sunchime | [ open post: spidey-verse ]

It's been a little while since all that collider nonsense. A little bit of time for Peter too - he's not quite so ragged in the wake of his own No Good Very Bad day, courtesy of a stopover in a different timeline. But. Still, this is alarming! Why does he keep getting dragged around by these crazy lights? This is weird and he's kind of tired of it god.

This is how he finds himself slinging across another different New York, dressed in a blue and red outfit roughly similar to his original costume back home. RIP Karen, tho. He's got her backed up on a chip in his pocket but with no fancy heads up displays to talk to her through. Or, like, a map? And every time these different New Yorks are just different enough to mess with him.

Like - here! Normally there's an elevated train bridge right here, but apparently the route is different, and oh god he was banking on catching it with his next web. So, instead, Peter Parker goes flying right into a nearby dumpster. Oof.

Sorry about your dead friend being an incredible dumbass, Gwen.

Gwen figured that with the collider destroyed -- she doesn't have a doubt in her mind that Miles did it -- that would put an end to all the dimension-hopping, however cool (and painful) it was. But then she sees this guy sail through the air in a blur of red and blue and realizes that there could be just as many Kingpins, Doc Ocks, and hadron colliders as there are dimensions.

Ugh.

She's not quite quick enough to catch him, and she has to swallow a laugh when he swan dives into a dumpster. There's just something...familiar about it. Two quick swings and she's crouched on the wall over the dumpster, peering down at him through her mask. Overhead looms a billboard with a young Peter Parker's bespectacled face plastered over it, next to the words STOP THE SPIDER-WOMAN, and below it, CALL 1-555-FOR-PETER.

"Alright, what dimension are you from?"

"What?"

He resurfaces after a split second, sending garbage everywhere. A particularly noxious banana peel clings to his mask; he swats at it after a moment, which mostly results in getting rotten banana goop all over his fingers. Awesome. Fantastic. Great job with the first impressions. Which is too bad, because she's making a hell of one on him. That costume, that obvious spider-grace and the webs ... A Spider-Woman? Awesome??

Oh, wait. He hasn't actually said anything useful has he. Awkwardly, he attempts to lever himself out of the dumpster. It - mostly works? He gets up onto the side and sort of sits there, perched in the least cool way possible. "I - uh - I don't know. But not this one," he says, helpfully. He looks up at her from his slightly improved perch on the dumpster, his gaze drifting past her and up to ...

Uh.

"-- Wait, am I dead in this one too?" Is there a dimension where Peter Parker ISN'T dead? What the hell did he ever do to the multiverse to make it hate him like this? Except ... piss off Spider-Woman, apparently?? Who is also standing right in front of him. Awesome. Fantastic.

Gwen watches him clamber out of the dumpster in the least spider-graceful way possible, wondering just how freshly minted this Spider-Man is. She's about to come up with something clever when he looks up, and so does she, and --

"Are you what?" The question is stunned, but the near-immediate chill in Gwen's stomach is logic and recognition. There are as many Peter Parkers as there are dimensions too, it seems, and another one has just swam his way out of a dumpster. Somehow, she just wasn't prepared for that. "Peter?"

A freshly-minted Peter Parker, in fact, judging by the way he can't seem to balance on the side of this dumpster casually. Like. He's doing it? And he's not falling off? But he looks like the goddamn nerd he is. At least Peter B had his shit more or less figured out, even if he was out of practice.

Anyway. He's still staring past her at the billboard for a moment, his mind churning. He ... doesn't sense any danger coming from her? It's blaring you're like me directly into his metaphorical eardrums, which is loud and unpleasant but not - that? Ugh, his head. He must have clipped a fire escape again. Those things are magnetically drawn to him.

"Yeah," he says, tentatively holding up both hands. Normally he'd be more hesitant about this whole secret identity here, but a) fellow spider-person and b) weird freaking day. For real. "Who the heck are you?" Another glance at the billboard. "And if you're gonna kill me, could you at least at least monologue a little first? I'm super lost."

"I'm -- "

I'm Gwen, she almost says, like he should know her -- but she falters, because he's a different Peter Parker, another one, they're all different and she doesn't know if any of them have her in common.

"I'm not going to kill you," she says, rolling her eyes behind her mask, but her voice sounds a little tinny to her own ears. It's Peter -- it's unmistakably Peter, she knows that, even without seeing his face. He doesn't sound that much older than her. It's weird -- her Peter's been dead for two years -- but he seems so familiar. After a brief moment's consideration, she gives him a quick nod, climbing back up the wall.

"I really can't have a serious conversation with a guy in a dumpster. Come on."

She swings her way up to the roof and perches there, watching him for just a moment before she takes off. She's sure he'll follow.

He doesn't have much of a choice, does he? New world, new circumstances, god knows what's even going on here - that billboard is mildly terrifying still - but if she'd wanted to kill him, she could have done it while he was still face down in a bag of rotting Italian food.

