Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

  Pain flared across Peter’s body. It felt like his skin was recovering from a wicked burn, taut and painful to the touch, but everything beneath his skin felt as though he was thoroughly bruised. A long, pained groan was drawn out of his mouth.

  Up.

  Whispered his spider-sense. Peter’s hand twitched, and even that hurt. He let out a pathetic noise of pain, squeezing his eyes tighter.

  Up! Danger. Not safe. Bad people. Green.

  It said, this time more insistently. Peter lifted his head. His cheek was pressed into asphalt in some grimy backstreet. His whole body protested the movement, but he pushed through the pain to sit up.

  Just like that, the pain shifted. It didn’t go away, but it became a dull, tingling feeling. That was a lot easier to manage.

  Peter turned, looking around. He was sitting between two buildings. One was made of red brick, and the other looked more like concrete. It was a road he was sitting on, one that led to an open space behind him, but Peter got the feeling this road hadn’t been used in a long time. Not only because the road was blocked off by trash cans and dumpsters, but because the wall of stores behind him reeked of abandonment.

  Grunting in effort, he pushed himself up. Where the hell was he? What was triggering his spider-sense?

  After a moment of looking around, he saw a dark shadow move inside one of the abandoned stores. The feeling of being watched spiked up and sent goosebumps up and down his arms and neck.

  He couldn’t stay here. Peter got the distinct feeling that whoever was lurking in the shadows of these buildings wasn’t teenage urban explorers. He took a step, feeling the strain in his legs as if he’d aggravated bruises, and immediately grabbed his ribs when he felt a sharp sting. Whatever happened to him left him worse for wear.

  Pushing past the dumpsters, he made his way out into the street. He must be a sight to see, a shambling, confused teen, staggering down the street with a limp. It honestly wasn’t surprising that people shot him sympathetic or reproachful looks.

  Once again, he asked himself where he was. This place didn’t smell like New York. It was hard to describe other than it smelled older, and the distinct smell of petrichor seemed to be soaked into the very stone. It was late into the afternoon, and the sun was threatening to abandon the sky and leave him in the dark city alone. A few of the streetlights were already flickering to life, buzzing like flies. They were distinctly NOT New York streetlights; they were black and fancy as opposed to the plain grey metal poles he was used to. In fact, everything here seemed darker and more intricate.

  He, almost unthinkingly, stumbles into a thrift store. The smell of old linens and synthetic fabric hits him, bringing a wave of nostalgia. Some of the tension bleeds from his shoulders.

  Behind the counter was a woman. Every inch of visible skin from her collarbones and lower was covered in tattoos. She had angel fangs and multiple piercings in her ears, and adorning her face was a very ‘over it’ expression. She was ringing up items for an older lady, so Peter stood there patiently.

  “Excuse me, Ms.,” Peter said when the other lady left. The cashier looked over at him. Her mildly annoyed expression softened at the sight of him. “Is there a bathroom?”

  Her eyes flick up and down his body. Then, she opened a drawer and pulled out a wooden slab with a key on a ribbon drilled into it. “Yeah. Here’s the key.” She handed it to him. “At the back of the store near the kids' toys.”

  “Ok, thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  Peter limped towards the back of the store, weaving around racks and going through aisles. Eventually, he found a whole section full of kids' toys. Baskets were full of small odds and ends, little rubber animals and wooden people, things that beeped and sang. It was such a familiar sight that Peter couldn’t help but smile.

  But his smile dropped when he got into the bathroom and got a look at himself. Dry blood leaked down the side of his face from a cut hidden in his hair; his body was covered in what were either bruises or burns. Red, purple, and greenish-yellow dappled his skin. He couldn’t help but think that he looked like a zombie like this. No wonder he was getting so many concerned looks.

  He turned on the sink, splashing water into his face and using his hand to scrub away the blood. He tentatively poked the cut on his head and winced. Now that he was focusing on it, he could feel his heartbeat throbbing behind the injury.

  “Ok, ok, I’m alright. I just have to- um… Ok, I need a plan.” He said to himself, barely a whisper at first, then rising to a steady indoor voice. “A plan, a plan, um… Well… First, I guess I need food.”

  His healing factor burned LOTS of calories. If he wanted to heal up so people would stop looking at him like that, he needed to eat. On top of that, he’d be able to think more clearly when his stomach stopped rumbling. That should be priority one.

  But that’s easier said than done. He felt around his pockets only to realize he had no phone and no wallet. He had his backpack with him, but judging by how light it was, it wouldn’t be much help. Still, he set it on the bathroom floor to rummage through it.

  Inside was a textbook for science class, a handful of crumbled papers, and his Spider-Man outfit. He checked all the other pockets and found nothing else other than a novelty pencil. Which meant he had no wallet, no money, no phone, no change of clothes, and no way to get help.

  Anxiety twisted in his stomach. He felt helpless and trapped. What was he supposed to do? He was stuck in an unknown place with no way to survive.

  Shaking, he dried his face and hands before he made his way back out to the woman. He mumbled another thanks to her as he passed the key back over. The woman tucked it into the drawer and gave him another painfully concerned stare.

  “It’s no prob. Um… Do you… Need to borrow my phone to make a call?” She asked. “I’m sure your folks can come pick you up.”

  Peter swallowed hard and nodded. He needed someone, anyone, to reassure him he was ok and they’d be here to pick him up. Whatever happened to mess him up so badly must’ve wiped his memory. Maybe it was a fight with a villain or something. Regardless, they could hopefully fill in the blanks in his memory.

  The woman hands her phone over before turning to help another customer. Peter shuffled out of the way and typed in the number for Tony’s personal number. He put the phone to his ear, glancing around anxiously.

  “The number you have dialed is not in service.” Said an automated voice.

  Peter’s face wrinkled in confusion. He looked down at the phone, scanning each number to see if he’d made a mistake. No, it looked right. Wait, was it? Now he was doubting himself.

  Ok, well, one number he did know by heart was Happy’s number. He had to call him all the time for a ride. So, he types it in. It rings four times before someone picks up.

  “Hello?” Peter said.

  “Um… Hello?” Said a female voice. “Who is this?”

  “Uh, is Happy there...?”

  “No?”

  “Oh, um, sorry.” He hangs up, heart thudding in his chest. His face went red in embarrassment. How did he end up calling the wrong number?

  Once again, he checked the number, mumbling each one out loud to be sure. No, that HAD to be the right number, it had to be. Right? Anxiously, he dials Aunt May’s number even though he’s very unsure about it.

  “The number you have dialed is not in service.”

  “What…?” He mumbled.

  Why couldn’t he get in contact with anyone? Was he really just dialing the wrong numbers? That had to be it. It had to be. But the hairs on the back of his neck seemed to disagree.

  He went back to the woman behind the counter and handed her the phone. “Didya get ahold of someone?” The woman asked.

  “Uh, yes.” Peter lied. “They should be here soon.”

  “Cool.” She said. “What’s your name?”

  “Peter. What’s yours?” He asked before, immediately blushing. It was right there on her name badge: Ashley. But surprisingly…

  “People call me Asphodel.” She said.

  “Oh, ok. Nice to meet you, Ms. Asphodel.”

  Her face wrinkles. “Cut that shit out, kid, you’re making me feel old.”

  “I’m just being polite.” He said.

  Ms. Asphodel huffs and rolls her eyes. Before she can say anything else, a family of six comes over with their cart filled to the brim. Peter wanders away to let her do her job.

  He lingers around the shoes section, near the front door and the counter. He stares at the shoes, but his mind is far away. What was he supposed to do? What was his next course of action? Food was his top priority right now, but how was he supposed to get it? Maybe he could find a soup kitchen or something.

  “Hey, kid.” Ms. Asphodel calls. He looks over. She turns around and picks up a restaurant cup from the table behind her. “You want this? I got it free with my meal, but I don’t want it. I didn’t drink any.”

  He made his way over and looked into the cup. It was a chocolate milkshake. Want clawed up from his stomach and into his throat, making it burn.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yup. It’d just sit here until it went bad, so why not take it?”

  He took the cup. The cold felt good against his hands. “Thank you.”

  “No prob.”

  Peter lingered around for a while, taking sips of the shake. At least it was something. As Aunt May used to tell him, something is better than nothing.

  After a while, he knew he couldn’t stay. So he waved goodbye to Ms. Asphodel and made his way back onto the street. The streets were darker and emptier now, only adding to the feeling of hopelessness that was brewing like a storm in Peter’s mind.

  His footsteps, the buzzing of streetlights, and the cars that occasionally zipped by were the only sounds. As Peter walked, he thought about maybe finding shelter instead. After all, he wouldn’t starve overnight, especially because of Ms. Asphodel’s gift, and more places would be open during the day.

  It took him a while to realize that the area was getting rougher and rougher as he went. More buildings had boarded-up windows and graffiti, and the people who WERE still out and about had grim expressions, and he could smell the gunpowder from their concealed weapons. He swallowed hard, getting antsy to find a place to hide out.

  He turned the corner and continued down the dark street. There was only one streetlight on in this stretch of the city, and it was flickering weakly. Peter picked up the pace as his spider-sense grew from a hum to a roar.

  “Hey, kid.” A voice said. He looked up, his shoulders relaxing slightly when he saw two police officers. “What’re you doing out so late?”

  “I’m heading home, sir,” Peter said.

  “Oh, ‘sir’.” The other said. Peter blinked, surprised by the mocking tone. “You’re awfully polite for a street rat.”

  “Uh… What?” Peter stilled.

  Danger! Danger, run!

  Screamed his spider-sense as the two men approached him. “Don’t you know there is a curfew? It’s to stop snot-nosed brats like you from selling your molly or crack.”

  “Yeah, I know what a curfew is,” Peter said before he could stop himself.

  The older man’s hand lashed out, grabbing him by the wrist and yanking him closer. Peter cried out in fear, dropping the milkshake on the ground where it splattered. “Hand it over. Give us your money and your phone, and we won’t throw your ass in the hole.”

  “I don’t have anything on me!” Peter said, loud and desperate. He squirmed to free himself, but he knew he couldn’t use his super strength, not while he was out of costume.

  “Shh! Shut the fuck up.” The other hissed, roughly grabbing his shoulder to hold him still. His other hand moved to Peter’s pockets and then snaked towards his backpack.

  His face paled as he realized how bad this could be if they opened his backpack and saw his costume. With his identity at risk either way, Peter made a hasty decision. He kicked the officer holding his wrist in the stomach, sending him stumbling backwards, right as he lashed out with his arm and clubbed the other in the side of the head.

  The second officer’s grip slipped just enough for Peter to yank his arm free and run. As he bolted for the nearest alley, he heard one of them unholster their firearm. Peter’s heart dropped into his stomach. They were going to shoot him over being out after curfew?!

  One of the officers was shouting into their radio while the other called for him to stop. Peter didn’t. He ran as fast as his legs could tolerate. Twisting left, then right, then right again. He ran across roads and down side streets. Thundering footsteps and shouting followed him, but he could hardly hear them over his pounding heart and heavy breathing.

  Eventually, he runs into an alley that ends in a wall. Peter whips around, making sure the officers can’t see him, and then he runs straight up the wall. His balance adjusts as soon as he’s vertical, and he runs up the bricks until he’s on top of the roof, then he ducks behind the small lip, pressing himself as low as he can, pulling his arms and legs in.

  Heavy footsteps and panting aren’t far behind. They make it to the wall before they’re forced to stop. “What the fuck?” The officer pants.

  “The suspect has left our line of sight. We’re at the corner of Jubilee Lane and 3rd.” The other said to the radio.

  “Copy that, alerting other officers to be on watch.”

  “Where the hell could he have gone?”

  “Must’ve made a different turn. Come on, let’s catch the brat before he cries to his mommy.”

  Peter lay there, both hands pressed to his mouth to muffle his breathing, until long after the officers left. And then, he turned onto his back, looking at the cloudy sky, and tears gathered in his eyes. He wanted to go home. He never wanted any of this. All Peter could think about was curling up in his bed and sleeping away this awful dream.

  He stood, arms folded over his chest, and walked to the other side of the building. He leapt onto the next building, a slightly smaller roof, and then jumped to the next and had to climb the side. He didn’t know where he was going; he was just trying to get away. God, how could this day get any worse?

  As if the very thought doomed him, about ten minutes of roof-hopping later, a raindrop landed on his hand. “Are you serious?” He said. He tipped his head towards the clouds, shouting at whatever divine figure was watching him and mocking him. “I didn’t even say it out loud!”

  His whole body slumped, head tipping to look at the ground. He stood there, watching as one droplet became three, then three became sixteen, then sixteen grew to a few thousand. The icy cold rain immediately soaked him to the bone and left him shivering.

  Shuffling over to the walls that made up the roof access, he tried to shelter his body against it, but it didn’t stop him from getting wet. It blocked a lot of the wind, which was nice, but he feared nothing would stop him from drowning in the rain and the self-pity that seemed hellbent on sinking him.

  When he realized that huddling like this was useless, he made his way to the edge of the building. He walked right up to the ledge and looked down at the city. He’d never been terribly afraid of height, and now that he had his powers, they were even less intimidating. In fact, he liked looking down at the city and seeing people go about their lives.

  Now that the rain had started, the streets were completely empty. Cars still zipped by without a care in the world, plowing through the quickly forming puddles, their light shining through the droplets and casting them in gold or red. Most of the windows were dark now, but in some, he could see people moving inside their homes. What he wouldn’t give to be at home right now, admiring the view from the comfort of a shelter.

  “That’s a very unsafe place to stand.” Said a voice. Peter jolted and whipped around. There was a man standing there. He was just as soaked as Peter was, jet black hair sticking to his face. He was wearing a black and blue spandex suit with a mask that didn’t really do much to hide his face. “Especially when wet. Y’know… Slippery.”

  “You’re probably right,” Peter mumbled.

  Was this another vigilante? That’s the only thing that made sense. Halloween was still two months off, a villain probably wouldn’t start a conversation like that (or at all), and they definitely weren’t a government-sanctioned hero because Peter had never heard of this guy before.

  They stood there for a second. There was tension in the man’s stance. Slowly, it dawned on Peter that they were worried about something. He shifted his stance a little and watched the vigilante flinch, as if they were about to bolt over to him, but stopped themself.

  Peter tipped his head a little. He steps closer to the vigilante, further from the edge, and watches the man relax. “You got acrophobia or something?” Peter asked.

  “No, not at all. It’s just… This is a pretty popular spot for people to… Y’know… Take a willing plunge.” He said.

  He blinks for a moment before he realizes what the other meant. “Oh. Oh! No, no, no, I-I didn’t come here to- no, no, I just uh-” He couldn’t say he was running from the law, lost in a strange city with no memory of how he got here. “I like looking down at the city at night.”

  They hum. “In the rain?”

  “I was up here before the rain started, thank you very much.” He said, turning his head to glare at the rain clouds above. “And I’m not gonna let my sightseeing be ruined by some bad weather.”

  “I don’t think the rain cares about your plans.” They say. They reach out to grab Peter’s arm, making him wince slightly. The vigilante either doesn’t notice or ignores it as he leads Peter away from the edge and back to the roof access. He leans against it casually. “So. What brings you to Gotham? Most people don’t come here just for ‘sightseeing’. Especially not Crime Alley.”

  Gotham? Like, Gotham, New Jersey? How in the name of all things holy did he get here? And in-, wait, what was this place called?

  “I’m sorry, Crime Alley?”

  “Yup.” The vigilante said, popping the p. “The section of the city with the highest crime rate, unemployment rate, suicide rate, and teen pregnancy rate. All wonderful things.”

  “Jeez… Well, um, yeah. I’m from Queens, and I’m here because-” He hesitates. “Because my dad has a job here, and the rent is cheap. We’ll be heading back to Queens soon, though.”

  The vigilante huffs a laugh. “Shoulda known you were from New York with that accent.” Peter rolled his eyes.

  “I could’ve guessed you were from New Jersey, blindfolded and deaf.” Peter playfully jeered back.

  The vigilante huffs a laugh. “I see how it is, pizza rat.”

  “Jersey Boy.” Peter shoots back, full-on grinning for the first time since waking up here. “Ey, I’m wolkin’ ‘ere!”

  The older man laughs, a deep belly laugh. “Is that-” he gasps for breath between laughs. “Is that your best Jersey accent?”

  “Let's hear you do a better one for me.”

  “Alright, fine.” They said, clearing their throat. “60,000 bucks per month for a studio apartment? What a deal!” He said while using the most stereotypical and god-awful New York accent. Peter groaned, face palming. “Pretty good if I do say so myself.”

  “That was the most atrocious NYC accent I’ve ever heard.”

  “Aw, come on, it wasn’t as bad as ‘eh, I’m wolkin’ ‘ere’.”

  Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes again. Then, he shivers. He was so, SO cold out here. The wind blew against his wet skin, making him curl in on himself.

  “You should get inside.” They said.

  “Yeah… I probably should.” He mumbled. He needed to find shelter soon. “Um… Oh! I’m Peter, by the way.”

  “Nightwing.” He said, holding his hand out for Peter to shake. He took the other’s hand, giving him a firm handshake like Tony taught him. “But you probably already knew that.”

  “Uh, yeah, sure.” He said.

  Nightwing blinked in surprise. “You’ve never heard of me?”

  “Nope.” He said. Nightwing blinked at Peter, jaw slack. He shrugged. “I’m not very involved in the vigilante/villain scene.” He lied.

  “Oh. Well, now I feel egotistical.”

  “Just a little.” Peter laughed. “Uh… I need to get going, and I’m sure you have vigilante things to do.”

  “Well, I’m just patrolling. Not on a mission or anything.” Nightwing shrugged. “I could walk you home if you want.”

  “Oh. Um… Uh…” Peter froze. He couldn’t let this vigilante know he was homeless right now. How fucking embarrassing is that? “Well, uh-”

  Danger! Watch out.

  Half a second later, the ground rumbled, and orange light flared in the distance. Peter sucked in a gasp and looked in that direction. Nightwing whipped around, staring at the new flaming building several streets away.

  “Shit.” Nightwing hissed.

  “You jinxed yourself.”

  “Ugh, I shouldn’t have said that. Lesson learned.” Nightwing said. He hurried to the edge of the building, turning around to wave at the teen. “Bye, Peter, get home before you catch a cold.”

  “Alright, see ya, Jersey Boy.”

  “See ya, Yorkie.”

  He produced a grappling hook from his utility belt and used it to swing away. Peter watched him go until he disappeared behind some buildings. Then, he sighed and made his way to the opposite edge of the building to climb down.

  Peter navigated the streets, cautious of the police that might be patrolling, but he surprisingly didn’t run into any more trouble. He passed tons of abandoned places, relying heavily on his spider-sense. If he detected anything even slightly off, he’d pass the building without hesitation. But eventually, he finds one.

  It was once an apartment building, but it had been abandoned for so long that nature had begun reclaiming it. Vines crawled up the walls, grasses and plants grew through the pavement and front porch, and blocking the front entrance was a sizable bush. The foliage was so thick in some places that you couldn’t see the wall beneath it.

  He walked around the building until he spotted an open window on the third floor. Peter gently brushes the vines aside, pressing his hand against the grey stones to stick to them. He makes his way up the wall slowly, careful not to kill any plants. After all, this was their space now; he was just a visitor.

  Peter crawled through the window, glad to be out of the wind and rain. He looked around the dark place. It was relatively intact and, as far as abandoned places went, it was pretty nice. Sure, there was debris from the peeling walls, and moss covered the walls, but at least the ceiling was sturdy enough to block the rain.

  Each step made the floor creak and groan. No one had been here for a long time. He made his way into the bedroom. The bed was covered in debris and what Peter assumed was mold, but the floor was clean enough to lie on, and there was no draft in here. So, he set his backpack on the floor and peeled his shirt from his body. He was tempted to take off his pants too, but he felt too uncomfortable to do so. In the bathroom, he hung his shirt up on the shower rod so it could hopefully dry off.

  He searched around a little, but he was just so cold and tired. Taking a sheet from the linen closet, he went back into the bedroom and lay down, burrito-ing himself in the fabric. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

  Peter lay there in the dark, listening to rain hit the window and wind making the apartment sing. Sometimes, he could swear the muttering rain and chattering wind sounded like voices, and he’d blink his eyes open again. But his spider-sense remained quiet, and the voices were gone when he looked around. Tomorrow, he’d need to figure out a game plan to get home. Maybe he’d find a bus to see if they’d take him back to the city. Who knows? But for now, he let himself fall asleep in this place that nature was taking back.

  After all, it was better than nothing.

-

Bat-Boys (and girls), August 27th

Dicko Mode:

Guys, wehn i was starting my patrol, i saw this kid. Looked beat up, and he was on a roof in crime alley. He seems cool, but im pretty sure hes homeless. Keep an eye out for him if you can, please.

(Sent 12:56 am)

Sigma (Signal):

Omg, no way you're gonna pull a Bruce and adopt a rando from the streets

(Sent 12:57 am)

Dicko Mode:

Dont tempt me. >:)

(Sent 12:57 am)

Steph:

Must be genetic

(somehoe)

somehow*

(Sent 12:57 am)

Timbo:

Wdym ‘beat up’?

(Sent 12:59 am)

Dicko Mode:

I mean he was covered in bruises.

It was dark, so it was kind of hard to see how bad the damage was.

Also, he was soaked.

Real skinny kid. 16 maybe, about 5’5 ish. Probably about 120 pounds. Brown hair brown eyes. He’s a yorkie.

Standing on a roof in crime alley, thirty minutes past curfew.

(Sent 1:01 am)

Sigma (Signal):

We’ll keep an eye out

(Sent 1:01 am)

Dicko Mode:

Thanks, your the best.

(Sent 1:02 am)

Sigma (SIgnal):

You’re*

(Sent 1:02 am)

Dicko Mode:

I take it back.

You suck.

(Sent 1:02 am)

Sigma (Signal):

:)

(Sent 1:02 am)

-

 It was so bright that Peter’s eyes stung. The sky was almost unnaturally blue, so much so that Peter was forced to look away only after a few seconds of staring into the infinite azure. The sun beat its fists against the sand, intent on turning the rolling dunes into brilliant fields of glass.

 He glanced around. All around him for miles and miles was nothing but endless dunes. The wind had blown patterns into the sand, but otherwise, the desert was unmarked. It hadn’t been touched by humans in a long time.

 Peter takes a staggering step forward, already boiling in this insufferable heat. Underfoot, the sand shifted with his weight in a way he’d never felt before. Even when he went to the beach with his uncle, the sand hadn’t felt quite like this. And Peter knew that was because beneath him, the sand went down and down and down for miles as opposed to the thin sandy beaches back home.

 As he made it to the top of the dune, not without getting sand in his shoes and nearly falling over, he froze. Before him was a field of household objects. Anything someone might find in a home was here. From chairs to blankets caked in sand to TVs and lamps. Discarded children's toys, trash like bottles and wrappers, and priceless objects like jewelry all scattered about and left to be torn apart by harsh desert storms.

 Peter staggered down the hill to walk among the abandoned things. The age and wear varied from object to object. Some things looked as if they’d just been dropped here, plucked straight from a home and dropped into boundless sand. But other objects looked as though they’d been there for years. Horribly sunbleached, damaged beyond repair. Some things were torn apart to the point that Peter couldn’t tell what they originally were. Now it was just shreds of fabric and splintered bits of wood remaining.

 But as he walked through the wasteland of forgotten things, the objects became more personal. Now, it wasn’t just a fridge or a couch. It was now Aunt May’s fridge, or the couch in Stark Tower. Soon enough, it was no longer random scattered things stolen from the homes of strangers; instead, he could match every piece of clothing and every shattered picture frame to a memory from his life. He remembered these things. He remembered playing video games with his Uncle Ben on that Game Boy; he remembered chatting with Sam on those barstools.

 Seeing all these things taken from their places to be left in this strange place should’ve been alarming. It should’ve stirred anxiety in his chest, but instead, another feeling began to loom over him. He felt alone. Painfully, and miserably alone.

-

  Peter woke up on the floor of the apartment, warmer than he had been when he went to sleep and yet still not really comfortable. He sat up with a grunt, popping his back. Today, his body hurts less than it did yesterday. Now it only ached if he put weight on a bruise.

  Getting up, he shivered in disgust at the feeling of wet fabric clinging to his legs. He needed to get out of these pants as soon as he could. And so, he hurried to the bathroom.

  His shirt was still hanging where he left it. It was drier than it had been last night, but it still didn’t feel ready to be worn. He sighed, more than a little frustrated. What was he supposed to do if he couldn’t wear his clothes? He still had his Spider-Man costume, but it's not like he could walk around the streets wearing that.

  Lacking another option, he pulled his shirt off the shower rod and put it on. He didn’t really need his backpack right now, so he took it to the window and hung it out to dry, securing it to the wall with some webs. Once he was sure the bag wouldn’t fall (for a while), he jumped out the window and landed at the side of the building.

  He had to get back home. This place kind of sucks, and he was getting really, REALLY hungry. His stupid heightened metabolism would spell his death if he didn’t get something to eat soon.

  After a while of walking around, he spotted a library. Goth Public Library. Hope blossomed in his chest. They ought to have computers in the library! He could use those to look up the number for Stark Tower. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing.

  Peter trots up the steps and pauses at the door. The sign said they open at 8 am and close at 10 pm. Was it 8 am right now? Hesitantly, he reached for the door, sighing in relief when it opened without resistance.

  He made his way inside. Peter’s shoulders slumped in relief when the warmth from the heaters embraced him. Maybe he should stay in here until he dries off.

  The library was nice. It had a lot of space, including a wide open foyer with a desk, and two sections of the library that were split between fiction and non-fiction. No one was behind the desk, but he could hear a voice coming from the back room.

  Peter looked left and right before choosing to go to the non-fiction section first. He walked among towering bookshelves, idly glancing at the spines of the books as he passed. And then, he made it to the other side. Along the wall were desks. Every other desk had a computer on it.

  He makes his way to the nearest computer and sits down. Clicking on the guest profile, he paused when he saw the icon on the desktop. SilverMoon? What the hell was SilverMoon? He couldn’t see an icon for Google, Firefox, or anything like that. Curiously, he clicked it. On the left margin, there was a slow scrolling feed of the latest local news. Straight in the middle was the search engine’s name and logo, a moon with a cat’s eye in the middle, and at the top was the search bar.

  Deeply confused, he types into the search bar ‘Stark Tower’ and hits enter. He expects to find the website that he’d scrolled through a million times. Instead, he finds completely unrelated websites dedicated to a game called Star Tower, from wikis to fan forums. He checked the search bar, triple-checking to make sure he’d spelled Stark correctly.

  “What the…” He mumbled. Ok? Well, maybe they changed the website’s name? Instead, he searched for Tony Stark.

Tony Stark

(Did you mean Tony Steven?)

  Underneath that were links to random social media profiles with the name either Tony or Stark, but not anything relating to the Tony Stark he knew. With his confusion growing and dread building up, he searched for Google. Maybe this strange search engine he’d never heard of was broken or limited or something.

Google

(Did you mean Goggles?)

  Peter stared at the screen, slack-jawed. Desperately, he searched for Iron Man. Surely, there had to be something about Iron Man at least. But all he got was the search engine trying to suggest ‘Iron Maiden’ and the images tab showing OCs of metal characters completely unrelated to Iron Man. Not one article or picture of the man or the suit.

  He sat back in his chair, wide-eyed, with stress building. He ran his hand through his hair, tugging at it for a moment as his mind raced. Why couldn’t he find anything relating to his friends? Even seeing a dumb hit-piece about Iron Man would be a relief at this point because it’d be confirmation he wasn’t insane. But there was nothing. It’s like Tony Stark, Iron Man- like The Avengers never existed. Tentatively, he cleared the bar and searched for his own name. Surely, there had to be his own social media here. But instead, he found profiles for Peters and Parkers, but none for Peter Parker himself.

  Belatedly, he realized the main social media platform popping up wasn’t Instagram, it was some site called Safron48. He’d thought it was Instagram because of the similar coloring for the icon. But no, it seemed like a completely different platform on a completely different search engine in a totally new world.

  New world.

  That realization made his throat tighten. He leaned forward, curling in on himself and hiding his face in his hands. Panic and dread were screaming in his ears, flooding his mind with nonsensical shouting.

  ‘Take a deep breath, kid.’ Tony’s voice said. It cut through the noise enough to let him think. ‘Hyperventilating doesn’t solve problems. Think hard. Make a plan. Do things step by step, put out small fires as you go, that’s what you’re good at.’

  Right. He can’t freak out. He needed a plan, he needed to do something, and sitting here panicking didn’t count.

  If he was trapped in another world, which seemed to be the only thing that made sense right now, what did he need to do? He lifted his head, staring blankly at the screen. What did Rhodey say before? Shelter, temperature, hydration, and food. In an emergency, you have to prioritize things in that order.

  He had shelter. It wasn’t great; he really needed to find ways to improve it, but it was better than nothing. Temperature, meaning to get warm when cold and to get cold when warm. That was a bit harder. Sure, he had shelter to hide in from the elements, but his clothes were soaked and ill-suited for the weather as autumn crept in. He needed to focus on that first, or he’d freeze. Hydration was next. Oh god, what was he going to do about his food and water situation?

  “Oh! You startled me!” Said a woman. He twists around to see a woman in a wheelchair with red hair near him. She had a stack of books on her lap and a shy grin on her face. “You’re here a little early.”

  “Am I? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize- aren’t you open at eight?”

  “Yes, but it’s only 7:40.”

  Peter went wide-eyed. He scrambled to get up and turn off the computer. “I’m so sorry, I’ll wait outside until-”

  “No, it’s alright, don’t worry.” She wheeled herself closer and held out her hand. “I’m Barbra. People just call me Barb or Babs.”

  “Nice to meet you. Mrs. Barbra. I’m Peter Parker.”

  “Oh, stop it. Mrs. Barbra? You’re so polite.” She said.

  “I try to be.”

  “What were you doing over here? Studying for school?”

  “Uh, no. I’m…” He thinks for a moment. “I’m new around here, so I was learning about the area.” Now that he said it, he realized that was a good idea.

  “I thought you sounded like a New Yorker.” She accused playfully. “I went there once on a field trip in High School, it was pretty cool. Did you like New York?”

  “Oh, I loved it!” Peter said without hesitation. “The city is part of me. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

  She gave him a strange look. “Oh. Well then… Why are you in Gotham?”

  Peter decided to stick with his lie from last night. He smiles sheepishly. “Unfortunately, it’s not my choice. My dad is here for work, so we’ll be around for a while.”

  “I see… Well, I hope you can find a way to enjoy your time in Gotham.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  Barbra gives him a kind smile. “I need to put these back where they belong. You’re free to use the computers and read to your heart’s content; we’re open every day of the week.”

  And with that, she goes about her way. Peter smiled. It’s good to know there were nice people even in such a crime-ridden city.

  He sat back down at the desk. If he was going to be staying here, he really should get to know what was going on here at this place. The vigilantes and villains, the history, and maybe a rough layout of the town. Because who knows?

  Maybe this city needs some red and blue.

-

Bat Boys (and girls), August 27th

Babs:

I think I found your guy, Dick.

(Sent 7:47 am)

Dicko Mode:

Cool.

Is he ok?

(Sent 7:50 am)

Babs:

He's still in his wet clothes from last night and of course still bruised, but he seems to be in good spirits.

(Sent 7:50 am)

Dicko Mode:

Thats good, Ill try to talk to him again tonight.

For now, Im going to bed.

(Sent 7:51 am)

Timbo:

Sleep is for the weak

(Sent 7:52 am)

Sigma (Signal):

Says the guy who is about to fall asleep standing, lol.

(Sent 7:52 am)

Timbo:

Stfu

(Sent 7:52 am)

Batty:

Watch your language.

(Sent 7:53 am)

Timbo:

:(

(Sent 7:53 am)

Chapter Text

  How did he get here? That question kept popping up in his head over and over, distracting him even as he scrolled through page after page about Gotham and its vigilantes. Peter bit his lip. He was still staring at the wiki page about Gotham’s history, but his eyes glazed over as he finally let that thought take over.

  Going to a different world wasn’t something that just happens. During those late nights in the lab, Tony and Peter chatted idly once or twice about alternate dimensions and what it might hypothetically take to travel to one. But they were busy with other things, and neither was particularly interested in the concept. Sure, it was cool, but other things had captured Peter’s mind. Besides, they both knew that to even prove the existence of other worlds, let alone traveling there, would take a lot of brain power and experimentation. It’s not something that just happens; it’s not like falling into The Backrooms.

  Peter huffed a laugh as he thought about that. He wondered if this world had The Backrooms. That thought was goofy enough that it let his shoulders relax by a fraction, and he focused on the wiki in front of him.

  Gotham is one of the major port cities for the state of New Jersey, located near the Delaware Bay. The city was established in 1635 by Captain Jon Logerquist, a rumored mercenary. For many years, it was a hotspot for human migration, with many foreigners finding their way here. It was the city that had the highest diversity for many years, before eventually being overtaken by Jersey City. The first cases of vigilantism involving inhuman abilities in New Jersey started in Gotham before quickly spreading to the rest of the state. As of now, vigilantism is being handled by state officials and Gotham’s resident superhero, Batman.

  Peter clicked on the highlighted name. If he wanted to get back onto the streets as Spider-Man, he needed to know what the vigilante scene was like. His eyes flicked through the paragraphs about Batman’s history, the controversies, and the supposed ethos of the hero. Of course, he took it with a grain of salt. As a vigilante himself, he knew that not all of this information was entirely accurate; it’s just the public’s perception of what happened. But then, he saw something that made him freeze.

  One of the more controversial statements made by the hero in question is regarding metahumans. He, for many years, has taken a firm stance against metahumans within the city. This has created a strong divide among residents, with some supporting the stance against metahumans and some objecting to it. Ever since this statement was released to the public, hate crimes against openly metahuman individuals have skyrocketed, leading to a significant decrease in metahumans within the city.

  No metahumans? Peter could use context clues to guess that meant mutants. His heart sank, and his throat tightened.

  That could be very bad. Great, so soon enough, he’ll have to add THAT to his ever-growing list of worries? Now, he has to worry about corrupt cops, gangsters, his homelessness, starving to death, getting home, figuring out how he got here, AND having a gang of vigilantes trying to throw him out for being a mutant?

  He hated this. He just wants to go home. Peter hunches forward, hiding his face in his hands.

  What was the last thing he remembered before waking up in that alley? He had to try really hard to remember. It was like the memories from before were lost in a thick pocket of fog.

  But Peter could remember sitting in Aunt May’s kitchen easily enough. He remembered sitting there, eating eggs and hashbrowns. She comes into the kitchen, they’re talking about… something. And then…

  Green. Burning, it burns all over. He remembered clawing at something smooth that refused to give way under his fingertips. He remembered screaming even as his lungs burned and ached, everything was-

  SLAM!

  He jumped out of his chair and spun around. His eyes were wild as he gasped for breath, as though he’d been drowning moments before. Several feet away from him was Barbra.

  “Oops.” She mumbled, leaning over the arm of the wheelchair to grab the book she’d dropped.

  Peter stood there, hand over his thudding heart, as he tried to calm down. Then, after several deep breaths, he made his way over to the woman. He bent down and grabbed the book. Barbra smiles at him.

  “Thank you, Peter.” She said.

  “It’s no problem,” Peter said. He moved to hand the book back to her, but paused, tipping his head to read the cover. ‘Scattered Petals: A Collection of Poetry’. When it fell, it landed on a page. He adjusts his hold on the book to look down at that page.

Ozymandias by Percy B. Shelly

I met a traveler from an antique land who said;

Two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand in the desert.

Near them, on the sand, half sunk

A shattered visage lies.

Whose frown and wrinkled lip,

And sneer of cold command tells that it’s sculpter well those passions read.

Which yet survived, stamped on these lifeless things.

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed.

And on the pedestal, these words appear;

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare.

And the lone and level sands stretch far away.

  “Huh…” Peter hummed.

  “Do you like poetry?” Barbra asked.

  “Um, well… I don’t know. I don’t read much that isn’t science-related. I read a lot of textbooks and… You know, experiment reports and theories.” Peter said.

  Barbra hummed in acknowledgment. “More analytical than artsy?”

  Peter laughed. “I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.” He said. He looked down at the poem again, squinting at it. Then, he mumbled the words out loud, trying to glean the meaning. He knew the poem was saying something significant, but this sort of thing was never his strong suit.

  The woman was watching him with knowing eyes. “He sounds egotistical, yeah? The king.” She said. Peter looked up at her. “I mean, ‘look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair’.” She said, gesturing around as if showing off something grand and impressive. “But… Nothing remains other than a broken statue. Whatever the king had been so proud of is gone, swallowed up by the desert sands.”

  He winced. The familiarity of that statement hit him like a truck, as did the meaning of the words. If she noticed his reaction, she didn’t mention it.

  “That’s one of my favorite poems.” She said. “You’re welcome to check it out if you want.”

  “Uh, I don’t know…” He mumbled. He didn’t want the book to get ruined in that rickety apartment he was staying in. “Poetry isn’t really… my thing.”

  “That’s ok, don’t worry,” Barbra said.

  He glances over at her. She still had several books on her lap, and now, she was dragging a cart along with her as well. “Hey, uh, do you need any help?” He asked. “I don’t have anywhere else to be, and I’d love to keep chatting.”

  Barbra smiled. “I’d love to have some help.”

  They went around the library together for another hour. Barbra taught him how the books were organized, and he was quick to pick up on it. They slowly worked through organizing the books, putting them back where they belonged, and moving books that had been wrongly placed.

  As they worked, they chatted about anything and everything. Barbra was a genius in a lot of ways, but especially when it came to literature and media literacy. He supposed it came with the territory, being a librarian and all, but still, Peter enjoyed talking with people who were proficient at skills different from his. Hearing her talk about biases in writers and subgenres of subgenres that Peter had never even heard of was fascinating. And in turn, he did his fair share of yapping when they stumbled across a book that he’d either read before or was on a topic he was disgustingly educated in. Like when he ranted for twenty straight minutes about chemical bonds.

  “This book might interest you,” Barbra said, plucking it from the shelf. “It’s about all the contributions women have made to the field of science. For this last International Women’s Day, I read the whole thing.”

  “Oh wow, that’s a lot to read in a day.” He said, taking the book from her and admiring the colorful cover.

  “Well, I can read 800 words per minute; besides, I didn’t have anything else to do and was very bored.” She said. Peter gave her an astonished look.

  “800 words per minute?!”

  She grins sheepishly. “Yeah, when I’m rushing through it, I can.”

  “That’s so cool… Man, I really gotta read more.” Peter said. He tucked the book under his arm. Maybe he’d check this one out. He’d have to be VERY careful not to ruin it, but Barbra’s enthusiasm for reading was infectious. “I just usually don’t have the time to read…”

  “Really? A busy body?”

  “Yeah.” He huffed a laugh. “Before- uh, moving here, I was in school, an intern at an engineering business, and a freelance photographer for a news outlet.” And also a vigilante.

  “Wow, that’s a lot,” Barbra said. “Wait, a freelance photographer? So you can be artistic!”

  “Huh? Oh. Uh… I mean, I guess.” He said. He didn’t know how he possibly forgot that photography was art. “I don’t know, I just-... Captured moments, I didn’t really-...”

