Chapter Text
Bleeding out in his bathroom was not how he thought he’d die.
That’s what Peter thinks as he clutched his chest from where the bullet wound was. Blood was dripping out onto the cheap tile his landlord had implemented into his shitty apartment. Peter’s sure that old Mr. Patrick would not be too happy about cleaning those stains out.
Usually this is where Peter would get up and grab his first-aid kit and patch his wound up, but this time was different.
This time there wasn’t a will to heal himself. There’s his healing, so he might as well just...let it heal on it’s own? Peter’s aware how reckless this was, not helping himself.
Thing was he didn’t want to help himself. He was tired of trying to get better, and he’s not talking about the wounds and cuts he gains from being Spider-Man. He’s not talking about his rib that’s been broken more times than he can count.
He let’s himself slump to the ground, and presses his face into the very unhygienic but cool tile. When had he gotten so warm? Usually he’d be close to freezing with how thin his blanket was during winter, and his shit thermoregulation didn’t help either. So the warmth was welcomed, almost. If only it didn’t come at the cost of bleeding out.
Peter sighed as he let’s his eyes flutter before eventually closing.
Well, he always knew he was going to die alone. Fuck, and he didn’t even get to make it to 21. Not like he was going to do anything with that, his powers didn’t let him get drunk. Believe him he’s tried that.
He doesn’t know when he starts crying, just that it had to be around when he realizes that the wound was not closing like should have. Well, guess that’s what he gets for not wanting to clean the wound.
He practically hears May yelling at him for being so careless, sees her pacing back and forth in front of him while cursing under her breath, before hugging him so tight against her chest so Peter wouldn’t see May crying.
“May...” His voice is soft and barely audible as he pathetically sobs on the floor. “May, I’m so sorry...”
He was sorry. He was sorry to Ned, for leaving him behind. He was sorry to MJ, for being the world’s shittiest boyfriend. He was sorry to Tony, for doing everything he would’ve done.
As Peter let’s himself finally slip away, a selfish part of him wishes he never got bit. Never became Spider-Man. Sure, he’s saved lives and done what he was supposed to do with such a “gift”, just like Ben said.
But Peter was selfish. And Peter was tired.
Peter Parker died alone in a small apartment in Queens, New York, with no one to remember.
-
It’s been 1 hour since Peter has woken up in his— well not really his but who took note of such trivial things— since he’s woken up in a bathroom that somehow belonged to an alternate version of himself after dying.
...What the fuck?!
He can do multiverses, he can do weird wizards and stones— hell, he’s kind of cheated death too— but this has to be where he draws the line.
He’s been staring at his reflection for almost 20 minutes, and glancing at the journal sprawled out on the very nice tiles with a scribbled on suicide note. Wait a second why does he have blue eyes? He's a bit tanner too— Holy shit wait, did he just see a suicide note?
Peter picks up the journal and gives it a scrutinizing glare as he read it’s contents.
God, is it genuinely fate for Peter Parker’s to just, oh he doesn’t know, have the worst fucking luck with life ever?! Honestly, Peter felt a little offended that he was getting out-emo'd by his alter. I mean dead parents? Peter can relate to that. Oh, and this Peter has way too many siblings— oh they’re adopted except for one. Cool?
Wait one of them died and came back to life?
Peter quickly realizes that this Peter writes like Alexander Hamilton himself. Pages upon pages of journal entries for what? Peter squints his eyes as he reads the front page.
“Incase of amnesia or another person somehow possesses me after I die and decides to just live as me.” Peter reads out aloud, nodding his head slightly impressed. “Convenient, but concerning. Not bad other Peter Par— Wayne? My surname is Wayne? God, I understand why he killed himself now.”
Peter winces at his own joke. “Yeah, maybe too soon.”
“Peter!” Knocks come from the door. Peter immediately realizes something is wrong because his Peter-tingle— he only calls it that in honor of May he still thinks its stupid— doesn’t go off. Well shit.
“Peter, we’re going to be late!” Another voice comes from the other side. “Alfred says we have 40 minutes!”
Wait how would?—
“I just thought you should know, since you take years to do your stupid hair!” Okay, Peter officially misses being an only child.
-
Peter decides to study the journal using his brilliant study techniques from high school.
Also he was 16 again. Yeah, he’s not happy about it either.
From what he can tell, this Peter, who has decided to call Wayne to make it easier to make it less confusing, was almost the complete opposite of Peter when he was in high school.
For one, Wayne is a literature nerd. Peter only remembers reading Fahrenheit 451 and Animal Farm for AP English, and he only took it cause he wanted to connect with MJ during his yearning phase.
The thought of MJ makes Peter still for a second. God was— is this it? Was this his new life now? Was he just supposed to forget May, Ned, MJ— Was he supposed to forget Tony? The thought makes him ill.
“Pete, you’re glaring at your cereal.” The blonde girl, Stephanie— the note says that Wayne calls her Steph, he should remember that— pokes his arm. “What did the lucky charms do to you?”
“Have no marshmallows.” Peter feigns a deadpanned look. It was kind of fun, being something he’s not. He’s pretty sure Wayne had to at least make sarcastic jokes, right? He couldn’t be that emo, right?
By the looks sent his way, seems like Wayne was such a grey cloud the Waynes look taken aback by him joking. Jesus, Peter really needs to dissect those fucking journals.
-
Peter was really starting to feel crazy. Wayne’s family is literally a family of vigilantes.
Yeah no uhm, you can understand why that didn’t sit right with him. His dad was some guy called Batman.
Bat.
Man.
Peter remembers saying he couldn’t get drunk earlier but he really wants a fucking drink. Maybe he’s in hell. This has to be hell.