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He knew.
Of course he knew.
He'd have to be an idiot not to have realised what had happened, sometime around him transforming into a fucking pig and passing through a world of black and white. But there was a difference between knowing and knowing, and Lord Above, but Peter would really have rather not known.
But he did. And there was no escaping that. Peter wasn't in New York anymore.
Scratch that: Peter wasn't on Earth anymore.
Well.
His Earth.
Somehow, by virtue of a freaky star-shaped portal he'd totally not tripped into (read: definitely tripped into), he'd ended up in an alternate universe. A universe without an Iron Man, or — though the man hadn't answered, Peter could presume it anyway — an Avengers or Spider-Man. That in and of itself wasn't the final nail in the coffin, but it wasn't a goodsign either. After all, Peter Two and Three had both come from alternate dimensions. In fact, he could be lucky and be in one of their worlds! Just 'cause this guy didn't know who Spider-Man was didn't mean it wasn't possible...
Peter Three would be thrilled.
Peter One, however, doubted he'd be that lucky.
Unless Spider-Man just wasn't a household name outside of New York, he suspected that wherever he was, it didn't have a Spidey. Because that wasn't how Parker Luck™ worked.
The enormity of what had happened solidified into a vice around his chest.
Oh God.
Oh no. Oh God.
Peter was in another universe!
What the hell was he gonna do? How the hell was he getting home? Did a normal Peter Parker even exist here? Or was he just going to be subject to the Erasure of Peter Parker Take 2: Electric Boogaloo? He couldn't — he couldn't do that again. He couldn't! He'd already scraped together an existence from nothing and it had cost him — so much more than he'd been prepared to give. To go through all that again, so soon after the first erasure? He was certain he'd—
"— Kid!"
There were hands on him — light brushes against his arm but it was enough. Peter yelped and shoved the hands away and then he was suddenly standing and bending defensively behind the breakfast bar—
Where had the breakfast bar come from?
He blinked. Realised his head felt loopy from hyperventilation. He bit his lip and tried to regulate his breathing.
He blinked again. Saw that the hands that had touched him belonged to the man with the guns and knives. The man who had told him where and when he'd landed. The man who was still crouched on the floor.
They stared at each other while Peter fought to regulate himself. Slowly, the man stood up.
"You good?" he asked, soft and slow like you would to a scared animal. Peter supposed he probably was one at that moment. He certainly felt closer to that than human.
Eventually, he nodded back. "What's… what's your name?" he asked, desperate for something — anything — to latch on to and distract himself with.
The man considered his question. The clear hesitance to answer was enough to make Peter suspicious, but he wouldn't write him off as a gangster just yet. Maybe there were other reasons why a guy armed to the teeth would be reluctant to tell Peter his name. Maybe he was a secret agent! Or one of those crazy preppers… Or a vigilante.
Okay. That one was probably a stretch.
"Jason," he finally said, and Peter's instincts told him it was the truth. "You?"
"Peter," was out of his mouth before he could even think to give Jason a fake name. It would have been poor show to have done so, but he'd learnt the hard way what could happen when he trusted the wrong people with his identity.
Terrible, awful, tragic things.
He had the fortitude, at least, to keep his last name to himself.
"Peter…" Jason echoed. He kept his posture lax, but given he was half a head taller than Peter and easily twice his size, it didn't help in the intimidation department (even if Peter could probably deck him with ease, the human side of him still baulked at his sheer physicality. There was a heft to the man that set his teeth on edge in warning). "Can I come closer, Peter?"
He blinked again. What an odd question. Why would he even need to ask something like that when it was Peter who'd invaded his space?
"Pete?"
He dug his nails into the meat of his palm to drag himself back to reality. "Hi. What?"
"Can I come closer, kid? You look like you're about to pass out."
Jason probably wasn't far off. Not only was he light-headed from his panic attack minor freakout, but he still felt shaky and nauseous from his untimely jaunt through the multiverse.
He nodded.
"Thank-you." Jason entered the kitchen space, but he just passed Peter to grab a glass from the drying rack by the sink and take a water bottle out of the fridge. He poured the water into the glass then held it out.
"Drink," he ordered.
