It would be a disservice to Dr. Ratha to say that the tension he'd caused had left with him. Instead it lingered like fog, like mist that clung to the ground on a cold morning, like clouds caught on mountaintops. It was suffocating. Peter sucked in a shallow breath through his teeth.
In contrast to the uncomfortable atmosphere, the sound of ever-moving sewage water provided an almost calming background hum, like that of soothing waterfalls or rushing rivers – but infinitely more disgusting and foul-smelling. It had worked to hide the sound of Dr. Connors' approaching footsteps when he'd first arrived and presumably it'd done the same for Peter when he'd stumbled upon Dr. Ratha.
After spending so long wandering the sewers, Peter had become strangely used to it, to the point of unconsciously ignoring it. He strained against it now, a pointless endeavor, as if he'd be able to hear Dr. Ratha's footsteps fade as he left until he was long out of earshot.
He couldn't, of course. Instead, the main indicator of that was when Dr. Connors, who could actually see around the bend from where he was standing, finally turned towards Peter, expression curious in a way that Peter couldn't quite decipher. Dr. Connors didn't say anything however, and simply stepped up and into the lab space proper, walking over to the crowded desk pushed up against the wall. Rather than trying to clear space, he deposited the large bag slung over his shoulder upon the stool with a dull thud. The legs of the stool, likely uneven in some way, rattled against the concrete.
Peter watched him a little blankly. Well, technically, he had come here to find Dr. Connors.
"...Doc?" Peter said into the ensuing silence.
Dr. Connors turned towards him, lips pursed in thought, as though Peter's very presence here was some sort of anomaly that he didn't fully understand. Resting his hand on top of the contents of the bag, he said, "Peter, how did you know about this place?"
Peter blinked. "Oh, uh… I followed you," he said automatically.
Unlike the excuse he'd given Dr. Ratha, that was actually just the plain old truth. But Dr. Connors squinted at him as though he'd said something that was blatantly incorrect, and Peter's brain caught up with his mouth a split second later.
Right. Hadn't happened yet. And this time around, Peter was already here when Dr. Connors arrived.
"I mean, like," Peter hastened to add, "before. Uh…"
Peter squeezed his eyes shut. Wait, how was he supposed to explain that he'd followed him here in a future that no longer existed? Although Dr. Connors would obviously know about the whole other universe thing because he'd been there, the time travel part was new, wasn't it? Peter hadn't exactly talked with him much at all in the other universe, and even if he had, there was always a possibility he'd assume that Peter would go back to his own time, just as Peter himself had assumed before he'd woken up in the here and now instead.
Actually, for all Dr. Connors knew, seventeen-year-old Peter Parker had randomly stumbled upon his secret lab with no explanation.
"Really?" Dr. Connors said with interest, unaware of the way Peter was scrambling to put together a coherent explanation in his head. Peter couldn't see his face with his eyes still closed, but he could practically hear his raised eyebrows in tone alone. Not particularly judgmental, just curious.
"Yeah," Peter said quickly, trying to get his thoughts in order. "Okay – okay, okay, so, you know the whole, um. Different universe thing?"
"Ah." Dr. Connors' head dipped in acknowledgement. "Yes, actually, I was intending to ask you about that."
Peter worked his jaw for a second before continuing. "So when we got pulled from here to – to there, it wasn't just from now, it was also from the future. And – like, in the future…"
"You followed me here?" Dr. Connors finished for him.
"...Yeah," Peter said and then fell silent, trying to gauge his reaction.
Dr. Connors eyed him consideringly. "Fascinating," he said eventually. "So you're like Max, then."
Peter blinked. Oh, right. To Dr. Connors, Max would be from the future too. And they knew each other – or, well, they'd met, at least. Or… fought together. Fighting together probably qualified as knowing each other, right?
Either way, that was a fair comparison to make.
"Uh – yeah? Yeah."
Peter was from farther in the future, though – a lot farther. Over a decade.
