Chapter Text
With great power comes great responsibility. That was his gift, and his curse.
It was those words, echoing through young Peter Parker’s mind, that had him pushing himself off the ground. He was hurt, and tired, and he desperately wanted to go home. But this was it, he was the last line of defense. Felled heroes littered the battlefield that was once Manhattan, their bloodied bodies a villain’s masterpiece. Peter knew they were all dead. Everyone was dead. New York City, usually boasting the comforting sounds of life, was silent.
Something crunched beneath Peter’s foot. It didn’t take long to realize it was a hand, or what was left of one. The scorched flesh was peeling off the bone, the body connected to it buried underneath pounds of concrete. Peter kneeled down, pushing off the slab of concrete, hoping for… something. Not that anything came from it. The body was too charred for him to make out any defining features. Just another dead hero.
Peter should be dead too.
He choked on a sob at the thought, tears spilling from his eyes as he struggled not to collapse. Because it wasn’t over. He wished desperately that he could forget about this responsibility, that this burden didn’t have to be his to carry. He was a fucking kid .
“Spider-man.”
Peter knew he was going to die. It was an inevitability, one every hero shouldered the weight of. He just wished his death wouldn’t be in vain.
He turned to face the robotic voice, meeting the glowing red gaze with what little strength he had left.
“Ultron.”
“It was not you I had envisioned remaining.” Peter swallowed, clenching his fists in a desperate attempt to stop them from shaking. “It is almost… anticlimactic. For you are just a child. What threat do you pose to me?”
Peter didn’t have the energy to be offended. Because it was true. He was a fourteen year old kid who naively thought he could play hero.
His eyes caught on a glint just past Ultron. Someone was standing, and Peter’s heart soared. He didn’t care who it was, if it meant he wasn’t alone. He didn’t want to be alone.
Ultron followed Peter's gaze, both of them recognizing Dr. Strange as he stood, his cape in shreds and hands bloody. He didn’t spare a glance for the villain before him, his eyes resting completely on Peter.
“This was never your ending, kid. Good luck.”
Everything went black.
—
Peter was drowning.
He was drowning in green, his lungs filled with something thick and burning.
He clawed at his throat, his nails ripping his skin off in a desperate attempt for oxygen.
The more he struggled, the more it burned, invading every part of his body.
His hands found purchase on something smooth, and he started to frantically pound his fists against it, hoping for some sort of relief. He could feel the skin of his palms being shredded by glass but he kept going, going, going until his body was spilling out in a tidal wave of the green liquid.
He felt raw, exposed in a way he hadn’t since he’d been bitten by the spider all those months ago. He gagged, the smell of the liquid too much for his overly sensitive nose. He dug his hands into the soft ground beneath him, dry heaving until he felt lightheaded.
He fell back, the cool ground seeping through the thin material of his Spider-man suit. Taking a deep breath through his mouth, trying in vain to ignore the pungent smell of the green, he looked around. It was dark, wherever he was. He could faintly see a yellowish light coming from above him, but it was too far away to be much use. He felt marginally grateful to his enhanced senses that allowed him to see through the darkness.
He took stock of what he had on him, which wasn’t much. The suit was torn to shreds, and he’d lost his mask in the battle. The battle… Peter jumped up, frantically looking around as a wave of fear induced adrenaline crashed through his body.
How was he still alive? Ultron had been right there, his gauntlet raised against Peter ready to destroy the last hero left standing. But… that wasn’t true, was it?
Dr. Strange had been there, he’d said something to Peter. What had he said?
This was never your ending kid. Good luck.
He repeated the words out loud, trying to make sense of them, but his mind was too muddled by green to be of much use.
Peter felt sick. Memories washed over him at an alarming rate, each tinged green. He could feel his anger rise as his mind forced him to remember every death by Ultron’s hands, the unfairness of it all beating down on him like a drum. Peter wasn’t supposed to be alive. He should have died out there, with his fellow comrades. He shouldn’t have been the last one standing, not when there were people much better than him.
His body moved of its own accord, his fist slamming into the earth at such a startling speed the ground beneath him cracked. Peter fell backwards as the rage abandoned him as quickly as it'd come, the green receding from his vision.
He looked down at his hands in horror. Everything felt too overwhelming. Strange’s words replayed over and over in his mind. Never your ending, never your ending, never your ending.
