Chapter Text
Spider-man was swinging around the city, leisurely making his way through the winding streets, trying to get himself accustomed to the layout. Gotham was different than New York. NYC was set up like a grid, streets evenly spread out, so each block was roughly the same size. The streets were labeled in such a way that it made it easy to navigate, only needing to know how numbers worked to find the correct destination.
Gotham was different. It was like the city was first built in the center, then streets and buildings were added as the city grew. There was no easy way to navigate the city, the street names followed no logical pattern, skyscrapers were right next to townhouses and apartment buildings were right next to warehouses. It made no sense.
It was a puzzle; one Peter was enjoying solving.
Gotham was smaller than New York City, but the crime there was astonishing. He could understand why this world had so many heroes, why this city had so many heroes – it’s because there was so much crime to fight, so much that even with the dozens of heroes around, it still wasn’t enough.
He was still getting used to all the sounds a city like Gotham held within it. It wasn’t as overwhelming as before, but if he didn’t try to focus his hearing or tried to listen for too many things at once, it could very quickly become overwhelming, threatening him with oversensitivity.
Just as Spider-man was swinging about, doing flips between buildings and running on rooftops, he stopped three separate crimes before he had even made one full lap around the city.
He had his work cut out for him, that was for sure.
As Spider-man was about to start his second lap, four more crimes later, his ears picked up a call on a nearby police radio. There was some nonsense about a place called ‘Arkham Asylum,’ but the gist of it was that a criminal had broken out, was considered extremely dangerous, and needed to be apprehended as soon as possible.
There was a specific code that the officers were talking in that Spider-man wasn’t accustomed to yet, but that was okay. He had the information that he needed.
He headed to the warehouse that was said over the radio, getting lost only once before he figured out where he was going. However, even with his slight delay, he was still the first person on the scene.
Perfect.
He circled the building, trying to determine if there was anything he needed to be aware of before going in. He only noticed the cameras that were all on, something about them triggering a light warning ringing around his skull to let him know that someone was watching, someone he probably didn’t particularly want watching, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it at the moment.
If it continued, then Peter would be forced to. Maybe he could ask Selina for some more equipment beyond just a laptop for this whole vigilante thing, but that request would probably get passed along to her fiancé and Peter didn’t want to burden the man, especially since the two haven’t met yet.
Spider-man slowly opened a window, and crept inside, moving silently as he closed the window and crawled across the ceiling, using his more spidery abilities accomplish what he needed, fully aware of the camera inside that was still watching him.
It was creepy, but maybe he could creep the stalker out, too.
God, he was so beyond thankful that his sixth sense was finally working correctly, and he was able to pick up on things like this again. It surprised him how much he had grown to rely on that sense, far more than he would have thought.
He felt like the Batman was right, that all he needed was time to adjust to this universe and that he at long last had. With the rest and care that Selina offered him, as well as Harley and Ivy, he felt more relaxed and on top of his game than he has in a long while.
Although, part of that was probably due to the amount of food he now had access to.
He loved his Aunt May, he really did, and try as she did after finding out about Peter’s nightly activities, even she couldn’t keep up with his necessary caloric intake. He had to eat a lot, far more than May could provide. Sure, they weren’t struggling by any means, but only a certain amount of money could be spent on food without cutting into the money that had to be put aside for things like rent. And in a place like NYC, rent was expensive.
Peter also never wanted to make it anyone else’s problem, so when he and Tony started researching his powers, Peter lied and said that he was getting enough food.
Tony no doubt saw straight through him, but let it go. Peter was still getting enough food, even if it was slightly less than what he technically needed.
But here, apparently living with someone who was engaged to a billionaire had its benefits – the benefits being that while he still worried and felt guilty, the amount of money Selina was now spending on food barely put a dent into her fiancé’s finances. It was only a small comfort; after spending so long feeling guilty for the same thing, it was hard to stop.
Selina had already reassured him more times than he could count.
Peter hoped that Aunt May liked her. He thought she would. It was a nice thought.
Spider-man reached the center of the ceiling, directly above the only two tables in the relatively large warehouse. A person was standing on a milk crate at one of them, hunched over and working intently on something.
Spider-man stuck a web on the ceiling between his feet and slowly lowered himself. He kept his eyes on the man, never taking them off, and observed.
He was short, at least a foot shorter than Spider-man, wearing a green suit with a matching green top hat that added half a foot to his height. He had red hair, a larger head than most people had, and an overbite that Spider-man could only guess at how expensive it would be to fix.
