The doctor—no, he's pretty sure the man is a sorcerer? Or is he a wizard? What's the difference between the two again? Whatever, the point is, he made a mistake.
Peter–3 doesn't know where he is but he's hella sure this ain't his universe.
He's he’s still in New York though. Only, this isn't his New York. Mrs. Carmelita’s boutique should be at the corner of the street, parallel to his apparent complex, but instead a 7-11 convenience store stood there. The skyscrapers are not how he remembers them too. And there's now a large digital billboard looming over his street, flashing bright images that hurts his eyes. More importantly, someone else is living in his home.
Well, shit.
Aunt May is soooooo gonna whoop his ass for being gone this long.
Peter stood there for a while, unsure what to do. Until someone bumps into him, knocking him out of reverie, before he finally gathers enough sense to slip away from the eyes of the public, because people are starting to really stare.
He webs himself up discreetly on the top of a building. Pacing back and forth the moment his feet lands on the concrete.
“It's okay!” he mutters, talking to himself. “It’s okay, you're fine! We did this before, right?” He runs his hand through his hair, except he has a mask on. So it's practically useless. "It's no big deal. Slipping from one universe to another. Easy. Sure, we fought a bunch of villains and almost died in the process. But! But everything ended up okay! And I'm alive! We even helped our old buddies! So, that's nice, right? But maybe I can avoid that this time around? Yeah, just lay low. Super low. Please, I can't deal with another villain today! I just can’t. Are there any other Spideys this time around?—Wow.” Peter stops in his tracks. Stares at his hands in awe. Because everything is starting to really sink into him. “I'm in another universe!” he whispers reverently. "Ohmygodtheresabunchofotherspiderpeopleouttherewhatwhatwhat?” He inhales. “Apparently, multidimensional reality is real.” Peter shoves his mask up to his nose, because he's having a hard time breathing. He laughs, a little hysterically, “Holy shit! Multidimensional reality is real!”
“Dude, what the hell?!”
Peter jumps at the sound of someone else's voice.
“Not only are you ripping off my costume but you're also talking to yourself like a crazy person! You can't do that! That’s my whole shebang!”
Peter twists around and finds a figure leaning against the wall of the hatch that leads down to the stairs, watching him through the gloom. His yellow eyes glowed, almost as if they were backlit by the dim, dusty streetlights, and they held Peter’s attention long enough that he knew he was staring.
Also, are those katanas strapped on his back? That's so cool! He also has guns. A lot of guns. An alarming number of guns. Uh, yeah, those are not so cool.
Peter doesn't really know what to do. So he just stands there awkwardly and waves. “Umm, hi?”
The stranger snorts at that.
“You're funny,” he says. Before pushing himself off from the wall, finally revealing himself. And oh. Oh.
Peter takes a few steps back.
He's huge.
Broad shoulders, densely packed biceps, stout chest paired with hard abs, and those legs? Jesus, man. Those should be registered as lethal weapons. Peter doesn't doubt those monsters could pop skulls. Seriously, this guy had no business walking around with those thick thighs at all. Really. There's nothing but hard muscle under those leather. Leather. As a costume! That suit looks like it cost more than his annual salary as a photographer. Peter is offended.
The guy tilts his head to the side, pinning him under his gaze. After a moment, he finally says. “Ohhhhh, baby boy. You fucked up! You shouldn't be here.”
Peter flinches.
“Yeah,” he nods. He nods again, “I-I know. I'm kinda lost right now.” He laughs, even though there’s absolutely nothing funny about all of this. But that's what Peter does whenever he feels uncomfortable. So he does it anyway. “It's okay, though,” he quickly amends, because shit!, he definitely shouldn't have said that to someone he just met. Especially to someone who looks like he could potentially be this New York’s big, bad guy. “I got it under control—” no he doesn't but this man doesn't need to know that! “—I just need a couple of minutes to work out my plan—”
“Baby boy,” the guy tries to cut in but Peter’s motor of a mouth ignores him.
