Chapter Text
He had lost track of how long he had been falling now.
Stripped of all the ways to contextualize time, being ripped apart and squished back together felt like moments less than a breath long and somehow, an eternity he couldn't escape from.
He was fairly certain his mouth was shut, because he was incredibly certain that if it wasn't he would have been puking– but he could still hear something that sounded like his own screams in his ears. A kaleidoscope of images that made less and less and less sense flashed in front of his stinging eyes.
He had only barely managed to close them (whether it was to protect a shred of his sanity or to prevent himself from actually needing glasses again, who was to say) when he felt his knees finally hit a solid surface beneath him.
The force of the thump and the relief at the end of that hellscape had his locked jaw wrenching open, hoping for a desperate gasp of fresh air. Unfortunately, he had been entirely correct in his earlier assessment.
The moment he opened his mouth he threw up violently across the dirty concrete between his splayed palms. It took long minutes to stop retching, which was entirely unfair considering after the first heave he had entirely emptied the contents of his stomach. It was just bile past that.
It was hard not to be bitter that he wasn't even allowed to have something so simple and stupid as a small snack.
"Aw hotdog, no," If someone had been near enough to hear his mournful whimper over processed meat and bleached grain, he might have been embarrassed, but he couldn't hear anyone within earshot—
No one paid attention to him these days... sometimes he felt like a ghost, out of uniform.
Forcing himself to move and assess the situation, Peter hauled himself up off of his hands to just his knees. He was alive. He wasn't moving, at least– not more than some residual spinning, he could hear the bustle of the city all around him. Seeing was a little bit harder, but things further away were starting to come into focus now that he had a minute to blink the tears out of his eyes.
He needed to get up, grab his mask from wherever he dropped it before someone could spot it on the ground beside him– the weight of his backpack was missing too. Hopefully also on the concrete close beside where he had fallen.
He had no fucking clue, but something had happened when he tripped through that portal– and he needed to figure out what, fast. Before life decided to toy with him some more. The existential terror could happen later– please and thank you.
Rubbing his eyes to clear them faster was a mistake. He grimaced as spatters of bile that had landed on the back of his hands left disgusting residual wetness on his skin. Still, it got the job done. Now able to see clearly… he sincerely wished he wasn't doing that.
He had no idea where he was, but it definitely wasn't anywhere near where he had started. He was on a roof– for starters, not a parking garage– his puke congealing on the asphalt of a structure much lower than the towering and run down buildings that surrounded it. The air felt heavier– gloomier?? Somehow, despite the fact that it still looked to be about midday.
Nothing about the skyline looked familiar and that was more than a little terrifying. The skyline was the only thing about New York that felt like it hadn't meaningfully changed since... everything else had. He didn't realize how much he missed the stability that one fact had provided him with until it was gone.
So, exactly like everything else good in his life he had taken for granted or ruined.
He was not in New York anymore.
Panic gripped him by the back of the throat as a much harsher truth sat unspoken behind his teeth, that he wasn't on Earth anymore, his Earth at least.
Peter tore his eyes away from the unsettlingly foreign surroundings, looking a touch desperately, for his bag and mask. He spotted his backpack— a tiny amount of the tension in his shoulders releasing as he seized the strap and hugged it tightly to his torso. It still felt as full as it had this morning.
It was smarter to leave things in the apartment, there was plenty that he had to leave there by necessity. But there was a part of him (a gnawing gaping empty hungry part of him) that could never shake the fear that he'd unlock the door one day to find everything gone once again.
Minutes ago he might have chided himself for such stupid, paranoid thinking since there were so many ways it could go wrong in the other direction. The mug getting broken, the whole bag getting lost, or stolen, or destroyed. But it was hard to feel anything other than vindicated when it was thanks to that anxiety that he hadn't lost this small sliver of what he had left.
Though maybe it would have been better if he had, he was so tired of losing it all little by little.
He had to stop. Spiraling wasn't helping. The rest of his things were still in his apartment, everything that was that important was hidden in the ceiling behind painted over panels. It wasn't lost, he just had to get back home.
One problem at a time, Parker.
He fiddled with the zipper for a moment with fingers that held on tightly and yet barely pinched when he closed it after checking the status of everything inside it. His laptop was fine, as was the mug, the minifig, his travel tools and the extra web fluid he had camouflaged as a travel toothbrush and toothpaste set. Relieved, his eyes rose, casting over the rest of the floor to look for his mask.
It wasn't another wave of relief that swelled when he finally spotted it though. It had taken him a minute longer than it should have to find it– but he had cast his gaze outward, and the mask was, unfortunately, pretty much right underneath him.
