Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sliding doors hissed open, and Peter stepped into the lab.

“Hey, Spider,” Johnny called without looking up. He was hunched over the console, fingers dancing across the controls, while a cluster of shimmering holograms rose around him, blocking Peter’s view of whatever held his attention.

Peter frowned and came closer. “Torch, what are you up to this time?”

Only then did Johnny tear his eyes from the projection. His grin was quick and easy, the kind that made it seem like he’d been waiting for Peter to ask all along.

Johnny smirked, bracing both hands against the edge of the table.

"I found something in Rich’s files. Go on, guess. What if it’s something big?"

Peter froze mid-step, his eyes widening. "Wait... You were snooping in Rich’s stuff?! Please don’t tell me it’s a bomb!" His voice went shrill with mock horror.

Johnny groaned and rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. "Seriously, Spidey? Not everything explodes, you know."

"Fine, fine…” Peter tapped his chin with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Then let me guess… it’s a gun that creates meals?”

Johnny waggled his eyebrows, grinning. “Are you hungry, Spidey?”

Peter groaned. “I’m always hungry, but that’s not the point!” He leaned closer to the table, squinting at the device. It looked like some kind of cannon, sleek metal with a glowing core that pulsed faintly blue. Strange circuits crawled across its surface, shifting almost as if they were alive.

“Okay,” Peter said slowly, “so it’s either a gun… or Reed invented the world’s most overcomplicated espresso machine.”

Johnny snorted. “Honestly? With Reed, that’s not even a joke. But nah, look at it. The barrel’s too long, and this” he tapped the glowing core with two fingers, “is definitely not for coffee.”

Peter hesitated, tilting his head. “Then what "is" it?”

Johnny leaned back, folding his arms, his grin never fading. “That’s the million-dollar question, Spidey. Reed left no notes, no warnings… just this shiny toy sitting here in plain sight.”

Peter frowned. “You didn’t… turn it on, did you?”

Johnny’s smirk widened dangerously. “…Define ‘on.’"

Peter’s eyes widened in horror. “Johnny!”

Johnny chuckled, the sound low and careless. “Relax, Spidey. I’m just messing with you. Seriously, you’re wound up tighter than Reed’s lab notes.” He rolled his eyes and set the strange device back on the table with a casual thud, as if it were nothing more dangerous than a paperweight.

Peter let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. Long day. How about we grab some food? Pizza?” His voice softened on the last word, almost hopeful.

Johnny’s grin lit up instantly. “Now that’s the kind of science I believe in.” He slung an arm over Peter’s shoulders, pulling him toward the door with easy warmth.

They barely made it two steps before the room behind them hissed to life. A sharp crackle split the silence, followed by the rising hum of energy. Blue sparks crawled across the device’s surface, the glow in its core flaring like a heartbeat out of control.

Peter froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, spider-sense shrieking in his veins.

“Johnny, down!” he barked, shoving his friend to the ground.

But the light surged faster than reflex. A blinding beam tore through the air, wrapping them in a storm of crackling energy. For a heartbeat the world shattered into color and sound

Then the lab was gone.

Chapter Text

For Peter Parker, this day had promised to be completely ordinary. Well… as ordinary as a day could ever be for Spider-Man: rescuing a few hostages, stopping a robbery, and giving Doctor Octopus and Electro a little taste of their own medicine. And then, the well-deserved downtime: an evening with Johnny at the Statue of Liberty, hot pizza in hand, and a perfect sunset stretching over New York City.

Yeah, he loved that vibe and Johnny made it even cozier. But it seemed the universe had other plans from the very start.

Johnny, his dear friend, had absolutely no intention of just sitting still. For some reason, he’d decided to dig through Mr. Richards’ stuff and ended up finding a strange weapon, which, apparently, he had accidentally activated.

Then again… maybe it wasn’t really Johnny’s fault. It was just classic Parker luck. Wherever he went, trouble was always one step ahead.

Peter slowly opened his eyes. At first, there was only darkness thick, viscous, as if the night itself had closed in around him. But gradually his vision adjusted, and only then did he realize he was falling.

What the…? His thoughts scattered, tumbling in panic. A bottomless pit?! How did I even get here?! Where’s Johnny?! Is he okay?!

His heart pounded like it was trying to burst right out of his chest.

But Peter didn’t have a chance to gather his thoughts or catch his breath. Suddenly, a blinding light tore through the darkness, stabbing at his eyes. The world flipped upside down, and a gust of icy wind slammed into his face.

It brought no comfort. On the contrary, his heart raced even faster, pounding like it was trying to outshout the wind. Now he wasn’t falling into endless darkness, he was plummeting from a sky-high height, and the sheer speed of it was far more terrifying than before.

“AAAAAH!”

Peter snapped out of panic as fast as he could, his reflexes kicking in. He shot his hand forward, ready to fire a web and use it as a makeshift parachute. He clicked… and nothing.

Another try. Still nothing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he screamed through the wind. “Of all times, the web had to run out now?!”

The situation was spiraling. The ground was rushing up at terrifying speed, and his only ‘parachute’ had failed exactly when he needed it most.

And opening his eyes was almost impossible. God, curse his super-sense for being too sensitive!

Peter flipped over, trying to open his eyes and see where he was falling, but nothing looked familiar.

Tall spires, stone arches, shadowy silhouettes of towers. New York had never looked this Gothic.

He was too close to the ground. He arched his back in midair, bracing for the inevitable impact against hard concrete… and then, suddenly, something hot and strong caught him.

Strong, scorching-warm arms wrapped around his waist and under his knees. The fall slowed, transforming into a smooth glide, and in the next instant, he was gently set down on the roof of the nearest building.

Of course, in reality, it was less dramatic: Peter landed with a dull thud right on his backside.

“That was a cheap shot…” Peter groaned, struggling to catch his breath as he rubbed his bruised backside.

In front of him stood Johnny, the flames of his body only just flickering out.

“Sorry,” Johnny said with a slightly guilty smile. “Watching you plummet and doing nothing about it… kinda made me nervous.”

“Nervous?!” Peter barked, climbing to his feet. “You could’ve stepped in earlier! I’d already said my goodbyes!”

He glanced around and no, he wasn’t mistaken. The city around them looked like it had been designed by a Gothic architect on too much caffeine. Even Hollywood set designers wouldn’t dare go this over the top.

“So, we’re definitely not in Kansas anymore,” he muttered.

Johnny raised a brow. “Seriously? That’s your takeaway right now?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Peter threw his hands in the air, his exasperation plain. “Kill you for turning on some gadget that teleported us God-knows-where?”

Johnny lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I messed up. I admit it. But I don’t think we’ll be stuck here for long. Reed’s gonna notice the mess in his lab and pull us back.”

“Sounds optimistic. I hope you’re right, because I really don’t like this city,” Peter muttered, glancing around before fixing Johnny with a frown.

“What?”

“We need to find clothes and keep...” But he didn’t get to finish. His spider-sense flared like a siren.

Hide!

“Spide...”

“Hide!” Peter hissed, yanking Johnny with him. They leapt off the rooftop, Peter clinging to the side of the building and holding Johnny up awkwardly under the arms.

“This is humiliating,” Johnny muttered, rolling his eyes.

Peter shushed him sharply, and Johnny barely managed to stifle a laugh. He really did love teasing the spider.

At that moment, Peter tuned in. A metallic scrape something hooking onto the building. Then came the faintest footsteps… and the rhythm of two beating hearts.

They froze, every muscle tense. Peter held his breath and made sure Johnny did the same.

A few seconds later, the silence was broken by a voice.

“There’s nothing here, O,” it said low and steady, as if it was meant to inspire fear.

Something about it tugged at Peter’s memory…

“Strange. I registered a massive energy spike near your position. The camera also picked up a red dot?” came a reply over comms a voice from their guy in the chair, apparently.

“Red dot?” The second voice was younger, almost childlike, no older than twelve, tops.

“Not sure. It moved, then vanished. Other cameras didn’t track its path.”

“Can you zoom in on the image?”

“I’ll try… Its structure looks human? Is it possible that it’s a person?”

“You’re telling me there’s a meta in my city?”

Peter and Johnny exchanged a quick look. Johnny shot him a frown. In any other situation, he would’ve loved hearing himself being talked about, but now, he kept his mouth shut.

And seriously, what the hell was a meta supposed to be?!

“It’s possible. Be careful, he might be dangerous.”

“Understood. I’ll keep searching. If I find nothing, I’ll report back. Robin, don’t engage without orders. Stay close.”

Peter rolled his eyes. It reminded him way too much of Mr. Rogers.

“T-t… got it, B,” the younger voice stammered. A few minutes later, they were gone without a trace. Peter decided to wait a little longer before climbing down into the alley.

“This is bad,” Johnny muttered, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder.

“Yeah… some B, O, and Robin are hunting us. Probably local vigilantes, and that’s not exactly in our favor.” Peter leaned against the brick wall, deep in thought.

“Why not? We’re famous… well, at least I am. They’d help us.”

“No. Not until we know where we are. We could’ve landed in another universe entirely knowing Reed, that’s not exactly far-fetched.” Peter rolled his eyes under the mask with a heavy sigh.

“…Fine. You’re right. Should’ve thought of that first. So what do we do?”

“First priority: get civilian clothes,” Peter said firmly, stepping forward.

“Wait up, web-head! What about your mask? You can’t just” Johnny’s hand landed uncertainly on his friend’s shoulder.

Peter froze like he’d hit a brick wall. Damn it. He’d completely forgotten Johnny didn’t know who was under the mask. No way could he risk telling him now. He’d lost too much already because of Spider-Man. He wasn’t about to risk Johnny, too.

But somewhere inside, that nagging little demon whispered: Or maybe you should tell him?

