Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue: 

14 years ago

Dusk was settling early upon the streets of Gotham, the ever-present smog and stench of the city magnified by the hot early summer weather. As the sun dipped below the skyline and the shadows lengthened upon Crime Alley, a figure wrapped in a simple coat whose visage was hidden by a hood made their way down the infamous street. The person carried a bundle in their arms; fear was evident upon their form as they glanced fretfully at every shadow, wary of all they may contain.

It didn’t take very long for the figure to make its way toward their destination, the Thomas Wayne Memorial free clinic. The figure glanced at the plaque adorning the wall before pulling their hood back, revealing the woman underneath. She looked down at the bundle in her arms, a soft, sad smile upon her lips as she rocked the infant she carried. The baby was soundly asleep. Afraid of waking him up, the woman spoke softly, her raven hair gently tickling the baby’s nose.

“I’m sorry, little one, I wish there were another way. One day, if I can, I will find you, I promise.” She whispered, her last words catching in her throat with the grief of their upcoming separation.

She took a deep breath and looked around, making sure she was unobserved as she approached the door of the clinic. She laid the baby down on the steps leading to the entrance, and then, after straightening up, she knocked on the old wooden door.

She did not wait and turned around, quickly vanishing down the streets and darkened alleyways.

Less than a minute later, the door was opened by a woman in a doctor’s coat, her hair greying prematurely from stress. She looked on either side of the entrance, a frown marring her features, trying to catch a glimpse of who may have knocked on her door.
An annoyed snort escaped her nose as she shook her head. “Damn kids,” she muttered aloud, preparing to close the door when a sound attracted her gaze downward.
Her pupils widened in surprise as she spotted the infant wrapped in a red blanket.
She bent down quickly and carefully picked up the baby. “What the–” she muttered as she looked at the child.

oOo

Half an hour later, doctor Leslie Thompkins sighed as she finished giving the infant child a checkup. She still couldn’t believe that anyone would be foolish enough to abandon a baby here, of all places.
Of all the wretched places in Gotham, none were worse than Crime Alley, a place mostly abandoned even by the bats.
Leslie knew what she had to do. Over the years, she had cared for a few orphaned children, including, for a time, the famous Bruce Wayne. She knew she would have to contact the Child Protective Services, even if CPS was, much like any other institution in Gotham, riddled with corruption.

The infant had been left at her doorstep without even a note. As such it was now her responsibility to choose a name for the child, which she would then remand in the care of CPS.
Minutes dragged on as she thought quietly while rocking the sleeping baby in her arms. By tradition, foundlings were to be named after the place where they were found, and she snorted in amusement at the idea of calling the child Thomas Wayne.

“Hmm,” she hummed as she glanced at a calendar. June 29th. “Yes, that might work, let’s see. Peter Thomas Row.” She shook her head. “No, that’s not quite right.”
She smiled down at the infant, a soft, sad smile. She hoped it would not be an omen of bad luck to call the child after Crime Alley, officially Park Row.

“Not Row… Park, let’s go with... Park, no Parker. Peter Parker.”

oOo

Present day:

Peter looked up at the sky as the first snowflakes of the year softly fell, dancing in the wind. He let out a sigh and wrapped the old ratty grey coat that he wore over a purple hoodie and simple jeans. He started walking, heading toward an alley in Old Gotham with a pronounced limp, courtesy of a beating he got years ago that had broken his right knee. His hands were buried in the pockets of his coat to try and stave off the cold.

Slowly, he made his way to a simple nook in a wall behind a dumpster at the dead end of the alley. It was hidden from view and too small for the adult homeless population to contest. 
Peter suspected the nook was the result of an explosion, a sadly all too frequent occurrence in this city. Regardless, the wall had been damaged, but not so much that it compromised the structure of the building. It simply offered a small amount of protection from the elements, with the dumpster hiding it from view. Accessing the nook was difficult, requiring him to slide between the small space between the wall and the rusted metal edge of the dumpster a feat the teen could barely accomplish due to his small size, courtesy of years of malnourishment

His hidey-hole was extremely claustrophobic, with barely enough space for him to sit. He had arranged the place as best he could, laying down some rags and old newspapers on the ground to get at least a little insulation from the cold. He’d also scrounged an old thermal blanket with a few tears through it that would help to keep him warm at night.

Today had not been a good day for Peter. He’d looked around town to try and pick up what little cash he could find and rummaged through trash unsuccessfully for half-spoiled food. All in all, he had barely managed to scrounge up a couple dollars.
His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten his fill in weeks. Peter felt weak and tired. Perhaps someone else in his situation would have sought out one of the many homeless shelters that dotted the city, but Peter knew that if he ever made his way to one of those places he would be picked up by CPS again. This would be an absolute last resort for him.

He gently massaged his knee, trying to work out the pain of the poorly healed break he had gotten at one of the many foster homes he had bounced around in. While the beating his foster parents at the time had given him had resulted in the disability, it was hardly an unusual occurrence; regardless of where he ended up, Peter always seemed to end up beaten for one reason or another.

It wasn’t like he was a problem child. He always tried to stick to the rules he was given by whatever family he ended up being dumped on by CPS. He tried to be a good kid, to stay away from trouble, to keep quiet and out of the way. But he was different from other kids, different enough that he inevitably attracted more than his fair share of violence.

He’d been called special needs, autistic. He didn’t really understand social cues and felt uncomfortable talking or even looking people in the eyes. As a result, he came across as rude to most people and ended up being beaten.

Peter gently started rocking back and forth, both in an effort to stay warm and to soothe his own frayed nerves. The repetitive motion helped a little.
He knew that he had few alternatives to CPS. Plenty of kids in a similar situation ended up joining a gang, or even the Robin Army that had started making noise again, but no gangs or wannabe vigilantes would ever accept a kid like him into their ranks. Lame, quiet, acting strange. No, Peter was pretty much forced to go at it completely alone.

As night fell, Peter wrapped himself in his thermal blanket, using his arm as a pillow. Maybe tomorrow his luck would turn and he would find some food, he told himself. He held back the tears that always seemed to threaten to burst out of him once he was forced to stop and was left alone with his thoughts.

Maybe with the arrival of winter, Peter's troubles would be over. Freezing to death in his sleep didn’t seem like such a bad way to go, really. He hated that a part of him wished for this to happen. He didn’t want to die, not really, but he wanted to escape from his horrible situation, and what escape was more final than death?

Chapter 1: A day in the life

Peter woke up shivering. Despite the thermal blanket he had wrapped himself in, the biting cold of Gotham’s winter had driven all the heat away from him.
It took several moments for the teen to gather the will necessary to get up and fold his blanket, putting it back into the backpack he carried with him.

While the nook he had arranged for himself was hidden from view, experience had taught Peter that it would be foolish to leave any of his actual possessions behind.

As he stepped from behind the dumpster, he noticed the snow on the ground. He let out a heavy sigh and slowly shook his head, this day was already shaping up to be a potential disaster. The trudge through the snow would slow him down, and the cold would make it difficult to rummage through the garbage for food or things he might find useful.
Nevertheless, he had little choice and started his usual routine.

oOo

Peter’s first stop on his journey was to Gotham’s cathedral where the Martha Wayne Kitchen for the Disenfranchised set up every day to distribute free breakfast for the homeless and the struggling population of Gotham.

Peter was vaguely aware that the operation had gathered some criticism from the richer and more pompous section of the population who would rather not see the throng of dirty, unwashed destitutes gather around such a prestigious part of town.
They would have been much happier to relegate the homeless population uptown entirely, and in large part they had succeeded in their efforts. However, Peter as well as a few dozen others regularly made their way or lived in the rest of Gotham. 

Gotham’s geography was relatively complex, composed of three main islands as well as a few smaller islands dotted around it, all joined by a network of bridges and tunnels. The northern island, uptown, housed the vast majority of the poor population of Gotham, and was home to the most crime ridden districts such as Crime Alley and the Bowery.

The central island, midtown, represented a gradual shift toward more wealth, with middle class families mixing with more affluent citizens. The southern island, downtown, was a rather stark mix of extreme wealth and abject poverty. Close to the center island were several high end companies, luxury boutiques as well as city hall and G.C.P.D headquarters.

Toward the southern tip of downtown Gotham however sat Old Gotham. The oldest part of the city, and one whose character was defined by overly gothic architecture. That part of town was also home to a small homeless population who found it easy to lose themselves among the maze of old streets and alleys.

All in all, it wasn’t the worst possible location for Peter to have chosen. He was homeless, yes, but proximity to wealth and G.C.P.D headquarters allowed some degree of safety, away from the gangs that regularly haunted the rest of Gotham.

Peter joined the crowd of the homeless, trying to avoid attracting attention. While he was relatively safe for the moment since no one wanted to fight and disrupt the meal, that didn’t mean he couldn’t attract undue attention from the Kitchen’ staff.

People volunteering at the Kitchen were far less likely to report Peter to CPS than homeless shelters would be, but their kind and helpful nature would still try to take care of such a young teenager. Peter found their attention cloying and did his level best to interact with them as little as possible. Years of abuse and violence, as well as his own nature, had ensured that Peter shied away from other people as much as possible.

“Hey Peter !” glancing up, the young teenager spotted a small group of people he was somewhat acquainted with and made his slow limping way toward them. While he was, by choice, a loner, that didn’t mean that Peter didn’t recognize the value of sticking with a group when necessary. And eating with others would slightly decrease the odds of him being singled out.

Marcus had been the one to shout and wave at Peter to attract his attention. He was an older white man. Peter guessed in his early fifties by the salt and pepper hair he sported but it was hard to judge under the layer of grime that made everyone appear older than they were. Sitting in front of him at the communal table were Kali and Miguel. Kali was a young woman of indian descent, a few years older than Peter, she never spoke a word and Peter was unsure if she was mute or simply closed off. However, Miguel talked more than enough for the both of them. Mid thirties, the man was an immigrant, but Peter had never pried enough to know from where exactly. It didn’t matter to him.

Miguel was engaged in an animated conversation with Marcus “I’m telling you, more and more people are vanishing” he told the older man who simply sighed. “I know Miguel, but people disappear all the time in Gotham, there was a breakout at Arkham not long ago. I guess one of the rogues is responsible”.

Peter tuned out the conversation for a while and made his way to the food truck the kitchen used to distribute breakfast. Simple oatmeal and a fruit, apple today, on the edge of being fresh. Peter wouldn’t complain about the food, it was better fare than he could generally scrounge up on his own and was the only reliable meal he got most days.

Making his way back to the group he sat down and mechanically started eating. Marcus turned toward him and leaned closer, yet careful not to touch the teen. “Peter,” he started speaking, “you heard ? You have to be careful. People have gone missing, so make sure you pay attention”.
Peter nodded but said nothing. What else was new in Gotham ? People always went missing or got arrested, or sent to the hospital or morgue by one of the gangs. Sometimes even the bats would join in and beat a poor schmuck who got desperate enough to resort to crime.

oOo

Once his meal was finished, Peter made his way further north toward the diamond district. It was a risk, to be seen so close to wealth, but that was also where the best trash could be found.
Restaurant and high end shops would dump some food or clothes once in a while, and because of the wealth and number of cops patrolling, it was harder for the homeless to get at said trash and food. If you knew what you were doing you could potentially get enough to last you a while. But if you were unlucky, you’d be picked up by corrupt cops who’d steal from you, beat you up, and drag you to jail or dump you somewhere uptown where you belonged (according to them at least).

Peter however was both desperate enough to take the chance, and relatively confident in not being spotted. His small frame allowed him to hide more easily and his relatively clean coat, while ratty, would not attract too much attention.

And so, for a few hours, Peter rummaged through trash. He found some day-old food he carefully wrapped in a plastic bag for later, and even a new pair of shoes.
The sneakers were a bit on the ostentatious side, with neon green soles, but they were of such good quality that he didn’t hesitate to swap. He had no doubt the soles would soon be all but hidden, covered in grime and mud anyway.

In a stroke of luck, the teenager found a 5 dollar bill crumpled on the ground as he exited the alley after packaging the food he’d found. His reddened fingers closed around the bill tightly and he quickly stepped away from the oncoming foot traffic to contemplate what he would do with this money.

oOo

Peter made his way toward a corner store back in Old Gotham where he would be less likely to be chased away on sight. Upon entering the cashier looked up at him from behind a bulletproof glass enclosure. The bored and sleepy looking woman had one of her hands under the counter. Peter wasn’t sure whether it was because she had her finger upon a silent alarm button, or a gun. In Gotham there was quite a good chance of either, or even both, being true.

Shoulder hunched, Peter quickly moved down the aisles toward his target. He was careful to keep his eyes from wandering to the various candy and snacks, he simply couldn’t indulge himself. Instead he quickly grabbed something that was utterly essential in Gotham, a plastic bottle of water.

The reason this was an essential item was that it ensured he had at least 2 liters of clean fresh water. It wasn’t too hard to find a working faucet in any number of abandoned buildings, but no Gothamites would willingly drink water from the city water system unless they had no other choices. Too many instances of the rogues poisoning the water with fear toxin, joker venom or other assorted nastiness for anyone to take the chance.

Of course, being homeless Peter had far too often had to drink from a faucet anyway. So far he’d been lucky but because of the risk he always tried to drink as little as possible, leaving him chronically dehydrated.

Peter approached the counter, making sure to keep his hands visible. The cashier looked him over and relaxed upon seeing him holding nothing but the water bottle and a fiver. Before long, Peter’s purchase was rung out and he exited the corner shop, quickly stashing the bottle into his backpack.

And so, with purchase made, he made his back toward his nook with a little pep in his step. This had been a good day, if arduous because of the light layer of snow on the ground. He’d even found an old pair of headphones he could use to muffle the sound of the city. The cars, the all too frequent sound of gunshots, even the occasional scream for help. The noise level could easily be overwhelming for him so he was quite glad to have found the headphones. Although not as glad as he was to have been able to buy a water bottle.

Perhaps because of the headphones, or perhaps because the good day had made him lower his vigilance, Peter didn’t realize that a van had been following him down a narrow street as the sun set. Before he could realize what was happening, he’d been grabbed and a black bag had been tossed over his head before the shock of a powerful taser made him pass out.

Chapter Text

Peter came to with a deep groan. Pain flaring up throughout his body, muscles sores from the forced tension of the shock from the taser.
The young teenager was quite confused as to where he was or what happened, his mind fogged with weakness and the unexpected situation.

As he slowly looked around, trying to figure out what was going on, snippets of a conversation drifted toward him. He could see that he was in some sort of cave bathed in a rather unsettling green glow.

“Experiment number 56 continues to prove that members of the subphylum Chelicerata remain the most viable subjects, suffering little to no ill effects compared to mammals.”

The voice was cold, clinical. Peter rocked back and forth as he listened. There was no response, either the person was on the phone or talking to themselves. The stress of the situation had Peter almost shut down with a panic attack but he endured. Slowly he remembered what happened. He’d been kidnapped, snatched right off the street.

Peter couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to kidnap him. It couldn’t be for ransom as he was a homeless nobody. He vaguely remembered Marcus and Miguel arguing about this back at the cathedral, but he hadn’t really been paying attention.

“While mammals have proven remarkably violent upon exposure to the substance, it remains to be seen if it will have the same effect upon a higher organism.” The voice continued to speak and Peter wasn’t exactly pleased with where it was going with this. “Experimentation upon a human subject will provide more data.” And there it was, Peter groaned and figured out that was why he was taken. No one was going to look for a homeless kid. Perfect test subject. Completely expandable.

His worst fear confirmed, Peter stood up and tried to sneak off but as took a step he realized that a chain was wrapped around his ankle. He wasn’t tied up in any other way but that simple method was quite enough. He knew some people might be able to just pop open the padlock that secured the chains around his ankle like it was nothing, but lockpicking was never an interest of Peter.

He sat back down and tugged at the chain, finding it had no give whatsoever around his ankle. Short of chopping his entire foot off he wasn't going to be able to get it off. So that left his entire hope resting on the chance that the other end of the chain wasn’t as secure.

He followed the chain links with his eyes as they trail into the shadows. While the cavern, or perhaps basement, was bathed by a sickening emerald glow, it wasn't providing much actual illumination all the way back here. The source of the light was in the same direction the voice was coming from.

Peter started crawling, following the length of the chain. As he moved he became aware that he no longer had his backpack. He cursed silently in his mind. That backpack held his food, water and blanket. Without it, his life on the street was going to be so much harder. It was almost enough to paralyze him with anxiety, his thoughts circling around the far off problem rather than focusing on his current predicament. He shook his head violently, chastising himself. If he can’t get out of here, his backpack wouldn’t matter at all.

Soon he arrived at the other end of the chain, seeing it attached to a piton stuck into a rocky wall. The wall looked natural and glistened slightly with moisture. Peter was pretty sure that confirmed the idea that he was in a cavern right now.

He wrapped his fingers around the chain, close to the piton and started tugging, even putting his leg against the wall for added leverage. It did him no good, as the piton remained firmly stuck in place. Panic and despair crept up on him as he heard the voice coming closer.

“Subject 1, male, caucasian. Aged 10 to 15. Outside personnel noted a pronounced limp. Prior injury will allow observation of the effect of the substance on long term damage.”

Peter tugged harder, as hard as he possibly could, a quiet sob escaping him as he heard footsteps coming closer and closer. He glanced over his shoulder in fear and saw three people approaching him. The person in the center of the group was an older man, bald, his jaw highlighted by a short beard. Peter couldn’t see the man’s eyes, hidden as they were behind round tinted lenses. The other two men’s appearance all but screamed hired goons. Generic but no less dangerous, and while Peter was scared of the man in the middle, it’s the other two that sent him in a near panic. He’d dealt with their kind before, men who wouldn’t hesitate to beat up even a homeless kid for fun.

With a simple gesture from the man in the middle, the goons approached Peter, one of them grabbing him by the shoulders while the other bent down to unlock the chains around Peter’s ankle.

As soon as he felt hands on him, the young teenager went completely berserk. “Don’t touch me !” he screamed in a panic, thrashing and kicking like a wild animal. Despite his best efforts he was soon restrained by the two men. At one point he managed to land a lucky kick to the face of goon number 2 and earned himself a backhand slap to the face as a reward.

He still fought as they carried him, following the bald man. He didn’t feel the pain of his split lip and bruised cheek. He wasn’t really in control of himself at this point, his mind subsumed by the fear and panic from remembering other times people have grabbed him and beaten him up.

The bald man was pleased by Peter’s reaction, but the young teenager was too busy writhing and screaming to listen to his words.
The men brought Peter to a small laboratory, set up right inside the cave. Against one of the walls were a number of cages and vivariums containing an array of creatures. All of them were throwing themselves at the transparent walls and bars, eyes glowing a vibrant green and gaze filled with a mad bloodlust.
Beyond the cages was a pool of a viscous bubbling green liquid. And there was a human sized cage waiting at the edge of it, connected to the ceiling of the cave by a rope attached to a pulley leading back to a wheel and axle. The contraption was evidently made to allow whatever was put inside the cage to be lowered into the pool of green liquid.

Soon Peter was tossed into the cage and the door was locked. He curled up on the floor rocking himself back and forth shaking his head as he muttered “Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.” over and over again.

The bald man approached the cage and peered with interest at the young teenager before taking out a dictaphone. “Fascinating, it seems the patient exhibits symptoms of acute PTSD relating to being touched. A fortuitous event as it will allow me to test my hypothesis that the substance may be able to heal both physical and mental trauma.” There was a small click as the dictaphone was shut off that dragged Peter back to the present once the man finished speaking.

The man turned around and addressed his henchmen “Raise the cage” he ordered them and one of the men walked toward the wheel and axle next to the cage. He spat on his hands and grabbed the handle on the wheel and with a grunt of effort started turning it. As he did the cage Peter was in slowly but surely lifted up from the ground while edging closer to the pool of bubbling liquid.

Peter stood up in a hurry, grabbing the bars of the cage, letting out a small whimper as some of the bubbling liquid splashed against his shoes. He was convinced that he was going to be boiled alive when they let the cage drop into the liquid. “Please, please, don’t please I’ll do anything you want, please just let me go” he pleaded, his hand pulled between the bars, reaching for the bald man who simply observed silently.

Then there was a soft grunt and Peter let out a little squawk of panic as the cage jolted for a moment. He looked at the man responsible for raising and lowering the cage and saw him slowly slump forward, a knife buried into his back.

Peter wasn’t the only one surprised by what was happening, as the bald man turned around and frowned. Soon his other henchman let out a scream, a blade piercing through his chest from the back. Then two honest to goodness female ninjas stepped into view.

Peter’s pretty sure these ninja weren’t there to help him. They weren’t bearing the symbol of the bats, and they didn’t look like any of the Robins he’d heard about.

“The Demon’s head will not tolerate your sacrilege any longer” one of the ninja proclaimed, pointing a katana at the bald man.

“Ra’s al Ghul desires are none of my concern” the man replied, reaching up to take off his glasses with one hand, a handkerchief in the other to wipe them clean before putting them back on his face. “The pits are far too fascinating to be left to him alone.”

“Your blasphemy has earned you a death sentence.” the lead ninja all but growled, voice thick with outrage.

“Good thing I was prepared for this eventuality.” The bald man smirked and half a dozen gunmen stepped into the cavern, quickly surrounding the ninjas. “It was either going to be you, or the Batman. So I prepared some contingencies.”

The ninjas seemed supremely unconcerned by being surrounded by a group of men armed with guns. The lead ninja scoffed “Your foolishness knows no bounds. We didn’t come alone either” she exclaimed, voice dripping with disdain.

That is when chaos erupted, as smoke quickly filled the cavern when the ninja tossed something against the floor. Peter peered down, hearing screams and gunshot that briefly flashed through the thick smoke. Then, in a stroke of pure luck, a bullet strikes the padlock of the cage he’s stuck in, shattering in on impact.

Peter shrieked in surprise and stumbled backward, his movement rocking the cage and allowing the door to swing open on its own. He glanced at the open doorway and gathered his courage. Even though he was presently dangling 10 feet above a boiling pool of the most toxic liquid he’d ever seen in his life, Peter knew that this was his only chance to escape.

And so Peter made his way to the open door and peered down, the battle in the smoke still raged from what he could hear. He gulped loudly and giving it his all, he jumped out of the cage.
As he did, the cage swung backward, negating much of the impulse he’d imparted to himself with his jump, and for a long, terrifying moment Peter was sure he’d end up falling directly into the pit below.

The cage, however, had been quite heavy compared to his own weight, and he managed to barely clear the edge of the pool, landing flat on his face with a quiet humph as all the air was driven out of his lungs. He stayed there for a moment, trying to catch his breath, all the while acutely aware that the battle seemed to come to a close.

Then he heard a loud crash from the direction where the vivariums and cages stood. This shocked Peter back into action, and still wheezing from his fall he crawled and then scrambled through the smoke.

Luck seems to remain on his side as while he can see many pairs of legs, the modern jeans, slacks and shoes of the thugs a sharp contrast to the greyish blue pants and wrapped feet of the group of ninjas, he managed to remain undetected by either group.

As he scrambled on all four, Peter’s hand landed on something small and hard before a sharp pain radiated from the palm of his hand. Drawing his hand back, closer to his face, he saw a spider, fangs sunk into his flesh, crushed dead under his weight. If he didn’t know any better he’d think it was a black widow. The distinctive hourglass pattern on its back clearly visible. The symbol isn’t the bright red of that species however, but a toxic green that reminds him of the pit.

Peter quickly shook his hand, flinging the dead spider away. He’d have to worry about being poisoned later, for now he had to focus on escaping.

Tears streaming down his face and leaving trails on the grim that marred his face, Peter moved as quickly as he could. And once he cleared the smoke he stood up and ran.
He didn’t know where he was going and he couldn’t help but fear that he would run into a dead end. Instead he came upon a brick wall with a hole smashed through it.

The young teenager ran through the hole in the wall, emerging into Gotham sewer system. And while the water down there is quite toxic all on its own, it’s a relief for the boy to get away from the unnatural glow of the cavern he just left. The foul smell of the sewers was a sharp contrast to the acidic scent of the pit and Peter didn’t hesitate to scurry along the stone walkway lining the side of the sewer.

Peter kept running for what felt like ages, taking every twist and turns he could to confuse and escape from any potential pursuers. After a while his steps slowed down and he was forced to stop. Bending over to catch his breath, a hand pressed against the wall for support, Peter took great gulps of air. This however proved to be a mistake, as the sickeningly sweet stench of the sewer that he hadn’t registered until now hit him full force. 

It was all Peter could do to avoid throwing up, his stomach heaving in protest. Once he managed to get himself back under control he realized the gravity of his current situation. Once more the words of Marcus rang through his head. A breakout at Arkham. And here was Peter in the sewers. Was Killer Croc amongst the escapees ? The cannibal meta was known to haunt the sewer system whenever he was on the loose.

Peter’s head started spinning, whether from the fumes down there or from the spider’s bite he didn’t know. All he knew was that staying down in the sewers would be a terrible idea. And so Peter started walking again, his leg hurting badly after his forced sprint that aggravated the old injury to his knee. 

For several tense minutes the boy dared not breathe too loudly, lest he attract the wrong kind of attention. It was therefore a great relief when he spied the rung of a ladder leading up to a manhole cover. Now all Peter had to do was climb, manage to find enough strength to lift a manhole cover and pray he didn’t emerge in the middle of Gotham’s traffic. It would be just his luck to escape from a kidnapping attempt, a potential gruesome death being boiled alive, a melee between thugs and ninjas, and a cannibal meta, just to get run over.

Chapter Text

In the end Peter managed to climb out of the sewers without any issues. The manhole cover had been surprisingly light and the young man had emerged not in the middle of traffic but at the end of an alley.

Once he was out of the sewer for good Peter allowed himself to take a deep breath of fresh Gotham air, for a certain definition of fresh anyway. The winter time did wonders to mute the ever present stench of Gotham, the smell of blood, trash, and pollution that perpetually hung over the city. 

Peter limped his way out of the alley, noting that night had fallen. The boy had no idea how long he had been down there but a grumble from his stomach informed him that it must have been at least a few hours.

He rubbed his hands against his arms, breath misting in the cold Gotham air. The purple hoodie he wore did little to ward off the cold. He had lost more than just his backpack in the adventure he’d had, he’d also been stripped of his coat. Without the ratty old thing, and without the thermal blanket that would help protect him from the elements, Peter was in a very bad situation.

He also wasn’t entirely sure in which part of town he’d ended up in. Although, judging by the general state of disrepair, busted window, abundance of graffitis, and countless other signs, Peter had the sneaking suspicion that he’d ended up uptown.

This suspicion was soon confirmed when he came across a sign, one that left him shivering with more than cold.

Park Row  Crime Alley

Peter looked at the sign, the text barred through and the more infamous name spray painted on it.

“Fudge,” he whispered. Peter didn’t swear. He made that mistake one day when he was 6 years old and received a beating for it that left two of his ribs broken and one of his eyes swollen shut for a week. Peter had somehow ended up all the way into the worst possible part of town. Crime Alley deserved its name. A place so riddled with crime, prostitution, and gang activities that even the bats dared not patrol the place.

To make matters worse, the palm of his hand was radiating with pain and heat where the spider had bitten him. And all his joints were aching. Peter was fairly sure that the spider bite had been far from innocuous, at the very least his wound looked inflamed. Possibly infected. It was entirely possible he was now poisoned.

Envenomed supplied the part of his brain that was a stickler for details.

He needed to find a place to shelter for the night, and pray he wouldn’t die in his sleep from the bite. Then tomorrow he would be able to rebuild his life, find more supplies and maybe make his way back toward Old Gotham.

Peter stood there indecisively, his vision beginning to sway. He shook his head and tried to gather his thoughts. Crime Alley, he could work with that. It was the worst part of town, but paradoxically, that might help. Plenty of abandoned buildings. Doubtlessly most of the good places would be full of squatters already but Peter didn’t need a great place, he just needed some hole to crawl into and wait out the night.

Peter walked down the street he was on, looking around for a likely place to hide out. After several minutes he hadn’t had much luck. Worse, his core temperature was rapidly dropping and he now shivered intensely. His teeth chattering completely out of his control. He knew that he wouldn’t last all that much longer as he was, and quiet despair started taking hold of his mind.

After making his way down an alley he stopped and fell down to his knees. His head bowed, he tried to gather the strength to stand back up but his body was soon wracked with a desperate laugh.

All this, all of his shitty life, the beatings, the escape from the cavern and sewers. All of that and here he was, on the verge of freezing to death.

Or maybe not.

“You sure about this ? He’s just a kid”

“Who cares, he’s got nice shoes, let’s just whack him real quick and we’ll get out of here, easy peasy.”

Peter glanced up and saw two men approaching him from the other end of the alley. Of course they were there to mug him, why wouldn’t his life be even worse in his final moments ? Instead of a relatively peaceful death freezing, he’d get beaten up and then be left to either freeze to death, or more likely bleed out by the look of the knife one of the men held.

Peter held his hands up in surrender. “Please, just…take what you want but don’t hurt me” he pleaded. By the vicious glint in the eyes of the man with the knife, Peter knew he wouldn’t get out of this unscathed. He had no idea why, but this man was out to not simply rob him but also hurt him.

The man reached out and grabbed him, at which point Peter went berserk again. He couldn’t help it. His aversion to being touched ran too deep for him to do anything else, even if it meant getting himself in danger. “Don’t touch me !,“ he screamed at the top of his lungs. He swung with a savagery born out of sheer panic and his fist impacted into the face of the knife holding bastard.

It should have been nothing, a mere tap considering it came from a malnourished skinny kid. And yet the man let out a yelp of pain while Peter felt a crunching sensation under his fist. Had he broken his fingers while punching out ? It would be just his luck if that happened.

The man backed off, letting go of Peter, his hand going up to hold his nose, a copious amount of blood pouring out of it. “You fucker…you broke my nose.” the man mumbled before motioning to his friend. “Grab him!”

The other guy circled behind Peter and quickly grabbed him, strong arm encircling the teen and pinning his arms to his side. Peter trashed and kicked like a wild animal, but he was too securely held to escape.

Bloody nose guy grinned viciously and his knife flashed. Peter gasped and looked down, going rigid as he saw the knife sticking in his guts. He didn’t feel pain, not immediately, but shock overwhelmed him.

Bloody nose pulled the knife out and Peter saw blood stain his hoodie, slowly spreading in a strangely beautiful crimson flower over the faded purple. So that was it then, he was going to die like this, bleeding out in an alley. All because he’d found new shoes. Shoes that despite his trek through the sewer had somehow managed to look nice enough to attract the wrong sort of attention.

“That’s what ye get!” bloody nose exclaimed and went to stab Peter again. Before he could do so, something snapped in the teenager. With a burst of strength he didn’t know himself capable of, he freed his arms from the man who had held him. Peter’s fist once more flew into the face of bloody nose, sending the assailant careening back and crashing to the ground.

Before the other man could react, the teenager whirled about, the side of his closed fist impacting heavily into the man’s ribs with an audible snap. 

Peter was left standing alone, panting heavily while his two assailants were on the cold ground, moaning in pain. He reached down with a trembling hand, placing his fingers against the stab wound he just received. His fingers came away coated in blood.

Peter stumbled away, limping down the alley. He knew he didn’t have much time left but he’d heard in passing of a free clinic somewhere in this neighborhood. Maybe, just maybe, if he could make it there he might survive this. Each step he took sent a wave of pain radiating from his wound but strangely, the longer he walked the easier he found the pain to manage. But at the same time, his vision was fading. After one final step he stopped and looked down, realization dawning on his face. “Oh,” he said softly before promptly pitching over and collapsing on the ground.

oOo

Peter had a strange feeling that he was floating, limbs hanging limp while he drifted in and out of consciousness. Words, distorted by an electronic buzzing, floated to him any time his mind resurfaced from the abyss. The words seemed laced with urgency but he was too weak to even comprehend their meaning. 

Jason had been patrolling the streets of Crime Alley. He had recently been in conflict with the bats, the green tinged his vision just thinking about Bruce. And while things had calmed down recently he was not at all ready to be part of the family again. 

Some days he even idly considered resuming his revenge on Batman and getting rid of the replacement, but what stopped him was the rest of the family.

His older brother, Dick, whom he loved. Although he’d never admit it. Damian, his little brother that he had mentored while both of them were still under the thumb of the League of Assassins. Cass whose calm helped keep him grounded and Stephanie whose antics almost managed to crack the stoic loner façade he’d cultivated for himself. Things were far more tense with the replacement, Tim. He couldn’t begrudge him his rancor however, he did try to kill him a few months back. 

And how could he forget Babs ? Both of them had been victimized at the hands of the Joker. She understood him in ways the rest of them couldn’t and had always tried to reach out to him, even when the rest had given in to their own anger and fought with him. 

And Alfred, the man that could be considered his grandpa in a way. A steady presence who had not once questioned Jason’s place. Ready to welcome him with open arms despite all Jason had done.

He had little opinion on Duke so far. The newest member of the family had had precious little opportunity to really interact with Jason.

The family and just how much more aware of how the pit madness had influenced his actions, just how little actual control he’d had over himself, had helped bring him back from the edge.

It was still difficult to separate his legitimate anger at Bruce’s action, who kept putting more children into danger, and the pit madness that pushed him to outright murder. Not that Jason was at all adverse to killing, some people frankly deserved it in his opinion. But trying to murder the replacement was definitely a step too far.

Even now Jason couldn’t quite make sense of things. He couldn’t really figure out what he truly wanted. But he knew one thing for sure. Crime Alley was in dire need of protection.

Case in point.

Jason peered at the two men lying down on the ground, moaning in pain. One of the men, the one who held his sides and probably had broken ribs judging by his difficulty breathing without wincing in pain, spotted him. The man paled at the sight of Jason, wrapped in a black bodysuit with a red bat emblazoned on the chest, a brown leather jacket and his now infamous red helmet.

Jason took in the scene, the men on the ground, the bloody knife, the trail of blood. It didn’t take a trained detective to figure out a fight had happened here and someone had walked away bleeding, and limping given the trail left behind in the snow.

These two, they didn’t need his help. They were banged up for certain but they would live. The person who’d left behind the trail of blood however was a more dicey proposition. Jason squatted down and looked closely at the trail. The footsteps indicated a limp, and the distance between the steps meant the person bleeding was small. Around 5 feet tall. A woman maybe, or a kid.

Jason’s hand drifted to the gun he wore on his hip. He was sorely tempted to just put the two men out of their misery. If they had attacked a child they fully deserved it, or worse. But he wasn’t sure what happened here. He could waste time interrogating the men, but it was far more urgent to find the bleeding person.

So he straightened up and used the grappling hook he carried on his belt to swing to the rooftop where he would have an easier time spotting the person he was looking for.

It only took him a few minutes to find him. A kid, small, evidently homeless given the state he was in, bleeding out from a stab wound in the guts. How the kid had managed to disable two grown men he had no idea. It certainly wasn’t a third party, there were no other tracks to be found.

Jason lowered himself down to the street with the help of his grappling gun and hurried to the side of the kid. He let out a huge sigh of relief when he found him still breathing. Jason paused for a moment as he took in the kid’s face. He looked familiar in a way, but Jason wasn’t sure why. Most likely he’d seen the kid around his territory before.

Immediately he applied pressure to the wound on the kid’s gut. His hand rapidly stained with a crimson deeper than his helmet.

Jason swore, he wouldn’t be able to carry the kid to Leslie before he bled out. Calling an ambulance would be pointless. The response time in Crime Alley was somewhere between half an hour and never.

Jason reached and taped the com built into his helmet, he wouldn’t let his own hang-ups get in the way of saving a kid’s life.

“Oracle,” he waited heart in his mouth for Babs to reply. Thankfully he didn’t have to wait for long.

“Red Hood…what… why are you on coms ?” he could hear the incredulity in her voice. He couldn’t blame her, he was estranged from the bats after all. 

“I need ya to send me the Batmobile”. He heard her scoff at that

“You really think I’m going to do that ?”

“O, please. I have a kid here bleeding out. I need transport and my bike isn’t going to cut it.”

There was a pregnant pause for a few seconds as Babs processed what he just said.

“If this is a trick…”

“No tricks, I promise” he waited again for several moments for Babs to reach a decision. Then he heard the clicking noise of the mechanical keyboard she favored and allowed himself a small smile of relief.

“Fine, you’re lucky B is busy at the moment. I can get the Batmobile to your position in 5 minutes."

“Thanks, I owe ya one.” Jason then cut communication and waited while speaking softly to the kid. “Hang on, help is on the way". While he waited Jason quickly bandaged the wound on the kid as best he could.

Minutes later he let out a sigh of relief when he heard the characteristic roar of the Batmobile. The souped up car came barreling down the corner at high speed and stopped mere inches from him.

Standing up he turned toward the car. The Batmobile was a sleek machine, all black with twin dorsal fins at the back suggesting bat wings. Stepping toward the back, Jason pressed a hidden switch on the machine, opening a compartment where a person might be laid down and hooked up to an IV for medical transport. For once, Jason was happy with the paranoid preparations of Bruce.

He picked up the kid and quickly laid him down on the small stretcher. It would be cramped in there, but better that than dead.

After securing the kid he closed the compartment and climbed abroad in the driver seat. He started the engine and soon after the Batmobile was barreling down the streets of Crime Alley toward Leslie Thompkins’s clinic.

oOo

Jason had reached the clinic in record time. And it didn’t take much longer for the kid to be brought inside and put in the care of doctor Thompkins. While Jason waited for news on the boy and his recovery he idly noted that the Batmobile started up and left on its own. Doubtlessly to go back where Bruce had left it parked, lest he and Robin notice its absence.

It took nearly an hour before Leslie came out of the medical room. She looked toward Jason, who had pulled off his helmet, his identity still hidden by a red domino mask. She let out a sigh and shook her head, causing Jason’s heart to drop.

“I managed to save his life,” Leslie explained, her doctor’s coat covered in blood. “But he lost a lot of blood. A lot of blood. I don’t know when he’ll wake up. For now I have him on an IV and blood bag. But he really should be in a proper hospital. There could still be complications.”

Jason let out a sigh of relief. “So he’s okay now?”

“More or less, but the stab wound isn’t the only thing I’m worried about.”

“What do you mean?” Jason frowned, his expression hidden by the mask.

“He’s covered in scars. Burn marks, he’s got some kind of insect bite on his hand and he is clearly malnourished. And that’s just the things I could spot. I’d bet my license on the fact the boy probably got several broken bones in the past, and I’m not sure all of them healed properly.”

Jason let out a hiss, more of anger than surprise. Sadly this sort of abuse wasn’t uncommon for kids who ended up on the streets. 

“More than that he’s exhibiting strange changes. The kid has the most extreme form of polycoria I’ve ever seen, and given how irritated his eyes look, I suspect it’s a recent development.” She added.

Jason grumbled, he wasn’t a stranger to people suddenly displaying some strange mutations. Almost half of the rogue had been normal people until something turned them into monsters of some kind. “What does that mean ?” he asked.

“Normally ? Polycoria just means someone is born with double pupils. And no, that’s not a good thing” the doctor added before Jason could say a word. “Blurry vision, poor vision, susceptibility to lights. Human eyes just aren’t made to have two openings like that. It messes with their function rather severely. But this kid, he's got several pupils in each eyes. I have no idea what that will do to his vision.”

“I’ll have to call CPS,” continued doctor Thompkins, reaching out for the phone seated on the reception desk. Before she could pick up the receiver, Jason had slammed his hand on top of it, preventing her from picking it up. She turned toward him, an eyebrow arched in silent question.

Jason shook his head. “Ye ain’t gonna call CPS,” he told her. “We both know that kid probably went through the system already, and if he ran away it was for a good reason. I’ll bring him to a shelter I trust and …”

Before Jason could continue there was the sound of a crash and breaking glass coming from the medical ward. Quickly both he and doctor Thompkins rushed in. When they stepped into the room there was no sign of the kid, instead a window at the back of the room had been broken, the curtains flapping softly with the wind as snow slowly drifted in. Jason hurried to the window and peered outside but he couldn’t find any sign of the boy. He glanced down to the ground outside but didn’t spot any footprints. It was as if the kid had vanished into thin air.

Peter’s awakening came as a surprise to himself. Peter’s awakening in a place that wasn’t the damp cold street outside was entirely unexpected. The boy groaned softly and tried to sit up, a sharp pain in his gut was an immediate and painful reminder of the stab wound he had received.

Peter was not a complete idiot and so he simply laid back down. He did glance down and saw that he had been stripped of his hoodie. It was only getting to be proper Gotham chic, what with all the blood ! and his midsection was bandaged. Peter wasn’t entirely certain how one went about treating stab wounds but it probably involved stitches. All the more reason to not stand up.

Peter then glanced around the room he was in. It was a simple room, a few medical beds separated by drapes hanging from the ceiling, and a window by the far wall. It looked to him like he’d been left alone in a recuperation room of some kind. And by the look of things, he wasn’t in a proper hospital. 

He felt rather torn about that. Not being in a hospital meant there was a small chance he was actually in one of the few free clinics that existed in Gotham. So he might get away with avoiding total financial ruin. Jokes on them, even if they wanted to charge me anything, I’m already in a state of complete financial ruin.

Peter paused for a moment as his mind cleared up. He felt rather puzzled at the state of his internal dialogue. He didn’t remember it being quite so vocal, or quippy, or intrusive. For a moment he wondered if his experience had left him brain damaged. He did lose a lot of blood after all.

Peter also noticed another change. Things were presenting themselves to his vision in rather startling details. Not that he could pick details from further away or anything, but there was a distinct lack of blurriness to his vision. Peter suspected he had needed glasses for a while, not like he could afford them, but even so, he was fairly certain certain normal people weren’t meant to have 20/20 vision in their entire field of view. People did have to move their eyes and/or head to be able to bring something into focus. Didn’t they ?

That’s when he started hearing the voice. Oh god, I’m going insane. Or I’m supposed to declare war against the English. Maybe I’ll avoid the pyre ?. No he wasn’t referring to his quippy internal monologue, although that remained a potential issue. No, instead he was hearing people talking, the sound slightly muffled. But he was the only one in the room.

Peter glanced toward the door that led out of the room. A good 30 feet away. A closed door. A door that didn’t appear to be particularly thin. And the voices weren’t shouting. And he could make out what they said in detail. Sound must be traveling really well through this building he thought. Who constructs a recuperation room like an opera anyway?.

“What does that mean ?” Asked the first voice. Young guy by the sound of it, gruff, irritated. The voice of someone he’d probably want to avoid. People who sounded like that tended to take out their frustrations on people like him in his experience.

“Blurry vision, poor vision, susceptibility to lights. Human eyes just aren’t made to have two openings like that. It messes with their function rather severely.” He heard the other voice reply. A woman he thought. Someone old. The voice was also gruff but in a no nonsense kind of way.

“I’ll have to call CPS” the voice continued and Peter tuned out the rest of the conversation with mounting panic. It didn’t sound like they had been talking about him, but any mention of CPS triggered his fight or flight response. Even if it wasn’t about him he wasn’t about to get caught in the crossfire. The system wouldn’t care if they had to cart out two kids instead of just one.

So with adrenaline pumping throughout his body, Peter stood up and moved away from the bed, only realizing he was attached to an iv bag and the blood bag when he ripped the tubing out of his arm. He hissed in pain for a moment and shook his head; Life saving medicine could wait.

He made his way to the window and tried to open it, finding it locked. He looked around but couldn’t find a way to open it so in a panic he simply gripped the edge of it and tried to lift it up with brute force.

Now what should have happened was that his effort would have led to nothing. He was a scrawny 14 year old with the muscles of a starved poodle. What actually happened was the window creaked for a millisecond and then was sent flying up where it violently impacted the ceiling. Luckily for him it seemed the window had been made out of some sort of safety glass. As instead of showering him in deadly shards it merely broke in a spiderweb pattern you’d see on a windshield after an accident.

Peter could now hear steps coming toward him quickly. So he panicked even more and prepared to jump out of the window to the street below. He was only on the second floor and wouldn’t injure himself too badly if he was careful. But once again his newfound strength surprised him and instead of lightly sauntering forward to avoid clipping any window ledge on the way down he found himself sailing through the air toward the wall on the opposite side of the street.

Too surprised to even let out a cry Peter instinctively put his hands in front of him to brace for impact and closed his eyes tightly. And there was indeed an impact, but what was missing was the continued fall toward the ground.

He opened his eyes and looked around in confusion before realizing he was somehow stuck to the wall. Then he heard the sound of the door of the room he had just escaped impacting a wall as it was kicked open and started a mad scramble to try and get unstuck. His efforts were rewarded with him scaling up the façade of the building he was stuck on and disappearing over the edge of the roof just as Jason peered out the broken window.

Chapter Text

By some miracle Peter had managed to make his way down from the rooftop he’d found himself on. Dawn had come for Gotham and the light snowfall had paused, giving a much needed break to the teenager given his current state of undress.

After making his way down a fire escape, and somehow avoiding popping his stitches, Peter had taken stock of his current possessions.

-Mugger attracting sneakers. Check. 

-Slightly bloodied Jeans. Check.

-Bandage probably holding his guts inside. Check. It was a light stabbing, don’t be dramatic Peter. They would have needed to use a much bigger knife to get you to spill your guts.

-A new set of quippy intrusive thoughts. Check.

All in all, Peter was in trouble. He was somewhere in Crime Alley, or perhaps the bowery at this point. Half naked when the temperature outside was hovering around freezing. He kept rubbing his arms to try and keep himself warm. If he didn’t soon find clothes or shelter the stab wound would be the least of his problems.

Peter was now clearly operating on pure survival mode. Which gave him a good excuse to avoid thinking about how he’d ended up on the roof in the first place. With the dawn, people started venturing outside their homes again. Preparing to go to work. Which meant Peter was now attracting much more attention than before. Homeless kids were hardly a rarity, but a half naked bandaged child was still unusual, even for Gotham.

The current situation was rather dire. So dire in fact that Peter decided to do the one thing he had worked quite hard for a very long time to avoid doing. Peter was going to make his way to a homeless shelter.

oOo

Half an hour later Peter stumbled into the nearest shelter, shivering, teeth chattering wildly out of his control, skin pale and lips turning a light blue. When he opened the door and took a step inside Peter didn’t even have the strength to call for help before he pitched forward and faceplanted on the floor.

Luckily for him the woman at the reception, who he absentmindedly noted had quite a lot of piercing and sky blue hair rushed to him. “Oh my god ! Kid, are you okay ?!” she exclaimed and if Peter had been any less cold he’d have rolled his eyes at her. Yes, clearly I’m okay, I just love nearly freezing to death trying to turn myself into mister freeze junior, thanks for asking.

Okay so the intrusive thought wasn’t just quippy, it was sarcastic too. Peter had never been particularly good at spotting sarcasm aimed at him, so it was a bit of a surprise to find his new internal monologue to be so proficient at it. 

While Peter was lost in quippy thoughts, the woman had called for other volunteers, who quickly rushed forward and cocooned Peter in several blankets and half dragged, half carried him toward the closest heater.

For a while, the warmer Peter got the more his shivering intensified. He’d been so cold he’d been on the verge of suffering from paradoxical warmth. Maybe that would be a good excuse for why he’d been half naked if anyone asked.

Luckily for him, the volunteers seemed rather disinclined from asking him any questions at the moment. As soon as his shivering abated slightly, he was given a bowl of warm soup that he gingerly sipped on.

Once he was done with his meal, the blue haired girl came by carrying a sailor bag. “You look like you need some stuff.” she told him kindly. “So I packed this bag with all the essentials we give all first timers at the shelter. Toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, water bottle, some warm socks and some crackers.”

“I’ve also added some clothes from the donation bin. They might be too large for you but they’ll keep you warm. You can use the shower if you want. And you should come back tonight. It’s first come first serve but we have beds so if you get back early enough you’ll have a warm place to sleep.”

“Th…thank you” Peter barely managed to reply. His throat felt constricted with emotions and he quickly reached out to pick up the bag and turned around to head to the showers. He walked as quickly as his limp would allow. He wasn’t going to allow himself to cry in front of others. No matter how nice they were or how relieved he felt at the moment. Losing control of his emotions in public like this was simply not something he could allow himself.

Alone in the shower however, it was an entirely different story. He quickly stripped out of his dirty jeans and gingerly undid the bandages around his waist. Looking down he saw the stitches embedded in unbroken flesh. This was the final straw and proved to be entirely too much.

The meager jet of hot water did as much to clean him as it did to wash away the tears. Soon he just leaned forward. Hands pressed against the wall as his body was wracked by sobbing born of relief. Relief that he hadn’t died, relief that people had helped him, relief that his stab wound was healed.

Just as he finally started regaining control of himself an intense feeling of pain shot through his leg, originating from his lame knee and Peter let out a near silent scream and collapsed on the floor of the shower, holding his knee.

The pain faded as quickly as it came however and Peter gingerly stood back up only to be astonished that his knee no longer pained him. It looked normal, the bone no longer misaligned. And when he tested it, Peter found that he could bend his legs without any issues.

Now, Peter was by no means a medical expert. In fact he knew next to nothing about medicine. But he was fairly certain lame knees didn’t heal randomly from taking a shower. Nor should stab wounds close themselves completely after a few hours. And people don’t stick to walls like silly putty either.

Peter quashed the thought. He could deal with minor medical miracles. He could not, however, deal with being able to crawl on walls. That was just too far from normal for him to entertain the notion. Everyone in Gotham with weird abilities ended up being a rogue, or got run out of town by the Batman. And while life in another city might be easier, Peter would have to survive the journey. Which I wouldn’t. Which he wouldn’t, he agreed with himself. So Peter was absolutely adamant in dismissing that wall crawling as a singular incident that would never, ever repeat itself. Peter was entirely and utterly normal thank you very much.

If you’re so normal, then why did your eyes turn like this? The intrusive thought added unhelpfully.

Peter looked at himself in a mirror, and at first all he saw was a gaunt looking kid. Did he always look so thin ? He couldn’t remember. And when had some of his hair turned white ? Had his eyes always been this brown green color? Hazel. 

He leaned forward to more closely examine his eyes, opening them wide in shock when he spotted the set of three smaller extra pupils arranged in a semicircle atop and slightly to the side of his normal pupil.

He backed off from the mirror quickly, his breath catching in his throat. No, he wasn’t going to pay attention to this. He had normal brown eyes, he’d always had normal brown eyes. This wasn’t right. He took a deep breath and leaned back toward the mirror. He couldn’t let other people spot this. He’d attract all the wrong sort of attention. Maybe he could get sunglasses and pretend to be blind? But Peter didn’t have sunglasses. Instead he slowly let his eyelid drop lower than normal. It made him look sleepy, but at least it hid the offending extra pupils.

Peter practiced for a few minutes, making sure he’d ingrained the habit of keeping his eyes half closed. Once he was satisfied with his progress he quickly searched the sailor bag he’d been given and put on the clothes he found inside.

Jeans that weren’t any better than his previous one, if more baggy and less bloody. A superman t-shirt. A bright red hoodie. At least the blood won’t show as much next time I get stabbed. And a quilted coat that was only slightly frayed at the edges. He also found a beanie, thick woolen socks and finished the outfit by putting his sneakers back on.

He was sorely tempted to abandon the definitely cursed shoes, but he didn’t have anything else to wear on his feet at the moment.

Peter exited the shower room and made his way out of the shelter as quickly as he could. While he appreciated their kindness, he wouldn’t be coming back that evening. If he did, he would be trapped inside until morning, prime opportunity for C.P.S to arrive and nab him. Was it a sure thing that the people at the shelter would alert the authorities to his presence? Not entirely. They certainly didn’t do it when he showed up half frozen to death, which surprised him. But they were required by law to do it at some point. He wouldn’t push his luck too far. Not with these shoes on anyway.

As he walked through the street, marveling at how easy walking was now that his knee wasn’t lame, Peter noticed that people didn’t pay him too much attention. It didn’t take him long to realize why. He no longer looked homeless. He was clean, wearing clean clothes that were admittedly a bit frayed. But what that meant was that he looked more like someone who shopped in thrift stores than like a kid living out of dumpsters.

When he realized this, a plan started brewing in his mind. As much as Peter wanted to ignore what was happening to him and pretend he was just a normal homeless kid, the changes he was experiencing were concerning to say the least. So far it had all been upsides, aside from the eyes at least. But who knew what sort of downsides were waiting for him around the corner ?

Adjusting his bag over his shoulder Peter came to a decision while scratching an itch on his wrist. Peter needed information. And what greater trove of information could there be than the internet? The main issue was of course that he couldn’t access the internet. He had, in fact, rarely accessed the internet. The foster families he’d been sent to had never deigned getting him a phone, so any exposure to the internet he had was through school the rare few times he’d been allowed to use a computer in class.

His lack of access was easy to remedy however. He knew of one place he could go and get access to a computer. And more knowledge beside. The Gotham public library.

Peter had never personally been to the library but he at least knew where it was and what sort of service they offered. And today may be his only chance to access the building. He very much doubted that he would be allowed inside once the grime and foulness of Gotham came back to mark him as homeless. He’d never look more presentable than today.

oOo

It would have taken Peter the better part of a day if he had wanted to reach the Gotham Public Library on foot. Going all the way from the Bowery to Old Gotham downtown where the library was would have required walking for miles and crossing at least a couple bridges.

Peter, being of sound mind, only for lack of a diagnosis I’m sure, decided to take the Gotham Subway instead. He circumvented the issue of not having any money to pay for his ticket by simply jumping over the turnstile and mixing with the crowd of early commuters.

The ride toward the library was quiet and uneventful and soon enough Peter emerged from the bowels of the subway. He blinked sheepishly for a moment as the brightness of the outside momentarily blinded him compared to the cramped shadowy illumination of the subway.

Peter found himself jostled by the other commuters and staggering along with the crowd until he could get his bearings. Once he did, Peter found himself breathing easier. He considered Old Gotham to be home after all this time. He knew that he was now relatively safe and his hidey hole probably waited for him still. Although, perhaps with his newfound abilities he might be better served relocating and finding a better place than a hole in a wall behind a dumpster.

Peter walked the few blocks that separated the subway entrance from the library. For the first time he stopped in front of the building, taking it in. It was an imposing edifice, although not nearly as big as you’d expect for a city the size of Gotham, built in a neoclassical style. Old double wooden doors encased into a stone arch over which were placed busts of famous writers. Hemingway, Woolf, and Mayakovski. Peter puzzled over this for a little while. He had some knowledge of the first two, but the third bust was unknown to him.

The teenager shrugged and entered the library. Taking off his beanie as he did. He’d been taught, quite painfully, that keeping any sort of headwear on inside was impolite. He couldn’t help but hunch over himself, trying to avoid attracting attention. This task was sadly complicated by the lack of visitors at the moment. The entrance hall was depressingly empty, with deep shadow cast over the place despite the bright day outside. At least bright for Gotham.

The main feature of the hall was an information desk behind which Peter saw a librarian. The woman had auburn hair and rectangular glasses. She looked young and fit and Peter estimated her to be in her late twenties. When the woman looked up from the computer that sat on her desk Peter instantly averted his gaze and looked down toward the floor. His heart rate spiked in anxiety at the social interaction he knew was coming.

“Hi, can I help you?” Asked the woman, offering Peter the sort of polite smile people dealing with the public all seemed to share. Peter’s unwillingness to look at her for more than a couple seconds at a time however meant he missed the puzzled look that crossed her features for a moment before she spoke. 