When Spider-man was about halfway down from the ceiling, he cut off the webbing, engaging his superstrength to kick off the still strand and flipped backwards. As his upper body came around and he could see the man again, he shot out a web, hitting the person square in the chest. He landed in what many had dubbed a Classic Spidey Pose TM: crouched on one leg, the other out in front of him and bent at the knee, a hand on the ground between his legs and the other hand posed behind him, ready to shoot out another web when needed.
The man looked up from his work surprised, taking a wild glance around the room before his eyes landed on Spider-man. “What are doing here?” the man asked, paused, readjusted as he saw the threat, and added, “who are you?”
“I’m Spider-man,” Peter said, not getting out of his pose, still ready to strike when need be. “Who are you?”
He could feel the camera burning into his back, and as distracting as it was, Spider-man had to put it out of his mind; he had an important job to do and he could figure out who was watching him after the fact.
The man straightened up, as if offended by not being known, as if he hadn’t known the person who had just broken into his warehouse. Double standards sucked. “I’m the Mad Hatter.”
“Uh huh,” Spider-man said flatly, completely unimpressed. “Real original. Where’d you get your name from? Your hat?” It was the same levels of obvious that came with a name like ‘the Shocker.’ Apparently villains on this Earth were just as bad at naming themselves as they were on Peter’s Earth.
Although, perhaps he shouldn’t talk. The heroes were just as bad, if ‘Batman’ and ‘Iron Man’ were anything to go by.
Mad Hatter visibly brightened, any suspicion or offense being forgotten in an instant. “My hat? Isn’t it just marvelous?”
“Uhh,” Spider-man said, for a lack of a response. He had met some strange people doing this job, people who had shocked him with the type of things they would say constantly during his first year as a vigilante. It had been a while, however, since he had seen someone react in such a way to a comment on their clothing or appearance. He didn’t mean to, but he was slightly put off balance from that answer, and he could feel his pose loosening. “Yes?” he meant to say, but it came out as a question instead.
Mad Hatter’s excitement grew more and more, growing absolutely giddy. “Would you like to make more with me?”
Well, this was a new situation entirely. Spider-man had never dealt with anything like it before but tried to go with the flow. Despite knowing that this person was a villain, someone who had broken out of prison and that the police were currently trying to apprehend, that sixth sense that had never led him awry before was silent, only warning him of the still active cameras.
He made the decision to play along, for now, and gather more information about the situation before making a decision about what to do next.
“Come, come!” Mad Hatter said, coming towards Spider-man and pulling on one of his hands, dragging him over to the two tables set up in the middle of the room. Spider-man allowed it, curiosity getting the better of and wanting to see what this man was working on, wanting to see why and how this man could be considered such a high priority by the police.
Mad Hatter brought him over to one table, and started to explain the intricacies of hat making, a process that was apparently very long and very complicated. There were already several hats made and sitting scattered about, all in varying sizes. Scraps of fabric and scissors and thread were placed randomly between the hats, paper lining the bottom of the table beneath all of the other contents held on it.
Spider-man followed along as best as he could, but felt his attention drift, and his gaze landed on the only other piece of furniture in the large warehouse and the contents resting on it. He had a purpose to being here, to playing along, and he needed to know what else was going on. Mad Hatter must have noticed what he was looking at because he said, “oh, that! Yes, that is where the fun really starts!”
He walked over to the other table, Spider-man following behind. He tilted his head at the circuitry on one device that was in the middle of being constructed as the Mad Hatter kept talking, his mind spinning with other ways to set it up without fully taking in what was being worked on.
“Do you like the place?” the Mad Hatter ended up asking as Spider-man focused on the circuit. “I tried to contact Broker, but he hasn’t gotten back to me yet. Apparently busy with Two-Face and the Penguin. I tried to do the best that I could, but he does a much better job than me, I must say.”
“Uh huh,” Spider-man responded, like he was somehow following this trail of conversation at all and not focusing on something else entirely, like he was not trying to figure out what the circuit was used for. It was obviously for a power source, but to what? It was safe to assume it was something in the hats, but what? He looked across the table, trying to find any other items and materials that might give him a clue.
“What a nice fellow, that man is,” Mad Hatter kept going. “Always so helpful, and hardly ever has the stomach to murder the people that he does.”
