Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Everyone will forget about Peter Parker,” Dr. Strange said, arms shaking with exertion from the spell.

“That’s fine,“ Peter said, ready to make any sacrifice if it meant that everyone else, that Ned and MJ, were safe from the chaos and destruction he brought upon them and their lives. “Whatever it takes-“

“Everyone will forget you,” Dr. Strange said again, “but you won’t be here for it.”

“What… what do you mean?” Peter stuttered, dread weighing heavily in his gut.

Dr. strange grunted, shifting his hands in the air, orange sparks following his movements. “In order for the spell to work, there cannot be a Peter Parker here on this earth,” Peter felt his stomach drop. “You could end up reminding someone and all of this will be for nothing.”

It made sense. Logically, Peter knew what Dr. Strange was saying made sense. He wasn’t as well-versed in magic as the literal sorcerer, but he could only imagine the amount of power and skill required to force an entire planet, universe, to forget about him. If he stayed, he could unintentionally cause someone to remember, and then they would be right back where they started.

If he left…

“What do I need to do?” Peter asked, a strong, strange sense of conviction filling him. The kind that knew there wouldn’t be a happily ever after for him but was accompanied by a knowingness that this was the right decision, if not for himself, then for everyone else.

Something that he was sure Mr. Stark was intimately aware of when he decided to take all of the infinity stones and saved everyone.

Dr. Strange looked at him strangely, like he was- like he was already mourning Peter. It was odd to think that the sorcerer would miss him, that Peter had left enough of an impact on this person, who for all intents and purposes was a stranger, that he would be missed. “Say your goodbyes,” the doctor said, a saddened look overtaking his expression, then come back here.”

Peter nodded and took off, swinging away to the other side of the destroyed Statue of Liberty. It didn’t take him long to spot his friends, huddled close together and giving each other warmth and comfort.

If only Peter could do the same for them.

He landed softly behind them, the metal groaning under his weight loud enough to be heard over the crashing waves. They turned around, Ned rushing into his arms and crushing his ribs in one of the best – and most likely last – hug the two will ever share while MJ looked him over.

Once Ned stepped away, MJ slowly took his place, drawing Peter in slowly but holding on just as tightly, burying her head deep in the crook between Peter’s neck and shoulder. Peter rested his cheek against her shoulder, forehead resting against the side of her neck and breathing in the scent of her hair, trying to memorize the way jasmine combined with citrus, knowing he would never smell it again.

He took one last deep breath, and with the rest of his strength and willpower, pulled away from the safety of being wrapped in MJ’s arms and Ned’s vigilance guarding his back.

“I have to go,” he told them.

The looks of determination he was faced with broke his heart. “Okay,” MJ said steadily. “Where are we going?”

Peter was already shaking his head before she could finish. “No, no you can’t. I have to go alone.”

“Alright,” Ned said next, slightly weary but nonetheless driven. “We’ll come. You can’t go anywhere without us. I mean, I’m your guy in the chair and she’s the one who keeps our heads on straight. You need-“

Every word that poured from his mouth was like another knife stabbing his chest, twisting painfully to reach his heart. It was a kind of grief, a kind of pain that Peter had never known existed. To look Ned and MJ, his best friend and girlfriend, the only people he had left on this entire planet, that he had to leave and couldn’t take them with him… hurt more than anything anyone else had ever done to him.

“You can’t,” Peter mumbled, barely loud enough over the waves pounding against the base of the statue, tears streaming down his face. “I want you to, believe me, I don’t want to leave, but I have to,” he grabbed their hands and squeezed tight. “I can save everyone, I can save the entire planet, the whole universe. Dr. Strange said so. But-“ he sniffled heavily.

“But you have to go,” MJ finished for him.

“What does that mean?” Ned asked. When Peter squeezed his eyes tighter, dropped his head lower, he repeated, “Peter, what does that mean?”

“Dr. Strange,” Peter started slowly, hands sliding down MJ’s arms so he could grab and feel the soft callouses covering her hands, “is casting a spell to make everyone forget-“

“What?” MJ demanded, jerking her hands out of his reach.

Peter had to choke down a sob. He didn’t know how he was supposed to do this. He had already lost everything, everyone important to him. And now he was being asked to leave two of the only people he had left, trade them for a brand-new universe.

He already knew his decision, knew it from the moment Dr. Strange began explaining the conditions of the spell, and nothing would ever make him regret it as long as these two amazing, generous, kind people were safe.

As long as they were safe.

“The spell is going to send the other spider-men to their universes, but in order for the spell to actually work here, in this one, I have to leave too-“

“Peter,” Ned choked out, “Peter, please don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”

“I do,” Peter said, raising his head and blinking the tears out of his eyes to see similar tear streaks to his own copied on both MJ and Ned’s faces. “I have to go.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” Ned joked with a weak laugh, “with how busy I know you’re going to be travelling the multiverse, make sure you come back and visit us.” Peter knew it was a joke, knew if from the way MJ huffed out a laugh as well. But he couldn’t. A sob got caught in his throat and he closed his eyes against more tears. “Woah, what’s wrong? Is there something else?”

Peter nodded weakly. He closed his eyes and bowed his head again, unable to force himself to watch his friends’ reactions. “You won’t remember me.”

The sharp intake of breath was just as bad as he imagined and knew the horrified and betrayed expressions on their faces would be worse. “Dr. Strange has a spell that can wipe Peter Parker from everyone’s minds. It’ll be like he - like I - never existed, but the caveat is that I need to go to a different universe.”

“Why?” Ned choked out. “Why do you have to?”

“If he doesn’t,” MJ answered, voice dull in a way that Peter knew was her trying to suppress her emotions, trying to force herself to be calm and logical in the face of the improbable, “then someone could end up remembering him.”

“And all of this will have been for nothing,” Peter finished, swallowing his tears and opening his eyes to look into MJ’s brown ones for the last time.

“You can’t let this be for nothing,” it wasn’t a question, more of a statement, but Peter had spent enough time with his girlfriend to read her hidden clues, to read between the lines she tried to keep so thoroughly hidden.

“I can’t let this be for nothing,” Peter confirmed, for the both of them, for all of them.

“Shit,” Ned mumbled. Then, louder, “fuck!”

Peter huffed out a laugh, followed by a quieter echo by MJ. “I think that sums it up nicely.”

Silence blossomed, interrupted by the crashing waves and creaking metal and the sobs they were trying to suppress to no avail. Peter grabbed at Ned and MJ, pulling them into yet another hug. He wasn’t going to see them again, so he wasn’t going to worry about how his need for physical affection could come across as selfish, indulging with these two people he loved who met him beat by beat.

“Parker!” Dr. Strange shouted from the top of the crumbling statue, ruining the moment.

MJ pulled away first, leaving Ned and Peter in each other’s arms, both content to let the future stay a bit further away, like they had more time, like neither had to move before their death dates.

“Parker! Get up here!” Dr. Strange yelled out again.

They did pull apart that time, both blessedly ignoring the wet spots on their shoulders. They did their handshake one last, final, time.

As Peter turned away from his oldest and best friend, he was pulled into a desperate kiss.

There was no heat, no lust, nothing that would preview a night spent in a bed together.

This kiss was a goodbye said far too soon, a story ending after the prologue, a lifetime that should have been spent together in love and happiness ending in pain and heartache. It was a promise, one that solidified with each swipe of their lips, one that said they would always be there for each other, that their love wouldn’t disappear overnight, that no matter what happened to their memories, they would always be there for each other.

Peter tried to pour just as much affection as MJ, but it was hard; if it hadn’t been for him, none of this would have ever happened. Despite how much it hurt to admit, he knew, deep, deep down, that MJ and Ned would be better without him.

Now that he was shown a different path, he knew that they could finally raise the bar from being ‘barely alive’ to ‘thriving without worrying about any impending attacks.’

“I have to go,” Peter muttered to her lips, savoring the softness for the last time, no matter what MJ promised, no matter what he agreed to in the kiss. That was the last one they would ever get to share, if he wanted the spell to hold and for them to stay safe.

“Stay safe,” MJ muttered back, eyes slowly blinking open and resting her forehead against Peter’s. This was his favorite view of his girlfriend; her eyelashes long and perfectly framing her eyes, hair pushed back in a sloppy ponytail, lips darkening a few shades, the curve of her cheekbones cutting downwards from the corners of her eyes.

He could stare at her all day, but they didn’t have all day.

They had this moment, the now, the present, and even that would soon enough be the past, never to be touched again except in ever fading memories.

“I’ll try my best,” he said softly, drowning himself in her beauty as he tried to drink her in for the last time.

“Parker!” Dr. Strange yelled. “We don’t have forever. Hurry up!”

Peter reluctantly withdrew his gaze, only to feel his shock and horror grow tenfold at the state of the city. Shadows appeared to be trying to break through the sky, reaching out as they pushed one another to the side, fighting and clambering over one another to recreate the Battle of New York Pt. II.

“I have to go,” Peter said one last time, he himself reaching out to grab and squeeze Ned’s hand and planting the ghost of a kiss on MJ’s lips before he shot out his webs and climbed his way to the top of the metal contraption.

Dr. Strange nodded at him once, hands shaking, forehead sweaty, orange sparks fizzling out. “Are you ready?”

Peter nodded in confirmation. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Dr. Strange nodded back. “The universe you’re going to,” he began to explain, “there should be no Peter Parker or Spider-man. You’ll be a blank slate. No birth certificate, no social security number, nothing.”

Peter blew out a slow breath. “I figured as much - as long as everyone here is safe.”

There was no response. Dr. Strange moved his hands quickly, the patterns of light stretching and changing into a new pattern. Peter couldn’t bring himself to say something, unsure if his voice would break the delicate spell or the doctor’s concentration.

To his immense relief, and slight confusion, Dr. Strange spoke up first. “What you’re doing,” he paused, shaking his head and readjusting his hand placements, “it takes a lot of courage to do. I don’t know if I would be able to do it.”

Peter swallowed heavily. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that, wasn’t sure if there was a right thing to say. Dr. Strange held his hands still for a moment, as if trying to ensure the spell wouldn’t fall apart as soon as he let go like a Jenga Tower.

He dropped his hands and faced Peter, an expression across his features so intense that the last time Peter had seen it was on Titan.

Hesitantly, awkwardly, the doctor put his hand on Peter’s shoulder in stilted movements, squeezing once before resting it there. Peter, being too afraid to move, let him.

Still awkwardly, still hesitantly, Dr. Strange said, “Tony… Tony would be proud of you.” Peter felt himself light up. Even though Mr. Stark had been dead and buried for months, Peter always tried to do right by him, live up to the impossible standards Iron Man set during his time as a hero and businessman. “I know that I am.”

No second guessing himself, Peter barreled into Dr. Strange, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and holding on for dear life. “Thank you,” he muttered into the cloak, “you have no idea what that means to me.”

He ignored the way that Dr. Strange had initially tensed and focused on the unsure pats on his back.

They stayed like that for a second or two before a loud screech sounded out across the city. “Okay,” Dr. Strange said, taking control of the situation again. “Are you ready?”

His eyes were intense, and while Peter knew that if he said no, they would be more than willing to find an alternative solution.

But one quick look up showed clearly that there was no time.

Peter, steeling himself, made eye contact with the sorcerer and nodded. “Yes.”

Dr. Strange gave him a smile, probably the only one Peter had ever received from the man. “Good luck, Peter.”

Then-

White.

Chapter Text

Peter awoke when a foghorn sounded.

A foghorn, right next to his head.

He jerked upright, disoriented and confused and eardrums ringing. Wincing, he rubbed his ears and tried to take stock of his surroundings, squinting at the barely there light.

A boat.

He was on the roof of a boat, for some reason. There were docks up ahead, only noticeable thanks to his enhanced eyesight.

Peter laid back down, tossing an arm over his eyes as the memories came rushing back to him.

The spell. The explanation of multiverses and magic. The unexpected constituent. The consequence for Peter’s inaction when the other Peters’ bad guys first started to show up. The easiest and hardest choice he ever had to make. The conversation with Ned and MJ. The planning done in vain. The begging. The hugs. The final and tearful goodbye. The continuation of his conversation with Dr. Strange. The second goodbye. The last look at New York. The last moment in his universe. The white light.

All of it ended with him here. Alone, in a new universe without so much as a penny to his name. No official papers, no food, nothing but the clothes on his back.

Everyone in his life either dead or with an altered memory.

There was no one coming for him.

He was truly, utterly, completely on his own.

He thought that Tony Stark taking his suit all those years ago during his sophomore year was the worst thing to happen to him, that he was by himself then.

But he had MJ. He had Ned. He had all his other friends at school, he had his academic decathlon team, his school, his neighbors, Mr. Delmar, the Avengers who weren’t on the run from the law. He had Karen. He had Tony.

He had Aunt May.

He had a home, friends, family, people who cared about him and who he cared about. He had a place to stay and a sturdy roof over his head at night and a warm bed a steady income and plenty of food.

He had sleepovers with Ned watching movies and putting together Lego sets. He had late night conversations with MJ to talk about anything and everything. He had after school practices for academic decathlon for when his life as a superhero became too much and he could pretend he was still normal, even if only for an hour, because they got would be all he needed. He had patrol and helping little old ladies cross the street and giving tourists directions and flipping for the amusement of the neighborhood children. He had dinners with Aunt May at local restaurants because neither of them could cook and helping out at the soup kitchen.

He had everything.

Now. Now, he had nothing.

He had his modified Spider-man suit, made with what little nanotechnology was left after his Iron Spider suit was slowly destroyed in battle, which might not even work in this universe, which he couldn’t even sell if it didn’t because no one would buy it. He had the underwear and tank top he was wearing under his suit.

That’s it.

He didn’t even have a phone.

The foghorn blew again.

Right, now wasn’t the time to fall down into a pit of existential despair and mind-numbing depression. He couldn’t think about all that he had lost, or else he would be sitting on that boat roof until the end of time. He had to focus, figure out where he was and where he was going to plan out his next steps. He focused his senses, honed them in on what he thought was important to piece together the puzzle he had been dropped into.

The taste of sea salt on his tongue from the ocean around him.

The smell of pollution so thick in the air it was almost suffocating.

The opaque fog surrounding the boat on all sides, lights distant beyond the docks in the vague shape of a city.

The sounds of people milling around below him, talking to each other and shuffling about. He was just able to catch snippets of what they were saying.

A college student, a little older than him, ranting to a friend who agreed wholeheartedly. “Thank god finals are over, I can’t wait to relax and do nothing all summer.”

A mom, comforting their screaming baby. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just a little longer and we’ll be at Grandma’s house, and she’ll be able to help me take care of you while dad’s gone. Shhh, please stop crying.”

A teenager, loudly complaining to their exasperated parents. “But I don’t want to leave New York! Sure, I may have gotten mugged, but at least it was safe!”

A pair of horrified parents, correcting their tween. “We’re going to Gotham because your friend got hospitalized after Joker took her and her class hostage in their field trip. We’re not going to get kidnapped ourselves! Why would you want that?”

A senior, talking louder than necessary to their grandchild. “We’ll have to be safe. I heard that Poison Ivy escaped a couple of days ago, so we probably won’t be able to go to the Botanical Gardens like you were wanting to.”

A sailor, updating the captain of the ship. “We’re almost there, but the Gotham fog is infamous for a reason. Man, I can’t wait to leave and get back to New York tomorrow.”

Analysis: Peter was on a boat, probably a ferry, one that left New York and was going to a place he had never heard of called ‘Gotham,’ a place that is apparently filled with highly dangerous people. And the ferry wouldn’t be leaving to go back to New York until tomorrow morning.

That’s fine.

This was a problem. One he could use tunnel vision to focus on so he wouldn’t think about Ned and MJ’s faces when he told them-

No. Nope. Tunnel vision. It was so easy to use when working in the lab, both before and after Tony’s death-

No.

Tunnel vision.

First things first. Clothes. He couldn’t very well walk around the ship wearing his torn and tattered Spider-man costume, now, could he? He had to be inconspicuous. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself immediately and set off alarm bells. Staying under the radar would be his best bet for the time being: at least, until he could establish himself in this universe.

Spider-man was a question for another day, considering whether or not he could patrol and look out for the little guy here as he did before. He also had to figure out whether he would be mentally capable of doing so, whether being Spider-man would be something he could yet again find comfort in, or if it would be a burden, something that only reminded him of all he lost.

But, again, questions for another day. For today, for the hour, the priority was clothes.

But where? He couldn’t think of a single place to get clothes other than someone’s suitcase. But he shouldn’t do that. He’s Spider-man, not a thief.

So, “where am I going to get clothes?” he asked aloud, mumbling under his breath and talking to himself.

His mind wandered off without his permission, thinking of every time Aunt May bought him new clothes without prompt, even before she found out he was Spider-man. She didn’t need to know why his clothes were constantly getting torn or destroyed or stretched beyond limits, she would simply go out and buy him a new t-shirt or a new pair of jeans, oftentimes without saying anything.

She would do it for no other reason besides the fact that she cared. She cared so much about him, it didn’t matter what he did, or how he messed up, she was always there with a kind word and comforting touch and slightly burned food and some new clothes (if needed).

He thought about their last months together, the support she gave generously and extensively, the way she fought for him tooth and nail at every turn, no matter the allegations against him or how atrocious the rumors.

She offered a shoulder and steady platform to stand for everything, between getting rejected from every college he applied to all the way to getting charged with murder.

He thought of her final words, unconcerned with her injuries and fate and focused on Peter, giving him advice and a steady platform even during her final moments alive.

With great power comes great responsibility.

His tears swelled, a rush of grief comparable to that of a tidal wave threatening to overtake and smoother him.

He wouldn’t let it.

He missed his aunt, he missed his aunt more than he’s ever missed anything, and those words were the only thing he had left of her. They were a part of her legacy, a way for her to live on, a way that transcended dimensional limits and bounds.

And while it provided him comfort, it couldn’t quench the guilt, it couldn’t stop his mind from screaming if it wasn’t for you, she would still be alive over and over and over again.

The foghorn sounded again.

Focus.

The boat was beginning maneuvers to dock. That might make it easier to get unassuming and discreet clothes, ones that would help him to blend into the background as much as possible.

Plan: continue to hide on the roof and wait for the boat to dock and for the passengers to disembark, leave only when the area is completely empty, then sneak somewhere to find clothes and change.

Peter felt uncertain and wrong-footed. He was about to go out and attempt to be stealthy in a strange and new place. He had no idea what he was doing and could only hope that he was making the right choices but had no way of knowing whether what he was doing was the correct thing. Maybe this would be easier, maybe he wouldn’t be second guessing himself if he was going to a place that actually existed in his universe.

There was no way to know if his plan would actually work or not; the only thing he could do was wait to enact his plan and hope for the best.

~~~~~

It took forever for the passengers to finish unloading, and even longer for the crew to move out. Peter waited for the sounds of the employees’ cars driving away to fade out before climbing off of where he was hidden on the roof.

He still constantly looked over his shoulder, paranoid despite himself and his enhanced senses that someone would pop up behind him, some bad and unknown sense setting him on edge. He walked past a sign that said ‘WELCOME TO GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY’ in faded paint, odd graffiti that was clearly a gang symbol painted over it in neon.

Someone else spray painted ‘LEAVE WHILE YOU STILL CAN’ at the bottom of the sign, along the border. The unknown, bad feeling intensified.

He tried to stick to the shadows, completely aware that his efforts were probably wasted because of the parts of his suit that were reflexive. However, this proved ineffective when, even sticking to streets with boarded up buildings and warehouses at what must have been the dead of night, the people around still easily found him and stared.

Slightly bewildered by how observation the people in this city were, Peter ducked into the nearest alley, climbing up the wall and jumping up onto the roof. Sure, swinging through the city would be more effective, but that kind of defeated the whole ‘stealthy’ vibe he was going for.

He jumped from rooftop to rooftop, not sure where he was going, but on the lookout for anywhere that looked like it could have any clothes he could use. He kept half an ear focused on his environment, listening for crime out of habit more than any intention he may have had to actually stop it.

Because of that, he easily heard a conversation two people were having. However, he nearly tripped over himself when he realised that they were also on the roof.

See, it wasn’t uncommon for people to be out on the roof. Although, it was weird for people to be on the roof of buildings that weren’t residential. It was especially weird for them to be on the roof when it was, what Peter had to guess, at least midnight, if not early in the morning.

He crouched down between an AC unit and the ledge of the roof he was on, keeping the people in his line of sight while trying to hide from theirs. They were roughly seven to eight buildings away, but Peter wasn’t taking any chances. He could just barely hear their conversation over the white noise coming from the unit blasting in his ear.

“ I can’t believe B is making us do this. It’s completely useless,” the taller one said. The person had a deep voice, broad shoulders, and wore something that glinted a muted red in the light which covered his whole head. “Can’t you do something?” he complained.

The other one huffed a laugh. “I can, but you know how he is.” She was shorter, by several inches, and had a higher voice that sounded melodic and enchanting. Her figure was similar, and while both held themselves confidently, she looked more suave while he looked more intimidating.

The taller one sighed; he sighed and jumped from the building. Peter almost shot up and raced forward to chase after the guy but relaxed when he saw the grappling line and the person swinging away.

His shock must have alerted the other to his location, because when he looked back, they made eye contact. His sixth sense spiked so intensely that he stumbled backwards.

Backwards, and right over the ledge.

With his sense still ringing, he didn’t have enough time to shoot out a web to save himself before he fell the four stories and hit the ground.

~~~~~

“Kid.”

Peter woke slowly, the world melting into reality as his dream faded, headed back to the land all forgotten dreams retire.

“Hey, kid. Ya needs ta wake up.”

His body felt fuzzy, as if he wasn’t completely corporeal. There were lingering aches across his limbs, shore muscles crying out in misery. He groaned, shifting against the uncomfortable surface he was sitting against in an attempt to relieve his back from any additional pain.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not gonna rob him when he’s unconscious. Kid’s like, 14, max.”

His head felt stuffed; not stuffed with cotton balls, though, because that would be asking too much of life. No, his head felt like someone opened it up, dumped a bunch of nails inside, melted them down, and now there was a metal sphere in place of where his brain should be.

“Move, I’ll do it.”

A sharp flash of panic hit him like a tsunami, hands flying up and sticking to a brick wall, curling his legs toward himself and sticking his feet against the wall as well, bracketing his arms in a typical Spider-man pose. Using his momentum, he rolled onto his back against the brick in a move that would be impossible for anyone who didn’t share his particular skill set.

He pushed off, narrowly skimming past the dull edge of the knife previously attempting to slice him open. He landed behind the person, digging his fingers into the curve of their neck, inciting a temporary paralysis to overtake the person’s body he had learned during one of the self defense classes that were taught at FEAST.

Peter rubbed his eye with one hand sleepily as his sixth sense activated again, his other arm punching straight out and tripping the next person.

Finally opening his eyes, he squinted against the streetlight, harsher than he remembered, but quickly landed his gaze on the third and final person in the alley, the other two knocked out at Peter’s feet. He tracked the way the person’s hands trembled, knife in a loose grasp as he looked in terror at his fallen friends.

“So,” Peter started, stopped, pressed a fist against his mouth to cover a yawn. “You wanna fight, too?”

The guy shook his head, slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed as his gaze bounced between Peter and his fellow muggers.

Peter yawned again. “Great. Good on you for making good choices,” he nodded in approval.

The guy kept looking at him in shock.

Peter huffed a laugh. This couldn’t be too crazy of an experience, right?

“Are you… meta?” the guy asked nervously.

Peter scrunched his eyebrows together, head drawing back slightly in confusion. “Meta?”

The guy nodded, more confidently now, and Peter was electing to ignore the bobble head jokes he could very easily have told. “Yeah, because if the bats finds ya here…”

He trailed off ominously, leaving Peter even more confused than before.

“The bats?” he asked, taking a step forward.

The guy took a stumbling step back. “Just, be on the lookout for them, all right? I’ve got friends who were meta that got driven outta town by the bats. Us lowlifes gotta stick together, right?” he gave a weak laugh before quickly sobering once more. “So be careful.”

“All right,” Peter agreed, albeit hesitantly. What was this guy talking about? And why did he immediately lump Peter in with the rest of the ‘lowlifes?’ He knows his posture never straightened out after spending those two weeks on the streets, sleeping under bridges in shady places, trying to find a place to live after Uncle Ben died and they were kicked out of the apartment because Aunt May’s name wasn’t on the lease, and he must look beyond exhausted, but still.

Peter watched as the guy waved and sped walked out of the alley. He looked down at the other two and tried to think, mind slightly fuzzy, but not enough to impede his thought process.

Plan.

He had a plan.

He got off the ferry and now had to find clothes so no one else saw him in his Spider-man suit. Looking up at the rusted and clearly unstable fire escapes that lined the walls of the alley, he had his choice in clothing. He scaled the wall, trusting the brick to hold his weight more than the discolored and misshapen metal of the ladders and barely stable platforms.

Peter, about halfway up the wall, found some clothes to – ahem – borrow. He grabbed a shirt and pulled it on over what was left of his suit, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and trying to shove both of his feet in at the same time while maintaining some semblance of balance against the wall, refusing to so much as touch the fire escapes for fear of getting tetanus.

He kicked off the wall, doing a front tuck and landing gracefully on the balls of his feet. Then he was alone with two unconscious criminals, standing in a dank alleyway without a singular way to connect to anyone.

Connect to anyone…

Connect…

He reached down and rifled through the pockets of the muggers. They were criminals, and unconscious. It wasn’t like he was stealing from them, he just needed to borrow something for a moment to get his bearings.

Letting out a small noise of triumph, he pulled a phone out from one of their jackets. He turned it on and held it up to the person’s face, pleased to note that face ID was a thing in this universe as well.

He ignored the apps and information that seemed personal and focused on what he needed. The first thing he did was open the maps app, needing to determine his exact location and what was nearest to him. Perhaps he could find a homeless shelter, or somewhere else he could spend the night.

The store he was closest to, just outside of the alleyway, was 34 Hudson Ave, in Gotham City. There were no homeless shelters that he could find nearby on the map; all the ones that popped up closed permanently or condemned. In fact, most of the stores in the area were in similar conditions.

“Gotham,” Peter muttered to himself as he thought over his next step, toying with the drawstrings of his pants as he looked away from the phone and out the entrance of the alley. “That’s such a stupid name, I can’t believe it’s a real place.” He knew he wasn’t the best at geography, but he thought that he would know the cities in New York and its surrounding states. Or, at least the major cities, like Gotham appeared to be from the map on the phone, if nothing else.

“Oh, I assure you, honey, it is,” a voice said from above.

Sixth sense kicking in – and really, it couldn’t have been helpful, like, two minutes ago to let him know someone was watching? – Peter cast a cautious look upwards, trying in vain to spot the owner of the voice from above amongst poor lighting and drab aesthetic against the unusually heavy smog.

“Who are you?” Peter asked, voice barely loud enough to be heard.

“You answer first, darling,” the voice replied, and god, he hated when people used excessive pet names for him. It would be unfortunate if they were the same way, because Peter didn’t know if he could have handled it that night.

He thought over his options. The last figure he saw on a rooftop set off his sixth sense so badly he literally fell off the roof. That never happens to him. Ever. Deciding to play along for now, he asked, “why should I tell you?”

“Because, sweetie, you’re standing in the middle of Crime Alley, and you don’t even know what Gotham is,” the voice purred in amusement.

Peter didn’t know if he should’ve felt embarrassed or angered. As it stood, he felt both, letting his hackles rise freely as he subtly slid his right foot back so he could stand in a looser, sturdier fighting stance, just like Colonel Rhodes taught him all those years ago, before everything went to hell and promptly turned into the largest pile of shit imaginable.

When Peter didn’t respond, the voice tutted. “Do you even have a place to stay?” they asked derisively.

Peter hesitated, because no, he didn’t have a place to stay and desperately needed one before he got attacked again. Not to mention, some food would be nice. Apparently, traveling across multiverses made one very hungry.

But, even by asking, the voice proved that they had been watching for far longer that Peter was comfortable with, all while his stupid Peter Tingle didn’t do the one thing it was supposed to and tingle.

But, again, having a roof to sleep under would always be preferable to having no roof.

His hesitance must have shown, because the voice called out to him, “I can take you my loft, if you want. It’s not too far from here.”

It had to be a trap. No one would just… let some strange kid wearing a strange, metal costume into their home without it being a trap.

He took another step back but tripped as the voice leaped from above and landed right behind him, securing him with hands placed on his biceps as he regained his balance. Peter turned around and came face to face with a woman slightly shorter than him, clearly one of the people from the rooftop. Up close and personal, he could see that she was covered from head-to-toe in a faux leather armour with a whip tied around her waist, dangling behind her like a tail. The look was completed by the cowl pulled tightly over her head, two little points on top like cat ears.

Peter felt himself grin. “You like cats?” She gave him an unimpressed look and an exaggerated once over, clearly making fun of his own costume choices, which she had obviously seen before he put on his borrowed clothes. “Hey!” Peter started, intent on defending his dignity or pride or whatever. “I’ll have you know that this is-“

“C’mon, kitten,” the person said, dragging a hand down his arm before grabbing his wrist and tugging slightly.

“Uhhh,” Peter said, the perfect picture of eloquence as his mind finally put the pieces together and everything clicked into place, “I feel like I should mention that I’m not a legal adult yet.” He mentally slapped himself. Why would he say that? He had no reason to, but he still heard the words spill from his mouth, because why else would she want him to go back to her loft with her? Why else would she call him all sorts of pet names? Why else would she move her body and the hips the same way he’d watched drunken girls flirt with guys at the very few parties he went to?

She was flirting with him… right?

The person’s stride didn’t falter, but they did look back with concern written plainly for all to see. “You’re not 18?”

Oh. Oh shit. Peter definiterly shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have given away that much of himself to a total and complete stranger in a brand-new world in a foreign universe. He should’ve just said that he wasn’t interested and tried to get away without enraging or hurting this cat-dressed lady.

“Don’t worry, hun,” she said, turning forwards and guiding him down the street. “I won’t tell.”

Oh.

Well.

Fuck.

“Look, ma’am, I’m really not-“ Peter tried to explain.

He was cut off by that same purring voice and a thumb rubbing gentle, almost comforting circles into his wrist. “Please, baby, don’t call me ma’am. I’m not that old.”

Baby???

“Ma’am,” Peter said again, trying to pull his wrist back. The action led them both to a halt, the woman looking up at him in as much confusion as her mask would allow. “I really don’t want to have sex with you,” he said bluntly.

Her face slackened, her jaw actually dropping. “Is that what you think this is?” her words dripping in more amusement than Peter thought necessary.

But her words left him feeling like he’d made a gross miscalculation. “Is that not… what this is?”

A laugh. She was laughing at him. It was high and eloquent and clearly restrained. But it was still a laugh. “Oh, honey, no. I’m engaged to an incredibly rich man. Why would I ever cheat on him with some random child I found from off the streets?”

Okay. Wow. Rude.

How was Peter supposed to know she was engaged? He’d seen plenty of people led off and away during his time as Spider-man, people that would never be seen again unless he could help them. But, the hardest part, sometimes, was convincing those people that whoever promised them luxury and safety and comfort were lying; after spending so long on their own, it could be hard to believe that this person, this savior, was lying to them.

Peter had seen it countless times in his too few years as a vigilante, and he himself had never been so desperate as to believe the hallow lies and pretty mirages painted by assailants. He never had been, and didn’t ever plan on being, even if this ‘savior’ seemed to think it funny to make fun of him.

Or maybe he hit his head harder than he thought. Was his vision supposed to have black spots? He had a feeling the answer was no.

“So, what are planning on doing with me?” he asked, feeling more weary and confused than anything.

And exhausted. And hungry. And in pain because of his head. But that was from the whole traveling-through-space-and-possibly-time thing. Not from this woman.

“Take you back to my loft. Give you some food. I have a couch you can stay on for the night. It’s late, too late for you to be out on your own in the most dangerous part of the city, especially not after you hit your head like you did,” she listed, not blinking in the face of his apprehension, and also answering his unanswered and unasked question of how long she had been watching him earlier. The answer: the entire time. Good to know, even if he couldn’t do anything with that information.

For some reason, Peter found himself believing her. Mr. Stark always had a theory that Peter’s sixth sense could save him from all danger, including the non-life-threatening kind, including threats hidden behind words dulled down to mask the danger. They never had time to experiment or test that theory, but Peter also had plenty of experience outside of the lab and outside of Spider-man to come up with a semi conclusive answer, one that said Mr. Stark was right.

He didn’t know his Peter Tingle had spiked when she first looked over, but it wasn’t anymore, and his head felt too heavy and full to question the difference.

As the person pulled him after her for a few blocks, then into an apartment building and up the elevator, Peter felt his sixth sense thrum and buzz from external problems, like muggings in other alleys or robberies in corner stores, but never from the person in front of him.

She only let go to fish her keys out of a pocket on her suit and open the door. Immediately, he was greeted with four different cats, all purring and begging for attention. She pushed them inside and held the door open for Peter, shutting it after him.

“Welcome to my apartment, kitten. Make yourself at home.”

Then his senses spiked a split second too late.

A sharp pain exploded on the back of his head.

The last thing he saw was the floor quickly rising to meet him face first.

Chapter Text

Everything came back into focus slowly.

A wooden chair underneath him.

A rope wrapped securely around his wrists and ankles.

A thick cloth tied over his eyes.

The scent of flowers and other plant life surrounding him on all sides.

The humming of the air conditioning unit.

A slight chill to the air from said air conditioning unit.

Horns blaring and people yelling in the street below.

A conversation with sentences spoken in broken bits and pieces.

“-don’t see what the big deal is.”

“You could have just asked instead of hitting him!”

“I already told you; I didn’t see you! What was I supposed to do, ask the stranger who I thought was breaking into my dear friend’s lovely home what he’s doing?”

“At least she didn’t murder him.”

“See? Even Ivy agrees with me.”

“Woah, woah, woah, I never said I agreed-“

“That’s because you’re dating.”

“And that’s beside the point. You should be happy I knocked him out instead of letting a strange man wander through your apartment unsupervised.”

“I thought we already went over this. Harley, just because he’s a man, doesn’t mean that he’s a bad-“

“And what happened to Bruce? I thought you two were engaged.”

“Oh, we certainly still are, see?”

“Oh my gosh, I will never get tired of looking at that ring. I mean, just look at the size of that rock!”

“Mhmm, he sure knows what I like.”

“I’m sorry, can we please get back to the tied up… I don’t know, how old is he?”

“Not eighteen.”

“Not eighte- Harley!”

“What! I didn’t know he was a kid!”

“You could’ve just looked at him. That baby fat has not gone away.”

“You knocked out a kid and tied him up!”

“Again, I didn’t know he was a kid! And besides, it’s not like he would be the first kid we tied up!”

“What-“

“Robin! I’m talking about Robin.”

“For all we know, he could be younger than Robin.”

“Ugh. Now I really don’t know what to do with him.”

“What would have done if he was eighteen?”

“If Ms. Kitty Cat-“

“Don’t call me that.”

“-didn’t want to murder him… I don’t know, maybe play it off as some weird sex thing? People are into that, right?”

“Why would-“

“Hey, we don’t kink shame here.”

“That’s not- no-”

“The kid thought the same thing.”

“He did???”

“Do people really think Bruce and I really need help in the bedroom?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about your relationship.”

“So why would you assume-“

“I DON’T KNOW, OKAY? GOD, you try to do one nice thing for someone and make sure their apartment doesn’t get broken into, and suddenly you’re the bad guy.”

“Harley, we literally are the bad guys, though. We’ve spent too many years trapped in cells at Arkham not to be.”

“Yeah, but… shut up.”

“Only after we figure out what to do with him.”

“You could, uh,” Peter said hesitantly, almost stopping completely as he heard the other’s shocked reactions before forcing himself to continue, “you could let me go?” He didn’t mean for it to sound like a question, he really didn’t, but the way his voice got higher and higher at the end made it sound exactly like one. “I won’t tell anyone that you tied me up or… kidnapped me?” That part did come out purposefully as a question, but in Peter’s defense, he genuinely did not know if he had been kidnapped or not.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Um,” Peter said, verbally showing his thinking and processing skills, or lack thereof. “I don’t know, a while,” again, he didn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but despite his best efforts, it did.

“How much did you hear?”

Peter didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to answer because he knew if he told the truth, it would be the wrong answer because he knows he’s been awake for too long, but-

“How long, kid?”

“For a few minutes,” he said cryptically, hoping that they wouldn’t call him out.

