and forcing him to run.

greengreengreen

Run far away, away from the overwhelming feeling of rage and confusion.

dangerdangerdanger

So he ran. He ran and didn’t look back. Trying to focus on the soft thumps he created against the pavement, but he couldn’t. Everything felt so far away, like he was burrowed in the green that was trying its hardest to swallow him whole.

It clung to his skin, making goosebumps appear and a shiver to rake through his body. But he knows one thing, he wasn’t safe. He couldn’t hear Karen nor feel the insistent buzzing of his bracelet. He could only focus on moving, running, escaping far, far away.

runrunrun

He ran for a long time, long enough for a raw and painful lump to form at the back of his throat and for his legs to lose their feeling. He can taste the copper of blood in his mouth from where he bit on his tongue to keep a panicked scream from escaping, can feel the wind rippling through his hair.

And he ran, ran long enough for his Spider Sense to no longer call out in danger, no longer warm him of imminent danger. Only then did he open his eyes, slowly, one at a time, adjusting to the new light level and surveying his surroundings. He found himself in the back of a random alley. The darkness creeping in and enveloping him.

But the pressure didn’t feel dangerous. He didn’t feel threatened, no longer. He could finally take a deep breath and try to focus.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

It was a long few minutes until Peter caught his breath and returned it to normal, calmed down his racing heart and fought against the green that was creeping in on him.

Okay, that was really creepy.

He just lost control over his emotions, the green waiting for exactly that and attacking in a split second, making his Spider Senses go haywire. And it seemed that he was somehow thirteen again?

Oh wait, was this why Miss Barbara looked at him really weirdly when he wrote down that he was seventeen on the file? She must’ve thought he was trying to lie.

Honestly, it kinda made sense, if Peter were to think about it again. Back in his world, he was technically 22, and it was 2024, so now that it was 2015 here, it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise that he was back to being thirteen.

But the change in age surely didn’t explain why he now had green eyes and a white streak in the otherwise black hair-

His musings got interrupted when his senses alerted him of a new presence in the empty alleyway, eyes raking over the darkness to try and spot the person trying to approach him, muscles taut and ready to either fight or run.

But it wasn’t a feeling of danger that met him, his senses surprisingly calm and almost creating a reassuring tingle to run down his spine.

friendsafefriend

Instead of a threat, he was met with a gruff yet gentle voice, as if this certain someone was trying to approach a small, wounded animal.

“Hey, squirt. You feeling okay?”

Chapter Text

Peter squinted at the man in front of him despite his eyesight being better than perfect, blinking slowly.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

He probably stared long enough to be considered downright rude—borderline unsettling, even—but Peter honestly couldn’t bring himself to care much about social niceties at the moment.

Not when he was pinned in a one-way alley, the only exit cut off by the broad-shouldered wall of a man standing between him and freedom. Not when his Spider-Sense—usually a clear, blaring alarm bell—was instead giving him the human equivalent of an error message. It buzzed softly in the back of his skull, a confusing mix of muted comfort and muted threat. The man wasn’t actively dangerous right now. But he could be. He would be, if Peter gave him a reason.

Which was just great. Exactly the kind of no-win situation Peter specialized in these days.

Also, the guy was built like a fucking tank. If Peter weren’t much stronger than a normal human being, he would have been scared shitless right now. Dude’s shoulders were so wide, it was jarring how he had fit through the entrance of the alleyway at all. He was tall, wide and looked heavy with the amount of muscle mass he had on him.

But what Peter should have probably noticed first, instead of ogling at the muscles, was the suit he had on him. The leather jacket covering his kevlar vest, the weapon holsters strapped with meticulous care to his thighs and torso, the red bat symbol glaringly obvious on his chest, and—most importantly—the glossy red helmet that gleamed under the flickering alleyway lights.

Vigilante. Definitely. Had to be.

One of the Bats. But which one?

…Red helmet.

Come on, Peter. Think. Who wore a weird looking helmet that surely obscured his vision and looked like he could crush people’s skulls with his hands?

Red, red, red.

…

The Red Hood!

Okay, now that Peter knew who the guy was — hours spent of scouring through Gooble had their merits — he at least knew how to proceed.

He would just have to make a plausible lie as to why he was in an abandoned alley, having just experienced some sort of sensory deprivation and overload at the same time, in the late hours of an evening, and go his merry way. Red Hood had a supposedly weak spot for kids so it should be easy-peasy—

A throat was cleared.

Red Hood’s throat was cleared.

The vigilante had rudely cleared his throat when Peter didn’t answer the question he had asked moments ago, interrupting the boy’s train of thought.

“I asked if you were alright, kid?” Red Hood repeated, voice low but not unkind. Gruff, sure, but not hostile.

Well, now Peter was thrown off.

His whole in-the-making answer had dwindled out of his brain, leaving him standing awkwardly in front of the man; shuffling on his feet, because when has Peter ever not made a fool nor embarrassed himself.

Now it was his turn to clear his throat, jutting out his chin just enough to appear confident, but not defiant. It would do him no good getting under the Red Hood’s skin.

“I thought you only ever stayed in Crime Alley, Red?”, Peter asked instead, voice light with carefully measured teenage snark. The kind of attitude that didn’t invite further questions but wasn’t openly antagonistic. If he could redirect the conversation, keep it on him instead of Peter, maybe he could slip away before things got complicated — deflect and redirect was usually the best way to go.

“That wasn’t the answer to my question now, was it?” Red Hood shot his deflection down with yet another question, making Peter frown at him, which in turn made the man scoff at him.

Peter watched as Red Hood folded his arms across his broad chest. The movement made the guns strapped to his ribs shift with a barely perceptible clatter of metal against kevlar.

Peter tensed up ever so slightly, yet he didn’t let it show on his face.

Because the shift in his stance could have very well been considered a veiled threat — he now had easier access to his weapons, as if he hadn’t before.

Red Hood tilted his head slightly, clearly seeing the tension in Peter’s muscles. He shifted his stance again and put his hands in the pockets of his pants, quickly enough not to seem obnoxious in doing so, but theatrically enough to ease Peter’s mind that the guy wasn’t here to pose a threat.

Peter appreciated the silent shift, comforted by the fact Red Hood put his hands in his pockets so it would take him just that much longer to reach for his guns, side-stepping fractionally closer to the edge of the alley.

“If you really have to know, I’m just here to get used to the terrain. Not a lot of helpful ‘Welcome to Gotham’ guides to go through.” Peter quipped, flashing a small grin at the guy. “Besides, you don’t exactly look like the neighbourhood welcome wagon either, no offence.”

The helmet tilted a fraction more. The vigilante didn’t move to block him further, but neither did he step aside. His tone remained the same — gruff, but not unkind. His question not really being one, but a mere statement that Peter just needed to confirm. “You don’t sound from around here.”

Peter’s smile on his face felt more strained than ever, but he persevered. Of course, he wasn’t from here. He was from Queens-no, from an entirely different universe.

“Nah,” was his flippant answer, not wanting to delve any deeper into the flurry of emotions raging war within his soul and instead focus on his current interaction with the vigilante/crime lord(?). He then added, prouder, “Queens. Born and raised.”

“Big jump from Queens to Gotham. Get lost on your way to a field trip?”

Peter snorted despite himself. “What gave it away? The fashionable outfit or the haunted eyes?”

“You’ve got both,” Red Hood said bluntly. “Plus, that twitchy ‘I’m-about-to-crack-a-joke-to-avoid-crying’ vibe.”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it again, brows furrowing. “Okay, rude, but uncomfortably accurate. Are you like… a crime-fighting profiler on the side?”

“You got a name?”

“What is it? Some sort of interrogation?” Peter jabbed, only half-joking, because the vigilante was asking too many questions to be considered just curious.

“Call it... vetting. Strays tend to die fast in Gotham.”

Peter hesitated a second longer this time. He wondered whether to tell the truth, not wanting to give away too much, but lies were the least prone to be discovered when there were some truths to it — his name being the easiest to mess up in the future, yet also the easiest to look up. Better have some credibility if Red Hood decided to follow up on his answers.

“It’s Peter.”

The man studied him in unnerving silence for a beat longer, the red of his visor glinting under the weak alley light. Peter could feel his heart thudding awkwardly in his chest—part adrenaline, part exhaustion. The kind of bone-deep tired that made smiling through pain that much harder than usual.

“You got anywhere to stay?” Red Hood finally asked, voice lower, like he highly doubted it.

Peter could relate to the assumption. He didn’t make the prettiest picture right now, with his tattered clothes and bruised face. The mess that was his hair also wasn’t doing him any favours — clearly pointing out that Peter hadn’t had a chance of taking a shower in a long time.

But who was Peter if not a master of deflection?

“Yup. Got a warm dinner waiting for me, in fact.” Peter grinned, popping the p in his ‘yup’, feeling a hot stab of guilt in his heart over using Tony’s name as his guardian, but he didn’t let himself dwell on it too much lest he breaks down, tugging lightly at a lone strand of his sticky and crunchy hair. “Probably gonna take a shower first though. Tony — my guardian — won’t appreciate me trying to fit in with the Gotham’s trashy vibe too much.”

A dry pause. Then, “So, Tony, huh?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, immediately on guard. “Why? You wanna get to know every guy in a ten-state radius or something?”

“Only the ones who’d let a kid walk around Crime Alley after the lights are out.”

“First off,” Peter shot back, “I’m not a kid. Second, I can take care of myself — I sure as hell know that and Tony does too.”

What came out from behind Red Hood’s helmet was, Peter assumed, a chuckle, but he wouldn’t put his money on it as it came out too distorted through the voice modulator.

Red Hood chose not to ask any more questions and end their interaction there, still not quite believing the boy over his claims of having a home nor a good guardian, but deciding to give Peter the benefit of the doubt. Then, with a small incline of his head, he stepped aside—just barely. A silent offer. A choice.

Peter hesitated only a heartbeat longer before he nodded once, muttered a soft, “Take care, Red,” and slipped past him, steps light and quick, but not rushed. His ribs ached. His head pounded with rage. But his mask—broken and taped down over and over again, tired, still intact—held.

