Chapter Text
Oww, Peter thought blandly as he shifted- no, scratch that, tried to shift- onto his back but quickly decided that wasn’t in his best interest. Voices, both his own and not, swam in his head like a wave beating against his forehead.
“They’re coming here because of me, right? Because I’m Peter Parker? So cast a new spell, make everyone forget who Peter Parker is. Make everyone forget me.”
“It wouldn’t be enough. Your very presence would destabilize this universe.”
Peter finally managed to roll himself over onto his back, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his spine at the movement enough to sit up and look around. He was in an alley which thankfully held no occupants save himself and the trash littering the ground.
“But I can... I can send you away. To a place where there is no Peter Parker. No Spiderman.”
Peter’s heart throbbed as he used the wall beside him to stand on shaky legs. He hadn’t expected the trip to be fun, sure, but he also hadn’t expected it to feel like he’d been run over by a bus, either. To be fair, he also had no idea if those injuries were acquired before he was sent here- wherever here was- or after. He hadn’t exactly been taking stock of his injuries when he was fighting for his life.
“Karen, where am I?” He asked quietly, trying to ignore the constant buzzing of his Spidey-Sense as he looked around the alley. “Karen?”
Frowning, Peter looked down expecting to see the metal of his suit only to find that he was wearing the long sleeve shirt and jeans he had been wearing before- he stopped before he allowed himself to think of the past few hours? Days? It felt like a lifetime. Part of him was glad that he didn’t have his suit. He hardly needed to be seen in such an obvious costume in whatever place this was so soon, but another part of him ached to see his last piece of home once more. He was confused when the sleeves of his shirt not only covered his fingers but extended well past that and he hurried to pull them up and roll them so that they sat at his elbows.
Sighing, Peter cautiously made his way out of the alley and into the street that was just as empty.
Okay Peter, he thought to himself with a shake of his head in an effort to make himself focus. First thing first: shelter. A single glance up at the smog-filled sky told him that it was going to pour soon and he would rather not be caught up in that if he could help it. He continued walking down the street, his senses buzzing occasionally to warn him of whatever was inside of the alley he passed. Peter groaned when his pant legs dragged on the ground behind him and he had to shove his toes into the fronts of his shoes to keep them on his feet as he walked. He observed the buildings that he swore were taken from some medieval city around him as he walked. Whatever universe this was, he knew that he certainly wasn’t in New York.
Was there even a New York in this universe? For some reason, the idea of there not being a New York made his stomach churn.
He wanted to gag as the rancid smells of the city invaded his nostrils, the smell of gunpowder, blood, and chemicals making him want to vomit right then and there. The buzz of his Spidey-sense began to grow louder as he continued walking, searching for any kind of structure that would suit him. There were a lot of seemingly abandoned buildings, but by the sounds of the heartbeats inside of them, he obviously hadn’t been the only one with the idea and so not wanting to encroach on anyone’s territory he quickly moved on. Surprisingly, it was when his Spidey-sense began steadily rising in warning as he walked that he found multiple actually abandoned buildings. He wasn’t sure if that was actually a good thing or not as he circled the building and tried to find the entrance. He did eventually find it boarded up on the opposite side of where he started searching. It ended up being easier to tear the boards off than it was to get the door opened. Rust and unuse had molded the door shut but all it took was a shove before it scraped open enough for Peter to make his way through. He shoved the door closed again and turned to see what he was working with, which admittedly wasn’t much. Graffiti lined every wall and the trash and beer cans and needles littering the floor were enough to tell Peter what this building had been used for as he made his way deeper into the building. His best guess was that this used to be some kind of small business if the half broken “Welcome to Frank’s Sce-” sign along with the scattered tables and chairs- none of which looked to be in any kind of working order- and small counter with no visible cash register was enough to go by.
Peter found himself wondering what had happened to this place as he carefully avoided the crap on the ground until he eventually found a door that led to a staircase. He took the stairs two at a time and was pleasantly surprised to find that they led straight to the roof before walking back down.