Peter shuffled closer to the desk and hesitantly replied “I… can I use the computers?” he shrank back on himself, fully expecting to be chased out like he had been chased out of so many places in the past.

“Do you have a library card?” asked the woman. “You need one to be able to log in to our computers.”

“I….I don’t.”

A calculating look crossed the woman's face for a split second as she peered intently at Peter. Then she continued speaking in a bright cheery voice. “Well, that’s okay, I can get you one. You just need to fill in this form” she explained as she extracted a piece of paper from her desk and placed it in front of Peter.

Peter approached nervously and took the pen the woman offered as he looked down at the form. He filled in his name and age without issues but hesitated when it asked for an address. In the end he decided to put down the address for the homeless shelter he’d visited earlier. What were the odds the librarian would recognize it? And Peter didn’t intend to come to the Library often.

The form then mentioned that he should provide some form of ID and proof of residence. Peter had neither and was already panicking, thinking he was about to get run out of the library when the librarian’s voice interrupted his burgeoning panic attack.

“Don’t worry about the documents. I can make you a temporary card for now. You won’t be able to check books out but you’ll be able to use the computers. And next time you come by, just bring those documents with you and I’ll get you a permanent card then.”

Peter nodded, thanking his lucky star that the issue solved itself. He gave the form back to the librarian who looked it over.

“So, Peter. I’m Barbara.” he told him with a smile that Peter returned shakily. “Just give me a couple minutes to prepare your temporary card.”

Peter kept his hand in his pockets while he waited and looked around the library. He saw double doors to the left and right. Those to the left were closed and a plaque above them mentioned that that wing of the library was used as a gallery of sorts. While the doors to the right were wide open. Beyond them was a large chamber, walls lined with bookshelves and tables and seats occupied the floor. At the far end of the room was a set of stairs leading to the mezzanine above. And beyond that a domed glass roof let in a surprising amount of light. Next to the stairs was an elevator.

“Here we go,” his attention was brought back to Barbara who placed a library card on her desk. “The computer lab is on the mezzanine. Just take the stairs and they will be to your right.”

“Thank you Miss Barbara” he replied as he picked up his card.

“Just Barbara is fine” she told him with a smile. 

Peter stood there for a moment, unsure of how to continue the conversation. Or how to end it gracefully. So after a few seconds the intrusive thoughts won and he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. 

“Who is Mayakovski?”

Barbara looked at him, slowly blinking at the non sequitur while Peter got progressively redder as he blushed. Not waiting for an answer he turned around and speed walked through the doors leading to the library proper while Barbara let out an amused chuckle.

[BatChat]

[22/12][10:32am]

[DoritOracle added: Jason Todd]

DoritOracle: Guys, I think a runaway showed up at the library today. Poor kid was all skin and bones. So I did a little digging, tricked him into filling an application for a library card.

[DoritOracle Shared a File: Parker.rar]

SpoilerAlert:  I thought Tim was the stalker in the family 😛

TimLordVictorious: I resemble that remark 🙄

Jason Todd: What is this madness?

DickieBoy: It’s called a group chat. We have fun. 🥰

Jason Todd: I’m leaving.

[User Jason Todd left the chat]

DickieBoy: Jason noooo 😞

[DoritOracle added: Jason Todd]

Jason Todd: Stop bringing me back.

DickieBoy: Ouch, too soon man.

Jason Todd: You know what I mean.

[DoritOracle Renamed Jason Todd to RedRidingGrinch]

RedRidingGrinch: Very funny

[User RedRidingGrinch left the chat]

[DoritOracle added: RedRiddingGrinch]

DoritOracle: Jokes aside, it’s important, stay or I’m telling Alfred

RedRidingGrinch: Fine

DickieBoy: Yay ! ❤️

RedRidingGrinch: Don’t push it

Damian Wayne: As entertaining as this is. I would like to know why a single runaway is so important.

The Duke: ⬆️ +1

WhisperCass: +2

SpoilerAler: +3

RedRidingGrinch: +4

DickieBoy: One of us ! 💗

Damian Wayne: Looking at the file I doubt Father would want to indulge in his hobby with this one.

TimLordVictorious: Wait, why?

RedRidingGrinch: That’s good news for the kid.

Damian Wayne: I thought you were supposed to be a great detective. Once more I prove myself superior to you Drake. Check the medical file.

TimLordVictorious: Cool it Demon Brat, some of us haven’t had their fifth quintuple espresso shots yet this morning.

SpoilerAlert: Only you need that Tim.

TimLordVictorious: Hush 🙈

TimLordVictorious: Oh I see, can’t be a vigilante with a limp like that. Jesus, that kid got abused bad.

WhisperCass: @DoritOracle Apprentice?

DoritOracle: Good guess but no. I’ll give you a hint, he lost something and now looks like our resident grinch.

RedRidingGrinch: Motherfucker, the pits, really ?

DoritOracle: Bingo. No more limp, greenish eyes, and a white lock of hair.

The Duke: Want me to alter my patrol to keep an eye on him ?

RedRidingGrinch: Don’t bother, I’ll deal with it.

[User RedRidingGrinch left the chat]

After making his way up to the mezzanine, Peter easily found the computer lab. On the way he had only crossed path with a couple teenagers. He supposed they were students working on some project or another. A slight pang of longing coursed through him at the sight. Not necessarily out of desire for social interaction with people around his age, lord knows Peter preferred to be left alone if possible, but out of a desire to go to school.

Peter’s academic record had never been particularly great. He struggled through classes and had a hard time focusing enough to study or pay much attention but for the most part he had managed to perform adequately.

The real reason Peter missed school was because it had, in the past, afforded him a break from the near constant abuse he suffered in the foster system. At school Peter had to deal with bullies but the schoolyard antics of bullies meant nothing compared to the beatings he suffered at home. The word home is doing quite a lot of heavy lifting here. As for attempts to isolate Peter from his peers ? He’d barely noticed it happening as he enjoyed the quiet, frustrating many of his bullies.

Once Peter was seated in front of the computer he used the login and password printed at the back of his library card and opened a browser. Getting on Wikipedia Peter initially got distracted looking up Mayakovski, who turned out to be a Russian poet and futurist. That led him down a rabbit hole of trying to learn what futurism even was.

A sly grin graced his face as he thought of how ironic it was to put his bust over an institution dedicated to preserving knowledge of the past. The man would probably have hated it.

By the time Peter reigned his mind out of the tangent it had taken, a good half hour had passed. Chastising himself for getting distracted, Peter then started looking up the information he’d come for. 

Looking up spider bites revealed little to no information about any of the side effects he was experiencing. If by side effect you mean blatant mutations. And looking up boiling green liquid/goo only landed him on articles about ghostbusters’ Slimer.

In a last ditch effort Peter started looking up articles about metahumans. This proved quite a bit more informative. There was nothing about his specific circumstances but he saw multiple articles that confirmed that the way the meta gene expressed itself could be heavily influenced by the circumstances that led up to its activation. Peter even found multiple example of Metas with animal like characteristics.

The results were not encouraging, a lot of the Metas with animal themed mutation ended up looking quite inhuman. And Peter sincerely hoped he wouldn’t suffer anything as drastic as Killer Croc or Copperhead. Although looking at pictures of Cheetah, an enemy of Wonder Woman, did give him some funny feelings that he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to think too hard about.

In the end Peter decided to leave the library. He’d gained fairly little from his trip except the idea that the only thing he could realistically do at this point was wait to see if his body exhibited more drastic changes.

Peter made his way back toward the entry hall of the library. He noticed the librarian, Miss Barbara, was busy talking with a rather intimidating man. He was tall, easily over 6ft, dressed in a black leather jacket, with faded jeans and combat boots. Given the suspicious bulge in his jacket Peter thought the man might be carrying a gun as well. Hardly unusual for Gotham, but concerning nonetheless. The more striking features of the man were his teal colored eyes and the prominent lock of pure white hair on his forehead.

Peter wasn’t too concerned however, as the man and Miss Barbara seemed to be engaged in amiable enough conversation. As Peter made his way past to head out, Miss Barbara noticed him and called out to him.

“Hey, Peter, did things go alright with the computer?”

Peter froze like a deer stuck in the headlights. He slowly pivoted to look at Barbara and gave her a quick nod. Hoping this would be enough so he could bolt out of there. Instead the librarian kept on speaking.

“This is my… friend, Jason.”

Peter noticed the slight hesitation in her voice. He wasn’t good at picking up social cues, but spoken words were a bit easier, and the pause immediately made him wary of the stranger, Jason, causing him to take a small step back.

“Hi Peter” the man said, his mannerism gruff. Peter estimated the man to be younger than Barbara by a few years. 

“Hello, I…I should go” Peter just turned around and fled the building as quickly as he could. The last thing he heard was “you scared him” from Barbara.

After leaving the Batchat, a stupid name Jason was one hundred percent blaming Dick for, like every other bat named thing the family used, Jason got on his bike and made his way toward the library. After a twenty minute ride he stepped into the building and came face to face with Barbara.

“Barbara,” he nodded as a greeting.

“Just call me Babs, Jason” she replied with a sigh that held some tension. “I know things haven’t been great but I’d like us to remain friends, you know.”

Jason hesitated. Things were definitely not fine with the rest of the family. It had been a few months and tension had largely abated. The others certainly hadn’t made a stink about him being forced to join the batchat.

“So where is the kid?” he asked, blatantly changing the subject.

Barbara accepted the change and moved on as she replied. “He’s upstairs, in the computer lab. I’ll be honest, I’m really worried for this kid. And not just because of…you know. I looked up the address he put down on the form for his library card. It’s a homeless shelter near Crime Alley.”

“All the more reason for me to deal with him. I’m not letting Bruce get involved in this.”

“I know how you feel Jay. And I don’t disagree. Peter needs help however. He’s a runaway and it looks like he hasn’t had a proper meal in ages.”

Jason let out a sigh. He hated seeing kids in trouble. And he couldn’t help but think back on the one who somehow managed to flee from Leslie’s clinic and give him the slip.

“I’ll see what I can do Babs,” his use of the nickname earned him a smile from Barbara. “But I have a favor to ask in exchange. I’m looking for another kid. The one I found stabbed last night ? He left the clinic by the window. Demolished it in fact. And I couldn’t track him down, it’s like he just vanished into thin air.”

Barbara frowned “If he managed to escape from you, he’s not going to be easy to find. It’s not like there’s a lot of cameras I can hack in that part of town.”

“I know, just try your best please.”

While they were talking, Barbara caught sight of Peter trying to leave quietly.

“Hey, Peter, did things go alright with the computer?”

Jason, hearing her call out, turned around and examined the kid she was worried about. Jason was immediately overcome by a sense of familiarity, like he’d seen the kid somewhere before. His eyes grew wide as he realized the Peter she’d talked about was the same kid he found with a stab wound. How in the source did the kid manage to make it all the way to the library looking none the worse for wear was a mystery. One that Jason intended to solve.

It was true however that while the kid didn’t look like he was currently bleeding out from having popped his stitches, he was looking extremely gaunt. Barbara hadn’t exaggerated when she said it looked like the kid hadn’t eaten in quite a while.

“This is my… friend, Jason.”

Jason had missed Peter’s reply, too busy trying to figure out how he’d gotten all the way here, but Barbara’s words brought him back to reality.

“Hi Peter” he said in the gentlest tone he could. Which wasn’t all that gentle. He’d been acting as a crime lord for a while now, and gentleness wasn’t part of the job. Dick would have handled this far better, Jason was certain of it. But Dick didn’t know what it was like to come back from the dead. And looking at Peter, there was no doubt in Jason’s mind that he’d made a posthumous trip into the pits. All the signs were there.

Then the kid just bolted and Jason swore. “You scared him” Babs chided him and Jason took a second to reply. “It’s the kid I was looking for, the stabbed kid. It’s Peter” then he took off after Peter, leaving a stunned Barbara behind. Jason would be damned if he let him escape him a second time.

Chapter Text

After leaving the library, Peter contemplated going back to his hidey hole. With the new supplies that he had he was a good way into getting back to his previous living standard. The only thing that really stopped him at this point was the lack of thermal blanket. Without it he would be at great risk of freezing to death in the colder weather. Still, it wasn’t an impossible situation, he could spend the rest of the day scrounging into dumpsters to try and find some blankets or extra clothes he could use to keep warm at night and resume his normal routine tomorrow.

However it seemed the curse of the shoes he had continued to prove true. While he made his way down a busy street away from the library, Peter passed by a store that sold televisions.
The flat screens were barely visible behind the dirty graffitied window, not helped by the presence of a thick metallic mesh to prevent looting.

The few glimpses he caught from the screen from the corner of his eyes, thank you weird vision clarity , made him pause in his tracks. He stared intently at the screens, his heart dropping by the second. The televisions were tuned to the weather channel, and on it, in big bold letters on the banner scrolling at the bottom was an announcement. A blizzard was coming to Gotham.

This completely changed the situation. His hole in the wall would never protect him from an actual blizzard. Even when he had a thermal blanket he would not have been able to survive something this drastic. It seemed that Peter would have no choice but to make his way back to the shelter after all and risk being put on C.P.S’s radar.

Peter stood there for a long time, staring at the screens without really seeing them, his mind lost in the maelstrom of emotions that overcame him at this moment. He’d barely managed to make plans to go back to his routine when all of them were upset. Peter didn’t deal well with plans and routine being disrupted and the past few hours, god at it only been a few hours? It felt like days had pushed his tolerance to its limit.

Had it not been for the mini breakdown he’d allowed himself in the shower at the shelter, Peter would have completely shut down right there and then. Thankfully he found the strength to gather himself. Going back to the shelter would prove to be a risk. But it was one it seemed like he had no choice but to take.

Peter turned around and tried to move on but found himself rooted to the ground. His feet quite literally refused to move, no matter how much strength he put on trying to lift his legs. He was stuck. Just like how he had stuck to that wall. A wall he managed to crawl up without any sort of handhold.

If he could do that, then surely he could crawl any sort of wall in Gotham, and that gave him potential access to any number of places. Places he could use to shelter from the blizzard.

As if his power had waited for him to come to this realization, his feet suddenly unstuck themselves from the ground and he stumbled for a moment in surprise. The sudden release would have no doubt sent him sprawling to the ground at any other point in his life. Peter had always been a clumsy person. He’d lost track of the number of times he managed to fall or hit things while walking simply because he’d been too clumsy to stay on his feet. So it was with some surprise that Peter managed to recover from the sudden stumble without any issues.

Shaking his head Peter pushed this particular tidbit at the back of his mind and started speed walking toward the subway. While Gotham in general was a rundown city, that didn’t mean he would find any sort of abandoned place downtown. For that he’d have to make his way back uptown. Most likely toward Crime Alley or the bowery. And that would also get him near the shelter in case his idea didn’t pan out.

oOo

Peter had been back in the bowery and crime alley for a couple hours. Time he’d spent looking at various abandoned buildings without achieving much. The buildings may have been legally abandoned but they were far from unoccupied. Homeless people, gang members, junkies, and other assorted undesirables of society all took refuge in these buildings, preparing for the oncoming blizzard.

All the while Peter had been scratching at the back of his neck and wrists. He didn’t know why but the tingle on his neck got particularly bad when he approached certain alleys or buildings and Peter decided to simply avoid those places. Whenever he took a detour, the tingle got better, sometimes fading away altogether.

When the tingle got particularly bad, Peter swore it almost felt like a sense of … dread or danger. A mixture of bad vibes that nearly formed into actual words in his subconscious, warning him away. The feeling came and went leaving the teenager quite confused. It must have been doing something right however because Peter had not been mugged yet. A record for someone like him walking around Crime Alley defenseless.

Just as Peter thought he’d have to go back to the shelter that evening, he came across the perfect spot. The building was relatively short. Three stories high, the bottom floor was, as usual, host to a small group of homeless people that Peter had no desire to interact with at the moment. But most interesting was the collapsed stairs making the upper levels inaccessible which he could see from a glimpse he caught out of a grimy window. This held promise.

Peter circled around the block, finding a small alley that gave him access to the back of the building and noted the rusted heap of metal that used the fire escape. Peter smiled then. This building looked Perfect. The upper levels would be all his. He looked up and noticed a few windows higher up that he could use to get in. Now all he had to do was figure out how to consciously trigger his sticking ability. And not come crashing down to the ground once he started climbing up. Maybe he should rethink this whole plan ?

Shaking his head to clear it of doubts, Peter approached the wall with the intent to scale it. He glanced around to make sure there was nobody around who could see what he was about to do.

Watching, near, left.

Peter froze as the tingle came back. His head whipped around before he could consciously process what he felt to glance down the left side of the alley where he caught a glimpse of a figure darting around a corner.

As soon as he stepped away from the wall the tingle calmed down and Peter stood there for a moment as he parsed what had just happened. Peter moved forward to simply touch the wall, not intending to scale it and the tingle remained utterly silent. But as soon as the thought began to form that he wanted to scale it secretly…

Watching, near, left, above.

Better prepared for the feeling this time, Peter was able to stop himself from turning his head to directly stare where the tingle told him the danger came from. Instead he very slightly turned his head so that he could watch the spot from the corner of his unnaturally sharp vision.

There, three buildings down, halfway up a fire escape Peter spotted a figure hiding in the shadow. If he hadn’t been looking for it he’d have never seen it. Once more Peter stepped back from the wall and the tingle faded. He could still see the figure watching him, but it seemed whatever sense or instinct warned him of danger didn’t consider the figure to be a threat. At least so long as he didn’t wish to use his ability to stick to walls to be kept secret.

Peter turned away from the figure and moved away. He walked down a couple streets and ducked into an alleyway before trying his little test again.

Watching, near, above.

Well, that was official then. Peter had acquired a following. A tail. A shadow. A stalker. An adoring fan. This person, whoever they were, was going to ruin his plans. Just as he’d found the perfect place. Peter got angry, he didn’t usually get angry. Oh sure he went absolutely ballistic when other people touched him without his permission. But genuine anger was rare for the boy.

Well, that wasn’t quite true, he was always seething with anger, but he also knew he didn’t have the privilege of expressing said anger. He was angry at the state of Gotham, at the corruption, the violence, the general unfairness of it all. He was angry at the vigilantes who never made time to actually help the little people. Who instead fueled the cycle of suffering people were trapped in with their own violence. And now this. His life was made more complex by what was quite possibly one of these vigilantes. Not only were they not helping, they were actively making his life worse at the moment.

Peter took deep breaths trying to suppress the anger. To get it back under control. He had to remind himself that there was still good in Gotham. People like the ones working at the shelter who had been nothing but kind. And would probably turn me in, to C.PS. next time I show up.
Peter wouldn’t fault them for that. That was part of their job, they had to do it and it wasn’t their fault the system sucked. And the fact they had turned a blind eye to him the first time around was more kindness than he expected from anyone in Gotham.

And Miss Barbara had been nothing but helpful when by right she could have denied him access to the computers. Peter was fairly sure she’d been bending the rules to get him this temporary library card.

And most of all there was Bruce Wayne. The only rich person in Gotham to actively help. Oh sure there were plenty of others who went to galas and donated money. But that was all they did. Probably for tax purposes or good publicity. But Bruce Wayne? He cared. He was out there volunteering at soup kitchens, he met people and talked with them about how he could help. He didn’t just fund the vast majority of charities and projects that kept Gotham afloat. He was there every step of the way to make sure his money was spent in the best possible way to help others. He even funded the Justice League.

Slowly the anger abated. Almost everyday Peter had to go through this little internal ritual. Reminding himself of the good he saw so he wouldn’t be overwhelmed by anger. Because if he did give in to anger, he would do something stupid and get himself in trouble.

Back to the matter at hand, he had to lose his stalker. Peter had decided he would use the first building he’d found as a refuge and he wasn’t about to let a vigilante screw him over. It wasn’t a matter of pride, it was a matter of spite. So Peter went back to the street and moved away from Crime Alley. As soon as he reached the crowd of people taking their lunch break, Peter did his best to disappear. He ducked and weaved at random among the crowd. He darted down a side alley, running as fast as he could while he took off his beanie and coat. Emerging into the opposite street with as different a look as he could get and once more tangled with the crowd of passersby.

Finally he walked into a dinner and asked to use their bathroom. He went in and spotted a window high up that he opened up and climbed out of. The window had been extremely small and had been any better well fed or flexible, he wouldn’t have fit through. Then he did his little test again, this time the tingle was blessedly silent and Peter grinned, satisfied that he’d gotten one up on the vigilante.

As soon as Jason stepped out of the library he spotted the kid. Tailing him didn’t prove at all difficult. The boy, Peter, didn’t pay any sort of attention to what was behind him. At least not any more attention than the average Gothamite.

After last night Jason had had the notion that the kid was either trained, or a Meta. Scratch that, the kid was almost certainly a Meta, regardless of anything else. That window at Leslie’s clinic didn’t shatter all on its own and the kid seemed to have recovered from the stab wound he got last night remarkably quickly. Although the last could be explained by Babs’ discovery that he’d gone through the pits. But then the timeline didn’t quite match. He’d have to have been dropped in the pits the second he left the clinic and then dropped at the Library immediately upon emerging.

Had the kids got through the pits earlier than that ? Possibly, although Jason couldn’t imagine that he’d have missed the sign while he was busy rescuing the kid.

The only thing that made sense to him was that the kid had gone through the pit long before Jason found him and hid the signs. It wouldn’t be hard, just put on some hair dye. Then the kid got stabbed and subsequently managed to give Jason the slip thanks to his unexpected Meta abilities. Then in the process of his escape the dye somehow got removed.

As for whether or not the kid was trained, well, Ra’s was not in the habit of letting just anyone use the pits. Even his most loyal followers would not be afforded the privilege, so the kid must have been part of some secret plan.

There was always the possibility of someone other than Ra’s using the pits but that was very unlikely. Unlikely but not impossible. So when Jason managed to tail the kids for two hours without once being spotted he started doubting his own judgement. The kid hadn’t even noticed that Jason had followed him into the subway. And it wasn't like Jason was making that much of an effort to be stealthy.

During the subway ride Jason had perused the file Babs had sent into the groupchat. All the paper trail for the kid made sense right up until a few months ago where he’d just vanished. It could mean he’d run away and been homeless since. It would definitely fit given the sheer amount of signs of abuse in his medical file. And Jason knew that whatever was in the file probably covered less than a tenth of what the kid actually had to suffer. Abusers weren’t too keen on letting their victims get medical checkups after all and C.P.S didn’t care too much either. So long as a kid was alive, fed, and had a roof over their head they tended to turn a blind eye.

The other possibility was of course Peter getting recruited by the league or another similar group. The evidence either way was inconclusive.

Then the kid got to Crime Alley. Jason thought his direction of travel made sense given the address he’d supplied to Babs, he was heading somewhat toward the shelter he’d put down as his home address. With the blizzard coming it was a smart move. 

Then the kid started poking around damaged and abandoned buildings as if he was looking for something. Probably a place to stay if the runaway wanted to avoid the risk of being handed over to C.P.S at the shelter. One more point for the kid just being homeless and not some secretly trained master assassin.

But then there was the fact that the kid was either extremely lucky, or again, was trained. He’d managed to avoid 7 different mugging attempts simply by taking a turn at the last moment. Jason, in all honesty, was slowly losing his mind. Nothing the kid did made sense. For every action he took that clearly marked him as just another homeless runaway, there was a sign that indicated he was some sort of trained operative. 

He could be faking the homelessness and be a master at hiding all signs of his training. A capability to hide his abilities that would make even the old man stop and take notice. Or he could just be a very lucky homeless teen that had managed to give him the slip because he was a Meta and had abilities that allowed him to vanish. Invisibility perhaps ? Or teleportation. Could be a speedster as well.

In conclusion everything that pointed to the kid being part of the league aside from his exposure to the pits could just as easily be explained by him being a Meta. Jason forcefully stopped himself thinking about this further, his thoughts had been circling the same points for hours and he had the sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t get any sort of conclusive evidence until he confronted the kid.

Not that he would do that. He wasn’t Bruce. He wasn’t just going to interrogate a child merely because he looked suspicious and he couldn’t figure out the puzzle. Nor would he spend days stalking the kid like the replacement would.

No, Jason was just going to walk up to the kid and offer him a place to stay. Not as himself obviously. The kid had been wary of him back at the library. But if he was staying in Crime Alley, then it would make sense for Red Hood to deal with this. 

Jason followed the kid down a random alley and frowned when the kid approached the wall of a specific building. Instantly Jason was on guard. The building the kid was approaching wasn’t just a random abandoned building. It was one that contained one of his own safehouses. He’d collapsed the stairs to ensure no one would have access to the upper floor he used, and the kid had already seen the few homeless people Jason allowed to squat on the first floor. The kid had avoided any other similar group in the past, so why was he so focused on this building? Hell, why was he staring up at the window Jason used to sneak in?

Suddenly the kid stared right at him and Jason quickly ducked behind a corner. He was certain the kid had spotted him. Jason hadn’t made much of an effort to be sneaky given how oblivious Peter had been so far. Had the kid lulled him into a false sense of security on purpose? Maybe the kid was trained after all.

Jason quickly made his way to the fire escape of an adjacent building and made his way to the rooftops. Now that he’d been spotted there was a chance the kid would vanish but he couldn’t continue tailing him from the ground.

When Jason peered down from the roof the kid hadn’t moved. He was staring at his shoes as if he was thinking about something. Then he tentatively approached the wall again and stopped when his hand nearly touched it. The kid tensed up but didn’t directly stare at Jason this time.

Instead the kid backed off and stood in place for several minutes. Jason saw him slowly relax as he took deep breaths. What was that all about?

Then Peter left the alleyway and Jason followed him from the roof. The kid started going through a crowd, darted down a different alleyway and even tried to change his appearance by removing his beanie and coat. Jason had to hold back a laugh at how amateurish the attempt at losing a tail was. Now that the kid was actually trying to be sneaky it was laughably clear he’d had no training whatsoever. So Jason chalked up the kid’s ability to spot him earlier to being a Meta. 

That didn’t explain why he’d been so interested in Jason’s safehouse however.

Jason couldn’t figure this out on his own. So he decided to relay his findings to the world's greatest detective. He called the replacement.

After a couple rings Tim picked up his phone. “Jason” the tension in his voice was undeniable. Jason couldn’t fault him for it. It wasn’t that long ago that Jason had tracked him down and beaten him at the titan towers. 

“I need ya help with something”

“No”

Jason stared at his phone in disbelief as the line went dead. “Did….did the little shit hang up on me?” 

Jason dialed the number again, grumbling under his breath. Once the call went through he spoke up quickly to prevent Tim from hanging up again.

“Goddamnit RR, at least let me explain before ya… fuck, again ?!” Jason was fuming as Tim had hung up once more.

For the third time Jason called Tim taking deep breaths to stop himself from simply tracking down his brother and beating him within an inch of his life.

“It’s about the kid, so that acting like a brat will ya” he yelled into the phone as soon as Tim picked up. And miracle of miracle Tim didn’t hang up.

“What do you need?” he heard the voice coming from the other hand, Tim sounded amused. Clearly he’d enjoyed annoying Jason by hanging up on him repeatedly.

Jason took a deep breath and explained the situation to Tim while he looked down at the street below, spotting Peter making his way into a dinner. Jason knew that dinner and he knew there were only two possible ways in or out. The front door and the backdoor. He also knew the backdoor would be locked. So unless Peter wanted to cause a scene the kid would have no choice but to come back out from the front. So he settled down on the edge of the roof as he waited.

“So what do ya think RR?” he asked Tim, the sound of a keyboard coming through the call.

“Lucky for you I already started doing some more digging on Peter.”

“Course you did” Jason muttered under his breath. Not surprised Tim had gone into stalker mode as soon as Babs had given everyone the info on the kid.

“I’ve tracked down Peter’s movements going back several days. He’s homeless, he shows up on security cameras once in a while. But not in Crime Alley. From what I can tell he hangs out around Old Gotham. Follows a pretty clear routine too. Never deviated from it. He disappears down an alley we have no coverage for at night, and emerges in the morning to go get food from the charity buffet at the cathedral. Then the rest of the day he shows up here and there, I’m assuming he’s dumpster diving as he sometimes shows up with new stuff.”

“If he never leaves Old Gotham, what the heck is he doing uptown now?” Jason frowned in confusion.

“Well that’s the interesting part. Yesterday, he was making his way back to the alley he always goes to at night. But before he can reach it he vanishes.”

“What do ya mean vanish?” 

“He gets into a blind spot in the coverage from the cameras, nothing unusual there. But he never shows up on camera again. A van does show up nearby though. A van that was following him for a while.”

“Fuck,” Jason swore. “Ya telling me he got kidnapped?”

“Probably. But then he shows back up again a few hours later, near Crime Alley, half naked. There’s no indication of where he came from or of any vehicle that could have dumped him.”

“So he just teleported?”

“Unlikely, there’s no indication of him having any sort of Meta abilities in any of the footage I have of him.”

“That don’t mean he ain’t one. Just that he’s careful.”

“Occam’s razor. There’s a simpler explanation for how he appeared again.”

“Oh yeah ? What’s that then Sherlock.”

“Sewer system.”

Jason paused to consider what Tim just told him. “Yeah, that make sense. Though Croc is down there so that’d be risky.”

“Maybe he didn’t have a choice. Whoever grabbed him may have had a base leading to the sewers. B’s going down there tonight to try and flush out Croc anyway. So he’s going to see if he can find anything while he’s down there.”

“I don’t want him anywhere near the kid,” Jason gritted his teeth.

“Depending on what he finds, you may not be able to stop him. You know how he gets.”

“I do,” Jason spat with venom in his voice.

“Anyway” Tim added with fake cheer, trying to steer the conversation away from the dangerous ground it had meandered to. “I highly doubt Peter has been trained by the league. He looks to be just a homeless kid. So anything strange he’s doing is either sheer coincidence or…”

“...or it’s cause he’s a Meta now,” Jason finished. He was still steaming at the idea of Bruce getting involved with this kid. But if the kid was a Meta, there might not be much he could do to stop it. The man was paranoid enough that he’d want to keep an eye on a young Meta in Gotham for sure. At least until he could ascertain that the kid wasn’t going to turn into the next big villain or end up an henchman to one of the rogues.

“There’s one way for us to be sure. We need a DNA sample.”

Jason let out a sigh. “Fine, I’ll get ya one. Shouldn’t be hard. Kid’s been at a dinner for a while. Shouldn’t be hard to swipe a cup he used or something.”

“Great, once you get it, get back to the cave to drop it off.” there was a pause as Tim hesitated to say something before he continued. “I’ll tell Alfred to prepare some scones for you.”

It was Jason’s turn to pause. He hadn’t expected Tim to make that gesture. 

“Thanks,” he replied a bit more abruptly than he intended “and Tim…”

“Yes?”

“I… I’m sorry…for you know….before.”

The call was silent and Jason worried that he may have messed up. He didn’t expect to patch things up with Tim when he called him. It certainly wasn’t his goal for the call. But it seemed Tim was also trying to mend bridges with his offer of scones. It may not seem much but Alfred’s pastries were legendary.

“Don’t mention it” was what Tim replied after a while. “I understand why you acted like you did, and I can move past it. So let’s just…not talk about it.”

“Yeah, fair” replied Jason with relief. The entire family was famously emotionally constipated, except maybe for Dick. Although his older brother was hiding quite a lot of anger of his own. And he may have fooled a lot of people but Jason knew him better than most. So when given the chance to avoid confronting the awkward situation with Tim, he jumped on it.

Jason then hung up and stood from the ledge. Peter hadn’t left the dinner yet and there had been no commotion so far that would indicate the kid had forced his way through the back door. So Jason hurried down from the roof via the fire escape and rushed into the dinner.

He feigned nonchalance as he looked inside, trying to spot the kid. When he didn’t see him anywhere a dreadful feeling settled into the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck, not again.”

Chapter Text

[BatChat]

[22/12][1:17pm]

[User RedRidingGring Joined the chat]

RedRidingGrinch: @DoritOracle I need you to keep an eye out for the kid

TimLordVictorious: No way, don’t tell me

RedRidingGrinch: Not a word

DickieBoy: Little wing, you’re back 😀

TimLordVictorious: Lol you lost him again ?

DickieBoy: You lost Peter ? Again ? How ? 😵‍💫

RedRidingGrinch: I don’t want to talk about it

SpoilerAlert: Never send a crime lord to do a stalker’s job @TimLordVictorious

TimLordVictorious: I’m not a stalker

SpoilerAlert: Says the man whose ringtone is ‘every breath you take’

WhisperCass: Creepy 😨

TimLordVictorious: What, noo, not you too

TimLordVictorious: It’s a good song

The Duke: You’re not beating the stalker allegations here

DickieBoy: It’s okay Tim, nobody’s perfect 🤗

DoritOracle: I genuinely can’t find Peter on any camera

RedRidingGrinch: Damnit

Damian Wayne: You disappoint me Todd. How hard can it be to keep an eye on one child.

Bruce Wayne: It’s alright Jaylad, we’ll go over tailing training again

TimLordVictorious: F

DoritOracle: F

DickieBoy: F

The Duke: F

WhisperCass: F

SpoilerAlert: F

[User RedRidingGrinch left the chat]

SpoilerAlert: So mysterious orphan kid who can give the slip to Jason. I’m betting he gets to the manor before new year.

DickieBoy: B probably already has the adoption paper drafted. 😂

Bruce Wayne: Maybe you should all get some refresher training.

[User DickieBoy left the chat]

[User TimLordVictorious left the chat]

[User The Duke left the chat]

[User SpoilerAlert left the chat]

[User WhisperCass left the chat]

[User DoritOracle left the chat]

[User Damian Wayne left the chat]

BestButler: Shall I prepare your brooding chair Master Bruce ? And perhaps start drafting the documents?

[User Bruce Wayne left the chat]

Once he’d lost the vigilante that had been following him earlier, Peter doubled back to the building that he thought would be perfect for his needs. Not wanting to risk being spotted he’d focused on wanting to stay hidden and his tingle had alerted him to plenty of potential problems. He wasn’t sure exactly what said problem had been but his new sense had warned him to avoid entire sections of streets.

He was once more in the back alley gingerly touching the wall and trying to will himself to stick to it. The tingle, I gotta find a better name for it , was blessedly silent.

Peter took a deep breath and started his ascension. Things were remarkably difficult at first. Sometimes his hand and feet would stay stuck to the wall, no matter how hard he tugged on them, at other times he would barely stick and slide back a couple feet before catching himself.

Peter had no idea how he was sticking to the wall. Its surface was certainly rough enough in spots that a skilled climber might find the odd purchases here and there but Peter’s fingers were barely pressed against the wall. He’d inspected his fingers but there was no sign of anything different with them. No microscopic hair, no suction cups, no weird wavy lines like a gecko’s paw. Even More Puzzling was that he could stick to walls through his shoes. You’d think a good inch of rubber would stop whatever was allowing him to do this but no, Peter’s feet stuck to the wall as easily as his naked fingers did.

Ultimately Peter worked out a good rhythm and managed to make his way to the second story window. His fingers neared the glass when suddenly…

Danger ! Bad touch

Peter paused, fingers just a fraction of an inch from the glass. He slowly retracted his hand and the tingle felt silent. There was something eminently dangerous about this window.

The teenager gritted his teeth in frustration. He was rapidly running out of time before the blizzard hit. He glanced up and spied another window even further up. He made his way to it, a little more sure of himself with his climbing ability. This time the tingle was silent, and luckily, the window wasn’t latched.

Using his wall crawling power the teenager pressed his hand against the dirty pane of glass and lifted the unlatched window up silently before slipping inside. His entrance was inelegant, crawling on his stomach, legs kicking in the air for a moment to give himself a little bit of a boost before completely sliding in and landing face first on the dusty floor.

Peter stood up with a slight groan, brushing the dust from his clothes before looking around. The room he’d ended up in had long been uninhabited, the air thick with the stale dusty smell of old rot and mildew. Given the half rotten bedframe he could see it had once been a bedroom. A bashed door led further inside. The thick layer of dust on the floor was undisturbed save for the large Peter-shaped imprint he’d made with his entrance.

After closing the window behind him, the teenager quietly made his way to the door and opened it up as best he could. Sadly the remnants of the wooden door screeched loudly as it dragged across the floor, causing Peter to wince. Well, now if anyone was home, he’d definitely alerted them to his presence.

Peter sighed and looked beyond the door seeing a short corridor with a couple more doors. Peeling pain and old wallpaper covering the walls. Peter was almost certain at this point that this had once been an apartment. Further exploration confirmed the fact. 

Over the next ten minutes Peter explored the entire place. It had been a two bedroom apartment with a small living room and separate shower and toilet. The living room also doubled as the kitchen. There weren’t a great many things left behind in the place. An old broken kettle, and a couple pieces of furniture that had started to rot or rust. A thick layer of dust was omnipresent in the place, causing Peter to sneeze repeatedly when he disturbed a particularly large patch in his search for usable loot.

When Peter tried the sink he was surprised to see water come through. Brown sludge more than water at first, but after letting it run for a few minutes it turned a very pale red. Evidently the pipes were rather rusty. Still the teenager felt it was a blessing to have water at all. Maybe he wouldn’t end up as dirty as he feared after all and might be able to get back to the library without fear of getting thrown out.

By this point Peter was starting to get really hungry and as good as the apartment was, there was no heating or food. With nothing but the clothes on his back and a sailor’s bag that contained scant supplies Peter wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to outlast the blizzard. Hunger he could ignore, but the cold would be a problem.

He left the apartment, the front door had been locked but it was a simple matter to force it open. Peter suspected he’d been getting stronger than before, but he mostly attributed his ability to force open the door to the flimsy construction and the rot that coursed through the grain.

There were a couple more apartments on this floor and Peter explored both of them, finding some more supplies he managed to scavenge. Including some moth-eaten blankets and old drapes. Neither apartment was in any better state than the first one he’d explored.

Going back to where he’d first come in, Peter arranged the few blankets he’d carried over into a nest of sorts in the corner furthest away from the windows. He wasn’t entirely sure why making said nest was so pleasing to him, but it was. At least he would be able to keep decently warm.

Peter prepared to make his way down to the second floor to see if he could find more stuff to use but once more his tingle blared at him when his foot was just about to land on the first step down. The teenager panicked and nearly lost his balance, arms wheeling in the air as he tilted dangerously forward. Only by activating his sticking power was he able to avoid falling down the stairs, fingers pressed against the wall. Even so he felt the old wallpaper begin to tear and he hurriedly took a step back. He debated sticking to the walls to make his way down, avoiding the stairs altogether but he didn’t want to risk the wallpaper giving up the ghost. Had the wall been bare he might have tempted fate.

It seemed his safe zone was limited to the third floor for now. A bit disappointing but it was still far more space than Peter needed. The boy made his way back to his little nest and laid down. Cocooning himself in the thickest blanket he could find. No sooner did he do this that his eyelid closed, the exertion of the day catching up to him all at once.

oOo

The blizzard hit Gotham, wind howling through the deserted streets. The city was unnaturally quiet, all the sounds of life coming to a stop as everyone huddled at home. Not even the criminal elements dared to come out in this weather. The snow accumulated in the streets while Peter slumbered.

oOo

Hours later Peter was woken up when his tingle blared at him.

Below, Danger

He opened his eyes, finding himself not safely enclosed in his makeshift nest but instead peering down at the floor. It took him a moment to realize he was currently sticking to the wall and ceiling, nestled into the corner right above the door to the room. Door that slammed open when a familiar figure kicked it.

From above Peter saw the distinctive red dome of Hood’s helmet. The crime lord was looking at the room, gun held out at the ready. Peter shivered, scared of what might have happened to him had he not somehow climbed the wall in his sleep.

Word on the street was that the crime lord didn’t hurt kids. And had even whiped the criminal underground into shape so that they wouldn’t deal drugs to children, amongst a list of other crimes he wouldn’t tolerate. Words on the street was also that Red Hood had few qualms about shooting those he considered a threat however. And with how Hood was systematically exploring the room, even poking at Peter’s makeshift nest, Peter suspected the man thought whoever or whatever was in the room might prove to be a threat.

As Red Hood walked around the room, Peter slowly scuttled along the wall to keep out of his field of view. The wind was still howling outside, and the noise that made it through the rattling window was enough to cover the slight sounds Peter made as he moved. Red Hood even went to the window, opening it and looking out into the street below before turning around and leaving the room. Just as Peter was about to relax his newfound danger sense came to life.

Danger, hide, window, now!

Peter didn’t hesitate, his body reacting on instinct as he pushed from the ceiling to sail through the window, catching the window sill for a split second to redirect his momentum and stick to the wall right under the window. Just in time to avoid being spotted by Red Hood, who had turned around and looked at the ceiling. Thankfully the sound of Peter slamming into the wall was covered by the howling wind that tousled the teenager’s hair and threatened to rip him off the wall should his concentration falter

Peter was incredibly tense, his heart hammering into his chest loud enough that he was sure Red Hood would hear it. He almost sighed in relief when he heard the heavy steps of Red Hood leaving the room after closing the window. 

Peter climbed back up to the window, fingers freezing with his brief stint outside. Repeating his earlier trick he slid back inside. More gracefully this time as he stuck his hands above the window to swing inside feet first. Peter may not have been the smartest kid alive, but he was perfectly capable of learning, and prided himself on only making a mistake once.

Jason had lost Peter, again. When he realized the kid wasn’t in the dinner he marched to the bathroom and kicked the stalls doors one after the other until he reached the one in the corner. Jason immediately saw the incredibly narrow window. A window that had been left open. A window the kid had obviously used to make his escape.

He swore and joined the group chat, he refused to call it the batchat, professionals had standards after all, asking Babs if she could find any sign of him. But it was like Peter had completely vanished. Not a trace of him on any cameras. The kid utterly sucked at losing a tail in a crowd and yet managed to disappear like a ghost every time Jason got close. Jason hated dealing with Metas.

As the wind picked up Jason was forced to call off his search. He could only hope the kid made it to a shelter before the blizzard hit.

oOo

Several hours later Jason was back at the safehouse the kid had shown an interest in, dressed in his Red Hood outfit. Normally he wouldn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to get back to the place they got caught at but the kid was not a trained operative so Jason decided to examine the place anyway.

Using his grappling hook Jason reached the second story window he used to enter the safehouse. After examining it he was sure it hadn’t been tempered with and slipped inside. For a while all Jason did was take inventory. The small armory was still locked and secure, the beat up furniture was just as beat up as it had always been. The fridge was all but empty except for a bottle of vodka and days old chinese takeout. By all appearance, the place was exactly how he’d left it.

So Jason decided to widen the search. He checked the trip mines he left hidden on the stairs. The motion sensor in the corridor. Everything was perfectly fine. At this point Jason was all but certain that Peter didn’t come back here. But just to be thorough he decided to also check the third floor.

And that’s where Jason saw the footprints left in the dust. It seemed all the motion sensors and cameras in the world couldn’t hold a candle to simple dust. Moving slowly and stealthily Jason tracked the footprints, following them. By their size he was fairly certain they were Peter’s. It seemed the teen had made his way in somehow and explored the place. The prints grouped up before a specific door. It was very likely that Peter was hidden inside the room beyond.

Jason unholstered his gun, the one loaded up with rubber bullets. In case it wasn’t the kid, Jason wanted to be prepared to deal with the intruder, and if it was the kid he didn’t want to risk injuring him. So rubber bullets it was.

Jason kicked the door open and stepped inside, sweeping the room with his gun. The bedroom was nearly empty save for an old rusted bed. But the tracks in the dust made it clear it had seen heavy traffic. In a corner he spied a bunch of drapes and blankets. It would make a relatively warm resting place so Jason went toward it first. He poked and prodded the bundle with his foot but it quickly became clear that no one was resting in there at the moment.

Then Jason made his way toward the window. He noted the large spot on the floor that was free of dust. He frowned and then chuckled silently. Whoever had made their way inside had landed on the floor in a rather clumsy manner it seemed. It tracked with Peter’s M.O. Somehow getting in or out of place he shouldn’t be able to, and yet staggeringly incompetent and clumsy in the most basic ways.

In any case, it seemed the teen had already left. Jason opened the window and looked outside to see if he could get lucky and spot the teenager in the alleyway below but he had no such luck. Instead he spotted a sailor’s bag near the blankets when he turned around, so it was likely the teen intended to come back later. Unless Jason had spooked him of course. Well he wasn’t going to allow the kid to just slip out again so he quickly concealed a tracker on the sailor bag.

Just as he was about to leave the room Jason instinct made him stop. He turned around quickly and glanced up. There was nothing on the ceiling but he heard a whooshing sound behind him. He looked around once more before shrugging. Just before he left the room for good, Jason went back to the window and closed it, leaving the place as he had found it.

Peter allowed himself several moments before standing back up again. As he did he was hit by a wave of dizziness while his stomach made its displeasure known. He hadn’t eaten anything since the morning, and the meal he’d had at the shelter had been meager fare.

He wasn’t exactly sure what time it was right now. Glancing out the window he saw the light gradually decrease as the sun set. Too late now to go out in search of food. He’d have to hope he’d be able to wake up early enough to make it to the cathedral for breakfast tomorrow. Then he supposed he could go back to his routine of scrounging for whatever he could find.

Peter considered another possibility however. He was old enough that he could technically get a part time job. But the ever looming threat of C.P.S. had made the prospect unattractive. And while that hadn’t changed there was now an extra factor at play. Peter now had a place he could perhaps consider his own. The hole in the wall he used before had not been anywhere near secure enough for him to consider trying to keep more than the bare essentials. But here ? He could wash himself, potentially keep his clothes clean. Make it less likely someone would think he was homeless. He could pretend to be a normal kid picking up a job for some extra cash which he could then use to improve his life little by little.

But then again, was this place truly secure ? He’d already attracted the attention of one crime lord. One who had already visited the place unannounced. But what were the odds he’d come back? I wouldn’t bet on Red not coming back .

Regardless, Peter decided to settle back in his makeshift nest for the night. It took a long time for his stomach to calm down enough that he managed to fall asleep.

oOo

The next day Peter managed to wake up bright and early. He felt horribly weak however, his stomach was like a hungry ghost, hounding him for food. Regardless Peter picked up his bag and prepared to leave via the window. He leaned out of it to check the alleyway, and glanced at the rooftops as well, making sure there was no one in sight to catch him. The last thing he wanted was to attract even more attention.

As soon as the idea of stealth occurred to him his tingle gave him a warning, causing Peter to quickly turn around. The warning had been close, so close behind him. But as soon as he turned around, so did the warning. Always behind him. Peter panicked, twirling about trying to catch sight of whatever danger was after him.

Faster and faster, he turned and turned and then his bag went flying off his shoulder. Only for the warning to follow it.

Peter stood there, a furious blush creeping up his neck. He hid his face in his hand in embarrassment. He must have looked like a complete fool trying to spot the danger that was his own bag.

Just like a cat chasing his own tail.

Peter really wished the internal monologue would stop quipping at him. 

I’m only making fun of the easiest target around. Myself.

The teenager sighed before the truth suddenly hit him. The bag had registered as dangerous. A risk toward getting caught. The question was why ? 

He approached cautiously and spent the next ten minutes turning it upside down, examining everything inside. Which wasn’t much, before finally finding a small piece of electronic equipment no larger than the nail of his thumb. Peter wasn’t certain what that thing was, a listening device ? A tracker ? Regardless, he decided to get rid of it.

He was about to smash it when it occurred to him that this might not be the best of ideas. Whoever had planted it. And let’s face it, it was probably Red Hood. Would certainly find it suspicious if the signal stopped all at once. Instead Peter decided to have a little fun.

oOo

45 minutes later Peter walked out of the subway in Old Gotham. He’d planted the bug under one of the seats in the subway. He had considered planting it on a random passerby but he hadn’t wanted to send Red Hood after a random person who’d done nothing to deserve it. It was likely Red Hood would quickly realize what was happening when the tracker kept going back and forth along the red line but that would help throw him off Peter’s trail. After all, Peter hadn’t taken the red line, he’d taken the blue line.

Satisfied with his ability to send a crime lord on a wild goose chase Peter made his way toward the Gotham cathedral. As usual he saw the line of homeless and destitute, queuing for food and whatever other things the staff decided to give out. With Christmas so near at hand it was likely for the meal to be slightly different than usual. 

His prediction was proven correct as he approached the front of the line and saw that the meal for today included slices of Christmas turkey, pudding, roasted potatoes and gravy. A sumptuous meal for anyone who needed to rely on the charity.

Of course his stomach chose the exact moment he waited for his share of food to be served to make a sound akin to a rockslide, eliciting a small chuckle from the man handing over the food.

“You must be particularly hungry today Pete.”

Peter, who’d kept his head low and gaze trailed on his plate, glanced up sharply when the man uttered his name. How did he know his name ? Was he about to be reported, should he run ?
While his thoughts ran a mile a minute he took in the appearance of the man. He was sharply dressed, black slack pants, a thick woolen coat draped over a blue sweater vest. Jet black hair and piercing blue eyes that crinkled in good natured amusement, paired with an easy smile that was blindingly bright. The only thing stopping Peter from bolting out was the fact that his tingle was completely quiet. That and Peter knew the man.

He didn’t know him personally of course, but even a homeless teenager knew the Waynes on sight. Well, some of them at least. Some had been more secretive than others. But there was no mistaking the one serving him food.

Peter stared, mouth opening and closing in surprise as his words were stuck in his throat. Finally he managed to speak, his voice cracking embarrassingly as he did. “You…you’re..”

The man smiled even more brightly, which Peter hadn’t thought was even possible. “I am, yes. Richard Grayson. But You can call me Dick. And you’re Peter, right ? A regular here from what the staff tells me.” So that was how he knew Peter’s name. He hadn’t thought the staff knew who he was however.

Peter’s reflection was interrupted by another growl from his stomach. “Not to worry, we’ll get you sorted out” Dick continued, seemingly obvious to Peter sudden stress from a social encounter. Instead he busied himself with loading Peter’s plate with a very large helping of food. Far more than people would usually be entitled to. He even got a double serving of pudding.

Just as Peter was about to leave, confused by the interaction the man stopped him. “Hang on, since it’s nearly Christmas we got some goodie bags for people.”

Dick reached out under the table and handed Peter a small bag. “It’s not much, just some warm socks, and bits of food we could spare. But I hope it helps. Merry Christmas Pete”

Peter awkwardly juggled the bag and his plate of food, letting out a strangled “thank you” before leaving the queue and making his way toward the table where he’d spied his friends. Were they friends ? Acquaintances might be the better word. Unknown to the teen the man who’d served him food stepped away from the table to make a call.

[BatChat]

[23/12][9:14 am]

[User DickieBoy Joined the chat]

[DickieBoy added: RedRidingGrinch]

DickieBoy: Good news, I found Peter 😘

RedRidingGrinch: MF, How ?!! Where ?!

DickieBoy: Cathedral. Just waited for him to show up for food. Poor kid looks starved. ☹️

RedRidingGrinch: That’s impossible, I’m tracking him in the subway, he’s nowhere near the cathedral.

DickieBoy: Don’t know what to tell you littlewing, I got eyes on him. Gave him food myself. 🤷

TimLordVictorious: Wait for it

TimLordVictorious: Wait for it

RedRidingGrinch:  Son of…he planted my tracker on the subway seat.

TimLordVictorious: And here it is.

SpoilerAlert: Lol, that makes it what, the third time the kid gave him the slip?

WhisperCass: Impressive

Bruce Wayne: Most impressive.

Damian Wayne: Todd, I find your lack of ability disturbing.

The Duke: Did you just quote Star Wars ?!!

RedRidingGrinch: Bite me

DickieBoy: So what do we do about Peter ? We apparently can’t follow him without losing him and we need more information. 😔

The Duke: Hold up, is no one going to react to the Star Wars quote ?

Damian Wayne: I have no idea what you’re talking about Thomas.

DoritOracle: I have an idea

DoritOracle: I find myself in need of an assistant at the library. Restocking those high shelves can be challenging.

Bruce Wayne: Is that a good idea ? We know nothing about this boy except that he might be a meta and went through the pits. He could be dangerous.

DickieBoy: You’re being paranoid ^tm right now. You should see the kid, he looks about to keel over from starvation. 😥

Damian Wayne: I agree with father. He is an unknown element. We should capture him for interrogation.

RedRidingGrinch: You’re not interrogating the kid

DickieBoy: Let’s all calm down. Babs idea has merit. And we can make sure one of us is always there as backup just in case. 👏

DoritOracle: I can take care of myself

DickieBoy: I know you can, but B won’t go along with it unless we do at least that much.

Bruce Wayne: Correct

DoritOracle: Fine. So how do we get the kid back to the library?

DickieBoy: No worries, I’ll handle it.

Bruce Wayne sat at the batcomputer, the soft squeaking of bats overhead and the gentle murmur of water running nearby did much to soothe his nerves, as it always did. He’d never felt truly at peace anywhere other than the batcave, the quiet and the dark were like a balm on his soul. Right this moment, he felt the need for it keenly.

He’d come back from his expedition in the sewers with his objectives only a partial success. He’d tracked down Croc to a particular section of the sewer not far from the bowery. But by the time Bruce made his way there, Waylon Jones had moved on. It would be near impossible to find him inside the miles and miles of Gotham sewers. 

Unlike more modern cities, such as metropolis, Gotham’s sewers were old, very old. As such they had been built with a certain sense of scale and grandeur that was at odds with modern practice. That meant plenty of space for Killer Croc to hide away. He’d have to wait for the man to strike before he could capture him and send him back to Arkham.

In all honesty, if Killer Croc had been inclined to give up the murders and occasional acts of cannibalism Bruce would have let him live his life free down there. Recent history with both Harley Quinn and Pamela Isley had proven that sometimes, just sometimes, letting the rogues to their own devices, so long as they restrained themselves, could work. Hounding people who simply wanted to be left in peace out of paranoia would only cause them to lash out.

For quite a long time Bruce had not allowed any of the rogues to live free of surveillance, and time after time it had backfired on him. He’d wanted them either locked up and being treated; or if they were out and not causing immediate problems, he would have observed them. And worse, let them know he was watching. Hoping fear would keep them in line. But even cornered animals would lash out. Let alone people.

The secondary objective, the one Tim had foisted upon him (only because Alfred had forbidden the teenager from going out himself due to his broken clavicle) had gone much better.
During his exploration of the sewers, Bruce had come across a newly excavated wall. And the rancid odor of a Lazarus pit wafted from it. The hole had not been unguarded; a couple members of the league were posted at the entrance. They had been injured however. Grazes from cuts or bullets.

The league had been in a fight recently, that much was clear. An opportunity. One that he wouldn’t pass up on. Normally he would stay back and observe, perhaps even call for backup these days if he was going to take on a league hideout. But the picture of Peter from Oracle’s files had come to mind. He didn’t think the rest of the family had noticed, save perhaps for Alfred who kept his own counsel. Not when the only clear picture of the teen showed him bruised and battered. And those who had seen him in person had only seen the signs of malnutrition, the violence done upon him. And the signs of the pit exposure.