“So, you were awake for our entire conversation.”

Goddammit.

“I’m sorry,” Peter tried to apologize, “I didn’t-“

“Calm down, kid, we ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Peter said, a breathless and hesitant laugh following his sentence. He bit his tongue; he was pretty sure he hadn’t intended on saying that out loud.

“Is it because we’ve murdered people? Because if that’s the reason, kid, I swear, most people in this city have, so you better not be a fucking hypocrite-“

“No, no, it’s…” Peter rushed to say before his brain caught up. “Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean you’ve murdered people-“

“It’s not important.”

“Who hasn’t?”

“It’s a thing, don’t worry about it.”

Silence.

Peter cleared his throat. “Right… okay, sure. What I meant was that I can’t see anyone of you, but now I am concerned about the murder thing.”

“Don’t, it’s not a big deal.”

He started talking before he could stop himself and think for half a second and realize that maybe talking back to the people holding him captive was a bad idea. “Well, I personally disagree-“

He was cut off as the blindfold was ripped off without warning, light flooding violently into his eyes, temporarily blinding him as he tried to readjust to the sudden change. He squinted against the brightness, eyes taking longer than usual to get used to the change and more sensitive than usual. His mask helped his eyes on normal days and didn’t ever do much for his headaches, but with the raging migraine he had, Peter couldn’t help but desperately wish he had it on.

When he could see and the light stopped being so oppressive, he recognized only one of the three people in front of him, the one dressed in an expensive, leather cat costume that wouldn’t look out of place at a sorority Halloween party.

The other two he didn’t recognize; one was as white as a sheet of paper – literally – and dressed in alternating black and red with a clear line down the middle of her entire outfit with hair in pigtails and dyed tips, while the other had green skin and long and flowing red hair with a matching green outfit plus vines slowly moving over her entire body and throughout her hair.

Together, the three of them could not have looked more different - they were certainly quite the trio, definitely a sight to be seen.

Peter stared for a moment, brain working at a noticeably slower operational speed. They were clearly waiting for some signs of recognition to settle into Peter’s expression, but when none came, they all looked equally baffled.

“Do you not… recognize us?” the one with pigtails asked, swinging a baseball bat ideally in her hands. “Everyone from Gotham does.”

“Even people who aren’t from here know who we are, we’re kind of recognizable,” the green one said – she must have been an alien or something, that was the only logical conclusion – while the one in pigtails nodded seriously, her hair floating about and knocking the other one in the face.

Peter shook his head, wincing when the fast movement ignited his previously slowly retreating headache.

“Are you okay,” the one in the cat suit – Selina, the others had called her, right? – asked, a look of concern etched onto her face.

“I’m- fine,” Peter said, a little strangled as his headache refused to lessen and not at all convincing if the way Selina began to walk closer to him was any sign.

“Peter, honey, look at me, will you?” Selina asked, crouching down slightly in front of him. Peter did as she said, waiting for her to finish examining his eyes. She held her hand out over her shoulder, palm flat, and asked, “can you get me a flashlight?”

Peter was about to point out the fact that he was still tied up, but then Harley dug through her leather jacket pockets and pulled out a flashlight, putting it in Selina’s hand. She flashed the light in his eyes, and Peter immediately winced, head turning to get away from the sudden attack.

“I know, sweetheart,” Selina said soothingly, her free hand coming up to cup his check and tilt his face towards her, “I know it hurts, just bear with me for a moment, kitten.” She shined the light in his eyes again and Peter tried not to cringe away. “You have a concussion,” Selina concluded after a moment, standing up and straightening her shirt.

“It’s fine,” Peter said, slurred, same thing. “I’ll be good in a few hours.” Was it just him or was his head getting really, really heavy? And his eyes getting harder and harder to keep open?

“I’ve had my fair share of concussions, kid, and I’ve also helped the robins when they get head injuries. Trust me, it’ll take at least two weeks for your head to heal,” Selina told him firmly.

“So, in a few hours then, right?” he asked, voice tampered by a yawn at the end of his sentence, but mind still able to complete the quick conversions from normal people healing to his speedy-spidery healing. His vision started blurring. He must have really been out of it, because if he squinted and tilted his head just right, it almost looked like Selina was…

“No, and listen to me carefully on this, two weeks,” Selina stressed.

Peter nodded dimly, eyes sliding shut of their own accord. He didn’t remember getting tired, but he was positive he was about to pass out. His vision blurred, the people, Selina, losing definition and changing shape before his very eyes. He looked up and gave a small smile, just enough for his crow’s feet to make a ghost of an appearance and for his lips to curve upwards in the slightest of motions. A soft smile, one reserved for… “Thanks, Aunt-“

And then he passed out.

~~~~~

When he came to, he was untied and out of the hard chair. He was laying on a leather couch with a soft blanket pulled up to his chin, a cool washcloth on his forehead, chatter so quiet surrounding him that he could almost pretend he could drown it out with the sounds of rush hour traffic and people shouting on the street below.

He tried to open his eyes, but the light in the room was brighter than before. He winced, a whine slipping past his lips as he tried to roll over and away from searing light that felt like it was trying to blind him.

“Shhhh,” a voice cooed. Peter heard the sounds of people moving about around him. “Close the curtains,” the voice said, and fingers slipped in between the strands of his hair, gently raking through,  calming and repetitive.

The light lessened, and Peter relaxed in the blissful darkness.

“Go back to sleep, kitten, you need it,” the voice said, just as gentle as the fingers in his hair.

Peter drifted back to sleep.

~~~~~

The third time he woke up, he felt more present and aware than he had since he was dropped into this universe. There was only one other person in the room with him. Selina.

He stretched his hearing, listening for signs of anyone else in the apartment, but the only living creatures he could hear were the cats, two of which were curled around his bent legs laying on top of each other.

Sounds of pots and pans in the kitchen, the refrigerator opening in closing, meant that Selina was probably cooking, and based on the light outside, it had to be sometime in the evening.

He took his time sitting up, the soft, black blanket with yellow shapes that looked like strange bats falling down his torso and bunching up in his lap. He rubbed his eyes, willing for the last remains of sleep still dragging him down to dissipate, and took in the apartment for the first time.

It was modern, plants artfully placed in any open space not already filled with some other kind of decoration. Cats roamed around; climbing trees occupied and toys tossed about. Art hung from the walls, pieces that should clash but somehow tied the room together.

The two cats protested as he moved his legs and set his feet on the ground, but adjusted and shuffled closer together, both falling back to sleep easily enough. Peter grabbed the washcloth and stood, taking a moment to lean against the arm rest as his vision faded to black before righting itself again.

He stood and walked – slowly – to where the sounds were originating from; he could still feel the last dredges of his concussion, and not including the part of his that just felt fundamentally wrong, he was almost felt as good as new.

When he entered the kitchen, Selina wasn’t dressed in leather, or even the color black. She wore soft gray leggings and a red shirt with an oddly shaped W in the middle. She looked up from the pan she was stirring on the stove. “You’re awake, good,” she said with a smile. Turning back to the pan, she continued, “go ahead and take a seat while I finish this.”

Peter sat on a stool at the island and watched Selina curiously. He couldn’t help the questions running through his mind, btu he at least was aware enough to know what he could and couldn’t ask, what was and wasn’t acceptable to ask strangers. Asking someone why they were dressed as a leather cat last night most likely fell into the ‘unacceptable’ category.

But then again, Peter couldn’t really judge, not when he went out to fight crime and aliens dressed in a poor spider costume with his mentor who was an ordinary human in a tin can.

“Go ahead and ask your questions,” Selina said offhandedly.

Peter startled, eyes growing wide as she stared in shock. It wasn’t very often that he was caught off guard, not with his ‘Peter Tingle,’ but he had certainly not expected Selina to say anything, and certainly not anything like that.

As if feeling his incredulous stare, Selina threw a smirk over her shoulder. “Go on,” she prompted, adding a sauce – teriyaki, thank you enhance senses – “ask.”

Since she gave her permission…

“Why were you dressed as a cat last night?” he asked outright.

Selina laughed, herself startled. It was kind of nice to know that, even if she was able to shock Peter, he was able to shock her right back.

She didn’t answer at first, choosing instead to plate the food and wash her hands. When she finished, she turned around and placed Peter’s food in front of him, grabbing her own and standing on the opposite side of the island from him. She took a single bite, chewed and swallowed, before responding. “Have you ever heard of Catwoman?”

Peter, in the middle of his own bite, debated the pros and cons of lying. He could tell the truth and be labeled a social outcast, especially if those other two women were to be believed that they were incredibly recognizable individuals, but he was shit at lying and would be easily called out for doing so, and he didn’t want to risk upsetting the sole person who had given him shelter and food in this new universe.

But, telling the truth would mean trying to explain that he was from a different universe, something that was still so new to Peter that he could barely comprehend it being commonplace on any other universe, even if he knew it probably was. It was more likely she didn’t know about alternate dimensions, and he couldn’t risk being called crazy or insane and sent away for something that was true.

Taking a risk, he said, “yes,” not at all convincingly into his bite of chow mein.

Selina raised an eyebrow, clearly seeing through his lie. “I know the Bat; you think I can’t tell when someone is lying?”

Peter didn’t know the Bat; he had no idea who the Bat was. But he couldn’t say that either. He settled to respond with a noncommittal hum, one that was also seen through immediately, goddammit-

“The Bat? Batman? Surely you know who he is.” When Peter didn’t respond, just kept shoveling bite after bite of food into his mouth, Selina set down her plate, staring at Peter like she couldn’t comprehend who, or what, he was.

“I would say that you might be from another planet, but the ones with the abilities to come here to Earth all know who he is,” Selina said bluntly, still staring at Peter like he was a puzzle she couldn’t solve, and Peter choked on his noodles.

Another planet, she had said. Other planets. Aliens were a thing here, too, and Peter couldn’t- that last fight against Thanos hadn’t been that long ago, not in the grand scheme of things, and Peter couldn’t- if there was a chance that Thanos could be here, too- he couldn’t-

“Who are you?” Selina asked, one of her hands still on the counter, the other drifting under, searching for something- and Peter couldn’t let her grab it, couldn’t let her get a weapon to hurt him, couldn’t let her-

“Okay, okay! Okay.” Peter took a breath, hands held up in surrender, both plates and the food they held forgotten. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you, but I need to know some things first.”

Selina considered him for a long, stretching moment, but eventually relented. Her hand didn’t come back up to the counter, but it didn’t continue its search, so that was something.

Peter swallowed, hands slowly falling to rest on the counter, spread in a way he had learned made people feel less threatened after his experiences with the police when he had been arrested for a murder he never committed. He took a deep breath, then another, then another, to steel himself for the question he was about to ask.

“You said other planets, you have aliens here?” He knew the language he was using was damning, that it was going to give himself away, but none of that mattered if Thanos was out there-

Selina’s eyebrows bunched together, looking more concerned than her previously on guard expression allowed. “Yes,” she said slowly, “why do you ask?”

Peter ignored her question, focused so intently on keeping himself together and preventing his fraying sems from coming undone. “Thanos,” he gasped out, eyes closing for a moment because he can’t live through that again, if Dr. Strange had sent him to a different universe to go through that again, he didn’t think he could deal with it- he couldn’t-

“Who is Thanos?” Selina asked, her growing concern becoming palpable.

Peter closed his eyes and hung his head, focusing on his breaths. In and out. In and out. In and out. “The Titans…” In and out. In and out.

“The Titans…” Selina started, clearly unsure of her words and the effect they could have on him, “are in Jump City.” Peter’s head snapped up.

A chill raced down his spine, spreading down his limbs until his entire body felt numb. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breath, he couldn’t- they were already here-

“Peter?” Selina asked cautiously, both hands now in view, but Peter couldn’t focus on that, not when half of this universe was about to die, not when he was about to fail, again.

“What?” Peter gasped out, and Selina slowly started to make her way around the island, coming closer and closer to him. Peter would usually try to get away, to put space between them, but his body felt like it was made of lead, and he was submerged under the entire ocean. He couldn’t move- he couldn’t move-

“The Titans, that’s where they’re located,” Selina said, but that didn’t make any sense, because the Titans were all dead and only one was left and he was going to kill everyone and- “The team of heroes. Raven, Superboy, Beast Boy, Starfire-“

But… none of those were the names of Titans, none of those were-

The team of heroes.

Of course.

“So,” Peter started, swallowed, then continued slowly, “they aren’t aliens?”

Selina was significantly closer now than she was before. She took a seat next to him and looked like she wanted to reach out but kept her hands to herself. “I mean,” she said just as slowly, “Starfire is a Tamaran, and Superboy is half Kryptonian-“

“But none of them are Titans?” Peter asked, then winced when he realized he had interrupted. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, kitten,” Selina took a deep breath of her own, mirroring the ones Peter took not but a few minutes prior. “If you’re asking if the Titans are actually an alien race called Titans, then no, they’re not.”

And just like that, Peter turned into a marionette with its strings cut; he sagged in relief, almost collapsing into himself if it hadn’t been for Selina’s strong arms holding him up. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” she asked into the crown of his head.

Peter nodded, turning his head into the crook of her neck, soaking up her warmth and the comfort that came from the embrace, the best he’d had since-

And just like that, the tears started anew, and Peter hugged back as his sobs tore their way out of him.

Selina held him through it all, holding on tight and whispering reassurances into his hair. Selina, helping and comforting this child, this child that she had known for less than 24 hours, and most of that time was spent with Peter being unconscious.

Peter cleared his throat, pulling away and attempting to pull himself together. Selina turned away and reached for her plate of food as Peter scrubbed the wetness from his eyes.

“How did you find me last night?” he asked as he picked up his utensils, ignoring the still wet tear tracks on his face, wanting to move on as soon as possible and stop dealing with all the terrible emotions that came from thinking about his own death as well as Mr. Stark’s and everyone else’s.

Selina twirled some noodles on her plate, still drawn with concern, but obviously seeing what Peter was attempting to do and giving him the grace to do it. “I was on my way to a very nice restaurant for a date-“

“With the billionaire guy? What was his name...” Peter sniffled as he tried to think, he knew someone had said it at some point… “Bruce?” That was it, right?  

“The billionaire guy, indeed.” Peter tried for a smile, one that was successful as it was hesitantly reflected by Selina before she tapped on the edge of his plate to prompt him to eat again. “So, I was trying to get to the restaurant for my date, when a weird light started to light up the sky.”

Peter frowned, deciding to ignore the fact that she was supposedly going on a date in a leather cat suit and focus on the more important details, like the fact that the sky was behaving weirdly. “What do you mean?”

A more genuine, fond smile appeared on her lips. “Harley said that it looked like the sky from the Chicken Little movie when ‘the sky was falling.’”

“Huh.” Another great example of Peter’s processing skills. But, in all fairness, that description wasn’t too far off what the sky looked like in his universe during everything, and if it looked even a fraction as bad as it did over there, then Peter could understand.

“It has been a long time since she’s seen the movie, so I don’t know how accurate her assessment is.” Peter laughed lightly, a juxtaposition to the tears still threatening to spill. He thought it was pretty accurate. “Anyhow, we all split up to look for the cause-“

“What do you mean ‘we?’” interrupted again, but his curiosity was a beast, as Mr. Stark had liked to joke, and couldn’t easily be satisfied.

“We-“ Selina stopped, looked at him with that same strange, concerned, dissecting look before she continued. “The Justice League looks over the rest of the world, but I was talking about those of us who wear a mask in Gotham. The bats all fight crime. Harley, Ivy, and I all have our own thing going on that wouldn’t qualify for hero on any planet-“

“Back up, back up. The bats? Different from the Bat? And the Justice League?”

Selina stared at him for a long moment, long enough to make Peter start to fidget. He didn’t understand, and that was a problem because he wanted to understand. Or maybe this was all a distraction from his own pain. Either explanation was good. “Where on Earth have you been, kid?”

It was Peter’s turn to leave the question unanswered, looking on for a long moment and letting the silence stretch, feeling more somber and wearier with each passing second, the weight on his shoulders growing heavier and heavier. “Do you want the truth?”

Selina considered him, Peter could feel it without looking. It felt oddly reminiscent of MJ. “If you feel comfortable telling me.”

Peter debated the pros and cons again. Technically, Dr. Strange never told him that he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone on this Earth that he was from a different universe, and he owed it to her, after forcing her to witness his miny spiral at the thought that Thanos was alive in this universe and was going to murder everyone here as well, so…

“I’m from a different universe.” Wow. Way to bite the bullet, Parker.

“Are you really?” Peter nodded. Selina hummed, her mental debate clear on her face. “I guess that would explain why the sky looked like it was getting split open.” Peter almost laughed. Oh, if she only knew. “That is why it was getting split open, right?”

“Oh, no, yeah, it is,” Peter quickly clarified.

Selina nodded, and the two lapsed into a quiet moment, sounds of their utensils clattering against their plates keeping it from being complete silence. It was eventually broken with a hesitant question. “This Titan, what was his name?”

“Thanos,” Peter answered heavily, shoulders growing heavier again.

“Thanos,” Selina repeated. “Was he someone from your universe?”

Peter nodded. “He killed a lot of people.” He didn’t fully feel present in the moment, eyes staring blankly at the counters and grip lax. Selina must have realized this because she didn’t answer any more questions.

When she finished eating, she grabbed both of their plates and stood. “Do you want more?” Peter nodded and before he knew it, another plate full of food was placed in front of him.

“Thanks,” Peter said, and got to eating, not minding when Selina sat down next to him again.

It was when Peter finished and asked for thirds that Selina’s mouth twitched into a smile, and it was after he finished that when Selina reignited their conversation. “A different universe?”

Peter nodded. “I know it must be, like, mind blowing to learn that there are more than one, that’s there’s a whole multiverse out there, but-“

He stopped when he heard a chuckle of laughter. “I wouldn’t exactly call this the first time I’ve heard of the multiverse, darling.”

Peter stared at her blankly, this time for a whole different reason. “What.”

But Selina just kept laughing and did absolutely nothing to help cure Peter’s rapidly growing curiosity. Instead, she pointed behind him and said, “if you go down that hallway, last room on the right, there should be some clothes in the drawers that should fit you.”

And suddenly, Peter became aware of the fact that he was still wearing the borrowed clothes, and under those, his spider suit.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said as he rose from his seat, stopping by the sink to place his dirty dishes.

“There’s no need to call me ma’am, kitten,” Selina replied, although it sounded more like a purr.

Peter gave her a thumbs up and dashed down the hall, ready to change into something clean.

The bedroom was simple. There was a bed with a comforting blue cover, a blanket at the foot of the bed was green with strange yellow Rs on it. The pillowcases were black, standing out starkly from the white furniture. Peter walked around the room, discovering a door that led into a bathroom hidden from peering eyes passing by the doorway by the dresser.

The bathroom was fully stocked, even with new, unopened toothbrushes and deodorants in the drawers under the sink.

Peter looked through the dresser, finding a suitable T-shirt and pair of pants to wear. He then went into the bathroom and decided to take a shower to wash off the junk of the past few days and inter-dimensional travel off him.

By the time he emerged from the room, there were two other people talking in the living room.

Peter stiffened and quietly closed the door behind him. Who were they? Why didn’t he hear them come in? What was going on?

He was about to take off to go find Selina before he heard her respond to something one of the two people said.

An uneasy feeling sunk like a rock in his gut, but there was nothing he could do about it. And it didn’t seem like Selina was in danger, or else his sixth sense would have been going off.

Right?

Peter walked down the hallway cautiously. When he reached the end and peaked his head out so he could see the living room, he barely had time to recognize the two people as the green lady and the one with pigtails from earlier before there was a shout of “there’s chicken little!” and he gained a leach on his side.

“Hello?” Peter asked uncertainly.

The woman with the pigtails grinned up at him from where she was hanging off his side. “Hiya, chicky!”

Peter went to respond, paused, reevaluated his words, and chose something new. “I think you’re misremembering the movie.”

“Nonsense,” she tried to wave her hand in the air, but stopped as her precarious position became precious-er. “Selina was just catching us up on what happened ta ya and it sounds a lot like Chicken Little.”

Peter didn’t even have time to tell her that no, it does not before the green lady called over from the couch, “Harley! Get off of him and leave the poor kid alone!”

The woman in pigtails – who Peter now knows is Harley – sighed extremely dramatically and leaned backwards, placing her hands on the ground as she did a back walkover off of him, which then turned into a back handspring over a cat. She landed beautifully in front of the couch, arms raised like a gymnast, before dramatically falling backwards onto the green lady’s lap.

Selina rolled her eyes. “Does my no tumbling indoors rule mean nothing to you?”

Harley sat up, gasping just as dramatically as her fall. “Dickie does it, too!”

“That doesn’t mean he’s supposed to,” Selina said in a tone that made it very clear this was something she had repeated several times. Then, upon seeing Peter nervously occupying the doorway, said, “come, sit next to me,” as she patted the couch.

Peter drifted over and sat, unsure of the two other women.

“This is Harley,” Selina introduced, pointing to Harley. “The green one is Ivy.”

Peter nodded his understanding. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice ta meet ya, too, sugar,” Harley said in a cheery voice; Ivy just nodded back.

Peter shifted awkwardly, unsure as to what to do next. Selina, thankfully,  took pity on him and patted the seat next to her. As he sat, Ivy gave Harley a warning look – a warning for what, Peter didn’t know – but Harley very pointedly ignored her.

“So, you’re the little fella who fell into our universe from some other Earth and caused the sky to go all Chicken Little, aren’t ya?” Harley asked with a tilted head.

Peter blinked at the bluntness of her question, but confirmed her statement, nonetheless. Although, “in Chicken Little, it was aliens that caused the sky to fall,” he told her.

“And?” Harley asked in response, not cowed at all.

“But…” Peter started haltingly, “I’m not an alien.”

“But the sky was still falling,” Harley pointed out incorrectly. “What’s your point, Jobu?”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows, confused as to how talking to another person could be this… he didn’t even have the adjectives to correctly describe it… just, bad, for a lack of a better term. “If it was anything like what happened in my universe, it definitely did not look anything like Chicken Little.”

Harley shrugged and leaned back against the arm that Ivy had draped on the back of the couch. “Eh, if ya say so. I haven’t seen the movie in forever.”

What-

Selina patted his arm in a comforting and understanding manner, giving Peter a look that said she knew exactly what he was feeling, but to just let it go. Peter did with a huff.

“How did you get here?” Ivy asked, hand now drawing patterns into Harley’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Peter half-lied. He knew full well about the events that transpired to send him to another universe, but why Dr. Strange decided to send him to this universe in particular, if it was even a conscious decision on his part, was a mystery. So, he took a different route in answering the question. “I woke up on a ferry’s roof when its horn blasted in my ear. I couldn’t do much when the boat was in the middle of the ocean, so I just waited until it docked here.”

Ivy narrowed her eyes, making it known that she knew exactly what Peter was doing, but letting it slide.

“It must have been a shock,” Selina said, calm but sharp eyes trained on Peter.

Oh, she had no idea.

“I’m used to change,” Peter answered vaguely.

A hint of a smirk appeared on Selina’s lips, increasing as she made distinct eye contact with both Ivy and Harley. She turned back to Peter, mouth open with the intent to say something, but she was interrupted by a thump on her balcony.

She got up immediately, opening the doors and talking to someone outside in tones so hushed it was clear that they didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation.

Too bad Peter had super hearing.

“Is he here?”

“He’s sitting on the couch next to Ivy and Harls.”

“Are you sure it’s him?”

Selina nodded definitively. “It’s him.”

A grunt, a whole person walking inside after the sound, as if entering someone’s apartment on the sixth floor of an apartment building is a completely normal thing that does not warrant a discussion of any kind.

Then Peter saw him.

A man at least six foot two inches tall, build like Captain America or Thor, dressed in all black with an ever-shifting cape behind him, making it appear as though the man was one with the shadows of the night he had emerged from. There was a belt around his waist with more pockets than countable, all of which could hold an immeasurable number of weapons. He was wearing a cowl with two points – points that were probably supposed to be bat ears, if the large bat on the man’s chest was any indication.

Peter froze in his spot, his sixth sense pinging like crazy, shouting in his head, a repeat of danger, danger, danger, Danger, DANGER.

Harley, either completely oblivious to the obvious DANGER or ignorant to it, stood up and walked over to the hulking and menacing man with a pep to her step. She tried to rest her elbow on the man’s shoulder, failing miserably thanks to their height difference, but leaving her arm raised in the no doubt uncomfortable position. “Hiya, Batsy, how ya doin’?”

The man ignored her, eyes – or, more accurately, Peter assumed where the man’s eyes were, thanks to the opaque white lenses covering them – trained on Peter. He grunted once when it became apparent that Harley wouldn’t stop touching him without some sort of answer. Harley, true to her unspoken word, nodded in approval, saying “I’ve been great, thanks for asking, big man,” as she walked back over to Ivy’s side.

Selina took a breath and turned to Peter with a much less intimidating stare. “Peter, this is Batman.”

Peter looked back at the man, at Batman, and swallowed.

DANGER, DANGER, DANGER.

Chapter Text

Batman had been in the Batcave, pulling on his suit piece by piece as he got ready for his ‘date’ with Catwoman. Selina sent him a plan that she had somehow gotten her hands on earlier that day about some small gang who was going to rob some small museum near the Narrows.

There were still a few hours left before he had to leave and stop the criminals from stealing artifacts held at the same museum he had stopped a robbery at not even a week ago, all while pretending to not notice Selina snatch a few precious jewels for herself and engage in a chase across Gotham that would end in his bed when his JLA communicator went off.

He finished pulling on his boots and hit a few buttons on his keyboard, pulling up the alert on his computer as he adjusted a few straps on his suit.

That…

That couldn’t be right.

Reports from all over the planet popped up on the several screens in front of him, all portraying the same thing.

This couldn’t…

Oh god.

The sky looked like it had been split in half, purple and blue light spilling from the crack with orange sparking along the edges.

The sky looked like it had literally been split in half.

There were people screaming from his comm, some demanding an explanation to cover up the obvious fear in their voice, but with everyone speaking over each other, no progress was being made.

Pulling on his gloves, Batman turned off the mute function and spoke to the entirety of the league, silencing everyone with four simple words. “Shazam. Zatanna. Constantine. Report.”

There was quiet for a second, distant sounds of wind brushing up against microphones acting as white noise as Batman decided to start researching the problem, pulling up news reports on every available screen in his line of sight. 

“I don’t-“ Shazam was cut off and the rush of wind changed for just a second, no doubt Billy dodging something while flying. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know why the sky is like that.”

“It’s definitely magic,” Zatanna said next. “It doesn’t seem malicious, but we can’t be sure.” There were background mumblings, someone talking to Zatanna but not loud enough to be picked up by her comm. “Constantine said that it’s somehow tied to the multiverse.”

Of course, it was.

Fucking magic.

“A universe we’ve dealt with before?” Batman asked, still looking into news articles and social media posts. This light show was happening all over the globe – the entire world population terrified out of their mind, thinking that the world was yet again ending.

Fantastic.

“No, it’s a new one,” Zatanna said.

Because of course it was.

“Any idea what they want?” was the next question.

“Best guess is that someone is being sent over,” Constantine yelled, voice still slightly muffled since he’s not using his own comm.

“Just one person?” Diana asked.

“A kid, I think,” Shazam interjected.

“A kid?” Superman questioned incredulously, wind brushing up against the mic in his comm just as it had to Billy’s.

“One kid coming to our universe from a different one is the root problem of the sky falling apart.” Batman summarized.

“That’s our current working theory,” Zatanna confirmed.

Batman sat in his chair, resting an elbow on the table and his chin on his palm. “Where is this kid entering our world?”

A nervous silence answered his question, a resounding no echoing in the silence.

“Somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere,” Constantine said, finally using his own comm. “Don’t know if we can narrow it down much more than that-“

“North America,” Zatanna interrupted.

“How in the bloody hell do you know that-“ Constantine cut himself off before letting out a small ooh, presumably figuring out how Zatanna narrowed ‘Northen Hemisphere’ down to ‘North America.’ “Right, kid landed somewhere in North America.”

“Can you give us something more specific than an entire continent?” the Flash – Barry – asked.

“Just be thankful we don’t have to search half of the globe,” Hal grumbled, Barry humming in agreement.

“Any idea as to what this kid looks like?” Batman asked, out of some – most likely misplaced – hope that the magic users could give some answer that would actually be useful.

“Teenager, male,” Constantine rattled off. “Other than that…” he trailed off, the end of his sentence as predictable as it was frustrating.

“Someone who looks out of place,” Shazam added. Batman didn’t have energy to tell the preteen that someone ‘looking out of place’ was not the helpful addition he thought it was.

“Did everyone hear what they said?” Batman asked. Upon receiving the necessary acknowledgements, he continued with his instructions. “Keep this line clear of chatter; only use it in case of another emergency or if you find the kid. Understood?” Another round of acknowledgements and people began to mute themselves, leaving the line quiet for once.

Batman muted his as well and turned on the communicator he used to connect with fellow Gotham vigilantes. The line was immediately flooded with panic, questions flying around as his children and associates tried to understand what was happening to the sky.

“Quiet,” he ordered, everyone falling silent upon his announced presence. “There is a multiversal traveler, a male teenager, who is somewhere in North America that we need to find.”

“The sky looks like it’s being cracked open because some kid decided to hop over to a different Earth? Seriously?” Red Hood asked, the sound of pleas and cries in the background met with the accompanying sounds of fists meeting flesh.

“Yes. However, the universe this kid is coming from is one that we have not dealt with before,” Batman informed them.

Instead of being silent, like the Justice League communications line had been after receiving all of the same information, this one exploded with people rushing to put out offers of help.

“I’ll have the cameras search for any new suspicious activity,” Oracle reported. “It may take some time to dig through, because of all the suspicious activity we have in Gotham on a daily basis, but it’s a start.”

“I’ll get in touch with the Teen Titans, let them know what’s going on,” Tim stated.

Jason followed with a “fuck, I should probably tell the Outlaws, then.”

“I set up a program to monitor all the cameras in Gotham,” Oracle said, her keyboard tiles clacking and mixing with her words. “Setting up the same program for nearby cities, stand by.”

“I’ll let the rest of the Titans know- shit, do I need to come to Gotham?” Dick asked. “I would say I could be there in 30 minutes, but there’s probably going to be a bunch of traffic-“

“Stay in Blüdhaven,” Batman ordered. “We do not know where this kid is going to show up, so it would be best to cover as much ground as possible.”

“Sounds good,” Dick agreed. “I’ll let you know if I see anything.”

“Oracle,” Batman addressed next, “contact the rest of the Sirens. Let them know what we’re dealing with.”

“Already done,” Oracle told him.

“Good,” Batman said. Next, he gave the same instructions he handed out to the Justice League. “Keep this line clear of chatter; only use it in case of another emergency or if you find the kid. Understood?”

After giving the appropriate acknowledgements, one by one, everyone began to sign off.

Batman was left in his cave, the bats’ chirps echoing in the cavern and the Batcomputer’s dim screen lighting up the room. After a moment or two, he put his head on his hand.

So much for date night.

~~~~~

The moon had come and gone, the sun now spilling its light on the horizon, and there was still no word from anyone about any potential sights of their mysterious multiversal traveler.

Batman had gone out to the museum, stopping the thieves in record time, and was only slightly disappointed when there were no signs of a cat, besides the tabby slinking about in a nearby alley.

He had only gone back to the cave once in the last fourteen hours, and that was to make sure Robin went back home and got a decent amount of rest before he had to go to school in the morning. Damien would no doubt be in third period right now, probably struggling to focus on his English classwork when he knew there were other, more important thing he could be doing as a vigilante.

Tim was at Wayne Industries, most likely in the same boat as his younger brother. At least he could talk about his worries with Lucius and Tam Fax, instead of swallowing them down like Damien had to.

Red Hood had turned in three hours ago, claiming sleep would help him to be more effective out in the field. Batgirl returned to her own home five hours ago but said she would hit the streets again after getting a minimum of six hours of sleep; with the amount she complained about her college assignments, Bruce couldn’t begrudge her for wanting to get as much sleep as possible, even if it was in the middle of what would no doubt turn into a crisis.

Signal, who had been asleep when the sky first began to crack, was now wide-awake patrolling the streets, as he had been for the past four hours. Oracle had periodically signed off, taking 30-minute power naps when she felt herself dozing off. Nightwing had tried to stay out as long as possible, but he had already logged three hours of patrol in Blüdhaven before even the first spark lit up the sky and had turned in when he hit his tenth hour out on the streets.

Cass was supposed to be arriving in about an hour or two, having booked the next flight out of Hong Kong when she heard about what was happening. Batman had no doubt that as soon as Alfred picked her up from the airport and took her to the manor, she would immediately change out and try to help in whatever way possible.

Luke also said he was planning to fly to Gotham but was having a significantly harder time booking a flight. Kate had initially intended to make the trek to Gotham, like Nightwing, but decided she would be more helpful as Batwoman in her own city than in Batman’s.

Catwoman had gone radio silence about six hours ago, saying she needed to check something out, but not having said a single word since.

Oracle had managed to contact the rest of the Sirens, all reporting in immediately except for Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. Selina had mentioned off-handedly once that she usually asked them to housesit when they had their date nights, not trusting the people of Gotham to leave her apartment untouched. And Bruce, sadly, knew exactly what those two did when left alone at Selina’s apartment – his fault, he supposed, for checking the extra cameras he had hidden amongst the nicknacks littering the flat just to make sure they wouldn’t steal anything.

The two had emerged from the apartment about four hours ago, filling in for both Batgirl and Red Hood as they got some much-deserved rest.

Batman had tried to check in on several occasions with the other members of the Justice League to see what progress had been made. He tried to check in with the magic users to see if they had made any new discoveries that would help in locating the kid. He had tried to check in with the members of his family and other Gotham associates.

No one had any new information.

Which meant it was fourteen hours later, the sky was no longer being split open, and no one had any clue who had traveled to this Earth, how they did it, or what their intentions were.

It had been fourteen long, grueling hours with no work to show for it, and Batman – Bruce – was tired. Despite what people may believe, he was only human, and humans can only function for so long without getting rest.

Fourteen hours of looking for a needle in a haystack, without knowing if he was even looking in the correct haystack, all while beating up criminals and one particular, nasty fight with the Toy Maker, Bruce was done.

He knew that he shouldn’t, that he should stay out and continue scanning every inch of his city that he could for the mysterious kid, but he simply did not have the necessary energy to provide additional help and not be an endangerment to the rest of his associates who were actually being useful.

He shot his grapple upwards, barely sticking his landing on the next building without tumbling over, and knew that he had to turn in. With a quick message to Oracle, he called the Batmobile, turned on autopilot, and coasted back to the cave. He would sleep for two hours, maybe three, and go back out as soon as possible.

~~~~~

Bruce woke up to a notification on his comm. He shot his arm out, grabbing it from off his nightstand and looking at the message.

From Catwoman:

Found him.

A million questions flew through his head all at once. How? When? Why? Who? How did this happen? Who was it? When did-

It didn’t matter. There was nothing productive in dwelling on unanswered questions when he could go out and easily obtain the answers whenever he wanted.

And he wanted those answers now.

He did, somehow, manage to sleep for a startling total of two and a half hours, meaning it had been exactly 16 hours and 43 minutes exactly since the sky first started to show signs of magical activity.

Bruce didn’t notify the Justice League, partially because he unsure if Selina was right in her assumption that she had found the multiverse traveler, but also partially because he was more focused on getting to her than on any potential distractions.

He slipped through the shadows, being careful to be quiet and not awake his sleeping and/or noisy children. He entered the code to the batcave, and after seven long minutes, Batman was speeding away from the manor safely loaded inside the batmobile.

It took longer than expected to reach Selina’s apartment downtown, the traffic still backed up all through town. He parked a few blocks away, taking to the rooftops and running the rest of the way, dropping down onto the balcony, using the sounds of the traffic below and conversation inside to hide his landing.

He wrapped his knuckles lightly against the glass door, unable to see in with the blinds drawn. He listened as the conversation quieted, then the footsteps slowly approaching him. The doors opened to reveal Selina, standing in all her beautiful glory.

“Is he here?” he asked after only a split second of delay, distracted by her beauty, as always. He was only slightly miffed about the Wonder Woman shirt but knew that she wore it just to annoy him.

Selina smirked at him, looking more amused than anything. “He’s sitting on the couch next to Ivy and Harls.”

Batman stole a glance from over her shoulder, and sure enough, there was som stranger taking up residence in her living room. “Are you sure it’s him?” turning his attention back to Selina, double checking just to be sure.