  “You didn’t consider what you did as art,” Barbra said. Peter nods. She sighs. “Yeah, imposter syndrome is a bitch. But just know that does make you an artist. And even despite that, you’re a very smart and talented kid.”

  He blushes. “Um… Thank you. You’re talented too! I mean, you’ve been able to give me a detailed analysis of pretty much every book I’ve picked up. That’s incredibly impressive, Ms. Barbra.”

  She was grinning at him. Barbra opened her mouth to speak, but then a device in her pocket beeped. Peter jumped, and her grin turned sheepish.

  “Oops, that’s my alert that I’m needed.” She says. “Duty calls.”

  “Oh, yeah, right.” He glances towards the door. “I should get going, too. But it was nice hanging out with you.”

  “Same to you. Before you go, do you want to check out that book?”

  “Oh! Yeah, of course.”

  They go to the front desk. To check the book out, he needed a library card. For a moment, he panicked, thinking he needed his ID. But luckily, she explained that all he needed was to provide his name, age, and date of birth. With that, the card was printed, and the book was safely in his hands.

  “And that should be all,” Barbra said. “Have a good day, Peter.”

  “You too, Ms. Barbra,” Peter said, waving as he made his way to the door. “Bye!”

  “Goodbye.”

  There was a bit of pep in his step as he made his way back to the abandoned apartment. He was still worried about his chances of surviving this place, but with good friends by his side, he could hopefully scrape by. When he got there, he found his backpack on the ground outside the window. He picks it up, putting the book in it, and slings it over his shoulder. He should find a place to eat, then he could settle down to read.

-

  Peter could’ve cried in relief upon seeing the soup kitchen. His stomach felt like it was eating itself. Even at the mention of food, his stomach started growling like a beast.

  Upon walking in, he saw people setting up brown paper bags on tables. He hesitates at the door. He’d never come to one of these places alone before. A few times, he and Aunt May relied on soup kitchens to get by. After Uncle Ben died, they ended up homeless for a time, and these places kept the pair from drowning entirely.

  Walking into a place like this was a lot scarier when Aunt May wasn’t there. After a few minutes of idly standing there, one of the volunteers looks up at him. They wave him over. Cautiously, he abandons the door and makes his way to them.

  “Morning.” They said, sliding him a bag. “Are your parents here?”

  “Uh, no. My dad is- uh, working.” Peter said.

  They nod. “Well, all that’s needed is for you to sign your name and your father’s name, and you can take the bag and go.” They explain.

  “Sounds fair.”

  He let the volunteer lead him to the table nearest the door. Peter read the paper carefully before signing it, something Matt drilled into his head. But it truly did just seem like a form they’d use to prove Peter had been here. So, he signed his own name as Peter Parker, then, for his guardian, he hesitated but inevitably signed it as Tony Stark. He’s sure Tony wouldn’t mind. Besides, when he was on the computer, he signed himself up to take an entrance exam for a school, and it asked for a parent’s name, so he wrote Tony Stark there too. It’s not like it was his first time signing Tony’s name for things, even before the whole ‘getting transported to an alternate reality’ thing.

  “Cool, that should be it then.” The volunteer said.

  “Great.” He sets the bag down to peek inside. His eyes went wide. Canned and dried foods sat there looking so tempting. It was a lot more than they had gotten from the soup kitchen in his world. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.” They laugh. “We got a pretty big donation from Wayne Enterprises not too long ago.”

  Wayne Enterprises. He’d heard that name while doing research. From what he gathered, he was basically this world’s Tony in the sense that he was a billionaire who ran a tech company (gross oversimplification) and seemed to be very philanthropic. Peter glances at the volunteer. Maybe if he played his cards right, he could learn more from this person.

  “Hey… I was just wondering… Do you think the rumors are true about Bruce Wayne?” Peter asked. Peter hadn’t been around long enough to hear ANY rumors. But he was hoping his ploy would work.

  “Depends on which ones you’re talking about. Lots of people gossip about our resident billionaire.” They said. Peter had to fight a smile that threatened to creep onto his face when he realized it had worked. “If you mean the rumors about Bruce only adopting all those kids for a monthly stipend, I really don’t think so. The highest foster stipend I ever heard of was 925 bucks a month. And we both know Bruce Wayne wipes his ass with 925 dollars.”

  Peter hummed, storing that in his mind. “So why do you think he did it? Just because he’s a generous guy?”

  “Partly, yeah. But also, I mean… I heard he was an orphan. Maybe it’s some kind of… I don’t know, maybe he wants to help other people who are in bad situations like that.” They said.

  “Makes sense,” Peter said. “I mean, if he’s donating tons of money to food banks and stuff, he’s probably a generous guy.”

  “Oh, yeah. The word around Gotham is that Bruce Wayne funds more of our city than the mayor does.” They scoff. “Anyway, I need to get back to bagging things.”

  “Right, see you later.”

  “See ya.”

  Peter rolled up the top of the bag and then made his way out onto the streets. He needed to get a sense of the area, so he decided to explore around to find a good reading spot. Glancing around, he ducks into an alleyway and scurries up a wall. It’d be much easier to survey the city from above.

-

  He was lying on his stomach, book open in front of him. Peter wasn’t used to having free time. The book was well written and entertaining enough to keep his mind off the restlessness building in his mind, but it’d creep in if he lost focus for a moment.

  The roof he was currently on was the tallest building in Crime Alley. Of course, there were taller buildings in the city, but he was on the tallest one in this area. Peter lay in the shade, moving whenever the shadows had shifted too much. But now that it was later in the day and the heat from the sun was giving way to a cold breeze, this whole section of the roof was covered in shade.

  When his back hurts from lying like that, he gets up and stretches his back. Then, book in hand, he wanders over to the edge. Peter hopped up onto the railing and then sat down on it.

  Peter had never been afraid of heights, and now that he had the ability to produce webs and save himself should he fall, his fear was reduced even further. And since he wasn’t scared in the slightest, a sense of wonder took its place. Up so high, he felt free and comfortable. He felt like he could stop every bad thing from happening when he was up here.

  Hello! Familiar.

  He turned around half a second before he heard feet lightly drop down. And there was Nightwing, trotting on over. Peter smiled a little, giving him a wave.

  “Do you just have a thing for rooftops?” Nightwing asked.

  “Yup. Do you have a thing for stalking me?” He asked teasingly.

  “Damn, you caught me.” He said, deadpan. Peter laughs. “But no. I live nearby, and I was just starting my patrol for the night.”

  He leaned against the railing near Peter. It was quiet for a moment as Peter tried to finish this paragraph. He could practically feel Nightwing’s eyes on the book.

  “Oh, Katherine Johnson? I love her, she was my biggest inspiration as a kid!” Nightwing said.

  “Really? Me too!” Peter said, grinning. “I tried to convince my classmates that math was cool because Mrs. Johnson was good at math and she’s cool.”

  “Mm. How’d that go?”

  “Terrible,” Peter said. Nightwing huffed a laugh. “Yup. They used that as bullying fuel for years.”

  “Damn… Kids can be terrible.”

  “Nah, I kinda deserved it back then. I was an annoying little shit.”

  “Hey! Language.”

  Peter huffed and rolled his eyes. They fell into a comfortable silence. He was acutely aware of the fact that Nightwing was looking at him like a puzzle he hadn’t quite cracked.

  “Hey, are you hungry?” Nightwing asked.

  “Uh, I mean, a little. I just got some food, but I haven’t gotten a chance to take it home and cook it yet…” He said, gesturing to the bag he’d left by the wall. The truth is, he’d thought about going to the apartment to eat, but then realized he didn’t have a way to cook it. So while he was debating whether it was a good idea to eat dry pasta noodles, he decided to read instead.

  Nightwing stared at the bag for a moment too long. “Oh.” He said. “Well, uh, if you don’t feel like cooking, we could go to a restaurant or something. My brother was nagging me about eating before patrol anyway, so…”

  Peter opened his mouth, then slowly closed it. After a moment, he spoke. “I don’t have money to pay for myself.”

  “Oh, that’s ok, I was planning to pay anyway.”

  He gives the older man an incredulous look. “I know you don’t get paid for your vigilante-ing.”

  “Don’t worry, I got it covered.”

  He sighed, turning around to drop onto the roof. “Alright then, if you say so.”

  The place where Nightwing brought him was a taco stand at the edge of Crime Alley. The man who owned it seemed nice. He greeted Nightwing and Peter and flashed them a smile that looked odd on his stern face.

  Peter had to constantly swallow saliva to keep himself from drooling like an animal with rabies. The second he smelled the beans, ground beef, and spices, his stomach’s grumbling escalated into wailing. The discomfort in his stomach now felt like actual pain, like his stomach was twisting around on itself.

  By the time they were sitting on the bench with their food, Peter was shaking. He didn’t understand why he was shaking, but he really couldn’t care at the moment. Nightwing handed him a taco from the bag they’d gotten, and Peter hardly waited a second before tearing into it.

  Nightwing ate too, but he was way less enthusiastic. “So…” He said. “How long have you been in Gotham?”

  “Um…” He swallowed the food in his mouth before continuing. “Not long. A few days.”

  The man nodded slowly, as if lost in thought. Peter ate so fast he choked for a second, but he couldn’t stop until the taco was gone. Only then did he force himself to stop, take a breath, remind himself the food wouldn’t magically disappear, and reach for a burrito at a more respectable pace.

  “Does your dad often let you wander around on rooftops by yourself?” Nightwing asked.

  Peter paused, giving him a half-hearted glare. “My dad is very busy.”

  “Sorry, I don't mean to push any buttons, I’m just asking,” Nightwing said. Peter stared for a moment longer before going back to eating. “What school are you going to?”

  “None yet.” He said, mouth full, but covering it with his hand. “I’m trying to get into Gotham Preparatory Academy. I have to take an entrance exam on the thirtieth.”

  When he’d been scrolling through the wiki, he saw that Gotham Preparatory Academy was sponsored by Bruce Wayne and was renowned for its science program. Offering classes in robotics, engineering, chemistry, biology, and physics. Plus tons of clubs and events focused on STEM. If he was going to be Spider-Man here in Gotham, he needed to make artificial web fluid. He could produce some on his own, but he could hardly get through patrol with the amount his body could produce without strain, and doing multiple patrols per week was brutal. Hence why artificial webs were essential.

  And sure, he could just sneak into a school to use their lab, but if he went to that school, he wouldn’t have to sneak. Besides, he liked school. Who knows how long he’d be stuck here, so he might as well enroll.

  “Oh, Gotham Prep?” Nightwing smiled. “That’s a good school. The tuition is steep, though.”

  “Yeah, I’m going for a scholarship.” He said. Otherwise, he’d be literally unable to afford it, and he’d have to go back to plan A; breaking into use their lab.

  “That’s-, uh, not to be a jerk or anything, but the entrance exam on its own is tough, let alone getting a scholarship,” Nightwing says.

  “I know. I really gotta nail this test.” He said, laughing nervously.

  The vigilante pats him on the shoulder. “Good luck, kid. Get good sleep before the test and remember there is no time limit, so don’t rush.”

  He blinked. “Wait, how do you know that?”

  “I went to Gotham Prep. Oh, and if you get Mr. Delanora, tell him I said ‘hi’.”

  Peter rolled his eyes. “Should’ve known you’d go to the nerdy STEM school. You did tell me earlier you loved Kathrine Johnson.” He said. “Let me guess, you wanted to work for NASA as a kid?”

  “Maybe…” Nightwing said coyly.

  “How’d you go from dreaming of stars and circuit boards to running around Gotham in spandex?” Peter asked cheekily.

  “Well, when life throws lemons at you…”

  Peter laughed harder than he should’ve. He understood that much deeper than Nightwing understood. Being a spider-themed vigilante wasn’t exactly what he daydreamed of as a kid, either.

  “Sorry, I’ve eaten so much already,” Peter said.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not that hungry.” He shrugged.

  “If you’re sure.” He mumbled, reaching for another taco.

  The feeling of hunger easing up was so nice. He was making himself sick by eating so much so fast, but he knew he had to eat what he could when it was being offered. Because he was getting so many calories, he should be healed after a good night's sleep.

  When he was done eating, he took their trash and threw it away for them. Nightwing, again, offered to walk him ‘home’ but Peter just waved him off. He made an excuse about not going home right away, despite the fact that’s exactly what he was going to do. He really couldn’t stomach the idea of anyone seeing his terrible living conditions; that was so embarrassing.

  He hurried to the apartment, avoiding people on the streets with his spider-sense, and then climbed up the wall. Peter stood there for a moment, looking around. Then, he decided to clean up a little bit before going to sleep. Again, he wasn’t very good at lying around doing nothing.

-

  Peter didn’t remember his dream; he just remembered squinting when the sunlight hit his eyes. But when he woke up, nestled in a makeshift bed of sheets and blankets he had found. When he woke up, feeling way better now that his healing factor had a chance to almost completely fix his bruises, he immediately went for his bag of food.

  A lot of this needed a stove to be cooked, like the rice and pasta. But, after riffling through it, he finds a can of peaches. He cracked open the can and started eating them straight from the can. It wasn’t very appetizing; the peaches had a strange texture from the can, but it was better than nothing.

  The second he’d eaten everything from the can, he got back to cleaning. Most of the apartment had been cleared. Not really cleaned, he’d need cleaning supplies and tools to really fix this place up, but he moved everything out.

  The moldy sheets and bigger chunks of debris had been moved to the hallway. He tried to brush away the remaining debris with his shoe, but it wasn’t very effective. Peter went on to try to fix the window so he could open and close it at will. He’d need tools to really fix it, but at least now he could fully open the window. And only when he had cleaned his apartment as much as possible did he move on to fixing up the hallway so he could at least use it.

  Peter thought as he cleaned. He needed access to that lab so he could start working on a way to get home. He needed web fluid, yeah, but getting home was much more pressing. Were there enough materials in a school lab to crack the secrets of inter-dimensional travel? Probably not, but what else could he do?

  He didn’t even know how he got here. If only he could remember whatever machine or portal had brought him here. Then at least he had SOMETHING to work with. But there was nothing. All his memory held was flashes of something uncomfortable and painful, but nothing concrete.

  When he had a sizable stack of garbage outside, he decided it was as good as he’d get it. He tried to settle down in his sleeping spot to read, but he was very restless. After about an hour, he was forced to get up.

  Maybe he could get back to exploring the streets. He’d have to know the city layout pretty well if he wanted to protect this city. It seemed like Crime Alley needed his help the most, so he put emphasis on learning this place the most, but he needed a rudimentary understanding of the surrounding areas as well.

  But as Peter walked around, he started to get a very bad feeling. He tried to focus on memorizing store names and unique locations, but his spider-sense kept whispering danger. Peter kept twisting around, looking for anyone who might be stalking him, but there was nothing.

  The feeling grew stronger and stronger as he made his way to an older section of the city. The buildings looked more worn down, the graffiti got heavier, and the nature that was always trying to claim human cities was stronger here. As the number of people faded, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

  Behind, now!

  He snapped around, hand jerking towards the flash of silver he saw. Peter caught the wrist of the man, stopping himself from being stabbed. Then, he kicked the man in the leg and staggered back.

  The man before him was sweating profusely, and his brown and grey hair was sticking to his face. His eyes were dark with bags, his whole body shivering, and a wild look in his eye. Everything about the man screamed wrongness. It was like staring down a wild animal.

  “What are you doing? Are you ok?” Peter asked firmly. He found that speaking firmly and directly sometimes helped snap druggies out of their haze enough to de-escalate slightly.

  “Don’t- don’t- too- s-sto-“ He cut himself off by giggling hysterically.

  “I’m not gonna touch you if I don’t have to,” Peter said, sensing their manic terror. “Let’s just sit down and-“

  The knife came for his face again. He jerked his head back, only getting a small nick on his cheek. The man threw himself towards Peter with his whole body, staggering around like a possessed doll. Peter side-stepped him, glancing anxiously toward the road, but it seemed empty. With a feral scream, he twisted around and jabbed his knife at Peter’s stomach.

  “Never again! I fucking hate you!” The man screamed.

  “I think you got the wrong guy. I don’t usually hang out with fifty-year-olds.” Peter said. The man gave no indication he heard Peter.

  The man staggered backwards, grabbing his hair and yanking. He yanked again and again, screaming and shaking his head. Peter paused, sympathy pulling at his face. Whatever was happening to this guy didn’t seem pleasant. Either drugs or mental illness, he needed help.

  Suddenly, the man charged at him, trying to stab him repeatedly. Even before he made it to Peter, he was stabbing the air as if already hitting something. He slammed into Peter, who was more concerned with controlling the blade rather than getting slammed into the wall. As he held onto the man’s wrist, the guy grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him away from the wall before slamming him back into the wall again, forcing the air from Peter’s lungs.

  He grunted in effort as the man tried to rip his arm out of Peter’s hold. The hand that had been on his shirt suddenly gripped his throat and squeezed. He made a choking sound, his other hand moving to grab the man’s other wrist. Peter could throw him off, and would if he absolutely had to, but he knew he couldn’t risk his identity like this. He just had to-

  Peter gasped for breath the second the man was dragged away from him. He rubbed his throat, struggling to catch his breath, as he stared at the scene before him with wide eyes. A vigilante dressed in yellow was now wrestling the man to the ground.

  He heard the knife clatter to the ground, prompting Peter to run over and grab the weapon before the man could take it again. The vigilante didn’t look at him, too busy keeping the man’s arms pinned behind his back. Peter backed away, his whole body still tense and shaky.

  “Are you ok?” The vigilante asked.

  “I’m fine,” Peter said. “I don’t know who this guy is. I think he had been following me for several blocks and then randomly tried to stab the hell out of me.” He informed the other.

  “I see.” He said distractedly. The man shrieked, making both of the younger guys wince. “Damn, he’s loud.”

  “Yeah, you’re telling me…”

  “His screams are what drew me here.”

  With that, he cautiously used one hand to grab some cuffs in his utility belt. Peter found himself staring at the utility belt. From what he’d researched, the vigilantes in this city were all part of the same group, so it makes sense they’d have similar supplies. He wondered if there was a store in the city that sells those or if someone on their team makes them for them.

  “Thanks for saving me,” Peter said, watching the vigilante cuff the squirming man.

  “Oh, you know, part of the job.” He grunted. Peter winced. He hated standing here being useless, but he wasn’t in costume. If he were Spider-Man right now, he wouldn’t have needed someone to intervene. But he was just Peter Parker, a scrawny teen boy.

  Which was unbelievably frustrating.

  “No, get off! Get- you’re with them! You fucking sick fucks, I know you hate me, you hate me, and I want you to die, so just die. Fucking die, you god damn pigs! You fucking pigs all hate me, so go die!” The man shouted, barely making sense. The wild look in his eye never faded, and even now he was thrashing around and screaming.

  “What do you think he took? Or… Is this a mental break?” Peter asked. “I mean… I’ve seen people tweak like this from cocaine, but… I don’t know, this feels different because he’s not responding to anything we say or do.”

  “It’s mental.” The vigilante said, just staring at the man. Peter glanced at him, curious. “Trust me.”

  “Uh, ok. I mean, it would make sense.” He said. He holds out his hand for the other guy. “I’m Peter.”

  “Signal.” He said, taking his hand.

  Peter’s face scrunched up. “What kind of a name is Signal? Did you willingly choose that?”

  Signal huffed. “Mouthy, aren’t you?”

  “I get that a lot.”

  “Very ungrateful to the guy who just saved you from becoming aerodynamic.” Signal said.

  Peter huffed a laugh. “True.” He said.

  “I’m the daytime hero, so I’m usually patrolling while the others are sleeping. If you need any help, just shout.” Signal says.

  “Mkay, I’ll remember that. I’ll see you around.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

  Peter thought about those parting words as he walked away. Even when he left Crime Alley, exploring through the richer neighborhoods and getting on the bus to see the city, that entire incident kept replaying in his head over and over. Not the attack itself, he’d been attacked by junkies and stuff hundreds of times.

  But something else about that interaction was off. Whatever it was, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up every time he thought about it. Peter tries to shrug it off. After all, it was just a man having a mental episode.

  Right?

-

Bat Boys (and girls) August 29th

Sigma (Signal):

Good news, bad news, strange news.

(Sent 12:18 pm)

CC:

Let's hear it

(Sent 12:19 pm)

Sigma (Signal):

Good news:

@Dicko Mode I found that kid you were stalking, and he seems fine

(Sent 12:20 pm)

Dicko Mode:

👍

(Sent 12:20 pm)

Sigma (Signal):

Bad news:

I only found him because I hesrd screaming while on patrol. A lunatic with a knife, screaming like a banshee was trying to stab the kid.

*heard

(Sent 12:21 pm)

Timbo:

The dude with the knife was screaming???

(Sent 12:22 pm)

Sigma (Signal):

Yup

(Sent 12:22 pm)

Babs:

Weird…

(12:22 pm)

Sigma (Signal):

And strangely enough, it seems like our friend the knife-wielding banshee had taken a few too many dips in a Lazarus Pit.

(Sent 12:23 pm)

Dicko Mode:

What?

(Sent 12:23 pm)

Batty:

Where did this happen?

(Sent 12:23 pm)

Sigma (Signal):

Sending coords

(Sent 12:24 pm)

Steph:

Seems like that kid has the most horrible luck in the world.

(Sent 12:26 pm)

Chapter Text

  Desperation coiled up in Peter’s chest. He felt like a rope that had been pulled too taut, on the verge of fraying and snapping yet unable to get his body to relax. His hands dug into the burning sand, shoving it aside and quickly forming a bowl that only got deeper and deeper with each swipe of his hands.

  The world was small. He felt like he was trapped in glass like an animal in a cage, but he couldn’t look up to confirm his theory. If he looked up, he expected to see men with microscopes inspecting him like a neat little bug. But all his attention was on the hole that he was feverishly digging.

  Creatures squirmed in the sand around him. Dark little bodies burrowing into the sand, writhing around like worms with all the slimy unease of leeches. The sky rolled overhead. Dark grey clouds and unnatural green closed in on him. Was that why he was digging? Was he trying to hide from the storm that only seemed to press closer and closer to the ground? Or was he looking for something? Was something buried under the sand, slowly being destroyed by the all-consuming desert?

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as thunder rolled. It thrummed through his body, rattling in his chest. If only he could-

  Peter jolts awake as thunder booms. He sits up faster than he should have, gasping for air and throwing his hands over his heart. Rain pounded at the windows, as if it were trying to force its way inside to hide from the storm above his head.

  Slowly, Peter calmed down. Gripping the sheets in his hands was grounding enough to remind himself that he was in the apartment, not some wasteland of sand and parasites. What a weird dream though.

  He belatedly realized it was still very dark. How long had he slept? It definitely wasn’t dawn, but he didn’t know how far off that was.

  If he wanted to get to the entrance exam, he had to leave earlier than most so he could walk there. But if it were too early, that’d be awkward. If it were, like, three in the morning and it took an hour to walk there, that would mean he’d have to wait outside in the rain for four hours. But if it was closer to five in the morning and he went there now, he’d get there by six and have time to scope out the place a little. In theory. If the storm didn’t let up, he’d probably just huddle up on the steps of the school, shivering for two hours. And he’d rather not take a test while looking like a drowned rat.

  God, this storm was really going to screw him over if it didn’t stop soon. Was it always raining in Gotham or something? It rained just the other day.

  Peter stood up and made his way out into the living room. He shivered when cold air blasted him in the face. The floor in front of the window was covered in water and leaves.

  He made his way to the linen closet, grabbed a throw blanket, and sat on the couch. Peter blinked sleepily at the window, watching the storm outside from the safety of the couch. Sleep was tugging at his sleeve, begging him to go back to sleep.

  He missed his friends. The feeling of loneliness he always had in this place crept in. He’d give anything to curl up on the couch in Stark Tower, watching movies with the others as the storm raged outside.

  “…-ouldn’t do that whe-…” A voice drifted through the air.

  Peter jumped, eyes snapping open again. He looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. Slowly, his eyes drifted to the window. Sometimes, he swears the storm sounds like whispered voices, but never that clear. Maybe the storm combined with the fact that he was half asleep made him imagine it.

  Slowly, he let himself relax again. He rested his chin on the back of the couch. He really needed to decide if he wanted to leave now or wait for the storm to clear.

  “Over here!” A voice called.

  Peter leapt onto his feet. That was definitely NOT the storm. Wild-eyed, he hurried to the bedroom to grab his bag, pulling it on.

  His whole body was tense, ready to sprint away. Peter stood there, holding his breath, as he strained his senses to hear or smell anything. All he could smell was rain and mold. The wind ripped through the building, and thunder rolled. He couldn’t hear anything else.

  Peter tentatively crept out of the apartment and into the hall. He didn’t know what direction the voice came from, but he knew he needed to find that person. At best, they were just an urban explorer, but at worst they could be a security guard.

  He stuck to the shadows, avoiding the windows, as he made his way through the hallways. Lightning struck, illuminating the dark space for just a flash. The shadows cast by the brief light shining through the leaves that consumed the hallway were haunting. The whole building seemed to shudder as the moss and vines squirmed.

  Looking down the stairs to the next floor, Peter tried to see through the dark. There were no flashlights or the shuffling of footsteps. In fact, he hadn’t heard any more voices since he left the apartment. Maybe the voices came from outside?

  He made his way down the stairs. While he was here, it wouldn’t hurt to check the second floor. Peter hadn’t spent much time here, only walking pretty quickly through to get to the ground floor. Now though, he walked slowly, taking in the extent of the damage on his floor.

  The light fixtures had almost all fallen to the ground with only two remaining in place. Moss and mold covered the walls and layered thickly over debris, but honestly, the roof and walls seemed more intact than those on the third floor. There were hardly any drips and the heat retained down here was a lot better. By comparison, the third floor was frigid. Maybe he should move down to one of these apartments.

  As he thought that, his spider-senses jolted. Peter froze, his breathing stopped instantly. He had never strained his senses harder than he was right now, trying desperately to search for whatever was triggering his spider-sense. But there was nothing. No more voices, nothing that smelled off, no signs anyone other than him had been here. But the tingling from the animalistic side of his brain refused to relent. There was something here he wasn’t sensing, something here that his subconscious was picking up on that he couldn’t perceive. That thought only put him more on edge.

  Thunder crashed. Peter jumped and slapped a hand over his mouth, stifling a yelp of terror. Heat rushed to his face as embarrassment set in.

  He turns and makes his way back to his apartment. There was no one here. No one. He was just paranoid because his half-asleep brain thought it was funny to make rain and wind sound like voices. That was all.

  Peter went up to the apartment and rummaged through the bag of food from the soup kitchen. The only other canned food he had was canned potatoes, meaning soon enough, he’d have to start eating dry pasta and rice. But for now, he forced himself to be grateful for what he had and ate on the couch.

  And he didn’t look around, wearily eyeing the dark corners of the apartment, even once. Not once. Not at all.

-

  Luckily, the rain let up just before sunrise. He gathered his backpack, tried to make his hair less awful-looking, and then jumped from the window. Peter didn’t know how much time he had, so he hurried along the way to get to the school as soon as possible.

  He arrived pretty early, but there were a few kids already waiting. They hung out in groups of two to four, most of them were on their phones. Peter hesitated to approach anyone. He knew he was the odd one out among them.

  Most of the kids were dressed very similarly. Dress shirts and jeans. Nice clothes, nice shoes, nice backpacks, and new phones. Some of the boys had ties, but for the most part, the general attire was very androgynous. There wasn’t a stain on their clothes, not one. The worst he’d seen was a kid with a cracked phone screen or a girl with untied laces. By comparison, he must look homeless just at a glance.

  His hair was a mess, he hadn’t showered in a few days at least, and he was covered in stains. Dirt, grass stains, and food stains. His shirt had dried weirdly and now had the most god-awful texture. Peter’s shoes were ruined. The left one almost had the sole torn off and the right one’s laces were so badly frayed that they hardly looked like shoe laces anymore. And he prayed to god there was no more dried blood on his face. The cut on his cheek had almost entirely healed, but Peter could still smell blood. He could only hope that there weren't blood stains on him.

  Awkwardly, he shuffles past a group of students and into the entrance of the school. Already, he felt out of place. The nicely polished stone floors, the heater that was blasting, and the elegant light fixtures seemed to be mocking him.

  Peter curled in on himself, gripping his backpack straps and keeping his eyes low. It was almost too easy to slip back into that posture, he’d done it pretty much his whole schooling career. If he were smaller and less intrusive, his tormentors were less likely to bother him. Sure, he didn’t have any here yet, but he’d like to keep it that way.

  As he walked, a girl up ahead stopped what she was doing to look at him. He shied away from her, subconsciously taking a few steps to the side to give her more room (as if she didn’t have an entire walkway), but she wasn’t having it. She stepped into his path and gave him a wave and a friendly smile.

  He stopped walking, a little surprised. She was also dressed very nicely, with a black dress shirt and dark grey jeans. She had a round face and short-cut jet-black hair. After waving, she started moving her hands. It took him a second to realize it was sign language.

  [Hello! My name is Cassandra. You can call me Cassie.]

  Peter blinked at her for a second. “Oh. Uh, hi, sorry, uh, I-I’m Peter. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Cassie.” He said. He held out her hand to shake hers. “Um, my sign language is terrible, but I’ll try.”

  [That’s ok. I’ll sign slowly.] She signed, grinning a little. [Are you new?] He gave her a confused look, not knowing what that last sign was. Picking up on that, she spelled out ‘new’ and pointed at him again.

  “Oh! Yes, I’m new. I’m trying to get a scholarship here.” He said. Cassie nodded, seemingly in approval. “So, uh, I’m sorry, you have full permission to punch me if this is a dumb thing to ask, but are you deaf or mute or…?”

  [I’m mute. Never learned to talk.] She signed, frowning a little. [How did you learn to sign?]

  “Some friends back home taught me a little.”

  Wade knew sign language fluently. Peter worked with the mercenary on occasion if they happened to have similar goals. He learned a lot during one mission where Wade came to him, more distraught than he’d ever seen the merc, and told him that Peter had to help him find his friend. Wade’s friend was a deaf woman whom he nicknamed Jessica Jazz-Hands, Jazzie for short, and the entire reason he learned sign language.

  During that mission, Wade would randomly start teaching Peter signs. Then when they found Jazzie (turns out she was completely fine, she left the state for a family emergency and her phone got lost with her luggage), she taught him even more signs. He was still terrible at it, but before, he had Wade to help when he fumbled. Now, talking with Cassie all alone, he was way less confident in his signing abilities.

  The thought of home made him sad. He almost missed the next thing Cassie signed to him. [Where are you from?]

  “Queens. I only recently moved her because of my dad’s job.” He said. Cassie nodded in acknowledgement.

  Just then, the bell rang. Peter assumed that meant they had to get to the testing hall. He followed Cassie, who knew where she was going a lot more than he did, as the hallway flooded with kids.

  He paused when he noticed kids splitting into two groups to go into two different rooms. Which one should he go to? Luckily, he wasn’t confused for long. Cassie tugged on his sleeve, making him look at her.

  [New students go in there,] She points. [Returning students go there for placement testing.]

  “Oh, ok, I see. Thank you.” He said.

  [Good luck!]

  “You too.”

  And with that, they went into separate rooms. It felt nice to already have a friend. He made a mental note to check out a book on ASL next time he was at the library.

  The science parts of the test were easy. He almost felt guilty about how easy they were. The history portion was a little harder. History had never been his strong suit and this was for a world that wasn’t his own. He could only hope that this place was DRASTICALLY different. But since he was feeling very unconfident in the history part, he decided to try ultra hard at everything else. He reminded himself of what Nightwing told him before and really took his time with it.

  Only when he was sure this was his best work did he hand in the test. He didn’t doubt the science part, it was all easy chemistry questions and a few biology questions sprinkled in. He could only hope the other parts would be enough to make up for his weak history knowledge.

  As he handed in the test, the teacher eyed him up and down. Reproach was thick in his stare and he gave Peter the most strained smile imaginable. Peter shrank into himself and slunk out of the classroom. He felt ashamed of his rough state.

  When he left the room, he was surprised to see Cassie waiting for him. He grinned shyly at her and waved. She smiled and waved back.

  “I’m sorry.” He said when he made his way to her. “If I knew you were waiting, I would’ve tried to hurry.”

  [Don’t worry about it. I’m waiting on my brother anyway.] She rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, ok. I’m glad I’m not holding you up.” He said. “Um… Care to show me around?”

  She nodded happily.

  Peter stuck close as she showed him around. Cassie showed him where the bathrooms were, the cafeteria, and several of the classrooms. Peter’s eyes lit up when he saw the chemistry lab and asked if they could take a quick detour. When she nods, he hurried inside.

  He made a show of looking around, as if inspecting the room. His eyes kept flicking to the closet of chemicals, trying to see if they had what he needed. Under each work station was a cabinet full of PPE and tools he’d need.

  [Are you a science nerd?] She asked, a playful glint in her eye.

  “The biggest. Been dying to work on a project.” He said. She hummed in acknowledgment.

  [What project?]

  “Um… Maybe I’ll show you when it’s done.” He said. No, he wouldn’t. Not if he could help it.

  She nods, but it doesn’t look like she believes him. When he was done looking around, she continued the tour. This place was huge! It was making his head spin.

  By the time they got back to the testing rooms, a boy and a girl were waiting for them. The two were chatting with each other, the girl seemed a lot more animated while the guy looked like he was on the verge of passing out. He had a restaurant cup of coffee in his hand, but it didn’t seem to help much.

  “Cassie, hey!” The girl said. She grabbed Cassie’s arm, pulling her into a side-hug. Then, she turned to look at Peter. Something flashed across her face that was gone too quickly to parse. “And who is this?”

  “Uh, Peter Parker. Cassie was- was showing me around.” He said, awkwardly averting his gaze.

  “Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Stephanie, or just Steph, and this is Tim. Or Timothy if you want to piss him off.” She said.

  “Don’t call me Timothy.” He sighed. His heartbeat was quicker than it should have been, given his demeanor. A telltale sign of someone who’d had a lot of caffeinated beverages. Peter tried to keep an amused grin off his face.

  “This genius over here had all summer break to study, but instead spent it being a dork and then had to cram last night,” Steph explained.

  “It snuck up on me.” He said defensively.

  “We had two months.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Two months go by quickly when you’re buried in video games,” Peter said. Steph and Cassie laugh.

  “Hey! Wait, how’d you know?” Tim asked.

  “I just guessed. I mean… The Creeper head keychain on your backpack gave away the fact that you at least played Minecraft, so…” Peter trailed off cheekily.

  Steph laughs again. “I like this kid!” She said, throwing an arm around his shoulders. He got worried she’d recoil from the smell, again, he hadn’t had access to a shower in days, but if she noticed, she didn’t bring anything up. “You’re friend-adopted now.”

  “Uh… What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re in for a long school year,” Tim said.

  “Come on, chop chop.” She said, guiding Peter towards the exit. “We’re going to the store.”

  “Wh- Wait, why?”

  “Last-minute clothes shopping, duh. Why else?”

  He was herded outside with the other two teens following behind. They brought him to a very nice car, one that reminded him a lot of the one Happy drives around. There was an elderly gentleman behind the wheel who greeted them politely when they all filed into the car.

  Peter sat there, hands in his lap, trying not to breathe too hard. He felt like a pig in the White House. He felt like a fish on Venus. He was horribly out of his element and felt like he stood out like a sore thumb.

  “Thank you, Alfred!” Steph said as they stopped in front of a store. “We’ll be out in thirty.”

  “Be safe, young masters.”

  He got out of the car and followed them into the store. As Tim and Cassie argued over where to go first in this massive place, Peter scooted closer to a rack to see a price tag. Fifty dollars for a jacket?! Oh hell no. Was he even going to be able to afford anything here? Hypothetically. Hypothetically meaning if he had the money from his jobs in his world would he be able to afford this stuff? Probably not.

  It was clear they were rich kids. Nice clothes from a nice school that had their own personal driver who could take them to an expensive store for ‘last-minute clothes shopping’. Peter swallowed down what he could only assume was his heart that was trying to escape his throat and grasped the hem of his shirt tightly.

  “Why don’t we just split up then?” Tim said finally. Cassie thought for a moment then nodded. “Cool. Now that that’s solved, I’m going to the hardware store.”

  Peter’s head perked up a little at that. But he didn’t say anything and instead let Stephanie lead him off to a further back section of the store. She immediately gravitates to a rack and starts looking through the clothes on it.

  He stands by her idly, looking around. It was only then that he realized this place was much more like a mall than a regular store. It was a large complex with many different shops selling vastly different things.

  “Ooo, look at this.” She said, taking a sweater from the rack. It appeared to be made of fleece and had a simplistic but cute black cat along the chest. “It’s so cute.”

  “Yeah, that’s adorable.” He said. “Do you like cats?”

  “Eh. Better than dogs. Never owned a cat though.” She said.

  “Me neither. I’ve never owned pets. I used to be-“ He stopped abruptly. He used to be allergic to pet fur until the spider bite, but that’s not something he can just say! What the hell is up with him? Steph glances over at him, making him scramble to fix his mistake. “I-I mean, I used to be annoying about it, you know? Constantly begging my aunt and uncle to get me a pet, but, uh, my uncle was allergic to pet fur.”

  “Aw, that sucks. Who’re you living with now?”

  “Oh, um, my dad. My- My foster dad. And he doesn’t want pets in the house.” Peter said. It suddenly dawned on him that he’d been calling Tony Stark his dad. He couldn’t help how his face heated up as he realized that he’d probably fall over and die from embarrassment if Tony ever found out.

  “Because of the fur or the responsibility or what?”

  “A bit of both. I… I think, I actually haven’t asked.”

  Steph hummed. “I see.” She said. Throwing the sweater over her arm, she turns fully to him. “So, whatcha looking for?”

  “Huh?”

  “We’re clothes shopping. Get three shirts and three pants at least. And maybe a jacket. In Gotham, it goes from kinda chilly to frigid like that.” She said, snapping her fingers to illustrate her point.

  “Oh, uh, I don’t have money to buy clothes-“

  “What? Don’t be dumb, I am buying you clothes. I thought that was implied by the whole ‘friend-adoption’ thing.” She said.

  Peter gaped at her in a very fish-like way. “Wait, what? No, no, no, it’s ok. You don’t have to-“ Steph crosses her arms stubbornly. Peter sighs. “We aren’t leaving until I let you buy my clothes, are we?”

  “Nope.”

  He bit his lip anxiously. “I don’t like owing people things.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “O-… Ok. Fine.”

  “Yay!” She cheered, happy to get her way. “So, let’s start looking. What size do you wear?”

  They spent a good twenty minutes looking for clothes. They chatted as they went around the store and Peter learned a little about her. First off, Stephanie was a lot more observant than Peter had expected her to be. She’d see him staring at a clothing item, anxiously eyeing the price tag, and just wordlessly grab it for him. On top of that, it only took him finding one shirt he liked for her to clock what he was looking for.

  “What about this?” Steph asked. He turned to see her holding up a shirt that was navy blue that said with a Bunsen burner that said ‘I don’t want none unless you got Bunsen.’

  “That’s atrocious.” He said. “I love it.”

  “Thought so.” She chirped. She also put that shirt over her arm. “Only you could like all these stupid nerdy graphic t-shirts.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  He felt bad about making her so concerned for him that she felt obligated to buy him clothes. Of course, he couldn’t turn it down, he’d be an idiot to turn down clothes that could keep him from freezing to death or smelling bad. But he still made a mental note to repay her for this later.