And Red Hood, to his credit, didn’t follow. But he did turn slightly, watching Peter disappear into the shadows with that same sharp focus trained on him from the start.

Then, very softly, just under his breath, “You too, Queens.”

---

The second Peter was sure he was out of Red Hood’s eyesight, he dipped.

He ran like his life was on the line, yet still conscious of his powers as to make sure to keep his speed at a fairly human-level as to not arouse any suspicion among other passers-by.

Peter took detours, sprinting down cracked pavements, turning left and right with no real direction in sight before he finally came to a stop after around ten minutes of continuous running.

He was just slightly out of breath, which wasn’t something he was proud of, but he was tired, sue him.

Taking a moment to simply breathe, Peter looked over his shoulder one last time just to make sure he really wasn’t being followed — even though his senses would have alerted him the second he was — before allowing himself to relax his tensed shoulders.

Fixing the strap of his duffel bag so that it stayed neatly draped over his shoulder, Peter started walking aimlessly, searching for any desolate areas where there were fewer people than in the strict centre of Crime Alley, in order to inconspicuously change his bracelet into an earbud.

The second the item changed, Peter put it in his ear, reassured that he wouldn’t look like a madman talking to himself as he addressed Karen.

“Yo, Karen. You all up to speed?”

“Yes, Peter. I have also looked into cameras all around this part of town and I can assure you that no one is tailing us.”

And wasn’t that the sweetest thing Peter has heard since his run-in with Red Hood?

He made a small hum of relief before focusing onto yet another pressing matter — his living arrangement.

“Sweet. Did you have a chance to look into any abandoned buildings that could serve as my home for the time-being?”

“Yes, I did. I assumed you’d prefer Crime Alley as this is where most crimes happen. Pulling up a list of potential housings right now.”

Gosh, Karen knew him so well. Peter had definitely focused on the part that said Crime Alley, as its name hinted at, held the highest crime rates in all of Gotham during his reading of the city back at the library. It came as no surprise that Peter wanted to be in the dead centre of it all, given that Spider-Man was definitely coming back.

Because even if Peter was going through it, Spider-Man couldn’t. He had a job to do, and Crime Alley seemed to need him more than maybe even Queens.

He was sure that Red Hood wouldn’t give him too much trouble if he kept to himself and avoided said vigilante — maybe an occasional gun-shot wound, but definitely nothing Peter wasn’t used to and couldn’t handle.

With that in mind, Peter finally glanced at the hologram list of all abandoned buildings in Crime Alley that Peter could squat in for the time-being that most people would avoid if they wanted to live and stay relatively healthy, given that he was much more immune to poisonous air and radiation than a normal human being was. His radioactive blood not only gave him powers, but also made him much more durable.

Briefly looking over his options, Peter eventually settled on a corporate building that was once filled with offices before Poison Ivy polluted the air there by sprouting her toxic plants there. They were ejected, but then to top it all off, the building also fell victim to one of Scarecrow’s failed projects, the gas released there having consisted of unstable nucleus which transformed into alpha particles.

The radiation decay emitted alpha rays and the building became inhabitable. The whole corporation had immediately evacuated its workers, given that this type of radiation is incredibly harmful for people to inhale or ingest — leaving everything behind.

Which was absolutely perfect for Peter.

He was not affected by alpha radiation at all, having once tested it out with Tony, and if he were to look at it from a brighter perspective, the building he selected already came well-furnished. Its location was in the west side of Crime Alley and was perfect for swinging to the centre — given the plethora of tall buildings all around it. The cherry on top was the fact no one would ever enter nor suspect Peter of living there as it was proclaimed as highly dangerous.

Having made up his mind, Peter picked up his speed and stated walking to his destination.

Soon enough, he was by the fenced-off area of said building, signs warning about radiation and danger littering everywhere people could reach without risk of harming themselves, yet Peter paid it no mind as it didn’t concern him.

Confident he was starting to get back on his feet, he hopped over the fence and trudged over to the entrance, making sure it was bolted shut, before easily slipping inside through a still-open window.

He would take better measures tomorrow when he wasn’t so tired, but for now, the only thing on his mind was the thought of finally being allowed to sleep. To sleep this whole situation off.

Without much preamble, Peter ventured deeper into the dark and vast corridors — his vision quickly getting used to the change of light — until he found one room full of office chairs and desks.

Pushing a few desks and chairs to one side of the room to create more space, Peter found a pile of bean bags stashed in a corner, a delighted smile appearing on his face. He threw himself onto them, his duffel bag discarded by his side, letting out a content sigh at the comfort he felt, which felt like he wasn’t privy to for so long, but was actually only a day.

He would plan his next move and think about what his future held for him here in Gotham tomorrow, when he was well-rested, but for now, Peter allowed himself to relax and melt into the soft material he was lying on and drift off to sleep.

His eyes closed and his breathing steadied within seconds.

Chapter Text

Peter’s eyes fluttered open to the sound of familiar laughter.

He smiled to himself and snuggled closer into the warmth and comfort that his bed provided.

Making a low humming noise, he stretched and slowly sat up, making the blankets pool at his waist.

Rubbing at his eyes, willing himself to get rid of the last of his sleepiness, Peter slowly descended the top bunk of his bed. His bare feet soon touching the floor and shivering at the cold sensation.

He left his bedroom and turned towards the kitchen where he had last heard the laughter coming from, idly scratching at his stomach.

He peeked inside, ready to see the burnt pancakes which smell already wafted throughout the entirety of their flat, and catch the culprit surely attempting to sneakily throw them away in the bin.

Yet as he looked, he saw no pancakes nor no culprit.

He sniffed at the air again, wondering if maybe his senses were acting up due to his sleepiness, but no, the smell of burnt pancakes was still present.

He shook his head good-naturedly, assuming that May had tried to cover up her yet another cooking failure by getting rid of the pancakes in some other way, rather than throwing them away into the kitchen’s bin.

“May?”, He called out for his aunt, wanting to know where she went, but was met with silence.

He huffed to himself and called out yet again, wanting to let May know that he wouldn’t tease her about her inept cooking skills, “May! Where are you? I can help with the clean-up.”

He was met with yet more silence.

That is until he caught a quiet laugh, a fruitless attempt at stifling it, not when Peter could hear everything four blocks away from where he was standing.

Shaking his head again, he walked out the kitchen and instead sauntered over to the bathroom, where he had heard the latest giggle.

Knocking on the door just so May would know he had already figured her out, Peter slowly pushed it open, sticking his head through the space.

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion when he caught no sight of May, whipping his head side to side just to make sure he wasn’t turning blind, but no, May wasn’t in the bathroom.

Peter slowly closed the door as he retreated back into the hallway, trying to pick up the sound of May’s heartbeat to know where she was trying to hide.

“May, you really don’t need to hide. I won’t even tease you, promise.”

He turned towards May’s bedroom, where he heard the next bout of quiet giggles, the familiar sound guiding him to quickly get to his destination.

He sighed in slight annoyance when the room turned to be empty too. It was beginning to grate on his nerves.

How was May able to change locations so quickly without Peter hearing the distinct shuffle of her slippers against their creaky floorboards, nor hear her heartbeat?

Maybe Tony helped her install some sort of sound-dampening device around their flat? They had been working on one, after all. Perhaps his aunt and mentor finally teamed up to get revenge on their spider vigilante who was always pulling pranks?

Mollified by his theory, Peter crept towards the living room, where he picked up the familiar laughter reverberating through its walls. A small skip in his steps at the thought of finally catching up to May and ending their impromptu hide and seek.

But just as Peter got to the main space of their flat, instead of the sweet melody of May’s laughter, he heard a bone-chilling, maniacal, yet so painfully familiar, cackle.

Peter immediately tensed up. Gone was his easy-going smile and the sleepy haze around his eyes.

Because Peter would recognise that laugh anywhere.

Green Goblin had somehow found where Peter lived and now May was in danger, all because of Spider-Man.

Without a second thought, Peter lunged after the high-pitched cackle, head whipping in each and every direction the sound came from, yet he caught no sight of neither Green Goblin nor May.

He was starting to panic now.

“May! Stay hidden until I come get you!” He bellowed, uncaring that he just gave away his position to Green Goblin. Not when it meant his aunt had a chance of staying hidden just that much longer.

That’s when he saw it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter spotted Norman. But not Norman, not right now.

Right now it was simply Green Goblin.

But the worst part of it?

He had already found May, a knife pressed to her throat and a rough hand clamped over her mouth.

Peter’s eyes widened, and he moved to lunge at the villain, but he tutted at him as if Peter was a mere puppy who didn’t yet know how to listen to its commands.

“Ah, ah, ah. One step closer and dear auntie is going to get it, Petey.”

Peter froze instantly and flinched despite himself, eyes narrowing as he stared at the man in front of him and tried to think of some sort of plan that would give him just enough time to set May free.

“Let her go, Goblin. She doesn’t need to be a part of it.”

Peter could swear he saw Norman’s eyes gleam with utter glee despite the crude mask covering his face.

Peter took his chance and made a tiny step forward, immediately stopping when the man pressed the edge of his sharp knife just a tad bit closer against May’s throat. He blanched as he saw the terror in his aunt’s eyes, knowing that it was all his fault she was put in such a situation.

What could Peter do? He didn’t have his web shooters on him, it having been a sleepy Sunday morning with no duties nor patrols on his mind, and Peter let himself slip. Let himself let his guard down.

He glanced around their flat for a brief second, just to look at the various items strewn around everywhere, trying and failing to see any use in them on how they would help Peter fight Green Goblin.

But that split second was more than Peter should have sacrificed, because as he turned around, the scenery had changed completely.

Gone was their flat, gone was Green Goblin, and more importantly, gone was May.

Peter took a tentative step forward, his feet feeling like dragging through water. When he looked down, it turned out his assumption had been correct.

Peter was knee-deep in some distustingly murky, green water.

Looking around, this time to really take in the location he had found himself in, Peter spotted he was underground - each sound was muted, as if he was separated by a ten-foot wall of concrete.

Which may be true, based off of the smell and the overall nastiness of said place, the teenager deducted he was in some sort of sewage.

Peter’s breath was caught in his chest, an audible hitch that brought him neither oxygen nor relief.

