Black hole opened in the kitchen
Being confused was something Peter was very used to.
He’d been confused the day after he was bitten by a radioactive spider, drenched in sweat and ripping door handles out of place. He’d been confused when Tony Stark was sitting in the middle of his apartment a few months later, claiming he had been selected for an internship and giving him a pointed look when his Aunt questioned it. He’d certainly been confused when, apparently after 5 years, he returned to the world after dying on an alien planet, and was then immediately thrown into a fight with about a hundred other superheroes.
The point is that Peter was generally accustomed to being at the center of weird occurrences, and was good at adjusting to whatever was thrown at him. Well, usually.
The exception lies here, when he was thrown to the ground in the middle of the woods. This wouldn’t be that strange, of course, besides the fact that he, only moments before, was in the middle of his studio apartment in Queens. He wasn’t sure what exactly he had done to deserve being roughly transported into the middle of nowhere directly after his patrol, but he was almost positive that he wasn’t going to get an answer to it.
Instead of dwelling on it, he groaned, tried to remember the last time he had been in the wilderness, and stumbled to his feet. He was a little upset that he couldn’t follow through on his plan of eating a pop tart and then passing out for the night (or early morning was more like it), but at least he had his web shooters on him. He leaned heavily against a tree, rubbing the shoulder that he had so harshly landed on and taking a look around.
“It’s always the ground,” He muttered to himself, looking up at the sky, hidden behind the branches of a few dozen pine trees. They stretched far into the air, almost making him dizzy, but he was used to the looming presence of skyscrapers, a bit of foliage was no competition. “Why can’t I ever land in a soft, cozy pile of pillows?” He spoke mostly to himself, the question hanging in the quiet chill of dawn, answered only by the softest hum of crickets and rustling of the wind.
He asked the trees, “Why can’t I get involved in the villain of blanket forts? Or the mattress lord? Or the destroyer of back pain, with like very evil intentions that just happen to include very soft surfaces to land on?” Once again, there was no immediate response, just the early signs of birds waking, beginning to chirp into the summer morning. He really needed to figure out where he was before the sun was all the way up, and preferably before he began to sweat through his spandex.
Peter, in the simplest of terms, was a nerd. His Aunt never had the time or interest to take him camping, and his Uncle had given up after the first time when he’d had a horrendous asthma attack at the introduction of wild pollen. He didn’t think his father or mother were super big on the great outdoors, either, but they weren’t exactly around long enough to share any strong opinions on the matter. He was born and raised in the middle of Queens, and he’d spent most of his time there. The most he had ever gotten out of the city was his infamous trip to Europe, and the one time he had visited the Stark’s cabin.
Peter wasn’t sure what had sparked the memory—it wasn’t like he’d spent much time upstate with Pepper after the funeral—but he found himself thinking about the lakeside house. He’d spent a few days there, with May, trying not to cry every time he passed a picture on the wall of his mentor, happy and alive with the family he had built in the years Peter was gone. He’d spent most of his time exploring the grounds with Morgan, Tony’s daughter, talking about the good times, and ignoring all the bad ones. The Stark’s were kind to him, and his grief, but they had their own problems to sort through, and Peter had to go home.
After that, things got messy. Pepper was cleaning up the mess he made with Mysterio, and then…well, no one was an exception to the spell Doctor Strange had cast. Peter didn’t exactly have the time or energy to make a trip back since, but it was surrounded by trees similar to the ones scattered there. He’d only walked a few yards up a trail with Morgan a couple years ago, and there was no way he’d remember the specificities of each trunk, but there was a certain air of recognition. He chalked it up to his very little exposure to wooded areas, ignoring the feeling in his gut, and wandering forward.
Somewhere in the back of his head he could almost hear his Uncle, his voice soft but firm, explaining the barest tips of survival.
“Always walk with purpose, Pete,” He’d said, hunched over and building the tent. Peter had been standing just behind him, holding the stability poles and trying not to sneeze. “You want to trust your compass, and use the sun to make sure you stay on track. If you can find a trail, stick to it, but if you can’t, make yourself visible,”
He was well intentioned, of course, but Peter wasn’t sure how good any of it would help him in his current predicament. He didn’t have a compass, and he wasn’t sure if there were any trails to follow. He also knew no one would be looking for him, but at least he’d chosen bright enough colors for his suit, just in case a stray hiker decided to go hunting for lost Spider-Men.
He looked up towards the brightening sky, wondering if walking east, following the sunrise would give him some direction.
It must’ve been just before 7 when he started hearing the buzzing. The sun had risen, just barely, and the trees stayed exactly the same. The ground crunched under his feet, pine needles and stray leaves scattering the roots curving up through the dirt. He kept his eyes moving, watching his step but also his surroundings, trying to find a break in the brush, any sign of life that might lead him to civilization.
He was tired, his feet dragging and his arms heavy at his sides as he trudged. He wasn’t sure where, or if there was something specific that should have warned him of it, but it was almost as if he passed an invisible line. His skin felt tighter, and the air sharper, as if electricity was humming directly into his veins. It was like a magnetic field, one that was strong enough that his senses were picking up on it.
He stopped walking, coming to a halt almost subconsciously, his feet freezing as he looked around. His arms broke out in goosebumps, and he could’ve sworn he was hearing an alarm going off. Something heavy landed behind him, clanking metallically, and Peter knew that sound. He refused to turn to face it.