“Right,” Spider-man replied, the words sounding alarm bells ringing, a warning settling deep in his stomach, making his insides start to feel like they’re twisting slowly. It wasn’t his sixth sense, though, just general unease, making this entire situation so much more nerve wracking, but he decided to push through in an attempt to learn more about this person and perhaps gain some trust, still with a goal to figure out what was going on here.
“I tried to ask Duffy for help,” the Hatter kept going, completely oblivious to Spider-man’s internal dialogue, “but she is still in Central City. Alas, I supposed that is fine. I don’t mean to stay here in this musty place longer than necessary, only until the Broker can get back to me and help me find someplace better.”
“I’m sure,” Spider-man said half distracted. “Do you mind if I…” he started was a gesture at the table.
Mad Hatter looked apprehensive at first, but then his gaze suddenly turned sharp and there the sixth sense sharpened, a warning humming through his whole body, “you are not with the Secret Six, are you? Because that Ragdoll fellow has been intent to destroy my hats, to torture the poor darlings, so if you are working with them…” he trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish for the threat to be heard loud and clear.
“No, no,” Spider-man reassured. “I don’t even know who the Secret Six are, or who Ragdoll is.”
“Are you telling the truth?” Mad Hatter asked sternly, a hand drifting towards the hat he was wearing, and suddenly his sixth sense was screaming one thing over and over again.
Don’t let him use the hat. Don’t let him use the hat. DON’T LET HIM USE THE HAT.
“I swear,” Spider-man tried to convince him, tried to get the man to stand down. “If I didn’t know who you are, how would I know who they are?”
Mad Hatter seemed to mull this over, face visibly showing his thought process as he debated with himself about whether or not he should trust what was said. Spider-man, meanwhile, held his right hand out in an attempt to soothe, a way to try to convey how much he means his words, while his left hand hid from view, ready to strike out with a web or fist if attacked.
The Mad Hatter eventually hummed, hand lowering to rest by his side. “You’ll have to excuse me, no one has ever taken an interest in my hats before.”
And didn’t that just break his heart? Hatter obviously cared about his hats so much, and for no one to care pulled Spider-man’s heartstrings.
“I care,” Spider-man said, finding that he meant it far more than he probably should have.
Mad Hatter hummed, eyes roving over Spider-man like he was still trying to figure out how sincere he was being. “Forgive me,” he eventually said, “no one ever cares about my hats. In fact, they are more likely to hurt my hats than anything else. Can you believe that? My hat!”
Spider-man just nodded along, not responding verbally and letting the man rant. This was something that he had obviously been needing to get off his chest for a while.
“That Ragdoll fellow,” Mad Hatter scoffed, crossing his arms with an angry expression. “She said that we were friends, and then she threw my hat off a cliff. The audacity! But the horror does not end there, oh no. Later, after Ragdoll had stabbed me in the back, when I tried to get my revenge, she threw my hat off a bridge! It got wet! Completely unsalvageable. Not that the barbarian cares, oh no, because why would she?”
Spider-man felt his lips twitching, endeared despite himself. “If you show me the blueprints, I can help you with this one.”
“Oh, yes!” Hatter brightened, hopping over to the other table and pulling a blueprint from under all of the materials. He came back over, jumped up on a milk crate, and rolled out the paper so the design was visible for the two of them.
Spider-man looked over the design, not sure what he was expecting, but feeling the blood drain from his face at what he found. He went over the blueprint again and again, sure that he was wrong, but the design was very straight forward in its purpose.
This was the reason why this person was considered high priority by the police, why he was so dangerous.
This wasn’t just any type of hat. No. This was a hat that could mind control people.
Shit.
He tried to contain his panic and listen to what was being said, tried to control his breathing, tried to focus on the task at hand.
Shit, what has he gotten himself into?
“And this dial here,” Mad Hatter was saying, pointing at a point inside the hat, “is my favorite.”
“What does it do?” Spider-man found himself asking, still trying to remain calm.
Shit, he never had to deal with anything like this in New York. Why couldn’t he have just stayed in New York, where it was normal?
“There are different settings, and they give a different kind of pleasure,” Mad Hatter said, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Pleasure?” Spider-man asked. Mad Hatter just kept wiggling his eyebrows and that was answer enough.