Bruce thought they had missed the forest for the tree. He wasn’t entirely certain, but there was a certain resemblance between Peter and Dick. One that he didn’t like at all. According to the file Peter was 14 years old. Give or take a couple months given there was no birth certificate for the boy since he was a foundling. That would mean Dick would have had to be 15 years old or even as young as 14 himself, when he fathered the child. Young, but not entirely unconceivable for Dick to have lost his virginity.

Since the league had already concealed one child from Bruce, who was to say they hadn’t done the same for Peter. The implication of Dick being so young when the encounter would have taken place was rather upsetting for Bruce, and he doubted Dick would take it any better. But there were many other possibilities. Cloning, Time travel, parallel earths. Or simply a bad case of doppelganger. Without a DNA sample, it would be hard to tell.

The league had been no match for him, not while they were injured, and not when they were operating in such small numbers. Nary a dozen of them at best. Clearly they had been hoping to operate under the radar, and they almost had. What he found inside however was very different from what he expected.

Unlike the usual league’s trappings, this place, this pit, had been managed like a laboratory. A place to experiment. Animal experiments it seemed, given the size of cages he’d spotted against a wall. There were no notes to be found, whoever had used this place before the league took over, violently, had gathered their research when they escaped. Still, Bruce had found some discarded clothes and a backpack. A cursory check showed that the backpack contained things that would be useful to survive in the wild, or on the streets of Gotham.

Now that he was back at the cave, Bruce could confirm that the clothes and backpack he’d brought back, after collapsing the entrance to the pit, had belonged to Peter. So whoever had been there before the league had been the ones to grab the child. Had they had time to experiment on him? It was likely since the child had suddenly started showing abilities he had not before. At the very least he had been exposed to the pit.

Switching the view on the batcomputer to Peter’s file, Bruce mulled over the teenager’s origin. While details of the child's abilities were still unknown at this point in time, the puzzle of how he got them was largely solved, save for who was responsible. Analysis of the lab equipment and its provenance would take a while still but would hopefully point toward a suspect. 

No, what concerned Bruce was why the child looked so familiar. Why did he look like Dick? His expression on the picture attached to C.P.S file mirrored those of his son right after the murder of his parents. It wasn’t a look the others were used to seeing on Dick, so it wasn’t a surprise they’d missed it. But he had seen that look during those first few months when Dick had been nothing but a mixture of pain, grief and hatred at the world who took everything from him.

Sadly the clothes had not yielded any useful DNA sample he could run to confirm his suspicions.

Bruce glanced at the batchat. The conversation had petered out after Dick said he’d somehow get Peter to take a job at the library. Peter’s unknown origins were the reason why Bruce was opposed to the plan. However he was trying to give his family more space to do things their own way. He had to trust they knew what they were doing, to trust they could take care of themselves. Trust that his training would be enough to see them through. No matter how much he wanted to take charge and impose his own methods on them, for their own safety. His experience in the timestream had not changed him. Not really. But it had made him want to change. So he was making an effort, one he hoped he would not regret.

Peter had made his way toward the table occupied by Marcus, Kali, and Miguel. A small smile briefly crossed his features when he saw them safe. With his own experience, Peter had been worried that something may have happened to them as well. 

“Peter!” Marcus exclaimed and could help but slap Peter’s shoulder in greeting when the teenager sat down. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright,” mumbled Peter, and he was quite surprised to realize that it was indeed alright. Peter had always had extreme reactions to being touched but he reacted to the brief contact in exactly the way it was meant, as an enthusiastic greeting. 

Marcus arched an eyebrow in surprise but then simply smiled. He knew not to push anyone in their little community if they didn’t want to share, so whatever change had come over Peter would be his to share in his own time. He didn’t know why the teen wasn’t freaking out at the touch or why he no longer limped. But it felt like a good thing.

“We missed you yesterday, Kali was worried something had happened to you.” Peter glanced up at the woman, surprised by the concern and relief he saw on her face. Perhaps these people actually were Peter’s friends. They certainly cared more about him than he’d expected.

“I’m okay,” he replied but offered no explanation for his absence yesterday. “Just got caught up in some Gotham stuff” he finally offered. The others nodded. Gotham stuff. It could mean anything from getting caught in the middle of massive gang war, to being held hostage by some of the rogues, to being dangled by the foot from a rooftop because one of the bats thought you knew something. Blessedly the last only seemed to happen to people who actually were involved in some criminal enterprise of sorts. None of the bats had ever mistreated the homeless at least.

“Have you noticed who’s serving the food today?” asked Miguel, a sneer on his face. The man made no secrets of what he thought of the Waynes's charity. Or at least what he thought the reasons for it were. He thought they did it for good publicity, a sentiment Peter vehemently disagreed with. Just as he was about to open his mouth and go on another rant/infodump Marcus spoke up, cutting Peter’s momentum.

“Yes, we know. And I’ll remind you that the why doesn’t matter. We get help and that’s what matters. Unless you want our little professor to go on another lecture?” he chuckled while Peter blushed. Miguel smirked good naturedly and shook his head. “No, you’re right. I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Peter was a little confused by their willingness to drop the subject so easily. They certainly hadn’t done so in the past. Perhaps they didn’t want to ruin what little Christmas spirit they had.

Gotham was not in the habit of starting celebrations for any holliday early. Not when any of the rogues might take it as an invitation to ruin the fun. So for years now Gotham had taken a very flash mob approach to the holidays. Avoid any sort of decoration, or reminders until the last possible minute and if nothing catastrophic happens, then spring a celebration at the last moment. At least this year Calendar man was behind bars.

Regardless of why no one wanted to argue, Peter started digging into his food with gusto. He ate his entire double portion in record time and even after ingesting the frankly enormous meal he still felt quite hungry. It was as if years of deprivation had hit him all at once. All of his missed meals banding together to make themselves known at this moment.

Peter glanced down at the care package Dick Grayson had given him. Inside he saw some non-perishable foods, some crackers, a box of rice, a small jar of jam, and a couple chocolate bars. While he could devour nearly all of it right there and then, save for the rice, Peter found it more appropriate to wait until he was back to his hideout. With some luck he would be able to cook the rice and make a proper meal out of things.

The others were looking at him like they’d seen a ghost, a nervous chuckle escaping Marcus Lips while Kali protectively edged her plate of food away from Peter. The teenager smiled bashfully, feeling his ears heat up in embarrassment. He stood up and grabbed his plate, heading to the table to return it.

He saw Mister Grayson serving meals to the last few people in line. When he saw Peter approach to return his plate the man talked up to one of the other staff member before moving up to approach Peter.

The teen found himself tensing at the approach. As much as he admired the Waynes for their relentless charity work, he was not comfortable with any sort of social interaction. And the short conversation with Marcus and the others had all but drained his social batteries already.

Noticing his apprehension, Dick held his hand up as he offered Peter an easy smile. “Don’t worry, not here to cause any trouble for you.” He waited a moment, perhaps expecting Peter to reply but the teenager looked at the older man without much reaction. “Right, anyway. You probably won’t appreciate it if I beat around the bush. I noticed that you’re probably struggling more than the average person here.”

Peter felt a bit offended at the notion. He was perfectly capable of managing on his own, he’d done so for a while now and with his new abilities his prospects were already looking up. Dick, easily noticed his reaction since the teenager wore his heart on his sleeve. It wasn’t all that hard to figure out what went through his mind.

“Look, all I’m saying is you look like you could probably use some cash for food.” Before Peter could object he raised a hand up to keep the teen from speaking. “I’m not offering to just give you money for nothing. I have a friend who works at the library, and she told me recently she was looking for someone to work part time to help her around. She’s got mobility issues so she’d appreciate the help. You seem like a good kid so I thought maybe you’d be interested.”

Dick managed to keep from cringing at blatantly using Babs' disability like that. He knew full well she was completely capable of handling just about anything on her own. But he thought maybe the kid would be more likely to agree if he thought he was actually going to help someone instead of taking advantage.

It took a long while but ultimately Peter nodded. “I’ll….I’ll go.” Dick smiled brightly at that. “Great, you’re a lifesaver Pete, I’m sure Babs will appreciate the help.”

Peter awkwardly shuffled, not sure how to gracefully exit the conversation. So in the end he just decided to turn around and leave without saying a word, leaving Dick behind rather flabbergasted.

oOo

Unfortunately for Peter, it turned out that having a prescient sense of danger didn’t help all that much if you weren’t actually somewhat paying attention. Peter had been walking toward the library, lost in thoughts as he ran through all the possible ways his upcoming talk with the librarian might go. As such he’d completely ignored his tingle blaring at him about danger.

Before he knew what was happening Peter had been yanked along into an alleyway by a man holding a gun and pushed against a wall. The teenager was holding his care package in his arms, held protectively against his chest, while his sailor bag had cushioned his impact against the wall.

“Give me everything you got kid” the man waved the gun he was holding in a vaguely threatening manner. Normally, in such a situation, Peter would simply cave in and comply. After all, he was just a small kid. What chance did he have against a guy with a gun? But the man had made the mistake of interrupting Peter’s thoughts while he was already hungry. As such Peter failed to control his intrusive thoughts that chose this very moment to quip.

“Man, do I look like I have anything worth anything ? Clearly you’re not the smartest or most observant person on the planet.”

“What?”

“What?”

Peter and the man looked at each other in stunned silence for a moment. Neither of them quite believing the words that had just escaped the teenager’s mouth with an amount of sass that would make a New Yorker proud. 

“So…I’m just gonna go, okay, bye” Peter’s intrusive thoughts were still firmly in control and the teenager just tried to walk away, dismissing the presence of the mugger entirely. It almost worked as well as he made it a few steps before the man reacted.

“You little shit!”

Behind, dodge left

This time Peter’s tingle didn’t go ignored and the teen found himself pivoting  while moving to the left just as a gunshot echoed through the air. Peter watched in horrified stupor as time seemed to slow to a crawl while he watched the bullet he just dodged tear through his care package. The bag hadn’t pivoted as quickly as the rest of him and became the unfortunate victim of the gunshot.

Once more quiet reigned between Peter and the mugger. The man was looking at the teenager in stupefied silence while Peter looked down at his bag, which was slowly leaking grains of rice over the dirty floor of the alleyway.

“You shot my Uncle Ben’s” Peter said in quiet outrage.

“Are…are you being serious right now?” the man asked, completely nonplussed that someone would lament the loss of a bag of rice.

As if a spell was broken, Peter snapped back to reality and before he could think better of it, he quickly reached out and grabbed the man’s hand that held the gun. He intended to try to disarm the man but he underestimated his newfound strength and the man screamed in agony as Peter crushed his fingers.

Panicking, the teenager decked the man in the face, sending him flying back ten feet where he landed on the ground.

Chapter Text

After the incident with the mugger and the tragic loss of his uncle Ben’s, Peter decided to postpone going to the library. He couldn’t get the sensation of the man’s fingers getting crushed under his own out of his mind. Peter knew he’d become stronger after the incident in the sewers, but he hadn’t realized how strong. He glanced down at the deformed lump of metal and splintered plastic that had formerly been a handgun before throwing it away with as much strength as he could muster. He saw the lump of metal fly off over the buildings around him..

The reason Peter decided to avoid the library was that, without having control of his strength, he would break things and get fired from his job incredibly quickly. If he could even get the job in the first place. After all, if the librarian asked to shake hands he could risk crushing her hand entirely. No better for Peter to miss on the job while he figured out a way to control his newfound strength.

So for the rest of the day Peter resumed his old habit of scrounging for food and whatever he could salvage from around old Gotham, slowly but surely making his way back toward Crime Alley, leaving a trail of damaged dumpsters behind.

In the beginning he almost ripped the lids of the first couple dumpsters he rummaged through, sending bags of trash flying through the air and crashing against walls when he tried to lift them up. After a while he started getting the hang of things and by the end of the day he only occasionally crushed the lid of the dumpsters.

His misadventure wasn’t without results however. Peter found a few more pieces of clothes he stuffed into his sailor bag, an old nail clipper that seemed to still be in working order, if somewhat dirty, a string-less guitar that looked somewhat banged up, and the biggest treasure of all, an old banged up microwave. It didn’t look like the microwave was particularly damaged. Given that he’d found it while he explored near the east end it was possible someone had thrown the old one out when they got a new model.

Now Peter was faced with a new challenge. How to get an entire, if small, microwave, up to the third story window he used to access his hideout. He couldn’t stuff it into his bag, he’d tried and he already had the guitar and bag slung over his shoulders. The teenager peered up the wall, waiting for inspiration to strike. Could he manage to successfully climb the wall with only one hand, while the other stuck to the microwave? Perhaps, he had only one way to find out.

As it turned out, the climb wasn’t any harder with just one hand. In fact, halfway up Peter got particularly brave, or stupid, and tried ascending up the wall simply by walking. A disbelieving laugh escaped his lips while he just walked up the wall. Seemingly disregarding gravity entirely.

Maneuvering the open window was a slight challenge but the teen managed to make his way inside and dropped the microwave on the kitchen counter inside the apartment. As he stepped away, Peter noticed a strange stringy substance under his hand. Or not quite his hand. The whitish string was attached to the side of the microwave and led back to his wrist.

Freaking out Peter yanked on the string, tearing it off from his wrist but as he did, even more of the string shot out of his wrist and stuck to the wall.  Now, Peter wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew that teenage boys had a propensity for secreting white fluid once puberty hit. That was normal and healthy. But he was also fairly sure people weren’t meant to shoot spider webs from their wrists.

Peter removed the web more carefully this time and inspected his wrists. He saw a slightly raised bump on them, whitish in color. It could pass for some old scar tissue if one didn’t look too closely but Peter saw a small opening at the top of it.

Feeling rather overwhelmed by the discovery, the teenager decided that his day had gone on long enough and went back to his nest, wrapping himself in several blankets and promptly fell asleep.

Somewhere in Old Gotham later that night, deep in an alleyway, two figures stood in front of a scene of undisguised carnage.

“What do you think happened?” asked one of the figures wrapped in a purple cloak, locks of blond hair peeking out from under a hood.

The other figure, wearing a ninja outfit with gold highlights, shrugged, her expression unreadable behind the mask that covered the bottom of her face.

“It’s…everywhere” the first figure continued, not bothered by the silence of her companion. “I’ve seen crime scenes from Zsasz and Joker that were tidier.” She looked up at the wall 30 feet up where some dark substance had stained the wall.

The other figure ran her hand over what once had been smooth metal but now had deep rends in it. Rends that looked suspiciously like claw marks.

The first woman nodded when she saw what the other was looking at. “Killer Croc could have done this, but that’s not really his M.O.”

The second woman turned to the first and did a few signs. The first nodded again. “Yes, I suppose we should call this in.” She reached up to her ear and tapped the commlink she wore.

“Hey, Oracle. I’m with Orphan. We found a bunch of dumpsters being damaged, and there’s like, trash thrown all over the place. Like insanely high up. I think Gotham may have a giant raccoon infestation.”

Christmas eve saw Peter waking up considerably less freaked out than he’d been the previous night. After emerging from his blankets the teenager sat on the floor, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He yawned and then looked down at himself. Sadly his clothes had become victims to last night's activities and were covered in dirty stains. He sighed and stood up, heading to the bathroom while he stripped.

Peter filled the old bathtub with water, frowning at the slight coppery color of it. Left with no other choices he dropped his clothes inside and used the small amount of soap he’d gotten from the shelter what felt like a lifetime ago to clean his clothes as best he could. He once more considered how lucky he’d been that this place still had water. 

Peter left his clothes up to dry on the side of the bathtub and dug some replacement from his bag. As he did he caught a glimpse of himself into a cracked dirty mirror and let out a small gasp.

He didn’t recognize himself. His face was still his own, his features hadn’t changed that much but his sunken cheeks had filled in a little and as he looked down at his reflection he noticed his muscles. While still thin and lanky, Peter now had some actual definition to his figure. He posed for a little while and marveled at the change.

Last night while dumpster diving, Peter had managed to find and eat a surprisingly large amount of food. He knew that this time of year was going to be bountiful. People threw a lot of raw food, remains of their preparation for Christmas and after the holiday there would be the remains of the feast itself.

Ordinarily he wouldn’t be able to eat most of the raw ingredients. Uncooked meat wasn’t safe to consume after all. But the vegetables and scraps of potato peels had always been fair game. But now, the change that had come over him had caused him to wolf down even the scraps of uncooked meat. He was surprised he hadn’t been sick during the night.

All in all it seemed his vastly increased diet had done him some good. He still looked painfully thin, but at least he no longer looked like he was on the edge of starvation.

After putting on the best of his replacement clothes (a tracksuit with a few holes in it), Peter went to look at last night's haul. When he entered the kitchen he glanced at the wall and the microwave, finding no trace of the web-like substance he had secreted. Peter approached the microwave and inspected it carefully, noting a small amount of dust near it. Dust that looked somewhat differently coloured from the rest of the dust that still graced everything in the kitchen. He should perhaps spend some time doing some cleaning if he was going to live here full time.

After a few minutes of planning on where to find cleaning supplies, Peter shook his head to get rid of the distracting thoughts. Instead he focused back on the matter at hand, the weird dust. He found the same deposit of dust at the foot of the wall where he’d shot his web before.

Peter nodded to himself, his suspicion confirmed. This was the remains of the web. It appeared the substance broke down and disintegrated after a while. How long ? He wasn’t sure exactly. Maybe he could test this. It wouldn’t last more than a few hours at least. How long did real spider-webs last ? He didn’t know, a long time judging by the amount of webs he had seen throughout his life. Some had been incredibly dusty and long abandoned. But the worst were those thin nearly invisible ones he sometimes ran into. The feeling of webs on his face made him shiver and panic whenever he had the misfortune of running into one.

So Peter would need to experiment with his webs. He raised his hands, aiming at the wall and tried to will the web to shoot out without success. “Okay, so maybe it need some code word”

“Go web” Nothing.

“Fly.” Still nothing

“Up up and away web” Now you’re just copying other heroes.

“Shazzam!” No web, and no lightning bolt.

He started throwing random hand gestures “Go ! Go!” Still nothing “Go web go !” He even tried throwing the horn. Well, at least you know what to do in a heavy metal concert.

Peter rotated his wrist up and down, still doing the horns like a complete dork. Before sighing and trying another gesture. This time a web shot out of his wrist and splattered against the wall.

Peter carefully looked at his hand. Pinky, index finger, and thumb extended, middle and ring finger folded in. Just to confirm, Peter repeated the gesture with his other hand and a second web line connected to the wall.

Peter was ecstatic to have figured it out. When his hand released the gesture, the web naturally disconnected from his wrists. Further experimentation led to him discovering that his intent mattered. He could somewhat control the thickness of the web by picturing what he wanted to do. He could even generate some glob of webbing that expanded upon impact instead of a single line.

For a while Peter had fun experimenting, but then he looked at the mess he’d caused. The entire wall was covered from floor to ceiling in his web. Well, at least they would disintegrate after a while.

Going back to more mundane concerns, Peter went to the loot he’d found last night. He plugged in the microwave and was surprised to see it turn on. It seemed this place still had electricity as well as water. He hadn’t been able to figure that out earlier as none of the lightbulbs in the apartment had been left intact.

So, once Peter got a job at the library, If he still could, that is, he would be able to buy food and eat something warm. It seemed his life was rapidly improving.

The teenager then went to the guitar, letting his fingers gently run along the battered wood. In truth, his life in the foster care system hadn’t been a constant hell. Once he’d been placed with someone who actually seemed to care and didn’t abuse him. But a heart attack had robbed him of a chance to stay with Maybelle. Another time he’d been in an abusive household but had not been the only child there. An older teen had taken it upon himself to protect Peter and teach him a few things. Among them he’d told Peter he should learn to play the guitar as it would make him a big hit with the girls.

Peter had pulled a face at that. At the time he couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to spend time with girls. They were gross and had cooties. Now he chuckled sadly to himself. The memory was made bittersweet by the tragic accident that befell Harry.

Peter wished he could play this guitar, but without string it was all but useless at this point. Peter then looked down at his wrists. Could he use his web as a replacement? Aside from perhaps self defense he didn’t think his new ability would prove super useful. Maybe he could make a hammock ? That’d be cool too. 

Peter took the instrument and sat down on the floor. Focusing quite hard he slowly drew a thin line of webbing from his wrist. Using it to restring the guitar. It was slow work and he had to start over multiple times when he couldn’t get the web to stop being so sticky. But after a while he figured it out.

The teenager was about to start strumming the guitar, ready to tune it as best he could when he stopped. Suddenly the walls of the apartment felt really small, he felt suffocated, overcome with the memories of the only real friend he’d ever had. He needed some air. He ran out of the apartment and made his way to the stairs, climbing them up two at a time. Finding the locked door that led to the roof at the top of his flight Peter simply kicked the door open, the heavy shackle that secured the door closed no match for his increased strength.

Peter now found himself on the rooftop, taking deep breaths of the cold morning air. Overnight the snow had melted, but judging by the heavy cloud cover in the sky it might be possible for Gotham to experience a white Christmas.

Making his way to the edge of the roof, Peter sat down, his legs dangling over the edge, the guitar in his lap. For once in his life Peter stopped and just took the time to look around. He let his guard down and simply appreciated the view. In the distance he saw the brownstones of the Upper East End beyond the Bowery. Even further and to the right stood the various skyscrapers of the Diamond District. And finally the skyline was dominated by the Wayne tower and the clock tower. Free of its usual smog Peter realized how beautiful Gotham could look. 

It was a brutal city and its dark architecture had often been called gothic. And there was some of that, particularly among the older, fancier buildings. But if Peter had to describe the general look of Gotham he would call it Dark Deco.  

After contemplating for a moment, Peter started idly strumming the guitar, tightening and loosening the nuts to adjust the tune. His sharper hearing allowing him to tune the guitar perfectly after a while. Finally he started playing.

Jason was feeling anxious and annoyed. His big brother had so easily found the kid while he himself had just been made to look like a fool. It was insulting how easily the brat managed to slip between his fingers time after time. This explained his sour mood, but the anxiety had been born of the lack of update. The kid had disappeared again. Peter had told Dick he’d go see Babs about a job at the library and he’d never showed up.

The kid had vanished once more and the family had said they’d keep an eye out. However Peter wasn’t a huge priority for them. Not when Christmas was so close at hand and with it the potential for untold horror unleashed by one of the rogues.

Not that they had any good reasons to think anything would happen this year. Most of the rogues were behind bars or locked up tight in Arkham, and those still out were not the type to indulge in acts of terrors. But the family was nothing if not paranoid.

And Peter would be left to the side, an unfortunate byproduct of higher priorities. It was cold, pragmatic. Typical Bruce. The man had reasoned that the kid had been more than able to take care of himself so far. So if they spotted him, that was good. But they weren’t to go out specifically in search of the kid.

Infuriatingly, his orders even started to look like they made sense when Steph and Cass had reported a giant raccoon attack. Not that anyone had seen the beast but a series of dumpsters had been left mauled. And well, Gotham wasn’t a stranger to the odd animal attack (or human turned animal attack). They had quietly looked into Langstrom, thinking that he perhaps had a relapse but the man was safely home with his family.

Jason for his part elected to ignore Bruce’s order and kept looking for Peter. Rather than waste time patrolling and trying to find the brat at random, Jason decided to steal a page from his brother’s book. As the faint morning light of Gotham shone upon the city he made his way back to the safehouse he knew Peter had used at least once. Now, any one of the bats whose safehouse was discovered would cut their losses and abandon it outright. But Peter had used the place even after being tailed by Jason. So it was possible he would still go back to it even after noticing the tracker planted on his bag.

It was a faint hope, but Jason wouldn’t assume the kid actually knew what he was doing. Peter may be ridiculously good at giving him the slip, but it certainly wasn’t done through training and planning. Hell the kid hadn’t even changed his routine of going to the cathedral every morning. Not that he would today, the food wouldn’t be distributed at the cathedral on Christmas.

So Jason was slowly heading up the stairs, in full Red Hood gear. Unlike last time he didn’t have his gun at the ready, as he knew the only occupant had been the kid. He was even prepared to just knock on the door politely rather than kick it in. If none of his usual stealthy or brute force approach worked with Peter, he would just try to be civil.

Just as he was about to knock on the door of the apartment he knew the kid used he heard a few notes of music coming from outside. Frowning, he opened the nearest window and poked his head out. It sounded like someone was tuning a guitar on the roof. Not a fiddler but Jason could appreciate the attempt anyway.

He made his way up the stairs that led to the rooftop and noticed the busted door. He’d personally locked it with a heavy duty security padlock. Just enough to ensure no one would infiltrate from outside, so he was surprised to see it busted open so easily. Drawing his gun he stepped out, and spotted Peter immediately. He holstered his gun just as the kid started playing and Jason leaned against the doorway, content to listen.

When we are born we are swaddled and suckled

Whispered to, fussed over, tickled and cuddled

When we grow up things get muddled

And here it is, Christmas time

As Jason listened, his mind couldn’t help but go back to years long past where he’d celebrated Christmas with Bruce, Alfred, and Dick. Long before the others joined, long before his own death and subsequent resurrection.

Will you stop by for a piece of delicious

Peach pie while I tell you my yuletide wishes?

You can help me do the dishes

'Cause here it is, Christmas time

Perhaps it was time for Jason to rejoin the family for the holidays. He knew there would be tension, but listening to Peter sing, a kid who had quite literally nothing to his name and no one to turn to, made Jason appreciate all the things he still had, no matter how he sometimes felt he didn’t.

We all want someone who will love us and hold us

To curl up alongside when nights are the coldest

We all want someone who will hug us and kiss us

All I want is you for Christmas

All I want is you for Christmas

All I want is you for Christmas

Soon, perhaps too soon the song ended and the moment passed. Jason let out a heavy sigh and started walking toward Peter.

“Ye're not bad with that guitar kid.”

He saw Peter flinch in surprise, the kid had been wholly unaware of his presence until now it seemed. The teenager turned around quickly, holding his guitar protectively against his chest. He saw the look of recognition that came over the brat and was somewhat surprised to see him tense even more rather than relax.

Hood may have been feared, dreaded even by his enemies, but everyone knew he looked after kids. So why was Peter so tense?

“How about ya step away from the edge?” Jason suggested, holding his hands up to indicate he meant no harm. He saw the indecision over the kid’s face before he nodded and stood up and walked a bit further toward the center of the roof. Jason hadn’t been afraid the kid would jump. But he had been worried about an accident.

Peter and Jason face each other in tense silence. The teenager was shuffling his feet and avoiding eye contact, and the tension in his shoulder hadn’t vanished, if anything it was growing more with each passing second. To the point where Jason thought Peter might just try to run away at any moment.

“Relax Kid, I ain’t here to hurt ya or nothing. Just thought I’d come listen to yer playing is all.”

Jason was laying his Park Row accent a little thick here. Years ago Bruce and Alfred had taught him proper diction so he could blend in better at the galas. Nowadays Jason let his natural accent come back, perhaps as a mean to distance himself from his old life.

Peter seemed to relax perhaps a fraction at those words, so Jason continued “‘sides if I wanted ya dead I’d let ya bleed out a couple nights ago.” At that Peter’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes focusing intently on Jason’s helmet.

“You helped me?” Jason didn’t like the way the kid said it, his words spoken with incredulity, like he didn’t expect anyone, not even Gotham’s vigilantes to help him. 

“‘Course I did, it’s what I do”

“Not always” the kid muttered quietly, almost too quiet for Jason to pick up. He frowned at that. It’s true Jason’s methods were far more extreme than those of the other bats, and he was technically a crime lord but for some reason he didn’t think that was what the kid was referring to.

“Ye got people to celebrate Christmas with, kid?” 

“...Yes,” dear god the kid was a terrible liar. His answer had been hesitant, his voice trembling. Even if Jason didn’t know the kid was a runaway he would have picked up on the lie immediately.

“So what’s the plan for the holiday then?” he probed. Peter tensed up “Why?” Because checking up on ya is a right pain in the ass, kid.” Jason replied immediately.

He’d read Peter files, and knew the kid was diagnosed as ‘special needs’. A bit more digging and he realized it meant the kid was on the spectrum. It was impressive someone like that managed to do so well on their own in Gotham. The city was hardly kind to even the hardiest souls, it could be downright cruel to its most vulnerable.

All this to say that he’d done some reading on Peter’s situation (not condition, the community was clear they didn’t think of themselves as sick and Jason could respect and agree with that). So what he knew was that if he lied to the kid, tried to manipulate him and Peter picked up on it ? He’d never regain his trust. Someone like Peter would be easiest to talk to frankly and directly, even if it would seem rude to anyone else. In a way he reminded him of Tim.

“Ya keep pulling a disappearing act on me whenever I try to see if ye're doing okay after ya got stabbed.”

“It…it wasn’t that bad”

“Yeah, it was. Look kid, I know ye're a Meta” At that Peter froze for a moment then started shaking and pacing back and forth, rocking on his heels as he did, muttering no over and over again under his breath in mounting panic. He even started eyeing the rooftop like he was gonna jump. Away or down wasn’t clear to Jason.

“Wow, relax Kid, take a deep breath. It’s okay, I ain’t gonna run you outa town or nothing.”

His words weren’t getting through, so Jason removed his helmet and dropped it on the roof, his identity still protected by the red domino mask he wore underneath his helmet.

“Kid, look at me, breathe with me. In for three, hold for four, out for five.” Jason demonstrated and Peter mimicked him, although Jason wasn’t sure the kid was doing so consciously.

For a while they just breathed in sync until Peter calmed down a little. The kid spoke up with a trembling voice.

“Batman…Batman will chase me,” Jason shook his head. “No, he won’t, I promise. And if he did, I’d stop him.”

“But….he has a rule.”

“Kid, he’s got many bullshit rules. But the ‘no Meta’ one, it don’t mean what ye think it does.”

Peter looked at him puzzled, scared, and perhaps a little hopeful that things may not be as bad as he imagined. “The bat is not a fan of other heroes on his turf, that’s what the rule is about. Think about it, He’s got Signal working for him and he is a Meta. He just doesn’t like people playing vigilante on his turf, ‘specialy not people with actual powers.”

Peter frowned at that, not like he was thinking about it, but like he was angry about it. “That’s….dumb.”

Jason barked a laugh “well, that’s the Bat for ye” he kept chuckling for a moment. “No one's gonna run ya outta town kid. As far as the Bat’s concerned there’s nothing wrong with Meta in Gotham so long as they don’t cause trouble.”

As Peter slowly started to relax, the adrenaline washing out of his system caused him to shake like a leaf. Jason was tempted to lay a hand on Peter’s shoulder in reassurance, but the kid had clearly been abused in the past. There was no telling how he’d react to being touched. And that was before taking into account his diagnosis.

“Look kid, the Bat knows about ye being a meta. All the vigilantes in town do. None of us tried to get rid of ye by now so we ain’t gonna start, okay?”

Peter gave a small nod in return. Jason pondered asking the kid more questions about what happened to him. Perhaps get that DNA sample everyone had been clamoring about. But the kid looked like he’d had more than enough for the time being. Bruce had shared his findings about how Peter got exposed to the pits, while they didn’t have all the details, Jason was pretty sure they knew the gist of what happened, so he saw no real reasons to hound Peter any more than they already had. The other may disagree however.

“I’ll be honest with ye kid. Ye're okay in my book, but the others, they may want more info from ye about what happened to ye. I’ll try to keep them off yer back, okay?”

“Okay.” the teenager replied in a small voice that Jason barely heard. “I also know ye're staying here. I’m not gonna let the other know, so ye're safe to stay if ye want. You got a phone, kid?”

Peter shook his head at that and Jason ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Okay, here’s a burner. Can’t use it for much but if ye need help, ya call me, my number’s already in it.”

Jason tossed Peter a phone that the kid easily snatched out of the air before Jason continued. “I’m gonna head out and leave ye alone. And I’m gonna give ya yer space and not come sniffing about unless ye call, fair?”

Once again Peter nodded and Jason went to pick his helmet, putting it back on his head. “Stay safe kid” he said before jumping off the roof and grappling his way down to the street where his bike waited.

Peter was left heavily shaken by the encounter. The revelation that the vigilantes of Gotham knew about him rankled him deeply. He thought he’d been sneaky and clever enough to avoid getting on their radar. Now he realized how foolish he’d been. Hood had even planted a tracker on him, obviously they weren’t going to give up on finding him.

And now they had, they knew he was a Meta, they knew where he lived. At least Red Hood did, and Peter wasn’t sure if he could trust the man to not reveal his location to the rest of the bats.

Maybe he should run away and hide? No, that would only prompt them to chase after him. You didn’t run away from a barking dog after all. You backed away slowly. In this analogy that meant staying put to lull them in a false sense of security. In a few weeks he’d disappear on them, when they weren’t paying attention.

With a plan in place Peter felt much better. Now he took the time to look at the phone Red Hood had given him. Could they be following or spying on him through it? Probably. Luckily Peter had a way to test for this.

He focused on the idea of being stealthy, on not letting people know where he was. He took a step and his tingle stayed silent. I really need a better name for this.

Somewhat reassured about the phone, Peter slipped it into his pocket and made his way back inside. Regardless of the interaction, he had needs to fulfill. He needed to find food, and with the charity not doing breakfast at the cathedral like it normally would, thanks to the rich and powerful not wanting the homeless near their place of worship on this day, he’d need to find an alternate source.

He considered making his way to the library to inquire about the job, but he doubted the place would be open on Christmas eve. 

oOo

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock

Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring

Snowin' and blowin' up bushels of fun

Now the jingle hop has begun

In the end Peter had made his way back to Old Gotham, he wasn’t certain of the library opening hours so he thought he might take a chance. Overnight, Gotham had changed; Christmas decorations hung up all over the streets. The red, green, and blue lights arranged in colorful displays in the shapes of stars and wreaths adorned a lot of doors. Shops had changed their displays, and the Gotham public broadcast alert system had been repurposed to play old Christmas tunes.

The day before the city had still been holding its breath, ready at any moment for a rogue attack; now everyone was in a festive mood. Peter saw many families walk around, hurrying on their way to their destinations. The normally downright hostile Gotham citizens were instead simply ignoring each others in a rare display of holiday cheer. Or as much holiday cheer as gothamites were able to express anyway.

Even Peter was no exception, he’d taken to humming the old songs under his breath, quietly singing along when he knew the words. Soon he saw several people stop and point up above. He looked up just in time to catch sight of a figure dressed in yellow grappling down the streets. Peter tensed for a moment at the sight of Signal, before relaxing as the vigilante moved away. 

Deciding to ignore the sight Peter continued on his way toward the library, coincidently moving in the same direction the vigilante had been going. Things only became worrying when a half dozen cop cars came barreling down the street from behind, siren blaring and lights flashing. Clearly something was going on. It seemed Gotham would not have a quiet Christmas after all.

Peter was a Gothamite born and bred however, and a dozen cop cars barely ranked above minor disturbance in his book. Whatever was happening, Signal would probably be able to handle it. Things didn’t get truly serious unless the broadcast system started blaring an alert and for now it was still happily playing Christmas tunes.

The teenager barely made it another block before coming across the issue that had necessitated the cops and Signal intervention. The cops' cars were blocking the street, preventing people from approaching the Gotham third national bank.

Peter nodded to himself, a bank robbery. A true heist at that, none of that hostage nonsense you often saw. At Christmas there would be no hostage to take, so whoever was doing this had probably hoped to crack the vault open quietly.

With no immediate danger present, some Gothamite had stuck around to have a look at what was happening. Most were content to ignore the problem and just continue on their way. For his part Peter approached the barricade that had been hastily set up by the cops. The Library wasn’t all much further and the teenager hoped that the situation would be solved quickly enough that waiting would prove less of a delay than going around.

Of course that’s when things went to hell. Peter’s tingle started screaming at him about danger. The teenager barely had time to even register the sensation before the entrance to the bank exploded. 

oOo

By the time Peter came to, he found himself a dozen feet from where he’d been standing. His head felt strangely floaty and his eyes had trouble focusing. He couldn’t really hear anything either, the word wasn’t entirely silent but it was extremely muted, like he was underwater. He also didn’t understand why he was down on the ground.

Peter tried to remember what had happened. He was walking along, waiting for the cops to move on when…yes. An explosion. A giant ball of flame accompanied by a shockwave that had lifted him up and thrown him back. His head was killing him. He reached up with one hand to rub the back of his neck and his fingers came back stained with blood. It looked like Peter had hit his head upon landing.

Looking around, he saw that the cop’s cars had been thrown into disarray and several officers were down. Peter then saw two men emerge from the rubble of the bank. They paused for a moment before making a run for it. Moments later he saw Signal emerge as well. The vigilante seemed disoriented, swaying on his feet before he took off after the two men.

Peter frowned at that, if he felt charitable he might attribute Signal unwillingness to help the injured to his obvious disorientation. However, Peter was much more inclined to think the vigilante didn’t care. He worked for Batman and the bat hadn’t cared when… The teenager shook his head, unwilling to dwell on the past at the moment. Slowly he stood up on shaky legs, his hearing slowly coming back allowing him to hear the moans of pain and screams of fear all around him. He shook his head and slowly made his way toward an overturned cop car, under which an officer was pinned. There were injured people all around him and Peter felt compelled to help. 

Yet his steps faltered. If he helped, if he used his strange abilities to save people, he’d be seen doing it. He’d attract attention. He remembered the words of Red Hood this morning. He’d be allowed to stay in Gotham only if he kept out of trouble.

By sheer luck Peter had been thrown down into a side street. He could just walk away and no one would be the wiser. 

Why do you do the things you do?

Because I can. I have all these great powers. So I have an equally great responsibility to use them to help others as best I can.

Peter remembered words he’d heard a long time ago, when he was too young to truly understand them during the interview Superman had given. He hadn’t understood, not until this moment. If he fled, Peter would never be able to live with the shame. It was one thing to stay out of trouble, but when he stumbled upon something like this, how could he turn away?

But could he risk his identity? Peter took a deep breath, about to step forward regardless of the consequences when a brown paper bag flitted into view.

Renée Montoya and Harvey Bullock were not having a good day. The pair of detectives had been making their way toward the bank to arrest the perps once Signal took them down. Harvey, in typical fashion, had been grumbling about vigilantes and how they should arrest the whole lot of them.

Montoya could only roll her eyes at this. Bullock would probably have an aneurysm if he knew that she was in fact dating one of the vigilantes he so despised. Things had taken a turn for the worst after they arrived at the bank. Instead of what they expected, finding the perps tied up by Signal, they instead found the situation still in progress.

The beat cops had arranged a barricade around the bank and informed the two detectives that this wasn’t just a simple bank robbery or heist. The thief had come with a fairly large bomb. It was unclear if they intended to blow up the vault or if they thought high explosives made for a good alternative to hostage or even as a mean of distraction.

Either way, it had slowed the young hero down, as it was no longer as simple as beating up a couple criminals. While Bullock was bullishly haranguing the beat cop to get them to call SWAT instead of relying on a teenager in  piss yellow costume (his words), Montoya made her way toward the barricade line, ready to instruct the officers there to push it back even further. She still didn't like how close they all were to the bank.

Sadly, life proved her right when the bank exploded. Montoya was fairly sure she blacked out for a while, because when she came to, she found herself pinned under one of the officer’s cars. Her legs were trapped under the overturned vehicle. Experimentally she wiggled her toes and was relieved to feel intense pain. At least it meant she could still feel her legs. Lack of blood near her also indicated she wasn’t currently bleeding out. So all in all, things could have gotten a lot worse.

Then she saw the two thief came out of the bank. She wanted to point her gun at them but sadly the explosion had robbed her of her firearm. It lay tentatively out of reach, so she could only helplessly watch them run off. Mere moment later she saw Signal emerge from the rubble as well. 

She was relieved to see the young man was safe, if somewhat groggy. With the explosion she had feared the worst. The young man stopped for a second, turning toward her and the other officers and handful of civilians that needed help but she shouted to attract his attention. “Go! Catch those bastards”

To his credit Signal obeyed her immediately. This was triage, yes he could stay and try to help but despite his powers Signal would not be of great use helping the injured. Just an extra pair of hands. His training and abilities would be of far more help in catching the thieves. Now she just had to hope the paramedics and firefighter would show up quickly. A vain hope given Gotham abysmal response time on the best of days.

She laid down, glancing at the sky, resigned to helpless waiting when she heard a voice. 

“Hang on, I can get that off of you, I think”

She turned her head and stared in open mouthed shock. There he was, a kid (he could be nothing other than a kid given his size and voice) squatting next to her, hands reaching to grab the car that kept her pinned. And He was wearing a goddamn paper bag on his head. 

“Wh….who are you?” she could only ask, dumbfounded by the sight before her. Gotham had its fair share of weirdos on both sides of the law. But a guy with a paper bag over his head was a new low, even for Gotham. Although condiment king was a close second.

The kid turned toward her and stayed quiet for a moment, as if pondering how to answer her. Then the fakest deep voice she ever heard answered her. “I’m Bagman”.

The kid looked at her, she looked back at him. An awkward moment of silence between them. “Geez, tough crowd,” he complained in his normal tone of voice before he gave a slight grunt of effort and lifted the car off of her. He didn’t just push it off, no, he absolutely lifted the over two tons vehicle overhead, barely straining under the weight. 

Montoya quickly crawled toward her firearms, picking it up and pointing it at the kid before giving a quick glance at her legs. Broken, but not crushed into a meat patty.

The kid plopped down the trashed car next to her and then turned “Wow!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “Come on, police lady, that’s no way to thank a guy.” Montoya narrowed her eyes at the kid, “Who are you ? Are you working with the thieves?”

The kid shook his head “would I be helping people if I was, geez. So much for the best and brightest.” Montoya was about to reply when the kid continued speaking “And I told you, I’m bagman. Well, not really, still workshopping. I mean, I literally decided to become a hero like 2 minutes ago, cut me some slack will you? So are you gonna keep pointing your gun at me or are you gonna let me help? You’re not the only casualty here.”

Montoya slowly lowered her gun. The kid was rambling, but he also looked nervous, she could easily believe he’d acted in a spur of the moment. “Why the bag?” she couldn’t help but ask. “Well, excuse me, not all of us walk around with a domino mask stashed in their pockets. Besides, the bombastic bagman got a ring to it, don’t cha think ?”

Then he was off, running to help the next person he could. She saw him drag people away from the fire, saw him lift off cars and push them away to clear the way for traffic. Thankfully she spotted Bullock. The large man was alive but unconscious. Small mercies, the guy would have a field day with this kid.

Soon the wailing of sirens could be heard and she expected the kid to run off. Instead he stayed. Kept helping. When the paramedics started treating people he helped move the injured toward the ambulances. When the firefighters pulled over, he assisted in unscrewing a fire hydrant that hadn’t seen use in a while and had all but rusted shut.

When more cops pulled over and pointed their guns at him he stayed still, arms up in surrender until Montoya ordered them to leave the kid alone from the back of the ambulance she was laying in.

Soon the chaos died down and the kid moved toward her. “Thanks for putting a good word for me.” he told her and she was shocked that he would thank her for that when by all accounts they all should be thanking him instead. 

It was at that moment that Signal came back, dragging the two thieves behind him that he’d tied up together. The kid tensed up when he saw the vigilante. And spoke up quickly “well, that’s my cue. See you around, police lady.”

Then the kid jumped up and in a single bound landed on top of a three storey building. He gave her and Signal a cheeky salute before running off.

“Who was that?” Asked the vigilante. “Bagman” replied Montoya with a smirk. “Seriously?!” signal squawked.

Chapter Text

Crafted Crusader or Paper Peril ?!

Such was the front page headline for the morning edition of the Gotham Gazette. Bruce let out an inner sigh as he read the article. The article itself was perfectly fine, asking questions about the young metahuman who had suddenly showed up at an active crime scene and assisted the rescue effort. He had not thought however that Vicky Vale would ever stoop so low as to make bad puns. And yet, the young man who had called himself Bagman (Bruce couldn’t help but be irked at the name) managed to bring out this side of the normally serious journalist.

He took a sip of his coffee, which he of course took black, and made the appropriate grunting noises to placate his family. It was entirely too early in the morning for him to try and pay attention to the inconsequential talk between Duke, Cassandra, and Tim. 

Bruce put the paper aside and looked upon his family with a fond smile as they opened their Christmas presents. For once everyone was present, surprise of surprise even Jason had shown up. Needless to say things had been tense between them for the first couple hours last night when Jason arrived and immediately warned Bruce to stay away from Peter. Had it not been for his suspicions about Peter’s parentage, he would have actually agreed with his son and left the child alone. Peter was after all simply a victim who had been exposed to the pits. Not a trained member of the league. The complication of the child being a Meta didn’t mean much, there were, statistically, fifteen hundred Metas in Gotham. If Peter was going to keep to himself and avoid trouble, Bruce had no issue with the kid being in Gotham.

As it was, he explained to Jason that he would agree to stay away from Peter and had no intention of interrogating him, but that he wanted Jason to get him a DNA sample.

Jason, naturally, had refused and Bruce was certain things would have devolved into a shouting match if Bruce wasn’t currently making an effort to change; if he had kept his reasoning to himself and merely expected his family to obey him without question as he had in the past. Instead Bruce took his son aside, away from the others and explained his reasoning. Told him he suspected Peter of being related to Dick in some way. He also explained that this was only a suspicion, one he didn’t want Dick to know about until he could be certain, hence the DNA sample.

Jason had scoffed at that, not at the idea of keeping things secret from Dick. No, Jason could see the wisdom in that. He simply didn’t share Bruce's suspicion at all. He told Bruce that Peter looked nothing like Dick. So Bruce agreed to wait. He told Jason that the resemblance would become more obvious once Peter’s features filled in if he started eating properly. 

In the end, Bruce would wait and Jason would keep an eye on Peter. It had been difficult for Bruce to be open like this, to delegate. But he wanted to do better by his family.

Thanks to his effort, the entire family was united under one roof, enjoying their Christmas together. Not all of them would stay the entire day. Dick would go back to bludhaven in the afternoon; Jason would leave as soon as his patience ran out and his discomfort won out;
and Duke would want to visit his parents in the hospital. 

And not everyone Bruce considered part of the extended family was present either. Stephanie and Barbara were spending time with their own families. And Kate was busy celebrating with Detective Montoya, who had been allowed to go home once both her legs were put in casts.

Bruce made a mental note to ask his cousin to share any information she got about Bagman out of her girlfriend even as he enjoyed the sight of Damien trying to remain composed while opening his present. The way his youngest struggled to openly express his emotion was far too close to his own attitude for comfort, but overtime Damian had been making progress under the influence of the rest of the family. It was cute to see him pretend to be indifferent.

Damian had received some art supplies, Tim had been gifted some photography equipment, and Cassandra a new pair of ballet shoes. The cost of the gifts meant very little for them, given how rich Bruce was, anything they wanted could be theirs at a moment's notice. Instead it was the fact that the gifts were chosen specifically according to their interests that made them precious.

Bruce wished he could offer Duke something more meaningful than the latest videogame in the series the teen had been enjoying. It wasn’t that Bruce knew less about his newest ward, in truth Bruce had ample files on everyone in the family, but that the most meaningful things he wanted to offer Duke was also the one thing that was beyond his power to give. The health of his parents. The teen had seemed cheerful enough but it was clear to everyone that spending Christmas without his parents was weighing heavily on him.

Bruce had struggled with giving Jason his gift. He wouldn’t allow him to get what he wanted, the death of the Joker. Beyond that was the tension between them that had made giving Jason a first edition of Pride and Prejudice somewhat awkward.

The real difficulty had been to find a gift for Dick. Despite being his oldest Dick was perhaps the one Bruce understood the least. He always felt conflicted about his son. Bruce was both annoyed that Dick had chosen to distance himself from him, and also incredibly proud of what he accomplished with his independence.

In many ways Dick had modeled his entire personality in complete opposition to Bruce’s. Where Bruce struggled with showing his emotions and affection, Dick was incredibly open and emotive. Where Bruce struggled to work with others, Dick had become one of the most liked, and respected heroes in the community. Of course Clark would dispute the idea that Batman wasn’t liked but Bruce knew better. He was respected, yes, feared even, but only Clark and Diana would ever call him a friend.

In the end Bruce had got Dick a discowing themed sweater. While it had caused the rest of the family to tease Dick, Bruce knew his son saw nothing wrong with the old suit (and that in itself was a problem), and Dick knew Bruce didn’t have it in him to mock him. So the sweater had been taken as it was meant. A well meant gift.

Bruce’s mind drifted back to the Bagman incident, and to Peter. He found it highly suspicious that two new metas popped in within days of each other. Perhaps the person who had experimented on Peter was still going, and if that was the case, was this Bagman character a victim, or an accomplice?

Bruce had dismissed the idea that Peter could be Bagman early on. He had done his normal research into the boy, meaning he poured over every file, every document, every report, every therapist’s transcript about the kid. It painted a picture of a child who quickly learned to act quiet and reserved to avoid trouble at home but who put on a false cheerful front outside of home. No doubt to avoid drawing suspicion to his abusers, which would only end up with the child himself in trouble. An all too common occurrence.

There was very little Bruce could glean from Peter’s time in the streets. While Gotham’s foster system was a nightmare it at least afforded him a ready source of information. Spotty as it was. But the child had all but vanished once he ran away. The little he knew about Peter’s time as a homeless kid had been acquired by Tim. That information painted a situation where Peter stuck to a routine with extreme rigidity and interacted very little with anyone else.

It wasn’t impossible for someone to put on a vastly different persona behind a mask. He himself did so after all. His Brucie Wayne persona was everything Batman wasn’t, on purpose. But Bruce knew that heroes tended to be truer to their real selves when putting on a mask. Often it was their civilian identity that was the true disguise. Brucie Wayne was an airheaded but well meaning himbo. Clark Kent was a bumbling buffoon. And in the cases where the civilian persona wasn’t a mask it simply meant that both the hero and civilian identity acted the same, relying on the strength of their disguise to hide their identity.

So Bruce didn’t believe that Peter was Bagman, not when the newest vigilante on the block was acting the complete opposite of a child who didn’t hide who he was anymore since getting on the streets.

That meant that he would have to keep observing this Bagman character. Once he had a better idea of his abilities, he would approach him and interrogate him.

Peter was quietly freaking out. He was pacing back and forth in his apartment, wondering what in heaven’s name had come over him. In his hand was clutched the paper bag he’d worn over his head to disguise his identity. He didn’t regret going out to help, and he’d only worn the bag due to a lack of alternatives. But why oh why did he have to completely lose his filter as soon as the police woman had pointed a gun at him? 

The fear, the nerves, and the mask had all acted together to unleash his intrusive thoughts and he couldn’t stop himself from quipping. Peter had always been quiet, and for a while he’d tried quite hard to be more open with people, to act normal. He’d always failed of course, be he’d tried. The only time he’d really allowed himself to be completely honest was when he got worked up over something and decided to infodump on the person who had made the mistake of talking about Peter’s limited interests, or after a few months of knowing Harry. Then he’d been more relaxed, joking around. 

Aside from talking with Harry, any tendencies toward sarcasm or talking back had been very quickly beaten out of him. But yesterday? It all came tumbling out. Frankly, Peter wanted to blame the concussion. Because there was no way someone in their right mind would make an “I’m Bagman” joke. And he’d done so many things without even thinking about it. He knew he was strong, there was a host of demolished dumpsters to prove it. But lifting an entire car up strong? That came as a surprise. Leaping on top of a building? Entirely unexpected.

Just how strong was he anyway? He had no real way to know. At this point he was just thankful he’d been able to learn to control his strength. The exertion had had its cost however. Or perhaps it was the concussion. When Peter ran back to his apartment, after running over rooftops, parkouring his way over gargoyles, air conditioning units and water towers alike, he collapsed in his little nest and promptly passed out.

And now he was awake and devilishly hungry. Luckily the regular service at the cathedral was back in order. And it was on his way to the library anyway. By now Peter's other clothes had had time to dry off, so he changed and quickly left the apartment, paper bag surreptitiously tucked into his back pocket.

oOo

Peter was taking deep breaths, standing at the front door of the library. Breakfast had been business as usual. There was no sign of Dick Greyson or any of the other Wayne serving food today, which had been a quiet relief for Peter. He dreaded trying to explain to mister Greyson why he hadn’t made it to the library before today. Logically he knew he hadn’t made an appointment or firmly committed to going to apply for the job at the earliest possibility, but still, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed mister Greyson somehow.

So here he was now, trying to calm his nerves and summon the courage to actually go and apply for a job. A real job. Not one of those gang related ‘jobs’, or working under the table for less than minimum wage. Or pizza delivery. He’d be crazy to try and become a delivery boy in Gotham. Not that he could, he had no means of transportation. Maybe he could have applied to be a waiter or bartender at the iceberg lounge if he had been, and looked, older. Although maybe he did look older now, what with this strange tuft of white hair on his forehead. And rough living had a way to age people.

Peter realized his mind was lost in a never ending ramble, probably as a means to distract him from the upcoming interview and he put a firm stop to it by slapping both his cheeks. “Come on Peter, you can do this.” he lied to himself. He couldn’t do this, he would probably embarrass himself terribly. Who would even consider hiring a homeless kid? It was madness. 

Still, just because he couldn’t do it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d pulled off the impossible. He’d survived the hell that was Gotham’s foster care. He’d survived on the streets. He’d escaped a bald madman in the middle of ninja war and gave the slip to Killer Croc. He’d given the run around to vigilantes and dodged bullets. Impossible was his bread and butter at this point. So Peter was going to do this, get inside and get a job.

Still Peter didn’t walk in. The pep talk he’d given himself was just another way to stall.

“So…are you going to go in or just stand around all day?”

Peter whirled around, eyes wide only to spot a teenager a few years older than him, arm in a sling, staring at him while taking a sip from the largest cup of coffee Peter had ever seen. He didn’t even know they made cups this size. Surely that amount of coffee couldn’t be healthy. Despite being outside Peter could smell the drink and nearly flinched at the pungent burnt earthy odor of it.

Peter was about to step aside to let the teenager walk in but the young man shook his head. “Oh no, I’m not going in until you do.” Peter froze for a moment, but now facing peer pressure of a sort he had no choice but to step inside, the teenager hot on his heels, every so often taking a loud sip of his drink.

Feeling like he was walking to his own execution with a warden at his back Peter made his way toward the desk at which sat the librarian. He was quietly relieved to see it was the same woman he had seen before. So at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the extra pressure of needing to introduce himself to someone new. Let’s just hope she forgot all about how you ran out on her. Oh great, the quipping was still there. It had been mostly quiet after the whole Bagman incident so Peter had been hoping this passing insanity was dealt with. No dice.

Even more frustrating, the teenager at his back was still following him. The caffeinated monster stalked him and clearly had the exact same destination in mind as Peter. An audience to witness his terrible job interview, how delightful.

“Oh! Hi Peter, welcome back and merry Christmas” the librarian spoke, a welcome smile on her face. “I didn’t expect you to come in with Tim” she added, glancing at the teenager that loomed behind Peter.

“We just came in at the same time” replied the mass of caffeine masquerading as a person. As if the man hadn’t coerced Peter into going inside. Wait, Tim? Now that Peter wasn’t on the verge of a meltdown and could look past the unreasonably sized cup he realized the teenager who’d forced him inside was in fact Tim Drake-Wayne.

Tim Drake-Wayne, recently adopted son of Bruce Wayne. One of them at least. Tim Drake-Wayne, genius business prodigy who for a while had been running Wayne enterprise as its CEO.

