Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     Peter had never felt more angry at a wizard before in his life until this moment. Certainly a strange thing to think about as he walked tiredly through dark and dreary streets, but nonetheless, it was how he felt.

     Doctor Strange- “Call me Stephen.” - had sent Peter Parker to an entirely new universe. At least, that’s what he believed had happened. There wasn’t necessarily an exact answer as to how he ended up here, only a who that was responsible for it. And right now Peter was very angry at that who.

     Memories of Titan were shoved to the forefront of his mind, a planet scorched by the sun and catastrophically destroyed by war. It’s destruction was a product of the very war that Peter had been fighting before he-

     His footsteps faltered as he remembered his death.

     “Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good–” Peter said with a shake in his breath as a sudden fuzziness started crawling up his limbs. His spider-sense was going haywire, overwhelming his senses and leaving the boy a stuttering mess. “I-I don’t- I don’t know what’s happening–” he said frantically as he stumbled to his mentor.

     Tony Stark swallowed hard. His face displayed anguish that Peter didn’t want to see. “...you’re alright.” He said all too steadily, like a father comforting a child. When Peter got close enough, he clung to the man, feeling his feet get swept from underneath him in the wind. Tears pricked at the teen’s eyes, grip tight on Tony’s jacket.

     “I-I don’t wanna go-” he said through tears, nose becoming congested from the surge of raw fear running through him. His spine tingled, and over Tony’s shoulder, he caught a glimpse of his own fingers turning into ash. “I don’t wanna go-” he repeated in a plea. “Please, sir, I don’t wanna go-”

     Tony kneeled down, setting Peter on the ground. His hands never left the teen, and the teen never let him go. Peter swallowed roughly, forcing tears back as he looked up at Titan’s yellow sky. It wasn’t the blue one that he so desperately needed to see, the familiar sky of Earth.

     He was far from Earth now, and he would never be going back.

     Peter turned his gaze back to Tony, looking the man in the eyes and forcing his mouth to work once more. He needed to say something to Tony, tell him anything- he couldn’t let himself die like this in Tony’s arms.

     “I’m sorry.”

     Not without an apology delivered on the brink of death.

     Everything after that was white hot, and he couldn’t recall a single second of his time after turning into ash. All he knew was that he watched Tony become a blur, and then a second later, he was gasping for air and clawing his way onto a rocky New England shore.

     The puddle below his heavy foot splashed and soaked the ends of the ratty jeans he had fished out of a dumpster upon arrival. They were far too big for him and sat loose on his hips, but he preferred them instead of walking around in his Iron Spider suit, which still clung to his damp skin underneath his makeshift clothes.

     He felt miserable, and if he was soaking wet for much longer, then he would surely be sick. Of course that wouldn’t be a big deal, considering his healing factor. It was still uncomfortable as hell, and he especially didn’t want to be sick in a strange city like this one.

     The Gotham Gazette drew his attention, the soaking wet newspaper discarded on the ground up ahead. He hesitantly reached down, picking it up and holding back a wince at the feeling of the damp paper.

     Most of the smaller words in the articles were already soaked and smudged away in the rain, but the title and a few headings still boldly displayed themselves. Fourth Arkham Break-Out of the Year. Wayne Enterprises Donates 1.7 Billion to Homeless Shelters Benefiting Crime Alley. Red Hood Busts Human Trafficking Ring in the Harbor.

     This city, supposedly called Gotham, sounded rough . The Asylum was experiencing break-outs like a prison, there were known human trafficking rings… at least Wayne Enterprises seemed to be doing something to help the homelessness rates of the city. That was something that Peter had noticed as soon as he made it to the main city from the harbor- the amount of homeless citizens was vastly concerning.

     A bit more smudged reading told Peter that it was April third of 2016- a whole two years before Thanos. Before Peter would die . The mere thought of his death once more sent an uncomfortable shiver up his spine, and he was now hyper aware of how dreadful this situation was.

     Even worse, he was in New Jersey . Peter had never heard of Gotham, New Jersey, which felt extremely odd. A city with this much crime would surely gather the attention of the Avengers, or some other hero who could help.

