Chapter Text
"Peter, I have completed creating your identification. Peter Parker is officially a citizen in this universe"
Peter is pulled away from his rigorous research, blinking himself back to life. "Oh, right! Great! Awesome. Can I see?"
"Of course"
Multiple attachments suddenly appear on the screen, Peter now looking at a birth certificate, an ID, a bank account, and a brief schooling and medical history. Everything was basically identical to his official identity.
Peter Benjamin Parker born August 10th of 2001 in Queens, New York. He went to school in Midtown, Queens, and has only been to the doctors office a handful of times. A broken arm here, a viral sickness there.
The most stock-standard record one could manage. He would fly entirely under the radar if anyone happened to look into him.
He slumps gratefully, "Thanks, Karen. This is awesome"
"You are welcome, Peter. I have also taken the initiative to enrol you into the upcoming Admissions Exam at Gotham Academy. This specific enrolment offers a full-ride scholarship if one achieves a high enough exam score"
Peter halted, "What? Karen, you what?!" he yelped, eyes widening as a few people turned to him oddly.
He shrunk in on himself, resorting to whisper-hissing at Karen instead. "Karen, what the hell? I don't have time for school! I gotta work!"
"You must also prioritise your education, Peter. And your social life"
"Hey! I have friends"
"You have friends on Earth-616"
"Wow, Karen. I almost forgot I was in another universe" Peter rolled his eyes.
"The Admissions Exam I have specifically selected is the highest level exam they offer, and therefore delivers the highest level of benefits. Unfortunately the academy does not offer accommodation, but this particular scholarship, if achieved, will grant you with not only full ride, but a $500 weekly stipend"
Peter's jaw falls open, gaping at the A.I's words.
"I.. What? You.. What? $500?"
"That is correct"
"Karen, I-"
"Peter, if you achieve this scholarship, which I have every belief you will, and you also get yourself a part-time or casual employment offer, you will be earning enough each week to begin settling yourself and creating your Multiversal Bracelet"
Peter leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face with his hands. Karen was, admittedly, right. He'd be lucky to make $500 a week by doing any part-time job that could be offered to a 17-year-old, and having that $500 per week would allow him to have actual meals. God, the thought of real food was absolutely delightful right now.
"Okay, okay. Fine. When is the exam?"
"Tomorrow 9am"
"Karen!" Peter yelped, gobsmacked. He only turned away from the annoyed stares this time, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Peter" Karen spoke back with even more sass, leaving Peter huffing.
hi! hello! friend!
Peter paused, waiting until Barbara was right behind him to turn around with a smile.
"How's the research going?" she questions, leaning back in her wheelchair.
"Great. I'm finished now, actually" Peter says, signing off the computer.
"I'm glad to hear it. What kind of research are you doing?"
Peter's smile thins just slightly. God, he hates lying.
"I've got an admissions exam coming up and wanted to make sure i'm all caught up" Peter shrugs. Barbara looked intrigued, "Oh, right? Where are you trying to get into? You look a little old to be in your first year" Barbara said pointedly.
Peter smiled sheepishly, "Yeah, I actually just moved here from New York. I'm trying to get into Gotham Academy"
The woman nodded slowly, "From New York? Why'd you move here of all places?" she grinned, gesturing to the city through the windows.
Peter gave a slight chuckle, "Yeah, not really ideal, but it wasn't my choice. My Guardian had work here" Peter said, fiddling with his fingers behind his back — an admittedly bad trait of his when lying.
"Hm. You staying for long?"
Peter shrugs, "long enough to enrol into a new school and start looking for a job"
Barbara tilted her head, scanning Peter with over-inquisitive eyes that made him shuffle slightly.
"I actually heard the cafe down the street is hiring?" She smiled warmly, Peter perking up at the offer.
"Really?"
"Yeah. They've been looking for a while, actually, so I think they'd be happy to take pretty much anyone who applies"
Peter's smile widened, "I'll have to look into that, then!"
Barbara grins, "Well, Peter, best of luck to you. Honestly. Gotham Academy's a good school, I know a few kids who go there, and they're all super smart. I'm sure you'll get in" she winks, Peter chuckling lightly, "I sure hope so, Miss Barbara"
"Hey! What'd I say?"
