Chapter Text
Peter Parker was floating in an endless sea of darkness. Unfortunately, this was not the worst thing that had happened to him by far. Equally as unfortunate, his current predicament left little to do but reminisce. So, he did.
The last several days had followed the trend of Peter's life and been a whirlwind of shitty Parker luck. He had barely had any time to even begin grieving for… Aunt May… before Doctor Strange had informed him that the only way to stop his universe from destabilizing to the point that it would rip itself apart was for Peter Parker to cease to exist within it. Peter had to be sent to a different universe entirely. However, Strange wasn't cruel and did what he could to give Peter enough time to say his goodbyes. He was sure they would haunt him. M.J. and Ned's tears as they hugged him tight, almost as if they hoped to anchor him to their reality by force of will alone. The knowing melancholy in Peter 2 and 3's eyes, understanding in the way only fellow heroes could how impossible of a situation it was. He wished he'd been able to say goodbye to Happy, to apologize for failing to protect Aunt May. He'd say goodbye to Morgan and Pepper, the only other pseudo-family he had.
After what felt like a lifetime, the darkness gave way to blinding orange light, leaving Peter's senses screaming in overstimulation. As the light began to dim, his body registered the familiar whoosh of wind whipping around his body in a swift descent through the air, the sound roaring in his ears and the sensation stinging against his sensitive skin. The light finally dissipated, but just as Peter was about to celebrate his escape from the painful luminescence, his body met the glass of a dome-like structure — shattering it beneath him — and then solid ground.
The impact was harsh and jarring, severely aggravating his wounds and knocking the wind out of him, sending him spiraling into a much more familiar darkness, this time one of unconsciousness. He was only able to idly recognize the smell of loamy soil surrounding him before his eyes slipped shut and he succumbed.
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"It was a good idea to try that new restaurant, Pammy! That osso bucco was to die for!" Harleen Quinzel giggled, skipping idly while hand-in-hand with her girlfriend, Pamela Isley.
"I agree. We'll have to return sometime. I quite enjoyed their beef wellington," Ivy mused, before her face shifted, her body stilling.
The yank of her arm at the lack of movement brought Harley to a halt, as well. "Pam? You okay?" She questioned, concern lacing her words.
Ivy stared unseeingly deeper into their home. "My children say there has been an intruder."
Harley startled. "An intruder? Is it one of Mister J's goonies? The clown himself? Is it a friendly?"
The rapid-fire questions pulled Ivy from her trance-like state as she gave their conjoined hands a small, calming squeeze. "They're not sure. Whoever it is, they believe them to be unconscious."
Harley glanced at Ivy, sending her a short nod as she released her girlfriend's hand, grabbed her hammer from its place beside the front entrance, and swung it deftly onto her shoulder. Quietly, the couple crept deeper into their abode, vines slithering across the floor beneath their feet. Once they reached the entrance to the center of the conservatory, Ivy gently pushed aside the make-shift vine curtain that separated the rest of the building from the front hallway.
Once her eyes land on the crumpled figure in a pile of glass and debris that had once been their ceiling, Ivy's breath catches. "Oh," she breathes, darting forward through the familiar foliage and falling to her knees beside the figure, "It's a child."
Ivy held the boy's limp form as Harley slipped the odd costume off of him, leaving the child in a simple pair of boxers. She cursed under her breath at the sight of his pale skin marred by a plethora of cuts and bruises, blood and dirt and dust. Gently laying him down on the bed, Ivy looked up at her partner, "Can you run down to that little shop on Maiden Lane and get him some clothes while I start patching him up?"
Harley nodded swiftly, her hands toying with the ripped and dirtied fabric between them, "You're sure he's just unconscious?"
"As far as I can tell, yes. He's breathing and his heart is beating steadily, so there's no reason to assume otherwise," Ivy soothed, her words causing Harley's shoulders to slump in relief, before she placed the costume on the chair in the corner of the room and darted out.
By the time Harley returned, Ivy had cleaned the boy to the best of her ability, wiping away the grime to give her a better understanding of his injuries. What was left behind was much less grave than it had originally appeared, luckily enough. Once Ivy finished tending to his wounds, she beckoned Harley over and the duo worked together to slip a simple white shirt over his head and a pair of loose-fitting gray sweats over his legs.