     Maybe that’s who Red Hood is, Peter thought, dropping the newspaper into a nearby trashcan and continuing his aimless walk. Part of him hoped so, since the person seemed to be doing good work for the city.

     The smell of cigarette smoke assaulted Peter’s nose as he passed an alleyway, and he scrunched his face in discomfort. A quick glance that direction showed a group of men wearing stained and torn clothing sitting around a dying out trash fire. His heart gave a pained beat in his chest. Even a second around that small fire would likely warm his senses enough to find a safe place to spend the rest of the night.

     Unfortunately for Peter’s senses, his mind was much more rational. These men didn’t know him, and they were much older than him. They likely weren’t keen on sharing, and since they were smoking, Peter didn’t want to sit near that smell for so long.

     So he continued.

     The teen wasn’t sure exactly how long that he walked, but the moon had shifted quite a lot from its initial position earlier in the night. He caught a glimpse of it through the dreary clouds every so often, rain pelting his face.

     “Karen, what kind of info can you pick up?” he mumbled under his breath, and in response, he felt nanobots brushing around his ear until they had made a small bud for him to listen to.

     “Hi, Peter. Currently I’m unable to grab any information from the internet, as none of my sources seem to have updated to our current geological location.”

     Peter frowned at her response, sticking his hands into the pockets of the stained gray zip-up hoodie he had grabbed when he got the jeans. “That doesn’t make any sense, what’s your database looking like?”

     “Looks like it usually does, Peter. However, nothing from my internal storages is aligning with any metadata that I’m receiving from this environment.”

     “So.. nothing on Gotham, New Jersey?”

     “No, sorry, Peter.”

     Peter huffed through his nose, hearing the A.I. go silent in his ear. To anyone who looked close enough, it just seemed like he had one generic-brand earbud. Upon closer inspection, though, anyone could see the small trail of metal going down into his hoodie.

     “Run a diagnostic, see what all is online. I’ll try to find you something with internet to connect to.”

     The lack of response told the teen that she had started on the diagnostics, so he grew quiet too. He would rather people not think he’s insane for mumbling to himself under his breath.

     Eventually, Peter looked up from the sidewalk and paused, a wave of discomfort washing over him. To his right was Gotham Public Library. All of the lights were off inside, but the outdoor ones illuminated a large clock-face reading 3:47.

     To his left, a cemetery with tall black metal fences was emitting an eerie fog across the entire half of the street. It went down for at least another block. Just looking at the place of rest made a tingle rush up his spine and to his neck, buzzing there.

     Breaking and entering was definitely a crime. Always had been, always would be, even in this city that isn't supposed to exist. Still, Peter was cold and tired , and he just needed to close his eyes for a little bit. If he would be breaking into anywhere, it would be somewhere with the word “Public” plastered above the front door.

     Like the Gotham Public Library, how perfect. He skipped up the steps two at a time, standing underneath the large stone awning for a second to enjoy the feeling of no rain! It was great, but now he needed a way inside.

     On the front of the building, all of the doors and windows were locked tight, and Peter frowned. Of course a city with this much crime would be under lock and key. He would need a different entrance.

     As quietly and inconspicuously as possible, Peter Parker rounded the building twice, looking at windows and potential entrances. Eventually, on his second lap, he spotted a slightly opened window through the heavy rain. Parker luck be damned, he was about to be somewhere warm.

     Scaling the wall was effortless with his spider abilities, and fitting through the small window was easy as pie. The boots of his Iron Spider suit landed on a tiled floor of a women's restroom (he only knew that due to the lack of a urinal). A quick glance around the space told him that the lights were motion activated, so he bit the bullet and went to the door. The blinding overhead light activated and he winced, giving himself a small glance in the mirror as he passed.

     He had to backtrack his steps, eyes widening when he really took stock of himself. His skin was sheened with sweat and rain, and little cuts and bruises littered his cheeks and forehead. Unzipping the gray hoodie showed the damaged Iron Spider suit, and he frowned at the large gash across his side. It had broken skin, but stopped bleeding a while ago. He hoped it wouldn’t get infected, because even with his healing factor, those were still uncomfortable.