Peter smiled wryly, about to crack a joke when a chill ran suddenly down his spine, Peter stiffening in place as it suddenly felt as though his whole body was tingling.
"Peter?"
"I.." Peter murmured.
bad! leave! now!
"Peter, are you okay?" Barbara looked immensely worried, face pinched in confusion at Peter's expression, suddenly pale and distracted,
"Peter?"
"I.. I gotta go" Peter whispers, wasting no time before hurrying past Barbara, her confused calls following him as he runs out the library, pushing through the turnstiles and out onto the street.
Peter pants, sweat dripping down his forehead as he stopped for only a second before ducking into the nearest alley he could see. Peter barely had a moment to catch his breath before the, unfortunately, familiar pain shot all through him, his screams mixing with the chattering glitch as he crumpled into a colourful, shuddering heap.
He whimpered, the pain overwhelming and then nothing all within seconds. Just like the last time, the pain lasted a few seconds before disappearing as sudden as it came. The only difference was that this time Peter had felt it coming. He suspected that because he was in a room full of people, talking directly to Barbara, his spidey sense had senses that it wouldn't be suitable to glitch there, and that Peter should leave before that happens.
He doubted there was any way to avoid the glitch, but if he could avoid glitching in front of anyone, it'd most certainly be ideal.
Peter shrunk in on himself, pressing his forehead to the cool stone floor with heavy breaths. Yeah, he definitely wanted to get that watch done ASAP.
He groaned, pushing himself off the ground to lean against the wall, head pounding and heart racing, the only remnants of the colourful explosion he had just faced. Unfortunately for Peter, even as he sulked in the alley, the day went on, and every minute Peter spent here was one less minute he could spend job hunting, and that is, like, number one priority right now. So, eventually, Peter gives a hefty groan and pushes off the wall, running a hand through his sweat-slicked hair (man, he needs a shower) and wiping his forehead, taking one deep breath before slipping out of the alley and back into Gotham's day crowd.
Nobody spared his dishevelled appearance a glance as Peter slipped through the crowds, eyes scanning the streets for the cafe that Barbara had mentioned.
Sure enough, he found the cafe right on the corner, and it looked exactly how Peter imagined it would. Really, it looked like any old cafe, just with that typical Gotham charm.
Peter felt a smile twitch at his face. Honestly, it reminded him of the cafe MJ worked (works?) at. His smile tightens as does his chest, Peter sighing out as he bites the inside of his cheek. A consistent reminder of the cafe where Peter first encountered his two best friends after being erased from their memories wasn't exactly pleasant, but Peter really didn't imagine there were many job opportunities for him in Gotham.
God, he wished he could just go back to working at Stark Industries. At least then he was able to put his mind to use, even when passing Happy ridiculously often was a stab to the chest. Peter hoped this school that Karen had applied to would test his brain, at least then it'd make up for the total lack of stimulation everywhere else.
Anyway, what Peter is trying to say is that he needs a job, and he can't exactly afford to flunk this (like, literally). It doesn't help that his hair is mildly greasy, his face probably a little bruised (and let's not forget the cut on his forehead) and his clearly second (probably third) hand clothes are mildly torn and dirty. Though he also imagined that these things are probably a pretty common occurrence in Gotham, and they may not even bat an eye. Peter certainly hopes that will be the case.
Regardless, he tames his hair as much as he can, straightening his clothes and brushing off any potential dirt from his enjoyable time on the ground before turning and stepping into the cafe. The familiar jingle of the overhead bell is a slight comfort to Peter. If there was one thing that was applicable to every single universe, it'd surely be the chime of a cafe bell.
The cafe was fairly busy, with staff slouching around in the typical Gothamite way and people either hunched in on themselves over a laptop or sharing quiet words with shifty glances.
Peter pauses, feeling his stomach rumble very distinctly within him as the scent of the pastries hits him square in the face. Peter’s breath hitches and he furrows his brows to push aside the highly appetising scent.
