Spider-Man Reincarnated in the DC Multiverse

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Gotham didn't hum like New York. It growled.

The city breathed in short, angry bursts like a wounded animal ready to strike. The skyline bled neon, but nothing about it felt alive. Light poles flickered like dying stars. The silence wasn't empty it was coiled, like a trap waiting to spring.

Peter Parker crouched on the skeletal edge of a broken cathedral roof, masked again, but still feeling exposed. His fingers gripped a rusted gargoyle as he tracked movement in the alley below. Two men, late twenties, armed with broken bottles, were cornering a terrified teenager in a varsity jacket.

This should've triggered something anything. A jolt in his spine. A tug in his gut. That primal whisper of danger that had saved him countless times.

Nothing.

His spider-sense was silent.

He dropped anyway.

Peter hit the alley hard, fists and elbows moving on memory alone. One thug went down with a cracked rib. The other flailed wildly caught Peter with a slice along his shoulder. Not deep, but humiliating. Peter spun, planted a boot in the man's chest, and webbed them both to the alley wall.

The teen ran. Didn't even say thank you.

Peter stood there, hand on his bleeding arm, blinking in disbelief.

"That didn't used to happen."

Two hours later, he was twenty stories up, pacing an abandoned rooftop.

He flexed his fingers. The tactile feedback was off. The sticky-surface reaction didn't spark until after he'd touched the wall. His balance felt… rewired. His reflexes were still present sharpened, even but the predictiveness, the sixth-sense finesse that had saved him a thousand times? It had abandoned him.

He pulled off his mask, breathing in the rusted city air. Gotham smelled like wet iron and smoke. He looked at the skyline crooked towers, skeletal cranes, and a city always on edge. It wasn't just the crime. It was something older. Something frayed.

Peter whispered into the wind, "This world runs on different laws."

No response. Not even a bad joke from the universe.

Three days passed.

The glitch worsened.

Sometimes his spider-sense would spike at a falling leaf. Once, it warned him five seconds too late when a car nearly ran a red light. And sometimes it activated with no cause at all, leaving him frozen in place, heart racing, as if death were around the corner… only for nothing to happen.

He stopped sleeping. Not that he had anywhere to sleep.

His webbing sometimes refused to deploy. Other times, it fired mid-swing, as if responding to phantom threats. Twice he landed so hard he nearly cracked a kneecap. The city wasn't adapting to him and worse, he wasn't adapting to it.

Still, he couldn't stop. Couldn't wait.

He chased shadows. Muggers. Armed robbers. He saved who he could but always with hesitation. Always too slow.

Until the ambush.

It happened in Arkham Narrows one of the city's blind spots between crumbling overpasses and rail yards. He was tailing a figure in a red hoodie, ducking cameras, making tight turns. Suspicious movement.

Peter dropped from a rooftop, landed silently, and moved forward

 and didn't feel them.

No warning. No flicker.

Three attackers emerged from the darkness like phantoms.

The first struck him with a stun baton. Peter's muscles seized. The second cracked him across the ribs with a heavy club. He fell hard. The third a masked figure in riot gear grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the wall.

"Got him," one of them said through a mic. "He's light. Not as strong as intel said."

Peter tried to fight back, but the shock had short-circuited something deeper. His body moved like it was underwater.

A fourth man appeared taller, silent, watching.

"You don't belong here," the man said.

"Neither do you," Peter gritted, spitting blood.

The man's lips twitched.

"Tell Batman: this city is off-limits to outsiders."

Another baton hit.

Darkness.

Peter woke webbed to a fire escape beam by instinct alone hanging upside-down, bruised, bleeding, and angry. He'd deployed the webbing mid-blackout. Muscle memory. But his whole body throbbed. His reflexes had betrayed him.

For the first time in years, he felt vulnerable. Blind.

And that terrified him.

He dropped down, limping away under cover of night, jaw clenched. He needed answers. He needed clarity. There was only one place that might give him either.

Wayne Tower.

Batman didn't comment on the bruises.

Peter climbed through the upper deck and into one of the side entry hatches Batman had made no effort to lock almost like he expected him.

"You're injured," Batman said without turning.

"Yeah, turns out half-trained goons with high-voltage toys are harder to dodge without precog."

Batman faced him. "Spider-sense still malfunctioning?"

"It's not just malfunctioning," Peter said, removing his mask. "It's… echoing."

Batman narrowed his eyes.

Peter continued, "Sometimes it triggers before anything happens. Sometimes it doesn't at all. And sometimes it warns me about things that never occur. It's like it's looking at ten futures and not sure which one is mine."

Batman stared at him, processing.

"You're entangled."

"…What?"

Batman moved to a terminal and typed rapidly. "Residual multiversal signatures. Your neurological map is misaligned. You're receiving instinctive threat signals from parallel versions of yourself."

Peter blinked. "So… I'm reacting to stuff that happens in other universes?"

"Correct. You're pulling data from your multiversal counterparts. But it's unfiltered. Noise without context."

Peter sat heavily on the metal railing.

"So what's the solution? Brain surgery?"

Batman turned. "Stabilization. Neural alignment. But it won't be perfect."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You've done this before?"

"I've studied anomalies before. You're the first who lived."

Comforting.

The process was brutal.

In the sublevels of Wayne Tower, Peter sat inside a circular chamber a neural harmonizer, borrowed tech from Cyborg's off-world research. Electrodes buzzed across his scalp. Holograms spun around his head. Fractured images of other Spider-Men some in suits he'd never worn, others with faces he didn't recognize flashed before his eyes.

Each was making a choice. Firing a web. Dodging a blow. Swinging into fire.

And his brain tried to react to all of them.

Peter screamed once just once when the signal synced and every echo converged.

Then it snapped.

Clarity.

He felt it.

That familiar, subtle tingle in his spine.

But this time, it was his.

Later, on a rooftop under dim moonlight, he stood still.

Closed his eyes.

Waited.

A pigeon shifted behind him.

The tingle buzzed. Real. Grounded. Singular.

Peter smiled.

"I'm back."

Batman stood nearby.

"You'll still get bleed-throughs," he said. "But now, they'll feel different. You'll learn to separate your reality from theirs."

Peter nodded. "Thanks."

"I didn't do it for you."

Peter snorted. "Still, thanks."

As he prepared to leave, Batman called out.

"There's another anomaly. Moving through Keystone."

Peter turned. "Another one like me?"

Batman's expression was unreadable. "Possibly. Or something worse."

Peter nodded.

The war hadn't begun yet. But the tremors were spreading.

And now, at least, he was ready to feel them coming.

/-\

If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my Patreon at

" https://www.patreon.com/Its_Zack/ "

You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want.