“What does that mean?” Peter yelled, his voice cracking in lieu of his emotions. He swallowed at the silence that answered him. He needed to get out of this dark pit, wherever it was. But… where would he go?
May and Ben were gone, had been long before Ultron was ever created. He’d been living on the streets, after… after foster care. Maybe someone had survived, another hero Peter could contact?
He knew what a foolish thought that was the moment it came to him. Nobody survived. New York had been destroyed long before it became the final battleground between the Avengers and Ultron.
Peter chewed on his lip as he walked slowly through the dark cave he was in, ignoring the taste of the green gunk that stained his skin and stuck to his lips. There wasn’t an exit that he could see, and the light he’d seen from above was gone now. But that was really all he had to go off of, so Peter made his way over to the wall and began climbing up. His body ached with what he assumed were a multitude of bruises and cuts from the final battle, but he pushed through it, hefting himself up the wall as fast as his injuries would allow. It wasn’t anything he to wasn’t used to, anyways. When he reached the top, he felt his way around, looking for any opening he could push through. He found an outlet in the form of a small hole, barely the size of his fist. He sighed, making sure he had a firm grip with his left hand before smashing his right fist up into it. It splintered and cracked under his strength, so Peter did it again and again until there was a hole big enough he could squeeze himself through.
He collapsed in pure relief when a cool breeze enveloped him, the stench of the green sludge blowing away with the wind. Peter let himself relax, the stress of the last however many days momentarily forgotten.
He let his eyes fall shut, the burn behind them ebbing away the longer he kept them closed. He didn’t know how long he laid there, basking in relative peace, before it was ruined by the hairs on his arms standing up. He shot to his feet immediately, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of Ultron, before realizing there wasn’t any danger, just the potential for it. He extended his senses after not immediately seeing anything, and picked up on a hushed conversation happening maybe a block over. One of the voices was distorted, likely coming through a cell phone or something similar.
“ It should be just around the corner, Robin .” The tinny voice was definitely a woman’s. “ Near Gotham Cemetery .”
“ Robin, wait for backup. Red is near your location .”
“I’m perfectly capable of exploring this so-called disturbance myself, Batman.” That voice was clearer, drifting to Peter’s ears with the wind. It was young, maybe around Peter’s age or a bit younger.
“ Robin, wait for Red. That’s an order .” Peter heard the boy sigh heavily, his light steps slowing to a stop before picking back up again.
Peter was just about to hide away somewhere when he caught sight of something colorful. It was… a costume? The boy was wearing a red tunic and black tights, a black and yellow cape billowing behind him in the wind. A domino mask covered his eyes, leaving the rest of his tanned face exposed. Peter slowly realized those eyes were locked on him. Him who was bloodied, bruised, and covered in green sludge.
He cursed, eyes wide as they stood at a standstill.
“You’re seeing this, right?” The costumed boy asked quietly into what Peter now figured was a comm, his lips barely moving.
There was a crackle before Peter heard a muttered curse, the deep voice from before now rougher and more agitated. “ Do not engage, Robin. Wait for Red to get there .”
“ Holy shit ,” a new voice said, just as deep as the one before but much warmer. “ Is that a kid? ”
Peter bristled at the term being used to identify him, even though it was true. But he didn’t feel much like a kid. He felt weary, and lonely. He had for a long time.
“ Can he hear us ?” Another voice asked, and Peter was starting to get overwhelmed by all the new voices. He must’ve not hidden his cringe well enough, hearing multiple sharp inhales as he reacted to the words being said.
“ Well, fuck .”
Peter, being the socially illiterate mess that he was, waved awkwardly at the teenager in costume.
“ Well that was adorable ,” a new female voice said, the underlying humor in her tone clear to Peter.
“ Do not engage, Robin .”
“Stay where you are, peasant,” Robin said, pointing a… was that a fucking katana? There was a heavy, yet unsurprised, sigh through the comm.
Peter debated running, he really did. It would have been the smart choice, and he always prided himself on making those. But here was the thing. He was tired. And more than a little curious. The names being used registered in his mind, and none of them were familiar, as heroes or villains. His spidey-sense was also quiet for the moment, so he didn’t think he was in any sort of danger.
