Chapter Text
The cave hummed. Electricity was channelled through massive cords, stretched out to the centre of the floor where a massive machine stood. A circular pad of metal was raised from the ground, and a control panel was positioned beside it.
“Alright, so we feed the DNA in here, move the multidimensional setting to the distance closest to ours, and hit the red button.” Tim summarised, gesturing to the relevant aspects of the machine before taking a step aside for his siblings to have a look.
“And we’ve got enough safeguards that the worst possible option is just nothing happening?” Dick asked.
Tim nodded. There was no risk of accidentally hurting or killing a person, or colliding the multiverse. Either the corresponding multiversal person would come through the portal, or the machine would pop up with an error message. In theory anyways, of which Tim was reasonably confident. Enough to ensure no harm anyways.
The Bats and Birds had gathered in the Batcave for the machine’s debut. Tim and Bruce had been working on the theory of multidimensional travel for a while now, partially out of simplistic curiosity, but also with the idea of bringing through the vigilantes variants to help protect Gotham against the new outbreak of Rogues.
“The only issue is that we aren’t able to contact the variant beforehand, so they aren’t going to know what’s happening. Which means we will have to be tactful in explaining the idea of multiversal travel once they arrive.” Tim looked pointedly at Bruce, Jason, and Damian.
Bruce inclined his head in acknowledgement. “And for that reason, we’re going to test this with Dick’s DNA too.”
Dick’s brow furrowed. “What? Why?”
The other vigilantes were already nodding along with the sentiment.
“Well obviously we aren’t going to pull through a kid, and of the adults, we know Bruce would never respond well to something a little too similar to a kidnapping attempt, and Jason is much too violent for that. You’re quite good at the whole ‘hearing people out’ schtick and put up with a lot of shenanigans, and that’s the vibe we need.” Steph grinned slightly.
“Not exactly how I’d put it, but yeah basically.” Tim shrugged.
Dick opened his mouth, paused, and closed it.
“So if we can just grab some of your hair, we’ll give it a whirl then?” Tim spoke with eagerness. Jason reached for Dick’s hair as the man reluctantly held still, pulling a few strands before handing them to his younger brother.
Tim hummed in thanks, placing them carefully in a compartment of the large machine and flicking a few switches. Bruce joined his side, preparing the machine.
“Okay chum, take a step back now with the others.” Bruce said softly, glancing at the final red button. The chances of the machine exploding - or a rapid disassembly as Tim would say - were low, but anything over zero was enough to take precautions. Tim joined his siblings, waiting in excitement.
“Alfred, would you please initiate cave lock down?” Bruce asked the elderly butler who was observing off to the side.
“Of course Master Bruce.” Alfred Pennyworth pulled a lever, triggering heavy reinforced doors to slam, sealing the cave. Just in case, of course.
“Masks on everyone. Prepare for arrival in three, two, one-”
***
It had been a long day. Spider-Man had just about become a full time job. Now that Peter Parker didn’t exist anymore, patrols often lasted days, crimefighting and swinging through Queens past the point of exhaustion until he passed out on a rooftop somewhere. It’s not like Peter had anything else to do, and Mr. Stark was right, Peter was nothing if not Spider-Man.
All hopes of school, university, and a normal life had been dashed since Doctor Strange’s spell. And if Peter was being honest, it’s not like he was particularly motivated to get things back on track. So he spent his time as Spider-Man, only heading back to his nook in an abandoned warehouse when his body really threatened giving up. It was much better to be helping out round the city than to wallow in misery anyways.
The sun was going down now as Peter walked along the street, idly kicking rocks on his way to an old thrift store. It was getting colder, approaching winter, and given his hibernating tendencies, Peter knew he’d need some warmer clothes to keep him alive during the cold front. While he was almost always wearing his spider-suit, even if it was under civvies - like it was at the moment, the suit alone wouldn't be enough to keep him warm, which left him hunting through donation bins out the front of second-hand clothing stores.
Peter didn’t like to steal, and he spent enough time webbing up thieves that it’d be rather hypocritical. Busking got him enough cash, and dumpster-diving got him enough food really. Probably not even a quarter of what he needed, but enough to keep him moving. And enhanced healing was a luxury anyways, he’d been making do without it for nearly a year now. He was definitely weaker for the lack of food and rest, and having several only semi-healed stab wounds slowed him down, but he could still do his job, and that’s all that mattered.
A shout from a nearby alley caught his attention, and Peter straightened from where he’d been rummaging through old clothes. Guess you never really clock off the vigilante gig. Pushing down the flicker of anger and pulling on his mask instinctively, he jogged closer to the noise.
A group of wanna-be muggers were holding an elderly woman at gunpoint, tugging at her groceries. Peter scowled slightly, scaling the wall despite the twinge of pain, in order to drop in from above for added effect.
