Chapter Text
Peter cried himself to sleep that night.
In the top bunk, in a room filled with a hundred other people, in a homeless shelter, so very far from home.
He mourned for, well, everything.
Did he deserve to mourn?
He mourned the broken promise he’d made to Tony; that he'd look after Morgen. Tony and Pepper had her during the Blip. She was— is? — Tony’s actual, blood child. In the videos Pepper showed Peter, he’d referred to Morgen as his little sister.
Peter had soaked up every moment he spent with Morgen. She was such a bright and sweet kid, and she idolized Peter. Idolized Spider-Man . He was her favorite hero. And wasn’t that something? Peter was his little sister's favorite hero.
Peter’s heart ached with a green amalgamation of guilt, sorrow, and loss. He felt like he had failed Tony, failed Pepper, and failed Morgan. He promised to protect her, to be there for her, and now he was stuck in this nightmare, unable to keep his word. Morgen had Pepper of course, but… But Peter had promised Tony. His favorite hero. His mentor. His father-figure. And what had he done as a big thank you , after Tony had invented time travel just to bring him back? Peter nearly broke the multiverse and fucked up Doctor Strange’s spell and ended up de-aged in some shitty alternate universe.
He’d never have May’s horrible burnt food, he’d never say “I larb you” back to May, never have movie night and watch horrible romcoms with her, never… Never even see her again. Not in a post online or in a photograph. The thought weighed heavily on Peter's heart, a constant reminder of the gaping void left behind by May's absence. He could almost hear her laughter echoing in his mind, could almost feel the warmth of her embrace. But it was all just a cruel illusion, a fleeting memory of what once was.
Peter would never get to go to MIT with Ned and MJ. Never go on another date with MJ. Never debate with Ned that Star Trek was better than Star Wars. Never have a hackathon with Ned. Never get called a loser by MJ.
He’d never have one of Mr. Delmar’s sandwiches, smushed real flat just the way he likes. Never visit his parents' grave again. Visit May and Ben’s grave. Go to school. Graduate .
Instead, he was here. In an alternate version of fucking New Jersey .
The weight of his failures pressed down on him, suffocating him in the darkness of the shelter. Pushing away one bad thought just let in another. He couldn’t shake the images of the other children he saw in the room where he’d woken up.
Why were so many children there? What was the green water? What had happened to the Peter before him?
Just thinking about it filled him with an insurmountable amount of… Something .
The green fueled all his emotions.
He wouldn’t have been here had he just killed Green Goblin.
—
Peter woke up with a start.
It was the clanking in the kitchen and the smell of cooking eggs and… avocado toast? Man, that was so 2015.
Oh. Right. It was 2015.
Sitting up from where he’s curled around his backpack, which was filled with all his worldly possessions. (Otherwise known as the average handout at a homeless shelter.)
Sitting up, and looking around the big room, he noticed only three others awake. A pregnant lady with a toddler, an older man, and a lone teen. Everyone else was still asleep, their steady heartbeats equal parts comforting and overwhelming all at once. Making his bed, Peter took the opportunity to use the bathroom before it became crowded.
By the time he’d gotten back, the beds were in the process of being stripped and pushed back to make room for tables. Peter watched for a moment, observing the process of both the employees and the tenets. It seemed to be a system somewhat reliant on help from the people currently taking refuge. Which, fair . But he also hadn’t really… expected the people of Gotham to do something like that. Although, he supposed a day in Gotham can’t reveal stuff like that.
Peter’s… the body Peter currently inhabited , was sore. It wasn’t like the pleasant ache of swinging around Queens, but rather like his very bones were tired. Particularly Peter’s thoracic region. He can’t explain it, but it feels like it should be… hollow? Peter doesn’t know. It’s odd and uncomfortable.
Peter scratches his chest, the scars, in a sad attempt at relieving the discomfort.
(It doesn’t work.)
Making his way to where servings were being handed out, Peter blushed slightly at the loud rumble his stomach let out. No one else seemed to hear it, or at least didn’t outwardly react to him. It was no wonder he was starving, seeing as most of his cuts had scabbed over during his meager hours of rest. Which left him rather unrested , but Peter didn’t have the luxury of sleeping in.
(Usually, injuries so small and shallow would’ve been fully healed by now. At worst, leaving puffy pink line that would disappear within hours after eating. Nothing marred his body for long, not since the bite. And, Peter would assume that this body should’ve followed similar rules, but Peter lacks enough information to draw any proper conclusions. He would need to remedy this.)
Ducking his head, Peter got in line behind the pregnant woman with the toddler. She offered him a small, concerned smile.
“Don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Lisa, and this is my son, Oscar.” The pregnant woman, now dubbed Lisa, introduced herself.
Peter tried for a smile, but it just looked like a grimace. “..I’m Peter.”
Lisa eyed him. “Red Hood drop ya off?”
Peter nodded hesitantly.
She nodded to herself. “He drops off strays sometimes.”
Peter hadn’t had the chance to think about last night, about the fact he’d met one of Gotham’s elusive vigilantes on his first day stuck here. Peter doesn’t remember much from his little escapade to the public library, things got fuzzy as soon as he’d realized… as soon as he realized he wasn’t home. (Terrible coping mechanism, Peter knows. MJ told him off more than once.) But he had, admittedly, been more focused on other issues, and had only really spared a glance at Gotham’s vigilante list. ( Yes , this place apparently had a whole list .)
