Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter was undoubtedly screwed.

While it wasn’t the most eloquent way of putting it, through Spiderman’s technical terms it was certainly correct. When Peter had taken up the custodial position for some tech company he didn’t think he would be encountering a big bad villain plot or the multiverse again. After Dr. Strange had zipped his civilian identity of existence with magic (like a wizard), Peter tried to start over.

Donning Spiderman’s mask was difficult after losing everything though. And while Peter would love for that to be an overstatement, it’s true. His Aunt May was dead. MJ was never going to be his girlfriend again and Ned was never going to remember being his man in the chair.

He ceased to exist. It took months for him to reconcile with his heroic calling, nights plagued with nightmares until he finally took up his mantle once more. In his personal opinion, trying to get his identity put back through the system for his ID and highschool diploma was much more difficult than putting the mask on. Peter could hide when he wore the mask, hide from the aching between his ribs, and the cold look in his eyes he had to face every time he looked in his dirty bathroom mirror.

On the other hand, he couldn’t hide from needing to buy groceries or paying his bills. He had tried to get to know MJ and Ned all over again in the beginning, he already knew the in’s and out’s of their personalities and yet he couldn’t bring himself to get them involved again. Peter couldn’t risk history repeating itself. He couldn’t risk watching another person he loved die in his arms.

Instead he watched from afar, as an acquaintance they knew as a frequent at the coffee shop MJ worked at. Seasons changed and he watched as they went to college without him. The next few years passed excruciatingly slowly, and as time passed he stopped going to the coffee shop so often. Peter couldn’t afford to buy a drink just to eavesdrop like a creep on his old best friends. So he ended up juggling lots of odd jobs between his nights being New York’s favorite arachnid- to pass time and pay rent.

These odd jobs, and his somehow less odd occupation as Spiderman, led him to his current predicament. Peter hadn’t thought he would encounter the multiverse again after Dr. Strange had set everything right, yet here he was in front of what looked like a massive machine that was supposed to bring back his employer's mobster buddy’s family. And boy wasn’t that a mouthful.

He glances down at his grimy yellow mop bucket, nudging it forward with his beaten up trainers. Peter fidgets with the edge of his sleeve, making sure no one will notice the completely normal Spiderman suit he was wearing under the long sleeved uniform. He started at this gig only a few days ago, but better safe than sorry and get caught without the suit.

The nanotech of the spider suit itches against his wrist as the hairs on his arm stood up. The aforementioned mobster was a bulky man who strides in after the head scientist running the lab, his designer suit stretching across his meaty shoulders with much strain.

Peter wasn’t paying entirely attention to their conversation, just catching a sliver of the man’s voice. Peter sloshes his mop in the murky water, splattering it onto the floor to appear busy with cleaning the already spotless tile. If he strains his ears enough, he could make out the man’s gruff voice exchanging conversation with the scientists. Over his years of experience, Peter has identified that voices have everything to do with your position as a villain. Sounds too angry and deep? Villain. Sounds too sweet? Villain. It was hard to tell the mobster wannabe’s though as one of the scientists started up the machine.

A machine that he hadn’t noticed a couple of days ago when he started.

Peter realizes he should’ve done some more research before accepting this job offer. The pay was way too high for him to be cleaning their bathrooms. This machine took up the space of an entire city block, void of anything in its hollow center and wrapped in intricately patterned metal plating. There were two huge metal things that he knew would summon beams of energy, looking similar to the tools he used to see in Tony’s workshop but about one thousand times the scale.

Lights in the metal paneling start to turn on, and the whirring of the machine is deafening even with super hearing. It shook the whole facility, Peter’s mop water spilling across the white tile of the hallway. As he looks back up, his eyes widen as the machine did as he predicted- the two sides have huge beams of light collide in a bright flash.

No one was expecting the force that came with it though, including the unprepared group of scientists, blowing out the protective walls of reinforced glass surrounding this side of the facility. Peter is thrown back into the wreckage of the glass wall behind him, mop still in hand.

His senses have been going off the hook since the machine started, the back of his neck tingling in anticipation. He scrambles to his feet, creeping over the shards of glass carefully to get closer to the lab area he had initially been next to. Sticking close to the now water and glass covered tile, Peter climbs through what used to be a wall. Over the sound of the machine, he hears the mobster dude from before yell out instructions to the petrified scientists.

A few of them that were hiding under the safety of their desks slowly leave their positions to start pressing a wide array of buttons, and the collider erupts in a light show of colors. If Peter squints hard enough he could’ve sworn there are cityscapes inside those flashes of light. He edges closer to the man and the head scientist, his boss which he never took the time to learn the name of, finally within a hearing distance over the machine.

“You better not ruin my family, Doctor!” The man sneered, dark eyebrows furrowed over eyes that locked onto the collider.

“Dimensional travel shouldn’t harm them, sir.” The head scientist grit out against the never ending force of the collider, tucking her mousy brown hair behind her ears. “My super-collider is working, and you are going to get your family back.”

Peter takes a second to process what his boss just said. Dimensional travel? As in from a different reality? He holds back a groan as he realizes this is exactly what went wrong in what he dubs ‘the worst day of his life’, and it took an awful lot to earn that spot. With a quick glance at the panels of buttons to push, none immediately stood out as the ‘stop the big dangerous machine’ button. It's never that easy.

He keeps the mobster in his line of sight as he starts sifting through fallen paperwork, hoping for a clue on how it worked or how to shut it down. With his back set against a metal filing cabinet he begins rustling through the piles of papers on the ground. Most of them are littered in diagrams of molecular structures, not the structure of the actual super-collider, as his boss had called it.

“How long until we find them in a dimension?” The giant man asked, the light produced by the collider bouncing off of his bald head.

“The reports say we should be locking onto it within a few more minutes.”

He only had a few minutes to shut this all down? Ain’t no way this could get any worse. Through the mess of papers he noticed a green folder, which wouldn’t be anything of note except it's the only folder he’s seen that wasn’t cream colored. Gently scooting it out from under the toppled desk chair that was laying on it, Peter opens the folder to find a handwritten note amongst scribbled formulas.

These looked to be from the filing cabinet further up in the lab that has now been topped from the impact just like the desk chair. Peter looked at his mop he had discarded a few feet away, formulating a plan.

He has never fought with a mop before but there's always a first time, as May used to say. Although he probably heard it from one of those Captain America videos when he was in school back at Midtown too.

He couldn’t go for the big guy first, he needed to get to the main control panel where the head scientist stood. For a split second his mind deviated from his plan, lingering on the thought of the events from years prior. As nice as it would be to see the other Peters, to have a chance at having his friends back he knows it's too dangerous.

Strange explained to him then, as they were capturing the villains of different Spidermen’s stories, what sort of collision could occur if dimensions crossed, if you interfered with people you knew in a different dimension. Peter lost everything he loved to stop that from happening, and he isn’t about to let some beefy mob boss ruin everything he worked so hard to protect. As adrenaline finally courses through his veins, Peter has a plan.

“I really need to brush up on remembering names after this.” He mumbles to himself as he crawls under the desk in front of him, only a couple rows away from the control panel. According to the notes, there was a sequence he had to press into the keypad up there that would cause an immediate emergency shutdown.

With one last glance at the Hulk themed stationary that held the code, he leapt from his hiding spot and dashed at full speed for the control panel.

“What the-” a deep voice growled behind him. “What the hell is he doing?! Stop him you fools!”

The scientists nearest were kneeled next to their desks, wide eyed and flabbergasted before a couple burst into action. Peter lets his hands run over the panel, finding the metal number pad at the top right. He presses in the polished numbers but is only halfway through when one of the younger scientists tries to pull him away.

They tug him back a couple yards, but with a quick sweep of his arm he is able to knock them to the floor a few feet away. A resounding bang comes from the pure energy in between the collider sounding like an old car engine, making everyone in the room flinch.

As Peter turns back to the panel, the unnamed villain starts to move very rapidly towards him. Peter barely makes it back to the panel to type in another number before the villain swings at him. His senses are screaming at him to move, to jump away.

He sees a fist the size of his head come straight for him, and before he can think he uses the control panel as a platform, jumping off of it. Typically this is a completely normal way for Peter to safely dodge a punch, except the super-collider is no longer pushing out in excess force.

It’s pulling him in.

Limbs flailing, Peter goes head over foot spiraling towards the pure energy the collider had been producing for the past few minutes. He tries to activate his web shooters but in the empty cavern of the machinery there is nothing for him to latch onto in time.

In a painful yell, Peter is engulfed by the green flash of light.

His body feels as though it's on fire, the last thing he saw was the mobster guy throwing one of the desks in his general direction while he careened directly into the super-collider. Peter isn’t sure where that was supposed to hit though, all things considered.

He closes his eyes, though it doesn’t keep out the intrusive bright green light. His skin feels as though needles were prickling and piercing him all over, all at the same time in excruciating pain. He hears his own heartbeat palpitating, mixed in with the familiar sound of the city. It reminds him of his fast paced swinging through Queens, the wind rushing in his ears and traffic being obnoxiously loud.

And then suddenly Peter no longer felt like he was being suspended in zero gravity, now rushing into a free fall. His gut twisted as his body plunges towards the ground. Once the light surrounding him was gone, leaving him with the probably permanent eye damage you get from looking into the sun, he blinks quickly to clear his vision.

The dots in his eyes fade and he realizes he is in fact falling- he is falling from very high up above a city he doesn’t recognize and unfortunately for him the ground is approaching much faster than would be survivable.

Peter is thankful for his last minute panic to use his web shooters before, as he is able to web onto a building and just nearly break his fall. He almost dislocates his shoulder with the rough landing as he drops into a filthy alleyway, exhaustion taking over his body as he collapses.

The last thing he hears before his eyes shut are the ringing in his ears and the echo of gunshots a few streets away.

Chapter Text

Peter’s head is pounding as he stirs. He peels his eyes open, pushing himself up on trembling arms. The last thing he could remember was falling from the sky before promptly passing out.  With a hand clutching his shoulder, Peter sits up against the dark brick of the alley. His work uniform is soaked through, and the suit under was the only reason he didn’t freeze to death while he was out. 

His fingers shake as he reaches up to activate his mask. Maybe Karen or F.R.I.D.A.Y. would know where he was. Peter sighs in relief when the mask covers his face, soothing the anxiety he hadn’t noticed bubbling in his chest. 

“Karen, you there?” He asks, in search of his closest companion. Over the past three years he hasn’t had much luck in the friendship department and what better way to remedy that than with an AI? Karen is different from your typical AI though, she was built like F.R.I.D.A.Y.- to learn, adapt, and grow. 

With how often Peter has interacted with her over the years she has grown into her own person, and he has no idea where he would be without her. No pun intended.

“I’m here, Peter.” Karen’s voice replies, “My censors don’t recognize our location. It seems we are no longer on Earth.” 

Relief flooded through him momentarily, thankful his Stark tech still functioned. In the early phases of suits, once the connection was severed all of Mr. Stark’s tech would stop working. After their adventures off planet, Peter had made some modifications for his more ‘casual’ suits to function independently whether he was on Earth or not.

Looks like his forethought is finally paying off.

“Try looking through the internet, we’re definitely on Earth- just not our Earth.” He said grimly, “And can you please check for injuries? Thanks Karen.” Peter pushes up off the wall from his sitting position, articles Karen pulled from the internet flooding his vision.

From what he could make out, they were in a city called Gotham and it was one massive hot spot for trouble. A headline from what seemed to be a popular newspaper popped up,  ‘ARKHAM JAILBREAK: WHO YOU NEED TO LOOK OUT FOR’, the smaller text of the date pulling his attention away. 