Peter should have hesitated. Just because it was bottled water didn't mean it couldn't be drugged. But he was thirsty, and his mouth tasted like vomit, and frankly, it was ludicrous to suspect this random stranger to have drugged the water when he had no idea Peter would appear. A year ago, Peter would have looked at a thought like that and said he was insane.
A lot had happened in a year…
He drank the goddamn water. Skulled it like a man in a desert. The water was sweet and cooled the burning rasp in his throat, even if it sloshed uncomfortably in his now empty stomach. Though every bone in his body wanted to slam the glass down on the counter in satisfaction, he set it down carefully.
Jason nodded, pleased. "You hungry?"
Yes.
"No."
Even if he was, the thought of eating made him want to puke all over again.
Speaking of… his eyes trailed back to the vomit still pooled on the floor. "I'm sorry," he cringed. "I didn't — I can clean that up—"
"No," Jason said. He stepped closer to Peter, still slow. "It's fine."
"But I—"
"My floor, my rules, kid. Besides, it looks like you don't even know how you're meant to clean it up."
"But—"
"Just, sit the fuck down," Jason ordered, and pointed towards the couch.
Peter did as he was told. Jason followed like a shadow, but veered away before they reached the couch and opened one of the closed doors that led into the living space.
To his surprise, a dog bounded out just as Peter collapsed onto the soft leather. It made an immediate beeline for Peter, tail wagging like mad, and hopped right onto the couch to place its enormous head in Peter's lap.
"Um…?" Peter said.
"Guess that answer's that question," Jason murmured, too low for a normal human to have picked up.
The dog chuffed at Peter, practically demanding attention. Without even meaning to, Peter found himself patting its head in long, smooth strokes. Its ears were a slightly darker tan than the rest of it and velvet soft. Peter wasn't an expert when it came to dogs — owning one had been out of the question for multiple reasons throughout his childhood — but he thought it was maybe a pitbull.
"What's its name?" he asked as Jason retreated back to the kitchen and piled a number of things from under the sink onto the counter.
"Dog."
Peter frowned. "Dog."
"You're real good at the whole echoing thing, aren't ya?" Jason snarked. He was tearing off paper towel and letting it fall onto the vomit. "Her name is Dog, kid. And no, I ain't calling her something else."
Peter numbly scratched Dog's massive head, and her eyes closed in bliss. He felt hollowed out, the water in his belly a heavy presence that seemed to accentuate the scooped out feeling.
"Don't… call me that," he said eventually.
"Huh?" Jason didn't even look up, preoccupied with using a plastic bag as a glove to pick up the paper towels.
"Kid. Don't… don't call me that. Please."
The man did look up then. Peter felt a little like a bug under a microscope, or a dead frog about to be dissected by a class of teens. He half expected Jason to scoff and call him that again, but he just nodded.
"Alright. No more kid."
"… Thank-you."
"… It's no big deal."
It was to Peter. Kid was a name that didn't belong to him. Not anymore. It was a name that belonged to Mr Stark. To a different time, when Peter was a kid even if he'd never thought of himself as one. A time that had been erased, leaving Peter Parker Almost Adult — then later, Peter Parker Actual Adult — the only person around to remember a time when he really was a child.
If a child falls in a forest, but there 's nobody left to remember, did it ever really die at all?
Peter let his head fall against the sofa and stared numbly at the popcorn ceiling. The overcast weather made everything seem grey and he suddenly understood why May used to hate the ceiling in the bathroom so much.
"So, Peter. You wanna tell me why you freaked out?"
Peter rolled his head to glare at Jason. "No."
"Not every day you see someone fall outta a portal, is all."
"And yet, you seemed pretty chill about it," Peter pointed out. "Do you wanna tell me why that is?"
Jason chuckled. He'd started spraying the damp spot on the floorboards with an enzyme cleaner. "Fair cop." Regardless of his task, it didn't seem like he could stay quiet for long. "You a meta?"
Peter frowned with incomprehension.
"Metahuman?" Jason clarified, seemingly half surprised he didn't know the term. Peter could take a punt at what it meant. "Or what — an alien? Not a lot of people who can just bend a gun like its putty."
His cheeks flushed. He shouldn't have done that. Peter always tried to be so careful. Had he been more with it, a display of strength like that would never have happened. What if Jason wanted to sell him out? If he thought he was an alien, there was no telling what he might do to Peter—
As though sensing his freak out, Jason held up his hands in placation. "Chill, dude. Meta or alien, I've met both."