Selina nodded definitively. “It’s him.”

That was all the confirmation Batman needed. He grunted, waiting until she stepped aside to enter her home.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the kid. The boy. And that’s what he was. A mop of brown curly hair, baggy clothes that he seemed to drown in consisting of a black shirt and a pair of blue and red superman sweatpants that Bruce remembered belonging to Dick at some point, curled in on himself, eyes wide and frozen in what read as fear.

There was an air of otherness to the kid, something that Batman knew Cass would have a fun time analyzing. But, despite that, the one thing the kid’s body was screaming was terror. He looked like he was a split second away from bolting.

Batman found himself all at once thankful and regretful for not calling his team members. So many of them were far better at talking to kids, at calming them in stressful situations.

But Bruce hadn’t come this far as a vigilante, as a father, by letting others do the work for him.  

He opened up his body, trying to appear as none threatening as possible, keeping his arms casual but raising his hands slightly and away from any weapons he lent on his person. For some reason, it set the kid off even more.

He had to defuse the situation, and fast. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said as calmly and soothingly. As he could, even though the voice modulator made the task more difficult than usual. “I’m Batman. Have you heard of me before?” A shake of the head. Odd, since the only other Earth’s Batman had experience with had variants of himself. Perhaps the kid just came from a universe where Bruce Wayne decided not to become Batman, perhaps he came from a happier world. “What’s your name?”

The kid stared, eyes wide and barely breathing. A strangled “Peter” escaped from lips that hardly moved.

“Okay, Peter,” Batman responded, just as calm.

This was the same voice he used when Dick had first come into his care, when Jason woke up screaming from nightmares of what horrors he saw in the world long before he become Robin, when Tim moved into the manor full time after his dad and Stephanie died with months of each other, when he had to remind Damian and Cass that they were no longer with the league and ellis not receive punishment for things every teenager and young adult did.

“It’s nice to meet you.” He didn’t move to shake the Peter’s hand, despite the training drilled into him by Alfred and life amongst the wealthy.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Peter replied, though it was obvious the response come on automatic. Batman only spared a second to think of who had raised the kid before disregarding the thought entirely. It wasn’t helpful, but now, and could be a mystery that he and Tim solve together.

For now, Batman needed to find out more information. “You come from a different universe, right?” He already knew the answer, but Peter’s response would tell him a lot about the kid.

Peter hesitantly looked over at Selina, and upon receiving an encouraging nod, looked back at Batman and gave a nod of his own. The kid still looked scared shitless, but at least he was answering truthfully, if hesitantly. That meant a lot.

“How are you feeling? Is anything different?” he asked next, figuring it was a good neutral question to get them started.

“Kind of,” Peter hesitantly said, clearly not trusting him with the full answer. That was fine. Trust took time, and Batman was willing to be patient.

He nodded understandingly. “That can be expected, sometimes it takes longer for certain people’s bodies to adopt to new universes. It might feel weird for a while, but that feeling should eventually go away as you adapt.”

Peter’s eyes grew wide, as if he had just found the missing piece to a puzzle. He didn’t say anything, but it did look like that information was previously unknown to him and he greatly appreciated it.

Batman gave him a few moments to digest, then decided to move on. “Have you heard of the Justice League?” he asked next. This question would help him start to figure out what Peter’s world was like. Another shake of the head. Again, odd, but perhaps this world was more different than he originally anticipated.

“Would you like me to tell you about them?” A shrug, like Peter didn’t understand why it was so important to know who the Justice League was. “It’s a group that I’m a part of, a group of other heroes and vigilantes dedicated to saving the world-“

“Like the Avengers?” Peter’s face brightened at the question, before that same, instinctual fear slammed firmly back in place, like he was scared of the consequences for interrupting.

Batman tried to smile reassuringly, an action that felt weird with the cowl on but felt right as a father. “I suppose. Could you tell me who the Avengers are?”

Peter’s eyes darted back towards Selina but didn’t stay long enough to revive that same reassurance again. He was gaining some confidence. Good. “A group of heroes and vigilantes dedicated to saving the world.” Peter’s body radiated uncertainty, but there was a smirk playing on his lips, like he thought his answer was funny.

Batman must have spent too much time with his kids, because the answer was funny. He huffed a laugh through his nose and based on the horrified look on Poison Ivy’s face – who had never heard the Batman laugh in any capacity before – and the shit eating grin on Selina’s and Harley’s, the rest of his team would be holding this over his head until the end of time. Fantastic.

Batman ignored them, focused on the kid in front of him, the kid who needed his attention far more than anyone else in the room did. And Peter… of course he looked confused by the reactions of everyone else in the room. He probably had no idea who Batman was a week ago and didn’t understand how rare it was for him to laugh while in uniform.

“I’m going to ask another question,” he began slowly, “you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, but I think it would be better if you did.” He left out the fact that Peter would have to answer eventually, if only to settle Constantine, Zatanna, and Shazam.

Peter nodded, giving his ascent. Batman took it gratefully. “How did you get here?”

The atmosphere in the room sobered, turning somber like flicking a switch. Peter grew more and more uncomfortable, especially when the stares of the room’s occupants grew heavier and heavier, feeling tangible even to Batman, and no doubt suffocating to the poor kid.

“Remember,” Batman said, trying his hardest to stay calm and exude tranquility rather than judgment or, even worse, any form of hostility that could be appear in the face of his curiosity; Cass had brought it up, once, said that sometimes his body language screamed aggression when he didn’t get the answers he wanted when he wanted them. He did his best to keep it under control, to allow the kid to feel safe in a strange environment in an unfamiliar world. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Peter’s lips twitched to the side, a furrow appeared between his brow, lines on his scrunched up forehead. He was thinking, debating whether or not to answer. The fact that he was having the debate with himself at all felt huge for Batman, since his stance when he had first walked into the room screamed nothing but pure, unbridled terror. Even now, there was still some underlying fear, but it was light years beyond what it had been initially.

It was quiet for a moment, no one wanting to interrupt the staring contest happening between Peter and the glass coffee table. Eventually, there was a slight shift, a small drop in his shoulders, and Peter said, there was a wizard…”

He trailed off, but the sentence was enough to start getting an understand. There was also magic in Peter home world, which was good; that meant the magical elements of this world would hopefully not be as big of a shock.

But it still left plenty to be answered: was this some cruel prank? Was it voluntary? Did Peter chose to be dropped in another universe, or was he sent here against his will? Why would the wizard send him here? And why here specifically?

Batman nodded, trying to come across as understanding and hoping that he hit his mark. “Can you tell us anymore about what happened?”

Peter lips twitched again, this time resulting in him biting the corner inside his mouth. He debated with himself again; he seemed to have relented to the winning side, like he wasn’t sure that’s what he actually wanted to do but knew it would be the best answer for now.

“There was this spell, but it had gone wrong and the solution was to send me here. I can’t ever go back home,” his voice cracked slightly on the word ‘home,’ but no one pointed it out, “because if I do, tell undo everything and my universe will end up caving in on itself and I-“

He cut himself off, squeezing his lips together and his eyes shut. Selina rushed to him, squatting in front of him. After a soft question was asked by her, quiet enough that Batman didn’t hear, Peter leaned forward, crying silently into her embrace. The only indication of his sobs were the shakes of his shoulders.

Selina ran a hand down his back, another through his hair, in small movements designed to be grounding and comforting.

Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy exchanged nervous glances; a wordless conversation being held with their eyes. As one, they rose from the couch and moved to Selina, offering both their friend and the kid support before walking into the hallway, entering the room they shared and gently closing the door behind them.

Batman stood frozen for a moment, always unsure what to do when someone else was comforting a hurting child and there was nothing else for him to do but watch from the sidelines.

Moving closer when the kid was so vulnerable would be a bad idea, that Batman knew for sure. He couldn’t tiptoe and find a bette, alternative spot in the room when the kid had showed no emotion less drastic than weary towards him. Leaving, like Harley and Ivy had done, would provide similar results.

Standing felt awkward, however, so he moved to sit on the ground. His armour was too clunky to sit on the ground, and he had to adjust every piece strapped to his body before he found a somewhat comfortable position.

He didn’t bring out his communicator, didn’t let anyone know what he had learned here, not yet. He sat criss cross on the ground, trying not to so overtly observe Selina and the kid, having witnessed his own kids have bouts of emotional outbursts and being all too aware of the negative consequences that could come from being unknowingly watched.

He waited, taking the time to go through all the pockets on his utility belt and double check each was filled to his satisfaction, as if he didn’t do that already each night when he took his suit off, never knowing how much time he would have when he geared up to check his supplies.

Eventually, Peter began to calm down. He pulled back from Selina, clearly embarrassed, and wiped his eyes. Batman pulled out a to-go pack of tissues from one of the pockets on the back of his belt and handed it to his fiancé, who then handed it to Peter.

The kid took the package, mumbling “thank you” before wiping his eyes and blowing his nose.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said when he had himself under more control. “It’s still so new and-“ he cut himself off, holding a tissue up to his mouth and swallowing. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, much more quietly than before.

“It’s okay,” Selina said, rubbing soothing circles into one of Peter’s knees, keeping her touch soothing but still grounding. “You’re being very brave, Peter. Thank you for answering the questions.”

The kid nodded, not making eye contact with anyone, folding the tissues in his lap, clearly trying to give himself something to do. Selina sat next to him on the couch, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him closer to her in a half hug, and action that seemed to bring Peter right back to the brink of tears.

“Why don’t you get ready for bed? There’s a toothbrush and some soap under the sink,” Selina said, rubbing her hand up and down Peter’s arm.

Peter didn’t respond, at first, giving Batman an uncertain look. He wasn’t sure what he had down to make the kid so weary and scared of him, but he promised himself that he would do everything in his power to prove that he could be trusted, if not with everything than with enough.

“Oh, he won’t hurt me,” Selina said, a teasing twinkle in her eyes. “He’s much scarier than he looks, all bark and no bite.” They both knew how untrue that statement was, but there was no point in arguing it when it was clear all of peter’s apprehension rested solely with Batman.

He rose from his position in the ground slowly, telegraphing his every move, and walked back to the balcony doors. “I need to go, but it was very nice meeting you, Peter. I hope to see you again, soon.”

Peter didn’t respond, didn’t say anything positive about their meeting, but nodded and watched as Batman opened the doors and left the apartment.

Once he closed the doors, he took out his grapple and shot for the roof, deciding to wait there for Selina.

It didn’t take her long to come out, exiting through the roof access doors. “He’s taking a shower,” she informed him. She walked across the roof, gravel crunching under her feet. “So…” she started when he said nothing in response, trailing off as she came to a stop next to him, both of them looking out at the Gotham landscape.

Batman turned to look at her. With her hair cropped short, purple robe wrapped around her body, held in place by her crossed arms, and look of contentment, she was a much better sight.

Batman walked toward the center of the roof, looking for any bystanders before pulling off his cowl. “I don’t know what he’s been through,” he said softly, making eye contact with Selina when she turned around, “but it’s clear that it’s been a lot.”

Selina huffed a dry, mirthless laugh. “You can say that again.” She walked over to him, uncrossed her arms and entertained her fingers behind his neck. “What are you going to do now?”

He placed his hands on her hips, taking time to probably think about his answer to the question. “I need to tell the League,” Selina made a disagreeing noise, and he rushed to clarify. “Not to have him arrested or interrogated, but to let them know that he’s been found so they can stop scouring the continent trying to find him.”

She tilted her head and acquiesced as he rubbed absentminded circles with his thumbs. “And then?” she prompted.

“Tell the kids,” he said, but stopped talking at her fond yet exasperated look.

“You can’t tell them that they’re getting a new sibling,” she told him firmly.

Bruce blinked. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

The look didn’t change. “I know that face. You’re not getting him.”

Bruce blinked again. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he repeated.

“We can have shared custody once we’re married,” Selina informed him, pushing closer to him and running her left hand through his hair, pressing just enough so he could feel the metal of her ring. “Although,” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice, “you might have to fight Harley and Ives. I think they’ve already latched onto the kid, so it’ll be a tough battle.”

“I’m not fighting them for Peter,” Bruce said in a no-nonsense voice. Selina gave him a knowing look. “I’m not,” he said again, more firmly.

“Right,” Selina drawled, endlessly amused. “Well, when you change your mind, I’ll let Harley and Ivy know.”

Bruce sighed internally. There was no point in fighting when Selina had already made up her mind, even if she was wrong.

Though, if he was being honest with himself, he had already been planning on how to ask Alfred to set up another room in the manor in the family wing for an at least semi-permanent guest.

Okay, fine, maybe Selina had a point.

Instead of proving her right, however, he leaned in, kissing her on the lips and melting as she reciprocated.

Their moment ended all too soon when a sharp whistle sounded. Bruce pulled back and looked across the street, up a story or two to spot Batgirl doubled over in laughter and Black Bat with her mask pulled up over her nose, her index fingers positioned in her mouth.

Selina joined Batgirl and started laughing. “Let me worry about Peter,” she said, one hand playfully slapping his chest before resting there. She jerked her head over to the other rooftop and said, “you take care of you own kids.”

She pushed him away, and Bruce reluctantly walked to the edge of the building, pulling his cowl back in place and aiming his grappling gun upwards. The laughter grew louder for a moment before it started to decrescendo; he looked and saw both Batgirl and Black Bat running from him, amusement so apparent he could read it clear as day from several dozen feet away.

“Go on,” Selina urged, smile still shining brightly in the Gotham moonlight.

Batman looked at the retreating backs of his daughter and her friend, then at his fiancé. “I’ll see you later,” he said.

“See you,” Selina responded easily.

“Call me if you need anything, anything at all,” Batman requested, trying to make his worry clear.

“Okay,” Selina said with a laugh. “Go get them.”

Batman grunted, then shot out his grappling hook, landing on the next rooftop as quiet as possible before breaking out in a sprint.

He was going to catch them, then he was going to catch whoever taught Cass not only what a wolf whistle was, but how to do it.

He already blamed Dick.

He couldn’t wait for Peter to meet his kids.

Chapter Text

Batman? A man fit as hell dressed in all black that has shadows dripping from his body and two little bat ears pointing up from his cowl that should look stupid but somehow look intimidating?

Yeah. Terrifying as hell, dude.

As Peter took his shower for the night, he accidentally overheard some of Selina’s and Batman’s conversation on the… roof? He thought it was the roof, knew for sure it came from several stories directly above him.

Dispute his efforts to drown out the sounds with the running water from the shower head, he heard something about shared custody with Harley and Ivy, and something about Batman having a lot of kids.

Which, a group of kids all raised by one of the most terrifying people Peter’s ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Terrifying.

A sharp and unexpected whistle caused Peter to wince, ears overly sensitive after the past few days, weeks, he’s had. He got out of the shower and dried off, pulling on a pair of plaid pajamas bottoms and another oversized t-shirt – this one with the words ‘Black Canary’ on it – but stylized in a way that  Peter assumed it  was for some popular band.

He turned off the lights and jumped in bed, tucking himself under the covers as the front door reopened and soft steps entered the apartment. The steps came down the hallways and stopped at his door. There was a moment of hesitation, then the doorknob creaked as it was turned and the door opened a few inches, just enough to peak through, before it closed just as quietly, and the footfalls receded.

Peter didn’t need to roll over to know it was Selina. He listened distantly to the sounds of her water running in the shower as he tried to figure out what to do about Batman.

He wouldn’t have to do anything, not really, not if he stayed as Peter Parker and did what normal, law-abiding citizens would do.

But, Peter wasn’t a normal, law-abiding citizen.

He was also Spider-man.

And if he wanted to continue being Spider-man, then he needed to figure out what to do about Batman.

Yet, that brought up another important point.

Did Peter want to keep being Spider-man?

After all the pain and destruction and death he brought to his old world by trying to help, did he want to repeat his mistakes and potentially hurt this new world, too?

Peter only ever wanted to help people, but how could he help when everyone he’d ever cared about forgot his very existence? How could he help when Tony Stark died not even five feet away from him, a casualty of a battle that Peter could have prevented if he had tried harder? How could he help when his Uncle Ben died from his failings, right after he was bitten by that forsaken spider?

How could he help when he brought people from other universes into his own, creating victims from a selfish act that had repercussions vibrating across the multiverse, into the lives of his variants and the lives of those they touched?

How could he help when Aunt May died in his arms, her death weighing on his shoulders and blood on his hands and his hands alone, the cause a problem Peter had unknowingly brought into their world because he hadn’t been careful enough.

He was too reckless, Mr. Stark always said so.

And now look where that reckless, careless attitude brought him.

A new universe, completely cut off from everyone in his previous life, completely alone. The only people he’d met here thus far being a lady who dressed up in a leather cat suit and was best friends with Peter’s best guess at Betty’s sleep paralysis demon.

Maybe Mr. Stark was right, all those years ago.

Maybe Peter didn’t deserve to be Spider-man.

Maybe…

Aunt May’s words echoed in his head.

With great power comes great responsibility.

How could he lay here, tied up in the sheets, feeling sorry for himself?

He had the responsibility to help others, to help those who couldn’t help themselves, those whose lives would be made even worse by his inaction.

The sins of Spider-man weighed heavily over his head, dragging him down and affecting his every decision.

Spider-man failed so many people in his own universe in so many different ways, fracturing lives irreparably when he was only trying to help.

But maybe…

Maybe this new universe was secretly a blessing.

He could never bring Mr. Stark back. He could never bring Aunt May back. He could never bring Uncle Ben or his parents back. He could never repair the memories of those who had know Peter Parker, not without causing even more damage and hurt and pain.

Maybe here, he could prevent any of those mistakes from ever happening. Maybe he could lighten the burden that comes with being a vigilante, with being Spider-man, and actually help people here, like he always wanted to do in his universe.

Maybe now he could actually look out for the little guy, like he did when he dressed in painted sweats and built his gear from any salvaged technology he found near dumpsters.

Like he did when he was still young and foolish and thought that world was bigger than what it was and his actions didn’t have the consequences that they did. Like he did before he became aware of the weapons smuggling ring the Vulture was running and they crashed that plane onto the beach.

Maybe he could help people.

Maybe…

Whatever. Peter was tired. He shouldn’t be having life-changing debates while half-asleep.

He would worry about that in the morning.

~~~~~

A crash.

Peter bolted up in bed, tugging off the sheets and throwing the door open, bolting into the living room before he was even fully awake.

There was a crash, there was something wrong. Someone could’ve broken in, or maybe it was another Mysterio supporter who decided to cause some property damage, or maybe someone was hurt, or-

There was a kid.

There was a kid staring dispassionately at a broken plate on the floor. Shoulders slumped, clothes wrinkled from sleep, one hand rubbing an eye.

The kid looked up at him with the most exhausted expression the world had ever seen.

Peter blinked.

The kid blinked back.

They stared at each other in silence.

Then, the kid sighed heavily, crouching down and picking up the broken shards.

That’s what got Peter into motion. “Here, let me,” he said as he crouched down as well, picking up the pieces of the broken plate; it didn’t matter if Peter got cut by the remnants – he would heal in two to three hours anyways – but there was no telling if the kid was enhanced or not, or if those enhancements even included accelerated healing.

The kid looked at him for a moment, and when Peter didn’t do anything other than hesitantly look back and continue picking up the shards, sluggishly stood up and got a trash bag. Peter dumped the pieces into the bag as he poked and prodded at his sixth sense.

There was something different about the kid, something that was off, and while Peter was sure he could cause some serious damage, at the moment he just looked like an exhausted kid.

One the bag was tied and set aside to be taken out, he turned to the kid. “Who are you?” because even though he felt completely at ease and out of danger, the kid had somehow gotten into Selina’s apartment without Peter knowing and he was still a stranger. .

“Damian,” was the response, a faint and faded accent curling around the words, followed by a long yawn. “Don’t worry, Kyle already told me who you are.”

Peter froze, unsure of what that implied. Choosing the focus on the easier parts of the statement, he asked, “Kyle? Who’s that.”

A TT noise was made, one Peter really wasn’t sure how to interpret. “Selina Kyle. The woman who has apparently decided to take after my father and adopt you.”

Peter nodded as though he understood anything in that sentence. “And who’s your father?”

Damian gave him a look, a look that so clearly said I can’t believe you’re this stupid and it’s way to early to deal with this. “Bruce Wayne. The person who Kyle is to marry.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh shit.

“So, so you’re…” Peter trailed off, not having any idea where he was going with that question.

Another TT noise was made. “Yes, I suppose so,” because even though Peter had no idea what he was going to ask, Damian apparently already knew.

Peter nodded again, slowly, unsure as to what to do. When his brain finally started loading, he asked, “what are you doing here?” because he could’ve sworn that when he went to bed last night, the only people in the apartment were him and Selina, and he would’ve heard someone knock on the front door.

“I was in the area last night and didn’t want to return to the manor-“ the manor??? “-so I decided to spend the night here, instead.” A cat walked into the room, and Damian leaned down to pick it up, rubbing his face into the fur.

“And Selina just… let you?” Peter asked, really unsure if the situation.

“Of course,” Damian sniffed. “Selina seems to like me, mostly for reasons I do not understand. I know there are similarities that we hold, mostly in our love for cats, but Richard seems to think that there is more to,” he pulled his face back and began to pet the cat softly.

“He often implies that it is because I am the youngest and that she grew fond of me when I was still a child. However, I do not fully understand that logic. Selina met Richard when he was younger than I was.” He shrugged, focusing his attention on the cat.

“Mhmm,” Peter replied, still not comprehending most of what Damian said. “And who’s Richard?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Richard Grayson. Although, he prefers to go by the horrid nickname of Dick-“ he chose to go by what now? “-and he is my oldest brother. And the first taken in by father.”

Peter could tell that Damian looked up to Dick – jesus christ – and while he’s always been an only child himself, he knew that the bonds between siblings was unlike anything else; he had observed the relationships that his peers and friends had at school to know so definitively.

And it was then, at that thought, that Peter felt tears prickling the corners of his eyes. It was then that he realized he would never go back to school, never compete with any of his academic decathlon teammates, never eat lunch with Ned, never pose for another one of MJ’s drawings.

He knew that, he knew it all on a surface level. Obviously, he would never get the chance, known of them remembered him and he was in a different universe.

But it hadn’t sunken in yet.

There was a part of him, a small part, that was considering this a vacation. That expected to go back to New York next week, back to Midtown, and carry on with his life like everything was normal. Like he hadn’t erased himself from everyone’s memory and purposely stranded himself in an alternate universe so there would be no possible way for anyone important to him to remember his very  existence.

Like none of this was real, like none of this was actually happening.

Like all of this was just a bad dream and he would wake up any minute now.

Any minute now.

He walked over to the small kitchen table, propping up his elbows on the wood and resting his forehead in his hands, trying desperately to get himself under control.

The more he thought about it, the worse his reality became.

Yes, he knew that he would never see Ned or MJ or Happy or is favorite chemistry teacher or that one lady who always saved him dessert at FEAST or Mr. Delmar or Mr. Delmar’s cat or anyone else from his universe ever again. But he hadn’t considered the repercussions.

He would never be able to order his favorite sandwich or go to his favorite corner store, he would never be able to spam Happy endlessly with messages he pretended to hate but they both knew he secretly loved, he would never be able to build another lego set with Ned while they pretended to both be normal teens, he would never be able to make fun of the latest Spider-man rumor with MJ on the roof of some high up building.

Everything good in his life, all the little things that accumulated into pure and unfiltered happiness, were gone.

Peter was an Avenger, for crying out loud. He shouldn’t be fighting back tears in the kitchen of someone he’s known for not even a week in the presence of a preteen he had met less than an hour ago.

He was pathetic.

It’s not like he was the only person to have their life turned upside down.

Steve Rogers was stuck frozen in a glacier for 70 years. Bucky Barnes was held capstone at the hands of Hydra was was placed in and out of cryofreeze for that same amount of time to be used as a mindless weapon. Dr. Bruce Banner was the victim of a science experiment gone wrong that made him terrified of being angry. Thor was forced to leave Asgard and live amongst midguardians for upsetting his father.

It’s not even like this was Peter’s first time getting his life turned upside down.

First his parents died, and he had to move in with his Aunt and Uncle. Then he got bitten by a spider that gave him superpowers and his uncle died not long after. Then he decided to try and fight crime to prevent what happened to his uncle from happening to anyone else, to look out for the little guy, but the problems kept getting bigger and bigger and there was only so much he could do.

Then his mentor died, and he tried to move on, to keep being better, to keep doing what Mr. Stark would’ve wanted him to.

Then his aunt died.  

Then his aunt died, and everyone had to forget about him because it was the only way to save his world, and now he was stuck in another universe where no one and nothing was familiar.

He heard rustling off to the side, Damian shifting on his feet and looking around. A quiet breath was let out, followed by quieter footsteps. The chair opposite him was pulled out, and he could hear Damian sitting down as the legs groaned from being shifted.

Peter forced his head up, wiping quickly at his eyes and attempting a smile that felt as fake as Damian’s reaction confirmed it to be. Neither of them said anything, for a moment, just sitting there, together, admit the sounds of traffic from the street below.

Damian shifted again, and Peter could hear the content purr that came from the cat. “Do you feel,” there was a pregnant pause, making it clear that Damian most likely uncomfortable and unsure of how to approach a conversation, “homesick?” he guessed, word coming out awkward and hesitant as though he wasn’t quite sure that was the right descriptor for Peter’s feelings.

But he got it right in the money. Peter nodded, dropping his hands in his lap and twisting his fingers. He should be better than this, not on the brink of tears, not when he had a roof over his head and a fridge full of food, not when he had someone looking out for him.

He was fine. Everything was fine.

“Kyle said you were from far away,” Damian said, just as hesitantly as before.

Peter snorted a wet laugh despite himself. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He looked up and was greeted by an outstretched hand holding tissues. Peter took them gratefully, giving the kid an embarrassed smile after he wiped his eyes and blew his nose.

Damian nodded seriously. “Yes, another Earth is very far away.”

Peter blinked. He was surprised, yes, that the kid first of all knew that he was from another universe and could understand it at least to an extent where he could bring it up causally in conversation, but it was the fact that the kid had brought it up so casually at all that brought Peter to a pause.

He was expecting it to be a bigger thing, some world-shattering revelation like it was for him.

Not for it to be treated as normal.

Or perhaps the kid truly didn’t understand the multiverse and the implications of Peter being from another universe enough to know why it should have been a world-shattering revelation.

But also.

The kid knew.

What?

“I may have never traveled to another universe before,” Damian said as he continued to pet the cat, as if they were having a normal conversation. “But I do know what it is like to have to leave the one place you call home for somewhere strange that is completely foreign to you.”

Peter listened intently. The accent the kid had was beginning to make more sense.

“When I first came to Gotham,” Damian looked past Peter, out the glass doors of the balcony, “I did so without knowing my father or any of my numerous siblings. Despite them not knowing me either, they helped me to adjust and adapt to the American way of life.” He shifted again, looking down the hallway with all the bedrooms, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of discussion.

“They all had to adapt as well, when they moved in with Father, as all of them were orphans before they were adopted. Well, with the exception Thomas, but it was not as though his parents were in any position to suitably care for him. In any case, we all know what it is like to be brought to a strange environment and be unsure of your place in it.”

Still not looking at Peter, clutching the cat a little closer to his chest, he took a deep breath. The room quieted once more as he gathered his thoughts and courage before he  said, “I can admit, now, that when I first came here, I was not the easiest person to get along with. Nonetheless, they helped me to learn and helped to make the transition easier.”

He looked directly at Peter, then, gaze intent and serious. Peter sat up a little straighter, knowing that Damian meant what he was going to say next wholeheartedly. “After all of the mistakes I made, if they can still accept me and help me to learn and grow and adapt, then they can help you, too.”

Peter swallowed, smiled a little shakily. “Thank you,” he replied sincerely.

1. “I, of course, will help too, since I have more recent experience, and the majority of my siblings are idiots who, despite their best intentions, are likely to sow mischief and chaos instead of good will.”

Oh, this kid was adorable.

But it did make Peter wonder how old he was, for him to be so wise yet look so young.

“I’m sure,” Peter agreed neutrally, now fighting to keep a smile off his face.

It was then that Selina walked in when Peter was struggling to come up with a proper way to continue their conversation, waving hello to both Peter and Damian, not a lick of surprise on her face from the sudden appearance of the child. Maybe Selina let him in? But Peter would’ve heard a knock, unless Damian texted that he was coming over.

That made sense. That was probably why she wasn’t surprised. It wouldn’t make sense for Damian to be out by himself at night in the city, not as old as he was…

Speaking of: “hey, how old are you?” There was no way he was older than twelve, even if he talked like an old person and acted like someone far beyond his years, there was, no way-

Damian switched from petting to scratching the cat behind the ears. “13.”

Peter looked at Selina, to see if she would give any indication a lie. But she stood off to the side, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a cartoon of eggs.

Eh, his guess was close enough.

“Omelets okay with both of you?” Selina asked, bending down and grabbing a pan from some cabinets beneath the stove.

Both Peter and Damian gave their ascent, with Damian tacking on the condition of extra cheese on his food. Selina put on some music as she cooked.

The whole scene was breathtakingly domestic. The same kind of countless quiet mornings he spent with Aunt May, sitting at the table and going on and on about some topic or another as she cooked with music playing gently in the background mixed with the sounds of New York.

It made his chest squeeze.

God, why was he acting so fragile? He had never been this emotional before. What happened to him?

Damian held out yet another tissue – where was this kid getting them from? – and Peter took it with another laugh, this one more real and genuine as it accompanied a more joyful memory.

That’s how he wanted to remember his aunt, not in her last moments, fighting valiantly yet vainly against death as it fought to drag her under. He wanted to remember her light, her laugh, her good nature, her advice, her love. How she always had good news to share or a shoulder to provide comfort or the way her eyes crinkled in mirth every time she saw one of Peter’s new science pun t-shirts.

Selina put a plate in front of him. She put another one in front of both Damian and herself. Right when Peter was about to dig in, she said, “can you put the cat down, Damian?” in a tone that made it very clear she wasn’t asking.

Damian pulled the cat closer to his chest and glared.

Selina met his glare with the same level of ferocity and waited.

Peter glanced back and forth between the two, feeling as though he was caught in the middle of what could soon turn into fight.

Eventually, after several tension filled minutes, Damian said, “fine,” very dramatically and softly deposited the cat on the ground.

“Good,” Selina approved, “now eat, before your food gets cold.”

At the end of breakfast, after Peter received seconds – too scared to ask for thirds – when Selina had retreated back to her room to change and get ready for the day and it was just Damian and Peter in the common area, he turned to the kid and looked at him intensely for a few seconds.

“Can I help you?” Damian asked blandly.

Peter didn’t rise to the bait; instead, he sincerely said, “thank you.”

Damian startled – it was small, barely noticeable if it hadn’t been for Peter’s enhanced senses on his focus solely on him. “For what?”

“For what you said,” Peter clarified, just as sincere. “It… means a lot, to know that there are people out there who can relate on some level to what I’m going through, even if their experiences are different.”

Damian nodded, looking completely out his depth. “Of course,” he said haltingly. He stood and cleared his throat. “I’m going to go change as well,” and he disappeared down the hallway with the bedrooms.

Peter smiled to himself.

That kid… man, he was adorable, wasn’t he?

~~~~~

It was that night when Peter started to give himself away.

To be fair, it wasn’t his fault.

Really, it wasn’t.

Just ask Harley; she’ll back him up.

Well… maybe not, because it’s her.

But it’s not his fault!

Sensing some disbelief, but that’s fine.

Let’s start over.

Damian had left the apartment – out the fire escape? For some reason? Which Selina acted like it was completely normal? For some reason? – and Harley and Ivy arrived shortly after his departure.

Peter had greeted them and called them by their correct honorifics, an action that had seemed to please Ivy and made Harley sequel in excitement and had retreated into his room for a moment to collect himself after all the unwanted emotions he had been swept up in all morning. A moment had turned into hours after he had accidentally fallen asleep.

When he finally reemerged from the room, it was to an argument in the living room.

“I can open it, just give it to me!”

“That’s what I’m saying, you can’t open it-“

“No, I can, just let me try!”

“Condiment King gave it to me and even he couldn’t open it.”

“Okay, well let me try first, goddamn.”

A crash, followed by a loud sigh and something hard hitting the coffee table.

“See? I told you.”

“Shut up.”

Peter walked out of the hallway and surveyed the room. Harley was lounged dramatically on the couch, slouched in on herself in a pose that was more for flair than comfort and radiated defeat. Ivy was sitting next to her, patting her thigh consolingly. Selina had her arms and legs crossed in a move that clearly said see? I told you so.

Peter rubbed one of his eyes as he entered, still disoriented and tired from his unplanned nap. He looked at the coffee table and saw an opaque pickle jar with the label scratched and faded. That must have been what they were trying to open.

“Do you need help with that?” he asked, walking over and pointing at the jar.

“It’s okay, Peter,” Selina said, even as Peter picked it up, “no one can open it, it’s impossible-“ she cut herself off in surprise as Peter easily popped the lid off.

“I think there was some kind of superglue or something keeping it closed,” he shrugged, yawned behind a fist, and set the jar and lid down, mind sleepily reminding him of all the tests Ned would randomly jump him with when he first realized his best friend was Spider-man; Peter was far too used to doing tasks like opening a jar suck with glue after years of doing so, “I’m not sure though. Wow, I’m tired. Can I have some coffee?”

Selina nodded distractedly, mumbling “it’s on the cabinet by the stove,” focused on the jar now opened on the table, the same as Ivy and Harley.

Peter nodded and went into the kitchen to do just that.

It was during his first cup of coffee when he heard Harley exclaim ‘there’s nothing in here! That fucker tricked us!’ It was during his third cup when the caffeine finally started to kick in – one of the unfortunate side effects of having an enhanced metabolism – and when he realized that he definitely just gave away the fact that he’s enhanced.

He put the mug down and ran into the living room, trying to gage the reactions of everyone else. Their eyes all snapped up to his, and for a minute, they all just stared at each other; Peter too scared to move – he remembered what happened to the enhanced in his world, and he had no idea how they were treated in this one and oh hell he shouldn’t have done that why did he do that why did they give him the perfect ammunition to kick him out or get him arrested why did he do that after a few good meals and nights in a warm bed why – while the three women just stared.

Selina was the one to break the silence. “I didn’t know you were that strong.” Peter shrugged jerkily, pursed his lips together. Selina kept talking in response, “the person who gave me that jar said it couldn’t be opened.” Peter didn’t respond. Selina hummed. “I didn’t know,” she continued. Peter shrugged again.

Selina hummed again, then turned away, acting completely casual and not at all like Peter could be thrown in prison for having super strength and the information got out to the wrong people.

Ivy waved a hand, drawing Peter’s attention. At first, he was confused, but then he felt something lightly wrap around his ankle. He looked down, expecting to see one of the many cats of the apartment, not at all expecting to see a vine curling around his calf. He jerked, but the vine stayed in place. He looked up at Ivy and her amused expression and the pieces started to slot into place.

It was her controlling the plants, which made sense. It made sense that she had some sort of power set given her green skin, and Peter was an idiot for not considering it as a possibility sooner.

“You’re not the only meta here, Peter,” Ivy said reassuringly, the vine falling away and going back into the potted plant it grew from.

Peter took the reassurance, before his curiosity got the better of him. “Meta?”

“Peeps with supa powers,” Harley explained, now laying across the top of the couch.

“Oh,” Peter said eloquently. “And they’re not…” he paused, searching for the correct word to explain, but with none jumping out at him as the right one, said, “illegal here?”

A distinct look of understanding bloomed on all of their faces, and Peter shifted, uncomfortable with their pity.

“No, kitten,” Selina said soothingly, “It’s not illegal here.”

Peter felt his shoulders drop, a weight he hadn’t even been aware of slipping away and years old tension easing. “Oh,” he said again, just as eloquently as before. “Okay. I’m gonna,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing back at the kitchen, at his abandoned coffee that he still desperately needed.

“Of course,” Selina said, a smile tilting her lips upwards. “Go on.”

Peter nodded, then bounded back into the kitchen, taking a grateful sip of his neglected caffeine.

As he poured his fourth cup – finally starting to actually wake up – he heard Selina say, “no one tell Batman,” and promptly snorted into his mug.

His sleep riddled brain had been concerned about being targeted for being enhanced, not even remembering the giant man dressed as a bat that, what, went out and beat up criminals at night?

Man.

What an insane world Peter’s found himself trapped in.

Chapter Text

Spider-man.

A symbol.