Peter could’ve stood there forever, paralyzed by indecision. But Johnny, catching his hesitation, quickly added, “Let’s find clothes first. Then we’ll figure out the mask. Not a full face one, obviously, just enough to hide the important stuff. Sound fair?”

Peter turned to him, blinking in surprise. “I… uh… ye-yeah. Sure... Yes! For once in your life, one of your ideas actually makes sense.”

Johnny, offended, punched him in the shoulder with a scoff. “Says you, bug-boy.”

“Don’t sulk. The important thing is to get out of here and find our way home.” Peter smiled faintly, eyes fixed on the street ahead.

When they finally stepped out of the dark alley, Peter glanced around. The street was lit by rows of tall lamps, their glow stretching into the gloom. And in the distance, across the rooftops, shadowy figures moved with eerie precision enough to make him frown.

“Looks like we should find shelter first. Clothes can wait until morning. I can feel their heartbeats… and trust me, there are a lot of these heroes around.”

Johnny nodded, lacing his hands behind his head. “Fine. Just make sure it’s a place with a comfy bed. I’m not sleeping on some cold floor.”

“I’m afraid, Johnny… the floor is exactly what we’re getting.”

“But hey, you could always be a pretty good pillow, huh?” Johnny wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

“Oh God…” Peter groaned, exhausted, as the two of them started wandering deeper into the strange city.

Morning would bring more than enough problems.

Chapter Text

The sun hit Peter square in the face. He squinted, instinctively turning away, half-expecting to see the familiar ceiling of his New York apartment. A single, groggy thought flickered through his mind: «Great. Overslept again. Time to get up and sprint to work.»

Cautiously, he opened one eye, then the other, and pushed himself upright. His brain slowly rebooted, and within seconds he realized, he was nowhere near New York. Another city? Another country? Another dimension or even another time? Too many options, none of them good.

Peter scanned their so-called “hideout” and let out a heavy sigh. No doors. No windows. Mold creeping across the walls. Cobwebs hanging lazily in the corners (and not his, thank you very much). Roaches strutted around like they owned the place. Whatever you do, don’t tell Johnny. Otherwise, he’d bolt before accidentally setting his own butt on fire.

And just like that, Peter remembered his disaster of a partner. He turned his head there was Johnny, sprawled out like a starfish, as if he were sunbathing on a beach instead of lying in a ditch. His face was calm, relaxed… almost peaceful.

It would’ve been fine except Peter suddenly noticed Johnny’s face looked rounder. Softer. And… shorter? Yeah, no doubt about it. The guy had shrunk.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Peter shot up from their makeshift bed.

Johnny jolted awake at the shout, his hair immediately bursting into flame, literally. The guy was seconds away from torching the whole room.

“Attack?! Where’s the enemy?!” Johnny spun around, wild-eyed. Seeing nothing, he turned back to Peter. “Hey, Spidey, you okay?”

“Johnny… you,” Peter’s voice caught in his throat. “I don’t know what cream you’ve been using, but I swear you stole it straight out of Oz.”

“Oz? Cream? What are you even talking about?” Johnny scowled.

“You got younger. Like, five years younger!” Peter finally blurted, jabbing a finger at him.

“…WHAT?!” Johnny scrambled to his feet, frantically checking his body. “No, no, no! Not the height! Not the muscles!” He patted his torso in panic, as if making sure his abs were still intact.

Peter rolled his eyes and facepalmed. “Relax, Mr. ‘Already Perfect.’ But… uh, I think the Wizard’s spell hit me too.”

He glanced down at his own costume, hanging off him like it belonged to someone else. “Oh, come on. I wasn’t "this" skinny, was I?” he groaned.

“We’re screwed, Spidey! My perfect body!” Johnny clutched his face. “It’s...it’s....”

“Gone,” Peter deadpanned. “Sorry, man. No hot girls are gonna admire your abs now. My condolences.”

“Not funny!” Johnny snapped, narrowing his eyes. He stepped so close Peter almost flinched. Peter was still trying to process how he hadn’t noticed the changes in himself until now. Then again, he’d had other things on his mind, like Johnny dragging him to safety at the last second.

“At least I’m still taller than you, huh, web-head?” Johnny smirked smugly, leaning over him.

Hell, he was right, just a few inches. Peter knew it. But he'd rather face Doc Ock than admit it. If Johnny even heard a hint of a compliment from a loved one, he'd be bragging for weeks. Poor Ben had already suffered enough.

…Wait. Did Peter just think of him as “loved one”? Seriously? No. No way. He was just a friend. Well… maybe more of a frenemy. Or an acquaintance. At "most" a neighbor. Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man couldn’t possibly be close friends with the walking perfume ad of the Fantastic Four. That would be ridiculous. And...

“Yo, webhead!” Johnny shook him by the shoulders. “You zoning out again? Snap out of it, we need to get home, like, now.”

His stomach growled so loudly it ruined the drama.

“…But first clothes,” Johnny muttered, grimacing. “And food. Definitely food.”

He caught himself staring at Peter again. The guy looked… too small. Practically teenager-small. And yeah, Johnny had shrunk too, but on Peter it almost looked… cute.

He immediately shoved that thought into the deepest corner of his brain before the blush gave him away. Priorities: get home. Everything else could wait. Maybe even a couple of secret photos later. Speaking of photos—

“Crap, Spidey! My phone!” Johnny smacked his forehead, eyes darting around the room. He knew he’d had it… and then, it was gone. Just gone.

“What?!” Peter nearly jumped. “And you didn’t say anything until now?!”

Johnny almost cracked a joke, but bit his tongue. No point adding more panic. “Hey, sorry, alright? We just de-aged five years, and you want me to think about my phone?”

“Oh, please.” Peter narrowed his eyes. “In any other situation, the first thing you’d do is tweet about it, or post a selfie.”

“You don’t know me that well,” Johnny huffed.

“Oh, I know you plenty. Enough to gossip with Sue and Ben behind your back,” Peter shot back with a smirk.

“What?!” Johnny jumped up. “You betrayed our sacred bro code?!”

“Sacred? Johnny, the best you’re getting is ‘bro tolerance.’ Now, did you find the phone or not?”

“Nice way to dodge the subject,” Johnny muttered, then sighed. “Okay, good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Both,” Peter snapped, patience wearing thin.

“Fine. Either I dropped it on the roof… or it slipped when I was falling from the sky,” Johnny admitted with a shrug.

Peter went silent. For a moment, it looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “I really hope it’s smashed to pieces,” he said at last. “Because if the vigilantes, or worse, villains find it, I can’t even imagine...”

“Relax, webhead.” Johnny waved him off. “It was a special phone. Just for calls.”

“Calls to girls you spend the night with?” Peter muttered disapprovingly.

“…Pretty much,” Johnny admitted with fake innocence.

“Great. So at least it wasn’t important.”

“Yeah, except, damn it! My comm unit’s fried too! Survived space, but not this.” Johnny leaned against the windowless wall, took a deep breath and immediately doubled over coughing.

“Ugh! What the hell?! I want Manhattan air back!” he groaned, clutching his throat.

Peter chuckled softly, patting his shoulder. “Go on, take a big breath. Maybe I’ll finally get rid of my personal pain in the ass.”

He was definitely grinning under the mask, Johnny could feel it. Maybe even picture those smug, soft lips and the thought made him cough harder.

“Hey!” Peter frowned. “You okay? Gas leak? Johnny? You’re shaking!”

“I’m fine,” Johnny rushed out, trying not to give himself away. “Just… not over the whole teleport thing yet.”

Not the best excuse, but good enough to shut Peter up.

Peter raised a skeptical brow. Johnny was a terrible liar—almost as bad as Peter himself. Natasha would’ve been disappointed in both. But he shoved the thought aside and nodded. 

If Johnny wanted to talk, he would.

“You got any ideas for clothes?” Johnny glanced around the empty street. Too early for people. No vigilantes nearby either, according to Peter.

“Charity bins,” Peter suggested.

Johnny’s face twisted like Peter had asked him to wear a trash bag. “Something else. I’m not putting on secondhand junk.”

“Then go charm a salesgirl at a boutique. Maybe she’ll throw in a T-shirt or two,” Peter quipped. God, he loved dragging Johnny down a peg.

“And you?” Johnny narrowed his eyes.

“I’ll hit the bins. Survival beats fashion week. Like it or not.” Peter tensed, almost shooting a webline, before remembering his shooters were empty. Guess he’d be running instead.

“Oh! So it’s a race?” Johnny’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “What does the winner get?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Peter shrugged. “So? You in, or scared to lose?”

“Ha! Funny.” Johnny snapped his fingers and strode off. “Half an hour. Meet back here. Don’t get lost, web-head.”

“Getting lost? That’s your thing, torchhead! And hey... don’t use… you know. Just be careful!” Peter called after him.

Johnny turned, flashed a smile, and nodded. “Totally normal civilian here. Just with the sexiest face alive,” he winked, then disappeared around the corner.

Peter couldn’t help but grin, then caught himself. “Wow… Tony was actually sane compared to Johnny.”

The grin faded. Memories hit like fire. Tony… his mentor, who became something more than just a man in armor. Not a father, not exactly, but for a kid desperate to believe in someone, Tony was it. Gruff, distant, yet guiding. After Civil War, he’d kept Peter at arm’s length, then finally let him in. And Peter had been there… for so little time.

He still remembered standing by that coffin, crying like they’d known each other forever. And he couldn’t help but wonder, what did Tony feel when Peter vanished? Pain? Emptiness? Or did he just push it away, like he always did?

The answer would never come.

Chapter Text

Johnny knew the truth would be the honest choice, but lying to Spider, of all people, was the last thing he ever wanted to do. Lying felt vile, disgusting even, yet he had no other option. The truth would bring only silence, and silence from Spider meant catastrophe. Something terrible always followed it.