Spider-man took another look at the blueprints, a thought going through his brain that, if it works, might actually give him a plan to apprehend this guy. The design was a piece of engineering brilliance, something that even Tony himself would go crazy over. Yet, after a more thorough look through, something caught his eye and he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He found a piece of paper nearby and a pencil. “Do you mind if I-“
He didn’t have time to finish his question before Hatter said, “please, by all means.” Spider-man started to work, writing down a few calculations to prove his theory. “This is so nice,” Mad Hatter said as Spider-man worked, “no one has ever taken such an interest in my hats before. It’s nice.”
And there go his heart strings being tugged again.
He couldn’t let himself get distracted, though. He had a job to do. “There are too many resistors,” he said after a bit, his calculations proving his theory was right.
“What?” Mad Hatter asked, coming closer to take a look next to him.
“Yeah,” Spider-man said, moving a little to give the shorter man enough space to see. “See here? There are too many resistors, meaning that you need more power for this to work.”
“No, no,” Mad Hatter said, a touch condescendingly. “That is how I have made it for years, now, and it works perfectly well.” Spider-man was sure that it had – like he said, engineering masterpiece – but even masterpieces can have imperfections.
“No, see?” Spider-man insisted, pulling over the piece of paper he had been working on and showing what he meant.
Mad Hatter looked at the paper as it was pushed his way, then did a double take when he saw the results. “No, that cannot be right,” he muttered to himself, taking the pencil and redoing the equations for himself.
Spider-man let him, confident in his answers to know that he was right. This was more advanced engineering, sure, but it was also something that he went over so many times with Tony Stark that he lost count. It was something that had been beaten into his brain, along with Tony’s words about how easy it can be to add unnecessary resistors to a circuit, making the entire thing less effective.
He spent the time pulling over a hat already constructed and just waiting to be implemented with the correct circuitry inside and began to fiddle with it, making the necessary adjustments needed for his plan to work.
Mad Hatter hummed, reluctantly impressed. “I suppose that you are right.” He looked over at what Spider-man was doing, face twisted like he wanted to rip the hat right out of his hands, but also curious to see if the theoretical calculations proved to be practical.
Of course, because Spider-man can’t have nice things, that was the moment when three windows shattered, glass raining down from above. His sixth sense had gone off half a second before the crash and he used it to duck under the table, dragging Hatter with him.
The skin on the back of his neck had gone on edge, his entire body posed for fight or flight. “Stay,” Spider-man tried to warn before flipping up from the floor and landing in yet another Classic Spidey Pose TM on the table and faced the three new arrivals.
On the right was the shortest of the three, wearing a gray and black suit that looked like it was outlined in red with small green details and a green domino mask that was separated into two pieces, each covering an eye with nothing connecting them in the middle. He wore a cape with a yellow inlining and held a sword expertly in his hands.
On the left was the one that stood out from the other two, his costume being primarily yellow and standing out like a sore thumb to the dark colors next to him. There were black accents all along the suit and a bright white bat sitting proudly in the middle of his chest. But that wasn’t the only bat he was wearing. There were hat ears on his cowl, bat symbols on the tops of his shoes, and even half a bat on each one of those weird stick things he was holding like a weapon.
In the middle was Batman, because of fucking course it was.
Fuck.
Spider-man held his pose, tensing in preparation for the fight that he knew was to come.
Yet, despite his sixth sense pounding away in his head, warning against the three in from of him, that was when Mad Hatter stood up.
Stood up, wearing the new hat that Spider-man just got done adjusting.
Oh, fuck.
“Beware!” Hatter yelled out, hand rising to his hat. “Leave now, or else!”
Spider-man saw the bats tense in preparation, then look at him incredulously for loosening his pose. Yes, the sixth sense was pounding away, but not for Hatter.
Not anymore.
“That was your only warning!” the Mad Hatter yelled, then touched a button on his hat.
The bats all braced for the psychic attack, but when none came, all looked confused.
Spider-man smirked at their stunned faces when they saw Hatter on the floor, writhing in absolute pleasure, unable to stop it. In the middle of their shock, he asked, “so, are you going to take him into the police? Or should I-“ he cut himself off, head tilting as he listened to the incoming police sirens. “They’re five minutes out. I assume you all can wait here with him?”
There was complete silence in the warehouse, with the exception of Hatter moaning on the floor, saying things about his hat that the one standing to the left of Batman was probably too young to hear, the one standing on the right definitely too young to hear.