"So I assume you're familiar with him?" Dr. Connors asked, which was – wait. Had he not heard Peter talking to Max at the Statue of Liberty? Well… actually, that was completely understandable, because Peter could barely hear himself for, like, the entire beginning of that fight, because of the literal giant sandstorm guy engulfing everything. It was like being in a hurricane.
Thankfully, Peter had never encountered any giant sandstorm people in his life outside of that one freak encounter in another universe, so maybe he'd be able to live free of it forever. He didn't envy Peter Two at all. He didn't even want to imagine having to clean out sand from every crack and corner and seam. And plus, if it was part of a guy, did that mean that it was, like, a grain of his kidney or his eyeball or something? Awful.
But yes, Peter knew Max – not that well or anything, but he knew him.
"Uh-huh," he confirmed, and then felt compelled to add, a little wistfully, "He used to be really nice, y'know, before he started… trying to kill me."
"Oh," Dr. Connors said, placid despite that statement. "I see."
That description also kind of applied to Dr. Connors too, actually. Peter wondered whether or not he realized that.
"Well, I must say I'm surprised," Dr. Connors said, after a beat. "I didn't expect you to beat me here. I was just at the lab; Emma told me you'd just come by looking for me. Apparently I just missed you."
Peter shrugged, a little sheepish. "Oh, yeah, I just… wanted to see if you were okay. Like, after everything."
Abandoning his bag on the stool, Dr. Connors walked over to Peter and put his hand on his shoulder. His grip was firm and warm and very human. "Thank you," he said, sincere. "For what you've done for me. I apologize, I wasn't able to tell you earlier. I'm afraid I lost track of you at the Statue of Liberty."
Peter stared. The first time around, Dr. Connors' life had become so irreparably ruined by the time he was cured that there'd really been no recovering from it. What had stuck with Peter was how broken he'd looked afterwards. A defeated man; a shaken, miserable shadow of his former self. Murdering Captain Stacy had been the final nail in the coffin – there was no coming back from that.
In his peripheral vision, Peter could see the lab: the open laptop, the table packed with vials, containers, and trays. The extra computer monitors displaying various diagrams, and the map with Oscorp Tower highlighted in red.
The wall before the main table was packed tight with the scrawlings of a brilliant man whose mind was gripped by madness. At a glance, it was clear the information on it was mostly coherent – a testament to Dr. Connors' intelligence – but the overly passionate, obsessive desire to evolve the human race was distinctly unsettling. It was like Peter could almost track the decay of his mind as the writing continued and became increasingly more unhinged.
All of it, pieces of a plan that had never come to be. Not this time, at least. But he'd been close. Very close to the point of no return.
The Dr. Connors of the here and now looked like… himself. He looked better. This was the face of a man who could still get his life back on track.
Peter sucked his lips in over his teeth before releasing them. "...That's okay," he said, a little numbly. "Uh – you're welcome."
Dr. Connors patted him on the shoulder and pulled away, leaning up against the side of the table.
"So," he said, thoughtful. "I suppose you being here now means Max is likely in the same boat."
"Huh?" Peter paused. Blinked. "Oh, yeah – I guess so."
Actually, that did kind of make sense – as much as time travel via magic ever made sense, at least. Dr. Connors wasn't temporally displaced, but everyone else – meaning him and Max – had apparently gotten chucked back several years to accompany him.
…Peter had no idea how or why that was the case beyond vague guesses, but at least it was consistent.
"Max didn't show up to work today," Dr. Connors informed him. "I wasn't sure whether or not it was related to what happened in the… other universe, or if he was simply out sick."
Peter frowned. Max wouldn't be much of a danger without electricity powers, but it'd still probably be good to check on him too, even if it was just to reassure him that, no, he wasn't crazy, this was the past, and yes, they really did all travel to another universe and back.
"Do you know where I can find him?" Peter asked.
"I'm not aware of where he lives." Dr. Connors gave him a slightly rueful look. "I'm not that close with him, Peter."