Peter tried not to fidget the longer they both stood there, just staring at each other. It also took a great deal of willpower not to say something, which would probably most definitely make the situation worse, and he was pretty proud of himself for it. He almost clapped himself on the back.
Another figure appeared next to Robin, outfitted in all red and black. Peter couldn’t tell his exact age, but he was clearly older than both himself and Robin. He also wore a domino mask, his pale skin a stark contrast to the night surrounding them.
The newcomer nodded his head briefly to Robin before stalking towards Peter slowly, with his hands raised, like Peter was to be treated like a wounded animal or something. He looked down at his mangled uniform and bloodied body and honestly thought the newcomer’s approach was fair. It was how he’d treat the situation if their positions were reversed.
Peter really wanted to sit down.
His legs were wobbling and if these two heroes(?) decided to fight Peter, he could honestly say, (within the privacy of his own mind), that he would lose.
“Hey there,” the older boy said, stopping about ten feet from where Peter was standing. He looked down to the hole that Peter had climbed through, his brows furrowed in question. “You seeing this?” He mumbled into his comm, and Peter really wanted to know where the camera was on his body.
“Hi.” He cringed at the crack in his voice, which probably made him sound pathetic, instead of just looking pathetic.
“You alright, kid?” Peter bristled at the term once again, but forced his body to relax, nodding his head.
“Yep. I’m just super. Really having an awesome day.” He wanted to facepalm. Because he clearly was not having an awesome day.
“Hm,” the man said, his lips thinning. “Can you tell me your name?”
Peter debated the pros and cons of answering the question before deciding he didn’t really care. “Peter.”
“Got a last name for me Peter?” He figured whoever was on the other side of the comm would be looking him up, which would lead to a whole nother set of problems that Peter really didn’t want.
He shook his head. “Stranger danger and all that.”
The older boy’s lips quirked for a minute before flattening out again. Peter heard a muffled laugh disguised as a cough through the comm and tilted his head just slightly. He could see that that small movement rankled the two people in front of him, but there was nothing to be done about it.
“Did you dig yourself up, Peter?” The boy pointed to the hole in the ground. Peter looked inside, seeing the faint glow of the green slime before looking back up at the stranger.
“Er. No?”
“Hm,” he hummed again, crossing his arms. “Were you looking for something then?” And Peter got the impression that he was stalling, for what, Peter didn’t know. But he humored the person regardless, because this was the first conversation he’d had in a long while that didn’t revolve around Ultron, and it was kind of nice.
“Would you believe me if I said that I just happened upon the hole?” He gave an innocent smile, one that had gotten him out of trouble more than once, but deflated when the other boy didn’t seem to be buying it.
“Not in the slightest.”
“Oh.” Peter sighed, scratching his nose and avoiding eye contact. He didn’t really know what else to say. He swallowed roughly, trying to push back the tears that were threatening to fall. He was really, really tired. “Do you mind if I sit?” He didn’t really wait for permission, instead just collapsing onto the ground.
The other boy canted his head, the slits of the domino mask narrowing before he decided something. He walked closer to Peter and sat down across from him.
“Want to tell me what happened?”
He did not, actually. He was trying very hard not to think about what happened, because if he thought about it, the more likely he was to have a complete breakdown, and Peter would really prefer to be alone when that happened. When, not if, because Peter didn’t have any delusions that he wouldn’t break down at some point.
“No, not particularly.” The other boy took the answer in stride, nodding his head and leaning back. Peter looked to Robin, who was standing slightly behind him.
“So, um, who are you guys?” He had the feeling he said something wrong when both of them looked at him a little funny.
“ Did he seriously just ask that?” One of the voices, yet another new one, asked.
They both seemed to ignore the voice. “I’m Red Robin, and this is Robin,” the older boy introduced, pointing at himself and then Robin.
“Cool,” Peter nodded, twiddling with his hands nervously. “Birds.” He hated himself sometimes. “And you’re, uhm, heroes, I suppose?”
Again, they both looked at him like he’d said something wrong. Peter was very confused. He’d never heard of these people, and he had a hard time believing they’d never heard of him. Even with all the gunk and general torn state of his suit, the spider emblem was clearly distinguishable. And while Spider-man wasn’t nearly as famous as some of the other heroes in New York, he was still pretty well known.