How had he managed to screw up so badly? Damn it, dropping that ridiculously important phone on a rooftop, in an alley, anywhere and then lying to Spider on top of it… The thought burned like molten metal in his mind.

All he could do now was hope he remembered exactly where they had landed after the fall. It seemed… not far. Seemed…

The phone held all the important numbers: family, friends, and even the superheroes Spider had introduced him to. And yes… there was Deadpool’s number. That blasted chatterbox made Johnny’s blood boil. God, how he hated him! He never missed a chance to flirt with Spider, and worst of all, Spider tolerated it. Sometimes, he even smiled back. Johnny would’ve bet his own hand that Deadpool knew exactly how he felt and was deliberately pushing his buttons with that endless flirtation.

So, in the emergency contacts list, Deadpool came last. First, as it should be, was Sue. Second, Spider. The rest followed in order, but certainly not that clown.

Finally reaching the rooftop, Johnny paused. This had to be it. He spotted a metal ladder, climbed up, and surveyed the area. Empty. No phone, no trace. Maybe this wasn’t the right roof after all?

Then it hit him: what if this really was an alternate universe, one of the ones he’d dealt with before? In that case, nothing here was unusual. The heroes could be completely different, and their numbers on the phone too. So what? In the end, it wasn’t his problem.

The main thing — Spider couldn’t know a word about this!

Johnny scanned the rooftop once more, examining every corner, every speck of dust, every shard of concrete. But the phone was nowhere to be found. With a sigh, he finally straightened up. Empty. That was it. Almost with a clear conscience, he could head back to Spider and win the bet.

Things were looking up for Peter… at least, for a moment. But who was he kidding? Parker Luck always seemed one step ahead, throwing new problems his way just when he started to breathe a little easier. And now was no exception. Instead of quietly prowling the crates for clothing, he was ducking for his life from the lizard’s tail.

With a fair degree of certainty, Peter guessed it was Doctor Connors. But he looked more like a crocodile than a lizard. Massive jaws, a gaze as heavy as a crocodile’s, and footsteps that made the windows tremble. Why, for heaven’s sake, did animals always have to take a personal interest in him? He got along with spiders… but that seemed to be the extent of his luck.

Dodging the lizard’s heavy tail was one thing; dodging the intrusive cameras was another. His spider-sense screamed that they were being watched. And this city… it was already up to his neck in misery. Plus, he didn’t have any web. None. Which, naturally, didn’t help matters at all. How was he even still in one piece?

The answer came in an instant: whip! He didn’t dodge in time. The tail slammed into him, and he crashed into a brick wall, bouncing onto the nearby trash bins with a sickening thud. Painful? Definitely. But wasn’t that… almost routine?

Brain, could you ever just shut up? the thought flashed through him.

And then, with his usual irony: Ha, who am I kidding. Of course not.

The Lizard was almost on Spider when a hero in a yellow costume intervened. Peter didn’t pay him much attention, there was no time for introductions. The fight demanded his full focus.

The guy wielded something like billy clubs, similar to Daredevil’s. He was clearly well-trained. Yet, Peter couldn’t shake a strange feeling about him.

He dodged Connors’ attacks as if he could predict every strike. Even with his spider-sense, Peter sometimes reacted reflexively, but this guy… it was like he had his own sense, his own instinct. Intriguing.

While the so-called hero dealt with the Lizard, or crocodile, depending on how you looked at it Peter latched onto a wall and began climbing. His spider-sense instantly warned him of an incoming strike, and he leapt down, glancing up. The Lizard seemed about to make a run for it, but the yellow-clad hero chased after him, completely oblivious to Peter. The noise of the fight gradually died down, leaving Spider a moment to catch his breath.

"Just another Tuesday, huh, Spidey… " Peter muttered under his breath, feeling his heartbeat finally steady. "You’ve handled worse than this."

With that thought, he moved on, calmer now, to search for some clothes.

The two of them didn’t have watches, and figuring out how much time had passed was impossible, especially for Peter, who had a talent for being late. So it was no surprise that Johnny arrived first, and a few minutes later, Spider showed up.

"Johnny, you…" Peter’s breath caught as he saw him standing there, holding a single shirt and a pair of shoes. Johnny’s face was swollen from a slap.

"Not a word. Just shut up," Johnny growled, raising a fist and thrusting the clothes toward him.

"Who did this to the Human Torch?" Peter landed nearby, his usual irony intact, and stepped forward.

"The sales clerk!" Johnny snorted. "She didn’t succumb to my charm. Didn’t even recognize me! How could she not know a member of the Fantastic Four?"

"Yeah, your face is famous," Peter rolled his eyes.

"That’s exactly the problem," Johnny replied. "Most likely, we’re in another universe where we don’t exist. Or maybe we’re in the past."

"Most likely the first," Peter smirked, "but let's not rule out the second. On my way to get some clothes, I ran into a hero in a black-and-yellow suit and a beast suspiciously resembling the Lizard."

"The Lizard?" Johnny frowned. "Then this definitely isn’t a time travel thing, if this sewer enthusiast is here." He glanced at Spider’s hands. There was more clothing than he expected, even if the quality left something to be desired. "No way! That’s not fair!"

"Everything’s fair, Johnny," Peter replied, handing him the clothes. "You started this bet, and I won."

"D… Damn it, fine!" Johnny huffed irritably, glaring at Spider.

"What do you want?"

"Let’s go home first, then I’ll tell you my wish." Johnny sighed in resignation and turned toward the dark alley.

"Alright… well… shall we?"

"Yeah," they nodded at each other and stepped into the alley to change.

Peter chose a simple dark-red hoodie with a black pattern resembling a bird most likely a logo. The jeans were slightly baggy but manageable, and the shoes, though not a perfect fit, were acceptable. He picked everything by eye and, fortunately, remembered his sizes from when he was a teenager.

Johnny had it trickier. He could only hope he guessed the right sizes.

"So, how’s it look?" Johnny stepped into the light and spun around. A blue hoodie with a black bird, baggy jeans, and sneakers. Everything matched except the shoes, which were a bit small, and the hoodie, which was slightly oversized.

"It suits you… damn! The mask?!" Peter grabbed at his face where the mask should be. "I completely forgot the most important part!"

Johnny exhaled wearily and moved forward.

"Can you wait here for me, okay? I’ll find the mask and maybe some goggles," Johnny nodded to Spider, trying to sound calm.

"Are you sure? There’s barely a spot left on your face," Peter said, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

Johnny just gave him a dissatisfied look and walked off without a word, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts.

It was hard for Peter. He was hiding his identity from the only friend he had gained after all the hardships. Their friendship had started with mutual dislike: rivalry, irritation, annoyance… but over time, it had grown into something real and strong. Years had passed, and still the fear of losing what he had finally found after so much suffering never left him. He knew that if he lost Johnny, he would break mentally. Physically, he might still exist, but he would no longer be himself.

Perhaps one day he would decide to open up, but that day was not coming soon. Yet he could feel it. Parker Luck would still play his part in this strange game.

Damn it, Peter just realized he hated chess.

"Watch where you’re going, asshole!" snapped a passerby, nearly colliding with Peter.

"Sorry," he muttered, quickly averting his gaze.

"God, how many freaks are in this city?" the stranger waved his hand indignantly.

Peter just rolled his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to smooth things over or hold on to a shred of optimism, everything felt off. His spider-sense thrummed incessantly, as if the city itself were woven from threats. Danger lurked in every corner, from every passerby. The air smelled of gunpowder, iron, and blood. It seemed like everyone carried at least a knife, if not a gun.

The hospitality here was on par with the stench that hung in the streets, absolutely terrible. Peter had to admit it: wherever they’d been before, this was likely the worst nightmare he had ever faced. And let them call him dramatic, he wasn’t lying.

Johnny and Peter walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder, scanning the passersby. People stared at them far too openly. Most of the attention, of course, was on Johnny, whose face was marked with fresh bruises. Peter couldn’t help but be curious. How had his friend avoided taking a bullet at the “borrowing clothes” stage? He’d clearly gotten off easy.

One thing was obvious. Staying here was unsafe. The city breathed malice, and each inhale was heavy. The stench of the sewers mingled with something far fouler. For Peter, with his heightened senses, it was a true test. He felt as if he could suffocate at any moment.

"You know," he muttered through gritted teeth, "if we make it out of here alive, I’m seriously considering buying a gas mask."

Johnny grinned and looked at Peter, lingering a little longer than he should have..

Unlike him, the Torch looked almost relaxed, as if there were no hostile faces, no foul-smelling alleys around them. But Peter knew better. That smirk betrayed him more than any word could. He read Johnny’s body language as easily as an open book and damn, he was proud of that skill.

"Got a plan?" Johnny asked, quieter than usual, stopping at a traffic light. There were hardly any cars, but the few that passed flew as if the laws of physics didn’t apply in this city.

"We’ll find a newspaper. That’ll tell us what’s going on. Or a computer, that works too," Peter suggested.

Johnny rolled his eyes. "A newspaper? Ugh, please. Who even uses newspapers these days? You have to be a total lose…"

He didn’t get to finish. Peter quickly pressed a hand to his lips, silencing him. Johnny frowned, but noticing the passersby staring at them, he understood. Several people were holding fresh papers and watching as if ready to charge. Of course… he’d gotten himself into trouble again, with his “clever” mouth.

"Try not to voice your opinion," Peter said quietly, lowering his hand. "People here clearly aren’t used to staying silent if something displeases them."

The cold air brushed against Johnny’s lips again. Too cold, especially for April. He caught himself trying to rationalize the discomfort, even though he knew it wasn’t the chill bothering him.

"Got it," he muttered. "A newspaper isn’t bad either."

The pedestrian light turned green.

