Chapter Text
Life was hard as Peter Parker.
After everything.
Not as Spider-Man. No, the arachnid themed hero hadn’t even been out there since the fiasco, not even once.
No, life was hard as Peter Parker.
The rent, the food, the two jobs he was trying to balance, the distant dream of a college he had once had, the homelessness that he was getting quite close to experiencing once again in his life if he couldn’t pay up until next week, the photos he always carried in his wallet…
The cemetery that had become a dilemma. Whether to visit their graves and cry until he passed out, or to stop torturing himself by forgetting their existence.
Both options sounded pretty shitty to him.
Keep grieving, or start moving on.
Keep feeling pain, or start forgetting.
Life was hard as Peter Parker.
It was.
***
475 dollars per week. What a load of bullshit. How was he supposed to get by, and not die on the streets from cold or starvation with 1900 dollars per month? Even with his second job, it wouldn’t add up to much, and Peter would often be left to be unable to make the ends meet.
But it was take it or leave it, and leaving it wasn’t really an option for Peter.
He took the bundle of money from the hands of the sweaty man in front of him, and got out of the room quickly; and from there, out of the crappy diner he worked the weekdays at. Honestly, he had no idea why people even came to that dirty place; but the salary was needed and the tips did help so he was careful to never voice those thoughts. He couldn’t get fired.
He couldn’t waste money on a cab, so he had to walk home. Only half-way there did he remember that he needed some new clothes and blankets, and changed his track to the thrift store a couple streets ahead.
He should’ve just gone straight to home.
His spider-senses picked up on the danger nearby, and his hackles rose; before Peter could even get a whisper of the screams. He ran.
Stephen Strange stood in all of his glory, trying to wrestle an other-worldly-looking-monster-thingy into submitting to him.
His spells sneaked up from behind, and he managed to find an opening to tie down the thing onto the road beneath them. With one hand busy making sure the spells holding down the monster were secured; he turned his back to it to open up a portal.
Unfortunately, the spells hadn’t been secure enough.
One of the tentacles of the monster broke free and charged at the sorcerer from behind. Before Peter could even yell out at him to look out, the Bleecker Street Magician was being tossed across the street. And along with him, unfortunately, went the portal he had been trying to open.
Peter had witnessed first-hand how dangerous it could be to interrupt or impact Strange when he was casting a spell; and even he didn’t have longer than a milli-second to process what had happened, and go oh fuck, before everything went to shit.
The monster broke out of the rest of its bounds and charged at Strange with full speed, ignoring the results of the sorcerer’s cut off spell. The results being a dozen of portals opening up and closing back down anywhere and everywhere at their will. Yeah, they were too little to be of any concern to the monster, of course it would ignore them.
But not the civilians around.
Peter’s head snapped to his right when he heard a sharp scream; and he saw a woman falling into one of the stray portals after she lost her balance on her high-heels, the portal closing up immediately after her.
That sprung him into action. He might’ve not been the Spider-Man, might’ve not had the suit on right now, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t try to help people. He pulled on his hood.
Peter let his senses guide him through the crowd; pulling or pushing people to safety as stray portals opened up where they had been standing mere seconds ago.
A portal ten feet from him appeared where a little girl was, and she tripped and fell into it. Well, almost. Because Peter was faster, and he had managed to leap across those ten feet, grab the girl, and pull her back before the portal could close up on her.
He saw her mother running up at them and pushed the girl into her awaiting arms as soon as possible, turning away immediately to grab a teenager’s hood to pull him away from another awaiting portal.
He kept going on like that for a while; grabbing an old lady, pushing away a middle-aged man, pulling a pregnant woman, shoving a business man…
And then there was a woman; brunette, straight hair, thirty-something, glasses. She looked like May. Too much like May. And that distracted Peter.
He pounced to grab her arm and push her away just as she was getting sucked into a portal, saving her efficiently. But he couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she ran away, and almost missed the sharp alert his spider-senses gave.