“Yes,” Red Robin said slowly, like he thought Peter might be a little stupid.
And didn’t that just not clear anything up. Peter wanted to huff in frustration. But he didn’t ask anything more, because even he could tell that anything else he asked would be considered a stupid question by them, since he had a feeling these heroes already thought him to be pretty slow.
“Right. Yes, I knew that.” They definitely didn’t believe him.
Robin looked like he was about to call Peter out, but he didn’t get the chance. Peter was scrambling to his feet with the overwhelming urge to flee as a large man landed next to Red Robin, his hulking form towering over Peter.
Peter wasn’t usually someone who intimidated easily. He’d faced off against villains twice his size and never once cowered in fear. But the man in front of him, dressed in a costume that nearly made him blend into the night, made him want to get out of dodge.
“Holy shit,” he cursed, scrambling back and nearly tripping over a headstone.
Peter could feel another presence behind him, but he refused to take his eyes off the big man.
“What the hell are you?” He asked before he could really think of what was coming out of his mouth. He slapped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide as his spider-sense prickled in warning. The hulking beast apparently didn’t find it important enough to answer him, instead crossing his arms over his ridiculously large chest.
Peter, up until that moment, had thought the biggest person he would ever meet was Captain America. Mr. Rogers was huge with all that super serum pumping through his veins. But this guy… this guy was almost twice his size. “What do they feed you?” He muttered, definitely not quiet enough as he heard laughter behind him. He took a second to glance back, and he really wished he hadn’t. Because the one behind him, in as dark a suit as the big man just with a blue bird shape on his chest differentiating them, was the size of Mr. Rogers. And Peter was really starting to feel trapped, surrounded by people a lot bigger than him with his already depleted energy and absolutely no motivation to fight.
“Can we call someone for you, Peter?” Red Robin asked, and Peter wanted to run to his side and hide behind him just so he didn’t have to be surrounded by Big Man #1 and #2. Peter almost did just that before the question registered. He shuffled a bit, kicking at a clump of dirt in front of him.
“No.” He felt more than saw the heavy look shared between the four men.
“How old are you?” The youngest, Robin, asked.
Peter glared at the ground, biting his lip. “Old enough,” he answered, not sure if these people would call CPS on him. He really didn’t want to be sent back to foster care. Not that he’d let them do that. He’d run before they got the chance.
Going off that thought, Peter had to wonder where he was that they weren’t worried about the threat of Ultron, or why these heroes weren’t involved in the final battle. Or why Peter had never heard of them before. It was that fact that kept spinning around in his mind.
He wasn’t naive enough to think he knew every hero, because he didn’t. But something didn’t feel right about this whole situation.
The big guy behind him snorted. “Where’ve you been living, kid?”
Peter didn’t think it was a bad idea to tell them he’d been living in New York. Surely they’d heard of the destruction of the city by now? It had been daylight when everything had gone black, and now Peter thought it was the middle of the night. That’s more than enough time for the news to report on Ultron’s attack.
“Queens.”
The silence following his answer made Peter’s stomach sink. Maybe they had heard about what happened.
“New York?” Red Robin clarified, his voice laced with confusion. Peter nodded.
“Hgh.” Peter wasn’t really sure what the noise was that came out Big Man #1’s mouth, but he thought it sounded like a grunt.
Peter braved a look up at the man, scratching at his neck where he could feel some dried blood. “Where were you when Ultron attacked?” Peter asked, and he could immediately tell he’d said the wrong thing, again. It really was a curse. All four of them stiffened, looking at him with distrust.
“Who?” Robin asked, his katana raising slightly again. Peter felt that that was unnecessary. He probably looked like the least threatening person ever right now.
“U-Ultron?” When he still saw no recognition on their faces, he started to shake. Because something was very wrong. He wanted to take it back, he wanted to run away, cursing himself for not doing so earlier and opening his big mouth instead.
“I think you should come with us, kid,” the one in black and blue said, his voice feigning kindness. But Peter could hear the steel underlying the words, and knew well enough when someone was trying to deceive him.
“No, I think that’s alright. Like I said earlier, stranger danger, and all that.” Peter started to scoot backwards, logging all their movements with his eyes. He had very little energy but could feel adrenaline beginning to build, enough that he was able to duck underneath the hands trying to grab him and sprint away. The problem was, he didn’t know where he was going. These people obviously had that advantage over Peter, but he refused to let that slow him down.