A name.

A vigilante.

A criminal.

A friend.

A confidant.

A savior.

A terrorist.

A hero.

All names that Spider-man has been called, but not even covering the tip of the ice burge.

Who was he really?

Was he really someone who was selfish? Who looked out for his own interests and his own interests alone?

Was he really a criminal? A criminal who tried to help others? A contradiction, or a reflection of Robin Hood’s morals? Was he breaking the law for the right reasons? Or did it matter, since a broken law is still a broken law, still a crime, no matter the circumstances?

Was he really a hero? A hero with blood on his hands? Who witnessed the deaths of what felt like far more than he saved? Could he call himself a hero, after everything he’s done? The sins he’s committed?

All he ever had was good intentions. All he ever wanted to do was help people, so why was that such a difficult thing to do?

Fuck, did his intentions matter? Did they really matter in the end? Does it matter that he tried to ‘help out the little guy’ when the weight of so many deaths he had been the cause of threaten to break his back under their weight?

He remembered a book MJ had read to him one night over FaceTime when his mind wouldn’t stop, and he was scared of his demons gripping him tightly as they slipped into and plagued his dreams. It was retellings of age-old myths all shoved into one book; the story she had chosen for that night was of Atlas from Greek Mythology.

She admitted that the retelling wasn’t quite accurate but listening to her voice quietly recite the words page after page.

Atlas holding the weight of the sky on his back, an eternal punishment, a burden he could never put down else the world end.

At times, that’s what it felt like being Spider-man.

Sure, okay, maybe Peter was being a bit dramatic, but that’s what it felt like.

After seeing the news and listening to reporters go on about some attack that had happened while he was at school, after being at school and listening to his classmates talk about a robbery they had seen the day before, after going home at night when patrol ended only to find out there was a bomb that blowed on the other side of the city.

It was a cycle, never ending, never fucking ending.

Perhaps it was the consequences of dressing in brightly colored sweats and becoming a vigilante at the ripe age of 14, almost 15 years old.

The consequences of knowing he could help, of knowing he had the power to save people, to prevent accidents like the ones he heard of constantly from happening in the first place, only to fail every. Damn. Time.

The guilt nagged at him, scolded him, punished him.

It was always there, ready to remind him of his failures, of what happened that he wasn’t aware of but should’ve stopped, of what happened that he was there for but still couldn’t stop.

That he wasn’t good enough to stop.

The weight of the sky.

The burden of Atlas.

That’s what the guilt felt like.

An unbearable weight threatening to crush him that he could never put down.

Peter’s own, twisted version of the Greek myth.

His shame at not doing enough in the situations he was thrust in, so often without the proper knowledge of what was happening beforehand, combined and mixed with his shame at not doing enough in the situations he knew nothing about until after the news reporters showed up on the scene and started documenting what happened, the result being something dark and ugly that resided heavily in Peter’s chest and never left.

How could he let that poor old lady get mugged when he had enhanced hearing and could hear he her pleas from help from across the city - never mind the fact that by the time he got to the scene of the crime, there was no one and nothing left except for a crumpled and faded business card that had clearly fallen out of the stolen purse.

How could he let that poor boy be bullied on the playground by kids several grades above him - never mind the fact that Peter was in school, that he already had far too many absences and couldn’t miss anymore school or else his grades would start being affected and he couldn’t do that to Aunt May, couldn’t give her that extra stress.

How could he let those bigots attack that nonbinary fellow for existing - never mind the fact that he was in the middle of trying to prevent a robbery from turning lethal as the robber waved his gun around and shot warning shots into the ceiling like he would never run out of bullets while purposefully endangering all the civilians nearby.

How could he let that robber shoot Uncle Ben - never mind the fact that he didn’t know what he was doing, that he had only recently gotten his powers, that he didn’t know the consequences of his actions or inactions, that standing by would kill one of the people he cared so deeply about and one of the only people that cared about him in turn.

Consequences of becoming a teenage vigilante.

It never left him alone, never gave him a moment of peace. Sometimes it was more manageable than others, but that didn’t mean it went away.

How could it? After all he’d done.

And now, staring down at the dead body not even a block away from Selina’s apartment, he knew he made the wrong decision.

How could he stand by? How could he even consider standing by? After everything that happened. How could he be so selfish?

Being Spider-man was his cross to bear, it was his burden.

It was the weight of the sky, one he could never put down else the world end.

So what if there were other vigilantes and heroes in this new world? So what if they fought crime and tried to protect the world just like the Avengers had done in his original universe? So what?

They had the same problem his universe had: no one was looking out for the little guy.

If they were, why was this person dead?

Why had they been murdered and left for dead in the middle of the street, bullet in their brain and blood slowly expanding around them as their body cooled.

Peter, a masochist at heart, couldn’t look away.

His mind wandered and drifted, going back to a meeting so many years ago it felt like entire lifetimes, entire generations had passed. He thought of an evening, one spent with him and his idol, long since buried six feet deep, sitting side by side on a twin-size bed. The words he spoke that night ring in his ears.

If you have the power to do something, and you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.

This was on him.

He could hear the people of this city, the ones begging for help, the screams and cries and pleas. He could hear them all.

He could hear the old ladies pleading for help as they were mugged. He could hear the kids getting bullied ok school grounds. He could hear the hate crimes taking place.

He could hear the gunshots as someone else’s uncle was murdered for simply being in the way.

But no.

After a brief encounter with Batman, the ‘savior’ of this city that clearly wasn’t doing much saving, Peter had actually debated on putting away his mask, shoving it under the bed to be found during spring cleaning and thrown away because it had become worthless.

It was a serious, genuine debate he had with himself.

Whether or not he should continue being Spider-man.

How could he?

How selfish was Peter? To think that he was better off leaving Spider-man behind, to think that he could let the heroes of this world handle their own problems.

No.

He couldn’t fall into the same trap he had before.

He couldn’t idolize heroes, not when that would lead to his or their own death, not when those so-called heroes would always be more interested in the politics rather than the lives they could change for the better.

It was a death sentence.

For not just him, but for everyone he could have save and failed to.

Like everyone who died in Gotham who he could have saved.

Like the unnamed stranger in front of him, blood still expanding around them.

It was far enough to reach his shoes, now, staining the new, white surfaces.

His fault.

His consequence.

Spider-man couldn’t leave the mask behind.

Not if people were going to die without him.

The weight of Aunt May’s corpse weighed him down, pulling at his arms and begging for him to sit down, to stay with her, to stay with this corpse. To give in. To stop.

But her words rang in his head.

With great power, comes great responsibility.

And she was right.

He couldn’t let the weight of the sky, the weight of his sins, the weight of his punishment drag him down, not as that weight grew to include the person he was carrying, blood seeping into his clothes as he mechanically brought them to the closest 24-hour clinic.

It wasn’t hard to act terrified, to act like he’d never seen a dead body before, to act like he would be traumatized for forever by this night.

It wasn’t hard, because he wasn’t acting.

This was the result of his actions.

Someone wasn’t going home.

Someone was leaving an empty spot at their job.

Someone was out of reach from their friends and family, if they even had any.

Someone would never see their precious nephew ever again.

Someone was dead.


Someone was dead because Peter couldn’t be bothered to help people.

To help the little guy.

Someone was dead because Spider-man wasn’t there.

It’s not like it was the first time something like this had happened.

No, Peter had his fair share of bodies whose blame on them being dead laid squarely on his shoulders.

But this was the first time it happened in this new universe, the first time he saw his mistakes staring back at him lifelessly through empty eyes in this new universe.

Fuck, this was his fault.

He couldn’t let this happen again.

Peter had stumbled his way into Gotham weeks ago.

It was far past time for Spider-man to show up, too.

~~~~~

Peter debated with himself over the best way to approach this.

He learned the hard way that hiding something as important as being a teenage vigilante from the parental figures he was living with was not a good idea, and he was determined to get it right this time.

He had to.

He didn’t have a choice.

He couldn’t have a repeat of what happened with… everyone else he looked up to-

Not that he looked up to Selina.

It was too soon for that.

But he was living with her.

And she was looking out for him, providing for him, it was only fair that she knew how he liked to spend his free time.

She knew that she was Catwoman, yes, but he had no idea what she did beyond dress in a skintight suit – something they had in common.

He, at first, tried to convince Selina to take him to the local library, but she just waved him off saying, “I’m marrying one of the richest people on the planet. If I can’t spend his money on you, then what’s the point?”

It was a nice sentiment, negated by the fact that they were already engaged when he – quite literally – dropped in on their lives. But it was still nice.

The laptop showed up on their doorstep the next day, dropped off with a quick “I have to go back to the office, but I just wanted to let you know that I love you,” followed by another quick “I love you too,” and a not at all quick kiss.

Peter’s ears were scarred.

Unimportant.

What was important was that Peter finally had access to the internet and could find answers to all the questions that had been swirling in his head for ages.

The first thing he looked up, of course, was Catwoman.

Catwoman, who, to Peter’s research, looked like some sort of anti-hero, one who fights the bad guys of Gotham but still occasionally steals from the rich.

Not ideal, but at least she doesn’t kill people, so that’s a plus.

Next was Ivy and Harley.

Apparently, both used to kill and were considered villains, but as far as the internet was concerned, they were now more so considered to be anti-heroes like Selina.

That’s fine, that’s fine.

He didn’t dottle too much on any of their histories, figuring if there was something important that they wanted him to know, they would share it in their own time.

Peter was lucky in the sense that he didn’t have any records on this planet; he had no past to dig into, no way to learn about him or Spider-man without going to the source, going to him, directly. He figured it was only fair to give them the same courtesy.

He changed his sights for the largest threat he knew about.

He researched Batman.

And, apparently, either the people of this world were stupid or genuinely thought of that giant tank of a man dressed in a bat fur suit as a hero.

Article after article about how Batman saved people, how he defeated murders, beat up rapists, fought muggers, saved the planet from inhalation.

It was insane.

Peter, Peter knew logically that someone who had done as many good deeds as Batman couldn’t entirely be a bad person, but then why did he set of his sixth sense? His entire body had felt like a livewire, every nerve alight and thrumming with a constant danger, danger, danger.

It didn’t make sense.

Even just looking at pictures of the Bat-wannabe raised the hairs on his arms.

But, even worse, turned out Batman wasn’t the only hero of Gotham.

Robin. Red Robin. Black Bat. Batgirl. Huntress. Bluebird. The Signal.

All in Gotham full time.

Then there are the ones who would show up randomly.

Nightwing. Black Canary. Azrael. Batwoman. Batwing. And more.

Jesus Christ, there were heroes in one city than there were on Peter’s entire planet.

Because that wasn’t even all of them.

Superman. Wonder Woman. Green Martian. The Flash. The Green Lanterns. Aquaman. Hawkman. Hawkwoman. Shazam. Green Arrow. Cyborg. Booster Gold. Vixen. Zatanna. Doctor Fate. Mister Terrific. Blue Bettle. Black Lighting.

And more.

There were so, so many heroes already on this planet, some with the power of gods – but none of them, to Peter’s research, real gods like Thor was.

So many people protecting this Earth, protecting the people on it.

Doubts crept back in his mind, circling around his brain, wondering if he should even pick up the mask again.

If this many people were already on the case, then surely the people here were safe.

Surely.

But no.

Even with all those heroes, with all the protection, there were still so many villains who caused constant destruction to the planet.

There was a reason for the heroes, for there to be such a vast amount of them.

But still, should Peter become Spider-man again? Even if there were plenty of threats to the planet, there were so many heroes already in Gotham.

Hell, Peter lived with a kinda-sorta-hero himself.

But – and there was that word again, popping up and sending his thoughts in another direction entirely yet again – if this world was so well protected, then why are people still dying in the streets?

If the heroes of this world were so competent, then why couldn’t they save the people who they supposedly swore to protect?

Was it really that hard?

Peter understood that not every hero looked out for the little guy, trust him, he got it. But it didn’t make sense for there to be so many fucking people in one city and people still died and were left on the curb like trash.

They weren’t trash, and they didn’t deserve to be treated like it.

It didn’t matter if Gotham supposedly had the highest crime rate in the world, there was no excuse for there being so many heroes in one fucking city and they still couldn’t ensure people a safe walk home.

No excuse.

Peter didn’t have a choice, really.

If the heroes of this world were too incompetent to do their one (1) job, then Peter would have to step up and Spider-man would have to do their job for them.

Just like he did on his own Earth.

And the cycle repeats itself.

It’s fine, though; as long as people can make it home alive, then it’s all worth it.

Mind made up, Peter decided that he could do more research later.

He had more important things to do.

More important things like getting his suit.

~~~~~

“So,” Peter started, “kind of an awkward question, but you remember that outfit I was wearing the night we first met?”

Selina looked up from the paperwork – blueprints??? – she was going over at the kitchen table. “That red, black, and gold monstrosity you were wearing in a dank alley in the middle of Crime Alley?”

Peter could feel his face burning, which was crazy, because why was he feeling embarrassed about it- okay, it was a bit banged up when they met… maybe a bit more than a bit banged up… okay, maybe she had a point, but that was unimportant in the face of his unexpected and unneeded embarrassment. “I still don’t really know anything about Crime Alley or what it is, but I don’t think I want to have this conversation anymore.”

He turned on his heel and tried to leave but was stopped by Selina’s hand grabbing his wrist. Laughter laced her voice as she said, “no, Peter, wait, hang on.” She straightened up as he turned to face her again and attempted to put on a serious face, traces of mirth still twisting her expression despite her trying to straighten it out. “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

He opened his mouth to start talking, but quickly shut it again. Peter had only met Damian so far out of all the apparently allusive kids Bruce Wayne had, and he had yet to meet Selina’s fiancé outside of word of mouth. But, if there was one thing Peter knew about Damian, it was that the kid could pop up at literally any moment and to always be on alert, just in case.

So, he made a quick glance around the room, checking for any signs that a middle school aged boy might be around and listening for that now familiar heartbeat before looking back at Selina, who was trying very hard to remain serious, and Peter could at least appreciate the effort.

“Do you know where it is?” Peter asked again.

Selina nodded. “I tried to clean it, but I guess it’s not machine washable because it really messed up my washing machine-“ Peter felt his eyes widen as he winced. Oh no. Nanotech was definitely not machine washable “-I should have asked before I assumed, but I asked some friends, and they were able to save your little outfit.”

As she walked away, Peter felt that familiar anxiety creep up at the thought of someone finding out his secret identity, but did that really matter here? No one knew who Spider-man was, and if these were people Selina trusted, maybe they knew about her nighttime activities, and could be trusted with this as well.

But that didn’t stop the anxiety, stop the thoughts and unwanted memories that sprouted up again.

Stop the taunts from his peers at school, stop the flashes of paparazzi camera’s, stop the stares that made him want to tear off his skin.

None of that existed here.

He needed to be Spider-man.

He needed to be to prevent more people from dying in the street.

He needed to.

He owed it to all the people who had died already that he couldn’t save.

He had to.

If these were people Selina trusted, then Peter would just have to find a way to trust them, too.

He followed Selina out of the room, putting his secret identity – his life – in her hands and hoping that he wasn’t making the wrong decision.

~~~~~

His suit was fine.

The nanotechnology was damaged, as to be expected, but Peter had long since remembered the blueprints for the tiny devices, obsessed with Tony’s genius in engineering and his design for such revolutionary technology.

It would take time to gather the necessary materials needed to remake them, the tech he had waterlogged and unsalvageable. It wouldn’t be impossible to recreate it, and Peter would even be able to add his own notes and improvement to make it even better.

It would take time, so much time; it would take less time to recreate Karen-

Karen.

Peter could make Karen.

He’d probably rename her, but…

Ideas and plans flew through his head, a thousand thoughts a minute.

What he wouldn’t give for just another minute in one of Tony’s various labs, just a minute, just enough time to grab the materials and tools he would need to make the numerous improvements and tech he was already mentally planning.

Later, later. That was all something he could do later.

He turned the suit inside and out, looking along the seams, at the colors, at every piece that made it Spider-man.

New suit?

Maybe.

It was time, after all.

Maybe he could scrounge together something better than sweats.

That would be good.

“What are you thinking about?” Selina asked from next to him on the couch.

Peter turned the suit over in his hands again, turning it back the right way so the spider emblem staring back at him, inspecting it one more time before placing it in the coffee table folded. “Maybe I could make a new suit.”

Selina hummed, standing and walking away.

Peter sat on the couch, watched her move about the apartment, in blatant confusion.

She came back with a stack of papers and colored pencils. “Draw it,” she prompted, handing the art supplies to him.

He grinned and huffed a laugh, mind running faster than most people – in Peter’s experience – could comprehend, already coming up with idea after idea.

~~~~~

Peter woke up the next morning, sleep in his eye and a crick in his neck. He stretched, massaging his stiff muscles to relieve them of any soreness.

He had fallen asleep, half on the couch, half on the coffee table. He looked out over the mess he made, papers spread about and pencils running wild amongst the mess, half he didn’t even remember drawing.

One paper stood out amongst the rest, one that said in big letters ‘FINAL DESIGN.’

He looked over the rough sketch, at the bright blue and contrasting red with the pop of black, at the HUD system he had set up in the mask and the possible inclusion of Tony’s nanotech.

Oh yeah.

He would need to draw a cleaner version of his vision, but that was it.

That’s what his future suit was going to look like.