Not right now, Peter.
Instead, he walks right up to the front counter, grateful there wasn't a line so he wouldn't be holding anyone up. The girl at the register doesn't look up at him, chewing what must be a very large piece of gum with how hard her mouth is working.
"Welcome to Cafe Crema where our pastries are fresh and our coffees are fresher" she drawled with the enthusiasm of someone who had said that same line fifty times in the past hour, "What can I get for you?"
Peter smiled nervously, "Actually, I heard you guys are hiring? I was hoping to apply"
The girl stopped chewing, finally glancing up at him through mascara-lathered lashes. She straightened slightly, eyes raking over Peter in a way that made him shift awkwardly.
"Les!" She called suddenly, glancing over her shoulder as Peter blinked.
A moment later an older woman walks out, face wrinkled with age but expression surprisingly soft.
"Kid says he's looking to apply" the other girl drawls.
The older woman blinks, then smiles. "Wonderful. Why don't you come on back and we can get you situated?"
Peter blinks owlishly. Already?
Regardless, he follows the woman behind the counter and into the back area, her taking a seat at a dingy old desk and gesturing to Peter to sit across from her.
"Name?"
Peter blinks, "Oh. Peter Parker, ma'am"
"Age?"
"17"
Peter watched as the woman scrawled out his responses.
"Any criminal record?"
Peter might have jostled at the question if he were still in New York, but Peter could imagine that was a pretty necessary preliminary question in Gotham.
"No, ma'am"
"Great, you're hired"
Peter blinked, "Wait, what? Just like that? No interview?"
"That was your interview. You passed, congratulations" 'Les' grinned.
"Names Lesley, but everyone calls me Les. Only thing I need you to write down for me are your bank details"
"Great.." Peter murmured, still slightly flabbergasted. Peter had never had a job before Stark Industries because he'd always been too busy with school and Spider-Man-ing, but the process of getting hired at Stark Industries was rigorous, even as a trainee. To just waltz right in, give the most basic information and get the job was just mildly odd. Well, not that Peter would complain.
Peter scribbled down the bank details Karen had created that same day as she recited them in his ear, pushing Tony's his glasses up his nose. "Thank you, Miss Lesl-" Peter halts at the way the woman was eyeing him down, "Les.."
"You are quite welcome, Peter. When can you start?"
"Tomorrow afternoon?" Peter nods. The quicker he could get this job rolling, the quicker he could afford to eat.
"Amazing. See you tomorrow at 2pm, and from there we can discuss your shifts and availability moving ahead"
Peter nods eagerly, smile widening. "Thank you! I'll see you tomorrow, Miss-" Peter cuts himself off with a cough, "Ah, Les"
The woman snickered and waved him off, Peter exiting the back area and giving the girl at the front a slight wave as he slipped through the employee entryway, the girl just giving him a look before resuming chewing her gum and leaning against the counter.
Peter grins as he exits the cafe, feeling rather giddy. Not only did he now have a job, he also had the Gotham Academy Admissions Exam early the next morning, and (not to toot his own horn), but Peter was pretty certain he had it in the bag. When getting Karen to tell him about this school, she mentioned that it was a highly academic private school and that previous accounts of those taking the Admissions Exam mentioned large science sections, and Peter is great in the sciences. His only troubles will come from any English or history sections. He probably should have actually paid attention to the history of Gotham when researching, but it hadn't really crossed his mind.
Oh well, Peter's certain he can ace the science sections, so as long as he does pretty good in the English section, it surely won't matter if he flunks the History section (that is as long as the actual history of America is the same here. I mean, how embarrassing would it be if they asked for the 16th President of the United States, and Peter said 'Abraham Lincoln' only for it to be some random dude! He just hoped no one would look that far into his responses, because that could be totally revealing of his abnormal presence). Peter's definitely thinking too much into it.
He shakes his head, moving down the street again as he heads back towards the fire station. Realistically, he should go back to the library and do some actual study for the exam as it was still light out, but the thought of facing Barbara again that day after running out on her was not pleasant, so Peter decided against it. Besides, he should get a good nights rest before a big exam, right? Not like he's seen one of those in a while, but a man can dream.