Johnny nodded toward the street and smirked slightly. "Shall we?"

Peter stepped forward, but in that instant, his spider-sense shot through him like a jolt of electricity. Reflexes beat thought: his hand shot out, grabbed someone by the hood, and yanked them back. At the same moment, a car screeched past, tires screaming, right where the person had stood seconds before.

"Whoa…" Johnny’s eyes went wide. He’d seen Spider’s “sixth sense” in action before, but this time it hit him deep. The coolest thing in the world. For a fleeting moment, a foolish thought crossed his mind: what if he deliberately got into trouble just so Spider could save him again?

"You okay?" Peter asked, not glancing at Johnny at all, leaning instead toward a child of about ten.

The boy looked up at him. His gaze was stern, heavy. Green eyes… so familiar, staring straight into Peter’s soul. Peter felt a jolt of unease inside. Natasha…

"Yeah. I’m fine," the child replied coldly, yanking his hood free from Peter’s hand.

The tone didn’t surprise him. Such a response sounded natural in a city where even children wore a mask of indifference, as if it were their only defense.

"Glad you’re okay," Peter said calmly, already ready to move on, when something brushed against his pants. He turned in surprise and saw a massive black dog, almost like a Great Dane.

The dog circled him, whining, as if begging to be petted. Peter gave a faint smile. This was familiar territory. He had rescued countless cats and dogs before, and they always responded to kindness. He liked the attention, even if fleeting.

"Titus, back," came a firm voice from the boy Peter had saved. The dog retreated, but not completely.

Peter immediately sensed the boy’s tension. Small, but alert, ready to protect his pet. He couldn’t blame him; in this city, even a dog could become a target. On top of that, Peter was fully in his concealed gear, which only increased the risk.

The boy was about to step forward to shield Titus with his body, but Peter took a step back. A fight was the last thing he wanted right now. In this city, clashes erupted every few minutes, and the less attention they drew, the safer they were.

"Well, bye," Peter muttered, unsure what else to say, turning away. He grabbed the frozen hand of Johnny, who watched in astonishment, and led him forward.

Titus whimpered again but didn’t move. He seemed torn between two worlds, unsure whom to choose. Alright, maybe it looked strange. Maybe Peter had some dog treats in his pockets.

"Who was that?" came a deep unfamiliar voice, apparently directed at the boy who still stared after Peter with piercing green eyes.

"I don’t know…" Peter didn’t bother listening further. Usually, his enhanced hearing made him curious, but now he decided to step back. He hoped their paths wouldn’t cross again.

"Well…"

"Quiet, and let’s find a city map instead," Peter interrupted, picking up his pace and slightly outpacing Johnny.

"Alright, alright, I get it…" Johnny shrugged lightly and nodded. "Maybe we could ask that cop?" He nodded toward the nearest officer, baton in hand, who was engrossed in his phone.

"Uh…" Peter hesitated. He had never gotten along with the police. EVER. Even as Peter Parker. "Better to ask civilians than…"

"Oh, come on," Johnny cut him off with his usual smirk. "Ask civilians who have weapons hidden under their coats? No thanks."

Peter rolled his eyes. Trying to convince Johnny? That would be suicide.

"Fine," he surrendered. "Let’s go."

Chapter Text

One ought to thank God for everything, for life itself, for fate, and, of course, for the best friend in the world. Although… perhaps that last one should be done with a touch of caution. Without Johnny, Peter’s days would have been far quieter. No, who was he kidding? It wasn’t peace he was lacking. It was just that his life would’ve involved fewer catastrophes if not for that reckless lunatic. Seriously.

Without Johnny, Peter’s days would have been far quieter. No, who was he kidding? It wasn’t peace he was lacking. It was just that his life would’ve involved fewer catastrophes if not for that reckless lunatic. Seriously.

A sharp tingle rippled through his Spider-Sense, ringing like a silent alarm. Peter was about to stop Johnny, but too late, the Human Torch was already striding towards the policeman with that unbearable confidence of his.

As Peter came closer, he could finally take a good look at the cop. A badge gleamed on his chest, GCPD, letters Peter didn’t recognise. The officer leaned lazily against a patrol car, a paper cup of coffee in one hand, a dying cigarette dangling from his lips. His gloves were worn through at the seams, the leather cracked and darkened with years of use.

"Hey, officer! Sorry to bother you. We’re, uh… a little lost. Any chance you could point us toward the city centre?" Johnny asked, flashing his best awkward smile.

The policeman didn’t even lift his head, still scrolling through something on his phone.

"The centre? Hah. This city doesn’t have a centre. It’s all outskirts."

He raised his gaze slowly. The neon light slid across his face, reflected in the rain-slick asphalt. His eyes narrowed the moment they caught the glint of Peter’s mask and goggles. The phone disappeared into his pocket, and his fingers drifted, almost lazily, toward the holster at his hip.

"Take off the mask. This isn’t a hospital."

Peter blinked, caught off guard by the tone.

"Uh… sorry. Bit of a cold, that’s all," he managed, trying to sound casual.

"A cold, is it?" the cop chuckled, though there wasn’t a hint of amusement in it. "Funny. Most folks who’ve “caught a cold” around here are really just hiding something" bruises, or faces the law would rather see on a poster.

He took a step forward, but Johnny moved between them, shoulders squared, flashing that trademark grin of his, equal parts charm and defiance.

"Whoa there, easy, sheriff. We’re just tourists. Don’t shoot" we haven’t even bought souvenirs yet.

The cop gave a crooked smirk, his eyes drifting over Johnny from head to toe, slow and deliberate, like a cat toying with a bird it hadn’t decided whether to eat.

"Tourists, huh? Ha! Well, welcome to Gotham. Even the rats here pay taxes to the mob."

He exhaled a lazy puff of smoke in Johnny’s direction, his hand stretching out, not toward the gun, but in a casual, almost friendly gesture, as though proposing a deal.

"You know… in this part of town, the “lost ones” have a habit of misplacing their wallets. Pure coincidence, of course. But if you happen to have a bit of cash on you… I could be persuaded to point you the right way."

Johnny grimaced as if he’d just swallowed something sour. It wasn’t that he hadn’t met corrupt cops before — it was just rare to find one so utterly shameless about it. And now, he finally understood why Peter always avoided talking to the police.

"You’re kidding me, right?" he breathed. "You’re a cop!"

The officer chuckled, a humourless sound curling at the edge of his mouth.

"Kid, this is Gotham. Cops here are just thieves with badges."

Johnny snorted in disgust, ready to fire off some cutting remark, but Peter suddenly froze.

A thin electric pulse ran down his spine. The skin on his neck prickled. Spider-Sense.

Danger. Curiosity. Danger!

The world seemed to pause for a heartbeat. Sounds dulled, as though muffled by water. Peter lifted his head slowly, careful not to startle whatever was watching them. And for the briefest instant, he caught a shadow swift as the flick of a wing disappearing beyond the rooftop.

Peter knew at once: they were being watched. And whoever it was… wasn’t a friend.

"Let’s get out of here," he whispered, eyes locked on the roof. "Now."

Johnny blinked, confused, glancing from Peter to the cop, who still stood there with that same lazy, half-bored expression.

"What? Why? This cop.."

"Just go," Peter cut him off, lowering his voice. "I’ll explain later."

He could feel danger closing in from two directions, from the officer in front of them, and from whoever lurked above. Then again, in this city, everything seemed to breathe danger.

Wherever this Gotham was… it stank of theft and blood. A complete dump, as Johnny would’ve put it.

The policeman noticed Peter’s eyes flick upward. For an instant, the cynicism vanished from his face replaced by something else. Real fear.

He dropped his cigarette, crushed it under his boot, and rasped, "Consider yourselves lucky this time. Word of advice: stay out of the alleys."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "And… give them my regards. If you make it till morning."

Then, without another word, he spun on his heel, jumped into the patrol car, and tore off. In seconds, the flashing red and blue lights melted into the night, leaving the two of them standing there, staring after him.

Peter didn’t move. He didn’t even glance toward the rooftop. Something was wrong, too wrong. The way the cop had bolted the moment he’d followed Peter’s gaze…

Did he know who was up there?

Johnny turned to him, scanning the street. Passers-by hurried past, indifferent, as though nothing had happened. And maybe that was for the best.

"Alright," Johnny drawled, "what the hell was that? You scare him off with your eyes? Or did you flash some secret ‘spider signal’ that gives cops a panic attack?"

He smirked, but the humour faded when he caught the tension in Peter’s shoulders and the silence.

"Okay… got it. Jokes later."

Peter gave a restrained nod, forcing himself to unclench. "First, we get out of here. I’ll explain on the way."

"Hmm… so you’re telling me you felt danger coming from the rooftop, and the moment the cop realised it, he bolted?" Johnny frowned, disbelief lacing his tone. "Weird. Cops don’t usually scare that easy. Unless it’s a superhero… or their own boss."

"Exactly," Peter said, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. "Five bucks says it was one of the local heroes."

"Wait," Johnny glanced around. "You mean they know about us?"

"Not sure," Peter shrugged. "Could’ve just been some guy who likes rooftops. Or a thief."

"A thief who scared the crap out of a cop?" Johnny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sounds legit."

"It’s possible," Peter sighed, weary. "Anyway, we need to find out something about this city."

"The cop said ‘Gotham,’ right?" Johnny furrowed his brow, trying to recall. "Look, I may be more of a space guy than a geography guy, but I’ve never heard of a city called Gotham."

"You’re not wrong," Peter nodded. "I think that’s one more piece of evidence we’re in another universe. Though… maybe it’s like Wakanda."

"Oh, great," Johnny ran a hand through his hair. "Multiverse talk again. It’s gonna kill me one day. I’m starving, Spidey. How about we find something to eat? Also… you got any cash?"