He instantly went to duck; but this time, he was too slow. And the next thing he knew, there was a stop sign in his face. Yes, literally in his face, because the impact was so hard, Peter was sure that no doctor would ever be able to get the thing off.
He went flying with the coup, falling through a portal and vision going black. He didn’t even register the hard, dirty concrete he fell onto. The last thing he saw before passing out, was the orange sparks dying down and disappearing as the portal closed up.
***
DAY 1: Friday
Peter woke up with a groan; bones aching and muscles trembling. He looked around through his blurry vision, and didn’t panic too badly when he failed to recognize where he was. He gasped when his spider-senses started alarming him fiercely though.
He checked his pockets as his head pounded and his senses caused him unnecessary anxiety. His wallet, salary, keys, and phone were all there still; nothing had fallen off or gotten lost. Just as he was getting up from the ground, his inner spider gave another sharp alert.
Being a vigilante, he was used to waking up injured and hurt, in unfamiliar places that he did not remember how he had gotten to. But never before, had it felt so wrong. His spider senses were causing him a headache, chanting wrong-wrong-not-home-go-back-home-NOT-HOME-different-different-foreign-FOREIGN-wrong.
Peter didn’t get it.
Never before, had they reacted so strongly in a situation like that. Never before, had they made his hackles rise so terribly, preparing for a threat that wasn’t there. Never before had they felt so wrong. He didn’t understand.
Then snippets of the fight between Strange and the other-worldly-looking-monster-thingy started coming to the front of his mind, as the answer to his unasked question; and Peter lost his footing.
His salary.
The thrift store.
Screams.
Strange.
Monster.
Oh fuck.
Portals.
Civilians.
May-
No, someone who looked like May.
Stop sign.
Falling through a-
Portal.
Shit.
That explained why his inner spider was panicking so much. Yep. Fuck. Alright, Peter needed to get a grip. He needed to assess his situation.
First, was there any immediate, life-threatening danger around?
Peter focused on his instincts and spider-senses, and came up short, other than a low-buzzing that he was pretty used to feeling since he was living in Queens. Just to be on the safe side; he also looked around, listened carefully, and scented the air for odd smells too. No dangers so far.
Secondly, did he have any fatal injuries?
Not really, just some bruised ribs from when he shoved away that guy with his body, not considering that there could be hard and heavy material in his backpack; and some cuts on his side from where he had fallen onto those broken glass pieces. And, of course, the massive fuck-off bruise on his face.
He looked at his reflection through his obviously-not-working-anymore-smart-phone, and almost dropped it when he saw the boy looking back. Yeah, his face looked really bad. Almost unrecognizable actually.
And considering the situation, that was his t-shirt with blood droplets on the sides, and his disheveled state; he probably looked like a total mess. Like, CPS-would-pick-me-up-on-the-spot-and-arrest-my-parents-immediately-without-a-single-question, kind of mess. But overall, no deathly wounds.
Thirdly where was he, and how could he go back home, or at least to someplace safe?
Now, he had no idea.
But nothing a quick brainstorm couldn’t solve, right?
Strange usually used his portals to travel from point A to B. Peter knew that the magician had the time stone, which probably gave him the ability to play with time as he pleased, in certain situations too. And Peter knew himself that the guy could open up portals to other dimensions.
So, Strange could’ve sent him through three things, to keep it basic.
1) Space, which basically meant teleportation so it shouldn’t be too hard to go back home if that was the case. He would only have a problem with affording transportation probably, but that could be taken care of the easiest, compared to the other possibilities.
2) Time, which would suck because Peter wasn’t sure how to handle that. Though it wouldn’t be that hard, he supposed. He hadn’t been alive when they had built the time machine; but he was sure that if Tony had managed to do it, then he could too. He could follow in his footsteps. The only problem would be to how, again, afford such a thing. And where, or rather when, he was right now, if that was the case. The past? Or the future?
3) Dimensions, which was the worst option ever because even with the time-travel, Peter was fairly sure he could find his way back home. Not with dimension-travel though, no.
It would be game over.
Now, how to find out?