The point is that Peter lacked information. Peter had taken a wild guess at which vigilante it was last night and didn’t even guess right the first time. And there were only two vigilante names with “red” in them! So that wasn’t saying much.
He needed to start a mental list of things he needed to look up, along with the issue of getting Karen back online.
“Yeah, he, uh...” Peter trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence. He wasn’t sure how much he could reveal, even to someone as seemingly kind as Lisa. (I needed some sort of cover story.)
Beck had seemed kind, too.
Lisa gave him a sympathetic smile. “You don’t have to explain, kid. Just keep yer head down an’ stay safe. Gotham can be rough ‘round the edges, but there are good people here too.”
Peter nodded with a polite smile, but the amount of civilians with weapons in this room alone said otherwise.
Lisa seemed content with the silence as her son started tugging on her skirt, babbling away about something urgently and pointing.
Peter nodded in thanks to the older woman loading up the trays as he grabbed his, mouth watering at the thought of eating. From what he could smell, very little seasoning. Just a simple breakfast burrito, a small bowl of fruits, and a (sealed) water bottle.
He hoped that if sleep wouldn’t get rid of this killer headache, maybe a little bit of good ol’ food and water would.
Sitting down at the first empty table, Peter dug in. His burrito barely survived five seconds in his hands before it disappeared into the bottomless pit posing as his stomach. Despite the lack of seasoning, it felt like a feast, up until his last bite. Disappointed in himself for eating so quickly, Peter put more effort into savoring the fruits, realizing that this might be all the food he gets all day.
A couple of other people sat down at Peter’s table, the room quickly filling up with patrons. Thankfully, everyone else at the table was just as content with the silence as Peter, with muted conversations mumbled amongst one another. Lisa’s son even found a slightly older kid to make funny faces from across the table. It made Peter quirk a tired smile, finding it cute how despite their situation, children always managed to have some semblance of innocence and joy.
Peter's smile faltered slightly as he watched the kids, a pang of longing hitting him. He missed those simpler times when the world wasn't so heavy, and his biggest worry was finishing his homework on time. The laughter of the children at the table was a bittersweet reminder of what he had lost.
Peter chewed a piece of fruit slowly, the hunger gnawing at him more than he initially realized. He looked up and met Lisa’s eyes, who gave him an encouraging nod.
“Feelin’ better?” she asked, striving for indifference. Her eyes were filled with a genuine, motherly sort of concern, though, so it gave her away.
“Yeah,” Peter replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks.”
He ducked his head, feeling bad for seeing one bad side of this place and assuming everyone was like that.
What kind of hero does that?
It didn’t feel as much of a chore to respond. Maybe he was just cranky because he was hangry? Get a Snickers, Peter! You’re not you when you’re hungry.
Lisa gave him a small, understanding nod before turning her attention back to her son, who was now engaged in an animated conversation with his new friend.
As he savored his cantaloupe, Peter couldn't help but steal glances around the room, observing the other patrons of the shelter. Some were huddled together in small groups, engaged in quiet conversation or sharing whatever meager possessions they had. Others sat alone, lost in their thoughts, their expressions ranging from weary to resigned. It was a stark reminder of the harsh reality of homelessness, and Peter felt a pang of empathy for each person he saw.
Peter had been homeless a couple of times, sure. The first time was after the battle of New York when May and Ben’s house had been collateral damage. Insurance had fought them tooth and nail to try and justify not covering the damages, and it wasn’t until Mr. Stark dropped several hundred millions on construction around the city that May and Ben even saw a penny . And even then, they had to downgrade from a house they mortgaged to an overpriced New York condo.
The second time was after Ben had died. May couldn’t keep up with the payments, even with all the shifts she pulled at the hospital. They got booted and had to downgrade to a month-to-month rented apartment, but only after they had been homeless for two or three months.
But even during those times, Peter had Ben or May, and they had jobs . They were adults , as demeaning as that admission was. They knew what food banks to go to, and which shelters were good and which weren’t. They had each other . Peter didn’t have anything .
Peter didn’t feel anything like an adult. Turning seventeen had been huge for him; for May. He would have been off to college as a legal adult in a year. Able to make his own decisions, and, hell, even rent his very own apartment , if he wanted. When May or Pepper did something that made him feel particularly childish, he’d say “I’m almost an adult! You don’t need to do that!”.
But now, standing in the middle of Gotham, lost and alone, he felt like anything but an adult. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him, heavier than any villain he had ever faced. He missed the days when his biggest worries were homework and keeping his secret identity from his classmates.
Peter looked around the room again, seeing a little bit of himself in everyone he saw. The older woman with the weary eyes who reminded him of May, the young man with a nervous twitch who could have been anyone’s uncle, the children who were able to find joy amid hardship. It all hit too close to home.
This time, Peter was truly alone. No safety net, no May to guide him, no familiar shoulders to lean on. The thought made him feel smaller, more vulnerable than he ever had while swinging between skyscrapers or facing down supervillains. Being Spider-Man gave him a sense of purpose, but in these moments of quiet desperation, the mask couldn't protect him from the cold reality of his situation.
He took another bite of cantaloupe, trying to focus on the simple pleasure of the fruit's sweetness. The tangy flavor was a small comfort in the sea of uncertainty that had become his life. He thought back to the times when he still had his parents, when he had Ben and May, remembering the warmth and safety he had felt. It felt like a different world, a different lifetime.
‘Well, I guess that’s not entirely wrong. Alternate universe, and all that.’
Peter chewed thoughtfully, realizing he needed some sort of game plan. Take stock of his situation and all that jazz.