Peter makes it back to the fire station not twenty minutes later, stretching his arms over his head as he heads up to the second storey and towards his huddle of blankets. The previous night hadn't been too bad with just the blankets, but he knew soon enough he'd have to find something better. But with a new job and a $500 weekly stipend if he does land this scholarship, Peter thinks he'll be just fine.
God, he does hope his paycheck comes as soon as possible, though. It was over twenty-four hours since he'd last eaten, and Peter had been putting off spending the last $11 of his $20 bill in fear he'd use it then have nothing, but Peter would have to eat something before his exam tomorrow to keep his brain functioning properly.
Peter sighs, pushing that aside as a thought tomorrow he can deal with. Instead, he kicks his shoes off and slides into the makeshift blanket-bed he had constructed. The majority of the blankets were used to preserve warmth, but he had one folded numerous times underneath him to replicate, in some sense, a mattress (sleeping on the cold, hard floor is not particularly comfy).
He sighs, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Another reason he's anticipating that paycheck is to hopefully land himself a new pair of clothes. It had barely been two days, if even a day and a half, but Peter had not changed out of the slacked chino's he was wearing since he had donned them yesterday evening, and they weren't exactly the most comfortable article of clothing to sleep in, but he couldn't afford to take them off as they were, at least, mildly efficient in keeping the warmth in.
Peter could kill for a pair of comfortable pyjamas, too. Maybe some socks as well. Oh, and new underwear.
Peter wonders when he'd gotten so complacent. Okay. That felt like a harsh word, but it's kind of true.
Peter's complaining like he's never been on the streets before, which is totally untrue. After the Battle of New York in 2012, countless apartment complexes were lost in the fight, including his with Aunt May. It didn't help that the two were already dirt-broke ever since Ben, and even if they could manage to afford an apartment, there was quite physically no space for them. While New York was already experiencing high homelessness rates coming on from the previous year, they rose drastically after the battle, reaching over 25% of people left homeless, if only for a few weeks.
Because even if someone's building wasn't demolished, the Avengers had still fought quite literal aliens. It took weeks for the Government (or whatever form of higher up is associated with the Avengers) to fully clean out all traces of alien blood and resources from civilian land.
Being homeless during this time was hard. While there was community as the majority of homelessness at that point was due to the battle, that also came with territorial issues and increased levels of crime. Theft was at an all time high as people had to steal just to make it through the night.
Those who still had money but no home were some of the worst at that point. They bought everything off the shelves and hoarded it amongst themselves — they were a big reason for the territory issues amongst the homeless at the time. They occupied the livable streets because they 'weren't peasants', and this was 'just temporary', so for some reason they 'deserved to maintain this privilege'.
Ridiculous, Peter knows, but people turn to all sorts of strange conclusions and ideas when desperate.
He and May tried to not get involved with any of that stuff, but it was hard for them as two objectively 'weak-looking' targets. Even as homeless people, he and May were mugged on more than one occasion, even for just the remaining bowl of soup from the kitchen they'd hoped to last the next day.
At that time Peter lived in the same two (and for a short time three) pairs of clothes for months on end. There was no such thing as pyjamas or comfy clothes. Hell, they didn't even take their shoes off to sleep.
So for Peter to be complaining about sleeping in the same pair of pants for the past two nights had him realising he'd probably gotten a little bit spoiled. What, with Tony's (followed by Happy's) flow of money that suspiciously landed in May's bank account each month and the guarantee of a fresh change of clothes each day, he'd forgotten what it was like to live anticipating your next meal, to not want to waste money on clothing and to instead run the articles you do own to the very ends of their life in hopes of being able to instead afford food that day.
Peter frowns at the thought of his entitlement, thinking back to the streets of Gotham. Every person here was struggling in one way or another, so why had Peter decided his struggles were so righteous?
Finally, Peter relents those thoughts, far too exhausted to keep hounding himself as so.