He whipped his head around again, wide eyes taking in his surroundings - trying to spot May, but it was all in vain.

It was as if she had evaporated into thin air.

Peter desperately waddled through the water, the scent of sewage not even registering in his mind, too overwhelmed by the knowledge he had lost sight of May.

“May?”

“May!”

“May, where are you-?”

Yet no answer came.

No matter how many times Peter hollered, bellowed, even screamed.

No matter when his calls turned more desperate each time.

No matter when his eyes shone with unshed tears.

“MAY!”

“May, please — May, where are you?”

“—Peter!”

Peter swore he had never turned his head fast enough like he did at this moment.

“May? Talk to me! Where are you?”

The relief in his voice was as clear as day. He had found May. They will find each other, and he will take his aunt home and forget all about this nightmare.

“At the end of the tunnel!” Came her muffled reply.

Peter gave himself no time to think about how she could have possibly known she was at the end of the tunnel, as it was too dark for a normal human being to see. There must have been some cracks in the ceiling where she was, giving her just enough light to gauge her surroundings.

“Hold on, May. I’m coming!” Peter tried to sound as reassuring as he could, knowing that he was here as much as a nephew, yet also as a hero. He should be calm and lucid enough to pacify his undoubtedly petrified aunt and reconnect them both.

Wasting no time, Peter picked up his speed and trudged through the water — the level steadily rising.

With each step bringing him closer to May, another inch of water covered his body.

Soon, he was neck-deep and had to swim against the current if he wanted to reach the tunnel.

It was an overwhelming journey, sudden waves crashing into Peter and pulling him under the water more times than he was proud to admit.

Yet he didn’t stop.

He didn’t dare stop.

Not even when he was forced to take mouthfuls of the disgusting water that tasted more familiar than anything else.

Not even when strange green started creeping in on him.

Not even when his muscles spasmed and his limbs throbbed.

He swam and swam.

He swam until he reached the edge of the tunnel, fingers grasping at the concrete entrance.

The material crumbled under his strength as Peter pulled himself forward, dust sticking to his wet body.

He took in a shuddering breath before bending in half at the sudden churn his stomach gave.

He coughed and spluttered, his insides rebelling against the foreign liquid he had inhaled while swimming.

Black and green spots danced in Peter’s vision, giving him no time to prepare before he was expelling all the water he had swallowed.

Yet it didn’t feel like water.

It didn’t feel like what he had swallowed.

What he threw up could only be considered a half-liquidised jelly — its sickly green colour bringing memories within Peter that he didn’t remember.

He shook his head, he didn’t have time to mourn over the sensation of not remembering. Not when he was so close to getting to May.

“May, I’m here. I’m here. Where are you?” His voice was croaky and scratchy, yet no clearing of his throat brought him any relief.

“Here, Peter! Right at the end!”

Peter rushed to steady his footing, feeling like his body wasn’t his own as he moved forward.

Each step was both a war for strength and relief.

His body felt like it was giving up on itself, yet each metre taken towards his aunt gave him strength.

Gave him strength to push onward.

After what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than mere minutes, Peter stumbled towards the end of the tunnel.

Hands gripping at the rough wall, he took a shuddering gasp, trying to shake off the dizziness spell threatening to pull Peter’s feet from underneath him.

Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Peter quickly turned his head around.

That’s when he saw her.

His aunt May.

Seemingly safe and sound. Her body somehow remaining wholly dry.

Peter immediately dropped to his knees by her side, hands scrambling to reverently check her over.

But May pushed his hands away.

“What’s going on, May? Does anything hurt?” Peter asked quickly, visibly itching to continue with his examination, but he wouldn’t proceed until he got May’s permission, no matter how much he wanted to ignore her objection.

“Peter.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s me. What do you need, May? Tell me. What can I do?”

“You need to wake up.”

What?
Peter froze for a second, even his hands halting in their anxious hovering.

“W-what?”

“You need to wake up, honey.”

Peter let out a nervous chuckle — did May perhaps hit her head? Should he be checking for any obvious signs of concussion?

“I’m wide awake, May. C’mon, we need to get out of here.”

No matter how much Peter wished to continue their talk inside the tunnel, the green water was steadily rising and soon would engulf the entirety of the sewage system. He could swim again if he had to, but with May being presumably concussed, it was better to high-tail it out of here before the need arose.

The water was now up to his knees even inside the elevated tunnel, but when he urgently reached for May, to help her get to his feet, she slapped his hands away.

“May, c’mon, please. We can talk later, and I will listen to everything you have to say, but we need to get out of here, like, yesterday.” He may have been a little unpleasant in how brusque the tone of voice was, his aunt didn’t raise him to be like this, but he couldn’t focus on that right now — not when May didn’t want to move out the sewage, where the water was now up to Peter’s waist.

“No, Peter. You need to wake up.”

“I am awake, May.”

“Open your eyes, Peter.”

“May, please, we need to move-”

“Open your eyes!”

“They are open! Can’t you see? We need to move, now.”

Peter tried to grab May around her waist and hoist her up, maybe even throw her over his shoulder if she chose to object any further, but he didn’t even get the chance to do so before her voice seemed to penetrate right through his skull.

“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”

Peter closed his eyes at the sudden onslaught of sensations all over his body, his senses going haywire and the hairs on his arms standing straight.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, but the command was all he could see, sense, hear.

“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”

Peter clutched his hair, eyes squeezed shut tightly, teeth firmly clenched.

“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”

A scream tore its way past his throat, the green suddenly erupting behind his closed eyelids.

Suddenly, it all quietened.

Peter took in a shallow inhale, his lungs protesting with each move, the smell of green everywhere.

Forcing himself to open his eyes, he wasn’t prepared to see what awaited him next. Not one bit.

There was no May. No sewage. No water.

There was only him, his duffel bag and the pile of bean bags haphazardly kicked around the whole office.

Oh.

Oh, it wasn’t real, was it?

It never was.

There was only him. In Gotham. Alone.

Peter laid his head in his shaking hands.

And finally let the tears fall.

Chapter Text

And Red Hood, to his credit, didn’t follow. But he did turn slightly, watching Peter disappear into the shadows with that same sharp focus trained on him from the start.

Then, very softly, just under his breath, “You too, Queens.”

---

He watched the kid disappear around the corner, footsteps quiet, almost too quiet for a little thirteen-year-old boy who shouldn’t have yet acquired such a skill, especially since he was so new to Gotham.

Jason let out a slow breath, still staring at the spot where the kid—Peter—had vanished. He could still hear faint footsteps echoing off wet brick, the rhythm steady enough to suggest the kid hadn’t collapsed the second he rounded the corner.

He frowned when the footsteps suddenly quickened — the boy definitely shouldn’t be running in his condition, not with the injuries he undoubtedly sported.

But if Jason had learned anything about Crime Alley kids, it was that they defied all kinds of expectations, the good, and the bad. And Peter was now one of them.

And for now, Jason let him be, despite wanting to follow. Despite wanting to probe further and maybe catch a glimpse of the Pit effects which Peter was supposed to be experiencing.

Because it was not the time yet.

Not now, not when Peter was more skittish and distrustful than even the more hardened alley kids Jason has had the opportunity to interact with. Not when he still wasn’t knowledgeable of the full scope of Peter’s ailments — what side effects he suffered from since Peter was dunked in the Lazarus Pit.

He knew what it looked like when someone was throwing out just enough truth to get you off their back. There’s nothing going on. I’ve got a place to stay. I’ve got it.

Most kids would probably look for an adult in their time of need. Most kids wouldn’t even try to attempt to go through such a situation alone.

But Peter wasn’t most kids.

And he definitely did not want help if he could help it, if their interaction was anything to go by.

He replayed the conversation in his head. The humour. The way the kid held his body like he’d been trained to move painlessly—and wasn’t that a sickening can of worms that Jason wasn’t sure he wanted to open quite yet. How he kept his feet angled outward, subtly braced to fight back or run at a moment’s notice.

Even the way he’d spoken. Light, yet calculated. That wasn't just smart— that was survival instinct, honed through years of practice.

The kid was a liar. A good one. Damn good. Better than most adults Jason had interrogated. He gave just enough pushback to seem normal, just enough innocence to seem harmless, and just enough attitude to look like a regular mouthy teen.

But he was also injured. Thin. Bruised in a way Jason didn’t like. Not the kind of bruises you get from falling off your bike or roughhousing in school. More like the kind you got from picking a fight with a building and losing.

So, yeah. Peter was a little liar.

Jason wasn’t sure what to think.

He saw no signs that the pit was affecting the boy’s ability to think or interact with people, but the white streak in his hair and those toxic green eyes of his spoke volumes.

He was nothing like Jason, yet also so much like him.

Jason wasn’t sure what to think.

-

The vigilante was halfway across the rooftop by the time he muttered, “Oracle. You up to speed?”

There was a soft click in his comm, followed by the ever-present voice of Barbara. “Always. You found what you were looking for?”

Jason leaned against the ledge, eyes scanning the Gotham skyline, but his mind was still stuck in that damn alley.

“Found our kid in Crime Alley, saw him running and decided to see if he needed help,” he said after a moment. “You were right. He’s definitely been in the pits, but I didn’t see any usual side effects. He’s real young too. Maybe thirteen, tops. Told me his name’s Peter too, so that checks out.”

Barbara didn’t respond immediately. Jason knew she was already working on pulling up the CCTV footage.

“And what do you think?”

“Not entirely sure, to be completely honest. He’s all bloodied and injured, but claimed he was fin, and he had a place to stay. Not sure how much I believe him.”

He took off his helmet so that only his domino mask stayed as a way to conceal his identity and lit a cigarette.

“Kid’s sharp,” he added, almost reluctantly. “Not just street-smart. Calculated. Lies like someone who does it for a living. Real snarky, but looks kinda cute whenever he lets his guard down.”

There was a beat before Barbara said, “So we’ve got a boy who’s been through the pits, injured, and doesn’t act like he’s under the power’s influence? What’s your plan here, Hood?”

“I’m not sure yet myself, but I don’t want to let Batman know, not until we have more info on him. Don’t need him scaring the kid any more than he already is.”

“You know he won’t be happy when he eventually finds out, right?”

