Chapter Text
“You’re a cute thing,” the woman said. Peter blinked as he watched her. Her dark hair seemed to float on its own. Her face kept shifting and changing. Half the time, she had a more masculine face. Still, Peter knew to address her as “she”. Something about the odd space they were in.
On a pier. Peter in his Spider-Man suit. The woman in… Peter couldn’t tell. She seemed more shadow than solid. Floating just as her hair. She gazed down at him from above. As her features changed, the grime stayed the same. Mud caked in her hair, although it never affected how it flowed. Streaks of soot across her face. Blood trickled down her straight–crooked–broken nose.
In a blink, the woman stood in front of him. Actual person sized instead of a giant. Before Peter could open his mouth to ask a question, her hand cupped under his chin, dirty nails with chipped polish pressing into his skin. Not breaking it.
Nothing about her set off his tingle. If anything, Peter didn’t think he had his powers here. Wherever “here” meant. The woman turned his face this way and that as if inspecting him. Despite thinking he should be in danger, trying to fight out of this, something deep in him lulled him towards safety. Something about this woman meant he would be okay.
“Who are you?” Peter managed to ask. The woman smiled, smeared lipstick cracking. It gave the impression of someone on the brink of breaking. The image didn’t match with what Peter knew. She could handle herself. No matter what state.
“You’re a fighter,” she said, “I like looking at them first. Just taking a little peak. A lot going on in that little head of yours.” She wagged Peter’s head side-to-side as she spoke. Peter frowned at the non-answer.
“Who are you?” he repeated. He hissed a moment later as those nails dug further into his cheek on either side, breaking skin. The woman’s expression never changed even as her face did. Slanted brows, dark eyes, light eyes, thick-straight brows.
“I’ll check in on you again.” she said. “Say about a year?”
“Wait–” Desperation filled Peter as the edges around them started to fuzz. This place was strange, but he needed to know more. Needed to understand. So many things in his life he didn’t understand. This woman had to have some answers.
“Yes.” She said, nails digging in deeper, making him bleed. “A year.”
Peter woke with a gasp.
Peter hated to admit it, but the erasure felt good. Not the losing his friends and family, bit. Never that bit. But the reset. Starting over. It helped, a little, that the erasure sent him packing in more ways than one. Apparently, rejecting ones existence in a universe not only tore out the memories every person had of you, but it could also spit you across space-time to a completely new dimension.
Gotham, New Jersey. That's where Peter Parker ended up. He'd been flung out of the sky and punch a hole in the ceiling in an old abandoned theater. His head had hurt and his pride a little more so. His special sixth sense hadn't gone off when Peter had been transported.
Switching universes happened a week after everything else. Peter had been in the middle of pulling on his new suit, testing it out to make sure it fit, before the ground underneath him opened up and spat him back out. His Peter-tingle should have accounted for the journey, but there'd been nothing. He'd barely managed to shoot out a web and catch a go-bag on his way down.
Peter landed on the floor of the abandoned building with a thud, a groan, and more than a few bruised ribs. They healed in no time as Peter scoped out the place. There was no electricity or running water, but Peter found a gym a few blocks down that had both. Totally free, too. He only turned a few heads when he wandered in to get rid of the dust and grime the fall had collected. His Peter-tingle had his hair standing on end the whole way.
It's one of the things Peter's learned about Gotham: the city could chew you up and spit you out like none other.
He's figured it out, though. Mostly. The one thing that kept those teeth from clashing together so hard were the Bat-menagerie. He'd had to do a ton of research in the library to get caught up on everything, but from what Peter could tell, Batman had been the first. He'd been the one to start the vigilante craze in Gotham. Those who worked in Gotham outside of the law only did with his say-so. And he didn't take kindly to meta's. Peter didn't count as one, but Commissioner Jim Gordon had still warned him.
"He's not gonna like you." Jim said the one night Spider-Man had been caught near a crime scene. "You're too many variables, not enough trust. And you're a meta."
"I'm just a friendly neighborhood vigilante," Peter said, "Nothing the big guy should sweat."
"Well, he sweats a lot. And it's a damn big neighborhood. You've been sighted in Crime Alley all the way to Bludhaven, when Nightwing has an off night."
