Chapter Text
Let it be said that Peter Parker really, really, really hated magic.
Himself from a month ago was naive and stupid and too engrossed in how cool it all looked. The present day version of himself, after the hellish past 24 hours, never wanted to see the golden orange glow of magic sparks, runes, and whatever the fuck else ever again. At any point in time in the near future would be too soon.
He thought that when saying goodbye to his girlfriend and best friend, and he thought it now as he stared at a grimy, slightly ripped up tourist map of Gotham City, New Jersey under the faint glow of a window on a rundown building.
Parker Luck at it’s finest.
First, he fucked up Dr. Strange’s spell. Then villains, all of whom knew who Spider-Man was Peter Parker, accidentally got through; but so did the two other Peter’s, and that wasn’t terrible at all. After trying to help the villains, all except one went crazy, another killed his aunt, the fight between them all destroyed the construction on the Statue of Liberty, and Dr. Strange had to wipe everyone’s memory of Peter to keep any other villains from coming through and to keep the multiverse stable.
And now, to top it all off, he’s in a city that did not exist five minutes ago.
Peter kind of felt like crying.
It was bad enough the people closest to him had to forget who he was, but now he didn’t even have the comfort of his own city. Not even his home state! Just some alternate version of New Jersey.
Peter went to run a hand through his hair in frustration, but paused at the sight of a bright yellow sticky note on his palm. It was covered in writing. He squinted at it in the dark, and shifted under the pale light filtering from the window above him some more to read it better.
Tiny chicken scratch that practically screamed it was written by a doctor stared back at him. The size and terrible handwriting made it even harder to read in the dim light.
Dear Peter,
I am sorry to have to do this to you, but it had to be done. There was too much damage done to the seams of the multiverse to simply erase your civilian identity from existence – I had to erase Spider-Man from everyone’s minds as well. For even further safety precautions, both for you and the multiverse, I sent you to a universe where I believe you will easily find friends and family, while also continuing to be Spider-Man.
It continued on the back:
I wish I could explain my reasonings, but time is running out. Once again, I am deeply sorry for what I had to do.
Good luck – you’ll need it. Your friend,
Doctor Stephen Strange
At first, the words didn’t register. A numb shock filled his mind, followed by a short burst of anger, before his emotions finally settled on what he could only describe as devastation.
He had no way to go home. He couldn’t go home.
Tears sprung into his eyes faster than he could stop them, and they spilled over. The lump in his throat that had been growing became too much. He tried to keep quiet as he slumped against the damp and dirty wall of the building and slid into a sitting position with his knees bent to his chest, but he didn’t know how well he succeeded.
Everything hurt. His body, his emotions, his heart.
All he wanted were his friends and family – the AcaDec team, Pepper, Morgan, Happy, Ned, MJ, and Aunt May. He wanted his mentor to pop up and give him advice. He wanted the familiarly of New York City. A warm cup of hot chocolate, his bed, clean clothes, to catch a fucking break for once.
He had none of that. Just the bloody, dirty suit on his back and a sticky note.
Said sticky note got crumpled and fell into his lap alongside the Spidey mask.
Peter wiped away the tears on his cheeks, but they just kept coming. His breathing stuttered. His nose ran. The cuts and bruises all over his body were still tender, and didn’t help his shitty feeling.
Suddenly, his enhanced hearing picked up movement from above. Peter stayed still and listened to it over the sounds of his hitched breathing. When something – someone – landed just outside the alleyway he was in, he scrambled to his behind a nearby dumpster, all the while keeping hold of the sticky note and his mask. He attempted to stop his crying more, but it was as if a damn had broken because the tears didn’t stop.
(He couldn’t even stop shaking, though he didn’t know if that was more because of his crying or the biting cold of the night.)
Near silent footsteps entered the alley.
His spidey-sense didn’t blare any warnings, though it did hum at the back of his neck.
“Hello? Is someone down here?” a voice, an adult though a young one, carefully called out. “You don’t have to be scared – it’s me, Red Robin. I thought I heard crying. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
If Peter needed any other proof that he was in a different universe, this would be it. No one back home had the name ‘Red Robin’ other than a restaurant chain with a somewhat catchy jingle.