“Peter’s a Crime Alley kid now. That’s my turf and B has no say in this.” Jason huffed before taking a long drag of his cigarette, feeling a headache coming with the amount of unanswered questions he held for Peter. He sighed in annoyance, unhappy with what he was about to propose, “We may need RR and Wing’s help on this, though.”

Babs chuckled and Jason heard the telltale sound of her typing away at her keyboard.

He groaned. “You’re starting a group chat, aren’t you.”

“Already did.”

His comm chimed three times in rapid succession.

[BatGroup: Strange Child in Gotham]

Red Robin: Another group chat? What 4?

Oracle: Hood picked up a stray, name’s Peter. Possibly been through the pits.

Nightwing: Oh no. How many victims?

Red Hood: That’s the thing. None.

Red Robin: Are u sure?

Red Hood: Of course, I’m sure, dipshit. Kid doesn’t even seem to act upon the rage in him. But the physical changes are still there.

Nightwing: Well, that doesn’t scream normal. What do you need our help with?

Oracle: Keep an eye on him. Sending a shot from today’s CCTV footage so you know what he looks like.

Red Robin: Gimme time to run facial scans. I can know everything there is to be known about him in ten minutes.

Nightwing: Play nice, RR. For now, we will do as told and just keep watch. I’m sure Hood has it under control.

Red Hood: Damn straight, I do. For now, he’s not deemed a threat, only flagged.

---

Peter wasn’t sure how long he sat there, hunched over in the center of the dark Gotham office space — an abandoned corporate building that no longer felt as comfortable as it did before his nightmare.
The room was cold - the ancient radiator tucked in the corner being something that Peter was definitely fixing first, and the bean bags didn’t provide much comfort when his entire body ached with grief.

May wasn’t here.

New York wasn’t here.

His friends weren’t here.

And he was a kid again. For good, it seemed.

His eyes burned, but the tears had slowed to a dull trickle, more from exhaustion than peace. Wiping his face against the sleeve of his hoodie, Peter leaned back until he was lying flat across the bean bags, legs dangling off the side.

“…Karen?” he rasped.

“Yes, Peter?” Her voice, smooth and gentle, echoed in his earpiece. Familiar. Comforting. Real.

“I’m really stuck here, huh?”

A beat of silence, then, “Yes. I’m sorry. All scans confirm this is a separate timeline from your origin reality. You have been physically and permanently displaced.”

Peter let out a breathy, bitter laugh — more air than sound, thin and sharp. “Yeah, I figured. Just wanted to hear someone else say it, I guess.”

He covered his eyes with one arm, the other draped across his chest. “Been Spider-Man for years, fought aliens, gods, giant rhino dudes. Even died and came back. But this? Freaking magic. Stephen screws up one spell, and boom — I’m thirteen again. Stuck in the middle of New Jersey. Of all places.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he fell silent for a moment, just breathing. In. Out. Slow. Heavy.

“I need to… We need to make this work, don’t we?” The words came out as a whisper, not really a question. He knew the answer. But still, he needed to hear it.

“Yes, Peter,” Karen said gently. “You will adapt. And I will assist you in every way I can.”

Peter nodded slowly, the motion barely perceptible as he let the words settle deep in his chest. He forced himself upright again, muscles protesting the motion. “Okay. First things first… I guess I need to enroll in school if I want to blend in here.”

There was a pause, and he could’ve sworn he caught a flicker of amusement in Karen’s otherwise neutral tone. “Would you like me to search for science-oriented institutions in the Gotham area?”

Peter groaned. “Ugh. Don’t rub it in, Karen. But yeah — search for ones that were like Midtown High. If I’m stuck here as a kid, I might as well play the part.”

“Certainly,” Karen replied, and silence engulfed the boy until the AI spoke up after a few minutes of scouring through Gooble.

“I have found Gotham Academy to be a school that should fit your needs best. It’s recommended for teenagers particularly interested in Biology, Chemistry and Physics. It is a private school, but there is a chance to get in via a scholarship which also includes a weekly stipend of $150, funded by Wayne Enterprises. Would you be interested?”

Peter blinked. That actually sounded… really good. A private school usually meant dealing with some rich jerks, sure, but he’d survived Flash Thompson. It wouldn’t be his first rodeo. Besides, the promise of receiving $150 a week just for going to school made Peter all too eager to follow through with the idea. He wouldn’t have to worry about getting a job while underage when his emergency money ultimately dwindled. Guess even this sick world had nice billionaires.

Thank you, Brucie Wayne.

But getting in posed a problem.

“It sounds great,” he said aloud, “but… I mean, how do I get in? It’s probably too late to enroll. Semester’s probably about to start, and I doubt they’re accepting random kids off the street.”

“That can be handled,” Karen replied smoothly. “I can integrate your information into their records and adjust the logs accordingly. A misfiled name should go unnoticed.”

Peter perked up a little. “Awesome. Uh, put me under the Bs, like, alphabetical error. They’ll think someone mixed me up by my middle name or something.”

He pushed himself to his feet, pacing the office slowly. “But if I’m going to start a life here, it has to be perfect. No gaps. Can you do that?”

“I am already compiling data to insert you into Gotham Academy’s digital infrastructure,” Karen replied. “Estimated completion time: twenty-three minutes.”

Peter smiled faintly. “You’re the best.”

“Statistically speaking, yes.”

He snorted.

“But I meant something different.”

“Like what, Peter?”

“Make sure there’s… real proof I exist,” he murmured, pausing by a dusty window that looked out over a smog-drenched skyline. “Like, I know we already did it, but I’m sure we can add more to it. Custody documents, Social Security Number, Medical Insurance, Immunization Records, School Transcripts, Tony’s bank account information, legal trace… I don’t want anyone to dig too deep and find nothing. I want to be real here.”

Karen’s voice turned softer. “Understood. Your existence will be undeniable.”

A long silence passed between them.

Peter leaned his head against the glass, watching Gotham’s crime settle as the late hours of morning approached again.

“…Guess I’m starting eighth grade tomorrow, huh?”

“Technically, you tested out of high school at age seventeen in your original timeline,” Karen offered helpfully. “So I took the liberty of adjusting your placement. You will begin as a freshman instead.”

He whooped excitedly, at least not having to repeat middle school. “Sweet! I’m gonna die of boredom, but still better than eighth grade.”

“You’ve already died once. Statistically—”

“Okay, okay,” Peter muttered, finally smiling despite himself. “Just make me a good fake life, Karen.”

“I prefer the term carefully constructed identity fraud, but yes.”

Peter looked down at his reflection in the glass — thirteen again, small, skinny, bloodied, green.

“Let’s start over,” he whispered.

And for the first time since waking up in Gotham, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

—-

Peter was out of the building and walking down the streets of Crime Alley in no less than two hours since he had given Karen the task of thoroughly faking his existence.

She was such a sweet and capable AI, doing whatever she could to make Peter’s life easier and better.

Not to mention how much relief she had brought upon him the moment he second-checked his new paper trail and documented existence — it now felt as if the boy really had a right to be here, a small place carved in the cold darkness of Gotham that seemed to glow a different, brighter light today.

Now, Peter took it upon himself to visit the Gotham Library again, because if he was to attend a prestigious school for supposedly science geniuses, then he needed skills to back up his fake scholarship — more like check if there were some detrimental differences between his world and this one.

He couldn’t possibly start talking about Vibranium if it didn’t exist here, he didn’t want to be sent to Arkham for being crazy.

As it stood, Peter hadn’t quite realised just how much he had run yesterday under the influence of his green rage.

He was now in Crime Alley, where the building he was squatting in was located, but the library was in the Diamond District.

Diamond District was in Old Gotham from what Peter remembered from reading a map yesterday.

And Old Gotham was on the literal opposite side of Gotham than Crime Alley was — just Peter’s luck.

But it posed no problem, he appreciated the long walk if it meant he could slowly build his tolerance to Gotham’s smells and sounds, the way it constantly sent a dull warning through his senses.

Looking on the bright side, the entirety of this particular gloomy city seemed much more approachable when it was light outside; criminals sleeping, people going to their jobs, shops opening and kids going to school.

Which is who Peter was on the path of becoming — literally in the middle of going to the library to prep for the transition of changing from being a homeless street rat to a posh little twat.

Okay, that was an overstatement.

Peter was as homeless today as he had been yesterday, but at least now he had a purpose. To fact-check just how much of today’s information had differed from his own knowledge.

And that’s how he arrived at the doorstep of the library, morning sun hanging high up in the sky and shining softly at the world beneath as if cautious of aggravating Gotham’s snippy residents.

Pushing the door open, Peter turned one of his earbuds back into a bracelet so that he now only had one left in his ears — he didn’t want to come across as rude by having his earphones on while interacting with people, but still needed one to stay in as it was necessary for Peter to be in constant contact with Karen.

Trotting towards the front desk, the boy was now much more sure of himself than he was yesterday.

He now knew where he was, had taken the liberty of changing clothes from his duffel bag — which had miraculously adjusted in size to Peter’s current age, Stephen knew this was going to happen, that heathen — and washed his face and hair in the bathroom of his building.

It had taken him the better part of an hour to get the water to work again while Karen worked on forging his documents, but he had done it — the water was slightly green and freezing, but hey, at least he was clean and blood and green goo-free.

Hands holding onto the back corner of the desktop, he stood on his tippy toes and peeked over the edge to see if Miss Barbara was already here or if maybe it wasn’t her shift right now and someone different was present.

Life seemed to be on Peter’s side today as he made eye contact with Barbara, a small grin overtaking his features at seeing a familiar face.

After his very warranted breakdown at the break of dawn, Peter had more or less come to terms with the fact he was thirteen again.

It was not something he would have ever desired nor expected, but what was done was done and kids were always deemed cute — why not make the most of it?

So Peter gave Barbara a small grin, bouncing on his toes just enough to appear a little better in her sight every so often, one hand letting go of the edge to instead wave at her.

“Good morning, Miss Barbara! I wasn’t sure if you’d be here today too, but guess you are.”

Barbara’s eyes zeroed in on him, a smile appearing on her face at seeing the young boy the bats were going crazy about — glad he looked so much better than he did yesterday, though she couldn’t help but rake her eyes over his form to determine if Peter’s injuries were still bothering him.