He couldn’t wait to – figure out how to – create it.

~~~~~

Turns out, he didn’t have to worry about making it.

Or even getting the supplies.

Selina had come over as he finished up the final draft of that last sketch, making it more detailed and including the necessary measurements in all the right places, and hummed at the drawing.

“Is that it?” she had asked.

Peter wrote the last little note he needed and leaned back, moving out of the way for her to get a better look. She hummed, eyes roaming the page intently. She pulled out her phone and took a picture, ignoring Peter’s questioning gaze, and ruffled his hair as she left the room, the words, “it looks good,” following her exit.

Harley and Ivy had shown up two days later, completed suit in hand, and handed it off.

“This is…” Peter trailed off, speechless. “I don’t even have the words. This is incredible! Thank you!”

“Oh course, sweet cheeks,” Harley cooed, reaching out and pinching one of his cheeks.

“How did you even make it so fast?” Peter asked, hands gliding over the smooth but durable material, far better than anything Peter would have been able to get his hands on.

“Stitch’n’Bitch,” Harley said, like that answered Peter’s question.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, “what?”

“Stitch’n’Bitch,” Ivy repeated, also like that answered his question.

Peter decided to just let it go. He could ask questions later. Later being when he didn’t have a cool new suit he wanted to try on and test out. “Cool.“ He looked back down at his suit, thumbs rubbing back and forth on the black lining. He looked up and asked, “can I go try it on?”

“Of course!” Harley exclaimed. “I didn’t burn all that midnight oil just for you to not wear it.”

He nodded, smile twitching at his lips as he slipped past them and into what he was quickly beginning to call his room. He chucked off his clothes, sliding the reinforced spandex on slowly, getting a feel for the material.

The suit fit like a glove. How Harley got such exact measurements for him, he didn’t want to know, especially since he knew the measurements he included on the design he drew weren’t this exact, but he wasn’t planning on asking.

The red stood brightly on his chest, the blue lining his sides and acting as accents across the entire costume, both a brighter shade of the colors than he had included in his suit before. But all of that was secondary to the incredible stitching done across the entire thing, black webbing standing out starkly and beautifully.

The mask even had his signature teardrop shaped eye lenses with all the necessary holes in the fabric that would be needed once he started to create Karen 2.0 and integrate her into the suit, and Harley had gone the extra mile in making him a pair of boots that matched seamlessly with the rest of the suit.

There were spaces for his web shooters, something that would take time to build again, the ones from before destroyed in the wash.

Collecting the materials to make his web fluid would be unnecessarily difficult, since he was unsure where he was supposed to get the chemicals without access to any sort of lab, but nowhere near impossible. Maybe he could just ask Selina, Ivy, and Harley about it; they all seemed to know what they were doing and would, probably, know where the stuff he needed could be found.

He gave himself a spin, jumped up on the ceiling, squatted with one hand placed between his feet and the other outstretched behind him.

It would take time to get used to, he realized as he crawled out of his room and into the living room, as it always did with every new suit, but it would be so worth it. Just like the startled screams the three women gave when they spotted him clinging to the ceiling.

He jumped down laughing, pulling off his mask and thanking them all profusely, glad he could finally start to do something.

Look out Gotham, Spider-man was coming.

…

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

Hold up.

Hold on a second.

Gotham’s in New Jersey, right?

…

Peter’s been in fucking JERSEY this entire fucking time???  

Chapter Text

Peter was near inconsolable during patrol the next day – well, he called it patrol, mainly because he didn’t know what else to call it, but it was really a tour of the city from the rooftops by the one and only Catwoman.

Because, really?  

Jersey?

Disgusting.

Good thing he could no longer get in contact with his friends from his home world; they would be ashamed of him.

He was ashamed of himself, despite knowing full well that winding up here was not his choice.

Would it have been too dramatic to have asked Dr. Strange to kill him instead of letting (forcing) him to live in Jersey?

Maybe, if only because then he wouldn’t have met Selina or Harley or Ivy or had Selina’s sugar daddy paying for his every need. The guy was dumping more money on a stranger at the drop of a hat than Peter had ever seen in his life – anything Tony Stark related withstanding.

Nonetheless, Peter was in Jersey – god fucking damn it – and needed to make the best of it.

Somehow.

It’s fine, he’ll figure it out.

It’s fine.

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine-

“Spider-man!” came a call from above, “are you coming up, or are you going to stay on the side of the building?”

Spider-man shot a web upwards, detaching from the brick wall and launching himself towards the roof, grumbling once he heard Catwoman’s quiet breaths of laughter over the sounds of traffic and crime littered through the city.

Catwoman smiled at him, standing next to the ledge, the light from the LED sign of an odd shaped W on the front of the building illuminating her silhouette. She had explained that the building was for an industry called Wayne Enterprises, a company owned by her billionaire fiancé.

Spider-man walked up beside her, joining her in looking over the city. It was raining, which seemed to be the perpetual state of Gotham – it didn’t nearly rain this much in New York, one of the many reasons why it’s the better state – and the clouds hung low in the sky, blocking out any potential light from the stars or the moon.

Streetlights flickered on and off all over the city, some parts only noticeable from the occasional light from a window, the rest of the block blacked out. It was easy to tell the poorer parts of the city from the parts that held the wealthy. Even from up high on a skyscraper, the disparity was obvious in a way that made Peter feel sick.

It wasn’t fair.

How could people live their lives in their high-rises and not give a shit that people not a block away from them were huddled together around a burning dumpster for warmth? At least in NYC, they had the decency to cover it up, to not make it so blaringly obvious.

It was still a problem, don’t take what Peter’s saying the wrong way, but…

It was like in NYC, the poor were swept under the rug so the rich wouldn’t have to feel guilty, they were hidden away so the tourists wouldn’t be disturbed or made uncomfortable.

Here, in Gotham, it was like the rich didn’t care. It was like they saw people struggling and laughed in their faces, making jokes about their suffering because they had the audacity to be born poor into a world defined by greed.

It made Peter sick.

“Where are we starting?” Spider-man asked, eyes still roving over the city, the dissimilarity, the unfairness of it all.

“I was just about to ask you that same question,” Catwoman replied.

When he looked over, she was already looking at him. “But I don’t-“ Spider-man started, cutting himself and restarting, “I’m new, I don’t know the city that well and-“

Catwoman raised her eyebrows, the expression making her look all the more expectant of his answer.

He sighed, resigned, and turned back out to the city. Closing his eyes, he opened his ears, listening for anything that would require their immediate attention.

One of the good things about gaining and learning how to use his powers in the city that never sleeps is that Peter was forced to learn how to hone in each one of his senses. No point in listening in on a late-night business call when he was supposed to be getting some sleep, no point in seeing each piece of chalk on the chalkboard during class, no point in sticking to some cash when trying to pay a cashier.

It was out of necessity that he learned how to use each of his powers, that he learned to use each of his senses. Peaceful nights without listening to stock talk halfway across the city, no more hyper focusing on the chalk on the chalkboard instead of what the chalk was being written to say, no more embarrassing encounters at corner stores that ended with him and the cashier each holding half of the bill he was trying to pay with.

He had grown used to tapping into each of his powers in his vast skill set when necessary, but it had never been overwhelming.

Never.

Now, though, the more he listened, the more furrowed his eyebrows became, the more pressed his lips, the thicker he swallowed.

He could hear every single scream, every child begging for mercy, every bed frame banging with or without consent, every security alarm sounding, every gun being fired.

It was- it was too much. He couldn’t- Peter couldn’t- not this. He couldn’t do this. It was too much. It was way too much. He couldn’t- how could all of this be happening in one city? It statistically wasn’t probable. It wasn’t- how could- how was he supposed to- he was supposed to protect them? How could he protect them all?

No, no he had to. He owed it to Aunt May. After everything she did for him, for their community, after everything she taught him, he owed it to her at the very least to do his absolute best.

But this? This- this was too much. How could he, how was he supposed to- how-

A hand landed on his shoulder, and on instinct he went to throw the person off. But Catwoman, thankfully, was trained. She expertly extracted herself from his grasp and waited patiently for him to get himself under control again.

“Are you okay?” she asked a few moments later. Peter only nodded, not trusting his voice to not crack and show emotion that he wasn’t entirely comfortable expressing at the moment. “Are you sure?” she asked next.

Peter didn’t answer immediately. He thought about how to answer as he turned around to face Catwoman, to put his back to the city, to the people who needed his help.

Fuck.

“It’s just… a lot,” Peter eloquently told her.

Selina hummed, eyes drifting from Peter to the cityscape behind him. “Can you,” she seemed to be thinking over her words, evaluating their worth and how helpful they would be in this situation, “can you hear it?”

Unintentionally following her example, Spider-man thought over his answer in a similar manner as well, thinking over each word and how it could help him explain. “I can tune it out, had to learn how to living in New York, but…” he swallowed, echoes of everything he heard filling his ears in real time as more and more people experienced the same atrocities.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sounds of pure pain and torture that threatened to drown him in its despair. “It’s a lot,” his voice came out shaky, the emotion he felt thundering under the surface making an unwanted appearance.

“Oh, kitten,” Selina cooed. She didn’t move from her place in front of him, didn’t even twitch. “Can I hug you?” and it was only upon Peter’s frantic nod that she surged forward, wrapping him in a protective hug that felt all too similar to the ones Aunt May gave.

And it was that thought that had the tears prickling his eyes.

And god, how selfish was he?

He was Spider-man, he had quite literally looked death in the eye and came back to life, he had fought beings of immense power and emerged victorious, he had learned from some of the most powerful and skilled people on his Earth. He had seen people murdered, tortured, raped, dismembered, and so much more.

It didn’t make sense for this to bring him down.

He was Spider-man. What the fuck was he doing?

He forced himself away from Selina and straightened up, forcibly pulling himself back together, showing the parts that felt loose back into place. “I know where to start.”

Selina still looked concerned, but that was her problem.

Spider-man shot a web off the side of the building and swung around a different skyscraper, landing approximately a block away from Wayne Enterprises. Catwoman landed beside him on a shorter roof just as he finished examining the scene playing out in the alley below where a group of three men were all ganging up on a girl, she couldn’t have been older than 15, and were beating her to a pulp.

Spider-man checked the levels of his web cartridges and turned to Catwoman. “You wanna help?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Catwoman turned to him with a feline grin, making it clear that there was no mystery behind the origins of her name. “Show me what you can do, Spider-man.”

Spider-man felt a matching grin slide onto his own face; smaller, sure, but present, nonetheless.

He shot out two strands of webs before he even fully turned back to the alley, hopping down onto the ground below and kicking out at the last perpetrator. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you guys not to hit girls? It’s not a very gentlemanly thing to do.” Another kick and another strand of web and the three grown men were on the ground, all bound and squirming.

“Don’t worry,” he told them, “the police will get here, soon. I’m sure they’ll teach you some manners.” He turned to the girl shivering on the ground, half raised on one elbow, staring at him in horror.

Spider-man raised his hands, slowing his movements, making it clear he wasn’t going to hurt her, he wasn’t a threat. “It’s okay, everything’s okay now. Can you stand up?” The girl kept staring, but Spider-man’s dealt with enough instances like this to know she was probably in shock. “Can you stand?” he asked again a few seconds later when it came clear she wasn’t likely to respond without further prompting.

“Yeah, I guess,” the girl said after a beat, shakily moving her body upwards so she was sitting up fully. She took a few deep breaths, looking wearily at the other men on the ground.

Spider-man drew her attention back to him gently. “Do you need help standing?”

The girl took stock of her body, examining her legs in the dim and dank light. There was excessive bruising on every inch of skin visible, and no doubt more under her clothing. It was disappointing to know there where people that were the same type of assholes here as there were back home.

The girl nodded, a “yeah,” slipping past her lips as she looked up at him through her slowly growing twin set of black eyes.

“Alright,” Spider-man said, moving slowly toward her and keeping every limb in view. He gently squatted down and put the arm that didn’t look broken and pulled out of its socket around his shoulders. “Just let me know if something starts hurting or if you need a break, okay?”

“Okay,” the girl replied, and then she was standing, Spider-man supporting the majority of her weight to keep it off her one foot that looked to be facing the wrong direction and the other ankle that was already swollen.

Spider-man slowly guided them out of the alley, only interrupted when the girl asked, “what about them?” He looked over at her, then followed her line of sight down to the three men still on the ground.

He turned back to her and confidently said, “I’ll make sure the police arrest them. They won’t hurt you or anyone else again.”

She looked unsure, which was valid considering these men did just assault her, but conceded all the same when Spider-man shot out additional webs, securing each of the assailants to the ground.

A softly muttered oh, come on followed them as they turned out on the street.

It was then that Spider-man stopped, looking around and realizing he had no idea where to go. “Uhhh,” he began, but thankfully didn’t have to finish as Catwoman came up beside them.

“You two in need of a clinic?” she asked.

“Catwoman,” the girl breathed out, a trace of fear injected into her voice.

Spider-man had no idea why she would be scared, but did his best to come her by saying, “don’t worry. She’s with me.”

For some reason, that seemed to scare the girl even further.

“Clinic,” he asked to Catwoman, needing to calm the girl down and choosing the best way to do that would be to drop her off somewhere safe where she could be properly taken care of.

Catwoman, for whatever reason, looked understanding. “Take a left on 49^th, go up a couple of blocks, it’ll be on your left.”

“Thanks,” Spider-man responded, following after the girl as she started forward. There wasn’t any conversation on their walk – despite what people may say, Spider-man did know when to shut up every once in a while – and they were at their destination soon enough.

Spider-man held the door open, carefully observing the girl to make sure she didn’t aggravate her many injuries, and just as carefully ignored how the tension in her body drained as they entered the building and she no doubt realized that he was actually trying to help her. Just as he was about to set her in a chair, a door opened, and a woman entered the waiting room.

“Okay, so,” the woman started before the words died off as she caught sight of the girl still using Spider-man as a crutch. “Oh my, okay, bring her on back. Come on, now,” she instructed, holding the door open and waving them through.

The woman lead them down a hall and into a room with a medical bed and plenty of equipment spread atop the countertop. “I’m Dr. Thompkins. Can you tell me what happened?”

The girl grunted as she sat down but answered the question still. “Three guys jumped me as I was walking down an alley. I don’t know why.”

Dr. Thompkins hummed as she pulled on some gloves. “And you are.”

“Uhm, Spider-man,” was the answer.

Dr. Thompkins hummed again, asking permission to touch before gently probing the girl’s ankles. “I’ve never heard of you before.”

“Yeah,” Spider-man said distantly as he watched the girl’s injuries get examined. “I’m new to town.”

Dr. Thompkins only paused for a moment, a slight hesitation made larger by enhanced vision, before she turned around. “I need to get some medicine before I get started.” Another slight hesitation. “Spider-man. Do you think you could stay with…” she trailed off, unspokenly asking the girl for a name.

“I’m Olive,” was offered up, to which Dr. Thompkins nodded in acknowledgement.

“Olive,” she repeated. “Spider-man, can you stay with Olive while I get what I need.”

The words “of course” had barely hit the air before the doctor left the room, speedwalking with a purpose.

Unlike their walk to the clinic, Olive decided to fill the silence. “So, what are you?”

“What do you mean?” Spider-man asked.

“Are you, what, a hero or something?” she asked.

Spider-man huffed a small laugh, just under his breath, just loud enough for him to hear but she hopefully wouldn’t. “I guess you could say that.”

“Uh huh,” Olive said, unimpressed. “Can you elaborate one that?”

“Can you elaborate on why you got jumped in an alley?” he threw back.

“It’s Gotham.” The answer was said in a way that implied that was all the information she needed to give as an explanation. The steady heartbeat backed it up.

Well, damn.

Although, based on everything he heard earlier, he was more than inclined to believe it.

He went back to her question, being nice – as Spider-man was often known for – and giving her the answer she deserved after everything she went through tonight. “Where I’m from, some people think I’m a hero, others think I’m a menace and deserve to be looked in jail. The public is split on whether I did good there or if I made everything worse.” He shrugged, playing it off like it didn’t bother him, like everything that happened since his identity got leaked was whatever and was fine.

Because why shouldn’t it be?

It’s not like that happened here.

It was fine.

“What do you want to be?” Olive asked next.

Peter didn’t even need to think about how to answer. “I want to be someone who helps others.”

The soft smile on Olive’s face was all the answer she was able to give before Dr. Thompkins came back into the room. “Alright, Olive. I need someone to get in contact with so they can pick you up when I get you all patched up.”

Olive gave the number for the school she was attending, specifying teachers she would prefer to get her, then an IV was set up and a sedative was delivered, and Olive fell peacefully asleep.

Dr. Thompkins breathed a sigh of relief when her patient was out and turned back to the other person in the room. “Thank you for dropping her off.”

“Yeah, of course,” Spider-man replied immediately, sincerely.

“How did you know to come to this clinic?” the way the question was asked implied that there was a deeper meaning, one Spider-man wasn’t privy to.

“Catwoman told me to take her here,” he responded, not sure if it was the correct or wrong answer.

But based on Dr. Thompkins’ little snort of laughter, it was the right one. “If you ever find someone injured like this again, feel free to bring them here, too,” she instructed, and Spider-man felt as though he could give no other answer other than one to agree.

“And if you ever get injured, you’re more than welcome to drop by. I’ll patch you up in no time.” Spider-man felt less inclined to agree for that one, considering most of the time, the only thing he needed to heal was a good night’s rest, but did so anyway.

With that, he was shooed out of the room. He left the clinic, wishing a good luck to the doctor in her attempts to help Olive and a get well soon to the patient herself.

On the roof of the clinic was Catwoman who, after a quick question and answer about how Olive was doing, said they needed to meet Harley and Ivy, so off they went to the other side of the city, each important structure and landmark pointed out on their way.

And so, they were on their way yet again, Catwoman pointing out more important sights that Peter would need to know as Spider-man and as an everyday citizen, stopping only twice – once to stop a mugging, and another time to stop an attempted robbery – and they arrived at their destination of a… rooftop greenhouse?

Peter tried to not judge, as a rule, one he did his best to uphold because of his nighttime activities, but he was curious to say the least.

The air in Gotham was rancid, only marginally better than that in NYC. And, as Peter loathed to admit any part of New Jersey being better, they did get bonus points for not having acid rain.

Which was surprising, wasn’t it? Gotham had a perpetual fog caused by all the pollution, but apparently having acid rain was too much for the city.

Whatever, Peter wasn’t going to complain. It was certainly a benefit, and it was one that he was not going to take for granted.

With all of that being said, however, that didn’t mean the air quality was, well, good.

Walking into the green house was like a breath of fresh air. Literally.

He could taste how clean the air was.

Fresh air.

Such a rare commodity in large cities.

One he was not going to take for granted.

“Ives, look, Pete’s here!” came an excited voice a little further inside.

Peter walked around a giant rose bush, admiring the various plants of all different shapes, sizes, and breeds. As soon as he was confident that it was only Harley and Ivy in the greenhouse as well and that the plants effectively blocked him from the view of anyone who might try to peer inside, he took off his mask just in time to get body slammed into a hug.

Harely pulled around, still holding Peter by the shoulders. “Aw, look at you!” she cooed. “The suit looks so good.” She turned her head around, still holding Peter in place, but looking at Ivy. “Doesn’t his suit look good?”

Ivy walked over to them, resting her elbow on Harley’s shoulder. She eyed him up and down, checking over the costume. “We did a good job.”

Harely turned her attention back to Peter, letting out a little squeal because of his costume, then pulling him into a second hug. Peter just laughed, hugging her back until she pulled back yet again and tapped his shoulder excitedly. “Selina said ya added some stuff to ya suit to help with tha vigilante gig.”

Peter felt a smirk growing on his face, one he tried to suppress by squishing his lips together. “I did.”

“Well,” Harley prompted, waving a hand in the air to get him moving as she and Ivy took a few steps back.

Peter let his smirk grow, excited to show off, something he had never really been able to do. From his experience, after the first few times someone saw what he could do, the intrigue wore off. It had been some time since the last time he was able to show off his powers for enjoyment rather than obligation, that he was able to let people in on the secret and see his own joy reflected back at him rather than fear or leers.

Yeah, having his identity revealed to the whole planet was an experience and a half, and not a delightful experience by any counts.

Spider-man pulled on his mask and widened his stance, rubbing his hands together as he prepared and thought of what he would do. He looked at the structural beams on the ceiling, knowing those would be safer than using the planes of glass themselves.

He looked back over at Harley and Ivy, seeing Selina stand next to them, all looking at him expectantly. “Ready?”

“Yes!” Harley yelled, the other two agreeing at volumes more appropriately suited for the indoors. The fact that Selina looked excited was unexpected, since she had already seen what he could do, but it was more than welcome.

Still looking at them, he lifted one arm straight up in the air. His grin grew as he saw Harley’s and Ivy’s confused faces shift to curiosity and wonder as a web was shot out and Spider-man flung himself into the air, landing on one of the metal beams holding the greenhouse together on his feet in a crouch. He straightened up, then gave a little wave.

Ivy was looking at him appraisingly, head cocked slightly, amusement made clear. Harley was holding tight onto one of her girlfriend’s arms with one hand, the other raised in the air at a diagonal, shouting, “holy fucking shit!”

Selina looked proud, a milder version of the expression Aunt May used to wear when she thought Peter did something incredible, an expression that he couldn’t remember on his own mother’s face.

No time to dwell. Without a warning, Peter shot out a web to one of the beams apart of the metal frame along the walls, did a flip and barely tapped the glass as he bounced off it, landing back in the spot that he started in.

“Holy fucking shit!” Harley repeated, this time with hands holding the sides of her head in a pose that was just as dramatic as her words.

Ivy still looked to be appraising him, something shifting through her head as she thought. “Is there anyone who can do that here?” she asked, then turned her head to face the other two once her question was finished.

Selina now looked to be in thought, “I don’t think so…” she trailed off, clearly uncertain of her answer while Harely shrugged in response.

Ivy nodded, turning back to Peter. “What you can do, what you just did, it’ll be really helpful.”

“Yeah?” Peter asked, just to confirm.

“Oh, yeah, sweetheart. You’ll be the talk of the town,” Harley told him, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “People love it when someone new shows up with some powers they ain’t eva seen before.”

Peter wasn’t sure how true that statement was, but, again, his world didn’t have nearly as many enhanced as there seems to be on this one, nor did they have as many costumed individuals out fighting crime. “Huh, nice.”

An alarm sounded before he had barely gotten the words out. His head snapped to the direction of the sound, honing his hearing and listening in for just long enough to know that it was a bank getting robbed by at least 5 guys that were all armed.

“There’s a bank robbery, a block or two over,” he announced. He looked back at Ivy, Harley, and Selina, about to ask if they wanted to come, too, but Selina stopped him.

“Go get them, kitten,” she told him, that same proud look on her face.

“You sure?” he asked, because he wanted to be positive before he shot off.

“Positive, hun,” Selina confirmed while Ivy said, “have fun,” and Harley called out, “go get ‘em, tiger!” as he started to run to the closest exit.

He shot out a web as he jumped off the edge of the roof, efficiently swinging to the robbery quickly, especially since he wasn’t entirely familiar with this area, yet.

Spider-man used his hearing to keep track of the robbers, as well as the six hostages. He landed on the roof of the building across the street from the bank, getting a feel for the land instead of rushing in blind. The fact that the lights in the bank were all out didn’t help matters.

It had been a while since he was able to do something like this, since he was able to just stop localized crime that so often got overlooked by the big-timers with capes. It was low-stakes, and it would be even lower once he got the hostages to safety. He wanted to have fun with it.

He landed on the sidewalk and leaned up against the doorframe, waiting patiently for someone to notice him.

A hostage did first, unfortunately. They turned pale, frozen.

Okay, in hindsight, maybe showing up like this when he was still brand spankin’ new to Gotham wasn’t exactly the bestidea.

But what’s done has been done. No choice but to move forward.

Spider-man couldn’t offer a smile, or a wink, or anything else that would calm the hostage with his full-face mask, but he didn’t really have a lot of time to think it over, considering one of the robbers had noticed him and started shooting.

Alright, so step 1: get the attention off the hostages.

With one robber shooting, that quickly got the attention of the other criminals, and soon enough, Spider-man had five different AKs firing at him.

Fine, nothing he hadn’t dealt with before, and far more manageable than surprise alien-tech-turned-human-made-weapons.

He jumped up, sticking to the ceiling with one hand before he started crawling, eliciting screams of terror from the robbers and hostages alike.

Maybe crawling on the ceiling in the dark like some kind of possessed demon probably also wasn’t the best idea.

Hindsight really was a dick, wasn’t it?

The good news was that the sudden scare was enough to get four out of the five to stop shooting. The fifth guy pulled out a handgun and was shooting at him with both weapons. Not ideal, but two guns was better than five.

Spider-man shot out a web as he continued to crawl, causing the guy to lose his AK, pinning the gun to the wall behind him with webbing that wouldn’t start loosening for two hours, effectively dubbing the weapon as usual.

Good news to being new to Gotham and no one knowing how Spider-man operates, no one knows how Spider-man operates.

This guy had no idea that once his gun had been pinned down, there was no way he was getting it back, especially not as some average, run of the mill robber.

He tried to reach for the gun, tried to pull it from the wall, nothing worked. Spider-man used the robber’s position, however, to quickly web him to the wall, pinning him in place right next to the AK.

By that time, the other robbers seemed to have gotten their wits back to them. Three started firing at him again, but the fourth started herding the hostages.

Step one would need to be put on hold, just until Spider-man could get the gun situation under control.

He maneuvered the situation so the robbers were further in the store, less likely to shoot a passerby by accident. It was then that enough light shined in through the shattered windows that Spider-man could finally put his enhanced vision to use and start to make out what kind of masks they were wearing.

Spider-man was quipping before he could stop himself. “Oh no! Stockbrokers!” He shot out two webs: one glueing one of the robber’s hands to the AK they were holding, and the other connecting the other two to each other. “Oh wait,” he continued, jumping up and using the ceiling to get closer as the robbers readjusted to the game changes he enforced. “I just noticed the masks.”

The masks made them look like clowns. Peter liked to consider himself something of a genius.

He aimed for the two robbers that he connected together, shooting out twin strands of webs to disarm them followed by two more strands to bind the enough so they wouldn’t continue to be a problem before moving onto the last guy. Spider-man dropped down,  punching the robber just hard enough to get him to go unconscious.

Just as he was going to shift the rest of his attention onto the hostages and the only robber he hadn’t fought yet, a shot rang out throughout the room.

Spider-man dove before he even knew what he was doing. He shot out a web and pulled the hostage toward him, trading places since he couldn’t slow down his momentum and taking their intended bullet to the shoulder as he crashed to the floor.

Okay, ouch.

That was going to put a hamper on his range of mobility for the next couple of days, but, again, nothing he hadn’t dealt with before.

He stood up, not giving any indication that his shoulder was burning, and stared at the robber head on. “Well, that was a little rude, don’t you think?”

The robber didn’t respond, eyes wide behind the mask, heart beating upwards 140 beats per minute. Spider-man frowned. That wasn’t a normal reaction, and it was slightly worrying.

He didn’t let it get to him, though. There were priorities.

Spider-man shot out two more strands of webs, one disarming the robber, the other binding the guy.

He didn’t even fight it.

Not good.

Spider-man went to make sure that each of the hostages were okay, then sent them outside.

When all was set and good, he made sure that last robber was okay, checking to make sure his eyes dilated correctly and wasn’t too majorly injured.

The guy was okay.

Odd.

Spider-man looked around, trying to find some kind of reason why the guy looked to be shell-shocked. It was then that he noticed two quiet heartbeats on the same roof that he had used when mapping out the bank, one of which he recognized.

It probably wasn’t a good idea to antagonize Batman, but if the big, bad bat wanted to talk, then Spider-man would wait for him to initiate the conversation. He wasn’t about to willingly go up to him, after all, not after his sixth sense made Peter want to crawl out of his own skin with how bad it caused his nerves to tingle.

But, that did explain why the robber looked scared shitless.

Spider-man was scared shitless of Batman.

He wrapped up what he was doing, stealing one of the robber’s phones – seriously, these guys were stupid enough to bring their personal phones to a robbery? They deserved to be stopped – and left the building out of the back.

He purposefully went the long way just to avoid Batman and his little shadow, not too keen on reigniting his sixth sense like it had been before, nor finding out if any of the other bats would cause the same reaction.

Hopefully he wouldn’t have to deal with the Bat or any of the other Gotham vigilantes anytime soon.

Hopefully.

Chapter Text

“Any new news on our latest multiversal traveler?” Wonder Woman asked.

“Some,” Batman replied, “but I believe I should let Catwoman answer that question.”

That was the reason why Selina had been asked to come up to the Watchtower, and Peter was the reason why she accepted the request. She had been asked before, sure, but declined each and every time, no matter how many reassurances Bruce gave her.

The Watchtower would forever be intrinsically linked to what certain members of the Justice League, certain members of which were still on the league, had done to her all those years ago.

It doesn’t matter if this Watchtower is a satellite orbiting the Earth instead of on the moon, the function of this place will forever be the same. The pain this place caused will forever be the same, no matter what planet it’s on or circling around.

And yes, while she had recovered, scars only faded; no amount of time could get them to disappear.

But for Peter… for Peter, she could put it behind her, for at least a night, to make sure that he could recover and heal correctly in ways she’s not sure she ever has, will ever be able to.

“Why is Catwoman the one to ask?” Black Canary asked, not rudely, but blunt as she tended to be when she didn’t have all the answers, a trait Selina knew she picked up from spending too much time with Oracle.

“Because he’s living with her,” Batman answered plainly. “Catwoman, if you would please,” he dipped his head, signaling for her to start.

“Thank you, Batman,” Catwoman purred from her place beside him. Addressing the rest of the room, she said, “Peter’s… adjusting. He’s been through a lot and needs time to heal from it all. He’s been getting better, but he needs space to continue to do so.”

“Do you think he would be a potential threat?” J’ohn asked from next to the computers, logging necessary information into the database.

“Oh, no,” Selina asserted. “He wouldn’t even hurt a fly,” deliberate word choice on her part, because Peter certainly could hurt a fly, but that doesn’t mean he ever would. Those around the room trained to pick up on those subtle differences, however, spotted it like a flare on a clear night.

“But he could,” Red Arrow asked, leaning forward on the table.

“He could,” Catwoman confirmed, “but he wouldn’t.”

“And how do you know?” G.A. pushed. “How do you know he wouldn’t ever be a threat?”

“Because I know him,” Selina argued.

“Do you?” G.A. questioned.

“I do,” Selina asserted.

“Yeah, okay, and we don’t,” the Flash, the one who’s best friends with Dick, interrupted, “so excuse us for wanting more information.”

Selina sighed, knowing Wally made a good point. She put her hands on the table and leaned her weight forward onto them, bowing her head and closing her eyes. “Well, excuse me for being protective over Peter,” bitterness still leaking into her tone, but more controlled than it had been.

She took another breath and opened her eyes, but kept them on her hands, not straying upwards. She thought over what to say, what would get the Justice League as a whole to back off and still maintain some of Peter’s oh so needed privacy.

“He,” Selina started, cutting herself off and pressing her lips together, reorganizing her thoughts. Batman came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder blade in support. Selina drank it in, organizing her words and relishing in her fiancé’s provided comfort.

When she was ready, she straightened, standing up and addressing the Justice League:

“The Earth that Peter came from is unlike ours in many ways. For one, they don’t have very many heroes; after Batman met him and told him about the Justice League, Peter began looking up other heroes on this Earth. It was something that he told me several times during his research, that he couldn’t believe how many more heroes there are here.

“For another,” and she took a pause here, knowing what she had spilled already was vital for them to understand more about Peter’s Earth and just how different it is, and knowing what she was about to say was even more important. “For another, it’s dangerous to be a meta there.”

“Dangerous how?” Kyle asked, looking a combination of intrigue but mostly concern.

Catwoman shook her head. “I’m not really sure, Peter hasn’t gone into detail, but from what I can tell… at the very least, it’s illegal.”

The silence was all-consuming, none of the members in that room could imagine what it could be like to have to hide yourself in such a way. Yes, many members still kept their identity a secret, but not all did.

The Elongated Man had started a trend, all those years ago, when he decided that he didn’t want to have to hide who he was and revealed himself as Ralph Dibney, putting both himself and his wife – Sue – in the direct line of fire. Yet, despite what others may have thought when they revealed themselves, that decision did not play a role in either of their deaths.

Superheroes were just an ingrained part of their society, at this point. People and aliens existing with powers beyond imagination were almost as normal planes flying the sky that metas soared in.

Sure, there were struggles for those who were meta, but almost all places on this Earth deemed it illegal to treat metas as lesser.

The thought of metas being illegal was mind-boggling to Selina as well; even though she herself wasn’t meta, she couldn’t even begin to think of what a world were metas were illegal would look like, a world we’re persecuted enough that he would be unsafe in New York City, of all places.

But she knew the thought was worse for those who had powers, who were meta themselves. She certainly didn’t envy them and was thankful she didn’t have to see what state their minds were in. She couldn’t begin to imagine the amount of turmoil they were experiencing.

“And then,” Selina started again, toeing the line between telling the Justice League what they needed to know and what Peter no doubt wanted no one to know, “and then some people found out that Peter is a meta.”

Selina wasn’t one hundred percent sure what happened on Peter’s Earth, only that he didn’t want to talk about it, it wasn’t pretty, and left him severely traumatized. Thankfully, though, the specifics didn’t seem to matter. The little bit of information that she shared was already enough to paint a beautiful nightmare scenario for everyone in the room.

“I don’t know all of the specifics,” which was truer than the Justice League knew, “but some kind of tragedy ended up happening, and the only way to fix it was for Peter to turn to someone else that he knew, someone who had experience in magic, and ask them to preform a spell that would wipe everyone’s memories of him. The caveat was that Peter then needed to be transported to another universe, so that way the spell affecting everyone’s memories wouldn’t accidently become undone.”

And boy, did Selina have thoughts about that spell, messing with everyone’s memories and forcing them to forget.

Maybe it was just left over resentment from having her own mind messed with and being forced to undergo change she never wanted to go through in the first place.

She knew that for Peter’s situation, wiping the collective planet’s memory of him was for a good cause, for the greater good, that because of whatever trouble he found himself in, his aunt ended up dying. He may not say it outright, but living with the boy and being engaged to one of the best detectives in the world provided Selina with certain insights that no one else was privy to.

But she also knew had experience with having her own mind messed with. Being kidnapped by some of the people sitting in this very room and brought up to the Watchtower – a different version at the time, but still the Watchtower, nonetheless – and having wandering fingers poking about her mind and altering her personality to that of someone completely different, forcing her to stop being a villain and join the side of good and the righteous, or whatever.

It messed with her, forever changed her. Even when she found out what had happened, even when she regained her memories, it wasn’t an instant fix.

She didn’t just go back to being a villain overnight. She tried, oh did she certainly try, but it was difficult reconciling the memories she had been regifted and the programming forced upon her.

So, while she did feel for Peter and understand what he was going through, she also felt for everyone on the Earth he was forced to leave, everyone who had their minds forcefully altered and changed.

But, god, she couldn’t imagine having to leave this Earth behind and being told never to go back, or else she would put everyone here at risk and doom herself eternally.

She didn’t know what she would do in that situation, and for that reason alone, she knew that Peter was stronger than she could ever dream of being, being able to handle the hand he’d been dealt with the amount of grace that never failed to startle Selina.

But Selina’d had time to go over all of the facts that she was privy to, she’d had time to reconcile. Batman, however, didn’t already know that the people from Peter’s Earth had their memories altered, and she could feel him stiffen beside her.

The same event that led to Selina’s violation, Dr. Light’s lobotomy, also led to Batman getting his memory wiped. It was only a few seconds, sure, and nothing close to the amount of mental rearrangement that Selina nor numerous other villains  had been forced to go through, but it made him question some of his closest friendships, and it contributed to one of the several ends of the JLA.

Bruce was notorious for not letting people in easily, but once he did, he trusted them with everything he had. The reason why the ten seconds of memory that had been stolen from him hurt him so much wasn’t so much the fact that his mind – one of the only reliable things he has at any point in the field – was tampered with.

It was the fact that those he had let in, those he considered to be friends, had done the tampering.

Selina knew what was going through his head, it was the same thing that had been through hers quite a few times: everyone Peter was close to had their mind’s wiped by one of Peter’s other friends, making it a safe assumption that those people had memories erased by someone they trusted.

All the members were stuck in their heads for a few moments, going over the information Catwoman had just given them about this Earth that none of them had encountered before.

It was a lot, it was difficult to come to terms with, especially since they were expected to digest enough of it in one sitting. Selina, at least, was given the ability to learn all of this information through the course of weeks, no in less than 20 minutes.

She gave them the time they needed to go over everything, to reexamine, to analyze, to compartmentalize, taking the time for herself to do the same.

Eventually, Superman nodded. “Anything else you want to add?”

Selina shook her head. “Not now.”

“Is there more for you to add?” Wonder Woman asked in that dominating way of hers that earned her the spot she had as one of the Big Three heroes on their planet, that helped her to become a well-respected diplomat, but ever so kind, no doubt knowing what kind of terrible memories Peter’s situation brought up for everyone.

“Not now,” Selina repeated, now more than ever ready to leave and get back home to her apartment and to Peter-

Wait, since when had she made that change? To think of not just her apartment as home, but Peter as well?

“Batman,” Superman addressed next, “anything you want to say?”

“The one time I met Peter, he was scared- terrified. I asked him if he had ever heard of the Justice League and he said no, but once I began explaining what it is that we do, he compared us to a group called ‘The Avengers.’ I am not sure who these people are, but it seemed to help him understand,” Batman reported.

“Still,” he continued, “like Catwoman said, there was many differences between our two Earths, so how much it actually helped, I cannot be sure.”

“And that’s the only time you ever met him?” Wally asked, eyebrows raised, as if surprised that Batman had contained himself and not spied on the kid. If she was being honest, Selina was a little surprised by it, too, but more than thankful that he had stayed away.

But she knew why, it was because Bruce had plenty of experience with children adjusting to their entire lives being dumped upside down, his own childhood included. Of course Bruce would know when the proper time to spy was and when it was not.

“The only time, yes,” Batman confirmed. “Peter was terrified of me. I was not going to make an already overwhelming situation worse by inserting myself into a child’s life, in which I do not belong.” Just as Selina had predicted.

The League seemed to accept it, even though Catwoman was sure some members were biting their tongues on a comment about how Batman always inserted himself into situations that he doesn’t belong in; she could see it on some of their faces.

“If that’s everything, then,” Wonder Woman said at last, beginning to wrap up the meeting.

“Actually,” Batman interrupted, “there is one more thing.” Catwoman looked over at him curiously; she didn’t know what else he could need to report on. “There may be a new meta in Gotham.”

That got several people’s attention, since Gotham rogues were often considered outliers for what villains typically tended to be. Selina’s attention also perked, only because she hadn’t yet been informed of any new rogues.

Batman tapped a few times on his wrist gauntlet, and then came footage popped up on one of the large screens in the room. It was from someone’s mask, Selina could tell that much, and the little BLACK BAT - MASK followed by the date told her the rest.

She watched the footage along with everyone else, and quickly figured out what was going on.

Cass and Tim were swinging through Gotham together when they got an alert from Oracle and changed directions. They arrived at a store that was in the middle of robbery, landing on the building across the street and looking down into the black windows.

There was gunfire in the store, and the brief flashes of light combined with the night vision technology in the mask showed a figure crawling around on the ceiling and scaring the other people inside the store.

Selina watched on in curiosity; she hadn’t seen Peter stop the robbers herself, only heard his recount of how he stopped them. Watching him in action was a different experience entirely, mainly because it showed Selina just how much he had glossed over in his retelling.

Watching him casually dodge rapid gunfire in a way that only put himself at risk and left the hostages in relative safety, disarm the robbers effortlessly, put a stop to the robbery like it was second nature, Selina was proud of him. Not just of what he could do, but of Peter himself.

The kid had been through so much, and yet he still chose to go out and try to help people, try to fight for the greater good, when anyone else would have taken the out and stopped being a hero.

She was proud of him; she was really, really proud.

The footage kept going. It showed Peter wrapping up with the robbers, calling the cops, letting the hostages go, and finally walking out of the building. Then it showed Peter and Cass making eye contact.

Peter froze, literally froze, then fled from the scene faster than Selina knew he could go.

Tim asked if they should pursue the new guy, but Oracle told them to hold their positions, that they needed more information before they tried to engage with someone they had no prior experience with.

It was sound logic, Selina had to admit, and she could understand why from the footage, it would seem that Peter could possibly be a threat.

Then, the Justice League began discussing the potential threats, some heroes volunteering their skills to help apprehend him if deemed necessary. Others brought up potential uses they would have for him on their side, if he turned out to somehow be an ally.

Selina didn’t say anything, felt frozen between being disgusted that they would talk about Peter in such a way and amusement that they were treating this teenage boy as such a large potential threat, along with pride for them recognizing his potential from the little footage they had seen.

The only reason why she didn’t say anything was to keep Peter’s identity as secret as possible, knowing that it was important to him that she did so. She did, however, send out a mental message to the telepath in the room: I know you can hear me, so I know you know that Peter is Spider-man. Please don’t tell them, he needs this bit of privacy for as long as he can have it.

She was sure that it was something else in her mind, something else that she was thinking about in regards to Peter that had J’ohn replying for now, but-

She cut him off with a mental sigh that she made sure to push towards him. I’ll find you some Chocos. She didn’t know why the alien liked the chocolate cookies so much but was willing to find him some to buy his silence.

I’ll stay quiet. J’ohn told her mentally. For now.

For now. Selina agreed. She had no intention of keeping this a secret for forever, just until Peter settled enough on their Earth to agree to open up to the other heroes.

She’s sure that J’ohn heard those last thoughts, because his presence in her mind finally subsided with an approving feeling left behind.

The meeting ended quickly after Batman reassured everyone that he would handle the situation, but that he also wanted to keep everyone up to date just in case it got out of hand.

He and Selina left and travelled back to the Batcave, greeted by an upside-down Dick Grayson on the gymnastics equipment talking to Tim. Damian was nearby, sitting in a chair with Titus at his feet and a new manga that Selina hadn’t seen him with before in his lap.

“How’d it go?” Tim asked when he noticed the both of them. Dick did some complicated flip to dismount, going so far as to add a gymnastics bow at the end.

“We’re going to keep an eye on both Peter and this new costumed individual for now,” Bruce said, pulling back his cowl. “We keep the League updated, but that’s it.”

Dick nodded in understanding. “I told the Titans, Tim told the rest of Young Justice, Cass told the Birds of Prey, and Duke told the Outsiders,” Tim reported. “I think that between all of us, we’ve updated pretty much every hero who got called in during Peter’s unexpected trip here.”

“Good,” Bruce said, patting Dick’s back as he walked past to the computer. “We’ll just need to keep an eye on him, monitor him.”

“Do we really think that it’s a good idea to let him stay here?” Tim asked, not to pick a fight but out of genuine curiosity, wanting his own fears to be put at ease. “How do we know that he’s a good guy? I mean…”

Selina could only guess what was going through his head, what other Earth or variant or possible future he was thinking of. She came over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort. “Think of Peter as a… as a refugee. He can’t go back to his home, and he needs a bit of help to get up on his feet here, that’s all. He’s not a threat.”

“I would just feel better if I could meet him, is all. Might turn down my paranoia,” Tim told her, Dick agreeing in the background.

Selina understood – how could she not? She would have the exact same stance if she was in their shoes – but kept steady in her answer, one she had given them time and time again. “You’ll meet him when he’s ready.”

“Damian met him!” was the predicted comeback.

“That’s because Damian snuck in despite knowing not to,” Selina said, sending a stern look at the boy. It didn’t work, never did. Selina knew that, despite gradually getting better, some part of Damian still resented her for being the one to marry his father instead of his mother.

It wasn’t something that they ever talked about, didn’t need to talk about. Again, Selina knew. She understood. What child wouldn’t want their parents to be together? She got it, and she was willing to be patient with Damian, especially since he seemed to know that it wasn’t fair to her to hold such a grudge.

He was doing better, and Selina could wait and help him as he continued to get better, as he gradually let go or the grudge and began to accept her as a constant in his life, even if it’s a constant he never wanted. He could wait, and she was learning more and more about patience every day.

“I was testing your security,” Damian replied, not looking up from his book, hand gently going back and forth on Titus’ head. “You failed.” Progress was made slowly, but Selina was thankful that any had been made at all.

But she didn’t say any of that out loud, of course not. She only smirked and said, “and you waited until now to tell me?” Damian didn’t respond, just kept reading, but Selina didn’t need him to.

“So,” Tim drawled out. “Can I come over and fix your supposedly outdated security system?”

Selina knew exactly the reaction her next words would get her and played into it. “Wouldn’t that be a job better suited for Oracle?”

The hope that had been lining his frame drained out as he slumped. “Barabra gets to meet Peter before I do?” he asked dejectedly.

Selina laughed. “Let me ask him first, then I’ll let you know,” she amended.

“I’ll come over to,” Dick said. “I want to meet the guy who’s been causing so much trouble recently.”

Selina thought it over, thought how Peter would react to meeting both Tim and Dick, but ultimately decided to leave the decision up to him in the end. It wasn’t her place to make choices like that for him, not when he’s already had so many stripped away from him without getting a say in the matter.

She relented, but on the condition that they were the only two for now, that the others would have to continue to wait. They both agreed easily, throwing the others under the bus for their own needs in typical sibling fashion.

An alert sounded from the computer, drawing the attention of all the occupants in the cave. Bruce went to it and contacted Oracle as quickly as he could. Several cameras popped up on the screen, all showing different angles of a warehouse. “Oracle,” Bruce said, “what am I looking at?”

The green symbol Barabra had chosen as her avatar popped up on one of the screens, another then started showing the inside of the warehouse. “I’m not sure. There was some sort of big energy serge from that warehouse, but I’m not sure… I don’t have the information I need.” She sounded frustrated; it was very rare that she was ever not capable enough to handle a technological situation.

“The Signal is already on his way over, but I recommend that if any of you are available, you…” she trailed off at the same time a streak came through on the cameras. It wasn’t fast enough to be one of the Flashes or any other speedster, and there was no lightning trailing behind them. However, it was definitely faster than average people, or average metas, could move.

“Oracle?” Dick prompted, “Oracle, what’s going on?”

The camera angles shifted about, changing until one from the inside of the warehouse was playing, even if the quality was sorely lacking.

Selina saw the red and blue suit and sucked in a breath as discreetly as she could.

“It’s that guy from the back robbery,” Tim said when he recognized the figure a few seconds after Selina. “Why is he there?”

Selina couldn’t say, all she could do was watch as Peter slowly crawled along the wall through a window and onto the ceiling. She had never seen a person move in such a way, distort their body like that. It was unnerving and a bit nausea inducing, if she was going to be completely honest.

She was already planning on never telling Peter, just keeping her gaze slightly averted from him if he ever tried to do that same thing in her presence. She didn’t think she could handle it in person.

Batman called for Robin – for Damian, who was already suited up and ready to go – and Damian tucked a bookmark into his book, left it on his seat, and ran to the batmobile. They took off, engine roaring and echoing off the cave walls.

Tim took a seat at the desk, not allowed out on patrol because of the bruised weeks he had received last week. Dick ran off to the locker room to change.

Selina, despite being suited up and ready to go, took a seat next to Tim. She knew Peter could handle this, and she knew that Peter did not pose a threat to anyone or anything. She could do this. She believed in him.

She watched in morbid curiosity as Peter crawled to the center of the ceiling and stuck a web to it, then started to slowly descend upside down. She really needed to ask him to go into detail and elaborate on his powers, because clearly the little bit that he had told her had not been nearly sufficient.

When Peter was about halfway down, she gained a sudden momentum and kicked off of the web into a flip, shooting out one strand of web at Tetch as his body arched. He landed on the ground in a position that screamed of being a superhero pose – one hand outstretched behind him, one leg bent under him with the other out in front, his other hand on the ground for balance.

Tetch looked up, startled. He started talking, and a few seconds later, Oracle added sound to their feed.

“-doing here? Who are you?”

“I’m Spider-man,” Peter said, not getting out of his pose. “Who are you?”

Tim’s eyebrows drew together tightly as he leaned forward in his seat, a decision that immediately had him drawing back but didn’t do anything for his confusion. “Where did this guy come from? How does he not know who Tetch is?”

Tetch on camera straightened up, as if he’d had the same thought as Tim. “I’m the Mad Hatter.”

“Uh huh,” Peter said flatly. “Real original. Where’d you get your name from? Your hat?”

Tetch visibly brightened up enough that they could see it through the grainy camera footage. “My hat? Isn’t it just marvelous?”

“Uhh,” Peter said, obviously – or, at least, obviously to Selina – put off balance from that answer, his superhero stance loosening. “Yes?” he asked.

Tetch’s excitement grew more and more. “Would you like to make more with me?”

It would almost be humourous how out of place Peter looked if it wasn’t for who he was dealing with, wasn’t for the fact that a shiver went down Selina’s spine and a bad feeling nestled itself in her chest, wasn’t for the fact that this guy could mind control him to make him do anything the creep wanted.

Selina gripped the edge of the table, knowing that Duke was almost at the warehouse, Bruce and Damian right behind him, but ready to spring to action to help however she could.

“Come, come,” Tetch said, going over to Peter and pulling on one of his hands, which Peter surprisingly allowed and let himself get dragged over to one of the two tables in the middle of warehouse.

Audio cut in and out, the camera unable to pick up on what they were saying. It was obvious Oracle was trying to secure the feed, just based on how much typing Selina could hear from her end of the comm line, but wasn’t able to.

Selina, however, didn’t need to hear what was being said to know that the video itself painted a damning picture. Peter stood at the table with the fabrics and discussed with Tetch for a few minutes, then turned to the other table filled with technology.

It was hard to tell exactly what was on the table, but not hard to tell what Peter was doing.

He was adjusting a circuit, jotting down information on some nearby paper, helping Tetch with whatever tech he was creating in that warehouse.

Oh, Peter, Selina thought as Tim went rigid in his chair and began relaying the new information to Bruce and the others, warning them to be cautious in the, as he put it, extreme likelihood that Spider-man was not on their side after all. What are you doing, kitten?

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.”

Chapter Text

Kate scrubbed a hand down her face and groaned. She looked up at the little clock hanging on her wall and groaned louder when she read the time. It was nearly midnight, meaning she was supposed to be out doing her other job, not stuck in her office, going over the same file for the thousandth time.

It was nearly bare, only a few pages long, and didn’t contain any relevant information pertaining to the case she was supposed to be putting together.

How was she supposed to make sure that these four Joker goons stayed locked up after trying to rob a bank if she didn’t even know how they were taken down?

Usually, she was able to figure that part out just fine.

A stray batarang left behind, a word in her ear from a digital green mask, a bruise from gloves with a specific type of padding, a scorched wall left behind by a high powered blast-

Okay, okay. That last one was her fault.

But, in her defense, it’s always easy to figure out who took a criminal down when she was the one who did it.

Made her day job so much easier.

Helena and Dinah and the other birds were usually kind enough to let her know who they stopped. The bats always left quite a stir, whispers of the Batman lingering for hours after, the particular kind of bullets Red hood used, the swiftness of an attack and fight pointing to Black Bat. The way they each took down a criminal was specific enough that she could determine who did it every time.

Or maybe it was the online database Babs gave her access to.

Maybe she just read the reports logged there to figure out who did what.

Not that she ever used that information in establishing her cases for the judges of the fine city of Gotham, and not that she wouldn’t be able to determine who did it without the extensive and incredibly helpful database, but it certainly helped when the files police officers dropped off described the wrong events of what happened or were as bare as the one she was staring at.

Maybe she had been getting too complacent, too comfortable, too reliant on the system that had long been established in Gotham.

She was a lawyer, one of the best in the nation, for a reason.

She helped those 400 women get the compensation and justice they deserved after being ignored and forgotten by two different governments. She helped Wonder Woman when the United States was trying to find her guilty of murdering Maxwell Lord. She got Dr. Psycho acquitted. Yeah. The madman Dr. Psycho.

Kate got him acquitted, despite all the evidence that was piled against him. Despite him literally attacking the courtroom at the end of the trail.

She was good at her job, she knew she was, she had more than enough proof to back it up.

She could do this. She could build this case.

Doesn’t matter if the only information she had to go on was:

-        Four ex-Joker goons entered a bank.

-        Goons held several people hostage during robbery.

-        Unknown and masked individual entered the bank.

-        Unknown and masked individual crawled on walls and ceiling (needs to be confirmed).

-        Unknown and masked individual, by themselves, stopped the four armed robbers in a time span between two to five minutes.

-        Hostages were released quickly and unharmed.

-        All four goons had to be cut out of some sort of substance that left them all immobile.

-        The substance was none known to anyone working in the forensics department at the GCPD and would have been sent to another police department in another district of Jersey, had it not been for the fact that the substance vaporized about an hour later.

And that’s it.

Kate looked over the online database again, trying to find something that could help.

All she had so far was a video – cam footage from Black Bat’s mask that Oracle placed on her computer screen rather forcibly about… five hours ago, give or take.

The video helped some, only if she had the brightness and volume turned up all the way.

The lights had been turned off in the bank, and the figure could only be seen in the flashes of light given off every time a gun fired.

The figure was fast, efficient, and the only thing stopping Kate from saying it was Black Bat was the fact that she was watching Black Bat’s mask footage.

Kate really should have moved on by now, started focusing on another part of the case – or another case all together – but she didn’t. Couldn’t.

Call it curiosity, call it the need to be thorough, call it the notion that she would need this one specific piece of information to be taken seriously in court, call it a detail that was pertinent to some of her other cases, all of them would be right.

If she wanted the charges against those four robbers to stick, if she wanted the charges to half of the other files forming a stack on her desk to stick, she would need to know who apprehended them.

It’s some bureaucratic thing, established way back when Harvey Dent was still the D.A. and had since become just another thing he’d done to make Kate’s life a hundred times harder.

As much as Kate could, and did, complain about Two-Face, she knew this for sure: that man made one hell of a lawyer.

She pulled over some other files from the pile, all other crimes some random unknown and masked individual stopped. It was unclear whether or not it was the same individual, but the likelihood was high.

All had an unknown person entering the scene of a crime, effectively and efficiently stopping said crime, leaving the criminals bound in some sort of substance that dissolved after a certain unknown length of time, and the only information about the crime was given via word of mouth, the cameras always broken or covered up or containing footage that had somehow been corrupted.

All pointing her absolutely nowhere and not helping her at all in putting together a convincing case against the ex-Joker goons.

Another viewing of the mask footage, another read through of the bare file, another glance at the clock. It was nearing one in the morning.

Usually, at times like these, Matt would walk in with two cups of coffee and offer another set of eyes. Kate couldn’t show him the footage Oracle gave her – footage that was only supposed to help her figure out who stopped the four robbers, something that was suppose to be quick and easy and not take up her entire night – but she could show him everything else.

Except, Matt wasn’t there. Kate had forced him to take the night off, telling him to not treat his internship too seriously and to go have fun with some friends, to enjoy college and the simpler times life offered will he still had them.

And he took her advice. He wasn’t at the office. Kate had a file with a total of six pieces of paper in it, four of which were basic information on each of the robbers respectively. She had a case she needed to be solid but wouldn’t be because she didn’t have any of the information she needed. She needed to know who stopped the robbers, or else the Gotham judges would find the goons as not guilty and they would be roaming the streets again by the end of the week.

She needed to see her son, to hear his voice, but it was past his bedtime already, and she didn’t want him to worry,  it when he had finally started to settle down back in L.A. after his impromptu journey across the country just to make sure that Kate was all right.

She needed to punch something.

With that thought, she got up, packing up her files and securing them in her desk and locking the drawer shut, then grabbing her briefcase.

This late at night, the only other person in the entire building would be the janitor, no one else caring enough to stay so late. It was something that she had used to her advantage time and time again. Just like she was doing tonight.

Kate nodded her head as they passed each other and slipped into the bathroom. She entered the largest stall and set her briefcase down, opening it up and pulling out the pieces of her uniform.

However, the janitor must have recently mopped the floor because when Kate tried to put on her pants hastily so she could get out and start her night job faster, her foot slipped and she nearly fell into the toilet.

Goddamnit.

Whatever, doesn’t matter. More important things to focus on.

She finished putting on her suit, took out her staff, and snuck out of the bathroom, taking the stairs up to the roof. She stashed her briefcase under the AC unit, knowing she was going to regret it later when she needed to come back here at the end of the night to collect it, but needing to get out as fast as possible and to take her mind off everything.

Aiming her staff at the ground, she shot off a blast and launched into the air, soaring over several buildings and landing in a roll, coming up on the balls of her feet.

She had been doing this for a while now, dawning the suit for about three years at that point, and it never failed to fill her with a shot of adrenaline. It relaxed her in a way very few other things did. This, being out as Manhunter, was exactly what she needed after such a long and stressful day at her day job.

The comm embedded in her mask beeped, but before Kate could decide if she wanted to accept the call or not, a voice started speaking.

“Evening, Manhunter,” Barbara greeted.

“Oracle,” Kate said. “That video you have me wasn’t all that helpful.”

“Yeah, I know, but that’s all we know about the guy,” Barbara said. She sounded tired, worn out. She sounded like she needed a nice shower and a good nights rest. Kate had been working with the birds of prey for a while now, too, and knew Babs well enough at this point to know that she wouldn’t do either until whatever task she was working on was completed.

Not that Kate could get onto her for it, not when she could be the same way. She was doing better with most parts of her life, but was still a workaholic. It’s what made her a successful lawyer. Sue her.

“That’s it?” Kate asked, not bothering to hide the disbelief from her voice. It wasn’t everyday, after all, that the all knowing Oracle admitted to not knowing something.

“I know,” Babs gritted out, strained. Ah, so that’s what she was working on. Duh. “You don’t need to say anything. I all ready know; I have Batman breathing down my neck, I don’t need anyone else doing that, too.”

“Got it,” Kate replied, wanting to be there for her friend but not entirely sure how to. Barbara wasn’t one who often took comfort, who was more likely to see it as pity than anything else. “What can I do to help?”

Her ear was filled with the clatter of keys on a keyboard for a few seconds before Barbara answered. “I got Nightwing, Red Robin, Black Canary, and the Question already following up on a few leads for me.”

“Nothing I can do?” Kate asked, twirling her bo staff idly and watching the blue lights bounce off of nearby puddles, the Gotham sky clear for once instead of pouring down rain.

“You can try to beat up Two-Face,” Babs told her. “Or any other criminal who has the misfortune of crossing paths with you.”

Kate snorted, a smirk working its way on her face. “Got it. Talk to you later,” she said, signing off.

Babs must have really been running on fumes because she didn’t say anything when she ended the call. Kate didn’t hold it against her,  knowing the girl pushed herself too hard too often.

Manhunter took off again, flying through the sky toward Two-Face’s last known base of operations. Even if he wasn’t there, then there would probably be some goons left behind she could take her frustration out on.

She was learning to be careful, and by careful she meant no more in field amputations. Even though she knew Dylan was all right now, and that Dylan was on doctors orders to take it easy as his stump healed so there was no way she could accidentally hurt him in the field again, she didn’t want to take any chances on anyone else.

Besides, she’s found it unnecessarily cruel to amputate someone’s limb like that, after having to witness the recovery Dylan’s had to go through.

Kate should visit him tomorrow, bring some more of those flowers he hated. At least that would liven up his otherwise dreary and boring home.

It’s not like he had anyone else to visit him.

And on that depressing note, Kate found herself at her destination. It was one of three she had been planning on checking out at some point, all places Two-Face had occupied recently.

It seemed she got lucky with her first choice option, seeing as there was already action happening inside the warehouse.

Kate launched up, crashing through a window and landing in the middle of a firefight. She wasn’t given a moment to think, not that she needed one; she knew which side to fight, and the ones wearing dual-toned clothing all had very punchable faces.

Even after all these years, Kate never got tired of being Manhunter, of beating criminals in the streets and dishing out justice in the courtroom. This was what she was good at, this was how she helped make the world a better place, a safer place. For her son.

She punched someone in the nose, whirled her bo staff around to hit someone else on the side of their head, lashed out a kick behind her in a guy’s nuts.

She didn’t know how many of Two-Face’s minions, exactly, were in the warehouse, just that they all seemed to drift closer towards her.  Kate tried to look around the herd, see what they were all running from, but was too busy fighting her way through the bodies to see anything.

When the crowd started to thin and there was only one more person near her to fight, Kate aimed a kick at the goon’s head, knocking him to the ground easily. She pointed the butt of her staff at his face, demanding, “where is Two-Face?”

“Like I’d ever tell you, bitch,” the man spat – literally – all over her boots.

Ew.

Didn’t he know how hard these were to clean? It’s not like she could take them to the dry cleaners. Maybe Dylan knew a trick or two to get blood soaked spit out of clothing…

“Wrong answer,” Kate said, the staff in her hands whirring dramatically. It was a threat, an intimidation tactic to get Mr. Tough Guy beneath her to start talking and give up the information she needed.

She hadn’t been planning on shooting him and leaving a burn mark on the floor were his head had been – not at that moment, but it’s also not like plans can’t change - when something hit her staff. The momentum of whatever it was had been enough to knock it out of her hands entirely.

Kate looked up, shoving the heel of her foot under the guy’s chin on his windpipe to keep him in place, and finally had a moment to get a lay of the land.

All the other worker bees had been beaten, the ones Kate took out lying unconscious or in too much pain to move, none of them dead only because Kate didn’t really want to have to deal with heroes whining about corpses again like she’s had to every other time she killed someone in Gotham.

Damn, she missed missed L.A. She missed fighting crime with Obsidian. At least he never complained when she did what she had to.

And she missed her friend, missed being able to see Todd all the time rather than only on the weekends.

And she missed her son.

She always missed her son.

The rest of the goons, the ones Kate didn’t take out, were all relatively unharmed. All awake and, from the looks of it, in little to no pain. All restrained in some sort of white substance, stuff that looked like webbing.

Stuff just like what was described in the case files she had been obsessing over all day. Weekend. Week. Whatever.

Kate looked over and saw a slim figure on the wall in a backwards crawl, both legs and one hand the only parts of their body touching the bricks, the other hand stretched out in front of them, doing a weird hand sign, aimed in Manhunter’s direction.

This was them. The person Kate had been looking for. The one who stopped all those crimes. Unidentified and masked individual.

Holy fucking shit.

“Who are you?” Kate asked. She may not have had  her weapon, but that didn’t mean she was defenseless. She’s certain the guy beneath her suffocating would agree on that front.

The individual sighed with their full body, arm dropping to their side and head dropping to their chest in tandem. They fell from the wall, landing easily on their feet in a way that was both graceful and unnatural, a way that reminded Kate of how ballerinas danced and of how aliens couldn’t appear human no matter how hard they tried. It was as unnerving as it was mesmerizing.

“Guess I haven’t left as big of an impression as I though, huh?” they joked. They walked over to her nimbly, and when they got close enough, stuck out a hand, standing just far enough out of reach that if Kate wanted to shake it, should would have to move away from the man she was standing on. “I’m Spider-man.”

“Manhunter,” Kate replied on guard, not wanting to risk getting too close to someone so… she didn’t have any other word to describe him him than other.

He was an disconcerting as he was elegant, as fluid as he was terrifying. He moved with a certain air to him that screamed predator, but one that didn’t know their place in the food chain.

She swept her eyes over the warehouse again, at all the men Spider-man had taken out. Kate took out more than her fair share, enough that she knew she would be sore tomorrow.

Spider-man took out four times as many as her. And none of them were injured beyond the occasional bump or bruise.

That level of discipline spoke of skill, of strength, of power.

Terrifying, was how Kate described him.

Terrifying didn’t begin to cover it.

This so-called Spider-man seemed to recognize that she wasn’t going to shake his hand and accepted it easily enough, letting his arm fall back to his side unaffected.

Despite his name, despite the skill he had demonstrated that night, Spider-man sounded younger than a man, sounded like someone who had only recently finished going through puberty.

Her mind was already racing with question after question. How could someone so young be so skilled? How could someone so young take out so many people by themselves?

Those two questions perhaps weren’t fair, considering how the presence of child heroes had been around longer in the costumed community than some members of the justice league, but it didn’t but negate their importance.

Kate had questions she wanted to ask, things she wanted to know, details she needed for her files and cases. But before she could ask any of them, Spider-man’s head turned in a way that would have looked fine for an owl, but looked terrifying for a human. If that’s even what he was.

Oh, Kate had so many questions.

“There’s a mugging a couple of blocks away,” Spider-man said. She wasn’t even going to question how he could possibly have known that. Then, turning back to Kate, added on a bit sheepishly, “I would love to stay and keep talking, but I gotta-“

Kate cut him off as soon as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You’re not here to hurt anyone, right?” She had other questions to ask – more important ones, probably – but that specific question took precedence. Maybe she could have worded it a bit better, and she was already kicking herself a bit for not thinking before she spoke, but that’s the question that came out.

It was the one she needed to know, one whose answer she could report back to Oracle, under the unlikely chance that Babs wasn’t already aware of what was happening in that warehouse.

Spider-man looked a bit wounded by the question, which was interesting how he could portray such emotion considering the fact that not a single inch of his face, not a single inch of skin at all, was visible under his suit. “Of course not,” he said earnestly. “I just want to help however I can.”

Kate nodded. She understood that feeling far too well. She jerked her head toward the door, a simple word giving him permission to leave. She didn’t think she could stop him even if she wanted to. “Go.”

Spider-man nodded and took off, shooting her a thumbs up with one hand while the other raised up and shot out more of that substance to stick to the ceiling. He swung on a rope of the white, web-like substance straight out the window, doing a peaceful and lazy front flip before he disappeared from her view.

Well, fuck.

Kate’s night just got a lot longer as she thought about the paperwork she could now finally do.

But that could wait until tomorrow. No point in working herself to the bone when she didn’t need to.

See, she said she was getting better at this whole’ life’ thing, and balance was a key part of that.

Tonight, she needed a nice and warm shower, delicious food from that little Thai place on the corner of her street, and a good night’s rest.

On the way back to her apartment, she updated Babs on all the information she just learned, a little shocked by just how much of it was apparently new.

Hopefully that meant that now Babs could do the same and take the rest of the night off, give herself a break. She deserved it, too.

Chapter Text

Peter banged his head back against the couch as Harley flipped to the 57^th slide in her Prezi about the inner workings of Gotham, leg bouncing up and down and skin itching for him to get up, climb a wall, move, do something.

He cared about Harley a great deal, that much was true, but damnit, if he had to listen to her diagnose another rogue, he was going to lose his mind.

He was already losing his mind over just how many rogues there were in Gotham, not even touching on how many exist outside the city, but that’s beside the point. Nor was the fact that it suddenly made sense as to why Selina barely even grazed over the rouges, lightly touching on some of the main ones and steering clear of the other ones – it was clear that she was passing the baton over to Harley, letting her over the Gotham underbelly. It had taken her not even 48 hours before she bounded into the apartment with a two separate Prezis – one for the main Gotham rogues and another for the ones who didn’t show up as much or make splashes nearly as big – skipping and talking a thousand miles a minute.

The point was: Peter was bored.

While learning that Catman struggled with depression or that Zsazs suffered from sociopathy with a severe case of sadistic personality disorder or that Bane struggled with imposter syndrome or that Firefly was a pyromaniac or that the Mad Hatter was prone to delusions because of his schizophrenia – that one actually did clear up a few questions Peter had after their encounter – he could only learn so much in so little time.

He felt like his brain was going to fall out of his ears.

So, when his phone pinged with a notification, he scrambled to pick it up, hearing Harley’s squawked and indignant “hey!” and muttering an apology, only feeling slightly guilty because he really, really had needed a break, before checking it.

The phone was something that had come in yesterday, after the whole thing that had happened in the warehouse where he met Manhunter. They had fought a few low-level goons together; Spider-man had been on patrol of the city when he heard gunfire at a warehouse and rushed in, finding a solicitor dead by the front door. Manhunter had arrived a few minutes later, and together they took out the goons easily.

She seemed nice, but Peter knew that he needed to beware when she was holding that light-up staff; the hairs on his arms raised just thinking about the kind of power it held.

It had been earlier that day when he had met Tim, and when Tim found out Peter didn’t own a phone, went online and ordered him one immediately. It arrived recently and was definitely the best phone Peter had ever held, let alone owned.

Peter unlocked the phone and opened his text messages. There had been times in the very limited amount of time since he got his phone when he found himself going to text Ned about some new movie they needed to watch together or MJ about a book he saw good reviews for online that he thought she might enjoy or his aunt that he loved her-

But he couldn’t do that anymore. He couldn’t, and it hurt so badly sometimes that he couldn’t.

Because they didn’t exist.

Because they couldn’t know that he existed.

Because without him, they could live peaceful, long lives.

Because she was buried in a universe he could never go back to.

Because he couldn’t even visit her grave without risking filling up several more cemeteries.

Because-

Because.

Damn, Peter never expected to feel so emotional over a phone, but the reintegration of something so simple in his life turned out to be not-so-simple after all.

He opened the text message app, clicked on Tim’s contact name, and laughed a bit when he saw what awaited him.

A picture of Damian, asleep, with a whipped cream mustache and a dog eyeing said mustache hungrily.

Another picture of Damian, this one blurry as Damian tried to sit up despite the dog attempting to push him back down to lick his face.

Harley came over to look, plopped down right next to him on the couch, and cooed at the photos.

Peter kept smiling, long after Harley continued on with her Prezi(s) and he tucked away his phone.

He tried to pay attention as Harley talked about Mr. Freeze and how he was actually a doctor who had complex bereavement disorder, about the Riddler and all the signs Harley believed pointed to him being autistic, about Deadshot’s suicidal tendencies and general disregard towards his own wellbeing competing with his need to be there for his daughter, about Two-Face having dissociative identity disorder, about the complexities of Penguin having both an inferiority complex and rampant narcissism.

Don’t get him wrong, Harley and Selina and Ivy were all great, and Peter was beyond thankful to have them with him and in his life, but it was also nice to have someone close to his age to talk to again. It made him feel something close to normal, and while he was thankful for it, he was still debating on whether or not that was a good thing.