Time Drake-Wayne who apparently couldn’t function without single handedly funding Brazil coffee industry.

Tim sipped from his drink while raising an eyebrow at Peter, who had been staring at him dumbfounded. Rather than make a comment the teenager turned his attention back to Barbara. “I’ll be in the stacks doing some research” he told Barba before shifting back toward Peter and offering him his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Peter mindlessly shook the offered hand and watched Tim leave from the corner of his eyes. Now he simply had to deal with getting a job. Instead of saying anything he just stood there awkwardly. Faced with the reality of the situation, all the preparation he had done to anticipate how this conversation would go simply flew out of his mind.

Thankfully Barbara took pity on him. “Dick called me a couple days ago. He said you’d be coming by to get a part time job?” it may have been phrased like a question but Peter increasingly felt like he had fallen into a trap of sorts. Mister Greyson shows up at the cathedral and tells him about a job at the library, Tim Drake all but marshal him inside said library and now the librarian, Miss Barbara was already pre filling forms for him and sliding a contract over.

“I know about your situation, so don’t worry about filling in an address or a bank account for now. I’ll happily pay you in cash to start with until you can get better situated.”

She then went on to explain what his working hours would be and how much he could expect to be paid. Twenty five hours per week paid at 20 dollars an hour. Five hundred dollars per week. For a normal teenager it would be a very large sum of money. Not enough to pay for rent and all necessities, but an incredible amount nonetheless. So much so that Peter suspected Barbara was overpaying him. For Peter who didn’t have to pay rent or pay for utilities? This was a fortune.

He wanted to protest, surely whatever work he would have to do in the library wouldn’t be worth this much, but he needed the money. He was already getting hungry again despite the meal he just had at the cathedral. It seemed he would have to eat more than ever before to fuel his abilities. And he also needed to invest some money into more clothes, both regular and a costume.

So in the end Peter agreed and signed the contract offered to him. “You can get started immediately if you don’t mind. We’ll just leave your bag in the office and I’ll run you through how things work, okay? Are you familiar with the Dewey decimal system?”

In Tim’s opinion, Bruce and Jason had not been as discreet as they thought they had been yesterday. Sneaking up on them to overhear their conversation had been quite a nostalgic experience for Tim, who had stalked Batman and Robin as a child.

This time he didn’t overhear the entire conversation, but he learned a couple things. One, Jason considered Peter to be under his protection. The implied threat that had seemingly been enough to get Bruce to back off. Tim wasn’t ready to rule out mind control as an explanation for the uncharacteristic display by Bruce. Second, Jason had refused to provide Bruce with a DNA sample from Peter. The issue here was that Jason had previously agreed to provide Tim with such a sample. Now he had to assume this agreement had been rescinded. 

Not that getting a DNA sample was all that necessary at this point. It was all but confirmed that Peter was a Meta, but Tim wouldn’t be who he is if he so easily let things go. He’d read Batman’s report on his finding in the sewers and it seemed very likely that Peter Meta gene had been activated via exposure to the pit. If that was truly the case it opened interesting possibilities, so he really wanted to confirm this fact.

And that was why Tim had been stalking Peter. He hadn’t tried to find or follow the teenager, that would prove all but impossible if Jason’s attempt were anything to go by. Instead he replicated the results from Dick successful ambush and decided to wait for Peter to show up at a place Tim knew he would go. The library.

That was how Tim found himself standing behind the teenager. It was amusing to watch the kid have so much trouble mustering the courage to simply step inside. Once the kid turned around when Tim talked to him, he had plenty of time to observe Peter. There was something strange about Peter, something about his eyes. They had opened wide in surprise for just a moment, too brief a time for Tim to really be able to pinpoint what was unusual before Peter assumed a droopy eyed look that made him look sleepy and slow witted.

But it wasn’t just the eyes that had caught Tim’s attention. There was something about the kid, something oddly familiar. Tim couldn’t quite put his finger on it however.

For a little while he observed the way Peter paid attention to what Babs was telling him. It was easy to tell that Peter was nervous, the tension was clear as day in his posture, but beyond that the kid had a walled off expression. That wasn’t a surprise, you often saw expressions like this in Gotham on people who had gone through some trouble. And Peter had gone through quite a lot. It made him somewhat harder to read than your typical teenager however. Tim wished he had Cass abilities to read people like an open book based on their body language alone. 

Regardless, Tim now had to find a way to get Peter’s DNA. He could hardly walk up to the teenager and pluck some hair. Well, he could, but he had no idea how Peter would react and he wasn’t too keen and being hit through a wall if the kid had a hair trigger temper, pun not intended. Still the beginning of a plan formed in his mind.

Peter spent the rest of the day learning the ins and outs of the library. The dewey decimal system was quite interesting but Peter knew he would need a cheat sheet of sorts for a while to remember where everything went. According to Miss Barbara his job would consist mostly of putting books back in their proper places and perhaps do a bit of tidying up.

The only notable event came around noon when Tim Drake-Wayne came by bearing a couple drinks that he offered to both Miss Barbara and to Peter. The young man stayed and chatted with Miss Barbara for a little bit while Peter did his best to stay out of the way. It was obvious that they knew each other quite well, which only served to make Peter feel like a third wheel, so he took the time to try and memorize the sorting system. Having his head buried in a book at least meant neither the teenager nor the librarian tried to talk to him at least.

Once everyone had finished their drinks, Tim insisted on disposing of the plastic cups himself. Peter figured the young man did this because of Miss Barbara’s disability.

At the end of the day the librarian had given Peter his first paycheck. Given his situation she insisted on paying him day to day rather than weekly. Peter wasn’t sure if it was out of pity for his homelessness or because she didn’t think he would keep showing up for an entire week.

Regardless, those six hours of work had netted Peter a hundred and twenty dollars. Which was more money than he ever had in his entire life, and Peter knew exactly how he was going to spend the money.

oOo

Two hours later Peter was back in his apartment with his treasure. The teenager had been sensible, for the most part, and bought himself food for a week as well as a change of clothes from a thrift store. The groceries alone had nearly wiped out his earnings, let alone the clothing, but he still managed to squeeze out enough to buy a notebook and some cheap sharpies. It was time for Peter to design his costume.

For nearly an hour he drew in his new notebook, filling pages after pages with design. He had quickly settled on a theme, one that didn’t involve a paper bag mask. Spider. Obvious in hindsight since he could stick to walls and fire webs. He was almost certain said webs would even be strong enough to restrain whatever criminal he happened to run into. Not that Peter was all too keen on running after criminals, certainly not the Rogues. No, he mostly planned to do the thing he knew Batman and his cohorts didn’t do, the one thing that had caused him so much suffering when it had gone ignored. Perhaps the one thing that people in Gotham truly needed. 

People didn’t need another vigilante, they needed help with the day to day stuff. Let Batman try to catch mister Freeze, firefly or the Joker, Spider-man would help the little guy.

Peter looked down at his design, second guessing himself. In the end he had two different design he felt happy with. One was bright and colorful, bold red and blue like Superman. Webbing patterns over the red sections, the entire thing form fitting and with a mask with huge eye lenses. Peter liked this design, and to bring hope to people, aping Superman wasn’t an entirely bad idea. But it felt wrong somehow. Gotham didn’t just need hope, it needed something more. It needed someone who didn’t simply give hope, but took away the fear.

So Peter looked at his second design. It was similar to the previous one but slightly different. The top was a deep purple, no longer red and blue, the pants were a dark grey with deep purple boots. The belt section was bright green, almost neon green. And most of all was the bright green spider logo. Not small like on his first design. No, the spider covered almost the entire chest area. The first two pairs of legs covering the shoulders and climbing up the neck, the bottom two pairs stretching down to join with the belt. The same neon green color served as a highlight along the interior of the arms Similar but opposite to how Nightwing had blue highlights along the outside of his arms. The fingers on the glove were either black or green. The ones he extended while firing his webs were green and so was the palm section of the gloves.

On his back would be another spider logo, a smaller one, round and friendly like his first design but green and seated on the purple color of his back. The lenses on the mask were a similar green with a black outline. And the purple parts were covered in a silver webbing instead of the black of the red and blue suit.

Peter hesitated. This suit felt right but he knew people would react poorly to it. Add just a splash of white and a dash of red and the color scheme would bring to mind the Joker. But that was the point, take something people are scared off and turn it into a symbol of hope. Peter fully intended to reclaim those colors. He wasn’t going to let a murderous clown be the first thing people thought of when seeing these colors any longer.

Now Peter just had to keep working to be able to afford the spandex to make the dang thing.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, spandex wasn’t too expensive. The flatlock machine needed to properly stitch things together however? Incredibly expensive. Peter had looked up what he would need on the library computer one day during his time off and had blanched at the ridiculous cost of the sewing machine. Nearly 5000 dollars. 

Peter could of course go with a simpler sewing machine and normal stitches but a flatlock seam was mentioned as the only way to really prevent chafing. Having nowhere near enough money for this, it would take months to be able to afford it, Peter's only real choice was to wear something else, or put up with the chaffing. Or possibly refurbish a broken machine if he could find one, and learn how to fix it, and get the tools for it.

Needless to say, for now Peter went with option A. And so it was that a few days after coming up with the design for his suit, Peter was standing on a rooftop in a purple hoodie spray painted with a green spider logo. At least a cheap spandex face mask was easy enough to make. He hadn’t found the proper material for lenses so he had resorted to using old welding goggles that he’d scrounged up just the day before.

Peter had a couple hours before he needed to make his way to the library. The day before he’d made the decision to stop attending breakfast at the cathedral. With the money he now made he had more than enough to feed himself and didn’t want to divert any of the meager resources from the charity. There were people who would need it far more than him.

That said, he knew that some of the people he saw everyday at the cathedral would worry about him if he simply stopped showing up. They had worried when he’d been snatched after all and he wasn’t so socially blind that he didn’t realize the fact. Therefore Peter had gone yesterday to say goodbye to Marcus, Kali, and Miguel. The group had been happy for him once they learnt he now had a reliable job, a place to stay and could afford to feed himself. The goodbyes hadn’t been quite tearful, as people like them drifted and disappeared on each other all the time. Loss was something they were all intimately familiar with.

So, here he was in the Upper East End, on the edge of a roof, overlooking the slow moving traffic of Gotham’s congested streets and the people who went about their business. No one had spotted him yet, which was fine enough by him as he felt incredibly nervous. This was going to be his first official patrol.

Peter quickly realized a problem however, without any way to actually pinpoint crime, patrol was rather boring. So he decided that once he made it to his job he’d have to look up how to get his hands on a police scanner.

Rather than stay on his lonely rooftop, freezing in the cold January air, Peter decided to actually move around, patrolling after all probably involved some amount of well, patrolling. Peter started running on top of the roofs, jumping from one to the next, picking up speed as he approached the edge of the block, preparing himself for a massive jump that would see him crossing the street.

At the last moment he called upon his prodigious strength and sailed through the air, hollering in pure exhilaration before catching himself on the wall of the opposite building. He quickly scrambled up to reach the rooftop, catching the astounded conversation of civilians below him. 

Five minutes later Peter finally came upon his first emergency. Was it a crime in progress ? A mugging? Car theft? No, what Peter saw was a good chance for community service. Below him was a little old lady carrying bags of groceries. Without hesitation Peter dropped down to the street level and approached the woman.

“Hello! Need any help with that Ma’am?” 

The next couple minutes were rather embarrassing, as the little old lady immediately started beating him up with her cane. “Get away from me you freak!”

“Oww… ouch…stop…I’m not…oww” Peter backed off, hands held up to signal his surrender. “I’m not trying to rob you!”

“Then why are you wearing this idiotic outfit?” asked the old lady while eyeing him suspiciously.

“... you know that hurts more than the cane” muttered Peter under his breath. “I’m just trying to be a hero ma’am. I just wanted to see if you needed help carrying those groceries back home.”

The old lady kept looking at him suspiciously for a moment and then snorted. “Well, you’re definitely not one of the bats then.”

“No ma’am, I’m Spider-man”

“Spiderman?”

“No, Spider-man, with a hyphen,” he felt the need to clarify. 

That earned him a roll of the eyes “well, you can help me carry my groceries then, but if you try to steal them…” the old lady waved her cane in the air.

And so Peter spent the next ten minutes walking with the old lady while carrying her bag of groceries. Quickly he offered the old woman his arm for support as they walked and the old lady started opening up to him. Talking about her grandkids and how they didn’t show up as often as she’d like, as well as some gossip from the apartment block she lived in.

They attracted plenty of attention as they walked, people even took pictures of Peter. No doubt they would end up online or even in the newspaper. In the end he safely accompanied the old lady, whom he learned was named May and he arranged to meet her next week to help with her groceries again. The old woman had even been kind enough to give him a biscuit for his troubles.

Half an hour later Peter was talking to a bunch of tourists, giving them direction. He’d been surprised anyone would come to Gotham for a vacation and he learned that apparently there was a burgeoning vigilante tourism industry. The most popular destination for said industry was apparently central city, which made sense since they had the Flash museum, but the more daring tourist sometimes came to Gotham to see the site of Batman conflict with some of the rogues.

Peter was left baffled by the encounter but the tourist couple was delighted when a purse snatcher absconded with one of their bags, only to find himself immediately stopped when Peter simply caught him with a webline to the back and firm yank that sent the thief falling down at his feet.

“Seriously dude? I know I’m new and all but try not to snatch a bag right from under a hero's nose will you?” He mocked the thief before webbing him to a lamp post. He then was forced to pose in between the tourist couple with the thief struggling behind them as they took a copious amount of selfies.

All in all, Peter’s patrol had gone surprisingly smoothly. He hadn’t stopped any major crime but that was hardly his main concern, after all, he wanted to help the little guys. A cat stuck in a tree here, catching a lost balloon there, it all added up.

Of course that’s when Peter realized he was late.

[BatChat]

[03/01][11:15am]

DoritOracle : Guys, Peter’s late, he’s never late. I’m worried something may have happened.

Jaylad : @Bruce Wayne what did you do ?!

Bruce Wayne : I haven’t done anything to Peter chum, I’ve never even met him.

DoritOracle: nvm, he just arrived. I think he ran here, said he overslept.

TimLordVictorious : And you believe him?

DoritOracle : Why wouldn’t I ? 

Damian Wayne : Do you have reasons to be suspicious of Peter, Drake?

TimLordVictorious : I can confirm he is a Meta. 

Jaylad : And how are you confirming this ?

TimLordVictorious : I got a DNA sample.

Jaylad : You what !

TimLordVictorious : You said you’d get me one, but since you didn’t seem to be doing that, I got proactive.

Bruce Wayne : What else have you found?

TimLordVictorious : Nothing, I just confirmed that he had a Metagene and that whatever abilities he has aren’t from being experimented on.

Jaylad : But he was experimented on.

TimLordVictorious : Yes, but that just activated his Metagene.

Bruce Wayne : Do you still have the sample?

TimLordVictorious : No, you know Meta DNA is near impossible to replicate, I only had enough for the one test. Why?

Bruce Wayne : It would have been useful to run a full battery of tests, nothing more.

SpoilerAlert : Forget about Peter, he’s just a kid, take a look at this!

[SpoilerAlert shared a picture with the chat]

The Duke : The heck? Who is that guy, a new rogue?

Damien Wayne : I doubt a rogue would pose with some tourists. 

SpoilerAlert : Apparently there’s a new vigilante, calls himself Spiderman. And get this, he’s been helping little old ladies cross the streets and saving cats from trees, it’s all over social media.

Damien Wayne : Should we apprehend this upstart, father?

Bruce Wayne : I’ll handle it. Oracle, alert me if Spiderman is spotted and see if you can trace his location.

DoritOracle : I can’t find him anywhere, he just vanished after catching a balloon for a little girl.

TimLordVictorious : First Bagman, now Spiderman. He might be a member of the council of spiders, or related to Black Spider.

Jaylad: Unlikely. Since when do trained assassins catch balloons for little girls? 

SpoilerAlert : He’s stealing my look, purple is my thing. 

TimLordVictorious : Purple and green is the joker thing.

Jaylad: What kind of idiot dresses up in Joker’s color.

TimLordVictorious : …

WhisperCass: …

DoritOracle: …

SpoilerAlert: …

The Duke: …

Damian Wayne: Your lack of self awareness is staggering Todd.

Jaylad: It’s not the same! 

Dickie Boy: So what did I miss?

The Duke : #FriendlyNeighborhoodSpiderMan is trending and the gang hates his costume.

A few days later, after work, Peter decided to sneak in another patrol. Once he left the library he quickly made his way toward the back of the building and up to the rooftop where he’d stashed his costume. Not that there was much of a costume to speak off but it was at least better than the paper bag he’d started with.

Peter once more started running along the rooftops and scrambling up walls. He thought he’d probably have a few hours still before the early evening turned to night and the bats came out in force. Normally he stuck to the early morning patrol, a time where neither the bats nor signal showed up. The yellow merchandising advert seemed to patrol mostly during the afternoon and the rest of the bats stuck to the night time patrol.

Still, even if Signal was out right now Peter thought he probably wouldn’t run into him. After all Gotham was a large city, what were the odds of running into the only other vigilante active at this time? Especially since Peter decided to vary things a little for this patrol. Normally he’d be going around, being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, but this afternoon he thought he’d try to tackle things that were a little higher on the crime fighting scale.

Not that he avoided crime fighting entirely in the morning. If he ran into a bunch of muggers or pickpockets he would stop them, but now he was going to make it his primary objecting to bust up a few of Black Mask goons.

The henchmen had thought it a good idea to establish a base of operation in a building adjacent to a neighborhood park. Their presence made it impossible for the residents to enjoy said park and Peter was determined to see the situation changed.

For once in his life as a professional henchman, things were looking up for Bill. After joining Black Mask he’d been assigned to guard a building they used as a drop point for drugs. The nice thing was that the building was in a quiet neighborhood far from the various frontlines of the gang wars that erupted periodically. Even Better Bill had been saddled with the day shift, meaning there was very little risk of the bats showing up to break his bones.

Bill stood in front of a sink, splashing water on his face. He ruffled his fingers through his mohawk and let out a sigh. It wasn’t like being part of this outfit was all sunshine and roses. He was forced to wear a three piece suit; hardly the worst uniform he’d had to wear but he found it oddly constraining. The real issue was the black mask. It was tight, sweaty, and messed with his air.

Taking a deep breath he put the offending article of clothing back on and straightened his lapel. Bill had to admit he looked good at least, intimidating. Making his way out of the bathroom, he started his round. Once per hour, every hour they had to walk around the building and check every room for signs of the bats. At this time of day it would mean Signal was the one they had to keep a lookout for, and that made the checking all but pointless. For a dude in a bright yellow outfit he could be incredibly sneaky. All the bats could be sneaky of course but Signal was downright ridiculous.

The first few rooms that Bill checked proved to be entirely empty. At least as far as he could tell. He was coming up to the main office, unoccupied at this moment, and opened the door. He walked and glanced around before freezing in place.

There, on the far wall was a man, he stuck to the wall, limbs spread wide like a giant spider, looking at Bill while upside down. He wore a purple hoodie but the only thing Bill could pay attention to was the giant neon green spider logo on his back.

They looked at each other for a moment and the newest vigilante in town raised a hand, giving Bill a little wave. “Sup.”

Bill shook his head and spoke aloud “Nope, not dealing with this” before turning around and leaving the office, closing the door behind him.

He made his way to the rest of the men and tossed his mask at them. “I quit, Batman and his army of child soldiers breaking my bones is one thing, but this is too much, you guys are on your own” he then left the building under the baffled eyes of the rest of Black Mask henchmen. Just as he closed the door behind him he started hearing the gunshots and the panicked screams.

Duke was swinging through the Gotham streets, happily enjoying a moment of calm when his coms pinged before the voice of Barbara could be heard.

“Hey Signal, you might want to make your way to the corner of 7th and Finger, seems our friendly neighborhood arachnid just escalated his crime fighting. Placed a call to Gotham PD about a drug bust.”

“Copy that, on my way.”

oOo

By the time Signal arrived at the small office building at the address Oracle gave him, all that was left was a scene of pure chaos. Tables were overturned, chairs smashed to pieces, bullet holes riddled the walls, and half a dozen goons were tied up together and dangling from the ceiling, all wrapped up in what appeared to be spider webs.

The henchmen were mostly unconscious, the few of them still awake were groaning in pain but were otherwise quiet. It certainly helped that all their mouths had been webbed up. From Duke’s cursory examination none of them had suffered any major trauma, which left Signal whistling in amazement. Had it been any of the bats who took down this bunch of Black Mask’s guys more than a few of them would have required medical attention.

Signal collected a sample of the webbing using a batarang to scrape it off one of the goons. And examined the post-it note stuck on the pile of henchmen.

“Joined the war on drugs ♥ ️” followed by a drawing of a mask with a webbing pattern and two giant eye lenses. Duke was puzzled by this as it didn’t look like the mask Spider-Man was using. Perhaps he was planning an upgrade?

Curious as to what happened Duke called upon his ghostvision.

Light rewinded time for him to a few minutes prior and what he saw left him both awed and perplexed.

One of the henchmen had left the building and Signal recognized Bill when he ripped off his mask and threw it at one of the other goons before walking out. This was highly unusual, Bill was sort of a fixture in the henchmen circle and Duke had run into him a couple times. The man never tried to fight too hard, just enough to get lightly injured so his bosses couldn’t have an excuse to deal with him, but he never just left like he did here.

Then the scene descended into pure Chaos, from the ceiling Spider-Man dropped in the middle of the goons and stood tall, wagging his finger at them. It was impossible to be sure without sound but Signal suspected Spidey was scolding the goons.

Naturally Black Mask’s men didn’t stay quiet and soon guns were drawn and aimed at Gotham's newest vigilante. The fight that ensued was a thing of wonder. The Spider themed hero used his webbing to disarm two of the men before doing a backflip over the head of a couple goons that stood behind him. He pirouetted in the air, bullets blazing right where the hero had been just moments before. 

The hero landed, legs spread wide, body low to the ground and resting on one arm. The other hand webbed a thug’s face and then the hero was bouncing away from more gunshot coming at him from out of view. Spidey then jumped up and used two webs to anchor himself to one of the goons and pulled himself toward the unlucky man who caught a painful looking kick to the face.

Then Spider-Man slid between another goon’s leg and popped up behind him. Jumping just high enough to give the man a double legged kick to the back that saw the man crash into the opposite wall and the hero do a flip midair to land back on the ground.

The more Duke saw of the fight the more he was sure of two things. One Spider-Man's agility was utterly unnatural. Even Nightwing wouldn’t be able to pull some of the moves the vigilante was executing with ease. And two, Spider-Man didn’t know how to fight. His punches were telegraphed, his kick sloppy. His moves were fanciful but lacked efficiency and had a lot of wasted movement.

The fight wrapped up in a couple minutes, just in time for Signal’s power to fade while Spider-Man was busy wrapping all of Black Mask’s men in a freaky webbed up package.

By then the distant siren of the cop's cars became audible and Signal decided to leave. He had quite a report to make. 

Metropolis: LexCorp

Herman Shultz was pacing back and forth nervously, tugging at his white lab coat as he circled the benches full of expensive electronics equipment that held his prototype. For the past year he had been working on this project, a project he’d never expected would have received funding.

Every six months or so all R&D employees at LexCorp were required to submit proposals for new projects, the vast majority of which never saw the light of day.

A year ago he’d had an idea for a device that would revolutionize mining. The device would be able to produce concentrated, directed, concussive blasts that could be used to shatter rocks. He was sure there might be other applications for such a tool. After all, things needed to be demolished every day and taking away the risk of conventional explosives would surely be of great use in a great many industries.

A week ago he’d completed his prototype, a pair of gauntlets that would produce the shockwave. Initial tests had been promising but it became quickly obvious that the device would be dangerous to the user from higher output or prolonged exposure. Being subjected to regular bone rattling force at the lowest setting had been far from pleasant. As a result Herman had coupled his devices with a protective suit.

The end result had worked perfectly and now Herman was to demonstrate his project capabilities to Lex Luthor himself. To say Herman was nervous would be charitable. Lex Luthor didn’t have the best of reputation amongst employees. The man was prone to angry outbursts when things didn’t go his way and had almost no tolerance for failure. There were even rumors that the Billionaire had been behind several attempts at killing Superman, a number of robots, gadgets, and inventions bearing a surprising resemblance to past R&D projects had been used against the Kryptonian hero.

Of course all those projects had proven to be failures in the end, and their development was discontinued on the quiet a number of months before a similar tool was used to try and kill one of mankind’s greatest heroes. Each time the situation happened, no tie to LexCorp could be firmly established. It was always the work of some disgruntled ex employees, or plans for the project had been stolen. Some would call it plausible deniability. Herman called it a series of unfortunate incidents.

The moment Lex Luthor stepped into the lab, followed by his assistant Mercy, Herman started sweating bullets.

“Mister Schultz was it? I understand you have a project that might be of interest.” Internally Herman bristled at the way Luthor addressed him, the man presented himself as cool and suave but his tone was laced with condescension. Herman was a doctor damn it! A doctor of engineering granted and not an M.D. but still. 

“I do indeed Mister Luthor,” he replied, his body tensing as the anger fled him. This man was his employer and his source of funding and Herman was sure the prototype he had would be of actual use. He couldn’t jeopardize it by letting his temper get the better of him.

Setting up for the demonstration took no time at all, Herman started by presenting the project and its capabilities, as well the protective suit that was required to safely operate it. Then he quickly changed into the suit and aimed the gauntlet at a slab of concrete. Visible ripples of power soared through the air, impacting the concrete and shattering it into pieces.

Herman turned with a triumphant smile toward Luthor and his assistant, only to be met with the uninterested gaze of the billionaire. “Yes, very impressive, you invented a very expensive sledge hammer. Now what are the upper limits of this thing’s destructive potential? Can it crush steel? Titanium? Can it match the destructive power of a nuclear device?”

Herman hesitated, and then shook his head. “No, not quite that powerful, it could certainly damage steel and titanium through prolonged exposure. But a nuke? No, not at all.”

The immediate look of disappointment on Luthor’s face was unmistakable. “What a waste of time” he turned to his assistant. “Cut the funding, this is useless, and get rid of this idiot.”

“What…How…how dare you call me an idiot!” Herman bristled. “I’ve worked hard on this, you can’t just cut the funding, this could revolutionize so many industries!”

Luthor rolled his eyes at Herman “Make sure he can never find work in any engineering job” he told his assistant before turning to leave. “If he is unable to come up with a suitable weapon, he’s only good enough to serve fries at a batburger.”

Herman was left behind, stunned as the door to the lab closed behind Lex Luthor.

Unusually for Peter, he decided to go on a night patrol. He knew it would provide little chance to offer the sort of community service he’d prided himself over the last two weeks, but his adventure taking down Black Mask’s men had left him wired and amped up on adrenaline. He was starting to realize he could do so much more for this city than he initially believed.

Not that he was about to go running after the rogues, but Peter had a plan for tonight. It was probably not a very good plan; he hoped to spend the night touring the various bars nearby and making sure people got home safely. He also intended to look into various homeless groups he’d come to know over the past few days. Not a job the bats would normally do, so it felt perfect for Peter. It was also much more dangerous than daytime work as muggers and gangs would be out in force at night.

Still he’d bought supplies for the homeless, essentials that he thought they would appreciate. A rather sizable chunk of his earnings over the last few days had gone into this. Peter had spent the first couple months of his life on the street desperately hoping someone would reach out and help. No one ever did. Now he was determined to become the change he wanted to see into the world.

Oh sure, there were plenty of charities and shelters, some of them were even safe and legit rather than fronts for the gangs or human traffickers. But more than that, what these people needed was someone willing to lend an ear, someone with the ability to make life safer for them. Someone like Spider-Man. He couldn’t help them find a job or a place to sleep, he couldn’t fix their lives, but he could ensure the gangs left them alone, could ensure they had some extra supplies, he could make a small difference.

And so Peter was crouched on a roof somewhere in the Upper East End. He never started his patrol from Crime Alley. For one, Red Hood was notorious for keeping vigilantes out of his territory, and second Peter didn’t want anyone to trace Spider-Man back to his apartment. He looked over the clouded night sky, the bat signal glowing in the distance to the south. The bats would be out in force then. Peter of course had no idea why; investing in a police scanner seemed like a better idea all the time. 

Just as he was about to stand up and start running he saw a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. Cursing the welding goggles that cut off a large part of his vision he reminded himself that he really needed to find suitable material to make eye lenses out of. Turning his head to track the movement Peter stood very still as he saw a cape stirring in the wind, moving quickly in a straight line. Too small to be the bat, maybe Spoiler or one of the robins using one of their fancy grapple thingamabob.

Peter looked down at his wrist and contemplated using his own webs in a similar fashion. He knew they were strong enough, and they probably had the range to enable him to swing. For a brief moment Peter imagined himself swinging through the streets like the bats often did, but then he couldn’t help thinking about what it would feel like to miss with his web, or for it to break. The uncontrollable plummet, the sudden stop at the bottom.

Yeah, no, Peter wasn’t going to go swinging. He waited a few moments for the figure he’d spied to disappear in the distance before he started his own patrol.

oOo

“Heyah Kali!” Peter called out, offering a friendly wave as he approached the barrel holding the gently burning fire around which a few homeless people were bunched up. All women, including one of his …friends? Acquaintances?

The women tensed when they saw him emerge from the darkness, taking in his costume. A couple of them looked afraid, but Kali, always the fighter, instead let out a snort of derision before squaring herself protectively in front of the others.

“Who are you, and how do you know my name?”

Oops, calling her out by name had been a mistake and now Peter was left scrambling for an answer.

“I’m, huh, I’m the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?”

“You don’t sound too sure of that.”

“No, I mean yes, I mean I am. I’m just. I’m here to help.”

“We don’t need help.”

Peter tilted his head to the side and pointedly looked at them. Not that the women could easily tell with his mask and goggles. “No, you do. You’re just scared I’ll screw you over somehow.” he said before he shrugged off the backpack he’d been carrying. He put it on the ground and opened it, taking out some extra blankets, a bit of food, and sanitary items.

“I know what it's like, I was homeless too not long ago” he explained. “Nobody takes the time to really help. They throw stuff at you “ he said as he did just that, tossing the bundle of supplies to Kali who caught it and glanced at it briefly before passing it on to another woman. “but no one really helps, not with the important stuff. If you go to a shelter they toss you on a bed and feed you but that doesn’t really help does it? Not when the streets aren’t safe.”

Peter closed his backpack and put it back on, adjusting the strap before putting his hand on his hips. “So, what can I do to help?”

Kali looked at him suspiciously. Inwardly she was surprised he even asked that question. One thing that always irked her was how every volunteer at every soup kitchen, every shelter, always thought they knew better. That life would be better for the homeless if they just did as they were told. It was the first time in a very long time that anyone had simply asked what they needed instead of giving them emergency supplies or food and then moving on.

It almost made her want to trust this strange kid. Almost.

“You still haven’t told me how you know my name.”

“Oh…huh…Peter told me.”

Kali was immediately wary “how do you know Peter?” she asked, a dangerous tone in her voice.

“Saved him from a mugging” came the immediate response. It was even true, without his newfound powers Peter would have died long ago, from a certain point of view the first person Spider-Man saved had been Peter. “He told me about you, asked me to keep an eye out for you, so here I am,” he gave a nervous chuckle.

Kali gave a sigh and motioned for Spider-Man to approach. In the end Peter spent a couple hours listening to these women’s stories and the trouble they were facing on the street. Of particular note was the growing issue with Black Mask. Despite Peter’s earlier effort, and the bats hounding the crime lord at every turn, Black Mask was rapidly rebuilding his power base.

oOo

A few hours later, deep into the night, Peter was crouched on top of a gargoyle adorning Gotham’s clocktower. Faced with the stories from the various homeless groups he’d come across, Peter had felt the need to think and had subconsciously made his way to one of Gotham's highest vantage points.

He hadn’t moved for the past half hour, lost in thought as he observed the slow moving traffic. Even this late at night people still went about their business. Gotham wasn’t entirely composed of criminals after all, and the city never truly slept. It prowled fretfully like a frightened animal.

The sound of a grappling hook dragged Peter out of his contemplation and it was with rapidly mounting panic that he realized he’d trapped himself on top of a lone isolated building. Even with his abilities he didn’t fancy his chances of escape from one of the bats. Nor did he intend to find out just how high he could fall from without being reduced to meat paste.

“Hello Spiderman,” a cheerful voice greeted him. Peter turned around slowly and saw that the vigilante who’d joined him on a neighboring gargoyle was Nightwing.

“It’s Spider-Man”

“That’s… what I said?” Nightwing asked in confusion.

“No, you said Spiderman, I’m Spider-Man.”

“I… what?”

“There’s a hyphen, I can hear you not using the hyphen.”

“Okay…” Nightwing was highly confused by the exchange, he certainly hadn’t expected the conversation to start like this. “So what are you doing here, Spider-Man.”

“Thinking”

“Thinking?”

“Thinking,” Spider-Man confirmed.

“Not brooding?” Nightwing probed gently. At that Spider-Man turned around and looked at the vigilante. “Do I look like a goth sale reject? Why would I be brooding?”

Nightwing couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Vigilantes in Gotham tend to brood.”

“I’m a hero, not a vigilante” Spidey replied defensively and not with a small amount of anger in his voice.

Nightwing paused at that, surprised at the kid’s reaction. “You…don’t like being called a vigilante, huh?”

“You’re vigilantes and I’m nothing like you, I help people.” Peter replied venomously.

“You don’t think we help people?”

“No, you’re too busy beating people up. You don’t help people.”

Nightwing was silent at that, not because he thought the kid was right. He was clearly wrong. The bats spent a lot of time putting people behind bars and that was ultimately what helped keep Gotham somewhat safe.

He wasn’t surprised by the argument either. It was nothing new, people had been accusing the bats of making things worse pretty much since day one. This was just a variation on that. No, he paused because the emotion in the kids voice made it clear this was personal. Again, not entirely surprising, plenty of people were upset that the bats didn’t show up to help them when needed, but no matter how many people Bruce trained, they couldn’t be everywhere at once.

No, the way the kid had phrased it made it sound worse than that. Too busy he said, almost as if he’d needed help and had been ignored. Not that none of the bats showed up to help, but that they had shown up and done nothing. It twisted his guts to think something like that could have happened. 

“I’m sorry,” Nigthwing said.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened to you — ”

“No, you don’t,” Spider-Man interrupted, sounding even angrier than before. “You have no clue, you…” he stopped. Taking deep breaths to calm himself and Nightwing gave him all the time he needed to settle down.

“It wasn’t you,” Spidey finally said, turning away from Nightwing. 

“Who was it?” the older hero asked gently.

“Batman.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it” replied the young hero with a finality to his tone of voice that left no room for arguments.

“Alright. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry we couldn’t… no… didn’t help you.” 

The two of them stayed silent for a while after that.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Nightwing spoke again after a while. “Why the purple and green outfit? You know that’s just reminding people of the Joker, right?”

“Yeah well, that’s the point.”

“You want people to think of the Joker when they see you?” Nightwing asked quizzically. 

“No, I want people to think of me when they see the Joker. People shouldn’t be scared of a pretty cool color combo just because some clown with delusion of grandeur decided to wear them.”

Nightwing chuckled at that. Spidey’s reasoning was pretty much identical to Jason’s. He’d adopted the Red Hood moniker to reclaim some sense of control from the Joker. It wasn’t well known but Red Hood had been an old alias of the Joker, a long time ago.

“Well, you’re doing a pretty good job helping people.”

“I don’t need your approval,” replied the arachnid themed hero.

“You have it anyway.” Nightwing replied gracefully. 

A long awkward silence followed between them after that until Nightwing spoke again; “If you keep going after Black Mask’s men, you’ll attract Batman’s attention. He’s not going to be happy about you doing this.”

“I don’t need his permission.”

“He’d say otherwise, it’s his city after all.”

Spidey scoffed at that. “I don’t see his name on it. I got just as much right to do this as he does.”

“Maybe, but you’re untrained.”

“And he doesn’t have bat powers. He’s just a furry with a bad attitude.”

“Am I now?” came a growling reply from above and behind Peter.

The teenager jumped in surprise, twirling around on his gargoyle, looking up he barely saw him in the shadow. A tall imposing figure hidden beneath a black cloak. Peter swallowed nervously, it was one thing to talk trash about the man when he wasn’t there, but now Peter was feeling intimidated. Sadly for everyone involved, when Peter felt nervous while wearing his costume, his mouth took control.

“Well if it isn’t tall, dark, and brooding. What, ran out of rogues so now you’re going to beat up a real hero for a change?”

“You’re not a hero, you’re just a child who shouldn’t be doing this.” came the gruff reply.

Spidey dramatically placed a hand over his heart. “Oh no, whatever shall I do, the man with an army of child soldiers tells me I’m too young to fight crime.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed, his hand moving under his cape. “I’m taking you in.”

“For what, doing your job for you? Afraid of the competition old man?” snarked Spidey.

“Maybe we should all calm down and —” for the second time this night Nightwing was interrupted. Even before Batman had a chance to throw the batarang he’d been holding at the teenage hero, Spider-Man jumped backward, doing a casual double flip in the air to dodge the projectile that left Nightwing impressed. Less impressive and more annoying was the glob of web that splashed at Nightwing and Batman’s feet, glueing them in place while the arachnid themed vigilante fell down the clock tower. 

The hero gave them a cheeky salute mid fall before reaching out with a hand, touching the side of the building. As if by magic he immediately started slowing down, coming to a stop over the course of a dozen feet, sticking to the wall. Then he jumped from the tower to the roof of a nearby building and rapidly disappeared into the night.

“This could have gone better,” Nightwing looked accusingly at Batman, a small part of savoring the sight of his adopted father having been one upped and ending up stuck to a roof.

“Hrn” was the only reply he got as he watched Batman slowly cut the web with the edge of another batarang.

Chapter Text

Two months later

Barbara Gordon was in the library, currently distracted from her work as a librarian by observing Peter. Lately, she had found it more and more difficult to tear her gaze away from the teenager. An outside observer might have construed her attention as being untoward, but in truth Barbara couldn’t shake the sense of familiarity she felt when she interacted with Peter.

It was the little things really. The teen was often quiet and reserved but sometimes, just sometimes, he would get started on a subject he found interesting and then his enthusiasm would shine through as he infodumped on her. It never lasted long, as invariably Peter would visibly restrain himself and put his walls back up, as if he expected to be punished for his enthusiasm.

With what she knew of his past, Barbara had the sinking feeling that was exactly what had happened to him multiple times. Regardless, in those few moments where he could not contain himself the teenager’s zest for life invariably brought a comparison to Dick Greyson.

Two months of regular meals had also helped fill in Peter’s gaunt feature and while he didn’t look identical to Dick, he bore more than a passing resemblance.

Barbara was therefore troubled. None of this was definite proof. Yes, Peter did look like Dick, but so did many people. And the resemblance wasn’t so striking that it couldn’t just be a coincidence. All it would take to settle the question was a simple DNA test, and yet she hesitated.

She hesitated because Peter didn’t just look like Dick, no, he also bore the same mark Jason did. The striking tuft of white hair on the forehead, the unnaturally green eyes (and there was something else far more disturbing about those eyes). A constant reminder that Peter had already suffered more than his fair share of tragedies. That this cursed city had already killed him once only to bring him back again.

Barbara hesitated because if Peter’s parentage was confirmed it would change everything. She wouldn’t be able to keep this a secret from Dick, he would know about his son and he would want to take him in. To be a part of his life. And that ran the risk of exposing Peter to their vigilante lifestyle.

Subconsciously Barbara rubbed the small of her back, the spot where the Joker’s bullet had shattered her spine and paralyzed her legs for life. All the others had been dumped into this life in one way or another. They had made the choice or had the choice made for them by circumstances. If Peter was Dick’s son, it would rob him of a chance at a normal life.

The only other person in their messed up family that regularly interacted with Peter was Jason in his Red Hood persona. She had talked to him about the teenager. In truth Peter had become a common point around which their relationship had slowly mended. The crime lord had taken to looking after the kid, making sure he was alright and ate properly. He checked up on Peter at least once a week. So they talked about Peter. Whenever Barbara brought up the possibility that Peter might be related to Dick, Jason shut her down, he denied seeing any resemblance.

She was sure it was willful ignorance, done for the same reasons borne of the same worries that had birthed her hesitation to get a DNA sample. Jason was probably wary that if Peter proved to be related to Dick, then Bruce would get involved, and somehow, despite their best effort and wishes, Peter would end up as yet another vigilante working for Batman.

Peter’s quiet nature and his tendency to abscond whenever one of the other members of their family showed up had been enough to shield him from their interest, but Barbara knew this fragile piece wouldn’t last long. More and more she caught Tim glancing toward the teenager whenever he made his way to the library. Steph and Cassandra had also started paying him more attention as of late.

Damien, thankfully, had firmly dismissed the teenager from his mind when one time, as he had been observing, he saw Peter stumble and drop a stack of books.

She guessed Robin thought Peter to be beneath interest if he could be this clumsy despite his Meta gene. Despite all his progress Damien still bore traces of deep rooted arrogance and these days Barbara was afraid it would take a personal tragedy to break this tendency out of him.

Still she knew things would come to a head sooner rather than later. Sighing she tore her gaze away and focused back on her laptop. She wished Peter was the only potential issue she had to deal with. But no, this was Gotham and she was Oracle. A recent breakout at Arkham had seen the Joker and Firefly escape and there were murmurs that Bane was back in town as well.

At least things weren’t without hope. She could hardly believe it but crime rates in certain part of town actually were going down. Black Mask's presence had all but been eliminated from the upper east side, all thanks to a certain Arachnid themed hero.

Two months of solid everyday patrolling and busting hideouts had resulted in the current situation and while she was impressed with what the hero had achieved she knew Black Mask wouldn’t take this lying down for much longer. It was only because his criminal enterprise continued to flourish elsewhere that Sionis hadn’t already resorted to much more drastic measures. The upper east side being a predominantly middle class neighborhood was simply not that much of a priority for criminals.

Spider-Man had made other improvements during this time. For one, he no longer went around wearing a purple spray painted hoodie. Now he wore spandex. The work on his costume was still very amateurish, she was fairly certain the webbing was actually just drawn on with sharpies and the seams on his costume were painfully visible. Clearly the entire thing was handmade by someone who lacked Alfred preternatural ability with a sewing machine.

Frustratingly all they knew about Gotham’s newest vigilante came from the news and police reports. Ever since the disastrous encounter at the clock tower two months ago, Spider-Man had proven to be extraordinarily slippery. You’d think a man who spent so much time carrying groceries, helping people move, and rescue cats from trees during the daytime would be easy to get a hold of but you’d be wrong. He’d always vanish as soon as one of the bats showed up, disappearing despite the obvious disadvantage his lack of grappling gun gave him. He ran and jumped and then was gone, never once showing up on a camera when he was being pursued.

The only thing they knew that didn’t come from the newspaper or the police was that Spider-Man seemed to intensely dislike them. Not to the point of becoming their enemies but he had a very poor opinion of the bats. Given the results his own method had achieved it was hard to argue that maybe Gotham needed a much more hopeful and visible hero. On the other hand the man hadn’t tangled with any of the rogues yet.

Barbara massaged the bridge of her nose as she tilted her head back, letting out a sigh of frustration.

“Err…should I come back later?”

The voice of Peter startled her out of her brooding, she offered him a quick smile “No, it’s alright Peter. Are you done with putting the books back?”

“I am. What should I do next?”

Barbara checked her watch before answering “why don’t you take an early lunch, There’s really nothing that could be done within 10 minutes so might as well get some food.”

“Speaking of food” a voice interrupted. Barbara let out an inner sigh as she shifted her gaze away from Peter to look at the approaching terrible trio. Tim, Steph, and Duke had made their way into the library and were subtly encircling Peter. 

The teenager was wilting under their friendly gaze, clearly very uncomfortable with the situation, and by the way he glanced wildly around it seemed he’d become aware they had cut off all his paths of escape. Lord knew why he’d glanced up however. It wasn’t like he could sprout wings and take off into the air.

Tim continued speaking even as Duke and Stephanie formally introduced themselves to Peter. “Don’t worry Babs, if it’s all the same to you, we’ll take Peter out for some lunch. We never really had a chance to hang out before. I’m sure it will be interesting.”

Barbara wished she had a valid reason to deny Tim, to tell him and the others to stay away from Peter. It seemed the day she dreaded had arrived and Tim was now determined to get to the bottom of things. 

Determined enough that he didn’t even give her a chance to reply. “So, Pete, want to get a BatBurger with us?”

It didn’t take too long for Tim, with the help of Duke and Stephanie, mostly Stephanie if he was being honest, to herd Peter to the nearest BatBurger. “Welcome to Batburger, what can I get you?” asked the employee at the counter in a dead tone of voice. He was wearing the most ill fitting, cheapest robin costume Tim had ever seen.

Steph placed their order in mere moments while Duke got them all some drinks.

Once they were all seated Tim indulged himself in his favorite pastime, carefully cataloguing and observing a new subject.

The subject of course being Peter.

Not for the first time Tim cursed himself for having wasted the one DNA sample he’d managed to get on confirming Peter Meta status, something that was all but a certainty already at the time, instead of using it for a paternity test.

Every time Tim went to the library and saw Peter since that day he couldn’t help but notice the growing resemblance between the teenager and his older brother. It had been superficial at first, masked by both the signs of starvation that had plagued the kid and the very visible tuft of white hair on his forehead that so readily brought to mind a different brother of his.

But over time it had become easier and easier to look past the obvious signs and see the family resemblance underneath. A certain set of the jaw, the shape of the nose. The eyes were different, something Peter probably inherited from his mother. Tim knew those eyes had originally been brown, but now even through the heavy lidded set of Peter’s features it was easy to tell they were a nearly toxic green. 

Now that he had a chance for a more detailed observation Tim noticed many more things. It was very obvious that Peter had been putting on weight. Regular meals had clearly been doing the kid some good and he now looked healthy. His complexion, while it remained pale, showed some shade of the olive skin tone his brother sported, although diluted somewhat. That would indicate that unlike Dick pure Roma’s descent, Peter was of mixed blood. His mother would have been white. 

His hair was also a dark brown instead of pure black. Peter’s hair seemed to naturally part and wave in the same way Dick’s did, although it was clear the kid didn’t go to a barber, probably cut his own hair, and not nearly as often as he should to look well kept.

It was also obvious that none of the money Barbara paid Peter had gone into clothing, or if it did said clothes had been thrifted instead of new. That raised the question of where the money was going, Peter earned far more than was required to feed himself. 

Normally Tim would already have the answer to that question but Peter didn’t have a bank account, and he certainly wasn’t paying rent. Tim knew he lived somewhere in Crime Alley, and Tim hadn’t dared stalk the kid back to his apartment, or even search the place. The one time he had tried he’d earned himself a stern talking to by Jason, who had made it obvious that he wanted the bats to leave the kid alone.

“Do you have a phone? We should totally exchange numbers!” an enthusiastic exclamation by Stephanie redirected Tim’s attention. Blessed Stephanie, her question might help explain where some of the money was going. Tim suspected her line of questioning was not entirely innocent. People in the family tended to underestimate Steph but her mind was just as sharp as any of the others, even if she liked to pretend to be nothing but a ditzy blonde.

Tim saw Peter shake his head and mumble, his response too quiet to hear. Duke chose that moment to stand up and make his way to order some food. The fact his brother in all but name didn’t look troubled indicated that there was nothing about Peter that had showed up in his ghost vision. Well, at least he wasn’t radioactive.

“Do you like, go to school? Have any hobbies, whatcha doing in your free time?” Steph continued to bombard Peter with questions, her bubbly personality clashed all too clearly with Peter’s shyness and it wasn’t yet clear which of the two would prevail.

Tim however noted the sudden panic in Peter’s demeanor at the last question. Odd, was he doing something dangerous? Was he perhaps involved in some criminal enterprise? Perhaps they would have to keep a closer eye on the kid. Right now however Peter looked all but ready to bolt, and while he had previously been hemmed in by having Duke sat next to him, his path of escape was wide open at the moment, so Tim had to defuse the situation.

“Steph, calm down, let Peter relax, would you? Food’s about to arrive, let’s just eat and let Peter open up in his own time.” Tim offered the stressed out teenager a smile, which managed to delay things long enough for Duke to arrive with their food.

As the black teen sat down next to Peter he pushed a batmeal in front of each person in the group. “Come on Pete, let’s see what figurines we get” he chuckled softly and opened his own meal, but before he could find the little plastic toys he was beaten to the punch by a groan of disappointment from Stephanie. “Oh come on, Red Robin, again?”

“What’s wrong with Red Robin?” Tim asked defensively while digging out his own figurine from amongst the fries. “Oh great, red hood,” he rolled his eyes sarcastically.

“Red Robin’s lame,” Steph declared with a grin toward Tim, “and I already got him.”

Tim rolled his eyes “so who are you missing?”

“Orphan, and the new Spider-Man figurine they just released obviously.”

“Nice, I got Signal” declared Duke with a catlike grin. 

Peter for his part hadn’t yet touched his meal. He felt incredibly out of place amongst the group. The third wheel, well, fourth technically. It wasn’t simply that he didn’t know these people well and had been all but kidnapped to the fast food joint, it was more that he was acutely aware of how little he fit with them all. 

At least none of them were dressed in thrifted clothes that barely fit and had more holes in them than a Deadshot’s victim. None of them smelt of grime and sweat, none of them looked like they belonged amongst the refuse of the city. Peter didn’t know why they had invited him along. He didn’t belong, didn’t fit. Sure the Waynes were big on charity, but not toward individuals, not like this. 

Being put in such a strange situation, not knowing why it was happening had Peter close to a panic attack, he simply didn’t have the mental energy needed for the simple task of unpacking his meal.

Noticing Peter’s obvious discomfort, Duke reached out and opened Peter’s meal for him. “Ok, let’s see what you got.” In moments he had dug a little plastic figurine, dressed in black and gray. “You got the main man himself” he offered Peter a smile and placed the little Batman toy in front of Peter, his hamburger and fries next to it.

Peter stared at the toy, his gaze losing focus. Tim instantly recognized the signs, he’d dealt with enough victims to recognize a PTSD flashback when he saw one. He signaled the others to be quiet, knowing that flashbacks like this led to unpredictable reactions.

“Peter” he spoke quietly, almost whispering. “Pete, can you tell me what’s happening right now? Can you tell me where you are?”

Peter was quiet and for a moment Tim feared the young teenager wouldn’t reply. “He didn’t help.” Peter said quietly. “When he showed up on the fire escape, I thought Batman was there to help me, that he’d take me away, that I wouldn’t have to be….” he shook his head and let out a strangled, choking sob. “He told me to stay in school, and then he just left.”

At that point Peter reached out to take the little toy, his hand closing around it. Then he seemed to snap out of it and shook himself. He glanced at the others and stood up, all but climbing over the table in his attempt to leave. None of the others did anything to stop Peter, Duke even moved out of the way quickly. All three of them had spotted what remained of the little toy, crushed beyond recognition and none of them were keen to get in the way of a panicking Meta.

Duke ran after Peter but in the few seconds he hesitated Peter had already vanished. Coming back to their table, Duke shook his head “He’s too fast.” For several moments after Peter ran out, the trio was quiet. After a while however Stephanie spoke up. “What are we going to do if he’s…”

“One of us?” Tim finished. “Even if he wasn’t… what he just said…Batman failed him, didn’t even notice he needed help.”

“If he is related to us,” Duke started, “Dick’s not going to take that well.”

Time reached out and picked up the cup of soda that Peter had barely taken a sip of. Hopefully the trace DNA on the straw would be enough. “That’s a big if” he said, knowing he was just playing devil’s advocate.

“Come on, it’s obvious at this point. The only reason Dick hasn’t found out yet is because he’s been in Bludhaven” Steph rolled her eyes at Tim.

“Let’s confirm it first,” Tim replied with a sigh. “We can decide what to do afterward.”

“Do we just forget about it if he isn’t Dick’s son?” Duke inquired hesitantly.

“Of course not,” Tim shook his head “Bruce messed up, Even if Peter isn’t Dick’s son he’ll have to make it up to him somehow.”

“So we’re telling Bruce?” 

Tim nodded at Stephanie. “I know B isn’t exactly… emotionally available, but he would not have left a kid be if he knew he was being abused. Obviously he missed something. We’ll have to check the reports he wrote to see what happened.”

“Gods…that’s gonna take weeks, we don’t even know when it happened.”

“I’m not about to interrogate Peter to get a precise date for our convenience.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Steph raised her voice and Tim shook his head “I know... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Do you think Peter will even want to talk to us again after today?” asked Duke.

“Probably not,” Tim conceded. “Maybe Damian could make friends with him, they’re closer in age.”

There was a moment of silence as Steph and Duke looked at Tim, letting his own words sink in before all three of them spoke up at the same time “no way that’s happening.”

Stephanie tapped her fingers against the table for a moment as she pondered something. “It’s going to be up to Barbara then, or maybe Cas.”

Tim sighed “I didn’t expect Peter to have issues with vigilantes, first Spider-Man, now Peter. Are we really that disliked?”

“You don’t think Peter could be Spider-Man, do you?” mused Duke, a concerned look upon his face.

Tim waved a hand dismissively in response to that “pff, no way, completely different profiles.”

Peter had left the batburger barely aware that he was running. Not paying attention to where he was going he nearly bowled over a dozen passerby before finding himself lost in the maze of back alleys of Old Gotham. His heedless flight brought him back to the one place he had felt safe barely a couple months prior.

It seemed that in his absence no one had found his little hole in the wall. The same old dumpster hiding the structural damage that he had used as a shelter for a while. He didn’t fit quite as neatly in the gap between wall and dumpster as he used to, but his new strength allowed him to shift the metal container just enough for him to crawl back in his hole.

And that was how it felt after divulging his past trauma. He’d crawled back into the hole he came from. He was back to the time before the anger took root. Before he started blaming the vigilantes for not saving him. No, at first he hadn’t felt betrayed, hadn’t felt abandoned, he hadn’t been angry that Batman had ignored his plight. No, he’d felt worthless. He’d felt like Batman didn’t save him because everyone else had been right about him; he was simply not worth saving.

Peter curled up on the ground against the wall, hugging himself together and rocking back and forth as he tried to ignore the cold that lingered in this early March day. That was him, worthless, less than worthless, deserving of all the pain and suffering that had been inflicted upon him. Because he was different, because he was weak, broken.

Peter was spiraling, his mind drowning ever deeper in the ocean of self hatred at his core. To survive he had avoided thinking about that night, avoided thinking about all the abuse he’d suffered. He’d convinced himself that he was a survivor, and had turned self hatred into hatred of vigilantes. Now, just seeing a toy of Batman had crumbled all his carefully built up coping mechanism and Peter was spiraling.

Two months ago he’d come across the man himself. Had faced him with a quip and a petty webbing and a dramatic escape. So why was he being broken by the sight of a toy now?

Because Peter hadn’t faced Batman, Spider-Man did.

Months ago Peter had been spiraling. More slowly than now, but if he was honest with himself he knew he had been quite close to just giving up and letting Gotham take him. Just another victim, an unnamed body that would show up one day. Whether because of the cold, starvation, or old fashioned Gotham violence. Peter wouldn’t have survived much longer.

