Chapter Text
Peter had often been told the world had been cruel to him, but he had never seen it that way.
Mr. Stark called it deranged optimism. Aunt May would pat him on the head and tease that his coping mechanisms were far better than her stress baking. Peter liked to think that it was more of an intrinsic part of his personality. Of course he got mad and sad and so frustrated that he climbed onto the ceiling and did his breathing exercises in a strange mockery of time-out. But he generally liked to think he had a bright outlook on life despite all of the things he had seen.
Generally.
Peter might punch this guy.
It had been a long day, ok? College orientation had taken way longer than it should have due to Mr. Stark’s inability to do things like a normal person. He had insisted (read: lightly guilted) Peter into letting him sponsor his education on the basis of being the “best intern in the history of interns”. So, obviously, he had to stamp his name on every one of Peter’s documents, which led to a lot of blank stares and giddy questions.
He had been angry/grateful texting his mentor, weaving through the New York streets like it was second nature even while typing, when some dude in a bad Loki cosplay had dropped from the sky. Now he was sitting against his favorite churro stand and waiting for the evil-villain-monologue part of the day to end so he could actually get a churro.
“My predecessor told you to kneel, and it sent a shiver of disgust up my spine when faced with your easy compliance. Though I suppose I should not be surprised. Your natural state is servitude to those with more power, is it not?” The man sneered, lording over them. Peter thought it would be more intimidating if the guy’s wig wasn’t lopsided and obviously from the Party City four blocks away.
While he was squinting–I swear I can see the price tag of the wig, that cannot be comfortable–the Loki-wannabe raised a scepter in the air. Peter recognized it. Pretty much everyone in New York could recognize it on first glance, but not everyone had enhanced sight. This weapon looked different. Loki’s scepter had housed a glowing blue orb, just like this one, but the glow had been consistent. This one had bands of white moving throughout. They reminded him of ants almost, marching through the light at an alarming speed.
Looking down his nose, he continued. “Loki failed his task. I shall not be thwarted as he was. Now, you will be witness to the power of a true god.”
Peter had honed his instincts. He saw it in almost slow motion as the man pointed the scepter at one of the gawking civilians. He couldn’t see the target from his position, but he knew he was fast enough to push them away and get the villain’s attention while he waited for backup. Leaping into action, Peter nimbly ran towards the person with his arms outstretched–
She had a baby in her arms.
It was a young woman, and there was a baby in her arms.
If Peter pushed her, there was a chance the kid would hit the concrete. If the light rushing from the scepter hit them, there was no telling what would happen.
Peter stepped in front of them, just as a suit of iron leapt into view.
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He didn’t wake up slowly.
His spidey sense was screaming, shrieking in a way that made his bones vibrate. Shooting up, Peter looked around wildly.
“Catalogue your surroundings,” he muttered to himself. The Black Widow had drilled the importance of using what you had to your advantage into his head.
He was in an alley, that much was obvious. A dumpster sat a few yards away, and the exterior walls of two buildings caged him in. There was a chain-link fence separating him from the street, but it would be easy to scale.
Feeling his pockets, he found his phone and sighed with relief. Peter could feel the weight of his backpack on his shoulders and knew his wallet, along with a few other essentials, were stored inside.
It was taking stock of his body that gave him pause.
The shock of waking up somewhere unfamiliar must have dulled the sensations for a moment, because his senses were amped up to a hundred. He could smell everything. Normally he could sniff out a bakery from a block away, but right now he knew that four blocks west there was an apartment with cinnamon rolls in the oven and a woman humming a tune as she checked on them. Because Peter could hear the creak of the hinges as it opened, could smell the icing melting and the woman’s feet padding along the carpet. He slammed his hands over his ears.
“Peter,” Karen spoke, and he whimpered at the volume and the feedback he had somehow never noticed.
Adjusting, Karen spoke again. “Peter,” she whispered. “I cannot connect to any Stark Industries satellites or cell towers. A rudimentary internet search yielded no results on the company name. I believe we have landed somewhere…different.”
He froze.
Peter knew he was smart. It wasn’t a pride thing, it was just a fact. And Peter knew that you couldn’t go anywhere in the world where the name “Stark” didn’t ring any bells. Which must mean–
He inhaled deeply. One step at a time. He could freak out when he had a plan and when he was safe. “Karen, can you transfer from comm form to noise-canceling headphones? Over the ear and unassuming, not anything flashy or expensive.”
“Of course, Peter.”
He felt the nanites of his suit crawl up his neck and into position. Using his phone camera, he saw black headphones with a red spider on one side and a blue one on the other. He huffed out a laugh. “Thanks, Karen. Now, since there are no Stark satellites I’m assuming I have no service?” When she confirmed, Peter hummed. “Alright, can you lead me to the nearest public library? I need to figure some stuff out.”