"Oh. Yeah. Uh, never mind."
"I'll let you know when he comes back in again, alright?" he offered, reassuring. "If you'd like to give me your phone number, I can leave you a message – or I can have Gwen contact you."
Ice formed in Peter's gut. He'd prefer Gwen stay uninvolved, even in something like this, where there was very little chance of any real danger. He just… he couldn't risk anything happening to her. Not again. Not ever.
Maybe it was a little much to worry about something as simple as Dr. Connors having Gwen play messenger to inform him about Max, but what if she asked questions? She would totally ask questions. Anything Spider-Man-related was off limits for Gwen. And, yeah, maybe it was kind of paranoid, but that paranoia would keep her safe.
"Um, I can give you my number."
Digging into his pants pocket, Peter fished out his cell phone… and then proceeded to stop and stare. It was just… old. It had an actual physical keyboard he could slide out. The screen was smaller compared to the cell phones of 2024, and the whole thing was just… outdated. He pressed a finger to the button on its side, lighting up the screen, and was fascinated all over again by the design of the user interface.
Dr. Connors' voice cut his examination short. "Is something the matter?"
Peter glanced up at Dr. Connors and chuckled a little, awkward. "Uh," he said, and sputtered. "I-I just. I dunno." He flipped the phone over in his hands. It was so tiny. "Cell phones, they – they change, in the future."
Technically, it wasn't that big of a change – it wasn't like he was handling a rotary phone and comparing that to a cell phone. But it wasn't about the amount of major differences so much as the fact that this was his phone, and the weird clash of I vaguely recognize this layout versus the spot where I would unthinkingly press is wrong now made every minor change stand out.
And sure, Peter had shoved it into his pocket that morning – and the size had thrown him off then, too – but he'd been in a rush and hadn't taken time to examine it. But now that he had to actually use it, and could really get a closer, longer look it was incredibly interesting to see how technology evolved over time.
Cell phones had only gotten bigger as time went on. And he no longer saw anyone with physical keyboards anymore, either. Peter pushed the keyboard out with a gentle click. There was something oddly nostalgic about it.
Dr. Connors eyed him, curious. "How far in the future are you from, Peter?"
Peter paused, biting at his lower lip as he pulled up his cell phone's list of contacts. "Uh… a little over twelve years."
Putting it into words as an actual concrete number somehow made it sound like more than what it felt like. Peter didn't remember every detail of his high school years, but he didn't really consider it so, so long ago in an overall sense – but saying twelve years out loud expanded the distance tenfold.
Dr. Connors took a moment to calculate that. "You're twenty-nine."
"Yeah."
Dr. Connors' eyebrows lifted as he considered Peter rather pointedly.
Gesturing at himself, Peter hastened to add, "But I mean, like, not – it's like, I think I – took over my own body…?"
Everything sounded worse when he actually said it out loud. It was true, though – the reflection he'd glimpsed that morning in the bathroom mirror was a fresh-faced and clean shaven teenager, who definitely looked more than a little bewildered to be in the year 2012.
Peter grimaced and announced, "Anyway, I got – my phone. Here."
They exchanged numbers. Dr. Connors couldn't call Peter's number to verify because they were so far underground that there was no connection, but that was fine. Peter remembered his own cell phone number, at least. That was something that had remained the same even in the future; it wasn't like his locker combination, which had been so temporary and fleeting that it was really no surprise that he'd long since forgotten it.
Peter jammed his cell phone back into his pocket, running his hand through his hair in a restless gesture that ultimately served no purpose besides reminding him of the fact that he was definitely sweating in the gross, muggy atmosphere of the sewers.
Dr. Connors was still considering him, apparently intrigued by the whole time traveler situation. Peter shifted on his feet as Dr. Connors asked, "Is Max also from twelve years in the future?"
Peter took a second to think about it and bit the inside of his cheek, squinting in concentration. "No, maybe like… one, two years…?" he ventured, hesitant. He didn't know the exact dates of when the whole thing with Max had happened, let alone the exact point he would've gotten plucked from this universe into another one. "But the last time I saw him, he was blue. So I dunno. I never saw him with the… the yellow."