Okay shelter- check! What’s next? He debated between finding water and food and wanting to do research about wherever Strange had sent him. His curiosity won out in the end and soon he was back on the street but not before looking at the street sign that the building stood on to identify it with later. Park row, easy enough to remember. The streets became more crowded with various types of people the longer he walked, some obviously on their way to work while others looked as out of place as he did with ratty clothes and scowling faces. Then again, even those clad in professional looking suits wore scowls too when they looked down at him like he were the dirt on their too-nice shoes. Peter made sure to keep his head down as he walked, keeping his eyes peeled for any kind of internet cafe or the like. He hadn’t been walking but for about ten minutes before he spotted a grand building ahead, the words “Gotham City Public Library.” etched above the doors. Grinning, Peter rushed ahead and swung the doors open and stepped inside.
The inside of the library was nothing short of amazing. Rows and rows of books covered the walls from floor to ceiling that just seemed to go on forever. And then just to his left tucked into the corner were four tables with huge box computers on top of them that Peter swore were extinct.
“Hi there!”
Peter jumped back at the unexpected voice, silently cursing his Spidey-sense for not warning him of the incoming person coming toward him.
“Oh, uh, hi.” Peter managed, silently horrified by the way his voice squeaked when he answered.
The woman had red hair and kind eyes as she peered at him from behind the front desk and simply smiled at him as she rounded the corner to get closer to him- Peter could see that she was in a wheelchair now that the counter wasn’t in the way- before her smile dropped.
“Are you okay?” She asked, her tone dripping with worry.
Do I really look that bad? Peter thought to himself before he realized that the woman was probably expecting an answer. “Oh yes ma’am I’m great!”
He ignored the way that his entire body seemed to throb at the statement as if to pointedly say, “uh, no you’re not Spider-Liar.”
The woman didn’t seem to believe him any more than his body did as the frown didn’t leave her face as she studied him with eyes so sharp that he was vividly reminded of Ms. Natasha.
“Are you sure? It doesn’t look like you’re great, hun.”
Peter nodded as enthusiastically as he could.
“Yes ma’am I’m doing good.”
"I can call an ambulance for you or I can direct you to a free clinic that I know." The woman continued.
Maybe this was a bad idea, Peter thought to himself. Having someone look too far into his situation wasn't a good idea in any respect.
The woman eyed him and let out a soft sigh before the smile was back on her face.
“So what brings you in here? Usually I don’t have many kids choosing to spend their Saturdays in the library.” The woman chuckled and Peter naturally found himself smiling as well.
“Research.” He answered, happy that he didn’t even have to lie.
“Oh for school?” She asked.
“Just personal research.” He corrected, shifting his weight to his right foot as his left throbbed from the lack of movement.
Misinterpreting his movements for restlessness, the woman’s smile broadened as she wheeled back around to the counter.
“We’ll just need to get you a library card, then you can do as much research as you like.” She said as she began rifling through some papers.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Peter said as he leaned against the counter.
“Oh just call me Barbara, hun.” The woman said as she slid one of the papers to him and handed him a pen.
Peter found himself chuckling. “I’m pretty sure my aunt would kill me if she heard me do that, ma’am. And I’m Peter.”
The simple thought of aunt May sent a spike of pain through his chest and he quickly blinked back the tears as he looked down at the paper.
Full name:
Address:
Age:
Peter answered the first question easily enough but hesitated on the second. What could he say? 'Oh yeah, I just found an abandoned store that I’m camping in. Does that count?' At the very least, she would probably shoo him out or call the cops on him, though admittedly Ms. Barbara didn’t really seem the type to do either of those things.
Peter looked up to see Ms. Barbara looking back at him, eyebrows raised in silent question.
“I, uh, just moved here.” Peter tried to explain, which technically, not a total lie. “I haven’t memorized my address yet. But it’s on Park Row if I can put that?”
He didn’t miss the way Barbara’s eyebrows rose at that before she smoothed it over with yet another smile. “Sure, that’s fine. It’s more for if you have late books so that we can mail reminders, anyway.
Peter sighed in relief that she didn’t question it as he scribbled down his age before sliding the paper back to her. Ms. Barbara smiled and took the paper and went to the back to make a copy of it and get his library card. Peter found himself leaning heavily against the counter as he waited, his left foot throbbing in time with the rest of his wounds. He was just considering taking a seat as Ms. Barbara returned with a bright green card and handed it to him.
“The login and password is on the back. It’ll give you three hours of computer time but if you need more, just come talk to me and I’ll give you more time.” Ms. Barbara said.
“Thank you, Ms. Barbara.” Peter said, taking the card from her.