He sighs and tugs EDITH off his face, folding the AI glasses up and placing them directly beside his makeshift pillow (the top half of the blanket he was using as a makeshift mattress) — he isn't too afraid of leaving his stuff 'unattended' while he's asleep, because he's certain he'll wake up if anyone does happen to come by, and according to Karen anyone who might won't be some bully who's about to come and steal some kid's glasses.
Peter yawns and nestles his head further into the relatively soft material of the blanket beneath him. He isn't exactly tired, it's barely even 7:30pm, but exhaustion is a different type of tire that wracks one's bones like nothing else. Besides, Peter should get as good a night's sleep as possible for his exam the following day, and if he does happen to wake up early, he can go over some revision material with Karen.
Plan set in his mind, Peter lets his body relax (as much as possible, at least) as he slips into a state of sleep.
"--ter. --eter. --Peter!"
Peter awoke with a gasp, blinking widely and sitting upright with fast-paced breaths. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the owner of the voice. There shouldn't have been any voice. Peter is alone, he's certain no one came into the fire station while he was asleep, and certainly no one that would know his name.
Finally, Peter's eyes fell on the person who had spoken, and he paused.
Aunt May gave him a quizzical smile with her hands on her hips, her brown hair tied messily into a loose plait.
Peter croaked, "Aunt.. Aunt May?"
May shook her head in confusion, "Jeez, Peter, it's nearly twelve! How long did you stay out last night?" she grinned, reaching out to ruffle the boy's hair.
Peter balked, heart thumping in his chest as his brain ran rampant. This isn't possible.
Aunt May is dead. He's not in Queens anymore.
So how-?
Oh. Okay. Yeah.
This is a dream, right? Peter isn't really here, back home. He's just dreaming about it.
Okay. Peter can deal with that, he guesses. This isn't the first time he's dreamt of Aunt May. The first time since being in Gotham, but this isn't uncommon. Peter does usually remember it feeling way less real, and he also doesn't remember ever being conscious during these dreams, but he'll take what he can get.
He relaxes his dream-selfs form and smiles up at his Aunt, "Sorry, Aunt May. Some guy was robbing a bank at 2 in the morning!"
May just smiles sadly and gives a slight sigh. She hates hearing about her nephew's escapades — Why can't he just stay home and play video games like a normal 15-year-old? Or, y'know, repair old devices like a normal Peter? May can't remember the last time she heard about Peter dumpster diving for old technology to repair.
"Come on, the bacon's gonna burn!"
Peter just groaned and heaved himself out of bed. The bacon was probably going to burn no matter how long Aunt May left it (let's just say she's not particularly friends with the stove).
Peter ran a hand through his unruly hair and looked down to his t-shirt, one he missed very much. It was white, and had one of his favourite science puns sprawled across the front ("What does a subatomic duck say? Quark") with a badly drawn duck mid-quack. This specific shirt was gifted to him by Tony after the man had travelled the depths of eBay to get the perfect stupid shirt for Peter (though he'd never admit that).
The boy wore a sad smile and decided that, even if this was just some dream, he was going to let himself believe it was real, if only for a moment.
Peter had only been about to walk through his bedroom door when a shriek suddenly sounded through the humble apartment he and May had stayed in. Peter freezes, stilling for only half of a moment before shooting ahead at speeds no average teen should be capable of. He rounds the corner so quickly he absolutely would have slid if he hadn't intentionally stuck his feet to the floor, looking at May with wide eyes.
He'd expected to find her injured, or in the hands of some villain (Yeah, he'd had that kind of dream before), but instead he found her huffing and pointing a spatula at the space behind Peter. "Tony! You can't just let yourself in like that!"
Peter slumped instantly, groaning and turning back to Tony Stark, the man's face pulled into his usual smug smirk as he raised his hands in defeat, leaning back in his chair. "Apologies, May. Nice shirt, Pete. Where'd you get it? Oh, yeah" he snickered as if that was some next level comedy, Peter barely having time to process seeing Tony before the stupidity of the joke left him groaning.
"What are you doing here, Mr. Stark?"
"What, a man can't enjoy breakfast with his favourite student and his hot Aunt?"
Peter shot a glare at Tony for his wording, giving a sideways glance to May, who was thankfully none the wiser, too busy trying to dodge the small spits of oil from the bacon-covered pan.