And then that bank robbery happened. The true defining moment for Peter hadn’t been the kidnapping or getting powers. No, it had been a silly paper bag used as a mask. A paper bag he kept hidden in his apartment. A constant reminder of the truth. 

The first person Spider-Man ever saved was Peter Parker.

A gunshot rang into the air, police sirens and the screeching of tires. Moments later a figure in purple, green, and black spandex crawled from behind the dumpster. Peter Parker wasn’t the only one who needed saving, and Spider-Man would not fail them, any of them.

Jason was on his Bike in full Red Hood regalia, pursuing an armored money truck that swerved wildly through Gotham’s streets. Despite his reputation as a crime lord he wasn’t actually intending to rob the truck. In fact, someone else had already hijacked the entire thing. No, he was trying to stop the actual criminal.

He swerved his bike out of the path of a few bullets that were aimed at him by a masked man hanging halfway out of the passenger door when his coms rang out.

“I’m a bit busy right now” he yelled over the sound of the engine and gunfire. For a moment all that followed was the sound of typing on a keyboard.

“I see, I hate to interrupt your chase but Peter didn’t show up for his afternoon shift.” The voice of Oracle replied.

“Damn it” he muttered under his breath even as he returned fire at the man. Neither he nor the criminal had any qualm about shooting in broad daylight, although for very different reasons. Jason’s reason was that he was using rubber rounds.

“Any idea what happened?”

“The terrible trio took him to lunch, he suffered a PTSD flashback when getting a Batman toy at batburger.” There was a slight pause then, as if Barbara was hesitating to continue. “He needed help and B just told him to stay in school.”

A frustrated growl escaped Jason’s throat at hearing that. Another kid getting fucked up by Bruce failing them, already the green was invading his vision.

“Hood, I know what you’re thinking right now. And I’m not going to make excuses for Batman since I don’t know what happened yet. But with how neurotic B gets about his reports we’ll figure out what happened that night. Right now we need to find Peter.”

The armored truck took an unexpected turn and Jason had to slide his bike between a few civilians as he mounted the curb to avoid a car the truck ran into and sent careening.

Jason hesitated, he couldn’t risk Peter getting in danger because he ran off and hid god knows where, but he also couldn’t let this armored truck get away. His hesitation lasted all of two seconds before he pulled away.

As he sped off toward the library he heard the characteristic roar of a nuclear batteries powered engine. The batmobile was now on the scene, and Hood would rather have Bruce go beat up some criminal scum than risk him going in search of Peter, especially if he was the cause of the teenager freak out.

Spider-Man had been running on rooftops trying to catch up with the fleeing armored truck and the bike that pursued it. Even with the advantage of being able to cut across the roof rather than follow the street layout, his superhuman speed was really being pushed to its limits trying to keep up.

He was keeping an eye on the pursuit below when he saw Red Hood pull away. He frowned in disapproval, not expecting one of Gotham’s vigilantes to just give up like that. Understanding dawned on him when the batmobile showed up. Everyone knew Hood and Batman were off again on again enemies. It seemed they were on bad terms today.

Spider-Man vaulted over a guard rail and used an old gargoyle as a springboard to propel himself forward when the backdoors of the armored truck opened up and a man in a brown and yellow quilted outfit emerged. He pointed a metal clad gauntlet at the Batmobile and a blast of force sailed through the air.

The sleek black car tried to avoid the blast but got hit in the side hard enough to get flipped over. As it tumbled through the air a black figure ejected itself from the cockpit of the car and sailed through the air, cape spread wide.

In the air Batman was more agile than the  batmobile had been on the ground, with careful gliding and judicious use of his grapple gun the dark knight managed to barely avoid the next couple blasts of force coming his way.

Then Batman’s luck ran out and the next blast hit him square in the chest, sending the vigilante flying and crashing through a window. When he didn’t reemerge immediately it became obvious that Spider-Man was now the only one left in pursuit.

Sadly it seemed said pursuit wouldn’t last much longer as the armored truck was pulling away.

Before he could think better of it Spider-Man launched himself off the roof he was on and down toward the streets. The wind was blowing against him as he fell, closer and closer to the ground, then at the last moment he fired a web toward a building.

The line connected and Spider-Man found his momentum redirected as he was swinging above the street right behind the truck. At the peak of his arc he let go of the line, rolling forward twice in the air before firing another line to continue his swing.

The truck took a turn and Spidey fired another line, kicking with his legs to start turning after it. He’d slightly misjudged his angle however and found himself having to run along the side of the building on the opposite side of the street. Then he jumped off and fired another line, then another, moving close and closer to the truck.

His swing didn’t go by unnoticed however and soon the same man who had taken out Batman aimed his gauntlet at him. Thankfully, Spidey’s danger sense, he’d finally stopped calling it a tingle, warned him in advance and with another web line to tug himself sideways, he casually avoided the blast.

Then he dodged another, and another, all with an ease that betrayed nothing of how inexperienced he was at swinging around. In fact he grew bolder as he went, casually pulling moves that would make a gymnastic olympian green with envy as he whooped in joy, which only served to enrage the quilt wearing man.

The blast of forces came in faster and faster, but when they proved entirely futile the man instead switched targets and aimed at a parked car, the blast of force sending it barreling toward the arachnid themed hero.

Knowing he couldn’t simply dodge the vehicle and allow it to come crashing down and risk injuring civilians, Spidey let go of his web line and ran on top of the car, using his webs to quickly anchor it against the buildings on each side of the streets. Soon the vehicle was safely caught in a web, and Spidey resumed his pursuit.

No longer willing to drag things out, he shot a quick web glob at the quilted man when he tried to blast Spidey out of the sky again. The web blob impacted him in the chest and sent him back into the depth of the armored truck where he would hopefully be immobilized when the web expanded, a trick Spidey had developed over the past couple months.

At the peak of his next arc Spidey jumped off his line and aimed two more lines at the armored truck’s roof. With a hard tug he propelled himself on top of the truck and once there, he crawled toward the passenger door. 

A man in a simple ski mask peeked out of the passenger door window and tried to spot the hero swinging behind the truck. His puzzlement over seeing nothing was short lived as Spidey yanked him out of the door and tossed him toward the street, a quick web bomb restraining the man against a lamp post.

Crawling along the side of the truck toward the driver side door Spidey mischievously knocked on the window.

“Knock knock, mister criminal!” He then mimed rolling the window down. To his everlasting surprise, the man did just that.

“Hey, my name is Spider-Man.” he offered his hand to the man for a handshake, wondering just how far he could push the absurdity. “You may call me webhead, you may call me amazing. Just don’t call me late for dinner, get it ?” he chuckled to himself and then ducked out of the way of a punch. Moments later his feet were the only thing into view as he sat on the roof of the truck and he bent down to look inside, his agility more than enough for him to bend over completely.

“Not a shaker. Huh, are you a hugger?”

“I’m a killer!” the man replied as pulled out a machine gun and fired out the window with the wall crawler disappearing from view again with a “Wow! Okay.”

Repositioning himself, Spidey reached in and grabbed the man’s gun, barely flinching when the heat of the barrel nearly burned him through his gloved hands. “Let me help you with that!” he yanked hard on the gun, knocking it into the face of the man and knocking him out. Now all he had to do was try to stop the truck.

He winced when the truck veered off and hit a couple more cars, quickly grabbing the wheel with one hand he came up with a plan to stop the vehicle. Thankfully it was already slowing down now that the criminal wasn’t putting the pedal to the metal.

Quickly webbing the wheel in place, Spider-Man climbed over the front of the truck and then flipped around, facing the truck and putting his feet to the ground. “Come on sticky powers!” he yelled as he felt his feet try to stick in place while a dozen tons of metal tried to run him over.

The loser in this equation proved to be the pavement, as Spider-Man's heel dug into the ground as he slowly forced the vehicle to a stop. 

Before he had even time to relax he heard a massive rumble coming from the back of the truck. Jumping on top of it he caught sight of the quilted man making his way out of the blasted remains of what had once been the back of the vehicle. 

Before the criminal could do much more than tear off the last remnant of Spidey’s web off of his costume he heard a voice coming from behind him.

“So is it an actual fashion choice or did you find nothing better than a quilted mattress to make your costume out of?”

Spidey jumped away just in time to avoid the blast of force that was aimed at him as soon as the villain turned around. He landed on top of a lamppost and kept quipping. “No, really, who are you supposed to be? Quilt-Man ? I’d say it would be a stupid name but it’s Gotham, with Kite Man and Condiment King running around you’d fit right in with the D-Listers”.

“I’m the Shocker you infernal bug!!!”

Spidey dodged a couple more blasts of power by leaning out of the way before he stopped, hanging upside down from the lamppost which he hadn’t needed to leave to avoid being shocked.

“The Shocker ? Really ? As in two in the pink, one in the st —” this time he had to leap off of the lamppost and backflip through the air. “Okay, so maybe not that. Is that a power you have or is it like, from your suit?” he inquired as he casually webbed the villain in the face, blinding him before moving closer and grabbing him by one of his weird metal gauntlets he was wearing. With a slight exertion of strength and using his sticky powers he ripped the gauntlet in half before quickly doing the same to the other gauntlet and then casually webbed the villain in a cocoon.

While he was distracted, a half dozen police cars surrounded the truck, with cops emerging and pointing their guns at him and the criminals he’d just stopped. Including a detective he remembered from his very first outing when all he had to disguise himself was a paper bag.

Renée Montoya thought she’d had a handle on Gotham’s weirdness after all these years. And yet seeing a new vigilante casually stopping an armored truck and the criminals that had hijacked it, criminals which had given Batman himself some trouble, came as a surprise.

And yet she had a job to do and wasn’t about to let her surprise get the better of her. Before she could talk to the vigilante however, her partner, Harvey Bullock moved ahead of her.

“Stop right there you bug eyed freak! You’re under arrest!”

“Yeah, okay, maybe leave the jokes to the professional pal,” the vigilante chuckled then slowly looked around at all the cops surrounding him, guns out. “Wait, you’re serious? I did 90% of your job and you want to arrest me?”

The vigilante then turned toward her “A little bit of help here police lady? I did lift a car off of you last time, surely that counts for something? Glad to see you’re okay now.”

“Wait, you’re Bagman?!”

The vigilante groaned in response “I’m Spider-Man", he said gesturing toward the bright green logo on his chest, “obviously I didn’t have a costume back then.”

“Hands in the air you freak, if you move I’m going to shoot you!” bellowed her partner and Montoya rolled her eyes “ease up Bullock, you know the commissioner stance on vigilantes.”

“Yeah well, this one ain’t with the bat, so I’m going to arrest him and put him where he belongs.”

“In a luxury resort surrounded by scantily clad models?”

Both Montoya and Bullock turned to look at the vigilante who looked back at them in turn. “I mean, I did stop a bunch of criminals, a nice tropical vacation sounds like a perfect reward if you ask me.”

Both cops opted to ignore the teenager and Montoya looked back at her partner. “Harvey, go book the actual criminal please, I’ll handle this one.”

“No way, You’re just going to let the freak go.”

“I’m right here you know,” said the teenager, who had at some point crouched down and was busy doodling a little spider logo in the dust of the road.

“Be quiet, freak.”

“Freak this, freak that, have you considered investing in a thesaurus? It would massively  improve your insult game.”

“Oh I’m going to enjoy watching you rot in the depth of a jail cell.”

“Harvey, enough. You couldn’t arrest him even if you wanted to.”

“Oh yeah, why is that Montoya? You’re gonna stop me?”

“Think for a minute Harvey. He stopped an armored truck with his bare hands. You think handcuffs are going to stop him?”

Bullock paused at that and reached out for his radio. “I’m going to call for backup.”

“You do that, and I’ll deal with Spiderman in the meantime.”

“Spider-Man.”

“What?” Montoya looked confusedly at the teenage vigilante.

“It’s Spider-Man, with a hyphen. I know you didn’t use the hyphen.”

Montoya let out a deep sigh, thankfully by then Harvey had backed off. 

“So am I under arrest?”

“No, you’re not. But maybe next time you should disappear before the cops arrive. That’s what Batman does.”

“I’m not Batman” the teenager replied defensively.

“I noticed. It’s still better to leave first, generally the bat makes his report to the commissioner directly after something like this happens.”

“I don’t know the commissioner.”

Montoya nodded and reached out into her jacket, pulling out a business card. “True, you can always reach out to me then.”

The teenager took her card and looked at it for a moment before pulling the edge of his pants and sliding the card into them.

“Are you…pulling my cards into your pants?” she asked nonplussed.

“I don’t have pockets” he replied with a shrug. “So I’m gonna go now, thanks police lady.”

She watched him awkwardly walk off for a few moments before he seemed to remember something. With a jump and fired webline he swung away before anyone else had a chance to stop him.

She shook her head bemusedly and then went to check on the other costumed person on the scene. Idly she wondered how she’d deal with all the webbing.

Chapter Text

That evening Peter went back to his apartment feeling better than he had before. Taking down a criminal that even Batman found challenging had done wonders for his self esteem and helped drag him out of the downward spiral he’d been on.

By the time Peter had caught the Shocker, which he still thought was a terrible name, the batmobile had vanished, which was more than a little impressive given the state the car had been in. Needless to say, Batman himself had equally vanished. 

He sat down on his bed, just letting the adrenaline slowly run out of his system when he heard a buzzing noise.

Puzzled, he looked around for the source of the noise and came across a cell phone. It took him longer than he’d like to admit to remember the burner phone that Red Hood had gifted him months ago. Peter had not once had cause to use it, as the vigilante was more likely than not to just drop by unannounced for a talk and to deliver food and other necessities.

Peter would be lying if he said Red Hood wasn’t growing on him. His action showed a level of concern for ordinary people that he didn’t think the rest of the vigilantes had. 

He picked up the phone and struggled for a moment with answering it. Not only because of the sudden spike of anxiety at having to answer a call but also out of a need to figure out how to even use the thing. His troubled upbringing and stint of the streets had left him unfamiliar with modern conveniences for the most part.

“Hello,” he said as he finally worked up the courage to answer, feeling extremely awkward with the entire experience.

“Kid, where are ya?!” came the demanding voice of Red Hood through the phone. At least Peter assumed it was Red Hood. He’d never actually seen the vigilante without his helmet and the thing distorted his voice but it appeared he wasn’t wearing the helmet at the moment. Still Peter doubted anyone else would even know to call this number.

“I’m home?” he replied and cringed internally at having phrased it like a question.

“Why aren’t ya at yer work? Do ye know how worried yer friends are?”

“I don’t have friends,” Peter replied automatically before his mind flashed to the faces of Marcus, Miguel, and Kali. Peter was rather startled to realize that he perhaps had friends after all. Although he hadn’t seen any of them in weeks. At least Peter hadn’t. Spider-Man kept an eye out for them quite regularly. 

The silence that followed was rather heavy and when Red Hood spoke again it was with a tone laced with disbelief.

“Wow, that’s cold. I’ll try not to feel hurt about that, but not even Barbara Gordon ? With how frantic she was she certainly seemed to think of ya as a friend.”

“You know Miss Barbara ?” Had Red Hood not really kept his promises to leave Peter alone? It was one thing to show up to check on him. That was an expression of concern. But keeping tabs on who Peter interacted with was doing wonders to make Peter angry and his tone of voice betrayed it.

“I know a lot of people, kid, Gordon reached out when ya skipped work. I ain’t keeping tabs on ye if that’s what got ya pissed.”

Peter’s anger instantly simmered down, and with it came the realization he had indeed skipped work. And now Peter was dreading the fact that he would probably lose his job.

“I have to go,” he said before promptly hanging up and running out of his apartment, leaving the phone behind.

oOo

An hour later Peter was back at the library feeling both more mentally settled and incredibly anxious. The reason for Peter’s anxiety was looming over him, the entrance to the Gotham Library pressing down on him from above as he hesitated to step inside. He was bracing himself for the fact that he was almost certainly going to be losing his job, and with it his only source of income.

Life as Spider-Man was so much easier than as Peter Parker, but hero work didn’t pay the bills. So with a heavy heart Peter stepped into the library.

“Peter!”

He flinched upon hearing his name, subconsciously hunching his shoulders to prepare for a beating, an instinctive reaction that wasn’t helped by seeing Miss Barbara come rushing at him, her movement surprisingly quick and nimble despite the obvious drawback of her wheelchair.

Surprise and fear rooted him in place like a deer stuck in headlights, but the fear was replaced by confusion when he found himself grabbed by his jacket and pulled down with unexpected force into a tight hug. 

The hug lasted but a moment and then Miss Barbara was holding his face with both her hands, looking him up and down. 

“Peter! Are you alright ? Are you hurt? What happened?” The stream of questions came at him rapidly and it dawned on Peter that maybe Miss Barbara wasn’t angry at him but was instead concerned.

“I’m sorry, I just.. I didn’t mean to skip work, I…” he stammered his answer, unable to truly explain himself. How could he so simply tell her about what happened at batburger, how he’d fled and lost himself in the street of Gotham and the despair and self loathing he felt for not being worthy of being saved?

“Peter, it’s okay, you’re fine, that’s what matters” Barbara replied calmly, her fingers brushing aside the tears he hadn’t felt starting to fall. The teenager stepped away and with great effort took some time to compose himself, taking deep shuddering breaths for several moments.

“Am…I being fired?” he asked once he got his emotions back under control. 

“No, of course not.” She denied immediately. “Peter, you do your job well. I’m not going to fire you because of this. The only thing I’m upset about is that I couldn’t reach you.”

“I’m sorry, I did —”

“Peter, I’m going to make it a condition of your continued employment that you get a phone so you can contact me or someone else when an emergency happens, okay?”

Peter quietly nodded. Now he had no choice but to get a cellphone. Which would prove extremely difficult given that he didn’t have an official address or even a bank account. He was underage and wasn’t allowed to live on his own.

“Red Hood gave me a burner phone, would that be enough?” he asked, nervous about the possibility of Miss Barbara asking him to get a full phone plan. More and more he found his status as a runaway to be a hindrance.

Barbara considered the notion for a moment and then nodded. “Yes, that will be fine, all that matters is that I have a way to contact you. Do you have your phone with you?”

He shook his head in answer.

“In that case,” she said as she wheeled herself toward her desk and quickly wrote down a number. “Here’s my number. Save it on your phone and make sure it stays charged and that you have enough minutes on it, alright?”

Peter nodded and then started his work for the day, placing books back in their places on the shelves and generally keeping the place clean. As he did he came across a discarded newspaper, the headline attracting his attention, he took the paper and read it.

“What the fudge?!”

Bill was currently dangling helplessly, cocooned as he was, tethered to a fire escape. The teenager who’d caught him was next to him, halfway up the wall. In complete defiance of physics his feet and back were stuck to the wall while he was busy reading a newspaper article. In truth this particular state of affair was probably one of the best outcomes from being busted by a vigilante that he’d ever ended up with. 

When one of the bats caught him they usually broke a few bones, this new guy however had simply restrained him so Bill thought himself lucky.

“Can you believe this?” asked the hero. “I catch an armored truck, stop a supervillain, with an idiotic name. The Shocker. A villain that, I might add, took out Batman himself just moments prior, and they label me a menace!” The hero waved the offending newspaper in Bill’s face.

“Well, the truck did explode and you did ruin a stretch of road,” replied Bill, completely unafraid of conversing with the teenage vigilante. The situation was odd to be sure, but not entirely unpleasant.

“I didn’t blow up that truck! That was the Shocker. And no one gives Batman any grief when Firefly burns half the city down. That doesn’t seem fair.”

“And Batman stops Firefly from burning the other half. The truck did get blown up after you showed up.”

“Oh come on, whose side are you on?”

Bill just arched an eyebrow at Spider-Man in response. He was a henchman after all, he couldn’t rightly side with a hero.

“Okay point taken,” muttered the vigilante.

“Question: where would I go to get a burner phone?” asked the teenager out of nowhere, his voice barely muffled by the mask with teardrop shaped eyes he wore.

“You…you’re asking me?”

“Do you see anyone else around?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Who else am I gonna ask about a burner phone?” 

“You know it’s not illegal to have one right?”

“It isn’t?!” the vigilante asked in genuine surprise.

“No, of course not. A burner is just a prepaid phone with no ties to your identity.” Bill explained; Somehow the surreal nature of the situation didn’t phase him overly much. He’d had conversations with other vigilantes before. They usually ended up with him getting punched in the face. This was downright nice by comparison.

“Why do you need a burner anyway?”

“Social media.”

“What?” The response came as a complete surprise to Bill. “What do you mean social media?”

“Well I can’t go around using my normal phone for a Spider-Man account now can I?” replied the teenager. He’d spent some time at the library that afternoon looking things up on the internet. The interaction he’d had with Miss Barbara had sparked a few ideas in his mind. One, she was right, Peter Parker needed to be joinable, but so did Spider-Man. And he didn’t have access to a giant signal in the sky. 

He intended to use social media to further people’s recognition of his heroics. Since the press seemed intent on dragging his name through the mud, he’d get his say on his own.

After a moment’s reflection, Spidey reached into his pants to take out a stack of sticky notes and a pen. Quickly writing a note he stuck it to Bill’s chest.

“Well, it’s been cool but I gotta go, people to save, villains to stop. You know the drill. See ya Bill. And try to stay out of trouble.”

Bill watched as the arachnid themed hero swung off into the distance.

“So it’s confirmed then?” Bruce asked as he looked at the result of the DNA test on the batcomputer, standing behind Tim. The soft sound of the batcave shrouding them both. The gentle squeaking of bats overhead and the echoes of water droplets hitting stone floor and metal grate alike.

The teenager nodded and took a sip from his concerningly large cup of coffee. Just from the smell alone Bruce could tell it wasn’t regular coffee, but a rather potent brew that would doubtlessly send a normal person into shock. His son’s coffee addiction was a cause for concern and Bruce wished Tim would just spend more time sleeping instead of keeping himself awake by relying on caffeine.

His attention went back to the results on the screen. The DNA sample matched with Dick’s for paternity. No indication of match for anyone they had on file for the mother side. Nonetheless, it was official. Peter Parker was Dick Grayson’s son.

“I guess we should tell Dick then,” Tim spoke quietly but all he got from Bruce in return was a noncommittal grunt. Tim turned around and looked at his adoptive father, arching an eyebrow at him. “You don’t want to tell Dick he has a son?”

“No, we will tell Dick about this. I’m considering the options for bringing Peter in.” Bruce replied. 

“What’s there to consider?”

“You’ve seen his files. Peter requires some special attention that I’m not sure we’re equipped to give yet. And his attitude toward vigilantes makes things more complex.”

“You’re afraid your grandson will hate you,” Tim chuckled and Bruce didn’t deny it. They were still loooking through the archived reports, trying the find the night were Bruce had failed his grandosn, trying to find an explanation for what he had missed .Peter was already a runaway. If he learned that his actual family was composed of the vigilantes he hated, who knew how he’d react. He might disappear. And this would break Dick’s heart.

“We will tell Dick as soon as gets back from his offworld mission. There are things that need to be dealt with first. Dick will want to bring him home himself, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do our best to facilitate Peter’s reintegration into society. And to keep him safe.”

Peter made his way to the library, distantly aware of the shadow tailing him. Why one of the bats would be following him, in broad daylight no less, he had no clues. If it had been Red Hood perhaps he would have understood. Instead he had the distinct impression that this was someone different.

It was difficult for him to pinpoint who exactly it was, even his enhanced senses didn’t allow him to perceive more than a slight shadow. Whoever it was was incredibly stealthy and wore mostly black. That ruled out Robin, Red Robin, and Signal. 

Slightly shaking his head Peter resolved to act as normal as he could. He would give them no reason to suspect anything. An easy enough thing to do as he had no plans to go on patrol until the evening at least.

Pushing open the doors to the library Peter became vaguely conscious that his tail had just vanished. Almost as if they had been escorting him instead of following him. Strange.

Shrugging he made his way toward the reception desk and Miss Barbara. He was just about to greet her and tell her he had his phone with him when the librarian addressed him first.

“Peter, I have an opportunity for you that I think you might be interested in,” words like these usually were quickly followed by a descent into a life of crime, so Peter tensed immediately. Although he managed to relax once his brain caught up and told him that it was unlikely for the librarian to toss him into a gang or a harebrained scheme to rob a bank or other such nonsense.

So Peter approached the desk, keeping his face carefully neutral. Miss Barbara slid him a leaflet that Peter took up and quickly read. “A scholarship?” he asked, confusion plain on his face.

Barbara nodded. “Yes, if you can pass the admission test for Gotham Prep, Bruce Wayne is ready to offer a scholarship for special needs students. Which you’d qualify for. You’d get a full ride and a stipend, so you wouldn’t need to worry about cutting your work hours,” she replied with a beaming smile.

The teenager frowned at that. Gotham prep was the most prestigious high school in Gotham, frequented almost entirely by either geniuses or the wealthy. Needless to say, Peter didn’t think he fit into either of these categories.

As if reading his mind Barbara spoke up. “I know what you’re thinking, but you wouldn’t be the first student in a difficult situation getting in with a scholarship. So just try, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

Peter hesitated for a moment before giving a small nod. 

“Excellent, I knew you’d agree so I already registered you. All you have to do is get to Gotham Prep tomorrow afternoon and take a placement test.” Miss Barbara offered him another smile.

“Tomorrow! But I haven’t studied !” Peter already felt the panic attack burgeoning in him.

“Don’t worry, the placement test is simply to judge your current level so you can be sorted in the best courses for you. It’s not really an admission test.”

Miss Barbara’s reassurances helped Peter to calm down. The more he thought about it the stranger the entire situation became. These days he kept running into members of the Wayne family. Although his interaction with Tim, Duke, and Steph had proven disastrous so far. Now he was being offered a chance at a scholarship from Bruce Wayne.

The situation was slowly fueling a growing sense of paranoia in the teenager. Why would the Wayne family show any interest in him? Only time would be able to answer his questions.

oOo

That evening Peter was once more followed by one of the bats. Although they did back off once he entered Crime Alley. It seemed they weren’t willing to get into conflict with Red Hood on his account. Their sudden interest had Peter wonder if Red Hood had failed to keep his promise, not that the teenager was going to confront Red Hood about it. He wasn’t crazy enough to willingly get into a fight with a crime lord. Well, not as Peter Parker anyway.

Still, once his escort vanished Peter took the opportunity to change into his costume, webbing his backpack to a wall with his clothes before swinging off into the distance. He still had half an hour before sundown and Peter had a specific plan in mind.

Quickly swinging through town, Peter pushed his abilities to their limits to rush all the way to Wayne Tower. Once there he ran alongside its walls and used his webs to propel himself upward as fast as he could until he reached the top.

Pausing for a moment to catch his breath Peter took out the burner phone he’d acquired specifically for his work as Spider-Man. For the next few minutes Peter focused on his little project. He was just about finished by the time the sun set when he heard the characteristic sound of a grapple gun behind him.

Turning around he saw Red Robin staring at him. The vigilante’s costume consisted of black pants, a red top with yellow belts crisscrossing the chest area, a red domino mask and a cape that was designed to evoke feathers. Spidey eyed the young man skeptically and couldn’t help but comment on the attire.

“Alright, so points for dropping the Space Ghost hood but the belts across the chest really scream B-movie grade action star wannabe.”

“Big words from a kid wearing spandex with webs drawn on in sharpie.” Red Robin scoffed.

“You got something against spandex? Are you in the pockets of big leather? A ceramic supremacist? A grand wizard of the Kevlar Klux Klan?” Spider-Man replied with mounting feigned outrage and anger.

“I…what?”

“Shame on you. I thought you were better than that. I don’t think we can be friends anymore.” Spidey said, dramatically turning his head away from Red Robin while holding a hand up to keep him at a distance. “I can’t be friends with a bigot.”

Red robin let out a deep sigh of exasperation. Either Spider-Man was a master troll or he was genuinely insane and Tim wasn’t sure which was which.

“Enough with the nonsense, what are you doing up here?”

“What’s it to you, bird brain?”

“Just answer the question,” Tim repeated himself, his collapsible staff extending in his hand as he took a more aggressive stance.

“Ah, now we see the violence inherent in the system!”

“I swear to god,” Tim took a step forward but Spider-Man just vaulted off the top of Wayne tower. Red Robin rushed forward and looked over the edge of the roof just in time to get nailed in the face with some of Spidey’s webbing.

Tim scrambled at his face, nearly tearing off his mask in the process of removing the sticky fluid Spider-Man had shot in his face. “Ugh, now I know why Bernard gets so upset,” he muttered to himself.

[BatChat]

[05/03][7:48pm]

TimLordVictorious: Caught Spider-Man snooping on top of Wayne tower. He escaped before I could ascertain his intentions.

Damian Wayne : The continued failure of this family to deal with one wannabee vigilante astound me.

The Duke : I think the dude is cool.

Damian Wayne : Of course you would think that.

SpoilerAlert : Well I know why he was there.

TimLordVictorious: And how would you know that? You were nowhere near the scene.

SpoilerAlert : He’s obviously on the hunt for the giant raccoons.

DoritOracle : Not this again, there are no giant raccoons in Gotham.

SpoilerAlert : Well something destroyed those dumpsters!.

DoritOracle : That was months ago. Nothing like that has happened since.

DoritOracle : Anyway, could you guys keep an eye on Peter tomorrow ? He’s going to take a placement test for Gotham Prep.

Damian Wayne:  I don’t understand why we should bother. That child doesn’t have the intellectual capacity to enroll in Gotham Prep.

DoritOracle: Dami, Peter isn’t stupid, he simply didn’t have the opportunity to learn properly.

SpoilerAlert : Don’t worry babs, we’ll keep an eye out for him.

TimLordVictorious: And we’ll make sure the demon spawn doesn’t drive him off.

WhisperCass left a link to the group

TimLordVictorious : Wait…since when does Spider-Man have a social media account?

The Duke : Sweet view of the city though. 

Damian Wayne: And father liked it ? Oh no, father is on social media !

Bruce Wayne : We need to talk about cyber bullying, Damian.

Damian Wayne left the chat.

Bruce Wayne put his phone down on the rich wood of the mahogany desk that graced his study. The soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner the only sound within. It was a rare moment of calm and introspection for Bruce who was usually far too busy to simply take the time to relax and take something in.

A few minutes ago he’d been on the phone with the administration department of Gotham Prep, making sure they would be ready to administer the test for Peter Parker the next day.
Despite what rumours might say, Bruce was not in the habit of using his wealth to ensure his children had an easy ride at school. Their grades, good and bad, were completely earned. At most he smoothed over some issue that arose from all of their vigilante activities. 

As such he was curious as to what result Peter would achieve. From his files the boy didn’t seem to have ever excelled in school, which was hardly a surprise given the environment he grew up in. It was difficult to get good grades when you bounced from one abusive foster home to another. Nevertheless, all Peter had to do to get in was show up, take the test, and not catastrophically bomb it. Most likely Peter would end up admitted in some remedial classes and would have to work hard to bring his grades up. But once Dick brought him home Peter would have the best possible environment to thrive.

Still every member of Bruce’s family were, if not certifiable geniuses, at least highly gifted individuals that his training had honed to a razor sharp edge. Even if Peter didn’t join in as a vigilante himself. A situation that was quite likely to occur given his history with Batman, then at least the training Bruce could provide would help Peter develop his mental faculties.

Bruce knew how to train someone, knew how to mold them into heroes. Surely allowing one special child to find his way into the world and excel wouldn’t be too difficult? 

Bruce felt himself starting to brood again. A dangerous proposition since Alfred enforced a strict no brooding policy in the manor itself. Any such activities being begrudgingly relegated to the batcave. Instead Bruce cast his mind back to the other thing that had caught his attention that evening.

Oftentimes, Bruce spent some time scrolling through social media for any post related to Gotham. More than once he had caught leads out of the activity. Criminals were often more than just a cowardly and superstitious lot, they also had a tendency to let things slip. Today had been somewhat different. Apparently their newest vigilante had created an account for himself. 

@GothamWallCrawler

His very first post was already blowing up and Bruce could easily appreciate why. The post was a video, 20 seconds of the Gotham skyline viewed from Wayne Tower. The sunset framing the city and casting its usual gloomy architecture in sharp contrast with the pastel oranges on the setting sun.

Even Bruce, who had seen every angle of the city, had been stunned by the view. He used his @realBrucieWayne account to give it a like, which no doubt would contribute to it going viral.

To say that Peter Parker was currently a nervous wreck would be putting it mildly. The teenager had taken the Gotham Metro to the Upper West Side and now stood in front of Gotham Prep. The school building was an example of the neoclassical style that had been in vogue a century past and highlighted the extremely affluent character of the establishment. 

The high fluted columns loomed over Peter, as if they were gate standing in silent judgment. Much less silent was the judgment of the students around him. Peter clearly didn’t fit in given his thrifted clothes that barely held together, a sharp contrast to the crisps uniforms of every student around him. 

Worse were all the stage whispers, students wondering who let a street rat anywhere near them. Peter could feel his ears burning with shame as he started looking at his shoes, doing his level best to ignore the words that grew more vicious by the minute. Worse were the cruel laughter from small groups that passed him by. 

Peter held on to the brochure about the scholarship like it was a talisman. The crinkled paper felt like a lifeline in Peter’s hand, proof that he was meant to be here. At least for now, at least for today.

Just as prepared to step forward his spidey sense gave him a soft warning. The sensation was so unexpected that Peter didn’t have time to react before he was roughly bumped into by one of the students. Caught off guard and off balance Peter fell down to the ground, scraping his knees on the pavement.

The student who had shoulder bumped into him, on purpose Peter was sure of it, didn’t have the decency to look back or offer an apology. Instead Peter caught some words from him as he walked away. The student complained that he would have to burn the uniform because of how tainted it was by the contact.

Picking himself back up Peter did his best to hold back the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Living on the streets he had been used to the casual dismissal of people around him. Most of them treated the homeless like an invisible embarrassment that couldn’t bother them if they just pretended they didn’t exist. But now Peter had voluntarily stepped into their world and not just sat by the side of the street begging for spare change. And now he wasn’t just something to be ignored, he was a plague to be removed.

A fact that made itself very clear when a school guard approached Peter. The man’s entire demeanor screamed unfriendliness, and the clear distaste on his face was an expression Peter was all too familiar with. 

“What are you doing here?” The words came out of the guards mouth less as a question than a veiled accusation. Peter’s grip on the brochure tightened but he was too overwhelmed by all that was happening to form a coherent response. All the guard saw was the tightened fist, white knuckles, and a street kid who clearly didn’t belong. The guard’s hand drifted toward his weapon.

The response was far too eager and confrontational for what was simply a scrawny kid that might be lost. The part of Peter’s brain that took control while he wore his mask silently took in the threat, in a couple months he’d developed a sense of how likely someone was to cause troubles, and this guard was clearly looking to flex the little bit of authority he had.

“I will deal with this,” a different voice cut in, coming from behind the guard. Peter glanced at the new arrival, a kid even younger than he was, black hair and dark hued complexion hinting at a middle eastern descent.

“It’s my job to deal with intruders,” argued the guard but his tone was far less confrontational with the new arrival, almost deferential.

“Tt” the click of the tongue came out from the kid, and it was far from the only sign of annoyance, the child somehow managed to look down on the guard despite their height difference. “He isn’t an intruder, he’s here to take a placement test and perhaps earn my father’s scholarship.”

“If you say so Mister Wayne.”

Wayne, another Wayne. It seemed that no matter where he went Peter was destined to run into them. So this must be Damian, Bruce Wayne’s youngest and if the gossip were to be ignored the only biological son he had. Although given just how many kids with extremely similar features to his own Bruce Wayne ended up adopting, the rumors had always been that the other sons he had were in fact all from some dalliance the billionaire indulged in.

Peter watched as the guard left but was still too overwhelmed and tongue tied to properly express his gratitude to Damian. And all such notions flew out of Peter’s mind when he saw the way the child looked at him. The judgment was positively radiating out from Damian, almost like a physical pressure that threatened to crush Peter. A sensation reinforced by the low warning of his spider sense. A warning that had not been present with the guard.

“Follow me then.”

Damian punctuated his words with a quick turn around and he walked away, fully expecting Peter to follow. With a moment’s hesitation the teenager did just that and followed the threatening child into the school building. More afraid of what the child would do to him if he didn’t than of the ridicule still coming from other students. Although their words had quieted to hushed whispers since Damian’s arrival.

Soon Damian led him to the reception area where a woman was quickly tasked by the youngest Wayne to give Peter a visitor’s pass. Peter’s nerves had calmed down enough that he was almost ready to applaud the woman for somehow managing an expression that was both an obsequious smile for Damian and a contemptuous sneer for him at the same time. Sneer he had seemingly earned when the woman took in his attire.

Without a word, but with another click of the tongue, Damian led Peter to the classroom where the test would be administered. Peter’s nerves were far too strained for him to take in the opulent nature of the school. Its halls adorned with all the possible decorative elements, baseboards, crown moulding, dado rails, all of them in antique solid oak that screamed old money and felt incredibly anachronistic to Peter, whose only experience with school was the rundown, underfunded, dilapidated, Gotham public school system.

“Here you are,” said Damian. “Try not to disappoint too badly.” The child scoffed at Peter, as if he fully expected the teenager to make a complete fool of himself.

Peter didn’t even have the chance to try and thank the youngest Wayne before the kid walked away. He was quite unsure as to why this particular Wayne seemed so stuck up and assholish compared to the rest of them. At least the ones he had met had all been nice to Peter but children were generally more innocent and cruel than adults, perhaps Damian’s attitude reflected the true feelings of the Wayne family, and the niceness he had experienced was simply a nice public persona.

It would be disappointing if that was the case. For a long time Peter had idolized the Waynes, but he was also very aware of the two faced nature of most people. Even those whose features weren’t half marred by acid.

Taking a deep breath Peter walked into the classroom and the contrast with the halls was immediate. The decorative elements on the walls were still antique, but the class had been remodeled to include the latest technology. The whiteboard was an enormous touchscreen, the desks were brand new and none of the chairs had left so much as a scuff mark on the spotless floor.

If the halls screamed old money and privilege, the classroom was showing just how much better life would be for rich people in all respects. The classes Peter was used to had been drab grey concrete affairs with graffitied desks likely to give you splinters and old blackboards turning grey from the decades of chalk that had marked them. 

“Sit down,” came the voice of the teacher that was there to administer the placement test. The man was reed thin, with a pencil mustache and neatly combed hair and Peter wondered for a minute if he had stepped back in time to the fifties for a moment.

Not wanting to get on the teacher’s bad side, Peter did as he was told and sat down at the nearest desk, his quick response doing little to dispel the look of disapproval he earned from the teacher for the simple crime of existing. It was quite clear the man shared the same opinion as everyone else in this god forsaken school and viewed Peter the same way one would view an insect that had crawled from under a rock.

The next three hours were pure torture as Peter did his best to fill in his answers to the various test paper he was given on all manners of subjects; the sciences, maths, english, history, geography. The tests were each individually short but the question presented  grew more complex and within the first few minutes Peter knew he would perform miserably. If this was the level of academic proficiency expected from this school then Peter was woefully unprepared.

By the end of the three hours Peter had built up a kernel of resentment against Miss Barbara in his heart. He could not fathom why the woman would have sent him to take this placement test when it was so painfully obvious he had simply no chances of passing, unless it was meant as a cruel reminder that he would never achieve anything.

As soon as the test was over Peter bolted out of the classroom, running away from the school as fast as he could. He didn’t realize he was crying as he did, nor did he spot the presence of Tim, Duke, Stephanie, and Damian that had been waiting for him in the halls.

[BatChat]

[06/03][4:25pm]

SpoilerAlert: @DoritoOracle so, Peter ran off as soon as the test was over. I don’t think it went well.

Damian Wayne: As I predicted, he didn’t have the abilities necessary to enroll. Nor the grace to leave with some dignity.

TimLordVictorious : Don’t be an a-hole. The kid was obviously in distress, and given all the comments I heard all day in school from other students about a street rat showing up, it’s easy to understand why.

Damian Wayne : If he had a strong character he would ignore the insults of peasants. 

DoritOracle : I’ve hacked the school system, I’ll get an alert as soon as his results come in. It couldn’t have been that bad.

The Duke : He ran off crying.

Jaylad : He what! Why would you idiots send him to Gotham Prep?

DoritOracle : B said he needed to go to school.

Jaylad : And you guys chose Gotham Prep? He’s a homeless kid who dropped out of school more than a year ago when he ran away. Sending him to take a test at Gotham Prep is throwing him to the wolves.

TimLordVictorious : We didn’t expect it to be that bad.

Jaylad : Of course you fucking didn’t ! We were all rich or already adopted by Bruce by the time we went to Gotham Prep, he’s just a no name kid with barely clean clothes. It’s a wonder they even let him inside the school in the first place.

Damian Wayne : A guard did try to expel him from the premises.

Jaylad : &#!!&!

Jaylad left the chat

Chapter Text

After leaving the batchat, Jason rushed to Peter’s apartment. The kid proved difficult to get a hold off at the best of times but he would always end up getting back home, so the few times Jason had managed to interact with Peter was during his visits to the apartment.

As he made his way inside, Jason was struck by how much, and how little, the place had changed from the first time he’d tracked Peter down. For one the place was much cleaner than before, while the walls were still peeling their paint and had an occasional bullet hole in them, the floor and other surfaces had been dusted. The kitchen was nearly spotless and it pained Jason to know that the reason for it was partly because Peter didn’t use it that much. Despite the money Barbara paid him, the kid didn’t ever seem to get all that much food, leaving the fridge rather desolate.

The bedroom had seen little change, the lack of bed was a constant, with Peter insisting on nesting in a small fort of blankets. Jason knew that people with anxiety and autistic people enjoyed the feeling of a weighted blanket, but Peter was all but cut off from the world in his little fort. It spoke of more than anxiety that the kid only seemed to feel safe enough to sleep while enclosed in a confined space, even when he lived in an apartment that no one could easily reach.

The bathroom was perhaps the place that had seen the most changes. As Peter used the bathtub less for personal hygiene than as a means to keep his clothes clean. The kid used it to scrub his clothes clean once a week. And he only had three outfits to his name. The entire room had been dedicated to the task, with clothes hung up, drying or stored for a lack of wardrobe, with assorted cleaning products and an honest to goodness washboard the kid had dug from god knows where.

All in all, Peter didn’t live like someone who had settled down properly, instead he still lived as if he’d need to disappear at any moment. There was no clear indication as to what Peter was spending his money on, so it seemed the kid was squirreling it away.

Jason wasn’t the only one who was aware Peter was behaving this way, he’d talked to Barbara about it on occasion, that was why he was so angry at his family for thinking it would be a good idea to send Peter to Gotham Prep for a test. Months with a steady job and Peter still acted like a homeless runaway, obviously sending him to the shark infested water that was a school for rich kids would utterly mess with him.

Having concluded his survey and not finding Peter, Jason stopped and thought about where the kid might be. He’d noticed one thing missing from the apartment. The old beat up guitar had been nowhere to be found. So Peter had taken it, but not the rest of his clothes. He hadn’t bolted off then. Last time Peter had taken the guitar Jason had found him on the roof.

Making his way upstairs and through the door that led to the roof Jason was relieved to find Peter there. And somewhat concerned with the fact the teen was sitting on the edge, guitar forgotten in his lap.

“Are ye alright kid?” He asked, knowing full well that Peter couldn’t possibly be alright.

The teenager glanced over his shoulder and gave a noncommittal shrug, and Jason was once more stricken with the resemblance between Peter and his brother.

Everytime Barbara had brought up the possibility of Peter being Dick’s son, Jason had shut her off. Not because he thought the idea was idiotic, each passing day seemed to make the resemblance between Peter and Dick more clear, but because if Peter was indeed his nephew that would mean the teen would end up being dragged into the mess that was their lives.

Cruel as it seemed to keep Peter away from his family, and all the money that came with being related to the Waynes, it also meant keeping him away from the dangers that existed around a family of vigilantes. The kid already bore the unmistakable mark of having died once before, the tuft of white hair on his forehead matching Jason’s own, and he would be damned if he’d let the kid end up in more danger. 

Jason slowly walked and sat down next to Peter, keeping more distance between them than he would prefer, but even as it was he could see Peter tense at his approach.

Jason was certain the red helmet he wore didn’t help with making him seem approachable but he didn’t want to remove it. While he wore a domino under the helmet, Peter had met him once in his civilian identity, and with how distinctive his hair was it would be entirely possible for the teen to put two and two together.

For a moment there was silence between them. Peter was never one to open up and initiate a conversation and for his part Jason was trying to figure out how to broach the subject of what had happened at Gotham Prep.

Surprisingly it was Peter who spoke first, but his words surprised Jason even more.

“You didn’t keep your promise.”

The words felt like a gut punch to Jason. Peter said them without any anger, just the resigned tone of someone who felt they couldn’t rely on anyone.

“What do ye mean?” 

“The bats are following me, “ was all Peter said in reply and Jason frowned. He hadn’t been made aware that his family had decided to tail Peter while in costume. He knew they’d approached him in their civilian identities. That had rankled Jason already, but he couldn’t rightfully argue against it, but he thought he’d made it clear to them to leave the kid alone in their vigilante identities. That and the mess at Gotham Prep meant Jason would end up having a rather heated argument with Bruce, again.

“I didn’t know, I’ll make sure they stop.”

Peter shrugged in response, leaving Jason with the impression the teen had no expectation that he would do anything. Jason felt like the little rapport they had built over the past couple months had vanished. Peter had never truly opened up to him, nor had they become friends but Jason thought the teen had least believed he could rely on him. Now even that was gone, destroyed in an instant because his family couldn’t stay the fuck away.

With even that little bit of progress wiped off, it made it even harder for Jason to broach the subject. 

“Did something happen to ye? Ye’re acting like god kicked yer puppy.”

Not the most elegant way to approach the subject but Jason had to understand how Peter was feeling right now. He certainly wasn’t going to let his potential nephew on the edge of a roof after the day the teen had.

Peter shrugged again, “I’ve just been reminded of my place, that’s all.”

“The hell does that mean?” Jason frowned.

For a moment it seemed like Peter wouldn’t elaborate further, just as Jason was about to probe again the teenager continued speaking.

“I was sent to Gotham Pre today, Miss Barbara told me if I could pass a test there, I could go back to school and I’d get some money from Bruce Wayne to help.”

“Everyone in that place looked at me like I crawled out of the sewers, the teachers, the students. Even Bruce Wayne’s son treated me like crap.”

The last piece was not something Jason had been made aware of. He doubted Tim would act like an asshole toward Peter, Dick was still offworld, so the only one left was Damian. The little demon could be rude and condescending, so he shot right to the top of the suspect list.

“That Wayne kid sounds like a prick.”

“I just…I expected the Waynes to be different. But if the youngest is like that, maybe they're all like that and are just hiding it.”

“Or he’s got an attitude problem because he wasn’t raised by his dad. I think ye can blame his mother for it, not the Waynes.”

Peter nodded a little at that. “Maybe.”

Peter collected his thoughts for a moment before continuing. “I don’t think I passed the test, I could hardly answer anything. I’ve…I’ve never done well in school and Miss Barbara knew that, so I guess she just wanted to humiliate me.”

Peter looked down at his lap, leaving Jason in stunned silence for a moment.

“Kid… what the hell ?! Why would ye ever think that? I know Barbara, she ain’t the type to try and humiliate a kid. Especially not you.”

Peter shrank in on himself as he heard the anger and outrage in Jason’s voice.

“I’m sorry, I —”

“Quiet,” Jason stood up abruptly, which only made Peter flinch. Jason walked off and started pacing on the roof as he tried to keep his cool. After a few minutes he calmed down and sat back down next to Peter, a little bit further away.

“Sorry Kid, I wasn’t angry at ya. My temper’s been on a hair trigger since…well. Never mind. Point is, ye shouldn’t think like that. Babs didn’t set ye up, ain’t her style, trust me.”

Peter shrugged but his body language was incredibly tense and Jason cursed the pit for the way it made it hard for him to stay calm. The last thing Peter needed was to be afraid that Red Hood would beat him up.

“ Any sufficiently advanced incompetence is indistinguishable from malice.”

Peter looked at Jason at that, frowning in confusion.

“Babs, she’s used to dealing with a certain type of people on a day to day basis. These people, they got training and they’re just way smarter than either of us, kid. So she probably thought you’d be acing that test. Ye got expectations placed on ye based on who she knows.” And who Peter was related to, that part was left unsaid by Jason.

“It ain’t fair for ye kid, but stuff like that happens. And she probably didn’t realize just how mean spirited rich teenagers can really be. She was looking out for ye, and messed up in a pretty bad way, but she wasn’t out to get ya.”

Peter didn’t look convinced by the argument, and Jason couldn’t really blame the kid for it. 

“It just feels like everyone in this city is just out to hurt other people.”

Jason let out a deep sigh when he heard that. The kid was barely fourteen and he was already jaded. Gotham had a way to grind people down, to bring the worst out of them. In truth Peter’s thinking was edging dangerously close to the way some of the rogues thought, convinced the world was out to get them, they lashed out in response. He didn’t want his potential nephew to turn out like that.

“Not everyone’s like that kid. I know ye ain’t got a fair shake outa life so far, and ye dealt with more than yer fair share of asshole. But there are genuine heroes out there.”

“Not in Gotham.”

“There’s Spider-Man.”

Peter went exceedingly still at that, a reaction that Jason didn’t expect and couldn’t explain so he continued while observing the teenager.

“He’s a genuine hero. Like a proper Superman type of bleeding heart. I don’t know if that’s what Gotham needs, but I can respect the fact he’s trying his best. And he ain’t the only one. There’s plenty of good people out in Gotham.”

“What do you mean he’s not what Gotham needs?”

Peter sounded curious, and also a little bit defensive. Which confused Jason even more. Peter’s first reaction to hearing the name Spider-Man made Jason think Peter had a bad run in with the hero, but from everything Jason knew, Peter and Spider-Man had never interacted, nor had the web-head ever hurt anyone. Hell even the villains he captured were simply restrained rather than needing to be hospitalized.

“I mean, some of the rogues shoulda been put down ages ago. They get sent to Arkham, and they just escape and get out to kill more people.”

“Killing them would be dumb.”

Jason bristled at that, he was used to Bruce telling him killing people was wrong, and he’d even agreed to use non lethal methods for the most part, but having a teenager, a civilian even, calling him dumb was a new experience.

“And why is that dumb?” Jason did his level best to keep his temper in check, he’d already scared the kid once today and he wasn’t about to do it again. “Do you think we should never kill people, even monsters like the joker?”

Peter shook his head. “No, I just… Superman, Green Lantern, Blue Beetle, Martian Manhunter, Wonder Woman...” Peter went on to list more and more names, confusing Jason.

“What are ye on about kid?”

“Heroes and villains don’t stay dead. Everyone I named, they died at some point and came back. So killing villains is just…It just means you don’t know when they’re going to come back. At least if you lock them up you know when they escape.”

Jason raised his hand, pointing a finger at Peter but no word would come out, his brain too busy exploding with the implications. How had he not realized this? For god sake, he himself had died and dug himself out of his own grave six months later.

Bruce had harped on about morality, about being different from the rogue because they didn’t kill. That argument had never landed with Jason, Bruce may have been deadly afraid of the slippery slope but Jason thought it was bullshit. But Peter wasn’t arguing out of morality but sheer pragmatism. 

Not knowing how to deal with the earth shattering upending of his worldview, Jason stormed off, Peter’s own trouble forgotten in the shock he was currently experiencing.

Nightwing had been away on a long mission off world and was eager to get back home. After getting back to the watchtower he said goodbye to his team mates and prepared to take the zeta tube back down to the batcave. It wasn’t home, hadn’t been in a while, but it was the closest exit point to his actual home. It would only take him an hour drive from the manor to reach Blüdhaven where his glorious bed awaited him.

With any luck he might even get away with getting down to the cave without meeting Bruce, and therefore have a chance to delay filling in his report. 

As the golden glow of the zeta beam engulfed him, Dick found himself transported down to the cave. The bright light of the teleportation blinded him for a moment and as he owlishly blinked away the stars in his eyes he saw several members of his family waiting for him. 

A quick headcount revealed that it was in fact every member of his family waiting for him, sporting an assorted range of expression. Some carefully controlled like Bruce or Damian, others showing a degree of nervousness. Stephanie for her part seemed quite excited and as usual it was near impossible to read Cass’s expression, while Alfred stood stoically in the background.

Wonder of wonder, even Jason was here, his expression switching between guilt and anger. Oddly, he wasn’t the only one with a guilty look, Barbara sported a similar expression. This more than anything confused Dick, as Babs preferred to operate from the watchtower and rarely made her way down to the batcave. 

“I know I’ve put off the reports for a while, but did you really need to stage an intervention?” Dick said, cracking a joke and a smile together. Neither of which seemed to ease the tension in the room.

“We have to talk, chum” said Bruce, his tone was one Dick had rarely heard, soft, parental. Gentle almost. A tone of voice that was reserved for when the worst of tragedies happened. Dick’s expression fell, “who died?”

Damian rolled his eyes at this, while Stephanie struggled to contain a laugh. Dick grew even more confused at the mixed message he was picking up from his family. 

Bruce approached him and placed his hand on his shoulder, patting it gently. “No one died, chum. It’s not that sort of talk.”

“If it’s about the bees and the birds then, you’re way too late.” Dick cracked another joke but this time Bruce’s expression grew stony, and he caught a glimpse of a wince on Babs face before hearing a Tim mutter about 15 years too late .

“Alright, what the hell is going on?” Dick started to lose his patience, while his family had a tendency to keep secrets from each other, they didn’t dance around an issue like this when openly confronted. 

Instead of answering, Bruce took some papers from his pocket and handed them over. Dick grasped them and began to read, but soon his eyes lost focus as his mind screeched to a halt when he read the words ‘confirmed paternity test’.

“Congratulations, it’s a boy!” Stephanie could no longer contain herself and set off a party popper, which caused Bruce to glare at her while Tim and most of the rest of the family groaned at the poorly made joke.

“Who…who is it?”

“Remember Peter Parker?” Babs asked in a soft voice.

“Wait…the meta kid a few months ago? That…that’s my son?” Dick asked in complete disbelief. He barely remembered the kid. Homeless, struggling. He’d handed him some food and a Merry Christmas. That was it, that was the sum total of his interaction with a son he didn’t know he had. A son who had gone into the system and suffered years of abuse. A son who’d gotten kidnapped and may have even died before coming back due to the lazarus pits. A son who had been homeless for months.

Dick felt a pit of self loathing burn inside him. He had a son and he hadn’t been there for him. “How long have you known?” he asked Bruce, his voice taking on an edge of anger.

“Just a few days,” Bruce replied. “We got the results while you were offworld.”

Dick felt his anger evaporate at that. At least Bruce hadn’t kept the news away from him on purpose. Dick ripped off his mask and turned to walk toward the stairs. “Where is he? In what room did you put him?”

The silence that followed was deafening and Dick slowly turned back to look at everyone else. “Where is my son?”

“Probably in his apartment in Crime Alley,” Jason replied.

“You didn’t bring him home?” The disbelief in Dick’s voice made the others wince, even Bruce braced himself against the fury mounting inside Dick.

“There were circumstances” Bruce began to speak only for Dick to interrupt him immediately. “What possible circumstances could justify keeping my son homeless?!” the normally good natured hero nearly shouted.