Was this person a vigilante? Most likely. He doubted a villain would sound this concerned and genuine, but then again, with how his luck had been ever since Mysterio, Peter wouldn’t be surprised if this person was evil. Disappointed, sure, but not surprised.
The supposed vigilante inched closer.
Peter panicked. He might not exist in this universe, but still – no one needed to see him in the Spider-Man suit. “D- Don’t come any closer!” he shouted, pressing himself against another wall of a building and the dumpster.
Red Robin’s feet halted their steps. “Alright,” they said calmly.
And, because apparently his mouth worked faster than his brain, Peter continued, “I’m naked!”
There was a pregnant stretch of silence where Peter kind of wanted to die of mortification.
“…Oh. Um–.”
“Not- no, wait, I’m not naked. I just- I have clothes on, but they’re not… I, uh. Don’t worry about it, I’m fine. It’s fine.” A short beat of silence. “Please leave.” It seemed as if his tears finally stopped, and he wiped his cheeks dry with the back of one hand. He hissed quietly when he went over a bruised cut too roughly.
“I will leave if you really want me to,” Red Robin started, “but I can help. Call someone, give you a ride, get you some warm clothes. Medical attention, too.”
Peter didn’t respond. He shivered, and frowned. Part of him wanted to say yes for some help, and he probably would if he wasn’t only in his suit. The other part of him, the part he was going to definitely listen to, wanted to insist that he was fine even though Red Robin had heard him crying.
He didn’t get a chance to follow through with the latter of the two options, because the sound of a window sliding open halted the conversation.
“Where are they?” a voice of an elderly woman asked, insistent and determined.
Peter quietly moved to his knees to peer over the dumpster, while simultaneously making sure he stayed relatively hidden. The widow he stood and sat under was open now. An old lady leaned out, gray curls pinned and a lavender robe over her night clothes. Her brows were furrowed and a small frown tugged on her lips, and Peter wanted to say she was angry but there was something else about her expression that let him know it was actually worry.
Just on the edge of the light from the window stood Red Robin. Peter was unable to make out most of the vigilante’s getup, but the person had dark hair, a black mask covering his eyes with white lenses, and the suit looked to be most red and black with a little bit of yellow.
Red Robin’s head tilted in confusion at the old woman. “I’m sorry?”
“The kid who was crying over here. Where are they?” she asked, and Peter winced. He hasn’t been as quiet as he thought. “Do they need anything?”
“Have any spare clothes you won’t mind giving away? Kid said–.”
“I’m fine!” Peter interrupted. “I don’t need any help, I can figure things out by myself if you just leave me alone.” As he sat back down, he cringed. Refusing help wasn’t the smartest, but these people were strangers, and he was tired of trying to be nice to possible good and bad people and having it backfire spectacularly in his face.
Not that he would resort to being mean. He’s just…tired. He could rely on only himself for a bit of time, surely. He didn’t need help.
“I’ll be right back,” the woman said.
Peter sighed quietly, a little annoyed and frustrated.
True to her word, the woman came back to the window. “Here.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Red Robin.
“Of course. I’ve lived here for ages. Learned to keep a few spare things, like clothes and money, around with how many helpless kids there are on the streets, and not many of us Gothamites choose kindness first thing,” she said. Her voice raised a little as she added, “Hear that, boy? Kindness is rare in this city. Accept it when it’s handed to you.”
Peter frowned, not responding. He suppressed more shivers. It felt like it was getting colder each passing minute.
Red Robin took a step and a half forward. “I’m just gonna toss the bag in your direction, okay?”
The bag – a dark colored backpack – landed close to the dumpster and nearly right in front of Peter a second later. Peter stared at it.
Mysterio tricking him and the Goblin attacking came to the forefront of his mind. But… Red Robin and this old lady – neither of them were villains, were they? The old lady, though stern and a little harsh, sounded genuine, and Red Robin seemed to actually be concerned. Peter didn’t really have any other proof than those things that they were good guys, but something told him he could trust them for now.
Hesitantly, he snagged a strap of the backpack with his foot and yanked it to him. Inside were clothes – a red hoodie with a oddly shaped golden ‘W’ on the front, black sweatpants that had a line of yellow bats going down one leg, a long sleeved blue tee with a weird triangle and an ‘S’, and a couple pairs of clean underwear, socks, and gloves – a pair of black converse, unopened toothbrush and toothpaste, and an envelope of some ten dollar bills that had a woman on it instead of Alexander Hamilton. Peter gaped at it all.