"And this coming from a member of the Fantastic Four?" Peter snorted.

"Hey, excuse me, not all of us carry wallets in our super-suits!" Johnny puffed his cheeks in mock offense.

"You think I do?" Peter raised his hands. "I go on patrol with empty pockets. My suit’s not an ATM."

"Yeah, yeah, sure…" Johnny rolled his eyes. "But we’re not actually gonna starve, right?"

Peter gave a tired half-smile, shooting his friend a sidelong look.

"If you go supernova for the hundredth time, I swear I’m eating whatever’s left of you."

Johnny widened his eyes theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest in mock horror. "A cannibal spider? Eating me? That sounds… oddly exciting."

He winked and gave Peter a light shove on the shoulder.

"You just have to turn everything into a sex joke, don’t you?" Peter sighed wearily.

"That, sir, is a vile and slanderous accusation!" Johnny declared, though the grin in his voice gave him away.

"Yeah, sure," Peter snorted, lifting his gaze ahead. "We’re here."

Before them, a flickering neon sign announced a library, its glow sputtering weakly in the drizzle.

"Ha! What did I tell you?" Johnny spread his arms in triumph. "Always trust the youth for directions!"

"Says the guy who still looks like one," Peter murmured with a faint smirk.

Johnny pulled a face and scratched the back of his head. "Uh… by the way, Spid... I mean..." He stopped himself, glancing around quickly. "Right, I probably shouldn’t call you ‘Spidey’ in public. We need a cover name. Something normal, you know? So you’ll answer if I yell."

Peter froze.

Yes, he really was an idiot. How had he not thought of that before? What was he supposed to say now? Make up a fake name? Then he’d have to answer to it and sooner or later, someone would notice the lie. Use the name of a close friend? He would respond instinctively… but the memories would hit too hard.

Use his middle name? Ben… No. He couldn’t. Five years had passed, yet the pain still lived somewhere under his skin. The wound had closed, sure, but touch it, and it stung all over again. And Aunt May… even the thought of her was a fresh cut that hadn’t even begun to heal.

He drew in a deep breath. Johnny deserved the truth. After everything they’d been through, Peter couldn’t keep lying to the one person he called a friend. Maybe if he shared just a little of that burden… it would hurt less.

"I… uh…" he began, his throat dry, the words catching. "I think…"

"Spidey…" Johnny’s voice came quietly, stripped of his usual teasing. There was only concern in it.

‘Peter’ — it would be like speaking the name of a ghost.
'Ben’ — like laying flowers on an old grave.

He could.
He couldn’t.
He could…

Peter lifted his gaze, exhaled.

"Call me… Ben."

Johnny blinked, not quite processing it. "Ben?" he echoed, then, trying to recover his usual tone, gave a faint grin. "At this rate, you could’ve just gone with Reed. Or… Johnny~"

Peter shook his head, but a tiny smile flickered at the corner of his mouth.

"Ben’s my middle name," he said quietly, keeping his voice steady. "So… yeah. I’ll answer to it."

He glanced away, shoulders tight. Inside, everything twisted. He knew what this was cowardice. He hadn’t earned the right to that name. A coward, too afraid to tell even his best friend who he really was.

Meanwhile, Johnny froze. Spidey had told him his name! Well, not his first, but his second. Still… that was something!

His heart gave a traitorous little jolt. If things kept going this way, maybe one day Ben would tell him the truth. Maybe he’d even take off the mask.

No. No, no, no. Not now. Don’t even go there, Storm. He’s not ready. And neither are you.

"Johnny?" Peter was watching him with a faint frown. "You okay?"

"Huh? Uh… yeah! Just..." Johnny hurried to bring back his trademark smirk, "just picturing Ben’s face if he found out your middle name’s Ben too. He’d totally call it destiny."

Peter snorted.

"Right, destiny. Sure." He stepped up to the door and wrapped his fingers around the handle. "So, ready to dive into the thrilling world of literature and research?"

"Spare me," Johnny groaned, rolling his eyes. "I hate everything that involves books. Unless it’s a magazine full of models. Or...fine...sports at least."

"Perfect," Peter said with a small grin, pushing the door open. "You can be the moral support. Just stand there and try not to break anything."

"As always," Johnny muttered, following him in. "Spidey... uh, Ben... you know I’d even survive a library for you."

Peter paused for a heartbeat, glancing back over his shoulder. "I’m more worried about the library surviving you."

Johnny laughed loud and genuine and for a fleeting moment, that laughter chased away the oppressive gloom of Gotham.

He swung the doors wide, and they stepped inside. For once, the stranger on the street hadn’t lied. That alone felt like a small miracle. In the last few hours, they’d wandered across half the city found no journalists, no reliable newsstands (and the ones they did find charged more than they could afford). Passers-by had greeted them with everything from drawn guns to cold indifference to blatant lies.

So this place this quiet, warm, half-forgotten library, felt like a victory already.

Inside, the air smelled of dust, old paper, and coffee. A soft, golden light bathed the room, giving it a quiet, lived-in warmth. Behind the counter sat a young woman with ginger hair and green eyes bright as spring leaves, though dulled by fatigue. Her gaze was fixed on the screen, fingers dancing feverishly over the keyboard.

"Good afternoon, ma’am," Johnny was the first to speak, flashing a disarming smile. The full Storm charm was in play. Well, at least in that department, Johnny had always been the better man.

The woman looked up, surprised but not hostile. For a moment, her eyes lingered on Peter, on the mask and the dark sunglasses. A faint flicker of caution crossed her face. Yeah. Clearly, people here didn’t take kindly to those who hid their faces.

"Hello, boys. What can I do for you?"

Peter gave Johnny’s sleeve two quick tugs. They’d invented that signal long ago, a silent language for the field. One tug: all clear. Two: danger nearby.

And right now, Peter’s Spider-Sense was quietly whispering that something about this woman wasn’t quite right.

Johnny caught on instantly, though his grin didn’t falter for a second.

"Yeah, we’re just…" he began in an easy, friendly tone, "new in Gotham. Thought we’d learn our way around what’s safe, what’s… well, not so much."

A half-truth the best kind of lie, as Natasha Romanoff used to say. “Give the world the truth, just through a crooked mirror and no one will ever call you a liar.”

The woman held his gaze for a few long, silent seconds studying him, weighing something behind his words. Then, at last, she gave a slow, measured nod.

"Of course. It’s always dangerous to be in Gotham. Amazing that such young kids like you would decide to move here."

Peter almost groaned. Fantastic. Just perfect. They’d completely forgotten that right now, they looked like teenagers.

"It’s all because of our parents and their work," Johnny jumped in smoothly, not missing a beat. "They don’t really like it here either. Once their business is done, we’ll be gone."

He gave a tired smile and rolled his eyes, adding just a touch of dramatic flair to his tone.

Peter nearly smirked. Well, would you look at that Johnny could lie, and convincingly at that. With that charm and charisma, he could probably convince anyone of anything… even that the Earth was flat. Alright maybe Peter was the loser at lying, but not Johnny.

"Ah, I see," the woman said, her voice softening slightly. "Parents, huh? Alright, boys, I take it you need computers?"

Johnny nodded eagerly.

"Great. Just fill out a library card form, and then you’ll get your access code. You can use a computer for two hours, after which the system will automatically log you out."

"Got it, we understand," Peter replied.

The woman nodded and handed them two sheets of paper and a pen.

"Just fill in your personal information."

Peter leaned over the counter and scanned the form quickly. Name, surname, address, date of birth… Perfect. As if their day could get any more complicated.

Well, if they were going to lie, they might as well go all in.

Name: Ben

Surname: …

Peter froze for a second. Using his real surname was far too risky. Unlike Johnny, who would probably scribble Storm in huge letters without a second thought, maybe even add a flourish for flair.

Maybe… Stark? No. No, no, no. Sorry, Mr. Stark. Shut up, Parker, don’t even think about it!

Or… maybe just Storm? Pretend they were brothers. Yeah, that made sense. They’d already said they came with their parents… Hopefully Johnny wouldn’t mind.

Surname: Storm

Ben Storm. Not bad. Though Peter Storm would have sounded even better. Or Peter Stark… oh no, there he went, drifting off again.

Date of birth: 2001.08.10

And finally, the address. That was where he stumbled.

"Um… sorry," Peter said quietly, lifting his gaze over the top of his glasses. "We just moved here and, uh… haven’t memorized the exact address yet."

The woman peered at him over the monitor, but thankfully didn’t press the matter.

"No problem. It’s just for notifications if books aren’t returned. You can leave it blank and fill it in later."

"Alright. We’ll do that," Peter replied with relief.

A few minutes later, the boys handed in their forms and received small plastic library cards.

"Thank you very much, Miss..."

"Barbara. And no ‘Miss,’ please. I’m hardly that old."

Johnny flashed his signature disarming grin. "Alright, Barbara. Thanks again."

They finally stepped away from the counter, and Johnny couldn’t help but glance at Ben’s library card. What he saw hit him like a punch to the chest. His heart hammered wildly, like it wanted to leap right out. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

Ben had written his own surname. Storm! Storm, for crying out loud! Not some other name, not a relative’s, not anything else his surname!

His breathing hitched. His heart soared and dropped at once, like diving into an abyss. Embarrassment on one side, a spark of joy on the other.

Does… does this mean something? the thought flickered, hot and achingly sharp.

"Johnny?" Peter’s voice pulled him out of his daze. "You spaced out again."

Johnny’s eyes snapped open, wide, cheeks flaming as if caught in some forbidden act. He swallowed hard, trying to wrest control over his breathing and his racing thoughts.

"Uh… yeah… I’m fine…" His voice tumbled out in stutters, uneven and breathy. "You… I… uh… let’s just get this over with!"