The cemetery, thankfully, was located inside a large city. Peter could hear the footsteps following overhead, and he forced himself not to look up. He was momentarily thankful for not hitting his growth spurt yet, allowing him to dive into a dark alleyway without being seen. He listened as the four passed by, laughing breathlessly as their confusion reached his ears.
He huddled behind a large green dumpster, surprisingly grateful for the smell as it took focus off the green gunk still stuck to him. He was very pointedly not thinking about it.
Peter sighed, banging the back of his head against the brick wall he was leaning against. He was hurt and confused, and he just wished there was someone that would hold him. Tell him that it would be alright.
But it wouldn’t. And deep down, even if Peter wanted to trick himself into thinking otherwise, he knew that. Things hadn’t been alright for a very long time.
Unwelcome tears burned his eyes as everything started clawing its way to the forefront of his mind. He wanted desperately to ignore it, to stave off the panic for just a bit longer. He was a child. He was a child. ( He was scared.)
It always started slowly. The tingling numbness in his feet brought about the cold that worked its way up his legs to his torso. Then it spread to his arms, weighing them down so heavily it felt like Peter would never be able to move them again. His heart beat so fast it felt as if it’d burst. His lungs seized, his breathing near nonexistent as he struggled to suck in any air. And then his head got foggy, like he was walking through a particularly horrible nightmare. Able to see everything around him but unable to move or breathe or do much of anything besides despair.
Peter had been in worse places than next to a dumpster during one of his attacks. In fact, the smell was almost grounding. That didn’t stop him from wishing for someone, anyone, to help him, though.
“You alright there, sugar?” Peter barely registered the voice, though his ears perked at the thick Brooklyn accent. “You’re lookin’ a lil’ pale.” It pained him to admit that he couldn’t see the face belonging to the voice until she was right in front of him, and even then, all Peter could really focus on were the kind eyes. She had such kind eyes, like May’s had been.
“Fine,” Peter managed to get out, the word harsh and broken.
A hand rested on his cheek, thumb stroking soothingly as she smiled at him. “Why don’t ya come inside, sugar. I’ll betcha just need a nice shower and some warm food.”
Peter, against his better judgment, nodded his head, his body still feeling like pins and needles. He felt warm hands pull him up, an arm wrapping around his shoulders and steering him towards a door he hadn’t seen when he stumbled into the alley.
This was probably one of the dumbest things Peter had ever done. He was not thinking clearly and shouldn’t just blindly trust this stranger to help him. But her eyes were safe. And at the moment, that was good enough.
“Oh honey, you’re lookin’ a lil’ rough,” she was saying quietly, her warm hands stroking through his matted hair. Peter couldn’t respond, his body still numb and his mind cloudy with fatigue. “What’s a kid like ya’ doin’ on the streets of Gotham all alone? Not safe for lil’ kiddies, no no no.” Peter didn’t bother forcing a response, gathering that the woman was talking more to herself than him.
“Ives!” Her voice was like a punch to the head, his wince big enough to have him falling from her grip. “Oh shoot, sorry ‘bout that, sugar.” Peter was being hefted up again, but this time the grip was a lot firmer.
She dragged him along until he was being set down on something soft, and Peter nearly cried in relief. The panic attack shed light on every sore muscle and bruise on his body.
He should honestly be grateful, though. How he managed to get away from that fight with little more than a bruised up body was beyond him.
“Harley?” There was a new voice, causing Peter to instinctually tense. He could feel both sets of eyes on him, watching his movements closely.
“Found this lil’ sugarplum almost passed out in the alley. Thought he could do with some food and a shower.” Peter relaxed the longer she talked, her accent familiar in a place that wasn’t.
“Since when do we take in strays, Harley?” The other woman’s voice was cold, but not necessarily mean. Peter thought it reminded him of Ms. Romanoff.
“Look at ‘em, Ive. He’s like ten.” Peter resented that.
“‘M fourteen,” he slurred, trying to glare at her. They both scoffed, clearly not believing him, and Peter didn’t have enough energy to argue. Instead he found himself drifting off, his body shutting down without his permission. He let the sound of their conversation wash over him, lulling him into a heavy sleep.