Chapter Text
“This is insane…”
Peter glanced around, blatantly ignoring the disgusted and appalled looks thrown his way, instead completely enraptured by their surroundings. MJ was in a similar state of dumbfoundedness, one hand clutching the Time Gem while the other clasped Peter’s hand, pointedly ignoring the looks she was garnering as well.
“Seems there’s much more to the Gem than Stephen thought, hmm?” MJ mumbled, eyes tracing the newness of their vintage surroundings. “Wonder what year we’re in.”
“Pre-1900s, at least,” Peter responded, tugging MJ further down the street to a vendor. “Want to wager on before or after the Civil War?”
MJ just snorted, shaking her head in amusement as they stepped closer to the vendor. “Excuse me, sir. We’re from out of town and-”
“We don’t serve the help here, missy,” the man interrupted with a sneer, eyes racking up her form. His gaze turned to Peter, who’s eyes had gone wide. “A fine servant you have here, sir. May I interest you in today’s paper?”
Peter took a step back, jaw dropped open in shock. At the same time, MJ took barely a second to recover before surging forward, slugging the man across the face, grabbing a paper off his stand, and finished by sneering “fuck you” at him before dragging Peter off down the street, away from onlookers.
Newspaper gripped in hand with the Time Gem, MJ cursed and mumbled under her breath as she pulled Peter to a less-crowded side street, then stopped abruptly in a nearby alley. Peter stared, eyes still wide, before gently tugging the paper from her hand and pushing her chin up so that she looked at him. Fire blazed in her eyes.
“Michelle?”
She took a breath, then seemed to relax into Peter’s touch. “Fine. I’m fine, Peter.”
“Are you sure? Because I wouldn’t mind going back and tying him to a nearby lamppost.”
MJ smiled, eyes going soft at Peter’s frown; he truly looked like an angry terrier when he did that.
“I appreciate the defense of my honor, Spider-Boy,” Peter’s frown deepened, making MJ chuckle, “but racism is going to be the norm here. Depending on how long we’re stuck here in-” she grabbed the paper from Peter’s hand, “-1855, we’ll have to deal with it daily.”
Peter huffed, but let his hand fall, his eyes falling to the paper in MJ’s grasp.
“1855… I don’t even know who was-”
“Franklin Pierce, New Hampshire,” MJ interjected with a smirk. “Not much going on that- this year, besides the typical 1800s bullshit. Territory wars with the natives, problems with immigrants, and, of course, Bloody Kansas with its slavery controversy.”
Peter blinked. “Have I told you you’re scary smart lately?”
MJ smirked. “No, but do tell me again.”
The couple shared a smile, both leaning in for a brief kiss, a short reprieve from their surroundings and current situation. A moment later, they pulled apart and sighed, heads ducked close together as they shared a moment.
“Your Parker luck has really done us in this time.”
Peter choked, laughter spilling from his mouth as MJ grinned, watching him for a beat before smacking his chest lightly.
“Seriously though, we need to take stock of what we have.” MJ frowned a little. “Can Strange even find us? I mean, we thought time travel was only possible through the Quantum Realm, right?”
“Right.” Peter frowned a bit too, hands rubbing his wrists habitually. “I’m sure there’s a book or something somewhere that he can use… Anyway, we can’t worry about the unknown. What’ve we got?”
MJ bit her lip, shaking her head and making her curls bounce. “I’ve got some loose change and a spare pen or two.” She dug a hand into her front pocket, pulling out her phone with a sigh. “Full battery, but completely useless.”
“Same here.” Peter held up his own, completely battered, phone. “Loose change and all.” He paused, then held up a canister of web fluid from his pocket. “Web shooters, one full canister, and whatever’s left in them already.”
MJ sighed, holding up the Time Gem brooch, shiny and glowing even in broad daylight. “And the thing that caused it all. Damn,” she groaned, “we’re really in over our heads, aren’t we?”
“Probably,” Peter responded, “But not much we can do about it now. Until we can find a way to get back or Strange comes, I guess we need a way to make money…”
MJ scoffed, gesturing to between herself and Peter. “You need to make the money, white boy. Nobody’s going to hire me to do shit.” She trailed a hand up to pull on her shirt. “We’re going to need new clothes too. We’re not getting anywhere looking like insane people.”
Peter nodded in agreement, frowning in thought, until a moment later when someone suddenly appeared in the front of the alley, causing Peter to jump. He hadn’t heard anyone coming, and while his spider-sense seemed to be humming warmly, it didn’t shout about any apparent danger. Regardless, he instinctively jerked back and fell into place beside MJ, who seemed just as surprised as him.
The man in the alleyway was tall and broad-shouldered, accentuated by the tall top-hat upon his head and the strange, bright red tailcoat he sported. He had a strange expression on his face, eyes trained on MJ as if working his way through a puzzle.
“I- sorry,” the man muttered, his voice ringing through the sudden silence of the alley. “Someone on the street pointed me this way- they thought you were one of my performers, miss.”
“Performers?” MJ asked, an eyebrow raised both in question and in surprise as he stared her in the eye. A pleasant change of pace from the disgust and disrespect of the foot traffic.
The man nodded, bowing to take his hat off. “Yes, one of the stars of the show. A trapeze artist named Anne.” He stood straight again, befuddlement alighting his features. “It is quite the resemblance, Miss…”
“Jones,” MJ supplied, tugging Peter closer. “Michelle Jones.”
“Ah,” the man replied, nodding. “My apologies for the confusion, Miss Jones.” He glanced at Peter, eyes falling to their clasped hands before smiling. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but I couldn’t help overhearing that you’re both in need of a job? I could always use the extra help around my show- with fair wages of course.”
MJ glanced at Peter, both sharing a stunned, albeit skeptical, look. It was really too easy, too convenient to be true.
“And what, exactly, is your show, Mr, uh…”
“Barnum,” the man offered, tilting his head to Peter in reply. “P.T. Barnum, co-owner of Barnum and Bailey’s Circus, the Greatest Show on Earth.”
Peter’s mouth dropped open, while MJ just froze in place, murmuring, “Shit.”