He had thrown up on it. The initial chunk that actually had been full of food had disguised it for a moment. He felt himself gagging at the sight… He had always been a sympathetic puker. Peter stood, turning his head to keep the strong scent out of his sensitive nose.
He'd have to be careful about washing it, even though it was nowhere near as complex as the suit Mr. Stark had given him before. What little he had been able to reconstruct of Karen was well insulated already, but he didn't want to risk short circuiting anything– not with only a travel repair kit in his bag and no idea how long it would take him to get back to his full set up.
Peter tried very hard not to think about how an unknown amount of travel would definitely eat into the amount of time left he had to find a job and earn enough money to make his rent on time.
ONE problem at a time, Parker.
First, figure out where he was– then he could figure out how to get home, everything else would happen after that... even if that really wasn't going to be as easy as hitching a ride back to New York City.
Raincheck on that panic attack.
Well, the first thing should actually be... Cringing slightly, he picked up his mask and snapped his wrist in a quick flick, sending most of the debris off of it and into a pile besides the rest of the remains of his lunch. With how messy this line of work was, maybe he'd better start tucking a supply of baby wipes in his backpack... it'd certainly make getting soot or crushed concrete or any number of other things he usually ended up spattered with much easier to clean up. While he didn't have that, he did, however, have a ziplock bag he could repurpose. His mask safely tucked inside the bag, he mentally shifted 'clean mask ASAP' up his priority list– he did not want the smell to be lingering in the fabric the next time he had to put it on.
Now... to figure out where he was. It was a fleeting, ephemeral combination of optimism and cope that had him pulling out his phone to do a quick search. No signal. That pretty much sealed the deal that he wasn't on his Earth. There really wouldn't be any other explanation that would make sense as to why he wouldn't have a signal in the middle of a city. Not with all the upgrades he'd made to his phone—
Peter sucked in a breath between his teeth, about to have the full on menty-b he had been pushing off in favor of collecting his things— when his Tingle twanged with acute alarm. He– he wasn't in danger, but someone was. Someone close.
Peter gently set down his backpack in a rush and scrambled over to the edge of the building, following the same screaming instincts that had gotten him into this mess– though, mercifully, they weren't screaming at quite the same ear shattering frequency as they had been while he raced to the parking garage.
This was just the normal type of peril then... probably. Regardless, it took precedence over a screaming mental breakdown.
Someone was being mugged in the alley below.
It was almost banal after the earth shattering terror he'd just fallen through, though any relief he felt at being faced with a simple problem to solve was quickly sapped from his body when he realized he had no mask so it wasn't exactly like he could just waltz down there like this!
Crouching so he was less visible over the side of the roof, he used one of his web shooters (still functional, thank god) and snagged the would-be mugger's hands pulling them up and above, rendering him immobile...
If only that could be how he left it.
Because of course the would-be victim had gotten snagged too– this mugger had not dropped her arm, and now they were both caught up together, both screaming loudly in terror. He had to go down there and fix this– but it wasn't like he could put his mask on! Not without throwing up again, which inside the mask would just catch him in a vicious cycle of endlessly heaving.
Thankfully, salvation came in unlikely places.
The aspiring mugger (the screams definitely sounded like an amateur in way over their head), was wearing a balaclava.
A quick 'fwip' and 'yoink' brought the headwear off their head and into his hand, he quickly ducked entirely out of sight to slip it on. It didn't smell... the freshest, but it very crucially did not smell like puke, so he would take the win where he could get it.
He was reminded of A– Her warning not to share hats or helmets at school with friends, what felt like eons and eons ago. If he got head lice from this he would probably scream. But that was a Future Peter problem.
The pitch and severity of the screaming had not improved with the sudden disappearing act he had just pulled to commandeer the mask.
Appropriately masked– or, you know, maybe just 'masked' was the right word?– Peter hurriedly jumped out of his clothes with all the practiced ease of someone who had impeccable work-life balance and popped his head over the edge of the building again, announcing his presence.
"Ah, excuse me, thanks for letting me borrow this. I'm a bit shy and my own is at the dry cleaners."
Now– he wasn't not used to civilians screaming when they saw him since the Erasure, he admitted fully that wearing the mugger's mask in this situation could not be helping things. But it wasn't a great sign that there was literally no recognition on the woman's face as he landed gently next to the webbed up duo. It did not bode well for how far he probably was from home.
He already knew the question was so much more loaded than a geographic 'where'... but Peter really really really didn't want to know the answer.
"I'm sorry about getting you snagged up in this, let me get you out of there." Peter carefully extracted the woman's arm from the mugger's grip and his own webs.