“And you do know that you don’t need to be eighteen to get a library card, right?” Ms. Barbara asked and Peter found himself instantly confused.
“Er- yes?” He agreed, unsure why she was bringing it up.
Ms. Barbara didn’t give any clue as to why she had asked and Peter didn’t give himself long to contemplate it as he made his way to the computers, sighing in relief once he sat down in the chair and was able to give his leg a rest. He carefully punched in the login and password on the back of the card and waited that felt like a century before the home screen popped up. Dear god, this universe’s technology was leagues behind his own. He pointedly ignored the tiny voice in his head that wondered if he could even call it his own universe anymore. Instead, he clicked on what he guessed was supposed to be this universe’s version of Google- A triangular yellow symbol- and began searching for anything that might be familiar.
Avengers:
No Results.
S.H.I.E.L.D:
No Results.
Captain America:
No Results.
Spider-Man:
No Results
Stark Industries:
No Results.
Tony Stark:
No Results.
Something like bile threatened to rise in Peter’s throat but he bit it down and focused on controlling his breathing like Mr. Stark had shown him once after a pretty horrid patrol. He squeezed his hands into fists and took exaggerated breaths until he felt like he could look back at the screen again.
Turns out, there was in fact a New York in this universe which made Peter smile. At least he recognized something here. Realizing that he knew absolutely nothing about where he had landed, Peter typed Gotham city into the search bar and was pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn’t actually that far from New York. He was less happy to read what was under the city’s name. The title “Crime City Of America!” was displayed right below Gotham along with crime statistics- which looked horrible, even coming from a New York vigilante- and multiple news articles and chat-sites talking about the city, none of which did anything to ease Peter’s frayed nerves.
Joker Back At Arkham!
Meta Trafficking Ring Discovered!
Two-Face Executes Dirty Cops On Live T.V!
Crime Alley’s Crime Rates Are At An All Time Low Reportedly Thanks To The Red Hood!
(If that was low, Peter would have hated to see high.)
The Caped Crusader Strikes Again!
Peter blinked before clicking on the last article and went down a rabbit-hole trying to find out as much as he could about the city’s vigilantes and- in his opinion- confusing number of Robins. There was also Spoiler, Orphan and even the Red Hood who seemed- although very loosely according to the online community- connected to the Bats. Peter couldn’t help but snort. They really kept up with the bat theme, huh? He also learned about some of the city’s Rogues- none of which he wanted to come across anytime soon, no thank you- and about the Justice League which seemed like this universe’s version of the Avengers, though it seemed admittedly larger. He also learned about Metas and through a website similar enough to Facebook learned about Batman’s apparent ‘no Metas in Gotham’ rule which didn’t seem to bode well for Spider-Man.
Peter glanced down to the right corner of his screen that showed how much time he had left- less than half of his designated three hours- when he caught sight of the date.
July 22, 2017.
Peter blinked, unsure how dimensional travel had also simultaneously meant time travel, but he wasn’t exactly able to ask Dr. Strange about that so he settled for a shrug. The date explained why- along with the lack of Stark Industries- the technology here was so outdated even if it was only four years behind his own universe. Not knowing what else to research, Peter decided to call it a day and logged off the computer and stood up to stretch. Realizing that the building he had taken up residence in was less likely to have running water than Peter had a chance of winning the lottery, he decided to use the bathroom now before heading back.
“Hey, Ms. Barbara?” Peter called out as he approached the empty front desk.
It wasn’t but a moment before Ms. Barbara was wheeling toward him from the back room, that same kind smile on her face.
“Yes, Peter?” She asked.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but where’s the bathroom?” He asked, glancing around even as he asked.
“It’s no bother, Peter. It’s to your left there and kind of behind the bookcase.” She answered.
“Thank you.” Peter said and quickly slipped into the men’s restroom as she returned to the backroom.
He was washing his hands after using the bathroom when he looked up at his own reflection for the first time and he swore that his heart dropped down to his stomach at the sight before him. His face was covered in half-healing cuts and blood was caked onto the side of his head and neck and spots of red had begun to seep through his clothes and his left eye almost looked like it was bleeding, but none of that was currently responsible for giving him heart palpitations.
He wasn’t him.