Laying him back in the bed, the questions that had been a whirlwind in both their minds came back to the forefront of their consciousness. "How did he end up here?" Ivy quietly questioned, "And what was that costume he was wearing?"
Harley hummed. "Maybe he was playing hero? Could've been a parent that stitched together that outfit, even though it seemed like they left way too much growing room."
Ivy shook her head. "I don't think it's that simple, Harls. How would he have ended up going through our roof? There hasn't been working roof access since this place was first closed," she stated, "And ignoring how ill-fitting the costume seems, its construction is more than what the average parent could or would put together for a child's playtime. Have you heard anything from Hood about his father acquiring any new strays?"
"Nah, this ain't the Bat's doing," came Harley's immediate answer, "The symbol on the suit was a spider, not a bat, and it looks nothing like the other iterations of Robin. All of their suits are slightly reminiscent of one another, but his is entirely different. Besides, 'Ole Batsy wouldn't throw his bird in the deep end alone, he would've insisted on being attached at the hip."
Ivy silently agreed. Truthfully, she was doubtful this child had anything to do with Gotham's Dark Knight. But that left her questions still wholly unanswered.
"We should keep him," Harley announced suddenly, a manic grin splitting her face as she rocked back and forth on her feet.
Ivy glanced at her paramour. "My love, we know nothing about him. He may have family searching for him, worried sick over where he could've gone."
Harley groaned out a whine, "Awwww, but Pammy-"
Ivy held up her hand, "I didn't say we can't keep him for now, I only said he may have family searching for him. I think it would be best if he stayed here until he's healed and can, at least, aid us in returning him to his family." The former psychiatrist squealed, jumping up and down in glee as her partner attempted to regain her attention. "That means we cannot become attached, Harley!" She attempted to yell, "This arrangement is temporary!"
"Our first kiddie together! Oh, this is gonna be a blast!"
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Peter's return to consciousness was a gradual one. The first thing to register was sound. The trickle of flowing water. The rustle of foliage and the critters within it. Two unfamiliar heartbeats.
Two unfamiliar heartbeats.
Green Goblin.
May.
Doctor Strange.
Orange light.
His eyes snapped open. An equally unfamiliar ceiling greeted him.
He swiftly sat up, groaning softly beneath his breath at the pain that the sudden movement caused. Looking down at himself, he found himself in clothing he didn't recognize, decidedly not his suit. Scattered across his exposed arms and poking from beneath his shirt, he spied various bandages.
Strange. In his experience, kidnappers didn't tend to your wounds.
Regardless, he knew he needed to leave. Pushing through the pain, he swung his legs over to the edge of the bed, eyes locking onto the sight of his suit splayed across a chair in the corner. With a grunt, he pushed to his feet, steadfastly ignoring how his body screamed its dislike of the action, and walked on slow, silent feet over to his suit. Picking it up, he internally dismayed at the damage done to it, before his eyes darted once more around the room.
Three doors out. The pair of heartbeats emanated from beyond one, knocking it out of the running for immediate escape options. Another smelt of mothballs, likely a closet; a dead end. But the third… cleaning supplies, residual water. Most likely, a bathroom. And where there was a bathroom, there may be a window.
Decision made, he crept toward the bathroom door, turning the knob and pulling it open at a snails pace, ears trained on the location of his captors. Deciding they were far enough away that they were unlikely to hear it, he flipped the light switch, blinking rapidly at the abrupt brightness. Stepping inside, he scowled at lack of a window. Fuck.
As he turned to go back the way he came, mentally steeling himself for the challenge of finding another way out, a glimpse in the corner of his eye made him pause, turning back, gaze locking onto the mirror.
He was… That wasn't right. He was eighteen. But the face in the mirror was very much not. No, the face that greeted him in the mirror was one he was only able to recall from photo albums. And now that he was paying attention, his perspective was off. The world around him was much higher than normal. No. He was much shorter.
In what he could only later describe as a severe lapse in judgement, Peter, in all his eighteen-year-old-but-also-kinda-not-really-twenty-three-year-old maturity and wisdom, dropped his suit to the tiled floor and began to unceremoniously flail his body around, gritting his teeth in both anger and pain, and silently cursing any god that may be listening. Yeah, Thor, that includes you, you one-eyed fuck.