Right. What has he got to lose by trusting her, anyway? Nothing he hasn't lost already.

While he may be gawky, he's at least competent. He slings out a web, tugging himself up past the dumpster and towards the roof. From there, he follows her lead. Leaping out over the city, catching corners of buildings and propelling himself forward. Even in this situation, that feeling is glorious. The wind passing over him, the weightlessness ... It's soothingly familiar, despite the odd company.

"So if you're not going to kill me," he says between swings, from somewhere behind her but not quite so far behind he can't talk, "what's with the billboards?"

Seems a little obvious okay.

And yet, too soon. Gwen cringes under the mask, glad that he can't see her face. At least he's keeping up.

"It's a long story," she says, trying not to let tension creep into her voice. A beat, another swing. "I didn't kill him."

The words come out short, clipped, because she's afraid if she lingers on them too long they'll catch in her throat. When she finally touches down, it's on the roof of the last venue she'd played with the band. That hasn't been going too smoothly since she got back. Stories below, people are lining up around the block for tonight's attraction. Gwen sucks in a breath, straightens, and turns to face Peter.

"Okay," she says, mostly to herself, and breathes out. She tugs her mask over her head, shaking her hair out, and looks at him. "I'm Gwen Stacy. Also known as Spider-Woman."

He finds a spot to sit on the edge of the roof, leaning up against the lip of it to rest for a moment. After everything that's happened lately, he's kind of tired, frankly. But the night is nice enough, and the crowd of people below provide a pleasant background murmur to their conversation.

When she pulls the mask off, Peter's eyes widen a bit. Not in recognition - the name Gwen Stacy means nothing to him - but just in how young she is in turn. She's, what, his age? Maybe a little older, maybe a little younger. He's so used to dealing with adult superheroes that seeing someone he might actually want to be friends with at school is refreshing. And - it makes her statement of I didn't kill him all that more believable.

"Whoa," he says. "You're just like me." A beat. "I mean, even more than the spider powers and stuff. I think you're the first teenaged superhero I've ever met."

Other than himself, obviously.

"Yeah," she says, with a smile that's almost a wince, "we're around."

It taken a lot just to let herself be vulnerable with Miles. Those walls she'd put up -- those had been for her own protection. To keep from getting hurt, because Peter's death had left her so raw. And now, talking to this Peter, she can't help but superimpose the memory of her best friend over him, to wonder how things might have been different for him. It's right smack in the emotional uncanny valley, and it makes her uncomfortable.

"I thought I was the only one until I met Miles," she adds, trying to force some of the tension out of her shoulders. He's the one displaced from home, but this is just so weird for her. With Peter B it'd been -- well, he was so much older. He might as well have been an entirely different person from the Peter she knew. This one...hits a lot closer to home. "He's from a different dimension, too. From this one, I mean. Here, I'm the only teenaged superhero I've ever met."

Sorry, Gwen. He can see how tense she is even if he can't quite figure out the reason why? He has some guesses, though. Given how the universe seems to want him dead in every timeline.

"Yeah, I heard about him," he says. "I think I ended up in his first."

Which at least saves some of the exposition? And also begs the question of how he got here, but. Maybe they have other things to focus on here. "D'you have the Avengers at least? Like, people you can work with?"

It's official. This is the absolute worst day of Peter Parker's life. And given the average luck of Peter Parkers, that's saying a hell of a lot. It's helped (hurt?) by the fact that he doesn't know how many hours ago this day technically started. The bus seems like a lifetime ago. Literally a lifetime ago, maybe; he swears he's still dusty after the fight on Titan, which makes all of him just want to crawl out of his own skin. He'd been there, telling Mr. Stark he was sorry, and then --

Bam, crazy lights. He'd fallen like thirty feet, down two fire escapes and directly onto a mugger. That had hurt like hell, but with his healing factor he'd managed to walk it off faster than the mugger had. And from there, he'd staggered out into the city, half panicked, definitely concussed, just trying to figure out what the hell had happened. New York. But not his New York. He'd managed to stumble back to his apartment somehow, only to discover (AFTER he'd snuck in through the window) that it was inhabited by a completely different family. So back out onto the street he went, exhausted and starving, looking up at the billboards and realizing all the other things that were different. The ads, the skyline, his ... face on the news ...?

No, not his. A different Peter Parker's. Older than him by ten years at least, and blond. Dead for a solid three weeks by now, but this TV station had gotten an interview with his Aunt at her house. He knows that house. They'd lived there right up until a Chitauri ship had flattened it in the first invasion of New York. But Aunt May ... she looks so much older than he remembers. Will she even recognize him? Does she know what happened to him?