Peter turns back to Tony and arches a brow, the man's smirk only twitching. "Okay, okay" he waved a hand.
"Why did you let us die, Peter?"
"Huh?" Peter halted, certain he'd heard the man wrong as he furrows his brow and meets Tony's gaze, the man still giving that infuriating smirk.
"Why did you let us die, Peter?"
Peter gaped, stomach sinking as the colour drained from his face. "Mr. Stark.."
"Huh, Pete?"
"Mr. Stark, I.. I didn't, I swear-"
"Oh, but you did, Peter" Aunt May's voice cut through this time, hands suddenly on his shoulders as he stiffened, spider sense blaring in his head. But why? Peter's had dreams like this before, dreams telling him it's all his fault. Never once in those dreams had he felt any real semblance of danger, because it was just a dream. Of course, he was in a dream-like-state at those times, so he never knew that then, but Peter always woke up knowing it was just a dream and there was no real danger.
Here? Peter is in danger danger danger.
Danger everywhere, all around him.
"If you had just taken tha gauntlet" Tony drawled, and Peter gasped as suddenly he was no longer in his and May's apartment.
No. Suddenly, he was back on Titan. Aunt May is gone, and only Tony remains, staring at him. His smirk is gone, instead replaced with a straight face devoid of anything soft.
But Peter wasn't just a witness in this dream anymore. His Iron Spider suit was upon him and he was grasping at the golden gauntlet suctioned to Thanos' fist. Quill was standing before the alien, anger pulsing throughout him, but Peter could hear nothing more than a muffled ringing and Tony's taunting voice.
"You could have gotten the gauntlet off. You're strong enough, Pete. But you got scared. Like a little baby. You got scared, and half the universe disappeared. Because of you, I had to sacrifice myself"
Just as Peter had been yanking the gauntlet off, the scene changed again. Now, he was facing a dirty and injured Tony, still staring at him with something brewing in thos dead eyes. Now, his right hand was pulsing with colour, all five infinity stones brandished on the back of his hand.
"Because of you" Tony reminded one last time before snapping his fingers.
Peter screamed as a blinding white light took over him, falling to the floor as it crumbled beneath him, and then Peter was free-falling. His back hit something hard and he gasped for air, darkness surrounding him as he whimpered, hands reaching up only to be halted barely half-way by something stiff and dark. As his fists pounded, he realised it was wood. All around him was wood.
Peter slammed his fists into the wood, but it didn't even splinter. There was barely any air, Peter was already gasping for even a slight breath.
"Feeling stuck, Peter?"
Peter gasped, head snapping to the side where suddenly, barely a few inches away, was Aunt May's decomposed face, cheeks sunken and eyes hollow and dead.
Peter screamed, and then he was back in the lobby of Happy's Apartment complex, Aunt May's body limp before him as her eyes looked somewhere distant, blood covering her.
"You did this to me, Peter" the body beneath him moved, eyes still dead but now staring up at him.
"If I never had to raise you, I would have never died. If you had never let Ben die"
The room changed again.
Now, Peter was in that god-awful alley, Ben bleeding out in Peter's small arms.
"I'm sorry!" Peter had cried, "Please, Ben, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry"
Peter held Ben's form closer, "Ben, Tony, May, please.. I didn't.. I didn't mean to, I swear- I swear I didn't-"
"If you had never made your parents go on that that plane"
Peter gasped as he watched the scene before him, one he had barely thought about in the past few years.
Little Peter stood, barely six but already huffing with the indignance of a teenager. "No! You can't go!" he had wailed, blocking the door with his small body.
Richard and Mary Parker were already running late for their flight, faces pinched with stress and arms full of bags, but Peter Parker was a brat.
"Come on, Petey. Mummy and Daddy will be back in no time" Richard Parker spoke softly, patient even with his mid-tantrum child.
"No! You're not going! I.. I'm hungry!" Peter made up an excuse, even though he had eaten barely an hour ago.