But before he could do more than consider how he was going to try and calm her down, she was already sprinting out of the alley like she'd never get another chance to. It stung a little– he couldn't lie, but it would make things easier.
His eyes, normally hidden behind the white centers of his mask, turned his attention fully to the unmasked mugger for the first time.
Oh.
Damn.
He was just a teenager. A hungry teenager. Peter's eyes trailed across a face that had once been fuller, maybe even just a few months ago. He was unfortunately very familiar with the way gaunt skin began to stretch over hollowing cheeks.
Peter paused– unsure of how to proceed, the teen looked like he was panicking. Scratch that, he definitely was panicking, fully. The younger boy fumbled, but still managed to pull a gun from his waistband with his free hand, aiming it point blank at Peter's improvised face covering.
If he had been in top shape, he might have plucked the gun out of the teenager’s hands and crumpled it before he would have noticed— but hunger and exhaustion and the general TerrorTM had slowed his reaction time down enough to realize... that the Tingle was completely quiet.
There was no way this gun was loaded.
Peter could see the whites all around his eyes, full of panic, hungry, terrified– and there was shame too. He raised his hands, placatingly at first but they didn't stop up in the air. Instead he reached forward, gloves settling on top of the handgun. He pushed down, gently, aware of the way the younger man's body shook and how he could feel it through the gun beneath his palms. The gun was gradually pointed at the ground and then dropped entirely.
They stood, silence surrounding them despite the bustle of the rest of the city.
"Wanna explain what you were hoping to accomplish, kid?"
It was always a little weird to refer to people who he was pretty sure were almost his age by kid– but it came a little more naturally while suited up. He had been play-acting as someone much older than he was for a long time, longer than he'd actually felt it.
At least now he felt older. Seemed like less of a lie that way. It was hard to remember ever feeling as young as the teen in front of him looked. It felt like a lifetime away.
He hadn't been expecting the question to shock a little of the fear out of the ill-suited mugger– though it wasn't an entirely unwelcome development. The teen looked somewhat incredulous. But Peter didn't actually need to wait for a response, not when he had clocked it the moment he looked at the younger man's face. And especially not when his stomach growled piteously, like it was caving in on itself right that moment.
"Trying to get something to eat?"
"Yeah." Truthful. But so desperately ashamed of it. Like it was a weakness.
Peter knew the feeling.
But for all he could relate– he couldn't really help with that or anything right now. He sighed softly as he cast his mind to the plethora of other issues he had to deal with, including a wallet with a couple dollars, his own gnawing stomach and no place to sleep.
He almost wished he could say he hesitated before he was launching himself back up to his backpack on the roof with a quiet, "Wait here," —as if the teen had a choice, still webbed up like he was. But he didn't hesitate. He was up and on the roof in a flash.
Peter opened his wallet, grimacing. He had broken his last twenty to get his dearly departed hotdog– he had two fives and an assortment of change that probably would even out to five or six dollars. He fished out the two fives and leapt back down to the alley below.
The teen had been attempting to pry himself free in his short absence, but had only succeeded in getting his other hand stuck too. Again, not surprising, no one listened to him anymore. Even under much better circumstances, so… he really couldn't hold it against him.
He wanted to give the teen the money and go, before the near-victim could report this and send cops down their way. But it would be better to get a lay of the land from a local, at least as a starting point for him to begin his search when he finally worked something out to get a signal or internet connection.
Carefully, Peter reached forward and pried the younger boy's second hand free from the initial webbing.
"I have some questions for you."
"I'm not part of anything organized, I don't know shit, and I'm not going to fucking talk to you!"
Fear and adrenaline rode high through every tense line of the civilian's body, though his shaking would have probably been too minute for anyone other than him to see. Peter gently, but firmly, took his wrist and put the money into the newly liberated hand. This had the benefit of causing a stunned silence to blanket the alley, rather than expletives and faux bravado, which was nice.
"I'm not going to ask you anything identifying or incriminating, and you don't have to answer me. I'd rather have silence over lies."
The teen's suspicious eyes jumped from the money to Peter, but his fist was already clenching tightly on the cash, willing to fight for it in the event the masked stranger changed his mind. But he seemed prepared to answer some questions— maybe.
"Where are we?"
Peter could see when the teen's carefully constructed facade of aggression and violence sputtered out for a moment— flashbanged by the unexpected first question. He had definitely been mentally preparing for a Q&A session that could get him in trouble with local authorities or even more local criminals. Still, to his credit he recovered quicker than some.
His answer was quiet but honest, "Crime Alley."