“—Actually, I do have a plan!—”
“You're freaking out,” the guy tells him.
“Nope,nope,nope,nope.” Peter shakes his head. A little too much. Okay, maybe, a tad bit more than necessary. But! “I'm not freaking out! I'm fine!—”
“You need to breathe,” he says slowly.
“—I got it all figured out! Yep, yep, yep—” He laughs again. Too loudly. Peter winces at how weird he sounded. “So, technically, I'm not really lost!—”
“Sure, whatever you say, honey bunch. How about you sit down first?”
“—I'm just taking a detour! That's fun. Happy accidents, ammarite?—”
“Uh-huh.”
“—It's not like I'm gonna be stuck here forever right? Pssssh. Righttttt? OHMYGODPLEASEIMNOTGONNABESTUCKHEREFOREVERRIGHT?—”
“Calm down.”
Peter clamps his mouth shut when two hands grip him firmly on both of his shoulders. The abruptness of it choked down the panic that's bubbling at the back of his throat; The stranger was just suddenly there, holding him.
How?
Peter could have sworn he was a few feet away just a couple of seconds ago.
“Jesus Christ. That mouth of yours is gonna give mine a run for its money.” The guy chirped brightly, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he gave him a toothy grin behind his mask. Peter’s skin crawled under the intensity of his gaze. “Now, how about you listen to Daddy Pool and take a seat to calm down?”
“Iamcalm,” Peter quickly refutes. But he lets the guy steer him to the ledge.
The man barks a laugh. “Dude, you're literally vibrating.”
Is he?
Peter doesn't even know he’s bouncing on his heels. He forces his body to stop doing that! Glancing up, embarrassed, he sees that the guy looks like he's dying as he tries not to laugh.
Asshole.
Once seated, Peter's nerves slowly settle down. The man gives him a couple of minutes to gather himself before fishing out a cartoon of strawberry milk from his pouch. How did that fit in?
“That's what she said,” the stranger snickers as he pushes the drink on his hand.
“What?”
“Here.” He ignores Peter's confused look. “Drink this, baby boy.”
Peter tentatively rips the plastic straw from the box. “Thanks?”
He takes a sip.
It's good.
“So,” the man starts. “Are you feeling okay now?”
Peter nods slowly. Still greedily taking gulps of the strawberry milk. He stops to read the brand but he couldn't since it's written in another language he doesn't understand. “This is really good.”
“It is!” The guy grins at him. “Want more?”
Peter's stomach growls.
He smiles sheepishly. “Please?”
After three boxes of strawberry milk later, Peter found himself on the other side of a table inside a 24/7 mexican joint with a newly acquired friend (???) who is busy wolfing down burritos like the world is about to end. Somehow, the guy manages to convince him that food is priority at the moment. And well, after running around, fighting, dreading the insignificance of his existence, and having a mini breakdown— all unravelling consecutively within just roughly forty-eight hours—Peter couldn't really find it in himself to argue.
“Are you gonna eat that?” the stranger asks as he swallows a mouthful of quesadillas.
Peter glances down at his unfinished plate. He still got two tacos. It's his fifth serving. “Um, no. I'm full.”
He pushes his plate towards him. “You can have it, if you want?”
The guy shrugs. “Suit yourself.
He grabs the rest of his food. The tacos’ dressings spill from its soft shells and down between the gaps of his fingers. But he looks like he couldn't care less as he gobbles it down, cramming two tacos at the same time down his throat.
Peter tried not to stare at the scars too much and decided to pin his gaze on those pairs of eyes in the efforts of doing so.
Those obnoxiously animated eyebrows crinkle.
How does his mask do that?
The guy tried to speak but ended up making incoherent noises and sending bits of food flying around instead.
Peter gave his utmost hardest not to scrunch his nose in disgust. He grouses dryly, “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. I don’t speak tacos.”
Swallowing, the man tries again. “I said, what are you gonna do now?”
Peter fiddles his gloves. Unsure. “I don't know.”
The guy gave him a look. “How did you even get here in the first place?”