He darted to the first available computer and sat down, forcing his focus onto the screen to distract himself.

Peter gave him a curious glance but didn’t ask any questions. He pulled up the adjacent chair and sat beside him.

"Alright, you use the computer first, then me. That way we get four hours instead of two."

"Yeah," Johnny nodded quickly. "Sounds good."

But his fingers were trembling, and Peter noticed how hard he was trying to hold himself together. Red cheeks, quick breaths, a subtle tension in his posture something was clearly off.

"You sure you’re okay?" Peter asked gently, watching Johnny type the password.

"Y-yeah… all good, Ben," Johnny exhaled deeply, trying to quiet the storm inside. "Just… a little nervous. Got it under control."

"Alright. But if anything… tell me. I’ve got your back."

Johnny nodded and, with a sigh of relief, opened the browser.

"So, where do we start?" he asked, fingers hovering nervously over the keyboard.

"Type ‘Tony Stark.’ He should be known worldwide," Peter whispered over his shoulder.

Johnny nodded and began typing.

Tony Stark

No results. Perhaps you meant Tony Starkford?

"Alright…" Johnny muttered, a weak grin tugging at his lips. "This is really bad."

"Try ‘Iron Man.’"

Iron Man

No results. Perhaps you meant a statue made of iron?

Fantastic Four

Did you mean the sci-fi movie genre?

Doctor Octopus

Did you mean… an octopus?

Spider-Man

Did you mean a species of spiders?

Johnny exhaled.

The last shred of hope was gone. They were here, but they didn’t exist. Literally.

They exchanged a glance. Johnny, maybe, was used to endless dimensions and parallel realities. But Peter… Peter had never faced anything like this. Unless bad guys had come to his dimension specifically to settle scores.

"This is bad," they muttered in unison, staring back at the screen, trying to figure out their next move.

"Search your own identity," Peter suggested, keeping his tone calm.

Johnny nodded and typed in his name.

Johnny Storm

Results: 208.

He scrolled through image after image, but none of them were the real Johnny. Not a single familiar face, not one recognizable frame.

"We simply don’t exist…" Peter sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"When the hell is Reed going to show up in his lab and save us?! It’s been all day!" Johnny exploded.

"Johnny!" Peter shot up a hand sharply. "Calm down. Right now, we need to focus on the problems here. Like… food. And keep it down! This is a library!"

Johnny looked up and met a pair of annoyed eyes. Oh, here we go again…

"I hate this city," he muttered, burying his face in his hands.

"Same, buddy. Same," Peter agreed, grabbing the mouse. "Let’s focus. Let’s find everything we can about Gotham."

He returned to the main page, eyes skimming the hot news:

Gotham Gazette

Breaking News, October 10, 14:32

"JOKER ESCAPES ARKHAM ASYLUM AGAIN!"

Gotham is on high alert once more: the notorious criminal Joker made his escape from Arkham Asylum early this morning. According to security reports, the Joker exploited a breach in the system and vanished before the on-duty police shift arrived.

Sources within the asylum claim the criminal was armed and may have used a new experimental toxin, capable of inducing severe psychological trauma and uncontrollable laughter in victims Joker’s own chemical signature. The asylum confirmed that some staff and patients may have been exposed to the chemical, though the exact number of affected individuals is still unknown.

Batman and his team have already begun their search. Recent reports from Gotham City Police sources indicate that the Dark Knight was spotted on the rooftops of the Old Port and in the alleys of Downtown, attempting to track the Joker. Batman’s team advises all citizens to stay indoors and report any suspicious activity connected to the toxin.

Journalists note that the Joker’s escape marks the thirtieth incident in the past five months. Experts warn that the criminal exhibits extraordinary cunning and cruelty, and further crimes involving chemical exposure are likely in the near future.

Residents are already noticing an increased police and Arkham staff presence on the streets, but the situation remains highly unstable. Citizens are urged to remain vigilant.

Stay tuned for updates: the newsroom continues to receive information from police, witnesses, and sources within the asylum.

"Joker’s toxin?" Peter almost laughed.

"Batman? Like… a bat man? What a stupid name," Johnny muttered.

"Says the Human Torch," Peter shot back.

"Says Spider-Man," Johnny countered.

"Touché. Let’s start with the toxin first, then we’ll deal with this 'Batman,'" Peter said, settling in.

Johnny nodded and typed into the search bar: Joker's Toxin.

Gotham Gazette

Emergency Edition, January 1, 15:04 (2 years ago)

"JOKER ESCAPES AGAIN: TOXIN IN CITY"

Gotham is once again gripped by panic: following the recent escape from Arkham Asylum, reports have surfaced of mass hysterical laughter in the streets, accompanied by severe respiratory distress and loss of consciousness. Medical staff from Arkham and local police confirm a direct connection between these incidents and the Joker’s breakout.

Local doctors are calling the substance the "Joker Toxin" or "Laughing Toxin." According to incoming reports, even a small dose triggers uncontrollable, convulsive bouts of laughter, which in severe cases can lead to respiratory collapse and cardiovascular complications. Victims require urgent medical attention and continuous observation.

Eyewitnesses describe people collapsing in the streets from laughter, disoriented and unresponsive to attempts by bystanders to help. Emergency services and hospitals report a surge of patients displaying similar symptoms; exact numbers are still being determined.

Police and special units, in collaboration with Arkham staff, are working to contain the incidents and investigate. City authorities urge citizens to remain calm, stay indoors with windows closed where possible, and report any suspicious sprays or uncontrolled groups.

Recommendations for Citizens: If signs of uncontrollable laughter appear in yourself or others, call for medical assistance immediately. Move affected individuals to a well-ventilated area and ensure access to fresh air, without using force. Any suspicious canisters, containers, or traces of spraying should be reported to the police immediately.

The newsroom will continue monitoring the situation. If you witness an incident, send reports and photos reliable information can save lives.

Peter frowned. Alright, this was bad. Maybe he could find a laboratory and analyze the toxin to create an antidote, but there were no guarantees of success.

"Well…" he muttered. "This city just got even worse in my eyes."

Johnny, scrolling through articles about the local heroes on the computer screen, let out a mocking grin. He clearly enjoyed observing Batman the Dark Knight, whose sidekicks seemed more like boys than partners, generously funded by some billionaire named Bruce Wayne.

"We’re definitely not in some Turkish soap opera, right?" Johnny smirked. "It’s like Tony Stark suddenly starting a dynasty of tiny Iron Men."

He laughed hysterically, while Peter barely held back a grin, trying not to look insane.

"Yeah, and ‘Robin’… named after birds? But they can’t even fly, unlike Iron Man."

"And what’s this ‘Wayne Industries’?" Johnny ran a finger over the screen.

"Probably an alternative to Stark Industries. Let’s see," Peter replied.

They clicked through the site and skimmed the biography section, then came upon a profile for a man named Bruce Wayne: billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Peter couldn’t hold back a soft laugh, careful not to give himself away.

"That Bruce is basically this world's Tony Stark… just without the brains. Maybe he’s simply stupid?" Johnny sniggered.

"Johnny, not everyone can build an Iron Man suit from a hole in the ground," Peter said, sad smile audible through his tone.

"You're right. The dumber the billionaire, the more entertaining he is. Or whatever they say."

"A clever billionaire makes money; a foolish one makes a show," Peter replied, shaking his head a little.

"Hmm… look how stingy he is. He’s got three adopted kids, for crying out loud!" Johnny glanced at the screen with mock suspicion. "Is he even all right?"

"Everyone has their quirks," Peter answered evenly. "Including you."

"What's that supposed to mean, webby… Ben?" Johnny squinted, batting his eyes.

"Ah, Johnny, you’ll have to get used to my second name."

"Okay, okay, got it, got it," Johnny waved a hand. "Right then… I say we keep searching for villains, a map of this city and… where the hell the money comes from here."

Peter frowned. Money was like air right now. They couldn’t get jobs no ID, and, damn it, they looked fifteen or sixteen again! He'd almost forgotten that. Few people hire teenagers for anything serious. Besides, Peter didn’t have a camera. And Johnny… apart from space, superheroing, and racing, hadn’t exactly done much.

Then, as if an angel had spoken into his head, a familiar voice rang out in Peter’s memory:

"Don’t worry, kid. Rob a billionaire. The richer he is, the less likely he’ll notice what’s missing. Speaking from experience. So don’t sweat it, underoos."

Back then Tony had been hinting that Peter could take money without permission and if Peter tried to swipe something, Tony would have been there to protect him. But this wasn’t that case. They didn’t even have a bank card… Hm. But nothing stopped Peter from making one.

Yes, it would be illegal, but on the other hand they were in another universe, and they’d have to do whatever it took. Peter understood: if they didn’t try, they wouldn’t last long.

"Move over, Johnny," Peter said, decisively reaching for the keyboard.

Chapter Text

You have to give life its due, it sure knew how to throw challenges his way. He’d been through all of this before, and it looked like fate had decided to run a second round.

The universe just didn’t seem ready to let him go. Create a new identity, get a bank card, come up with a name… For Peter Parker, it had already become routine. After that whole story with those villains from other universes, when everyone forgot who he was, he’d lost too much.
Too much to call it just another adventure.

But there was one upside, Peter knew what to do. This time, he wasn’t alone.

Next to him sat Johnny, a walking source of endless energy and smug smiles. Whatever people said, Peter really did feel calmer with him around.

“Where’d you even learn how to do all this?” Johnny asked in surprise, lowering his voice.

“Had to pick it up. Nothing special,” Peter replied, his eyes still fixed on the screen. His fingers flew across the keyboard, his focus unbroken.

“Uh-huh…” Johnny drawled, scratching the back of his head. “So how long’s this gonna take?”

“Less than an hour. If you stop distracting me.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll shut up,” Johnny sighed, leaning back in his chair.

