Chapter Text
The world was about to forget him.
Peter Parker stood in the center of the ruined sanctum, exhausted beyond words. His body ached from the battle with Green Goblin. Cuts and bruises covered his skin, and his heart felt even worse than his injuries.
Everyone would forget.
MJ.
Ned.
Happy.
Every person who had ever known Peter Parker.
It was the only way to save reality.
Doctor Strange’s magic glowed around them, golden sparks floating through the air.
“This is your last chance,” Strange said quietly.
Peter swallowed.
He knew what he had to do.
The thought didn’t make it hurt any less.
“I know.”
Strange studied him carefully.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Strange sighed.
“You’ve sacrificed enough.”
Peter blinked.
“What?”
“You keep carrying the weight of everyone else.”
The sorcerer shook his head.
“You’re still a kid, Peter.”
Peter almost laughed.
Nobody had called him that in a long time.
Not since Aunt May.
The memory made his chest ache.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It should.”
The magic surrounding Strange shifted unexpectedly.
Peter frowned.
“Uh… that’s not part of the spell, right?”
“No.”
Strange’s expression became thoughtful.
“Perhaps forgetting isn’t the only answer.”
“What are you talking about?”
The room began shaking.
Golden cracks spread through the air.
Reality itself seemed to bend.
Peter’s eyes widened.
“Doctor Strange?”
The sorcerer looked directly at him.
“For once, Peter Parker…”
The light intensified.
“Let someone help you.”
“What does that mean—”
The world exploded into white.
Peter woke up face-first in a pile of garbage.
“Ow.”
Everything hurt.
His head throbbed.
His stomach churned.
For several seconds he simply lay there, trying to remember what had happened.
Then it all came rushing back.
The battle.
The spell.
Doctor Strange.
Peter sat up immediately.
Only to nearly fall over.
“Whoa.”
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
The dumpster around him suddenly seemed enormous.
The walls looked taller.
The opening farther away.
Peter frowned.
Slowly he climbed out.
Rain fell from dark clouds overhead.
The alley was narrow and filthy.
Brick buildings towered above him.
But that wasn’t what caught his attention.
His sweatshirt sleeves completely covered his hands.
Peter froze.
“…what?”
He tugged on the fabric.
The sleeves hung several inches past his fingertips.
His jeans pooled around his shoes.
The clothes were way too big.
Or…
A horrible realization struck him.
“No.”
Peter stumbled toward a puddle.
Rain distorted the reflection.
But there was no mistaking what he saw.
A child stared back.
Messy brown hair.
Large brown eyes.
Soft features.
Tiny shoulders.
Tiny hands.
Tiny everything.
Peter’s breath caught.
“No.”
His voice sounded different.
Higher.
Younger.
“No no no no no.”
He touched his face.
The reflection copied him.
This wasn’t an illusion.
This wasn’t a dream.
Doctor Strange had de-aged him.
Peter estimated he looked around eight or nine years old.
Physically.
Mentally, he still remembered everything.
Every fight.
Every loss.
Every sacrifice.
But his body was that of a child.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
A passing cat glanced at him.
Peter pointed accusingly at the sky.
“I fought aliens!”
The cat walked away.
“That’s fair.”
After several minutes of panicking, Peter finally managed to calm down.
Mostly.
He needed information.
Step one: figure out where he was.
Step two: figure out why he was here.
Step three: yell at Doctor Strange.
The order wasn’t important.
Peter wandered out of the alley.
The city beyond immediately felt wrong.
Dark.
Oppressive.
The buildings seemed designed to make people uncomfortable.
Gargoyles decorated rooftops.
Old architecture mixed with modern skyscrapers.
Everything looked like it belonged in a gothic horror movie.
Rain continued falling.
Sirens echoed in the distance.
Peter’s stomach sank.
He knew this city.
There was no way.
No possible way.
A billboard confirmed his fears.
GOTHAM CITY.
Peter stared.
Then stared some more.
“No.”
A second sign.
GOTHAM NATIONAL BANK.
“No.”
A newspaper dispenser.
GOTHAM GAZETTE.
“NO.”
Doctor Strange had sent him to Gotham.
Not just another universe.
The DC Universe.
Peter pressed both hands against his face.
“Oh my God.”
Batman was real.
Superman was real.
The Justice League was real.
Everything he had spent years reading about was suddenly real.
This was either amazing or horrifying.
Possibly both.
Probably both.
His spider-sense suddenly screamed.
Peter reacted instantly.