Hmm…
It took little to no time for Peter to have the Light Bulb MomentTM; the public libraries falling into his mind easily, coming from one of the many conversations May had given him when he was a child, under the name of If You Ever Get Lost in The City. Those talks sure did help.
Peter walked around aimlessly, afraid to ask people for help because of how his spider-senses kept buzzing louder and louder whenever he tried to reach to someone; as he looked for a library.
At last, he decided that enough was enough, and ducked into a food court. It was good luck that some other people were also in there, sitting and eating; in case the cashier Peter was going to ask directions for, tried to do something.
What? Walking around in a place where he could smell gunpowder from almost everyone, and even small children buzzed up his spider-senses; Peter was feeling like anyone he came across might end up trying something.
“Hey.” He said as he approached the register, and the twenty-something-year-old blonde guy looked up from his phone with a bored expression.
“What do you want?”
“Uh… I’m not here to order, I just need to ask directions. Do you know where I can find a public library?” Ever the kind kid, Peter spoke nicely. Though in a place like where he was, being rude would’ve probably worked out better for him.
The guy lifted an eyebrow and looked him up and down. “Ten-minute walk from here. Follow this street for five minutes, then turn left and walk for three more minutes. You will reach an intersection. Go down the middle alley, and walk for another two minutes. You’ll see the library by the third one. If you don’t, then that means you’ve fucked up.”
“Thank you, sir.” With that, Peter left the food court; trying to memorize the directions he had been told. Five minutes on the street he already was in, turn left and walk three more minutes, go down the middle alley for two more minutes and voila. He really hoped that he wouldn’t fuck up, finding someone else to ask again might not be an option.
Just as the Food Court Guy had said, in under ten minutes he was standing in front of the massive doors of the public library.
Peter listened into the building and counted the heartbeats before entering. About twenty people were inside, at least one or two of them an employee. He decided he would act nonchalant, and try not to be seen by many people.
He saw a redheaded lady sitting at the front desk and tapping away on her laptop. He sneaked past her easily, and went ahead to find some PCs. Luckily, not many people saw him, and not many of them cared much about him when they did. And he didn’t run into any other employees.
After reaching the heartbreakingly old and beat down computers, he was met with his third obstacle of the journey; coming right up after “Being Lost” and “People”. The computers had passwords.
Of course they did, it must’ve been to monitor that nothing illegal was being done from them. Or to simply make sure that everyone who used the computers also had a library card or something. Lots of the public libraries had passwords on their public computers for similar, or exactly those reasons.
Peter gave a sigh before sitting down quietly and beginning to tap away. He hated having to do that, but he had to get information somehow. He needed to know where he was. Hacking into the computer’s security systems, and de-activating them wasn’t hard at all.
It was to be expected from a public library to not have the best cyber defenses; but seriously, it hadn’t even taken two minutes! And he was nowhere as good as Ned; his best friend could’ve done what he had, in his sleep. Peter would’ve honestly expected better, even from a public library.
He anxiously awaited the three minutes it took for the computer to open fully, and almost gave a shout of triumph when it did. He entered the search engine quickly, and- Promptly froze up.
First strike. Google wasn’t the app that had opened. It had the colors, and the design mostly; but the name was not something Peter had ever heard of before.
He was about to search where he was, when his eyes fell onto the date. Second Strike. It was five years earlier than the one he had woken up to yesterday. (Was it yesterday? Or had he been passed out for a while now?)
Instead of typing “Where am I?”, his fingers moved automatically to work on writing Tony Stark on the search engine, without his permission. Peter hit it without much thought. And then felt the breath getting punched out from him when all that came up was three Facebook accounts, none of them his Tony’s.
That was the third strike.
Peter didn’t need to search for Captain America, or Hulk, or Thor, or Hawkeye, or Black Widow, or Happy, or May, or himself. He didn’t need to search for organizations like SHIELD, or the superhero team the Avengers. He didn’t need to search for the NY Invasion, or The Blip.
He didn’t need to search any of it to realize that he was in a different universe. To verify that fact. Three strikes were enough.