  “Thank you again for this,” Peter said as they were at the checkout. “You’re really nice.”

  “Aw, no need to thank me. Here.” She passes him the bag. “Any friend of Cassie is a friend of mine. She’s a really good judge of character.”

  “Oh. Well then, I’m flattered.” He said.

  “Come on, let’s go find the other two.”

  He followed after her as she went deeper into the shopping complex. Despite saying they had to ‘find them’, Steph seemed to know where to look. They immediately found Cassie in the art section of a store, looking at calligraphy pens and watercolor paints. Cassie ends up buying the calligraphy pens before they leave the store.

  Then, they go into the hardware store and find Tim staring at a toolkit as if sizing it up. Peter glanced at all the items Tim had in his basket, trying to figure out what he might be doing with them. “Hey, Tim!” Steph called. “You almost done?”

  “Yeah, just trying to remember… um… which size screwdriver was the one I lost.” He mumbled distractedly.

  “Are you making your own PC?” Peter asked. Tim gave him a surprised look. He shrugged and gestured at the basket. “I just assumed because of the CPU and the mini-fans.”

  “Oh, wow.” He said. Tim smiled. “Do you have experience with things like this?”

  “Mhm. I was an intern at an engineering company. I learned a lot there.” Peter said.

  “Hey, maybe you could sign up for an engineering course at the prep!” Steph said.

  “If I get in, yeah.” Peter laughed.

  Tim and Peter, in the line for the checkout and all the way to the car, yapped on and on about computer engineering and technology. He was sure the girls thought they were the biggest nerds ever, and Peter couldn’t blame them. But when they were in the car, Peter’s yapping abruptly stopped when they asked where they should drop him off.

  Peter scrambled to find a spot nearby. He gave them the name of an apartment building in Crime Alley, not too terribly far from the abandoned building he was staying in. Now he was REALLY glad he spent a lot of time exploring around.

  “Here we are,” Steph said. “See you later, Peter.”

  “Yeah, I’ll see you. Bye.”

  As he got out, Tim and Steph said their goodbyes to him as well. Peter made his way to the apartment complex, deciding to wait around until they left so he could walk to his place. He felt so worn out, but in a good way. He was exhausted from that excursion, but at the same time, he found himself hoping to hang out with them again soon.

  His stomach growls, making him groan. Peter was so hungry. Looking out at the street, he no longer sees the car, so he steps out and makes his way to the abandoned building to go to sleep.

-

  The pain was so intense that Peter had to stop himself from vomiting. He’d never felt pain like this before. It was the kind of pain that burned away all your coherent thoughts.

  “No…” He croaked, fear and agony making his voice break. “Please- I don’t want to-“ Die.

  He gagged, and this time he did vomit. Peter clamped an arm over his stomach, curling in on himself, as he vomited everything from his stomach. And when he opened his eyes, he saw more blood than anything else had come up.

  And, from somewhere he couldn’t see, there was a chorus of endless screaming.

-

Dear, Mr. Parker:

I’m writing to inform you that you have been accepted into Gotham Preparatory Academy and may start the school semester here on October 10th. Due to the extraordinary grade you received on the entrance exam, your tuition will be paid for by Wayne Enterprises. On top of this, you will receive a monthly stipend of $230, effective immediately. If you do not receive payment by October 10th at the latest, please contact us with the information below.

We thank you for choosing to continue your education at Gotham Preparatory Academy and have the highest faith in your success here. Welcome to the GPA family.

Cordially,

Bruce Wayne

  Peter could’ve cried from joy. He held the letter to his chest, his whole body trembling. If he had the energy to spare, he might be screaming and jumping up and down.

  He got in. He got accepted to Gotham Prep! All of his hopes came true! He’d get money in the mail, he could go to school and be at least a semi-normal kid, and he’d have access to the lab to get web fluid. Finally, it seems like his bad luck was changing!

  Scrambling for his backpack, he grabbed an old school assignment and flipped it to the back, and then grabbed his pencil. All day today, he’d been too tired to do anything other than lie around and read, which was extremely concerning given his usual restless nature. But now that he had received such good news, he felt motivated to write up a list of things he needed to prioritize. If he only had $230 monthly (until he got another job), he’d have to make it count.

  With hope fueling his pen, he started creating a budgeting plan. Maybe he could survive here after all. He still wanted to get home more than anything, but to have hope he could survive this place in the meantime was such an addictive feeling.

-

Bat Boys (and girls) October 2nd

Sigma (Signal):

The guy from a few days ago has finally calmed down enough to be questioned

(Sent 1:23 am)

Batty:

Why are you still awake?

(Sent 1:24 am)

Sigma (Signal):

Couldn’t stop rhinking about how weird this all is

*thinkinh

*thinking

God damn

(Sent 1:24 am)

Dicko Mode:

^ Evidence you need sleep

(Sent 1:25 am)

Timbo:

I can go to the station right now to help with questioning, just go to bed, Duke

(Sent 1:25 am)

Dicko Mode:

Ill go with you

(Sent 1:25 am)

Timbo:

K

I am at Gold Mountain Park near the fountain

(Sent 1:25 am)

Dicko Mode:

Be there in ten

(Sent 1:26 am)

Babs:

I still can’t figure out where the guy came from

Its like he popped out of nowhere behind Peter to attack him

Dont know where the pit could be either

(Sent 1:28 am)

Batty:

As in, it looks like he literally materialized?

(Sent 1:28 am)

Babs:

No he comes from an alleyway but I can’t find any footage of him going in there to wait for Peter or anything

(Sent 1:28 am)

CC:

Has someone told Jason about this?

(Sent 1:29 am)

Dicko Mode:

I tried to talk to him earlier in the night but he blatantly ignored me and walked past

(Sent 1:29 am)

Steph:

He’s having a bad night

Body of a kid found in Crime Alley

Six year old Elyse Dior

Parents reported her missing seven days ago

You know how he gets when kids die in his territory

(Sent 1:29 am)

Babs:

Jesus Christ

(Sent 1:29 am)

Dicko Mode:

Was it foul play?

(Sent 1:30 am)

Steph:

Dot know

*Don’t

Why?

(Sent 1:30 am)

Dicko Mode:

Idk

Just have a really bad feeling about all this

(Sent 1:30 am)

Sigma (Signal):

Same

(Sent 1:30 am)

Chapter Text

  Peter actually DID cry in relief when his check came in. Since it was his first source of income since coming here, he decided to prioritize improving his condition over anything else. Namely, food. He didn’t know it was possible to be this hungry. It felt like there was a feral beast in his stomach, growling continuously as it tried to claw its way out of him.

  Wiping his eyes, he tried to get his hands to stop shaking. Peter couldn’t go to a store as a crying, trembling mess, now could he? So, he took a moment to breathe, calm down, and remember his budgeting plan.

  He grabbed his backpack, tucked the money into one of the pockets, and then made his way out into the streets. As he walked, he looked down at the assignment he’d written on. Again, he decided that most of the things he bought with this first stipend would be food or things to make food with, but he figured he could buy a few tools. He could excuse it by saying he needed to fix the window so it could open and close freely, but it’d also make future endeavors easier if he already had the tools.

  Though as he walked, he felt worse and worse. All yesterday and today, he had done absolutely nothing. It was like his body was on battery saver mode, he literally didn’t have the energy to even go hang out on the roof. But now that he was making himself walk, whatever energy he had was being burned out.

  Peter slowly came to a stop about three blocks from the apartment. He was shaking so violently and his whole body was screaming at him to lie down right there in the street and sleep. Oh god, was he going to make it to the store and back? How pathetic would it be to starve to death on the way to buy food?

  “Hey, kid.” Someone called. He turned to look at them.

  That was a mistake.

  One moment, he was turning to see who was talking to him, and the next, he was on his back. His head buzzed as darkness took over. Peter couldn’t tell you how long he lay there, but he knew the only reason he was waking up was because of the pain. The back of his head hurt like a bitch.

  Peter groaned, cracking his eyes open. He was staring up at a thick blanket of clouds. Cars zipped by, streetlights buzzed.

  “Oh thank fuck.” A voice said. “I thought you just died in front of me.”

  He turns his head, blinking in surprise. A man in a red face mask with a red hood was crouched next to him. Peter dimly realized that they must be a vigilante.

  “Where am I?” He mumbled.

  “Estanque de Ranas Lane.” He said.

  “Ranas? Isn’t that… frogs?” He laughed weakly.

  “Yup.” The vigilante said. He reached out a hand for Peter. “Come on, let’s get up.”

  Peter took the man’s hand, letting the guy pull him to his feet. He staggered for a moment, taking longer to rebalance himself than usual. Suddenly, it hit him. Did he just pass out? Oh god, he must be much closer to starving to death than he thought.

  He was so out of it that he hardly noticed the vigilante staring at him, arms crossed. “Are you okay?” He asked, sounding uncomfortable.

  “Yeah, I’m ok,” Peter said automatically. “Just… uh… hungry. But I’m on my way to the store now, so…”

  The vigilante’s head tipped towards the ground. Peter followed the movement and saw his paper on the ground. The man bends over, picks it up, and reads it. His expression is unreadable under the mask, but Peter could imagine it. He snatched the paper away and held it to his chest defensively.

  “Ugh, come on.” He groaned. “Let’s go get you something to eat before you pass out again.

  At the mention of food, Peter’s stomach rumbled. His face went red when he realized that the vigilante could definitely hear that. “I’m on my way to the store right now…” He mumbled.

  “Kid, don’t make me ask again. Come on.”

  Peter glared at the man, but it lacked the heat it should have. “Or you’re gonna kidnap me?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  With a sigh, he folds up his paper and sticks it in his pocket. The vigilante seems to take that as a sign of compliance. He turns and starts walking. Peter follows at a bit of a distance.

  “I’m Peter.” He said.

  “Peter. I’m called Red Hood.” He said.

  “Like Little Red Riding Hood?” He asked, an impish grin blooming on his face. Red Hood gives him an unimpressed look. Peter shrugs. “Hey, it’s still better than Signal.”

  “How has a lippy, homeless, Yorkie survived in Crime Alley for this long?” Red Hood snarked back.

  “I’m stubborn and persistent, that’s how,” Peter said. Then there was a pause. “Wait, how’d you know I’m homeless?”

  “Just a guess. But now I know for sure.” He said. Peter glowered at him. “You gotta be smarter than that, Yorkie. People in Crime Alley might use that knowledge against you, so don’t go announcing to the world that you have no home to run to.”

  “I’m not announcing it to the world,” Peter said, defensive. “You’re the only person who knows.”

  “Hmm. Not your parents?” Red Hood said pointedly. The look on Peter’s face must’ve given it away because Red Hood sighed. “Good god, kid. You’re really not good at this.”

  “Screw you.”

  The vigilante took him to a restaurant nearby. Once again, Peter’s mouth started watering upon walking in and smelling the food. This one looked like a classic American diner, undercut somewhat by the fact that three out of four windows were boarded up because they had bullet holes in them.

  “Hey, Red Hood!” A teen boy said, grinning brightly despite the hulking man towering over him. “Who’s this?”

  “Peter.” Red Hood said. Peter gave him an awkward wave. The other boy waved back.

  “Your table is open.” The boy said, gesturing to a table at the back of the restaurant.

  “Thanks, kid.”

  He leads Peter to the table indicated and takes a seat with his back to the wall. Peter’s stomach growled, making his face go red again. It was hard to think about anything other than food, as if his hunger was a thick mist that had replaced his brain.

  “How often do you come here?” Peter asked when he realized he’d been quiet for too long.

  “Maybe once a month. But I saved that kid’s sister, so his family feels indebted to me.”

  “Oh, wow. Care to share the story?”

  Peter scrambled to grab the menu when he realized he had forgotten to even look at it. He was so painfully thirsty that a nice glass of ice-cold water sounded lovely, but he didn’t know what to get to eat. Everything looked good on this menu. But to be fair, he’s not sure how much of a compliment that was considering he was so hungry he’d eat a shoe at this point.

  Red Hood sighs and leans back in his seat. “His sister was born with a bad heart I guess. I don’t really know the details, all I know is that some absolute c- uh… menace, some menace tried to carjack the ambulance that was taking her to the hospital to escape the police.”

  “What the hell? Who carjacks an ambulance?”

  “Someone who’s on a lot of meth.”

  “Fair enough,” Peter said. “So… Really… Why the name Red Hood?” He asked. The vigilante groaned. “I’m just saying. You could’ve chosen anything and you chose to be nicknamed after a little girl in a fairytale.”

  “I didn’t choose shit.” He grumbles. “A single news outlet snapped a picture of me called me ‘a mysterious red hooded figure’ and then the name stuck.”

  Peter hummed in acknowledgment. That’s how he got his name too. He’d been brainstorming names for weeks, but nothing felt right. When news outlets started calling him ‘Spider-Man’, he eagerly adopted the name. It was better than any name he could come up with.

  At that moment, a middle-aged woman came over to ask them for their drink order. Peter’s heart nearly bursts from his chest as he awkwardly asks for water. He forgot how nerve-wracking it was to order at a restaurant. He took a moment to laugh at the irony. Peter wasn’t scared to take on Rhino with no backup, dive from Central Park Tower, take on a gang of mobsters unarmed, and yet he was on the verge of a panic attack ordering water from a diner. That didn’t make much sense.

  “So, what’s your plan?” Red Hood asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, kid. You don’t intend to live on the streets forever, do you?” Red Hood asked.

  “I’m going home soon. Back to Queens. With my foster father.” He said. He couldn’t see Red Hood’s face, but he could see the shift in his posture.

  It was painfully silent for a moment. “Did you run away from him?” He asked. Peter forcefully kept his face blank. “Did he throw you out? How’d you end up homeless?”

  Peter looked down at the table. He refused to look at Red Hood or speak. It remained dead silent until the waitress came over with their drinks and then took their order. Peter decided to get a classic cheeseburger and fries. You can’t go wrong with that.

  He was hoping that’d be the end of that. Hopefully, Red Hood would get the message that he didn’t want to talk about this. But after the waitress left, Red Hood just stared at him silently. This was a tactic SHIELD used; having an agent stare you down silently until you crack from the pressure and start yapping. Luckily, Peter was ready for that and didn’t intend to break.

  After a moment, Red Hood sighed. He slipped his hand under the hood, brushing his fingers through his hair. “Listen… I’m… Not good at this. I just want to make sure you’re safe is all. I know what it’s like to be an orphan swiping wallets in Crime Alley.”

  “I’m not a pickpocket.”

  “Well, you’d better start learning. If your foster dad isn’t taking care of you, you gotta take care of yourself.”

  Peter pulled a face. “What kind of hero are you? Encouraging me to steal…”

  “First off, I’m not a hero. Secondly, I’m a man who doesn’t want to watch a street rat starve to death.” Red Hood said, a teasing hint entering his voice, but just a bit.

  If Peter were anyone else, Red Hood’s words might not have hit as hard as they did. He reminded Peter of Wade or Frank. God, he missed them. His heart twisted.

  “I’m ok. Or, well… My situation is getting better.” Peter said honestly. “I’m working on it. I got into this school on a scholarship and I now have a stipend to work with. I’ll start looking for a job soon as well.”

  The vigilante was quiet for a moment longer. “Alright. At least it’s a plan.” He said.

  Soon enough, their food was delivered to the table. Peter only had the self-restraint to wait for the waitress to leave before tearing into his food. He ate so quickly that he felt sickness brewing in his stomach, but he kept eating until the burger was completely gone.

  Only then did he realize that Red Hood hadn’t touched his food. Peter huffed, realizing why he wasn’t eating. He took the tray from the table and put it on his lap so he could turn away from the masked vigilante. After a few tentative moments, he heard the man reach for his own food.

  “Which school are you going to?” Red Hood asked.

  “I just got into Gotham Prep.” He said, starting in on his fries. The vigilante hums in acknowledgement. It was quiet for uncomfortably long after that. Or at least, Peter was uncomfortable. Red Hood didn’t seem to mind, after all, he was eating and probably brooding out the window. But he decided to break the silence. “I met some kids during the entrance exam. They seem nice, but I’m pretty sure they were just being polite.”

  “Hmm… Not used to having friends?”

  “Not really. I mean, back in Queens, I have Ned and MJ, but Ned is basically my brother and MJ-... We have a complicated history.” He said, deciding not to mention how she was almost murdered a few times due to her relationship with him which definitely didn’t put any strain on the relationship at ALL. “It’s kind of nice to start somewhere new. Cassie seems cool and so does Steph. Tim’s into computers and machines and stuff, so we have that in common, but we need to talk more before I can really call them my friends.”

  Red Hood went suspiciously quiet and still for a while. “I see.” He said. “I hope that goes well for you.”

  Soon after, Peter finished off his fries and Red Hood finished his food. The older man paid for their meals and they left. Red Hood seemed reluctant to let him go off on his own, but eventually let it go when Peter promised to be careful.

  He didn’t have any intention to get into trouble. Not tonight anyway. He just wanted to get what he could from the store and go home.

  But he couldn’t promise he’d stay out of trouble when he was ready to get into red and blue spandex again.

-

  He was grateful for Red Hood buying him food, which prevented hunger from clouding his judgment and getting things he didn’t need at the store. He remembered his Aunt May talking about not shopping on an empty stomach because you end up buying a bunch of junk food. And although he did end up buying food, he successfully avoided buying a bunch of snacks! (But not without somberly eyeing the cookies and sour candies.)

  Peter returned to the apartment with food, a jug of water, a few tools, hydrogen peroxide and bandages (because he figured he’d need them sooner or later), and matches. The apartment had a gas stove. If it still worked (this place has been abandoned for a long time), then he could manually light the stove and actually cook meals! That would be amazing.

  After that, Peter decided to call it a day. He spent a while fixing the window, successfully getting it to close and open but not without making the most god-awful squeaking noise, and then he collapsed into his sleeping spot. Peter tossed and turned for a while before eventually finding sleep.

  He didn’t remember his dream, if he had one. When he woke up, he was hit with a strange feeling. It felt like he was forgetting something.

  He sat up, dawn light pouring into the window, and looked around. Everything was where it should be. The window was closed, he hadn’t even attempted to turn on the stove yet, and the doors were closed. What could he be forgetting? The nagging feeling was making him stir crazy. So, he got up to make himself breakfast before leaving for the day.

  Peter cheered when he ignited the stove. He didn’t want to make more than he could eat in one sitting, since he couldn’t store food right now, so he made himself a little bit of white rice. There would be more for later if he wanted it.

  The first thing he did was go to the library. He’d finished reading the book and wanted to return it before it got damaged. Besides, having company would be nice.

  When he walked in, he saw it was as empty as it was before. He couldn’t see Barbra anywhere, even as he spun in a slow circle looking around. Peter made his way to the front desk, book in hand, and went to ring the cute little cat-themed bell on the desk. But then, he stopped abruptly.

  “I have no idea.” Ms. Barbra was saying from the backroom. “Whatever it is, it’s not looking good.”

  Who was she talking to? He strained his senses even harder to hear, but there were no other voices. Was she on the phone? Was she talking to herself?

  “Yes, I’m sure. If I had any other information, I’d tell you, but we’re kind of flying blind here.” She said. A long gap of silence. “No, no, too your right. Yes, there.” Silence. “Uh, not sure, I can’t see it from here.”

  Suddenly, Peter felt a little bad about eavesdropping. He completed the motion, ringing the bell twice. Barbra stopped short. It was quiet for a moment, and then the door opened and she wheeled herself out.

  “Oh, hello, Peter!” Barbra said.

  “Good morning, Ms. Barbra. Uh, I’m sorry if I’m interrupting your work, but uh…” He awkwardly held out the book. “I finished reading it.”

  “Oh, really? Did you like it?”

  “Yeah, it was great! Very informative, well researched, but also written in a fun way.” He said. Peter hesitates for a moment, opening and closing his fists, eyes darting to the papers on the desk. “Uh… I was wondering if you, uh… If you need any help in the library. I’m kind of looking for something to do. I hate just lying around.”

  Peter had thought about it a lot. If he starts going out as Spider-Man at the same time these vigilantes meet Peter, that might be suspicious. Besides, he needed time to improve his living conditions a little before he started taking wounds on patrol. He’s pretty damn certain that if he got shot or something and then slept on that nasty floor, he’d get an infection from hell that would likely kill him.

  But what was he going to do with his time? The first option was to get a job. He wouldn’t mind helping out in the library for free just to have something to do, but if Barbra had the revenue to hire him, he wouldn’t be complaining.

  Barbra hummed, really thinking about it. “Well… Here’s the thing.” She started. Peter already felt his heart sinking. “I’m also allergic to being idle. I don’t take weekends or holidays off until the government demands I do. I like being busy. But…” Hope rose in his chest. “I might need some help in the following days because the mayor is doing a big push to try and get people to come to the libraries in the city more.”

  “So, like, temporary work?”

  “We’ll see. If you’re good at event planning, maybe you’ll get a more permanent position.” She said, not knowing the beast she had just unleashed.

  “I promise you, I will do my absolute best.” He swore from the bottom of his heart, from one workaholic to another.

  Barbra grinned. “I don’t doubt it.” Then, she opened a drawer, shuffled around in it, and then produced a phone. “Here. You’ll need this since it has all the numbers in it already.”

  “Oh, thank you.” He said, taking the phone like it was a precious thing that couldn’t be jostled.

  “There are a couple of events the mayor is hoping to do. The first of which is supposed to be the first weekend of the school year. So, the 15th and 16th.” Barbra explained. Peter nodded, trying to store the information in his head. “It’s supposed to be an event where kids come and help each other with homework and studying for tests and, of course, getting help from other adults and me. But, let's be honest, most will probably only show up for snacks and hanging out.” She laughed. “Your job is to coordinate with schools, get them on board with the idea, so they can get the word out to the students. Don’t worry about the snacks, I got that.”

  “Got it.”

  “I’ll consider it a successful event if five students show up.” She said. Peter made a face. Five? He could do better than that. She gave him a knowing look, as if she knew that was what he was thinking.

  “I’ll do my best, Ms. Barbra.”

  “I know you will.” She said. “Uh… Now I have to get back to work. Feel free to hang out if you want.”

  “Alright.”

  With that, she turned and went back to her office and closed the door. Peter looked down at the phone. He should probably get to work if the event was supposed to be on the 15th and 16th.

  Peter made his way to the computers and sat down. He took a pen and paper from the drawer, then got to work writing down the office number for every school in the area. He assumed at least a few were already in the phone, but he didn’t want to have to keep putting down the phone to hunt for numbers if they weren’t.

  But then, when he had all the numbers, anxiety hit him. Oh god, what did he say? How did he convince schools to take him, a random sixteen-year-old, seriously?

  After a while of sitting there, anxiously biting his finger, he grabbed the pen again. Below the numbers, he started writing a basic script. A professional yet friendly introduction and proposal. Having it in writing made it less scary by a fraction, but his hands still shook as he looked for the number in the phone and hit call.

  “Good morning, this is Carol with Golden Mountain Middle School, how may I help you?” A voice said.

  “Good morning.” Peter parroted back, reading each word as if his life depended on it. “I’m with Gotham Public Library organizing an event in which kids are invited to come by for snacks and study help on the 15th and 16th. Would your school be interested in participating?”

  “I’d have to ask around about it, but I’m sure we can participate. What time would it be?”

  Peter froze for a moment. “Uh, the- the uh, library will be open at 8 am and will close at 10 pm. The students are welcome to come by any time in that window. All you need to do is make the students aware of the event and let them know they can show up if they want. Also, there’ll be snacks. You know how kids are.”

  Carol laughed a little. “I sure do. Yes, I’ll ask about it, but I’m sure we can include this in the morning announcements.”

  “Good, that- uh, that’d be great. Thank you.”

  “No problem.” She says. “Goodbye.”

  “Bye.”

  He hangs up. His heart was pounding behind his ribs. And yet, a smile bloomed on his face. Peter bent over his paper and made some adjustments to his script. He should give his name too next time and address the school by name rather than saying ‘your school’.

  Glad to have something to do, even if it was out of his comfort zone, he worked tirelessly for what felt like hours. And Peter really enjoyed it.

-

  That’s how Peter spent the next few days. He’d wake up, eat something (getting more confident with cooking every day), and head to the library. He’d call around to the schools to see if they were indeed participating and get various levels of enthusiasm.

  Some schools leapt at the idea, broadcasting the message high and low. Others had one or a few dedicated teachers pushing out the word. And others dragged their feet about it, giving him lukewarm ‘we’re looking into it’ responses.

  And when that was done, usually just the start of his day, he’d do little things around the library. He would help organize books and clean up messes, like when some teens were roughhousing and knocked a bunch of papers off a table, and would sometimes point people in the right direction if they were lost. Not a lot of people came to the library, but there were a few regulars. At least one person per day would need his help with something. Honestly, he felt bad that he couldn’t be of more help. Sometimes, people would ask him for book recommendations, things related to books they’d recently read, and he’d timidly suggest they ask Barbra.

  When he wasn’t doing anything else, he’d spend his time reading. Mainly about theoretical physics and cosmology. But Barbra would recommend him other books sometimes, ones that are more ‘artsy’ as she says. Whenever he’d get stressed about how he was going to find his way home, he’d switch to a book Barba recommended instead. Her company and books helped him way more than she knew.

  But eventually, the night of October 9th rolled around. The first day of school is tomorrow. He couldn’t help but feel nervous.

  He had gone around to a few homeless shelters because he knew (from experience) that some shelters let people use their showers even if they weren’t staying there. And when he found one that allowed that, he started visiting to shower. Tonight would be one of those nights.

  Peter said bye to Barbra, leaving a little earlier than usual, and made his way to the shelter. Even for a homeless shelter, this place was rough. It looked like a prison. A heavily graffiti-ed, windowless (because they were boarded up), prison. And a few of the people here gave him a really bad vibe. But hey, it was better than nothing, right?

  This place at least had single showers and warm water, which was nice. He showered quickly and got changed into clean clothes. Then, he made his way out the way he came, shying away from the people who gave him bad vibes.

  As soon as he was out on the street, his spider-sense spiked.

  Dark, dark. Wrong. Watch out! Turn. Look!

  “Hey.” A voice said.

  His head snapped in its direction. A dark alleyway sat there, gaping like the jaws of a beast. It was unnaturally dark, as if a black hole had sucked away all the light.

  Peter’s whole body tensed. Goosebumps ran down his neck and arms. He clutched his backpack straps tightly. Dead silence. Peter couldn’t even breathe. He had the distinct feeling that if he tried to step away, whatever was concealed in the darkness would give chase.

  A noise broke the silent stand-off. It was high-pitched and metallic, metal scraping against stone. But not just that, metal was also clinking against metal. Peter’s heart jumped into his throat when he realized what caused the sound.

  Chains.

  “Hey, tiny!” Another voice called.

  Unthinkingly, his head turned in that direction. A group of three prostitutes was across the street, standing under a street lamp. The woman who had called out to him was pretty. Full-bodied, curly hair, and smart grey eyes.

  He turned to look back into the alleyway, but it was gone. Nothing about the alleyway itself changed, at least, not visibly. But his spider-sense faded away and his goosebumps settled. Whatever it was, it ran off when the women interfered.

  “Tiny!” She calls again. “What’re you doin’ out on a school night? You’d better get your ass inside!”

  Peter glances both ways then hastily crosses the street. He felt way safer standing next to these women than chancing another encounter with whatever the hell that was. “Yeah, I’m heading home right now.”

  He got a better look at these women and winced in sympathy. All three were wearing bralettes and shorts that didn’t go to the knee. They must be freezing! But Peter knew, from working as a vigilante in New York for so long, that the pimps are often the ones who tell the girls what they can and can’t wear. Some are completely blocked from wearing jackets even in the dead of winter.

  “Well, let’s getchu home then before the oinkies throw a tantrum that you’re out past curfew.” The woman said.

  “That’d be nice, thank you.” He said.

  He started walking towards the apartment, the one he told Steph and the others he lived at before. The woman followed him, two on his left and one on his right. He kept glancing around, looking for whatever chained monstrosity was there in the shadows.

  “You’re not skipping school are you?” One of the women asked, nudging him.

  “No, no, I was just working late.” He said.

  “Good, cause skipping is how you end up like Moonflower over here.” The woman teased.

  “Ey!” Another woman, Moonflower, cried in offense.

  “Bitch, don’t play me, you dropped out at 14.” Said the other.

  “I mean, yeah, but you don’t gotta call me out like that.” She grumbled. Moonflower nudges Peter. “Stay in school though.”

  “I was planning on it.”

  “What school you going to?”

  “Uh, Gotham Prep,” Peter said.

  “Oh! So you’re a genius, huh? You’re like Maria, yeah?” Moonflower said. She looks over at her friend with a grin. “Maria here is a doctor.”

  Maria rolled her eyes. “Vet.”

  “Yeah, an animal doctor.”

  They made their way to the apartment. Slowly, by listening to the women talk, he felt the tension ease from his shoulders. Whatever had been there before was gone and wasn’t following. He couldn’t feel its gaze, his spider-sense wasn’t being triggered, and he couldn’t see anything lurking in the shadows.

  “This is my stop.” He said.

  “Oh, hey, my boyfriend lives here.” The woman who initially called out to him said. Velvet is what the other two called her. “Kinda far from The Prep, yeah?”

  “I’ll take the bus.”

  “Mkay. Get some sleep, Tiny. Did you know your brain works 25% less efficiently when you don’t sleep enough?” Velvet said.

  Peter made a face. “I don’t think that’s true.”

  She huffs. “It’s true because I say it's true.” Peter laughed a little. “Now run along, get in bed.”

  “Ok, I will. Goodnight, ladies!” He said, waving.

  “Bye!” Came a chorus of voices.

  He made his way inside the building and stood there for a moment. And then, with a sigh, he made his way through the building to the back door. Peter slipped out and into the night, creeping through the shadows and using all his senses to avoid everyone as he went back to his place.

  Peter had trouble falling asleep that night. He felt so unsettled. It was like that encounter had knocked something loose inside of him.

-

  The second he stepped foot on campus, he once again felt like a fish on Venus. The kids weren’t dressed as formally as before, but they were still very clearly richer than he was. And they could definitely tell. Every stare he received, whether sympathetic or disgusted, burned him like scalding water.

  He made his way through the hall to his first class. The bell hadn’t rung yet, but he was terrified of somehow being late. Peter stood outside the door, leaning against the wall.

  “Peter!” He looks up. Steph came over, grinning. “Hey, you’re looking nice today.”

  That felt a bit like a back-handed compliment. But still, he understood. Peter had been eating more, showering more, and all his bruises and cuts were completely gone, and he was feeling better than he had since waking up here.

  “Thanks to you.” He said. “This jacket you forced me to get is a lifesaver.”

  “Forced you to get? You mean the jacket you were making googly eyes at but refused to touch until I grabbed it for you?” She said, all sass and humor. “And even if I did for you to get it, you’re grateful now, so you're welcome.”

  Peter rolled his eyes playfully. “Well, yeah, thank you.” He said.

  “So… I heard you’ve been helping out Babs in the library,” Steph said.

  “Yeah, I guess I’m her event planner now. Well, at least temporarily.” He said. “Wait, how’d you know?”

  “I love Barb. We hang out all the time.” Steph shrugged.

  Peter didn’t say anything. He’d been in the library every day for the past six days and hadn’t seen Steph once. Meaning Stephanie was either going in after hours or those two were talking about him through text. That in and of itself wasn’t weird, friends talk about their days with each other. The weird part was the fact that Steph was being evasive about it.

  Just then, the bell rang and they both made their way into class. She took a seat next to him, nearest to the door and a few seats back from the front row. Kids filtered in slowly.

  The teacher gave a little speech about the school and all its achievements, then handed out planners for them to take. The entirety of homeroom passed with the teacher having them mark school events on the calendar (including the library study group, much to Peter’s joy), and then with essentially free time.

  Steph and Peter talked idly about how cold it had gotten recently and their favorite holidays. When chatting with her, it became easy to ignore how out of place he was. But when he went on to the next class, math, he was all alone and painfully aware of it.

  This teacher had a very stern face and a strict no talking policy. He sent two kids out to the office for talking. Peter shivered, knowing he was in for a long year with this teacher. And the next was AP biology. The teacher talked about a rubric and what the year ahead would look like for exactly ten minutes before getting horribly sidetracked and talking about the ecology of bogs and marshlands. She was clearly very passionate about her field, but he was worried about how much learning would actually happen in this class. (Although he did learn some neat facts about peat moss.) The next class was engineering. His teacher was very clearly nervous, probably newer to teaching, because it sounded like they were reading from a script, but they got a gleam in their eye when they mentioned some of the projects they’d be working on.

  Peter sighed in relief when he heard it was lunchtime. He weaved his way through the crowd and straight into line for food. His stomach growled, but not as loudly as before.

  “There he is! Speak of the devil.” Steph said.

  He gave a little wave and walked over to their table. He sat down by Cassie and had to restrain himself from immediately digging into his food. “This year is gonna be rough.” He said.

  “Tell me about it.” Tim groaned. “I have Mr. Delanora. He’s gonna eat me alive.”

  Peter paused at that name. Why did that sound familiar? He glances at Cassie.

  [History teacher.] She signs disapprovingly. [Very strict, very mean.]

  “Oh…” He mumbled. Then, it hit him. “Oh, Nightwing told me to say hi to him.”

  The mood at the table shifted. “You’ve met Nightwing?” Tim asked, suddenly fully focused on Peter.

  “Once or twice, yeah.” He said, a little shy.

  “That’s so cool.” Tim grinned. “How’d you meet him?”

  Peter shrugged. “I like being up high, he didn’t like me being close to the edge. He’s got some acrophobia or something.” The others glance at each other.

  “Duke!” Steph called suddenly. Peter turned to see another guy approaching them. “Hey, Duke, have you met Peter?”

  “No, we haven’t,” Duke said. He held out his hand to Peter, which the other shook. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Hey, what teachers did you get?”

  “Uh, oh, you know… No one special. Other than Mrs. Aruna.” He said cheekily.

  “Oh come on! You get the sweetest teacher alive and I get the one who had definitely jumped from the pits of hell? How’s that fair?” Tim complained.

  “I had Mr. Delanora last year, so this makes it fair.”

  Conversation seemed to flow easily with this group. Peter found himself smiling the whole time. Something about Duke was pinging his spider-sense, but not in a bad way. In fact, Peter found himself slightly gravitating towards the slightly older boy. Like a moth to a flame. Actually, that was a good metaphor. Something about Duke felt… warm.

  But lunch couldn’t last forever. After lunch was history. (Not Mr. Delanora.) This teacher already seemed over it. After that, he had art class. He had this class with Duke, so they sat together as the teacher talked about the strange rubric for this class. And after that was the final class, AP Chemistry. The best for last.

  He couldn’t even focus on the teacher, he was too focused on staring at the chemicals locked away in the cabinet. Peter’s hands itched, the desire to soar through the air and catch criminals was so strong that he had to stop himself from squirming out of the chair. Too long. He’d been so idle for too long. Logically, he knew he made the right call, laying low for a bit was smart. But the burning desire for action and helping people disagreed vehemently.

  When school was over, he simply left without being stopped. He only saw Cassie, but she was rushing into the girls’ bathroom, so he didn’t bother her. He must’ve missed everyone else.

  The itching only got worse when he made it to the apartment. Every atom of his being was screaming the same thing. But no, he forced himself to sit down and read instead.

  After all, it’d be smart to wait for the cover of darkness before going back to the school.

-

Bat Boys (and girls) October 10th:

Babs:

Big issue

Joker is out in Crime Alley

Four people pronounced dead, seven confirmed injuries

(Sent 3:12 pm)

Damian:

We need more information than that, Gordon.

(Sent 3:12 pm)

Timbo:

School is almost out

We’ll be there soon.

(Sent 3:12 pm)

Babs:

Earlier today, a bomb threat was called at Martinson Plaza. Police respond, no bomb. Six unnamed and undescribed cars pull up and a fire fight ensues. I can see Joker on the cams. No hostages yet but there are a lot of people hiding in the store that could become hostages if we don’t act quickly.

(Sent 3:13 pm)

Dicko Mode:

Contacted Jason

He almost there

(Sent 3:13 pm)

Batty:

We have this covered, you need sleep, Dick.

(Sent 3:13 pm)

Damian:

This is strange behavior from Joker. I smell a trap.

(Sent 3:13 pm)

Sigma (Signal):
But what other choice do we have other than to spring it?

(Sent 3:14 pm)

Timbo:

When it rains it pors in Gotham.

*Pours

(Sent 3:14 pm)

Chapter Text

  It was dark and silent in the classroom. He was suddenly very happy that Natasha taught him how to pick this kind of lock. Was he good at it? Absolutely not. His knees hurt from kneeling here for the last 20 minutes trying to pick it. But he was getting there!

  The click produced by the lock's unlatching was enough to make Peter wince and look around. Surprisingly, there weren’t any cameras inside the school. They were on the perimeter, as Peter had seen this morning, but after avoiding those, he was pretty much free to walk around the school. Some teachers didn’t even lock their rooms.

  Peter took what he needed and set up near the window. He didn’t want to turn on the light, so he had to make do with the light from outside. Having done this a hundred times, he poured chemicals into the Bunsen burner almost instinctively.

  A shiver ran down his spine, making him look around again. All night, his spider-sense had been quietly buzzing about something, but he didn’t know what. He was starting to blank it out, which he knew was very dangerous to do, but he couldn’t help it. It was like a wave, pulling away to a soft buzz only to roll in again with a dull roar.

  When the web fluid was made, he opened up his bag to get his webshooters and poured the mixture into the fluid storage. Then, just to test it out, he pointed it at the wall and fired. Nothing happened.

  Peter blinked in surprise. Confused, he took the device in his hands and turned it over a few times. Was it jammed? No, it didn’t look jammed.

  He pops open the back again, holding it into the light to see. That’s when he noticed that a wire had been cut. No, not popped out of place, not as in it frayed and broke; this was deliberate. And hard to spot. It was tucked behind several other wires and tubes. Whoever cut it had very intentionally chosen the ONE wire that’d shut down his webshooters and tried to hide it.

  Wrong, wrong, bad. Forgetting. Dark, bad.

  Unease swirled in his stomach and made him nauseous. It was an easy fix, relatively speaking, but the fact that it happened at all is what made it so strange. Peter looked around, staring into the dark corners of the room, as if the perpetrator might be standing there with the scissors still in their hand.

  That also means he can’t go on patrol quite yet.

  He cleaned up his area and put the chemicals back, closing the cabinet and hearing it lock again. Then, he made his way to the window and crawled out. He ducked around the cameras on his way off school property, then started walking home.

  Something was horribly wrong here. Something beyond the obvious. Every sense in his body was screaming at him that something much darker was going on, but he couldn’t even begin to guess what it was.

  His spider-sense acting up? Being attacked by knife-wielding men in broad daylight? The thing in the alley? These strange dreams and flashes of memory that were gone before he could grab hold of anything concrete? And now, his webshooters have been sabotaged. What would have happened if he hadn’t tested it out just then and instead assumed they were fine and tried to go on patrol? Peter’s face paled as he thought of plummeting to his death, bones shattering and blood spilling across Gotham’s sidewalk.

  Peter was so paranoid walking home. Every time someone would even glance in his direction, he’d pick up the pace. The night was quiet, which was unusual for Gotham. Which is why he could hear sirens in the distance so clearly.