Bruce replied, quiet, not defensive. “He ran away from the system. He’s noticed the increase in attention we’ve been paying him, in both our identities and that’s making him nervous. I didn’t want to risk scaring him off. He already managed to evade Jason a few times, I didn’t think it was worth risking having him vanish entirely.”

Dick took deep breaths, doing his level best to try and understand the words Bruce spoke. He was reluctant to admit it but it made sense.

“He also has an intense dislike for us,” Bruce continued. “For vigilantes. That made things complicated. And you’ve not been part of his life so far. There’s a high chance he will resent you, all of us, for it. If we brought him in without you present it would risk painting you into an even worse light.”

Bruce didn’t flinch as everyone stared at him open mouthed. Except for Alfred who remained stoic as usual.

“Who are you and what have you done with Bruce?” Muttered Tim. Cass and Stephanie both took out batarangs, ready for a fight, while Jason had already pulled out a gun and was aiming it at his head.

Bruce let out a sigh. “Despite what you may all think, I am not entirely incapable of emotional reasoning.”

“Should we call uncle Clark?” Stephanie said in a mock whisper toward Tim.

As silly as the situation was, it seemed to help calm Dick down somewhat. “I understand why you did it, but leaving my son to fend for himself is not acceptable.”

“Cass was tasked with trailing him, to keep him safe.”

Cass nodded at that, confirming what Bruce had said.

“I’m sorry if I didn’t handle this to your satisfaction, chum. I did what I thought was best.”

This more than anything allowed Dick to settle down. Bruce never apologized, never admitted to maybe having been wrong about something. He was, more than anything, convinced of always being in the right. The fact that he was apologizing now indicated just how seriously he took the matter.

“Now that this minor miracle has occurred, shall I prepare a guest room for Master Peter?” Alfred enquired. Before Dick could reply, Damian interrupted.

“I object to bringing Greyson progeny into the manor.”

Dick whirled on his youngest brother, speaking through gritted teeth. “And why would you object?”

“Tt, because your son is simply not worthy of being part of this family. He couldn’t even pass a simple test without breaking down like a weakling.” Damian replied in his usual haughty tone. For once Dick wasn’t in the mood to find the pretension coming from his youngest sibling to be at all charming.

“Explain.”

Instead of Damian, it was Jason who spoke up. “These idiots registered Peter to take an entry test for Gotham Prep.” The tone in his brother's voice made it clear that Jason held a grudge against the family for this.

“He was mocked and failed the test,” Tim explained. Barbara had wheeled herself next to the batcomputer and displayed Peter’s result on the screen. Peter hadn’t just failed. He’d performed well below average, not just for Gotham Prep, but for any middle school he might be expected to attend.

“I don’t know why you idiots thought that was a good idea. The kid has missed nearly two years of schooling and you throw him in a hostile environment to take a test. I don’t know what you thought was going to happen.” Jason scoffed.

Dick for his part inspected his son’s results. He hated himself for it but part of him felt disappointed at what Peter had achieved, which as Jason had said was to be expected. Dick squashed the emotion, smothered it in its infancy. Even if his son was not as smart as he would have hoped, it didn’t mean he should allow himself to be disappointed. Damian however was merciless.

“Excuses fit for a weakling. If he had strength of character he would not allow himself to be swayed by the words of peasants. And since he has been working in the library, he should have improved his knowledge base on his own. He lacks discipline, initiative, and strength of character.”

“Enough!” Dick roared at Damian, causing the younger boy to flinch for a fraction of a second. “I’m bringing my son home, and none of you are getting a say in this.”

“Perhaps it would be wise to wait until tomorrow master Dick. I expect young master Peter would not react kindly to being taken away from his place of residence at 3 am.”

Alfred’s word gave Dick pause, he’d been so shocked by the news and then so determined to bring Peter home that he forgot the time. An easy mistake to make considering the utterly insane amount of jetlag involved with missions offworld.

Jason stood up, “come on, I got a safehouse right under where Peter stays, you can crash on the couch and we’ll get him first thing in the morning.” He walked to his brother and squeezed his shoulder sympathetically.

Chapter Text

Dick had not slept at all that night. He’d crashed on the ratty old thing Jason claimed was a couch, attempting to get some shut eye, but the impending meeting with his son had him tossing and turning. More than once he had to restrain himself from leaving the safehouse and making his way upstairs where he knew Peter waited.

The moment dawn broke, Dick jumped to his feet and marched in his brother's bedroom. 

“Jason, wake up!” Dick exclaimed, causing his brother to startle and pull out a gun from under his pillow, pointing it at Dick until his sleep shrouded mind caught up with the situation.

Glancing at a digital alarm clock at his bed side Jason grumbled as he stuffed his gun back under his pillow, “God damnit big bird, it’s 6:30 am. Do you want to just drag Peter out of bed, let the kid sleep. And me.”

Dick shook his head “I haven’t been part of Peter’s life for too long, I’m not waiting a moment longer” he announced as he marched toward the entrance of the apartment that Jason had turned into a safehouse.

“At least take a shower, you’re not going to make a good impression if you show up stinking.”

Dick staggered to a halt and gave Jason the stink eye from the doorway as he passed by and went to take a shower. Jason was tempted to get back to sleep but he knew Dick would be done with his shower in record time. Instead he got up, dressed in nothing but a pair of batmite boxers and made his way to the kitchen. 

Jason’s cooking was good, not quite as good as Alfred, but he knew his way around a kitchen. With little time to prepare he opted to make some sunny side up eggs and some toast. Nothing that even remotely stretched his culinary skills but speed was paramount. Jason prepared enough food for three. He knew he wouldn’t be able to convince Dick to stop and eat, so he might as well bring Peter breakfast too.

Jason was only just plating the eggs when Dick emerged, hair still damp as his brother hadn’t even taken the time to dry it.

“I’m not eating,” Dick declared as he marched toward the exit. 

“I figured, take two of the plates, we’ll bring one for Peter and we can all eat together.” After saying so Jason went back to the bedroom and started dressing up. Instead of his usual red helmet and leather jacket, he opted to wear a sleeveless shirt above his usual body armor, one that had an actual red hood and he put on a domino and a red half mask. 

By the time he emerged from the bedroom Dick was chomping at the bits. His brother would have doubtlessly charged upstairs if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was well aware of Jason’s tendency to boobytrap his safehouses.

Jason picked up the remaining plate of food and stuck a bottle of orange juice under his armpit before walking out. As Dick had guessed, the stairs leading up were bobbytrapped. Unusually however none of the traps were lethal. As if sensing his Brother’s confusion Jason spoke up. 

“I’m not careless enough to leave lethal traps where Peter might stumble upon them. Not that he ever goes down the stairs.”

Dick glanced over the balustrade and saw the collapsed stairs that would have led down, rendering the safehouse inaccessible except by use of a grappling hook. The building lacked a fire escape, a gross violation of city ordinance but this was Gotham, things like this were rarely investigated.

“How does Peter get to his apartment?” Dick inquired with a doubt laced tone of voice.

“I have no idea,” Jason replied. “I asked once and he just said he was good at climbing.”

“You couldn’t climb the outside.”

“Exactly. He likes to keep his secrets.”

Before long, the two of them had made their way up and were standing in front of Peter’s door. Now that the moment was at hand, Dick felt extremely nervous, and yet he couldn’t help but notice the general squalor of the place. Guilt as much as nervousness twisted his guts.

“Don’t fall apart now, big bird.” 

Dick nodded in response to his brother's concerned tone and Jason knocked on the door.

“Hey Pete, it’s hood, I got some food for ye!”

Dick noted how Jason played up his accent. It was something he did when he interacted with kids from the Alley. It let them feel like Red Hood was one of their own, which was true. Years ago Bruce had caught Jason trying to steal the tire off of the batmobile.

There was little noise from beyond the door. The soft sound of footsteps, quiet enough that the one making them had to be barefoot or wearing socks. After a moment, the door opened just a crack and Peter peered out from behind it.

“Come on, I come bearing gifts” Jason said as he showed the plate of food to Peter.

Peter opened the door cautiously, and paused in his tracks as he suddenly spotted Dick behind Red Hood.

“Mister Grayson?” The kid half stammered and Dick flinched for a moment. Some silly part of him had expected Peter to recognize him as his father immediately. To call him dad and throw himself into a hug. But of course Peter had no idea who Dick was in relation to him. How could he when Dick himself had had no clue until last night.

“Come on, kid, let’s get inside, we got stuff to talk to ye about.” Jason said gently. 

Peter stepped aside to let the two of them walk in, his body language and expression making it abundantly clear that he was quite confused about the situation. Then as if a lightbulb went up he seemed to realize something.

“Is it about the test?” Peter asked awkwardly. “I know the scholarship comes from Mister Wayne, and I know I failed so I don’t deserve it.” He continued while looking at the floor, his voice growing smaller with each word and the amount of pain in Peter’s tone when he said he didn’t deserve the scholarship broke Dick’s heart. He would have rushed and hugged Peter tightly if his hand were not currently holding plates of eggs and toast.

Dick urgently looked around for a place to drop the food, finding nothing. His son lived in an entirely empty apartment, devoid of any trace of furniture or comfort. He rushed off into the kitchen, dropping the plates there before making it back to Peter. He attempted to take his son into a hug but Peter backed off. “Don’t touch me!” The panic and fear in his kid’s voice ground Dick to a halt. 

“Sorry, okay, I’m sorry, I won’t touch you” Dick babbled in a panic. 

Jason shook his head and spoke to disarm the awkward moment. “Don’t mind the Wayne, kid. He loves to give unwarranted hugs, he won’t hurt ya.”

Jason offered Peter the plate of food he was still holding. “Here, got ye some breakfast. And we ain’t here about the test.”

Peter was forced to take the plate as Jason relentlessly pushed the plate closer and closer, giving Dick the side eye, clearly uncomfortable with his presence after the attempted hug. The look Peter gave Dick was enough to break his heart once more. Still all three of them migrated to the kitchen. For several moments they were all quiet. The silence stretched awkwardly between them until Jason removed his half mask, trusting in his hood’s shadow to mask his features as he started eating. 

As if a spell broke Peter started eating as well, ravenously devouring the plate of food. Dick took this opportunity to examine his son more closely. The sight did nothing to assuage his guilt. Peter’s clothes were too big for him and of poor quality, fraying at the edges. Looking at the kid’s hands and wrist he noticed just how thin his son was under the baggy clothing. Clearly Peter wasn’t eating nearly enough. Silently Dick pushed his plate of food toward Peter. How could he possibly eat when his son was all but starving next to him?

There were other disturbing signs, fading bruises on Peter’s cheek (he hadn’t dodged the butt of a rifle quickly enough last night), the white tuft of hair in his hairline that hinted at Peter’s post mortem trip into a lazarus pit (the bottom of his shoes had barely skimmed the surface, the spider however…). But the eyes were the strangest part, there was something highly unusual with Peter’s eyes, even beyond the green tint that his son shared with his brother.

Dick’s mind flashed back to Peter’s file, a mention of highly unusual polycoria, as noted by Doctor Thompkins when she treated Peter for a stab wound. God, his son had been stabbed and had been on the edge of bleeding out months ago and Dick had been entirely clueless about his existence.

As if he could sense his brother spiraling, Jason placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. Dick waited until Peter was done eating the second plate of food and drinking the entirety of the orange juice before addressing the issue they had come for.

Taking a deep breath he started speaking, “Peter, I..” he paused as soon as Peter’s attention focused on him. His son's strange eyes unsettled him, and immediately he chidded himself for it. He’d faced criminals without fear but he couldn’t help but be scared by his son’s gaze. The gaze barely felt human, devoid as it was of emotion at the moment. Dick was used to facing down psychopaths but the multiple pupils in each eye seemed to pin him down like he was prey.

Swallowing nervously he quickly shook off the feeling once Peter frowned slightly. The smallest sliver of emotion broke the strange impression in Dick’s mind and now his nervousness was entirely due to the subject matter.

“I don’t know how to say this…” he hesitated again and then decided the best way to go about it was to simply be honest and upfront. “We did a paternity test and… I’m your father.”

Peter grew very very still then, his expression was at first puzzled, then a flicker of disappointment crossed his features, which Dick couldn’t understand. He’d have understood any other emotions. Confusion certainly, resentment at his absence, elation at finding his family.

Instead Peter’s expression went from disappointment to anger. “You should leave.”

“Peter, what ? I’m — ”

“You think just because I failed your test you can come here and treat me like an idiot ? Play a cruel joke on me? Haha, let’s emotionally abuse the orphan, it will be fun!”

“What, I’m not.. What ?” Dick could only reply in utter confusion at the seemingly insane leap of logic Peter was making here. Jason intervened then, putting himself between Dick and Peter, afraid that Peter was getting through a pit rage episode.

“Kid, calm down, no one is playing a trick on ye” he said in a calm tone of voice.

“Oh yeah ? You must really think I’m a complete moron if you expect me to believe this. I may have failed your test but I know you need a DNA sample to do a paternity test, and I didn’t give anyone a sample !” By the end, Peter was all but screaming at them and Dick cursed in his mind. He’d been so preoccupied with the fact he had a son he hadn’t bothered to ask how they’d gotten Peter’s DNA. Judging by Peter’s reaction, someone had done so covertly. Smart money was on Tim.

Dick flinched and ducked out of the way, hiding behind the island counter of the kitchen, instantly followed by Jason when Peter grabbed one of the plates and threw it at them. 

He wasn’t afraid to admit he was both scared and impressed when instead of shattering against the wall the plate went right through it. Needless to say if either Jason or him had been hit, things would have been really bad. Perhaps surprising a meta kid with a news like that may not have been the best idea.

“Wait, wait, wait !” he said urgently, “I can prove it !”

Dick urgently fished his phone out of his pocket and called Tim, luckily he had his brother’s number on speed dial. Putting him on speaker he spoke quickly as soon as Tim picked up.

“Quick, I need you to explain how you got Peter’s DNA for the test!”

He held up his phone, so it peaked just above the island counter.

“Oh, I swiped his DNA from his drink when we went to batburger.”

“Ok, thanks bye.”

“Why do y—”

Dick hung up and very gingerly peeked from behind the counter, to see Peter utterly frozen. Frighteningly he appeared to have a death grip on another plate.

“Hi,” he said quietly, not quite sure why he said that. “I’m sorry if it came across like a cruel prank to you Peter. But I really am your dad. If you don’t believe me you can come with me to a clinic and we can do the test again.”

Jason was also peeking from behind the island counter right next to him. He could see the drop of sweat slowly dripping from Jason’s forehead. Clearly his brother hadn’t anticipated Peter to blow up like he did, or how deadly Peter was with a simple plate in his hand.

“Kid, can ye put the plate down for me, please?” Jason asked, a tremor of fear in his voice.

Peter placed the plate down and then seemed to shrink in on himself. He glanced toward Dick, and spoke softly. “You’re really my dad?”

Dick nodded emphatically, slowly standing up from his hiding spot as Jason did the same next to him. “I am. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I didn’t know. I’m going to take you home.” Dick fell quiet after that, watching his son take slow breath to try and calm himself.

“I am,” Peter heard Dick confirm. The revelation that Dick Grayson was his father had shaken him to his core, to the point he didn’t hear any words Dick said beyond assurance that he was indeed his father. Frankly he simply had no idea how to process this information. His entire sense of identity had been molded by being the reject, the one who had been abandoned at birth and that no one actually wanted while he was growing up. 

Like all children in that situation he’d come up with countless excuses as to why his parents had to give him up. A tragic circumstances that would have made it impossible for them to raise him, and they gave him up so he’d have a chance at a normal life. He knew where his name came from. Parker. The kid from Park Row. It had been so easy to think his parents were in a desperate situation given where he’d been found.

But His father was Dick Grayson, the adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne. The man who had fostered and adopted many children. The one family that could so easily afford to take care of their own and others. That family had abandoned him. 

The only explanation Peter could think about right now was that he truly had been unwanted. Perhaps even as an infant they knew he was broken, defective, a mistake. But then why come back now? Why show up? It would have been so much easier to just let Peter rot in the bowels of Gotham and never think about him again.

Peter’s mind was trapped in a spiraling slope of self loathing. His thoughts mired in darkness, all he could do was let out a strangled word, begging for an explanation, begging to not be a defect.

“Why?”

Dick seemed confused by Peter’s question. “Because you’re my son.”

All Peter got from that was that he’d been abandoned because of who he was, that it was his fault that he’d been abandoned. A miscommunication that would have dire repercussions later on.

“Let’s bring you home, okay?” Dick spoke quietly. 

Peter shook his head, not understanding why Dick would want that. He’d shown up only to confirm that Peter had been unwanted, and now he wanted Peter to come home with him? It made no sense. Not unless he didn’t have a choice. 

Perhaps Peter’s existence had been revealed to the public in some way, and Dick was hoping to prevent some bad publicity. That, sadly, made a disturbing amount of sense to Peter. Perhaps Dick had even hoped that Peter would have died by now, God knew that abandoning a child in Park Row was the quickest way to ensure said child didn’t survive.

Suddenly Peter’s mind thought back to the incident with Batman years ago. Now it made more sense. It was widely believed that Batman was being funded by Bruce Wayne in some manner. If that was the case, of course Batman wouldn’t help an unwanted child of the Waynes. And the school test may very well have been a cruel reminder after all. A way to reinforce that even if they did bring him into their family, that he would never truly belong with them.

Peter numbly nodded. You’re overthinking all of this .

The voice of Spider-Man resounded through his mind. The sarcastic sass that had stopped invading his thoughts once he gave it an outlet by putting on the mask was back. But it lacked the bite of a good quip. It simply sounded reassuring. Was he truly overthinking this? Perhaps there was another explanation. Perhaps they did want him.

He clung desperately to this little thread of hope. He would wait and see how things developed. The way the Waynes decided to treat him would quickly show the truth, one way or the other. 

“Do you have anything you want to take with you?” Dick asked him and Peter shook his head. The only thing of value he had was his suit and he wore that under his clothes, his mask stuffed in a pocket. Anything else he had was precious merely because of how difficult it would have been for him to replace on his own. And he guessed the Waynes wouldn’t want him to hang on to filthy things.

oOo

An hour later Peter stared as they approached Wayne Manor. Red Hood had stayed behind to patrol Crime Alley or whatever a crime lord did during the day. So it had been just him and Dick Grayson. 

The ride over had been quiet. Peter had been surprised when he saw Dick’s car, an old thing that looked like it would fall apart if it ever encountered a stiff breeze. Perhaps it had sentimental value, or perhaps it had been chosen to ferry Peter over because it was all he deserved.

The closer they got to the manor the more intimidated Peter felt. The ancient edifice loomed over him, judging him. Large, ancient, opulent. Peter belonged in rat’s holes and plague ridden sewers, not on an estate such as this and he guessed Dick was reluctant to bring him into this home by how tense the man appeared.

Soon they pulled at the end of the driveway and Dick parked the car. He got out and waited for Peter to exit. It was with great hesitation on both their parts that they approached the front door of the manor. Right before Dick opened the door he turned to Peter and offered him a shaky smile.

“You’ve already met almost everyone I think, so you don’t have any reason to be afraid.”

If that was the truth, Peter wondered, then why did Richard seem so tense and nervous? Peter didn’t reply, he simply didn’t know what he could possibly say in this situation. Dick turned back to face the door but as his hand was about to close on the handle, the door opened on its own.

No, not really on its own, Peter corrected himself. It was opened by a Reed thin man with an impeccably trimmed mustache and wearing some very fancy clothes. 

“Welcome home Master Dick. And I suppose this must be young Master Peter.”

Peter was taken aback by the sheer formality the man exuded, and felt conflicted at how he was being addressed. He searched the tone of the man for any trace of sarcasm or mockery, but found nothing of the sort. He did however detect the judgmental eye of the man as he took in his appearance.

The silence stretched awkwardly for several moments. “Peter, this is Alfred Pennyworth. He’s the butler of the family, but really he’s more like my grandfather. Or your great grandpa I suppose” Richard explained. Peter really should have expected the family to have a Butler, at the last moment before a more awkward silence could settle down, Peter remembered his manners.

“Hello Mister Pennyworth.”

“Just Alfred, young master Peter,” Alfred corrected and Peter winced at the social faux pas. He’d not even stepped a foot inside this manor and he was already messing up.

“Master Dick, you should have stopped en route and bought young Master Peter some better clothes” Alfred spoke again, and Peter picked up on the judgment, subtle as it was in its tone. Already he could tell the butler disapproved of him.

You’re being very uncharitable there Pete . The voice of his inner Spider-Man resounded in his mind. And was he truly uncharitable? His experience in the foster system had been mostly negative, why would this family be any different? Because you’ve always known the Waynes were better than the rest of Gotham . 

This was what he’d believed, once upon a time, but his interaction with Damian at school, and the fact that Richard had abandoned him had quickly served to change his mind. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time someone that was supposed to be family presented a perfect front on the outside while abusing Peter. His knees twinged in phantom pain at the mere remembrance of the fact.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry Alfred, I was so eager to get Peter home that I didn’t think about this.” Dick winced at the gentle chiding Alfred gave him. He really should have thought about getting Peter some new clothes immediately. His son deserved better than to walk around in dirty clothes that were hanging by a thread.

Alfred turned back to talk to Peter. “Not to worry my lad, I’ve already prepared a room for you as well as some spare clothes. If there is anything else you require, please let me know.” Alfred arched an eyebrow as he observed Peter rubbing his knees and gave Dick a pointed look.

“Pete, are you alright?” Dick asked his son.

Peter simply nodded and Dick couldn’t help but worry. Peter had barely said a few words ever since Dick revealed that he was his dad and he didn’t know how to bring his son out of his shell.

He knew Peter was autistic, and now he blamed himself for how he had rushed to bring Peter home. Perhaps he should have done some research to ensure the situation and their interaction could be as comfortable as possible.

The tactical part of his mind was also worried that Peter would lose it. He had faith in his family's ability to defend itself, but if Peter turned violent things would get ugly. He was after all a meta with unknown abilities. Although enhanced strength was clearly part of the package. Dick couldn’t help but shiver when he thought back to the plate that had flown straight through a wall and that he’d barely dodged.

If he himself was this worried about what Peter could do, he could scarcely guess Bruce’s state of mind at the moment. He hoped the man would remember to not go full Batman and antagonize Peter. 

Alfred stepped aside and led them into the manor. “Where is everyone?” Dick asked quietly. “I believe the family is waiting for Master Peter in the Drawing room.”

Dick stopped and turned toward his son. “Pete, how about we get you to your room first so you can get a hot shower and get changed if you want? Meeting the rest of the family can wait until you’re settled down and comfortable.”

He saw Peter nod, still silent, still bearing an utterly blank expression. One that he’d only seen on the best trained operative, or people in shock and spiraling internally. Dick turned to Alfred “would you mind showing Peter his room? I’m gonna talk to the others.”

“As you wish master Dick,” Alfred replied and turned to address Peter, his tone and actions still formal. “If you would please follow me.”

Peter nodded again and Dick stayed behind for a moment, watching as his son followed Alfred up the grand staircase that led to the bedrooms on the second floor. Once Peter was out of his sight he let out the tense breath he had been holding. He rubbed his face for a moment. When he’d learned he had a son he had not anticipated just how tense he would be.

He had rushed out, eager to bring his son home, completely discarding all the training Bruce had instilled into him about how to approach unknown individuals. Because Peter was his son, he’d deluded himself into thinking that everything would magically work out.

He shook his head, he couldn’t approach this like this was an op. Peter was his son, he should get to know him naturally, not make plans to manipulate him. Sometimes he really hated Bruce for how he’d turned out.

Feeling conflicted he made his way to the drawing room. Opening the door he found his family waiting for him. Bruce was, as expected, center stage, facing the door. Ready to stare down the newest addition to the family. Damian was glowering at his father’s side, projecting as much hostility as he’d ever seen from his little brother.

Cass and Stephanie were off to one side. Cass was sitting quietly on a sofa with her blonde best friend lounging upside down, her legs kicking the back of the sofa in demonstration of sheer boredom and tense waiting.

To the other side of the room were Tim and Duke, both looking nervous. Dick counted those four siblings of his (and yes, he counted Steph as a sister, even if she was only a friend of the family rather than formally adopted) as the people most likely to be able to make Peter feel welcome.
Finally, farther at the back and huddled in a corner he could see Jason and Babs. 

He knew Jason would have beaten him home by taking the tunnels that led to the batcave, and Barbara was looking just as guilty as she did when they all told him he had a son.

“Have you changed your mind and decided not to bring home the disappointment?” Of course Damian would immediately act like a complete asshole. Karma, however, was instant and came in the form of Jason slapping the back of Damian’s head.

“Don’t call your nephew that.”

“Tt, I refuse to acknowledge that failure as being part of the family.”

“Good thing literally no one cares about your opinion Demon spawn” Tim replied. 

Domain glanced around, and saw that everyone else was glaring at him. He crossed his arms and glowered at them with another click of his tongue but smartly decided to keep his mouth shut.

“Peter’s getting cleaned up and changed. He’ll be here soon.” Dick explained. 

“How is nephew?” Cass asked, keeping her words short and quiet, the girl still preferred to use sign language when possible. 

Dick let out a deep sigh and collapsed down on a chair. “Honestly….I don’t know. I don’t think he’s taking this well.” 

“Shouldn’t he be overjoyed that he’s part of the richest family in Gotham?” Duke asked, a puzzled look on his face.

“He’s a street kid who got abandoned and abused all his life. That messes with you,” Jason replied, throwing a quick glance toward Tim. “He’s already developed the idea that everyone is out to get him.”

Bruce frowned at that. “That’s a dangerous traits to have for a meta.”

“My son is not a potential rogue!” Dick said through clenched teeth.

“I hate to side with the old man, but you saw what he did with those plates,” Jason replied, holding his hands up in surrender at the vicious glare Dick gave him. “Wow, I’m not saying we should lock him up, but he’s gonna need help adjusting, and let’s not forget the potential pit rage.”

“So what are you saying?” Tim asked.

“Maybe we should try therapy?”

The silence that followed was long and pointed as everyone glanced at Jason like he was an alien.

“You recommend therapy ? You ? Mister I decapitated a bunch of criminals and tried to kill my brother over my daddy issue and fear of abandonment.” Steph asked incredulously.

“I don’t have daddy issues!” Jason bellowed.

“Sure you don’t,” Steph replied with a smirk.

“At least I didn’t fake my death because of burnout”

“Rude!” Steph exclaimed. 

“Let’s try to keep on task here,” Bruce commented. “I agree that Peter may need therapy.”

“He’s not the only one.” Barbara snickered. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Bruce glanced back at her.

“She means, master Bruce, that dressing up like a furry and beating up mental patients may not be the best coping mechanism.”

All heads turned toward Alfred, who stood at attention at the entrance of the room.

“Young master Peter is currently taking a shower. I would suggest that perhaps you don’t all meet him at once. The lad seemed quite overwhelmed.”

Everyone nodded and dispersed themselves through the manor. As they all left Duke muttered to himself “we all need therapy.”

Peter had been shown to a luxurious room by the butler. The room was sparsely decorated but the solid oak four poster bed with silk sheets, the dark stained wood furniture with polished brass fittings, as well as the finely embroidered rug on the floor spoke of generational wealth.

Part of him was shocked they would house him in a place like this, and another part of him felt incredibly sickened by the casual wealth on display. He’d always known there was a gap between the rich and the poor. But experiencing first hand just how wide said gap truly was served only to make Peter feel angry and nauseous. It wasn’t right that one family was allowed to accumulate this much wealth while so many starved and were forced to live on the streets.

Sure the Waynes were ostensibly doing a lot for the city and it’s population, but clearly that didn’t impact their own quality of life in any way.

“Feel free to take a shower and leave your dirty clothes in the basket you will find in the bathroom.” Alfred said. “There should be clothes that will fit you in the drawer and I shall clean and mend your laundry at a later point.”

Peter glanced at the man, surprised he wasn’t simply going to burn Peter’s clothes.

“Thank you mister Pennyworth” Peter replied automatically. 

“Just Alfred, young master Peter” the man replied with a small benevolent smile. “Feel free to call me if you need anything.

With that Peter watched Alfred leave the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Peter hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed. His hand sneaked its way to his pocket as he subconsciously took out his mask. Before he had time to realize what he was doing he had donned the garment and took a deep breath.

“Alright Spidey, no time to mope” he said to himself. He stood up and started pacing, holding his chin with one hand while the other held onto his elbow. “What do I objectively know about what’s happening?”

As he paced he reached the edge of the room but simply kept going, his walking soon seeing him walk up the wall and on the ceiling while he was lost in thoughts.

“First, Richard Greyson claims to be my father. I can’t think of any reason why he’d lie about that. He could have a nefarious purpose but Hood seems to trust him. If anything goes wrong I can always try to contact him.”

The only other possessions Peter had taken with him aside from the clothes on his back were the two phones he owned; the burner he used as Spider-Man and the burner Red Hood had given him. 

Peter sat down, upside down on the ceiling, in a lotus position. He rocked himself back and forth as he kept mulling things over.

“The real question is why I was abandoned.” Because they hate you.

He shook his head in an effort to dislodge the negative thought. “That’s an assumption. I have to try and stay objective here. I’m getting some very mixed messages here, so I think I’m missing something.”

Dropping down from the ceiling, he made his way toward the bathroom. “Okay Peter, I can’t really allow myself to spiral here, so let’s have our mental breakdown later, once I know more. Either things will turn out well and my worries are for nothing, or I’ll just have to escape another abusive situation, no biggie.”

He stopped as he entered the bathroom, and contemplated things in awe. “I’m gonna soak in that bathtub for sooo long.”

Chapter Text

Peter did as he had promised himself and didn’t emerge from the bathtub for a good long time. He’d stayed inside long enough for his skin to prune, a feeling that had become completely unfamiliar to him. Sure he’d had a bathtub in his reclaimed apartment, but he didn’t have hot water and so would only use it to take a quick shower or to let his clothes soak.

He’d considered using laundromats instead of course, but there was no way in hell he was going to wash his suit in public. Since he was already washing it at home, he decided to save some money by doing all his laundry this way.

Now he’d have to figure out something else. He couldn’t tell the Waynes that he was Spider-Man, and so he’d have to find a way to clean his suit on his own. He doubted mister Pennyworth would let him use the washing machine on his own. The man gave the impression that he took pride in doing housework himself.

Peter resolved himself to sneak some detergent into the bathroom and use the bathtub as a poor man's washing machine again. 

For now he had a more pressing issue. He needed to find a place to stash his suit. Of course he could easily keep the suit on and hide it under his clothes, but he’d have to remove it at some point. The odds of being caught in it would be far too high otherwise. All it would take would be for one of the Wayne to try and wake him up to see him in the suit.

Peter walked the length of the room, inspecting every nook and crannies. Immediately he dismissed any of the furniture as a possible hiding spot. He didn’t trust the Waynes to not snoop in the desk, wardrobe, and assorted drawers. Nor could he stash his suit on top of the wardrobe, out of sight, for the simple reason that the top of the wardrobe was immaculate. Not a speck of dust in view. That meant Alfred had recently cleaned it. If he had done that once, he would do it again.

Frustration mounting, Peter tapped his foot in impatience, only to tilt his head at what he heard.
Crouching down he knocked on the floorboards and heard a hollow sound under one of them. Grinning, he used his sticky power to lift up the board, careful not to damage it. It took some time as the board was securely nailed in place but ultimately he managed and revealed a hidden space under the floor.

Well, not so much a hidden space as he noticed some wires running the floor. He didn’t know what they were for, probably some electric cables. He certainly wasn’t going to mess with that but he used the extra space to stash his suit and then replaced the floorboard. Stepping back, he was satisfied that no one would suspect a thing.

“Peter, are you okay?” A knock and the voice of Dick at the door drifted in, startling him. 

“I’m fine,” he replied as he tried to calm his startled heartbeat.

“Can I come in?”

“No!” he blurted out before speaking again just a moment later. “I’m…I’m getting dressed.”

“Oh…alright, I’ll wait right here then.”

Peter rushed to the wardrobe and rapidly discarded his own clothes at the side; he'd dressed back in his ratty shirt and frayed jeans after the bath. If he went out of the room like this he would undoubtedly attract some criticism, as Alfred had told him to get changed.

Opening the wardrobe he was surprised to see completely normal clothes. He had expected expensive shirts and slacks and was instead greeted by a collection of t-shirts and gym clothes.

Part of him wanted to think he was being snubbed by being given what rich people would certainly consider poor people’s clothes but another more sensible part scoffed. Even rich people want to dress comfy in their own homes, the voice of Spider-Man pointed out.

Peter rapidly put on the first set of clothes he got his hands on and then rushed to open the door.

Dick was leaning against the opposite wall, playing on his phone when Peter opened the door. His supposed father glanced up at him and a grin broke on his face when he took in Peter’s appearance. Peter frowned, wondering if he was being the butt of a joke. What could be so funny about a pair of black sweatpants and a Nightwing t-shirt?

Still, Dick wasn’t dressed all that much differently from Peter himself, a simple white t-shirt and open grey shirt, jeans and sneakers.

Wait, sneakers, maybe that was the problem, Peter was completely barefoot. He hadn’t seen any shoes, let alone shoes that would fit him and hadn’t thought it would be a smart idea to continue wearing his un/lucky purple sneakers. (his mind wasn’t entirely made as to whether the shoes were the cause of his problems, or the thing that kept him alive.)

“Come on Pete, let’s get lunch. You’ll be able to meet a few members of the family while we eat.” Dick spoke up and started walking. After a brief moment of hesitation, Peter followed him.

“Barbara couldn’t stay, since she has to work and we only just managed to convince Tim to get some sleep but you’ll be able to meet everyone else.”

“Barbara?” Peter asked suspiciously.

Dick paused and turned to look at Peter in surprise. “You didn’t know? She’s a close friend of the family.”

“Is that why I got a job at the library, so she could keep an eye on me?” he asked suspiciously and Dick frowned slightly.

“Peter, what do you think is happening here?”

Peter was tempted to just lay out his suspicions. To try and force the truth out of Dick, instead he stayed silent, perhaps out of fear that he was right after all.

Dick waited for a moment and then spoke softly. “Peter, do you know why you weren’t part of this family right from the start?”

Again, Peter was tempted to blurt out his suspicions. “I don’t know,” he replied.

“The truth is, I don’t know either” the reply surprised Peter who couldn’t help but stare at Dick with wide eyes.

“I don’t know why your mother didn’t tell me about you. I don’t even know who she is. I only found out about you yesterday. The others had their suspicions earlier and they’ve been looking after you as discreetly as they could.”

Peter didn’t know what to believe, he was quite confused. The truth as Dick outlined it was vastly different from the story he had built up in his mind and he didn’t know what to think anymore. Part of him was sorely tempted to accept what Dick said as the truth. But then he remembered the school test, the way Damian had treated him. 

“So yeah, maybe Babs did offer you a job to keep an eye on you. But I think she would have helped any other kid in your situation regardless.” Dick observed his son carefully, trying to gauge how he was reacting. Peter seemed tense and lost and Dick wished he could just hug his son and tell him everything was going to be okay. But remembering how Peter had reacted the last time Dick tried to hug him, he stopped himself.

Thankfully Peter’s eyes were not glowing green the way Jason’s did when in the thrall of the pit rage. Nor were there any plates close at hand Peter could use to attempt patricide. 

Instead he saw Peter take a deep shuddering breath before hesitant words slipped out.

“You…you don’t know who my mom is?”

The sheer level of hurt in his son's voice broke Dick’s heart. “I’m so sorry Peter. It was a long time ago and I was…well, I had a lot of relationships when I was young. So I can’t tell you off hand who your mom is. But I promise I’ll look into it. If you want me to, that is.”

Dick was sure Bruce had already looked into every past relationship Dick ever had, the fact he hadn’t yet found Peter’s mother was a cause for concern. A concern that would have been far greater if they hadn’t found extensive records of Peter’s existence. There was no way Peter was a spy or a plant left by the league or any other number of nefarious organizations with a chip on their shoulders against the family.

The reality was probably that Bruce had missed something. Lord knew Dick had tried to keep as much from him as possible as he grew up in the later years.

Dick waited for Peter to respond, the silence between them stretching on and on. After a while it became clear that Peter wasn’t going to answer him. Dick couldn’t really blame him as he was sure Peter must be feeling extremely conflicted.

“Come on,” Dick said simply, leading Peter to the kitchen. While the manor had a couple different dining rooms, the family preferred to take their meals directly at the kitchen table. They very rarely ate dinner together, and when they did they still avoided using the dining rooms, the grand oak table and high backed chair more suited to stately, somber affairs than family dinner.

Peter flinched slightly when Dick opened the door to the kitchen. He had expected many things, but the sheer chaos happening was overwhelming. Luckily the noise quieted down as soon as they realized he was there, 7 pairs of eyes focusing on him with an intensity he found intimidating.

Idly he noted that Richard didn’t seem at all concerned by the attention. Instead he zeroed in on the kitchen cabinet, quickly extracting from it a box of cereals, which earned him a disapproving glance from the butler. 

Dick sat down, ignoring the gaze from the older man. He motioned for Peter to sit next to him. Now that he had been directly asked to do so Peter found it impossible to think of an excuse to avoid doing so. He sat down on a stool next to his father, although somehow still managing to put as much distance between himself and everyone else.

Glancing around he saw that some of the people present had breakfast food (waffles, pancakes, and strawberries) while others had opted for lunch (grilled cheese sandwiches, a salad) while Bruce Wayne himself had a simple cup of coffee in front of him. 

No one was eating, as they were all still staring at him. Peter swallowed nervously. Surprisingly the one that broke the silence was the old butler. 

“Well then young master Peter, what would you like to eat?”

Peter glanced at the old man, detecting none of the judgment he had seen last night. His toes curled around the crossbar of the stool and he had to force himself to relax when he felt the fragile wood begin to splinter under his skin.

“I…I’m not hungry” Peter replied, his stomach immediately betraying him as it rumbled loudly. Peter blushed in embarrassment and glanced down at the table, desperately avoiding eye contact.

“Very well, I shall have something prepared immediately.” Alfred replied with a small smile. 

Peter was about to protest when Bruce spoke up. “Hello Peter, do you know who I am?”

Peter nodded, still desperately avoiding eye contact. “You…you’re Bruce Wayne” he replied with a mosquito-like voice. Bruce shook his head. “I’m more than that Peter.” Jason threw a warning glance and Dick spoke up “Bruce, maybe now isn’t the time for—”.

Bruce continued, ignoring his sons's attempt at stopping him. “I’m your grandfather, although not by blood. I believe you’ve met most of the family by now but this is my daughter Cassandra.”

Peter glanced at the Asian girl sitting next to Jason and she offered him a small smile and a quiet wave.

“And that is Jason, my second oldest” Peter looked with some confusion at Jason. He noted the similarities between him and the man. The hair, specifically although he spotted a hint of toxic green in the man’s eyes. Still, as far as he knew Bruce Wayne's second son, Jason, was dead.

Noting his confusion Jason waved a hand dismissively “It’s a long story, don’t worry about it kid.”

“I can’t believe B’s a grandpa” Steph muttered with a giggle while Duke rolled his eyes at her. 

The remark seemed to have broken a dam, as suddenly the kitchen was once more filled with lively noise. Everyone resumed eating and discussing with each other. None of them attempted to really engage Peter in further conversation at the moment. 

Very soon a plate of pancakes stacked nearly a foot high was placed in front of him, with a copious amount of syrup oozing from the top. “Here you are young Master Peter, given the nature of the abilities you possess that sir Red Hood mentioned to us, it seemed likely that you might require more calories than normal.”

Peter glanced around, his gaze darting about like a rat caught in a cage, next to him Dick spoke “easy Peter, it’s okay. No one cares that you’re a meta here.” His father's words were meant to be soothing, but more than the words it was the general disinterest from the others around the table that helped calm him down.

Stephanie, Duke, and Jason were all busy eating their food, barely glancing up when they heard Dick’s word. Cassandra was offering him an encouraging smile, much like his father was. Only Bruce and Damian looked at him with anything that would concern Peter.

Bruce was hard to read. Now most people were hard to read for Peter at the best of times. Body language had to be all but exaggerated for him to pick up on it but for some reason the near stone walled expression the man sported had Peter feeling unsettled. All he knew about Bruce Wayne had painted the man as a slightly dim, fun loving philanthropist. The near expressionless man before him was as far from what he knew as could be.

Damian for his part had been ignoring him, or like now, looked at him with an expression that Peter was intimately familiar with; the expression people reserved for the homeless, the trash, and bugs that had crawled out from under a rock. The familiarity was far from pleasant however and was a reminder for Peter that he didn’t know any of these people, that they could all be lying about how they felt. All the smiles and words of reassurance could be faked. In contrast Peter was sure Damian’s hostility was honest.

Under the encouraging eyes of his father, Peter started eating his pancakes. Once he started it didn’t take very long for him to devour the entire stack. With wide eyes Duke pushed his own pancakes toward Peter, which the teenager accepted gratefully and ate as well. By the end of the meal everyone was looking at him with astounded expressions.

“He eats almost as much as Wally does,” he heard Dick mutter under his breath. Peter shrank in on himself under the gaze of what he still couldn’t bring himself to think of as his family.

Now that the meal was apparently done, they all turned to Peter, looking at him expectantly, except for the butler, who busied himself by collecting the plates and started on cleaning them.

That was when Bruce cleared his throat and looked at each of his children. “I’m sure you all have things to do. I’d like to have a word with Peter, Jason, and Dick.”

“Aww man, I wanted to hang out with Pete” Steph complained, but a single glance from Bruce shut her up and she escaped the kitchen, dragging Cass along with her while Duke followed closely behind as he offered Peter a simple nod. 

Damian stayed seated resolutely, glowering at his father in challenge. Bruce sighed, “Damian…”

“I have nothing that requires doing, father.” 

“Then you should go practice, pipsqueak,” Jason spoke up.

“I believe you have a history test tomorrow, master Damian.” Alfred chimed up. 

“Tt,” the boy clicked his tongue and stood up.

The entire group waited in near silence for a couple minutes after that, the only sound disturbing the quiet was the soft clinking of plates as Alfred washed up.

Finally just as Peter started squirming, Bruce spoke again. “Peter, since you’re part of this family now, I thought it would be important to clarify a few things.”

“Bruce, do we have to do this now?” Dick asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Trust me, chum.”

“And why am I here then?” asked Jason

“Because it concerns you too.” Bruce replied, which had Jason send him a quizzical look.

Peter for his part was painfully aware there was a large chunk of context he was missing for this conversation. Not knowing what to expect was causing him a great deal of anxiety.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the strangeness of Jason’s situation and your similarities.” Bruce started. Peter glanced at his uncle, and gave a small nod to Bruce.

“I’m not going to tell you how it happened, that’s for Jason to share, when he feels ready. But you and him have both been exposed to a substance that comes from what we call a lazarus pit.”

Immediately Peter’s mind was thrown back to the fateful night where he was bitten by the spider. The helplessness he’d felt, his daring escape. He felt tempted to correct Bruce, to say he’d never actually been exposed to the pit but Peter resisted the temptation, fighting with every fiber of his being to avoid correcting Bruce. 

“I’m sure it must have been a traumatic experience for you Peter, and you don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Dick spoke quickly, cutting off Bruce, which the older man didn’t seem to appreciate.

“Chum, we need to—”

“No, Peter is free to share once he is ready, like Jason.”

Bruce kept quiet after this, apparently using his own words against him was effective.

Instead it was Jason who spoke next. “Hey kid, I know getting dumped in a Lazarus Pit ain’t fun. But it left you with more than just a fancy haircut and a new eye color.” Jason spoke kindly, quietly. “You probably felt a lot of anger, and even rage lately. That’s what we call pit rage or pit madness.”

Again Peter felt the need to correct his uncle, but he kept his mouth shut. Was Peter feeling angry? Of course, Gotham was a terrible place and his anger at how life had treated him predated the Spider incident by quite a bit and he hadn’t been any more angry than before. Less so in fact. Being Spider-Man finally gave him the ability to do something about the problems Gotham faced.

“And with you being a meta, you could be dangerous if you lost control.” Richard continued. “So we were thinking you might need some counselling.”

Instantly Peter propelled himself off of his stool and backed up against a wall. His back was pressed to hit before the stool had time to topple over.

For a moment all was quiet as the three men looked at him. Richard with concern, Jason in surprise and Bruce was tense. It was the voice of Alfred that interrupted the strange standoff. 

“Young Master Peter, if you could refrain from letting the furniture impact the floor it would be most appreciated.”

“Sorry,” Peter apologized quickly, bit of the anxiety he felt fading away at the strangely pragmatic and yet incredibly out of place comment the butler made.

“You’re not sending me to Arkham,” he stated defiantly.

Jason stared at Peter for a moment and then couldn’t contain his mirth. He started laughing which earned him an affronted glare from Dick and a swat upside the head.

“Peter, we’re not going to send you to Arkham,” Bruce spoke up. Jason snickered even more at that, muttering a first time for everything , which Peter was certain he hadn’t been meant to hear but concerned him deeply. Bruce shot an unamused glance at Jason and then continued. “Peter, this family is…” The older man paused for a moment as if carefully choosing his next words, “complicated.”

“What master Bruce is trying to say,” the Butler stepped in, “is that it is perfectly normal for a young lad such as yourself to have trouble adjusting when your entire life gets upended. Let alone with your specific complications as a metahuman and someone who has been subjected to the Lazarus pit. And we would be delighted to provide you with any and all help you may require to deal with any emotional difficulties you might face. Without sending you to such a dreadful place as Arkham Asylum.”

The clipped, clear and precise response from the butler helped Peter calm down immensely, and he nodded slightly in response.

Dick stood up and walked toward Peter, his hands held up like one would when approaching a wild, potentially dangerous frightened animal. “Come on Bud. Let me show you around the manor. Just think about what we said alright?”

oOo

The more Dick showed him around, the more Peter felt intimidated and even angered by the manor. The place was oozing generational wealth from every corner and part of Peter revolted at the idea of living in such a place when so many had to sleep on the streets. The unfairness of it all twisted his guts like a knife.

Even so, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the many rooms he was shown, but three in particular were of interest to Peter. One was the music room. When he saw the array of instruments ready to be played he couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret at leaving his beaten up guitar behind. It was painfully obvious however that the instrument, much like Peter himself, wouldn’t have fit in the manor. Especially as it spent most of its time string-less. 

Peter might have been able to create strands of webbing that made for passable strings for the instrument, but like all his webbing, it had dissolved in a couple hours.

Almost despite himself, he had approached the grand piano that stood proudly center stage of the room. His fingers hesitantly trailing over the glossy ebony surface of the instrument.

Dick slid in beside him, a soft smile on his lips as he sat at the keyboard. “Do you play an instrument?” he asked as his fingers played a few idle notes.

“Guitar, a little.”

Dick nodded. “Bruce had me practice the piano for a few years. Let’s see if I remember anything” he gave Peter a brilliant smile. “Maybe a little Carmichael,” he spoke under his breath before he started playing the few notes of the intro to ‘heart and soul’, repeating them a few times as he tried to remember how the rest of the song went.

To his surprise, just as he was about to  continue, Peter joined in, one hand reaching down hesitantly to play what would normally have been the singing part. His son grew more confident as the song went on and Dick noticed that Peter was singing under his breath, using the lyrics to guide his playing. It would seem that his son was quite literally transcribing lyrics into notes on the fly by ears, which became evident when Peter played a few notes differently than was expected.

The playful moment soon ended and Dick couldn’t help but enthusiastically beam at Peter “that was awesome, Peter! You’re a natural at this.” Dick noted however that rather than bask in the compliments, Peter shrank in on himself. “It was nothing,” he mumbled.

Rather than push things further, Dick stood up. “Come on, I got some other rooms to show you.”

oOo

The next step in their journey into the seemingly never ending manor was a gymnasium. Dick looked fondly at the uneven bars, rings and other acrobatics setup. “I don’t know if you know this but I was in the circus when I was a child. Part of the Flying Grayson.” His voice took on a wistful tone.

“When Bruce took me in, he was kind enough to install this equipment so I could keep practicing. It helped keep a small part of my parents' legacy alive.”

Taking a deep breath as he came back to the present, Dick turned to Peter. “Have you ever tried acrobatics, Pete?”

Peter shook his head immediately. While Dick and the rest of the Waynes knew he was a meta, they didn’t seem to know he was Spider-Man and Peter intended to keep things that way. For one, if their purpose was nefarious it would be his hidden ace. The least they knew about his abilities the more easily he would be able to take the upper hand if a confrontation happened.

And if they were genuine, Peter didn’t want to put them into danger by association. While Peter didn’t go out of his way to target any of the rogues or gangs that plagued Gotham, spending most of his time helping people with everyday problems, he had caught his fair share of criminals and even a supervillain recently. (He was considering reaching out to Herman in jail so they could workshop his villain moniker, because ‘the shocker’ really wasn’t all that great.)

Needless to say Peter was starting to attract the wrong sort of attention and he didn’t want the Waynes to have to suffer because of it.

“I see” Dick continued, a touch of disappointment in his voice before he spoke again cheerfully. “Maybe I can teach you then. What do you think?”

Peter was about to refuse, but the hopeful expression on Dick’s face was impossible to resist and he nodded. “Okay.”

Dick beamed, his smile even brighter than usual. Then his smile fell as he looked down at himself. “Right, I guess that will have to wait a bit. Jeans aren’t exactly the best setup for gymnastics.” He chuckled softly. “That’s okay though, we’ll finish the tour and then we can go shopping. There’s a million things you need. I’m sure Alfred already covered the essentials but a young man needs to have his own things after all.”

Even as he spoke Dick approached a punching bag with Peter following behind him. “First off though” Dick continued, looking at Peter with some apprehension. “Everyone in the family already knows you’re a meta, and that’s perfectly okay” he added quickly “some of my best friends are metas”.

Dick paused for a moment and then let out a sigh, “gods, that sounded so much less offensive in my head.”

“Anyway, what I’m trying to ask is if you can explain what your powers are?”

Peter froze up at that, how much did they know, how much should he reveal? He couldn’t tell them everything but if he told them too little and they knew he had more than what he said he would come across as suspicious.

In the end Peter decided to keep his more esoteric abilities secret, they would pretty much oust him as Spider-Man instantly if revealed. And he would also downplay the rest as heavily as he could.

“I’m just…a bit stronger and faster,” he replied, giving a shrug that he hoped came across as nonchalant. 

“Do you know how strong or fast you are?” Peter shook his head in reply. That he could honestly say he had no real idea. Testing his upper limits had never been a priority. He knew he was strong enough to at least stop an armored car and fast enough to catch up to runaway traffic. He would definitely have to hold back as much as possible to avoid suspicion.

“If you ever want to find out, we have all this gym equipment for a reason” Dick chuckled. “Not that you have to” he added quickly, almost tripping over his own words. “You’re not gonna be tested like a lab rat.”

Peter hadn’t been thinking about that, but now he definitely was.

“Damian may try to get you to spar with him,” Dick added quietly. “He can be…intense, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Don’t take it personally, he dislikes pretty much all your uncles as well. That kid got a chip on his shoulder a mile wide and a desperate need to prove himself.”

Peter frowned at that. All his life he’d been picked on, and he was no stranger to being mocked or insulted. He’d even endured his fair share of beatings at the ends of men and women who tried to make themselves feel important by taking out their impotence on someone smaller and weaker than themselves. But he would be damned if he was going to let a kid younger than himself trash him. If Damian tried anything, Peter was not against the idea of putting his so-called uncle in his place.

The trick would be to do it without revealing too much, but how hard could it be to teach a small sheltered rich brat a lesson really?

Thankfully Dick didn’t insist on testing Peter’s abilities right this instant. It was becoming obvious to the teen that Dick was trying to find common ground with him, showing him part of the manor he enjoyed in the hope Peter would share his interest, with mixed results so far.

oOo

The next stop on their tour proved to be the library. Peter was obviously no stranger to libraries, given his work with Miss Barbara, yet he was impressed by what he saw. It couldn’t compare in scale to Gotham's library of course but the books in the manor’s library were plentiful. And as Peter examined the cover he was surprised to see that many of them revolved around criminology. 

As he let his fingers trace over the spines of the various volumes, impeccably dusted thanks to Alfred no doubt, Peter realized he was currently missing work.

Peter fished his burner phone in a panic, dialing up the number Barbara had given him. 

“Peter, what’s wrong?” Dick asked, frowning at his son's actions.

“I missed work,” Peter replied with mounting dread just as Barbara picked up.

“Peter, it’s okay” both the voices of Barbara and Dick replied at the same time and Peter got disoriented from hearing the two people utter the exact same words.

Choosing to ignore Dick for the moment, he turned around and spoke quickly into the phone.

“Miss Barbara, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to miss work, it's just…I don’t know how to explain, I’m going to come in as soon as I can.”

“Peter, it’s fine, I know what happened, don’t worry. You don’t have to come to work anymore.”

“I…I’m fired?” he asked, lips trembling in dread.

“What? No, of course not. I’m just saying, now that your family found you, you don’t need to work anymore, they’ll provide all you need. You can focus on being a kid and going to school.” Barbara explained quietly, her voice a quite hush that Peter had come to associate with her.

“But...I…” He didn’t know how to explain, the work at the library had been his sole source of income, the only way aside from being Spider-Man that he’d even started digging himself out of the misery that had been his life.

As if sensing his reluctance Barbara spoke again. “Peter, I’d be happy to have you keep working at the library if you want to. All I’m saying is that you have options now.”

Just as Peter was about to reply he felt a hand land on his shoulder and he flinched, pulling away quickly from Dick. 

His father held his hands up in a non threatening gesture. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t like being touched. It’s Babs right ? Can you put her speaker please?”

Peter relaxed a little and looked down at his phone before glancing back up at Dick “...I don’t know how.”

“Oh…can I?” Dick asked, holding his hand out for Peter’s phone, which the teen gave after some hesitation. Dick quickly put the call on speaker and immediately gave the phone back to Peter.

“Hey Babs, it’s Dick, what’s up?”

“Hey bird brain, I was just telling Peter he didn’t have to worry about missing work.”

Dick nodded “That’s right Bud, you don’t need to worry about money anymore.” he told Peter.

“I also said he was welcome to keep working if he wanted to.”

Dick frowned a little at that and Peter worried that his father may force him to quit his job.

“I see, I’m not against it, but can Peter take a few days off? We need to go shopping, and then decorate his room, and then I was thinking he should start going to school as well in a week or so.”

“That’s fine, I’m happy to give him time off and also adjust his hours once he starts school.”

“That’s great, thanks Babs. Are you coming for Dinner this evening? I’m sure Peter would be happy to see you.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

“Great, thanks Babs.”

Peter felt overwhelmed by the conversation, adrift as the adults started making decisions about his life without his input.

Later that night, Dick along with the rest of the family, made their way down to the cave. With the obvious exception of Peter. They had waited for the team to go to bed before making their way down and where now holding an impromptu meeting near the batcomputer.

Dick’s expression alternated between wistful smiling and worried frown as he slowly spun his chair in slow circles. Stephanie was pouting and glaring at him but he opted to ignore her for the moment.