“It’s just Babs, Peter. And good morning to you too. What brings you here today?”

Peter tried not to narrow his eyes as he spotted Barbara- Babs trying to reach for her phone unnoticed by him and sent someone a quick text.

It was suspicious as hell, given that she had done so only when she saw Peter. He would have to keep an eye on that in the future, maybe focus on her actually typing the message to know what was being said.

But that was for future Peter, because the present Peter had a different agenda for today.

He pulled out the new and shiny library card out of the pocket of his trousers and showed it off to her. “I’m here to borrow some books — school starts soon and I want to be prepared. Could you point me to where the student section is?”

But her genuine smile turned just a little bit wider, showing off her pearly whites. Instead of pointing where the section was, she pulled away from her desktop and beckoned Peter to follow her as she rolled towards her place in mind.

“So, what kind of books do you need? What grade? Or just which topic do you want to focus on?”

She may have asked to simply continue with their conversation, but Peter wasn’t so sure if that was the case.

The way she first looked at him as he came up to her desk, as if he was a case to be cracked, the not-so-sneaky message she had sent to someone, the way her heartbeat was just a tad bit faster than usual as if she was impatiently waiting for his answer.

Peter narrowed his eyes slightly while keeping at least two feet distance between her wheelchair and himself, not wanting to be too close in case it made each other feel uncomfortable, but also to have those few seconds of head-start had he decided to run.

His innocent and careless attitude was apparently never suited to stay forever, regardless of Peter’s new age, as he hesitated on his answer for a short while.

Why would she ask so many questions as if she needed Peter to specify which exact grade he was going to start this semester. She could have very well just pointed at where the shelves were and called it a day.

Did she want information on him so she could call the CPS? See some sort of a sign?

She would find nothing out of the sorts though, Tony’s files were as flawless as Peter’s own, Karen had made sure of that.

Deciding it was best to trudge carefully, Peter answered the question as information-lacking as possible, but also cheerful enough to not arouse suspicion that he was catching up to her games.

Because she surely held a nefarious plan for him. She had to, right?

Well, paranoia never stops and all that.

Better be safe than sorry and caught in someone’s plans. Both as either an underage boy or a vigilante.

Because in this world?

Peter was determined to keep both of his identities under wraps. He did not want, under no circumstances, a repeat of what went down back in his universe.

Which meant Peter was ought to be a simple sweet kid who knew nothing, who studied at a private school for gifted and had a nice guardian taking care of him.

And none of that would be possible if he let Babs stick her nose in his business.

“I think one of each. Chemistry is my best subject, but I need to brush up on my English skills too.”

There. Sweet and informative, giving Babs a response that answered her questions, but without any identifying details. Adding context to his story, but never straying from his original point.

Peter watched as the woman hummed and pushed her wheelchair toward the shelves where the books Peter inquired about were, not letting any frustration show on her face at his answer.

But Peter knew better, had heard the mild change in the beat of her heart. Whether it was frustration or curiosity, Peter wasn’t exactly itching to find out.

Walking over to the section they had arrived at, Peter grabbed a few different books — chemistry, maths, history and engineering textbooks, ‘Pride and Prejudice’ as well as ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ — beware of the eyes on him.

He was careful not to pick any particular book that would have let Barbara know what grade he was in, gathering only the generic and advanced ones.

After picking up what he had, they walked back to the desktop where Peter could borrow said books with the new, shiny, his, library card.

As Barbara scanned and registered his books, Peter was struck with a sudden realisation that he didn’t have a backpack nor a tote-bag with him.

What if the books fell or someone mugged him for them? He wouldn’t be able to look Babs in the eye if that happened.

The forlorn looks he was giving said books was eventually noticed by Babs who had finished scanning them, sending him a questioning look.

“Everything alright, Peter?”

“Yeah— I mean, how much will it cost if I lose the books?”

“Are you planning to?” She asked with a raised eyebrow, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice.

“No!” Quickly shaking his head, Peter pointed at his back and the backpack there, or lack there of, “Just, if someone sees the books I’m carrying, they’ll surely try and rob me, right? It’s Gotham… no offence.”

“No offence taken.” Babs replied before thinking it over and suggesting something that Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted to accept, “You can grab a backpack from our lost and found stash if you want?”

And Peter really wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

There were surely people who needed these things more than Peter did and what if someone came back to look for their lost bag and found that it wasn’t there?

Seeing Peter’s hesitation, Babs merely sighed and pushed herself over to the clear box placed by the edge of her desk where the lost items were located in.

She grabbed a backpack from underneath the other items, pulled it out and threw it at Peter, who instinctively caught it, making sure to fumble a bit for good measure.

He gave the backpack an appraising glance, wondering why did it look like Babs knew exactly which backpack to pick up, but decided to think about it at a later time, now giving her a huge grin despite his reservations, “Thank you so much, Miss Babs! I will make sure to give it back once I get my own.”

“There’s no need to, sweetheart. Now, pack those books and go study, hm?”

He quickly nodded and stashed his borrowed books into his new backpack, feeling practically giddy at having gotten free stuff from Babs — she was such a nice lady! — though he tried to ignore the rising guilt that came with the fact.

Waving his hand and saying his goodbyes, Peter left the library and headed out to look around Gotham — maybe even find a few new places he could use to hide in if the need arose and to overall get a feeling for the city.

But that was pushed to the back burner when he heard an almost silent, yet still audible to him, buzz coming from his backpack.

Pausing, Peter gave the backpack on him a curious glance before moving to a nearby alleyway where he could safely find out the source of said sound.

Pulling the zipper, he groped around the space in between his books in search of the buzz that was slowly starting to grate on his nerves the more he listened to it.

After a few moments of mindlessly searching for something he didn’t exactly know was what, Peter’s fingertips felt a tiny, metallic and cool to the touch item that was safely tucked in the drink holster of his backpack.

Straining to grab it, he eventually did and suddenly felt hot, a burning a crushing feeling of betrayal coursing through him.

Because the buzz he had heard?

It was the sound of a tiny tracking device already working.

Was this why Babs seemed to know exactly which backpack to pick from the stash? Was it prepared for him already? Or did she slip the tracker the second she found a chance?

Swallowing down the sudden surge of green, Peter was itching to just crush the device in between his fingers.

But no, if he did that, then the person who installed it — presumably Babs — would know Peter had found it in no time and be suspicious of how exactly he had achieved that.

Instead, Peter took a few deep breaths to calm down the rage building inside of him, but nothing seemed to work.

He closed his eyes tightly, one hand gripping at his hair and the other closed around the tracker.

He sat down on the dirty ground and let his head fall backwards, a soft thunk audible as it connected with the side of a dumpster Peter was crouching behind.

A dumpster that now sported a dent in its side with a size of a child’s fist.

…Did Peter do this? Was this why his hand was throbbing ever so slightly?

When?

When did he do that?

Why didn’t he know the answer to that question?

What if his green rage suddenly engulfed him when he was around people? What if he killed punched someone without even noticing? What then?

He wouldn’t even know until he calmed down and saw the aftermath.

Peter couldn’t let that happen.

He had to calm down and try to learn how to curb that unbridled anger within himself.

His fist trembled around his hair, forcibly breathing through his nose and out his mouth.

Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

One, two, three, inhale.

One, two, three, hold.

One, two, three, exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

After a few good minutes of just focusing on breathing, Peter found himself calm enough to make himself let go of his hair, his scalp pulsating painfully with a reminder of what he was holding onto.

He shook his head, getting to his feet and throwing his backpack over his back again — even if it previously held the tracker, the item still had lots of uses for Peter. He couldn’t afford to simply throw it out.

The tracker in his left hand continued to softly buzz and Peter could swear he felt it vibrate.

If that wasn’t a clear sign he had to get rid of it, he didn’t know what else would be.

He couldn’t just crush and destroy it, because that would be suspicious, so Peter had to misplace it.

Walking back onto the main street, he accidentally knocked shoulders with a young man that was walking down the street from the opposite end.

Ignoring the curses thrown at him, Peter apologised profusely — having slipped the tracker down the guy’s coat pocket when they made skin contact.

Swiftly walking away before the guy decided just words weren’t enough, Peter holstered his backpack higher over his shoulders and let himself take a deep breath — everything would be alright.

He now knew he had Babs and the vigilante, Red Hood, on his back, so he would be able to act accordingly.

Peter had it all figured out.

It was going to be okay.

Chapter Text

Despite having gotten rid of the tracker, Peter couldn’t shake off the feeling of being followed.

He knew it was a ridiculous claim, given that his senses didn’t once set him off nor gave a warning that someone was tracking him — having only done that with the device previously hidden in his backpack.

Now, it was just Peter’s paranoia.

Still, it was slightly off-putting, so he picked up his speed to get to his abandoned building all the faster, just so he could be out of anyone’s sight.

Thanks to his faster pace, Peter arrived at his radiation-infected building within an hour, letting out a small sigh of relief at the quietness encompassing his surroundings.

Now that Peter had what he needed regarding his schoolwork, he was able to focus on what he needed to do in order to make his life in Gotham as comfortable as one could while being essentially homeless.

Thus began a grand tour of the building.

He didn’t bother going back to the office where the bean bags were waiting for him invitingly, instead venturing deeper into the darkness of the corridors.

Peter’s eyesight was way better than a human’s, but it was still draining to strain his eyes in the dark for so long, so now he knew what was first in his order to fix.

The lights.

That meant Peter had to deal with the power that wasn’t currently running.

If he were to think about every amenity he would need to have to live normally, only electricity and water came to mind — because everything else could be done with power running.

He had already fixed the water problem and, as aforementioned, heating would only be possible if he had working electricity to power the whole building.

With his mind made up, Peter looked around for a door leading to a basement that was sure to be there — finding a staircase adjoined to a boiler room that led him right where he wanted to be.

Pushing the door open and sneezing at the dust collected there, he trudged through the room and towards a large engineery-looking compartment.

Within the contents, he located the main service panel and switched on the main breaker.

After a few worrying clicks and clangs, the panel eventually distributed power to various circuits throughout the building.