“November?... Karen, what month was it back home?”

“It was April. According to my scans you have dislocated your right shoulder, and have a mild sprain in your left ankle. There were also minor lacerations from glass that have already healed.”  Shit. Not only was he in a different dimension he also got catapulted almost nine months into the future. 

Relocating his shoulder sounded like a more pressing matter so his body wouldn’t try to fix itself and permanently ruin his joints. This wasn’t the first time this had happened and certainly wouldn’t be the last with his preferred method of travel.

The pop echoed throughout the alley, along with Peter’s slew of profanities. “No matter how much I do it, it never hurts any less.” He grumbles as he notes that the sun seemed to be dipping behind the buildings around him, meaning he was probably unconscious for almost a day.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Peter carefully climbed up the side of the brick building. Loose dirt and rotted dust crumbled to the ground under his fingertips.

Hauling himself skillfully over the ledge of the building, Peter finally got a good aerial view of his surroundings. All around him were dilapidated apartment buildings and small businesses, cracked pavement on roads that had been long since used. Rubble and trash had accumulated in the streets over what Peter assumed was the time it had been abandoned. 

Eerily, there didn’t seem to be a single soul lingering around. Peter recalled the gunshots he had heard before but the perpetrators don’t seem to have stuck around.

“This place is creepy, Karen do you know where in Gotham we are?” 

“You seem to have landed in the East End on Park Row, known to Gotham locals as Crime Alley. It is notorious for its crime rates, hence the name.” Karen replied in her oddly chipper manner. “I can’t imagine this is a good place to hang around and set up shop,” he mutters as he looks over the horizon. “But we’ll need to come back once Spiderman is active again.”

“Sure thing, Peter.”

Peter can’t believe he got stuck in this position again. Homelessness wasn’t something he was a stranger to, having been in and out of it after Ben had died. May tried her best to support them, he couldn’t begin to describe what she gave up for him.  After the blip they had lost their home again, the whole building shut down due to lack of tenants. It took a few months and a far too eager Happy Hogan but they ended up getting their old apartment back. The building reopened to help the overpopulation, and they were off the streets for a while longer.  But then there was May’s death and his identity wipe, where Peter had started over fresh. More like freshly homeless. That time he had a game plan, which he is probably going to follow again here in Gotham. Create all his government documentation, fake existing for his entire life and then sign up for a GED course. 

And don’t forget getting a part time job, or two or three. And then saving up for an apartment. And groceries. And university.

Peter might have to forgo the ‘going to university’ part of the plan in this universe. His priority is finding his way home. Which is definitely going to be a piece of cake.

He walked to the other end of the roof, as though it would give him a better vantage point. Stepping out from behind an air conditioning unit, the wind cuts through him like a knife. A chill shook him to his core as the wet cloth stuck awkwardly to his nanotech suit. The muddy blue janitor's uniform closely resembled those of a nurse, except covered in grime, blood, and partially shredded. But to be fair that might be a pretty accurate nurse outfit.

On the bright side, at least he still had something to cover up his Spiderman suit. Even if it made him look like a bum nurse. More than once he got stuck in public with just his suit, and its red and blue patterns make it the opposite of subtle.

His dirty black sneakers drudge through the gravel that is on the roof, crunching and crackling under his heavy gait. For now it would do him best to find shelter, which likely meant a homeless shelter and not under a random bridge. A bittersweet smile crossed his face, May lingering in the forefront of his mind. She had always loved working at homeless shelters, even when she was in worse conditions. She did everything out of the goodness of her heart and strived to give back. But this goodness was her fatal flaw, she saw the good in everyone to a fault.

That goodness in her  heart led to her untimely death. Peter can’t spare his kindness in his current environment, especially on his lonesome. Despite sporting the friendly neighborhood Spiderman role, self preservation comes before all else on the streets. 

“Karen, can you look for homeless shelters in the area?” He asked as he began the trek from one rooftop to another. He fell into the familiar rhythm of parkour as he leapt from building to building.  Karen booted up directions to the closest shelter, which was still far at a whopping fifteen miles away. With some time it wouldn’t be difficult, Peter was used to traveling all over New York and Queens which was easily over fifteen miles.

The issue was if he could travel those fifteen miles before the shelter closed entry for the night.

According to the website the shelter closed at seven o'clock, and judging by the sun it was just about that time.

Peter speeds up, ignoring the growing exhaustion tied to his ankles. The orange lines of Karen’s GPS  tell him he needs to hang a left after crossing the bridge just ahead, and starts running like he is in a marathon. His soggy work shoes squelch and squeak as he presses them into pavement as he drops down to sidewalk level a couple blocks away from the shelter. “Karen, what time is it?” He pants. “It is six fifty eight in the afternoon.” 

Shit, shit, shit. He only has two minutes before the doors close for the night. Peter’s only a block away now, his muscles burning with lactic acid. A shout echoes from the alleyway he just sprinted past, but he ignores it.

‘You have to think of yourself first, man. You’re the little guy right now.’

A gunshot rings out, clear as day.

He comes to halt.

Peter turns around, running back towards the alleyway.

The smell of gunpowder fills his nostrils, and he spots a couple of sketchy men looming menacingly over a child. “You better hand over that bag or else I’ll fire another warning shot into your thick skull!” One of the men threatens with a thick Jersey accent, his thinning more-salt-than-pepper hair combed over his greasy head. He is dressed in a lousy suit that's an awful shade of green, and a handgun is gripped tightly in his left hand.

His buddy- who looks like a typical thug with his ratty clothes and oddly fit beanie- has hold of the child, a little girl probably no older than eleven. He has a bruising grip on her wrist, probably to hold her from bolting, and her free arm guarded a small purse that they couldn’t manage to wrestle off her person. It is brightly patterned, clearly a children's product with the repetitive unicorn faces all over the faded pink fabric.

Her eyes manage to swiftly glance from the gun to Peter, who has just come up behind the green clad man. The look she gives him throws him into action immediately. 

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

He knows it's overused, but if the shoe fits. Peter is doused with adrenaline, muscles flexing as he swings his fist at the lowlife criminal holding onto her. “Who the hell-” The mugger couldn’t finish his question as the air was knocked out of him, the strength behind Peter’s punch forcing the burly man backwards despite Peter holding back. 

The man stumbles over his own feet as he careens backwards into a pile of trash, releasing the girl’s wrist. Peter shoots out his arm and webs him to the ground, the mugger now stuck to the wet concrete. The gunman whirls around on Peter, snarling. “The hell you think you are? You’re costing me money, shitface-” 

Peter doesn’t pause to listen to the complaints and kicks the man backwards into the wall. His heartbeat is booming in his ears like the bass of a tacky pop song, and faintly he hears Karen saying something. He tries to shoot some webs to trap evil Mike Wazowski’s  hands as he had done to his buddy on the floor, and for a split second he hears nothing but silence. The hairs on the back of his neck rise, his spidey senses tensing and screaming at him to move.

Peter hears a click boom and a second gunshot rings out.

This time the barrel of the gun wasn’t  aimed at the girl, it is aiming straight at Peter. The bullet catches him in the right shoulder and time comes to a stand still, his heartbeat now at an orchestra’s crescendo as adrenaline joins the roaring in his ears. 

Then time speeds up. 

“Well, now you’ve done it.” He forces out a chuckle. “You’ve screwed yourself, Slimer.” He says coldly to the green clad man in front of him. He could hear Tony in the back of his head, demanding he stop with the pop culture references. “Look what you did,  you’ve gone and ruined my uniform!”

With the help of his super speed, Peter knocks the gun out the middle aged man’s hand and it clatters to the ground. Leaning over with a wince, Peter unloads it. He had half a mind to bend the thing in half and hit the mugger upside the head with it. “Do you know how much it costs to dry clean this thing?” Peter shakes his head with a dramatic sigh. The man clenches his fists ready to throw a punch but Peter beats him to it, lifting his left arm and webbing him to the dirty brick wall. 

“Maybe try not stealing from children, you might find it a little more rewarding. Or better yet, don’t steal at all!” Sarcasm ebbs into his voice, unimpressed with the two incapacitated muggers now subdued in front of him. “That way you won’t end up in jail!”

Peter doesn’t even have to ask, Karen alerting him she is sending an anonymous tip to the GCPD to come pick up the criminals.

He looks around the alleyway to see the girl standing at the mouth of it. It looks like she stayed to watch , Peter notes to himself as he slowly walks closer with his hands raised. She looked confused, her mouth pressed into a thin line and eyebrows far too furrowed for such a young face. “Are you alright?” He asked, keeping his tone even. “Are you injured?”

She shakes her head, “I’m not injured…” She trailed off, lips pursed to say more when she eyed him warily. “Why did you help me?” The little girl’s puzzled tone confused Peter. “Because you needed help, and I knew I could help. That’s reason enough isn’t it?” He says trying to put on his kindest smile, crouching down to her height. She was small and frail, her dark hair greasy and knotted. 

Peter had a sad feeling there wasn’t much in that purse of hers.

The girl nods to herself, as though it was all now justified and clear. “Thank you, mister, really. I have to get home before sundown, but thank you so much!” Hurriedly she starts to walk down the street, waving back at him.  Everything was so odd . The men trying to rob a child, one who clearly looked poor, the girl who walked off a mugging as though it happens every week. She didn’t even seem distressed, just mildly confused at why he helped- not at why she was being mugged. 

The pain in his shoulder snaps him out of his thoughts, his face pinching in discomfort now that his adrenaline was wearing off. “Karen, what time is it?” He asks defeatedly as he presses his hand firmly against the bullet hole. “It is currently seven fourteen, Peter.” Nodding to himself just like the little girl, he trudges out of the alleyway and down the street in the same direction he came. “Hey Karen?” He pulls his  hand away to inspect the wound, blood coating his palm and seeping into his suit. “What can I do for you Peter?” Her chipper voice asked.

“Locate the tallest building in Gotham.”

Chapter Text

Peter tries to make quick work of getting into downtown Gotham. Not much standing in his way as he swings from building to building, only wincing slightly at the raging bullet wound in his shoulder. His GPS blinks in his peripheral, directing him to the fastest route to Wayne Tower. 

While it’s typically faster to web the whole way over, he didn't want to further risk aggravating the wound, tossing himself around like a car-crash dummy. Peter carefully leapt from roof to roof, scaling the sides of stucco buildings as they seemed to stretch up into the sky. 

Karen had been robotically spouting trivia about Gotham for the past few minutes. Blabbering on about its most influential families and  rich history, pun intended. He had only been half listening, though, reaching downtown Gotham before long. The city is visibly aged in its routes, the cracked buildings carrying the weight of history and an air of unwavering permanence- Gotham’s stylized architecture living up to its name in the most literal sense. 

Gothic design had always been a favorite of his. The telltale archways and intricate etchings of dark imagery just settled nicely in his chest. There was a grizzled cathedral back near his apartment, surrounded by sleek buildings which towered overhead. The cathedral managed to stay unmoving, despite the constant urbanization which encircled it. 

He found himself sitting there often, perched up top one of the many meticulously crafted ledges. Peter felt an immense sense of comfort bubbling up in chest, breathing in the building's familiar, but musky, scent. A soft smile blooms on his face, a guise of comfort lapping at him as he continues his travels once again. 