But the extra time he spent by the computer doing just that; helped his breathing get ragged, and his palms sweaty; so that was something, I guess.
Peter realized distinctly that he was having a panic attack (which was not a good idea), and shot up from his seat. His chair fell down with a loud thump behind him; and the redhead by the front desk startled, turning to him with wide eyes.
Some shushes came from around him, people grumbling about him making noise; but Peter didn’t hear them, or see the woman starting to wheel towards him. He didn’t hear or see anything, only felt the sheer panic in his chest. And his too-fast heartbeat in his ears.
He ran.
He pushed himself against the bathroom door after closing and locking it, using his body weight to barricade it. One hand flied up to his chest, clawing at the skin there; as if that would help him slow down his breathing. He tried to hold his breath, hoping that maybe that could help stop his hyperventilating. It didn’t.
That left only one option. And he hated that option, because Tony had hated that option. Granted, he had only done it once in front of him, and only thrice before that; but it had been enough, apparently.
You see, Peter used to try to use pain to anchor himself through panic attacks in the past, as a last resort if he couldn’t calm down and he really needed to calm down. And Tony had caught him breaking a finger for this reason once, and it hadn’t been nice. His finger was all healed up and ready to go before Tony was even halfway into his rant (thanks super-healing!), but the iron super hero had been relentless.
Afterwards, Peter had been absolutely forbidden from ever repeating that action again. And Peter had promised to do so, before Tony sat him down and taught him other ways and techniques to anchor himself through panic or anxiety attacks, with the help of FRIDAY and JARVIS.
Though he wasn’t remembering any of them right now.
Peter tried to dig his nails into his palms and bite his tongue, starting off with small bits. As he had expected, they didn’t really work, so he was going to have to up his game. He moved onto his injuries.
He pushed and poked at his bruises, and scratched at his cuts, making them bleed. In no time, he was left breathless and in pain on the half-clean bathroom floor of the public library, his sides bleeding again, and his ribs aching. He gasped through the pangs of pain.
When his senses finally started coming back, and his head got a little clearer; Peter heard the insistent knocking on the door, and saw the doorknob hastily moving up and down above his head. He froze. The librarian. Right.
He opened the door in fear, hoping his hood and sweatshirt was covering his injuries enough. Though there was nothing to be done about the enormous bruise on his face. Honestly, he was just happy that it wasn’t affecting his sight too terribly, only making it hard to blink a bit for his left eye, which would probably resolve by itself in the next couple days.
The librarian had a scared expression on her face, and Peter immediately looked down in shame. But instead of starting to shout like he was expecting her to, she simply reached out slowly and held his shoulder gently to get his attention. “Kid.” She said quietly. “Are you okay?”
“Y-Yeah.” Peter stammered out, realizing that she was probably worried about him because she saw him run into the bathroom and heard him wheezing and crying, through the door; rather than figuring out that he had hacked into the computers and getting mad at him. “I-I’m sorry. For the trouble, I mean. I just had a moment. Didn’t mean to give you a scare.”
“It’s okay, I’m not mad, just worried. Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah, I was just researching something, and, uhm… I guess I shouldn’t have chosen a subject so likely to trigger my PTSD.” Didn’t exactly sound sane, but less maniac at least.
“And may I ask why did you run away?”
“Oh- Uhm… Because I don’t have a library card?” Gosh, please let that work.
“Kid, you didn’t have to run because of that, we could’ve ordered you one. Or I could’ve turned a blind eye if you don’t have money to spare on a library card right now, it’s alright.”
“Right.” Peter said awkwardly, and began shuffling in place. A sigh from the redhead made him look up and he saw her extending a hand.
“Let’s start from the top. My name is Barbara, you can call me Babs if you want. I’m one of the librarians in this library.”
“My name is Peter, pleased to meet you.”
“You too Peter.” She smiled at him; they shook hands.
“And how much did you say that library card was, Miss Barbara?”
From then on, things were less weird. Peter used a couple dollars to buy a card, and even got some papers and a pen from Barbara, to note down anything important. He then returned to the computer he had hacked into earlier, and re-started his research. The situation was dire, very dire, but he needed to give his head to the game.