"Is that… normal?" Was it normal? Peter had met both too, of course, but he was acutely aware that his life had taken a turn for the extraordinary ever since he got bit. Who's to say meeting metas or aliens wasn't normal for the everyday person? Certainly not Peter
"Normal for others? Nah, probably not. But I've been around the block a few times. Met a whole lotta people."
Peter narrowed his eyes. The answer was somewhat telling, but he doubted Jason would clarify if asked. "So… you're not going to throw me over to the military?"
Jason grinned. "Well, if I was, would I tell ya?"
His stomach twisted. Peter began to carefully push Dog away. It wouldn't take much to escape through the window and—
"God, chill ki—Peter!" Jason sighed. He looked immensely exasperated. "I'm joking."
Peter laughed, high pitched and nervous. Dog immediately reclaimed her spot on his lap; her weight helped a little at calming him down again. "Joking. Right. Funny."
"Yeah…" Jason's pale eyes landed back on Dog. "Guess I'll keep stuff like that to myself. Wouldn't've anyway: a friend of Dog is a friend of mine. She's a good judge of character."
"She's nice."
"Yeah, she's a peach."
They both went quiet. Peter let himself grow calm as he continued to pet Dog, who basked under his attentions, rolling over onto her back so he could rub her belly. Jason finished cleaning up the mess Peter had made and soon began clattering around in the kitchen. It was a surprise when he suddenly had a mug shoved under his nose.
"Ginger and lemon," Jason said at Peter's questioning look. "And crackers—" an unopened packet of water crackers were dropped beside him. "For your stomach."
"… Thank-you." The simple kindness threw him for a loop. It had been months since he'd experienced anything close. Peter took the mug. Jason's hands were rough: thumbnail bitten to the quick, the skin around his knuckles thickened with calluses. A worker's hands.
With one hand occupied, Peter tore the package open with his teeth and cautiously nibbled at a cracker. There was no immediate reaction, so he shoved the rest of it in his mouth and washed it down with the hot tea.
"Geez," Jason said. He had sat down on one of the boxes of books, rather than join Peter on the couch, a mug of what looked and smelled like normal tea resting on his knee. "You don't have to inhale them, bud."
Peter grimaced and swallowed down the last of the cracker. "Sorry, I — did you want some?"
"Of those?" Jason scrunched up his face at the offered packed. "No way. They're all yours. You just don't gotta eat 'em all at once, I mean."
"If you don't like them, why do you have them?"
"To offer to unwanted guests," the man drawled.
Peter munched on another cracker pointedly.
"No offence," Jason added, a sardonic grin curling up.
"None taken." Peter glanced at his landing spot. "Can't imagine I was invited. Unless you're into the occult…?"
"No…" Jason's expression abruptly turned sad, though he attempted to hide it as he sipped his tea. When he lowered the cup, his expression was neutral. "No occult here."
"Damn." Peter grimaced. Maybe he was simply asking too much for it not to have been an accident. He swallowed thickly. Unless someone had seen him fall through the portal, he doubted there was anyone who would even know he was gone. Sure, people would quickly notice Spider-Man's absence (and more than a few would probably celebrate it) and his landlord would get pissy if he missed the rent, but otherwise… no one. He didn't even have a job, so there was no one to wonder where he'd gone.
The hollowness in his gut expanded.
He was so very, very fucked.
Dog chuffed and butted her head into Peter's stomach, demanding more attention and effectively cut off his spiral before it could properly begin.
"You got somewhere to stay?" Jason asked. That assessing look had returned and Peter didn't like it.
"Sure I do," he lied.
Jason stared, a brow raised. Peter gave as good as he got. Or tried to.
"In Gotham," Jason specified.
Peter wasn't a good liar. He knew this. He panicked about his answers or didn't think his responses through and would get caught out. Nine times out of ten, his face gave the game away. Things were easier as Spider-Man, but he wasn't Spider-Man. At that moment, he was Peter Parker, and Peter Parker couldn't lie to save his life.
This seemed to be something that Jason immediately picked up on. He didn't even have to respond: Jason had clearly already made up his mind when he set his mug down on an empty shelf and said simply: "You can stay here the night."
"Eh?" He sloshed hot tea over his chest in startlement and hissed as it rapidly cooled. "No, I'm good."