  The chaos got louder and louder as he approached the scene. There had to be at least a dozen cop cars outside, but most of the police were outside their vehicles, eyes trained on the roof of the apartment building. Peter’s heart dropped when he realized it was the apartment he’d been pretending to live in and not only that, they were looking at someone on the roof. At first, he thought maybe it was someone trying to commit suicide, but as he got closer, he saw what was really happening.

  Velvet was on the roof. In her arms was a little boy who couldn’t be older than two. She was curled over the boy, arms locked around him, as if trying to protect him. And a man was waving around a gun, holding Velvet close to him by the back of her shirt. His face was… smeared with paint? His face (but not his neck) was unnaturally white with other colors over his eyes and cheeks in a very clown-ish style. The man’s hair was greasy or maybe sweaty and his clothes looked… burnt? Or maybe they were just badly torn and covered in motor oil.

  “Get the fuck away from me! Leave me the hell alone or I’ll blow this broad’s brains out!” The man screamed, voice hoarse and cracking. He hauled her backwards, jamming the gun against her head. She winced, her eyes looked red and puffy, wide with terror.

  Peter didn’t think. He sprinted back the way he came so he could go around the building without being spotted. When he was at the back, he threw his backpack into a dumpster so he could grab it later, and then jumped onto the wall, quickly scaling it. Consequences be damned, he couldn’t just sit around and do nothing.

  He had to stifle his panting as he made it up, crouching low and taking stock of the situation. The man was back to gesturing wildly with the gun, demanding he be provided with a getaway car, and then laughing when Velvet begged him to at least let the boy go. Peter kept low, creeping forward in an animalistic way, until he could grab a brick that was lying nearby.

  Standing cautiously, he waited for the man to stop pointing the gun at Velvet before continuing with his plan. His very, very dumb, not well-thought-out plan. And thankfully, he didn’t have to wait for long.

  “Five minutes! Do you not fucking get it?! Five minutes!” He shouted, moving the gun from Velvet’s head to point it down at the officers. “I’ll f-”

  “Hey, paint-face!” He called.

  The man whirled around, wild-eyed. Peter threw the brick straight at him. The man staggered backwards, releasing Velvet and the kid in an effort not to fall over. She dove out of the way, crying out in fear when the man fired his gun right at Peter. But luckily, the shot only grazed Peter’s neck.

  He watched the brick collide with the man’s stomach, already rushing forward. He doubled over, shouting profanities, but raised his gun again when Peter was at point-blank range. But Peter’s reflexes were quick. He grabbed the man’s wrist and jerked the gun away from his face right as the man pulled the trigger.

  “What the fu- die, brat!” He shouted, bashing Peter in the head with his fist as they wrestled for the gun. Hot blood spilled down his throat and stained his clothes, more waves of red came each time Peter’s heart thudded against his ribs.

  He grabbed the man’s shirt and dragged him away from the edge so he wouldn’t fall, and then kicked him in the leg. The man grabbed Peter’s wrist, trying to tear his hand away from the gun. If he wanted to, he could throw this man. But he couldn’t. People were watching. If he, scrawny little Peter Parker, launched a full-grown man across a roof, people would start asking questions.

  Temporarily, Peter lost control of the gun. It was only for a second, but it was enough for the man to point his gun at Peter and fire. The shot was deafening. He couldn’t feel the pain, too lost in the throes of adrenaline, but the fear of being shot was enough to compel him to rip the gun from the man’s hand with a guttural shout.

  “What in the hell are you?” The man gasped, grabbing his hand in pain.

  “Just your run-of-the-mill nerdy white guy.”

  The man screamed, an animalistic noise, before he threw himself on Peter. The other hardly had time to react, but he managed to throw the gun over the side of the building. Even more infuriated, the man tackled Peter to the ground, one hand locked around Peter’s throat, and the other pulled back in a fist.

  Peter yelped, squeezing his eyes closed to brace for the impact. And in that half second, he felt the weight of the man get thrown off him. He gasped, eyes snapping open, to see Red Hood wrestling the man down and beating the shit out of him.

  “Don’t kill him!” Peter shouted. As he tried to push himself up, he suddenly felt a sharp sting from his shoulder.

  He looked down at his left shoulder, throat suddenly going tight. That was a lot of blood. As soon as he saw the wound, pain crashed into him like a tidal wave. Peter let out a strained noise of pain as he clutched at the wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

  It had gone clean through. The exit wound was bleeding profusely, soaking his clothes through. He whimpered in pain and struggled to stand up.

  Suddenly, two hands were on him, helping to keep him from toppling over. He looked up. The man was unconscious on the ground and Red Hood was next to him.

  “I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.” He said. Peter laughed weakly.

  “Trouble is my middle name.” He said, voice strained.

  Just then, the door burst open and the police rushed onto the roof. The majority of the officers hurried to apprehend the man, but some of them came to get Velvet, the kid, and Peter out. Red Hood and two officers guided him down the stairs and then into the elevator. The whole time, he kept glancing at Velvet, trying to see if she was hurt.

  “Are you ok?” Peter asked. She was shaking.

  Her eyes snapped over to him. “Am I ok? Boy, you’re out of your damn mind.”

  “I couldn’t just stand there,” Peter mumbled defensively.

  “You could’ve gotten killed.” She said, the heat fading from her words.

  “I know.” He said. He winced as pain jolted through his shoulder. “Um… What’s his name?”

  Velvet glanced at the boy in her arms. “This is Robbie. We were coming to spend the night with his step-dad, then that freakshow ran over and grabbed me, waving around the fucking gun.”

  “He was escaping a fatal shooting that happened at the market.” Red Hood said. Peter looked over at the vigilante, he hadn’t looked away from Peter once. “We started closing in on him, so he took a hostage so we couldn’t just shoot him.”

  Peter squirmed, uncomfortable about the idea of shooting a fleeing suspect. But he didn’t have time to think about it because the streets were engulfed in chaos. He was herded through crowds of police officers who were trying to fend off reporters and control the scene. He stared, wide-eyed, into a camera as he was ushered past and to a waiting EMT.

  The EMT inspected his shoulder. He winced when they pressed gauze covered in disinfectant over the wound. Their partner helped by doing the same on the exit wound, pressing into it hard to stop the bleeding. He let out a grunt of pain, hands curling into his jeans and smearing them with blood.

  “We’ll manage the bleeding as best as we can here, but you gotta get to a hospital, kid.” The EMT said. Peter felt a stone of dread drop into his stomach. “What’s a good number for your parents?”

  “No, no, I-I can’t go to the hospital.” He said, his whole body tensing. If they took his blood, they’d immediately know he was a mutant. He’d get run out of the city by the vigilantes or the people who’d been primed to hate him and he’d have to start all over in a different city. What if he isn’t so lucky next time? Gotham wasn’t perfect, but it was familiar and that was better than the unknown.

  “I’m sorry, kid, but you have to go. The bullet could’ve broken your bones and it’s still at risk of inf-”

  “No!” He shoves them away as soon as there is a bandage secured on his shoulder.

  Then, Peter does the dumbest thing possible; he runs. He sprints through the crowd and towards the apartment, racing for the back door. He could hear someone shouting after him, but he didn't stop.

  He nearly slams into a wall in the hallway because he was running so fast. Pain rips through the wound as he scrambles to change direction. He bolts through the back door and into the alleyway, following it out to the other side of the street. Then, he runs all the way back to the abandoned apartment. Peter didn’t know if anyone was still chasing him, but he wasn’t taking chances. He weaved through back streets and alleyways and ran across roads without hesitation.

  And then, he scrambled up the wall of the apartment and into the window. He collapsed to the floor, heaving for air and clutching at his wounded shoulder. Peter groaned, struggling to sit up.

  He probably shouldn’t have done that. His body was already burning tons of energy trying to heal his wounded shoulder, and sprinting so far was probably a horrible mistake. Peter thought about eating, but he was too tired. With the promise he’d eat a big breakfast tomorrow, he dragged himself into the room and collapsed into his sleeping spot.

  Peter was half asleep when he realized he had forgotten his backpack in the dumpster. For a while, he lay there, thinking about going back to grab it. He didn’t even realize his eyes were drifting closed until he was asleep.

-

  “Fucking hell.” Jason huffs. The kid was long gone by the time he heard that the kid had run away from the EMTs. Still, he walked around the block looking for him.

  What the hell had the kid been thinking? Running up there to confront one of The Joker’s lackeys completely unarmed. And then he runs away from medical help! What kind of idiot does that? Maybe he was scared he’d have to pay the bill for transportation and medical treatment. But he wouldn’t have to pay, his shit-bag foster father would have to pay. Jason paused. Maybe THAT’S the reason he ran off.

  He stood there, glaring at the wall like it owed him money. And then, for the first time in six months, he reached up and turned his comms on. Instantly, Tim stops whatever he was saying.

  “Red Hood-” Barbra starts.

  “What the hell is going on?” He said. “First, people in my territory start going missing, then Joker shows up to attack a market of all places, and then some scrawny street rat nearly gets his brains blown out saving a prostitute on a roof.”

  “Yeah, a lot is going on right now…” Barbra mumbled.

  “Is he ok?” Dick asked. “Peter, is- that kid is-”

  “Well, he got a cut on his neck and was shot in the shoulder, but then he just ran off.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Yeah, he’s fucking gone. Can’t find him.” Jason grumbled. “The brat won’t bleed out, probably, but still, I don’t get why he’d run off.”

  “Ok, let’s start with what we know,” Tim said. Jason scowled at the sound of his voice. “People are going missing. What do you know about them, Hood?”

  Jason sighed, leaning against the wall. “People have been going missing for weeks. More people than usual. In the last few weeks, sixteen people have turned up dead. Including kids. In fact… Most of them are younger than 18, the oldest victim found so far was 22.”

  “So, young people…”

  “What if Parker knows something?” Damnia asked suddenly.

  “Peter? Why do you ask?” Dick asked.

  “He showed up during all of this and has conveniently been around almost every time there is a new development in the case,” Damian said. “Besides, Gilbert said he had been sent to find Parker, so it’d make sense-”

  “Wait, what?” Jason said.

  “Oh, right. Um, Jay, uh… A few weeks ago, someone attacked Peter with a knife. Signal stepped in and saved him, but the man, who we later learned was Irwin Gilbert, was in a haze of madness because-” Dick pauses. “Because he only recently came back to life.”

  Jason stills. Flashes of green assault him without warning, his hands twitched. He could smell the reek of the pit so viscerally that he had to dig his nails into his palms to keep himself from freaking out.

  “What?” He asked, voice as cold as ice.

  “And when he was calm enough to be questioned, he said he couldn’t remember anything other than someone putting a knife in his hand and telling him to hunt Peter Parker and kill him. Or else.” Damian continued.

  “What the fuck…” Jason mumbled.

  His head was spinning. There were so many things going on, so many variables that may or may not even be related. Jason could come up with hundreds of theories on what was going on, but none of them seemed like the answer.

  “Hold on, I’m pulling up footage of the confrontation on the roof,” Barbra said.

  A few seconds later, it pops up. The footage was taken from far away, it was dark and grainy, but you could see the man standing there, waving his gun around. Then, appearing from seemingly nowhere, Peter calls out to the man and launches a brick at him. The woman ran several feet away and then collapsed over her baby to protect him. Peter rushed forward, grabbing the lackey’s arm, then they got way harder to see as they staggered toward the middle of the roof.

  “Oh my god, was this filmed on a fucking iPhone 2G?” Tim asked.

  “Language,” Bruce said idly.

  “I think I got a better video,” Steph said. “I’ll put it in the group chat.”

  With a groan, Jason pulled out his phone to join the group chat. Just for a moment. He wanted a clearer picture to understand what had even happened. By the time he got there, Peter was already grappling the gun from the lackey.

  He clicked on the video. This one was filmed a lot closer, from the building across the street, and on a much better quality camera. But the angle was still not great.

  “Did that door even open?” Tim asked.

  Jason rewound the video, staring at the roof access door. It was very hard to see because the man kept moving in front of it. “I don’t think so. Maybe Peter was already up there? Or he crawled through a window.”

  “Jesus Christ, someone has to teach this kid some self-preservation,” Dick mumbled.

  “Duh,” Jason said. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Joker is being located as we speak,” Bruce said. “As for Peter, have we tried looking into the foster system to find his foster father?”

  “That’s the first thing I tried,” Barbra said. “There are several Peters in foster care and several Tonys as foster parents. It’ll take a long time to sift through them all.”

  “Is it even worth it?” Damian asked. “If The Joker is out there, robbing markets for the sake of killing innocent people, why should we be spending so much time trying to find one teenager who did something dumb?”

  “It’s just that I feel like Peter isn’t telling us everything. I mean, you gotta admit that his first appearance was very coincidental.” Tim said.

  “Then why don’t you try to get information from him at school? It’s better than wasting Barbra’s time when she could be hunting the rest of The Joker’s underlings.”

  “You really think he’ll come to school tomorrow with a wound like that?” Steph scoffed. “He’s brave, maybe foolishly brave, but he’s not stupid.”

-

  Peter jolted awake from a nightmare. The details slipped away as soon as his eyes opened, falling away like grains of sand between his fingers. He groaned, rolling into his good side. He felt atrocious.

  He was sticky with blood and his wound was throbbing painfully. Worst of all, Peter was starving. He’d never, EVER, felt hungrier than he did right now, and his stomach broadcast that fact loud and proud.

  Stumbling to his feet, he leaned on the wall for support as he made his way into the kitchen. Cooking was torture. Not only did his shoulder scream in agony any time it slightly twitched, but also the smell of cooking rice was enough to chip away at his patience. He’d probably regret this later, but he was cooking all that was left of the rice. Peter needed to eat, his healing factor was burning calories so fast that it would kill him before this wound did. Compounding weeks of near starvation now paired with this, it was a lot for his body to handle. So, sure, he might have to go hungry for a bit after he was healed, but at least he’d have a chance to BE hungry later.

  As soon as the rice was cooked, he started eating. It scorched his tongue, but he couldn’t convince himself to slow down. His hands were trembling as the sparkly dots in the corners of his vision threatened him with a blackout.

  When the hunger faded enough, it let him think. The first thing on his mind was this wound. How could he not think about it?

  This wound could be really, REALLY bad. Even if he was back in his world, able to eat large meals regularly, it’d still take three days to heal. Unless it gets infected, in which case it’ll probably be closer to a month. But here? When his meals weren’t guaranteed? God forbid this thing gets infected.  This could kill him. That thought made him pause for a moment before he kept eating.

  Secondly, he worried about his identity. Not many teenagers were willing to face down some crazy guy with a gun for a woman they’d met once. Maybe he could keep the whole thing under wraps. The first rule of being a vigilante, a rule every vigilante, hero, and villain knows (should know); always assume everything is being recorded by a bystander. But maybe no one caught it on film, maybe this place was different in that regard. And even if someone did catch it on video, there’s always a chance the video never gets traction, buried by the algorithm in this crime-ridden place. So, assuming (hoping) that he wasn’t being filmed, the best thing he could do was go about his daily life as if nothing had happened. If he was lucky, no one knew, and therefore wouldn’t think anything of it when Peter healed up in a few days. (He’s pretty sure most normal people would be incapacitated right now and take a bare minimum of a month to heal. Thanks, healing factor.)

  Both of these thoughts came together to make Peter realize there was only one course of action he could take.

  When he was done eating, he grabbed his hydrogen peroxide and made his way to the bathroom. Carefully, he stripped down to his underwear (he had to change anyway) and sat on the bathtub rim. He leans back, holding his breath as he gets the bottle ready with his good arm.

  Peter, at the last moment, looked around for something to bite down on but found nothing. He wanted to close his eyes, but he knew he had to look to see what he was doing. So, with eyes locked onto the wound, he removed the gauze and bandages, then poured the liquid into it.

  He screamed, his whole body convulsing. Peter was forced to stop to keep himself from blacking out. Gasping for breath, he looked down at his shoulder. The liquid was bubbling as it burned away old blood and bacteria. It felt like acid and was sending jolts of electric pain up his neck and down his arm. With a stifled noise of fear, he got ready again. He had to be SURE all the debris was cleaned from the wound, he really couldn’t afford an infection right now. Body tensing up, he began again.

  This time, he didn’t scream, but only because he shoved his arm into his mouth and bit down. Peter didn’t even really remember it. He remembered a shock of white-hot agony, then he was waking up in the bathtub, neck bent awkwardly.

  Groaning, Peter shifted around to lie more properly in the tub. His head was swimming, and he reeked of hydrogen peroxide. He couldn’t tell you how long he lay there, half-conscious.

  But then, he abruptly sat up. School! Right, he had to get to school!

  He crawled out of the tub and shambled into the bedroom to get fresh bandages and new clothes. When he was sure you couldn’t see the tightly secured bandages through his shirt, he looked around for his backpack in a mad dash. Only to realize, embarrassingly, that he’d left it in the dumpster.

  Peter jumped from the window, screwing up the landing and hurting his shoulder, then jogged down the street. He made his way back to the apartments and was glad that his bag was still in the dumpster. As soon as he fished it out, which was harder now, he made his way to school.

  The halls were silent. He swallowed thickly in worry and made it to his first class. Already, he was regretting his decision to come today.

  “Mr. Parker.” His teacher said as he stepped into the classroom. All the heads turned to him. “It’s the second day and you’re already missing class.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lorenzo," Peter mumbled.

  The teacher sighed and rolled his eyes. “Since it’s the second day, I won’t write you up. But don’t make a habit out of this.”

  “I won’t, sir.” He said, making his way to his seat.

  Steph was gaping at him. When the teacher got back to talking, she leaned over to whisper to him. “Are you out of your mind?”

  Peter froze. “Uh, wh-what do you mean?”

  “Uh, your confrontation with The Joker’s henchmen? What parent in their right mind would let their son leave the house EVER after that?”

  Shit. “Oh, um, I didn’t tell my dad.” He said. That only made Steph look more incredulous. “He was at work all last night! He won’t be back until this afternoon.”

  He felt gross about lying to Steph, but it's what he had to do. Before she could say anything else, the teacher glanced over at them. They both went quiet and pretended to focus on the board as the homeroom teacher talked about schedules.

  A few minutes later, when Peter deemed it safe, he leaned closer to her. “Can I see the video?” He asked.

  She hummed in thought, then took her phone from her pocket. Carefully, she handed it over to him. “Don’t get caught.” She whispered.

  Peter hid the phone under the desk, placing it so he could see it in his peripheral vision, and stared ahead. The video wasn’t of the full encounter, it was a cut-down version on Instagr- Safron48 with 6,000 likes. Not viral, but well-known enough for Steph to have seen it apparently. The video was taken across the street. And thankfully, due to the angle, you can’t see much after Peter and the man start grappling for the gun. According to the subtitles, you can hear the second shot go off, but you can’t see where the bullet went because the man’s back is blocking it. That was great news for him.

  “Oh wow…” He mumbled, passing the phone back to Steph when the teacher turned his back.

  “Yeah.” She said, tucking it into her pocket. “Are you ok after that?”

  “Mhm. I mean, afterwards I started freaking out a bit, but… I wasn’t hurt and that’s something I should be grateful for.” He said, blatantly lying now.

  Steph went quiet for a while. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m glad you're ok.”

  Peter smiled his thanks at her and then focused on the teacher. His shoulder throbbed, as if upset with him about lying so boldly. The tingling itch of his healing factor flooding the area was a constant annoyance, one that never got easier to ignore. He supposed it was an apt punishment for lying like that; he couldn’t itch or even touch his shoulder now and just had to sit there and suffer.

-

Bat Boys (and girls), October 11th:

Steph:

You’ll never guess who showed up to class

(Sent 9:01 am)

Dicko Mode:

No fucking way

(Sent 9:02 am)

Steph:

He says he wasn’t hurt and that he didn’t tell his dad because he's still working.

(Sent 9:02 am)

Duke:

@Jason are u sure he was hurt?

(Sent 9:02 am)

Jason:

I saw blood gushing out of his fucking shoulder.

(Sent 9:13 am)

Duke:

No he’s definitely hurt.

Just saw him during passing period and he winced like he was stabbed when he adjusted his backpak.

*backpack

(Sent 10:15 am)

Tim:

But why would he lie? That doesnt make any sense.

(Sent 10:16 am)

Dicko Mode:
A lot of things arent adding up right now

(Sent 10:16 am)

-

  Peter was exhausted. He trudged through the line, loading up his plate with pretty much everything available. Despite eating so much this morning, his stomach felt empty, as if he’d already burned through all those calories which really didn’t bode well for him.

  He sat down near Cassie, the others weren’t here quite yet. She waved at him and he gave her back the best smile he could. Peter felt like he’d collapse at the table.

  [Are you ok?] She signs, frowning. [You look pale.]

  “I’m ok.” He said, taking a bite of his food. “Just really hungry.” That at least wasn’t a lie.

  He was so distracted with eating and not passing out on the floor that he hardly even noticed the others come over with their food. Steph sat on his other side and the two boys were across from him. Something was different with the energy in the group today. If Peter wasn’t fighting for his consciousness, he might’ve looked deeper into that.

  “How’re you doing, Peter?” Tim asked. He blinks, looking up at the other boy.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Really? Because you haven’t said a word since we sat down.” Tim presses.

  “Yeah, I’m ok. I just didn’t sleep much last night.” He said. That wasn’t true. He collapsed into his sleeping spot and slept the whole night.

  “I’d imagine it would be hard to sleep after what happened.” Steph mused.

  “Maybe you should have your dad pick you up early,” Duke suggested.

  Peter thought about that for a second. Finding a way to sign himself out so he could go home and sleep sounded nice. “But I like school.” He mumbled, mainly to himself. If he didn’t want to be in school, he wouldn’t have enrolled.

  “Just an idea.” Duke shrugged.

  “Hey, uh, Tim, how’s the Jessica Brown case going?” Steph asked. She looks at Peter. “Tim looks into old cold cases.”

  “Oh, wow,” Peter said.

  Tim huffed a sigh. “Not great. The only suspect I have is her ex-boyfriend, but his alibi for the night is airtight. He was on camera during that time and had several witnesses.”

  “How do you know the footage was really from that night?” Peter asked. The group went quiet. He shrugged. “Something like that happened back home, it was a big local story. The murder took place at 7 pm, and the suspect was seen on camera at 7 pm as well, but it turned out the footage was from the day before and he just got his friend who worked security there to change the date on the recording.”

  The other boy rushed for his notepad and started writing feverishly. Cassie and Duke chuckled, amused. Tim steamrolled over them. “I have to look into this. Oh my god, if that’s true then I might actually blow this case wide open! If his alibi was fake, that could explain how someone got into her apartment without triggering the security system; it was her fucking ex!” He said. “I just didn’t think the date would have been faked because the CEO herself was the one who provided the footage. That would mean that this multi-millionaire was at least complicit in the murder.”

  “Risking her whole business, and for what?” Duke said.

  “Exactly. That’s what I’ll have to look into.”

  Tim went on to backtrack so he could explain the whole case to Peter. It seemed like he knew this woman better than her own parents considering how detailed his recounting was. Peter nodded along, finishing off his food.

  He really didn’t mean to fall asleep. One minute he was listening to Tim explain a topic he seemed passionate about, hearing the other chime in occasionally or ask questions, and the next, he was out cold. With his head pillowed in his arms, he slept through the rest of lunch.

  At one point, Tim stopped talking to give Peter a concerned glance. He looked around, making eye contact with the others. It seemed like his concern was mutual.

-

  Cassie shook him awake when it was time for class. He was somehow even more tired after his nap than he had been before, but he somehow managed to make it through the day. Although he kept nodding off.

  He made his way out of the school. Peter should go to the library. He should go and do his job. But he was so, so tired.

  “Peter!” Duke called. He looked over, seeing the group near a bench outside. Peter waved, considering just leaving, but decided that would be rude. So, he walked over to them. “You want a ride home?”

  “Uh, I mean, it’s kind of far from here.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” Steph said. “We’re going to see a friend who lives in Blüdhaven, and that’s even further past your apartment.”

  “Oh. Well in that case, sure.” Peter said. How could he say no to a free ride?

  “Cool. Our ride will be here soon.” Duke said.

  “I should call Barbra and say that I can’t come in today.” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

  “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask what made you want to help out in the library,” Tim asked, sounding curious. He got the distinct impression that Cassie and Steph weren’t as invested in their phones as they appeared to be.

  “I don’t know, it’s just… I used to work two jobs back in Queens. I hate just lying around doing nothing. My uncle used to say that Parkers aren’t bred for unemployment. Besides… Barbra is nice. She’s good company.” Peter said truthfully.

  That seemed to be the correct answer. He could feel the subtle shift in the group. Or maybe he was imagining it. After all, his spider-sense seemed to like messing with him nowadays.

  “What kind of books do you like?” Duke asked.

  “Uh, I don’t read much that isn’t science-related. You know, theoretical physics and stuff. String Theory and all that.” Peter said. “Um… Oh, but Barbra has been suggesting books to me since I started working there. I liked that one book. Uh… The Willows?”

  “Oh wow, she’s really starting you off on cosmic horror classics,” Tim said.

  “Well, it’s a novella, so she probably picked it because it was short enough not to overwhelm him.” Steph hypothesized.

  Cassie tapped his arm with the back of her hand to get his attention. [I think Duke was trying to see if you like poetry. Big poetry nerd.] She grinned impishly.

  Duke huffed, but didn’t protest it. “Oh, uh, I’ve only ever read a handful of poems,” Peter said apologetically. Unless nursery rhymes counted (which he didn’t think they did), he’d read maybe four poems in his whole life. “But I’m open to recommendations if you have any!” He added quickly.

  “Uh-oh,” Steph said, right as Duke’s eyes lit up with excitement.

  For the rest of the wait (which wasn’t long) and the drive to the apartment (which was a bit longer), Duke talked excitedly about his favorite poems. He recommended a whole list to Peter, and went over what made them special or what made him think Peter would like them. He talked about AB patterns and the history of sonnets. And honestly, with how much (little) Peter knew about poetry, Duke might as well be talking to a rock. But he tried to be a polite rock, asking questions and keeping his mind on the conversation even when lost.

  “Alright, we’re here, you two can stop being the biggest dorks imaginable now.” Steph teased.

  Peter huffed a laugh. “Ok, ok, fine.” He waved at them. “Bye, guys!”

  “Bye!” Came the chorus.

  He opened the door and got out, careful of aggravating his shoulder. But the second his door closed, he froze. A wave of dread slammed into him, instantly making him sick to the stomach.

  Danger! Danger, run! Forgetting. Watching. Run! Look, look, danger!

  Peter couldn’t move for several seconds, only flicking his eyes left and then right. Nothing looked off, everything looked normal for Crime Alley. He eyed the shadows, feeling his body tense up until he stopped shaking. He jolted when the car window rolled down behind him.

  “Are you ok, Peter?” Tim asked.

  He turned to look at them, hollow horror on his face. Whatever was happening here, he couldn’t let them get hurt. “Yeah, yeah, I’m- I’m ok.” He said, swallowing thickly.

  “You sure?”

  “Mhm.” Stiffly, he started walking to the apartment.

  Peter felt worse and worse the closer he got to the apartment. By the time he was standing in the main area, the hair on the back of his neck was standing up and his spider-sense was screaming at him. Terrified, he started speedwalking for the back exit.

  Any time there was an unexpected noise, he’d flinch. He kept turning this way and that, trying to see who was watching him. Before coming to Gotham, he never had to question his spider-sense. But now? He didn’t know. Was his spider-sense acting up so much because he was in a place so crime-ridden or were there things he wasn’t seeing? Were things lurking around every corner and in every shadow or was he losing the sense that he used to never have to question? Neither option felt good.

  He had to skid to a stop to avoid slamming into the back door. Peter glanced behind him and reached for the door handle.

  Stop, stop, stop, danger!

  Peter stopped, freezing. Now he could hear it. Something was outside the door. Something was shuffling around in the alleyway, and then he heard quiet footsteps. At least three sets.

  Stumbling backwards, he twisted around and buried as quietly as he could in the other direction. Peter’s head whipped around, looking in as many different directions as he could. He felt a spike from his spider-senses, causing him to dart into the elevator. Unthinkingly, he jammed a random button as hard as he could.

  The doors closed. He pushed himself to the corner of the elevator, trying to breathe and calm down. He had to get out of here.

  When the doors opened, he hurried out into the hallway. More people were lingering around the hallway on this floor than on the other one. All he could think about was how all these people could be at risk because of him. Guilt joined the dread in his chest.

  “Hey, uh, Peter, right?” A voice said. Peter came to a stop, looking over. There was an older man standing there, smoking a cigarette.

  “Hey.” He said, anxiously glancing around.

  “You saved Shaelyn.” He said. Peter gave him a confused look. “Velvet.”

  “Oh, Velvet, yes. It’s really no problem, I’d do it a hundred times.” Peter said.

  “No, it is a big deal. Shaelyn’s my girl.” He said. Peter blinked in surprise before a tentative grin appeared on his face. “I don’t know what I’d do if Shae and Robbie died. Seriously, I owe you.”

  Peter opened his mouth. ‘You don’t owe me anything’ was on the tip of his tongue. But then, he closed it. He looks back the way he came warily.

  “Actually, yeah, uh, can I use your bathroom?” Peter asked.

  The man blinked in confusion. “Yeah, sure, dude. Anytime. But that doesn’t count as a favor when you legit saved my girlfriend and s-”

  “I-I’m sorry, I REALLY have to go,” Peter said, making a show of shifting from foot to foot.

  “Oh, uh, ok. Come on in.”

  He opened the door to his apartment and let Peter in. Peter thanked the man before sprinting to the bathroom and slamming the door harder than intended. He runs for the window, unlocking it and slowly pulling it open. The window screeches with every inch it slides open, making Peter wince.

  Standing on top of the toilet, he squeezes himself through the window, sticking to the wall outside. He closes the window behind him then crawls along the wall towards the abandoned apartment. His shoulder SCREAMS with every small movement, but he pushes through it. Whoever had been in the alley before was gone. The only reason he didn’t question if it had been real was that the back door was open and held that way with a trash can.

  Then, when he was on the correct side, he sat up and shot a web to the wall across the street and leapt. It was phenomenal to swing across a street again. It felt less phenomenal when he jostled his shoulder by landing vertically on the building. Peter let out a strained noise, clutching at his shoulder for a second before hurrying back home.

  As soon as he got inside, he went to the room and collapsed into his pile of blankets and sheets. He needed to figure this out. Whoever was following him seemed to notice he had some association with that apartment. Was it because of the video online? Did they see Steph and the others drop him off? He felt himself go cold. This could be very bad. He needed to fix this, injured arm or not.

  Regardless of his injury, he couldn’t put people he cared about at risk.

Chapter Text

  The desert was endless. The streets of Cairo were behind him, buzzing with life and bustling with millions of people. And yet, something about looking into the endless desert made him feel like the city behind him was small. He knew that wasn’t the case, he’d seen it flying in, and yet compared to the golden dunes, the city was a single rock in an ocean.

  “Hey, squirt, didya leave your attention span on the plane? Come on.” Tony said.

  Peter turned around, not bothering to hide his apprehension. “Mr. Stark, something feels-”

  “Tony, Peter, hurry up, they’re gonna leave us.” Steve called.

  “But-”

  “Come on, kid, or I’ll send you home.”

  Peter followed the two older men. They were traveling along the outskirts of the city, heading for a group of black cars that Tony had arranged for them. Something felt terribly wrong. The prickle at the back of his neck, the sense that saved him a million times, was whispering to run as far as he could.

  It wasn’t the city, Cairo was gorgeous! He had half a mind to ask if he could explore the endlessly sprawling streets for a while before having to go, but he knew his request would be denied. It also wasn’t the people. Everyone here had been either reluctantly polite or downright welcoming. Especially Ms. Bahiyya, one of their guides. She had lots of cats and got Peter some delicious Umm Ali. And no, it wasn’t anxiety about being in a foreign country. Peter enjoyed traveling, it was exhilarating. He’d never felt like this before, even in some of the roughest places in the world.

  Something was off here. With the mission? With this place? He didn’t know.

  He made it to the cars, trudging behind the others. Peter climbed into the car and closed the door behind him. Tony was chatting with the driver about airlines or something. Peter couldn’t put much focus on their conversation, he kept looking around, peering out of all of the windows.

  “Would you stop squirming around, kid? You’re gonna give yourself rope burns.” Tony said.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. It’s just…” He anxiously glanced out the window into the desert. “Something feels wrong here.”

  Tony stared at him for a moment. Then, he twists in his seat to face the teen. “Kid. I want to trust that you can handle this, but if this missi-”

  Peter wakes up suddenly. He lays there for a moment too long, a little frustrated. He wanted to get back to that dream! Maybe he was about to learn what… He might’ve… Wait, what was he dreaming about? Something about a desert? Why was he dreaming about deserts so much? With an annoyed huff, he sits up.

  This morning, his shoulder felt marginally better. Still was far from healed, but the pain was easier to ignore. Peter ate breakfast, cleaned the wound again (it hurt less today), and rebandaged it before heading out.

  He contemplated taking the bus to the school. He wanted to take it easy today to recover as quickly as possible, but he was worried about using the remaining funds he had. Maybe he should just buy a bus pass. But for now, he sighed and decided to walk.

  “Hey, Peter.” Duke said. Peter couldn’t help but smile. “How’re you doing?”

  “I’m fine. I’m a little, uh… I had a weird dream last night and I guess that’s got my head in the clouds.” Peter said.

  “Oh… Wanna tell me what it was about?”

  “Uh…” Peter thinks hard. “I was… I was in Cairo with Tony. I look over at him and uh… I can’t remember anything else.”

  “Wait, have you ever been to Cairo?”

  “No, that’s the strange part.” Peter laughed. “I mean, sometimes Tony had to travel for work and I’d go with him, but we’ve never gone to Egypt before.”

  Duke nods. He starts walking and Peter follows. “What does Tony do for work?”

  “He’s, uh, an engineer.” Peter said. That was a gross oversimplification. But he couldn’t say ‘he’s a billionaire who used to sell weapons and now manufactures hero suits and other items for an elite group called The Avengers’ because none of that exists in this world.

  They make their way through the crowd until they make it to Peter’s homeroom. Duke’s homeroom was a little further down the hall, but Duke stopped outside this classroom to wait with Peter. He leans against the wall and Peter stands near him.

  “Do you think dreams have meaning?” Duke asked.

  “Uh, I don’t know. I mean, that’s more psychology and that’s not my flavor of nerdy.” Peter said. Duke laughed a little. “Um… I’d like to think dreams have meaning. It’d have to be a subconscious thing though, and it’d be more… uh… elements of the dream?”

  “I get that. Like, having a dream about all your teeth falling out doesn’t mean you’ve experienced that before or will experience it, but it might mean you feel insecure and out of control.” Duke said.

  “Exactly.”

  “But sometimes I have dreams about things that happened to me in the past.” His voice gets lower so other people can’t hear. Peter turns towards him, putting all his attention on him. Duke doesn’t make eye contact. “My parents are in 24/7 psychiatric hold ever since getting hit with Joker Toxin.”

  “Joker Toxin?”

  “Yeah, it’s this gas The Joker uses, It causes-... It can be deadly. Most people die from asphyxiation because of it.” Duke said. “Luckily, Mom and Dad didn't die, but they’ve been in the hospital ever since. I’ll have dreams about that night sometimes.” He stared at something far in the distance, as if remembering it all over again.

  “I’m so sorry.” Peter said. Softly. He set a hand on Duke’s shoulder. “But, hey, don’t lose hope. Advancements in medicine happen everyday.”

  “Yeah…” Duke said softly. “Um… Anyway, do you ever have dreams like that?”

  “Sometimes. Most of the time, I dream about the night Uncle Ben died.” Peter said, only glancing at Duke before he had to avert his eyes. “He was… Uh, someone was trying to mug us, so he stepped in front of me to keep me from getting hurt and, um… Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Duke said, voice soft and genuine. “Your uncle sounds like a good man.”

  “Yeah.” He laughed quietly.

  “Is that what inspired you to throw yourself in front of Joker’s lackey?” Duke asked, a teasing note entering his voice.

  “Partly. I try to be like my uncle every day, and I know he would never sit by and watch that happen.” Peter said.

  Duke smiled. He had a very nice smile. God, what about this boy DIDN’T remind Peter of the sun?

  “You’re a good kid.”

  Peter scoffs. “Kid?”

  “When were you born?”

  “2000. August 10th.”

  “Hah! I was born a year earlier. 1999, August 13th.” Duke said. “Therefore, you are a kid.”

  “I’m not a kid, you’re just a fossil.” Peter snarled back, grinning ear to ear.

  Duke huffed, hand covering his chest in offense. “A fossil?” But then he laughed and grinned devilishly. “If I’m a fossil at 17, what’s gonna happen to you next year, huh?”

  Peter opened his mouth, but was cut off by the bell. A sting of annoyance, this one sharper than he expected, flashed through him. Still, he sighed and waved goodbye to Duke.

  It was hard to focus on class today. He was completely restless. Peter’s eyes were practically glued to the clock.

  In engineering class, Peter waited for the teacher to get into the flow of (what he assumed) was a rehearsed lecture before he subtly took out his webshooter to replace the cut wire. It was unbelievably difficult to fix the wire while not letting anyone see what he was doing. He really didn’t want to explain that he was fixing a device he made by himself while his teacher was explaining basic safety to the other students. That would definitely make his classmates hate him for being a know-it-all.

  He put his hand over the dispenser and barely tapped the release, shoulders slumping in relief when the webs deployed. That means he is clear to start patrolling at any time. Peter had thought about this all day. Well, he’d been thinking about it since showing up here, but especially today.

  It was something that drew him in like a magnet. A bird trying to escape the pull of earth’s gravity. Spider-Man was a part of him that could only be denied for so long. But he promised himself that, at least for the first few patrols, he would avoid anything too difficult. He’d stick to muggings and assaults. Any villain activity or bank robberies or anything more dangerous, he’d force himself to call it in and leave it alone, even if ignoring it made him die inside. Peter would start slow.

  When school was over, Steph and the others were waiting at the same place. He was planning to walk past unnoticed, but that plan died when Cassie spotted him and waved him over. He couldn’t be rude, so he went to join them.

  “Hey, Pete. Gonna catch a ride with us again?” Tim asked.

  “Oh, I’m not going home, I’m heading to the library.” Peter said. He couldn’t neglect it two days in a row, besides, that was the best place to start patrolling. It was far enough away from his place to avoid suspicion, and didn’t have as much crime as his area. Still had some crimes, it wouldn’t be a boring night, but it’d be a bit safer.

  “Ooo, yeah, let’s go to the library!” Steph said. “I need to catch up with Babs, besides, I need to return this book. It’s, like, four weeks overdue.”

  Peter couldn’t deny that having some company would be nice. Cassie and Duke were chatting about a new song released by an artist they mutually liked and the others idly chimed in when they had something to add. He was alright with being quiet. Just being here with friends mended something inside him that he didn’t realize was broken.

  When they got to the library, they split off. Steph and Tim went to the front desk to talk to Barbra, Cassie went to the fiction section with Duke (since they were still having a conversation), and Peter went to the computers. He had work to do, but before he did that, he decided to look up what Joker Toxin was.