 Utilizing the cool, rough stones which dig into his fingers, Peter scales the side of Wayne Tower. Karen shares that, according to her intel, it's the tallest building in Gotham, standing at over one thousand feet tall, located in Old Gotham. A solid explanation for the dated, but beautiful buildings he had passed on the way over. Historic districts were always his favorite. “So, what is Wayne Enterprises?” He piques, taking a moment to look back and examine the scenery. 

“It’s similar to what Stark Industries was built upon, however, much less efficient.” His assistant responds bluntly. 

“Karen, that is cold .” Peter snickers as he climbs further up Wayne Tower. 

“What, you’re saying they do tech and engineering stuff, too?” 

“Essentially." She confirms. "This universe’s technology is far behind ours.. outdated and inefficient energy, bulky structure, and overall weaker due to the immense difference in materials.” 

Peter hums in thought. “And I assume Wayne is the guy who runs this thing?”
“Yes, CEO Bruce Wayne is the respective owner of Wayne Enterprises. Similar to Stark Industries, they also partake in other business practices such as oil drilling, agricultural productions, mining companies, shipping, technology..”

Karen trails off, listing the many branches associated with Wayne Enterprises. By the time she's finished, Peter has made it safely to the top. 

A gust of cold wind presses against his back as he stands solidly on the rooftop, the building now unable to shield him from the chilly breeze. 

His eyes lay on the perfect perching spot- well, technically, he spots multiple. Four gargoyle statues facing the different directions of the city, similar to the points on a compass. He ambles closer to it, sitting atop the North facing statue.

Now that he had a decently safe place to sit, a ledge on the tallest building in Gotham, he begins to assess his injuries and come up with a solid game plan.

The first thing Peter does is remove the wet janitor’s uniform, now stained with blood. Thanks to the safety and emergency injury upgrade he made to his suit last November, the bullet wound was covered in a special formula Pepper had gifted him. It was a formula that Tony had used in some of his earlier Iron Man suits that patched over a wound; it would do the job for now until Peter could fish out the bullet and its possible fragments from his shoulder.

Peter scans over the medical charts Karen pulled up for him, checking his own vitals and sweeping through the analysis she had been taking. “Looks like there aren't any odd reactions to switching dimensions,” He mutters. “Based on the notes I looked over at the lab, it looks like there was a possibility of some sort of glitching, but it looks like the scientists figured out how to bypass it. Probably due to the previous sightings of cross dimensional travel with the Guardians.” 

Peter looks over recordings of when he was in the lab, seeing if there was anything he could pick up on from the papers scattered around he may have missed the first time. 

“It seems that scientifically forced travel causes these glitches, but with magic infused it either lessens or gets rid of it completely.” He nods to himself. It adds up, there were quite a few well known cases of dimensional travel back home after the Battle of Earth- the name historians and news stations alike decided upon- with Thanos and his army being one of the biggest. Then of course there is Gamora from the Guardians, Wanda and Dr. Strange’s magical stunts and Peter’s own, not that anyone knew of it. 

There was plenty of evidence to back it up, even though the papers in the recording didn’t show all of the facts. Based on Peter’s own short lived Avengers experiences it all adds up perfectly. It’s not like he spent every night for years pondering interdimensional travel or anything.

He and Karen bounce ideas off each other while they go through the footage. “I’m so glad I’m not painfully glitching out of existence right now.” Peter sighs dramatically. “That would make getting this bullet out ten times harder than usual.”

Before Karen could get her own sarcastic comment out about their predicament, there was a very audible rustling coming from behind Peter. His spider senses prickle on the back of his neck, and he spins around from his spot on the gargoyle.

He is thankful he kept his mask on, hiding his identity and the pained expression on his face as he moved a little too fast than his body would have preferred. He spots where the alert was coming from, a hand gripping the edge of the building as a mystery figure pulls themselves over the ledge as Peter had done roughly ten minutes prior. The black of the suit is what he notices first, then the cool celtic blue symbol spanning across the chest. Peter tenses. 

‘Why is there always a symbol?’ he groans mentally. Attached to the hand was a man, his physique muscular and lean not unlike Peter’s own build. He pulls himself up over the roof ledge with practiced ease, his movements graceful as he vaults his lower body over. Peter eyes him warily, Karen buzzing quietly in his ear about a vigilante named Nightwing. The vigilante hasn’t noticed him yet, Peter crouching next to the stone gargoyle silently. 

It seems that Nightwing, as Karen keeps telling him, isn’t expecting anyone else to be up on this particular roof as he pulls out an unmarked brown paper bag. Peter’s eyes narrow in suspicion. Who knows, maybe this vigilante had a drug problem. The crinkling of the paper made him cringe as Nightwing reaches inside only to pull out the biggest burger Peter has seen in his entire life. 

He could feel his stomach clench around nothing and acid burning. He hadn’t eaten before his shift back at the big and suspicious lab since he had been running late, and man was that catching up with him. Peter curses his enhanced senses for letting him be able to smell the burger so well he might as well be eating it. 

He shifts his weight as he tries to move further into the small shadows the gargoyle provided, only for his foot to catch and for him to tumble back onto his rear loudly. Nightwing pauses mid bite, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. The tall man rises to his feet, sandwich put to the side as he searches for the source of the noise.

Peter groans and clutches the shoulder he just jostled, all plans of staying silent being thrown out the window. “Parker luck, you never fail to fuck me over.” He mutters to himself. Nightwing finally spots him, keeping his distance for a moment as he processes what he is looking at. Which to be fair, would be a little bizarre if not for him also wearing a skin-tight suit with a goofy logo on it. Peter uses the ledge to push himself up, standing so he isn’t sitting on the wet roof. Karen assesses Nightwing, matching any data she has found on him to her live analysis. Video feeds from the past hour flickers in and out of his line of sight, probably where the vigilante had been patrolling. Of course Nightwing has no clue about Peter, or well… the strange person in a hightech hero suit. 

He looks Nightwing up and down, wondering if the articles were true about his friendly personality. “You new in town?” The other vigilante calls out to him. It was awkward, the air between them hanging heavily with social ineptness and humidity. Peter just offers a curt nod, trying to straighten out his posture to seem a little more confident. “Something like that.” Thanks to late puberty, he doesn’t have to try and deepen his teenage squeakiness, now sounding more natural instead of obviously forced gruffness or the voice modifier on his suit.

But as he tries to straighten up pain shoots through his shoulder once again and he can’t help the very manly yelp that he squeaks out. “You’re injured?” Nightwing asks, his domino mask doing absolutely nothing to hide his concerned expression. “My name is Nightwing, I can help you-”

Peter gave him a flat look that he knows shows through his mask, “I can handle it myself, I’m not owing you anything.” Nightwing looks a bit affronted by that, but Peter knows better. After working independently for a while he figured out that nothing is free, especially with health care. “I know a doctor, she helps guys like us with no questions asked.” 

“Guys like us? Look, Nightwing, you don’t know me or who I am. As far as you are aware I didn’t exist until three minutes ago when you climbed up here.” 

“But I could get to know you.” The vigilante takes a step towards Peter, hands up like he was reassuring a scared animal. “What can I call you?”

Peter weighed the options of giving out the name Spiderman in a universe where he didn’t exist. Could this take away some other kids' chance at becoming Spiderman? Just because there isn’t one yet doesn’t mean there won’t be in the future. 

He feels the train of thought spiraling quickly so he sets that aside for future Peter. “You can call me Spiderman, don’t bother looking me up, you won’t find anything.” The more Peter talks to this guy, albeit it's been a short conversation thus far, his Queens accent is really shining through. And apparently Nightwing noticed too, a curious look in his eyes. “Sorry if this is too personal, but are you from New York? You have a different accent than we do here in Gotham.” 

“Yeah, born and raised in Queens.” Peter says with pride. Nightwing nods, and Karen finally pipes up in his ear again. “He has a communications earpiece in, recording and relaying this whole conversation live to his ‘man in the chair’. Would you like me to stop it or tap in?” 

“Actually, yeah go ahead and tap in. I want to hear what he’s being fed right now.” Peter replies. He and Karen often had little conversations in the middle of interactions like this, Karen muting his output so he can respond to her easily. Typically he would have Karen cut off the feed but considering this is live it could set off all sorts of red flags for the vigilante and whoever he works with. Peter did not need another crime-fighting animal themed vigilante to show up and go agro on him right now.

Tapping into his comms instead at least gives Peter a heads up on what sort of information or directions he is getting- better safe than sorry. “So Nightwing,” He starts the conversation again, “What kind of burger is that?” 

The vigilante who has been shifting awkwardly grins, turning around to pick up the burger eagerly. “You must not be from around here, this is the Bane’s Beef Burger from Bat Burger. It’s a Batman themed burger place that got built up like last year by Wayne Enterprises, they do different Batman related meals including the villains he fights.” Peter nods along, a bit lost. Why hadn’t Karen mentioned that Wayne also did themed fast food restaurants? Nightwing talks animatedly with his hands, the burger swishing back and forth tauntingly.

Now, as much as Karen has been telling him, Peter was still clueless as to what any of that meant. “Who the hell is Batman? Like a human bat guy?” His brain supplied him with some unfortunately detailed sci-fi esque bat creatures. “Can’t imagine that's nice to look at.” He stage whispers to himself. Nightwing’s mouth is agape as though Peter had just said something outlandish or grown a second head. “You mean to tell me you don’t know who Batman is?”

Peter shakes his head slowly. “Am I supposed to?”

There’s a moment of silence before Nightwing bursts out laughing. A crackling starts in his ear and then some voices feed into his suit. “This Spiderman guy is amazing!” A woman’s voice chuckles into the comm to Nightwing. “I can’t wait to tell him about this-” Nightwing wheezes, running a hand through his messy hair. “So he isn’t some weird creepy bat-man hybrid?” Peter tries again, only for Karen to supply an image of the moody vigilante from a recent news article.

“He had so many animals to choose from and he chose a bat? I mean I know spiders aren’t the best but that was by accident. Bats? Sounds like he needs to consult a PR team.” Peter said, mostly to get another reaction out of Nightwing and his eavesdropping companion. Nightwing has a crooked smile on his face, his body clearly less tense than a minute prior. He is suddenly reminded of the stinging wound in his shoulder as he huffs in amusement, a grimace skewing his face.

Peter glances at Nightwing who is still giggling from his comments, only to groan when he realizes he might actually have to take Nightwing up on his previous offer. Peter has no tools, no medical equipment, and he sure as hell wasn’t using his fingers to remove a bullet.

The other man has finally caught his breath and is watching Spiderman with a puzzled look. “You wouldn’t happen to have a first aid kit on you, would you?” Peter asks, figuring he might as well. “Oh, no I don’t, just a couple of bandages.” Nightwing admits sheepishly, digging through the tiny utility belt around his waist to show him the Hello Kitty band-aids. Peter hears the woman’s voice again, instructing Nightwing to press on about how he is injured.

“I know this might be a personal question that you don’t want to answer, but how exactly are you injured? Maybe I know a way to help?” He tries, as though he was reassuring Peter once again that he could help somehow. Peter glanced down at his hand that had been pressing on the wound this whole time then back up at the vigilante. “Unless you can magic this bullet out of my shoulder I’m not sure you will be much help, sorry.” 

“You’ve been shot ?!” Nightwing practically yells, suddenly frantic. “How the hell did you even get up here with that kind of injury, how did you even get up here to begin with? No forget that, we need to get you to Dr. Thompkins immediately.” Peter watches as Nightwing panics about, the woman in his ear still telling him to ask more questions and to get him medical attention.

“Look, I don’t do hospitals or medical bills, I don’t even have insurance to cover that.” Peter takes a step back, glancing at the ledge of the building. “I can just figure it out myself, won’t be the first time I’ve improvised.” 