"Ben will make you a sandwich, okay? Your favourite kind" Mary smiled tensely, fingers twitching as her eyes darted to her watch and back at Peter. If they didn't leave then, they weren't going to make it.
"No! I want Daddy to make it, his sandwiches are way better!"
"Hey!" Uncle Ben had squawked, coming over to try and ruffle Peter's hair, but the boy was too insistent on keeping his parents there, Ben would definitely try and stop him.
"I'll make you a sandwich when we get back, Petey. Only two days, okay?"
Peter didn't even know why he'd been so insistent that day. Why he wouldn’t let his parents leave the house.
Normally, Peter was never like that. He didn't throw many tantrums. Sure, he had the attitude of a pubescent teenager, but he never screamed and cried and became a nuisance. Why had he that day?
He had no reason to. Peter had loved spending time with May and Ben. In fact, this wasn't even nearly the first time his parents had gone on a flight for their job, and every time before that Peter had been fine.
Why did Peter choose that one time to let them miss their flight?
"We've missed it" Mary had said with a groan, slumping and rubbing her forehead with stress evident.
Richard had just sighed, setting his bags down in resignation. "It's alright, my love. We can get the next one, we'll just be a little late. Come on, Petey, let's get you that sandwich"
Richard and Mary Parker had made the next flight. The next flight had not made it to its destination.
After barely twenty minutes in the air, the plane had a technical difficulty and crashed right into the ocean.
Peter never saw his parents again. Never his Dad's cooking or his Mother's lullaby, never a kiss on the crown of his forehead from his Mother or a suffocating hug from his Father.
"It was all my fault" Peter croaks, arms over his head as he shrunk in on himself.
Tony and May's voices were gone, but his Father's voice was back.
"Hey, Kid. You alright?"
Peter didn't respond, eyes hazed over as they turned to the owner of the voice. His head tilted slightly, confusion running through his fogged up brain. That was his Father's voice. He knows it is. He heard it just moments ago, after all. But that's not Richard Grayson. That's a man in a strange black and blue suit with a strange blindfold. If Peter was more in the present, he might have understood it was Nightwing. Instead, his head just lolled to the side with confusion pinching at his face.
His Not-Father's voice was gentle yet urgent as he pressed his fingers to his ear and spoke. "Kid's been hit with a serious amount of Fear Toxin. I think he's been sleeping in the fire station"
"The fire station?" Peter heard distantly, "How long has this kid been exposed?"
The man before him frowned, "Looks like he was asleep. Probably a couple of hours"
"A couple of hours?! And he's not totally lost his mind?"
Nightwing frowned. He doesn't particularly like talking about victims in front of them like they weren't there, but it didn't seem like the boy was hearing much. "Yeah, I dunno. He's pretty out of it. Was muttering 'sorry's and talking about some May, Tony, and Ben, but that's about it"
"You got an antidote?"
"Just used my last one on the lady down the street. Is anyone nearby with one on hand"
"Yeah, I'm actually right outside, bring him here"
"Copy that, Red"
Peter frowned as he felt himself get lifted in strong, familiar arms. Normally, he would have fought, but his head felt like it was full of cotton and he couldn't exactly form a coherent enough thought to do anything but lay limply in the man's arms as he jumped through the window of his once safe humble abode and somehow made it onto the roof (Peter heard a strange noise, but couldn't make it out).
"Red!" the man called, Peter's hazy gaze spotting another male a roof over. This one jumped the roof to join the man carrying him, pulling something from his belt as Peter's eyebrows furrowed. It looked like a needle of sorts, and Peter does not like needles.
As the male crouched before him, ready to poke that very thick needle into his arm, Peter scrambled back and out of the other man's arms. The two gaped at him, Peter now in a crouch as he kept himself glued to the roof.
"No" he said simply, voice distant in his own head.
"Come on, Kid. This will get rid of the fear toxin in your system, then you won't see anything bad anymore" The older one coaxed with a smile.
"No, thank you. It wouldn't work anyway" Peter mumbled before standing and stepping back.
The two vigilantes screamed as Peter fell backwards off the roof, scrambling ahead to try and save him, but as they both peered over the ledge, the boy was long gone.