A baseball bat swung through the space where his head had been moments earlier.
Three men stood behind him.
All adults.
All armed.
All looking confused.
The largest blinked.
“…kid?”
Peter sighed.
“Seriously?”
The second thug frowned.
“What?”
“I’ve been here for maybe an hour.”
Peter gestured vaguely.
“And somehow I’m already getting mugged.”
The third criminal exchanged a look with his friends.
“Where are your parents?”
The question hit harder than expected.
Peter hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
“Dead.”
Silence.
The men looked uncomfortable.
“…oh.”
“…yeah.”
“…sorry.”
Peter shrugged.
“It happens.”
The awkward moment lasted approximately three seconds.
Then one of them remembered he was a criminal and swung the bat again.
Peter caught it effortlessly.
Everyone froze.
Including Peter.
Right.
Super strength.
He was still getting used to the whole being-a-child thing.
The thug tried pulling the bat back.
Nothing happened.
Peter accidentally squeezed.
The wood snapped in half.
The criminal stared.
Peter stared.
The other criminals stared.
“…uh oh.”
Then Peter threw the broken bat aside.
The first thug immediately charged him.
Five seconds later the man was flying through the air.
He landed inside a dumpster with a loud crash.
The remaining criminals screamed.
“HE THREW GARY!”
Peter blinked.
“His name is Gary?”
The second thug ran away.
The third followed immediately.
Peter watched them disappear.
“…that’s probably healthier.”
Several rooftops away, a dark figure observed everything.
Batman lowered his binoculars.
The initial reports had described a possible metahuman.
Bruce had expected a teenager.
Perhaps an escaped experiment.
A runaway.
Instead he found a child.
A child who had effortlessly thrown a grown man across an alley.
The boy was small.
Thin.
Wearing oversized clothing.
And completely alone.
Bruce frowned.
That alone was concerning.
Then there was the fact the child kept talking to himself.
Bruce activated a recorder.
The audio enhanced.
“…Batman is real.”
Bruce paused.
“…this is so much worse.”
Another pause.
“…Doctor Strange, when I find you—”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed.
Interesting.
The child clearly wasn’t from Gotham.
Possibly not even from this world.
Normally Bruce would dismiss such a conclusion.
Years ago, maybe.
Not anymore.
Not after aliens, gods, and multiversal crises.
The boy’s file was already growing.
Unknown child.
Enhanced strength.
No guardian.
Possible dimensional displacement.
Bruce sighed internally.
Another child.
The universe kept giving him children.
Peter spent the next several hours exploring Gotham.
The city was exactly as terrible as the comics suggested.
Maybe worse.
Crime happened constantly.
Every few blocks someone was being robbed.
Peter stopped three muggings and accidentally terrified several criminals.
Apparently grown adults didn’t enjoy being chased away by a child.
Eventually exhaustion caught up with him.
He found a rooftop overlooking the city and sat down.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle.
Gotham’s lights stretched endlessly into the darkness.
Peter hugged his knees.
For the first time since arriving, everything became quiet.
Too quiet.
Without distractions, his thoughts returned.
MJ.
Ned.
Aunt May.
The apartment.
His old life.
Gone.
He knew they were alive.
He knew they were happy.
But they didn’t remember him.
And now he was in another universe.
Alone.
Again.
The familiar loneliness settled over him.
Peter buried his face in his arms.
Maybe Doctor Strange meant well.
Maybe this really was a second chance.
Right now it just felt like losing everything all over again.
A sudden sensation made him look up.
Someone was watching him.
Peter’s spider-sense buzzed.
Not danger.
Observation.
Slowly he turned.
A figure stood on a distant rooftop.
Black cape.
White eyes.
Impossibly still.
Batman.
Peter nearly fell off the building.
“Oh no.”
The Dark Knight remained motionless.
Watching.
Analyzing.
Being Batman.
Peter groaned.
This was bad.
This was very bad.
Because Batman didn’t ignore mysterious superpowered children.
Batman collected them.
Like emotionally damaged Pokémon.
And Peter was currently a small, homeless, superpowered child sitting alone on a Gotham rooftop.
He was basically waving a giant sign.
PLEASE ADOPT ME.
Peter buried his face in his hands.
“I’m getting adopted, aren’t I?”
Across the city, Batman turned and disappeared into the shadows.
The answer was probably yes.
And somehow, that thought was both terrifying and comforting.
For the first time since arriving in Gotham, Peter wasn’t completely alone.
He just wasn’t sure if that was a good thing yet.