At that, Peter hesitates. “It's… complicated.”
The man stares at him for a moment, shrugs again, then goes back to scraping food.
Peter’s social anxiety cannot handle this level of awkwardness.
He bounces his knee restlessly. “Do you happen to know a doctor that wears a sentient, magical, red cape who can manipulate time and space at will?”
“Just time,” he corrects him. The stranger finishes his glass of chocolate milkshake, slurping loudly until he empties it, before continuing. He bellows a burp. “And we don't have him in this universe.”
Peter winces—equally because ‘eww’ and ‘shit!’.
“I'm Fox's X-Men Universe and you’re now MCU canon,” the man explains, as if the words he said totally make sense.
Peter's head hurts. “Huh?”
The man waves a hand at him dismissively. “Nevermind. The point is, we don't have him here.”
Peter slumps his head in defeat. “Shit.”
The man rests his chin on his hand. Seemingly amused. “Yeah, shit.”
There was a lapse of silence.
The stranger only kept staring at him quietly. Peter could feel his gaze. He glances at him.
“I need to get home, man,” Peter tells him, desperation clinging on his voice.
He smiles.
This motherfucker actually had the nerve to smile.
Peter wants to cry and rip all of his hair in frustration.
“Alrightiee,” the stranger says before Peter’s brain decides to spiral furthermore. “I'll help you.”
Peter perks up at that. “Really?”
“Yes, Sir!” The stranger gives him a salute and gets up. But not before tucking a hundred dollar bill under his glass. Peter follows suit.
“H-how are you gonna get me home?” He asks as he scrambles to catch up to the man.
Outside, the world is still dark.
The stranger swings an arm around his neck, pulling him closer, cradling Peter’s face to his broad chest. It’s firm and warm. And their proximity allowed him to catch a hint of metal, sweat, and blood. A hint of maple syrup too.
“Ease your mind, young Padawan,” the man assures him. “You're in the presence of greatness.”
Peter cranes his neck awkwardly to look at the man properly.
He’s grinning down at him.
His would-be saviour pats him on the head before he releases him. He then started fiddling with his utility belt.
“Umm.” Peter watches him sceptically. Glancing around for stray eyes that might be looking. “I don't know what you're doing but I'm pretty sure public indecency is also illegal here.”
The stranger cackles at that. “As if the law ever stopped me from doing things.”
Peter shot him a horrified look and that only made the man laugh even louder.
“Relax, Baby Boy. I'm not gonna do anything to you.” That shit-eating grin isn't really convincing at all. “I may be a kinky bastard but I'm still a whore for consent.”
Peter is still not convinced.
But it doesn't really matter. The stranger pulled him closer again before he could string up coherent thoughts. Peter sputters when the man picks him up into a princess-carry. He instinctively wraps his arms around his neck for balance.
“Lucky you. I'm about to be in the MCU too, y’know?” the man informs him as Peter struggles in his hold. “Not that it matters, I've been universe-jumping since my comic release. But it does make it a little easier.”
Peter gawks at him. “What are you talking about?”
“July 26, 2024.”
“I'm so confused.”
“Marvel Jesus in the theatres, baby! Whoop, whoop!”
“You’reactuallyinsanecanyoujustputmedownplease?!”
“Hell nah. It's not everyday I get a handful of Spider-babe in my arms.”
Peter yelps when the stranger throws him over the shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. He hears him fiddling with his belt again.
This is humiliating.
He struggles against his hold but the man is strong. What the hell? He's only using one arm!
Peter stops his efforts, places his head on his hands, and screams. “God, just kill me already!”
He’s jostled by the man's manic laughter. His shoulder bobs Peter up and down. “Oh, don't be so dramatic.”
“Shut up, man.”
The stranger looks back down at him with a smile that only spells trouble. “Now, now, be a good boy and hang on tight to Daddy. Deadpool express is departing!”
Before Peter could even ask what the hell does that mean?, a blinding blue light engulfs them; Whisking the pair away.