His back was crawling, the camera still watching him. Spider-man hummed in reply, as if anyone had said anything, and started to walk back towards the window that he had entered from, not breaking his stride as he went from walking on the floor to walking up the wall. He shot out a web and blocked out the lens on the camera, letting whoever was watching on the other side know that he knew they had been there the entire time and, as he had one leg out of the window, show out another web to pick up the scrape pieces of paper he used for his calculations.
He gave a salute, then fell backwards, lazily reaching up and shooting out a web at the last moment to catch him before he went splat on the pavement.
He still felt the cameras watching him, so he took a long and complicated route back to the apartment he lived in with Selina, making sure to block each and every camera with his webs so whoever was watching him couldn’t use them to continue to track him.
Was it irresponsible? Probably, but it’s not like the webs would last forever. At least, that’s what he told himself as he entered the apartment through the balcony 30 minutes later after leaving the warehouse, but at least the prick of unwanted eyes watching him was finally gone.
He couldn’t find it in him to relax, though, mind still running a million miles an hour despite his body wanting to rest. He couldn’t. He was taken off guard, and he needed to prepare better for next time so this wouldn’t happen again.
Peter yanked off his mask and went to his room to pull out his computer, going back to the living room and sitting on a couch to begin doing research. He didn’t get very far before Selina walked in through the front door.
“Hey, kitten. How was your patrol?” she asked, locking the door behind her and making her way to the couch.
“I fought the Mad Hatter,” Peter told her, tilting his computer screen down so he could focus on the conversation.
“I know,” Selina replied.
“What- how-“ Peter stuttered out, taken aback. Because seriously, how could she have known?
“I have my ways,” she said with a smirk, winking at him.
Peter huffed, knowing that she wasn’t going to explain any of her mysterious and suspicious ways to him. He looked back down at the laptop, not tilting up the screen and staring at the black backing of it. “I wasn’t prepared.”
“Sweetie,” Selina tried to say, but Peter cut her off with a shake of his head.
“He could’ve mind controlled me, all because I wasn’t prepared,” he said.
Unwanted memories of Mysterio flashed before his eyes. He trusted Quentin Beck, trusted that the man was good, that he was really from another universe and was there to help prevent another universe from being destroyed.
He knew it was of no use, knew that looking back on the past and asking useless ‘what if’ questions was pointless, because no question he asked could change the decisions that had already been made.
But, despite knowing this, he couldn’t help but ask himself what might have changed if he hadn’t trusted Beck as easily, if he had done his research, if he had been more prepared.
They were pointless questions, he knew, but he couldn’t stop his mind from asking them.
If he had been more prepared, if he had been able to see through the pretty lies instead buying into them, would he still be in his own universe right now?
Again, pointless. He was here now, with no way to ever return to his own Earth, but what if…
“I need to be more prepared,” Peter said strongly, looking up at Selina with steel in his eyes. “I need to know about everyone in Gotham, costumes and rogues alike.” He took a breath, knowing he might regret it, but the thought of Beck and his lack of preparedness had him second guessing some things. “Can you help me?” because if nothing else, he could compare what Selina told him versus what he found on the internet and see if she was being truthful.
“Of course I can, kitten,” Selina said, coming to sit down on the couch next to him. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” Peter replied.
~~~~~
It was three in the morning and Peter was still up, still doing research.
He had written everything Selina told him down and was comparing it to what he could find online.
The information that she had was more personal, more specific, probably thanks to her also being Catwoman. But he was able to find sources to verify nearly everything she said.
Batman was the most well-known vigilante in Gotham, but some still claim that he was a myth, despite all of the proof that existed that pointed towards his existence. An existence that Peter could guarantee given that he had met the man more than once.
The little one dressed in gray and black was called Robin, and Selina said that he was the fifth one. Online sources disagreed a little about the exact number of Robins there have been, since Robin was apparently even more of a myth than Batman was, but five seemed like a good number.
The other one that had been there at the warehouse was the Signal, and he was Gotham’s daytime protector. He had some kind of light powers, just like Selina said, and used those to his advantage during the day.
There was Nightwing, a guy dressed in black with a blue symbol of a bird across his chest and strips down his arms. He worked in Gotham sometimes, but mostly was seen in New York. He had apparently been the protector of a city named Blüdhaven, but one quick google search later showed why he didn’t live there anymore.
Why no one lived there anymore.