With a single, accidental swing of his arm, a bottle flew from the countertop, clattering loudly against the tile and with it, Peter froze.
Quicker than he can find a place to hide, the bedroom door swings open and a woman stands in the entryway of the bathroom, skin near transluscent in its lack of pigment, hair a platinum blonde at the roots and splitting into two pigtails of pink and blue, respectively.
The woman grins, mouth just a tad too wide. "You're up! How ya feeling, kid?"
The question gives him pause, the lack of a reaction from his spider sense causing his shoulders to lower incrementally. "Well, uh-"
"Who am I kidding? I gotta check your bandages anyway!" She exclaimed, stepping into the bathroom and pulling a large first aid kit from beneath the sink.
At the continued silence from his spider sense — which alarmed Peter greatly, because since when were kidnappers not a cause for concern?? —, he acquiesced when the stranger asked him to remove his shirt and began to gingerly remove some of his bandages. A quiet gasp left the woman, causing Peter to tense as he suddenly remembered something extremely important: his healing factor. Man, I am the worst at keeping secrets.
Scrambling, he took a step back, raising his hands defensively. "W-Wait, it's not what it looks like-"
"You're a meta!" The woman proclaimed.
Peter stared. A moment passed. "Is that… a bad thing?" He finally asked.
She scoffed. "A bad thing? Kiddie, do you know who you just asked that?"
Peter stayed silent.
" … You do know who I am, right?"
"Is it bad if I say no?"
A smile stretched across her face. "Right, well, my name's Harley and let's just say the answer to your previous question is definitely not. People aren't quite sure what I am, but they agree that I'm not exactly human. I'm not about to judge you or anything, kid, promise."
Peter released a heavy sigh of relief. "Oh. That's good, then."
She hummed in agreement. "Say, if you heal real fast like that, do you gotta eat a bunch, too?" Harley questioned.
Peter opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a deafening growl. His cheeks grew pink, the color tinting the tips of his ears. "…Yes."
Harley screeched, causing Peter to flinch at the pitch, his shoulders raising to his ears in a reflexive attempt to protect his hearing. Spotting the reaction, Harley's hands slapped against her mouth, expression sheepish. "Sorry, kiddie, I got a bit too excited. Let's finish checking your boo-boos and then go get you some grub before the monster you call a stomach starts to revolt," she joked, poking a finger against his stomach before continuing her examination.
A number of his injuries had been deemed healed and their bandages or stitches removed. The rest were more thoroughly examined before their bandages were replaced. All-in-all, he was well on his way to being fully healed, aside from a few of his more egregious wounds and the general aches and pains from being thrown around, beat on, and dropped from the sky.
Once finished, Harley led him through the house — or what he was quickly realizing was an observatory converted into a house — and into the kitchen. In little to no time, Peter was sat at a rickety little dining table, devouring grilled cheese after grilled cheese. Down the hall, a door closed, pulling Peter from his hunger-induced food hypnosis as he froze, eyes snapping up to lock onto another woman entering the room.
Her skin was a forest green, irises and sclera also an eerie green, and long red hair flowing over her shoulders. He could see the moment she registered his presence in the room, a brief pause in her steps as a small smile pulled at her lips. "You're awake," she observed, glancing down at where Ivy was depositing another couple of sandwiches on his plate, "and ravenous, it seems."
Peter's cheeks pinked, bulging like a chipmunk.
Harley turned around as Ivy came up behind her, pecking her lips briefly. "Kiddie's a meta! Needs the extra nutrients for his healing," she announced with a smile.
The unknown woman hummed, turning back to the boy and holding out a hand. "I'm Ivy," she greeted simply.
Peter swallowed quickly, wiping the oils and crumbs from his hands onto a napkin before taking her hand in his. "Peter," he answered back.
"Aww!" Harley cooed, "Petey-Pie! Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater! Pe-"
"I think you should save the nicknames for later, dear. We wouldn't want you to run out," Ivy says with a smirk, earning an emphatic nod from her partner as they both sat down at the table.