Peter had to blink rapidly at the sudden assault of brightness hitting his eyes when the lights above him came on, rubbing his hands over his teary eyes to soothe the slight sting that came with it.

Now that the main problem has been solved, he now had a way of fixing every other insignificant issue — the heating for example.

Peter, being done with his basement duties, went back up the staircase and was back in the boiler room where he was sure the thermostat was at.

Easily locating it, thanks to the new brightness from the lights, Peter moved closer to a control panel. Ensuring it was set to "heat", he pondered for a moment before setting the temperature higher than the current room temperature.

Gotham was perpetually cold, sue him!

Spiders ran cold and so did Peter. If he ever got too cold, he became less active and could even enter a state of hibernation. This is all because spiders were cold-blooded, and their body temperature was regulated by their surroundings.

And Peter’s genes? Half-spider.
The thermostat being turned on, Peter now was left with only a few things left to ensure the heating was working properly — moving across the room and towards a boiler, where a glaringly red button was attached, as if begging to be pressed.

So that’s exactly what Peter did, flicking it on and calibrating the pressure’s range so it was at a nice low 4 bar.

“Nice!”

Right as he said it, the boiler wheezed threateningly and Peter scrambled to turn it down a notch — the sound gone as soon as the arrow pointed at a low, low 1.5 bar.

“Pshh, of course I knew that. Easy fix, easy shticks!”

Peter then exited the boiler room and instead started his way to his office — suddenly remembering he still wore his backpack and letting it slip off his shoulders to instead wait patiently by the beanbags.

The office was the most important for Peter to be filled with heat as this was where he mainly resided, so he pushed a spinning chair towards a wall — wincing when it slammed against the drywall and left a sizeable hole in it.

Deciding not to address his miscalculation of strength, Peter merrily pushed the chair forward until it was right underneath the vent — climbing up and precariously balancing on it until he reached the ceiling and made sure the air duct was not blocked, allowing proper heat circulation.

Peter closed his eyes as the first gush of warm air reached his face, soaking up the warmth he had last felt at the library — the place which memory’s of now made him feel an unpleasant sensation of cold and betrayal, but he didn’t want to focus on that.

Sticking to the ceiling, Peter moved a few inches to safely land by the side of a chair he had used, pausing when he realised his own stupidity — he hadn’t even needed to use the chair, could have just stuck to the ceiling with his powers just like he had done right now.

Huffing, he grabbed the chair and pushed it back towards the other end of the room where the rest of desks and chair were pushed together so Peter had more space — watching as if in slow motion as the chair once again slammed into a wall, a different one this time, and created yet another hole.

Okay, it was becoming a problem.

A big one.

If Peter couldn’t control his strength, that meant the low-level thugs he will be eventually fighting were under threat of being killed by him.

Because Peter was going out to patrol as Spider-man in the near future.

But he wouldn’t be able to if he couldn’t control his strength enough to not create holes in the walls by simply pushing a chair.

Peter hadn’t had any troubles with controlling his strength ever since getting his powers and a few days after that to get acclimated to them, but now it seemed as if his self control was back to ground zero.

And that wouldn’t do.

He couldn’t, in good faith, go out to fight when there was even the slightest bit of possibility of hurting someone too much, for the person to not be able to walk away unscathed after their interaction.

He glanced back at the hole in the wall and felt a twinge of green aggravating him at the back of his mind.

Did green do this?

Had the changes in Peter been caused by his impromptu dive in the goo?

Peter wasn’t sure, but it would also make sense.

Ever since he woke up in this universe, and the chamber which contents were filled to the brim with green, Peter consequently noticed changes in his body and powers.

Now instead of his curly brown, he sported jet black hair that seemingly resembled a crow’s feathers; his once brown and full of hope eyes were filled with unbridled rage and an unnatural colour of sickly green — a thin coat of blue encircling the unwanted shade around his irises.

And if that wasn’t already enough to send Peter down a hill of identity crisis, the most dangerous changes that happened, were his powers.

Looking on the bright sight, his healing factor has exponentially sped up and the bruises covering his face were long gone before he even woke up.

But on the other side, the more threatening and worrying one, Peter’s strength has grown. He was now no longer able to estimate how much of it he should use while handling the most mundane of tasks, unable to predict what damage he might cause.

But that didn’t happen yesterday. Did that mean the green within Peter has had time to settle in his body and start altering his inner workings?

Because the change in his appearance has been immediate, but what if more changes came for his powers?

Did that mean Peter would further evolve? Did the green manipulate his genes to suit its own needs? How did his DNA look now?

Peter shook his heard, trying to ignore the truth for the time being, because it hasn’t yet been proved as correct.

But now that Peter focused on the changes happening within his powers, he could tell he heard way more than he once did.

The green, as if waiting impatiently for his realisation, acted.

He now heard a child’s laughter as their father chased them around the park — except the park was three blocks away.

Heard pigeons chirping while an older lady threw breadcrumbs at them — except they were four blocks away.

Heard a grating screech of tires as a truck rolled to a stop at a red light — except the intersection was five blocks away.

Heard a fight break out between some thug and a cop in a parking lot — except the building they were in front of was six blocks away.

“Gah!” Peter screamed when he was assaulted by the sudden influx of noise, hands flying up to cover his ears though it brought not as much relief as he had hoped so.

He stumbled on his feet and landed flat on his eyes on the floor of the office, legs scrambling to find some grounding structure as he pushed them up to his chest, curling into a small ball.

“Karen— Karen!” Peter choked out in between strained breaths, willing his AI to do something, to help him, to give a solution.

As always, because Karen was such a godsend, the bracelet around his wrist clanked to the floor and formed into an earbud — the same one that was currently in one of Peter’s ears.

Without waiting for instructions, Peter scrambled to put the earbud in, waiting with a bated breath for some sense of relief.

The effect was almost immediate, the world around him dulling and muting the worst of the noises — Peter now hearing no less than he usually did, just up to around three blocks.

Shoulders slumping, Peter took a deep breath — oxygen filling his lungs for seemingly the first time since the sensory overload started.

He stayed like this for a few minutes, just breathing and listening to the sounds of life outside the building, focusing on the range of his auditory abilities and slowly expanding them.

Minute after minute, quarter after quarter, Peter reached farther and farther, until he listened the furthest he could.

Six blocks.

Peter was now able to hear everything happening around him from six blocks away.

And wasn’t that a terrifying thought?

Thanks to the nanotech earbuds cozily resting in Peter’s ears, he was able to make sense of his new limits — them blocking the worst of the effects, but that wasn’t an infinite solution.

Which meant Peter was going to have to get used to this. Used to now being able to hear twice as much as he did in his world, especially with the way Gotham was so much louder.

So much more crime-filled and melancholic, so much more alive. As if Gotham itself, as a city, breathed alongside its residents.

But Peter could do it. He always did. He just had to slowly get used to it. “One step at a time,” is what May always used to say.

And Peter, for how much he missed his aunt, would readily listen to one of the many pieces of advice she had given him.

“One step at a time.” Peter murmured to no one, but Karen patiently waiting for him to gather himself.

“Indeed, Peter. One step at a time.” Came her soothing voice, the earbuds gradually losing their dulled enhancement and Peter slowly acclimating himself to the many sounds now circling around him.

Peter gathered himself and stood up, hands idly reaching out to his backside to wipe it off of any excess dust or dirt, turning around to face the office once again.

He looked around the vast space, pointedly ignoring the two new holes in the walls at opposite ends — he would deal with the strength issue tomorrow, nothing would happen today regardless, right? — and instead focused on his duffle bag.

He trudged over, kneeling down beside his bag and the scarily inviting bean bags waiting for him as if knowing how tired he felt.

Pulling the zipper down, Peter reached to grab for his wallet — pausing at the sight of his mutant-enhanced protein bars, suddenly realising the pang in his stomach wasn’t caused only by his new powers.

Swiping one of the bars, Peter hastily tore off the wrapper and bit into his meal, lashes fluttering at the sensation of his body being filled with calories after being deprived of them for who knows how long.

The bar was gone as soon as it was opened, Peter peeking mournfully at the rest of his emergency stash before shaking his head.

It was what its name hinted at, emergency food.

Peter had enough money for now to afford to buy food, but if that were to change in the future, he needed those bars in order to not starve.

Regretfully zipping his bag back up, Peter stashed the empty wrapper into a pocket of his trousers, alongside his wallet, and crawled towards his new backpack waiting on the other end of his beanbag-nest.

Reaching it in no time, he threw the backpack over his shoulders and made his way out the office — Gotham was at the break of sunset and dusk, so he would have to be careful if he didn’t want to be a victim of some thug’s scheme.

The only places Peter really knew were Crime Alley and the library in Old Gotham — the second location sending a pang of green through him, so Peter didn’t even entertain the thought of going there, instead settling on getting to know Crime Alley better.

Walking around, he expertly weaved his way through the streets and sometimes ducked into alleyways whenever his senses thrummed with a low warning of imminent danger.

Gotham was a total shit hole is the verdict Peter made after one too many close encounters with possible thieves or other thugs, having thankfully dipped into a stray alley before a guy, who suspiciously smelt like gun powder and made his senses go off, could spot him.

Now in the alley, Peter looked around before tilting his head back to look at the darkening sky — a grin splitting his lips as he spotted a broken fire escape leading up to a rooftop.

Wasting no time, Peter hopped onto the dumpster before jumping onto the edge of said fire escape, happily climbing up until he pulled himself up and over onto the rooftop.

Quickly walking to the other side of it, Peter settled on the edge and took a moment to simply look around — Gotham not looking as scary as it did when he was so high up.

He always preferred being high above, watching the world through his mask — the feeling of freedom that came with it, as if no one could reach him when he was up there. Like a flying robin.

Appreciating the view more than he’d care to admit, Peter pulled his backpack off his shoulders and set it next to himself, undoing the zipper and pulling out a book. Pride and prejudice being his first choice — better to get the boring stuff out of the way first and appreciate doing what he liked after, rather do it the other way around.

Peter opened the book and began reading.

—-

Babs turned on the tracker as soon as Peter was out of the library, feeling a small twinge of guilt at having done something morally questionable, but not guilty enough to warrant disarming the tracker.