“Hey guys, how’s it going? Have we all heard about the new rule where we don’t beat up people for food? In fact, if you ask nicely I imagine plenty of people wouldn’t mind sharing.” Peter landed with a chirpy grin, knocking the gun out of Bad Guy Numero Uno hands and crushing it, dropping the metal on the ground.
“Aw c’mon Spider-Man, can’t you give us a break?” Bad Guy Dos whined slightly.
“No can do I’m afraid, now you can pick up the groceries for Mrs Galloway and help her put them in the kitchen, or you can just wait here for the cops, what would you like?” The wannabes groaned as they fixed up the groceries and carried them inside.
“Thank you very much Spider-Man, I do appreciate your help.” The woman spoke to Peter, dusting herself off.
“Not at all, and how has your day been Mrs Galloway? Did your niece’s dance recital go well?” Peter asked while carefully supervising the group.
“Oh it’s been alright, the recital was lovely, the children did such a good job. It’s a shame about these naughty boys causing a nuisance of themselves.” She tsked at one of the men walking past, and Peter couldn’t help but smirk under the mask as the man’s ears went red at the admonishment. “I do have some leftover lasagna in the fridge for you, I’ll get it.”
The wannabes filed out of the front door and waited awkwardly in the alley while Peter thanked Mrs. Galloway for the food and headed outside.
“I don’t want to see you guys bothering Mrs. Galloway or anyone else again okay? That’s your one strike. Get dayjobs, if you need food or shelter there's a homeless shelter down the street here and a soup kitchen across the road. There’s no shame in asking for help. But if I see you guys hurting someone again, I’ll put you in jail or hospital.” Peter spoke sternly as the men scuffed their feet looking at the ground.
“Okay, thanks man.” Bad Guy Numero Uno spoke quietly.
Peter nodded and walked off. Spider-Man had enough of a reputation in Queens that more often than not fights totally de-escalated when he arrived. The people knew he was fair, happy to give people a chance, but also knew that he could be the stuff of nightmares when needed. Going up against Spider-Man was pointless at best, and absolutely dangerous and foolhardy at worst. More than a few people had spent weeks in the hospital before that message got around, but now that it was acknowledged, Peter was generally able to manage incidents without injuries to any party.
It was a good arrangement, and meant less chance of ripping his stitches, so really Peter couldn’t complain. He was exhausted, and minimising any extra chores like fixing up stitching before he could sleep was a win. Pulling off his mask and stuffing it into his backpack, he turned on to the main street. It wasn’t far to his warehouse, but he was starving now, and so didn’t bother to wait before opening up the tupperware and started eating.
The lasagna was delicious, but Peter was only two bites in when his spidey sense absolutely screeched. Normally it was more direct, like danger! Run, duck, jump! But this was more of an AAAAAA, which was remarkably unhelpful. Peter dropped the lasagna, licking his fingers clean, and looked round for any threats.
Nothing.
His spidey-sense was still screaming, and Peter took an exaggerated breath to try and calm it down. Breathe in and - oh shit. The familiar feeling of disintegrating expanded from his lungs out to the rest of his body.
NO NO NO no no nononono not again-
Peter cursed faintly to himself.
His vision blurred.
The world disappeared.
One.
Two.
Three.
The world formed again around him. He was on some sort of platform, part of a machine that looked kinda similar to the designs Tony had made for timetravel. Peter stumbled slightly as he looked round him. It was dark. He appeared to be trapped in a cave? A faint sound caught his attention and he spun, noticing a group of people in some sort of costume or armour. They appeared to be saying something, but Peter was too busy trying not to have a panic attack to take anything in. One in black and blue waved slightly.
Shit. He’d been kidnapped. And with that type of power, the way the science worked to bring him here, it was awfully similar to Thanos.
“What the fuck did you do to me?” Peter spat, taking up a fighting stance. His spidey-sense flickered, alerting him of a man behind the others who’d raised a gun slightly.
“We brought you here because we needed help. Your DNA should-”
Peter froze. His DNA was dangerous. If there was one thing he was possessive of, it was that. Radioactive, containing super-soldier serum, as well as spider components, it could be weaponised very easily in the wrong hands.
“Not a chance, let me go, now.”
“Sorry kid, we can’t exactly do that.” The absolute giant of a man in an odd black outfit spoke firmly, if somewhat apologetic.
“Don’t call me a kid, bitch. And I wasn’t asking.” Peter took a threatening step off the platform toward his kidnappers. It's not like Peter's default was normally beating people up (lies), but he was willing to make an exception for these weirdos. Just another Tuesday, right? It was a shame that this was interrupting his eagerly anticipated nap, but he'd survived worse for sure.
The man who’d waved early stepped forward, hand raised slightly to show he wasn’t a threat. Peter didn’t care, taking the opportunity to rush forward a little faster than the average person, crouching to ram into the man, flipping him over his shoulder and leaving him to land heavily on the ground. One down.
The other baddies started forward.
“Don’t hurt him, he’s just a kid. Red Hood, check on Nightwing.” The man in black spoke warningly to his team.