Dr. Connors let out a contemplative hm. "Do you think it's possible he's from even further in the future?"
Peter faltered a little and glanced downwards, catching his own warped reflection in the shining silver surface of one of the many trays on the table. "...I don't think so," he said at length.
Max couldn't be from further in the future because Peter had killed him.
"Ah."
Silence. Before Dr. Connors could question that statement or before the pause got too long and awkward – one or the other – Peter shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and announced, maybe a little abruptly, "Um, I had something – something I wanted to ask you, actually…"
"What is it?"
"That man from, uh – from earlier. Dr. Ratha." Peter watched carefully as Dr. Connors' expression grew oddly weary. "How d'you know him?"
Dr. Connors let out a breath. Evidently, Dr. Ratha was not his favorite subject of discussion. "Dr. Rajit Ratha is the Director of Business Development in the Biogenetic Division of Oscorp here in Manhattan. I suppose you could say he's my… boss."
"Oh." Mimicking Dr. Ratha's movement from earlier, Peter pawed at his cheek with his fingertips. "What… happened to his face?"
Dr. Connors' expression sunk in regret. "That… was my doing," he said, his gaze falling ashamedly to the ground beneath his feet. "I wasn't – in my right mind. I was… angry…" A pause. Dr. Connors visibly reigned in whatever feelings he had about the matter, brows creasing upon his forehead before relaxing again. "I was trying to stop him from testing the serum on the patients in the hospital. I should have handled it better."
"The hospital?" Wait, Peter had never known about that. Stopping one Lizard was bad enough; the thought of having to stop hoards of them sounded like a nightmare. Then, a terrible thought struck him like a bolt of lightning. "Do you think he'd try and do it again?"
Dr. Connors frowned. "No; he doesn't need to test it because he knows it works." There was a meaningful pause as Dr. Connors looked directly at him. "On you."
"Oh."
And Peter had just let that man walk away with a flash drive full of dangerous research.
But… something about this just wasn't adding up. If there was a man like that who was so intent on getting cross-species genetics to work because he had a prime example in Spider-Man, wouldn't Oscorp have been out to get him long before Harry had decided he needed Spider-Man's blood?
Peter frowned, trying to follow that train of thought, but not having any clear answers. "Where was he before?" he wondered, half to himself.
"I'm afraid I can't help you when it comes to before," Dr. Connors told him, a little wryly. "Perhaps you'd have better luck asking someone like Max."
"Yeah…" he said, distractedly. He was going to have to map this out later or something.
Leaving Peter to his thoughts, Dr. Connors turned meaningfully towards the table at his back, practically overflowing with papers and folders – but instead of reaching for any of that, he pulled open the bag that was still waiting patiently upon the stool.
"Before I forget," he said, and pushed the sides so that they slid down, revealing the bulky object within, which was – a box… a camera box…? "This is for you."
Peter tipped his head to one side and eased closer. It took a second to fully register what he was looking at, but as soon as he did, he sucked in a breath so sharply that he almost choked on his own saliva. "I–" he began, his tongue instantly in knots in his mouth. "I-I can't take this, it's, it's – this is really expensive. This is – did you know this is really expensive? Because th- I can't. I can't."
Dr. Connors waited patiently for Peter to finish the spiel of mostly-nonsense he'd blurted before speaking again. "Recently, you left your camera down here – and I destroyed it. I'm sorry about that," he said, chagrined. "The least I could do is replace it."
Peter stared, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I-I didn't even remember the camera," he confessed truthfully. It was just so long ago. "You didn't have to do that."
Dr. Connors ignored his protest, continuing on smoothly. "You'll have to forgive me; I couldn't determine the model of your old camera," he said, as if that was some sad, unfortunate negative when he was literally giving Peter a camera. "Cameras aren't really in my area of expertise, you understand."