He's still wondering all of that when he rings her doorbell in the middle of the night. A light snow is coming down, settling on his gross clothes and even more gross backpack. (His suit is beyond trashed; he'd fished a backpack out of a dumpster and stuffed what he could in there.) Bedraggled would be a kind description at this point. But despite the differences in age, the dark brown of his hair, the blood smeared on his face - it's clearly Peter Parker. And he desperately wants to see his Aunt again.

"Aunt May?" he calls out. Voice cracking a little. "It's me." That last part comes out terribly softly. He still has no idea how she's going to react; he has no guarantee that it will be a good reaction at all. If she doesn't want to help him, he'll understand. But he also might just go lie down in a dumpster and die. Peter Parker, death by dumpster after everything else that's happened today. Seems about his luck.

Edited 2019-01-15 00:45 (UTC)

May is...a little tired.

The chaos in the immediate wake of Peter's death had, in some ways, made it a lot easier to deal with. She had other people who needed her help -- another Peter -- and they had all been so swept up in it that there hadn't been time to be so weighted down with grief. For a little bit, just a little bit, it had been like her Peter hadn't really died at all, like he was just...somewhere else. But afterward, when the dust and snow had settled, it had only gotten harder. She didn't think she'd feel quite so lonely when all those others had gone home. It had been nice having a full house again, even if just for a little while.

But now she's terribly aware of just how big this house is without her Peter, and it feels so empty without him. MJ comes around, and Miles comes around, of course -- but at the end of the day, it's a silent house she bids goodnight, with no promise of nighttime homecomers.

It's probably just as well that she can't sleep when the doorbell rings. She's tense when she goes to answer it, expecting another misguided fan, maybe, but the baseball bat is still in her hand when she opens the door. But the lone figure on her doorstep isn't even wearing a costume. He doesn't need to, not with those eyes -- that face. That voice. She'd heard her name in that voice before, with that little catch, and it sticks in her heart. She's struck with a double dose of déjà vu, and it hits hard.

"Peter?"

Her voice is barely audible, but the neighborhood is so quiet. Already, without thinking, she's tossed down the baseball bat, taking one halting step to him at a time, her hands raised to touch his face.

It's him all right. Brown-haired, but surely that isn't as much of a shock after Peter B? It would stand to reason there'd be other versions of Peter with dark hair. And besides, there are similarities too. A Parker look to him in general, much like Ben had had. It's not exact, but close enough to be a twin or a brother. A much younger brother...

He's looking at her in turn as well. She's so much older than he remembers? His May had complained about gray hairs but didn't seem to actually have any; this May is all silver and looks like she's just had the hardest month of her life. Which, y'know, she almost certainly has. But May is May, and - oh, god, when she reaches out for him he can't take it. From the first instant he'd started to realize he probably wasn't coming home from Titan, he'd desperately wanted to see his Aunt again. Out of anyone else in the whole damn world ...

"Y-yeah," he chokes out. "It's me, May. Sorry - sorry it took so long." She's not his May and he's not her Peter, but - does that really matter? If May decides it matters then fine, he'll just be heartbroken, but. May is May is May. He lets out a strangled little noise and steps forward, putting his arms around her. (His grip is that same blend of gentleness and super strength that her own Peter had had. Impossible to fake, surely.)

It doesn't matter -- doesn't matter at all. Her arms go around him automatically, drawing him in tight with a quiet hush. There shouldn't be any more Spider-People around New York anymore, not since Miles destroyed the collider -- but that doesn't matter either right now, not when there's a young boy named Peter here, in need of her. She just holds him tight. She hadn't realized how badly she'd wanted to hold Peter since he died.

"It's alright," she says, her voice almost a whisper, "it's alright." This -- this she can do. She pulls back after a moment, studying Peter's smudged face with serious, concerned eyes.

"Oh, Peter," she murmurs, cupping his cheek in one hand, and she frowns, resolute. There is an unsettling normalcy to all this that she's been desperately craving. "God, look at you. Let's get you inside and cleaned up." She pauses, then grimaces just slightly. "You smell like a landfill."

Yeah, uh. Landfill is probably a kind word for it. He'd been bloodied and messy even before he had to fish things out of the garbage. The fire escapes to the face also hadn't done him any kindnesses. But he heals fast, as always, and while there are streaks of blood where he'd taken a blow, it doesn't look like he's seriously hurt. Nothing an ice pack and some antiseptic can't fix.

So, in other words, a fairly normal night by Parker standards. Nostalgic, even. Peter coming home late at night after some crazy fight, bruised to hell, but more or less intact. (Though, maybe her Peter swam in less garbage on the average night.)

He disengages from the hug a little when she cups his face. Wincing a little out of embarrassment more than anything else. His Aunt May knows too, but it's a new thing for them. He's not quite at the point where he walks in the door while openly sporting bruises. "Sorry," he says with a watery smile. "I guess my money has the wrong president on it, so I had to figure out something else." Which did not include theft, thank you very much.

[ open post: spidey-verse ]

gwen stacy

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may parker

hittin this one up first

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