~~~~~

It was odd, Peter had to admit, how okay Tim was with the fact that he was from another universe.

Peter didn’t even know how Tim knew, could only assume that for whatever reason, Selina saw fit to spill the beans. But for whatever reason, or however it came to pass, Tim knew.

Tim knew that Peter was from another universe and was okay with it.

To repeat: Tim knew that Peter was from another universe and was okay with it.

Somehow.

To be completely honest, Peter had been so freaked out when Tim casually dropped that piece of information during their meeting that he couldn’t quite figure out the words to ask who or why or how. Thankfully, however, Tim must have seen how shellshocked Peter had been because he explained that his Earth, the Earth Peter had found himself on, was much more used to dealings with alternate universes, especially after that one night several years ago when the night sky was littered with other Earths instead of stars.

It was in an odd way that he explained everything, though, like he was trying to detach himself from it, like he had more personal experience with the multiverse than what he thought was normal. Peter racked his brain trying to figure out why that might be, and his best guess was that Tim had known someone else from another universe that he befriended.

“It’s not as uncommon here as you might think,” Tim had said after he had noticed how shellshocked Peter was. After he had dropped the little tidbit that he knew Peter was from another universe. He even shrugged as he said it.

“What,” Peter laughed a bit, nerves and anxiety making themselves known boldly, “the whole multiverse thing? That’s not uncommon?”

“Yeah, the whole multiverse thing,” Tim confirmed with another shrug, walking to the kitchen with the familiarity of the apartment and its layout that Peter guessed made sense, since his dad was dating Selina after all. “It’s pretty normal.” He moved past Peter, hands raising slightly so he wasn’t making any sudden moves, making his way into the kitchen and leisurely looking in the fridge before closing it with a sigh and looking in the cabinets for food instead. Yeah, too much familiarity. Probably. Perchance.

Peter spluttered. “How- what- what do you mean it’s normal?”

“Hmm,” Tim said, glancing back at Peter as he pulled out some crackers. He turned around, leaning against the counter, and opened a box that looked like it was off-brand Cheez-its. “Oh, yeah, I forget that some universes aren’t as far along on their multiversal discovery as we are.” He shrugged, popping some crackers in his mouth. “It’s no big deal. People here don’t talk about it a lot, but it’s nothing too out of the ordinary.” He ate some more crackers.

Maybe.

That was detached, wasn’t it?

Or was Peter looking too much into things?

The thing was, Peter had no real way of knowing. Sure, he had unlimited access to the internet and its infinite wisdom, but it was of little use if he had no idea what he was looking for. Or if he didn’t want to end up on a government watchlist. Again.

He didn’t have the right set up to do much more beyond a simple google search, and he would need to do a lot more than that to get the information that he needed.

Something to add to his to-do list.

Regardless, Tim knew, and that meant it was safe to assume that the rest of the Wayne family knew as well.

Which, wasn’t that an odd thing to think about?

It wasn’t as if Peter was actively trying to keep his status as universal refugee a secret, but he didn’t know a lot of people – any people – in this universe besides Selina, Ivy, Harley, and Damian, and Damian was the only person on that list that didn’t know. Or, that Peter thought didn’t know. And besides, he knew instinctively that it would be better if it was kept under wraps. But now, there was a whole family out there that knew.

He tried to rationalize it with himself; was this really so different than having his secret identity leaked to the entire planet?

… okay, yes, it was different. He knew that. But putting it into context, he tried to tell himself that this wasn’t as bad. Tim had promised to not tell anyone unless Peter wanted him to and assured him that anyone else who knew would trip over themselves to offer him that same curtesy.

But this felt… more intimate, maybe? To know that there was one singular family out there that knew, most of whom Peter had yet to meet.

Maybe that was the problem – that there was a select number of people who knew of Peter’s existence on this Earth and that he had originally come from another universe and Peter knew absolutely nothing about them in return.

He didn’t know. It was odd, the descriptor being good for both the situation and Peter’s feelings, that was for sure.

Peter had thought that when Tim revealed his knowledge of where he had come from, that Tim would have perhaps asked some questions about how it was possible for Peter to be here, questions about how Peter travelled between worlds.

Instead, Tim just asked questions about Peter’s Earth, helping them both piece together all of the differences between their worlds.

“Okay, so, you don’t know who Lex Luthor is, meaning he was never president on your Earth,” Tim said, jotting some notes down in a notebook that Peter had no idea where he kept, “so who was your 43^rd president?”

“Uhhh,” Peter said, trying to think back. History had never been his best, nor favorite, subject in school. “Bush?” he guessed. That seemed right, at first, but then he second guessed himself. “Maybe Clinton?”

Tim hummed, writing something else in his notebook. He paused, tapping his pen on the edge of the pad, adjusting his position on the couch they were both sitting on in the living room, grabbing the box of crackers sitting right next to him and keeping them from falling over at the last second, then asked, “do you have Instagram?”

“Oh, yeah,” Peter answered, nodding his head.

Tim perked up, “have you made an account here, yet?” He pulled out his phone, opening it and clicking on the Instagram app, “we should follow each other-“

“I don’t have a phone,” Peter interrupted.

Tim looked up sharply, disbelief in his eyes. “You don’t have a phone?” he asked, voice monotone. Then, with no small amount of sympathy, lamented, “what has Selina been doing to you?”

“I have a laptop,” Peter tried to defend, finding it partly funny how worked up Tim was getting over this. It’s not like Peter needed a phone anyway, he had gone several years back on his Earth with a phone made out of junk he found in the dumpster that stopped working at random intervals before Tony Stark started sponsoring his vigilante career and paid for a better one. And besides, the laptop was already super nice, he couldn’t dare ask for something more beyond that.

“Yeah, but that’s different,” Tim waved a hand away, turning back to his phone and tapping on the screen rapidly. A few short minutes later, he looked up, satisfied. “Don’t worry, your phone should arrive soon,” he said, like buying someone who was essentially a stranger something as expensive as a phone was no big deal. He looked back down at his notebook and asked, “did you have the French Revolution?”

Peter nodded, unable to say anything before Tim asked, “what about Star Wars?”

“Oh, man,” Peter felt a smile grow on his face, feeling giddy over the fact that Star Wars also existed here. “That’s my favorite movie series. It exists here, too?”

“Mhmm,” Tim hummed. “I’ve watched them. Not my favorite, I prefer Star Trek, but Steph loves them.”

Peter tried to think, tried to remember if the name Steph had ever been brought up before. When he was fairly sure he had never heard that name, nor had he ever heard of the alternative to Star Wars that Tim mentioned, he asked, “who’s Steph? And what’s Star Trek?”

Tim’s head snapped up, eyes widening yet again, but this time in realization. “Right, you don’t know her.” He waved his pen around as he explained, “she’s my ex and my older sister’s best friend,” as if that explanation cleared anything up for Peter. He was about to comment on it because he was still very much so confused, but yet again wasn’t able to as Tim said, “as for Star Trek, we can totally watch it together later, if you want.” He looked back down at his notepad and, on a roll, asked, “you said your Earth doesn’t have the Justice League, but you do have the Avengers, which sounds similar enough. When was that formed?”

“In 2012,” Peter answered, trying not to think too hard about their origins, about the Battle of New York, a day that lived in infamy in the minds of every New Yorker. He was fine. He was, really.

“You’re kidding,” Tim said, fully not believing Peter.

“I’m not,” Peter tried to say, although it came out more as a question. If the Justice League hadn’t been formed in 2012, then how long had they been around exactly? How long has this Earth had superheroes? Was his planet super young in comparison, or was this planet super old?

Tim huffed but jotted down the information regardless. “Unbelievable.” His pen stopped moving and his head titled in a way that vaguely reminded Peter of a bird. “Do you know what Doritos are?” Peter hummed confirmation and Tim let out a breath of relief. “Okay, good. I was scared for a second there that I would have to introduce them to you.”

“Have you had to explain what Doritos are to a lot of people?” Peter jokingly questioned.

“I plead the fifth,” Tim joked back. He seemed to become a living embodiment of an ellipsis for a moment before asking, “do you know what the Bill of Rights are?”

And on and on their conversation went. Tim asking questions, Peter answering and occasionally managing to fit in a question or two of his own.  They had talked for almost an hour, like that, before Tim got a call on his phone and had to leave.

It was nice, and maybe Peter was being optimistic or presumptuous, but he was looking forward to the next time that they got to hang out, if they were going to hang out again at all. If they were going to hang out again at all.

See? Presumptuous.

Wow, MJ had really rubbed off on Peter if he was using a big word like that to describe himself; although, she would probably agree with him.

Moving on before that train of thought could crash and burn and become super depressing.

Tim had promised to help Peter adjust to this new world, to help get over the culture shock of it all. He’s already sent a list in their exchanged text messages of things that Peter ‘NEEDS to know to be a functioning member of society.’ The list wide and vast, a strange hodge podge of things like the earthquake that tore apart Gotham, Superman’s death, Ritz Crackers, Star Trek underlined and bolded, and alien cuisine. Because apparently that was a thing.

All in all, Tim seemed like a pretty cool guy.

And, as much as it hurt to say, it was nice to have someone his age to talk to. Someone who he could talk to and bond with the same way that he could with Ned, someone who would understand his teenage antics because he had teenage antics of his own.

He looked down at his phone, at the plans that he and Tim were establishing, and felt happy, excited.

He was looking forward to hanging out with Tim, and frankly, Peter couldn’t remember the last time that had happened without him being fearful of any possible repercussions.

God, they were just planning on going to this fast-food place called Batburger and Peter couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

He didn’t want to get too ahead of himself, in case Tim didn’t feel the same, but it was nice to have a friend again.

~~~~~

For some people, digging through a dumpster would be considered gross. But, as Uncle Ben always liked to say, “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” Sure, sometimes that treasure turned out to be a bust, turned out to be another another man’s treasure, but that was okay. Peter always found what he needed eventually.

The dumpsters in Gotham were nothing like the ones in New York, and after that whole presentation Harley gave on the criminal underworld of the city, Peter thought he understood. Well, he thought that he did, but then he pulled out the fifth broken gas mask out of the same dumpster and began considering the possibility that the insane world Harley had painted was only a portion of the canvas and not the full picture.

But, again, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and Peter could certainly use some of the parts from the gas masks for… something or another. He didn’t know; he’d figure it out.

It took a few days and several dumpsters but eventually, he got it. He got what he needed.

It would take time, it would take a substantial amount of energy and patience, it would take dedication, but he finally had what he needed.

It would take next to forever, but Peter didn’t care. How could he care how long it would take him when he knew the end result was being reunited with Karen?

Okay, yes, it wouldn’t be his Karen, not the one that got left behind and he would never reunite with, but it would be her sister or something.

It would be Mary- no. No, he couldn’t name it that.

Maybe Katy? Or Carrie? Or…

It was okay. This was okay. He had months to workshop a name as he made her.

This was okay.

The important thing was – he would have another Karen.

And he couldn’t wait to meet her.

~~~~~

Another weird thing about Gotham was the gangs.

There were so many different ones: some dressed in tone color suits, some with straw bag masks, some with some vague spider embellishments – that one, he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about.

But the most interesting ones were the hodgepodge of members.

Like the one Spider-man was fighting.

He remembered what Harley had said during her Prezi(s) and how sometimes, when hired goons were no longer hired and in between jobs, would band together for a heist or two to bay the bills. It was an interesting facet of Gotham, and Peter had been mildly surprised at the level of teamwork between the goons and how known of them held grudges or petty arguments over others because of who they were all working for.

The group of goons Spider-man was fighting against consisted of two guys with terrible clown makeup, a couple of plain janes with no noticeable gimmick pattern they were following, one with a very large gun, one in what looked similar to a bio-freeze suit, and one in a black and white suit.

The biggest threat had been the gun, so, naturally, that was where Spider-man locked in first. The goons seemed to have expected it, seemed to have a plan already in place to counter it, but sadly for them, they seemed to not have known about Spider-man’s enhanced reflexes.

That was okay, Spider-man was man enough to admit he was still new on the scene, and with so many other vigilantes fighting day in and day out, and so many criminals and supervillains to fight, he could understand how he hadn’t been noticed by the majority of the city yet.

And, a petty part of him had to admit, it was a little funny to see the reactions of the goons as they freaked out over Spider-man walking on the side of their stolen truck casually.

It had been so long since he could still surprise people with his abilities, and even then, when he had first started out as Spider-man, he was still learning, so it wasn’t even like he could have enjoyed it then.

It was alright, though, because he was making up for that missed opportunity now.

He squatted down on the side of the truck, the back doors swinging open in the wind, the guy with the large gun safely deposited back 2 miles and webbed to the safety guard on the side of the highway that was leading them quickly outside of the city. He looked down through the window and knocked with the knuckle of his middle finger on the glass. The goon, who had been previously staring back over his seat and over all of the stolen goods loaded in the truck out the doors, startled and whirled around.

The driver did, too, jumped and looked over at Spider-man, swerving the truck as Spider-man gave a leisurely wave. He tried to signal for them to pull over, but either that signal wasn’t the same here or they ignored him. He then tried to signal for them to roll down the window but ran into the same problem. With a sigh, because he really didn’t want to have to deal with shattered glass, broke the window and webbed the goon in the passenger seat to his chair.

Spider-man latched onto the truck above the window he had just busted and easily swinged inside. He was met with gunfire and opted to leave the driver alone for the time being to deal with their comrades.

During the Prezi(s), Harley had mentioned that gangs like this were typically very unorganized because there was never one clear leader; these were gangs comprised of a bunch of people looking for work elsewhere, looking for someone else to lead them. None of them were particularly jumping at the opportunity to lead themselves. They banded together out of necessity, nothing else.

That was clear as Spider-man took them all out, taking away their weapons and shooting out strands of webs to bind them all to various parts of the interior of the truck. He did try to take it easy on them, though, because – like Harley said – they were all only doing this because they didn’t have any other choice and needed the money.

It was only when everyone else had been neutralized that Spider-man turned to the driver. He walked over, tossing an elbow up on the chair’s headrest. He was going to ask the driver to pull over but didn’t have to. The driver did it looked through the rearview mirror, saw the mess left behind and the state of the rest of his comrades, and pulled over with only a sigh.

When the truck was safely parked on the side of the highway, the driver turned off the ignition, placed the keys on top of the dashboard, and raised his hands in the air.

“Thank you,” Spider-man said, taking the man’s hands and gently guiding him to the back where the rest of the goons were, then binding him the same as them. Once he was settled, Spider-man asked, “you wouldn’t happen to have a phone, would you?”

The guy sighed again, but told Spider-man what pocket his phone was in. Spider-man called the police, telling them where the truck was and where the guy they had left behind several miles ago all were located.

It took a while thanks to the poor connection, but eventually, the person who answered the phone took note and thanked Spider-man for his help, but before they could hang up, Spider-man heard sounds of chaos in the background.

He couldn’t make out everything, not with so many overlapping noises all playing in tandem and the line being so fuzzy, but he was able to make out a few key words.

Breakout.

Arkham.

Asylum.

Bane.

Well, that sure didn’t sound good.

Chapter Text

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck as he stepped out of his car and entered the manor. It had been a long day at Wayne Enterprises full of meetings after meetings all about the upcoming gala, discussing a range of topics from the charities that they would be raising money for to the colors of the decorations to who should be sent an invitation.

He was tired and wanted to sneak in at least a short nap before going on patrol for the night.

Gotham had been… weird, recently, to say the least.

It had all started with the appearance of that Spider-man.

Manhunter had an interaction with them while on the hunt for Two-Face – a manhunt of Kate’s that Bruce heavily disapproved of when she did it in the mask instead of at her day joy, seeing as how he knew that the moment Manhunter caught Two-Face, Harvey was a dead man – and ended up running into the Spider-man.

The interaction between the two had provided invaluable information about the new costume lurking in Gotham, adding to the still short list of information they had about the man. Or, he should describe Spider-man as a child, if Kate’s intuition was to be trusted.

A child, with unknown superpowers – probably superstrength – who just wanted to help. Supposedly.

Batman had a reputation of not trusting easily, of checking every possible scenario and extracting all information possible. It was how he always stayed ahead. Most of the time.

He wasn’t just going to let another child into his city and start acting in the way that they deemed best without proper training and support. Even Bao had relented and allowed for some training, despite all his reservations and insistence that he didn’t need it.

If only Bruce could actually manage to have a conversation with Spider-man, that was all he really wanted, just to see what their morals were like and whether they wanted to help the city or destroy it. But every time he tried to catch Spider-man, they would slip from his grasp like an eel, too slippery to hold down and talk to.

That was, of course, assuming that Bruce could even manage to catch up to them at all. Most of the time, when he got news that Spider-man was caught up in some fight somewhere in the city, they had already left the premises by the time he got there.

It was infuriating.

Bruce opened the door to his bedroom, ready to peel off his suit and sleep for the next hour or two, but got interrupted by the comm he kept on his person at all times going off.

Stifling a groan that would help no one, he took it out of his pocket and answered the device. “Batman,” he greeted.

“Hey,” that was Superman, which made the annoyance a little more bearable. “Can you come up to the Watchtower?”

“I suppose,” Bruce said suspiciously. “Why?”

“For the… meeting,” Superman’s voice rose in pitch at the end, curving off like a question. Bruce closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You forgot, didn’t you?” now Superman’s voice was laced with amusement.

“No,” Bruce bit out sharply, choosing to ignore the poorly concealed laugh on the other end of the line. “I’ve just had a long day, is all.”

“Ah,” Superman said, still too much amusement in his voice for Bruce’s liking. “Meetings about the gala.”

“You heard,” Bruce didn’t ask how he knew, didn’t need to. It would be a useless question when the answer was so obvious.

Likewise, Superman didn’t deign to answer, even if it would have been a question. “Do I get an invite?”

“As a reporter,” Bruce confirmed, “which I might rescind now.”

“Oh, come on,” Superman complained good naturedly, still amused. “You don’t mean that.”

“I might,” Bruce retorted, just to be stubborn.

Superman sighed fondly in response. “Are you coming up to the Watchtower?”

“Give me 20 minutes,” Bruce said.

“See you then,” and then Superman ended the call.

Bruce closed his eyes and leaned his head back, angling his face towards the ceiling. He had a feeling that Clark waited until he was in his room and about to finally sleep to call him. It didn’t matter, though, because apparently his night job was starting a few hours earlier than he was expecting.

He left his room and headed down to the cave. The only other person in the cavernous room was Duke, partially still dressed in his uniform and logging his report from the day on the batcomputer. Bruce walked up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Duke waited until he had finished his sentence on the jewelry store robbery he foiled before looking up and over his shoulder at him.

“Did you have a good patrol,” Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” Duke said with a shrug, “nothing too exciting, just a few robberies and muggings here and there. Pretty peaceful, for the most part.”

“That’s good,” Bruce told him. “Any sign of Spider-man?” So far, besides Manhunter, the Signal had been the only one who had been able to get the closest to Spider-man, and that was only because Duke’s powers let him see enough of the future to know where Spider-man was going to be, but not enough to figure out how the two of them could have a conversation.

“Nah,” Duke said with a slight shake of his head. “There was one robbery that I was too late for, but that’s only because Spider-man showed up and stopped it before I could.”

Bruce hummed in acknowledgement. “Good job today,” he said with a squeeze of Duke’s shoulder.

“Thanks.” Bruce had no idea if it was because of his powers, but he would never get tired of the way that even a small smile could light up Duke’s face the way it did.

“I need to go to the Watchtower for a meeting,” Bruce informed him.

“Okay, sure, I’ll let the others know if they ask,” Duke told him. Bruce squeezed his shoulder once more with a nod of his head before heading toward the locker room to change. After that, he took out his communicator once more and asked to be boomed up to the Watchtower.

The satellite had a beautiful view of Earth and the space that lay beyond. The interior hadn’t changed much over the years, but it had changed minorly with the inclusion and resignment of several different justice league members. He walked through the walls, passing by the occasional memento from some mission or another on his way to one of the largest rooms.

The doors slide opened and Batman saw Superman and Wonder Woman talking together while standing by their seats, Wally and Kyle both sitting separated by several seats but not letting that dissuade them from conversing, and J’ohn and Zatanna standing side by side and looking out the windows.

He supposed it would just be them gathering, but Clark’s greeting to Bruce got interrupted when Oliver’s voice broke out over their comms. “Hey, fascists! Can me and my lady get an assist up to the tower?”

Kyle sighed dramatically, but stood and walked over to a nearby panel, pressing a few buttons. Seconds later, a beep was heard throughout the room to let them know that two more people had entered the Watchtower. Immediately after, Dinah’s complaint could be heard throughout the satellite. It was obvious that it was a conversation meant to keep quiet, but that fact did nothing to prevent them all from hearing Dinah tell Ollie not to refer to her like that and how much he still had to do in order to be able to rightfully call himself the progressive he claimed to be.

It was clear, even from their voices, that there was some kind of argument the two had been stuck in, and that became even clearer when they entered the room and the tension lining both of their bodies became visible.

“Is everything alright?” Diana asked after they had both taken a seat.

Dinah crossed her arms and Oliver sighed, leaning in to explain. “Onomatopoeia is back.”

Ah, that explained it. Onomatopoeia was a villain Bruce had experience with, considering that his mission was to kill every non-powered superhero and vigilante out there. But Onomatopoeia had come to Star City before even touching foot in Gotham and had done enough damage to really ruffle both Dinah and Oliver.

Bruce felt the same way about KG Beast as Dinah and Oliver did about Onomatopoeia. After all, it was hard watching one of your children get shot in the head.

Offers to help were given, but each was denied. This was personal. Bruce could understand that.

The rest of the meeting went as smoothly as they usually did. Updates on each corner of the world and their own areas of expertise.

Apparently Hal, Guy, and John were at the Oa, all called in to deal with a group of red lanterns who reportedly wanted to stir up trouble, with Jo still in the far sector she had been assigned and Simon and Jessica both in another part of Earth’s sector. Kyle was “stuck” on Earth, as he described it, to protect it in case anything the other lanterns were dealing with happened to spill over to their planet.