The red bracelets on his wrist slid down, too big for the chicken wrists that belonged to this body.
He needed to get Karen back up. She was secure, she’d keep him directed and with a destination. May had always said that Peter was in his head too much and that he needed to be more grounded.
May had kept him grounded.
Peter had run away from the library before he’d gotten the opportunity to try and get Karen back online. And, while he did have an identity here, Peter had no legal guardian. No official place of residence. This Peter Parker was eleven and in foster care and presumed dead . He can’t just show up back to whatever school this kid went to, looking completely different (and wasn’t that something?), after being declared legally dead.
(That was another thing. Peter’s coloration. He had seen what this kid looked like. Or, what he was supposed to look like. Black hair and startling blue eyes, tan skin with freckles scattered about. Granted, most of his counterpart’s hair was still black, just that odd shock of white at his widow’s peak. By itself, it’d be inconspicuous. Hair dyed in this manner, back home anyway, wasn’t anything too odd. It was how this kid’s eyes changed from those bright, bright blues to a toxic green that practically glowed .
However much hair and eyes changed, though, Peter was glad it was at least his face. He’s not sure how he would’ve reacted if he’d woken up in a different body, with a different name and a different family. Maybe this was Dr. Strange’s mercy.)
Then the police would get involved, and it’d turn into a big thing once they realized Peter didn’t know jackshit about Gotham because he wasn’t from here . And then they’d send him back to foster care, or— or—
Peter twitched as green invaded his vision and a tingle ran down his back.
badunstabledangerous
He furrowed his brows, looking around.
There was no threat or danger, and his spidey-sense didn’t seem to ping anyone as dangerous. He looked down at his lap, concerned, as his neck seemed to buzz. Confusion clouded him, looking away and then back to himself.
unstableunpredictablecareful
Was… Was Peter’s sixth sense, the one that alerted him to danger, pinging… himself ? He was the danger?
The realization hit him like a freight train. Peter's heart raced as he grappled with the implications of what he was feeling. How could he be a danger to himself? Was he somehow a threat without even realizing it?
His mind raced with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. Had his powers somehow turned against him? Was he losing control? Oh, god, if he lost control —
Green threatened to consume him as he struggled with this revelation. Peter's chest tightened as the green sensation intensified, swirling within him like a tempest waiting to break free. Each breath he took seemed to stoke the emerald flames burning inside him, and with every exhale, it seemed as though a puff of sickly green mist escaped his lips.
It was as if his very essence was being tainted by this overwhelming force, an alien power that threatened to engulf him entirely.
He clutched at his chest, feeling as though he might burst apart at any moment. Fear surged through him, mixing with the strange sensation of electricity that seemed coursed through his veins. His thoughts spun in a whirlwind of confusion and panic, unable to comprehend what was happening to him.
Peter flexed his hand, his plastic fork bending till it snapped. A piece of plastic landed in his fruit cup.
“—eter? You ok?” Lisa asked, concern lacing her words.
If Peter tried hard enough, he could pretend Aunt May said those words. That she was sitting next to him, eating a breakfast she burned, insisting she had only looked away for a second.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the smell of underripe fruit and the general funk the shelter had, allowing it to guide him back from the brink. Slowly, the green haze began to recede, dissipating like fog under the morning sun. And as the last traces of emerald faded away, Peter felt himself returning to control, to clarity, to himself once more. He inhaled oxygen and exhaled carbon dioxide. No green mist, just a normal chemical reaction. He was fine .
Peter’s eyes trailed down to his fruit, where chunks of his plastic fork were sprinkled about.
“Peter?”
He looked up, confused. “S— sorry, uh, what’d you say, Miss Lisa?”
Brown eyes looked at Peter with concern. Peter pursed his lips, looking away.
“..You didn’t look too good for a second, is all.” She gave a tight smile, obviously biting her tongue from asking more.
Peter searched for an excuse. “‘M tired, I guess,” He was tired. “Overwhelmed.” That too. It was loud in here, but that was because Peter’s hearing was dialed to 11 and he heard every decibel of sound as if it were a personal attack.
“I’m— gonna head out, now. Have a good day, Miss Lisa.” Peter tried for another smile, and he thought this one was passable this time.
Standing up, Peter collected his trash and his bag.
Peter threw his trash and began towards the exit. The building was nice and almost new-looking, made out of sturdy materials, and seemed to be well-funded by this Wayne guy. You never see homeless shelters this nice, unless they were Stark-funded or a publicity stunt by whatever recent celebrity needed to cover up a scandal.
watchingwatchingwatching
Peter heard footsteps coming up behind him as the hairs on his arms raised.
“Hey, kid. You and your family new around here?” The man had phrased it like a question, but it was more condescending than naught.
Peter’s spidey-sense gave a low thrum of notathreat and overconfident, and even without it, he could smell the insincerity of the man’s words. He was big, heavily tatted up and bald. Peter supposed, to a normal person, he’d be intimidating.
“Well, we work wit Red Hood. Helpin’ clean up Crime Alley, n’ all that.” He tapped the table again, and it was really grating on Peter’s ears. ( Lielielie, his spidey-sense chanted.)
“But there’s a tax to be kept safe, ya see. It’s not cheap fightin’ off the otha gangs, ya know?” The man shrugged his arms, going for nonchalant and cool. And failing, miserably .
Peter eyed him out of annoyance more than anything. He just wanted to get out of here, man. He’s blocking the exit right now! Totally uncool.