"I'm just trying to help. Honest. This city is my home as much as it is any other citizen's." Jim had given a grunt in answer. Peter had swung off before he could talk himself into another lie. As far as anyone knew, Spider-Man was a born and raised Gothamite. Peter didn't have any intentions to prove them wrong, especially when it was his home for as long as he was stuck here.
And Peter was starting to think he would be stuck there forever.
When he landed in the theater, he had his hopes. But after a few months, after clearing out the backstage and using its walls (and ceiling) for equations and theories, Peter came to a conclusion: He's a part of this new Earth whether he likes it or not. And he's still trying to make his peace with it months later.
It helped that Peter Benjamin Parker didn't exist here. Never had. The name brought up zero results. He'd pulled out a few scraps of computers after his first few weeks (made it a priority after one too many odd looks from people at the local library), then he made his own computer. He got started on crafting a new identity. He got halfway through a forged birth certificate when he paused. His fingers shook over the keyboard as he tried to keep himself going. Keep making a name for Peter Parker in this world.
But he froze. He couldn't do it.
Peter Parker had been a scrawny kid. A nerd, self-designated. He wore that title with pride. He was a genius, and he knew it. May knew it and so did all of Midtown High. All of Midtown High also knew: Peter Parker was the alpha that didn't deserve the designation.
He’d presented a few years late. He always had been a late bloomer. It took long enough that Peter assumed he’d be a beta. They sometimes took longer to present since their scent glands were a little more complicated. He could coast through life easy enough with being a male beta. But then his secondary gender had presented. And it had turned everything wrong. Because what kind of kid who can't even shout higher than a normal persons speaking voice would grow up to be an alpha like on the front cover of every magazine?
Spider-Man had been the perfect alpha. He'd been strong and courageous. Protective. Loud in a way Peter never had been. Admired as the type of hero a proper alpha should be. Strong, fast, and a leader. Sure, there were still bullies in the real world. J. Jonah Jameson, being one. But he'd never critiqued Spider-Man's gender. He'd only critiqued the fact that Spider-Man as a whole existed.
Peter had shut off the computer. He never tried to make a new identity again after that. He made himself a home where he landed: in the haunted theater.
Okay, so it wasn't really haunted. But it had been the theater the Wayne's had visited before their murder over three decades ago. They'd been pillars of the community before their death. Rich and working to change how people viewed Gotham. Then, they'd gone on a night out with their son and all the work they did for the city didn't pay them back.
Peter didn’t question the way his Parker Luck decided to treat him a little with that one. A place to stay and a place most people tended to avoid. The rumors of its haunting had been what put it out of business a decade after the Wayne's demise. They tried to move past it, but nothing could stop how people steered away from the building. How they would buy tickets to plays and operas elsewhere. How concerts never sounded quite as beautiful in the space.
There were sometimes kids who wandered in, ready to catch a ghost on camera. Peter had made sure the backstage was inaccessible to anyone except him. Made webbing that wouldn't dissolve and put up barricades with it and set up prop boxes in the back hallway to deter anyone too adventurous. And those kids who wandered in? Peter made sure the rumors of hauntings in the theater stayed.
The biggest issue had been money. Peter never felt right accepting money with no strings. Mister Stark had tried to offer him some, and it always felt weird. He didn't miss Stark stuffing hundred dollar bills wherever he could during the odd few meetings they would have. Peter always acted oblivious. He made sure to give the bills to May.
His chest ached at the memory.
The first month in Gotham, there had been a drug ring the cops were trying to shut down. Peter had no doubts that Batman was already on it. Still, Peter needed the break. So, he swooped in. He had his own investigation going, courtesy of the walls in the theater, and webbed up everyone involved. And if Peter grabbed a stray duffel bag full of cash? No one needed to know but him. The security camera's surely wouldn't. Peter had hacked into them with his computer before hand; shutting them off just before he swung in and reinstated them right after he swung out. This universe seemed a little behind his own in a few terms. And it's not like the criminals would admit "hey, the counts a little off and this charge should be higher."
That had been the night Spider-Man met Batman.
"Oh jeez!" Peter shouted when he landed on the rooftop a few blocks away and his tingle went haywire. He dodged the first punch and leapt out of the way of the second. "Hey! Can't a guy swing around here?"
"No," Batman said, voice gruff and modulated. "You should know. Not from around here?"
"Aw, c'mon! What makes you say that? It's the spandex, isn't it?"