Peter blinked– he didn't get the sense that it was backtalk, or lies– but like, he couldn't stop himself from looking around for a street sign. Was this specific street actually called Crime Alley?? Wasn't that a little on the nose? He would never blame a victim, but he couldn't help but feel like this wasn't too unlike opening up a paper bag that was labeled "dead dove".
Either way— that really wasn't in the direction of an answer that he needed.
"No, I mean like– city wise."
The younger man’s expression grew even more incredulous. Like he suspected he might be being Punked, or that Peter was insane. And while a very understandable reaction–Peter didn't have service, the quicker he could get these answers, the better– thank you very much.
"Gotham." This was added with even more hesitance, although spoken louder.
That answer did not inspire any embers of hope– considering Peter had never heard the name. He grimaced, wondering if it was worth asking anything more than that, when he was this far out of his depth already.
The would-be mugger cleared his throat– and Peter was a little surprised when the teen responded to his inaudible confusion, before he realized that it was because of his borrowed mask.
His eyes could be seen– his expression had clearly been deciphered despite that was really all he had to go on. The exposure left him feeling a bit vulnerable– but at least it had prompted a bit of further clarification from his captive audience.
"Gotham , New Jersey?"
The disbelief was thick, but clearly this was an attempt at being helpful, since the clarification had been offered even without him asking outright. Yet expanding on the answer had given Peter nothing new to go on– apart from holding back on the knee-jerk 'ew' reaction to finding out he was in New Jersey. He needed to be Polite and Professional. Deriding the state that he was working in, even by accident, seemed a bit rude, even if it was Jersey.
Geography had never been his passion, but he had enjoyed being on the decathlon team, he knew his stuff when it came to cities in the US— especially ones that would have been so close to home.
Peter closed his eyes, a tension headache starting to form beneath the bridge of his nose. He had enough information to go off of. He really should just de-tangle the guy and go– find out how to hook himself up to a WiFi network and continue searching for himself– but morbid curiosity had him in its grips.
"Have you ever heard of Iron Man?"
"Do you mean... Superman? The man of steel ?"
Peter grimaced behind the mask, weighing the chances that Mr. Stark would pick a name like that in any universe and not liking the odds… The other Peters hadn't heard of him either– he might just be in one of their worlds, though his suit and logo hadn’t seemed to spark any recognition in either of these two. Though maybe they were just distracted, or maybe Spider-Man was only known in-state?
He should shut up. He shouldn't ask anything more, but his mouth was still running away with him. Apparently a habit he couldn't kick even if he was wearing an improvised mask.
"What about Spider-Man?"
Both brows went high– higher even than their dubious height from before. The teen's deep brown eyes dropped meaningfully to the Spider emblem on Peter's chest as if he had just parsed what it meant.
"Is that you?– Does that mean you aren't a Bat?"
Far from anger or fear, there was actually genuine confusion and interest in the younger man's voice now– but he was trying very hard to ignore that as he quickly worked to extract the teenager's still trapped hand from his webs. What the hell did he mean by bat??
Regardless, this was enough, he had to go.
Being perceived felt wrong. This city felt wrong. The air and the gloomy sun and the way his stolen mask felt on his skin all felt wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong ! He was Somewhere Else. And Peter Parker didn't exist.
Again.
Enough! He couldn’t have this breakdown in front of a civilian– not one who he very much was hoping would take this as a sign to turn his life around. He shouldn’t compromise that by throwing up again, or passing out, or screaming– or any of the plethora of other things he wished he could be doing right now.
"Don't do this again, okay? It doesn't suit you." Peter stepped back once the web was off, preparing to quickly swing back up to the rooftop behind them.
"Wait–,"
Peter paused— more out of reflex than any genuine desire to stay.
Though it was nice to be spoken to, looked at, acknowledged, even if he had to be in the suit for it to happen.
Despite the fact that he had acquiesced to the hurried request, the teen seemed at a loss for what to say or ask, unsure of why he'd called out to.
But Peter... he was still full of unfortunate questions and another slipped out between his teeth like a frantic bird before he could cage it properly.
"What month is it?"
The non-sequitur startled another quick answer out of the teen, who looked so young and tired and hungry– clutching tightly to the last bills Peter had in his wallet.
Like looking in a mirror, or an old photograph.
"Uh— September?"
He had asked, but had he really been prepared for the answer? No. But there were a lot of things he wasn’t prepared for that he just had to deal with. Somehow.
"Thanks. Stay safe. Go eat."
It was only because he was Spider-Man right that moment that Peter managed to eke that out through a closing throat before he was up and away, on the roof and out of sight.
For all he had to deal with… At the very least he didn't have to live through May without her just yet.