  Joker Toxin, also called Joker Venom or Smylex, is an incredibly dangerous neurotoxin produced and primarily used by The Joker and his associates. There have been several mass attacks involving the gas, resulting in numerous deaths and permanent injuries. Immediate exposure causes intense muscle spasms, facial contortions, and uncontrollable laughter. Most victims die from asphyxiation due to being unable to control the laughter. If the victim survives long enough to receive treatment, they will most likely continue to experience side effects from the gas. The spasming could cause bruises or broken bones, the facial contractions can cause a rictus grin or muscle damage which can make facial expressions difficult, and the lack of oxygen can cause hypoxia. Hypoxia, lack of oxygen to the brain, can cause fatigue, shortness of breath, irreversible organ damage to the brain, heart, and kidneys, and cognitive impairment.

  Peter winced in sympathy. But he also felt dread pour over him. That man, the lackey he encountered on the roof, could’ve easily had some of that gas on him. He got lucky. Luckier than he had assumed.

  He closed the tab, staring at the desktop for a moment. Then, he shook his head hard to clear his thoughts. He had a job to do.

  Calling every school in the area was easier now. Over half of the schools claimed they were making the library event known to their students. The ones who had been shifty and evasive before gave the same shifty and evasive answers now. Shocker. He didn’t expect those schools to really participate, but he kept calling them to let them know they can always change their minds.

  “Alright, thank you, bye.” Peter said, hanging up.

  With that done, he put the phone down on the desk. Peter stretched his back, then turned around in his seat to see what the others were doing. Tim was at a desk, book in hand and notebook open in front of him, completely absorbed in what he was doing. He had to lean to see Cassie, but she was sitting in one of the comfy chairs reading. Duke and Steph were standing together at the bookshelves chatting.

  Wordlessly, he stood and made his way to the comfy chairs as well. He took out his own book and sat down to read. Comfortable silence stretched out between Peter and Cassie, quiet companionship. But maybe it was a little too cozy.

  “Peter. Hey, wake up.” A voice said. He blinked his eyes open to see Ms. Barbra. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

  He sat bolt upright. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Barbra! I’ll-“

  “Don’t worry about it, Pete. You look like you need sleep.” She said. “I really just woke you up because you were mumbling in your sleep.”

  Peter’s face scrunched up. “Really?” That was strange for him. He never sleep-talked before. “What was I saying?”

  Barbra shrugs. “Just sleepy nonsense. I heard something about chains though.” Peter paled a little. “If you want to nap, move to the couch over there. You’ll get neck issues.”

  “O-Ok, thank you, Ms. Barbra. I swear, I’ll make it up to you, I’ve just been feeling a little bad recently.” Peter said.

  “Like sick?”

  “Something like that.” He said softly.

  The woman gives him a suspiciously knowing look, as if she could see through the bandages and straight as the bloody wound. “Hmm… Well, regardless, you never have to apologize about feeling under the weather. You work really hard Peter. It’s ok to have off days.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  Peter stands up when Barbra leaves and heads for the couch. It was a small couch, but it was better than laying awkwardly in a chair. He laid there, reading and dozing, for the next few hours.

  He jumped when he woke up from a doze to see someone in front of him. Peter winced with a stifled cry as his shoulder was jostled. Cassie raises her hands placatingly. Peter gave a small, awkward laugh, rubbing his shoulder.

  [Our ride is here.] Cassie signed.

  “Oh, ok. I’m gonna stick around for a while. I need to get some actual work done.” Peter said. Cassie nodded in understanding.

  [Goodnight.]

  “Goodnight.”

  The group made their way to the door. Before they left, they all said their goodbyes to Peter. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and put his book away, going to find Barbra.

  “Hey, Ms. Barbra.” He said. She was about to go into her office again, but she stopped at the sound of his voice. “Is there anything you need me to do before I go home?”

  “Hmmm… Well…” She thought for a moment. “If you could restart and shut down all the computers before you go, that’d be nice. God knows they haven’t been turned off in years.”

  “Got it.” Peter said. “Have a good night, Ms. Barbra.”

  “You too.”

  He goes to the computers, staring at the far side. The task was easy. It allowed him time to think and prepare himself for what was to come.

  Peter had to keep the weight off his shoulder, which wasn’t that big of a deal considering he wasn’t a lefty, and he had to stay out of serious trouble. Stealth would be his best option, but that already was probably the best course of action considering it seemed like he was being hunted. He swallowed hard. He could do this. Yeah, he was Spider-Man! Spider-Man could handle it!

  When he left the library, he immediately began scanning around for alleyways. Peter found one that didn’t give him a bad vibe and hurried inside. Hiding behind a dumpster, he set his backpack down and stripped his clothes off. Getting changed in an alleyway never really got less awkward.

  But it was SO worth it.

  It felt like he’d stepped into his second skin. He couldn’t help himself, really he couldn’t, so he immediately turned towards the taller of the two buildings and shot a web at the top. The rush he felt as he zipped to the top of the building, kicking off the wall to gain extra speed and height made it feel like he was breathing for the first time since coming to Gotham.

  He itched to go swinging through the city, but he resisted. For now. There’d be time for that later, but for now, he had to take it easy. That didn’t stop him from hopping from roof to roof freely, using his webs when he had to.

  Peter went around the city, just enjoying the feeling of freedom, until he heard a scream. He turned in its direction and leapt from the roof, catching himself with a web and swinging in that direction. The screams became muffled, but he could tell he was getting close. Eventually, he sees two people outside of a store on an unlit part of the street. He sticks to the wall above them, assessing the situation.

  “Shut up!” The man whispered loudly. He was wrestling down a woman, hand pressed over her mouth, as she screamed and squirmed. He shoved her towards the ground, trying to drag her down to the concrete of the sidewalk.

  “Whoa, what’s happening here?” He said loud enough for them to hear. Two sets of eyes look up at him. “This doesn’t look very consensual.”

  “Oh, shit.” The man said.

  He got up, running away from the woman and Peter. He didn’t get far. Peter shot a web at him, gluing him to the wall. He added a few extra webs for good measure.

  Then, he drops down next to the woman, suppressing a wince. “Are you ok?” Spider-Man asked.

  She pushed herself up, taking a few wary steps from the vigilante. “Yeah…” She mumbled. “I-I’m… I don’t know who that guy was.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll make sure he doesn’t touch you again.” He said.

  “I don’t know what your t-“ The man said. He was cut off by Spider-Man webbing his mouth.

  “Do you have any paper or anything?” Peter asked. “A sticky note would be great.”

  “A sticky note? Um…” She reached into her purse, shuffling around it. “Uh, I have this.”

  She pulls out a cute little novelty notepad. It was strawberry themed. “That’ll work.” He chirped.

  Peter wrote a quick note to the police and stuck it to the man’s forehead with a bit of webs. He offered to walk the woman home to prevent anything else from happening to her, but she politely declined. She was probably at least mildly concerned about the spider mutant she’d never heard before knowing where she lived. And honestly, he understood that.

  With a job well done, he swung himself back up to the roof. Peter was glowing with accomplishment. The night was young and there were still lots of people who needed a human spider.

-

Bat Boys (and girls), October 13th

Timbo:

Checked four different places we got tips for and found nothing other than druggies

Its like joker just disappeared

Again

(Sent 1:43 am)

Dicko Mode:

We just have to keep being persistent

Joker is addicted to attention, he’ll pop up eventually

(Sent 1:43 am)

Babs:

Getting reports of criminals being caught all over the city, stuck in a sticky ‘web-like’ substance.

Most are small-time criminals with no or not very notable criminal backgrounds, but one man had been caught, a serial murderer who according to reports was trying to lure in a teenage girl when he was ‘webbed up’.

(Sent 1:59 am)

Dicko Mode:

What????

(Sent 2:00 am)

Timbo:

There’s a new vigilante?

(Sent 2:00 am)

Babs:

Hold on, getting a video

{Video Link}

(Sent 2:00 am)

  The video appears to be of CCTV footage. It’s dark and blurry, but a girl comes into frame. She pulled a can of spray paint from her bag, looking around suspiciously, then pointed the nozzle at the wall and sprayed. After a few minutes of her painting the building, she abruptly stops and looks down the alley. It’s hard to see, but it looks like she is talking with someone. A few seconds later, a man steps into frame, slowly getting closer and closer to the girl. She takes a tentative step backwards, distress evident in her face.

  And suddenly, the man was glued to the ground.

  A red and blue blur drops down in front of the girl. The chat for a moment before the red and blue figure writes something on what looks to be a notepad and sticks it to the man’s head. Together, the two leave the alley.

Dicko Mode:

Wtf?

(Sent 2:04 am)

Damian:

What did they leave behind?

(Sent 2:04 am)

Babs:

A series of notes have been found with these criminals. Hold on, I’ll send pics.

(Sent 2:04 am)

  Four pictures were uploaded to the group chat. They were all done on strawberry paper and had a little drawing of a spider under it, but the words always varied. They weren’t leaving the same note every time.

  ‘Tried to rob a store but couldn’t pick the lock, lol. Has a gun in his back pocket, be careful. - Spider-Man’

  ‘Caught him trying to steal a car. I think his leg is broken (not me) so take him to the hospital before you take him to jail. Thank you. - Spider-Man’

  ‘Found bricking windows and setting fires in trash cans. Gave her a stern talking to. Seems like some kind of mental episode, handle with care. - Spider-Man’

  ‘Dude was being weird to this girl, gave me bad vibes. Not a crime, maybe innocent, but better safe than sorry, right? - Spider-Man’

Timbo:

Spider-Man huh?

(Sent 2:04 am)

Babs:

That last one was found with the serial killer

(Sent 2:05 am)

Damian:

So they don’t have access to police information

Good to know

(Sent 2:05 am)

Batty:

Good catch

(Sent 2:05 am)

Jason:

Most of these people are being caught in Crime Alley. Ill handle this guy. Just focus on The Joker and the Laz Pit situation

(Sent 2:05 am)

Dicko Mode:

How do you know its a guy? :)

(Sent 2:05 am)

Jason:

Stfu

(Sent 2:05 am)

Dicko Mode:

Ok :(

(Sent 2:06 am)

-

  The next morning, Peter was exhausted. He patrolled until three in the morning before heading home. That was the usual time for him to stop patrol, but after being out of routine for so long, it’d take a while to get back into the swing of things. Pun fully intended.

  His shoulder was inflamed from last night, but the wound itself was looking better. It still had a few days of healing left, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it would be if a normal person had taken this wound. Besides that, he felt incredible. It felt like he was alive again after being comatose for weeks. Peter got ready for school with more enthusiasm than before, grinning.

  Peter was distracted most of the day, excited for tonight. But it seemed like he wasn’t the only one who had his head in the clouds. He saw Duke in the hallway, hunched over his phone and staring at it blankly.

  “Duke-” The other boy jumped and whirled around. “Sorry!” Peter threw his hands up in surrender.

  “Jesus, don’t scare me like that.” He laughs. Duke puts his phone away, shoulders relaxing. “How’re you doing Peter?”

  “Oh, I’m great. Feeling better today, so I’m definitely heading to the library tonight.”

  “Cool. Uh, we’re gonna be busy tonight, but if you want a ride, we can drop you off.”

  “Um… I mean… If it’s not inconvenient for you.” Peter said sheepishly.

  “Don’t worry about that, it’s whatever.” He said.

  “Alright then, cool. I’ll take a ride.” Peter said. “Uh, we should probably get to class.”

  “Yeah. See ya, Peter.”

  “See ya.”

-

  “What the hell is with this guy?!” Tim groaned.

  He’d been chasing this ‘Spider-Man’ all night! First, he was in Crime Alley’s residential district, then he was in Neo Eden, then he was in Robinson Park, and then he was in the Theater District. He was bouncing from place to place, sighting after sighting miles apart at seemingly random. Did he know he was being followed?

  “You’re still chasing Spider-Man? I thought Jason told you to leave it to him.” Barbra said.

  “I’m still technically patrolling… It’s just that I happen to be taking a similar route that this new guy is.” Tim said.

  “Right, uh-huh. Totally.” Barbra said.

  Tim looked around, hoping to spot a flash of red and blue. “You don’t have eyes on him? At all?” Tim asked.

  “He seems exceptionally good at avoiding the camera around the city. He only seems to disregard being caught on camera if he’s trying to stop a crime. I mean, I’ve caught glimpses of him, but not enough to track his movements.”

  He sighs, fixing his hair. At least this break-neck pace meant he was covering lots of ground. He didn’t have time to meet up with people he’d saved before or enjoy his night out, but at least he’d stopped more crimes than usual because he was in so many different places in such a short time.

  “Spider-Man caught two carjackers in Little Italy.” Barbra reported.

  “What?! He went right past me!” Tim said.

  “Beter hop to it.”

  Tim groaned, turning around and hurrying in that direction. That’s when he realized another benefit of chasing this stranger all around the city; it was great cardio.

-

  Peter had never felt more alive! He was trying to stay around Crime Alley, truly he was, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself. Swinging across city blocks was just so much fun.

  He stood at the top of the tallest building he could find, looking down at the city. He gets up on the railing, throwing his arms out to balance himself. When he was steady, he took a breath, looking down at the next tallest building. It was still shorter than this one by at least a hundred feet, so he had a long way to drop before he could catch himself.

  “That’s not very safe.” A voice said. He turns around, carefully. Standing there was Nightwing. “I mean, I know you can catch yourself, but still.”

  Peter grinned. “Aw, you worried about me, Nightwing?” He was glad, not for the first time, that his costume had a built in voice modulator.

  “I’d rather not see you plummet to your death.”

  “Oh, come on, have more faith in me than that. I’ve been doing this for a while.” Peter said.

  Nightwing’s face shifted in confusion. “Really? Because this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a web-slinging, human-spider, meta saving people.”

  “Hmm. Well, maybe you have to listen harder.” He said, head tipping to the side. Then, he crouched down, bracing his legs. “See ya!”

  Peter leapt backwards off of the building, launching himself away from the other vigilante and tucking his knees backwards. He flipped in free-fall once, twice, three times, and then shot out a web to catch himself. He swung backwards, seeing the little speck that was Nightwing right at the edge of the building, before detaching himself so he could swing forwards, quickly leaving the dot against the dark sky behind.

  He zipped through the air with a whoop of excitement. That was exhilarating! The adrenaline rush was so addictive that he instantly understood why people enjoy base jumping.

  Several blocks away, he kicks his legs into a deep swing, landing on the side of a building. He crouches with a grimace (his shoulder really didn’t like that), looking down towards the ground. Someone had seen him swing by and was now pointing up at him. Others looked as well, someone whipped out their phone and pointed it at him. Peter smiled, not that they could see it, and waved.

  One more cool flip couldn’t hurt, right? Now he has an audience to impress.

  He turned, crawling up the building until he felt he was high enough. Then he looks down, sees them still recording, and jumps off. He curls into a tighter ball than before, causing him to flip faster than he expected. He shoots out a web, catching himself way closer to the ground then he inspected, and was yanked up into another wide arc. At the top of the swing, he released his web and flipped one more time, this time because the momentum carried him through the movement.

  Peter hoped they caught that. That would be a really cool clip, especially since he didn’t slam into a wall at thirty miles per hour and absolutely perish like he expected to. But after that, he decided to go home. He stopped a lot of crime today and he was really starting to aggravate his shoulder.

  He lands on a very long building. It was easier to crawl along buildings while vertical, but he didn’t feel like aggravating his shoulder any further, so he walked. Peter had to return to the alleyway for his backpack and clothes.

  He’d gotten good at avoiding cameras for costume changes. Back home, there had been a big push to curb vigilantism and they used cameras to catch several of them. Peter, luckily, hadn’t been on the streets when they initially started using the cams. He had gotten into a nasty fight and broke both wrists, so he was at home resting.

  So you could imagine his terror when he turned on the TV and saw that several vigilantes had been caught that night. He knew some of them, too. Teamed up with a few of them. Jack-o-Lantern? Black Star? Voiceless? Ibis Sentinel? He knew them. He considered Voiceless and Black Star friends. So to see them being hauled out of their homes in handcuffs for the crime of protecting the city, seeing Ibis’s wheel-chair bound wife try to cling onto him as he was dragged away, was horrific. That could’ve been him.

  Now, vigilantes generally don’t mess with each other. Vigilantes can get very bitchy when another vigilante enters their territory. Of course, it depends on a lot of factors, but it is generally a good idea to not interfere with others unless you are given permission. Spider-Man wasn’t married to one place, although he primarily protected Queens, and he was fine with working with other vigilantes if the need arose. But after that night, even vigilantes that refused to let anyone in their territory and refused help from anyone else banded together. They started making maps of where the cameras and listening devices were in the city, they started letting the others change in their homes if they had to, and a few even banded together to break Jack-o-Lantern out of jail. All trying to crack down on vigilantism did was bring the survivors together and make them smarter. Wade had laughed about that.

  ‘That’s just the human spirit, Spidey!’ He could almost hear Wade’s voice. ‘Give us rules and stomp us down and we’ll only come back stronger and craftier.’

  A sad grin appeared on Peter’s face as he made it back to the alley. He missed home so badly. Dropping down, he got onto his knees to reach under a dumpster for backpack and-

  “No! Stop, stop, please!” A voice shrieked.

  Peter immediately got up. He leapt onto the wall once again and followed it around the corner. The voice came from very close by. Now, he could hear sobbed screams and muffled voices of older men.

  The scene before him was terrifying. There was a young boy, about ten years old, holding onto a fence for dear life. Grabbing him by the shoulders and legs, were two men who were trying to get the kid to be quiet. They were attempting to drag him to a dark blue van that had two more people waiting outside and two inside in the driver and passenger seat.

  “Whoa, calm down there, Jared from Subway.” Peter said. All eyes snapped to him. One of the men near the van pulled out a hand gun, but Peter webbed it out of his hand with ease. “Not even gonna talk this out like big boys? Someone’s gotta rewatch Dora.”

  The other man snarled like a feral beast, making Peter’s eyes snap over to him. He froze. All his danger senses started screaming as he locked his own brown eyes with piercing emerald green. Unnaturally green. His hair might’ve once been black, but now there were so many streaks of white in it that it looked almost silver. And around his neck was a thick and heavy collar that reminded Peter of a shock collar.

  So much for not taking on big jobs.

  With a primal shout, the man with the collar ran at Peter. He leapt over his head, sweeping his legs out from under him. The man with the collar toppled over, but Peter was already running for the kid and his wannabe captures.

  The first man let go of the kid and turned to punch Peter in the face. He caught the wrist and ducked under the man’s arm, slamming his body up into the older man to send him flying over Peter’s shoulder. And then, a gunshot rang out. Peter let out a stifled cry as pain bloomed through his leg. Whipping around, he saw the kid huddled on the ground, shaking and crying, and the second man standing in front of him with his gun drawn.

  He raced forward and grabbed the gun, pushing it away from his head right as another shot was fired. Peter squeezed and squeezed, crushing the barrel of the gun until it was useless. And then weight slammed into him from behind. The feral man grabbed him and threw him like a toy. Peter rolled, slamming his shoulder painfully into the curb. He didn’t have even a second to recover because the feral man was on top of him.

  Peter rolled onto his back, only fending the man off with his legs as the man attempted to bite his face off. Snarling, drooling, and screaming incoherently. He pulled his legs into his chest and kicked the man back, making him stagger. That gave him barely enough time to hop up. He pointed his webshooter at the feral man and fired, gluing him to the spot.

  He twisted around, wild-eyed, only to see that no one was there. Whoever had been trying to kidnap the boy loaded up into the car and drove off, leaving their friend here as a distraction. Peter looks back at the man.

  “Ýok, ýok, ýok! Durnuň, dur! Ýaşyl, ol şol ýerde! Ýaşyl, ýaşyl, men ony görýärin, diňe ony görýärin! Şol ýerde, şol ýerde — zynjyrlar meni baglaýar, dişleýär, men şu ýerde, ýöne görmeýärin! Hemmesi gitdi; hemmesi gitdi! Maňa kömek et! Maňa kömek et, haýyş edýärin, haýyş edýärin, men çykyp bilmeýärin, maňa kömek et!” The man screamed. Peter blinked. It was only now that he realized that wasn’t English.

  “Hey, dude, calm down, I’m not gonna hurt you, mkay?” Peter said, holding his hands up placatingly. The man’s struggle didn’t stop. He sighed, limping towards the boy. “Hey, are you alright?”

  The boy sniffles. “I-I wanna go- go home.” He sobbed, voice shaking.

  “I’ll get you home. Come on.” He held out his hand. The boy took it, letting Peter pull him to his feet.

  He let the boy lead the way, limping after him. Peter pauses. He should probably leave a note, but with his leg bleeding and this boy needing help, he might not have time. Looking up, he scans around with his eyes. A camera. Peter looks dead at it, waves, and points to the man. Then, he continues along the road with the boy.

  They make it to an apartment, and the boy knocks on the door. He stands there until the door opens. The boy’s mother cries out in relief upon seeing him and hugs the boy. Peter takes that as his cue to leave. His disappears into the darkness, feeling woozy as blood marks his path. He should go get his bag. He should get back the the apartment. He should… He should…

  Peter collapses.

-

  “What the fuck… What the fuck?!” Dick repeats it like a spell, rewatching the video over and over. He had seen the guy not twenty minutes early and he managed to stop a potential kidnapping and get himself shot.

  He looks over, watching the man with the collar get injected with something to sedate him. Another victim of a Lazarus Pit, driven insane by holding hands with death god knows how many times. How does one even end up getting revived that many times? And why was he wearing a control collar?

  Something really fucked up was happening here. Six men pull up to a kid walking alone, they grab him and try to kidnap him, a rogue vigilante shows up, fights off four of them including one that was lost to insanity, gets shot, and just walks it off. Why would they be trying to swipe kids? Why did they have a Laz victim in a collar like a guard dog?

  Dick looks over. Cassie was standing there in the shadows, arms crossed. Tension was as prevalent in her posture as it was in the air all around them. When she noticed his stare, she signed one thing.

  [I don’t know.] With a sad shake of her head. Yeah, that seemed to summarize this whole situation.

  ‘I just don’t know.’

-

  There was a chain wrapped around his ankle. Peter grunted in effort as he tried to drag himself across the desert sands, but the chain held fast. The sand was scorching hot. It burned his forearms and hands as he dragged himself deeper and deeper into the ocean of sand before him.

  All he could smell was blood. Peter let out a whimper as the smell choked him. He kicked his leg, listening to the chain rattle and clink.

  “Hold still, idiot, you’re hurting yourself more.” Came a voice.

  The light was dull and yellow. It smelled like cigarettes and sweat. The popcorn ceiling over his head had water stains.

  His eyes rolled and suddenly he was back in the desert. He sits up, twisting around to grab the chain and yanks on it. The chain didn’t even budge. Peter sobbed in terror, yanking harder and harder.

  Another storm was rolling in. Peter could hear the crash of thunder and see green illuminate the sky with each lightning strike. The smell of petrichor mixed with the reek of blood. He sobbed, hot tears spilling down his cheeks. He wouldn’t survive another storm. He had to escape. His hands were bleeding, and yet he still fought to free himself. If he didn’t, he’d-

  Hands grabbed him by the shoulders. Suddenly, he wasn’t on the sand, but on a stranger’s couch. Blood was all he could smell, he couldn’t convince his eyes to open. They were talking to him, but he couldn’t hear them. All he could hear was ringing. High-pitched, painful ringing.

Chapter Text

  Peter woke up slowly. He was lying on something softer than he’d slept on in weeks. Arms pulled up as if to protect his face, curled up into a small ball.

  Slowly, he blinked the sleep from his eyes and began taking in the details of the place he found himself. The coffee table had papers scattered across it, a few cups, and a handgun. It was dark. Only a floor lamp was providing light to the room, but its light was a sickly yellow. The walls were very bare, there was a bookshelf which seemed to be the only thing that was taken care of here, and the man in the armchair was-

  He jerked upright with a gasp. The man startles, holding up both his hands. “Hey, hey, calm down. I just saved your ass from bleeding out in an alleyway.”

  It was Red Hood. Peter felt his soul shudder. “You didn’t take off my mask, did you?”

  “No.” Red Hood said. Peter stared at him silently for a while. “Look… The others aren’t sure what to make of you. But I’ve kept an eye on you. You keep people safe. So, I decided to help you out. But you owe me.”

  “Mm. Ok, I see…”

  “You saved that kid earlier, that’s how you got shot. What do you know about those people?” Red Hood asked.

  “I don’t know much. I know-...” He hesitates. Should he tell Red Hood this? What if it comes back to bite him later? But also, what if something happens to him? At least one person should know what’s going on, and Red Hood seems like a good guy. “They’ve been hunting me for a while.” Red Hood straightens. “I can’t remember what they did to me, but I think they did something to mess with my memory. Sorry, I can’t be more specific… All I know is that they seem to be in places that I’ve been frequenting. In and out of costume.”

  The other was quiet for a moment. “I see.” He said. “Hey, what color are your eyes?”

  Peter blinked in surprise. “Uh… Huh?”

  “I know, I know, but it could tell me a lot about what’s going on here.” Red Hood said.

  It was quiet for a moment. “Brown.” He said. Thousands and thousands of people had brown eyes.

  “And they haven’t changed since they ‘messed with your memory’?”

  “What? No. My eyes have always been brown.”

  He hummed. After a moment, Red Hood stood up. “You can stay here for the night. Your leg has been taken care of as best as I could, so you should be fine to leave if you want to do that instead.”

  Peter didn’t say anything. He watched Red Hood retreat down the hall before he looked down at himself. It didn’t seem like Red Hood was lying. About treating him, anyway.

  The leg of his costume had been cut. Underneath was clean white gauze and bandages, wrapped tightly and neatly. The smell of isopropyl was strong now that he was thinking about it.

  He relaxed against the couch, thoughts flooding his mind. Should he stay here for the night? His leg throbbed with pain and strangely enough, so did his face. He was so, so tired. But at the same time, it would be so easy for Red Hood to take advantage of this situation. He trusted Red Hood enough not to hurt him, but he could easily call the police or the other vigilantes. They’d unmask him and either arrest him or throw him out for being a metahuman.

  Red Hood seemed like a decent guy. He seemed to care about the kids in this neighborhood, he bought Peter food because he was worried about him. But just because he wasn’t an asshole to children didn’t mean he would be ok with random metas running around his city.

  After a moment, he sits up fully again. He swings his legs over the edge of the couch, testing his leg. Straining it even slightly was excruciating. Looks like he wouldn’t be going home even if he wanted to.

  But he suddenly found that he didn’t want to. He wanted to trust Red Hood. Having an ally and friend would be so nice. He felt like he was alone in the dark as Spider-Man. Sure, he had friends when he was Peter Parker, and he loved them, but they couldn’t be dragged into this. But Red Hood was already in the thick of it. If anyone could help him, it’d be Red Hood.

  He stands very cautiously and limps in the direction he saw Red Hood go. Peter struggled not to put weight on his injured leg as he went, leaning heavily against the walls. Then, he stopped outside a door. He could hear Red Hood moving around in there. He hesitates, biting his lip, before tentatively knocking on the door.

  “Yeah?” Red Hood called.

  “Um… Am I allowed to use your kitchen?”

  “Go for it.”

  “Thank you. Uh… And your bathroom?”

  “Jesus Christ, I don’t care what you do as long as you don’t blow the house up. Now leave me alone.”

  “Ok, I’m sorry.”

  He limps into the bathroom, closing the door and turning the light on. Peter stripped his mask off, wincing. The mirror showed a ragged version of him with dried blood under his nose. Was his face bruised? Oh god, he must’ve faceplanted when he passed out. How was he supposed to show up to school like this?

  Peter turned on the faucet and scrubbed the blood from his face with wet hands. Then, he rubbed the rest of his face as well, as if to clear the exhaustion and pain from it. Would Red Hood mind if he took a shower? He said he wouldn’t mind Peter using the bathroom, but he’d feel weird getting clean without asking. But then again, he’d also feel bad going back to ask for permission again when Red Hood was probably trying to sleep.

  With a groan of frustration (mainly with himself), he decided to just go get food. Maybe if he ate up and slept well, his leg could be almost healed before school.

  He limped back into the kitchen with a whimper of pain as his leg throbbed. Peter didn’t want to eat Red Hood’s whole kitchen, but he really needed the calories. With his shoulder, leg, and face alight with pain, he could feel his healing factor’s itching graduate to burning. He needed to eat. So, he raided the kitchen.

  Peter ate leftovers cautiously, constantly glancing toward Red Hood’s room, worried the other would burst from his room and catch Peter maskless. But he didn’t. In fact, Peter was pretty sure Red Hood was asleep.

  When he was full, he limped over to the couch and lay down. He pulled the blanket from the arm of the couch and covered himself. Peter couldn’t help but relax. His body screamed for sleep and he wasn’t able to deny it for long.

-

  Something moved in front of him. Peter jerked awake with a shout. Red Hood recoiled, freezing.

  “Fucking hell, kid.” Red Hood said. Peter set a hand on his chest, breathing hard. “Twice in twenty-four hours.”

  “Maybe you should stop walking over to me in my sleep,” Peter said. Red Hood shrugs and nods. “What time is it?”

  “Uh…” He glances at the clock. “6:57 am. I didn’t mean to wake you up, I was going out to smoke.”

  “Oh, uh, ok.”

  He watched as Red Hood continued to the front door. Peter only got up once the door closed again. He took a few labored steps towards the kitchen before he stopped. With a sigh, he took out his notepad and wrote a little note.

  ‘Thank you so much for patching me up and letting me stay in your house and eat your food. Your help means so much to me. Really, you don’t get how much I appreciate it. I’ll repay you for this, I swear. Sincerely- Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man’

  With that note written, he continued to the kitchen and to the window. Peter sat on the counter, unlocking the window and sliding it open, then crawling out. He had to get to school, meaning he had to get his backpack, change, eat, and then walk to school.

  His soul flinched at the very idea.

-

  Someone shook his shoulder gently. He mumbled sleepily in protest, sleep muddying his thoughts. Whoever it was shook him again, this time a little harder.

  Peter blinked his eyes open and lifted his head. The classroom was empty and silent. Standing next to him was Cassie. She watched him with eyes full of concern. It was a look he’d been getting all day. Pity and disgust and annoyance. But his friends hadn’t asked about the bruises on his face and Peter was grateful for that.

  He looked up at her. ‘Sorry’ was on the tip of his tongue. More platitudes and explanations. But he doesn’t get the chance.

  She shakes her head with a soft smile. As if she knew what he was going to say. Then, she gestures at the classroom door. Somehow, now HE could tell what she meant.

  “Right…” He mumbled. He grabs his papers from the desk and puts them into his backpack.

  As he was putting them away, she leaned a bit closer, seeing something. He followed her line of sight to the book in his bag. ‘Basic Guide to American Sign Language’.

  Something passes over her features. [You’re learning sign language?] She signs, but the surprise on her face makes it seem more like a question.

  “Of course,” Peter said. He zips up his backpack and puts it on, standing up slowly and cautiously. “I know a little, but since we’re friends, I want to put in more effort to really learn. Maybe eventually you won’t have to spell out signs I miss.” He said, a joking note in his tone with the last sentence.

  Cassie doesn’t laugh. Her face shows there were thoughts storming in her head. And then, she spoke.

  “I… I can… speak. But it’s… it is… hard.” She said. Peter’s eyes went wide in surprise. “Have to… think… um… about- about each… word.”

  “You don’t have to speak for me, really, it’s ok,” Peter said. “I don’t mind learning.”

  [Thank you.] She signs. She had such a genuine smile on her face that it was infectious.

  “It’s no problem. Um… We should probably go, right?” He said. She nods.

  They make their way out of the classroom together. Peter does his damndest to hide his limp but it’s really hard. He can’t walk very fast while maintaining his facade of normalcy. He doesn’t ask Cassie to walk slower for him, and yet she does.

  “Hey, Pete and Cass. Ready to go?” Steph asked as they walked over. Cassie nods. “You heading home or to the Library, Peter?”

  “Um… I want to go to the library. I’m just so…” Tired. Tired, tired, tired. He felt stretched thin. His healing factor itched and burned. “I’m probably just gonna go home, eat something, and pass out.”

  “Honestly, sounds like a good plan,” Tim said, with his sixth cup of coffee in his hand.

  “Oh! Wait, we should go to Batburger.” Steph said.

  “Batburger?” Peter said. “There’s no way in hell that’s a real place.”

-

  Despite his disbelief, he somehow found himself sitting in Batburger. He stared dumbly into the painted eyes of Nightwing, trying to imagine an Avenger-Burger. The whole idea seemed ridiculous. But then again, if he were a kid, maybe Avenger-Burger would be something he’d actually enjoy.

  He was herded into a booth. Tim went to the counter to order, and everyone else was chatting away about superhero identities. Peter had to pry his eyes away from Nightwing to look at the others.

  “Signal is an infinitely better name than Spoiler,” Duke said, almost sounding defensive.

  “I’m sorry, what? Spoiler?” Peter said.

  “She’s called Spoiler because she wanted to SPOIL Cluemaster’s plans.” Steph glares at Duke.

  “Still a terrible name,” Peter mumbled. Duke laughed, gloating. “Signal is a terrible name too, to be fair. I mean, at least I can see the meaning behind it, Signal is just weird and random.”

  Duke grumbled something in annoyance. “What about Nightwing or Black Bat or Robin or Red Robin? What’s your verdict there?” Stephanie asked, leaning on the table.

  “Nightwing is cool. The name and the guy. Black Bat I think is a bit dumb. I mean, what other colors could a bat be? There’s black and brown. What, were they gonna be called Green Bat? Still, I’d MUCH rather be Black Bat than Signal or Spoiler.” Peter said.

  “I’ve seen albino bats.” Duke points out.

  “That doesn’t count.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Red Robin is literally the name of a restaurant, terrible. Um, and Robin? I mean… It’s fine. But when I hear ‘Robin’ I think of a tiny little bird singing outside my window at three in the morning, waking me up.”

  For some reason, Cassie and Steph were chuckling. “What about Red Hood?” Tim asked, coming over with two trays of food.

  “Little Red Riding Hood.” Peter and Duke said simultaneously.

  Tim set the trays down and everyone got what they ordered. Peter hadn’t ordered anything, which is why he was a little surprised when they slid him a kid’s meal. He opened up the little box and found French fries, a burger, apple slices, and a little toy.

  “Who’d you get?” Tim asked.

  “Nightwing.” He takes out the toy and holds it up.

  “Is he your favorite?” Steph asked.

  “Um… I don’t know. He has the coolest name, that’s for sure.”

  “Ok, smart ass,” Tim said. “What would your superhero name be?”

  Peter had to fight a smile from his face. “I don’t know…” He lied. “I’d avoid colors, they never sound good in names. I would probably name myself based on whatever my… ‘super niche’ is. Like how Nightwing is an acrobat. I’d pick something that sounds agile if I were an acrobat and something that sounds tough and strong if I were more like-“ Daredevil. “A-A- uh, a more ‘punch my way out’ type hero.”

  “Seems like you thought about this a lot.”

  “What kid doesn’t dream of being a superhero?”

  “Touché.”

  With that, he shifted his focus to his food as the conversation drifted to other things. He finished off all his food so quickly that he was left disappointed. The food was good, but he didn’t know if it’d be enough to fuel his healing factor.

  He glanced over and ended up making eye contact with Cassie. The girl sets her fry carton on the table and slides it over to Peter. A sting of guilt hits him. He shakes his head, sliding it back towards her, but she waves her hand dismissively and slides it back to him.

  [I’m finished.] She signed.

  Peter stared at her, trying to see if she was lying. After a moment, he nodded and dragged it the rest of the way over to him. [Thank you.] He signed.

  He really owed these guys a lot.

-

  He took the day and the next day off from patrol. His leg and shoulder really needed time to heal. By the time the 15th rolled around, Peter’s shoulder was still hurting, but it was well on its way to healing. His leg wound wasn’t nearly as bad considering it didn’t punch a hole straight through his leg or anything, but it was even more annoying than his shoulder wound because it was harder to avoid aggravating.

  Peter crawled, very carefully, down the side of the apartment building and started making his way to the library. He should be there to help out. Besides, what else would he do with his weekend if he wasn’t patrolling?

  He arrived at the library early. Peeking inside, he saw Barbra sitting at the front desk, organizing some papers. “Hello?” He called.

  “Peter! Good morning.” Barbra chirped.

  “Good morning, Ms. Barbra,” Peter said. “I came early because I didn’t know if you needed help setting up.”

  “Help would be lovely.” Ms. Barbra said. She sets her papers down and wheels away from the desk, gesturing for Peter to follow. He’s quick to do so. “We have desks which the kids are free to use, but I figured setting up a table and chairs would be nice as well in case they wanna work there.”

  She takes him to the very back of the library to a door that is very hard to see. The door was painted the same color as the walls and the gaps in the door were incredibly small. He pulls the door open for her and Barbra turns on the light as soon as she’s inside.

  It was a storage closet. Peter looked around noting all of the items he saw there. Boxes upon boxes, an old rusty ladder, a bundle of fabric of some kind, boxes filled with children's toys, what seemed to be old theater props, miscellaneous machine things (like wires, circuit boards, screws, and old presumably broken devices), and old childish art projects. And tucked in the back corner was a fold-up table and several folding chairs.

  He goes over and picks up the table, a little too easily, so he makes sure to grunt in effort to not expose his super strength. His shoulder didn’t like that, but it was getting easier to ignore its protests. Barbra grabbed one of the chairs, pulling it onto her lap, and then they made their way out of the back room.

  “Here should be fine,” Barbra said.

  He sets the table down, pulling the legs of the table out and setting it up. Barbra struggles a bit, but she manages to unfold the chair without hitting herself in the face. Then, they go back for more chairs. Peter can bring out four at a time (without drawing suspicion), so they get all the chairs set up pretty quickly.

  Peter even goes back to grab a tablecloth he’d seen. Well, maybe ‘tablecloth’ wasn’t the right word, it was a plastic table covering with an autumn theme. Still, it was nice. At least he thought so.

  “Oh, I should play music, shouldn’t I?” Barbra said, already wheeling herself to her office. Peter stands there straightening the table covering until he hears music faintly come from the speakers. “There we go!”

  She comes out of her office with one unopened box of treats and a second unopened box of various candies. Once they’re set up, Peter finds himself eyeballing them. “Can I have some?” He asked.

  “Of course you can. Have at it, kid.”

  He pulled open the box of chips and took one of the bags. Peter stood there for a moment, a wave of nostalgia hitting him. He remembered Uncle Ben taking him to events at the library during autumn and winter. They’d have arts and crafts and tell stories, he looked forward to it every year. He wondered if they’d do something like this here. Could he request to do something like that?

  As Barbra was making her way back to the desk, Peter spoke up. “By the way… Um, those devices in the back room, the one in the shoe box, are you using those for anything?”

  “Nope. Take them if you want, Pete. You’re always free to take stuff from the back room.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome.”

  After that, all they had to do was wait around for people to show up. He ended up going to get the box from the back room and bringing it to a desk. He sat there looking through it, trying to find out what he had to work with, what was still salvageable. Was he really going to be able to build a portal home with a box of scraps? Probably not, but you can’t fault him for trying.

  He sorted the box into two piles; things he could probably use and things that were useless. The music pouring from the speakers was lyricless and calming. It was helping him think, helping him break down everything he knew and everything he was still struggling to learn.