"Gotham has her protectors."
"I never said she didn't." Peter held up his hands, setting the duffel bag behind him. He needed that money. But, if Batman wanted to get to it, Peter knew he could. Peter-tingle or not. The man was scary.
"I just think she could use a little extra push. Without me, those guys would be selling drugs for another two weeks. Right?" Batman stayed silent. Peter took that as a sign to keep going. "I don't want to replace anything you're doing. I just want to help."
"Stay out of our way," Batman said after a long minute of deliberation. "And don't call for help." Then, the bat disappeared into the night. Peter didn't even try going after him. He swung back to the theater on high alert.
The money in the bag had been enough for Peter to buy a small generator and a mini-fridge. The duffel he stole from the next bust let him buy a proper bed, a double sided cork/whiteboard, and a few things to keep making his web-fluid.
Peter didn't use the bed as often as he thought he would. There were permanent webs attached to corners in the ceiling spanning most of its length. He found himself liking laying up there more than the mattress. And while the webs were strong, it got dirty. Peter would meticulously clean the web when that happened, breaking parts of it down and replacing them. It had been a new habit in the new dimension. It had shaken him, figuring it out.
Not as much as the fangs. He'd barely noticed them. His mouth and lips had adjusted to their intrusion without alerting Peter to the difference. He discovered them a few weeks into showering at the gym. He passed by a mirror and noticed he was a little taller than he'd been before. He took a closer look and found his canines sharpened. Sharper than a normal humans. He poked at it and when he pulled his finger a way, there was a clear liquid that had come from the tooth. Peter swallowed down his nausea at the discovery.
He'd stripped down in the theater, looking for anything new. The scars he'd gained from his life in his original universe weren't there. Stretch marks from his overnight muscle gain from the original bite were gone. He checked his wrists over and over to make sure there weren't any spinnerets like Peter Two had. At the end, the biggest physical change had been the teeth. And the potential venom.
His jump had changed him. He couldn't stop his thoughts from pulling up what Jim Gordon had said about meta's. Was that what Peter had become? He tried not to think about it after that.
He pretended like the discovery never happened. He let himself sink into the web obsession, only using the mattress on the toughest nights, when the realization that his body wasn't his own anymore hit him too hard. When he wanted to feel like he had at home. Back in his Aunt May's house, just waiting for her to walk in.
And then he'd wake up. In the backstage.
Peter Parker wasn’t home. He might never make it home. So, he decided he'd make a name for Spider-Man here.
Batman had said to stay away and not ask for help. Rule zero. Peter assumed the rule (okay, “rules”, technically) went both ways. If Spider-Man wanted to stay in Gotham, he needed to keep away from Batman and the rest of his menagerie and they’d stay away from him. Still, Peter couldn’t pull away from where he found himself perched on the building, looking down four stories where the only crime lord Batman didn’t have a problem with managed to get cornered. The stench of fear and blood wafted up. There’s also the scent of pups. Three of them, that Peter could see, all huddled behind the Red Hood. His chest burned with protectiveness from the scent of three scared pups. His gut coiled from a third scent, something beneath the fear and just over the scent of blood, he couldn’t place.
Red Hood had gotten cornered. Simple is, simple as.
And there’s a third fact alongside all those scents and fighting against Batman’s words that rang in Peter’s head: it didn’t take a genius to figure out why Red Hood had come out tonight to protect three kids from three goons with nothing but his sword between them. Peter cut off the growl in the back of his throat. He had the element of surprise. He couldn’t give that away, no matter how much his alpha instincts were kicking in. He shoved them back, doing what he could to keep his head clear.
Peter knew Red Hood could hold his own. He’d read the news and seen the footage. He knew just how deadly the crime lord/vigilante could be if he wanted to. But the kids. The pups. Peter didn’t want to see anything happen to them. Even from four stories up, Peter could see Red Hood’s hold on the sword waver. The guns in the goons hands raised.
A growl cut through the night. Modulated and weak. Peter knew, in that instant, the scent of blood was coming from Red Hood. He’d been hit. Peter huffed. The third scent grew and every one of Peter’s instincts kicked in. He needed to get down there now.
“Alright,” Peter said to himself, “Showtime.” He dropped from the building, placing himself between the goons and the pups. Right in the center of the danger. The scent of pups was stronger here. Peter kept his eyes on the goons in front of him. The kids didn’t need to be held right now. They needed to be protected.