He needed to gather information.
He scribbled down the basics: where he was (Some city called Gotham, in New Jersey); the district names (there was a lot of them); the rogues (also a lot of them); the hero and vigilantes (again, a lot of them); the Justice League (this universe’s Avengers); the crime rates (boy, were they bad); the police force (boy, were they corrupted); the city alarms (too many of them) and so on and on.
(And seriously, Gotham? What kind of a city name was that? Did some weirdo just upped and went and found the most deranged land piece to create a town for gothic freaks of theater kids?)
He came to some conclusions;
1) The Bats, or the Bat-Family, must be a bunch of dorks, dressing up as bats and birds to fight crime for the hell of it, as it seemed, since they didn’t have any superpowers.
2) The rogues were complete ridicules. Bullied-in-high-school theater kids, probably. Condiment Man? Mr. Freeze? Calendar Man? Cluemaster? Man-Bat? Seriously? Man, where was the creativity, the originalism?
3) Gotham was a shithole.
4) There was a shit ton of dirty cops in the GPD.
5) The city had an alarming number of alarms; for different, very concerning reasons and scenarios; which all, apparently, had happened, at least once at some point.
6) Most shelters, motels, and clinics –especially the orphanages– were fronts for traffickers.
7) There was a No-Meta-Human rule in Gotham, put in place by Batman himself. The only exception seemed to be Signal; yet another vigilante, considered one of the bats.
Peter was also going to need documents like a birth certificate and an id and school records and whatnot. But those were going to have to wait for another day, because- “It’s closing time.” And because he had more pressing issues at the moment, like finding shelter.
Right. He had had so many survival lessons from Tony, and Rhodey, and Sam, and Dr. Bruce, and Natasha. He knew the Threes Rule. One can only survive three minutes without air, three hours without shelter, three days without water, and three weeks without food. So, when you’re stuck in an unfamiliar place, first thing you look for is breathable air, then acceptable shelter, after that clean water, and lastly edible food.
But Peter had gone ahead and looked for the only thing that was not on the list; information. Like he hadn’t even messed up the arrangement, he had ignored it completely.
Information is important. He tried to argue in his head. Not if you’re freezing to death Peter! A voice, sounding like Tony’s, snapped back.
Peter didn’t make a peep as Barbara closed down the library. He actually helped her a bit; just to be on the vicinity of someone else and away from the dark, eerie streets for a couple more minutes.
As they were coming to the end of the clean-up, Peter caught the redhead staring at him, with a strange look in her eyes. His spider-senses gave a weird buzz for a second before returning to normal. If he hadn’t been so distracted, he could’ve heard the snap of a phone camera.
“Peter.” Barbara called to him. “Do you have anywhere to go?”
It was a trick question. Peter knew it was a trick question. It was supposed to be able to cover for other questions like where are your parents, and do you have a home, and do you need help and the likelihood. Pater wasn’t going to fall for that.
“Of course.”
“Really? Where do you live then?”
Peter smiled kindly, and a bit smugly; the satisfaction of knowing the conversation being about to end, and to his favor too, shining in his eyes. “Come on, it’s one of the oldest rules in the book, don’t give your address to strangers. We only met today, Miss Barbara.”
She bit her lip. “Okay. Then just tell me the district name, or the street name.”
Shit. Okay, that was logical. What should he say, what should he say, what should he- “Park Row.”
“Park Row? Do you mean Crime Alley?”
Shoot. Right, the un-official names. Remember that next time, asshat. “Right, that was what people called it. Sorry, I just recently moved here I’m still getting used to it. Plus, I don’t like it very much either, it feels like calling for trouble, you know.”
Barbara gave a strained smile, and nodded a bit too quickly; but Peter was too tried to try to analyze it.
They parted their ways shortly after, Barbara going home, and Peter going to find an abandoned building to crash the night at with only a quick break at a convenient store, for some food, water and maybe some cloth if he was lucky. (He was going to freeze to death if he didn’t at least find a cardigan or a shawl or some shit, let alone a blanket.)