Peter was eighteen when he left his universe, but the boy in the mirror, though instantly recognizable from the photos that May had all over the apartment, couldn’t have been any older than fifteen. The date he had seen on the computer screen made itself vividly known in Peter’s mind as he stared at the mirror.
July 22, 2017
That would make him fourteen. Peter leaned his head into the sink at the realization and tried to convince himself that it was fine, he was fine.
(He couldn’t even lie to himself convincingly.)
This at least explained why his clothes seemed to nearly fall off him. And why Ms. Barbara hadn’t seemed to buy the age he had put on his form.
He sighed and turned the water on, his nose wrinkling from the smell of it, and began splashing his face with the water in the hopes of getting rid of the blood. It took several minutes and a bundle of paper towels but once he was done the cuts on his face were barely noticeable and his skin was pink from where he had rubbed it so hard.
He at least didn’t look like he was going to kneel over anytime soon, so Peter counted that as a win.
Knowing there was nothing else he could do for his appearance, he quickly exited the bathroom and waved a quick goodbye to Ms. Barbara before heading out of the library before debating where to go. He could go back to the building, or he could stop by some of those nonprofits he had looked up but hesitated when he realized that they would probably take one look at him and call CPS. But he couldn’t exactly keep walking around with bloody clothes that barely fit him, so he decided to take the risk. He had already memorized the way to the nearest shelter from the online maps the website had provided and he followed it as he tried to think up an excuse that a fourteen-year-old would have to go to a shelter.
It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the library to his destination and he stuffed down his nerves as he approached. The building itself was small from the outside, but Peter’s focus was more on what was beside the building than in it. A large tarp had been set up beside the building with mounds of clothes laid in different piles and Peter- for once- felt like his luck was looking up. People milled around the clothes, most of them looking worse than him somehow, some of them picking through the clothes while others grabbed whatever they could. Smiling workers stood off to the side, some trying to strike up conversation while others just tried to help them find whatever specific clothes they were needing.
No one gave Peter a second glance as he slipped into the small crowd of people and began looking through the boy’s clothes, trying to remember what size he was at fourteen. He tried not to feel irritated as some of the rougher patrons would try to shove him out of the way as if Peter was going to take all the clothes before they could get to them. In the end, Peter came out with three pairs of pants and two short-sleeve shirts, none of which had blood stains or smelled too much of chemicals- he couldn’t say that about most of the other clothes- and he didn’t want to take too much. One of the workers had asked if he wanted a bag to put them in, which Peter gratefully accepted and he stuffed his findings into the grocery bag she offered him before hurrying back to his building. Peter noted the quickly disappearing sunlight and wanted to get back before it got dark. He didn’t need to be a genius to know that as bad as Gotham seemed in the daytime, it was probably nothing compared to how it was at night.
His Spidey-Sense buzzed at the back of his neck as he speed-walked back to the building he was claiming as his own and he caught sight of more than a few unsightly groups forming in the alleyways he passed. He made it back without trouble though and laid his new-to-him clothes out on the counter to keep them away from the dirt and grime that coated the floor. He needed to find a broom. Well, no, he needed to find a way to get food and water before anything else. Peter sighed. That was a Tomorrow-Peter problem. He instead made his way to the stairway and breathed in the air that never quite felt like actual clean air and sat down on the ledge.
Gunshots and yells were more than audible as he sat there and tried not to take in the lingering smell of blood and decay that he was understanding was just the city’s usual smell.
This place was nothing at all like home and Peter wasn’t sure if that fact was comforting or not. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to stand being so constantly reminded of home otherwise. Thinking of home led him to Ned and MJ. He was rather glad now that they wouldn’t remember him to miss him, even if it hurt knowing he wouldn’t be able to text Ned at all hours of the day and tell him whatever he had done as Spiderman or tell him about a movie that they had to see together. Or how he wouldn’t be able to get to go to college with MJ like he would have wanted.
His heart throbbed knowing that he would never come home to a burnt dinner and May declaring that they would be going out to eat that night. No more watching reality T.V with May in the living room and poking fun at the overdone dramatic situations. No more soft reassurances and warm, gentle hugs that only she had mastered somehow.
Peter hadn’t realized he was crying until the small droplets fell onto his clenched hands and he hurriedly wiped the tears away in a burst of anger. He had no right to grieve what he had caused. If he hadn’t messed up Strange’s spell, none of that would have happened. He should have just-
A light buzz at the back of his neck clued him in to a visitor just before a soft pair of feet landed behind him, enough of a warning to tell him that he had company but that they weren’t a threat.