“Hey fellas!” Peter said. “Is this a birthday party?” The sound of guns cocking filled the air at the same time his Peter tingle went off. He sighed and glanced over his shoulder. Red Hood had gone still, his sword a little lower. Peter looked down, checking on the pups. They sniffed at him, the stench of fear undercut by confusion. They still had tear tracks down their face, but they weren’t full on sobbing anymore. One of them had their hand in Red Hood’s.
“What is wrong with you guys?” Peter said as he faced the goons again. “No guns at a birthday party!” He flicked his wrists, catching two of the guns in his webs and sticking them to the brick wall. The sound of Red Hood shifting behind him, a sword sheathing and a gun unholstering, caught Peter's attention.
The sound of the third goon adjusting his stance in front of Peter pulled his attention more.
“C’mon! I just said no guns!” Peter quipped. He shot another web out, pulling the gun with less effort than the other two took. Peter squeezed the gun a little too hard. It crunched in his grip and Peter winced under the mask as he let the pieces fall to the ground. Behind him, one of the pups gasped and the scent of fear grew. Not how he wanted that to go. He needed to show them he wasn't a threat.
Peter stepped aside. Red Hood needed a window and the pups needed safety. They both had more than that, now. The goons were stripped of their guns and Peter hoped they weren’t hiding anymore on them. Red Hood took the opportunity, urging one of the pups in front of him and picking up the younger two. The goons started watching them as they went. All of Peter tensed at the sight.
“Hey.” Peter dropped his voice to a growl. He gave into his instincts as he spoke. “Eyes on me.”
The goon in the back tried to run. It took a twitch of his wrist for Peter to catch him. He yanked on the web. The man shouted as Peter pulled him back into the alleyway.
The other two goons screamed as they tried to take the same route.
“It’s not polite to leave a party early.” Peter said. He strung up the first guy on the fire escape and shot his web-shooters at the two goons just before they exited the alley. He pulled with a little too much strength. The men scraped their knees against the asphalt.
Peter didn’t see Red Hood anymore and he hoped that meant he got the pups somewhere safe. Peter shook his head as the scent of the pups' fear (and excessive blood and that third thing Peter still couldn’t place) cleared.
He webbed up one of the goons. The one he had on the fire escape tried to climb up and away. Peter webbed his hands together and then his feet, after a moment of thought.
The man still in front of him tried to swing. Peter’s tingle went off as he watched the punch. He blocked. Peter released his hold on the web. The goon stumbled for a moment as Peter regarded him. The protective anger still burned in his chest.
Peter shot a hand out, ripping one of the guns free from their place in the web. He shoved it against the goons chest.
“Go ahead.” Peter snarled. “One on one. That’s what you wanted, right?” He hadn’t acted like this in New York. He got angry before, but he knew how to control it then. He had a pack, albeit a small one. He had Aunt May and before his death, he had Uncle Ben. And both had been taken from his life as he’d been forced to watch. Then, he’d been thrown through dimensions to somewhere he didn’t understand. Peter couldn’t take the hurt of forming another bond if the universe seemed so intent on keeping him alone.
He didn’t care if he went mad from it. At least he knew where to direct his rage.
“What’s wrong?” Peter said, when the goon didn’t even grip the gun. “You were so eager two minutes ago. Stage fright?”
“And I thought I had issues.” A modulated voice cut through the tension. Peter didn’t need to look to see who had spoken. Red Hood had come back.
“Says the guy who filled a duffel bag with heads.” Peter shot back. The goon’s head swiveled between Spider-Man and Red Hood.
“I got over it. Mostly.” The third scent had returned with Red Hood and his words. “You can apprehend him. Already did it to his buddies. Don’t drag this out.” And Peter… He needed the check. The scent he still couldn’t place soothed him alongside the small speech. His muscles loosened. He shoved the goon back, webbing him against the wall along with the gun. Peter exited the alley.
“The pups?” he asked with a low voice once he met Red Hood.
“They’re safe,” Red Hood said, matching Peter’s tone. Peter nodded. He caught the sight of blood on Red Hood’s shoulder. He pointed at it as he asked:
“You?”