Peter could be dangerous, is what she told herself.

Closing the tab leading to a map of Peter’s online whereabouts, she got back to her own work — organising new books that had arrived at the library into correct sections on the website.

It wasn’t until afternoon was coming to an end that she pulled up a map to check on Peter’s location, eyes widening when she saw his tracker glaring a deep red dot in The Iceberg Lounge.

Surely, Peter wouldn’t be in a nightclub, right?

Not only was it a nightclub, it was also a base of operations for Penguin. It was a highly dangerous place, especially for teenagers.

Pulling out her phone, she immediately sent out a message into the newly-formed group chat, focused solely on Peter.

[BatGroup: Strange Child in Gotham]

Oracle: Guys, the tracker I planted on Peter tells me he’s in The Iceberg Lounge.

Red Hood: What the fuck is he doing there?

Oracle: I don’t know. I checked the map right now and saw he’s there.

Red Hood: Why didn’t you say anything earlier? Do you have any idea in how much trouble he could be right now?

Oracle: I know! But I got swamped with work and didn’t get a chance to check earlier—

Red Hood: And that’s on you. Why bother putting on a tracker if you can’t even look out for the kid?

Nightwing: Guys, guys! Don’t fight, we can discuss it later, but for now, I think it’s more important to actually go check it out. He must be there for something.

Oracle: Yeah, he’s a child. I doubt anyone would let him in if he wanted to go to a nightclub. Think he has ties with Penguin?

Red Robin: That would explain why he’s there. We should check it out tho. Anyone volunteer as tribute?

Red Hood: Can’t. I got a drug deal to bust in 30.

Nightwing: I will go. O, can you send me a live feed of Peter’s tracker? So I can find him more easily.

Oracle: Yeah, on it.

Oracle: You should have it now, it’s linked to the chat.

Nightwing: Thanks, I’ll give an update.

Red Robin: Now, can we circle back to when Hood said Peter’s not a threat? That seems like a lapse of judgment right there.

Red Hood: Shut it, Replacement. He didn’t do anything bad yet.

Oracle: Alright, guys, enough chitchatting. You all have your respective patrols to go on.

—-

Dick wasn’t really sure what to make of that kid, Peter.

Jason had said he wasn’t a threat or anything and that he didn’t even hurt anyone yet, but that yet was like Tim said, a pertinent fact.

But it was also true that Peter hadn’t displayed any of the violent rage a pit-driven human should have, from what he had seen from CCTV footage.

He looked like Jason too. His white tuft in the otherwise black hair, his green eyes.

But the real kicker was that he looked both like today Jason and old Jason. The appearance was similar to his “today’s” brother, but those eyes?

Gosh, his eyes.

It seemed like thet held all the pain in the world, like he had learnt how to fend for himself from a very young age.

Like he had experienced loss no child ever should.

Maybe Jason unconsciously related to the boy? Maybe that was why he was so against telling Bruce and labelling Peter as a threat?

But that didn’t matter for now, because Nightwing has just arrived at the rooftop of The Iceberg Lounge.

He dropped soundlessly in the alley leading to the back of said nightclub, his phone turned on the map that was supposed to lead him right where Peter’s tracker was.

The red dot showed him the boy was clearly inside.

Letting out a small sigh — did the boy already get himself into troublesome mess? — Nightwing checked the alley to make sure it was empty, before slipping inside through a back door that a little lock picking immediately opened.

Manoeuvring through the crowd of drunk people, Nightwing glanced down at his phone multiple times to check whether he was moving closer to his target.

And he was.

No sooner than three minutes later, he was at a booth — people already glancing at him warily, as to what was a vigilante doing there, but Nightwing paid them no mind.

What he focused on was his map and red dot, which seemed to point at a man sitting at the far end of the booth, as the recipient of the tracker.

Why was he the one the red dot pointed at? Was he wearing the tracker?

But why would he? Did he steal from Peter? But Peter didn’t seem like the type to go down without a fight.

Although that would explain as to why Peter was nowhere in sight and the guy was instead.

Nightwing frowned and beckoned the man over, quickly putting on a friendly smile when the tipsy man nervously stumbled over.

“Hey, man,” Nightwing started, voice raised slightly higher so the man could head him through the music blasting throughout the nightclub, “I promise you’re not in trouble, but I need to ask some questions. Can you follow me out the club?”

The guy begrudgingly nodded and followed after Nightwing as the latter led him out the club through the back door he had entered through minutes ago.

“What do you want, man? I promise I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Nightwing quickly put up his hands in a placating manner to show the guy he really wasn’t in any trouble, at least until they proved he stole from the kid.

“Relax, I just have a few questions. Can you answer them?”

He hesitantly nodded.

“Great! Question might sound weird, but please still try to answer, alright?” Nightwing smiled, staring at the guy who seemed as nervous as they come. “Did you steal anything today?”

Despite the nervousness, the guy still let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, the fuck, man? I didn’t.”

Nightwing frowned, taking one last glance at his phone’s map and the tracker still clearly pointing at him before decidedly pulling up a picture of Peter — a screenshot taken from one of their CCTV footage.

“Alright, then tell me this,” He lifted his hands and turned his phone so the man could see the picture of Peter, “Do you recognise that kid?”

The man went to shake his head before pausing, Nightwing watching as his eyes lit up in indignant recognition, “Yeah! That’s the brat that knocked into me!”

Nightwing arched an eyebrow behind his domino mask, about to ask a follow-up question before the man answered it all on his own.

“Little brat rammed his shoulder against mine and looked like he did it on purpose too. Thought he stole something off me, but no. Everything was in place.”

Nightwing nodded along in appropriate moments, filing each new piece of information in his mind, and waited for the guy to finish before asking one last question. “One last question and then I’ll be out of your hair, man. When and where did it happen?”

“Uh, like— around 2 pm? I’m not really sure, dude, but it happened in Diamond District — like ten minutes away from the library.”

Nodding, Nightwing thanked the man and let him get back inside the club, closing the back door behind him.

Wasting no time, he shot his grapple gun upwards and flew up onto the rooftop of the Iceberg Lounge — taking safety measures and moving to a rooftop a few buildings away, where there were no people present, before pulling out his phone and sending a message.

—-

Jason had finished busting the drug deal around an hour before his phone pinged with a new message from their group chat.

He leaned against his bike, turning on the phone.

-

[BatGroup: Strange Child in Gotham]

Nightwing: Alright, I just checked the club and you won’t believe what I found.

Red Hood: The kid?

Nightwing: Nope!

Oracle: Just tell us what you found, N.

Nightwing: Now where would be the fun in that? You have to guess!

Red Hood: Cut the shit, dickhead. Just tell us what we want to know.

Nightwing: Jeez, you’re no fun. Anyway, I went to the club and found not our kid, but a random man.

Red Robin: But that doesn’t make any sense? Unless he stole the backpack off Peter.

Nightwing: That’s what I thought too! So I asked some questions, and it turns out that Peter was the one who ran into him.

Red Hood: Alright, but that still doesn’t answer the question of why he had the kid’s tracker.

Nightwing: Well, the thing is, guy said it felt like Peter ran into him on purpose. Though he was stealing at first, but nothing was amiss. I think Peter noticed the tracker and instead planted it on our guy.

Oracle: When did that happen?

Nightwing: Apparently around 2 pm, 10 minutes away from the library.

Oracle: But that’s around the time he left, though?

Red Robin: Ha! We’ve got a little bat on our hands — think he went through the whole backpack the second he was alone?

Red Robin: Paranoid much.

Oracle: I don’t know, but it might be worth checking out. Give me two minutes.

-

Oracle: Shit, seems like it. Peter walked out the library, crossed a few streets, and the second he knew he was alone, he dipped into an alleyway to search through the backpack I gave him.

Nightwing: And I guess that’s when he found the tracker?

Oracle: It appears so. I could only see him through the street’s camera and when he walked deeper into the alleyway, I lost sight of him.

Red Robin: Yup, I got the same feed Oracle has — Peter then walks back onto the street like everything’s normal after a few minutes and purposefully knocks against that guy.

Oracle: And when I compare the tracker’s movements, it shows us the guy’s location and not Peter’s.

Nightwing: So to sum things up, Peter’s so paranoid he searched through the backpack you gave him, found his tracker, passed it onto the guy and we don’t know where he is? Oh, and, he was dunked in the Pit, bruised on his first night and possibly homeless?

Red Hood: Sounds about right.

Red Robin: Anyone placing bets on how long it takes B to adopt him?

Red Hood: Tell B to keep the fuck away from Crime Alley and my kids. I’m going to look for Peter myself.

Nightwing: Ohoho, your kids, eh?

—-

Peter has been on the rooftop for almost an hour now, occasionally putting his book down to appreciate the view — how the evening sky was getting darker and darker and slowly turned into a night, how more people started travelling down the streets.

The same as in New York, and the memory brought contrasting emotions within him — both at seeing the resemblance to his city and at the fact it wasn’t his city. Would never truly be.

Going back to his book, Peter idly swung his legs back and forth against the edge of the rooftop he was seated on, a soft metronome of thumps against the brick creating a soothing atmosphere.

Pride and prejudice would never be his first choice for a book to read in his past time — mainly because he was only forced to read it because of a school assignment, but also because it was just not his style.

Call him a nerd, sure, but he usually preferred to read about new theses and discoveries in the scientific field. Chemistry and Engineering were definitely his favourites, but he dabbled in Biology too.

But as for Pride and prejudice, the thing is, Peter’s already read it.

But he has to do it all over again, because he needs to make sure there were no differences to the storyline in comparison to his world.

He wouldn’t paint a picture of a smart student who read said book had he written Mr. Darcy instead of, i don’t know, Mr. Handsy, on his test.

With that being said, Peter had to read the book all over again — though all the names were the same, for now. Better be safe than sorry. He was going to stick till the end.

Not that he was able to, though, because he could hear Red Hood hopping through rooftops like they paid him to do it, four blocks away, his boots loud against concrete. Heavy. Confident. Just a little squeaky in the right ankle joint.

Hey, his newly heightened senses proved to be rather helpful.

Peter went back to reading his book, managing to get through twenty more pages, when he heard a barely audible thump of footsteps landing behind him on the rooftop — barely audible to a normal human, that is.