“Okay…?” Peter raised an eyebrow as to where this was going.
The man’s eyebrow twitched. “What I’m sayin’, kid, is that you needa pay us if you wanna stay safe.”
Peter rolled his eyes, walking around the pushy man. “No thanks.”
The man fumed, tensing like he was going to go after Peter, but stopped abruptly. He gave Peter a scathing look, with way more heat than Peter felt was necessary for the interaction.
“You ain’t understandin’, kid,” the man growled, stepping closer. “You think you can just waltz in here an’ ignore the rules?’
Peter didn’t know what “rules” this man was talking about, but it was obviously a big guy picks on little guy situation.
He turned to face the man fully. Might as well use his appearance to his advantage.
“You do realize you’re asking a kid for money right now? Isn’t that, I don’t know, a little embarrassing?” Peter was going for a disappointed May, but what had come out was… Angrier .
Peter hadn’t meant to sound angry. He was going for a little light-hearted teasing, y’know, his usual shtick. Instead, without his permission, something… uglier had come out.
cautiouscoiledmove
The man’s face twisted in anger, and he moved to grab Peter’s arm. With a swift motion, he sidestepped the man’s grasp, causing him to stumble forward.
“Why, you!—”
A voice interrupted them, calm but authoritative. “Is there a problem here?”
Both Peter and the man turned to see a young woman with electric blue hair standing in the doorway. It was the lady Red Hood had left him with, the one he’d said was trustworthy.
The man straightened up, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Just a misunderstandin’. No problem at all.”
“Good,” the woman said, her eyes narrowing. “Because if I see you harassing anyone else here, you’re out. Understand?”
Harper! That was her name. She had been nice last night, asking subtly prying questions but moving on smoothly even when Peter didn’t respond. She seemed like a nice person, his spidey-sense pinging her as someone who could be dangerous, but probably didn’t mean Peter any harm. He didn’t know, he wasn’t sure. His sense had worked just fine with Red Hood, even pinging him as a friend , a comrade . But everyone else got mixed signals, of possiblygood , but uncertainuncertainuncertain .
The man grumbled something under his breath but nodded. He shot Peter one last venomous look before slinking away.
schemingcautiouscareful
Harper turned her attention to Peter, her expression softening. “You good, squirt?”
Peter gave her a look, unappreciative of the nickname but also unable to refute it. “Yeah, thank you, Miss Harper.”
She gave him a grin, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Do I look old enough to be a Miss? Just Harper, please.”
Peter tried to muster a light-hearted response, but the everpresent green haze at the edges of his vision and the gnawing sense of unease made it hard to feel sincere. “Sure thing, Miss Harper,” he said, forcing a small smile.
Harper chuckled, shaking her head with a tight smile. “Alright, wise guy. Just let me know if anyone else gives you trouble, okay?” She paused, giving Peter a side-eye. “And try not to antagonize anyone who does give you trouble.”
Peter nodded, grateful for her intervention but still feeling off-kilter. He wanted to joke, to be his usual self, but everything felt muted. Distant. His laugh was forced.
“I’ll try. Thanks again, Miss Harper.”
She gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Stay safe, Peter.”
He offered her another strained smile and made his way towards the exit.
He had terrible luck. He had Parker Luck. He wouldn’t stay safe for long; no matter what he did.
Peter scratched his arms, willing away the raised hairs. For some reason, the interaction had left him feeling oddly… empty. Peter took a deep breath, hoping to clear his mind as he stepped out into the cool Gotham air.
Gotham City’s ambiance was… Not quiet, per se, but nowhere near as loud as New York. Which Peter supposed he should have liked, but he hated it. It was wrong . It was overwhelming, but Peter tried to push through it, focusing on his next destination: the library. He needed to get his bearings, figure out his next steps, and maybe find a way to shake off this persistent feeling of unease.
As he walked, he couldn’t help but think about how different things were here compared to New York. The dangers were different, and even the air felt heavier, and the most unsettling were the unfamiliar faces. Peter had spent a lot of time and effort meeting and memorizing faces. It was his thing . He was the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man!
So, to walk around a city that wasn’t his, and to see nothing even remotely familiar… It hurt. It made Peter angry. And the worst part? He didn’t even understand why .
Also, the fashion sense in 2015 was certainly something .
He walked quickly, keeping his head down and his senses alert. The green still nagged at him, but he tried to push it to the back of his mind. He needed to focus on the present, on getting Karen back. So, Peter did what he did best.
He repressed.
Pulling up his hood and stuffing his hands into his pockets, Peter eyed the neighborhood around the shelter. The people looked rundown and exhausted, and the architecture matched. The buildings were grimy and worn, with graffiti marking their surfaces and trash littering the streets. It was quite the contrast to the parts of New York he was used to, even the rougher areas he had patrolled as Spider-Man.
Peter kept his head low as he walked, his senses alert for any signs of trouble. Although, it didn’t do a whole lot since every other person seemed to be armed with various guns and knives. He had a vague idea of where the library was, but he wasn’t completely sure. He ran from the library in a dissociative daze and then hitched a ride with a vigilante on a frickin’ motorcycle .
But, on the bright side, Gotham's twisting alleys and chaotic layout must’ve been a criminal’s playground!
Ok, not so much a “bright side” as an odd observation made by someone who had to deal with said criminals day in and day out, but Peter wasn’t wrong .
The green tinge in his vision had faded somewhat, but he still felt a lingering sense of unease. Every sound seemed amplified, every shadow a potential threat. He reminded himself to stay focused and calm; he couldn't afford to lose his cool, not here.