A man spoke, his voice tuned with technology, crackling through something heavy. “Alright, I don’t have time for this, I have breakfast to get back to, so I’m just gonna start now,” He cleared his throat, the noise coming out distorted and wobbly. Peter almost laughed, but it died in his throat, fizzling out. “What are you doing here? Why are you trespassing? How did you find this property? Blah, blah, blah,”
Peter wet his lips, grateful that he hadn’t rolled his mask up, despite how much sweat he knew was dripping down his face. His blank white lenses were met with glowing blue ones, framed perfectly with red and gold.
Whoever it was either had a very dedicated Iron Man cosplay, or they were wearing an Iron Man suit. He didn’t know that the Avengers had been handing them out, but he also didn’t know much about the Avengers nowadays. Anything for a buck, he supposed.
“Isn’t that a little insensitive,” He couldn’t help but mutter, looking over the suit, down to the welding on the boots. It was authentic. That meant it was dangerous.
“What are you mumbling about?” The man snarked, almost tiredly. “I don’t want to repeat my list,” He added, annoyed.
Peter felt his fingers start to twitch. He thought back to what he’d said, trying to remember the questions. “I’m trespassing?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, pausing again to think. “Do you own the woods?” He asked.
“Do I own the ….kid, do you know where you are right now?” Peter opened his mouth to reply, but the man just continued. “You keep walking down that way,” He pointed to where he had been headed. “And you’re right in my backyard. How the hell did you get lost in the middle of Catskill?”
Peter felt something in his jaw click as he gaped. “I’m in Catskill?”
“Must’ve been some party,” The man commented, amused, and the mask began to click. There was a slight hiss, and metal whirring against metal, but the face plate began to fold back, revealing his face. Peter felt something sharp tighten in his stomach, his breath catching in his throat.
This had to be a trick. “Look, I don’t know what camping trip you stumbled out of, but I’d really appreciate it if you,” He made a motion with his hand, and Peter had to stop himself from flinching. “Skedaddled back to it,” Dark eyes and an iconic beard dusted with gray greeted him, his mouth pulled into a frown. “Are you listening to me? I don’t have time to deal with another Spider-Man fanatic trampling through my yard,”
Peter took a step back. Tony Stark took a step forward. He felt himself shaking. “This isn’t real,” He whispered, assuring himself.
The man, the imposter, seemed to be concerned, his boots thudding against the leaves as he approached, despite Peter’s retreat. “You’re breathing pretty heavy there,” He reached out a hand, and Peter jerked back, stumbling on a root and hitting a tree, sliding down his back.
The illusion rushed towards him, but Peter put his hands out, trying to keep him back. “Kid, just take off that mask, it’s not helping,” He was saying, but he couldn’t hear it. His ears were ringing, and his chest was burning. He gulped for air, cowering back into the trunk and trying to think of the best escape plan. His sixth sense hadn’t gone off. Was this Beck’s tech again? The man was reaching forward, catching his arms with one hand and going straight for the mask. “These costumes keep getting better and better, I mean, did you sew this yourself? It’s a little early for…”
His words froze, just as his mask slipped above his nose, sticking to his sweaty forehead. Peter wasn’t sure what exactly he looked like—hyperventilating, scared, angry—but the fake Tony Stark gasped, going pale. “ Peter ?” He breathed, a few different emotions flickering across his face before his brows scrunched, settling into a confused frustration.
“What is this?” He demanded, tightening his hold and pushing him further back into the tree. “What kind of face distortion tech are you using, copying a dead kid?” He sounded mad, disgusted, the cold metal of his gauntlets going once again for his face. Peter mustered his strength, inhaling sharply and lifting his legs up, leaning hard into the trunk and kicking outwards, sending the suit flying. There were indents in the metal where his feet had collided, and Peter felt a glimmer of satisfaction and he jumped to his feet, yanking his mask back on.
The Iron Man suit was quick to recover, clanking as it regained balance. Peter slipped into a defensive position, his head spinning. It didn’t matter who was wearing the mask, or who they pretended to be—they were wearing a fully automated suit, and they seemed to know how to use it.
“What type of freaky clone are you,” The man groaned as the machinery whirred around him. The gauntlets seemed to be powering up, a noise indicating the power thrumming into his palms, lifting to Peter’s chest.
He stayed still, breathing through his nose and focusing his senses. If he needed to dodge, he would need to do it with a clear head. He felt his hands shaking. “You’re one to talk. You’re not supposed to be here,” He spat, feeling his eyes begin to burn. “You’ve been dead for years,”
The gauntlet didn’t waver, pointed straight at his heart, but his face remained exposed, conflicted. “What are you talking about?”
Peter heard the emotion in his voice, the genuine confusion, the familiar suspicion. His mind began to comb through the past few hours, trying to pinpoint any explanation as to how he’d gotten there. He was just in Queens, in 2026, where Tony Stark had been dead for just about three years. He had been in Queens, after fighting a monster with Dr. Strange and the new Captain America and the Winter Soldier. He had been in Queens, where no one knew who Peter Parker was.
So how did he get to the lake house? Why was Tony Stark telling him he wasn’t real? Why was he frozen on the spot?
“I’m not supposed to be here,” He whispered, and time seemed to slow.
The man before him seemed baffled, if not distrustful, his eyes flashing as the words left his mouth. Before he could respond, Peter lashed out, slamming his web shooters and hitting the man right in the face, then at the gauntlet, then at his feet. There was a moment where he paused, wide eyed, as the man gagged and spluttered, off balance. A shot of energy fired out of his palm, instinctively, whizzing past his shoulder, shooting blind.
Peter felt dizzy, caught between exhaustion and adrenaline. Then, he turned on his heel and ran.