Nightwing’s face twists into a flurry of different emotions, before he lands on determination. He really should invest in a better mask. “Spiderman, please just let me help you. No questions asked, no bills, you can leave as soon as you’ve been fixed up.” 

He inched backwards, his thighs pressing against the ledge. Nightwing’s lady in the chair takes note of it, probably with visuals from the security camera tucked up near the maintenance roof entrance, instructing him to try and get Peter away from the definitely lethal fall he could take if he decided falling to his death was better than America’s healthcare system. 

“That’s a lot of tempting words, Nightwing…” He says quietly, eyeing the city below. “On one more condition.”

“Of course, whatever you need.” Nightwing says almost immediately.

“The mask stays on.”

Chapter Text

Nightwing is eager. A little too eager, in Peter’s opinion. He drags Peter all the way across Gotham into a shady looking clinic where he is certain he would get no less than four diseases if he touched the well worn magazines sitting in the lobby.

 Peter hobbles after him as Nightwing strolls up to the front desk, which is lacking a receptionist. He watches as the other vigilante reaches over the counter to grab the check-in sheet, scrawling something messy on it before putting it back.

“They are pretty busy around this time, looks like there was another gang fight. Whole bunch of their regulars are signed in.” He taps his fingers against the counter rhythmically. Peter picks up a rustling happening behind the door that leads to where he assumed the exam rooms were.

Out walks a burly woman, clipboard in hand as she mutters to herself. Her thick curls were held back by a purple headband that matched her scrubs.

 “Dr. Jenkins, is Dr. Thompkins busy right now? My friend here,” Nightwing glances back at Peter, “has a bit of a bullet stuck in him that needs to be checked out.” The woman, Dr. Jenkins, looks up from her files and her eyes light up with recognition. “Sure thing. I can go ahead and take you back to a room.”

Peter follows the two of them warily, shoulder throbbing. He is exhausted down to his bones, going through adrenaline rush after adrenaline rush. His black work shoes, looking ridiculous over his suit, squelch against the tile.

 Dr. Jenkins holds open the door to the first available room, and the two night stalking, crime fighting vigilantes pile into the blinding sterile white that is the examination room. It's pretty standard for a doctor’s office with a table to sit on that is just high enough to be awkward, covered in the obnoxiously crinkly paper, as well as  a desk space and a few plastic chairs in the corner, and a bright red box on the wall. 

Peter has never enjoyed going to the doctor. When he was younger, May wasn’t always able to bring him in for check-ups when paychecks were spread thin. And when he was able to go see the doctor, he was always met with uncomfortable stares and prodding. After the spiderbite it only got worse, and Peter began acting cagey whenever May insisted he go. He always brushed her off, saying he could sleep off whatever had him feeling down. May didn’t need to know it wasn’t a common cold or the flu, and instead a broken wrist and a cracked rib. Peter has developed a fear of doctors taking blood samples and figuring out how different he is, terrified of all the what-ifs. After he met Tony, that fear skyrocketed. He was surrounded by geniuses and the best doctors a billionaire could afford. 

Now as Peter sat on the crinkly paper, feet just a couple inches above the ground and dangling uncomfortably, he was overcome with melancholy. He misses May severely, and as the bullet wound starts to edge closer to the forefront of his thoughts he wonders if getting shot could be comparable to the pain of losing his Aunt May. He misses Tony, he misses working in the lab and having someone who could match his wit. He misses home, despite it only being a few hours since he was chucked into a whole different universe. He misses what he never had in the first place, and mourns what could’ve been.

But none of this changes the fact that he is sitting on a crinkly piece of paper, with a twenty-something year old cosplayer staring at him like he is a stray dog from the rock hard plastic chairs four feet away. 

The adrenaline is finally wearing off again and pain hits Peter like a semi-truck. He almost laughs to himself, thinking of that movie about the killer robot doll and how relatable the first five minutes were. Do they have that movie in this universe? Nightwing keeps shifting in his seat, and his heart rate accelerates. “If you are going to try and start a conversation, you might have to wait till your free doctor shows up.” The fluorescent lights buzz annoyingly, sounding like a mosquito in Peter’s enhanced ears. Karen usually does a great job of distributing input and output so he doesn’t get overstimulated, but today is already going south.

“I just have a few questions-” Nightwing starts, but is promptly interrupted by someone entering the room- a thin woman with frizzy hazelnut hair, pulled back into a tight bun. Her posture screamed professional, her calculated stare and high cheekbones proclaiming her position. “I’m Dr. Leslie Thompkins, what brings you in tonight?” She asks, peering down at his chart that Jenkins put together. She looks him up and down warily before casting a glance at Nightwing, a sour look on her face. “Let me guess, back flipped off a roof? Or perhaps duked it out with a supervillain based on condiments?” Sarcasm is evident in her tone and clearly directed at the man in the corner. “Shot by a mugger.” Peter offers, adjusting his suit to reveal where his wound was temporarily taken care of.

She disregards Nightwing’s squawks of offense, watching as the nano-tech moves to reveal his bare shoulder. The skin around the injury is already purple, but quickly fading to green. Dr. Thompkins takes a step closer, “May I?” She asks, and once she receives a nod she begins to inspect the wound. The doctor’s cold hands raise goosebumps on his exposed skin, smelling distinctly of hand sanitizer and hospital. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at the substance covering the bullet hole. “What is this, Mr…?”
“Spiderman.” He fills in for her, receiving a stare as dry as the Sahara. “Okay, Mr. Spiderman .” She says with resignation in her tone. “What is covering the bullet hole?” 

“It’s a formula I put together to make a sort of medical adhesive and temporary stopper. I don’t know any of the medical terms for it, but it puts pressure to stop bleeding and numbs the area while also helping keep it from closing up in case the injury is left unattended for a long time.”

Dr. Thompkins readjusts her thin glasses as she stands up straight. “I see there is no exit,” she turns to Nightwing. “I’m going to have to ask you to move to the waiting room while I take care of Spiderman.” He looks as if he is going to protest, but complies after being on the receiving end of a pointed look. “I’m going to need to remove the bullet, which is going to be quite painful. We have stuff we can give you for a numbing agent if you are alright with that. Do you have any allergies?” 

Peter watches as the door shuts slowly and the black and blue is out of sight. “I’ll be alright without, normal medications don’t work well for me. And uh, no allergies.” He replies as she goes through the drawers to get out equipment to remove the bullet. He stopped having allergic reactions after the bite.

His vision tunnels at the sight of forceps on the tray of tools Dr. Thompson places beside him, and Peter digs his nails into his palm. Logically he understands tools like that are necessary to remove something small like a bullet, but that doesn’t make it any less intimidating. Peter feels bile rise in his throat at the thought of it having to go anywhere near his wound, turning his head away.

“Didn’t you say that mystery goo of yours numbed the wound? Which isn’t safe, you really shouldn’t be DIYing medical equipment.” 

“It's a bit of a… homemade concoction. Some doctor buddies of mine tested it for me.” He lies through his teeth. 

If anyone other than him or a super soldier used it, they would die. There are enough pain killers in the so-called mystery goo to make an elephant act drunk. Or just straight up kill it. “Look, Spiderman. I’m sure your buddies are lovely but you shouldn’t be putting a random assortment of chemicals on your skin like this.” She chastises as she pulls on some latex gloves. Dr. Thompkins turns back to him, a tray of tools in hand. “Ready?”

Peter contemplated his life decisions one more time. “Sure thing Doc, patch me up.”

Daredevil’s boots crunch the glass shards covering the floors. It all started with a lead he had been tracking for a few weeks now, a mafia on the rise. They have been more active in Hell’s Kitchen and he was tired of the petty street fights he kept having with henchmen. They were nothing more than distractions from the real problem at hand. 

He even went as far as teaming with Deadpool to get these criminals gone. Between the two of them they were able to narrow down a base of operations, or at least something close to it. Deadpool, or rather Wade Wilson, lived up to his nicknames. The ‘Merc with a Mouth’ really doesn’t ever shut up, but despite his unserious attitude Wade was wickedly good at his job. Within a week they had found a location and planned to infiltrate. The day before their mission, there was a spike of activity. Both in henchmen, crime, and electricity. 

So the two of them had  geared up and made their way to the location. From Wade’s sources, it was a laboratory of some sort being rented out to some startup tech company. But when the two of them entered the building, it was immediately apparent there was something else going on. They entered cautiously, fists and guns raised as Deadpool kicked the door in. “Look for a directory, if they had people coming in and out of a building this big they would have to have some sort of sign as to where to go.” Wade gave him an affirmative as he lowered his gun, audibly prancing around the entry hall. Daredevil pauses, head cocked to this side as he lets himself listen.

The whole facility was empty. Nothing but water running through pipes and air conditioning was making sound. “Aha! I found it Double D!” Wade calls out from thirty feet away. “Looks like sublevel 3 was all the rage!” So they climbed into a cramped elevator just left of the sign Deadpool had found and began their descent.

 Jimmy Buffet started playing over the crisp and crackly speakers, the distinct smell of body odor only confirming his distaste for the metal death traps. The elevator seemed to move at a snail's pace, Deadpool chattering to fill the silence. “So what do you think of olive stuffed hot dogs? Because there is this new food truck on Bernard that added them to the menu.” Daredevil doesn’t bother to respond to the small talk, fingers feeling around on the elevator wall. It seemed someone had carved into the cool metal. “Ohhhh, are you checking out the graffiti? There is so much of it, super weird for some techy place. Don’t they usually like being super sleek like a refrigerator?”

The doors dinged open and Daredevil walked out with brisk strides. He feels his boots crunch as he walks over the remains of the glass walls. Deadpool probably picks up by now that the whole facility was empty, void of life and the usual bustling of a workplace as he trailed behind, looking around slowly. “Woah… Who let the Hulk rage in here?” He whistles as he nudges some falled furniture with his boot, the walls all blown out and desks flipped every which way. Paper, glass, and water were scattered all over the tile floors. Daredevil moved methodically through the wreckage to what he assumes is the main control room, eyebrows furrowed beneath his mask. He could tell there was a giant cavern in front of him, but why? How? What is going on here?

“Whatever happened here, it sure exploded. All these papers have mumbo jumbo numbers on them.” Deadpool moved past him, leafing through a random folder he picked up. “Something about alternate dimensions? Maybe they were trying to figure out time travel, I’d like to go back to 2003 and buy a house before the housing market crashed.”

Daredevil flips the word dimension in his head a couple times. He would have to collect more of these papers to go over later. 

“Hey Double D, you might want to see this.” Deadpool calls from the very front of the room. “What is it?” He asks gruffly, running his fingers over stacks of paper on a desk. 

“It’s a web.”

Chapter Text

Peter grimaced at the ache in his side where Dr. Thompson had stitched him up. Shortly after his visit to the doctor, he had taken a backdoor out of the clinic and scurried away from the overbearing Nightwing that was still waiting for him in the lobby.

He stumbled across an empty twenty four-seven laundromat, the grungy lights flickering in the early morning darkness. He scanned the inside quickly to look for cameras, though it looked like the singular one in the corner hadn't been operational since the 1980s. If he wanted to avoid Nightwing, and whoever else may be in tow, he had to get out of this suit.

There was a basket of unclaimed clothes in the lost-and-found, and Peter rifled through it for any half decent shirts and pants. He even dared to grab a pair of clean looking socks, undeterred as they didn’t smell or have any ominous stains.