     The worst part of his appearance was his hair. The semi-curly brown locks seemed to have gotten.. Longer? Usually he kept his hair cut clean at his ears, but now strands were wisping along the back of his neck. Strangely enough, a large strand on his hairline, right by his temple, was a chalky white color. Reaching up and feeling it revealed nothing, because it felt fine .

     This only opened even more questions for the teen, who sighed tiredly through his nose. He just wanted to lay down somewhere. He would assess his situation more in the morning, when the sun was up.

     Right now, nothing would make sense due to his exhaustion and temperature. Any thoughts of Doctor Strange, Titan, or Thanos just made him uncomfortable and made no sense. So he dropped it- for now.

     Exiting the bathroom quietly, he glanced around. Peter was on the second floor of three it seemed. Nearby, two elevator shafts stuck awkwardly out of the wall. Across the floor, a big staircase would take him either down or up. In the middle of the floor was a big hole that looked out into the bottom floor, and when Peter looked up, he was greeted by a large glass dome.

     On a sunny day, this building would be beautiful. He could already imagine it bustling with life. Assuming there was a college nearby, he could see different students sitting at the various tables, couches, and beanbags doing work or reading books of all sorts. This building just felt good, and was such a stark contrast from both the cemetery across the street and the city itself.

     A quick surveillance walk around the second floor revealed that there were cameras, but none were active. There were no more motion activated lights either, meaning that Peter was free to roam without drawing any attention from the outside.

     “Alright, Karen, let’s hook you up to a computer.” Peter said softly, metal boots padding against the carpeted floor as he walked to a large set of computers across multiple desks. He slid into a chair and typed in the guest login information that was written on a sticky note attached to the monitor.

     Using his right hand, he loaded up Google. With his left, he reached down to the actual computer itself, feeling around on the front of the box until he found a USB port. Seconds later, the nanobots on his hands shifted and changed until one finger of the suit was plugged into the computer.

     “Diagnostics are complete, would you like to hear them?”

     “Mhm.” Peter hummed, typing with one hand and searching up a few key words. Avengers, Tony Stark, Spider-man, Captain America, Iron Man, and Wakanda all resulted in nothing useful. His brows pinched together in concern. None of this stuff seemed to even exist .

     “Overall status is 42%. Your web shooters are at a combined capacity of 68%. Your suit sustained severe damage to the primary left side, but there is considerable damage located all over. The suggested course of action is to make repairs as soon as conveniently possible before joining another fight.”

     “Thanks, Karen.” he sighed, not happy about the information. It wasn’t all bad, he had much more web fluid than he had originally anticipated. The damage wouldn’t be easy to fix without either a lab, or Tony. Both would be wonderful right about now. “You connected to the internet yet?”

     “Yes, are you ready to hear my findings?”

     “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

     Peter Parker was in Gotham, New Jersey. It was the crime capital of the entire world. Despite its high crime rates, it was being watched over by a group of vigilantes, led by one called Batman. The others, with various bat and bird themed names, all worked as a single unit to keep this single city safe. They rarely ever branched out.

     The Avengers did not exist. The closest thing was another group of heroes known as the Justice League, which was formed by Batman and two others: Wonder Woman and Superman. They were a heavy mix of people with powers, called Metas, and people without powers, like Batman.

     Thanos did not exist. There was never an attack from him or his forces. Instead, there were other contacts with different races and species of aliens from all across the universe. Some of them were members of the Justice League now.

     Spider-man did not exist. It didn’t take much to hack into public records, and there was never a Peter Benjamin Parker born in Queens. No one was ever bitten by a radioactive spider, and no one ever became Spider-man.

     “Peter?”

     He could hear her voice in his ear, but nothing was registering. The pure lack of anything familiar made a dreadful discomfort climb up his back, and his vision got a bit fuzzy.

     “Peter, I’m picking up an increased heart rate as well as sporadic brain activity. Would you like for me to alert someone for medical aid?”

     “No..” he mumbled. “....people here can’t.. They can’t know I’m not from….” he trailed off, leaning back in his chair and staring at the blurry white computer monitor.

     “That you’re from a different universe?”

     “..yeah, that.”