“What did I say about calling me a kid?” Peter leapt for the man, looping his legs round his neck into a chokehold that Nat had taught him years ago. The man staggered slightly under the weight, but Peter was quickly displaced by a particularly violent boy in red, yellow and green, swiping at him with a - was that a katana?
He used the man as a springboard, flipping from his shoulders to dodge the blades. His spidey-sense alerted him to the swish of a bo-staff aimed at his head. Probably designed to knock him out, potentially with a concussion, but not any real harm. Too bad that wasn’t happening. He dodged, grabbing the staff and twisting it out of the baddie’s hands, snapping it with ease, before skittering out of the way of a few punches from a lady dressed in purple.
“Robin, Double R, Spoiler, back off.” The man he’d choked sounded stern as he’d rubbed at his throat.
His attackers stepped back, if somewhat hesitantly. Peter straightened from where he’d crouched on the floor, dropping the remnants of the staff. He’d definitely pulled his stitches, and he sighed a little as he pressed his hand to his side to stem the blood, waiting to see what the next move was. The baddies had moved back together, one in black and red with a mask covering his nose and mouth - Red Hood appeared to be chuckling slightly as he helped Nightwing to his feet.
Peter took the pause to look, or rather listen for a way out. The cave appeared completely closed off, but the presence of a large car and a few motorbikes meant there was definitely a large exit somewhere that would take him to a road. He focused his hearing, past the soundproofing, and realised that the reinforced metal to his left could be broken out of, there was a large open space on the other side. Yep that’d work-
He was distracted by a baddie- Nightwing, moving towards him. The tall man in black looked like he was about to stop him, but hesitated.
“We don’t want to hurt you,” Nightwing spoke calmly, as if to soothe a spooked animal. He reached for his domino mask, pulling it off and shaking out his hair before looking back at Peter.
Peter’s heart skipped a beat.
“Dad?”
No, no it couldn’t be. Oh that was just cruel.
Whatever this nightmare was, Peter wanted out. Thankfully his Dad Nightwing appeared to be short-circuiting, so Peter counted his blessings and bolted left. Dodging past the equally gobsmacked baddies, he burst through the reinforced wall with a horrid metallic screech.
He ran and he didn’t look back.
***
To be fair, Bruce wasn’t exactly certain what to expect. An identical copy of Richard Grayson would have been great of course, but multiversal theory didn’t work like that. But anything close would be alright, Bruce hoped anyways.
And so when the figure materialised on the pad, stumbling slightly, Bruce was a little surprised. The boy - who indeed looked incredibly similar to Dick - couldn’t have been any older than 18, with soft brown hair and wide, but calculating, brown eyes. He looked a little too skinny to be healthy, and was dressed in old, probably second-hand clothes. The kid was scanning his surroundings as Tim was rattling off some sort of ‘Welcome to our Universe” speech. Bruce wasn’t sure of how much was being processed by the kid, who looked on the verge of a panic attack.
“What the fuck did you do to me?” The kid spoke with fury, glaring at Bruce and his family.
Bruce instantly realised he’d fucked up. Because yes, Richard Grayson was a wonderful man, sensible, confident, charismatic, and a hero of Gotham. But he had been one hell of an angry teenager. If the kid was anything like his son, no wonder he would be ready for a fight.
Tim started to answer, and was cut off with a flat-out refusal from the kid, and a demand to go home. Bruce winced.
“Sorry kid, we can’t exactly do that.” The machine still needed tweaking, and given that they weren’t even certain who they’d brought through the multiverse at the moment, who knew how long it’d take to fix up the machine and prepare it for sending someone back.
“Don’t call me a kid, bitch. And I wasn’t asking.”
What? Who is this kid, and why are they calling me a bitch??
The boy stepped forward, and was clearly ready to throw hands. Dick attempted to defuse the situation, and was flipped on his back with surprising ease. Bruce heard Jason laugh under his breath, and faintly held back his grin. His other children appeared to be keen to fight, in some sort of self-righteous defense of their elder brother.
“Don’t hurt him, he’s just a kid. Red Hood, check on Nightwing-” Bruce barely got out the words before he was being tackled by the Not-a-kid-nor-Nightwing gremlin, who’d managed to get him into a chokehold with depressing ease. Bruce stumbled in shock, and then again when the boy backflipped from his shoulders to avoid Damian’s katanas.
Hmm. Perhaps the kid was indeed a younger version of Dick.
Bruce directed his slightly-overzealous children away from the Not-a-kid-maybe-Nightwing gremlin, who appeared to have no trouble holding his own and kicking his children’s asses. What on earth was this kid?
Oh my goodness, was he bleeding?? He didn’t think Damian had actually stabbed him. But yeah the patch of red was definitely growing on the boy’s shirt.
A faint sound alerted him that Nightwing was making a move for the boy.
Oh dear, he was taking off his mask.
“Dad?”
Bruce could feel himself going into cardiac arrest. Oh, they’d really fucked up.