He came out of the laundromat with three sets of t-shirts and jeans, one pair of socks, and a hand towel. The laundromat’s cleaning supply closet wasn’t locked so he went ahead and snagged a trash bag for the meantime, stuffing his permanently borrowed clothes inside. The t-shirts all had varying logos and symbols, things he didn’t recognize like a giant S or a lightning bolt.
Making a quick exit, Peter continued his journey.

“Karen, are you able to form something small so I can still talk to you?” He wondered aloud as he strolled down the empty street. “Your suit’s nano-tech can take many shapes Peter, do you have a preference?” His beloved AI friend replied, and he hummed in thought.

He had kept the suit on under the dark t-shirt he now wore, a bat adorning the front. It retracted from his arms, fitting like a tank top from the waist up. He had also made the decision to keep it on from the waist down, his paranoia never ceasing in this city. With the leftover nanites he could shape something more inconspicuous, like a watch or glasses. Back when Tony was still alive, he had Edith. But then there is the question of how in the world nanites would make lenses. “Um, maybe a hearing aid?”

Before the spider bite, Peter was your typical nerd with asthma, allergies, and glasses. At a young age he learned hearing loss ran in his family, when Ben had been laid off after a few too many incidents at work. His uncle had started wearing hearing aids after that, sacrificing his dinner for weeks in order to afford them.

Peter’s face soured at the weird sentimentalism he had been experiencing since being thrown into Gotham. First Tony, now Ben? It wasn’t that difficult of a decision to make. Karen wordlessly reshapes the nanites into a hearing aid fitted to his left ear. “What time is it?”

“It is 3:17AM, Peter.”

Peter sighs, his shoes scuffing against the crumbling sidewalk. “We need to find somewhere to stay, I don’t think a shelter is a viable option anymore.” He continued walking, and he walked until the sun started rising in the distance. A pink haze settled over the horizon, jagged buildings interrupting its raspberry glow.

About half an hour ago Peter had entered a different part of town, the difference made clear in the upkeep of the roads and sidewalks he followed. The roads were filthy, rotting trash stuck to the equally rotting concrete.

As he ventured further he started to vaguely recognize where he was, the building he had crash landed on at the end of the street. He recalled how quiet this area had been, the lack of people milling about made his gut turn with unease. What happened for this place to be abandoned?

As Peter made it to the end of the block, he came to the small intersection. If he strained his ears he could hear human activity from the left and the much more distant sound of water and cars to the right. Karen had pointed out he wasn’t far from Dr. Thompson’s clinic either, and he almost laughed. No wonder it felt like he was walking in circles. He stood at the intersection of Oldman Avenue and Meriwether Street, the green rectangle street signs covered in dirt and dangling on their post by one screw.

He dragged himself across the street, the white crosswalk paint long gone from its exposure to the elements. This side of the street was lined with apartment buildings, a whole complex that had been left behind by landlord and tenant alike. Karen’s voice buzzed quietly in his ear.

“Peter, my sensors are picking up that this area seems to be full of radioactivity. It is unadvised to spend long periods of time here due to the unknown cause and long term effects.”
He walked closer to the fence line, moving smoothly over the rusted chain link aside from a grimace as his body kindly reminded him to chill out. “See, Karen, we’ve been over this though. I am essentially immune to almost all sorts of radiation. Of course there are exceptions here and there, but my immune system usually filters out most of that stuff.”

He follows the overgrown sidewalk to an archway leading into the center of the biggest building. The apartments were all outdoor entry, and as he stepped through the exterior hallway he entered a courtyard.

Around him he could see lines of apartment doors going up four stories, the rectangular building looming over its little garden of Eden. Flowers and grass covered the yard, years of neglected lawn maintenance leaving it overgrown and lush.

He made his way to the lobby, looking for some keys. Peter would prefer to avoid breaking and entering if he was going to be the one living here. The lobby is stuffy and dusty, crumpled and coffee stained paper thrown all over behind the reception desk. The whole room stunk of gunpowder and ozone, and Peter wrinkled his nose up. He moseys behind the desk, peeking into the small office with mild curiosity. There were file cabinets left ajar, and a literal pile of keys sitting on the desk. Next to the door was a coat rack mounted to the wall, and on the second hook was a key ring. On the key ring was a laminated tag that read out ‘MASTER KEY’ in sharpie.

He spared a glance between the pile of keys and the master key, snatching the latter off its hook and exiting the lobby. Peter debated whether or not to look at the ground floor apartments, but opted not to. They were more likely to get broken into if anyone did decide to risk the radiation exposure. He would have better luck the higher he goes, so he found the stairs and began to climb.
The second floor was uneventful, so he decided to explore the third floor.

The third floor felt comfortably high up, unlike the second. He ran his one hand along the rusted safety railing as he walked down the hallway while the other swung the key around his finger, the humid morning air clinging to his exposed skin. His steps only stopped when he paused at the third door. Peter had a gut feeling about this room, not his spider sense but akin to it as he stared at the sun faded door.

He took the key, knowing its metallic scent was staining his hands as he gently pushed it into the keyhole.
Peter turned the key slowly, a satisfying thunk click coming from the lock. He pushes open the door, tugging the key out with a bit of a struggle. Apartment 303 was dusty and dim, the faded curtains blocking most light that was streaming in from the now risen sun. He walks in slowly, noting the wood floors seemed to be in good condition.

The apartment was small but spacious, clearly renovated to have an open concept living-dining-kitchen combo. Whoever had lived there prior had left all their belongings, their half folded laundry sitting on the small dining room table. He closed the door behind him as he walked further inside, glancing into the kitchen.

Peter had a gut feeling that if these people left their laundry, surely they left all their food in the fridge. His stomach turned at the thought of opening the fridge to find moldy food and thoroughly expired milk so he walked into the living room area. The idea of expired milk had tested the strength of his stomach many times, especially after living on his own for a few years. Peter would buy a gallon, sometimes a half gallon, thinking he would use it up with cooking and cereal. But you never truly do. Every time he bought milk it would sit in his fridge, carton half empty until it eventually expired. And if he was particularly busy, he would forget to throw it out for a day or two until the nauseating smell filled his studio.

Shaking his head and rubbing a hand over his mouth, he continues his exploration. The floors were dated linoleum, tiled in a square pattern through the kitchen. The living room had a creaky dark wood floor, covered in a thin layer of dust. He dropped his trash bag full of clothes onto the couch. Peter weaved his way through the tight furniture layout towards the couple of doors in the back of the apartment.

“These must be the bedroom and bathroom.” He spoke out loud to himself, mildly unsettled by how still the air was. The bathroom door was in the hallway, the door left wide open with the confidence of someone who had only brushed their teeth. Moving past it quickly, Peter finds himself in front of what must be the bedroom door.

His fingers wrap around the metallic handle, turning it and pushing the door open in a fluid motion. He raised his arms defensively, like a little kid ready to fight the monster under the bed. He let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the bedroom, lowering his clenched fists. “Something about this city has me on edge twenty four seven,” he mutters to himself. “I would’ve been able to tell if anything was in here.”

His eyes look over the crumpled sheets on the full sized bed, the empty laundry hamper in the corner, and the sad excuse of a closet. “I mean, at least it doesn’t smell like mildew in here.”
Peter turns back to the living room, slowly lowering himself onto the sofa so as to not aggravate any injury.

“I can make this work. This has to be better than last time, at least I don’t have to pay rent.”

Chapter Text

After his inspection of the apartment, Peter decided that his first order of business was to invest in cleaning supplies. Despite his unnatural immune system being able to take care of anything that would cause him to get sick, he couldn’t sleep soundly knowing there was mold and crusty kitchen counters. 

He peeked inside the fridge, slamming the door shut almost immediately when he smelled all the rotting food. His nose stung for the rest of the morning, eyes watering at the thought of the carton of milk he saw. 

Sometimes those super senses were a curse. He has gotten pretty good at filtering out what scents and sounds he perceives but that goes out the window the moment it hits him right in the face. 

Peter decided to explore the rest of the building now that the sun had risen. Creeping back downstairs, he entered the laundry room. He found that the power hadn’t been shut down for the building, just turned off. There was a power box sitting on the wall, the panel swung open as if the person had done it in a hurry. Flipping the breakers back, the electricity in the building hummed to life. The buzz of fluorescents joined the morning song of the birds in the overgrown courtyard. The lights flickered on as he closed the panel.

Briefly he wonders if any of the machines had coin slots, and he inspects the closest washing machine. After a once over he finds the slot meant for quarters. He has to pay for those cleaning supplies somehow, right?

He opens the utility closet full of random tools and ladders, grabbing the tool bag the old repairman probably used.

 “Hmm… these tools should be enough to pry this open without busting it up too bad.” He mutters, pulling out a screwdriver. Peter manages to get the coin holder open after a couple minutes of awkward fiddling with the lock. 

The quarters jingle as he pulls the box out and Peter takes a minute to grin at his easy money. 

“I hope the economic situation is better here,” he thought aloud. “I don’t think I can handle paying almost ten bucks for a mid burger.”

“Hey Karen, where is the nearest dollar store?” He asks, fixing his hair in the reflection of the washing machine’s glass door. 

“There should be one a couple blocks away, Peter.” Her mechanical feminine voice replies and he smiles. 

“Awesome saucesome then, let's get this show on the road.”

Peter stands with some strain, the jolt of pain in his shoulder reminding him to take it easy. Not everyone can walk off a bullet wound, including him. Only guy he ever met who could do that is Deadpool. 

Ignoring that train of thought, Peter trudges off the building’s premises and starts down the street with his pockets jingling.

With Karen’s help he manages to find the dollar store in a timely manner, the sun now risen and the city bustling. Even though he was in a shadier part of town there is still hustle and bustle on the sidewalks and roads, people off to construction jobs or getting back from their night shift. 

He stops across the street from the dollar store, taking in the boarded up front window and the flickering ‘Open’ sign hanging from the dirty glass door. 

“This looks like the place… the Dandy Dollar.” 

He looks both ways before crossing the street, sneakers crunching on the poorly maintained concrete. A small jingle rings out as the door is pushed open, the crisp cool air conditioning washing over him like a cold front. 

“Welcome to the Dandy Dollar.” 

Peter glanced to the side to see the source of the voice, a very tired looking employee leaning against the check-out counter. He gave a curt nod, before wandering down the first aisle. It took him a couple minutes but finally Peter found the cleaning supplies. 

The first thing he grabs is the Scrub Daddy sponge and some bleach. If he learned anything from his Aunt May, it was to trust in the power of Scrub Daddy and an unhealthy amount of bleach. He scans the shelf before grabbing a couple other things, assorted soaps, trash bags and latex gloves. Distantly he hopes he has enough to pay for all of it.

As he is doing a last lap of the store, the jingle of the door alerts him and the clerk of another customer. She trudged inside, black duffel bag in hand. The girl looked utterly exhausted, like she had run a marathon three times over. 

Her baggy university t-shirt and athletic shorts only back up his assessment as she sighs in relief at the cool interior of the store.

Usually a duffle bag would raise some sort of little red flag in his head, leading him to wonder if a weapon lay inside or an absurd amount of drugs. But the words ‘DANCE’ were brightly plastered in purple along the side, curbing any questions.

The straps barely held onto her fingers as she weaved through the aisles, all that's visible over the shelving is her warm blonde ponytail. 

Peter grabs his items and a bottle of water, heading up to the cashier. Putting down everything, the clerk starts ringing it up. 

“Are you paying cash or card today?” He asks, eyes boring into the side of his head. 