     Peter’s stay in the library concluded with him taking a short nap in a soft green beanbag, and the lights flickering to life at seven a.m. He shot up from his light sleep, stumbling quickly to his feet. A worker was here, likely to get ready to open for the day. He needed to leave.

     His dart across the second floor was silent thanks to his spider enhancements and the Iron Spider suit, and he climbed out the bathroom window without looking back. Maybe next time, he could sleep longer and do less research on his problems.

     Looking around, things started to make more sense. This was a different universe. Sure it looked enough like his own, but there were small differences. Logos for big brands were slightly altered, celebrities looked different and some didn’t even exist. Catchy songs had different melodies, lyrics, artists, or even genres here. Why did Taylor Swift write “Bring Me to Life”? Evanescence had perfected that song!

     Things slowly started to click into place as the sun rose over Gotham’s Atlantic horizon. He was in a different universe, and he needed a way to deal with all of this.

     Peter had the itching feeling that going home was no longer an option. Even if it was, he wouldn’t know how, and there was no guarantee what would be waiting for him on the other side. The Guardians of the Galaxy all turned to ash seconds before Peter did- who's to say the same didn’t happen to his loved ones? To May? Ned? MJ?

     The teen wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as he directed his path towards the more.. Higher-class side of Gotham. He wanted to get out of the crime-ridden areas as soon as possible. The quicker he found somewhere to get help without exposing his cross dimensional identity the better.

     After sneaking onto three public buses, jumping a subway gate, and offering his seat on the train to a pregnant woman, he stepped out into the lighter side of the city. Entering a place that he noted on a brochure map as Bristol, he looked around curiously at the cityscape before him.

     Here the sidewalks were new, the traffic lights worked, and there was greenery lining every corner. Fancy and expensive cars that reminded Peter of The Great Gatsby carted up and down the roads. Teens in navy blue school uniforms walked in the same direction, likely towards a school.

     Getting enrolled in a school sounded fantastic right about now, because it would mean easy access to both information and a chemistry lab. Unfortunately, it was hard to get enrolled anywhere when you had no documents like Peter.

     Instead, he turned towards the neighborhoods. One of these rich families had to have something good in their garbage. Some thrown out devices, good clothes, maybe even food that the picky kids were too biased to eat.

     Honestly, Peter would take anything at this point. He just needed resources, even if it came from a rich man’s dumpster. As they say, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and in this scenario, Peter was dumpster diving from modern Kings.

     The first few houses that he passed had long winding driveways, and sleek, modern buildings. They were boxy and dark, with too many windows. He could have sworn that he saw a pool in more than a few backyards through the slatted gates. Only one place caught his eye.

     A large brooding manor sat on top of a slight hill, with a driveway comparable to a hiking trail. Its gates, while well kept, were obviously old. Likely the first gates and fences to be put on the property. Thanks to Karen connecting to the internet last night, Peter could ask her a few questions now.

     “Who lives here?” Peter asked, standing in front of the gate and mentally debating how much energy it would take to scale it without triggering the multiple sensors he had already spotted.

     “You are looking at Wayne Manor, home of Bruce Wayne and some of his children.”

     “Only some?” Peter asked casually, grabbing a hold of the bars and starting to climb upwards. Sure, he was in broad daylight, but all the teens were at school by now, and any adults were either at work or still in bed, truly living luxurious lives.

     “Yes, currently his sons Damian Wayne, Duke Thomas-Wayne, and Timothy Drake-Wayne live here. His other children include Richard Grayson-Wayne, Jason Todd-Wayne, and his two daughters, Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown.”

     The amount of last names gave Peter a pretty clear image of what kind of guy Bruce Wayne was: and that was a playboy. He had lots of kids, only a few lived at home, and almost all of them had two last names. If the manor wasn’t so Victorian looking, Peter might have even dared to compare Bruce to Tony.

     “Anything else I need to know about this place?”

     “Bruce Wayne is the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, having taken over the company after his parents both died when he was young. He seems to have a tendency to take in orphans, as well as making hefty donations to public works projects. As for the Wayne Property, both the house and the fence are original. I am however picking up some sort of underground space, but there appears to be something blocking my signal.”