  Peter drifted to the non-fiction section, grabbing the books about theoretical physics and time travel, and anything else that might be useful. All of this set up on his desk must look cluttered and confusing, but it was the only way he could focus on the task at hand. With everything in view, he could keep all the pieces of this puzzle in his head, even as the hurricane of thoughts in there threatened to suffocate him.

  He could do this! Tony had taught him well. They’d spent nights upon nights in the lab, making little machines or small improvements to the superhero suits. The Iron Spider, the Iron Man suit, all those complex equations and delicate circuitry hidden behind layers of thick metal.

  “Be careful, kid. I don’t let just anyone mess with my suit, so I expect you not to break anything.” Tony said.

  “I won’t, Mr. Stark!”

  He stared down at the open panel, wonder in his eyes. This was THE Iron Man suit! He couldn’t believe it. His eyes flicked over each component, as if trying to memorize every piece of it.

  “This is incredible.” He mumbled.

  “Took a long time to get this thing working,” Tony said, wrapping his fingers against the metal mask. “Now, I’m gonna teach you how I did it so maybe one day you can build upon this and make something even better.”

  “Wait, me? Making something better than you? I-I don’t think that’s possible, Mr. Stark.” He said with an apologetic dip of his head.

  “Not with that attitude you won’t,” Tony said. He lifted his hand, hesitated, then patted Peter on the shoulder. “Look, just remember to stick with what you’re good at. You're good at thinking outside the box and being a persistent little shit. Sometimes, that’s more important than knowing all the equations and algorithms.”

  “Peter?”

  He jolted, twisting around. Duke was standing there. He flashed Peter an apologetic smile, but then the desk caught his eye.

  “Whoa, that looks like some pretty serious research.” He said.

  “Yeah.” He laughed quietly, moving slightly so Duke could stand next to him. “It’s a big project, but… I-I don’t know, I really wanted to try.”

  Duke stood next to him, eyes flicking across every item on the desk. He read all the book titles, glanced over his notes, and inspected the machine parts. “Are you trying to build… A time machine?”

  “Sort of,” Peter said. Maybe talking with other people about this will help him find a solution. “Do you believe in alternate realities?”

  “Like… The Many Worlds theory?” Duke asked. “I think I know a bit about it.”

  “Well… It’s a theory that states that the universal wavefunction is real and- uh…” He stopped. “Well, essentially, it’s the idea that every possible outcome of quantum measurements is true in other worlds that physically exist. Basically… The theory proposes that there are other worlds where other rules apply.” Duke nodded slowly, prompting Peter to continue. “So I’m trying to find out how someone might make a machine to prove the existence of and travel to other realities. Hypothetically.”

  “That seems like a tall order,” Duke said.

  “Understatement of the century.” Peter laughed. “But I want to at least try.”

  “Well… Can you take a break for a moment to hang out with us?” He asked, grinning a little.

  “Yeah, of course.” Maybe a break would help.

  He followed Duke to where the table and snacks had been set up. Steph, Cassie, and Tim were also here along with three other kids he didn’t recognize. Peter had never seen the library this full. A smile bloomed on his face.

  As Barbra thought, two out of three of the other kids seemed to just be here for the snacks and to wander around looking for books. But Peter sat with Steph as they helped each other with their English assignment. They were reading the same book for class and this assignment involved finding quotes from the chapters they read and then interpreting them. When one of them found the quote, they’d tell the other the page and paragraph number which helped A LOT so they didn’t have to keep flipping back and forth through their books nearly as much.

  It was a lot easier to get through it together. Besides, it was much more fun. He could’ve done it by himself, huddled up on his sleeping spot in a crumbling building, but doing it here was so much better.

  When they were done, Steph got up and went to look at books and Peter turned his attention towards the other boy who was trying to get his work done. It was math homework the kid seemed to be struggling with, but it was pretty easy for Peter. He explained the equations a few times before figuring out that the other boy was a visual learner, so instead, he drew little pictures to explain the concepts to him, which seemed to help.

  “Yeah, you got it. Just use that same formula with the numbers it tells you.” Peter said. The other boy nods and focuses on his paper. When it was clear the other teen would get through it just fine, his attention ended up drifting. Cassie was sitting on his other side. At first, he thought she was working on her own schoolwork, but now that he actually looked over at her, he saw she was drawing a raven, but using words to do so. “Whoa! That’s so cool.”

  She smiled at him. [Thank you.] She signed.

  In front of her was a book and in her lap was a sketchbook. He watched her write some more, laying the framework where the wing would be. Peter was completely mystified.

  “What’re you doing?” He asked.

  Cassie sets down her sketchbook and pen to sign. [Calligraphy. Using the poem ‘The Raven’ to make a raven.]

  “Oh, wow.” And he could hardly draw a stick figure. “That’s really cool.”

  [Thank you.] She signed again. Cassie seemed to think for a moment before signing again. [When I was learning English, calligraphy helped. I would draw the word to look like the thing, like writing the word ‘water’ to look like it was made of water. It helped me understand better.]

  “Oh, I see.” He said. “Well, you’re really good at it. I looked over and had my mind completely blown.”

  Cassie giggles. [You’re very kind.] She signs.

  “I try to be.”

  Peter’s friends couldn’t stay all day. They came here, got all their work done, and then had to leave. He remained there all day though. People filtered in, both for the event and for regular library activities.

  He helped where he could, helping students get through homework and projects and tutoring them. In the end, he helped about ten students over the course of the day. Not as many as he hoped for, but way more than he expected. Barbra seemed really proud. At the end of the day, when Peter was about to go home, she stopped him.

  “Hold on.” She said. She was writing something out. When she was done, she handed it to him. “Here’s your paycheck.”

  His eyes went wide when he saw the amount listed. That was more than he made at both his jobs combined back home! “Oh, no, I-I can’t-“

  “It’s payment for organizing the event and showing up to help for the past few weeks. Every day you were here working, plus a bonus for the successful event. It’s a very fair wage.” She said matter-of-factly.

  Peter stared down at it for a while. This was enough that he could probably eat well for a few months. His mind was already racing with all the ways he could improve his situation. “Are you sure?” He asked, fighting down the excitement and hope that was threatening to grow in his chest.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Now go buy Pokémon cards or whatever. Seriously, it’s yours.”

  “Thank you so much!” He threw his arms around her in a hug.

  “Don’t thank me for paying you fairly.” She said, patting him on the back regardless. Peter pulled away, putting the check in his backpack. “Goodnight, Peter.”

  “Goodnight, Ms. Barbra!”

  He made his way out of the library and onto the dark streets. Peter was immediately hit with a wave of cold that made him shiver, but he didn’t care. He hurried home, using his spider-sense to avoid everyone who was still lingering on the streets, and went home. Already, he was thinking about what he should buy first, what he should prioritize.

-

Bat Boys (and girls), October 16th:

Timbo:

All is quiet rn

(Sent 1:12 am)

Dicko Mode:

Dont jinx it

(Sent 1:12 am)

Batty:

There has been reports of Joker sightings in Bludhaven around the shipping yards.

(Sent 2:13 am)

Timbo:

Oop I jinxed it

(Sent 2:13 am)

Dicko Mode:

On it.

(Sent 2:13 am)

Timbo:

Sorry dick

(Sent 2:13 am)

Dicko Mode:

Lol

(Sent 2:13 am)

Steph:

Saw Scarecrow’s old lackey

He’s got a kid now

(Sent 3:02 am)

CC:

Changing his life around?

(Sent 3:03 am)

Steph:

Hope so

(Sent 3:03 am)

Babs:

I’m seeing a massive fire at South Bludhaven Port and getting reports of explosions.

Nightwing, how are you doing?

(Sent 3:46 am)

Timbo:

@Dicko Mode You good?

(Sent 3:58 am)

Babs:

He’s not on comms

Not answering either

(Sent 4:02 am)

Batty:

Heading over

(Sent 4:02 am)

  Barbra bit her lip, fiddling with a pen in her hand as her eyes shifted from one screen to another. Dick knew better than to not message back when someone was trying to check on him, he checked his phone religiously for that very reason. The only reason why he wouldn’t answer would be that he was busy. Or…

  All she could do was watch the fire blaze from a distance. People in the area were calling the police not just about the fire, but apparently, they were hearing explosions. Barbra could only watch, praying to every god imaginable that Dick was trapped in a burning building.

  The comms pinged. She slammed the answer button as quickly as she could and watched Dick’s name appear on the screen. The background was loud. Fire was blazing and crackling and every few seconds there was a small thud or boom sound, and occasionally there was a much louder explosion.

  “Dick! Hey, Dick, what’s happening?” She asked.

  The man coughs hard, she can hear the wheeze in his lungs. “I don’t know.” He said. “There was nothing here. I looked around and saw nothing, not even lights. But then, I opened the door to the storage building and something exploded.”

  “It was a trap?”

  “I think so.” Dick coughs again, taking a minute to catch his breath after the coughing fit. “I had to make sure no one else was caught in the fire, so I searched around again and found six people tied up in a back room.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Bruised wrists and maybe some smoke inhalation, but other than that, no,” Dick said.

  “And what about you?”

  It was quiet for a moment. Well, relatively quiet. “The initial blast threw me and burned the hell out of my hand. I’m ok, though.”

  “Burns are no joke, you gotta get medical attention.”

  “I know that. I just thought I’d check in first to let you know I’m alive.” Dick said.

  “Alright. I’ll make sure the others know, just take care of yourself.”

  “Will do. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

Bat Boys (and girls), October 16th:

Babs:

Dick called me. The port call was a trap. He got hurt, but he’l make it

*he’ll

(Sent 4:11 am)

Timbo:

I don’t understand what his goal is

To kill us ofd?

*off

(Sent 4:11 am)

CC:

Why attack a random supermarket?

(Sent 4:11 am)

Damian:

Don’t try to rationalize the insane.

We should focus on just catching him before he pulls any more stunts like this

(Sent 4:11 am)

Tim:

But what if there is a pattern to the attacks?

(Sent 4:12 am)

Damian:

You need three to confirm a pattern

I say we stop it before a third attack can happen

(Sent 4:14 am)

Tim:

Fair enough.

(Sent 4:14 am)

-

  Peter hurried into the library, completely soaking wet. The storm outside didn’t show any signs of stopping, so he had to run to the bus through the freezing rain. He sighs in relief when the heaters blast warm air into his face.

  “I don’t understand what he’s doing.” Barbra was saying to someone from the back room. “We have to figure it out, I mean… I doubt he’s just randomly sending his-...”

  Her voice fades away as Peter goes to the desk to keep researching. Peter was used to overhearing snippets of conversation from whatever Barbra was doing. Eavesdropping made him feel dirty, so he tried not to.

  Sitting down at the desk, he pulled the books and notes from his backpack. He could grab the box of scraps later. For now, he just needed to wrap his head around all of this.

  He’d read a passage, then try to explain what it meant in his own words. That was the only way he was able to grasp all these concepts of things that may not even be relevant. No one had answers, multiversal travel hadn’t been invented, let alone even definitively proving they exist. He was living proof that they existed, so he wasn’t too concerned about that aspect.

  Unless he was insane.

  Peter swallowed hard. The idea that he was just crazy, that one of the two worlds wasn’t real, haunted him. Did he imagine his life before? His family? His friends? The Avengers? Or was he imagining all this? Locked in a white room, mumbling incoherently, imagining another world so vividly he could feel pain throbbing in his veins.

  He shook his head, trying to throw off the panic trying to drag him down. Peter hunched over the desk, staring fixedly at the book in his hands. He needed to focus. Tony’s words echoed in his head again.

  ‘Hyperventilating doesn’t solve problems. Think hard. Make a plan.’

  “Oh, hey, Peter,” Barbra said. Peter turns to look at her. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t want to bother you.” He said.

  “You’re never a bother, Peter, don’t worry.” She said. He simply nods and looks down at the book in his hands. “It seems like something is on your mind.”

  Peter hesitates. He stared at the diagram for a while, then tried to redraw it from memory on his paper. It was easier than making eye contact with her. “Do you ever, um… Do you ever wonder if you’ve gone crazy?” He asked. It was quiet for a second, so Peter barreled on. “Of course, you know you aren’t insane, but your mind refuses to drop the idea, and the thought that you’re a patient in a mental institution dreaming of being in a library miles and miles from home is all a fantasy makes you so sick to your stomach that you have to fight off vomiting.”

  “... It seems like there’s LOTS on your mind.” She laughs weakly. She wheels up next to him, setting a hand on his. “What’s making you think that you’re crazy?” She asked softly. Peter couldn’t answer. Slowly, he shook his head and shrugged. “Is it… Is that a new thing or have you been feeling like this for a while?”

  “I don’t know…” He sighed. “Back in Queens, whenever something really good or really bad or just absolutely crazy happened to me, I’d wonder if I was just dreaming. But ever since coming here, it’s… The feeling has shifted from an idle thought or a late-night unpleasant thought to a-... It’s much more persistent and stronger now.”

  “I see… Well, that’s to be expected. A lot is changing in your life right now. Moving to a new city, going to a new school, getting a new job and new friends, of course, it’d be overwhelming.” Barbra said. She pats his hand. “But I can assure you that I’m real and you are real. Just work through this a day at a time. It’ll get easier. And remember that you have friends who are willing to help you.”

  Peter felt like the scum of the earth.

  Barbra was so nice and so thoughtful, trying to help him through this, but he couldn’t tell her everything. Grease waves of shame rolled over him. He felt like he was taking advantage of her kindness, manipulating her through endless lies of omission. But what could he tell her? That he was from another world? She wouldn’t believe him, no one in their right mind would.

  “Thank you.” He said softly.

  “You say that a lot.” Barbra laughed. She backed her chair up a little. “Now, I’m gonna go get some work done. Come get me if you need any help.”

  Peter redoubled his efforts to figure this out. He was so consumed by his research that he almost didn’t hear his friends come in. But when he heard Steph laugh, he looked up and saw them near the entrance.

  He went over to greet them, then stopped in surprise. There was someone else with them today, bickering with Tim like they were old friends. On paper, Tim and the new man look similar, with black hair, eyes, and a bit darker skin tone, but side by side you could tell they weren’t related. By blood anyway. The man’s hand was bandaged up, and he stood in a way that made it clear he was trying to keep pressure off his leg. But that’s not what made Peter pause.

  Familiar. Seen before, heartbeat. Friend?

  Whispered his spider-sense. Something about the man was painfully familiar. It was on the tip of his tongue, right out of sight.

  “Peter! This is our brother Dick.” Tim said. “Dick, this is Peter.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Dick said, holding out his good hand to Peter. “My siblings told me about you.”

  “Oh, uh, hi, Mr. Dick.” He said, shaking his hand. The familiar anxiety around adults was bubbling up, but it wasn’t as bad as it should’ve been. Maybe he was getting used to it, or maybe it’s because of that nagging feeling at the back of his mind.

  “Just Dick is fine.” He said.

  “Peter is very polite. Still calls Babs ‘Ms. Barbra’.” Steph said, nudging Peter playfully.

  He glared playfully at her. Soon enough, they migrated to the table. Peter would join them, but he had already finished all his schoolwork and would feel bad cluttering the table with all his books and notes, so he went back to his own desk.

  The library was more dead today than yesterday although two people came in. That gave Peter lots of time to worry about his research. Peter was staring down at the same passage that he’d already read so many times that it was burned into his brain when an idea struck him. It hit so suddenly that he stopped breathing for a second. Then, he rushed for a new paper and started feverishly scribbling down his thoughts before they could escape him.

  “What are you-” He yelped in fear, whirling around. Dick stood behind him, quickly putting his hands up. “Sorry, I thought you heard me coming over.”

  “I-... I probably would’ve if I wasn’t so focused.”

  “Yeah, I could see you were very concentrated,” Dick said. He tried to look past Peter to the desk. “What are you doing?”

  “Um…” He paused for a moment, looking at his paper as if he had to remind himself. “Working on, uh… Essentially, it’s a multiverse sonar.”

  “A what?”

  Peter gestured for the man to come over. He did so. For a moment, Peter just looked at the desk, blushing when he realized how insane all of this looked.

  “S-So, um… You know the theory about other worlds, right? Other worlds parallel to this one that have different rules?” He started. Dick nods tentatively. “Well, none of that has actually ever been proven, and that’s sort of what I hope to do. I had an idea that works kind of like a sonar in the sense that it should, in theory, be able to ping off of another multiverse and alert the device.”

  “Oh. Wow, that’s-”

  “Or it’ll ping off something completely random and I’ll get a false positive,” Peter said. “Or it’ll blow up in my face.”

  “Pfft. Well, it sounds impressive.” Dick said.

  “Yeah, I’m still working on it.”

  “Why do you want to prove other multiverses exist?” Dick asked.

  Peter froze. He really should’ve been expecting that question. “Why not?” His voice squeaked a bit. “Why put a man on the moon?”

  “Fair enough.” He patted Peter on the shoulder. “Well, don’t work yourself to death, Einstein.”

  “I’ll try.”

  He went back to his papers. Making sketches of potential machines and writing equations across the page like his life depended on it. His head began to throb, yet he didn’t want to give up on this when he felt like he was close to something big.

  About two hours of focusing later, his concentration was broken by someone knocking on the shelf behind him. He turned around, seeing Tim standing there. “Hey, I didn’t want to spook you.” He said. “We’re gonna head out, but before we go, I was wondering if you wanted some coffee? Since it seems like you’ll be here for a while.”

  “Uh, I mean…”

  “I’m getting some for Barbra anyway.”

  “Oh. Ok, well, sure.” Peter said.

  “Good choice. Caffeine is literally what’s keeping me alive.”

  Peter huffed a laugh. “What’s got you so tired anyway?”

  “I review old cold cases,” Tim said. “Takes a long time to go through all the evidence and stuff, especially with school. Besides… Kinda hard to sleep soundly after reading about people being murdered all day.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I can’t listen to true crime stuff.”

  “Really? You helped me crack that cold case the other day. I thought you’d be into true crime.”

  Peter shrugged. “I’m just good at thinking outside the box.” He said. “Anyways… Have a good night. Try not to give yourself too many nightmares.”

  “Goodnight, try not to drive yourself up a wall.”

  He laughed a little, waving goodbye to Tim as he turned and left. Peter blinked down at his work, trying to focus on the pages and pages of writing. Rubbing his eyes, he bent backwards to pop his spine and settled in for a long night.

Chapter Text

  The day after the library event, Peter returned to patrol. His shoulder now only hurt when he flexed it too far and his leg was healed aside from a scar. Besides, there were people who needed him.

  He spent a few days going around the city, studying. There was always something going down in Crime Alley, so he was always needed there, but that wasn’t the only factor at play. He spent a while with a hand-drawn map of the city, marking the areas that the other vigilantes had covered. Since other vigilantes were going out almost nightly, he wanted to cover spots that were neglected or just needed more help.

  That meant doing a bit of light stalking on the other vigilantes. He went around with his map, tracking their typical route. Some of the bats were easier to track than others, but all of them were exceptionally stealthy.

  And some of them were better at knowing when they had a tail.

  Getting a glimpse of Spoiler was already about as rare as having the lost city of Atlantis drop on your head. So even though Peter was busy redrawing a section of the map to be more accurate, he immediately jumped up when he caught a glimpse of her. Immediately, he leapt from the edge and swung across the street to the building she stood on.

  He stuck to the side, crawling along it slowly. When she was done doing whatever she was doing before, she swung to the next roof with her grappling hook and Peter was quick to follow. This time, he scurried onto the roof and slunk into the shadows.

  She stops, pulls out her phone, types something, and then continues on her way. Peter waits for her to cross the street to the next building before he follows. This one is so close that he doesn’t bother using web fluid, he just jumps and sticks to the side of the building.

  It continues like this for a couple of minutes. But then, while he’s trying to adjust his footing, she suddenly appears on the lip above him. Her eyes lock onto him, and all he can do is freeze up.

  “What are you doing?” She asked.

  “Oh, you know… Just hanging with the gargs.” He said, patting the head of a nearby gargoyle.

  She scoffs, but it evolves into a laugh. “You’re an idiot.” She said.

  “I get that a lot.” He says.

  He hesitates before crawling onto the roof with her. Peter keeps his distance, hands clenched. The second she tried to move towards him suddenly, he’d jump from the building and be gone. But she doesn’t try anything. She stands there, arms crossed, and assesses him.

  “Why were you following me?” She asked.

  “I wasn’t following. I was-“ She looks unimpressed. “Ok, fine.” He sighed. “I’m trying to figure out what areas of the city need me most. I don’t want to crowd an area that already has a lot of protection, so I was following you to see your routes and their blind spots.”

  “You could’ve just asked.”

  “Doubtful,” Spider-Man said. “I’ve only been operating in Gotham for… What? Two weeks? But I’ve been a vigilante for two years. I learned I can’t trust that easily. Just waking up and talking to other vigilantes hardly ever goes well.”

  “Yeah? Well, Gotham is different from other places.” She said. “Here, you play nice with the team, or you get run out of the city.”

  “And how do you plan on chasing me out?” Peter challenged, also crossing his arms.

  “We don’t plan on it. Yet. But plans can change. We have ways of figuring out who you are.” She said.

  “I’ve heard that one before.” He said before he could think better of it. “For what it’s worth, I don’t want anything other than to protect the people of Gotham, so if that counts as ‘playing nice with the team’ then I guess I’m on my way.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Peter stepped onto the lip, crouched, and then jumped. He threw out his webs and caught himself. The momentum swung him as far as it could, yet Spoiler’s eyes remained on his back.

-

  “The city is beautiful, isn’t it?” Spider-Man said. The man turned around, his face streaked with tears and eyes red. “From up here anyway.”

  “Yeah…” He mumbled.

  Peter cautiously moved closer. The look of despair and hopelessness on the man’s face was even more potent when Peter was on the roof with him. He kept his posture soft and approached gently.

  This is one thing people don’t expect to be part of the job. The first time Peter had to navigate a situation like this, he was a stuttering, bumbling mess. But somehow, it was charming enough to get her to come down from the edge. The second time though? He wasn’t so lucky. He didn’t know what to say, the words felt stuck in his throat. And then, the colors of his failure were painted across the wall.

  He vowed never to let that happen again, never to choke up again. To be more cautious, more caring and understanding, to react before it was too late. A good number of vigilantes become adept at spotting these kinds of situations at a distance.

  Suddenly, Peter wonders if he looked like this that night when he first showed up here. He wondered if his look of loneliness and hopelessness was what made Nightwing come up to talk to him.

  “You know… There’s lots out there to see in the world. Hell, even going a few miles away would let you see things and meet people you never could’ve imagined.” Peter said.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I’m saying there’s so much more out there for you. This?” He gestures at the edge. “This here isn’t going to make you feel better.”

  He scoffs. “Well, what if I don’t want to feel better?” He looks back towards the edge.

  “We both know that’s not true. No one wants to feel like this.” He said.

  “Yeah, but ‘better’ is so far beyond me now. I can’t even remember the last time I felt ‘ok’ let alone ‘better’.” He raked both hands through his hair.

  “I get it. Life is so hard and convinces you you’ll never feel better because you feel so bad.” He said. The man nodded stiffly. “Tell me, do you have any family or friends?”

  “I, uh… I have a daughter.” He said. “I-… I just lost the custody battle. I’ll only see her during summer and winter break.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Peter said sincerely. He made his way right up next to the man and set a hand on his shoulder. “Not being able to see your kid, I… I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s just the cherry on top of the shit-sundae that my life has been. Each day just feels harder and harder.”

  Peter patted him on the shoulder. “It’ll get better.” He said. “Being happy is something you have to work for. I know that doesn’t seem fair, but that’s how things go. You gotta put in effort to be happier and make your life better, it doesn’t come from waiting around. That’s one of the biggest lies Hollywood tells.”

  The man laughed weakly. “… That and the fantasy of a full-course breakfast before school every morning.”

  “And the kid only takes some toast.”

  “Exactly.”

  Peter and the man sit there for a while longer. “You ready to come down? It’s really cold up here.” The man thought for a moment. “Oh, I’m Spider-Man by the way.” He held out a hand to the man.

  “I know who you are. You saved my coworker from getting mugged.” He said. The guy takes Peter’s hand and shakes it. “I’m Carl.”

  “Nice to meet you, Carl.” He leads the man towards the roof access and he follows. “Got anyone I can call for you?”

  “If I had someone to talk to, I wouldn’t be up here.”

  “Fair enough.”

  They made their way down to Carl’s apartment. The hallways were very empty and a bit dark. It smelled like cigarettes and alcohol.

  “Well, I’ll be around if you ever need to talk.”

  “Do you have a number?”

  “I only have a work phone.” Peter shrugged. And he didn’t want to use the phone Barbra gave him for vigilante stuff.

  “A work-? You mean, for your vigilante job?”

  “Nah, for my day job. Believe it or not, I’m not always wearing red and blue spandex.” He says.

  “Huh… I just realized that means I could see you working at the gas station or something.”

  “Yup, something like that.”

  Carl laughs and then rubs his eyes. They’re still red and must burn because he keeps covering and rubbing them. Peter bites his lip.

  “Hey, dude… just wanna say, you’re not alone,” Peter said. “If you ever need a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, I can always come over to watch a bad 80s movie or play some board games. Whatever it takes to remind you there are people who care.”

  “Yeah, ok.” He said. “I’ll- I’ll keep that in mind. Goodnight, Spider-Man.”

  “Goodnight, Carl.”

  He made his way to the nearest window to crawl out of it. Peter went home not too long after. He was glad he could help. Sometimes when someone gets up on the roof like that, their minds are already made up and there’s nothing he can do to save them. But Carl just needed someone to talk to, and luckily, there was a friendly neighborhood spider mutant ready to do just that.

-

  “Spider-Man!” A kid cried.

  Peter was sitting on a street light, crouched down with the map he had made resting on his knee so he could write on it. Craning his neck down, he saw a group of kids, the oldest looked to be thirteen and the youngest seemed to be eight. One of the boys was calling out to him.

  “Can you do a back flip?” He called.

  He stood up, bracing himself, and did a backflip. He nearly missed the light and fell (which would’ve been embarrassing) but he managed to correct himself. The kids howled with excitement.

  “You have to teach me how to do that!” The boy shouted. “I’ve been trying to learn to backflip for so long!”

  “Uh, sure, I can teach you,” Spider-Man said. He folded up the map and put it away before jumping down. “You got a place to practice?” He didn’t want to watch a group of kids face-plant on concrete.

  “We could go to the park.” Another kid suggested.

  “Yeah, let’s go to the park!” The boy shouts.

  Peter and the group walk up the street to get to this park. As they led him, they introduced themselves. The oldest girl was named Carissa who eagerly told him she wanted to be a vigilante one day. The second oldest was the boy who wanted to learn how to backflip, James Jorge, but his friends called him JJ. The next boy was Carissa’s little brother Martin. And the youngest boy, who asked a million questions about how and why he was a spider, was named Lukas and he was JJ’s little brother.

  He walked the kids through the steps on how to backflip. Some were better than others. Carissa got it pretty quickly and JJ was getting there, but the other two boys were getting frustrated that they couldn’t figure it out. So instead, he taught the younger boys how to cartwheel. And when they figured it out, they were beaming and cartwheeling all over the place.

  “Look, look, I can do it!” Martin calls. Spider-Man looks over, watching the boy spread his arms and legs and then roll into a cartwheel. “Were my legs straight?”

  “Almost! You’re getting there, just keep at it.”

  “Spider-Man, look!” Another called. He turned just in time to see JJ backflip off a bench. He stumbled, but managed not to topple over or hurt himself.

  “Be careful, kid.” He says.

  “But was it cool?”

  “Yeah, it was super cool, but what’s even cooler is not breaking your legs.”

  As he turned to look back at Carissa, who was begging him to teach her more things, he paused. A flash of movement caught his attention. Looking past the girl, he saw a dark figure under a street light.

  There stood Black Bat. She watched him for a moment. He had the strangest feeling that she could see something others couldn’t, almost as if she was looking straight through his mask. And then, she nods, gives a thumbs up, and leaves.

  What was that? Was that approval? It seemed like something more had just happened.

  “Can you teach me to do an aerial? Carissa asked.

  “Huh? Oh, uh… yeah… Yeah! Sorry.” He said, having to pull his attention back to the group of kids. “Right, so, for starters, let’s move from the grass to the sandbox, yeah?”

-

  The alleyway reeked of blood. Peter hadn’t realized that until he dropped into it. He had figured the lump on the ground was a homeless man sleeping, but he should still check on them. Instead, he found a writhing, bleeding girl letting out pained whimpers.

  “Hey, are you-” The girl’s head snapped up.

  Her eyes were piercing green and the veins around her eyes were sickly green as well. Her hair was blonde, but it had lots of white streaks. And she was covered in wounds. Around her wrists were dark bruises, she was covered in superficial scratches, and there was a massive gaping wound across her stomach.

  “It’s ok, I’m here to help you,” Peter said, hands up and open in supplication as he approached.

  A wordless cry of terror left her mouth as she pushed herself backwards away from Peter. Her eyes were wide with terror, and her hands began shaking. Peter swore quietly. He had to get close enough to web up those wounds, but he wouldn’t just run over and stress her out.

  He slowly lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged. It made the girl stop retreating, but she didn’t look any calmer. Peter made sure not to look directly at her and to keep his voice low and calm.

  “I just want to help you. I need to close that wound.” He said. No response. “What’s your name?” Nothing. “Where’d you come from?” Nothing. “Do you know where you are?” Nothing. “Do you… speak English?”

  “N-... No sé… No sé dónde estoy…”

  “Oh.” She speaks Spanish. “Uh, quiero ayudarte.”

  She shook her head, fresh tears appearing in her eyes. “No. No, no, me encontrarán.”

  Peter’s brow wrinkled in confusion. ‘They will find me’? “¿Quién te encontrará?”

  The girl didn’t respond, she just lifted one hand from her wound to point a finger at the space behind him. Peter turned to look back. There was nothing there. He turns to look at the girl again and she is slumped against the wall with her head tilted towards the sky.

  He moved closer, and this time, the girl didn’t react. He holds her hands over the laceration and shoots webs over it to hold it closed. Immediately, blood begins soaking the webs. It was a temporary solution at best.

  “Tengo que llamar a una ambulancia.”

  He stood up, taking a few steps away from her, and pulled out his phone. Hopefully, Barbra wouldn’t even notice that he was calling an ambulance. But at this point, his cover was the last thing on his mind. As the phone rang, the girl started talking, her voice cracked and weak.

  “La araña pequeñita, subió, subió, subió.” Wait, she wasn’t talking, she was singing. He recognized that melody. “Vino la lluvia, y se la llevó…”

  Goosebumps ran down his neck. He really, REALLY didn’t like this. But he pushed through his fear to get this girl help.

  “911, what’s the address of your emergency?”

  “The alley off Orchid Burn.”

  “Salió el sol, y todo lo seco.”

  “Got it. And could you please describe your emergency?”

  “I found an injured girl, about ten years old, who speaks Spanish. I stopped the bleeding for now, but she needs an ambulance.”

  “Y la araña pequeñita subió, subió, subió.”

  “Alright, an ambulance is being dispatched to your location. Do you know if th-”

  A scream made Peter whip around. The girl had grabbed a heavy metal pole and ran at Peter, causing blood to drip from the webbing. He dropped his phone, leaping over the girl’s head and landing behind her.

  But as he turned around, she swung the pipe backwards and struck him right across the face. Peter cried out, stumbling backwards and covering his eye. The girl spun around, staggering to the side and breathing heavily. She raised the pole again and ran at him once more.

  He jumped back to avoid one swing, ducking down to avoid another, before taking one right to the ribs. Peter gasped as the wind was knocked out of him. The girl lost her balance and fell against a dumpster, heaving for breath. He took the opportunity to web her to the dumpster before falling to his knees, groaning and trying to catch his breath.

  “Wow, ok.” He wheezed, standing up. “¡Eres mucho más fuerte de lo que pensaba! Deberías unirte a un equipo de béisbol.”

  The girl was still heaving and squirming, trying to escape the webs. But Peter just felt bad. Who knows what this girl had gone through? He couldn’t blame her for being afraid.

  Peter fixed her hair for her. Now that he was looking at her, he started to realize just how beat-up she was. Her clothes were dirty and torn. Blood and motor oil covered her clothes. Her hair was sticking to her face because she was sweating and her face was covered in tears and snot from crying.

  When he hears the ambulance in the distance, he pats her on the shoulder. “La ambulancia ya casi llega, tengo que irme.”

  He jumps onto the wall, about to climb up and away. But before he gets out of earshot, the girl mutters something so quietly he almost misses.

  “Te quieren muerto.”

  A chill runs down his spine.

-

  Things had been good for the past few weeks. He was getting used to the new schedule, hanging out with his friends, and he felt like he was making a difference here in Gotham. Peter got hurt on patrol sometimes, but it was mainly just bruises and small cuts that he could hide. But now?

  Peter stared into the broken mirror of his apartment. His right eye was swollen shut and from his eye over his cheek was a dark bruise. There was absolutely no way he could hide this. He sighed, turning away from the mirror.

  He had spent a lot of time and effort cleaning this place up. All the mold and moss and debris had been cleaned up, he fixed the window so it opened and closed properly, and he sealed up the cracks in the ceiling. There was still a HORRIBLE draft that would chill him to the bone during storms, but at least it was better than nothing. He also made his own shower set-up. The roof in the room next to his was gone, so he set up a large bucket as a reservoir to catch rainwater with a filter to stop debris from getting in. He didn’t have hot water, but at least he could shower here instead of a homeless shelter. There was an old lamp sitting in the room that he intended to fix and make solar-powered, so that he could do his homework or work on his Multiverse Sonar here. Maybe he’d work on that today actually.

  But for now, he had to worry about school. He ate breakfast, got dressed, and re-packed his bag miserably for school. What excuse was he going to give to explain his face?

  When he got to class, Cassie was standing outside the door like usual. One of his friends was always waiting for him so they could chat. He wondered if they had some kind of schedule or something for who’d come hang out with him in the mornings.

  “Morning.” He said. Cassie blinked at him for a moment, eyes glued to the bruise on his face, then started signing.

  [Good morning.] She grabs her sketchbook from under her arm. Peter relaxed when he realized she wasn’t going to ask about his bruises.

  Cassie flips to a page and shows it off to him. It was the art piece she had been making yesterday, now completed and with color. It was a flower with six big petals made of words written in the most beautiful handwriting ever. One petal had words that reminded Cassie of the color red (passion, love, blood, energy, apples, roses, anger, etc.), another of things that reminded her of the color orange (sunset, oranges, sunlight, pumpkins, leaves, warmth, apricots, etc.), and on and on for the other colors of the rainbow. And now, the words had been changed from being written in pencil to being written in colored pens.

  “Whoa! Oh my god, that’s so pretty!” He said, smiling. Yesterday, he helped her by suggesting words when she ran out and needed more.

  [Thank you.] She signed.

  “Any ideas for what your next project will be?” He asked. She hummed in thought.

  [I don’t know. I’m going to be busy with ballet recitals for a while, so I might not have time.] She signs.

  “Oh, you do ballet? That’s so cool.” He said. Not that it surprised him. Cassie moved with the grace of a dancer. He noticed how fluid and controlled her movements were shortly after meeting her, but he’d stored that at the back of his mind. “Can I come with you?”

  He blushed as soon as the words left his mouth. He said them without thinking. Peter didn’t know anything about ballet, it’d be like putting a toddler in front of an iPad; he’d be entertained but he wouldn’t understand. But he truly did want to go. Anything his friends were passionate about was important to him.

  Cassie smiles, big and genuine. [Yes, I’d love that. My recital is tomorrow, we’ll drive you.]

  “That’s great, thank you! Uh, I don’t know anything about ballet, so uh, you might need to explain some things to me.” He laughed.

  [I will, don’t worry.] Then, the bell rings. Peter sighs. [Bye.]

  “Bye, Cassie.”

  Class went by as normal. Expect engineering class. In that class, the teacher kept looking at him, then eventually asked him to meet after class. That’s when Peter got hit with a line he’d heard a million times ‘Is everything ok at home?’ and Peter got to use his excuse. A mugging. Believable enough to get the teacher to back off, so surely it’d work for his other friends, right?

  “What the hell happened to your face?” Steph asked.

  “Oh, I got mugged,” Peter said.

  Steph made a face. “Mugged? Mugged for what? Your Nokia?” She asked, a hint of teasing in her voice.

  “Well, they saw me walking alone and so they jumped me but when they realized I didn’t have anything, they punched me,” Peter said, voice mumbly as he avoided eye contact.

  Steph and Tim shared a glance. “Uh-huh. Sure.” She says. Peter felt his face burn in embarrassment.

  “Um, anyways, how’s your sonar thing going?” Tim asked.

  “I just finished the blueprint design. Or, not a blueprint since it’s on printer paper, but still.” Peter said, glad to have a distraction. “But I need to get some parts so I can start working on it.”

  “Where do you get parts for Multiversal Waveform Sonar thingy?” Steph asked.

  “The thrift store and garbage dumps,” Peter said, far too casually. But for him, it was normal. “I recycle any old electronics or machines I can find.”

  “So… What’s the goal again?” Duke asked. He’d been quiet all lunch. He looked pretty tired.

  “Hopefully, it’ll, for lack of a better word, ping off another universe’s ‘signal’ and bounce back here, proving the existence of other worlds.” And maybe giving him coordinates through this hypothetical space or gap between worlds. Unless there wasn’t one and they were exactly parallel to each other, but that was a whole other can of worms. The coordinates would then allow him to know where he’d have to go. HOW he’d get there was a question for another time, he currently just needed a compass to point in the right direction.

  “Yeah, but why?” Duke asked.

  Peter tried to shrug as casually as he could. “Because I can. Or, I hope I can. Besides, don’t you think it’d be cool? There could be another universe out there where all of us have crazy superpowers, or we’re gender swapped, or we’re aliens, or literally anything you can imagine! I want to know is a universal constant and what changes. I mean, aren’t you curious about that? What makes Peter Parker ‘Peter Parker’? Is it a constant that we’re all nerds or is it just me? Is it a universal constant that Tim drinks enough caffeine to kill a full-grown elephant daily or is it just him?”

  “I’m catching strays over here, god damn,” Tim said. They laugh. “So, you want us to take you to the thrift store after school?”

  He had to think about that. He’d been patrolling every night for the last ten days, so maybe he should take a break to work on some other projects. Peter had to get that lamp fixed and charged first, then he could work on whatever he wanted no matter the time. Maybe taking a night off to do that would be good.

  “Yeah, sure.” He said.

-

  “Hi, Ms. Asphodel!” Peter said, walking past the woman.

  “Drop the ‘Ms’, kid.” She called, but he was already rushing past her.

  He hurried to the back of the thrift store where the electronics were kept. It was always a toss-up if these things worked. Aunt May once bought a bunch of appliances from the thrift store (because they had nothing after being homeless for so long), and 30% worked, 40% worked but only if you did some weird finagling and prayed the rosary seven times, and the other 30% just straight up didn’t work.

  But luckily for Peter, he wasn’t trying to buy a toaster for the function of heating bread.

  Peter picked out anything that could be useful. By the time he got to the front counter again, he knew he must look very odd. An unaccompanied sixteen-year-old buying a seemingly random assortment of household appliances and ancient electronics wasn’t something you’d see every day. Ms. Asphodel certainly felt it was weird given the look on her face.

