Chapter Text
He really should have known better. He should have at least been prepared, but he wasn’t. He should have known that in whatever spot he was in in the previous universe would be the spot he’d appear in in the new.
So, when Peter went from flashing a peace sign to the older Peter Parker while standing on a tacky, oversized bronze shield, to suddenly treading the icy water of the Hudson, he felt like a complete moron.
“Oh, come on—” Peter sputtered as he began kicking in the water, the cold sending a shock through his body. Of course there wasn’t a shield in his own universe—whatever that Captain USA or what’s-his-name-from-that-Avengers-band was called—didn’t exist, therefore there was no shield, hence no solid surface blocking him from the river.
Peter coughed harshly as he broke the surface. It was still night here, he realized, as it was just beginning to be morning in Peter One’s universe. The soft waves were an inky black, and the lights of the city still shone brightly. In the eastern sky, the soft tendrils of purple began to show, a promise of the immanent sunrise.
Swimming closer to the dock, Peter reached an arm out to shoot a web against the Statue of Liberty. It was his Statue of Liberty, in his world, that didn’t have any scaffolding or signs of construction, just the same statue he’d always known. The web attached securely to the faded copper, and he pulled himself out of the freezing water, landing on the side of the statue.
Crouching there, he took a moment to breathe.
He was home, he thought, back to the world he’d known before. But this time, the waves of the Hudson looked a little softer, the lights of the city gleamed like stars, and the statue herself—which welcomed so many immigrants to the country’s shore—seemed to promise something new. He’d left his universe bitter and resentful, but he felt different now. The events of the previous day were enough to energize him with a new sense of worth. He was able to save Peter One’s Gwen—or, MJ—from a fate similar to Gwen’s. Peter had spent the last eight years replaying Gwen’s death over and over in his mind, trying to determine how he could have saved her, and this time it worked. MJ was alive.
He had done it.
The eastern horizon now showed a softer shade of purple, breaking slightly into pink. Peter admired it for a second, before shooting a web towards the statue’s torch, and pulling himself up to the very top. There, he sat against the flame—leaning against it comfortably—and watched the sunrise.
It felt like a promise for something new.
Peter’s footsteps echoed against the brink wall to his left, the sounds of gravel crushing beneath his feet. The sun had fallen, with the sidewalks illuminated by streetlights lining the avenue. Soon enough he’d arrived at his destination.
It was a simple-looking front, built into a pre-war building next to a bodega and a closed Subway. Red neon lights flashed before the glass windows, one of which highlighted that the establishment was open. The other displayed the name of the place in neat cursive: the Black Rose.
Peter had passed by this place many times. It was only a few blocks from his apartment, the closest bar near his apartment, and it appeared to cater to locals rather than tourists or out-of-towners.
It was just the type of place Peter thought he could meet some friends. Actual real-life friends. Peter didn’t really have any at this point in his life. After Harry had betrayed him, and the loss of Gwen, Peter never felt the desire to get close to anyone. He realized his loneliness probably showed when he met Peter One and Peter Two, both of whom seemed a little overwhelmed by his own enthusiasm to have “brothers”. After he’d returned from Peter One’s universe, he realized how alone he’d been in the past eight years. He decided he probably needed some friends, but how does one make friends in their early thirties? The only conclusion Peter could come to was to meet people at a bar. And he settled on the Black Rose.
Taking a deep breath, Peter approached the entrance and opened the door.
Immediately he was welcomed with the smell of greasy bar food and beer, and the sound of conversations and laughter. The bar was dimly lit in soft Edison lights—kind of hipster, Peter thought—and decorated with what appeared to be middle English décor. Groups of patrons filled some of the tables—all of whom looked young, maybe a little younger than Peter. Even less spots were taken at the bar, where only three men sat, two were together and chatting, while the last sat alone, hunched over a tall pint of beer.
Peter swallowed hard. Nobody looked at him when he came in, which he was thankful for. Everyone seemed to be there with someone, and all of them seemed so deep in conversations with their groups that he wondered if they had room for him.
“Oh, man,” Peter muttered under his breath. What was he thinking? That he would just waltz in and start chatting with random people and making friends? He was so blind in his sudden post-multiverse enthusiasm that he overlooked how exactly he was supposed to befriend people. Maybe he should leave, he thought. Maybe he wasn’t ready.
“Hey, tiger!”
Peter was surprised by a friendly female voice just to his right. He turned to see a young woman about his age with a mess of curly red hair and dark skin with freckles. She had a gorgeous, bright smile and dark eyes, which were directly right at him. In her right hand she held a tray of open beer bottles. “You look a little lost. You meeting someone here?”
“Oh, um…” Peter stammered, looking at his feet. “No, actually. I just thought I’d…” I’d what? He thought. Make new friends? Make some besties for the resties? Have buddies to have sleepovers and eat pizza with?