     Peter landed on the other side of the fence, flat-footed boots crunching on the gravel. “Something blocking your signal?” he asked, starting his trek up the driveway. Learning this history was cool and all, but he was more interested in both the trash and that underground room? Space? Either way, he wanted to know what it was.

     “Yes, I can’t get a layout schematic of the room. However, I did get one of the rest of the house. The first-floor study has a secret staircase going down into the hidden room.”

     “Cool, I’ll keep that in mind if they ever invite me in for tea.” The teen joked sarcastically, picking up a jog to reach the house.

     He avoided the front door, porch, and steps with a ten-foot radius, instead going to either side to check for trash cans. Upon finding none, he frowned. They were likely kept in the back, so he continued his search. The cameras and sensors definitely went noticed, but he paid them no mind. The Waynes would just see a homeless man dumpster diving, no big deal. He was sure it happened all the time in Gotham.

     Success shone on Peter in the form of two industrial-sized green dumpsters, one of which had the top open. Peter sighed quietly in relief, approaching them and first, checking for any internal sensors. Upon finding one, Peter climbed in as silently as possible.

     This was not his first time going dumpster diving, and he was sure it wouldn’t be his last, either. After the Battle of New York, Peter, May, and Ben had been temporarily homeless. This meant lots of dumpsters, shelters, and stretched thin dollars.

     This also meant that Peter knew what to look for while diving for trash. Most businesses tended to use a strategy called “souping” to prevent dumpster divers, which was the process of individually opening and/or destroying any products so that no one would deem them valuable. Most private homes however did not do this.

     A throat being cleared pulled Peter from his search, and he yelped in surprise, quickly standing up straight and looking towards the house. His tingle should have alerted him if anyone was around! Why did it not go off??

     The man looking at Peter was a well kept older gentleman wearing an ensemble expected of a butler. The black suit and slacks were pressed to perfection, and even his white cuffs and undershirt lacked any sort of stain or evidence of wear. His hair was thin, balding, and a sterling gray. It used to be black. His mustache was perfect .

     “...oh my, I hadn’t realized that you were a child.” The man’s posture and expression softened the moment that he took full stock of Peter. The teen frowned- okay he was small but he wasn’t that small .

     “I’m sixteen, sir.” he mumbled, and Karen sparked quietly to life in his ear.

     “Alfred Pennyworth. Former soldier during World War Two, and current butler for the household.”

     Peter really would have enjoyed knowing that this man existed about ten minutes ago, so that he could have avoided the one man who probably knew everything about the property. Glancing down to the butler’s hands, he realized that he was carrying trash bags. That’s why the dumpster had been empty.

     “I-I’m also sorry- uh I didn’t- look I can go-” Peter stumbled over his words and his feet, climbing out of the dumpster. His ribs stung when he arched his side, and he winced in discomfort.

     “My boy, you are quite alright.” Pennyworth said quickly and calmly, setting down the two white garbage bags. “Are you injured?”

     “I-It’s not a big deal, It’ll heal. I’m sorry about your– Mr. Wayne’s – uh- dumpster.” Peter said, feeling like a kicked puppy.

     Alfred Pennyworth frowned, taking a few small steps towards Peter. Was he afraid that he would bolt? He really wanted to run, but he also really wanted to explain his way out of the situation. Maybe the butler wouldn’t call the cops if Peter explained.

     “I’m not worried about the dumpster, dear boy, I’m worried about you . You are caked with bruises and blood.” he opened his stance a little, a move that showed comfort. He was trying to make Peter more comfortable. “May I know your name?”

     Peter swallowed, licking his dry lips. He really wanted to ask Karen what the best course of action was here, but if he spoke out loud, he would seem insane. So he stayed quiet, hands curling up in his jacket pockets.

     “Alfred Pennyworth has a record of being both trustworthy and reliable.”

     It was like she read his mind. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth and spoke. “...Peter.”

     Alfred smiled gently, extending a white gloved hand to the boy. “Peter, my name is Alfred Pennyworth, but please, just call me Alfred.”

     Peter reached out and took his hand in a timid shake, closing the distance between them. His hand was so dirty he almost felt bad about potentially soiling the glove, but then he realized that Alfred probably had a dozen more pairs somewhere in the Manor.