“Gotham Public Library is nearest to your location. I have selected the route with the fewest security cameras.”
Thanking his AI again, Peter checked his clothes for lingering scuffs or bloodstains. Those tended to draw attention. Thankfully, his faded band t-shirt and baggy jeans only had a moderate level of wear and tear. Blowing out a breath, he climbed the fence and made his way onto the sidewalk.
This is definitely not Queens. The architecture alone would have been enough to tell him, but the way citizens moved confirmed it. They didn’t just look wary, they looked downright paranoid. Peter took a hesitant sniff and felt his eyes widen at the sheer amount of gunpowder coming from people on the street. Shaking his head, he took a moment to analyze the posture of those around him. Hunched shoulders, visibly scanning the area, tight grip on any belongings. Peter did his best to replicate it.
A man brushed past him, closer than anyone yet, and froze. The guy’s head whipped around so fast that Peter was honestly concerned for his neck. His eyes dilated as he stumbled back a step.
“What the hell are you doing?!” He hissed, and Peter flinched.
“W-what?” He stammered, hearing Karen hum for reasons he didn’t know.
The guy looked around them and seemed even more incensed somehow. “You can’t go walkin’ around here with no one with you, kid! I could look at you and tell you were an Omega before I even scented you, dammit! Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Peter only let himself panic for a second. This was a completely different universe, of course there were going to be social norms and biological situations that didn’t exist in his world. Probably something he should have considered earlier, but there was no way to go back now.
“The library is only around the corner and to your left. You can get there quickly and without incident if you leave now,” Karen informed him.
“I-I’m just going to the library, my friend is there. I’m sorry,” Peter lied. He wasn’t quite sure why he was apologizing, but he had a tendency to do that for no reason anyway.
“Go,” the guy jerked his head with a sigh. “I”ll watch to make sure you get in ok. You’re lucky I’m a Beta, kid—the Alpha folks around here wouldn’t have wasted their chance.”
With that slightly ominous statement lingering, Peter darted towards the library at a reasonably human pace. A heavy exhale left him as he went through the doors.
Opening his eyes–when did he close them?-Peter glanced around the room. It was a good size, but practically empty. The only other person he could see was a red-headed woman sitting at the check-out desk. His spidey sense took notice of her and practically softened. Peter blinked.
It was calling her family.
Over the years of being a vigilante and a teenager in New York, he had learned to always trust his spidey sense. He had it for a reason. Being in a new world made him wary, but just because this Earth was different didn’t make the fundamentals of his being change.
Steeling his shoulders, he approached the desk. The lady heard his footsteps and looked up with a smile, but she froze like the man on the street as soon as she saw him. It was a minute reaction, but Peter caught it nonetheless.
“Hey there, how can I help you?” She asked pleasantly. Peter hadn’t noticed outside, but he really could scent people like the guy said.
The woman–Barbara, her nametag said–smelled like lilies. Mild and soft, with a slight bite that reminded him of campfire ash.
“I was wondering if you had any computers I could use?” He asked, feeling his face flush slightly. He had never been good with strangers outside of the suit.
She nodded. “Of course, follow me. We have a section near the back where students come to work sometimes. Are you in school?”
Peter saw the flash of intelligence in Miss Barbara’s eyes and knew she was trying to figure him out without prying. “I graduated high school last year, and I’m looking into colleges now.” he answered shortly but with a small grin.
“Oh! What are you thinking of studying?” She replied as she used her chair to move through the building.
Peter lit up. “Biochemical engineering is my main focus, but I’m also super interested in mechanical and computer science. Coding is super cool and fun but I don’t have a lot of patience so it’s hard for me to stay at a computer desk all day. I like building stuff mostly, especially when I can take components from things other people don’t think are useful. I used to scrounge for scrap metal and electronic parts a lot before I got access to better stuff, but I still prefer old toaster pieces and junkyard cars to fancy tech.” He scrunched his nose. Mr. Stark had never quite understood his spider-half’s need to recycle. “Like one time, I used the mechanics of a ceiling fan to make a fridge that didn’t rely on electricity at all! I won the science fair with it but–”
Peter cut himself off, cheeks bright red. He didn’t notice they had reached the computers halfway through his rant, and Miss Barbara was staring at him with something like fond amusement. “I’m sorry, I ramble a lot. I usually don’t notice until people’s eyes glaze over.”
“It’s ok! It’s cute, actually. You remind me a lot of my little brother, he’s into that kind of stuff, too. He usually only rambles when he’s overly caffeinated and on the verge of a breakthrough,” she chuckled, only serving to worsen his blush.
Peter nodded along as they chatted, hoping desperately that the weird feeling in his stomach would go away once he had some answers.