Chapter Text
The night started out wonderful. Peter finally caught some criminals doing an underground arms deal he had been following for weeks. He got his paycheck from the Daily Bugle for some more Spider Man pictures. It was not much. Just one hundred and sixteen dollars and change. Minimum wage at seven twenty five an hour and barely sixteen hours logged this week since he was only part time and Jonah loved reminding him of that. Still. It was enough. He could now finally afford the Arkham Asylum LEGO set which was over three hundred fucking dollars. Outrageous in his mind at least and people on the internet also thought the same. He would not be able to eat for a couple of weeks but it was all worth it in the end when he got to have a moment of peace and build the set.
He would have loved to build it with Ned. That thought alone made his chest ache. After Doctor Strange’s spell to make people forget about him Peter had not been able to make many new friends. Well it was not that Peter did not have the capabilities of making new friends at least that is what he told himself. He just feared his Parker luck would spill onto them. Everyone he had ever known had died because of him.
His parents died in a plane crash when he was still a kid. The news called it an accident. A tragic one. But Peter always felt like if he had been smarter. Faster. Better. Maybe something would have changed. Maybe he could have saved them even though he was just a kid back then. Guilt never listened to logic.
Then there was Uncle Ben. That pain never dulled. Never softened. Ben had been shot by a robber Peter could have stopped earlier that day. A guy he had seen running. A guy he had let go because it was not his problem. He remembered the sound of the gunshot. The blood. The way Ben’s voice shook when he told Peter it was not his fault. Peter never believed him. In his mind Uncle Ben died because Peter chose to look the other way.
There was Tony too. That loss sat heavy in a different way. Tony Stark had died saving everyone. Tony looked at him. Exhausted. Bruised. Still trying to smile like everything was going to be okay. Tony had snapped his fingers knowing exactly what it would cost him. He had chosen it. Peter watched him fall to his knees afterward the light fading from his eyes as the arc reactor dimmed. Peter had begged him to stay. Had cried harder than he ever had before clinging to his Iron Man armor like that might somehow keep him there. In Peter’s mind Tony died because of him too. Because Peter had been dusted. Because Tony had gone to space to save him once. Because Tony loved him like a son and fathers died for Peter Parker. That was just how it always went.
Then Aunt May. She had been hurt because of Peter too. Because of Spider Man. Because villains came after him and she was caught in the middle. Even after everything she still smiled at him. Still told him she was proud. When she died Peter felt like something vital had been ripped out of his chest. Another name added to the list of people his life destroyed.
And then there was Doctor Strange. The spell. The one that made everyone forget Peter Parker ever existed. MJ. Ned. Happy. Everyone. They still knew Spider Man but Peter himself was gone. Erased. Now he lived alone in a run down apartment in Queens barely scraping by. College was no longer an option. Dreams were expensive. Rent was even more expensive.
He worked two jobs now. A bus boy at a small Italian restaurant where his hands were always raw from hot water and dishes. And the Daily Bugle where he sold photos of himself in a mask to a man who despised him. On top of all that he was still Spider Man. Friendly neighborhood or not the bills did not care.
The sadness did not fully lift but it loosened its mighty grip when he stopped by Stan’s Hot Dog stand. The most famous hot dog cart in all of Queens. Stan recognized him instantly. He always did. Peter got a free hot dog loaded with all his favorite toppings. Ketchup, mayo, mustard, chili, and cheese. The bun was toasted perfectly with just enough crunch as Peter grabbed it from the older gentleman.
“Thank you sir,” Spider-man said softly.
Stan smiled at him and said, “Hey kid. The world could always use a little kindness.”
Spider-man smiled back before swinging away into the busy city.
Now Peter sat on top of the Daily Bugle sign perched on the D. His legs swung as he kicked them idly eating his hot dog with a ferocious hunger that bordered on a starving lion. His funds were already low after rent utilities and spider webbing supplies so food had been scarce. His fridge looked like a sad divorced dad after his wife took all the kids. His Spider Man mask was pulled up to his nose and his mouth was free. Chili, mayo, ketchup, mustard, and cheese smeared across his face as he ate the hot dog like it might swing away from him. It had happened once before when he was not looking. Some villain who had tried to copy Spider Man webs took the hot dog right out of Peter’s hand and it plopped to the floor. That day Peter mourned the loss of another. His delicious hot dog.