“I’ll be fine,” Red Hood said. He reached up and scratched at where some of the blood had dried. In an instant, a heady scent flooded Peter’s nose. With his enhanced senses, it had him almost lunging at the crime lord. His brain went into an over-drive of “Get him out. Get him safe. Safe, safe, safe.”
“Not your pack,” Peter reminded his brain as he rooted his feet to their spot. “Definitely not your mate.”
One simple scratch. That had been all it took for him to place the third scent.
“Shit,” Peter managed through tight teeth, “You’re an omega.”
Red Hood was in heat. Or very close to it, and Peter realized the man never should have been out in the first place. The scent that came from an omega’s heat flooded the air between them.
Red Hood went stock still. He looked where he’d scratched and cursed. He tried, in vain, to get the scent patch to stick over his glands again. Peter made sure to stay still and keep his feet planted as his instincts tried to make him move and take the omega with him. Everything screamed at him to take the omega somewhere out of public and safe. Preferably the omegas nest.
And if the situation couldn’t get worse, Peter’s tingle went off with the heavy weight of someone getting close. Someone dangerous who could hurt the omega.
“Sorry.” Peter said. It’s the only warning he could get out before grabbing the man’s good shoulder and pushing him against the wall.
Red Hood had kept being an omega secret for a reason. Peter couldn’t blame the guy. Getting to where he’d gotten wouldn’t have been easy as an omega. And Peter had a plan he couldn’t explain with someone getting closer. Red Hood would ask questions.
“Hey!” Red Hood shouted as he shoved at Peter. “Get off of me!”
“Sorry!” Peter hissed. Even with the modulator, Peter could hear the fear. Not just that, he could smell it. It filled the air and Peter tried to move fast to get it out of the air. Get the emotion gone from Red Hood, from the omega that needed to be safe over anything else.
Peter rummaged through the pockets in his jacket. It had been winter when he landed in Gotham and the suit didn’t exactly have heaters. The jacket had just… Become a part of his suit even as the seasons changed to warmer weather.
“The hell are you doing?” Red Hood asked. Peter pulled out two scent patches. He held them so Red Hood could see and winced as he reached forward to tear the useless ones off Red Hood’s skin. He clenched his jaw as the scent became stronger and the fear started to ebb.
Peter choked off a purr at the scent of leather and cinnamon.
“Not mine.” Peter tried to remind himself. He sucked in a breath through his mouth and pulled open the patches. He smoothed each patch over Red Hood’s scent glands, careful not to touch them. The man went boneless at the motion, nearly sagging in Peter’s hold. The scent of the omega faded from the air.
Peter’s tingle went off—louder this time—screaming at him to move!
He grabbed Red Hood’s good shoulder again, spinning them so the omega had him against the wall. Where Peter had just been holding Red Hood, a black fist made a home in the brick.
“You.” a second modulated voice said. Peter looked over Red Hood’s shoulder. Batman. Because of course that’s how the night would go. Parker luck, striking again.
“Me.” Peter said. “Sorry. I know you said to stay away, but there were pups and your guy seemed in bad shape–”
“Not his guy,” Red Hood growled. He shoved away from Peter. Peter blinked at him as Red Hood moved to stand next to Batman. As someone who wasn’t Batman’s guy, the crime lord stood awful close. They crossed their arms in sync and Peter fought a shudder at the action. They were similar builds and heights. Batman held the stance of someone doing this far longer than anyone should.
“Right.” Peter said. “Sorry. I know you said to stay out of your way. I just… Couldn’t see kids getting hurt.” Batman gruffed in response. Peter cleared his throat. This had to be it. The moment Batman realized Spider-Man would be too much trouble and should try his schtick somewhere else. The moment Spider-Man is pushed into being Peter Benjamin Parker or finding somewhere else to swing. He had heard good things about Metropolis. Maybe Superman wouldn’t mind having a web-slinging sidekick.
“He did help,” Red Hood said. He turned to fully look at Batman. The two men stared at each other for some time. Batman sighed.
“Thank you,” he said. Peter straightened at the gratitude. He nodded.
“Yeah,” Peter said, “Don’t mention it. And I really am sorry.”
“You only have to apologize once, kid.” Peter winced. He opened his mouth to spout another apology before thinking better of it. His teeth clicked together. “Don’t call if you need help.” It's all Peter got before the two shot grappling hooks to whisk them away.
“Huh.” Peter watched them disappear over the rooftops. “Cool.”