A couple of minutes later, already bored of staring at the glow of the screen, he started studying the other customers instead, clearly restless.

In an hour, the library had noticeably thinned out. Earlier, four kids, probably high schoolers, had been huddled over some assignment. This place clearly wasn’t popular, but that was exactly the point: it was a lot calmer here than outside, on Gotham’s grim streets.

Johnny lazily looked around and let his gaze drift toward a table in the back. Uh… what was her name again? Bella? No, that didn’t sound right. Whatever, it wasn’t like he was going to need her name anyway. The girl was typing something on her phone, but when she felt his eyes on her, she looked up and gave him a small, polite smile, her brows slightly furrowed. Johnny returned it with the same kind of polite smile.

After all, there was nothing surprising about it, this city was a dump anyway.

He glanced back at Ben. He had to admit, he liked seeing him this focused. Even though he couldn’t see the face under the mask and glasses, Johnny could feel the tension in his posture, the raised shoulders, the fingers flying across the keys with almost mechanical precision.
Small, teenage hands, but strong ones. Skin with a faint tan.

Catching his reflection in the window, Johnny froze for a moment. Not much had changed, really, except maybe the biceps he used to be so proud of were gone. And his height… yeah, definitely shorter. He looked maybe fifteen, seventeen tops. Hard to tell exactly.

Maybe he should just ask Ben…

“All done,” Peter exhaled with relief, leaning back in his chair and stretching.

“That should be enough to keep us off the radar for now.”

“Yeah. The real question is, when are they gonna pull us out of here?” Johnny rolled his eyes.

“When you don’t need him, Reed can spend weeks buried in his lab. But the moment you do poof, nowhere to be found!”

“Maybe time runs differently here?” Peter mused, glancing first at him, then back at the screen as he closed and wiped the browser clean of the tools he’d just used to create their new identities and bank accounts. “Faster… or slower?”

“No idea. But I really hope it’s the same.” Johnny shuddered. “I don’t wanna go back and find Reed and Sue all old. Or worse, be old myself!”

“You will be,” Peter snorted, rolling his eyes. “Sooner or later. Let’s just hope it all works out. Though yeah… without Stark tech, we’re basically crippled.”

“This world sucks.”

“How many times have you said that now?”

“Since the moment we got here.”

Peter gave a faint smile, but it vanished almost instantly.

“Until the bank confirms the card, we’re broke. That might take a while…”

He suddenly froze. Something pricked in his chest, a heartbeat. Not his own. Steady, confident… and getting closer. In an instant, Peter closed every tab and opened a random page, pretending to scroll through a feed.

“Good evening, boys,” Barbara said calmly, peering at them over her glasses. But there was something else in her voice, a kind of deliberate calm, too precise, hiding alertness. Maybe even suspicion. That’s when Peter noticed what he’d somehow missed
before, she was in a wheelchair.

Damn it.

How had he not seen that earlier?

“Due to certain circumstances, we’ll have to close earlier than usual,” she added with a gentle smile. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Johnny looked at the librarian, still couldn’t remember her name, then at the clock on the wall.

Wow. They’d really been here for two hours already.

“No problem, we were just finishing up,” Peter said quickly, turning the screen a bit so Barbara could see it too.

“Oh? You’re applying to Gotham Academy?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise.

Peter froze, clearly unsure what to say, but Johnny jumped in right away, slipping smoothly into character:

“We were just checking out local schools. Our parents might be staying here for a while, and they said we shouldn’t just sit around doing nothing. Since you’re local, maybe you could recommend one?”

Barbara nodded, visibly relaxing.

“Well, there’s Gotham Academy and Gotham High School. I’d suggest Gotham High, it’s open to everyone, the program’s not too demanding, but you’ll need to pass an entrance exam. But, if your parents can afford it, Gotham Academy’s an option too. That’s where the city’s elite go, though, the coursework isn’t for everyone.”

Alright, that information went straight past Johnny’s ears.

“Hm. Okay,” Johnny said thoughtfully, nodding. “Since we don’t really have any other options, we’ll just ask our parents.”

Peter finally came back to his senses and gave a small, polite smile.

“Thank you, Miss Barbara, for the information.”

“Again,” she corrected gently, “just Barbara. I hope you’ll become regular visitors here.”

“We hope so too,” Johnny replied, grabbing Peter by the hand and practically dragging him toward the exit, mumbling a quick goodbye over his shoulder.

“I just hope our metabolism doesn’t start eating us alive,” Peter muttered gloomily.

“Yeah, I’d rather not see my beautiful face turn into a skeleton,” Johnny joked, though there was a strained edge to his voice.

No matter how hard Johnny tried to keep it light, the situation was anything but funny. Enhanced people had faster metabolisms, without food, it got rough. Especially here, in gloomy Gotham, where the chill seemed to seep into your bones with every step. Even the Human Torch couldn’t stay “hot” forever on an empty stomach.

“Wait,” Johnny suddenly said, glancing up. “It’s gonna rain soon.”

Peter followed his gaze. Dark clouds had thickened above them, and distant flashes of lightning streaked across the sky. Stepping out of the library, he immediately felt the cold bite through his clothes. The outfit didn’t help much, even with the suit underneath, the chill cut straight through him.

He started shivering but said nothing. Johnny didn’t need another thing to worry about. They already had enough problems as it was. His could wait.

“L-let’s find… some cover,” Peter managed through chattering teeth.

Sometimes he really hated his powers.

“Sure. How about the subway? You remember the route from the map?”

“Y-yeah… we’re not that far,” Peter muttered, forcing his voice to stay steady.

“Ben?” Johnny squinted, studying him closely. “You sure you’re okay?”

He caught the barely visible tremor in Peter’s hands, pale fingers clenching and unclenching into fists.

“You’re cold, aren’t you?” Johnny asked, worry creeping into his tone as he subtly raised his body temperature.

“Yes, no!” Peter hissed, half hiding himself behind Johnny’s shoulder. “Don’t heat up too much! Someone might notice!”

“You’re shaking,” Johnny teased with a smirk. “You know, I read somewhere that spiders don’t have thermoregulation. They depend on the temperature around them. Is that true, or are you only half spider?”

“Spider-Man,” Peter muttered through clenched teeth. “And if you keep warming me up like that, you’ll burn through your energy too fast… We can’t afford that!”

“And I don’t want you freezing,” Johnny shot back, stepping closer and resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “We’ll make it to the subway, it should be warmer there.”

“Then… will you cool down after?” Peter whispered, meaning to argue, but the warmth radiating from Johnny felt so good it almost lulled him to sleep. It was exactly what his exhausted body needed.

“We’ll see,” Johnny said with a small grin.
After walking a fair distance, guided mostly by Peter’s instincts, they finally reached the subway entrance.

There weren’t many people around, but just enough to blend in. Peter was already feeling warm again, his muscles slowly relaxing, while Johnny, proud of himself, smirked and lowered his temperature just enough to avoid drawing attention. They stopped in front of the subway map, trying to figure out a route. Neither of them really knew which parts of the city were safer, though Peter suspected none of them were.

Eventually, they settled on an area that reminded him of New York’s Greenwich Village: Gotham Village.

“First tunnel, transfer after three stops, then we get off…” Peter murmured, tracing the line with his finger. “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

He glanced around. When the attendant looked away from the turnstile for just a second, Peter vaulted over it and held out a hand to Johnny.

With a grin, Johnny followed his lead and somehow, they managed to slip through unnoticed.

Well, that’s something, Peter thought, feeling a tiny spark of victory.

People around them muttered under their breath, shooting the boys the occasional dirty look. Most didn’t pay attention at all, too busy rushing to work, faces grim and tired.

In Gotham, if you accidentally brushed past someone, you could practically feel a hundred silent curses thrown your way. Peter learned that fast.

“Man… even the subway here sucks,” Johnny muttered lazily, glancing around as they stepped into the right train.

“Well, at least it’s gothic,” Peter smirked, eyeing the dark, ornate interior of the car. “Something interesting, at least.”

They dropped into the nearest seats and exhaled at the same time. Only then did they realize they’d both been holding their breath.

Johnny stood out too much, his bright, open face drew suspicious, unfriendly stares from the locals.

Maybe he should wear a mask too, Peter thought.

But first things first, they needed money. The train lurched forward. For a moment, everything seemed calm. Too calm. Because of course, with Peter Parker, things never stayed that way for long. Someone please just kill him already, he was so tired of this.

His spider-sense flared like a siren. Danger, from the ventilation shaft above.

Not good.

They were in a closed space. If something got in here, there’d be nowhere to run and fighting in front of a car full of people? Out of the question. Peter grabbed Johnny’s hand, squeezing it hard. Johnny looked at him in confusion, then followed his gaze and frowned.

A second later, red gas began spilling from the vents, flooding the car. Peter’s spider-sense screamed so loud it felt like his skull was buzzing.

This is bad. Really bad.

Some kind of toxin? The Joker’s work? Or something even worse?

Johnny’s eyes widened in horror. Around them, passengers scrambled for gas masks, but masked men suddenly appeared in the crowd, ripping them away from people’s faces.

Damn it.

It was an ambush. They’d walked right into it.

Chaos erupted. The air grew thin, suffocating. People began choking, collapsing to the floor. Peter and Johnny held their breath. Peter could manage it, he was used to physical strain but Johnny? A guy who literally needed oxygen to stay alive? He wouldn’t last a minute.

One by one, passengers started convulsing, screaming, clawing at their own hair. Tears streamed down their faces as the gas burned their lungs. Then Peter’s memory clicked an article he’d read earlier that day in the library. A gas capable of inducing hallucinations and the most terrifying nightmares imaginable.

Created by a villain known as the Scarecrow.

They’re seeing nightmares… Is this like Mysterio all over again?