The shopping session with Peter had gone…poorly. No matter how much encouragement Dick gave him, his son seemed exceedingly reluctant to spend money on anything for himself. He’d barely managed to convince him to buy a few sets of clothes and the only luxury Peter had indulged in was the cheapest possible pair of noise canceling headphones.

What worried Dick was that it was more than simple reluctance that had made Peter act this way. Hesitation and doubt about being allowed to spend as much money as he wanted he could understand. He remembered being quite similar when he first came to the manor. No, Peter seemed almost angry at the idea of having money to spend. Fearing a pit rage incident, Dick hadn’t pressed him.

Dinner afterward hadn’t been great either. The presence of Barbara had seemingly helped the teenager relax but Stephanie had been unable to contain herself any longer and had started peppering Peter with rapid fire questions about his interest, which had caused the kid to retreat in himself even more, to the point that Dick had to tell Steph to leave him alone. 

It seemed it would take quite a while for Peter to open up to all of them, which was to be expected. Thankfully Damian hadn’t tried to start anything during dinner. Perhaps because he didn’t see Peter as competition for the position of Robin he’d simply opted to ignore his nephew.

“Now that the situation with Peter is being handled, it’s time we dealt with a more pressing matter.”

The deep voice of Bruce resonated through the cave. It was different from the Batman voice he used in public, but it also wasn’t Bruce's usual tone. The man had shifted mindset and was firmly in his Batman persona right now. Professional, closed off, no nonsense.

Reluctantly, Dick pulled himself out of his worries for Peter and paid attention to Bruce’s next words.

“It’s time we dealt with Spider-Man.”

Chapter Text

A week had passed since Peter had been taken to the manor (not home, not yet, perhaps never). 

Slowly his relationship with the rest of the family had improved. He hardly ever saw Jason, and Damian seemed content to ignore him, which was a blessing in Peter’s books, but the rest of the family had been... nice.

Stephanie had proven to be a lot, when she was at the manor, which wasn’t everyday as Peter learned she was simply a friend of the family. When she was present the girl had been extremely enthusiastic about befriending Peter. Her exuberance had been overwhelming and he felt himself drained after every encounter.

Duke and Peter had developed a sort of awkward dance around each other. The black teen was perhaps the most normal person in this family but also shared little to no interests with Peter. They were amicable but somewhat distant, neither quite sure how to act around a person that either of them would have chosen to befriend under normal circumstances.

Tim, for many reasons, was a cause for concern to Peter. Not only was the teenager engulfing copious amounts of caffeine everyday, the smell of roasted coffee beans clinging to him like a cloud of miasma, Peter always felt like his every moves were being dissected while in Tim’s presence. It was unnerving but the two of them had managed to develop a bit of a rapport when they discovered their shared passion for StarWars and Lord of the rings.

While Peter still resented the extreme wealth that surrounded him, he’d had to admit that being able to marathon the movies on a giant home theater had been an unforgettable experience.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the two people Peter felt most comfortable around were Alfred and Cassandra. Both were quiet in their own ways, similarly to Peter, and were content to stay near him in companionable silence. Mister Pennyworth and Peter were engaged in a near silent war of attrition to see who would break first and drop the formalities.

Peter refused to call the man anything other than Mister Pennyworth, respect being due to his elders, and Alfred insisted on calling him young master Peter, no matter how much it made his skin crawl with disgust. 

At least Peter had somehow managed to get the man to back down on trying to clean his room. The catastrophic meltdown Peter had suffered when Alfred had come in and quietly cleaned, moving things around, had sent Peter in a panic attack when he couldn’t find his purple, possibly cursed, shoes. The resulting meltdown had ended with Peter’s bed shattering against the wall when he tossed it aside in his frantic search.

After this incident Peter had quietly agreed to seeing a psychologist to help him cope and Alfred had agreed to not touch Peter’s things so long as the teen cleaned after himself.

Peter rarely saw Bruce after the first day, the man seemingly almost never present at the manor beyond breakfast, which quite honestly was all the better for Peter’s mental well being. While Tim often looked at him like he was a puzzle to be solved, Bruce seemed to be constantly evaluating him, trying to measure how much of a threat he was.

Not surprisingly, Bruce had been the one to insist Peter test the limit of his abilities. The teen thankfully had the foresight to look up various records set by normal people. In the end he had managed to bluff his way through the test, displaying the ability to lift around 400kg and a running speed of 20 miles per hour.

Normal people could beat those records, but for a 14 year old with no athletic training they were clearly far outside the expected values. Bruce had been far less vigilant around Peter after this.

Finally there was his relationship with his father. To call it awkward would be an understatement. Dick and Peter shared almost nothing in common beyond physical appearance. Different tastes in music (pop for Dick vs classic rock for Peter), different interests (a host of thrill seeking activities vs quiet reading), and different aptitudes.

The last in particular seemed to be a sore point for both of them for very different reasons. Dick tried to hide it but after he tried to teach Peter some gymnastics he had been left sorely disappointed when Peter proved to be extraordinarily clumsy, getting compared to someone named uncle Clark. Peter had no idea who this person was and he hadn’t been made aware of further family members beyond a cousin of Bruce he had yet to meet.

Peter, for his part, felt extraordinarily guilty. In truth all the acrobatics and gymnastics exercises Dick tried to teach him would have been child’s play with his inhuman agility. He even learned more than a few tricks to make his escapade as Spider-Man more graceful than ever. And he had to hide all of it from Dick.

The guilt twisted in Peter’s gut like a knife, especially with how hard Dick was trying to connect with him, tried to get involved in his son’s life and interests despite not sharing any of them. And Peter couldn’t grasp the one point of connection they had out of fear of what it would reveal.

Peter's sour mood was not helped by the fact he’d had to drastically cut down on his activities as Spider-Man since coming to the manor. So far he hadn’t been allowed to go out on his own during the day. The one time he had asked to go out he’d been accompanied by Dick and they had made their way to the library to meet Miss Barbara.

Peter had therefore been forced to keep his hero activities to the nighttime and even that had been a near thing. It took two days for him to find a hole in the manor’s defenses. Every door and window had sent his spider-sense tingling when he tried to covertly use them.

In hindsight this made a lot of sense. Someone as rich as Bruce Wayne would want a very sophisticated security system to safeguard his valuables from someone like Catwoman. Too bad for Bruce, he hadn’t counted on the sheer level of inhuman agility and sticky powers that Spider-Man brought to the table. So on the second day, Peter had found an air vent he could barely fit through to emerge outside on the manor’s roof. From there it had been somewhat tedious to leave the grounds. Peter being forced to sprint part of the way rather than be able to swing freely. Lawns and distant trees made for poor anchor points for webs.

Still, Peter had made do and restricted his Spider-Man activities to night time excursions. The hardest part was trying to avoid running into the bats. Thank the lord for his spider-sense although he’d had a couple close calls.

[BatChat]

[22/12][10:32am]

TimLordVictorious: I believe Spider-Man is a highly trained operative.

Dickie Boy:  Where is that coming from? 😵‍💫

The Duke: Highly trained operative? Helping old ladies cross the street?

TimLordVictorious: Think about it, as soon as he escalated by taking down an actual villain that gave even B some trouble, he completely changed his normal behavior. Now he only acts at night, making it even harder to track him despite how many of us are out at the same time.

Bruce Wayne: I had it under control.

Jaylad: Whatever you say old man.

Bruce Wayne: 🙁

DoritOracle: How many coffees did you have Tim?

TimLordVictorious: That’s irrelevant

SpoilerAlert: Sounds pretty relevant to me. Lack of sleep causes paranoia, you know.

TimLordVictorious: That’s rich coming from you, miss giant raccoons have invaded Gotham.

SpoilerAlert: I’m telling you ! it’s out there!

WhisperCass: 💯

Damian Wayne: I can’t believe I find myself agreeing with Drake on this one.

TimLordVictorious: Okay maybe I didn’t get enough sleep after all

The next day, far too early for his mental well being, Peter found himself being dragged out of bed by Dick, who had grabbed the heavy blanket Peter had been nesting in and pulled on it until Peter landed with a soft thud as he slipped out of bed.

“Rise and shine Bud, it’s your first day of school!” Dick clamored with a bright smile on his face.

Peter groaned in response, bleary narrow eyes gazing hatefully at his father. He’d come back home at nearly 4am and had slept all of 3 hours.

“Come on, it will be fine. You’ll have fun at school, make friends. You’ll enjoy it.”

“No one has ever enjoyed school,” Peter mumbled under his breath and proceeded to wrap himself back into his blanket and then roll under the oak framed bed, out of reach of his father.

Dick gave a deep sigh and sat on top of the bed. The both of them were silent for a moment before Dick spoke up hesitantly.

“Are you upset you’re not going to Gotham Prep like the rest of the family?” 

Dick waited for a moment before a small voice drifted out from under the bed.

“No.”

If anything, Peter was relieved that his schooling would happen far away from the rest of the family. After the debacle that was his test, it was clear that Peter would not be able to do well in Gotham Prep.

His father had started threatening Bruce to take advantage of his money to force the issue and allow Peter to enroll anyway but miss Barbara and Jason had both managed to convince Dick that Peter needed to go to school in a place he would be more comfortable. Hence why Peter was currently enrolled at Gotham Heights high school. 

“Are you upset I won’t be driving you to school on your first day then?”

“No.” The same whisper-like answer floated from under the bed. Once more, Peter was actually relieved that Dick wouldn’t be the one driving him to school. Alfred had to drive Tim, Duke, and Stephanie to Gotham Prep. Bruce and Dick were far too well known to risk driving Peter. In Gotham Prep it wouldn’t have mattered, but in Gotham Heights it would have marked Peter as a rich kid.

Street rat in Gotham Prep, rich Kid in Gotham Heights. Both would mark him as an outsider. A fact that Jason had been quick to point out and had offered to drive Peter to school. He was, after all, supposed to be dead and no one would associate the rough looking man with the Waynes. 

Dick had shot him down instantly. While he trusted his brother to take care of Peter, his appearance might give the impression that Peter was trouble and hung with a bad crowd. That only left two people who could reasonably send Peter to school. Barbara and Cassandra.

Peter had secretly hoped that miss Barbara would be the one driving him, but while she had offered her service, Dick had pointed out that it would mean her getting completely out of her way to pick up his son and drop him off at school.

So, instead, the duty fell to Cassandra. She was also a Wayne, recently adopted by Bruce, but somehow had managed to stay almost entirely out of the spotlight. The risk of being recognized was therefore minimal.

Peter had tried to argue that they could just drop him off at the nearest bus stop and he could go the rest of the way on his own. The disagreement had been instant and final, while it hadn’t been said out loud, Peter got the impression the family didn’t exactly trust him to not run off the first chance he got; which Peter found quite silly as there was nothing stopping him escaping while at school if he wanted to. 

“Come on Bud, Cass is waiting for you.”

oOo

Peter had finally been coerced out from under the bed and had devoured a substantial breakfast, courtesy of Alfred, before following Cass to the garage. Peter was once more reminded of just how filthy rich the family was when he saw dozens of cars waiting for them.

Thankfully, amidst the sports model, the luxury cars, and the ornate convertible they found a relatively simple grey sedan. As soon as Peter climbed into the passenger seat he was assaulted by the new car scent. He wondered if Bruce had bought this vehicle specifically to drive Peter around incognito.

The drive toward the school was quiet. Usually Peter found being with the near silent Cass comfortable, but today the silence was oppressive. The prospect of school terrified Peter if he was being honest.

He’d never exactly fit in properly in any of his previous schools, facing bullying due to his differences. It was bad enough that he was autistic, now he had to also worry about being a meta. The anti meta sentiment amongst Gotham populace was strong. Thanks in large part to the fact that the most visible metahumans were members of the rogue.

Mister Freeze, Clayface, Killer Croc, and until recently, Poison Ivy had all been making a bad name for Gotham’s meta population. This coupled with Batman no meta rules had given carte blanche to Gotham’s citizens to semi openly persecute innocent and helpless metas.

Thankfully, between Signal and Spider-Man, opinions had slowly started to shift. Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, his father had gifted him contact lenses.

Peter frowned and rubbed at his eyes, the lenses were difficult to get used to, especially as they were designed to hide his strange pupils. A consequence of which was that Peter's incredibly sharp vision was limited to such a degree that he saw less well than a normal person would.

So now he found himself in the enviable position of wearing both contact lenses and glasses to counteract the issue with the lenses. Dick had promised the next version of the lenses would not impact his vision quite as much. 

The lenses, and the fact Peter had had to dye his hair to hide the white lock that had shown up on his brow made him wonder once more if his family was actually ashamed of him, doing all they could to hide his strangeness from the world.

Soon the car parked in front of the school, Peter glancing through the side window at the jacobean style school, and more worriedly, the host of students making their ways inside across the impeccably kept lawn that adorned the entrance.

Peter let out a deep sigh and stepped out of the car, offering Cass a quiet thanks for driving him over. He didn’t have time to take more than a few steps when he heard her call his name. Had it not been for his sharp hearing he might have missed it so quiet was her voice.

Turning around in confusion he saw his aunt approach him, her black jacket over a yellow t-shirt doing little to hide how toned she was. 

“Nephew,” she started speaking. “If trouble happens, call and I’ll come. Promise.”

Peter nodded a little, his eyes darting away from hers, uncomfortable with the eye contact. It felt strange to consider the young woman as his aunt given that she was only 6 years older than he was. Still not as strange as Damian being his uncle despite being a year younger.

She reached out and Peter flinched when her hand softly seized the noise canceling headphones he wore around his neck. She delicately placed the headphones over his ear and leaned forward, her forehead touching his. Strangely, Peter felt no panic at the touch. Not being able to hear her, Peter didn’t catch the words she spoke next but she stepped back and smiled at him. Despite himself Peter returned the smile and, adjusting his backpack over his shoulders, turned around and prepared to face his first day in high school.

oOo

Peter walked in nervously to his first class, at some point during the walk Peter realized he couldn’t keep his headphones on at all times. For class at least he would have to remove them to be able to hear the teacher. 

Glancing down nervously at his schedule Peter confirmed once more that he had found the correct classroom. Sadly it appeared his abysmal testing of Gotham prep would pursue him even here as he’d been assigned to what had charitably been called a remedial class. In short he’d been placed with all the other students that performed just about as poorly as he did academically.

Already his mind conjured pictures of a classroom full of delinquents that would delight in picking on the new kid.

Bracing himself he opened the door to the classroom, 1-F, and stepped in, clutching his schedule in hand like a talisman. Immediately his first impression was that his imagination had only been half correct. A quick glance at the student already in the class showed a mix of people, some looked indeed like delinquents, but others seemed simply to have been beaten down by life in general.

“Can I help you sweetie?” 

A gentle voice came in and dragged Peter away from his introspection. He looked briefly at the teacher before lowering his gaze. The woman was perhaps in her early forties, thin and with a massive mane of frizzy hair barely held back by a headband. Her owlish gaze, accented by her thick white rimmed glasses scrutinized him as Peter walked over and shyly handed over his schedule and a note explaining his situation.

The woman took his schedule and glanced at it briefly before reading the note. She nodded to herself a few times while nodding to herself.

“Alright Peter, welcome to class” she said with a smile. “I’m Mrs. Trainer.” She then cleared her throat and addressed the rest of the class. 

“Class, this is Peter, a new student who just transferred to school. Like a lot of you he has some difficulties, so I count on all of you to make him feel welcome.”

“Feel free to pick an unoccupied desk,” the teacher added to Peter.

Not needing to be told twice Peter made his way down the rows of students. To his mounting horror he realized the only unoccupied desk was situated between a large guy wearing a varsity jacket who appeared bored out of his mind and a blonde girl of questionable fashion sense whose hair tips were dyed pink.

Swallowing nervously Peter sat down at the free desk, putting his backpack next to his seat and tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Sadly for him it took all of 5 seconds for the blonde to lean and whisper to him.

“Hey there fresh meat, name’s Gwen. Short for Guinevere.”

Oh god it’s happening , Peter's mental alarm blared at him. This punk looking girl is gonna shake me down and make me her gofer .

Peter had seen, and beaten, gang members who looked less intimidating than this girl, her ripped jeans, many ear piercings and white leather jacket adorned with many metal studs that were one soft breeze away from being sharpened into spikes was exactly the sort of trouble Dick was worried Jason would have attracted toward Peter if he had driven him to school.

Peter stayed quiet and the girl arched an eyebrow at him which forced Peter to stammer a reply. “I…I’m Pet…Peter…Parker, Peter Parker”.

“Miss Stacy, please stop distracting the new student, you’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other once class is over” the gentle voice of the teacher drifted in.

“Sorry Mrs. Trainer,” Gwen replied, her meek tone surprising Peter who had expected the delinquent looking girl to argue or cause a scene.

oOo

Over the course of the lesson it became very obvious to Peter that being put in a remedial class was not only necessary, but may have even been underestimating the problem. He found himself completely lost and unable to make heads or tails of what the teacher was saying.

Of course it didn’t help that his first class was Maths. In other subjects Peter might have been able to buckle down and rely on brute force memorization to catch up, but it seemed that in maths class and probably science class, this approach wouldn’t cut it.

When each subsequent lesson proved more and more stressful, Peter was glad to finally be freed for lunch. Instantly gathering his things, he put his headphone back on and power walked out of the classroom, paying no attention to anyone else. 

As anxious as he was being around so many people and dealing with his inability to really follow classes, Peter at least felt better at Gotham Heights than he did during his brief visit to Gotham prep. Here at least he didn’t stand out like a sore thumb. 

People probably assumed he was listening to some music and didn’t glance at him twice, for which Peter was thankful. The constant stares and mockeries from Gotham Prep had nearly traumatized him and finding this school being completely normal helped him relax just enough that he was avoiding a panic attack.

The school cafeteria was packed by the time Peter reached it, and after fetching a tray and getting some food, which wouldn’t be enough to cover his increased needs, he made his way toward a table at the back that was still open.

Peter sat down and glanced around the room as he forced himself to slow down and not devour his entire meal in seconds. For a brief instant he contemplated asking Alfred to prepare him a second lunch he could bring with him, but he instantly quashed the idea. 

Peter wasn’t too keen on relying on the Waynes. The glamorous view he had of them during his boyhood had been firmly destroyed by actually living with them. He’d always known they were rich but the casual display of wealth they showed made him internally sick. Of course he’d never expected them to live like paupers, spending every dime they made helping others. But there was a world of difference between living comfortably and the sort of wealth the Waynes casually showed off.

Not wanting to participate in the obscene abuse of money the Waynes did, Peter was determined to use his own income as much as possible. Something that would only be possible once he started going back to work at the library.

And since the Wayne family insisted on feeding and housing him, it meant that he would be able to devote even more of his income toward his activities as Spider-Man.

So lost was Peter in his own head that he didn’t notice when someone sat down next to him. Which also explained why he recoiled in shock when a hand waved itself in front of his face.

Almost falling from the bench he sat on, Peter glanced in wide eyed terror at the girl from his class who had sat next to him, and was now apparently snickering at him. Worse, his reaction had attracted attention and many other teenagers were now looking at him.

Peter was debating fleeing from the suspected delinquent, abandoning his half eaten meal when the girl, Gwen, started talking to him. Since he was wearing his headphones however, Peter heard nothing she said at all. Biting his lips for a second, Peter decided to take a chance and removed his headphones. If he fled right now, he’d be marked as an easy prey. Avoid trouble but don’t run from it, running only makes you look weak. That was a lesson he learned living on the streets.

“What?” he asked with supreme eloquence, causing Gwen to roll her eyes at him. 

“I said, you should probably stop staring at her.”

“What?” Peter asked with great confusion. He’d been lost in his own thoughts and as such hadn’t really been staring at anything or anyone in particular.

“MJ, Mary Jane. Prettiest and most popular girl in school. I don’t blame you for wanting to take a look but she’s way out of your league.”

“I wasn’t staring,” Peter replied with a frown. And he really wasn’t. So now he took a real look around the cafeteria and quickly spotted the girl Gwen was talking about. She was maybe a couple years older than he was, with the most intense red hair he’d ever seen. So deep it looked more like blood than the ginger lock of Miss Barbara.

Peter idly noted that the girl was indeed quite attractive. However, simply seeing her surrounded by other people, a bunch of girls and one guy who was quite likely her boyfriend given how he had his arm around her shoulder, was more than enough to drive any sort of idea of romance out of Peter’s mind.

Instead he looked back at Gwen. “I wasn’t staring at her, I was lost in thoughts.”

Gwen snorted derisively “yeah right. Whatever. If you’re going to stare at MJ, at least make sure you don’t get caught, or her boyfriend Paul is likely to beat your wimpy ass.”

“I could take him,” Peter replied defiantly. He very much doubted anyone in this school could so much as put a bruise on him. Of course Dick had warned him to stay under the radar and not oust himself as a meta, so casually ending a fight with one finger was out of the question. Still,  Peter was not going to let himself get beaten for no reason.

“Sure, and when you’re done with your macho fantasy, maybe we can talk about why I came here in the first place.”  Gwen replied, crossing her arms.

“Why did you come here then?” Despite the somewhat confrontational nature of the conversation so far, Peter felt oddly at ease talking to his girl. It helped that they were talking alone, with no one else butting in and that he’d been caught in the conversation before he really had time to process what was happening.

“I wanted to know if you wanted to study with me.” Gwen replied.

For a moment Peter was silent, before his mouth got ahead of himself. “I’m not doing your homework for you. Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

Gwen stared at him open-mouthed for a second. “What..I..no? Dude! Do you think I’m trying to bully you?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Of course not, I saw you struggle in class and wanted to help!” she huffed and quickly stood up. “But since you’re being an asshole about it, forget it!” 

“Wait!” Peter reached out and was just about to grab her wrist when he stopped himself. “Sorry, I just..”

“What? Thought I was a delinquent because of how I look? Newsflash, I’m a punk, not a bitch.”

“Sorry... you’re right.. sorry. I shouldn’t have judged you. I apologize, okay?” Peter replied in a panic, anxiety mounting with every stare that fell upon them when their conversation got loud.

Huffing once more Gwen sat back down and Peter continued. “I just… I didn’t grow up in the easiest environment, the only people who dress like you that I’ve been around were gang members.” he said by way of explanation.

Gwen let out a deep breath and nodded “I guess I can forgive you then. So do you want help or not?”

Once more Peter thought about the Waynes. He was sure that if he asked they would gladly help tutor him, either directly or most likely by hiring a private tutor. Of course if he asked for help of any kind he was also certain that Damian, at least, would mock him for it. And it was likely the rest of the family would share his opinion, if not openly.

“Yes... I really do need some help.”

“Great, we can hang out at the library after school then and I’ll help you as best I can. See you later Parker.”

With that Gwen stood up once more and walked away. For a moment Peter just sat there, taking the time to come to term with the discussion and what he’d just agreed to. Once his mind was settled he took out his phone, a new WayneTech model that had the numbers for everyone in the family as well as Miss Barbara and Red Hood’s number and which had replaced the phone the crime lord/vigilante had given him, and texted his aunt.

P.Parker: I’m not going back home to the manor immediately after school

Cass: ???

P.Parker: I’m going to the library to study

Cass: I’ll drive you there.

P.Parker: It’s fine, I get there on my own.

Cass: I’ll drive you there.

Peter sighed as he got the distinct feeling his aunt would not take no for an answer. He’d just have to hope it wouldn’t cause an issue.

oOo

By the end of the school day Peter was nervously waiting in front of the school. He was having second thoughts about the entire thing and found himself fidgeting with the strap of his backpack. Before long he was joined by Gwen who waved him on.

“Come on, let’s go Parker.” She started walking but Peter stayed behind. Realizing the boy wasn’t following her, Gwen turned around and arched an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“hmm…my…my aunt said she’d drive us there,” he stammered a reply even as other students streamed around them.

“Oh, cool,” was the only reply she gave him and walked back to wait next to him.

Peter and Gwen didn’t have to wait for long before the familiar grey sedan pulled up in front of the school and Cass stepped out. She looked around and spotted Peter standing next to a girl in a studded white leather jacket. Cass tilted her head when she saw both teenagers start to walk toward her.

As usual, her nephew was a mix of nervousness and anxiety. She rarely ever saw him relax as he always seemed to be guarded in the presence of the family. More than once she had also caught Peter hiding things from them, especially when it came to his meta abilities.

Cass was always saddened when this happened, her nephew clearly didn’t trust them entirely yet. She could have pried deeper and tried to uncover his secret, but that would represent a breach of the fragile trust they had barely started establishing. And it would also have been incredibly hypocritical since the family was hiding more than one secret from Peter in return.

Even if Cass wanted to confront Peter she hardly had the time to worry about it. Ever since Spider-Man had apprehended the Shocker, Bruce had been on the warpath to catch the young vigilante. She suspected Bruce had bruised more than his ribs when the arachnid hero had outdone him, not that she would ever tell him that to his face. She knew however she wasn’t the only one thinking it.

Jason firmly refused to participate in the plan to apprehend Spider-Man, to the surprise of no one. Still, she and the rest of the family had spent the last few days placing micro cameras all over town in the hope of tracing the action of the vigilante. So far to no avail.

Coming back to the present, she looked questioningly at her nephew when he stopped in front of her, with the girl just a step behind him.

“Gwen, this is my aunt Cass” Peter said, his voice barely a whisper before he turned to Cass. “We’re going to the library to study.”

Cass studied her nephew for a moment, his body language was tense, nervous, unsure. The girl beside him was also nervous, but tried to hide it with false confidence that Cass saw right through. So Cass simply nodded and got back in the car, with Peter and Gwen taking the back seat.

oOo

To say their arrival at the library had been an event would be putting it lightly. When Peter stepped in, accompanied by Cass, Barbara had been delighted at the surprise visit. In truth she missed his company. Despite what her hidden life entailed, Barbara did take her duties as a librarian as seriously as she could, and the help Peter had provided had been welcome, even if his salary would have stretched the library’s budget past its breaking point if Bruce hadn’t been footing the bill.

No, what nearly caused Barbara to drop her mug of tea in shock was when a girl followed along beside Peter. The girl was, in Babs opinion, cute with how tough she was trying to portray herself, teenage rebellion wrapped in white leather and chains and pink hair tips. It was clearly a façade, given how nervous the girl looked.

Babs glanced toward Cass who simply offered a minute shrug in return, something that only people trained would have noticed.

“Hi miss Barbara,” Peter spoke up and inwardly Babs despaired at the abysmal odds of trying to stop him ever being so polite. Even Alfred hadn’t managed to break that habit as the teen still refused to call him anything other than mister Pennyworth. The betting pool on this was still going strong, even if both Tim and Stephanie lost early on.

“Hello Peter, is your dad finally letting you get back to work?” Babs asked in a slight teasing tone. The teen shook his head and with how his shoulder tensed in reaction, it seemed to be a sore point. Perhaps she would reach out to Dick and have a talk with him. He couldn’t keep Peter cooped up forever.

“I’m here to study with Gwen,” Peter added in a tiny voice. Was he embarrassed? Afraid? It was hard to tell with Peter at times, she’d have to ask Cass later, she would have a far better read on Peter than she could. And who was this Gwen ? A friend? A girlfriend? Even though Dick had had a tumultuous past as a teenage Casanova, an attitude that had finally settled down in the last few years, she didn’t think Peter shared that trait in common with his father.

“Alright,” she said with a gentle smile. “You know where the books are.”

She watched as both Peter and Gwen walked away, the girl apparently asking Peter some question before she turned her attention to Cass.

“You’re going to share all the gossip with me.”

Chapter Text

“Remind me again what we’re doing?” Spoiler whined as she carefully adjusted the angle on the micro cameras she’d been installing. This was one of the rooftop that Oracle predictive algorithms had said Spider-Man was likely to pass by often and as such it was getting the full complement of cameras. One per open side, aimed more in the air than the street below, to capture pictures of the hero while he travelled and two more on opposite corners of the rooftop to cover it from all possible angles.

Frankly, she thought it was overkill, and not just because it meant she had to install 4 different cameras, but because it meant installing hundreds, if not thousands of new cameras all over the city. Today, everyone was busy doing this work instead of patrolling.

“Because,” came the tired voice of Red Robin, “we have to be able to track Spider-Man’s movement if we want to have any chance of capturing him.”

“Ah, so that’s what those things are for !” Spoiler froze when she heard a chipper voice behind her. She whirled around throwing a batarang at the intruder who effortlessly caught the projectile from the air.

“I’m pretty sure there are laws against trying to stalk teenagers you know.” Spoiler let out a deep sigh when she saw that the intruder was the very same arachnid themed vigilante they were trying to catch. How he’d managed to creep up on her she had no idea. That was a feat very few people were capable of. And yet here he was, standing on top of the doorway that led into the building, crouched in a way that would have even Dick complaining about overstretching.

“Hi, I’m Spider-Man, but you already knew that,” the teenager continued cockily. “You know, it’s been quite annoying trying to avoid all your new fancy little gadgets, but hey, at least I thought you were trying to capture some dangerous criminal, not little ol me.”

“That’s exactly what Batman thinks you are,” she replied without any real heat in her voice. Honestly she disagreed with B on his assessment of the boy before her. After all he’d done nothing but help so far. She made it a point to note that the hero could somehow hear their coms. Given how…amateurish his costume was, she doubted he’d hacked them, so that hinted at Kryptonian level of super hearing.

The teenage hero put his hand to his chest in mock shock. “Oh no, Batman has a poor opinion of me, whatever shall I do.” He said in a singsong voice. “How can I live without the approval of senpai.”

Steph rolled her eyes, she could easily see why every other member of the family who’d actually met the hero was so aggravated by him. It was like talking to a mixture of Dick and herself. All the chaos and quips expertly delivered to annoy someone.

“You think you’re being cute?” she snarked back.

“Bitch I’m adorable.”

There was a pause for a moment as Stephanie took in his words.

“So what are you doing here?” she asked and without missing a bit the hero replied exactly how she’d expected him to.

“Oh you know, swinging around.”

“Swinging around?”

“Swinging around.”

“Are you thwarting my plans?”

“Thwarting your plans?”

“Are you?”

“No”

“Good, cause that would be bad.”

“How bad?”

“I’d have to kill you.”

“That’s bad.”

“Indeed.”

After the rapid exchange the two of them looked at each other and then  pointed a finger at each other in shock, Stephanie even letting a little squeal of delight. “Oh my god, you’re a fan!”

“It’s so good!”

“I know! Everyone else in the family thinks it’s dumb. Well, I haven’t shown my nephew yet.”

“Hopefully, he likes it. Anyway, DODGE!”

Spider-Man then threw her own batarang back at her while firing a webline that latched on the micro camera she was still holding. She’d been surreptitiously filming the entire encounter. Despite their shared chaotic gremlin energy she was still doing her job.

She barely dodged out of the way of the batarang while the other teen examined the micro camera he was now holding.

“Well, it’s been real but I gotta go. See ya!”

Before she could do anything to stop him, Spider-Man jumped off of the doorway, sailing fifteen feet through the air while doing a barrel roll over the edge of the rooftop before swinging away with a whoop of delight. Steph rushed to the edge of the rooftop and leaned forward on the high railing. She rested her chin in her hands and let out a small sigh, “I think I’m in love”.

Later that night, or realistically, early the next morning, the entire family minus Peter was present for a debrief after what had happened to Stephanie. Bruce was hovering over Tim’s shoulder as the teen was combing through the vast amount of camera footage they had captured from Spider-Man. Or rather, the vast amount of camera footage Spider-Man has shot himself using the stolen tech.

Currently a portion of the video was playing on the screen of the batcomputer while everyone was watching.

“Welcome one and all to the Spider-Man’s Gotham mystery tour.” The voice of the vigilante drifted to the camera over the whooshing sound of wind resulting from the swinging. The motion of the camera was going through constant twist, turns, spin and rolls that caused some in the family to be queasy.

“So, bat gang, I thought of a theme song, let me know what you think.”

“Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a spider can.”

While the hero was singing a silly tune that Bruce sadly had to admit was quite the ear worm, he swung into the scene of an attempted mugging, the 7th one the hero had caught on video so far.

Like all the others he expertly disarmed and disabled the muggers without so much as breaking a single of their bones, all the while singing his infernal song.

Fast forwarding through the footage, they reached a point where Spider-Man was approaching Ace chemical. “And this is where my tragic backstory begins. I don’t wear these colors just to piss off the Joker, just like him I was dipped into a vat of chemicals that granted me my powers” the teenager explained in whisper. “Don’t tell anyone though. But yes, the bleached skin is why I wear a mask.”

“He is mocking us.” Damian commented.

“No shit Sherlock,” Tim replied. “Ace chemical has been shut down for more than a decade, obviously that’s not what happened to him.

“Tt” Damian clicked his tongue but otherwise stayed quiet. Ever since Peter had come to the manor, Damian had been stewing in resentment, growing quieter and quieter, a fact that had several members of the family rather concerned. The only time Damian stopped being a condescending little shit was when he was plotting something.

“And here we are observing the elusive Signal in his natural environment, however the hours of his activities are highly unusual. The darkness might serve to highlight his bright colors for a display of courtship.” Drifted the voice of the Arachnid hero from the screen, doing a rather poor but recognizable imitation of David Attenborough. Tim had fast forwarded the feed again and it now showed Signal from afar, planting some extra cameras with the help of Orphan.

To their great shame, neither Duke nor Cass had even noticed the presence of their target, despite pairing up to avoid a repeat of Stephanie’s encounter. The blond girl was snickering at the commentary provided by the web slinger while a deep blush adorned Duke’s face.

“This is the most concerning part of the footage.” Tim elaborated as Spider-Man had been swinging through town, keeping up a constant inane chatter that he was sure Bruce would pour over obsessively to try and pick apart any nuggets of information.

Suddenly the teen grew silent and abruptly changed direction to approach a warehouse. There was no real indication as to why the hero had suddenly grown so serious. Ever so quietly the teenager crawled up the side of the warehouse and approached a window. The view of the camera was obscured for a while before the device was hoisted up to peek through the window.

And there the batfamily saw something that halted all their breaths. On the floor of the warehouse they spotted a couple of large gas containers adorned with a painted on rictus, a figure dressed in a purple suit and sporting bright green hair atop a bleached white face.

Even from the back they recognized the Joker instantly. This caused great alarm to the entire family because as far as they knew, the Joker was currently incarcerated in Arkham.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Dick cursed as Tim paused the footage. 

“How?” Asked Duke, and the voice of Oracle sounded from the computer system. “Unknown, but I checked, and the Joker was still marked as present in Arkham at the time of recording, I hacked their system and it seems the live footage from his cell has been spliced to make it look like he’s still present. I expect some guards have been bribed and threatened to cooperate with his escape.

Jason snorted from the back of the cave, already cleaning his guns. “So much for Peter’s theory.”

All heads turned to look at him, Bruce’s gaze carrying a silent command for an explanation. Jason considered keeping quiet just to spite the man. The green had invaded his vision as soon as he caught a glance of the Joker. In the end however he explained his conversation with Peter.

“Wait, that’s why you completely stopped even arguing for killing?” Steph asked in wonder.

Jason shrugged “the kid’s words made sense, but obviously incarcerating villains rather than killing them to get an early warning when they escape instead of surprising us when they come back from the dead doesn’t work all that well.” he said, waving a hand dismissively toward the batcomputer.

Instead he strapped several firearms to his person and stood up. Bruce stood as well and it seemed obvious from the tension in the air that two of them were gearing up for another argument over keeping the Joker alive.

Instead Tim interrupted before either of them could even say a word. “Spider-Man took care of it.”

At once every head turned back toward Tim and the computer screen. He hit play on the video and they all watched as the hero sneaked into the warehouse. The teenager had webbed the micro camera to the windowsill and was currently creeping along the ceiling while the Joker chuckled to himself below.

Then they saw how the web-head slowly lowered himself, hanging by a single thread of webbing. He hung upside down using his hands and feet to hold to the webbing. The joker didn’t realize the teenager was right behind him. 

The hero then let go of his thread with his hand and instead fished out a beat up looking cell phone and started typing on it. Moments later music played and the Joker froze in his tracks.

'Cause I'm a picker, I'm a grinner

I'm a lover and I'm a sinner

I play my music in the sun

I'm a joker, I'm a smoker

I'm a midnight toker

I get my lovin' on the run’

Bruce gave his family a disapproving glance when he heard a couple snickers before refocusing his attention on the video.

“You’re not one of the bats” the joker said as he turned around to come face to upside down face with Spider-Man.

“Wow, your powers of observation are astounding. You sure you’re not the world's greatest detective instead of Batman?” the hero quipped, which caused the Joker to narrow his eyes before his characteristic laugh rang out. 

Then suddenly the joker raised his hand pointing his wrist at the hero’s face. In a split second Spidey grabbed the man’s arm and redirected the Joker’s hand away from his face, causing the green mist that had shot out from his sleeve to miss him completely.

“Sorry Joker, I’m not one for pranks” he said in a mocking tone of voice that infuriated the clown.

“Let go of me you overgrown bug!”

“Jeez, is that your best material ? Is that why you turned to crime? Couldn’t make it in clown college?” Spider-Man continued to mock the villain. Then Joker tried to punch the hero in the face, yowling in pain as his hand broke against the web slinger’s jaw without even managing to stop the man from quipping.

“Slapstick is soooo last year, try standup, I hear it's coming back in vogue.” The hero pushed the villain casually backward, causing him to crash against one of his gas containers. Before the Joker had a chance to even slide down he was webbed to the device so thoroughly he got immobilized.

“I swear I will find you and murder your entire family, or maybe I’ll cripple them like I did to the good commissioner's daughter, that was a good joke” the Clown laughed. Laugh that was suddenly interrupted when the wall crawler webbed his mouth shut. 

Instead, the hero finally let go of the strand of web he was still hanging from and fell to the floor. He approached the Joker with uncharacteristic quiet which sent shivers down the spine of every member of the batfamily.

More concerning was the way the lenses on the mask of the hero had suddenly started glowing green. Then the teen reached out and simply put one finger on the Joker’s forehead and started pushed, slowly, ever so slowly the Joker's muffled laugh stopped, panic filling in his eyes as the pressure grew stronger and stronger, the metal his head was pressed against started groaning.

“I wonder what would give in first?” the hero spoke up. “Do you think your skull is gonna pop like a balloon first or will the metal dent?” There was no humor in his tone of voice. 

Then suddenly, the glow vanished from the hero’s lenses and he pulled his finger away, which caused another yelp of pain from the joker when a piece of the joker skin was ripped away with it.

“Ugh” the hero said and shook his hand quickly, causing the piece of skin to fly off into the distance “gross. Didn’t know I could do that.”

“Anyway, you really should get into accounting, I’m told a severe lack of a sense of humor is actually a good thing in that line of work” the teen teased the Joker as if he hadn’t nearly crushed the man's skull seconds before. Then he stuck a post-it note to the Villain’s chest with a drawing of his mask on it and left the warehouse, collecting the camera on the way out.

Tim shut down the footage and swiveled his high back chair around to glance at everyone else.

After a moment the voice of Oracle came out once more. “After that Spidey made a call to Renée Montoya to alert her that he had captured the Joker, by now the clown is safely behind bars at Arkham once more.

Her voice was devoid of emotions, and they all knew why. The sudden reminder of what had happened to her, while not uncommon when facing the Joker,  were always painful.

Bruce spoke up carefully next. “We’ll investigate every guard at Arkham, see who was compromised, hacked the system, and assisted Joker in his escape.” There was a pause as everyone nodded, Tim already turning around to start the investigation. 

Duke spoke up next, as one of the newer members of the family he was less tuned in to the tension that had come over the family because of the mention of Babs’s assault by the Joker.

“The way Spider-Man got so angry, could he be related to Babs?”

Silence drifted back in before Bruce nodded, “that’s a possibility we cannot overlook. It’s also possible that the Joker reminded him of something that happened to someone else he knows. It’s a clue at least.”

While the other were discussing theories, Damian’s eyes shone with calculating light.

Chapter Text

Objectively speaking, Peter had to admit that life was good at the moment. 

Despite his loss of temper and nearly killing of the Joker last night, which was understandable given what the man had admitted to doing to miss Barbara, things were going really well for Spider-Man.

Mostly well, partly well, with some minor annoyances, Peter mused as he dodged out of the way of a sword stroke.

“I knew your little gang of vigilantes was not as heroic as you’d like to pretend, but I thought you’d at least draw the line at attempted murder of a fellow hero.” Spidey casually mentioned as he leaned back and rolled away from the murder child dressed like a traffic light that was currently pursuing him.

“Tt, if I wanted you dead, you would already be dead” replied the brat.

“Big words coming from a pint sized shredder.”

Now, Peter had to admit, the kid was giving him quite a lot of difficulties. He was used to taking beatings from thugs and barely noticing. Over time it had become quite clear to him that blunt force trauma just wasn’t all that dangerous anymore. He hadn’t found anyone strong enough to actually cause any sort of damage beyond minor bruising when it came to being punched or clubbed upside the head with a crowbar.

But one thing he had discovered early on was that he could still get cut, or god forbid, shot. Piercing and slashing weapons were much more of a threat. That was why, despite his nervous quiping, Peter was very focused on staying as far away from the kid’s sword as he could. 

In exchange the kid had managed to tag him a few times with a kick or punch that did very little but scuff his suit. Peter was getting annoyed with this fact as he’d need to steal more detergent from Alfred to clean his suit, and the man had a near supernatural ability to appear whenever Peter approached the laundry room.

Complicating matters even further was the figure that was floating in the air a few feet away. 

Five minutes ago Robin had dropped out of the sky, which had confused Peter a great deal since he was standing on the tallest building around, until he spotted the super kid. It seemed the brat had enlisted help to track down Spider-Man. 

Now, as strong as Peter was, he had very little doubt that fighting one of the supes would result in him being folded like a pretzel. So he was relieved that Robin had insisted on fighting him alone so far.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to check who he is?”

“No peeking!” “No peeking!” Robin and Spidey cried out in unison before glaring at each other.

“I will apprehend this oaf on my own and unmask him, proving once more my superiority.”

“And yet you couldn’t even track me down without the help of mini blue over there.” Peter half muttered before addressing Superboy. “Love your dad by the way, huge inspiration and role model.”

The Kryptonian teenager beamed. Apparently he hadn’t quite reached the stage of puberty where a kid got embarrassed or resented their parents given how proud he looked.

Sadly for Peter, he got distracted for a moment by his phone, which he had taped to his lower back, when it vibrated for a second before switching on and tuning to the police scanner. A few nights ago he’d figured out how to install an app on his burner that would automatically tune in whenever a serious crime happened in his vicinity. Peter honestly had no idea how the thing even worked, or why anyone would want to develop an app like that, but they had and he was taking advantage of it. He’d even bought a pair of discreet earbuds paired to his burner that he wore under the mask.

Sadly, the phone turning on proved to be a problematic distraction as he nearly missed the next attempt by Robin to skewer him. Instead of being run straight through, the blade of the Katana tore through his side and glanced off his ribs.

Peter jumped back, hand pressed against the gaping wound, looking at Robin in shock. “You tried to kill me.” He’d joked about it, but he thought the teenager hadn’t been serious. Now he knew better.

“Surrender, or next time I won’t miss,” boasted the sword wielding maniac. Peter felt a wave of coolness wash over him at this moment. His emotions muted as the nervousness left him. Since that’s how the brat wanted to play it, he would up his own game. 

A quick flick of the wrist saw a strand of webbing catch the hand holding the sword. With a hard tug he drew Robin closer to him. Before the teen had time to realize what was happening, Peter had grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm violently upside down, nearly breaking it as he forced the sword to slice into Robin’s belt, cutting it off. Then Peter glanced at Superboy and spoke one word: “catch”.

And that was when Robin was suddenly tossed over the edge of the roof they were fighting on. The kid plummeted over the side, reaching out for his grappling hook out of trained instinct only to realize the device, and the rest of his utility belt, had been left behind in Spidey’s grip.

Thankfully, Superboy caught him moments later. Within a short few seconds they were back on the roof but there was no sign of Spider-Man. Just a Katana stabbed through a belt and into the rooftop.

“Find him! We have to go after him again.” Damian demanded as he turned toward Jon. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” the superkid replied before a third voice interrupted, one that sent shivers down both boys' spines. 

“It isn’t.” Batman said.

oOo

Peter’s panic was only subdued by the mounting rage he felt at the moment. For a while he’d almost started changing his opinion of Gotham’s vigilante. They’d been playing a game of cat and mouse; he would evade them some of the time, other times they would manage to catch him by surprise. They’d have a bit of banter and he made a dramatic escape after webbing them in the face.

It was all fun and games. He’d even started returning the favor by following them around every so often. Observing how they operated had almost convinced him they were genuinely trying to do good.

Now he’d been disillusioned. The batfamily were clearly done playing and now they were genuinely trying to kill him. Worse, they had brought a supes with them as backup. Which he considered smart since until he got stabbed he’d been convinced none of them could match him in battle.

Now he knew they were both remorseless killers and that their training made them dangerous, superpowers or not.

Peter thought about upgrading his suit, incorporating some lead into the mask seemed like it would be a priority now that the supes were after him. Although if they ever decided to get directly involved, there was very little he could do to fight them off. Maybe he’d have to track down some kryptonite too. Where in hell he would find some was a complete mystery however.

As the rage abated, he became more and more aware of the wound at his side. He was currently swinging away as fast as he could while avoiding the cameras the bats had installed all over the place. Sadly each tug on a webline seemed to keep the wound open, perhaps even tearing it up further if the warm flow of blood he felt running down his side was any indication.

Peter had fled in a blind panic, and now he wasn’t entirely sure where he was. Judging by the language on the signs he’d somehow ended up in chinatown of all places.

Carefully landing down in an alley, Peter pressed his hand against his side, letting a groan of pain. He was 70% sure he wouldn’t die from this, as he knew he healed faster than normal, but he did feel lightheaded as a result of all the blood he’d lost.

He also knew he couldn’t go back to the manor like this. He could hide a lot of things from his ‘family’ but tracking blood all over the place would be very hard to explain. Instead he poked his head out of the alley and looked up and down the street. Much like most of Gotham, the place was almost deserted at night, with few people out and about and those that were outside were far too busy keeping their head down and rushing to wherever they were going to pay him much attention.

After a while Peter spotted what he hoped was a 24/7 convenience store and walked toward it. With his non bleeding hand he reached into his pants and fished for the little money he always carried with him. Usually he used it to buy some necessities for the homeless while he made his round, but he was glad that he hadn’t had a chance to spend it tonight before Robin showed up. He would need the cash to pay for supplies to patch himself up.

Peter stepped into the store and was momentarily bewildered by the items on display. He didn’t recognize any of the brands and precious few even had anything resembling English on the labels. 

Lacking the ability to read the labels, Peter was left to roam the aisle under the bemused gaze of the store owner. After a while said owner approached him. “You’re tracking blood all over my floor.”

Peter turned around and offered the woman who spoke to him his most brilliant smile. Of course said smile was completely hidden by his mask but Peter firmly believed that people could tell anyway. “Hi, yes, got into a bit of a scrape and just need some bandages.”

The woman, an Asian lady that Peter estimated to be between the age of 20 and 60, damn those superior Asian genes and their youth preserving properties, raised an eyebrow.

“I’m guessing you getting dressed like Spider-Man attracted the wrong kind of attention.”

“I…I’m the real Spider-Man,” he defended himself. The smile the woman offered him made it clear she was merely humoring him. Peter sighed, when he didn’t appear with an obvious display of his powers, people tended to assume he was cosplaying due to the poor quality of his suit.

“Well, Spider-Man,” Peter cringed as he could hear the air quotes in there, “I’m Mei-ling. Why don’t you let me have a look and we’ll see if I can fix you up.”

Against his better judgment, Peter nodded and followed the woman to the back of the store. She made him sit on a chair and kneeled next to him, examining his wound. She let out a hiss of surprise when she saw the cut on his side. “Kid, you need to go to a hospital, you’re going to need stitches.”

“No hospital,” Peter replied immediately. Once more the woman arched an eyebrow and then shrugged. 

“Alright, I guess I’ll stitch you up myself then. But don’t complain when it hurts. I don’t have any anesthetic and I’m not giving a kid some booze to take the edge off.”

She stood up and left for a while, giving Peter the opportunity to glance around. The back of the store obviously served as an office of sorts, given the desk covered in a large amount of paperwork. It lacked almost all decoration except for a very old photograph. Even from a distance Peter could see it clearly. It featured a man, a cowboy whose face was heavily scarred, posed next to an Asian woman who looked surprisingly similar to the store owner.

His inspection was interrupted when the woman came back with a first aid kit, which she promptly opened and picked up a suturing needle and some thread.

Peter barely winced when he felt the needle bite into his skin. “So…where did you learn to do this?” He asked, trying to make conversation to distract himself from the pain.

“My husband used to get injured a lot. I picked up a few things over the years.”

“I hope he’s okay now.”

“He died a long time ago.”

Peter could only stay silent for a long time as he tried to process the awkwardness of the situation. After a while his brain seemingly rebooted.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he blurted out, far too long after the revelation for it to be anything but awkward. And yet the woman had the good grace to avoid making a fuss over it.

“It’s alright, it’s been a very long time.”

Rather than keep putting his foot in his mouth, Peter decided to stay quiet and let her continue stitching him up in silence. After what felt like an eternity she finally finished and cut off the thread.

“There you go kid. You’ll have to have those stitches pulled out in a couple weeks.”

“It will probably only take a day or two for me to heal,” he informed her and the woman rolled her eyes.

Peter stood up and nodded to the woman. “Thank you so much.” He then tried to hand over the money he was carrying and the woman shook her head. “Keep your money kid. I don’t need a reward for simply helping out.”

While they talked they stepped out of the office just in time to walk in on a man holding a shotgun aimed right at their faces.

“Gimme your money!”

“Oh you gotta be kidding me,” Spidey complained as he stepped out from behind Mei-ling.

The man immediately switched targets from the woman to himself and Peter simply sprayed him in the face with a solid dose of webbing before reaching out and grabbing the shotgun. He grabbed the barrel and bent it before tossing it to the ground. Within seconds he had the would-be robber completely restrained and Mei-ling looked at him in surprise.

“So you really are Spider-Man.”

“That’s me, friendly neighborhood and all,” he replied in a joking tone.

“Why didn’t you use your web to patch up your wound?”

Peter froze for several seconds and then replied sheepishly. “I didn’t think of it.” 

The woman chuckled and called out to him as he left, “Avoid swinging or acrobatics for a while, kid.”

“I will, thank you Misses Mei-ling.”

She chuckled again “Don’t you know you should call older Asian women auntie?”

“Thank you auntie Mei-ling,” he amended.

She watched the teenage vigilante leave her little store and then gave the restrained robber a kick for good measure. “Now, what am I gonna do with you?”

By the time Damian was done being lectured by his father, and Jon got picked up by uncle Clark, after receiving his own lecture, the boy was finally able to make his way toward his so-called nephew. 

For a while Damian had thought the boy was merely the inept result of Dick’s indiscretion. A mere accident that didn’t deserve to be part of the family, not when Damian himself had had to work so hard to deserve his place at his father's side. The fact that an untrained, uncoordinated buffoon could be accepted just because he shared half of his genetic material with Richard was a complete travesty.

After watching the Joker get beaten up by Spider-Man however, suspicion had sprouted in Damian’s mind. He wasn’t certain how the others had missed it, but the subtle glow behind the giant lenses seemed to indicate pit exposure to Damian. And what were the odds of multiple meta humans with lazarus pit exposure showing up within a short time frame?

Low was the obvious answer, and so Damian thought that Peter might very well be Spider-Man.

At first Damian had intended to search Peter’s room for proof, but the teenager never left it unless it was for meals or to go to school. Times that Damian couldn’t use as he followed a similar schedule.

With plan A foiled, Damian had opted for plan B; He couldn’t implement proper surveillance of the teenager, since he had his own patrols to keep and wouldn’t be able to justify the change in schedule to his father. Nor would he share his suspicions with the rest of the family. The fools would only deny the obvious. No Damian was going to apprehend Spider-Man himself and unmask him in front of Richard. Proving that his ‘son’ was a spy of some sort. 

So that meant tracking the arachnid hero himself. A task he knew he had little hope of accomplishing when no one else in the family seemed able to easily find the hero.

And that was why Damian had enlisted the help of his acquaintance, Jon. They weren’t friends, no matter what everyone else said. And now Spider-Man had escaped and plan B now clearly stood for busted, as Drake had so joyfully commented when Damien, Bruce, and Jon had made their way back to the batcave.

So now Damian was onto plan C. Confront the teenager directly. Damian had cut Spider-Man pretty deeply, (and he would never admit that for a split second he’d almost panicked when he was just about to run the teenager through), so it was merely a matter of exposing the wound to the family and Damian would be vindicated.

The next morning Peter woke up with a deep groan as his alarm switched on to a local radio station. He fumbled blindly before accidentally crushing the device. He sat up carefully, pushing aside the voluminous covers and pressed his hand lightly against his side. He could feel the stitches that ran along his rib. Craning his head under his armpit, he attempted to get a better view before giving up and going to the bathroom.

The mirror provided a much clearer view of the situation and Peter was surprised to see unbroken skin under the stitches. There was a faint scar he could barely make out but the cut had, on the surface, healed completely. A little light probing and a jolt of pain quickly revealed that while the skin may have mended, the deeper tissues were still in the process of healing.

Going back to the bedroom Peter lifted the floorboard that hid his suit, and fetched from under it a cheap bat branded pencil case in which he had squirreled away most of what he needed to stitch his suit back together. From it he took a pair of scissors and went about the delicate task of cutting and then pulling off the stitches in his side.

Once he was done he sat on his bed for a moment, tempted to go back to bed. While the confrontation with the pint sized maniac had occurred fairly early in the night, Peter had abided the counsel he’d been given and avoided swinging back to the manor to avoid aggravating his wound. Sadly, since Chinatown was in south Gotham, the trek back to the manor had taken several hours.

In the end Peter stood up and went to get dressed. He found, with some difficulty, clothes that didn’t bear any branding related to the bats, or the supes. His run in last night had more than soured his opinion about them.

oOo

15 minutes later Peter was sitting at the kitchen table, quickly devouring even more food than usual. His healing factor had apparently taken quite a lot out of him. While he ate he was busy trying to figure out how he would be able to get away from school long enough to get to a hardware store.

A quick adrenaline fueled research last night had led him to discovering the wonderful invention that was adhesive lead tape. He’d have to be careful to find some that contained actual lead instead of zinc or other metals. Weirdly, said tape was often used in sport to add weight to tennis racquets. That discovery had baffled Peter and he was very tempted to tell Miss Barbara about it.

More than his so-called father, Peter felt closest to both Cassandra and Miss Barbara. Part of him still harbored some resentment over her suggestion of enrolling at Gotham Prep but her sincere apology and the guilt that she so clearly displayed every day since had done much to convince Peter of her lack of ill intent. 

Sometimes, just sometimes, when Peter thought of the mother that had abandoned him it was the face of Miss Barbara that he imagined. Every time this happened he strangled the thought. He had to remind himself that these people weren’t really his family, paternity test or not.

His father was trying in his own way Peter had to admit, but when it became clear they shared very little in common, the enthusiasm Richard had displayed at first had turned to awkwardness, neither of them quite sure how to behave around the other. 