“Hey kid, you alright?” A gruff voice asked from behind him.
Peter turned around to see who had somehow gotten up onto the roof with him and blinked at that he saw. The man had a black suit with a red bat symbol on his chest, a dark jacket that held several too many guns for Peter’s taste on the inside, and a vivid red helmet with white eyes. Peter blinked again and frowned when the image stayed the same. Maybe he was going crazy.
“Kid? You good there?” The man asked, tilting his head slightly and Peter didn’t miss the small intake of breath when the man saw his face.
Peter finally found it in him to nod before clearing his throat.
“I’m- yeah, I’m good.” Peter answered lamely as he stared at the masked- helmeted?- figure before him. “What exactly are you supposed to be?”
It was obvious to him that the man was some kind of hero. Random criminals didn’t wear suits like that or try to hide their identities with bright helmets or wear logos on their chests. Not in his universe, anyway.
The man didn’t respond right away but with a small huff of laughter.
“You’re not from here, are you?” The man asked, not mockingly but with a little amusement.
“No. I’m from New York.” Peter explained.
The man nodded. “You’ve got the accent for it. I’m Red Hood.”
As Peter once again stared at the man, he couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him even as the name clicked with the one he had read about. Was this the one the online community said was some kind of crime lord? He didn’t look like any kind of crime lord, nor did he set off his Spidey-Sense like other crime lords he had met had.
“Where’s your hood?” Peter asked, unable to help the smile on his face as he tried to tilt his head to see if he just wasn’t seeing it somehow.
The man- Red Hood tapped his helmet in answer.
“That’s not a hood. It’s hardly fair to call yourself Red Hood if you don’t have an actual hood. All the actual hood-wearing people will be so offended.” God Peter shut up, he thought to himself. The man had enough guns on him to riddle him with bullets ten times over, even though his Spidey-Sense hadn’t yet gone off around the guy.
Luckily Red Hood hadn’t seemed annoyed by the spiel, more amused than anything.
“I’ll be sure to get a hood to compliment the name.” Red Hood scoffed but even Peter could tell that there was no bite to it. “What happened to your face?”
“What happened to your face?” Peter shot back with a smirk even as he realized that it made no sense before he could think better of it.
Peter couldn’t see Red Hood’s face but he liked to imagine that the man was just staring unblinkingly at him.
“What are you doing out here?”
Peter motioned to the ledge he sat on.
“Sitting. What’re you doing here?”
“Standing.” Red Hood deadpanned. “I meant why aren’t you at home?”
Peter fumbled for something to say, but what could he say? There was no actual reason that someone who looked as young as he currently did would be out on a rooftop without any kind of adult around. Peter ignored the fact that he had already been doing that when he actually was fourteen.
Peter’s silence seemed to be enough of an answer for Red Hood as the man sighed and stepped forward.
“Do you live here?” Red Hood asked, not unkindly.
Peter folded his arms across his chest indignantly.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell strangers where I live.” Peter said, even as he realized that his not-answer probably counted as an answer anyway.
The man shook his head slightly before raising his hands in a surrendering motion.
“Fine, kid. Can I at least know your name?” Red Hood asked.
“Pretty sure I’m not supposed to tell strangers that, either.” Peter grinned when the man sighed into his hand. “I’m Peter.”
Red Hood nodded. “Well Peter why don’t you get on home-”
Peter pointedly ignored the fact that the man had probably already figured out that he lived in the very abandoned building they stood on.
“-and stay in until daytime, huh?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Hood.” Peter agreed with a salute.
The man shook his head in exasperation.
“It’s just Hood, kid.” The man corrected as he grabbed- was that a grappling hook? Like an actual grappling hook?- and shot off between the next building.
Peter decided that he liked Red Hood. He debated staying out longer but the chill and the fact that he was bone tired was enough to convince him to go back downstairs. He cleared a corner of the room and laid down, trying to ignore the shivers that had overtaken him and the fact that he had no pillow or blanket and he wasn’t willing to get his only pairs of clothes dirty to use them as either. He must have been more tired than he realized because he only had enough time to wonder what May would have thought of this arrangement before he passed out.