Peter clenched his fists. He hated hallucinations, hated them with every fiber of his being. Especially…

No. Not now.

This wasn’t the time for his pain. Right now, he had to save the people and Johnny.

The masked henchmen moved through the crimson haze, their gazes sweeping over the fallen passengers as if checking to make sure everyone was trapped in their nightmare worlds. Then, suddenly, the train screeched to a halt even the driver had gone down. Peter looked around. The doors between the train were close.
Yes. That was the way.

It wasn’t far, he could make it, and the gas would cover his movements. But Johnny… Peter turned.

He was already barely holding it together, chest heaving, lungs fighting for air. Peter scanned the train, there! A gas mask. But if he put it on, they’d just tear it off him. Useless. So instead, with the faintest trace of hesitation, he ripped the mask from a nearby seat and pressed it onto Johnny’s face, shoving his friend’s nose into the fabric of his hoodie. It wouldn’t last long, but it would be enough.

Now it was Spider-Man’s turn. He became a shadow, moving silent and fluid, like a cat in the dark. Seven years of being a hero had honed every motion into something precise, instinctive. His body bent and flowed as he slipped between sprawled passengers and scattered bags, using his acrobat’s grace to move almost unseen.
He reached the door.

The screams, high, desperate, inhuman, tore at his ears, drilling straight into his skull. The pain was unbearable, but not worse than what would come if he stopped now. He focused. Steady breathing. Eyes on the lock.
No key. Fine.

Nothing bad would happen if he used just a little of his strength… right?

He took a deep breath, gripped the handle, and pulled. Metal groaned, then gave way, as if afraid of him. The door flew open, and the gas poured out, dispersing into the tunnel air. Better. But not good enough. There were still men in masks inside the train, they hadn’t noticed yet, but that was only a matter of time.

Peter scanned the walls,small windows. If he opened them, the airflow would drag the rest of the gas out. Perfect. He moved quickly, opening one after another, feeling the faint stir of air as the poison began to lift, thinning like fog under sunlight. He was about to slip into the next train when his body suddenly faltered.

A dizzy spell hit him hard, his lungs burned, begging for oxygen.

He needed air. Now!

“What the hell!?” someone shouted behind him.

“Why’s the gas disappearing!?”

“The windows, they’re open! And the doors too!”

“Who did this?!”

Peter dropped down beside Johnny and looked at him. He was breathing through the mask, but when Peter caught his eyes, he froze. Johnny’s pupils were blown wide, his shoulders trembling.

Oh no.

He was already under the gas’s influence. Not as bad as the others… but still.

What the hell do I do?!

“Looks like that’s the one!” someone shouted. “He’s holding his breath!”

“He won’t last long. Get him, boys!”

Oh, perfect. Just perfect.

Peter turned, three big guys were rushing straight at him. This day just kept getting better.

He stepped away from Johnny, making sure his friend wouldn’t get caught in the fight, and faced them head-on.

“Well, aren’t you clever,” one of them sneered. “Thought you could handle this, huh? Trying to play hero? What are you, the next Robin?”

Peter rolled his eyes. Please. He was a hero, Tony Stark’s protégé, no less. There wasn’t a higher title to earn.

“Alright then,” the thug grinned. “Get ready, kid. We’re about to turn you into a pancake.”

Peter instinctively shifted left, the man’s fist sliced the air inches from his cheek. In the same motion, Peter grabbed the attacker’s arm, twisted it, and flipped him over his shoulder.

The guy hit the floor with a heavy thud. Peter’s goggles skittered away, and his hood slipped down, revealing his face.

Fuck!

The second one lunged forward, screaming, the third right behind him. Peter barely dodged, countering with quick, efficient strikes, but it was getting harder to move, harder to breathe.

Air. He was running out of air!

Nine minutes, maybe. That was all he had. Even Spider-Man had limits. His lungs were on fire, his temples pounding like a drum. Just a few more seconds and...

No. Not here. Not now.

He couldn’t leave Johnny behind. He couldn’t leave people here to die. Even if it killed him, he’d keep fighting.
He braced to strike back, but suddenly a large, gloved hand grabbed his shoulder and shoved him aside.

A massive figure stepped in front of him, taking the hit meant for Peter. Stunned, Peter staggered back, his vision blurring. The newcomer was tall, built like Steve Rogers and dressed head to toe in black.

A cape.

And those pointed ears on the cowl.

No way.

The man dispatched the last two attackers effortlessly, dropping them with two precise blows. Then he turned to Peter, still tense, still ready for a fight. Even through the haze, Peter caught the faint outline of the mask the gas filter covering his mouth and the sharp, unreadable eyes watching him. The man frowned, studying him closely.

Batman?

Peter’s heartbeat spiked again, hammering in his chest, faster than before. Batman’s gaze lingered on him, cold, calculating, as if trying to decide what exactly he was looking at.

Okay, great.

Staring contest with Batman while suffocating.

Fantastic timing, as always, Parker.

Any second now… and I’m gonna pass out right in front of him.

It seemed the hero read his thoughts. In a blur, he stepped forward, hoisted Peter over his shoulder, and leapt into the tunnel, climbing onto the roof of the train. He quickly set Peter down, and at last Peter could breathe.

Oh yes… oxygen. Sweet, sweet oxygen.

While Peter gasped for air, Batman kept his eyes locked on him.

Okay… seriously? What the hell is he doing?

“Cough, cough… Mr. Batman,” Peter rasped, still catching his breath. “Isn’t it time you rescued the civilians from yet another villain? Because, as far as I can tell, very few people can hold their breath for more than a minute.”

Finally voicing the situation, Peter saw it hit Batman, a flicker of awareness in the dark eyes behind the cowl. He glanced at Peter one last time, silent until now, and then said, his voice like stone:

“Stay here. No go.”

Peter didn’t even have a chance to respond. It was a command, unmistakably so. But when did Spider-Man ever take orders from a hero from another dimension?
Right, never.

His priority now was clear: get Johnny out of here and get the hell out through the hatches, if the subway tunnels even had them. Hopefully.

Besides, Peter didn’t like the way this Batman was looking at him. Like he was studying him. Peter had never felt that kind of scrutiny from another hero. Like the victims hadn’t suffered enough already, and now this bat-costumed guy was adding even more fear with his silence. And those muscles… yes, definitely like Cap. Believe a spider’s word on that. While Batman dealt with the other van, Peter slipped quietly down to where Johnny was, heart hammering, hands shaking uncontrollably.

“Johnny!” he called.

No response.

His chest tightened.

Why did we even come here?

It was his fault again. Johnny was caught in this because Peter had been careless, underestimating the villains in this city. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on blame. He had to save Johnny. Peter had no idea how to deal with this gas. He didn’t know what it contained, if only he had some tools on hand… He couldn’t just leave. This gas induced nightmares, and Peter knew better than anyone how deadly they could be for someone who wasn’t strong in spirit.

He needed a medic, or at least an antidote. Maybe he could borrow one from a clinic… Surely they gave them out, right? But what if it cost money? How long did the gas last? What other symptoms were there besides screaming from hallucinations? Peter cursed himself silently. He should have done more research. Shouldn’t have relied on skimpy newspaper reports. Another Parker screw-up.

Suddenly, his spider-sense flared, and Peter whipped his head back. The hero’s heartbeat was calm, almost unnaturally so.

What kind of monster is he?

Even Captain America couldn’t exist without a racing heart.

“What are you doing here?” the man called out, from a fair distance.

Peter noticed his voice sounded muted. Gas mask. Peter stayed silent.

How is he supposed to make small talk with me when I can’t even breathe?

“Put it on.”

It was as if the man read his thoughts. He tossed a gas mask toward Peter, but instead of putting it on himself, Peter handed it to Johnny and quickly swapped his own mask for the gas mask. The man continued observing Peter’s every move, silent, unmoving, eyes piercing. It annoyed Peter more than he cared to admit.

And to make matters worse, his spider-sense was buzzing from both the gas and this hero. Suddenly, the man stepped forward and, using some kind of key, opened the door to the driver’s cabin. Peter followed him with his eyes, and eventually got up to follow.

The hero stepped over the fallen driver and sat behind the controls, confidently pressing buttons. Peter thought wryly: every hero seems to have a second profession as a train operator. He himself had taken control of a train more than once. The train lurched forward. The quiet was drowned out by the clatter of the rails. Soon, they emerged into daylight and came to a stop.

No people were around, apparently the station had been evacuated and locked down for the duration. Peter hurried into the first car, scooped Johnny into his arms, and carried him out into the fresh air. Even Peter could finally take a deep, full breath.

“You hold your breath well,” the hero suddenly commented, appearing behind him.

“Heard of a sport called swimming?” Peter muttered.

Alright, maybe he was being cheeky, maybe even a little insolent, but he was too tired to endure any more interrogation from this bat-creature. Enough already.
Besides, the thought of Johnny clouded Peter’s mind.

They say when someone close is near death, you want to tell them everything, even your other identity. Maybe Peter would do just that. He was tired of keeping this damn secret, of listening to James JJ’s screams at work every day. Sure, Spider-Man could talk about problems, but Peter Parker’s struggles didn’t matter, he didn’t even have friends, unlike Spider-Man. He was lost in thought, completely unaware of the heavy hand that landed on his shoulder, gripping him firmly, bringing him back to reality.

“Give your friend to the medics, they can help him.”

Peter lifted his head sharply and finally took in the scene. Out of nowhere, medics appeared on the platform, guiding the victims away from the train.

Right. Johnny needed an antidote.

“Yes. Okay… thank you, mister… uh…”

“Batman,” the man answered simply, then vanished.

If Peter had been an ordinary person, he might not have noticed where he went.
But Peter wasn’t ordinary.

“Alright… everything just keeps getting more and more interesting…”