He took a left turn, hoping it would lead him in the right direction. He’d only been outside for twenty minutes, tops, but it felt like an eternity with his heightened senses picking up every little detail. The chatter of people, the distant wail of sirens, the clatter of footsteps behind him – it all blended into a cacophony that set his nerves on edge. He took deep breaths, trying to center himself and drown out the noise.
He stepped aside to catch his breath when Peter caught sight of a crumpled paper on the ground.
thistherehelp!
Peter furrowed his eyebrows. Crouching, Peter nabbed the map before someone stepped on it. Scratch that, before a douchebag purposely stomped on it. Asshole.
He glanced at the crumpled map, trying to make sense of it as he walked. Y’know, in a world where Stark tech and Google maps existed, it’s not so unsurprising that Peter had no damn clue how to read a paper map.
Squinting at the offending piece of paper, Peter thought there’s no fucking way . Gotham wasn’t just in New Jersey. It was its own damn island .
“Great. Just great ,” he muttered, tracing his finger along the unfamiliar streets. His finger kept catching, sticking, and unsticking to the paper. “Wouldn’t suppose Mister Stark designed a GPS for dimension-hopping...”
Gotham’s layout was a labyrinth of intertwining streets and alleys, each with its own confusing and often misleading names. The map looked like it had been drawn by someone who had a personal vendetta against tourists. The tiny lines and symbols blurred together, making it hard for Peter to distinguish one area from another. Even with the enhanced eyesight, it did nothing to help him distinguish the mangled words from a bad printing job and multiple suspicious stains.
In every “territory” of Gotham was at least one Wayne shelter, one of the few words on the map that was highlighted and legible. So, if Peter had been dropped off at a Wayne shelter, he just had to figure out which one. If he could just find a street name or some kind of landmark, he could figure out where the hell he was in what territory, and then find his way to the public library. Which was… somewhere on the map. Hopefully.
Peter studied the map carefully, trying to stuff any important-looking names into his name bank. And by Thor, was there a lot . Peter had thought he was in a small city called Gotham, in the small state of New Jersey. Not on an island that was broken up into over a dozen parts, with even more chunks labeled with straight-up territories. It meant infrastructure planning for anyone who didn’t have a car (AKA; Peter ) sucked balls . (And sucked for any homeless people. Or low-income individuals who couldn’t afford a car. Or even tourists . But what’s new in America?)
Looking around, Peter spotted a familiar name. “Leslie’s Clinic” read in bold letter, unlit in Gotham’s version of daytime. Tracking down the name, Peter found he was in a place called Crime Alley . If anyone needed tips on how to scare off tourists, call whoever made this map.
Which was… all the way across the island from the Public Library?
Just put Peter down like he’s a dog with rabies, at this point. That looks like a solid… three to four-hour walk. Jesus Christ, how the hell had Peter ended up all the way over here ?
Peter shifted uncomfortably, heavily disliking how he’d apparently lost hours to an aggressive episode of dissociation.
He tried to trace his path from the shelter in Crime Alley, but the maze of dark lines made his head spin. Old Gotham, The Bowery, Burnley, Coventry… the names were as terrible as the state they were located in. His finger hovered over the sprawling area labeled "The Narrows," a place with one landmark labeled the Toxic Acres . Spooky.
Wayne Tower, (a cruel parallel to the Avenger’s Tower?), stood tall in the center, acting as a kind of north star amidst the chaos. But the rest? A confusing mix of residential blocks, commercial areas, and industrial zones that bled into the more dangerous territories. Or so he guessed, given the vibes and spooky names.
Peter sighed, folding the map with a frustrated huff. The map was more a simplified breakdown of the sections of Gotham, but it lacked any proper street names or paths, or even bus stops . Hence, why Peter had to find a landmark.
The steady hum of Gotham’s life buzzed around him: distant sirens, the chatter of hurried conversations, and the occasional rumble of the subway beneath his feet.
‘Okay ,’ he thought. ‘ Time to rely on good old-fashioned spidey-sense. And a bit of common sense.’
MJ might’ve argued he lacked the latter, but Peter digresses.
Wandering through the streets, Peter kept his eyes peeled for anything familiar or useful. He passed dilapidated buildings with boarded-up windows, graffiti-covered walls, and the occasional market stall with vendors selling everything from fresh produce to dubious electronics. The occasional pick-pocket tried their hand, but Peter’s pockets were as empty
as his chest should be
as the
backpack strapped close to his chest. Did he possibly look like a dog with a resource-guarding issue? Mayhaps. Better than getting his stuff stolen, though.
Every so often, his spidey-sense would give him a nudge of thiswaythisway , guiding him away from particularly dark alleys or groups of sketchy-looking individuals. It wasn’t the most efficient way to navigate, but it kept him safe.
Eventually, he spotted a sign for Park Row , which confused him, as he thought this area was called Crime Alley. A naming error? The sign looked pretty old though… It must’ve been the old name, then. Park Row sounded better, more civilized , but hey he didn’t name the place. Unfortunately for everyone.
At the very least, he was heading in the right direction. If he could find his way out of the more dangerous parts, he might stumble upon some street signs or a helpful passerby who could point him toward a more direct path to the Library.
He continued his trek, the streets ranging from nearly empty to bustling, depending on the vibes, which Peter deduced to be the crime rate. The deeper into Gotham he went, the more he noticed the shift in the city's atmosphere. The somber, oppressive air of Crime Alley gave way to a more bustling, if still grimy, part of the city. Neon signs flickered overhead, advertising everything from pawnshops to greasy diners. Granted, almost nothing smelled anywhere close to pleasant, but a burger place named Benny’s got the closest.