“Oh, actually I’ll be paying in coins if that’s okay?” He says though it sounds more like a question, and the clerk just continues to stare at him. Taking that as a yes, Peter pulls handfuls of coins out of his pocket and they clatter onto the counter.

He hears the girl from before walk up behind him, waiting for him to finish checking out. A flush overcomes him, heating his ears with embarrassment as he pushes his quarters and dimes around the counter as fast as he can. 

The jingle of the door sounds again, and the clerk gives a half assed “Welcome to Dandy Dollar.” 

Peter pauses counting, hairs raising on the back of his neck.

He glances at whoever just entered, a stocky man dressed in grimy clothes. As if in slow motion, Peter watches the man lunge for the girl behind him. 

The man's hand wraps a hand around the bag straps, tugging it out of her limp and unsuspecting grip. Peter kicks into action almost immediately, moving to grab at the man before he could make it out the door.

 He manages to snag the man by the back of the shirt, roughly pulling him back before landing a kick to his stomach. The thief stumbles backwards, tripping over himself and falling onto the dated tile. 

The bag flew out of his hands and Peter snatched it up. 

“Get out of here, you’re out of your element pal!” He yells as the man scrambles out of the door, probably embarrassed at his failed robbery. Peter has to admit ‘pal’ is a bit cliche movie mobster of him but cut him some slack its seven in the morning. 

Turning to the blonde, he hands her the bag back. She looks like she had hardly processed what just happened before snatching the bag back and clutching it tightly. 

“Thanks I really appreciate it, this bag is so important to me.” She says, snapping out of her stupor. 

“I’m so exhausted from uh, from my dance practice I had earlier I didn’t even notice that guy till it happened!” She laughs, “You really did me a solid, between dance and exams I really can't afford to lose my bag.” 

Peter nods, “Yeah, glad I could help you out. Trust me I know it sucks to get your bag stolen, it happens to me a little too often.” 

She smiles and offers a hand. “I’m Stephanie by the way, Steph for short.” She introduces herself with an almost practiced coolness, confident and sure as she gives him her nickname. 

He takes her hand, giving it a firm but reassuring shake. “Peter Parker, nice to meet you Steph.”

“Your parents must’ve hated you with that alliteration, oh my god.” Steph can’t help but snort, and Peter just gave her a sheepish grin. 

“I get that a lot.”

“Oh, do you mind if I cut in front of you? I have a study session across town I’m running late for.” She holds up her cold bottled coffee and bag of chips, “I’ll be so quick, pinky promise.” 

Steph waggles her pinky at him with a playful glint in her eye, egging him on.

“By all means,” He gestures a hand to the counter, “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your studies.”

The clerk at the cashier was still deadpan as the moment Peter walked in, not even acknowledging what happened or the conversation they’re having as he cancels Peter’s items and starts to ring up Steph. 

“If I may, what are you studying? You look like you’ve been losing sleep over your exams.” He asks politely, noting the coffee and ‘Gotham University’ scrawled across the front of her t-shirt in bold green letters.

 One of his biggest regrets was never being able to attend a proper university. At home he had filled his time with a couple community college classes here and there when his schedule allowed, but none that even reached the education level of Midtown. 

“Oh it’s this absolute horror of a physics class I’m taking for my gen ed requirements, science and math have never been my strong suit. I’m a marketing major and that has nothing to do with physics.” 

“I love physics, no way!” he said with pleasant surprise. “If it wasn’t obvious I’m not from around here and I don’t really know anyone, it would be awesome to hang out sometime and I can totally help you out with physics.”

Peter hopes desperately this poor attempt at conversation isn’t as awkward as he feels, genuine excitement bubbling in his empty stomach at the mention of one of his favorite subjects. Stephanie turns around, white plastic bag in hand with her chips and drink. 

“That would be amazing, I’ll have to show you around Gotham sometime.” She grins, pulling out her phone. “What’s your number?”

“I… I actually don’t have a functioning phone right now.” He cringes. “We could just set a time and day to meet again?”

“Yeah sure! Let me check my calendar real quick.” Steph doesn’t even blink when he admits that, immediately she swipes to open her phone's calendar app, looking through her days to see when she is next available. “You busy tomorrow? I’m having another study sesh by myself at the library before my exam.” 

“Sounds like a plan, I can help you brush up on any last minute questions.” Peter nods. He has gotten so much better at socializing and doing the whole ‘putting yourself out there’ thing. Back when he was in school, Peter wasn’t exactly a social kid. Not by choice, but more so by situation.

 May always called him excitable like a puppy when he was eager to ramble about his day, following her or Ben around their small two bedroom apartment to tell them all the details. But as he got older, bullies got worse. Suddenly he was weird, a nerd, a social outcast. 

Bullying started and only amped up with time. It was all these interactions with his peers that really stunted his ability to thrive. Even at Midtown where he was surrounded by other smart kids there were bullies like Flash. 

After meeting the other Peters and Dr. Strange wiping his identity out, he had to push himself out of his comfort zone to meet people. He had to completely reconstruct his social circle no matter how small. So what if it only consisted of shady superheroes and a couple coworkers?

“Here’s the address for the library, does noon sound good?” Steph asks, handing him a sticky note she must have pulled from her bag. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.” He smiles, watching her leave with a wave.

Remembering why he was here in the first place, Peter walks back up to the counter where his assorted coins were stuck in a Ziplock bag. His cleaning supplies were already put into their white plastic bags, receipt hanging out of one of them. 

Before he can ask, the cashier sighs. “While you were talking she went ahead and covered your total. Something about saving her ass from that dude.”

 He pushes the bags across the counter along with the coins now also put into a bag. “I’m clocking out.” The cashier mumbles, walking into the back room.

Peter grabs the bags, a look of shock on his face. Slowly it morphs into a smile, making his way back to the apartment building with his new loot.

Climbing up the stairs, arms aching, he finally makes it inside. Peter drops the bags on the dining room table. Since he was able to turn the power back on, the air conditioning also was now buzzing through the vents leaving the apartment nice and cold after his morning antics. 

“Time to get to work.” He snaps on his blue latex gloves, whipping a trash bag open, and making his way towards the dreaded fridge.

It took hours of scrubbing and dusting but Peter managed to return the apartment to a clean and livable condition. The kitchen nearly sparkled with how much bleach he used, the fridge now a blinding white. He stuck his water bottle inside, officially marking it as done.

 The floors were also cleaned thoroughly with some of the cleaning supplies he managed to find in other parts of the building. When he went searching for where the trash should go he found one of the janitor rooms. 

He groaned irritably, why hadn't he thought about that before he went to the store. Of course an apartment building would have cleaning supplies in a janitor's closet. He ended up grabbing some of the keys for the rooms next to him as well, pulling in some of the furniture and raiding their closets. 

Peter felt a bit guilty for taking these clothes, something clearly cherished by their previous owners as their closets were in pristine condition. But they weren’t going to be coming back for them anytime soon, so he shelved that thought and just grabbed his new wardrobe.

He also managed to find some books and board games and other assorted activities. One of the apartments further down from him looked like it had a family, toys left discarded all across it. 

Peter carried his findings back to 303, spending the evening organizing his newly found items. Maybe he would get lucky and find a computer or a phone one of these days.

Once he was done he finally drank some of his now cold water, his stomach gurgling and screaming for sustenance. All this cleaning had built up his appetite, but unfortunately for him he had no food. Walking into the bedroom, sheets freshly washed from the laundry room downstairs, he lays down for the first time since he got to Gotham. 

It felt so reminiscent of life after the events at the Statue of Liberty he almost felt like he was having deja vu. He lets his muscles relax, his shoulder aching with protest from the strenuous activities today. Peter’s eyes grew heavy and he let out a bitter laugh. 

His mental checklist now crosses off getting a house.

 “Now we are at square two.”

Peter dozed off thinking about his meeting tomorrow, thankful he managed to meet someone who wasn’t running around in superhero tights. 

Chapter Text

Peter woke up the next day with a gurgling stomach. He felt it cramp around nothing, the lack of food becoming more apparent as his healing factor worked its magic. His healing factor was not at Deadpool and Wolverine level but it wasn’t anything to sneeze at either. Now that he wasn’t growing, his body was able to focus more of its energy into his healing factor. Peter practically rolled out of bed, wincing at the familiar twinge in his side as he trudged down the hall to the bathroom. 

Flicking the light on he is met with his reflection, the birds nest atop his head and dark circles staring back at him. Splashing his face with cold water woke him up quickly, and he did a shabby job brushing his teeth with his finger and the unopened toothpaste he found in the cabinet. 

It was one of those ones you get at the dentist that’s travel sized and gets left unused until you procrastinate buying toothpaste.

Peter took a speedy shower knowing he was still sweaty from all the cleaning, exploring, and mild crime fighting, too tired the night before to do it.

His shoulder was mostly healed, albeit sore from all the action. Thankfully for the night before, his exploration of the building was fruitful with many household items including a first aid kit. Clicking it open, he searched its contents before finding his desired materials.

He wiped the stitched area with a disinfectant wipe and slapped a bandaid on it. He couldn’t recognize the little cartoon figures on it, though a couple looked like brunette Captain America variants. 

With a bandaid over his bullet wound he headed back to the bedroom to get dressed. “Hey, Karen?” he asks, putting his phony hearing aid back in. 

“Yes, Peter?”

“What time is it?”

“It’s currently 10 in the morning. It is also partly cloudy with a 70 percent chance of rain.” 

Peter glanced around the apartment, spotting the umbrella he had placed by the door. Suddenly the ache in his muscles didn’t feel so bad knowing his scavenging had an immediate pay off.

Pulling on a fuzzy sweater and some baggy distressed jeans from the closet, he felt cozier for the colder weather already. All he needed now was a signature pumpkin spice latte. 

When he had checked the newspaper after he crash landed it had been dated January, and sure he had noticed it was colder out but no snow. 

No snow until today, he thought as he looked out the window. Rain and snow never make for an enjoyable day. He grabbed a thick coat and pulled it over his sweater, slipping on a couple pairs of socks. Tugging on a pair of boots a size and a half too big and grabbing his umbrella, Peter rushes out the door.

Karen was in his ear guiding him along the street,  his apartment key sitting heavy in his pocket. Something buzzed in his stomach and he couldn’t decipher if it was excitement, nerves, or a secret third thing (starvation). His oversized boots made him stumble here and there but he used his umbrella to steady himself.  

Peter hoped he wouldn’t be too late, having left early in hopes that the walk across the city wouldn’t take too long. As he got older and further into his vigilante career Peter tried to stop relying on Karen as much. Using her as a crutch and abusing her unlimited capabilities only spelled disaster for when he inevitably wouldn’t have her at an extremely inopportune moment.

Now he used her less than he did in his teenage years, more sure in his own skills and research to gauge a situation. But she was still handy for moments like these where he had not a clue where to go.

“Turn left at this intersection then continue walking for a mile and you will reach your destination.” Karen says and Peter swings left, umbrella matching his stride as he holds it awkwardly. It was nearing noon by the time he made it further into the heart of the city, the sun high in the sky and beating down heat despite the cold wind that nipped at his nose. 

Peter arrives at the library in record time to watch it start raining just as he steps inside. He kicks his shoes to knock any dirt or ice off at the door before entering. Warm air blasts him in the face as he walks in, his face flushed red as he slips off his thick coat. The whole building was a beautiful historic architecture, the exterior a clean stone with greenery crawling up its bricks. The inside was carpeted, ceiling vaulted and domed with complex supports and glass skylights pittering with water droplets. 