It was going to be a long, long night. But Peter would hold his own. He always did.
***
DAY 1: Friday
THE BAT-CHAT
Barbara: Hey guys.
Barbara: Some kid came to the library today.
Barbara: His name is Peter.
Barbara: I think he might be in danger.
Barbara: Like, danger-danger.
Barbara: *one attachment sent*
Barbara: This is what he looks like.
Bruce: Elaborate.
***
DAY 2: Saturday
The sun shined through the small transom window, falling onto his face and waking him up. Peter gave a half-hearted groan at the awful taste in his mouth, and the need to relieve himself. Luckily, he had checked last night before going to sleep, whether the abandoned stationary he was going to bunker in, had running water or not. It had.
After the bathroom break, and using the cheap toothbrush and tooth paste he had bought last night; he sat on the couch he had slept on, and pulled out a protein bar.
His stomach rumbled unhappily after he was done eating and it was clear that no more food was entering him, but there wasn’t much to do about that. Peter didn’t have much money, he needed to be careful with how he spent it. And he needed to save food and water.
With the breakfast, he finally managed to get the sleep out of his eyes; and dragged his aching body through the stationary to investigate the building better. He hadn’t been able to do that so much last night; after all, he had been ready to collapse from exhaustion.
There was water, though not hot; and no electricity. The front doors were all locked up and sealed off, clearly people weren’t wanted in the building.
There were some cracks in the walls, and some of the windows were broken. The building wasn’t collapsing anytime soon, really it was in good conditions; but those cracks and the broken windows could cause lots of other safety issues too. From cold to unwanted guests. He would need to fix this place up a bit, if he was going to stick around.
And to be honest, he probably was, seeing as the stationary had been the seventh building he had had to enter last night while looking for a place to bunker in. It had also been the one in the best conditions, by far. So, Peter knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The front doors were locked and sealed, but the back door where he had sneaked in last night, was not. And it was also pretty hidable thanks to the big-ass garbage bin there, and easily barricaded. That helped lowering the safety hazards.
And the rest-room at the back, for the workers; was a pretty good addition too. It had a pretty nice couch, and some drawers and shit. It wasn’t perfect, but it would work. It would actually make a great bedroom, considering his situation and possible other options, which were disastrous and none.
The lack of electricity would be a problem though, he needed to take a look at the circuit breakers and whatnot, hopefully he would be able to fix the problem. But even if he couldn’t, the stationary was still the best shelter he could find. He probably wasn’t leaving.
He would deal with being unable to light the lamps, later though; first he needed to check how much he had left after the shopping trip of last night.
432 dollars and 53 cents. Peter had spent more than he had originally planned; but buying a crappy backpack, a first aid kit, a tape, a toothbrush and a tooth paste, some napkins and wet wipes, along with the water and the food; had seemed like a good idea at the dead of the night. Plus, he would need those things, he hadn’t exactly wasted money.
He had gotten a pen and a book too. Not a notebook, a sketch-book. For what he wasn’t very sure; but he had seen it and the pattern on it had looked cute, so he had taken it with him. It really wasn’t the time for impulse shopping, but… It had happened.
He had imagined May’s and Tony’s faces on its pages, and decided that 8 dollars was a reasonable price. The only pictures he had of them and Ben anymore, were the headshots he always carried in his wallet after all, and they were bound to get old. And he had some decent drawing skills thanks to MJ and her insistence on teaching him some of what she knew.
He also needed some clothes. And blankets.
The chances of stumbling across a thrift store weren’t very high; but he would hope to get lucky, instead of asking around for directions in such a neighborhood. And hopefully his spider-senses would lend a hand too, and lead him a little.
***
DAY 2: Saturday
It was two hours later when Peter returned, clutching his crappy-backpack and another plastic bag in his arms. He was probably pretty lucky to not get mugged in a place called the Crime Alley while carrying two bags filled with clothes, but he really hadn’t had any other choice than to just walk back to the stationary and hope for the best.