Peter tried to commit the sights and landmarks to memory, hoping soon enough he could ditch the dingy map, but also dreading it. If he no longer needed the map, that meant he knew the city well. And if he knew the city well, like he knew Queens, that meant he was well and truly stuck here . The thought made his chest tighten, a pang of homesickness and ugly green washing over him. He shook his head, trying to focus on the task at hand.
It was fine , he was fine with that. Better here and alive than home and dead, right?
Right?
uncertainwarycautious
Peter’s spidey-sense pinged him once more.
He turned down a side street, noting that the sidewalk lacked any cracks and the streets were the fullest he’d seen them yet. He must be in the… Fashion District! Almost to the Library!
The streets were like a labyrinth, each alleyway looking eerily similar to the last. He tried to look for unique markers—a peculiar sign, a broken streetlamp, anything that could help him navigate. But the more he looked, the more lost he felt.
A loud honk startled Peter out of his thoughts. He glanced up to see a bus zooming past, splashing through a puddle and sending a spray of dirty water onto the sidewalk. Peter sighed, pulling his hood tighter around his head and quickening his pace.
New York or not, people were still assholes.
His stomach growled, a reminder of his barely sufficient breakfast and the long walk. Peter shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, trying to ignore the hunger pangs. As he walked, he passed by various shops and street vendors, the smell of hot dogs and pretzels wafting through the air, tempting him.
If he were any less a man, he might’ve swiped one or two.
He finally reached what looked like a small park. Benches lined the path, and a few trees provided some greenery amidst the concrete jungle. Peter paused, taking a seat on one of the benches to give his legs a rest a make sure all the walking hadn’t ruined his body’s hard work at healing his feet. A couple of scabs had fallen off, but the food this morning must’ve helped stitch his skin back together better than he’d thought. He unfolded the map again, tracing his finger along the streets and trying to figure out where he was.
"Okay, if the library is… this general area, then I should be heading... that way?" Peter questioned, despairing over whatever nitwit made this map. No streets! Not one! Just vague placements of landmarks and gray lines that didn’t line up with any streets!! Who the hell makes a map without street names ? And then have the gall to call it a tourist guide ?
This was a terrible learning experience when it came to reading maps. How would he ever recover from this traumatic event?
He continued his trek, the buildings slowly starting to look more familiar. Peter passed by a coffee shop with a neon sign that flickered intermittently, and then a nail salon with a faded "Closed" sign hanging in the window. Finally, he saw the tall, imposing structure of the Gotham Public Library in the distance. He’d ended up coming in the opposite direction from when he’d initially found the library. Coming from the back of the library, instead of the front this time.
Relief washed over him as he approached the entrance. The library seemed even grander than yesterday, with pillars and gargoyles galore. Peter had not noticed the gargoyles previously, otherwise he would’ve properly admired them.
Pushing open the heavy oak doors, Peter winced, spotting some faint blood stains that were suspiciously foot-shaped. He’d have to apologize for the mess. Looking around, Peter noticed how… empty it was. It had been pretty vacant yesterday, but Peter’s hearing confirmed only five people in the expansive building today, which was pretty convenient for Peter’s sensitive senses, as long as no one here was a teeth grinder. Otherwise, Peter was going to have a problem .
Stepping further inside, Peter thoroughly enjoyed the heating. It was cold here, sure, but at least it was on the way to getting warmer. Otherwise, Peter would not be in for a fun time, considering his lack of thermoregulation and the funds required for a jacket. Or a heated place to stay.
Actually, this was something Peter was seriously going to need to look out for. Although it took his temperature dropping to below-freezing temperatures, it was not a fun time. It would be a huge problem if Peter fell asleep and started hibernating in a random place, or even just in general. The first time Peter hibernated, he scared Tony and May half to death. Thankfully, as long as Peter was warmed back up not long after he entered sleepy mode, he could wake up on his own after a couple of hours. Or days.
There were also the requirements of having a good and hefty diet, otherwise, his body would have nothing to burn, and his body would essentially eat him alive. Or, at least that’s what Doctor Banner said. But he was also convinced Peter had the genetic potential to grow three more pairs of eyes and spinnerettes, so Peter wasn’t entirely sure how much he could trust these hypotheses.
Not to mention Peter wasn’t the biggest fan of starving to death in his sleep, so he’d need to be careful.
Passing the front desk, Peter noted Miss Barbara wasn’t there. Her scent was still fresh, so she was more than likely around here somewhere. Doing whatever it is a librarian does. He wasn’t sure.
Peter found a nice little corner to stuff himself in, one where it would be hard for people to come up behind him and see the computer, as well as shielded from the cameras. Not entirely, unfortunately, but his screen at least wouldn’t be visible. He did not want to be questioned about why there was highly complex code on the public library's computer. Peter would not get away with it, he’s telling you now.
Karen was in a dormant form right now. The two red bracelets were just compacted nanobots, and if Peter knew Mr. Stark, there were definitely protocols for Karen to have…
Yes! A port to manually connect her to a computer, even while dormant!
Feeling along the smooth surface of the nanotechnology-based alloy, Peter felt a groove. Pressing down, a slot opened up revealing multiple different possible ports. Mr. Stark… Ever the paranoid man Peter knew him to be.