Constantine was stuck in Hell – again – and Zatanna was perfectly content to let him stay there for a bit before she helped him come back. Besides, she was on a witch hunter for some magic user named Black Alice. Bruce had heard about her before from Barbara, a girl who had the ability to steal any magic user’s powers for a limited amount of time. Zatanna, from the way she was speaking, was fed up with her powers being taken from her at inconvenient times and planned and finding Black Alice to work on possible solutions. But, she was in a rush because several other magic users were also on the lookout for the teenager and Zatanna wanted to find her first.

Diana started by offering help to Zatanna in her quest to find Black Alice, claiming that she had been in the same position Zatanna had been in where her powers were taken randomly and without warning. After, she explained that she had been spending a lot of time on Themyscira, reconnecting with her Amazon sisters. She said it had been a few years since she had last returned home, and quite a few of her friends were waiting for her return eagerly. One had even postponed her wedding just so Diana could attend the ceremony.

Speaking of weddings, J’ohn was assisting Beatriz with planning a proposal Tora, something that had been a long time coming in his opinion, but something that he couldn’t be happier to help with.

Wally was busy with everything that came with raising young twins with superspeed, holding down a job, and protecting a city by himself, while also training Bart whenever he had a moment to spear.

Clark had been swamped at work, article after article that he had to write all piling up on him, all while fatherhood and familial obligations reared their heads with both Jon and Kon wanting one thing or another.

Bruce gave his update last, telling the team that his main priority was figuring who Spider-man was and what he wanted. He didn’t pass over much information, partly because this was his own case that he needed to handle privately within the confines of his city, and partly because there wasn’t much to give.

He received questions about Peter, of course, and passed over the information Selina had given him: Peter was adjusting well enough, considering everything. The whole ordeal he had gone through was a lot, especially for a kid who had never moved outside of New York City before. Both Harley and Ivy were helping him adjust, and she estimated that he would soon be able to come before the league and explain what all had happened and thanked them all for their patience.

All in all, not much had happened. There were no major threats to be on the lookout for, no large enemies making demands. Everything was, for the most part, peaceful.

Bruce refused to let himself be the one to jeopardize that peace by jinxing it.

It was just as the meeting was winding down when his communicator went off. The sound and the fact that his was the only one to ring meant that there was something in Gotham that needed his immediate attention. He stood and retreated from the table, answering the call in the relative guise of privacy. “Batman,” he greeted.

Oracle didn’t bother with any pleasantries, cutting straight to the case. “Arkham breakout.”

He jinxed it. “Who?” he asked.

“Just Bane,” Oracle informed him. “The alarms didn’t go off until a minute or two ago, but according to the cameras, he has been out for at least the past 30 minutes.”

“Understood,” Batman said, “heading back to Gotham now.”

He didn’t say goodbye, just got some half-hearted waves sent in his direction by select people. His mind was running, thinking of all the possible ways that Bane could have escaped, all the possible ways to apprehend him again. By the time he got to the Boom Tubes, his comm went off again.

This time, Oracle didn’t wait for Bruce to say a greeting, saying urgently, “Spider-man’s fighting Bane.”

Bruce almost stopped in his tracts as the words hit him and he fully came to understand what that meant.

Okay, new plan.

Chapter Text

Spider-man hitched a ride on top of a large truck back to Gotham, the entire way nervously trying to push the truck into going faster telepathically. It was taking too long, and the fact that he could see smoke billowing up over the city from miles away wasn’t really helping things.

When the truck he was on hit traffic – because of course it hit traffic – Spider-man flipped off it, jumping from car to car so fast it was almost like he was running. Hopping from car to car on a highway reminded him of running in an open field, nothing to latch his webs onto to propel him faster. He ran and ran, jumped and jumped, and still, it didn’t feel fast enough.

As soon as the first of the numerous skyscrapers came into range, he shot out a web, using the momentum he had built up to push him into going faster. He worked his way to midtown – at least, he was pretty sure it was midtown – and prepped himself for a fight.

Landing on a nearby roof overlooking the street where the chaos was currently breaking out from, Spider-man observed the situation.  

What was made immediately clear was that Harley’s Prezi did not do Bane justice. Spider-man knew that Bane was super strong, but seeing him slamming his fists into the road and picking up giant pieces of the pavement and throwing them willy nilly into whatever would cause the most damage was a different thing entirely.

The guy was strong – like, Incredible Hulk strong – and was wearing what looked like a pro wrestling mask. But, the weirdest part about the guy was the discoloration of his veins and the bulging of his muscles to limits that should not have been possible for anyone who wasn’t enhanced- er, sorry, meta. That, and the tubes poking out of his head flowing with some kind of neon fluid. That wasn’t included in Harley’s presentation, but Peter had no idea how up to date it was. He had assumed that Harley had put the whole thing together recently, but evidently…

But that wasn’t all. There were people nearby – pedestrians, sure, as there always were – but ones talking to Bane himself. Spider-man could identify two of them, also having been featured in the Prezi.

Catman landed on his feet like a cat, very fitting, after trying to swipe Bane’s tubes filled with the neon fluid and getting swiped to the side himself by the massive man. He was wearing his same orange, yellow, and brown costume with the claw mark insignia on his chest and cat ears on his cowl.

Deadshot, on the other hand, was arguing with two women above the ruckus of the street around them over the use of his guns. Deadshot was wearing a red and silver getup that made it sort of look like he was wearing a crop top with a bullseye logo on his chest and two guns placed on both forearms; he was insisting that he was a good enough shot and would only aim at nonlethal areas.

On the other hand, the women – one of which was speaking with a Brazilian accent and dressed in all black with gauntlets adorning both hands with two skewers pointing out of them and the other speaking in an odd accent that Peter couldn’t place with tall, white, curled hair put in some sort of complicated updo and a green dress – both argued that it wasn’t worth the risk.

There were two other people out on the street fighting Bane, although, Spider-man wasn’t entirely sure that “people” was the correct term for either of them. One of them wore a jester inspired outfit with his face completely covered in bandages and red hair spilling from the top and moved their body and contorted in a way that would have killed an average human, while the other was… well, they were a walking shark.

Because that was a thing, apparently.

This universe was weird.

“He’s not snapping out of it,” Catman said, wiping a strand of blood that had started to drip from his mouth on the back of his hand.

“I told you we should’ve gone with my plan,” Deadshot shouted back, completely unbothered by the fire hydrant that flew by his head. Peter made a note to tell Harley that she was spot on with that passive suicidal ideation theory.

“Your plan was stupid!” Catman shouted back, trying to figure out the best position to pose his next attack, circling Bane and watching as the contortionist crawled around the dude’s huge body like some kind of centipede and the shark attempted and failed to punch Bane in the face.

“Hey!” Deadshot said, starting to walk towards Catman and leaving the other two women behind, completely at ease despite the violence raging around him. “Who’s the one that’s broken in and out of Arkham more times than they can count?” Catman opened his mouth to reply, but Deadshot wouldn’t let him, “me. I know that place inside and out. If we had gone with my plan, this neva woulda happened.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” the Brazilian woman said. “What we should’ve done is gone with Bane’s plan! At least his made sense!”

Catman whirled around, finger raised and ready to argue, “I’ll have you know-“

The woman in the green dress cut them all off. “None of that matters now! What does matter is that we deal with him before he destroys the entire street!”

“Fine,” Catman said grudgingly, Deadshot agreeing just as grudgingly. “So, how are we taking down Napoleon?”

The air changed around the woman in the green dress and odd accent, her saying, “I think I have an idea or two,” as her skin started to pale.

Spider-man’s sixth sense spiked sharply, and he knew that he couldn’t let her do whatever it was that she was trying to do. He flipped off the building, successfully gaining the attention of the little group fighting Bane. The woman in the green dress hadn’t been expecting someone to drop down and suddenly appear less than one foot in front of her, made obvious by the way that she flailed and fell backwards when he landed in a squat with one hand on the ground between his feet and the other stretched out behind him.
 
“So cool,” he heard one of the bystanders say. Spider-man turned to look at them and urged them to get out of the way and was slightly surprised when the guy only shrugged and leisurely continued walking down the street.

“Who the fuck are you?” Deadshot demanded, both arms raised, and the guns placed on both pointing directly at him.

“Spider-man,” he answered wearily, keeping track of everything happening around him: the guns pointed at his face, the fighting stances of both Catman and the Brazilian woman like they were prepared for an attack from either him or Bane, the air stilling around the other woman on the ground, the contortionist getting punted into a nearby building and the shark getting backhanded across the face.

Catman widened his stance, subtly shifting his legs to go on the offensive. “You’re not taking him back to Arkham.”

Spider-man kept his stance easy and loose, knowing it was less threatening that way. “I wasn’t planning to,” he tried to say it confidently, but his voice trailed off at the end, making it sound more like a question than anything. In truth, he didn’t really have a plan here, other than stop the spread of carnage as much as possible and prevent anyone – or anyone else – from getting injured. He also had no idea what ‘Arkham’ was, so he certainly had no plans of sending anyone there.

“Then what are you doing here?” the Brazilian woman asked, suspicion dripping off her in heaps.

“He’s destroying the city,” Spider-man said, tossing a thumb over his shoulder at the same time that the contortionist tossed himself onto the back of Bane, only to immediately get tossed over Bane’s shoulder and into some nearby car, “and putting people in danger.”

Unsure of whether or not to keep her caution, which only served to drive her suspicion even further, the Brazilian woman asked, “so you’re not here to arrest him?”

“I don’t know how to arrest someone,” Spider-man answered truthfully. While it may seem farfetched, he wasn’t technically lying. Spider-man himself never slapped a pair of handcuffs on anyone and carted them away to prison. He only incapacitated them insomuch that the police could apprehend them. Spider-man’s job was done as soon as the cops showed up, for the most part. His only intention was to help keep people safe, to look out for the little people, the people that so often kept swept aside in favour of larger threats. What that meant varied depending on the situation.

This finally seemed to lower the woman’s guard, at least enough to allow for her to begrudgingly accept his help. She must have been the leader of the group, because her acceptance triggered the others to stand down, as well. “What are you planning on doing?” she asked.

Spider-man turned and looked at where Bane was tearing the contortionist from his face, the shark woozily standing up in the new hole in the side of some nearby business that he must have created when he had been thrown through it. “Something effective,” Spider-man told her, “definitely.”

After he was sure that he had for sure inspired confidence in the folks watching, and decidedly ignoring the comment from Deadshot that was, “oh, sure, okay. What’s the plan for when he dies?” he started walking purposefully toward Bane.

 
“Hey, Hulk rip-off!” Spider-man called out, knowing full well that he would be the only person to understand the reference but knowing it was too good to pass up on, needing to get Bane’s attention on him so he would stop attacking bystanders, that weird contortionist, and the shark-person-thing. When Bane turned on him, piece of concrete held above his head and ready to throw, malice and anger radiating off him in waves, Spider-man got into position to fight off an incoming projectile from the front, not one from his side.

Sixth sense flaring, Spider-man jumped and flipped backwards, seeing the person who had been trying to barrel into him look up with confusion lining his body.

“Ragdoll! Stop! Stand down!” the Brazilian woman shouted. The contortionist, apparently known as Ragdoll, crashed through a second story window, a corresponding scream letting everyone know that the room had been occupied by a civilian and the street hadn’t been successfully evacuated – as if that was ever in question, with people still strolling by despite the damage and violence.

Seriously, this universe was weird.

Sixth sense flaring again, Spider-man prepped himself. Bane was the one barreling toward him this time, and because of the little distraction that Ragdoll provided, he couldn’t effectively jump out of the way.

There was only one option.

Spider-man widened his legs, solidifying his stance so it was unbreakable.

He tensed.

Bane raised his fist in a punch.

He swung it downwards.

And was met with an immovable object.

The street was nearly silent, the only noise either being that of a normal city from a few streets over or the quietly roaring fires and burst water pipes. The moment itself felt breakable, as if a single breath would cause reality to shatter around them all.

That is, until Bane raised his other fist in what was supposed to be another punch.

Only for it to get stopped, yet again, by Spider-man.

By Spider-man easily palming the punch, stopping all momentum dead in its tracks.

“Holy fucking shit,” Catman whispered, a tad reverently.

The moment held; they were all suspended in time, it felt like. No one able to move, lest they destroy something sacred.

That is, until the woman in the green dress yelled out, “Now, Floyd! Do it now!”

All Spider-man could think about as he watched a sedative filled projectile leave a special gun that Deadshot had previously strapped to his thigh was that this group really did not know how to appreciate a moment for what it was.

The dart landed in the side of Bane’s neck. It took a second for the sedative to take effect, the large man slowly blinking a few times before he stumbled. Spider-man tried to help the man slowly lay down on the ground as much as he could while still holding both of his fists.

When he was done, he carefully set down both arms, being careful not to arrange them in a way that would be uncomfortable, then turned around to face the group that had assembled behind his back.

The woman with the Brazilian accent walked around him hurriedly, going to Bane and stopping the flow of whatever green fluid was flowing through the tubes. Only when the fluid disappeared in its entirety did she let out a sigh of relief. “How he let you all talk him into this, I will never understand,” she said with a shake of her head, placing a hand on one knee and pushing herself up.

“How you let them talk you into this, I will never understand,” the woman in the green dress said, walking around Spider-man and placing a comforting hand on the other woman’s shoulder, “especially after all of his previous struggles.”

“I just thought…” the Brazilian woman started saying, but trailed off, looking down sadly at Bane.

“I know, darling,” the other woman said, “I know.”

There was something peculiar between the Brazilian woman and Bane, a bond that the two them shared that none of the others did. Spider-man was trying to figure it out, and with the way that the Brazilian woman was looking down at Bane, felt like it was right on the tip of his tongue but just out of reach. It wasn’t romantic, no, it was something else, but what that something else was turned out to be difficult to deduce.

There was a brief but heavy silence, as everyone took a moment to breathe after what had happened.

“God, I need a drink,” Deadshot grumbled, rolling up his mask to expose his mouth and pulling a cigarette pack from some invisible pocket somewhere on his suit. “Anybody got a light?” he asked, though it looked like he was asking Spider-man specifically.

“I- no,” Spider-man said, shaking his head, slightly confused why he specifically would be asked for a lighter.

Deadshot waited a second, like he was waiting for something to click and for Spider-man to understand what he meant; then he shook his head, looking away. “You metas,” he complained, “never have ta powers that I need.”

“I’m meta,” the giant shark said. Spider-man definitely didn’t jump – he didn’t – because he’s Spider-man and Spider-man doesn’t jump at things that surprise him. But if he were to, hypothetically, he would because the 8-foot-tall shark started talking. A walking, talking shark, apparently. But, like he said, he’s Spider-man, so he definitely didn’t jump. Definitely. “I could do fire.”

”You’re a shark, Nanue,” Deadshot said with a mix of incredulousness and exasperation, like he wasn’t entirely sure if the shark was being serious while at the same time knew the shark was being 100% serious from numerous past conversations. “Black Alice could do fire, not you.”

“I could!” the shark complained like a toddler, the stomping of his foot – foot? Is that what it was? – tying the whole picture together perfectly.

With a sigh, Deadshot turned to the Brazilian woman. “Do you see what I’ve had to deal with?”

“My poor darling,” the white-haired woman cooed, walking away from Bane and instead wrapping an arm around him. “It’s a miracle that you survived.”

“Between him and Waller and the rest of the squad calling me a backstabber, yeah, that’s what I’ve been sayin’,” Deadshot agreed, adjusting their position so the two of them were leaning more on each other.

“And it had nothing to do with the fact that Thomas wasn’t there with you, I’m sure,” the white-haired lady said next.

“Fuck, you’re right,” Deadshot said, and the white-haired lady grinned like she had won the lottery. “I sure as fuck missed his eggs.” The lady’s smile dripped halfway. “Hey, Blake!” Deadshot said and waited until he had Catman’s attention before continuing, “You’re making your eggs in the morning!”

“We don’t have any eggs!” Catman countered, crossing his arms, “and we’re staying in a hotel. There’s no kitchen.”

“Yes, there is,” Deadshot argued, removing himself from the woman in the green dress and moving them closer together.

“We’re not breaking into the hotel’s kitchen,” Catman said firmly, but fondly.

“Oh, come on,” Deadshot complained, “don’t tell your back on that Justice League kick again, are you?” He then grinned, a bit ferally, and asked, “is this because Huntress broke up with you? What, you tryna win her back or somethin’?”

Catman went to respond but couldn’t because the woman with the Brazilian accent said, “hey, dickheads! I thought we were going to a bar. Isn’t that what Floyd said? You said you wanted a drink? Can we go get drinks? I want to get drunk.” Catman snorted while the woman in the green dress shook her head exasperatedly.

“Can we go to a strip club?” the short, flexible one known as Ragdoll asked, tied in a pretzel and sitting contently on top of Bane’s chest. “Please? Pretty please?”

“I am not sure that is such a good idea,” the woman in the green dress said tentatively, looking over at Spider-man worriedly.

“Yeah, Ragdoll,” the Brazilian one agreed. “I don’t know-“

“Come on,” Ragdoll complained. “Don’t start insulting strip clubs now. You married a stripper.”

“That’s not what-“ The Brazilian one began, also looking over in Spider-man’s direction. She cut off her own statement and turned it into a question directed in his direction, asking, “are you even old enough to go to a strip club.”  

“I- what?” Spider-man asked very articulately.

Spider-man’s attention snapped away from her when the white-haired one began speaking to him. “Are you coming with us?” she asked, and with her so close and with her talking so much, Spider-man was able to listen more closely to her voice. Her accent was odd in a way that he couldn’t place, which was odd given where he grew up and the people he was surrounded by. There was a certain lilt to it that made her sound – and look, for that matter – like she belonged in a period piece about royalty set Europe several centuries ago.

“Do you-“ Peter started to ask, noticing that the rest of the group had stopped and were now looking at him as well. “I’m invited?” These people had been willing to fight him not ten minutes ago and now were inviting him out to get drinks. He was confused. Sue him.

“Of course you are, darling,” the white-haired lady said, looping her arm in his and pulling him along after the rest of them where they had all started to walk away, Bane carried over the Shark’s shoulder with Ragdoll still sitting on him. “Come along, now.”

Spider-man looked back over his shoulder, wanting to make sure that he wasn’t leaving the street in a state of too much disarray. But, the police were doing their jobs – surprisingly, for Gotham – and the firefighters were putting out all of the small fires. It seemed like they had it under control. It seemed like he wasn’t needed.

So, for better or worse, he let himself be dragged away.

“About that strip club,” Ragdoll started again.

“Ragdoll,” the Brazilian woman said with a sigh, cutting him off from continuing. “We’re not going to a strip club.”

~~~~~

Don’t ask Spider-man – because he didn’t know, because he was still getting used to the layout of the city, because he was too engaged in conversation to pay attention to what type of club they were going to – but they ended up at a strip club.

On the way there, he learned that the Brazilian woman was named Scandal and had two wives, one of which was a stripper, and the other was a New God who used to be a fury for Darkseid – a bunch of words that made absolutely no sense, but whatever – named Knockout who was still in prison.

Jeanette, the woman in the green dress and odd accent, explained that after a word had gotten out about a certain plan they had to take the Bat down a peg or two got exposed, they were all arrested and sent to prison. After Deadshot and Nanue – you know, the shark, the walking, talking shark – were released as per their forced agreement to be on some team called ‘the Suicide Squad,’ they started to break the rest out as well.

They were all scattered across the nation, held in separate prisons to prevent them from teaming up yet again and escaping. The next person on their list was Knockout, who was being held over in Kansas. The team had turned the whole thing into a road trip, even renting an RV so they could do it in comfortable style.

There were a few other people who had been on the team, but the only one that was on it for an extended period of time, who they all bonded to and missed, was a girl who they described as Spider-man’s age called Black Alice. She was magic, and by the way they described her, definitely stronger than Dr. Strange and Wanda Maximoff.

They all seemed very close, like family. It made Peter long yet again for what was gone.

The thing that really sucked about the whole situation is that Peter couldn’t even say that they were taken. If they were, he could feel a rightful kind of fury, there would be a righteousness to his feelings of anguish. He would be in the right to mourn what he had lost.

But the truth, the reality of the whole situation was this: he had no one to blame but himself.

All the actions he took, every decision he made, all led him to this very moment, strolling down a strange street in a strange city in a strange world with strange people. It all led him to being away from MJ, from Ned. It all lead to his aunt-

They entered the strip club.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Scandal whispered in Catman’s ear, obviously talking about Spider-man.

“It’s fine,” Catman told her. “Remember where we met Black Alice?”

Scandal sent him a scathing look. “Like that makes this fine?” Catman only shrugged, causing Scandal to roll her eyes fondly and push ahead of him to go inside.

And they all went. The strolled up to a booth in the shape of a semi-circle, Spider-man keeping his eyes firmly glued to the ugly carpet the entire way, with Bane placed carefully in the middle, still knocked out. The rest filled in: Nanue on one side with Deadshot and Catman next to him, Scandal and Jeanette on the other with Spider-man on the edge of the booth.

Ragdoll got up on the table, took an exaggerated inspection of it, gasped dramatically and said, “we don’t have any drinks!” He somewhat straightened up and pointed a finger up at the ceiling. “I shall go acquire some,” he declared and took off. Spider-man couldn’t exactly see where he took off to, nor how he did it, since he still refused to raise his eyes above anyone’s knees.

“So, Spidey,” Deadshot started conversationally, arm draped around Catman and the other man pulled into his chest. “Word on the street is that you got the bats chasing their tails chasin’ afta ya.”

Spider-man blinked. “Uh, I guess.” Did he really? He was trying to avoid the vigilantes of Gotham, not too keen on making any acquaintances with them, but he hadn’t been aware that they were all actively seeking him out. Probably because he was too busy running away and remaining hidden any time his sixth sense went off and warned him of their imminent approach.

Selina hadn’t said anything about it, Harley or Ivy neither… maybe they were all avoiding the bats, too? Peter wouldn’t blame them; those bats are terrifying.

“You guess?” Scandal asked dryly. She had discarded her gauntlets at some point, both now acting as centerpieces instead of deadly weapons. She was leaning against Bane’s broad chest, her head pillowed comfortably on his shoulder with room to spear.

“I wasn’t really aware that they were after me,” Spider-man told her truthfully.

The collective of them all stared at him blankly, uncomprehendingly. Well, with the exception of Bane, for obvious reasons.

“You’re kidding,” Catman said, his voice just as blank and monotone as his face.

Spider-man simply shook his head, which in turn shook a laugh out of Deadshot. “I can’t believe this kid,” his voice was light in disbelief. To Spider-man, he said, “you know how hard some of the rogues have worked to get the attention you are now?”

Spider-man blinked again. Deadshot laughed as he rearranged his position, so that he was the one leaning against Catman. “This kid is a natural!” He sounded delighted, which was good, because Spider-man had no idea what he was a so-called ‘natural’ at.

Just as he was about to ask, a tray slammed on the table, several drinks sloshing a bit and spilling over. Although his face wasn’t visible, Ragdoll’s entire body was lined with content and happiness. “The drinks have arrived!” He did some complicated move to climb onto the top of the booth seats and crawled in a way that even freaked Spider-man out. Just a little bit. Not too much. He settled between Bane and Nanue, using their two large bodies to keep him balanced as he twisted up his body so much that he no longer resembled a human being.

Scandal reached for a drink first, followed shortly by Deadshot, Catman, and finally Jeanette. Nanue abstained and Ragdoll somehow hadn’t spilled the one he grabbed and had already drained, now trying to balance the empty cup on one of Nanue’s fins.

“Do you not want one? Jeanette asked, pushing the tray slightly closer to him. “There’s plenty. You can have several, if you want.”

“No, no,” Spider-man said, “I’m alright.” Jeanette pushed the tray a little closer, inspected him like she wasn’t certain he was serious, but in the end, she shrugged and pulled the tray closer to herself and Scandal. Both Deadshot and Catman squawked in objection and tried to pull the tray closer to themselves instead, but Jeanette grabbed it again. It was only when Scandal sighed loudly, slapped all of their hands away, and put the tray fairly in the middle of the table did everyone settle down.

Alas, no one really had time to settle down, to relax, because it was only a few seconds later when someone in a purple suit and cape sporting a large, white cross across their chest and crossbows holstered on their thighs showed up. The lights of the club made the purple appear darker, blending in with their skin and making them look almost camouflaged in the low lighting if it wasn’t for the cross that just appeared brighter in contrast. Spider-man tensed immediately, ready to get up and make a run for it, but abstaining because…

Because Huntress wasn’t looking at him.

No, she had a face full of fury, anger bristling and bubbling, just waiting to be let out. Spider-man had expected that she would show up for him, based on what the others had said about the bats all looking for him, but no. His sixth sense was quiet, minus a slight buzzing at the base of his skull that was easy enough to ignore and meant no real danger.

No, that anger wasn’t for him. It was all for Catman.

“Seriously?” she yelled so loudly that several other patrons turned their heads to look at the ensuing drama. “Not even a call? A text?”

Catman winced. “In my defense-“

“No,” Huntress cut him off so sharply that Catman tried to retreat behind Deadshot’s body even though he was the one sitting closest to Huntress. “No, I’ve put up with far too much of your shit for you to treat me like that.” She was gesturing a bit wildly, lost in her rage. “And it looks like that wasn’t even the end of it! What happened to ‘me and Floyd are just friends,’ huh?” Deadshot was trying in vain to muffle his laughter, and even more patrons were looking over at their table.

“It wasn’t like that at the time-“ Catman tried to defend himself, but Huntress was on a warpath.

“As if! You two are acting just like you were when we were dating. Did you finally put a label on it, or are you two still pretending that you aren’t both madly in love with each other and further ruining everyone else’s lives?” Spider-man fought to keep his jaw from dropping. He heard whispers from the other patrons. Scandal looked to be somewhere between amused about the beratement of her teammates and ready to jump the table to fight on their behalf; Jeanette was nodding along, agreeing with about half of what Huntress was saying.

“God, I told you that I don’t date villains. But for you, I made an exception. A stupid one, clearly. I should have just listened when the birds told me it was a bad idea, but nooo, I just had to go and-“ Huntress stopped mid-rant when she spotted the eighth addition to the table, the anger bleeding out of her quickly as she cocked her head in confusion. She raised one hand, the other dropping to her side, and pointed. “Is that Spider-man?”

“Maybe,” Catman said with a shrug, still partially behind Deadshot.

Huntress turned to him with disbelief. “You know that Batman has been running everyone into the ground trying to find him. And you brought him to a bar? Not even that. You brought him to a strip club! I didn’t realize you two were so close. But then again, I’m starting to realize just how much I never knew about you,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning back on one of her legs, popping the other, the picture of someone ready to tear the other apart in an argument.

“Technically,” Spider-man interrupted. “I just met them, like, a few hours ago. I don’t really know any of them all too well.”

Huntress’ face was completely blank, save for her dropped jaw. She just stared for a few minutes, long enough for Spider-man – and the rest of the patrons – to start to feel antsy. When she did speak, it was a thin voiced and strained, “oh my god, Manhunter was right, you are a kid.” She then turned back to Catman, eyes ablaze, and barely contained her voice to indoors levels with how strong it was when she said, “you brought a child to a strip club?” When Catman didn’t respond right away, Huntress huffed a humourless laugh.  “I can’t believe you,” and walked away.

“Hey, wait a secon- Floyd, get off,” Catman tried to protest, but was disrupted by the moment he had to take to disentangle himself from Deadshot. After he did, he stood up, following her through some door nearby.

The table was quiet in the wake of their departure. The patrons who had all been not-so-subtly watching went back to their other forms of entertainment.

Spider-man felt the need to break the silence. Only problem was that he didn’t know these people, didn’t know the best way to go about it. Just as he was about to say some quip or another that would definitely shove his foot in his mouth, Ragdoll straightened up – as much as he could while balancing on his hands with his legs tied up unnaturally above his head – and said, “do you think they’re fucking?” Spider-man felt his eyebrows shoot up.

“Currently, or in general?” Jeanette asked. “Because the answer to both is yes.” Spider-man’s eyebrows shot up even further, far enough for him to feel it against his mask.

It wasn’t the content of the conversation, it was – okay, yes, it was partially due to the content, but also how at ease everyone was in discussing it. Maybe it was because Peter was still in high school and the people he typically tended to hang out and surround himself with, but he felt out of his depth.

“Do you think I can get some water?” Spider-man asked on the tail end of Scandal’s “oh, definitely.”

“Of course, darling,” Jeanette told him, not even bothering to move herself to get up because Ragdoll had unfurled himself and was walking on his hands across the table, bending his body and doing what looked like some inhuman version of cartwheels away.

“So, Spider-man, how long have you been in Gotham?” Scandal asked, lifting her drink closer to her face to drink out of the straw.

“Not long,” Spider-man answered, vague but truthful.

“Have you fought the bat yet?” Deadshot asked next, grabbing Catman’s unfinished bear and finishing it.

“No,” Spider-man answered again, “I’ve been kinda avoiding him.”

Deadshot moved the bear away from his mouth, pursing his lips in thought. “That’s a new approach,” he said thoughtfully. With a tip of the bear in Spider-man’s question, he added, “let me know how that turns out for you.”

“He won’t fit in,” Scandal said, probably meaning to keep her voice down so only Jeanette could hear it but missing the mark entirely.

Jeanette patted her arm comfortingly as Deadshot said, “Batman fights everyone, even people he ‘cares about,’” adding finger quotes were applicable.

Jeanette’s brow furrowed. “Even that Harvey Dent fellow?” Deadshot nodded, humming loudly in confirmation. “But I thought they were…” she trailed off.

Deadshot evidently knew what she was talking about. “’Parently not.” Jeanette went to question again, but Deadshot held up a hand, shrugging, “look, all I know is what Dent told me. I try to stay far away from Gotham drama.”

Scandal tipped her drink to him. “Smart.”

Both looked ready to let the matter drop, but Jeanette wasn’t on the same page; she kept pushing. “But he doesn’t fight with Catwoman.” Spider-man tried to look out at the club, but very quickly realized that was a mistake and tried to become very intrigued by the carpet.

Despite his efforts, his hearing doesn’t exactly have an off switch. “Do they really?” Scandal questioned.

Deadshot tilted his head in consideration. “I guess,” he conceded, then shrugged. “But it’s all foreplay.”

Jeanette hummed. “And who’s to say that it’s not the same with Dent.”

Deadshot pursed his lips again, considering it. “I mean,” he clicked his tongue, then patted down his suit, “where’s my…” he stopped talking when he took his cigarette packet out of some hidden pocket. He took one out and lit it, right there in the club.

Jeanette, laughing, leaned over and told Spider-man, “that means yes, but he doesn’t want to say that.” Her laughter roared even more when Deadshot tried to flick ash at her in retaliation. He missed and hit Bane instead, who only shifted slightly in his sleep. His head drooped, but Scandal was right there. She leaned back against his shoulder again, and Bane's head fell atop hers, his face resting in her hair. 

Ragdoll came back, still doing those odd cartwheels, but now one handed. His other hand was holding a bottle of water for Spider-man, the joint contorting weirdly as it didn’t match what the rest of the body was doing. He placed it on the table in front of Spider-man, bowing to add flourish, and then jumping, using the table as a handspring to get back to his position between Bane and Nanue. “What were you talking about whilst I was gone?” he asked.

“Catwoman and Batman fight before sex,” Nanue summed up nicely.

Ragdoll gasped dramatically, hand clenched over where Spider-man assumed was supposed to be his heart but was way too low to be accurate. “You talked about Batman having sex without me? Do any of you even care about me?”

And on and on the conversation went. They tried to loop Spider-man multiple times, but each time would go off on some tangent or another, laughing joyfully all the while. The more that passed, the more Spider-man could feel himself relax, despite the constant, baseline buzzing at the back of his skull. The only time he tensed was the one when a stripper wandered over, offering to preform for them; Jeanette sent them off quickly, however, so no skin that wasn’t already visible was shown.

Catman came back a bit later. When he sat down, attaching himself to Deadshot again, the other man asked, “you in the doghouse?” Catman glared, prompting a laugh and a “okay, not doghouse. Cathouse, then? Is that a thing?”

“I hate you,” Catman declared from where he had his face pressed against the back of Deadshot’s shoulder.

“It is not nice to hate,” the shark said, nodding to himself like he was pleased with what he said.

“Yeah, Tomcat,” Deadshot agreed, looking all too delighted. “It’s not nice ta hate.”

“I hate all of you,” Catman amended.

“Poor kittycat,” Scandal cooed teasingly. “He’s just upset he got in trouble.”

“No, no, no, no,” Jeanette cut in, leaning into Scandal, drink held loftily in her hand. “He’s upset that he got caught,” she said, like there was some kind of important distinction between the two. Given that these people often acted around the law, there probably was.

Scandal nodded along to Jeanette’s words, agreeing wholeheartedly. “She’s right. Kitty’s upset he got caught.”

Catman lifted his face up from Deadshot’s shoulder and glared. “Bite me.”

Deadshot turned his head, so it was close to Catman’s ear. “Well, if you’re asking,” he murmured quietly, quiet enough that Spider-man was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear what was said.

Catman then nosed his way up Deadshot’s neck, sniffing as he went, and Spider-man paid extra close attention to his bottle of water, trying to tune them out. He wasn’t successful. Catman stopped at Deadshot’s ear and whispered, “you stink.”

Deadshot pulled away like that was the worst insult he had ever heard. “What the fuck, Tomcat.”

Catman didn’t say anything for a moment, the two of them just staring into each other’s eyes while the rest of the team moved onto the topic of what food Ragdoll’s monkeys eat and whether or not someone named Insignificus was feeding them correctly, and Spider-man stared intently into his water. “Asshole,” Catman murmured. Then, at a more reasonable level that it was believable that a normal person could hear him, said, “hey, Spidey. The building’s surrounded. Just thought you should know.”

Deadshot pulled even further back, a smile curving around his loosely hanging cigarette. The rest of the team looked a mix of shocked, disapproving, curious, and amused. Spider-man only barely paid them any attention, though. What did he mean the building was surrounded? What the fuck did he mean the building was surrounded?  “What?” Spider-man was barely able to chock out, shock and fear closing his throat and threatening to render him silent.

Too many situations, too many possible outcomes, too many interpretations of that phrase were running through his head. When he first became Spider-man, Peter had had far too busy of an imagination and far too much time on his hands to imagine worst case scenarios. When his identity had been revealed, those made-up scenarios got 100 times worse. Now, every single one of them came rearing forward to the front of Spider-man’s mind.

What the fuck did he mean the building was surrounded?

Why the fuck wasn’t Spider-man’s sixth sense going off?

What the fuck was going on?

“Yeah,” Catman said casually. “Huntress called in some backup. Some of the birds, who probably called in some of the bats.” He shrugged, like this was a completely normal conversation they were having, and Spider-man’s life wasn’t possibly hanging in the balance. “I don’t know exactly who all is out there, less than who took us in.” He went to take a sip of his drink, realized Deadshot had stolen it, rolled his eyes, and grabbed another bottle off the tray, “she said that they just wanted to talk, if that’s any consolation.”

Deadshot snorted, shaking his head and burying in the crock between Catman’s neck and shoulder. Jeanette, on the other hand, looked seriously disapproving. “And you didn’t think to tell him before now?”

“In my defense,” Catman said, raising one arm in faux surrender as the other wrapped around Deadshot, “she said to wait at least 10 minutes. I waited five. Take it or leave it.”

Spider-man stood up, rushing away from the table and tapping into his hearing, straining it as much as he could. He wouldn’t get caught. He wouldn’t get corned. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.  

He ran to the back of the building, not wasting time on responding to the cheerful ‘goodbye’s and ‘good luck’s hurled at his back.

‘If it’s any consolation,’ as if that actually makes anything better!

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Okay. Okay. It’s okay.

He could get out of this.

He could.

He could.

He just had to focus.

Breathe.

Deep breaths.

That’s it.

Focus Peter.

Focus Spider-man.

He stopped at the door that led to the roof, closing his eyes and focusing on listening.

That buzzing at the back of his neck, it made sense, now.

Catman was probably right; no one out there sounded like they wanted to fight.

Just talk.

Eight people is a lot to bring to talk, though.

And that doesn’t mean Spider-man wanted to talk to them.

He burst through the door, webs ready to go and shooting out as soon as there was enough room. It latched on a nearby skyscraper, and Spider-man was airborne, successfully avoiding the two people who had been positioned on that side of the building with ease.

Not everything in life could be easy – no, of course not. So Spider-man had to dodge no only the flying projectiles, but an entire helicopter.

His sixth sense was going off like crazy, Spider-man gave into it, listening every time it told him to dodge, roll, climb higher, drop.

He was all instinct, his mind only repeating the need to escape.

Even when one of those projectiles cut his web, Spider-man only free fell for a moment, then latched onto the side of a building and propelling himself forward again, barely a second delayed.

He heard chatter behind him the entire time, but after that particular move, he heard someone a few years older than him mutter, “shit,” and someone say, ”language,” in a familiar voice.

Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

Welp, the whole ‘avoid Batman’ thing was out the window.

Fine, it’s fine.

It didn’t matter who was after him, as long as he got away.

Taking these people up and down the streets of Gotham was all fine and dandy, but Spider-man knew he was at a disadvantage. Even though he had speed and strength and reflexes on all of his pursuers, they all knew the city. He could only run so far before his navigational skill came back to bite him in the ass and they caught him.

He couldn’t let that happen.

If only Selina’s apartment was nearby, but Spider-man didn’t want to possibly implicate her as well.

He just had to, he had to-

There!

An apartment building a few blocks away that looked abandoned, a window opened about halfway up.

He had until then to lose his tail, at least for long enough to get in.

He could do it, a random right turn, doubling back, lead them astray, make a left and then, and only when his sixth sense said the coast was clear, a dive through the window.

He landed quietly, already making a mental note to apologize to the owner if it turned out that this was one of those buildings in Gotham that wasn’t actually abandoned and just looked it.

Spider-man tried to catch his breath, pushing himself up against the window entirely so that he wouldn’t be seen.

A light from the helicopter shone through the window briefly, and Spider-man didn’t dare breathe.

Only when it passed, only when the sounds from outside died down, only when his sixth sense told him that the coast was clear did he let out that breath.

He rested his head against the wall, unfurling himself and finally allowing himself to relax.

He didn’t know how long it had been, how much time had passed since the strip club, but it didn’t matter.

He felt the adrenaline drain out of him, and with it came any reason to stay awake.

Again, if someone lived here, he would just apologize when he woke up.

He was safe, for now, in the pale light of the moon several stories up from ground level.

He could rest, just for a second.

Just close his eyes.

He could…

~~~~~

He woke up with a start, sixth sense flaring so badly that he jolted up from where he had slumped over on the ground.