Reckless yes, but desperate too.
So, he had chosen to stick to the broad daylight, and be extra careful listening to his senses. Fortunately, this time things had worked out a bit, fate had taken pity on him, and Peter had returned without losing his new clothes to strangers.
Two thick blankets (it was fucking cold in Gotham), a jumper, two sweatpants, a cardigan, a pair of trousers, two t-shirts and a coat. And 411 dollars and 32 cents left. Not bad. Though he would need to spend money on the laundromat sometime soon too, because some of those clothes smelled really weird, to his oversensitive nose. Damn you super smelling. Though he wouldn’t have worn them without washing them either way.
But the laundromat duty was going to be have to be left for another day, unfortunately, as Peter had more pressing issues. Like the electricity problem. And the fix-up the stationary needed. But first came lunch. It had to, since his stomach was not shutting up, and it was nearing 1 pm.
He had to be satisfied with a cold sandwich, and get back to ignoring his still-grumbling stomach before returning to his chores unfortunately; but he really didn’t have better options. Food costed a lot; and Peter didn’t have a lot, nor a continuing income. He had to suck it up a bit until he could find a job or something.
It wasn’t the first time the money had been a little tight, and he had had to go a bit hungry for a while; May and him had had hard times too. He wasn’t not used to getting by with limited facility, he could handle it.
He had to.
Back to his to-do list, Peter first went to look around the building to look for the circuit brakers and taking a look at them. Finding them was fairly easy, and tinkering around the cables until light shined through the back door that was in his line of sight, was even easier. One problem solved.
Then he went inside the stationary to prod around to look for any useful items that might’ve been left behind when the old owners or the workers left. An old tool box, a half-used fire extinguisher, and ten dollars at the register were unfortunately all he got out of his looting. Though not very useful, still worthwhile.
With the stuff he found around in the stationary, he began working on the windows first. None of them were broken completely, but they still held real safety risk. Even the solid ones, actually. If he wanted them secure, he might have to seal them all shut. Hmm. For now, taping them closed would have to work.
After some other adjustments around the place, and a little bit of cleaning, the stationary began looking actually livable; and Peter felt good enough about it all to perch up on the rest-room couch and pick up his sketch book for a little free time.
The pen froze above the paper for a moment, Peter thought of what to draw. Then his hand began moving without his permission, and a head appeared on the delicate paper. And eyes, and a nose, and glasses. And an all too familiar smile.
It hurt. God, of course it hurt. It hurt like it had never hurt before. But Peter kept drawing. Even when his vision got blurry, and his hands began to tremble ever so slightly; he kept drawing.
He didn’t care how realistic it was, or whether he got the shading right or not; he just drew. He finished the sketching at one go, and only allowed the tears to fall when May’s smiling face was staring back at him through the pages.
Peter gently closed up the sketch-book, and put it down. Then he lay down again, he was feeling tired. His eyes fell closed at once, and his breathing evened out slowly.
Being away from home didn’t hurt so much, being away from his universe. Peter didn’t think it had ever wanted him actually.
From the moment his parents’ plane had crashed, to the moment he fell through that stray portal; his universe had been trying to get rid of him. Or, at least, it felt like it.
No, being away from home wasn’t what was hurting Peter; that place, that apartment, that city, that universe; hadn’t felt like home in quite some time now. Not since her death. Not since any of their deaths, not really.
It was the fact that he would never be able to visit May’s grave ever again, that was hurting him. Or Ben’s. Or Tony’s. Or MJ at the café she worked at, and Ned when he was visiting her; even though they didn’t even remember who he was.
He would never see them again. Any of them. It was hopeless, there was no way back home. And even if, by some miracle he made it back there, there was no one waiting for him. No one looking for him. No one wondering about him.
No one knowing him.
No one loving him.
And wasn’t that a bitter truth. Oh, the irony. Because it was his fault. His fault. Both being stuck in an unfamiliar dimension; and not having a single person, friend or family, in his life.
Parker Luck at its finest, am I right?
Or maybe it was just Peter’s own stupidity.
Who knew?