"You stay a night on the streets here and Gotham'll eat you as a midnight snack," Jason said with a roll of his eyes. "You can sleep on the couch. There's no spare bed."
"I'm fine! I can find myself a hotel or something."
Jason chuckled. "You're really not from around here at all, are ya?" That was the understatement of the century. "You're tossing up between getting mugged or trafficked in half the hotels around here. Unless you got enough money for the real swanky places, that is."
Peter tried to tally how much cash he had and internally cringed (fat chance his bank card worked unless there was another Peter Parker with the same account). Definitely not enough for even the sleaziest of motels. That was all shades of Not Good.
"I can't just—"
"Sure ya can," Jason spoke over him easily. "I just offered, didn't I? Besides, you're — what? — seventeen?"
"Eighteen."
Jason grimaced. "Eighteen. Christ. Adult or not, you're too young to be wandering through Park Row at night."
"Oh, come on," Peter scoffed. "You can't be much older than I am!" He studied Jason carefully. Though the guy was seriously muscle bound and had a fierce cant to his face, he still looked youthful. "You can't be more than twenty-five."
Jason's brows rose in surprise. "Yeah?"
Peter nodded, more confident in his guess. "Twenty-four, tops."
"Still a little cold," he said, and smiled sardonically. "I'm twenty-three."
"Five years isn't much," Peter smirked back. In fact, were it not for the Blip, Peter would be twenty-three himself. Of course, with the disaster of a life he'd lived, half the time he felt leagues older than even that. He'd certainly seen much more than your average eighteen-year-old.
"Whatever." Jason drank his tea, and grimaced. "Point is, you ain't in New York anymore, Toto. Gotham is a different kettle of fish, and I'm guessing you're strapped for cash."
"But! You don't even know me! For all you know, Icould rob you blind and run off with all your money!"
"You think my dog would let you?"
"I think your dog would let me leave with her if I scratched her head enough!"
"Ha!" Jason cackled. He stared ruefully at Dog, who had not moved from the place she'd claimed over Peter. "Yeah… here's hoping she doesn't actually shift loyalties that quickly."
Peter offered the man a weak grin.
Jason checked his watch suddenly and hummed. "Well, I guess you can make your choice later. It's time for Dog's walk."
Dog immediately perked up at the W-word and jumped off the couch. She trotted over to the door by the kitchen, where a leash hung from a hook, and watched Jason expectantly.
"You feeling better?" he asked Peter, studying him carefully as he slung on a faded denim jacket and popped a pair of sunglasses on his head.
"Um." Was that it? Was Jason just going to kick him out now that Peter had said no? It was fair enough. The guy didn't know Peter from diddly squat. But the dismissal felt jarring after his attempts to convince Peter to stay.
"Pete? You good?"
He nodded jerkily. "Oh. Um. Yeah. I'm fine now."
"Good." Jason pointed to the crackers. "Take them with you. You look the sort to get hungry, and I ain't buying food along the way."
"Um?"
"What?" Jason smirked. "You think I'm letting you go that easy? We're going for a walk, so you can see just how fucked a city Gotham really is."
Peter's stomach fluttered with complicated emotions. On the one hand, Jason's kindness was a balm: he'd not experienced (or allowed for) much consideration from others since the Erasure. It felt good — to the point of being terrifying — to be acknowledged. To be offered something as simple as ginger and lemon tea. But on the other hand, he knew it was a kindness he shouldn't accept. Parker Luck had proven itself to be just as deadly and brutal to Peter as it had been to the rest of his family. New universe or not, Peter knew that he should keep himself to himself.
There was only one option. One path to take.
Peter stood. He kept the crackers on him, as Jason had suggested. "Okay."
Jason bent down to put the leash on Dog, then opened the door. It opened to a poorly lit hallway that felt very reminiscent of his own shitty home. A faint smell of old, wet carpet seeped into the apartment. Dog didn't seem to mind, and all but dragged Jason out the door.
"C'mon, Pete!" he said, laughing at Dog's antics.
Peter sighed, but followed, and Jason handed him Dog's leash before he fished out his keys.
"Yeah. We'll see who's so keen to go sleepin' rough then," Jason muttered as he shut and locked the door behind them.
Peter rolled his eyes, unseen by Jason. Really. How bad could Gotham be?