"Okay, let's see if this works," he muttered to himself, nabbing a cable someone left behind from the neighboring computer. He carefully connected one end to Karen and the other to the library's computer.
At first, the screen remained black, and Peter was worried Karen was more damaged than he initially thought. Peter could feel his heart in his throat as he waited, anxiously biting his nails. He must’ve checked the cable’s connection seven different times before—
The screen flickered for a moment, and Peter held his breath, waiting for another sign of life from Karen.
The computer screen lit up with a series of intricate code lines rapidly scrolling by. Peter's heart raced with anticipation as he watched, hoping to see a familiar interface pop up.
"Come on, Karen," he whispered, tapping his fingers nervously on the desk.
Suddenly, the scrolling code stopped, and a small window appeared on the screen. Peter had expected to hear Karen's voice, set to a volume that only Peter’s enhanced hearing could detect. But instead, fragmented text filled the small box.
"He#(@*llo, P*#t{er."
Peter let out a sigh of relief, possibly the first genuine smile since he’s been here spreading across his face. "Hey, Karen. Glad to have you back." He whispered and hoped the microphones weren’t too damaged.
"$yst#ems... o...per&{:ating at 11% cap{\acit?y,"
Peter frowned, his mind racing through potential issues. It wasn't surprising that Karen's voice module was malfunctioning, but the extent of the corruption was concerning. It suggested deeper problems within her core systems. The error in her speech patterns indicated that the code governing her language processing was significantly compromised, possibly due to cross-dimensional interference or data corruption during the transition. It’d be hard to tell until he got a look at her code.
"$e#v..er3l malf#unction$. Di*>agn0$tic an^d... re}{pa:’ir... in1;tiat#3d."
Peter's brow furrowed with concern. "Take your time, Karen. We'll get you back to full strength."
The library’s computer went dark as Karen worked on her self-repairs, Peter kept an eye on his surroundings. The process would’ve gone faster with Peter and Karen working at the same time, but the ominous whirling of the cooling fan warned against such action. It was a miracle this outdated hunk of junk was holding up so well in the first place.
The library was relatively empty, but he didn't want to take any chances. He needed Karen back online not just for her vast array of capabilities, not even really for Spider-Man… But for the comfort her presence brought him. She was a piece of Mr. Stark, of home , and having her around made Peter feel a little less alone in this unfamiliar place.
The screen lit back up as a soft chime from the computer signaled the completion of the initial diagnostic scan. The box of distorted text popped up once more.
"Pr1m..#ary $y$t3m!s... $tabl3. $ev*eral... $eco}[ndary $y$t3/m$... man\[ual inp..^*ut... func>#tional1ty, " Karen informed him.
Peter nodded, already eyeing the code on the screen. "Looks like the groundwork for your coding mostly survived... there seems to be a lot of extra code... saved data?” He murmured, raising a brow. Peter didn’t recall using up so much memory?
Curiously diving deeper into the extra data stored, his eyes widened as he discovered what Karen had managed to preserve. There were terabytes of saved data: an extensive cache of the internet, Stark's files, and—Peter's breath hitched— hundreds, thousands of saved video and photo files... The library computer wouldn’t be able to take Peter opening the files, but they were labeled.
>Video_703_M.Parker
>IMG_159_T.Stark
>IMG_279_M.Parker
>Video_894_M.Stark
>IMG_472_R.Parker
>IMG_586_P.Potts
>IMG_428_M.Parker
>screenshot_943_M.J.Watson
>Video_612_R.Parker
Karen saved… everything. Every photo, every video, every cherished moment, every snapshot with Aunt May, Uncle Ben, Ned, MJ, Morgen, Pepper, Happy, Mr. Stark, even his parents… Everyone had been meticulously saved.
"Karen... you did all this?" Peter whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude and affection for the AI. Despite everything, despite the chaos and destruction, Karen had prioritized saving these irreplaceable memories.
"Pri#0ri[tiz^in(g... d}at^a... f0*r P;et#er's we^ll-bei<ng," Karen's distorted textbox managed to articulate, albeit with difficulty.
Peter’s lip wobbled as he swallowed thickly. The green receded, even if it was just slightly, and Peter was filled instead with overwhelming affection for Karen. She may have been code, an A.I., but Mr. Stark coded them while everything they needed to learn, grow and feel .
Karen… She cared for Peter, genuinely.
Peter would do anything to get her back up and healthy.
However, the computer was struggling. The library's system lacked the power to handle the complexity of Karen's code. The screen flickered more frequently, and the fan inside the computer started to whine dangerously. This, unfortunately, alerted the librarian who had just exited the elevator. Her head snapped over to Peter and the computer who was trying it’s absolute best to not spontaneously combust.
It would’ve been awkward to try and pretend the computer he was sitting at wasn’t acting up, so Peter threw on his best worried face and waved the redhead over. Peter saw her eyebrows furrow, nodding as she wheeled herself over.
"Come on, just a little more," Peter muttered, silently cheering Karen on. This was going to look so suspicious if that code wasn’t gone by the time she was here.
Concerned for the poor computer life, as well as his inability to pay for any damages, Peter pressed his hand against the boxy tower case. It was so hot it burned to the touch and even shocked Peter. Like, literally . Peter felt the shock travel up his arm, hair raising uncomfortably before it seemingly… rushed back out?
tingleshock!
Peter flinched, small sparks reaching out, connecting Peter’s fingers to the overheating tower case.