Peter however felt excluded, kept at arm's length. More than once conversation had been hushed and members of the family either left when he approached them, or simply tried to distract him and send him on his way. After a few days of this, and after the length they went to to hide his existence as part of the family it was now quite clear to Peter that he was simply unwanted.

The first couple nights after this realization Peter had cried himself to sleep, finding solace only in his work as Spider-Man. Now he’d buried his feelings deep, reminding himself that this changed nothing. He had been unwanted all his life. At least now he didn’t have to suffer any sort of physical abuse.

So lost was he in his own thought he’d barely noticed Alfred replacing his plate of pancakes three times. It was only the sudden spike of his spider-sense that broke him out of his rumination. That spike however came too late to allow Peter to avoid the elbow of Damian, who hit him in the ribs, right where he’d been injured as the teenager sat down between Peter and Dick. 

Peter let out a hiss of pain and massaged his ribs while Damian looked at him with a gloating look of satisfaction, causing Peter to re-evaluate his earlier conclusion about not being abused.

“Damian, be careful.” Dick lightly scolded the teenager, to which Damian merely Ttuted in response.

Satisfied that the hit hadn’t reopened his wound Peter slid his chair away from the surly teen and refocused on his breakfast. He’d barely started thinking that perhaps this was merely an isolated incident when Damian’s orange juice splashed all over Peter’s shirt.

“Damian!” Dick’s raised voice attracted the attention of the rest of the family, at least those who were present for breakfast. Stephanie was absent, staying at her own home for once while Tim was passed out in bed as far as Peter knew. Jason and Miss Barbara were equally absent, leaving Dick, Damian, Duke, Cass, and Bruce at the table.

“I apologize Grayson,” Damian said, and made it clear he wasn’t addressing Peter with that name as he was facing completely away from Peter and talked to Dick instead. “I appear to be uncharacteristically clumsy today.”

Before anyone could react, least of all Peter who was still shocked at being suddenly drenched in orange juice, Damian lunged at Peter and grabbed his shirt, forcibly attempting to remove it. 

“Dami what the fuck?!” Dick moved to try and stop the teenager. Peter for his part tried to pry Damian away from him without injuring the teen with his enhanced strength. Soon Cass and Duke both moved to try and stop the teen as well while Bruce looked on impassively.

In the tangle of limbs the sound of ripping soon resounded throughout the kitchen and Peter found himself shirtless, Damian having torn the clothes off his back.

A small gasp of shock echoed behind Peter, coming from Duke. “Oh my god”.

Peter went pale, and bolted out of the room as quickly as he could. “Peter!” The cry of his father echoed behind him but Peter didn’t react, barely conscious of where he was going. All he knew was that he had to hide to avoid the pain.

Dick ran out of the kitchen in pursuit of his son, leaving the rest of the family behind.

What is wrong with you? Cass signed to Damian, the teen crossing his arms in defiance.

Bruce glanced at his son “You’ll have to apologize to Peter” he ordered, although his voice held none of the reprimand that would perhaps be expected.

“Master Duke, perhaps you could explain what has left you so shocked?” Alfred spoke quietly.

Instead of answering, Duke rewinded the light, forming a ghostly image of a shirtless Peter. He’d always been able to see the past via his ghost vision as he called it, but recently he’d been able to share such a sight with others.

Cassandra stepped away from Damian and glanced at what Duke had seen, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes went wide in shock. With a deep frown Bruce stepped beside them and even he felt himself go slightly pale at the sight.

Peter’s back was a mess of scar tissue, ugly jagged lines running all along his back. Bruce, having dealt with the worst of humanity for nearly 20 years by now, was sadly all too familiar with the tools needed to inflict such scars. Whipping, not done out of a sexual fetish, but deliberately inflicted to cause the maximum amount of damage and pain. This was nothing but the result of sheer torture.

Deep in the bowels of Arkham, behind countless high security doors a laugh echoed from behind a bulletproof glass cage. 

“And what is so funny now Joker?” a voice asked. The laugh intensified in response. “Oh just wondering what sort of new toy I’ll have to come up with to deal with Batman’s new sidekick.”

“It seems to me that there isn’t much you can do about it from here.”

“That’s true, but that’s where you come in, dear doctor Warren.”

Chapter Text

Dick had pursued Peter for just a few seconds before he lost track of his son. He’d always been aware of how large the manor was, and how easy it was to get lost in it, a thing that had regularly happened to him the first few days at the manor, but for the first time in his life he outright cursed Bruce’s ancestors for the design of the place.

Peter had simply vanished around a corner and Dick had no idea where he might have gone, by the time he rounded the same corner, his son was gone, disappearing into thin air. For the next few minutes, Dick frantically searched every room he came across, before heading to Peter’s bedroom, reasoning that his son might find solace in the place.

As soon as he approached the door he came across Tim, the teenager yawning heavily while sipping a can of Zesti. Thanks to the heavy bags under his eyes he looked exactly like the giant raccoon that Steph insisted haunted Gotham. 

“Have you seen Peter?”

The urgency in Dick’s tone did more to wake up Tim than the energy drink ever could and he quickly shook his head. Dick continued on towards Peter's room and hammered on the door. “Peter, are you there? Peter?”

“He hasn’t left the manor.”

Dick turned around at Tim’s word, a single glance told him how Tim knew this. His brother held up his phone, linked to the Manor’s security system. The various external sensors showed no activity.  He offered Tim a grateful nod, his mind at least partially put at ease.

“Can you keep looking for Peter?” Dick asked, a sudden fury overcoming his features, causing Tim to take a step back involuntarily. “Huh…sure…why? What happened? What are you doing?”

“Damian needs to learn a lesson.” Dick replied as he stormed back toward the kitchen. Tim hesitated for several moments, on the one hand he was very interested in seeing the demon brat get scolded by Dick, on the other hand, it sounded like Peter might need help. In the end Tim decided to prioritize his nephew’s well being and continued the search for Peter.

oOo

When Dick arrived back at the kitchen he found everyone still there, Damian was sullenly pouting in a corner, not looking at all contrite for what he did while Bruce sat at the kitchen booth, a look of guilt on his features that should rightfully have belonged to his son instead.

“Grayson I—”

“Choose your next words carefully,” Dick interrupted Damian before the teen could continue. Something in his tone made even the arrogant brat pause for a moment. In the end though Damian gathered his composure and continued.

“I injured Spider-Man last night during patrol, I was attempting to ascertain whether or not Peter was the criminal’s secret identity.”

Dick was silent for several moments, taking deep calming breaths while the others, even Bruce, looked at Damian like he was an idiot. The teenager caught the looks but failed to understand why he had earned it and decided to defend himself. “I’m obviously the only one smart enough to have noticed the clues, so I decided to investigate. It’s not my fault you are all too enamored with Parker to realize how suspicious he is.”

This proved to be the entirely wrong thing to say as Dick lost control of his temper and slammed his fist into the kitchen table. The teenager was momentarily stunned, looking at Dick with a shocked gaze shared by the rest of the family. Dick was always laid back and calm, frequently the voice of reason when family drama happened. His anger now surprised all but Bruce and Alfred, who both remembered the shouting matches that happened before Dick quit being Robin years ago.

“You! You of all people should be able to empathize with Peter.” Dick growled, unapologetic in his actions. “You think we weren’t suspicious of you when you first showed up? A kid from the league of assassins claiming to be Bruce’s son. You think we didn’t consider that you were a trojan horse of some kind? We did!” By the end Dick was shouting at Damian, causing the teen to take a step back, he’d never seen Dick this upset before, for the first time in his life, Damian saw the rage that hid beneath Dick’s humor and laid back attitude. The rage that had been sparked when his parents were murdered all those years ago.

“We took you in and we treated you like part of the family, because regardless of anything else, you are. I treated you like a brother and you repay that kindness by assaulting my son ! You don’t even have the goddamn decency to pay that kindness forward.”

“You think none of us are suspicious of Peter? A street kid who just so happens to be my son? A fact none of us can explain and what? You think we’re not looking into it? You think we didn’t consider who he might be? That you’re the only one smart enough to notice when things don’t add up?”

If anything, Dick grew even more agitated as he spoke. “Instead of doing the right thing and sharing your suspicion so we can all act on it as a family, you decided to be an asshole and assault Peter, and for what? Did you get the proof you wanted?”

“No, but—”

“There wasn’t a single wound on Peter, so your little stunt was for nothing. And even if he did have a wound, he didn’t deserve to be attacked at breakfast!”

“Hmm, actually there’s plenty of wounds on Peter” Duke hesitantly interrupted. Cass turned toward him and rolled her eyes, the message quite clear: Really, you think now is a good time?

Dick whirled on Duke and glared at him. “He’s got a right to know,” Duke said quietly before he once more summoned the light, he’d chosen to speak now because rewinding light to show the scene of Peter’s back was rapidly coming up on the limits of what he could achieve, if he waited much longer he’d be unable to show Dick what he had seen, and given the stunt Damian had just pulled off it was doubtful they would be able to convince Peter to show them his wounds any time soon.

Silence hung heavy in the air as Dick watched the image of his son, his back crisscrossed by some of the nastiest looking scaring he’d ever seen. This time even Damian saw the image, he’d been too focused before on trying to spot the wound he had inflicted on Spider-Man’s ribs to pay attention to what the others had looked at previously. He blanched when he saw the picture. Between those scars and the story they told, as well as the lecture from Dick he finally felt shame.

Dick seemed to calm down as the image Duke had conjured faded from view, growing incredibly still and relaxed. A fact that caused Cass to tense up immensely in return. What she saw wasn’t the relaxed attitude of a calm man, no, she saw the detachment of a man who had snapped and was now planning cold blooded murder.

“Grayson, You are right, I will apologize to Parker… to Peter. I have mishandled the situation and treated him unkindly.” Damian spoke up, his voice small and filled with regrets. Thankfully this seemed to bring Dick back to himself. He looked at his brother quietly for a moment, perhaps attempting to judge his sincerity and gave him a nod.

Then he turned toward Bruce and spoke up. “You need to find who did this to Peter,” he told his adopted father.

“Chum…” Bruce started but Dick stopped him with a raised hand.

“No, they need to pay for this, they need to be stopped. If one of his foster family did this, they might have done the same to others. They need to be stopped.”

Bruce nodded “I’ll take care of it.”

“No, I’ll deal with it, just find them. He is my son.”

Bruce was quiet for a moment, his gaze peering into Dick’s eyes. “You’re my son, I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

Dick was about to argue, but the sick grin of the joker crossed his mind, and Dick was reminded of the time he let the man win and almost lost himself. He took a deep breath and gave Bruce a nod. “I won’t cross that line again,” he said quietly, causing Bruce to give an imperceptible nod.

Dick then turned to Duke “Thank you for letting me know” he said quietly.

Everyone was quiet for a long moment before there was the quiet sound of someone clearing their throat. Turning around they saw Peter at the door. The teenager had changed clothes and wore his glasses, his backpack slung over his shoulder. A bright smile on his face that absolutely didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m ready for school,” he announced with a cheerful tone that was completely at odds with the situation.

“Peter, I—” Damian attempted to speak but was interrupted once more.

“I’m sorry uncle Damian, I was too clumsy and caused you to spill your juice. And I’m sorry I tore my shirt after you tried to clean it. It’s all my fault.”

Everyone was baffled by Peter’s reaction. For a moment they didn’t know how to react.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t important,” Peter continued. “Well, I guess the shirt might be important, but I’ll pay for it. It won’t happen again. Anyway I’m going to be late if we don’t get going. Oh but I don’t want to impose, I can take the bus, yeah, I’ll take the bus. Don’t worry about it.”

He then turned around and marched out of the kitchen, making his way to the front door of the manor.

Everyone froze for a moment until Tim poked his head through the door of the kitchen “Guys, I just saw Peter head out” he announced. His words allowed everyone to spring back to life and Dick ran out of the kitchen, shoving Tim aside in his pursuit of Peter.

Peter had freaked out, when his scars got exposed he panicked, his mind going back to the time he’d earned them. Reacting almost entirely on instinct he’d fled and made his way to his bedroom in record time. Before he knew what he was doing he’d put on a new shirt and stuffed his Spider-Man suit at the bottom of his schoolbag. Then he’d put on the contacts and glasses that masked the strangeness of his eyes and their unnatural green glow. 

His time on the streets surviving by himself and then his brief tenure as a hero had made him forget the number one rule of surviving around a family. Never be yourself, act like the perfect eager little boy, happy and full of joy. Especially in public. In the privacy of home be quiet and avoid attracting attention to yourself.

The incident however had brutally shifted his mind back to those old patterns and before long he’d made his way back to the kitchen. All smiles, apologies and taking responsibility for things that absolutely weren’t his fault. If he apologized in advance, he had even odds of avoiding a beating. Next step was to avoid making himself an inconvenience. He could take the bus, the less time he spent around his ‘family’ the less chances he had of earning a beating.

Don’t be silly, none of them could hurt if they even wanted to. The voice of Spider-Man echoed futilely through his mind, unheard, just a buzz he had to ignore. Peter was in full foster survival mode. 

Inwardly he blamed himself for failing to spot the issue before it escalated. More than once he’d come across conversation discussing how he should be kept away from the family business. The most insistent people about it had been Jason and his father. The both of them had come to Bruce, separately and together to reiterate the point.

Jason didn’t want a street kid involved, hypocritical of him given his own origins. A real pull up the ladder behind oneself kind of guy. His father on the other end claimed Peter just wasn’t set up to deal with their lifestyle, his autism being the reason Dick didn’t want him involved.

Peter hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but his power made his hearing more acute. He couldn’t hear a conversation happening blocks away, but what should have been muted conversation behind a closed door was barely understandable for him. It helped that neither Jason nor Richard had the ability to keep particularly quiet about the issue.

He hadn’t really caught the others having similar discussion, but more often than not they grew quiet around him, and tended to either leave quickly or try to redirect him away from themselves. Yes Tim, Steph, and Cass had made efforts to try and talk to him, but only when they were alone. Sometimes it even felt like they were running interception for the rest of the family.

Peter had felt unwanted, but not threatened, and he really should have. He knew unwanted children got beaten, he had the scars to prove it. He simply had been naïve enough to think the Waynes might be different, that even if they didn’t want him he’d just be ignored.

So now he was back in full survival mode. In the past he would have tried really hard to genuinely fit in, to be accepted by his family. It never ended up well. His pattern of behavior had changed dramatically after he’d been placed under the care of Steven Westcott. Even now his mind refused to dwell on that fateful night, the night he ran away. The shame of what happened still suffocated him.

But ever since that night, Peter's survival instinct no longer tried to make him fit in. Not truly, not genuinely, it was a cover for his real purpose, escape.

He’d play the part of the perfect child, the one who stayed out of sight, out of mind and out of trouble just long enough to gather what he would need for his escape. He could, realistically, just run away, right here right now and no one would be able to catch him. He could evade the bats so avoiding a bunch of billionaires who didn’t even want him around would be easy.

But Peter also knew how hard life on the streets could be, and this time he’d have even less ability to benefit from the various programs that helped the homeless. Before had merely been a matter of avoiding being caught by C.P.S; now it was also a matter of avoiding any and all programs sponsored by the Waynes. That meant dealing with places with bad reputations, or going at it entirely alone.

He also wouldn’t be able to keep his job at the library. The loss of revenue would have a major impact. He had to stockpile cash and provisions, he had to repair his suit and put lead tape all over the inside of his mask. Not once however did he truly consider leaving Gotham. He knew if he just fled to metropolis life would be infinitely easier, but it would mean abandoning this city that so needed a true hero. None of the bats could be trusted, like the Waynes they had assaulted him. Tried to kill him even. No, he was Gotham's sole true hero.

Peter was halfway down the tree lined driveway when Dick caught up to him. His father was out of breath, having run to catch up to him. Peter hadn’t run, he’d merely been power walking as quickly as he could, which translated to nearly a full sprint for a normal person.

“P…Pe..Peter…wait” Richard called, doubled over, hands on his knees as he panted. Peter was of half a mind to ignore the man and just keep walking, but outright disobedience of an order would lead to a beating. It always did.

So he waited while Richard caught his breath, internally Peter was growing anxious. If he delayed any longer he would risk not making it to school on time, and without an excuse his family would be contacted. Truancy would also result in a beating.

“I’ll drive you to school” Richard finally managed when he caught his breath. Peter quickly weighed the pros and cons of the offer. Pro: he’d avoid being late to school. Cons: he’d have to spend more time than necessary with Richard, would risk being labelled as a burden, and risk being seen with one of the Waynes in public. Given how little they wanted to do with him and how much they’d gone out of their way to keep his status as a Wayne a secret he very quickly decided the risks simply weren’t worth it.

“No, no it’s okay dad, I can manage on my own, don’t bother.” he then did a quick turn and resumed his walk, leaving a stunned Richard behind.

Dick made his way back to the manor, too stunned to react to much. He acted more like a zombie than Jason ever did and after a few minutes he found himself collapsing in a chair in Bruce’s study, the ticking of the grandfather’s clock that hid the entrance to the batcave his only companion.

It was nearly half an hour later when Bruce came in. Dick barely acknowledged his presence as the man sat in his leather executive chair behind the desk. Bruce leaned forward and steepled his fingers together, observing Dick, content to let the silence stretch until it was suffocating.

“He called me Dad.” Dick said finally, unable to endure the heavy weight of the silence between them.

“You don’t make it sound like a good thing,” Bruce observed.

Dick shook his head “it’s the way he acted, the way he said it. You saw how he was when he came back. He was…”

“Deflecting.”

“Exactly!” Dick confirmed with a nod. “It was looking at you. I mean, Brucie Wayne. A mask made to deflect and…” Dick let out a deep sigh. “My god, what did he have to go through that this is how he reacts to being attacked?” He buried his face in his hands, his body slightly shaking.

“None of it is your fault.”

Dick let out a strangled chuckle in response. “Isn’t it? I have a son and he’s been abused his entire life and I wasn’t there to protect him. How isn’t it my fault?”

“You didn’t know he existed,” Bruce replied firmly. His tone brooking no argument, then his own voice turned somber. “If anyone is at fault, it’s me.”

Bruce opened a desk drawer and took a plain folder from it, handing it to Dick. While he read it Bruce summarized the content.

“Tim found the report. Three years ago I was pursuing Deadshot. I landed on a fire escape to avoid line of fire. The window of bedroom that led to it was open. I could barely make out the form a child, huddled in his blankets.” The way Bruce described it, it wasn’t merely describing what the report said, clearly the man had some recollection of what had happened that night.

“I had to stay on the move, there was the possibility of Deadshot making a bullet ricochet to hit me, if I dodged out of the way the child might get hurt instead. So I had to move quickly. I told the child to stay in school and grappled away.”

There Bruce paused. “That was Peter. If I had been less distracted by Deadshot, if I had been better I would have noticed the signs of abuse. I should have noticed. I should have gone back and help that frightened child.”

Dick was tempted to redirect his own self loathing at failing to take care of Peter, tempted to blame Bruce. But he knew it wouldn’t be fair. It wasn’t Bruce’s fault, and in truth, he knew it wasn’t his fault either, but seeing Peter’s back and then seeing him act like everything was okay, just to avoid getting into trouble was like being stabbed and having the knife twisted into his guts.

Both men were silent, the ticking of the clock sounding like heaven’s judgment to both their ears.

Chapter Text

In a normal situation Peter would have quietly freaked out at needing to do something new, like taking the bus from the manor toward Gotham High. In truth he had no idea where the bus stop in Bristol was, nor if the bus went anywhere near the school. 

But this was not a normal situation, Peter was still firmly stuck in survival mode and his mind was entirely consumed with the need to come up with a clear plan. He had 4 objectives he needed to accomplish before he could truly escape. Well, three objectives, one could be delayed until after his escape. One, find a hardware store and get some lead tape. That was the easiest of his objectives and could be reasonably taken care of almost immediately, he’d even stuffed his suit in his backpack so he could do the work at school, in a toilet, away from prying eyes.

Second objective would be to find a place to live. Peter could, in theory, find an actual apartment. If he had enough money there was no shortage of landlords who would gladly take his cash with no questions asked. Those kinds of apartments tended to be squalid, extremely expensive for what they were, and his neighbors would no doubt be of the criminal variety.

The alternative was finding an abandoned building as he did before. Given that his escape also meant giving up his job, that meant he was more inclined toward this solution. At least in the short term. Finding a place that still had running water and electricity would be a matter of chance however.

Third objective was securing food supplies to last him a while. Loss of revenue meant he wouldn’t be able to buy food, and with nearly all charities being sponsored by the Waynes he absolutely did not feel safe going to any of them.

This was the moment Peter arrived at the nearest bus stop to Wayne Manor, he’d walked a good few miles without even realizing it. Taking out his phone to check his itinerary, Peter saw a bunch of missed calls and messages from the Waynes. Peter, disliking the noise phones made, had kept his on vibrate and had simply not realized anything so lost in thoughts was he.

Opting to avoid drama, Peter sent a mass text message to everyone who had tried to call him all at once saying he was okay but could not call because he was in a crowded bus and on his way to school. Then he checked his bus route before turning his phone off entirely and stuffing it back in his pocket. 

As Peter waited for the bus he continued his earlier train of thoughts. Fourth objective was to find a different job. Had Peter been willing to deal with illegal stuff like joining a gang, life would have been easy, but he simply wasn’t willing to do that. Hower law abiding jobs were not generally in the habit of hiring children with no identities.

As he climbed aboard the bus he realized the Waynes had not provided him with any ID, or even any real proof that he had become part of the family. This was worrisome, people with that amount of wealth and resources should have been able to get things done almost instantly. The fact it hadn’t happened after a few weeks implied they simply had no intention of doing it at all.

Perhaps they had intended to make him disappear somewhere down the line. Don’t be ridiculous, the voice of Spider-Man interrupted. They probably just wanted to avoid media attention until they were ready . Peter had to admit this was a possibility.

Regardless, as far as the law was concerned, Peter was still a homeless nobody with no address. If that were true, how did they get you into school? The voice of Spidey interrupted again. You can’t enroll in a school if you’re homeless and without guardians, that would put C.P.S on your back faster than the Flash can blink.  

This was also true, Peter had to wonder what sort of trick the Waynes had used then. Maybe they just didn’t tell you your status had changed. They could have been waiting to make sure you were settled down and adjusting. Or maybe they took it as obvious when they said they were your family. Or maybe they just didn’t think a 14 year old needed to worry about these things.

All those were valid points and Peter was getting frustrated with his own inner monologue disagreeing with him. For a moment he wondered if this was how bad guys felt when he kept quipping at them. Regardless, Peter couldn’t dismiss the voice in his head, Spider-Man was always the better part of himself, the only worthwhile part. Peter did his best to keep that second thought buried, even if it got harder to do with each passing day.

Regardless, with a solid Plan in place Peter was now free to focus back onto the real world. As he did he realized the passengers around him were staring in open mouthed shock. Peter also realized he was currently twisting the arm of another passenger, who knelt on the ground  begging for Peter to let him go. For a moment Peter wondered if he’d assaulted a man for no reason before catching the next words of the man.

“Please, please let me go. I swear I didn’t mean to steal your phone, please, just let me go.”

Ah, the man was a pickpocket, and judging by the switchblade that had landed out of reach on the bus floor, things had turned violent when Peter had caught him initially. Thanking his Spider sense and the fact he hadn’t betrayed his identity by simply webbing the man up, Peter reached out and pressed the button to request the next stop.

As soon as the door to the bus opened Peter tossed the man outside unceremoniously before taking one look at the other passengers and decided to make the rest of the journey on his own. He exited the bus with burning ears and started walking in the direction of Gotham High.

oOo

His walk to school had had one positive effect in that Peter was able to find a hardware store and purchase a roll of heavy duty lead tape without any trouble. Then to avoid running late he’d swung through the street after changing into his suit. It had been a while since Spider-Man had been seen during the day and his journey attracted attention from Gotham’s citizens. Even though the journey was short Peter found the time to stop a car thief and two muggings before truly heading to school. By some miracle he wasn’t even late when he arrived, although it had been a near thing. Were it not for the need to dodge the latest surveillance equipment the bats had stuffed all around town things would have been quicker and easier.

In the end Peter landed behind the school, sneaking between a couple dumpsters to get changed. As soon as he emerged from behind the dumpsters he heard someone calling his name. “Parker!”. Turning around he spotted Gwen rapidly approaching. 

Peter plastered his best smile on his face, which for some reason caused the girl the stop in her tracks. She approached him cautiously and spoke hesitantly. “Dude, why are you making that face.”

Peter frowned in confusion “I’m smiling.” “Then why does it look like you’re about to cry?”

Her response caused Peter to hesitate, rather than be misunderstood he carefully returned his face to a neutral expression. Yet despite his effort it didn’t seem to reassure Gwen. “Peter, are you okay? Is someone giving you a hard time?”

Peter couldn’t help but stare at the girl, how exactly was she able to guess his problem without him even speaking a word when they’d known each other for about a week. Had his ability to hide and pretend everything was perfectly truly rusted away over the course of time he’d spent living on the streets? If so he’d have to practice diligently to avoid attracting more attention from the Waynes.

“I’m fine,” he replied, dismissing her concerns with a shrug. Thankfully the girl seemed to take the hint and they started walking toward the entrance. “So what were you doing back there anyway?” she asked, curiosity in her tone.

“I had trash to throw away,” he replied instantly. “Huhuh. And you couldn’t do that in any of the bins around school?” “It was large trash?” he replied hesitantly. “Okay then, are we going to the library to study again?”

Peter hesitated for a moment. In truth he’d found that studying with Gwen had been an enjoyable experience. He was still very far from caught-up with the program, as it had only been a week and they had only studied a handful of times, expecting anything more would have been a miracle but he was making some progress nonetheless. Gwen, despite her punk no nonsense look was actually quite patient with him and he felt truly grateful that she had approached him. 

That was why it hurt him to turn her away. “I can’t, I have to work,” he explained. “Work? I guess the rumors are fake then.” Before Peter could ask what she meant the strident school bell resounded and they broke into a run to avoid being late to class.

oOo

Class was thankfully uneventful and as soon as break time came Peter rushed to the school bathroom, carrying his bag with him. In moments he had locked himself up in a stall and taken out his mask as well as the lead tape and a pair of heavy duty scissors. 

Soon Peter was absorbed into the task of layering the inside of his mask with the tape. He wasn’t entirely sure how much of it would be needed to hide his identity. Was there a minimum thickness of lead that Kryptonian couldn’t see through or was even a single layer one atom thick enough? In doubt, Peter decided to put a second layer of tape. It would make his mask quite a bit stiffer than before and would make it even more unpleasant to wear but it was a small cost to protect his identity.

As Peter finished his work he became aware of voices coming from outside the stall he was locked in, a group of boys discussing something.

“So you think it’s true then?”

“I’m telling you, I saw her myself, and she’s definitely one of Wayne's kids.”

“Why would one of the Waynes drop a kid here?”

“Because that kid is also one of Wayne.”

There was a pause for a moment as the group considered the revelation.

“Nah, come on Flash. That makes no sense. Why would one of Bruce Wayne’s kids go to school here? All of his kids go to Gotham Prep with all the other rich assholes.”

“Cause that Peter is a moron obviously. Why else would he be in the special class.”

“You’re in the special class too, does that make you a moron?” The challenge came back quickly but good naturedly.

“I just don’t give a shit about my grades, I’m the fastest player on the field, and that’s gonna get me a ride through college.”

“Whatever you say ‘Flash’”

Before the first two voices could argue more, a third voice broke in.

“So I guess even all the money in the world ain’t enough to buy a retard a place in Gotham Prep then?”

“Who else knows?”

“I told everyone, obviously,” Flash Thompson sneered. “Can you imagine? Wayne adopting a retard? Obviously everyone needs to know.”

Peter curled in on himself, hugging his mask tightly as the group left the bathroom laughing. The cruel words had dug directly into his fear and insecurities. The Waynes had told him that he was being sent to this school so he could learn in an appropriate environment. For a little while Peter had fooled himself into thinking they meant he wouldn’t feel comfortable around the rich kids of Gotham Prep, but his test didn’t lie; they’d really sent him away here out of shame of how dumb he was.

Peter was wracked with silent sobs. Until now school had been a place where he could escape the oppressive atmosphere of the manor and the reality of his ostracism from his so-called family. Here he hadn’t needed to pretend like he didn’t know the Waynes hated him and wanted him gone. Now with that rumor spreading this little sanctuary would crumble as well.

Peter managed to regain control of his emotions shortly after the bell rang. It was going to be okay. Soon he’d have everything he’d need to escape back into the streets, where he belonged. Homeless, unwanted, free of abuse. He’d just have to tough it out for a little longer.

oOo

Peter cursed under his breath all the way back to the manor while riding the bus. His plan had been based on the idea that he would be able to work today and make some cash that he could use to fuel his escape. Sadly during lunch he’d gotten a painful reminder that today he wouldn’t be able to work.

He’d turned his phone back on to quickly reassure the Waynes that he was fine, just busy at school and that he would make his way back on his own, no need to pick him up. Just as he’d finished sending his message, Peter had received a notification from his calendar. Therapist appointment.

It had taken a while for the Waynes to find him a therapist despite the offer he’d received on the first day at the manor. It had taken so long that Peter had almost entirely forgotten about it, now however was the day he’d have his first appointment.

Perhaps not surprisingly the appointment would happen at the manor. Probably to provide extra privacy. Peter resented the change to his plans and resolved to ensure he wouldn’t have to see said therapist a second time. It would be easy, all he’d have to do was pretend that everything was fine, that he was happy as could be with the Waynes and then he’d be left alone.

oOo

Things did not go according to plan. As soon as Peter reached the manor Richard had been there waiting for him. Peter had plastered his usual ‘I’m happy, no need to pay attention to me’ smile but for some reason it caused Richard to frown.

As they walked the halls of the manor toward what he expected would be his therapist appointment, Richard spoke up. 

“You know, it’s okay to be upset after what happened.”

“Why would I be upset? I’m fine, nothing important happened.”

“Peter, what Damian did was not okay.”

“Yes it is, he was just trying to help me clean up, no need to get upset with him.” Peter replied, wishing Richard would leave him alone. Why would he keep coming back to this? Peter had done all he could to get him to drop the subject and leave him alone. Of course Peter was upset and angry, but he couldn’t allow himself to show any of it. He had to make sure the Waynes dropped their guard and left him alone, that’s the only way he could avoid being abused.

Thankfully they soon reached an office, not Bruce’s, where his therapist apparently waited for him.

“I’ll be waiting outside, okay bud?” Richard spoke up.

“It’s alright, you don’t need to wait, you have better things to do. I’ll just go back to my room once I’m done,” Peter replied cheerfully before stepping inside.

The office was set up like all the other rooms in the manor, full of antique decoration that could probably feed an entire family for the rest of their lives. Peter had to focus his entire attention on the person waiting within to avoid the feeling of revulsion that welled up inside him at so much pointless wealth.

The person waiting for him inside looked like a stereotypical Psychiatrist, dressed in a tweed jacket with thick glasses. Salt and pepper curly hair kept relatively short with a close cropped beard that was barely a step above a stubble. For some reason Peter had the impression he’d seen this person before.

The two of them looked at each other for a moment before the man dropped off the notepad he’d been holding and reached out at his side to offer Peter a small package of oreos. “Cookies?”

Gwen was worried about Peter. Over the last couple weeks she’d gotten to know him a little. It was hard to pry anything out of him but they’d spent plenty of time hanging out and studying. It was nice finally having a friend, even if said friend didn’t talk much. Today however Peter had been different.

He was faking being cheerful and happy but when he came back to class after break she could tell from his reddened eyes that he’d been crying. She’d tried to talk to him but he seemed determined to avoid her, pretending like everything was fine. She didn’t manage to find him during lunch and he bolted away as soon as school was over.

Weirdly she didn’t see his aunt picking him up either, that had never happened before. Frowning Gwen made her way back home and tossed her bag aside as soon as she entered her bedroom.

She collapsed on her bed and stared at the ceiling. The apartment she lived in was currently empty, her own aunt still at work. Ever since her father passed away, Gwen had been living with her aunt. Usually she avoided interacting with her all that much, her presence a reminder of her father. They were both police officers and Gwen had kept her at arm's length, afraid of getting attached only to lose someone again.

A couple hours later, while Gwen was doing her homework, she heard the front door open as her aunt called out. “Gwen, I’m home.”

“Aunt Renée,” Gwen called out as she left her room. “I need your help with something.” Her aunt looked surprised that Gwen would reach out like that but she nodded “of course, anything you need sweetheart.”

“There…there’s this kid at school and… I think he needs help.”

Her aunt's features grew heavy at that, clearly this was not what she had expected to hear. “You want me to check in on him?”

“Yeah. I’m worried about him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Peter, Peter Parker.”

Chapter Text

Renéé Montoya was not usually in the habit of getting back to the precinct after leaving for the day but her niece had opened up to her for the first time and asked for her help and Renée would be damned if she let the girl down.

As she sat at her desk, waiting for her computer to boot up she couldn’t help but reminisce about the events that had led to her fostering the girl. When her brother got married nearly twenty years ago he’d taken his wife’s name. They had a daughter and his wife passed away a few years later from cancer. It was a sad reality that Gothamite suffered cancer rates far higher than national average, but it was hardly surprising, pollution had a chokehold on the city even stronger than crime did and that was before you even considered all the toxins floating around in the water supply thanks to years of super criminal activity.

Then about a year back her brother died during an altercation with Killer Croc. He’d just made captain and got himself killed by shielding a civilian during the battle that had erupted between Croc and the bats. Montoya didn’t blame either party for what had happened, it was collateral, pure and simple, risk of the job. Croc hadn’t aimed to hurt bystanders directly and the bats hadn’t been able to stop him tossing a car around. 

It would have been easy to blame Croc, and she was sure Gwen did, but Renée had personally seen far too much to blame some of the villains that haunted Gotham. She didn’t pity them, but she couldn’t blame them either, that would have been like blaming a hurricane or a tornado. Some of them were more forces of nature than people at this point.

She came back to herself when the slow blinking of her login prompt attracted her attention. Within moments she was in the system and looking up any info she could about Peter Parker.

There were a couple hits but filtering them out to focus on the teenager was not difficult.

Full name: Peter Thomas Parker, foundling. Abandoned at the Thomas and Martha Wayne free clinic in Park Row. Entered the foster system immediately and was bounced around from home to home for the next 12 years. Reading between the lines it wasn’t hard to figure out the kid had been abused at nearly every place he’d ended up. And those he didn’t get abused at, the family suffered one tragedy or another that prevented them from keeping Peter.

If this were Metropolis, she’d have called the kid a jinx, but this was Gotham, stories like his were sadly all too common and was why there was a large population of homeless children, in Crime Alley especially.

Then the kid disappeared from the system for nearly two years. Marked as a runaway. Scrolling down she then saw the latest entry.

Currently Ward of Richard Grayson-Wayne, pending formal recognition of familial status.

It took Montoya several moments for her brain to catch up to what she was reading. The kid was being fostered by the Wayne family, but not by Bruce Wayne. He was being fostered by Gotham ex Golden Boy Dick Grayson. The young man had dropped off the media radar a few years back once he moved out of Gotham to settle down in Blüdhaven. What would push anyone to voluntarily settle down in the one city that was arguably worse than Gotham she had no idea.

And now it seemed the man had inherited Bruce's adoption tendencies. She had to correct herself there, not adoption, pending recognition of familial status. Not pending acceptance of adoption. So it seemed Peter was actually related to Dick.

She mentally did the math and couldn’t help but make a face. Gods, if Dick was Peter’s father he must have barely been 15. Sheesh, she’d hoped that Bruce would have taught his ward better than that.

Normally just that report would have been enough for her to dismiss any concerns. The Waynes were good, if strange, people and she had no real reason to think Peter was being mistreated by them. Bruce had fostered many children and with the unfortunate exception of his second son who tragically passed away, there never was any real issue with any of them.

And yet she couldn’t get the look her niece had given her out of her mind, the worry so clear about Peter on her features. Gwen had a good heart, but like most Gothamites she wouldn’t worry unduly about anyone else unless it was truly dire. In Gotham you minded your own business if you wanted to make it through the day.

Montoya reclined in her chair, letting out a deep sigh. It seemed she’d pay the Waynes a visit the next day, just to make sure Peter was okay.

The batcave, early evening.

Bruce and Dick were facing the man that had come to counsel Peter. The doctor was munching quietly on a cookie while Dick paced back and forth impatiently. Bruce merely waited for one of his oldest friends to actually relay what he thought appropriate, by now he knew better than to try and rush the man.

“In truth,” the doctor started, “I’m afraid I will have to disappoint you both.”

Dick stopped in his tracks and focused his entire attention on J’onn. “Explain,” He demanded through gritted teeth.

The man took his time to organize his thoughts, and as he did he resumed his normal appearance. Skin turning green, bald head with a prominent brow and a costume that consisted of a pair of blue trunks, an equally blue cape held by a couple red straps that crisscrossed  over his chest and a pair of blue boots.

“I have not read Peter’s mind, I saw no reason to change my stance on this. But as we agreed I have remained open to his emotional state and it is deeply perplexing. His emotions fluctuated wildly between intense distrust bordering on paranoia and muted resignation.”

Martian Manhunter paused for a moment as he realized his packs of Oreos were empty, a brief expression of sadness crossing his features. “In any case, Peter didn’t open up to me. He insisted he was happy and doing fine, which was of course a lie. Intense feelings of distrust welled up whenever the rest of your family was mentioned.”

“I’m afraid that despite my powers I may not be able to provide the actual help he requires to open up and adjust.” The Martian finally finished.

Dick let out a deep breath. He knew Peter wasn’t adjusting well, and whatever progress had been made had been undone by Damian’s little stunt. However he had not expected J’onn to call Peter paranoid.

Almost everyone in the family exhibited some degree of paranoia courtesy of Bruce’s relentless training on preparing for every eventuality. The man had been insufferable once his shark repellent bat-spray actually came in handy.

But Peter being paranoid was not the result of said training. It was understandable given his prior circumstances, maybe, but definitely not normal.

“I would suggest you reach out to an actual trained professional. Perhaps Doctor Fate may be of help.”

“I don’t trust Fate,” Bruce replied. Dick rolled his eyes. “And who else would we call ? One of the Asylum doctors ? We both know how ineffective they are. Or maybe we should ask Harley?”

Worriedly enough, Bruce seemed to consider the notion for a moment.

“You can’t be serious. Harley was a quack even before Joker got to her. I’m not entrusting my son’s mental well being to her.” Dick immediately put his foot down on the idea he had raised himself out of stressed induced need for sarcasm.

Bruce shook his head. “No, I’m merely thinking that Peter seems more at ease around Cass and Barbara. Perhaps he would open up more easily in a woman’s presence.”

“I can talk to him” Babs voice sounded out from the batcomputer, causing Dick to jump for a moment. “Babs? How long have you been listening?” “I’m always listening,” she replied instantly.

“Look, maybe Peter will open up to me if I talk to him at the library, away from the rest of the family.”

Dick was forced to agree, if Peter was that mistrustful of the family maybe he would open up easier to an outsider. If not Babs then maybe Jason in his Red Hood persona would be able to help. The two of them had had some connection before Dick took his son home.

“Have you considered simply being truthful with Peter. In my experience, such intense distrust in a person is not born without reason, unless it is the result of a mental illness. And you are keeping secrets from him.” J’onn chimed back in.

Bruce started walking toward the cylindrical glass cases that held their various costumes. “I think it’s time Batman made amends to Peter for failing him.”

Before Bruce could start getting changed, a frazzled Tim barged into the batcave. “Peter’s gone!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

Escaping the manor had been a simple formality for Peter. He thought the amount of security the Waynes had was unusual but he’d been sneaking in and out for days, doing it one more time wasn’t particularly challenging. The only difference with his other nightly escapade was that he was now carrying his backpack with him. 

He’d left behind all the clothes the Waynes had given him, he didn’t want to give them any excuse to come after him. The cleaner his escape could be the easier it would be for them to go back to ignoring his existence. The only things his bag held were his old clothes, his suit and whatever odds and ends he truly considered his. 

Peter knew his escape tonight was impulsive, ill prepared, almost none of the steps on his plan had been completed but the session with the psychiatrist had convinced him he was out of time.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had set his spider-sense so on edge but something about the man had screamed wrong to him. Peter took it to mean that the man had nefarious plans for Peter, and if the psychiatrist they had hired had nefarious plans, that meant the Waynes had nefarious plans.

Peter was currently running downhill through the woods that surrounded the manor, dodging trees while sprinting at full speed, occasionally using his webs to tugs himself at a sharp angle to avoid crossing the field of view of the numerous trail cams. Soon enough he burst through the trees and onto a small side road that seemingly led nowhere but a sharp cliff wall.

Peter walked quietly along the road for nearly 15 minutes before the view of the city peeked over the horizon in the distance. Then his Spider-sense started blaring at him. Trusting his instinct Peter threw himself in the small gully at the side of the road. Peering out from behind some bushes he caught sight of the Batmobile roaring past followed by the blue accented Wingcycle.

Peter was puzzled as the two vehicles had come from the direction of the cliff face, and he knew there was no side road for them to make their way here.

For several moments, Peter was tempted to backtrack toward the cliff face to see if he could figure out the mystery. However he was still far too close to the manor for comfort, only a couple miles out. Peter knew he would not feel at ease until he lost himself amidst the winding city streets. Here in the woods he felt exposed.

Before he even had time to truly process what he’d seen, more motorcycles went roaring past, carrying a purple clad girl hugged by a terrifying ninja cosplay, and a man clad in gold. Then far overhead the constant whine of a jet engine.

Peter’s mind blared in alarm. Not only Batman, and presumably the murder goblin that was Robin, not only Nightwing, but Spoiler and Signal as well, plus whoever was piloting the Batplane.

It was entirely possible that every vigilante in Gotham was out in force at the exact same time. Peter dismissed the notion that they were coming after him instantly. Despite his now severed ties with the Waynes he was a nobody. A nobody that the Bats had been all too happy to ignore in the past. Except Red Hood, but he barely counted as one of the bats.

No, if every vigilante in Gotham was out in force, that meant something catastrophic was happening in town. Peter immediately started getting changed into his suit, all the while turning on his burner phone and switching on the police scanner app he had. He was puzzled at how quiet the scanner revealed things to be, no call for emergencies beyond the usual constant stream of crimes being reported in Gotham.

Standing up in his suit, Spidey started sprinting down the road, too far yet from any building that would allow him to swing, all he could hope was that he wouldn’t be late to stop what was happening.

Dick was ignoring the wind that blew in his face as he drove the Wingcycle far faster than he ever had before. His usually composed demeanor was now riddled with cracks of anxiety and near panic, his heart thundering in his chest. His son was gone, not kidnapped, not stolen from him by a rogue, simply gone. Walked out of his life like he meant nothing. 

Peter had never trusted him, never trusted any of them. The entire family had been convinced it was merely a matter of time, that Peter would adjust, that he would come around and start feeling like the manor was home and they were family. But he hadn’t and now he was gone.

They had never given him any reason to trust them, they hadn’t revealed their secret to him out of fear of how he would react and the silence had driven a wedge between them. Now all he could think about was finding Peter and telling him everything. He would rip off the stupid domino mask he wore and beg his son to come back home with him.

“Are we sure Parker actually ran off? He could have completed the mission he was assigned to him and extracted himself.” The voice of Damian sent a spike of anger coursing through Dick’s vein, but the boy’s tone lacked the bite and arrogance it usually had. Robin sounded unsure, as if he uttered the words not because he truly believed them, but because he, in his own way, sought reassurance from the others. That they would tell him he was wrong and that they would find Peter and bring him home.

“Of course we’re sure,” came the reply from Tim. The young man sounded tired, exhausted even, and laced with more than a little guilt. Dick was sure his brother was beating himself up over Peter’s disappearance. He’d personally revamped the manor security more times than they could count and Peter had so easily slipped through the cracks.

Normally Dick would be the first to reassure Tim that none of this was his fault, but tonight he couldn’t. Not because he blamed his brother but because he felt himself so close to falling apart that he was afraid he would shatter if he opened his mouth.

“At least we know Peter is safe for the moment, and that’s what matters.” Duke's voice came on next. Often the teenager left the decision making to the others, still unsure of his place into the family, still finding his footing. But he was right, Duke had used his ghost vision to track Peter as far as he could. They had witnessed Peter jumping and climbing into a small vent, too small for any normal person to climb through. Somehow Peter had managed, displaying a disturbing amount of flexibility.

The sight had twisted Dick’s guts, not because of how inhumanly Peter had moved, but because his son had hidden this degree of agility from him. Intentionally acted like he would have been unable to do any of the gymnastic and acrobatics Dick had been so eager to share with him. Seeing him climb that vent so effortlessly had shown Dick that Peter could have easily kept up with him. That sight, more than anything, had cemented in Dick’s mind that Peter had never trusted any of them.

Sadly Duke’s ghost vision had faded before they could find Peter’s exit point out of the manor. But the teenager was right, it at least meant Peter was safe. Not taken but that he had left out of his own volition.

Then Bruce’s voice sounded through their shared chat. “Let’s focus on finding Peter for now, we can figure out why he ran away later. Spoiler and Orphan, go to Gotham's Cathedral and the alley Peter used to live in. Duke, head to the library. Oracle, call Red Hood and have him meet with Nightwing at Peter’s old apartment. Red Robin, keep circling the city and be prepared for rapid deployment. Robin and I will patrol Gotham for any sign of Peter from the ground.”

Dick recognized the order for what they were. They would split up and hope Peter would show up at one of the places he used to go to. Dick was thankful Bruce had assigned him to go to the apartment, as it was the most likely place for Peter to go to.

A few minutes after the vigilantes entered Gotham proper a figure in purple and black, adorned with a neon green spider on his chest and carrying a ratty old backpack let out an exclamation of relief. “Finally!” Spidey said before starting to swing through the street, trying to catch up with the bats.

Chapter Text

The gentle patter of rain echoed through the streets, slow rivulets forming from the corner of rooftops and the many gargoyles that adorned the city. One of those gargoyles held a softly panting figure clad in purple and black.

Spider-Man overlooked the upper east side. His breath fogged a night as it escaped the mesh of his mask, but underneath it, Peter was smiling.

He’d lost track of the bats immediately upon reaching the city. The group of vigilantes had split up and spread around and Peter, who had been minutes behind, could not find a single trace of them. Were it not for the batplane he could occasionally see circling in the sky he would have questioned if he was the only hero left in the city.

Confusingly, his police scanner didn’t indicate that anything big was happening. Why the entire group of vigilantes would be all out at the same time when they usually staggered their patrols was more than a little puzzling. As the night dragged on and the rain fell from the sky it became clear to Peter that the bats weren’t patrolling. 

His police scanner buzzed incessantly, reports coming in of crime being committed but not once was the presence of the bats solving an issue mentioned. For all intent and purpose, Spider-Man had to handle Gotham on his own.

The first few hours had been rough, Spidey had to swing around from crime to crime in record time. His usual approach of comforting victims and leaving a good impression had to be abandoned in favor of ruthless efficiency. Swing in, web the perps, leave. Mugging took seconds to solve, gas station and corner shop robberies handled in less than a minute. A bank heist in five. And still it wasn’t enough, Peter was running himself ragged.

Things calmed down when the bat-signal got turned on, the symbol contrasting against the underside of the clouds served as a warning to Gotham’s criminals. Peter was thankful for the slight break it afforded him. 

Still, Peter was happy. The intense patrol proved cathartic, the rapid takedowns of criminals allowed his stressed mind a break from the reality of his situation. Peter didn’t have time to worry about shelter, food, or a job because Spider-Man had crime fighting to do.

Having afforded himself a couple minutes to catch his breath and massage his sore wrists, Peter stepped off the gargoyle he’d been resting on and plunged down toward the streets of Gotham. A webline was fired and he started swinging through the sparse traffic. Occasionally he ran on top of trucks for a moment, somersaulting off their cabins to cut through an alley, threading the needle of a fire escape with the tug of a zip line. He ran up the side of a building and redirected his momentum by catching the edge of the rooftop with his web, slingshoting himself across the entire roof.

This night had forced him to refine his web swinging skills. Giving himself almost entirely to his spider-sense Peter moved faster and faster, crossing the various districts of the city in mere minutes. He all but flew over the entirety of the fashion district on his way to G.C.P.D.

The bat-signal still shone brightly, as it had for hours, which was highly unusual. Peter would have ignored it had it not been for the chatter he caught on his police scanner. Gotham’s brightest and finest had noticed the absence of the bats by now and an edge of worry colored their usually stoic dispatch.

By the time the rooftop of GCPD came into view, Peter caught sight of an older, white haired man in a trench coat heading back inside through the roof access. But that wasn’t the only person on the rooftop. A woman stayed behind, dark hair pulled in a ponytail, wrapped up in a puffy jacket to protect herself from the rain and cold.

Spider-Man landed on top of the roof access and called out.

“Hey there police lady, pretty bad weather we’re having, right?”

The response was immediate, the woman turned around, gun pointed at Peter.

“Must we do this every time we meet? I’m starting to think you don’t like me very much.” Spidey quipped.

Montoya rolled her eyes and holstered her gun. “You’re not who I was expecting.”

“The big bad Batman stood you up?” Spider-Man asked, vaguely motioning in the direction of the bat-signal.

Montoya nodded, “you wouldn’t happen to know where he is?”

“Haven’t seen a hair of any of the bats tonight.”

Montoya let out a curse under her breath that Peter was too polite to comment on. Instead he glanced at the Bat-signal for a moment. “You know, maybe you should put a spider on that thing instead,” he chuckled to himself.

“Maybe we should, you’re certainly covering a lot of grounds on your own tonight.”

“Just doing what I can, someone’s got to.”

Montoya glanced over the city skylines, nodding absentmindedly.

“Something bothering you?” Spidey asked, for the moment his police scanner was relatively quiet, nothing happening nearby that he could get to before the cops took care of it.

Montoya shook her head, opting to stay silent for a moment before apparently rethinking the notion. “My niece is worried about one of her friends. Thinks he could be in trouble, or abused.”

“Do you want me to look into it?” 

“No, I got it covered. You’re busy enough trying to keep the city together tonight.”

Spider-Man nodded and straightened up, stretching his back and shoulders. “I’ll get back to it then.”

Montoya nodded and looked on as the Vigilante just jumped off the building and started swinging away. She chuckled to herself, unused to such sight. The bats loved nothing more than pulling off a dramatic exit by vanishing whenever nobody was looking. Spider-Man was an earnest cheerful contrast compared to Gotham’s usual fare of vigilante and Montoya was glad the city hadn’t broken him yet.

Batman and Robin were currently searching Gotham in a well organized search pattern, radiating outward based on how far Peter might have made it since he ran away. Bruce covered Damian with his cape to shield him from the rain. They were currently standing on top of a rooftop. Bruce was mentally going over every place Peter might go and was drawing a blank. 

“Spider-Man took care of another reported crime.” The voice of Barbara sounded through the comm system. At first when the bats had gone out in search of Peter everyone in the family had been ignoring the regular police dispatch. They often did. Gotham had more than enough crime that even with all of them combined they couldn’t deal with all of it. So they did triage, low level mugging where only stopped as targets of convenience during their regular patrols, usually they only truly responded to the big stuff: bank robberies, hostage situation, rogue attacks.

Bruce had counted on fear to dissuade crime, and for the first couple years it had worked. But now criminals had grown wiser. They knew that Batman rarely showed up to stop petty crime. Once more and more people joined his crusade, crime rate had fallen back down only to pick right back up within a few months.

After all these years Bruce couldn’t even claim Gotham was safer than before. It didn’t use to have rogues, just regular gangs. Sometimes he even secretly wondered if he had made things worse.

So while the entire family was out searching for Peter, Bruce hadn’t been concerned about crimes. He knew he couldn’t pull Dick away from the search, nor Jason who would refuse to help unless something happened in Crime Alley. But the others? They would stop their search to deal with the larger crimes. Then they would go back to searching.

Except they hadn’t needed to, Spider-Man was more than picking up the slack. Each time Oracle called an update about another crime Spider-Man stopped, Bruce did the math in his head, comparing the location of the previous arrest with the current one. Spider-Man was getting faster, far faster. So fast in fact that Bruce started doubting if there truly was only one Spider-Man. The boy was traversing the entirety of Gotham city in mere minutes. He outpaced any of their modes of transportations except for the Batplane.

And every time Oracle called out, he saw Damian tense up. A small subconscious action, his son was clearly still bothered by the result of his fight with Spider-Man. After reviewing the footage it became clear that the boy had been holding back during the fight. Bruce knew Spider-Man hadn’t been toying with Damian, his attitude had lacked the cruelty and callousness such an attitude would have entailed, but he hadn’t been giving his best. Not only had Spider-Man been holding back, he’d clearly been worried about Superboy joining in. And a moment of distraction had been the only thing that allowed Damian to injure the vigilante.

And what followed had more than proven how dangerous Spider-Man truly was, in seconds he had disarmed Robin, cut off his utility belt and tossed him off a roof. If he could do that to Damian once he stopped holding back there was no doubt Spider-Man could deal with any of them. Neither Cass nor himself could have taken down Damian this quickly.

Bruce was aware of what he was doing. Categorizing a potential threat to avoid thinking of the issue at hand. It wasn’t something he would normally do but his own guilt was clouding his thinking. He’d kept Peter at arms length for a multitude of reasons and it had backfired spectacularly. Maybe if he had tried harder his grandson wouldn’t have run off.

Another report came in from Oracle, another arrest by Spider-Man. Her voice sounded jaded, the surprise long drained from her tone replaced by a quiet resignation. The vigilante was showing them all off. Damian, Tim and Steph would feel competitive about it, Cass wouldn’t care. Jason would be delighted someone was outdoing Batman. Duke would be happy for the helpt. And so would Dick, normally that was. Today they all had bigger things on their minds.

Bruce let out a deep sigh as he noticed the sky growing lighter. Dawn was coming and no one in the family had had any sleep. Nor had they caught any clue about Peter’s whereabouts. It was time to call it a night.

He reached up to his com and spoke quietly. “Nightwing, Red Hood, continue with the search for as long as you’re able. Everyone else, head back to base and get some rest.”

“We can’t just stop, my son is—”

“Nightwing, I know. We’re not giving up, but we need to regroup, rest and come back at this with fresh eyes. Peter will be fine, he can take care of himself until we find him.”

Bruce winced internally at what he had just said. He hadn’t meant to remind Dick that he hadn’t been there for his son for most of his life. But it was true that Peter would survive in Gotham on his own. He’d easily given the slip to Red Hood multiple times and his nature as meta meant he was probably safer than most, so long as he didn’t get caught by a meta smuggling ring. But Peter knew how to stay under the radar.

“Chum,” he spoke again, his voice softer than usual. “We will find him, I promise. But we’re not doing him any good if we’re all exhausted. You keep up the search with your Brother and we will organize shifts. I swear at least one of us will be searching for Peter at all times until he is found.”

“Alright” was all Dick said in reply, he sounded defeated and Bruce wished he could find Peter immediately to fix this, to avoid hearing the pain and fear in his son’s voice.

Chapter Text

Just a short announcement to say that the next chapter will take an extra week or two before it's ready.
Dealing with burn out at work + the stress of having to move to a new place and all that entails, and general health issues means I haven't really been writing all that much or at all for the past few days.