"But, but – I can't take this," Peter insisted, even as Dr. Connors handed him the box, which Peter held onto reflexively. He looked down at the price tag beneath his chin, which innocently proclaimed that the object within was worth a whopping $485. "I mean, I… I don't think my old camera even cost this much."
Dr. Connors gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. "Just consider it a thank-you for helping me, then."
But didn't that just make it worse? Peter had caused the problem by giving Dr. Connors his father's equation and now he was getting rewarded for fixing it? That was like if he'd set fire to a building but put it out later. And then got hundreds of dollars for it.
Dr. Connors, however, clearly didn't have any of the same reservations that Peter was internally grappling with. Peter wavered beneath his gaze. Knowing he wasn't going to convince Dr. Connors to, like, take it back and return it – which would actually just cause even more of a hassle for him, probably – Peter let out a breath.
"I- ...Thank you," he said, still a little reluctant.
Dr. Connors gave him a kindly look as his hand left Peter's shoulder. Apparently considering that conversation over, he turned and began sifting through the mess of contents atop the table, moving several large folders into the now-emptied bag.
Peter watched him, openly curious. "What're you gonna do with all that?" he asked, eyeing the scattered papers currently being put away.
Dr. Connors deposited a couple of containers – one clear and full of Q-tips, the others opaque plastic and sealed tight – into the open bag, atop the stacked folders. He let out a sigh. "I'm going to clean this all up, I suppose – take it back to Oscorp to be disposed of."
Peter nodded, but bit at the inside of his cheek. "But – Dr. Ratha already took some of it on his flash drive…"
"You don't need to worry about that," Dr. Connors said, reassuringly. "He can't do anything with it, unless he has, well… the key." Here, his gaze settled meaningfully upon Peter, inscrutable. And although Peter liked Dr. Connors for the most part – he really did seem like a good man – there was still something unsettling about it. It was like Peter was the answer to some unsolvable puzzle, some sort of miracle.
Peter's gaze dropped to his shoes, uncomfortable.
"Do you know why it worked on you, Peter?" Dr. Connors asked, his full attention now on him, eyes intent.
Peter made very reluctant eye contact before immediately breaking it again. He shrugged and shook his head at the same time. "...No," he said, stiffly. "Sorry."
A lie. It tasted like oil on his tongue. He very deliberately kept his expression neutral.
Dr. Connors' disappointment was clear, but he didn't let it taint his attitude. Seeming to visibly shake off the weight of whatever hope he'd put into that question, he let out a sigh. "Well," he said, finally. "I don't want to keep you for too long. I'm sure you have things to catch up on."
It was a clear dismissal. And it was also an unpleasant reminder of the fact that Peter definitely did have things to catch up on, seeing as he was more or less stumbling through his old life because he'd forgotten what it was like to live it.
"Feel free to come by the lab anytime," said Dr. Connors. "You're always welcome at Oscorp."
As soon as Peter stepped foot outside the sewer system and took a deep breath of fresh air, the reality of his situation hit him like a bus. Mainly, now that he'd accomplished his goal of checking in on Dr. Connors, the looming fact that he was going to have to relive the past twelve years of his life was suddenly something that he was very aware of.
What would that be like, to relive twelve whole years? To reinsert himself in his own past and pretend like he just belonged there? There was something almost scary about it. Like… even though he'd traveled that road before, it'd been natural – step by step, in order. People didn't think about the future as much when it was an unknown thing that they were slowly walking towards, but being booted back twelve years made him extremely conscious of it.
And it wasn't that he was unhappy with it. After Gwen died, Peter's life had never really regained the spark her presence brought in. He'd dropped out of college and had lived his life stuck in a miserable, rotten rut of grief and bitterness that he trudged through every day like molasses. Spider-Man's reputation had gone down the drain and never really recovered.
Peter Parker had never really recovered either.
The opportunity to keep Gwen alive, to keep her father alive, to actually be better… That was a good thing. And he really did cherish that, truly.