There was another Robin, though his name was slightly different with the inclusion of ‘Red’ at the beginning of it. His suit was of mostly the some colouration as Robin, being mostly red and black with splashes of yellow He had a cape that was black at the top and grew to become red closer to the bottom shaped as wings, which Peter thought was very cool.
There was Batgirl, a suit that was black with a purple cape and a purple bat on the chest. She had long, blonde hair, and many online pointed out the similarities to her and the blonde robin. Peter could see, but Selina would neither confirm nor deny anything.
Next was Black Bat, who has been seen in both Hong Kong and Gotham, but rumors have been running around saying that she moved back to Gotham. Whether she’s back permanently or temporarily was a tossup, but Peter kind of hoped that she’d leave soon.
There was another Batgirl, but that one hadn’t been seen in years, and no one knows for sure what happened to her. When Peter tried to ask Selina, she just shrugged, but it was clear that she knew the truth. It probably had to do with her secret identity, but it was clear from the tension that lined Selina’s shoulders that whatever happened to that Batgirl was bad.
Batwoman is someone Peter hasn’t come into contact with yet, but proved to him that the branding here was on point. She had bright red hair that in no way could have been natural, with the same red providing accents on her otherwise black suit.
Huntress was an angry catholic who didn’t directly work with any of the bats. Her suit was mostly purple and had a white cross running along the center of it. Her primary weapon was a crossbow – which was cool – and apparently she had murdered people in the past – which was less cool. But, according to Selina, she was working on the whole murder thing.
Manhunter wore an all-red suit with a black star on where a breast pocket would lay and had a silverish accent. She used an electrified bo staff that could blast a hole in people’s chests and apparently had no reservations about killing, the only thing preventing her from doing so in the past being the intervention of other heroes. She had apparently moved to Gotham recently after being stationed in L.A. but has been seen to travel between the two cities on occasion.
And those were just the mains heroes, not including Batwing, Black Canary, or any other hero a part of the Birds of Prey or the Outsiders.
That doesn’t include Red Hood, who’s status as a hero or villain is apparently debatable, according to Selina and several sources online who continue to argue back and forth with each other.
That doesn’t include all of the villains.
That doesn’t include the Penguin, Two-Face, Firefly, Scarecrow, Mr. Freeze, Hush, Killer Croc, Clayface, Pyg, Humpty Dumpty, Zeus, some guy named Victor Zsasz, or many, many more.
All the information, all the research left Peter’s head spinning as he finally closed his laptop and laid back in bed.
He felt bad for looking up everything, for feeling the need to double check what Selina had told him, but he had already dealt with being underprepared. He could have become mind controlled by the Mad Hatter, leaving him to do who knows what for who knows how long. It was a terrifying thought, and if Peter needed to double check the information given to him, then so be it.
If anything, this all just proved what Peter already knew and what his sixth sense had been yelling at him this entire time: Selina was trustworthy.
She wasn’t like Beck, wasn’t out to warp his mind and manipulate him into doing what she wanted. She cared about him, and that was enough of a difference for Peter to trust her.
Peter felt his eyes slowly closing, and right before he drifted off to sleep, he heard a window crack open, followed immediately by someone falling inside. He heard a quiet “ow, fuck,” before he got out of bed, instantly alert, silently creeping to the living room to find the intruder, web shooters already prepared.
When he got there, he saw someone a few years older than him on the floor, a decorative side table crashed on top of them. The didn’t move, just breathed and laid out like they were perfectly fine with where they were.
“Hello?” Peter called out, watching as the person jerked upwards and got tangled up even further in the side table as they tried to look at him. Peter walked forward, grabbing the table and lifting it off the person gently, setting it back down where it was originally, listening intently for his sixth sense to go off and only hearing a pleasant buzz instead.
“Hey,” the person said from the floor, looking up at Peter, leaning back on their hands.
Peter finally got a good look at the guy, short, black, straight hair and blue eyes that widened. “Aw, shit,” he said defeatedly, staring another moment then letting his head hang. “Sorry, sorry,” he said as he got to his feet, “I just wanted to tell Selina something real quick, I didn’t mean to,” he gestured at the table.
“It’s… alright, I guess,” Peter said, unsure. He wasn’t completely sure if it was fine that some random stranger had broken into the apartment via window, but the relaxed air about him seemed to say that it was. “Who are you?”
“Oh, right,” the guy said, like he just realized that Peter didn’t know who he was. He felt out a hand for Peter to shake, “I’m Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne’s son.”