“Welcome to Gotham City Public Library, please let me know if you have any questions.” A feminine voice recites in a customer service voice from his right. Peter swiveled his head to see the information and checkout desk, with a friendly looking clerk sitting at it. The one who had spoken to him had auburn hair pulled back into a sleek low ponytail and thin wire frames perched on the bridge of her nose. 

“Oh, thank you Miss!” Peter offers a smile, stepping a couple feet closer to the desk. Ben and May’s etiquette lessons would never ever leave him, his polite demeanor engraved into his very being. “I’m meeting here with a friend, I’ll let you know if there is anything I need help with.” 

“Well if you do, my name is Barbara. I’ll be here at the desk if you need to find me.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind.” Peter nods and heads towards an empty table. He figures he will wait here for Stephanie to show up. According to the clock hanging on the wall, he was fifteen minutes early, and Steph didn’t seem like the type to show up early by any means. 

With a sigh he slumped over the wooden table and used his coat as a pillow. His eyes close for a moment and the next thing he knows there is a tap on his shoulder. His head popped up, looking around. The clock now read noon.

“Peter!” Steph pops into his line of sight, hand outstretched from tapping his shoulder. “You ready for some studying?”

He straightens up in his seat, rubbing his eyes. 

“Steph! Yeah, I’m so ready.” He smiles at the sight of the caffeinated blonde. Peter dearly missed the thrill of learning, the anxiety of exams, and all the ups and downs of school. The ache of nostalgia nestled its way into his chest.

Steph dropped her tote bag down on the chair across from him, the thud making a couple people at nearby tables look up to see what the noise was. 

“I brought all my textbooks and notes to go over, I don’t know how well versed you are in how my professor teaches so I figured better safe than sorry.” Steph arranges the textbooks in a pile between them, before pulling out a bulkier version of an iPad. 

“I take all my notes on my Wayne Enterprises tablet, it’s so much easier than lugging around a heavy notebook.” 

By the looks of it that thick piece of tech was definitely the weight of a notebook. Why was the tech here so… behind? He hadn’t really noticed it before but now that he thinks back on it, all the electronics Peter had seen were outdated. 

Not that there's anything wrong with being outdated, those kinds of things are made to last, but he was thrown into the future . How is it that the tech of the future here is decades behind his own universe? 

“May I?” Peter asks, gesturing to the tablet she set on the table. “Go right ahead, I have to figure out where I stuffed the study guide anyways.” She huffs. “Because of course he gave us a printed study guide.”

Peter picked up the tablet, his fingers running across the sides to feel the buttons. He could hear the fans whirring and mechanisms ticking. He was also greeted with the sight of a home button.

Oh how he had missed the home button, every tech company in his universe had long gotten rid of most buttons in their desire for a sleeker design. The pad of his thumb settled over it, the weighty click satisfying a primal urge he had been waiting to satiate since his childhood. 

“You said it’s Wayne Enterprises? Do they produce a lot of the technology in this area?” He asks, eyes squinted at the display and the blatant lack of password. 

“I swear everyone and their second cousins know Wayne Enterprises has basically a monopoly on the tech market. Especially with LexCorp’s bad rep.” 

Steph sat down, looking a bit puzzled as to why he even bother asking. Taking the tablet from him, she replaces it with the study guide. With a quick skim over the 12pt Times New Roman font, Peter determined this was definitely something he had covered while at Midtown.

“Lucky for you I’m a nerd about physics, so this should be a piece of cake. Do you have any questions you are struggling with in particular?”

“I’m having the worst time trying to understand general relativity.” Steph runs a hand through her hair, knocking some of it loose from its pulled back position. “I think it’s how the textbook is explaining it but I just don’t get it.”

Peter nods in understanding. “Textbooks always choose the wordiest ways to explain the simplest concepts.” 

He grabs the textbook at the top of the pile and cracks it open. It takes him a minute but he eventually finds the page on general relativity. 

Peter sets the book between them, showing Steph what he was looking at. He takes his time explaining it, trying to use more reasonable examples than the textbook. 

The girl across from him followed along, having many ‘ah ha’ moments as he reviewed some of the more complex concepts. 

About two hours later Steph just couldn’t stay in her seat any longer, proposing they take a lap around the second floor to stretch their legs. 

Peter can’t help but agree, his legs sore from the hard wooden chairs. He was feeling a bit queasy from all the reading, a headache thumping rhythmically against his temple. According to Steph the science section was on the second floor, so they could also take a peek at the books while they stretched. 

Opting to climb the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, they get to the second floor rather quickly. He scans the aisles, the numbered signs displayed on the side of the heavy set oak shelving. 

“This way, they put the science books at the other side of the building because no one ever uses them.”

Peter shakes his head in amusement, “Speak for yourself, I’m quite the avid textbook reader.” She turns to look at him while they walk, ponytail swinging. She had a graphic t-shirt on, the sort you see at Hot Topic high up on the wall, adorned with imagery of a band he had never heard of.

 “So would you consider yourself a connoisseur of textbooks then?” 

Her hands brushed against the faux pockets on her dark denim jeans. They almost looked designer, though Peter definitely never had an eye for fashion.

 It reminded him of the clothes he saw Tony wear with how it looked so normal but definitely cost a small fortune for something you could’ve purchased at a Costco.

“Something like that.” 

He thought back to the pile of textbooks sitting in his apartment back home sadly. Her thumb hooked into her belt loops, and Peter stopped squinting at her jeans to instead look up at the aisle they stopped at. 

“Well, avid textbook enjoyer, let me know if there’s anything that strikes your fancy.” Steph teases, bumping her elbow against him as she prances between the shelves. He scans over the spines of journals and textbooks, decades upon decades of dedication from scientists to publish their findings. 

He ponders the differences in science here in reference to his world. Wakanda kept itself hidden, thus hiding and restricting  a whole element from the world. How behind are their advancements? Sure they didn’t have a Stark Industries but they had… a Wayne Enterprises? 

Peter pulled out one of the physics books he spotted, skimming the abstract before leafing through it. 

“This one looks interesting, they have some diagrams you might like.” 

He looks up to find himself alone in the aisle. 

“Okay…” he mutters, closing the book. He takes it with him as he goes to find Steph, tucking it under his arm. After a few minutes of aimless wandering, he finally spots Steph over in the classical literature section. There was a collection of big plush chairs that looked concave from years of use and a couple of deflated pillows of the most horrendous aged brown color. 

The blonde was chatting it up with a couple of guys, neither of them particularly remarkable. The first one you could hardly call a guy as he looked like a walking corpse. His face was pale, gaunt and thin like a sickly Victorian child with a piercing blue gaze scrutinizing Steph as she talked animatedly. 

As the guy talked to Steph, Peter was shocked he didn’t place the back of his hand to his forehead and cry out ‘Woe is me’ with the absolute sass he was throwing. The other dude was much darker in complexion and much friendlier, revealing a blinding smile as he laughed at a joke. From his body language alone he seemed more approachable than the other guy. Were these classmates of hers also preparing for exams? 

They are surrounded in open books and portable white boards, multiple colors of expo marker marring the white glossy surface. Tuning into their conversation, Peter realizes Steph was talking about him. 

“He looks shady, are you sure you should hang out with some random guy you met at a gas station?”

“Tim, you of all people should know I can handle myself. Plus he is super nice-”

“Do you think he could help with our history exam?”

“I don’t want some rando helping me-”

“He is busy doing physics, Duke, I can help you with history once my exam is over anyways. Don’t sweat it too much.”

Peter sighed at the sound of his mixed reviews. Hopefully this Tim guy doesn’t have a Yelp. He mentally prepared himself for social interaction and his stomach twisted just thinking of making a bad impression. Or maybe just maybe it twisted because he was hungry . 

Just as he began to step forward the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, goosebumps rising on his arms. He turned around swiftly, to come face to chest with a dude. No… not a dude. A man . As his eyes rose to find the face of this stranger, Peter gulped. He was built like a super soldier, muscles rippling despite being hidden under the long sleeved shirt. 

“Why the fuck are you eavesdropping?” 

Oh my god. His voice was deep, with a slight rasp, twinged with a Jersey accent and a whole lot of tension. And definitely directed at Peter.

“Oh um,” He struggled for words for a second. “I uh I am the one helping her study?” He could only assume that this man knew the trio he was pointing to or he is just really passionate about people not eavesdropping. 

As he gauged the man’s reaction, Peter took in his appearance now that he wasn’t two inches from running into him. His hair was messy, dark with a stark white streak at the front. It was strange but quite frankly not exactly the most out there hair decision he has seen before. The bridge of his nose was crooked ever so slightly like it had been broken and hadn’t healed right. 

Aside from that, Peter observed the small thin scars lining his visible skin. They were white, unlike the angry red of a fresh scar, meaning these were old.

“Do you make it a habit to stare at people? It’s creepy as shit.” 

A scowl adorned the face he had been looking at and Peter startled. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I was just wondering if I recognized you from somewhere. Have we met?”

“N-”

“My name is Peter Parker, nice to meet you. I don’t think I caught your name.” 

Peter sticks a hand out, grabbing the other’s large one, shaking it aggressively like he was on a talk show. Before he can dig himself a deeper hole of excuses for his lack of social awareness, Steph walks over and waves her hands about.

“Jason! Don’t scare off Peter, he is the only reason I’m not gonna fail my physics exam!” 

She grinned and hooked an arm around Peter's neck. “This here is the best tutor in the whooole city of Gotham.”

Jason raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Sure he is.” He pulled his phone out, glancing at the time. “Be ready to go in fifteen, Alfred is coming to pick you guys up. I just got off the phone with him.”

“What about you? We both know Bruce would love it if you came with us and stayed for dinner.” She poked Jason in the arm in her mischievous way. “It would make Alfred’s dayyy.” She practically sang.

Now Peter is no fool, he was clearly missing some key context clues. This is when Karen scared the absolute life out of him. She filled him in, seemingly excited to continue their conversation on Wayne Enterprises. It took him all his willpower to not express his confusion for how he randomly ran into at least half the Wayne family on pure coincidence. 

“Alfred is the family butler, having served his duties since before Bruce Wayne’s birth. He was previously employed by the now deceased Mr. and Mrs. Wayne.” 

Karen’s helpful little tidbit shed some light onto whatever weird interaction Jason and Steph were having. In the time Karen was yapping, it looks like the other two guys migrated over to see what the commotion was. The ill Victorian child, Tim according to Steph, didn’t bother to hide his staring. He fidgeted with a green expo marker, spinning it between his fingers.

If he were to break the fourth wall it would be almost comedic how everyone has issues with boring their eyes into the other peoples souls. 

Peter’s stomach growled loudly, the only thing that cut through the growing group of bickering siblings (?). They paused momentarily, three sets of blue eyes and one brown all landing on him. Steph practically lit up, grabbing Peter by the shoulders.

“You have got to join us for dinner, it’s the least I could do to repay you for helping me study.” 

He glanced around nervously to see what the others thought but Tim and Jason were as stoney as statues, while Duke shrugged. “You might as well, Alfred’s cooking up a feast tonight anyways.”

“Yeah, he has been on this weird cooking kick ever since Damien got him a new cookbook for Christmas a couple weeks ago.” Tim chimes in. 

Before Peter could shake his head and decline the offer, the acute sharp hunger pains attacked at his sides and his hands gripped the physics book tightly to ground himself.

“Y’know... I could go for some food right about now.” He smiles sheepishly. 

Steph cheers, pumping her fists in victory. “Okay, everybody pack their shit up. Meet downstairs in ten.” Jason instructs like a cross teacher. 