"When you're right, you're right! So, Petey, you okay if we ask a couple'a questions?"
Peter glanced between the two of them. "Uh… sure, I guess?"
"How old are ya?"
Truthfully, he wasn't totally sure of the answer to that question. Peter paused. Silently, he ran his tongue over each of his teeth. From the stories he'd been told by May and Ben, and what he was able to gleam from his photo albums, he had lost his first tooth a few days before his eighth birthday. Based on his current height and lack of missing teeth, he could make a fairly-educated guess. "Seven," he finally answered.
The couple shared a glance at the hesitation, before seeming to shelf their concerns. "What borough ya from? I recognize a fellow New Yorker,."
"Queens, born and raised," Peter declared proudly.
"I won't hold it against ya," she teased. "So, how'd ya end up in Gotham falling through our roof?"
Peter had thought this through while scarfing down grilled cheese sandwiches and he knew the perfect answer to this question.
His eyes began to tear up, bottom lip wobbling ever-so-slightly. Hook.
"I don't know," he whimpered. Line.
Harley gasped, jumping from her chair to wrap him in her arms. "Oh, you poor thing," she cooed. And sinker.
Ivy squinted at him. Uh, oh. Maybe not so sunk. "What about that costume we found you in?"
He shrugged, glancing up at Harley, before averting his gaze.
Ivy hummed. "And your parents? I'm sure they're missing you."
Peter froze. "They would be… if they were still alive," he answered softly.
That answer seemed to dissipate some of Ivy's suspicions, a softer look crossing her face. Harley looked down at him. "You don't got nobody looking for ya?"
Peter shook his head.
Harley grinned, head whipping up to meet Ivy's. "We're keepin' em!"
He blanched. "W-wait, no-"
"Peter, I'm sorry, but it sounds like we're your only option," Ivy sighed, "The cops in Gotham are crooked and the foster system is just as bad. We can't in good conscience let you roam the streets on your own, especially at your age."
Harley nodded in agreement. "You're a metahuman and a pretty young one, at that. Ya might as well be ringing the dinner bell for every human trafficking ring in the city."
"Oh…" Peter sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, when they laid it out like that, they weren't wrong. While his powers would give him somewhat of an advantage, if he ignored his pride and indignation at the thought, he had to admit that he's just a little kid. "I guess it's okay… b-but only as long as it isn't a bother!"
Harley hushed him. "Ya could never bother us, Petey! Yer one'a us now!"
Ivy smiled. "Quite right. Now, let's get you back to bed. You've still got quite a bit of healing to do," she stated, pressing a gentle hand to his back and guiding him back to the bedroom he'd awoken in.
Once inside, he climbed up into the bed and Ivy tucked the sheets around him. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to come find either of us. And if you can't find us, ask Frank."
Peter's eyebrows furrowed. "Frank?"
"My talking venus flytrap," she explained with a smile, "We've already spoken to him, so he knows to expect you."
Peter nodded, eyes practically bugging out of his skull at Ivy's words.
Ivy stood up, walking to the door. As she began to close it, she paused, looking back at the boy in her guest bedroom. "I forgot to mention that your watch is on the bedside table," she pointed beside him, "Sweet dreams, child."
The click of the door closing rang out through the room, before Peter's head whipped to the side and he swiftly reached for the watch. Holding it gingerly, he whispered, "Karen?"
Silence answered him, before its screen flickered and a voice filled the room. "Hello, Peter. I'm afraid I'm unable to connect to any S.T.AR.K. satellites, which has limited some of my functions."
Tears pricked Peter's eyes. He sniffled, lifting a hand to wipe them away. "We're not on our Earth anymore, Karen," he explained, "I'm so happy you're here."
"I am happy, as well," Karen responded simply.
"Karen, I need you to connect to whatever satellites you can and gather data about this Earth. We've been thrown in the deep end and we're gonna need some more info before we figure out what our next move is," Peter instructed.
"Understood, Peter. Your vitals indicate you are injured. Might I recommend some rest to aid in the healing process?"
Peter hummed, nodding softly, suddenly recognizing the heaviness of his eyelids. "Good idea," he sighed, relaxing back into the sheets as his eyes slipped closed, hands still clasped tightly around the watch.