  “You’d better not use this shit to build a bomb or something.” She said.

  “Does that… happen often or something?” Peter laughed. Ms. Asphodel shrugged. “It’s for a science project.”

  “What kind of science project has you buying toasters and GameBoys?” Ms. Asphodel asked, grabbing each item to scan the price tag.

  “The fun kind.” He says.

  Ms. Asphodel laughs, rolling her eyes playfully. After that, they fall into a comfortable silence. She finishes scanning all the items and stares at her screen for a moment. Then, she groans, smacks the monitor, and huffs in annoyance.

  “Sorry about that. Your total-” She starts. Suddenly, music starts blaring and he can hear Ms. Asphodel’s phone buzzing against her car keys. The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out the device. She goes to hang up, then freezes, staring at the screen. “Hold on, this is important.”

  “Oh, it’s ok, you can answer it,” Peter said, taking a small step back to indicate he’d wait patiently. He was one of the only people in the store and no one else was waiting in line.

  She walks a few steps away and hits the answer button. Holding the device to her ear, she’s far enough away that a normal person wouldn’t be able to hear it. Peter tries not to listen, he really does, but that changes very quickly.

  “Hello?” Ms. Asphodel says.

  “Ashley, I just-… -ice, and they said-…- dead! And I-I- I don’t know what to-…-lease, I need you to come ho-“ The person was saying, distress thick in their voice.

  “What? No, what? That- That’s not possible.” Ms. Asphodel said, hollow terror in her voice. “You’re fucking with me. Right? She can’t be-“

  “She’s dead, Ashley!” They shout, sobbing follows. “It was her, I know it-…- I can’t- I-I can’t breathe, I can’t fucking-“

  “Mom, calm down. It’s ok, I’ll- I’ll be home as soon as I can, ok? Just try to sit down and relax.”

  “-…-er again. I shouldn’t have… Oh god…”

  “Don’t pull that shit, ok? It’s not your fault. I’ll be there, just wait.”

  “Ok. Ok, I’ll-…- I love you.”

  “I…” Ms. Asphodel sighs. “I love you too. Bye, Mom.”

  “Bye.”

  Ms. Asphodel hangs up and pockets her phone. She rubs her face, hiding behind her hands for a moment too long, then she turns around and comes back. Peter couldn’t keep the concern from his face.

  “Are you ok?” Peter asked.

  “Yeah.” She said softly. “Um… Your total is $94.12.”

  He counted out the money and handed it over to her. She counts it herself and puts it in the register. Then, she bags his things and hands them over.

  “Um… I-... I know you said you were fine, but I, uh… I mean, you helped me that night I got mugged so if you need anything…” Peter said, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

  “There’s nothing you can do, kid.” Ms. Asphodel said. “My-... My little sister is-... She went missing two years ago and now she has turned up dead in Crime Alley.”

  “Oh my god. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “My- My mom and I haven’t been on speaking terms for years, so I knew something had to be wrong, I just didn’t expect-” She cuts herself off, sniffling and turning away as tears appear in her eyes.

  “What’s her name? Your sister.”

  “Aurelia Quinn.”

  “And- uh, where exactly was she found? Sorry if that’s too personal.”

  Ms. Aspodel looked back at him, confusion blooming on her face. “You’re not going to go play detective.” She said firmly.

  “Please? I just want to know. I live in Crime Alley, so… S-So uh… Yeah.”

  The woman sighed, staring at him for a moment. “In between Crime Alley and The Bowery.” She said. “I’m serious, avoid that place. There’s nothing more to be done. Once The Changeling has you, that’s it.”

  Peter freezes. “I’m sorry, The Changeling?”

  She shrugs. “That’s what we call the thing that makes people disappear and then turn up dead in Crime Alley.”

  “Why is it called The Changeling?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I call it that because I have to call it something, but I didn’t come up with the name.” Ms. Asphodel sighs. “Anyway, I have to call my boss so I can leave early. You stay safe, kid.”

  “I will. Thank you again, Ms. Asphodel.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  As Peter left, he couldn’t stop thinking about those words and what he had heard. The Changeling. The thing that makes people disappear. The Changeling.

  Forgetful. Green, forgetting. Familiar.

  Well, it seems like he wasn’t taking a break tonight. The lamp could wait another day. There were more pressing matters at the moment.

Chapter Text

  Red Hood was standing outside a grocery store. He was only illuminated by the orange glow of his cigarette, but Peter saw him anyway. He swung over, dropping onto the ground beside him right as he called the man’s name.

  “Jesus!” The man exclaimed. He was probably glaring at Peter under the mask. “You got a death wish, kid?”

  “Sorry, I-” He pants hard, leaning against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. “I was looking for you.”

  “What’s so important you had to jump a heavily armed dude all alone in a dark alley?” He asked sarcastically, pulling down his mask just enough to bring the cigarette to his lips.

  “I have new information and I need your help getting more.” He said. He stands up straight now that he has caught his breath. “I was in civvies and I talked with a girl at the thrift store who said they recently found her sister dead after two years of being missing. Aurelia Quin. Sound familiar?”

  “Yeah. One of my contacts found her and another IDed her before the media even knew her body was found.”

  “Ok, Sir Brags-a-Lot. Not everyone is as well-connected as you.”

  “Sounds like a skill issue to me.”

  “Anyway,” Peter said firmly. “My friend said they have a name for the thing that’s making these people disappear. Have you heard of The Changeling?”

  “The Changeling? Um… No, that doesn’t ring any bells.”

  “I guess that’s what civilians are calling this thing, but my friend doesn’t know why,” Peter says. “If I had to guess, it’s probably this thing’s ability. You know of any shapeshifters?”

  “I mean, yeah, a few, but none that I would think had an agenda that required kidnapping kids, killing them, then dropping their bodies randomly around Crime Alley.”

  “Well, we don’t know what their goal is.” Peter points out. “Do you have the names of all the people who’ve had family members go missing?”

  Red Hood sighs, and smoke comes out of his mask in a billowing cloud. “People go missing every day. We have no idea who’s just missing and whose disappearance is connected to this case until their bodies show up.”

  “Ok… Well… Can you give me the names of the people who’ve been found dead then? I need to go around and talk to the families and everyone involved in this case. Someone has to know something else about this Changeling.”

  “I have a contact that can get you the names.” Red Hood pulls out his phone and looks down at it. “What’s a good number for you?”

  “Uh… I don’t have a phone.” He said. Again, he wasn’t about to use Barbra’s phone for vigilante stuff.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  “Well, I have a Nokia flip for my day job, but-”

  “Oh my god, a Nokia flip? What are you? 80 years old?”

  “Hey, at least it’s not tracking me.”

  Red Hood rubs his face in frustration. “Just get a Wayne Tech brand phone if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I don’t have the money for that.”

  He’d walked past the phone store a few times and looked at the prices. Wayne Tech phones seem pretty cool, but they were pricey as hell. Besides, he had to be VERY smart with his money. He’d finally stopped losing weight at an alarming rate, but if he ran out of money, it’d start again and he’d probably die if he took another gunshot wound while starving.

  “Wow, ok, you’re really a charity case.” He said. He feels around his pockets. “Here.” He pulled out a phone from his pocket. Its screen was shattered to hell and back, but it still turned on. “It’s my old burner before I dropped it off a building. I’m sure you know how to wipe a phone?”

  “Yup.”

  “Cool, don’t do it yet, my guy will send you the info. Write it down somewhere and then wipe the phone.”

  “You don’t have to explain it step by step, I’m broke, not incompetent,” Peter said.

  Red Hood chuckled. That seemed like a win. “Just don’t get your ass killed.”

  “Not getting killed is what I’m good at. See ya.” He hops onto the wall.

  “You know,” Red Hood starts. Peter stops mid-step. “The others are starting to warm up to you. Well, except Robin and Batman, but that’s to be expected. They see all the good you’re doing. So keep it up, kid.”

  Peter smiles. “Thank you.” He said. Red Hood just hummed. He climbs high enough to leap from the building and swing away.

-

  A few minutes later, an unknown number messages him with the names, addresses, and ages of all the victims currently known. Peter writes them down on his notepad. But as he writes them, he starts feeling ill.

Sonya Alethea, 405 Lena Lane, Age: 20

Eliyahu “Eli” Bryn-Roni, 2416 Michael Street, Age: 13

Clint Fredson, 4255 Cardinal Lane, Age: 21

Laurette Gundula, 304 Crimson Lane, Age: 17

Bryant “Bryce” Peyton, 499 Riverwood Drive, Age: 15

Rusty “Rus” Vaughn, 1821 Westwood Avenue, Age: 8

Aurelia Quin, 4958 Arron-Smith Drive, Age: 10

  All of them were so young. One was barely old enough to drink, and the other was in the 3rd grade. Peter groaned as nausea curled up in his stomach. He shook his head hard, trying to look for any connections between these victims as he factory reset his new burner phone. Mostly guys between the ages of 8 and 21. The names all had different origins, it’s not like one group was getting targeted specially. Unless there was something he wasn’t seeing here.

  He stood up, walking up the wall to the roof. He used that point to start his journey to the Alethea Household. It was only when he got there that he froze.

  For one, it was very late. But also, how was he supposed to confront a grieving family? Does he just walk up to the door and say ‘Hey, I wanna talk about your dead daughter who died tragically young’? Oh god.

  Peter stood outside the condo for a moment, psyching himself up. Then, before he could chicken out, he knocked at the door. He stood there, breath held, until the door opened.

  There, a woman stood. She had teal and green dyed hair and a few tattoos dappled her arms. She had a loose t-shirt with a restaurant logo on it. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

  “Um, good evening.” He said, voice cracking so hard he winced. “Uh, I-I’m investigating the death of someone named Sonya Alethea. Does that… sound familiar?”

  The woman stared for a moment longer. Then, she nods. “Yeah…” Her voice was weak. “Sonya was my wife.”

  “Oh! I-I am so, SO sorry for your loss.” Peter said.

  “Yeah, me too.” She held the door open.

  Peter steps inside, looking around. Clutter was beginning to take over the house. But the old bowls and plates of food and scattered trash didn’t make him as sick to the stomach as the kids’ toys did.

  “Sonya had her kid at 16.” The woman said, seeing Peter stare at the toys. “When we got married, I didn’t even think to legally adopt our son because I already considered him mine.” She laughed bitterly. “I regret that every day. I couldn’t keep him when Sonya was found dead.”

  “I’m sorry…” Peter mumbled. It felt like far too little.

  They made their way into the kitchen. The sterile fluorescent light made Peter feel even more out of his league. But he had to keep pushing through. This family has been torn apart by tragedy. Sure, catching The Changeling wouldn’t bring Sonya or the others back, but at least it would provide them with closure.

  “I’m Spider-Man. Nice to meet you.” He said.

  “Lisa.” She said.

  “So… Could you tell me what you know about the disappearance?”

  Lisa looked out the window with a long sigh. “Sonya worked at the shipping yard. She was a welder. Every time she’d come home, she’d stop by the gas station and pick up energy drinks or snacks. And when she was there…” It was quiet for a moment. Lisa shakes her head hard and starts talking in a rush. “You can see it on video! The fucking cameras caught that bastard grabbing her and dragging her away! And they didn’t do shit. Fuck all! I didn’t even hear from them again until they came to take Elton away because they found her body rotting in some fucking ditch!” She slammed her fist into the table, making Peter jump. “I wish this city and all those stupid fucking pigs would burn.”

  Peter could feel his hands begin to shake. Fear, from the yelling, and anger, from how unfair that sounded, waged a war inside of him. He bit his lip, trying to keep his composure.

  “I’m so sorry. I know that’s not enough. The system completely failed you.” He said. Lisa nods, glaring at the table and taking deep breaths. “Do you know why the police might’ve ignored this situation?”

  Lissa scoffed. “Infinite reasons. A teen mom from Crime Alley and a shitty family marries a woman? Not exactly traditional. On top of that-” Lisa hesitates. “Sonya was… she was meta.”

  That made Peter freeze. “A metahuman?”

  “Mhm. She had the coolest ability. She could bend light. Not a lot, not enough to go running around Gotham in spandex like you, but she could bend the light to create little rainbows in her hands.” Lisa said. She laughs, sad and nostalgic. “We said it was ‘gay powers’.” Peter laughs too. “Elton hasn’t shown any signs of powers. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Peter said. “I have faith in you to be persistent and to keep going until you get custody of your son.”

  Lisa laughs. “You don’t even know me.”

  “I’m a good judge of character.” He said. She huffed a weak laugh. “One last question… Have you heard of someone or something called The Changeling?”

  “What the fuck? No. Is that a new villain on the streets?”

  “Maybe. Apparently, other people who lost their family to this call this thing that took them The Changeling.”

  “Oh… I never got in contact with anyone else. I wouldn’t know, sorry.”

  “That’s ok. I was just wondering.” He said. It was quiet for a long time. Then, Peter stood up. “I need to keep looking into this. I’m sorry, I can’t bring Sonya back, but I swear to you that I’ll stop this from happening to anyone else.”

  Lisa nodded weakly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

-

  He talked to only one other family that night before he decided it was far too late to show up at a stranger’s house. Reluctantly, he went home and slept. It was a restless sleep that didn’t really refresh him, but at least it was something.

  Peter sat like a zombie in class. He was pretty sure he fell asleep with his eyes open a few times. It was so bad that when he met up with the others after school and Tim offered him a sip of his coffee, he eagerly accepted.

  “Working late?” Duke asked.

  “Yup. Trying to make a solar-powered lamp right now.” Peter said. Not really ‘trying’, it was pretty easy, but he only had a few minutes per day to work on it.

  “Well, you’d better not fall asleep during the recital,” Steph said, glaring lightly at him.

  “I’ll try my hardest not to pass out. I know this is very important to Cassie.”

  “Speak of the devil!” Tim said. He turned to see Cassie coming over. She had her ballet outfit and shoes tucked under her arm. “Ready to go?” She nods with a big smile.

  All of them pile into the car. Peter had gotten quite used to this, getting into the car with them and getting driven around the place. He still had them drop him off at that apartment whenever they insisted on taking him home. Most of the time though, they’d drop him off at the library where he’d spend his time researching or helping out Ms. Barbra. He had gotten used to the leather seats and old music from the 1930s-1950s.

  Cassie tugged his sleeve to get his attention. [Are you excited?]

  “Yeah! And I'm a little nervous. I don’t know why.”

  [I was nervous the first few times.] She signed. Cassie grinned, looking away for a second. [Ballet is like its own language. Every movement means something.]

  “Really?” He hummed in thought. “I guess I haven’t really seen ballet aside from in movies. And only for a glance…”

  [You’ll see.]

  Peter huffed a laugh. “I’d be so nervous that I’d trip and fall on my face. Uh, not- not to be-”

  Cassie laughs. [Hasn’t happened before and hopefully won’t happen now.]

  “I hope it won’t either.” He said quickly. “Oh god, if I just jinxed it, my soul will shrivel into a ball of s-”

  With a huffed laugh, she sets her hand on his shoulder. He stops talking, smiling sheepishly. His heart thudded behind his ribs.

  When they got there, they met up with the group’s older brother. He greeted Peter in a friendly way and decided to show him around a bit before they went to their seats. Cassie disappeared as soon as they were all inside the building.

  “Here are the bathrooms if you need them,” Dick said, gesturing to the two doors. Peter nodded. “Back there are the dressing rooms. You shouldn’t need to go down that hallway.”

  “Got it,” Peter said. “Hey, uh, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s not about the tour.” He clarified. Dick nods. “You’re all siblings? I mean, not to be rude, but you don’t, um… look… related?”

  Dick laughs. “No, we’re not blood related.” He said. “It gets kind of complicated, but most of us are adopted or fostered. Bruce has full legal custody over some of them, but only partial custody or temporary custody over others. Just to keep it simple, we call each other brother and sister.”

  “Oh, I see,” Peter said, relieved that his question didn’t offend Dick.

  “Except for the youngest. Damian. He’s a little younger than you and is the actual spawn of Satan.” Dick said casually.

  “Oh wow, Bruce Wayne and the devil got married? Congrats.” Peter said, grinning cheekily.

  “Nah, it was a summer fling.” Dick fired back without missing a beat. Peter laughs. “Probably met on Coney Island Beach. But you’d know all about the soldiers of hell partying in that damn city, wouldn’t you, Yorkie?”

  “Uh, excuse me,” Peter said, feigning offense. “First of all, fuck you. Second of all, Coney Island is in Brooklyn and I was born and raised in Queens.”

  “Still in New York.”

  “We need to take a trip to New York,” Peter said. “I’ll make a Yorkie outta you, just you wait.”

  “Hard pass.” Dick laughed.

  “Hey, I’ve been living in this crime-ridden hellhole for almost a month, you can handle a day trip to Queens,” Peter said.

  “Maybe I’ll think about it,” Dick said. He starts walking towards where the others went and Peter follows. “You know, I was born in Gotham, but I now live in Bludhaven. I only come over occasionally to see my family.”

  “Aw, that’s sweet.” He said. “I’m sure it means a lot to Cassie that you’re here.”

  They made their way into the theater where the other had saved two spots for them. Steph moves her purse and jacket (the items she was using to hold their spots) and they sit down next to each other. Tim blinked, staring at Peter and Dick.

  “Whoa.” He said.

  “What?” Peter asked.

  “Nothing,” Tim said slowly. “Sorry, just… It’s nothing.”

  Peter squinted at Tim for a moment, then looked around, trying to see what shocked the other boy. To his knowledge, nothing was amiss. It was strange, but he pushed it off in favor of taking the stage in front of him and waiting for the show.

  Steph settled into her seat, fixing her skirt and fully leaning into the seat. And as she was almost fully ready, she got a ping from her phone. Quickly, sure hurried to silence the device and look briefly at the notification. But then, she saw it was a message from Tim. He was sitting right next to her. Brows closing together in confusion, she opens the message.

Private Message - Tim and Stephanie, October 27th

Tim:

Do you notice anything about Dick and Peter?

(Sent 3:58 pm)

  She shoots a confused look at Tim, then turns to the other two. The first thing she noticed was that they were sitting the same way. Ankles crossed, hands in their laps, heads tipped ever so slightly to the left. But that could just be a case of subconscious mirroring. Peter was pretty prone to mirroring, Steph had seen him do it a few times. Still confused, she looks down at her phone.

Steph:

They’re sitting the same way??

(Sent 3:59 pm)

Tim:

They have the same face

(Sent 3:59 pm)

  Her head snaps up from his phone to look at them again. Dick looks over at her, but Peter doesn’t seem to notice. Now, looking at them side by side, Steph could see the resemblance. Dick had black hair and eyes while Peter had curly brown hair and brown eyes. But if you looked past that, you’d see they have a very similar face shape. Their noses, chins, ears, and jaws looked very similar. Peter still has a bit of a baby face, but you could see it.

  Dick glances between Steph and Tim, confused and a little concerned. But before any of them could say or do anything else, the music started. Steph turns her phone off and tucks it in her pocket to pay attention. They could think about this later.

  Peter sat up straighter when he heard the music. He wasn’t familiar with the song, to be fair, he didn’t know many classical songs, but it was very nice. It was cheerful and had, for lack of a better word, a bit of a bounce to it. And shortly after, the dancers came on stage.

  There were mainly girls, but there were a few guys in the mix. All of them rolled across the stage gracefully. A smile exploded across his face when he saw Cassie. He wanted to smile, but he didn’t because he was scared of distracting her.

  Peter lacked the vocabulary and ballet to describe what he saw accurately, but he knew it was very pretty. It was clear they’d all practiced a lot, but it didn’t feel rehearsed. It wasn’t like when someone rehearses a script so much that it sounds like they’re reading straight from the page, there was no stilted delivery in any of their movements. It was all rolling, fluid grace and confidence. Every twirl and point and movement was done with elegance and the synchronization with the dancers made his head spin.

  Whenever possible, he watched Cassie’s face. It was hard to describe the look he saw there. She kept her expression soft and a small smile remained on her face, but in her eyes was a look of concentration. It burned like a candle’s flame; warm, contained, but still a fire that could burn if given the chance. But sometimes, something else would flash across her expression. Pride, excitement, and most of all, jubilation. She was having fun, and that thought made Peter’s heart soar.

  When it ended, he was almost disappointed. The dancers gave a big bow and filed off the stage. The crowd cheered and clapped. Peter joined them. He was glad he came tonight.

  As soon as he could, he broke away from the crowd to leave the main area. He went to the bathroom, then lingered outside the bathrooms. Cassie had to come down that hall to leave. The others were quick to join him.

  They were chatting about something, but Peter wasn’t really paying attention. He leaned against the wall with a yawn. Although he really wanted to go out tonight, he was tired. Peter tossed around the idea of patrolling as they waited.

  “So, Peter… I don’t know if you’ve ever mentioned your parents. And you don’t have to, I was just curious.” Tim said. Duke looked confused, and Steph froze.

  “Huh? Oh, um, yeah. My parents died in a plane crash when I was six.”

  “Oh, jeez, really?” Steph said.

  “Mhm. My uncle told me.”

  “Do you know where they were going?” Tim asked.

  Peter gave him a look. “Trying to ‘solve’ my parents' death?” He teased. “There’s nothing to it. They crashed into the ocean because the pilot misread his instruments or whatever. It’s not a cold case.”

  “No, I know, I just- uh, I-... I’m sorry.”

  Peter shrugged. “It’s ok, I was, like, six. I don’t really remember them at all.” Just then, Cassie came down the hall. He smiled and trotted over to her. “Hey! That was incredible!”

  [Thank you! I had a lot of fun.]

  “I could tell.” He smiled.

  “How about I take us out to get ice cream?” Dick suggested.

  “Only if it’s Moe’s.” Stephanie hummed.

  “Moe’s?” Peter asked. Stephanie looked downright gobsmacked.

  “We’re absolutely going to Moe’s now,” Duke said decisively.

  Moe’s Magnificent Icecream Parlor. It was a cute place on the rich side of town. It has a circus theme with cutsie little animals painted on the walls. The color palette was the three basic colors (red, yellow, and blue) and the place smelled magnificent (as the name subtly implies).

  Turns out, it was more than just an ice cream parlor. They also made brownies, cakes, and cookies. The cookies and brownies were also toppings for the ice cream, and they had a milkshake that was chocolate ice cream with a slice of chocolate cake blended in with it called The Choco-LOT. More than that, they had a donation box at the front door and counter. When Peter read the information on the sign, it said the money donated goes straight to a charity that helps rehabilitate dogs bred and abused to be used in dog fights. And on the wall was a list of other charities they’d successfully funded. (‘Successfully funded’ meaning they raised at least $100,000 for, which seemed to also be a goal for this current charity.)

  Peter was starting to see why they liked this place.

  “What do you want, Peter?” Tim asked while they were waiting for the person ahead of them to order.

  “I don’t know, it all sounds so good…” He mumbled.

  “Peter, you HAVE to get a Choco-LOT,” Dick said. “It’s a rite of passage.”

  “That shit has SO many calories and is so sweet it hurts your teeth,” Steph said disapprovingly.

  “But it’s also super good,” Dick argued. “Besides, the kid could use the calories.”

  “What does that mean?” Peter grumbled.

  “It means I could probably throw you all the way back to Queens.” Dick teased. “Come on, you gotta try it.”

  “You already had me convinced, but after that comment, I might pick something else just to spite you.” Peter grinned impishly.

  When it was their turn, everyone else ordered with grace. They’d been here enough to know what they wanted by heart. And yet, when the man’s eyes landed on Peter, he froze up.

  “U-Uh, um, a Choco-LOT,” Peter said in a panic. The man nods and moves on to Duke. Dick cackles, nudging Peter. All Peter did was flip him off.

  With that ordeal out of the way, they went to their table with their ice cream. The booth seats were cozier than expected. Peter squeezed as close as he could to the window to give Tim and Duke space. Dick, Cassie, and Steph sat across from them.

  “This place is very fancy. For an ice cream place.” He said, looking around.

  “Well, it is sponsored by Bruce Wayne himself,” Duke said, almost proudly.

  “Does he just fund everything in this town?” He asked, suddenly recalling the volunteer at the food bank saying something to that effect.

  “Only places that do good in the community,” Tim said. “There are lots of places in the city that claim to do charity work like this, but those places are… sketchy at best. Or they just do it for a tax break. Moe is friends with Bruce. He’s a good dude who really does donate every scent to charity, so Bruce pays them a handsome check every month.”

  Peter hummed in acknowledgment. If he had money to spare, he might consider coming here himself just for that reason, even if the food here wasn’t good. Suddenly realizing he hadn’t yet tried his sugar-bomb of a dessert, he popped the straw in his mouth and took a sip.

  “Oh dear god,” Peter said, covering his mouth.

  “Yeeeeah, there it is.” Dick laughed. “Kicks you right in the teeth, huh?”

  “I think that first sip was 80% frosting,” Peter said. It tasted good. Great. Painfully good. He took another tentative sip, this time with the respect this nuclear warhead of a milkshake commanded. “Oh god, it’s so chocolatey.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  Conversation flowed easily. Everyone was all smiles and laughs and goofing off. Especially Peter who definitely didn’t get a little amped up on sugar.

  But, unfortunately, they couldn’t stay all night. When everyone finished their ice cream, they cleaned up the table and made for the door. Before they left, Dick stopped by the donation box. He took out his wallet and casually dropped a handful of cash into it. Peter didn’t see how much money that was, but it looked like a lot.

-

  The second wind provided by that afternoon fueled Peter through patrol. Now that his new burner was properly set up, he decided to record the interviews with the families. If permitted of course. (Which three out of five families gave.) And slowly, a pattern began forming.

  First of all, they were all tragic. He had mothers and fathers break down into tears, siblings choke back their sorrow and anger, and grandparents tearfully beg him to make this right. Secondly, the police drag their feet about finding the victims.

  And the most concerning similarity was that they were all at least associated with metahumans. If they themselves weren’t meta, they were deeply involved in openly meta circles. But most of them were meta. Out of the seven, five were meta. Including (very, VERY concerningly), Aurelia Quin.

  “Why do you think the police were so dismissive about this?” Peter asked.

  “Well…” Ms. Asphodel and Aurelia’s mother hesitates. She sighed, looking down at the table. “Their father was a vigilante. For a while. He could make balls of energy and he used them to try to stop villain attacks. He got popular after a fight with Clayface. But then, his identity got revealed and Ashley started getting bullied at school for it, so he stopped.”

  “So… You’re meta?”

  “Me? No. At least, I don’t think so. Both my girls are though.” Mrs. Quin says.

  Peter felt his throat go tight. If someone was specifically targeting metas or people who support metas, that means Ms. Asphodel is a prime target. A young, economically struggling, meta.

  “I see.” He said softly. “And… One last question, do you know anything about a person or thing called The Changeling?”

  “Yes, that’s what we call the thing that took them.” Mrs. Quin said. “People say it's been around for hundreds of years, just in different forms. I don’t know much else.”

  That was the most common response when he asked that question. It wasn’t anything substantial enough to be helpful. A person or group who's been around for a while, snatching people up, changing forms and methods as easily as night changes to day. It was either that response or confusion.

  Peter hums and nods. He stands up, grabbing his phone. “Thank you very much for this information, I’m sure it’s not easy to talk about.”

  “Please, just-... Just make this right.” She said. “My baby is never coming back, no amount of revenge is gonna fix that. But I want this thing behind bars so it can’t hurt anyone else.”

  “I promise you, I’ll do everything I can,” Peter swore from the bottom of his heart. “I’m not gonna stop until I catch it.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  As he left the house, a confusing avalanche of emotions threatened to sweep him off his feet. He was so overwhelmed. He’d never dealt with anything like this, especially not alone. Peter wanted so badly to call Tony, to tell him everything that’s been going on, and inevitably end up in Stark Tower with them. In this universe though, he was so alone. Yeah, he had his friends, but they weren’t vigilantes and probably wouldn’t believe him if he told them about all this, and he had Red Hood, but the man was busy with other things. Besides, he didn’t know if Red Hood really liked him that much. There was no one to help him with this, and there were so many lives at stake.

  He was angry, what these people had been through was so unfair. He was sad knowing he couldn’t save them. Peter was overwhelmed, terrified, and exhausted. But most of all, he just wanted to cry.

  But there was no time for that. He couldn’t cry, people needed him. Peter could cry all he wanted when The Changeling was behind bars.

-

  It was very dark, the only light that shone through was from the gaps in the grey brick walls. Sand was pouring in through the gaps, covering the floor with a fine layer of the stuff. With each step, he kicked up more into the air.

  The musty smell and the disorientation he felt were making him feel a little sick. And yet, he continued down this hall as fast as he could. Peter knew he was following someone, but every time he’d turn a corner, that person would be out of sight. Not being able to see them up ahead was extremely distressing.

  “Tony!” He called.

  “Hurry up, kid.”

  The voice came from everywhere at once. Peter spun around, for a moment thinking he was going in the wrong direction. He hurried down the hall once again, then turned into a large stone room with a double staircase. He looks up at the ceiling, seeing a vaulted roof high above his head. Running up the stairs, he looked left and right when he made it to the landing.

  “Tony!” He called. Nothing. “Tony?” His voice echoed, but there was no one around to hear it.

  Four doors sat in front of him. He couldn’t see it, but he knew more doors were around the corner down the hall. Peter walks forward until he’s right in front of a door, setting his hand against the wood. It’s ice cold and doesn’t feel like wood, it feels like metal. He closed his hand into a fist and gently knocked. The deep reverberation, as if knocking on a metal door in an industrial building, was a little surprising to him.

  He walked past, dragging his hand along this door and the next. And then, on the third door, his spider-sense activates. Goosebumps rise up and he freezes up. He reached for the handle, hesitating when his hand met brass.

  The door opened with a loud creak. Suddenly, the door was truly wooden, and he was no longer in the stone maze. The floors were carpeted, but torn up and moldy. All but two light fixtures in the hallway had fallen to the ground. But it wasn’t dark because light spilled out of the now-open door.

  The light was milky and cold; dawn light spilling through rolling grey clouds. It wasn’t a lot, but it illuminated the room well enough to see its disrepair. The wallpaper was falling off, vines crept up the walls, moss and mold took over every corner, but most of all, there was a hole in the floor. It was massive, almost enough to swallow what once was a living room. The floorboards around the hole are broken and splintered and have fallen away into darkness. Dark, dark, dark.

  Peter wasn’t in control of his body as he moved forward, standing right at the edge and looking down. Down, and down, and down. The hole was bottomless.

  “Come on! Hurry up, kid!” Came Tony’s voice.

  Now, Peter knew. It was coming from the pit. He leans forward more, trying to see down into the darkness, and-

  Peter wakes up, dread pouring over him in waves. He curls under the blanket, shivering. It was so cold in here that he couldn’t even fathom getting up.

  It was still dark out. He looked around the room, fearful and still so tired. He had the sudden, burning urge to call Ned. It wasn’t uncommon for them to call each other after nightmares, no matter how late or early. They’d lie there for hours, talking about their nightmares and dreams, recalling them from childhood and recounting fresh ones.

  But then, the thin smile that was starting to creep up died. He couldn’t call Ned. Even if he existed in this world, he didn’t know Peter.

  He lay there, disturbed from his nightmare, but more than that, he was miserably lonely.

-

  “That’s a lot and absolutely nothing at the same time.” Red Hood said.

  “They were all meta. Or had connections to the openly meta community.” He said. Red Hood nods, gesturing for Peter to hurry up and make his point. “Why would these people be targeting metas? You’d think it’d be harder to kidnap someone with super strength rather than-“

  “Because they’re less likely to be missed.” The man said. Too casual. As if it were common knowledge.

  “What? Wait, wh- I don’t-“

  Red Hood turned to him. He could imagine Red Hood’s incredulous expression. “Metahumans are cast out from most circles.” He said as though it was the most obvious thing ever. “Some jobs refuse to hire them, schools refuse to teach their kids, and some people go out of their way to harass them.” He explained. “If you want to make someone disappear, it’s easier if they have no connections to notice their absence.”

  That idea made him sick. Peter had to stand there, taking deep breaths, before he could speak. Even then, he wasn’t confident that he wouldn’t throw up.

  “Did y-you find anything out about, uh, The Changeling?” Peter asked.

  “No. I did however get a map of every known place where a victim was kidnapped. You can keep an eye on those places.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Red Hood! Send ‘em over, I’ll get right on it!” Peter said.

  “Kid, before you go, when did you last take a break from patrol?”

  “Um… I don’t know. Why?”

  “Because you’re literally a toddler and you need your sleep.” He said. Peter made an offended noise, recoiling in offense.

  “I- wh- you- y-you- uh- How do you even know I’m a kid?!” He shouted.

  “I didn’t until you said that.” Peter stared, mouth agape. “I mean, I suspected it, but now I know.”

  He couldn’t believe it. Red Hood got him like that TWICE! He really had to stop saying things without thinking.

  “Shouldn’t you be finishing your math homework or tailgating a classmate?” The man asked, voice all sharp humor.

  Peter crosses his arms. “That’s none of your business.” He said. “But for the record, I finished all my math homework.”

  That didn’t help ease Red Hood’s concern. In fact, it amplified it. “Come on.” He grabs his keys. “Let’s go eat something before you spend the rest of the night swinging around Gotham.”

  He had half a mind to refuse. Peter was antsy to get out there and start watching out for The Changeling. But at the same time, he hadn’t eaten dinner and he was unbelievably tired. Having a little break would be nice. As he was thinking about it, his stomach growled, making his face go red. The older vigilante can’t see his blush, but he laughs anyway.

  “I mean, if you insist.” He joked dryly. Then, he froze. “Oh. Wait. Um, I don’t have any money to buy any-”

  “Oh my god, just shut the fuck up and get in the damn car.” Red Hood said. Peter could feel him rolling his eyes as he unlocked the car. “I already planned on paying for you.”

  He went around the car to the passenger side and got in. Peter wasn’t really a car guy, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a nice car. Nice leather seats, stereo, great heaters that immediately started blowing on his face, and golden words embossed on the dash above the glove box (no doubt the name of the company, but it wasn’t one Peter recognized).

  “Wow, I knew you were better off than I am, but I didn’t know you were rich.”

  “I guess. Usually, I use my motorcycle, but not today.”

  “Wait, MOTORCYCLE?” Peter asked, jaw slack. “That’s so cool!” Red Hood shrugged casually. “Have you ever seen Mad Max?”

  “Um… Maybe once. Why?”

  “If I ever get a car, I want it to look like something from Mad Max,” Peter said, only half joking. Red Hood scoffs. “Come on! Imagine driving around the city in a car that’s just COVERED in spikes, or one with a gazillion speakers on it.”

  “How old are you again?” Red Hood teases.

  “You’re saying you never daydreamed about being in an apocalypse, driving crazy cars and fighting zombies or whatever?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Oh. Lame.”

  They talked about apocalypse movies all the way there. Or, Peter talked about zombie and end-of-the-world movies. Red Hood would hum occasionally, letting Peter know he wasn’t talking to a wall, but otherwise was very quiet for the rest of the trip.

  Red Hood ended up taking them to a Mexican restaurant. It was still really weird for him to just walk into businesses in full costume. Back home, he knew a few vigilantes who’d do that. Deadpool would just stroll into grocery stores for sour candies and condoms in his full outfit. (Although, Peter hesitated to call Wade a vigilante, more just an ex-merc who sometimes stepped in to stop people from being assaulted or murdered, but then again, the line between vigilante and whatever the hell Wade was is extremely thin.) But the older vigilante seemed completely calm about it.

  “What do you want?” Red Hood asked, nudging him.

  “I’m not picky. I do eat a lot though.” He says. The other man hums in acknowledgment.

  When they get their food, they sit in the same way; furthest back table with Hood’s back to the wall. Peter takes his food onto his lap and turns away from the other, pulling up the bottom of his mask just enough to eat. He didn’t look at Red Hood, but he knew the other had done the same.

  “I don’t team up with others often,” Hood starts. “Either people work for me, or I only work with them because the situation is life or death. But I’m willing to work with you on this one. Kids are dying in my alley and I can’t have that.”

  “Having help would be so nice.” Peter sighed. “I was a vigilante somewhere else for years, I only recently moved here, and back home, I had a whole team who was willing to help. If they were here, it would make this so much easier.”

  Red Hood hummed in thought. Peter braced for it. He was already formulating lies to feed the other when he was inevitably asked ‘Where are you from?’ ‘Why aren’t they here?’ ‘Why have I never heard of you?’ But it never came.

  “Well, I’m just one guy and I have other shit to do, but I’ll help as much as I can.” He said. “If you ever need help with anything, just call and I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you,” Peter said sincerely.

  They ate in silence for a while. Peter knew he’d need all the energy he could get for the night ahead, he didn’t intend to sleep until he had SOMETHING to report to the families that needed him. He should review the footage from the kidnappings. Look for patterns. And he also had to monitor the city to keep anyone else from getting taken. And for that, he’d need all the energy he could get.

  “What got you into being a vigilante?” Peter asked suddenly. It was quiet for a long time. Right when Peter thought he wouldn’t get a response, Red Hood spoke.

  “I wasn’t a good kid. My mom had me at thirteen and I was raised in a traphouse. And when she died, I sort of just… Took to the life I had been primed for. You know, stealing, pickpocketing, drug dealing, and roughing people up for money. But one day, I tried to steal the wheels from the Batmobile to sell, and Batman caught me.”

  “Wait, Batmobile?” He laughs. “What a shitty name.”

  Red Hood huffs a laugh. “Tell me about it.” He said. “Anyway, instead of sending me to juvie, he saw promise in me, so he decided to train me to be a vigilante.” It was quiet again. “What about you?”

  Peter was going to give a general statement about doing good. But then, Red Hood shared some very deep stuff from his past. He felt like he owed this much to the man who’d already done so much for him. Even if he didn’t know it.

  “I killed my uncle,” Peter said. He could hear Red Hood sit up straighter. “I-... I had lost a lot, and as kids do, I started acting out. Going out late without permission, taking things from stores, and even starting to get into vandalism. My uncle was probably the best man to have ever existed, as moral as they come. So, obviously, we got into a fight. I stormed out, wandered into the bad part of town, and someone tried to rob me. For some reason, I tried to run, so they pulled out a gun and tried to kill me. They would’ve too if my uncle hadn’t stepped in and taken the bullet for me.”

  “God damn, I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah.” Peter sighed. “My uncle always used to say ‘with great power comes great responsibility’. So when I got these powers, I decided to use them for good. Stopping muggings and carjackings, you know, little guy stuff.”

  “And now you’re trying to stop a child-kidnapping ring.”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes that’s just how the cookie crumbles.”

-

  Peter sat hunched over on a roof. Two of the victims went missing in this general location, so he decided to camp out here. While he was waiting and keeping an eye out, he started sketching a plan for a device that could hack the cameras in the area. He needed to find the footage of kidnappings somehow, and he doubted the exhausted gas station worker over there would be willing to give that up to a random spider guy.

  The sky was dark, the clouds were swollen and threatening to rain any second. He could only hope that he found something of use before that happened. Peter shivers, looking down at the empty street once again.

  Hardly any cars passed by here. He didn’t know if that was because of the late hour or because of the dark rain clouds. Maybe that’s why they chose to kidnap them in this area. Or maybe that was a coincidence? What if the fact that the victims were mostly meta was also just a coincidence? Did they stalk these people? Did they watch them go to school and work and look for a perfect opportunity to make them disappear, or did they somehow know at a glance that they were meta and took them right then and there?