The woman hadn’t been joking.
“This is… What?” Peter counted five ten dollar bills. “I can’t take your money!”
“Yes you are. I can spare a few dollars.”
Fifty is not a few dollars!
Peter tried to argue, but the words wouldn’t come out. He settled on getting dressed instead, pulling the hoodie and sweatpants on. The hoodie was a size too big but he liked it that way, and the sweatpants were the same way, the cinched hem loose at his ankles. He just tied them around the waist securely so they wouldn’t slip down. Finally he slipped on the shoes, and, seeing as they weren’t too big while he also had on the suit’s boots, tucked the laces inside. Stuffing the sticky note and his mask inside the backpack, he pulled up the hood and finally stood.
The still healing wounds on his body were agitated now from all of the quick paced moving he just did. He ignored them in favor of trying to give the woman twenty dollars back.
“I can’t take this money from you,” he insisted.
“You can and you will,” the woman said, looking at him as if to dare him to argue any further.
“What if I’m a drug addict, huh? That- giving me money isn’t smart.”
She looked at him like he was dumb. “Kid, I know how to tell drug addicts apart from suffering street kids. Keep the damn money, and find some shelter.” She then shut the window. It closed with a thud, and she locked it right after, pulling the curtains closed.
It left Peter standing there with one hand stretched out as he held two tens. He pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed through his nose. Begrudgingly, he out the money back in the backpack.
Red Robin stood just on the other side of the patch of light, eerily still. Peter couldn’t tell, but he had the feeling the vigilante was staring at him. It was weird. Is this how people felt when he looked at him in his mask?
“This might be a stupid question,” Red Robin started, “but do you have anywhere to go?”
Peter shook his head. Being on the other side of the vigilante business was weird.
“There are a few homeless shelters close by, lucky one of the more trustful ones. I can show you the way if you want me to. If not, I’ll leave you alone. Promise.”
Peter thought about it for a moment. As much as he wanted to say no, a bed sounded nice after the past 24 hours. It wasn’t his own, but surely it was better than staying out in the cold, which wouldn’t be the best idea. Ever since the bite, he got cold quicker. It was both a blessing (cuddles from friends and family) and a curse (possible unintentional spider-hibernation).
Speaking of, along with the weather getting colder, so was he, and because of that he was starting to finally feel exhaustion creep up. It felt worse than usual, no doubt because of the fighting from earlier.
Giving in, Peter nodded. “Sure. Lead the way.”
+++
The relief Tim felt when the teenager in front of willingly agreed to go with him to a shelter without any resistance had him nearly muttering finally. He didn’t, though. He stayed calm and collected, only let a little of his relief show, and told the kid to follow him.
As they both walked to the homeless shelter, Tim took notice that the guy was about his height, maybe an inch taller. From the limited features he could see in the dark, he was most likely in his mid to late teens. Dark hair, probably a brunette, with brown eyes and fair skin.
At first glance, when the teen walked through the dim light of the old lady’s window, Tim swore he had features similar to Dick. The recognition was gone as fast at it came. When Tim looked a second time, the only similarities he could definitely point out was the dark hair, and even the kid’s hair was lighter.
He mentally shook those thoughts away.
As if a random street kid was related to Dick – the thought almost made him laugh. Dick didn’t have any biological family members left other than the cutest five and two year olds in the world, Mar’i and Jake Grayson, the only kids he had with Kory before they separated. If he had a teenage son, then that meant he lost his virginity at a much younger age than anyone else believed, and that was not a train of thought Tim wanted to continue on, especially with only two hours of sleep in his system.
For a second time he pushed those thoughts away, this time succeeding. He focused on the current silence of the other Bats and Birds.
Bluebird and Spoiler were in Red Hood’s territory for the night. Jason was on a cass with Arsenal and Starfire, and even after making up with Bruce he only trusted those two completely to watch over Crime Alley. The comms were silent in their end. Tim knew that meant they were beating someone up and didn’t want the sounds to distract the others.