Seriously, what the hell was he doing?
The woman seemed to sense his discomfort, and she flashed him a sympathetic smile. “Well there are some spots at the bar, just give me a minute to run these drinks and I’ll get you a beer. How’s that?” She grinned at him, not mockingly at all, but genuine.
“Sure, thanks.” Peter said gratefully.
She turned to deliver her drinks to one of the tables, and Peter made his way to the bar. He took a seat and pulled off his jacket, taking stock of the area. The two men talking together appeared to be a little older than him—which was nice to see that he wasn’t the oldest person in the bar—and wore simple threadbare work clothes, possibly two construction workers after a shift. The other man—sitting alone across the bar from Peter—wore a baseball cap over what looked like dark curls past his ears. His arms were decorated with black tattoos that emerged from beneath the sleeves of his black t-shirt.
Peter wasn’t left waiting long, as the woman returned with her empty tray, taking a spot behind the bar to face Peter. “Alright, what can I get ya this evening? What are you feeling?”
Peter really didn’t drink much, so he wasn’t even sure what he wanted. “Um…what would you recommend?”
The server smirked. “How about a Bud Light?”
“Sure, thank you.”
She stepped to the side to grab a frosted glass and began filling it through the tap. “I’m Marissa, by the way.”
Peter sighed, feeling more at ease. “I’m Peter.”
“You live in the neighborhood, Peter?” She asked as she set the glass of beer before him.
Peter nodded as he reached for his glass. “Yeah, just a few blocks down the road. Always passed by this place but never stopped in. Decided to try it tonight.” He took a sip of the beer, which was delightfully cold and bitter.
“Well, we’re happy to have you here, Peter.” Marissa said with a friendly smile. “Just holler if you need me, okay.”
“Sounds great, thank you.” Peter said as he watched her move to the other end of the bar. She quietly poured another glass for the single tattooed patron at the other end of the bar, seemingly aware of what he needed without asking. He must be a regular, Peter mused.
Some minutes went by with Peter sipping his drink and observing the crowd within. While he wasn’t exactly making friends at the moment, he had spoken with the bartender and that was a start.
A man in his mid-twenties appeared next to him at the bar. He wore a yellow flannel shirt with a beanie and had a dusting of dark facial hair. “Marissa! Love!”
Marissa turned from where she was cleaning glasses and locked eyes with the man.
“Another round please!” He pulled a wallet from his back pocket and began riffling through it, before suddenly making eye contact with Peter. “Hey man, I’ll be out of your way in a sec.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Peter replied.
While Marissa was preparing the man’s drinks, the man began studying Peter closely, his brows furrowing. “Dude, I think I know you.”
“Oh?” Peter got a little nervous. Whenever someone said that to him, an inkling of fear made him wonder if it was some criminal he’d dealt with who recognized his voice, his shape, something, and it was enough to make him a little paranoid.
“Yeah, you come to the bodega next door?”
Relief washed over Peter, “Yeah, I do.”
“Oh man, I work there! I think I’ve cashed you out.”
“Oh wow, yeah dude.” Peter said, recognition finally kicking in. He remembered the man, who would typically be reading comic books whenever he dropped in. Peter was usually so occupied with other thoughts that he never really paid attention. He held out his hand. “I’m Peter, by the way.”
The man accepted his hand and shook it, “Mack, good to meet you, man. Hey, let me buy you a drink.”
“Oh no, I can’t possibly…”
“No, I insist man.” Mack said. “And you should come sit with us, get to know some of the neighborhood.” He motioned to the group of four other patrons he’d been sitting with, who were all deep in conversation.
“I…wow,” Peter said, touched by the offer, “That’s really cool of you.”
Mack stepped a little closer, his voice going softer. “I’ll be honest, I’m inviting you over because that blonde girl over there.” He motioned his head to one of the women at his table. “Was totally giving you the eyes when you came in. We were giving her shit but she insisted she wasn’t. But seriously, come over if you want to hang out with some cool people.”
Peter looked at the table. He realized this was his chance, and while it was certainly based on ulterior motives, he didn’t want to turn down the opportunity. “Sure, why not, man?”
“Awesome!” Mack said. They made their way to the table, where the four other friends caught sight of Peter coming their way with Mack. Peter noticed the blonde turn a little pale, which he made him chuckle quietly.
“Guys, this is Peter. Peter, this is Gale, Jonathan, Reece, and Conner.” He said, pointing out each one as he spoke.
Peter greeted them and sat down with the table. He was surprised to learn he enjoyed spending time with them, even spending a few hours at the bar longer than he’d anticipated. When he was invited to join them back again, he knew he wouldn’t refuse.