Peter ripped his hand back, hissing in pain as the screen went black. The computer made a sputtering sound before completely shutting down, a thin wisp of smoke rising from the vents. So not good. He hoped they wouldn’t bill, but knowing his luck…
"Shit." Peter cursed, leaning back in his chair, defeated. His fingers twitched, feeling fuzzy; like static. The public library computer had been fried, and it tried to take Peter with it. Attempted murder via a public library computer. Unbelievable.
Peter pursed his lips. He stuffed Karen into his pocket, taking the cord too. Just in case. Finders keepers, and all that.
He had made some progress, but it wasn't enough. Karen was still only partially functional, and now he was without a working computer. Sure, there were more computers in the library, but he needed a higher-functioning computer. One that could take Karen’s code being worked on and not die on him. Or shock him in retaliation.
Holy shit, was Karen and computer murderer now? Did she just kill a member of her own kind? Or does it not count, since it’s not sentient? Is this computer the equivalent to Peter stepping on a bug? Vaguely related, but not enough to really matter?
He shook his head, trying to push aside the absurdity of his thoughts. "Okay, Peter, literally irrelevant. Focus please," he muttered to himself.
He couldn't help but anthropomorphize Karen, seeing her as more than just a collection of code and circuits. Although, it made sense. Mr. Stark had worked it into her code to be as human as possible while remaining objective and smart. She was his companion, protector, and now, the savior of his precious memories. Peter would find a way to get her back up and running at 100%.
As the librarian from yesterday approached— god, what was her name? Brianna? Barbie?— and Peter gestured helplessly to the computer.
“I’m sorry, Miss… It was like— um, code? It started flashing all over the screen, and then it shocked me and turned off… I don’t know what happened, I swear, I wasn’t—”
“Hey, it’s all good, Peter.” She waved him off with a laugh, inspecting the smoking machine. Her cheerful demeanor didn’t hide her sharp and calculating eyes.
“These old machines do that sometimes. We’ve been meaning to upgrade, but you know how budgets are," she said with a sigh. Her tucked her bright red hair behind her ear, reminding Peter of his earlier dilemma with her name.
‘Barbara. That was her name.’
Her eyes and face weren’t the same, not even the hair texture , not by a long shot, but she vaguely reminded Peter of Aunt May. Warm, sweet, with a strong personality and fiery red hair.
Aunt May. She’s dead because of him.
The more likely scenario was wishful thinking. Peter’s mind making connections where there were none. He didn’t even know Barbara, let alone her personality or whether she was warm and sweet and kind.
goodnicefriend!
That was not helping his point at all.
“Um, I— I don’t have any money, but I could, um, work it off… Maybe?” Peter’s eyes suddenly found that ground to be very interesting. Barbara’s icy blue eyes were piercing, no matter how warm her smile was. Not cold or mean, just… Intense.
—
She didn’t respond for a second, studying Peter. He was small, especially for his age, but he seemed genuine and sweet. Jason must’ve found him yesterday, despite how hectic the night was for everyone. (How he found the free time, Barbara had no idea.) Peter was in clean clothes, a red Wonder Woman hoodie replacing the torn and bloodied shirt he’d worn previously. His hair turned out to be quite fluffy and curly, which suited him. The flattened and, frankly, crunchy-looking hair from yesterday did Peter no favors. The sickly sheen of dried Lazarus water was gone, along with the smell. And thank the aliens that flew in the sky, he had shoes on.
Overall, Peter Parker was already looking far better than he had yesterday. A little confused and jumpy, but the kid had absolutely impeccable control of the pit rage. It took Jason a year to even become conscious , so the fact this kid was walking around and functioning ? A damn miracle.
(Barbara was glad Bruce was off-world for a Justice League mission, otherwise he no doubt would’ve scared the kid off, or tried to force-adopt him and build resentment. Jason and Tim (when she got around to telling him the situation, anyway) weren’t the most emotionally capable, but Tim was smart and Jason understood the pit rage the best. With Dick off on a mission with the Titans, they’d have to handle this carefully.
Great timing for Bruce to be gone, terrible timing for Dick to be gone.
Barbara looked through Peter’s records, and it’s safe to say life hadn’t been kind to him. He wasn’t just going to trust them right off the bat, but they could build it.)
Peter shifted nervously under her gaze, Barbara finally realizing how long she’d kept him waiting for a response.
“Tell you what, how about you come keep me company for lunch instead? We’ll get you signed up for a library card, too.” Barbara smiled, throwing in a playful wink.
Peter looked apprehensive, eyes checking the time before studying Barbara intently. She kept her body language open and expressive and her smile light.
“S—sorry, I have to, uh, get going…” Peter ducked his head, ears tinting red, “I need to, uhm, find a Wayne shelter before it gets too dark.”
A flimsy excuse at best. The closest Wayne shelter was a twenty-minute walk away and didn’t close its doors until eight. It was barely four.
Barbara smiled. He was a terrible liar. “That’s ok! Raincheck?”
Peter avoided her eyes as she smiled, nodding hesitantly. “...Sure.”
He picked up his back, standing up as he adjusted it. Nice , Harper gave him some of the nicer handouts.
Peter bit his lip as he nervously eyed the fried computer. “Sorry again, Miss Barbara… I’ll, uh— be going now?”
“Stay safe, ok Peter?” Barbara smiled, waving Peter off. His lips twitched down when she said ‘stay safe’ , but he nodded all the same and left.
His footsteps were light even with the ill-fitted shoes. He blended perfectly into the background, like if you weren’t looking for him you wouldn’t even know Peter Parker existed.