  Peter didn’t know which was worse.

  Something is wrong. Listen. Danger! Listen.

  He froze, trying to listen over the wind. At first, he wasn’t sure what that sound was. It sounded like a shaky release of air, like a malfunctioning machine. But then, he heard a sob. His head snapped in that direction, and he focused harder.

  Someone was sobbing, choking on their breath. Peter stood, tucking his sketch away, and ran in their direction. As he got closer, he caught the faintest whiffs of blood.

  The noise and the smell were coming from an abandoned store. The windows were smashed and the store had been gutted. Except for the back room. The door was hanging slightly off the hinges and inside was a cluttered room, full of boxes and garbage. It looked like someone had been living here for a while.

  And curled up behind a box, was a girl. She looked to be about twelve. Her hair was matted with blood, but he could see thin streaks of white. Her brown eyes were wide open, but unfocused, and her face was twisted with pain. She was lying on her side, curled into a fetal position. There were multiple stab wounds to her stomach and a slash across her throat.

  “Oh my-” Peter stopped, freezing as his eyes went wide.

  Her face was pressed into a wall, her hands bound behind her back, and a thick collar around her neck. The girl was shaking, almost convulsing, and her body was painted in bruises. A scream left her mouth, high-pitched and fearful.

  “No! No, I don’t want to d-” She was screaming.

  Peter blinks, shaking his head hard. What the fuck was that?! Why did he just see this girl and some of the things she went through? Since when did he have THAT power?

  He snapped himself out of it. Add that to the list of things to freak out about later, right now, this girl was gonna die. So, he pulled out his phone and dialed 911, dropping to his knees near her.

  “Hey, I need to web up your wounds, ok? This is gonna feel weird.” He said. He grabbed her arm as gently as he could and pulled her hand from her stomach. Then, he webbed up the injury. She winced, letting out a pained noise. “I know, I know, one more.” He very carefully webbed up the cut to her throat. “There we go.”

  “911, what’s the address of your emergency?”

  “4719 Ridenour Street, in that old abandoned store with the windows smashed out,” Peter said.

  “Got it. And what is the nature of your emergency?”

  “I found a girl, about twelve, bleeding from about four stab wounds and a cut to the throat. I tried to stop the bleeding as best as I could, but she needs real medical attention.”

  “Understood. An ambulance is being dispatched to your location. Do you see what kind of weapon might’ve caused the injuries?”

  “Um…” Peter looked around.

  This place looked like a dump. It looked like everything the store owners didn’t want or need had been thrown into this back room. Crates, bags of trash, and rusty shelves. In the corner was a sleeping bag with a small pile of dirty clothes on it. There were water bottles, food trash, and a nearly empty duffel bag.

  “No. No glass or knives or anything.”

  “What’s your relation to the victim?”

  “Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man doing what’s right.”

  “Spider-Man, ok. Good to speak to you sir, I appreciate your work.”

  “Aw, thanks-”

  “Please…” The girl croaked.

  His eyes snapped down to her. He didn’t think she was conscious. Both hands were back over her wounds and her eyes were full of tears.

  “M-My… My Amaryllis… I-I need-need it.”

  Amaryllis? Like… the flower? Confused, he looked around again. This time, his eyes catch a hint of bright red sticking out of the backpack.

  He stood up and made his way over. Inside the backpack was a stuffed animal. Well, not really an animal. It looked like a venus fly-trap, but it had two red flowers along with the two heads. The flowers were definitely supposed to be amaryllis. It looked like something you’d win at an arcade. Why was there a fly-trap amaryllis hybrid? He didn’t know. But he knew that this had to be what she was asking for.

  “Here you go.” He presses it to her chest and she immediately locks her arms around it. “Just hold on a little longer, help is on the way.”

  The girl was very quiet for the rest of the wait. She kept whimpering in pain and struggling to breathe, but otherwise, there was no other sound besides the rain that had begun to pour. Gently, he sets a hand on her shoulder. She was ice cold.

  When he heard the ambulances, Peter stood up to leave. As soon as he stood, she sobbed again. “They’ll never stop hunting us until we’re all dead. I-... I just want to go back to how my life was before.” She sobbed.

  “You will. I swear to you, I’m gonna fix this, ok?”

  “No, no, no, no…” She mumbled over and over again.

  Clenching his fists, he made his way out of the room. His heart was twisting around in painful knots. This had to end. He promised them he’d solve this and he wasn’t going to break a promise if he had any say in it.

  Peter didn’t sleep that night.

Chapter Text

  It wasn’t hard to figure out where the girl he saved was. She had been taken to the nearest hospital and hadn’t been transferred or taken home by her parents. To be fair, it was only the next day, so it would be surprising if the girl had been discharged considering her wounds.

  “Hello,” Peter said, walking up to the front desk. “I’m here to visit Daisy Hartley.”

  Her name had been plastered across the media. Some just gave her a few seconds of a shout-out while others had a whole segment on her and the others who’d been found. He had been thinking about her since he found her; she refused to leave his mind. So when he was at the laundromat cleaning his clothes and looked up at the TVs to see a segment about her, he made up his mind to go find her.

  “What’s your name and relationship to the patient?” The receptionist asked.

  “Peter Hartley. She’s my sister.” He’d rehearsed that the whole walk here.

  The receptionist just nods. After a minute of typing something on the computer, they wheel over to the side of the desk. They write Peter’s ‘name’ on a visitor sticker and pass it to him.

  “She probably won’t talk to you, she hasn’t said anything since she woke up from surgery.”

  “I’d still like to try.”

  “Good luck. She’ll be in room 19.”

  “Thank you.”

  Peter walked down the hall, navigating through the space as casually as he could. He didn’t really have a plan. He just felt like he had to be here. Whatever happened when he saw her, getting that snippet of the torture she had been through, was so strange that he couldn’t convince his mind to let it go. He needed answers.

  When he walked into the room, he saw Daisy sitting up, staring out the window. Her roommate was curled on their side, facing the wall. He closes the door behind him, making her look over. Something flashed through her expression.

  “Peter.” She said, voice heavy with emotion.

  Recognition. That’s what flashed through her gaze. Peter swallowed hard.

  “Hey there. I, uh… I don’t remember you. If we’ve met before, I, uh…”

  She stares for a moment. “Oh…” Her eyes drift away to the window again.

  “I mean, if you helped me remember…” He trails off, crossing the room to sit by her. She doesn’t say anything. “Do you know anything about the people who did this to you?” Nothing. “Um… What about your family? Is there anyone I can call for you?”

  When he thought he wouldn’t get a response, tears gathered in her eyes and she sniffled. “Mom and Dad have moved on.” She said.

  “I’m sure that’s not-”

  “I died April 2nd, 2000,” Daisy said, still not looking at him. “The last thing I remember was- was roughhousing with my friends, stumbling back into the road, and-... Then, I wake up in a vat of disgusting green. I was brought back from the dead, but I woke up in hell.”

  Peter moved closer, holding out a hand to her. At first, she flinches back, but then, she cautiously sets her hand in his palm. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. It was so, so little compared to the pain she’d gone through, but it was all he had to offer.

  “When we escaped, the first place I ran was to my parents’ house. But-...” Her voice cracks hard. “But they already have three new kids. And they looked happy and-... They’ve moved on. I didn’t want to ruin the peace they had.”

  “You wouldn’t ruin anything.” He said firmly, squeezing her hand a bit harder. “You deserve peace and a family.”

  “I’m just terrified.” She said, voice cracking.

  Peter felt his throat tighten. His desire to help her burned hotter and hotter. “I can be there to support you if you want. And if things don’t go how you want, I’ll help you figure things out.” He offered, conviction thick in his voice.

  “... Ok…”

  “Do you know a number for them?”

  “Um… There’s-... There’s a number you can try. I don’t know if she still has it.”

  Peter took out his phone and dialled the number as Daisy gave it to him. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. This would be so much easier if he were Spider-Man right now, he always felt more confident behind the mask. Sure, it didn’t immediately erase his social awkwardness, but it made him feel more secure. Spider-Man knew how to handle situations like this, Peter Parker didn’t.

  “Hello?” A voice came from the other line.

  “Hello, Mrs. Hartley. Are you free to come down to Leslie Thompkins Clinic today?”

  “Uh, I-... Who is this?”

  “A friend. If you’re free, come to the hospital and ask for a visitor sticker to see Daisy Hartley.” Peter said. He heard a slight gasp from the other end and his social anxiety spiked, prompting him to hang up before the woman could respond.

  He face-palmed, realizing he must’ve sounded like a kidnapper or something. It’d serve him right if hundreds of cops swarmed the building. God, he was so socially inept!

  A whimper snapped him out of his thoughts. Daisy had her face in her hands, crying. Peter sat on the edge of the bed with her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She winces, but then slowly relaxes into him and continues crying.

  Peter stayed there with her, giving her the most amount of comfort possible. Only when her sobs slow down does he reach for his phone again. Her words from before continue playing in his head over and over again. ‘When we escaped,’ Daisy had said. When we escaped.

Spider to Red Hood, October 29th:

Spider:

They aren’t killing people and dropping them around the alley randomly. They are killing runaways

(Sent 5:32 pm)

Red Hood:
That was one of my theories

Why are you so sure?

(Sent 5:32 pm)

Spider:

Because im talking with a victim right now and she told me

(Sent 5:33 pm)

  The sound of five footsteps coming down the hall made him look up. He lightly shakes Daisy’s shoulder, standing up. “They’re here.”

  A few seconds later, the footsteps stop outside the door. There is a tentative knock. Daisy stares at the door, swallowing hard, before she calls for them to come in.

  The door opens. The parents come in first, the mom holding an infant, followed by a young boy and a girl. For a while, both parties just stand there watching each other. And then, the father steps forward.

  “Daisy?”

  And that caused the dam to break. Tears spilled down her cheeks and sobs took over. The parents rush forward. Peter stepped away so they could hold their daughter. They held her and brushed away her tears. The baby grabbed at her hospital gown, confused but curious, the brother lingered near the door, but the sister stood near the bed with the parents.

  “Oh my god, Daisy.” The mom sobbed, holding her close. “My baby, I thought you were…”

  “I was.” Daisy’s voice was strained. “I thought you forgot about me.”

  “No, never.” The father said. “Every year on your birthday and every holiday we were at your grave with you. You were never forgotten, not even for a moment.”

  Peter smiled as he watched. He was glad she was getting a chance to reunite with her family. This was the ending all of the victims deserved.

  “This is Denver.” The mom said, introducing the baby to Daisy. The girl looked down at her new sibling, a fresh wave of tears appearing. “This is Tatton and this is Georgia.”

  He was suddenly hit with the feeling that he was intruding. Peter took one last glance at the family and then made for the door. He squeezed past the brother and out into the hallway.

  Peter couldn’t stay here. He had work to do. He had to make sure this didn’t happen to anyone else. The Changeling, whoever that was, had to be brought to justice. He still didn’t even know if The Changeling was a group or a person. That’s why he absolutely couldn’t rest tonight. Or any night.

-

  “The Joker has been too quiet,” Bruce said. “He blew up a few things, killed a few people, then went radio silent.”

  “He’s planning something big,” Tim said. “And if I have to guess, it’s gonna hit on Halloween.”

  “That would be a very Joker thing to do.” Duke hummed.

  They were getting ready to go on patrol as Duke got ready for sleep. It was usually during these times, since they were all in the Bat Cave, that they very informally debriefed about patrol and recent villain activity. (With a good portion of time during less tense or active days being used to goof off.)

  “We’ll need all hands on deck on the 31st then,” Bruce said. “If anyone sees anything suspicious, report it immediately even if you aren’t sure if it has anything to do with The Joker.”

  “Should we get Jason in on this?” Steph asked. It went quiet. “You said ‘all hands on deck’ and we’re technically not allowed in Crime Alley. At least, not in costume.”

  “That might be a good idea. I mean… If anyone would act the second they suspect Joker activity, it’d be Jason.” Dick said. But they all knew he probably wouldn’t call it in, he would just react. Sometimes, a reaction without thinking is the only way to prevent Joker; sometimes, you don’t really have the time to think. But other times…

  Bruce sighs. “Barbra, could you call Jason?”

  “On it.”

  Tim spaced out as Jason grumbled about them distracting him and the others caught Jason up on everything happening with The Joker. His mind drifted to the previous day. To the theater, to how strange it was when he glanced over at Peter and Dick and was suddenly struck in the face with how similar they looked. It was an incredibly strange experience, that weird, almost uncanny, feeling came back to him once again.

  “Dick, did you notice anything about Peter?” Tim asked suddenly during a brief pause in conversation.

  “I mean… He’s a smart kid. Uh… He’s very shy… Maybe a little people-pleasing.”

  Everyone else continued their conversation. Tim moved unconsciously closer to his brother. He bit his lip as he thought about how to word this.

  “Yeah, but I meant, like, uh…” Tim hesitates. “Don’t you think you look a little similar?”

  “What?”

  Tim grabbed his phone from the bench. He only had one picture of Peter, but it’d have to work. He held up the phone to Dick, switching between his picture and Peter’s so the other could compare.

  “Oh… I guess we do.” Dick said.

  “Do you have any other family? Any cousins or…?” Tim trails off because Dick was already shaking his head.

  “I mean, I don’t think I do. I may have some super distantly related cousin or something, but I think at that point, any family resemblance would be gone. Yeah? Because my father had no siblings, my mom was orphaned after a shipwreck killed her family, and I don’t remember any great uncles or aunts or anything. Any more distant than that, like a third cousin or something… I doubt we’d look anything alike.”

  “It’s possible but unlikely,” Tim said. Then, he shrugged. “Well, it was just a thought I had. Could be a coincidence."

  “Probably is.” He shrugged. “It’d be cool if we were distant cousins though.”

  Tim huffs a laugh. “Yeah, that’d be cool.”

-

  Peter liked Halloween. He didn’t remember his parents well at all, but he did remember his mother’s love of the holiday. One of his few memories of her was on Halloween night.

  Ever since he was born up until his last Halloween with them, his mom dressed him up in cute little handmade costumes. Of course, Peter didn’t remember that, but he remembered seeing pictures in the photo album of him as him (barely three months old) in a hand-made pumpkin costume. In this particular memory, he had to be about five years old. He didn’t remember what his costume was or anything like that, but he could remember that he was dreadfully sick.

  He remembered sitting on his mother’s lap, curled up in her arms under a fuzzy blanket, as they watched Coraline. Whenever he’d get scared, he’d cry out and press closer to her chest. And she’d kiss him on the top of the head, soothe his fears, and ask if he wanted to stop watching the movie. And every time, he’d shake his head and glue his eyes to the screen.

  Those memories felt so far away now. He was walking around the streets in his full Spider-Man costume. It was one of the few nights of the year that he could do that. Most people didn’t even glance at him.

  Crime always spiked on Halloween and he didn’t expect Gotham to be any different. Usually, it was teens vandalizing things and drunk people doing stupid shit. He was perfectly equipped to handle things like that, but his spider-sense had been whispering to him all night that something worse was brewing.

  Crying caught his attention. He picks up his pace, hurrying into an alcove. There was a little girl dressed up like a pirate sobbing her eyes out.

  “Hey, there. Do you need help?” Peter asked. The girl sniffles, rubbing her eyes.

  “I-I want my mommy.” She cries.

  “You’re ok.” He said soothingly. “Do you know mommy’s number?” The girl shakes her head. “Alright, well, let’s go look for her, yeah?”

  The girl nods, reaching out for his hand. Peter lets her take it and leads her to the edge of the alcove. They stand there for a while, looking around. Peter hesitated to take her away from the alcove because if her mom was looking for her, this was where she’d go.

  Danger, watch out. Nearby. Careful…

  He shivers, looking around. Nothing seemed amiss. No drunk people causing a ruckus, no teens scaring kids out of their candy, and no vandals bricking windows or anything. Why did his spider-sense keep flagging absolutely nothing? It was starting to get on his nerves. His fear from before started to creep in again. Could he even trust his spider-sense anymore when it kept doing this?

  “Mommy!” The girl shouted. She suddenly pulled away from his side and ran through the crowd, crashing into the arms of a woman dressed in an angel costume. The mom wraps her arms around the girl and Peter can faintly hear her scold the girl for running off.

  Peter moved along as soon as they were reunited. His spider-sense had him antsy, he felt as if he sat still for too long, the world would catch on fire. It seemed to get stronger and stronger as the night grew darker.

  It got to the point he was jumping at shadows and had a hard time controlling his strength when dealing with drunkards and teen hooligans. He was so on edge that he hardly realized he was leaving the residential areas of Crime Alley until he noticed it was just him and a few other people on the sidewalk. That’s when it happened.

  DANGER! Now, danger! Protect!

  Adrenaline coursed through him so hard that he reacted without thinking. He grabbed the person walking near a building to their left and all but dragged them away. Right as the man started to shout in fear and outrage, the building he had been feet away from erupted into flame with a loud BANG!

  The explosion was so loud it robbed Peter of his hearing for several seconds and rattled his bones. The man he saved stumbled backwards with wide eyes before turning around and running. Peter ran too, but he ran in the opposite direction from the man.

  DANGER, DANGER! SAVE THEM!

  The building he was near was a warehouse. When he got to the front entrance, he saw a group of men outside, looking into the inferno that was now the warehouse’s interior. “Is someone in there?” He shouts, tinnitus still ringing in his ears.

  “We got seven guys in there! I can see someone moving, but I can’t see the others!” One of the guys shouted.

  “I got this. Call 911 and stay clear of the building, it could collapse!”

  He didn’t wait for a response. He jumps onto the wall, crawling through a gap in the wall above the door. Immediately, suffocating heat hit him. Peter coughed as smoke stung his lungs, but he kept pushing through it.

  Navigating through burning buildings never got easier. The smoke stung your eyes and made it hard to see too far, the scorching debris was a constant threat and obstacle, and the walls and ceilings were unstable. It was loud. The groan of weakening support beams, the roar of flames, the clatter of flaming objects hitting the ground, and the screams of people trapped in the blaze. It was overwhelming and disorientating. And yet, he pushed through his discomfort and fear to find these trapped people.

  When he spotted a flash of bright blue, his eyes snapped in that direction. Hidden by smoke and partially covered in debris was a worker. Peter crouched next to the man, hearing him choke on smoke and struggle. Peter grabbed the debris, glad that it wasn’t metal,  and yanked it off the man.

  “Come on, we gotta go!” He shouts, tossing the debris away.

  He wraps his arm around the man’s midsection, then webbed them up to the ceiling to find the hole in the roof. When he reached it, he crawled down, dropped the man on the ground with his friends, and dove back into the blazing building. Peter coughed, lungs stinging, and stumbled past shelves and crates that the fire was trying to turn to cinders.

  Some of the workers were already dead. He found two of them crushed to death and charred beneath large industrial shelves. He found another man impaled through the chest, but he was alive. He used his webs to keep the pole from shifting around before carrying the man out of the building. At that point, there was already an ambulance there.

  “Here!” He shouted, setting the man down near the EMTs.

  “Shit. I gotta call for back up.” One said.

  Peter was already running back towards the building. The fifth person he found was dead, burned alive, the sixth was unconscious due to smoke inhalation, and the seventh had both legs crushed under debris. The bones were shattered.

  When he got out of the burning building with the last man, there were two ambulances and one fire truck. At first, he was confused and frustrated by how little response there was to this incident, but then it hit him; there were so many burning buildings right now that police resources were stretched thin.

  He swings away to get to the tallest nearby building. Peter lands on the roof, spinning around. He counted the burning buildings around the city, dread buildings in his chest. Twenty. There were twenty burning structures as far as he could see. Who would do something like this? And how? How did someone plant bombs in twenty buildings without anyone noticing? It must be a group, it couldn’t be one person. Were the bats helping out?

  Peter shakes his head. There was no time to think, he had to just save people, that’s it. Don’t think, just get to work. He turned his attention to the nearest burning building and swung towards it.

  When he gets there (turns out that it’s a train station), he’s met with absolute chaos. A crowd was rioting, screaming, freaking out, while a large group of officers was trying to keep them back. Peter drops behind the line, looking towards the main structure, just in time to see Nightwing surge through the gaping doorway, dragging out a woman and a child.

  Peter ran over, taking the woman (who was unconscious) from Nightwing to help him get them to the line. Nightwing shot him a surprised look, but he rolled with it easily enough. “Do you need help here?” Spider-Man asked. Paramedics rushed forward to check on the pair.

  There was a moment of hesitation before Nightwing shook his head. “There’s too much to do, you should go to a building no one else is covering yet,” Nightwing said.

  “I don’t know which buildings are being covered,” Peter said, a hint of frustration entering his voice. But he wasn’t frustrated at Nightwing. Every second he wasted, someone could be dying.

  “Shit… Do you have a Wayne Phone?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Oracle! Can you send Spider-Man the map?”

  “On it.” Said a voice from Nightwing’s comms.

  Oracle? That was a badass name. Peter hardly had a moment to think about that before his phone buzzed.

  He looks down. A map had popped up on his phone, showing the whole city. His current location was a green dot, every burning building was a red dot, and every bat was a blue dot. When he understood the map well enough, he hurried off without a word.

  The work seemed endless. Before the hour was up, he’d seen too many bodies to count and saved at least forty people. Every other thought was gone, drained away from his mind, in favor of navigating through mazes of smoldering debris and yanking injured people from the ashes. Warehouses, train stations, markets, airports, and distribution centers were all aflame.

  The question from before haunted him; who would do something like this? The question lingered at the back of his mind, crammed into a corner with all his dark thoughts. And with each charred body he found, those dark and bitter thoughts only grew.

  Peter would get an answer to that question soon enough.

  He doubled over, trying to catch his breath, after having worked so hard for almost two hours. And right when he almost caught his breath, a loud beeping from the mini-map caught his attention. He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the map. One of the blue icons was pulsing and he had to press the ‘Ok’ button to get it to stop. Confused, he stared at the still pulsing icon.

  Suddenly, it hit him. That was an emergency alert. He jams his phone into his pocket and runs to the edge of the roof, jumping off and swinging in that direction. It pained him to pass burning buildings, but he knew one of the bats wouldn’t trigger an emergency alert without it being absolutely urgent, not in the middle of all this chaos.

  Somerset Food Bank, the largest food storage in Gotham, was also blown to hell. But when Peter arrived there, he found out that he had much bigger issues to worry about. People were being treated by paramedics, a crowd was being held back and urged to leave by the police, and Spoiler was on the roof. She must’ve triggered the alert, but he couldn’t see why quite yet.

  It was hard to see what was going on up there, especially because Peter was moving so fast. But he saw her jerk backwards, then staggered and tripped, falling off the roof. He changes his direction, swinging towards the woman as she falls, and manages to catch her before she smashes into the ground.

  “Fuck!” Spoiler cried, clutching her shoulder as blood gushed from it.

  “Yikes! That looks a bit worse than a paper cut.” He said, landing on the ground. He sets her down. She blinks up at him.

  “Wha…? Spider-Man?”

  “Yup. I’d love to sit down for a cup of tea, but it seems like a lot is going on.”

  “The Joker. He-” She winces, doubling over. “I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but he’s up there. Along with his posse.”

  “Cool. Get patched up, ok?”

  “Wait-”

  He climbed the wall, crawling as fast as he could to the roof. Peter didn’t want to confront a strange, unknown villain on his own, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He couldn’t be the only one who raced over here when Spoiler sent an alert, right?

  When he got there, he saw a whole group of clowns up there. Like the man, he stopped from killing Velvet. There were about ten of them, not including what Peter could only assume was The Joker considering the fact that he was in a purple suit and had a ring of clown circling him.

  “Oh, hey! I didn’t know that the circus was in town or I would’ve bought tickets!” Peter chirped. All eyes turned to him. Along with the barrels of several guns.

  He moved on instinct, jumping over the first wave of shots, then ducking and twisting around the others. Several times, he felt the wind of the bullets passing, but he avoided being hit. In the few seconds he had before more bullets came flying at him, he lifted his arm and webbed three of the clowns together.

  “Fancy footwork, Insect-Boy.” A clown in a purple suit laughed.

  “Aw, thanks. Maybe you should teach your guys how to aim, they’re worse than Stormtroopers.” Peter taunted.

  He dodged once again as more clowns tried to shoot him. It was a little funny honestly, did they really think that was going to work after watching him dodge all those other bullets? Apparently so, because this time, they kept shooting until Peter ended up getting struck in the arm. He staggered, grunting in pain.

  “What’s your plan?” Peter called out, trying to keep his voice curious. The shooting stops for a moment. “What do you want to get from all of this?”

  The one in the suit cackles. “That’s always the question you little bats always ask.”

  “Because it’s the question you villains wanna hear. Face it, you like monologuing.” Peter said. At least, he hoped this was one of the monologuing villains. He had that vibe. “Also, I’m not a bat.”

  The Joker laughs again. “You caught me!” He said, ignoring Peter’s last statement. He strolls towards Peter, a bit of a pep in his step, as if they were in a club and he’d had a few drinks and was feeling great, not on the burning roof of a food bank in the wake of a terrorist attack that killed dozens of innocent people. “You see, Spider-Man, people are like rats in a cage.” The Joker starts. He gestures at the city. “Give them toys, things to keep ‘em distracted, and food, and they’ll pretend to be civil. They’ll make schools and banks and charities and government and play around in their little tea parties. But when you take one of those away?” He waved a hand at Peter, prompting him to answer.

  “You want society to fall apart so people will start killing each other like rats in a cage,” Peter said, unimpressed.

  “Ding, ding, ding!”

  “Wow. How clever.” He said, monotone and sarcastic. “But I think you gotta go back to preschool since you clearly need help identifying the difference between humans and rats.”

  “Aw, but that’s only one part. One tiny little piece of this masterpiece I’ve been painting.” The Joker’s grin grew wider, wide enough that Peter could count all his teeth. “You’ll see soon enough how similar people really are to sewer rats.”

  DANGER!

  Peter jerks forward as Joker reaches for his gun. He grabbed the man by the wrist and yanked, launching the man across the roof towards his posse with a grunt of effort. And just like that, the shooting starts again.

  He keeps his arm to his chest as he dodges around bullets. Peter closes the distance between himself and the group so he can web them together more easily, and they have to be more cautious with their bullets. But that part didn’t happen. Peter was shocked when they still took shots even when the others were in the line of fire.

  Peter jumped out of the way, whipping around when his spider-sense screamed at him, and saw another barrel trained on his head. He ducked, before his senses screamed PROTECT! Eyes wide, he jumped at the man pointing a gun at him, taking a bullet straight to the collarbone. He tackles the clown to the ground, a strained scream of pain leaving his mouth at the agony of jostling his freshly broken collarbone.

  Hello! Familiar. Nearby!

  Three thuds follow that. There’s shooting again, but because he isn’t full of lead, they must be firing at someone else. Peter forced himself up and off the unconscious clown, webbing him to the floor before stumbling around to see the fight.

  Nightwing and Red Robin, both looking worse for wear, were taking out the clowns. Peter had already gotten most webbed up, so they could easily handle the few that were left. He swore he only looked down at his shoulder and injured arm for a second, but suddenly, he was getting tackled to the ground.

  Peter lashes out instinctively, squirming to escape, as the person puts their hand over his mouth and nose. “Red Robin!” They shout. “Just me!” Peter blinked up at them, realizing that it was indeed the other vigilante. “Don’t breathe. Trust me, Spider, you don’t wanna breathe that shit in!”

  He glances over. There was gas filling the air where he had been standing moments before. And it was spreading quickly. When did that happen? He swore he only glanced down and then-

  “-ake up! Hey, come on.” Red Robin was saying. He blinks. The other was standing over him, pulling him to his feet. Was Peter blacking out?

  He stumbled to his feet, accepting Red Robin’s help as they hurried for the edge of the roof. Red Robin secures his grappling hook to the edge of the roof and wraps an arm around Peter so they can rappel down. “Wow, you’re surprisingly light.” Red Robin said.

  The second they were on the ground, Peter pushed the other away. He looks around. Spoiler was nowhere to be seen, but Nightwing and the crowd were still there. The older vigilante runs over to Red Robin.

  “Are you ok?” He asked.

  “Yeah. My face’ll be bruised, but I’ll live.”

  Nightwing turned towards Peter. “You did amazing! Held your own against The Joker, took out most of his guys, saved half the city. Impressive shit.” He said.

  “Yeah, uh… I-...”

  The world goes dark.

  Suddenly, he’s on his back and the two vigilantes are by his side, faces filled with concern. “-’s bleeding a lot. That collarbone is definitely broken. He needs medical attention right now-”

  “No!” Peter said, sitting up. “No doctors, no- I-I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine, and I’m not in the business of letting people wander off to go bleed to death in an alleyway,” Nightwing said.

  If he went to a hospital, they’d take off his mask, they’d take his blood; he’d be revealed as Peter Parker and meta in one fell swoop. He grunts in effort as he stands up. His whole body ached from exhaustion, he’d pushed himself way too hard today, and the pain from his collarbones was worse than any other bone he’d ever broken. Blood was leaking down his arm, down his chest, the pain was causing him to periodically pass out, and yet he knew he couldn’t accept their help.

  “I have someone else who can help patch me up.”

  Red Robin and Nightwing glance at each other. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Nightwing stood up and set a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done a lot of good work. Go get fixed up and then take a break. Seriously. If I hear you’re out patrolling before the end of next week, I’ll force you to.”

  Peter huffed a laugh. “Sure thing.” He grimaces, clutching his collarbone. “Good luck with the cleanup.”

  “We got it covered.”

  He stumbled away, blinking hard as darkness crept into the corners of his vision. His shoulder felt like it was asleep, numb and buzzing, but if it moved even slightly, it felt like he was being stabbed. Sharp, penetrating pain wracked his body every time. As if the bone was being broken and mended and broken again.

  Peter collapsed against the wall not too far away. His eyes roll for a second. Then, he pushed himself up with a noise that was a cross between a scream and a grunt. His legs were on fire.

  Reaching into his pocket, he fished around for his phone. He scrambled to pull up the contact and hit the call button. Blood dropped onto the screen. Raising the phone to his ear made him wince.

  “Now’s not the time, Spider.” Red Hood said as he answered. “I don’t know if you noticed, but half the city is on fire.”

  “I know, I’ve been working since the explosion happened,” Peter said. “Listen, I uh, I need medical help.” He grunts in pain. “Joker and his lackeys got a few lucky shots on me.”

  “Shit…” The older man muttered. “Where are you?”

  “Still near Somerset Food Bank. Alleyway. Um…” Peter looked around for anything more specific to tell Red Hood. But as soon as he turned, a scream of pain was wrenched from his mouth.

  His world went dark. When he opened his eyes again, he was on his face. He felt like he was on fire.

  “You there?” Red Hood calls. “Spider, I need more details than that.”

  “Shot twice,” Peter said. He lifts his head to look around. “I’m- I’m in the alley by Tyler’s Stake House.”

  “Got it. Don’t move. Keep pressure on the wound and don’t get fucked up anymore until I get there. Think you can manage that?”

  “I can try.” Peter croaked.

  “I’ll be there in three.”

  “Mkay. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Peter hung up. He turned, very slowly, onto his back, then just lay there waiting. He was getting woozy and sleep was taking over. So much of his energy had been spent so quickly that it was taking a serious toll.

  Slowly, his eyes closed. As he lay there, bones shattered and bleeding, he had a thought he’d later regret. It was born of frustration with himself and exhaustion and blood loss, but just for a moment, he wished he’d just stayed inside tonight.

-

  “The guy is crazy. In a good way.” Dick clarified.

  “Saves fifty-six people, takes down most of The Joker’s gang, then refuses help and stumbles off.” Tim recounts. “And since no one has reported a dead man in a spider costume, I assume he lived.”

  “Yet,” Damian said. “No one has found him dead yet.”

  Duke was asleep on a bench. He wasn’t used to being up so late and he (like all the other vigilantes) had a long night. Everyone else though, was debriefing. Steph had been patched up and brought home to recover here. Technically, she shouldn’t be up and about right now, but everyone was too exhausted to argue with her.

  “He saved my ass,” Steph said. She ignores Bruce mumbling ‘Language.’ “Caught me before I fell and then kept The Joker from running off until you guys got there. We gotta get him on the team.”

  “We still don’t know anything about Spider-Man,” Damian said. “He’s a wild card.”

  “Not really, it seems pretty cut and dry,” Dick said. “Everything he’s done since showing up has been for the good of the people. Stopping robberies, mugging, hell, even murders. He hasn’t done anything I’d consider ‘wild card’ behavior.”

  “Except taking on The Joker alone.” Damian fired back.

  “Well, he didn’t have much of a choice. He couldn’t call it in or anything because he isn’t connected to our systems.” Dick says. “His two options were to either act and save Steph, or walk away and let gravity do what it wants. He didn’t even hesitate to save her.”

  “The only way we’ll learn about him is by getting close to him,” Bruce said.

  Damian groans, rolling his eyes. “Not you too, Father.”

  He sets his hand on the youngest boy’s shoulder. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” He said.

  “Spider-Man isn’t the enemy.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

-

  Peter groaned, rolling over before a shock of pain forced him to freeze. It felt like his eyes were glued shut, he couldn’t get them to open. Wherever he was, he was on something soft. He could hear someone nearby, their heartbeat and breathing.

  “Where…” He croaked. A whine left his mouth.

  “Don’t talk. You need rest.”

  Red Hood.

  “I feel… ugh…”

  “You have a fever.” He said. “Patched you up as best as I could, but it doesn’t seem like the aspirin I gave you worked. Didn’t do shit for your temperature.”

  He forced his eyes to open. It was dark. Red Hood was in the armchair near him.

  “Need… Need higher doses. Fast metabolism. Burns through drugs really fast.”

  Red Hood hums. He stands, making his way into the darkness. Peter closes his eyes. When he opens them again, it’s because Hood’s presence was suddenly right next to him. He could feel the heat from the other’s body.

  He took the pills that were offered to him. This many would be near fatal for a normal person, but for him, it’d mellow out his fever for a few hours. It was only then that he realized the bottom half of his mask had been rolled up. Peter swallowed the pills and took the water when offered.

  “I heard what you did.” Red Hood said. He shifts around. Was he feeling awkward? It was very hard to tell under his mask. “Good job.”

  “Thank you. I wish I could’ve done more.”

  Hood scoffs. “Get to sleep.” He said. “If you get off this couch before breakfast tomorrow, I’ll break both of your legs.”

  “Comforting.”

  “A lullaby to help you sleep.” He deadpanned. Peter laughed. “Goodnight.”

  “Night, Hood.”

  He watched the other leave down a hall. Right when the other was about to enter a room at the end of it, Peter spoke up. “What if I need to go to the bathroom?”

  Red Hood flips him off and slams the door. Peter chuckled, falling back onto the couch. He shouldn’t feel so safe here, especially after Red Hood just threatened him. But he found his body relaxing involuntarily and sleep found him easily.

Chapter Text

  When Peter woke up on the couch, he felt worse than before. He groaned and rolled over, sorely regretting that he had to wake up. Overheated, yet freezing whenever a gust of wind blew over him, and just generally trashy.

  He must’ve fallen asleep again because the next thing he knew, he was waking up to clattering from the kitchen. Peter grunted in effort as he sat up, pulling the blanket over his shoulders. He was still in his suit, which now felt sticky and gross against his skin, and was sporting two massive holes over his wounds. Peter looked down, inspecting the bandages on his collarbones and arm. Red Hood wasn’t a doctor, but he seemed pretty good at bandaging bullet holes.

  Still wrapped in the blanket, he gets up and makes his way into the kitchen. Red Hood was out of costume except for his mask. It looked extremely strange. He was wearing a rock band t-shirt, loose sweats, and his vigilante mask. But then, Peter realized he probably looked strange as well. He was in full costume, hunched over, bundled up in a throw blanket, standing in an unfamiliar kitchen.

  “Morning.” Red Hood said.

  “Morning. I feel terrible.”

  “Yeah, I imagine. You had a fever of 105 last time I checked.”

  “Damn.”

  He walked over to the kitchen island and sat on the barstool. Getting a fever was pretty rare for him, his immune system had gotten a boost after the bite. He could hang out with a sick person all day and not catch it unless they shared drinks or something. But he really pushed himself yesterday, interacted with tons of people, spent shit tons of time in burning buildings, and then got shot twice. Plus, his meals had been inconsistent since he'd come here, and he’d been sleeping terribly for the past week or two. Getting sick was probably inevitable.

  “I’m going out today to check on damage control.” Red Hood said. “You should probably take a shower and change into something more comfortable.”

  “Yeah, uh… I have a change of clothes in my backpack. If it wouldn’t be too annoying, could you grab it for me? I left it in an alleyway near Leslie Thompkins Clinic.” He had gone there to check on Daisy before patrol. But she wasn’t there. He asked a nurse, who said that Daisy had been transferred to a nicer hospital closer to home.

  “Sure.” Red Hood said. He moves a pan off the stove, then goes to grab two plates from the cabinet. “I’ve been meaning to ask why you called me instead of going to a hospital or something. There were paramedics at the food bank who could’ve helped.”

  “Because if they took my blood, they’d find out that I’m meta.”

  “I think it’s pretty obvious, Kid. Not to rain on your parade, but most people don’t walk off two bullet wounds like-”

  “No. ME. They’d find out that I am a meta. Not Spider-Man.”

  “Oh. Uh, Kid, I don’t think the paramedics would be chomping at the bit to reveal the identity of a thirteen-year-old to the world.”

  “First of all, I’m NOT thirteen. Secondly, you don’t know that. It’s better safe than sorry.” He said. Red Hood doesn’t respond. He sets a plate of food in front of food in front of Peter. “You use a lot of expressions and metaphors and stuff.”

  Red Hood snorts a laugh. “Thanks? I guess.”

  “I’ve never heard that one before. ‘Chomping at the bit’.”

  “Means, like, excited or overzealous.”

  “Yeah, I got that.” Peter rolled his mask up to take a bite of his food. “I’m gonna use that from now on.”

  “Go for it.”

  They fell into companionable silence as they ate breakfast. For a while, Red Hood would pull up his mask to put food in his mouth, then pull it down while he chewed. But after a while, he huffed in frustration and just took it off. Peter froze. The hash brown chunk he had skewered falls onto the plate.

  “Whoa!” He says when he comes back to his senses. He drops his fork and throws his hands over his eyes. “Did you mean to do that? I-I can pretend I never saw-”

  “Kid, it’s ok. I trust you’re not dumb enough to run to the press now that you know my face.” He said. Slowly, Peter dropped his hands. “My name is Jason Todd.”

  “Um… Hi.” He said awkwardly. “Uh… I can’t-... I don’t know if I feel comfortable-”

  “You don’t have to take your mask off.”

  “I just feel bad now…”

  “Don’t. Seriously.”

  Peter nods slowly. They continue eating. Peter gets seconds and then thirds, eating until he feels satisfied. His healing factor is working double time to heal his injuries and fight his fever, so he needed to fuel it. If he really loaded up calories, he might feel well enough to go to-

  He sits bolt upright with a gasp. Jason jumps. “What day is it?” He asks desperately.

  “Uh, November 1st. Thursday.”

  “Shit! I have school today. What time is it?”

  “Nine in the morning.”

  “Oh frick, I’m late for school.”