But that didn't change the fact that there was just something inherently daunting about having to relive his life. It was a strange feeling, to be grateful for a fresh start, yet oddly uneasy about the sheer prospect.
These thoughts consumed him all the way back home – something that actually turned out to be a problem, because he unthinkingly went in the direction of his old (to-be?) apartment before belatedly remembering that he still lived with Aunt May.
For the first time in a long time, Peter didn't go out of his way seeking out crime to stop. Part of the reason for that was the $485 camera that he'd crammed into his backpack after getting out of the sewers; there was just no way he was going to leave his backpack anywhere now. Not with that in it.
The other reason, something that he was beginning to dread, was the fact that as someone who had graduated high school over a decade ago, Peter was certain he remembered very little of the content he needed to know for his classes. Especially when it came to detailed information related to specific lessons within those classes – things he would need to know for any quizzes or tests or anything of the sort. He hadn't really been listening to the teachers today. He'd been too distracted by Gwen, by the need to see Dr. Connors, by the sheer confusion of having to remember where to sit and where to go, and, and, and…
Aunt May was waiting for him when he came home.
She looked up sharply from the onions she was cutting in the kitchen, surprise clear on her face, as if she hadn't expected him to be there. Peter faltered in the entryway, thrown off by her shock, and they both shared slightly confused looks.
"You're home early," she observed. Before Peter could say anything in response to that – not that he really knew what he'd say – she asked, "Did you get the eggs?"
"...What?"
She gave him a long, disappointed look, like she hadn't really expected anything different, like she was resigned to his apparent failure in this regard. Peter genuinely had no idea what she was talking about.
"The eggs," she repeated, as if saying it again would clarify things. Maybe it would've been a sufficient reminder if he wasn't from twelve years in the future, but since he was, this meant nothing. "Remember?"
Peter squinted at her. He did not, in fact, remember some random errand she'd given to him twelve years ago. "...Yeahhhh…" he said, slowly. He took a step back. "Uh, 'course I remember. I can… get them now?"
She gave him a strange look, probably picking up on the very obvious lie, but didn't comment on it. Instead, her gaze flicked to the window and back, and she sighed. "No, don't worry about it tonight. It's already getting dark."
"...Sorry," he said, awkward. Then, after a beat of silence, "Um, what – what kind of eggs did you want again…?"
He was pretty sure it was organic, because even though organic was more expensive and they'd been tighter on money after Uncle Ben's death, Aunt May had been determined they eat healthy. So yeah, he was pretty sure… but not completely sure, because sometimes, when money was especially tight, due to some sort of unforeseen expense or another – like a punctured tire – they temporarily avoided the organics.
Aunt May gave him a slightly incredulous look. "Peter, I told you this before–" she began, unimpressed.
"Yeah, well, uh, tell me again," he said quickly, cutting her off before she could tear into him for it.
She let out a huff. "Organic," she said, pointedly. "Preferably a dozen."
"Right. Right, right, right. Got it." He added it to the mental list of things he needed to remember. Just another small day-to-day detail that had escaped the harried time traveler. "Tomorrow," Peter told her. "Promise."
She didn't look like she believed him all that much, which he couldn't help but feel mildly offended by, because he would get them for her – like, come on. It wasn't like getting eggs was some monumental impossible-to-fulfill task.
Darting over, Peter pressed a kiss to her cheek, and then proceeded to turn and bolt up the stairs.
"Peter, where are you going? Dinner's going to be ready soon!" Aunt May called after him, sounding flabbergasted by his abrupt retreat.
"Gotta study!" he called back down the stairs, already halfway up and to his room. And that was the truth. Although Peter rarely had to dedicate an unnecessarily long amount of time to homework and studying before because he picked things up pretty fast, today was an exception, because… well. The reason was obvious.
Peter shut the door behind him, and let out a long, slow exhale as his backpack slid from his shoulders and onto the floor, resigning himself to a very, very long night of completely relearning class material.