Peter’s eyes drifted up toward the moon as he shoved the last end of the hot dog into his mouth chewing with his cheeks full like a hamster storing food. He let himself relax for just a second. No sirens nearby. No screaming. No imminent doom. Just peace. Something he desperately needed after all this shit that had happened.
Then suddenly just as Peter thought he had a moment of peace the hard surface beneath him vanished. The once solid sign his butt had been on suddenly poofed away.
His eyes widened as panic slammed into him all at once.
Nothing warned him.
No Peter tingle. No buzz. No screaming alarm in the back of his skull telling him to move.
His spider sense never went off.
Now he was falling.
Wind tore past his ears as his stomach dropped into his throat. Peter flailed instinctively shooting webs at nothing fingers grasping for a building that was no longer there. Purple light swallowed his vision as a portal snapped shut above him cutting off the night sky entirely.
“What the fu—”
Thunk.
His body crashed hard into a dumpster.
Pain exploded through him as he lay there stunned stars flashing behind his eyes. Something sharp dug into his back. Then another. Then another. Peter sucked in a breath and immediately regretted it.
The smell hit him next.
Rotting food. Old grease. Rust. Something sour and wet that had no business existing.
Peter sniffed despite himself.
Old hamburgers and fries.
Crushed cans and half collapsed boxes surrounded him the trash having at least softened the impact. Blood slowly seeped into the mess beneath him as he shifted slightly every movement lighting his nerves on fire.
Peter groaned and tilted his head back blinking until his vision steadied.
That was when he saw the flyer.
It hung crookedly above the dumpster taped to the brick wall with peeling edges. Blue and black paper. A picture of a shake with the word NIGHTWING plastered boldly across the cup.
“TRY OUR NEWEST BATSHAKE. Because we all wish Nightwing could shake his shake.”
Peter stared.
His brain stalled completely.
Nightwing.
As in Nightwing Nightwing.
Like the guy with the escrima sticks and the phenomenal ass.
Peter’s thoughts scrambled over each other. Batman themed restaurant. No wait Batman adjacent themed restaurant. When did that happen. Why was it here. Why had no one told him. Why was he bleeding in a dumpster under it. He did not remember any news in well the news about a Batburger opening up.
His head started to pound.
The questions blurred together until his mind simply shut off like someone flipped a switch. Everything went quiet and hollow for half a second too long.
Gunshots cracked in the distance. Causing him to snap him back into himself.
Peter jolted upright with a sharp groan immediately regretting it. His body was coated in soggy hamburgers, limp fries, and several needles embedded uncomfortably in his back. He stared at them for a second horrified.
“Oh come on,” he muttered.
He really hoped none of them were filled with anything bad. Not that it mattered much. His system burned through most drugs like they were nothing. Still. Gross.
Peter grabbed the sides of the dumpster and tried to push himself up. His strength wavered for half a second then surged crushing the metal inward with an ugly crunch. He froze staring at the warped steel.
“Right. Still strong. Cool. Love that.”
He reached back and yanked the needles out one by one teeth clenched.
Yeah. He was absolutely getting some kind of blood transmitted disease from this. That was just how his Peter luck worked.
Peter hauled himself out of the dumpster. Sadly not in a dramatic way. His foot caught on the edge and sent him flailing forward. He hit the filthy cement of the alley face first the air surging out of his lungs as an undignified oof slipped out.
He lay there for half a second then scrambled up quickly brushing himself off even though it did absolutely nothing. He smelled like death. He looked worse. But dignity however small was still dignity. At least he was still in his Iron Spider suit which had malfunctioned due to the portal and fall.
Peter glanced around the alley. It was darker than it should have been. Narrower. The buildings felt taller somehow looming in a way that made his shoulders tense. The brickwork was older. Dirtier. The light at the end of the alley glowed as if drawing him in.
He walked toward it slowly and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
The street felt wrong.
Too noisy. Too busy. Even the air seemed thicker pressing in on him. The buildings were unfamiliar all sharp angles and shadows towering over him like they were watching. The imposing dark structures caused Peter to finally feel his spider sense creep back in as his mind caught up.
Peter swallowed.
“This isn’t Queens.”
His gaze flicked upward searching for something familiar anything at all. No Avengers Tower. No skyline he recognized. Just darkness blimps and the distant echo of sirens that sounded like more than he was used to.
This was definitely not home.