Peter isn’t quite sure what he has gotten himself into but at least he is getting dinner out of it.

Chapter Text

Peter and Steph hurried back downstairs, packing up her books and papers. He showed her the book he had been holding, explaining some of the diagrams as she shoved her tablet into her bag. A couple minutes later Duke and Tim come downstairs, nearing their table. 

The two actually introduced themselves while they waited, mostly out of courtesy since they were basically famous here in Gotham thanks to their relation to Bruce Wayne. The two seemed younger than he would’ve expected considering the crazy news headlines Karen was playing quietly in his ear, but who is he to judge young men for getting into ridiculously dangerous situations in their free time. 

Jason was the last one to get there with a couple of books in hand. He strides over to the information desk, presumably to check out whatever he had picked while he and Steph pulled on their coats. “Hey Babs,” Jason gave a small smile to the clerk. “Yeah I just finished rereading Shakespeare so I’m moving on to the mythology section.” 

Forget moving onto the mythology section, Jason looked like a walking ad for it with his picturesque physique that was nowhere near hidden beneath his layers of leather coat and thick sweater. Peter wondered if Jason was a huge literature nerd or just one of those ‘alpha males’ who wanted to be able to incorrectly quote books to sound smart. Everyone had their strengths and unfortunately being literate was not one of Peter’s. 

The group of them walked over, Tim and Steph immediately moving behind the desk to peek at what Barbara was working on. Peter assumed they must be familiar, if not friends, with how Steph was swiping a candy out of the desk drawer and Tim’s incessant gesturing to things on the outdated computer screen. 

“Every time I come here, the sorting system is somehow worse than the last.” Tim sassed towards Barbara as he organized the bin of books waiting to be reshelved. The auburn haired employee shot him a pointed look over the rim of her glasses, rolling her eyes at his antics. 

She finally notices him amongst the bunch and she gives him a fleeting sympathetic look. “Let me guess, you were invited for dinner?”

Her tone was knowing, though the grin spreading across her face was full of mischief. “The Wayne’s love inviting friends over for dinner,” She explained, “it’s always quite the affair considering how rowdy this bunch is.” 

A small bundle of anxiety buzzed like static in the back of his mind. ‘Quite the affair’ isn’t usually how people describe good affairs, if there is such a thing given the negative connotation. But despite any anxiety, he knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“You coming tonight? I overheard Alfred and Damian talking earlier, I think he is making your favorite.” Duke adjusts the bag on his shoulder, probably sore from the crazy amount of textbooks inside. “I might, I have a late night here at the library though.” 

They all shared a strangely long and awkward series of glances before Duke sighed with an understanding nod. “Man, it’s always more fun when you and Steph are there. Maybe you can come by another time, I can ask Alfred to save you some leftovers?” 

Barbara laughs softly, “I would appreciate it. The less I have to cook the better.” Peter hears Jason’s phone buzz, and the hypothetical giga Chad didn’t bother checking it before announcing Alfred had arrived. “C’mon demon spawn, the car is outside.” He corrals together all the rowdy college students plus Peter, shoving the group towards the door as he waved a curt goodbye to the librarian. 

Peter wasn’t quite sure what to expect when they got outside, since Karen’s commentary a couple days before had informed him of the barebones of the Wayne Enterprises. Using some vein of common sense, he knew that these normal looking teenagers were children of a billionaire businessman so he was expecting something akin to the pizzazz of Tony Stark.

Peter was not proven wrong as the shiniest limousine he has ever had the horror of seeing pulled up to the curb. Even Tony Stark wouldn’t be seen riding in the back of that. 

He lets the triad of college students clamber in first, the cold wind biting at his nose as he waits to get in. Then he finds himself crouching and squishing between Steph and Jason, settling onto the squeaky leather seats. The front barrier of the limo was down, the back of an older man’s head visible and warm heating wafting back from the air vents. 

“How was your library trip, young Masters? Fruitful, I hope.”

As Peter squinted to see him better, he could see the clear crisp lines of his suit as his posh accent filled the silence. No, that right there  is no ordinary old man. That is a gentleman.

 He would cringe at how on the nose this butler was if it weren’t for the fact that he was actively knee to knee with Jason, his attention a bit preoccupied at trying to keep a straight face. 

“It was miserable Alfred, be happy you weren’t there.” Duke whined and threw his head back against the headrest, “I think my hand actually fell off from writing so many notes.”

Tim and Steph grumbled in agreement, and Alfred chuckled. “Well I’m glad you were able to be productive today, I’ve prepared quite the dinner to help replenish your energy. Although it may not grow back hands, it should be adequate to your liking Master Duke.” 

Peter glanced over to Jason thumbing through one of the books he checked out, not caring to participate in the friendly conversation. Karen has been suspiciously quiet since he entered the car which she never does unless she is really digging. Part of her adaptable AI picked up on his nonstop rambling that after so many years with him she started doing it too, giving Peter information in his very personalized word vomit style. 

It made him wonder if Alfred was someone he should look out for. But his attention is redirected as the vehicle begins moving, all of them jostling around as they drive through the potholed ridden streets of downtown Gotham. He moved to look out the tinted windows, the city flying by in a blur.

“Oh right, Peter you aren’t from around here,” Steph pipes up when she notices his stare out the window. “Where are you from? I don’t think I ever asked.” 

All their heads turn their attention to him, unnerving and inquisitive. If this is what dinner would be like he was in for a long evening. 

“Well, I was born and raised in Queens, New York.” He says, cringing inwardly as his accent twangs a little. “I’ve lived all over the area though, only recently moved to Gotham.” 

“Why would you move here of all places?” 

It was Tim who asked, leaning forwards to better see him around Duke and Steph. “Not to bash on your decision making, but this place sucks.” Peter watches as Duke sends an elbow into Tim’s arm, shooting him a look.

“Ah, well it wasn’t entirely my choice. I technically came here for work…” Peter thinks back to that janitorial gig and the giant brick wall shaped guy who literally threw him into next week. “But some stuff happened and I no longer have that job, so I’m just figuring it out as I go I guess.” 

Steph nodded sympathetically, though her face was comical. “There there, Peter Parker.” She pats his shoulder with a heavy hand. “Would you like to work for a multi billion dollar company? Boy, do I have a job for you-”

“Steph, you have got to stop offering people jobs. You know we can’t just do that, it's nepotism .” Tim cries, throwing his hands in the air. He kind of looked like the ash baby meme, but Peter wasn’t going to say anything. What if they didn’t have the same meme culture here?

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll stick to my plan for now.” He mutters between the siblings’ bickering. 

“What’s your plan?” 

The question came from the other side of him, and for a second Peter forgot Jason was sitting there. His voice was deep and gravely like he yelled at people for a living, or that dude from Supernatural that May insisted should’ve won Sexiest Man- which he only recalls because standing in line for three hours to meet him was the only way he could convince her to chaperone Ned and his trip to Comic Con one year.

“It’s pretty barebones, I’m not going to lie. Get a place to live, get a G.E.D. and then ship myself off to a college long enough to become credible.”

Jason crossed his arms, his eyebrows pinched in thought. “If you don’t have a highschool diploma or any college credits, how do you know enough to teach Steph anything?”

Fair enough. 

“I do, but because I’m dirt poor the places I went to for schooling all shut down. Nothing is legit anymore, so I have to redo all of it.” 

It was a half truth, because Peter did have diplomas. He had several hung on the wall in his run down apartment. But he couldn’t possibly show them though considering it was a universe away.

There isn’t much time for more questioning as the limo comes to a smooth stop. Peter hadn’t even noticed when they had driven out of the city, much less when they had pulled through the gates to this absolutely insane manor. 

Once again, Peter thinks to himself about Tony. He was accustomed to sleek and modern laboratories and Walmart-esque houses. But as he got out of the limo, he had a feeling the Wayne’s would be nothing like his former mentor. 

The manor was manicured to perfection, every grass blade at the exact same level. It appeared to have at least five floors, all lined with tall windows with intricate glass panes. It looked very similar to Old Gotham, sharing its gothic architecture with sharp stone and arches with intricately designed spandrels. The ornamentation was only highlighted by the orange sunlight washing over the roof as the sun began to sink into the skyline. 

The others seemed unphased but he couldn’t help but admire how gaudy and beautiful it all was, his feet balancing him on the custom placed bricks lining the entire driveway. The whole place oozed of generational wealth and it made his skin itch under his coat.

He stuck one hand in his pocket to avoid the chill seeping into his fingers while the other held onto his umbrella, unsure how to carry it because of its awkward length. It wasn’t compact like the cheap one he had back home, instead it looked older and it was full length, nearly brushing the ground. Thankfully the nanites wrapped around his ear didn’t seem to be getting too cold.

“Peter, you coming?” He turns and sees the others standing by the giant front door, Tim looking amused. The back of his neck is hot with embarrassment as he stumbles up the steps to meet the others crowded in front of the door. “Don’t let it get to ya, you should’ve seen my reaction when Bruce rolled me up to this place.” Jason pats him on the back as he walks past to go inside. 

Peter follows, making sure to knock off any dirt or snow stuck to his feet before stepping inside. Warm air practically blasts him in the face once he crosses the threshold, his sneakers thudding against the beautiful dark hardwood floors. He removed his coat, leaving it on the coat rack where everyone else was unloading various jackets. 

“Smells like Alfred already finished cooking, we should probably head to the dining room.” Duke says confidently, leading the pack of them through the long winding halls of the manor. Peter lingered towards the back of their group, taking time to look at the paintings and other crazy decor. One vase could probably pay for his entire ride to college. 

Jason lingered with him, making sure to lag behind the others so he wouldn’t get left alone. Peter had paused in front of a photo, the frame taller than he is. It was a family photo, one with everyone in the Wayne family. Immediately he could tell who Bruce Wayne was. “That’s him?” he asks, filling the silent air. He pointed a shaky crooked finger up to an older looking man with a classic old money air about him. His hair and perfectly tailored suit were telling, as well as the rehearsed smile. 

“Yeah, that right there is the big Bruce Wayne himself.” Jason shakes his head with an amused huff. “I’m sure it’ll be fresh air for him to meet someone who doesn’t really know him. Usually it's nutty reporters, snobby socialites, or eccentric relatives.” As Peter looked at the photo for a moment longer, there was something familiar to it. Bruce held himself like Tony, with a polished smile and a playboy attitude but beneath that was something much more… severe. 

“Quit staring, if you walk another fifty feet you can meet him in person.” Jason places a hand on his hip sassily. Peter rolls his eyes, turning and following him down the hall to a large archway leading into a formal dining room. The table was set with polished silverware, food in fine china lining the center of the table. The table itself was dark wood and ornate, matching everything else Peter had seen so far. 

He spotted Duke, Tim, and Steph all sitting at various spots at the table while they filled the room with chattering. But there were also some new people, a child sitting next to Duke and another man sitting closer towards the head of the table. And he mustn't forget Bruce Wayne sitting at the head of the table who is currently staring into his soul.

“Follow me and you can be next to Steph.” Jason mutters, walking over to sit on the other side of Bruce. Peter followed behind him, quickly getting into his chair. This was a lot more nerve wracking than he initially thought. At least like in the limo he was sandwiched between Steph and Jason again. Bruce Wayne’s mini me across the table didn’t mind glaring at him, making no effort to hide the hostility.

 “Yo, is he okay?” He whispers to Steph, glancing at the kid. 

“Yeah don’t mind Damian, he is just like that.”

Peter nods slowly and settles into his chair. This was going to be a long long dinner.