A foot from his face was a gun, safety off.

Behind that, a shiny, red helmet.

Chapter Text

“Aaaaand I think that’s it,” Harley said, looking at where the last slide of her Prezi was shown on the living room TV in contemplation before nodding her head decisively. “Yep, that’s it,” she turned to Peter, large and slightly off-putting smile on her face.

“Are you sure?” Ivy asked from her spot on the opposite side of the couch from Peter, an eyebrow raised and small smirk emerging.

“Yeah,” Harley said, though she sounded a little unsure, turning back to stare at her Prezi. “I don’t think I’m forgettin’ anyone.”

“Red Hood,” Ivy supplied.

Harley tilted her head in contemplation, staring at Ivy like she could somehow pick an answer out of her face. “Is he really a rogue, though?”

“He doesn’t think so,” Selina said, from her spot between Peter and Ivy, but close enough to Peter to have an arm positioned behind him on the back of the couch.

“But he also doesn’t consider himself to be a bat,” Harley argued.

“He literally wears a bat symbol on his chest,” Selina countered.

“Does that really mean anything?” Ivy asked, eyebrows raised and head tilted in a you-know-what-I-mean gesture. Selina mimicked the gesture, confirming that she knew what Ivy meant. Peter, on the other hand, did not, in fact, know what Ivy meant.

Harley hummed, still staring at the TV. “I’m not sure. Yes, he wears the bat symbol, but he also despises them, right?” she turned to Selina, asking for confirmation.

Selina held up a hand in a so-so gesture. “It’s complicated.” Harley hummed again.

“Point is,” Ivy said, leaning forward to gain Peter’s attention, “stay as far away from him as possible. And don’t go near Crime Alley, that’s his territory.”

“Aren’t we in Crime Alley?” Harley asked.

“On the border of it,” Selina answered.

“Don’t go any further into Crime Alley,” Ivy corrected.

“Why?” Peter asked. “What’s so bad about this ‘Red Hood’ guy?”

“He’s like Batman, but he kills people,” Harley told him quickly.

“That’s not,” Selina visibly paused, trying to come up with a better explanation, but failing. “I mean-“

“You don’t like Batman, correct?” Ivy asked, focusing all her attention on Peter.

“I guess,” Peter said, shrugging, feeling a tad uncomfortable.

“Then you’d like Red Hood even less,” Ivy told him.

“Maybe he and Hood would actually get along, since neither of them like Batman,” Harley mused.

“Vetoing that,” Selina said, with a significant look at Harley. She turned and looked at Peter head on, “it’d just be easier to stay away from him.”

“Avoid Red Hood,” Peter summarized. “Easy.”

~~~~~

‘Avoid Red Hood,’ Spider-man taunted his past self. ‘Easy.’ Yeah, right. That lasted all of five minutes.

Spider-man had never actually seen a picture of Red Hood, but it wasn’t too hard to assume that the guy standing with a bright red helmet on his head went by that title. Just to be sure, though… “You’re Red Hood, right?”

The guy didn’t outwardly shift enough for a typical human being to notice, but Spider-man could see the minute tension and confusion running through his body. “Obviously,” the guy said eventually, a voice modulator that must be located somewhere in his helmet making his voice sound robotic. “Who the fuck are you?”

Spider-man resisted the urge to groan. Seriously, how long did it take to establish oneself as a vigilante. He could’ve sworn that it didn’t take this long last time. Although, now that he was in a universe where people running around either doing or stopping crimes was so common it was almost considered normal, maybe someone showing up in a new costume had less of an impact. “Spider-man,” he said, gesturing to the emblem on his chest.

The Red Hood paused again, visibly – to Spider-man – warring with himself over what to do. “Spider-man,” he eventually repeated. “Same guy the bats are after?”

Spider-man hit his head against the wall, still ready to move at any moment and avoid a potential bullet to the head, but letting a bit of his annoyance slip. “I guess,” he sounded like a petulant teenager, even to his own ears. “I don’t know why they’re after me, and I wish they would stop.”

Red Hood didn’t say anything at first, but then a noise escaped his voice modulator, one that sounded like a snort. He still didn’t take the gun off of Spider-man, however. “Why are you here?”

Spider-man sighed; the nap had done nothing for his exhaustion, especially after having been woken up so suddenly. “The ‘bats,’ I guess, were chasing me. I needed a place to hide.” He waved an arm around the room. “Viola, a place to hide.”

“…and they didn’t follow you in?” Red Hood sounded suspicious.

“No?” Spider-man asked. “Why would they? They don’t-“ correction: shouldn’t “-know I’m here.”

“Are you sure about that?” Red Hood asked, every line of his body screaming suspicion.

“They’re not here, are they?” Spider-man pointed out. Goodness, he was tired.

Another noise escaped Red Hood’s voice modulator, this one sounding like a huh. He holstered the gun, and Spider-man sunk a little further into the wall. Red Hood started to back away, and Spider-man gave himself a second of peace before he started to pull himself back together again. “I should probably get going. Catwoman will be wondering where I am.”

Red Hood stopped in his tracks, turning back to face Spider-man dead on again. “Did you say Catwoman?” he demanded.

“Um,” Spider-man said, suddenly off-balanced, unsure of where this sudden aggression came from. “Yeah?”

“But you were running from the bats?” Red Hood asked for clarification.

“Yes?” Spider-man answered, still unsure what Red Hood was getting at, and getting a bit annoyed at the sudden unprovoked interrogation over an innocuous comment.

“And Selina didn’t tell you?” Red Hood asked, though it seemed like he already knew the answer.

“Tell me what?” Spider-man asked. Then, more forcefully, “how do you know Selina?”

Red Hood laughed, voice laced with so much amusement that it leaked through the modulator. “This is gonna be fun. Go say hi to the Sirens for me.” He waved Spider-man out the window, not letting him get a single word of protest in or ask who the ‘sirens’ were before the window was shut in his face, and he was left dangling from the side of the building.

Well, okay, maybe ‘dangling’ wasn’t the correct term, but the fire escape had collapsed on this floor – probably by design, if Spider-man thought about it long and hard enough – and he was securely stuck to the wall right beside the window.

Shaking his head to wake himself up even more, Spider-man took off across the city, barely listening to the door of Red Hood’s apartment open and Red Hood greet someone unknown with “good, you’re here, Sasha. Sit, I have so much to tell you,” followed by laugh and a more feminine voice saying, “Yeah? Spill.”

Spider-man wasn’t entirely sure where he was – somewhere in Crime Alley, if he had crashed in Red Hood’s home, which meant that he was at least semi close to Selina’s apartment.

The sun was just starting to rise, reflecting beautifully off the buildings and making the usually depressed city look somewhat bearable.

It was actually… really nice.

Peter could understand why people liked the city, why they chose to stay despite how terrible everything was. Little moments like the one he was having, swinging from building to building, basking in the rays of the rays of the slowly rising sun, made it all worth it.

It took a while, but with the combination of listening to his sixth sense and using his hearing, he was able to find the apartment without picking up any stragglers soon enough. He landed on the terrace, listening to Selina’s panicked voice as she talked to Ivy and Harley. “What if something happened? What if he’s hurt? What if they got him? I knew we should’ve-“

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s all right,” Harley comforted. “I’m sure he’s just fine. Why don’t we take a few deep breaths, okay?”

Peter walked through the glass doors as they finished their first breath, taking his mask off and giving a sheepish wave. “Hi.”

“Peter,” Selina breathed in relief. “There you are. Where were you? I was worried sick,” she sounded berating, but she still rushed to squeeze him in a hug all the same.

“I’m okay,” Peter said, squeezing back, but more carefully.

Selina pulled back, but kept her hands on Peter’s shoulder and look him in the eyes, concerned. “Where have you been? I heard that the bats were chasing after you and I got worried sick.”

“I’m okay,” Peter reassured, putting his hands on top of Selina’s but making no effort to move them. “I found a place to lie low for the night. They didn’t catch me. I’m alright.”

“Lie low?” Harley asked. “There ain’t too many places in Gotham to do that.”

Selina turned sharpened eyes and him, and Peter suddenly felt sheepish. “I was at Red Hood’s apartment.”

Selina’s jaw dropped and Ivy burst out into laughter. “Don’t- don’t laugh!” Selina said, a bit perplexed by the bomb Peter had dropped. “What do you mean you were at Red Hood’s apartment?”

“I thought it was abandoned,” Peter tried to explain, shrugging. That only caused Harley to join Ivy in on her laughter.

Selina took a deep breath. “Explain,” she ordered.

“I was being chased,” Peter started, “by a lot of people, including a helicopter.

Harley looked like she had something she wanted to say, but Selina cut her off with a look. “Go on,” she urged.

Peter did. “I knew I had to find somewhere to hide, and found an abandoned building after shaking them off my trail. Or, I thought it was abandoned, until I woke up to a gun in my face.”

Selina’s grip on Peter’s shoulders tightened. “What,” she didn’t ask, more like demanded.

“I passed out from the adrenaline crash of running from a bunch of people who want to do who-knows-what to me. Then I woke up, and Red Hood wanted to know who I was and what I was doing there,” Peter explained. “After I told him I was running from the bats, he started laughing.”

Selina sighed and shook her head in a fond manner. “Of course he did,” she said to herself. To Peter, she asked, “anything else?”

“Um, Peter started. “He got super defensive when I said that you would be worried about where I was. He asked why I was running from the bats if I knew you, but he also knew you’re real name.”

Selina nodded for him to go on, completely at ease with the fact that Red Hood knew who she was, as if she had expected it. Uncertain, Peter finished by saying, “he said to say hi to the Sirens, then kicked me out.”

“Aww, that’s sweet of ‘im,” Harley said. “Tell him we said hi, too.”

“Wait,” Peter paused. “You’re the Sirens?” 

Ivy titled her head, confused. “Did we not tell you?”

“No?” Peter said. "Why are you called that?" 

"That's a bit complicated," Selina successfully didn't answer.

"Okay..." Peter said. “How does he know all of you?”

“That’s… complicated,” Selina didn’t answer.

“What else are you not telling me?” Peter asked next.

“That’s… also complicated,” Selina, again, didn’t answer. “You look tired. Let’s get you some sleep, then you can ask all the questions you want in the morning.”

“It is the morning,” Peter argued, yet still let Selina guide him through the apartment to the room he had commandeered, body too tired to put up a real fight.

“In the afternoon, then,” Selina corrected. She set Peter down on the bed, said, “sleep tight,” turned off the lights, and closed the door, leaving Peter in the dark.

He almost didn’t want to go to bed, just to be difficult. He wanted to know what Selina, Harley, and Ivy were so obviously hiding from him. He just knew it had to be something important, some kind of puzzle piece he was missing that would make this whole city - this whole world - start to make a bit more sense. But alas, his eyes slid shut before he could consider doing anything else, his body betraying him and sending him into blissful unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

It was only in the wee hours of the morning, when the sun began to make an appearance over the horizon, shining over the harbor and highlighting all the waste and pollution, that Tim finally gave up the search. 

Others had turned in throughout the night at different points. Damian and Helena were the first ones, claiming they had to get at least some sleep since it was a school night; well, Helena had claimed that, and said the same was true for Damian, so Damian had been forced to turn in early, too. Steph went next, her excuse also being school because "unlike some people, I never dropped out of college and I have an exam tomorrow in microbiology that I'm not failing" -- her words. And then Kate Spencer turned in, still wanting to get some work done on some case she had for her day job. Zinda was done when the helicopter ran out of gas and she needed to refill the tank. 

The only ones still out were Dick, Bruce, Tim and Cass. 

Tim had seen Dick barely an hour ago, and he looked so beat that Tim was surprised he was still going. His example kept Tim out just a little bit longer, but by now, he was convinced that Spider-Man had long since turned in himself and was hidden away somewhere, safe and sound. More likely, Spider-Man had turned in close to the start of the night and had gotten a full night's rest. Tim wouldn't be surprised if they got laughed at for staying out so long by the guy because they were chasing nothing but their own shadows.

Or, at least, that's what it felt like. 

Hence: "I'm gonna head back; I don't think he's still out here," Tim reported into the comms. 

"Rendezvous at the cave," Bruce said, "I'll see you there." 

Tim bit back on his retort that he could upload whatever information Bruce wanted from his own 'cave,' that he didn't force anyone else to rendezvous, and just accepted that his night would be just a bit longer. That was fine, honestly; he wanted to see what the others had to report before the sun was fully in the sky, too. 

He jumped off the rooftop he was on, landing on the ground for only a second, only long enough to bounce off of it and land on his bike. As he pushed off to start driving, Cass spoke on the comms and said, "race you," with a giggle in her voice. 

Oh no, she didn't. 

"You're on," Tim accepted the challenge and hit the gas, intent on beating her. He took the turns a bit too sharp, going a bit too fast, feeling his tired body drag him down but pushed it a little further. It would be worth it if he could finally beat Cass at something. He swerved his bike along the twisty roads that made up Gotham, thankful for the odd hour because they were nearly deserted of civilians. He twisted his bike, pushed it to its brink, and could taste victory on the tip of his tongue when the cave came into view and no one else was near-

... 

He should have known better, he reflected, when he parked and saw that Cass was already lounging by the Batcomputer. She took off her mask as Tim approached. "You cheated," he accused, because there was no way -- no way -- that she could have gotten back to the cave before he did, not at the speed he was going and how close he had been to the cave when the race started. No way. 

Cass looked him up and down, then shrugged. "Skill issue." 

Tim scoffed, trying to cover his laugh with derision, said, "yeah, right," and sat at the computer, already typing up the events of the night. As his fingers flew across the keys, he asked Cass over his shoulder, "do you want me to write yours, too?" 

"No," Cass replied. "Already did it." 

Tim stopped briefly, looking over his shoulder at where she was lounging incredulously. He knew that Cass didn't write her reports, just created audio logs instead. But still, the fact that she was able to do it so fast... "Cheater," he mumbled, turning back to the computer. 

"Skill issue," Cass said again, blasé, and Tim didn't bother to hide his snort that time. 

It was only when he was just about done that Bruce pulled up in the Batmobile, Dick close behind on his motorcycle. Tim pursed his lips slightly, a bit surprised that Dick actually came back to the Batcave, but shrugged it off quickly in favor of finishing his report. He turned around when he did and saw Bruce pulling off his cowl, Dick trying to dissolve the spirit gum keeping his mask in place, and both of them much closer to the computer than they had been before. 

"So..." Bruce started. 

"We didn't get him," Dick said with a sigh, slowly peeling off his mask. 

"He's fast," Tim said, pulling off his own cowl, "faster than any reports indicated." 

"Faster than what's possible for a non-meta," Dick added, heaviness in his eyes as he looked toward Bruce. 

Bruce only grunted. "We don't know for certain," he said, then looked at Cass, silently asking for her interpretation of the night. 

Cass tilted her head, thinking. Sometimes it takes a moment for her to translate what she saw in body language into something the rest of them could understand, but her insight was always valuable because her native language often gave away secrets and clues that the rest of them weren’t privy to. "Scared," she said at last. 

"Scared?" Tim repeated. "What do you mean? Who's scared?" 

"Spider. Man," Cass said, a bit haltingly. "He was scared. Of us." 

"Do you know why?" Dick asked. 

It took a second, almost as if Cass was debating whether or not to reveal the answer – which she sometimes did, when she wasn’t sure if what she saw was something she was supposed to, if her ability of reading body language led her to conclusions about people she was never supposed to know in the first place – but after a moment, she spoke. "Scared we would hurt him."  

"But Helena told Catman to tell Spider-Man that we just wanted to talk. So unless Catman relayed the message wrong, which is always possible-" Tim tried to think out loud. 

"No," Cass interrupted him. "He was scared because of instincts." Which, okay, that was different. Tim turned the words over in his head and tried to make sense of them. 

"He's scared of us on instinct?" Tim asked for clarification. He wasn't sure he would like the implications if the answer was yes. 

"Instincts told him to be scared, to get away," Cass tried to explain. "They helped him get away." 

"He used his instincts to get away?" Dick asked. Cass only nodded once in response. 

Tim thought he understood and nodded slowly. "I can add that to the report-" 

"Already did," Cass said, and the smug look on her face gave her away. "Remember?" 

"Cheater," Tim repeated for the third time, acting more than a bit juvenile in doing so. 

Cass' grin broadened, but she still shrugged and said nonchalantly, "get better." 

"Ok," Bruce said and succinctly cut off the banter, realigning the conversation to get them all back on track. "Spider-Man moves too fast for a non-meta, which aligns with earlier theories. He was scared tonight because his instincts said to be, which is going to be analyzed more when we have more information," he summarized. "What else?" 

Cass shrugged. "Didn't get a good look." 

Bruce nodded. "Did any of the others include anything in their reports?" 

Tim turned back to the computer, quickly pulling up what was available to him and reading it over. "Not from what I can tell," he said, "but you might want to ask Babs if the birds caught anything else."  

Bruce grunted. "Any theories on who he is?" 

"Not any new ones," Tim said, but he still pulled up the digital board that included all of the information they had about Spider-Man. Even with the additions of 'relies on instincts heavily - maybe power?' and 'scared of batman and associates,' it felt shockingly short. Even with the resources the Watchtower and Oracle provided, they still knew next to nothing about this guy. Tim looked it over again, trying to find any possible connection or anything that they might have missed, and felt Bruce right over his shoulder and saw Dick standing next to him in his peripheral doing the same. 

"If I could see him," Cass said after a few minutes, after it became clear that none of them were going to find anything new from a list with less than ten total points, "see him face-to-face, up close, I could learn more." 

Bruce nodded, not taking his eyes off of the screen. "Then that needs to be a priority." 

He said it so surely, but Tim had question after question running through his head. "How would we do that? Cass can't be out all the time, even if she thinks she can --" he ignored the half-hearted glare sent his way -- "what if one of us runs into Spider-Man and Cass isn't there? Or, even if she is, what if he doesn't want to stay in place long enough for her to read him." 

"Won't take long," Cass said surely, which answered none of his questions. 

"I'll figure it out," Bruce non-answered, “think of something in the morning,” Dick’s nod and simultaneous yawn said that he would do the same. Then, with tired eyes, he turned to Tim and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You should get some sleep. It's been a long night." 

Tim hummed in dissatisfaction, but let it slide. As he got up and headed toward his bike, Alfred came down the stairs. "I should hope you are not still in your costume, Miss Cassandra, as I have already told you to change." Cass scrunched up her nose, clearly unhappy, and the puzzle pieces finally clicked in Tim's head. 

"You were already here when you said you wanted to race!" he accused. 

"Maybe," Cass said, but her laughter gave her away. 

"You are a cheater," Tim poked fun lightly. 

"Maybe," Cass repeated. "Still. Skill Issue." 

Tim laughed as he got on his bike. "Next time, we'll have a real race, and I'll win fair in square." 

Dick chuckled as he got on his own bike. "I'll referee," he offered. 

"Bet," Cass said from the perch where she hadn't bothered to move. 

"'Til next time," Dick said, then he put his helmet on and sped away. Tim did the same, waving over his shoulder as he pulled out of the cave. 

The drive to Crime Alley wasn't long -- it never was, which was always something to be grateful about, especially on nights like tonight when every bone in his body felt like lead and he wanted to do nothing more than crawl into bed for the next 500 years. 

But alas, he did not. Instead, he parked his bike and made quick word of taking off his uniform, going through the motions to shower and clean himself of the filth Gotham night’s were laced with, and then he was in the elevator going up to his apartment above the old movie theatre. 

Before going to bed, he made a quick pit stop in the living room. It was a good thing that he never got any visitors, and if he did, they all already knew his secret identity, otherwise they would probably think that he was having a psychotic breakdown. 

One of the walls in his living room was completely covered in papers and string, red linking otherwise innocuous sheets of paper together to form some sort of puzzle that only made sense to Tim. Looking at it, yeah, he could admit it looked a bit crazy. 

... Okay, maybe 'a bit' was an understatement, but to Tim, it made complete sense. 

It also looked fuller than the one on the Batcomputer, which was a plus, in Tim's humble opinion, even if it had mostly the same information. 

He sat down on the couch, pulling over a pen pad and jotting down the additional information. He used a thumbtack to add the new pieces of paper to the wall, then grabbed his computer and started cross-referencing people in every database he had access to to see if there was any possible connection. 

Over and over, database after database, dead end after dead end. 

Tim rubbed the heel of his palm over one of his eyes, yawning into the other one before he made a mad dash to grab his laptop before it could fall out of his lap. He heard a snort, then soft hands were placed over his own and the laptop was taken from him and put on the coffee table. 

"Hi," Bernard, beautiful, sweet Bernard said, blanket barely holding onto his shoulders as he squatted down in front of Tim and took his hands in his. 

"Hi," Tim said back dumbly, too tired to think of a better response. 

Bernard smiled in amusement. "You were out all night." 

Quite the detective, his boyfriend was. "I was." 

"You find him?" Bernard asked, turning over their hands so his thumbs could run across the scars slicing Tim's palms in half, a comforting motion for both of them. Tim shook his head. Bernard hummed. "Any closer to figuring out who he is?" Tim shook his head again. Bernard hummed again. 

"We think he's probably a meta," Tim eventually said, right when the cozy atmosphere almost sent him to sleep to keep himself awake. 

Bernard pointed his head toward the computer. "And no matches?" 

"None," Tim confirmed, then got lulled right back into a state of being half asleep. 

Bernard bit the inside of his lip, then said out of nowhere. "What if it's Peter?" 

That woke Tim up. "Peter?" 

Bernard nodded. "Yeah, Peter. He's new, right? He's probably not in any database yet, and he's a meta." 

Tim laughed outright. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, recalling his one and only interaction with Peter. Thinking of that night all over again and the accusation that Peter could be Spider-Man made him laugh even harder. Sure, it was only one time when they met each other, but they had been exchanging text messages, and based on what he knew about both, "there's no way." 

"I'm just saying!" Bernard tried to defend himself jokingly, laughing too. "It's an option." 

"Sure, sure," Tim agreed, "just like how Batman is maybe, sorta, definitely a werewolf." 

"He could've been!" Bernard said with a smile. "My own boyfriend, I can't believe he's so unsupportive of my ideas." 

"So sorry I don't think my adoptive dad is a werewolf," Tim said in a fake placating tone of voice. 

Bernard sighed, then huffed out a laugh. "You could have pretended." 

"I could have," Tim conceded, "but where's the fun in that-" he was cut off by a yawn. 

Bernard's eyes softened. "Okay, boy wonder, let's get you to bed." 

"Bed sounds like a good idea," Tim agreed, and after he was put under the covers, when Bernard tried to pull away, he pulled his boyfriend closer and fell asleep in his arms, still laughing at the idea of Peter being some sort of vigilante, let alone Spider-Man. 

Bernard and his ridiculous theories, Tim would always love them both.

Chapter Text

Peter woke up to hushed conversations and panicked mumblings. He shot out of bed and quickly made his way to the living room. Selina was in there, one hand holding her phone to her ear, the other wrapped around her stomach, looking out the windows with a worried and conflicted expression. “Thank you, Bruce, you have no idea what this means to me.”

“It’s no problem, Selina,” Peter heard Bruce say comfortingly through the phone. “Really, no problem at all. You do what you need to, and let me know if there’s any other way I can help.” 

Selina nodded, releasing a shaky sigh and her body slowly loosening. “I will. Thank you again.” 

“There’s nothing to thank,” Bruce said, just as soft as before. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“Yeah,” Selina agreed, “see you.” She hung up the phone, released a long breath and brushed a hand through her hair. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting her head fall back. She was in her Catwoman suit, but it was torn and the scent of dried blood burned Peter’s nostrils while the fresh blood stood out like a sore thumb to his eyes. 

She looked beat, and Peter tried to stop himself from feeling guilty that he wasn’t there to help when whatever happened happened. “Selina?” he asked to get her attention. 

Her head snapped up and she looked at Peter with wide eyes before recognition took hold and her eyes softened. Peter only grew more worried. “Hi, kitten,” she greeted, letting go of herself and making her way to Peter. “How are you?” 

“What happened?” Peter asked instead of answering her question. She stopped dead in her tracks and looked off to the side. She took a deep, shaky breath that did nothing to stop Peter from seeing the tears threatening to spill. He had no idea what was going on or how to help. He wanted to help. 

She made her way over to Peter and put her hands on his arms, rubbing up and down in a motion that seemed more comforting for her than it was for him. Still without making eye contact, she said quietly, “my sister needs my help.” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. “Your sister?” he asked. He had no idea that Selina had any siblings, she had never brought them up before. But, she had never asked Peter about his family more than what he was comfortable with sharing, and Peter had offered her the same courtesy in turn. 

Selina nodded, a sad smile overtaking her face. “Maggie.” She took her hands away and sat down at the kitchen table, looking down at the woodgrain unseeingly. 

Peter didn’t expect her to open up, especially about a topic that was so difficult, but after a couple of shaky breaths, Selina did. “Growing up, we didn’t have the easiest life. I won’t go into details, but soon, Maggie and I were orphans. She was a good kid, and younger than me, so it was easy for her to find a foster family to take her in. Me,” she gave a bitter laugh, “not so much.” 

Peter took that in. He didn’t have the easiest life before either, but from the way that Selina was speaking… well, at least Peter had people who loved him. 

“I started stealing, to help me, to help those around me… to help Maggie.” She took another deep breath, and Peter took the chance to sit down across from her. She gave him a small smile, then tilted her head in a dismissive gesture. “I don’t want to bore you with the details,” as if that was possible, “but I promised myself that I would always be there for Maggie, and even though our lives went down opposite paths and she may not want my help anymore,” the look in Selina’s eyes said that was a drastic simplification, “I still need to. She’s my sister, I can’t just-”

“I get it,” Peter told her. He never had any siblings, but he knew that families could be complicated. “What can I do to help?” 

Selina gave him that same, soft smile. “You’re a good kid, Peter, but this is something I need to do without you.” Before he had the chance to ask what that meant or for any additional information, she continued with, “I asked my friend Holly to watch you, but she’s out of town right now, and Harley and Ivy are refusing to let me do this myself, so-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Peter cut her off. “What do you mean? What are you saying?” 

Selina sighed again, this time lamentably. “I need to take care of this by myself, and it would help me to know that you’re safe.” 

Peter immediately went to argue, “but I’m Spider-man.”

Selina cut him off patiently. “I know you are. But you’re also a 17 year old kid.” She looked him in the eyes pleadingly, “please, Peter, I know you want to help, but let me do this on my own.” 

Peter crumbled instantly. “Okay,” he said with reluctance. “Okay,” he said again, “what do you want me to do?”

Selina looked so thankful that Peter felt bad for arguing at all. “I know you don’t really know him, but I need you to stay with Bruce.”

“Your fiancé?” Peter asked. 

“Yes,” Selina confirmed. “I was trying to think of something else that would be less awkward, but Holly’s out of town, and you staying with my ex would only be more awkward, so…”

“Your fiancé,” Peter said again. 

“Yeah,” Selina said, waiting for Peter’s answer to the situation. 

Did it make him a bit nervous to stay with someone he didn’t know? Yes, but Selina trusted him, so that was enough for Peter. “Okay,” he gave his acceptance, “I’ll stay with him.” 

“Thank you,” Selina said, pulling him into a hug. Then, under her breath, probably not meant for Peter to hear, she repeated, “thank you.” 

When they released each other, Peter asked, “do you want any help with…” he trailed off with a faint gesture to her wounds. As someone who healed super fast, he never had to deal with any of the injuries that come with the vigilante gig beyond a few hours, maybe a week at most, but he could certainly figure it out to help Selina. 

But, as she looked down at her body and torn up suit, she shook her head. “Let me go take a shower and deal with this, then I’ll take you to Bruce’s.” 

Peter nodded and they went their separate ways – Selina to her room to tend to her wounds and Peter to his own to pack and psych himself up for staying with a rich guy he didn’t know for an unknown amount of time. 

He would do it – for Selina, he would do it – but that didn’t stop his nerves. 

~~~~~ 

The drive from Gotham to the hill where all the rich people lived was drastic, going from the rundown and graffiti covered streets of Crime Alley and the Narrows to the manicured lawns and polished windows of houses that grew more and more elaborate and rich. It made Peter feel out of place, and as the houses grew bigger and bigger in size, unsure of the plan that had been established. 

Finally, Selina pulled up to a gate and exchanged some codes with a keypad before driving up what Peter had initially thought was another road but turned out to be the driveway of the biggest house Peter had ever seen. 

When Selina parked in front of the house, an elderly man was already waiting for them outside. Selina greeted the man as Peter got his bag from the trunk. “Hi, Alfred.”

The man, Alfred, greeted her in kind. “Good day, Miss Kyle. It is my understanding that you will not be staying long?”

Selina shook her head. “Just dropping him off,” she said as Peter reached her side. 

“This must be the new sir. It is nice to meet you, Mr. Parker,” he said, holding his hand out. 

Peter took it gently, “nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” Alfred told him. To Selina, he said, “stay safe, Miss Kyle.” 

“I will,” she responded. She pulled Peter into a hug, and at the end of it, told him to call if he needed anything, anything at all. 

Peter told her that he would do just that, only if Selina promised to do the same. She smiled, pulled him into another hug, and then Peter was left with Alfred watching Selina drive away. 

“Let’s go inside,” Alfred suggested, and Peter followed up the steps and through the front door into the most elaborate room he’d ever seen – which is saying something, considering that he had been to Tony Stark’s personal home several times. 

Dark red carpet, a crystal chandelier probably bigger than Peter was, huge portraits and paintings lining the walls, a huge staircase split down the middle that led to the second and third floors, hallways that branched out both from the right and left and straight down the middle in the center of the staircase. 

Peter had to take a second to take it all in, a second that went on long enough for Alfred to take his bag from him and start heading up the stairs. Peter jogged to catch up to him, and could only look around in awe as the giant house only proved to stay as impressive down whatever hallway they traversed as the entryway. 

Alfred pointed out important rooms and details along the way, giving an in depth tour of the place that Peter struggled to remember the entirety of. He wasn’t entirely sure what the difference was between a sitting room and a living room, nor why someone would need multiples of either, and had the vague idea of what a parlour was that he wasn’t entirely confident in after seeing one in real life. 

Eventually, when they got to the hallway that apparently all the residents of the house lived in, they ran into Damian. He walked out of his room, texting on his phone. He looked up for a split second then, looking back down at his phone, said, “Pennyworth. Nika is in town and I request a ride so I can see her.” 

Alfred cleared his throat, and when Damian looked back up, he finally saw Peter. “What are you doing here?” he asked, not unkindly. 

“Selina had something that she needed to do,” he said vaguely, not sure how much he should say. 

“Right,” Damian said, nodding. “I remember father mentioning that.” He looked at Alfred again, then continued, “I can see Nika later, I suppose.” Alfred nodded in approval, which Damian matched with a singular nod of his own. To Peter, he said, “if you need anything, you are welcome to come to me,” and with that, he disappeared back into his own room. 

“Right,” Alfred said. “This way.” He continued to lead the way down the hallway until they reached the end, then opened a door and said, “this one is yours. You are free to decorate it however you wish.” When Peter entered the room, he continued, “I will leave you to get unpacked,” and Peter was left alone. 

This… this was the biggest bedroom Peter had ever seen. Giant curtains draped along the window, a four banister bed, what felt like silk sheets, a desk, wardrobe, dresser, closet, ensuite bathroom that only held more luxuries. Peter stood, stunned, for long enough that he felt like an idiot standing in the middle of the room, staring, and forced himself into moving. 

He couldn’t get over the size, the fanciness of it all. His clothes didn’t even manage to fill the wardrobe, leaving both the dresser and closet empty. He stood in the center of the room, took one more look around, then felt like he was going to lose his mind if he stayed in there for even one more second. 

He exited the room and started to make his way down different hallways, feeling like he should have left a trail of breadcrumbs or some string or something to guide him back. The hallways all looked vaguely the same with slight variations in the wall decorations or the way that the doors were carved. 

He felt lost, so lost, and was slightly surprised by just how lost he felt; he had no idea that a person’s house could be so big, it was startling. He kept walking around, hoping to find something that looked familiar. However, even with all the variations, they were so slight that it made it hard to keep track or notice them. It made him nervous, and he had to fight the instinct to crawl up the walls and on the ceiling. 

Peter sat down in some random chair in some random hallway sometime later, feeling completely lost. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, hoping that someone would eventually find him. 

It didn’t take long, maybe five minutes later, when a door nearby opened and a man walked out. 

Tall, broad, button down shirt, perfectly ironed pants, hair gelled back in a way that screamed ‘rich.’  The man looked at Peter, surprised for a moment, before he smiled and walked over, holding out a hand. Peter stood up as the man said, “you must be Peter, right?” Peter nodded as he took the offered hand. “I’m Bruce, Selina’s fiancé. It’s nice to meet you.”

Chapter Text

hello hello everyone! 

obviously this isn't a typical update lol 

i just wanted to come on here and say that i'm rewritting this! 

i went back and reread one of the earlier chapters and to say i was horrified by the mistakes i made about canon is an understatement lol 

i'm also fixing all the gammar and spelling and whatever other mistakes i made bc i can't take it anymore guys it was really bothering me 

i'm also adding a bit more text where i think the fic can really benefit from it 

overall, the goal is to make the whole thing better while still keeping it close to the same, does that make sense? 

anyways, the fic is now called Gotham Through the Eyes of Another and is the first fic in the Peter’s Adventures in Gotham series (i was originally going to use that series to post alternate scenes and povs and stuff but then I realized how much work that was and now i'm not doing that lol)

i hope y'all understand why i'm doing this, and i hope y'all check out the new fic! i've already posted the first chapter if anyone wants to read it 

if y'all don't, since you've already read 70k words of this fic (which i understand, i wouldn't want to reread all of this all over again, even if i knew it would be different), then you can just pick up at chapter 17 again whenever i get around to posting that 

it'll pick up at the cliffhanger that the last chapter left off on (peter actually meeting bruce) so you won't have to worry if you'll miss anything

thank y'all for your understanding and patience with me through all of this, i can't tell y'all how much i appreciate it 

hope y'all have a great day <3