Chapter Text
It all started with an explosion.
Not the good kind — the “ooh, fireworks!” kind. No. This was the “someone set the microwave to ‘nuclear’” kind of explosion.
A bright blue rift split the air in the Sanctum Sanctorum. Ancient tomes flew off shelves. Candles flickered and sputtered out. Tony Stark screamed, “MY EYEBROWS!” while trying to bat away magical sparks with an Iron Man gauntlet repurposed as a salad tong.
Doctor Stephen Strange stood in the middle, hands weaving frantic sigils. “THIS IS FINE,” he yelled, voice an octave too high to be believable.
Peter Parker, flailing in midair, shrieked, “I thought you said you had it under control!!”
“I DID!” Stephen snapped back, dodging a flying toaster.
But it was too late. The energy swirl contracted, expanded — and then BOOM.
The entire group vanished into the rift in a single, comedic “pop!” like a group of mismatched balloons.
They landed in a filthy alleyway.
Peter Parker — now sixteen again — sat up first, rubbing his head. “Ugh… my everything hurts.”
Natasha Romanoff, seventeen, looked around and scowled. “Great. Another universe. This better not be one of those where everyone is a cowboy.”
Sam Wilson (seventeen), halfway through unfurling tiny wings, gasped. “I swear these are even smaller than last time! Why am I de-aging every time we get teleported?!”
Matt Murdock, sixteen, tapped around and listened. “The city… it sounds… wrong. Darker. More crime. More sadness. More… pigeons.”
Clint Barton, seventeen, rolled over and groaned. “Ow. Did anyone get the number of that interdimensional bus that hit me?”
Loki (seventeen) laughed so hard he nearly choked. “I haven't had this much fun since I turned Thor into a frog!”
Thor (seventeen), sitting on a pile of trash bags, wiped goo from his hair. “I DO NOT WISH TO REPEAT THAT EXPERIENCE.”
Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner both looked eighteen-ish. Steve inspected his now-younger arms, frowning like he'd discovered a broken shield. Bruce pulled out his glasses and hyperventilated into his shirt.
Tony Stark and Stephen Strange, the only two still physically in their twenties besides from Bucky (because magic is cruel but also a little selective), looked around in horror.
Tony sighed. “If this is another dimension, I swear on Pepper’s herbal tea collection I’m leaving you all here.”
Stephen ignored him, running his hands across the ground. “This… this place is different. I can feel the ley lines. The energy… it’s corrupted, stitched together by grief and fear. We’re not just in another city. We’re in another universe.”
Everyone paused.
Peter’s voice cracked. “Like… different timeline… or different franchise-level different?”
Stephen looked up, grim. “Different franchise.”
The skyline around them was pure Gotham: gothic spires, gargoyles perched like nosy old women, neon signs flickering in alleys that reeked of crime. The moon hung huge and judging in the sky.
Peter turned to Tony. “What do we do? We don’t have IDs, we don’t have shelter, we don’t have… anything.”
Tony looked around, then sighed deeply. “Alright. Emergency Stark Plan #73: ‘We’re Totally Normal Exchange Students.’”
Peter sputtered. “That’s a plan?!”
Tony nodded solemnly. “We’ll create false IDs, find a house, claim you’re all my younger cousins. Except Bucky — he can be the weird older brother who lives in the shed.”
Bucky, lurking near the trash, gave a thumbs up without even looking.
Tony cracked open a hidden StarkPad (somehow, it survived the magic blast — probably because it’s been reinforced more than the Hulk’s pants).
Bruce hunched next to him, hacking municipal records like he was ordering pizza. “Okay, okay… forging school records… easy enough… Gotham Prep…”
Matt started hyperventilating. “Not high school again. Not again. I can hear the hormonal nightmares from here.”
Clint screamed from across the alley. “I FOUND A RAT! I NAMED HIM JERRY!”
Natasha threw a rock at him.
Peter, meanwhile, found a loose brick and began cleaning. “We need to disinfect everything before we do anything else. Gotham bacteria is probably extra unhinged.”
Thor poked an abandoned vending machine. “Does this realm have mead?”
Loki grinned. “If not, we shall make our own.”
By sheer hacking brilliance (and possibly mild extortion of a corrupt city official), Bruce and Tony secured an abandoned brownstone in a sketchy part of town.
The place looked haunted, smelled like wet socks and sadness, and had more leaks than an Avengers group chat.
Sam immediately flew up to fix roof tiles.
Natasha and Clint began booby-trapping windows “just in case.”
Thor declared the pantry his room again, bellowing “VICTORY!”
Peter swept, scrubbed, disinfected. His little teenage shoulders shook as he tried to wrestle a mop taller than him.
Loki claimed the attic, naturally. “I shall become the goblin of the upper realms.”
Steve solemnly folded sheets in a corner. “Clean quarters make for strong morals.”
Bruce muttered chemical equations while sterilizing every surface.
Tony collapsed on a broken chair. “I need five drinks and a therapist.”
By midnight, everyone had new fake IDs — courtesy of Stark genius and Bruce’s terrifying hacker brain.
They were all officially listed as Tony’s "many cousins" from “various European boarding schools.” Even Loki.
Peter: “How is Loki from Europe?”
Tony: “Everyone weird is from Europe.”
Loki: “Fair point.”
In the shadowy heights of Gotham, the Batfam moved like ghosts on rooftops.
Red Robin’s visor flickered as he scanned the city below. “Huh. Weird spike in tech signatures. I’ll check it out later.”
Nightwing flipped lazily, yawning. “Probably nothing. Another Joker gas leak, probably.”
Robin scowled from a gargoyle. “Tt. Pathetic. Whatever it is, I could take them all alone.”
Batman, in the dark behind them, said nothing — only watching.
They did not yet realize the chaotic multiverse frat house that had just landed in their city.