He made no reaction that would alert the man behind him that he had heard his arrival, because that wouldn’t seem normal, would it?

Peter held back any flinch and tension in his shoulders that would betray his knowingness of Red Hood being behind him — that is until he heard the man making his steps purposefully louder so that ‘normal human Peter Parker’ would be able to hear him.

Peter rolled his eyes before quickly whipping his head around to ‘see’ who was there — eyes tracking over the whole rooftop before eventually setting on Red Hood.

He scoffed and turned back around the second they made eye contact— or helmet-eye contact(?) and went back to reading his book.

He heard Red Hood scoff and finally walk up to him, sitting down heavily on the edge where Peter was sitting — just two metres away.

The man leaned over to look at what he was reading, Peter detecting a slight skip of interest in his heartbeat, before he spoke up, “Didn’t take you for a Jane Austen type, Queens.”

Peter turned his head slightly to the side, just so Red Hood was able to see his face, and narrowed his eyes at him — pointedly turning to another page. “Didn’t take you for a stalking type, either. Guess we’re both disappointed.”

Red Hood tilted his head, amused. “Bud, you’re in Gotham. Crime Alley. You take a walk, there are at least four different people waiting to get a drop on you.”

As if Peter didn’t know that. Hell, he evaded more attempted muggings today than he had stopped back in New York during patrol.

“That’s not very comforting.”

“I wasn’t trying to be comforting.”

“No shit, Red.” Peter rolled his eyes, turning around and getting off the edge so now it was behind his back instead, leaning against it as he focused back on his book.

“Hey, now, there’s no need to be grumpy. You want something to eat?” Hood followed after Peter like a lost duckling and got off the edge too, almost a teasing tilt to his words.

Peter raised a disbelieving eyebrow at the man, pointedly scooting away from him. “Yeah, no.“

He more heard than saw as Red Hood shook his head, taking one step closer to Peter — who was almost at a point where he would start crawling just to create some distance between the two of them.

“Don’t shoot me down so easily, bud. You could do with putting on a few pounds and what better way to do it than letting me buy the food?”

Peter mulled over the idea, contemplating whether staying stubborn and refusing the food being offered was the right way to go — it wasn’t even about his pride, he had none left, but because it would bring him closer to Red Hood and there was a chance he would let something slip.

“My treat.” Red Hood added after seeing Peter hesitate.

That did him in. Who knew he was so food-motivated? Certainly not him.

Peter nodded begrudgingly and packed his Pride and prejudice book back into the backpack, hoisting it over his shoulders and standing up, before pausing.

If this was some sort of trap, Peter would be done. There might be a possibility where he would need to use his powers or be kidnapped or something—

“Everything alright, Pete?”

“I don’t—“ Peter went to refuse before his eyes sparkled with an idea that would surely put a pause in the guy’s plans. Red Hood wouldn’t be able to trap him or anything if it was on Peter’s conditions. Wouldn’t get the drop of him if Peter knew the place already.

“Actually, never mind— I’m choosing the place, tho.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. Lead the way, Queens.”

And lead the way Peter did.

He got down the fire escape and walked with Red Hood right beside him — any thugs that set his eyes on him would practically run away with their tails tucked the second Red Hood turned to look at them.

The guy made for a good bodyguard.

After around 15 minutes of walking, the pair arrived at a Batburger — one that was closer to his building than not.

It was like reverse psychology.

Hood would expect him to go to a location as far away from his place as possible, so that he wouldn’t find out where Peter lived, and he would then search for it on the opposite side of Crime Alley — whereas Peter did the complete opposite and would send Red Hood on a goose chase had he decided to follow his nonexistent lead.

“I’ve never been to Batburger.” Peter mused, further proving the point of the fast food joint being far away from his place. But it was also true that he’s never been — he’s been in Gotham for only two days, after all. Though it felt like much longer.

“Well, then you’re in for a treat, c’mon.” Red Hood led the way this time and opened the door for Peter, ushering him inside.

Peter willingly, yet no less distrustfully than usual, entered the place — moving towards a booth that sat at the furthest corner, by a wall.

He sat down with his back facing aforementioned wall, giving him perfect sight of the whole restaurant — eyes tracking every door and possible exit on sheer instinct.

Peter nodded when Hood said he would go place an order, not even bothering to object, because he knew nothing about the menu here.

He instead took his time staring at each person dining there, entertaining himself by thinking of very far-fetched backstories about each patron.

It took less than ten minutes before Hood was, regrettably, back — holding a tray in both gloved hands that was heaping with food.

Peter’s stomach took it as its cue to growl.

He narrowed his eyes as Red Hood chuckled upon hearing the sound, sitting down on the opposite side of their booth.

“I think someone’s hungry, huh?” Red Hood teased, taking off his helmet.

Peter’s eyes widened momentarily before he swiftly covered them — he didn’t want to know this guy’s identity, it would only warrant more attention from him. “Dude! Secret identity and all that!”

“Calm down, cherub. I got a mask underneath — how else am I supposed to eat?” Red Hood snorted, the sound as clear as ever now that the helmet, and voice modulator, were gone.

“Forgive a guy for trying to be considerate.” Peter muttered, letting his hands fall back on the table as he opened his eyes and faced the vigilante — heart skipping a beat when he saw his appearance for the first time.

He didn’t let it show on his face, so Red Hood wouldn’t know he made the connection, but Peter noticed. He definitely did.

The guy — who looked much younger than Peter thought he’d be — had the same white tuft snuggled in between his otherwise black hair.

He was sure that if Red Hood was to take off his domino eyes, he’d sport those same sickly green eyes as Peter did.

And wasn’t that a thought?

That Red Hood went through whatever Peter did and could possibly have answers?

But now was not the time to ask questions. Not when he still didn’t have a solid standing in Gotham, not until he had something of importance to Red Hood.

Then he would bargain for information.

But for now, Peter settled on teasing the vigilante instead. “I thought you’d be older.”

Red Hood snorted in response, passing a knock-off looking version of Happy Meal towards Peter. “Thanks for the honesty. Anything else you want to say about my appearance?”

The way he said it. It grated on Peter’s nerves.

The way the last sentence could be passed as a simple teasing chide, but held so much more meaning.

As if he knew the connection between them. That what happened to Peter happened to him too. That he knew the truth.

However, Peter didn’t raise to the bait, instead leaning slightly forward in his seat to study his face better. “Yeah, my bad. Now that I look closer, I can see those wrinkles.”

Red Hood gasped in mock outrage, making Peter let out a quiet giggle despite himself — the vigilante looking too damn proud of himself for managing that.

“Thanks, Giggles. Now eat up and tell me who you got.”

Peter glanced at what Red Hood was pointing at — his kid’s meal. He scowled at the man, but opened the box nonetheless.

Taking out his fries and cheeseburger, he paused momentarily at the green shake — that sickly shade of green that plagued Peter’s every day and night.

Was this another test? To see how he would react?

Well, Peter wouldn’t.

Instead, he pulled out the last item from his kid’s meal and gave it an appraising look — it was a small package that held something inside.

“…Is it a toy of one of the vigilantes? Cuz we’re at ‘Batburger’?” He asked slowly, staring down at the surprise package with such disdain that Red Hood couldn’t help, but laugh again.

“Ding, ding, ding! What a smart boy you are. You’re right, now open it and tell me who you got.”

Peter did so, albeit reluctantly, tearing off the top part of the plastic wrapping and taking out a small figurine.

Despite himself, knowing he was better than acting like a little kid, his eyes widened as he saw the figurine of Robin.

The small action figure sported the same bright traffic light colours as Robin did, wore the same scowl as the youngest vigilante supposedly did, and was coupled with the most cool-looking sword ever.

His brief amazement was cut short as he heard a telltale sound of a camera going off — head snapping up to immediately glare at Red Hood who had so meanly taken a picture of him.

“What the fuck was that for?” Peter seethed through clenched teeth, not wanting to make a scene, but also entirely unimpressed with the guy’s actions — not only because his picture was taken when he was so embarrassingly childish, but also because now, Red Hood had a clear shot of his face.

“Relax, Queens. Robin’s my teammate — he’s going to be pleased to see someone being so happy over the sight of his toy.” Red Hood teased unapologetically even as he hastily pocketed his phone before Peter could lunge across the table for it.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but—“ Peter’s answer was cut off as a sound of a bomb going off rung throughout the street.

His head snapped up, immediately looking outside the Batburger to instead try and spot the source of such noise — watching from the corner of his eye as Red Hood pressed a hand to his ear and listened to someone.

Of course Peter listened in. Who wouldn’t?

“Riddler broke out of Arkham. Hood, you’re the closest. Can you distract him and stall for time? He’s got bombs all around the city.”

Peter heard a voice say… a very familiar voice.

Okay, the Riddler broke out of Arkham. Resident trickster, because the mantle of jokester has already been taken by, you guessed it!, the Joker.

And he’s got bombs. Gotham-style.

Peter watched silently as Red Hood got to his feet, already pulling his helmet back over his head. “Queens, run as far as you can and don’t look back, okay? We will have to reschedule.”

“Will do, Red.” Peter called out idly as he watched Red Hood stalk out the restaurant, languidly packing his Robin figurine into his backpack before standing up himself — moving to the personnel’s bathroom.

The second he was inside, he closed the door and tapped at his earbuds, eyes falling shut at the familiar sensation of nanotech suit swiftly covering his entire body.

He did a series of flips and cartwheels to warm himself up as he waited for the whole suit to take its rightful place — making sure his smaller body still felt the same way it did while defying gravity, grinning under the mask as the blue light of Karen finally shone before his eyes.

“Hiya, Karen. We ready?”

“Yes, Peter. The suit is at its maximum potential, you shall proceed.”

“Sweet!” Peter crooned as he turned a latch of a small window underneath a ceiling, pushed it open, and all too easily climbed outside — sticking his backpack to a brick wall behind a dumpster, and didn’t that bring up memories, before shooting out a web and swinging headfirst into the middle of a fight. “Oh, we’re so back, baby. Whoo!”

…

“Ah, right. Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Please delete my picture from Red’s phone.”

“Of course, Peter.”