Batman and Robin were quiet on their end in a section of Old Gotham, as well as Black Bat wherever she was in Burnley. Oracle was on comms at the Watchtower as usual. Despite the current silence, one of them would occasionally speak up, none having yet said anything about how he muted his side of the comms a few minutes ago.
Dick was back in Blüdhaven tonight, though Tim didn’t know if he was patrolling a Nightwing or not. If he was, his comms were always able to connect to Oracle if needed.
Tim pulled himself out of his thoughts as he and the street kid finally made it to the homeless shelter. At that exact moment, Oracle updated the others on his position for him so they wouldn’t worry any further, and Spoiler and Bluebird came back on line.
“Alright, there it is,” Tim said as they stopped across the street. They both stood under a nearby street lamp. With better light, he was able to see that his eyes were still a bit red from crying, and there were a few spots on his face that looked suspiciously like dried blood. “You can just walk in. There should be someone up front to find you a free bed.”
The street kid nodded slowly. “Thanks,” he said. “I, uh… Yeah. Thanks.”
“Hey, no problem. Now please, if not for your sake then my sanity, go inside and get warm.” He looked like he was freezing, and Tim had no doubt that he was. It was currently November, and the temperature was slowly yet gradually decreasing. A storm was blowing in that should hit them around sometime in the afternoon tomorrow, and that was going to make the temp drop even more. Tim hoped that the kid had enough common sense to check the weather and stay at the shelter.
The kid nodded again, this time faster, more sure. “I am, I’m going. Thanks again.” It seemed like the idea of warmth was a motivator for him.
Tim let himself smile a little.
A strong gust of wind blew through. It made the hood over the kid’s head fall back, and Tim once again had to do a subtle double take.
Underneath the grime, sweat, and blood Tim was, for a second time in one night, faced with facial features similar to his adoptive brother. Tim didn’t say anything. Just let the kid fix the hood and run across the street to the shelter. Tim didn’t move until he got inside, and then he grappled to a nearby roof.
He started a one way comm with Oracle. “Hey, O, can you look at something for me?” he asked over the background sounds of Spoiler making fun of Batman, Robin threatening her, and Bluebird and Black Bat laughing. This could just be a crazy coincidence. Maybe if he got a second pair of eyes…
“Yeah, sure. What is it?”
“Find a camera pointing at the street I was just on with a street kid. If you can, get a close up of his face. His hood falls down, so you should get a clean picture.”
“On it. Any particular reason?”
“Just look at his face,” he said. “And tell me if he reminds you of anyone.”
There’s a chance he’s just seeing things. That this was a coincidence. That his sleep deprived brain was making stuff up with the help of the shadows.
But this family just never seemed to stop growing, and Tim felt like they were due for a new addition. It’s been two years since Harper and Cullen joined the Batclan. And two years of no surprise family members felt weirdly suspicious.
It was quiet on Barbara’s side for a few moments. Then, “Alright, I got it. And… oh. Well, uh.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, I can’t say for sure. He doesn’t look one hundred percent like him, but…”
“So I’m not going crazy for thinking there are similarities between this kid and N?”
“No, you’re not going crazy yet.” Tim rolled his eyes at the little jab. “It’s probably nothing, though, Red. There are a lot of kids with dark hair and dark eyes.”
“I know. But when has anything been that simple with this family?” Tim left the roof via his grapple gun, and started in the direction of his bike. It was nearing four in the morning. He had a college course at eight he couldn’t miss.
“Trust me, I know,” she replied, a bit of laughter in a voice. “Nothing is ever simple with the Bats… But, Red, you do know what you’re implying right? N is, what, thirty-one? Guessing on the kid’s age, he’d have to be a teen when the kid was born.”
“I know,” he repeated. “Maybe we should send in Bluebird tomorrow after she gets out from her classes to see him in better light.”
“You want to stalk a homeless kid? Seriously, Red?”
“Just once! Just a visit! She works there anyway, off and on, so it wouldn’t be weird.”
Barbara sighed. “Why did I think you grew out of your stalking phase?”
Tim just laughed a little. “You're fault for thinking that in the first place, O.” Before he heard her response, he cut off the one way comm with her and connected another one way call with Harper. “Hey, Bluebird, are you volunteering tomorrow? I need you to check on someone for me…”