     “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Pennyworth.”

     The butler chuckled, grip both firm and comforting. Karen was right, this man seemed very trustworthy. Something about Peter told him that Alfred was his best source of help at the moment. It was probably why his tingle didn’t activate when the man stepped outside.

     “Peter, might I interest you in a glass of tea? It won’t take long, and I’d like to check on any injuries you may have.” he offered carefully, slowly releasing the teen’s hand.

     Peter chewed the inside of his mouth, glancing to the side of Alfred where the path wrapped back around to the front of the Manor. He could still run if he really wanted to.

     But he trusted Karen, and Karen seemed to trust Alfred. Her judgment had never been wrong before.

     “...tea sounds nice.”

Chapter Text

     Wayne Manor was much grander on the outside than it was on the inside. Sure, the long sloping archways and winding grand staircases grabbed his attention, but otherwise it felt… normal ? It was very lived in despite being spotless.

     Alfred walked with a confidence from someone who has lived here for many years, and Peter didn’t doubt that fact. Karen had informed him moments ago about how Alfred took Bruce Wayne under his wing after his parents had died. They were like father and son.

     “I’m sorry for intruding on your morning, Mr. Pennyworth.” Peter apologized for the umpteenth time, shoulders sagging as he curled slightly in on himself.

     “You are not a bother, young Peter.” Alfred assured with a smile in his voice. The man led the teen all the way through the bottom floor, where they ended up in a large kitchen that was surprisingly modern. It must have been redone within the last few years. “Do you have a tea preference?” he asked, gesturing for Peter to sit at the long island counter.

     He obeyed the gentle command and slid onto a stool. His feet no longer touched the ground, so he crossed his ankles and rested them on one of the leg bars. “No, sir. I’ve never really had tea that wasn’t iced.”

     Alfred hummed in slight displeasure. Clearly the British man had his qualms about the correct temperature of tea, but he couldn’t blame Peter! They were in America, where iced, sweet tea dominated most people’s tastes.

     “Well then, we’ll go with a staple. Does Earl Grey sound alright with you?” He asked while setting a kettle of water to boil, pulling out a long box of tea bags with different colored tags, likely symbolizing different flavors.

     Peter nodded in agreement with the choice, resting his head in his hand and looking around the kitchen. He had assumed that they would both be quiet while the water boiled, but he was wrong.

     “So, young Peter, where is your family?”

     The innocent question sent a wave of sadness over him. Either dead or dying in a place where I can’t help them, he thought absently.

     “They aren’t here.” he decided to reply, figuring it was the easiest lie to get away with. Technically, it wasn’t a lie, just a half truth. He could get away with those easily.

     “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you living with a friend, then?”

     Oh, he thought that Peter had a place to stay. Peter frowned, unsure if he really wanted to tell this man that he was homeless. “..I’ve got a friend in the area.”

     Also only a half truth, considering Karen was talking in his ear once more.

     “Peter, Alfred Pennyworth is your best shot at getting help. The family that he works for could be very beneficial allies in your time here considering their wealth and social statuses.”

     “...but I’m not living with any, no.” Peter confirmed after letting Karen’s words seep into his mind. She was right, as usual. He would need to learn to accept help sooner or later, and this man looked about two sentences away from offering Peter more assistance than just tea.

     Alfred frowned thoughtfully, eyes flickering across the counter as he pondered to himself for a few moments. “...you are not from Gotham, are you?”

     Peter shook his head, confirming Alfred’s suspicions. That sinking pit that was the teens stomach at the moment was starting to ease itself through their conversation. This was okay, this was fine , Alfred wouldn’t do anything bad to him.

     “I see.” Alfred mumbled. “...young Peter, may I ask how long you have been alone?”

     “Not long.” He answered truthfully. It had been less than 48 hours since Peter last saw anyone he recognized or knew. The last face he could remember was Tony’s, with an apology on his tongue.

     “...I’d like to make a few calls, my boy. Could you wait here?” Alfred asked kindly with a smile, setting a steaming cup of tea in front of Peter. He hadn’t even noticed that it had finished during their conversation, and he picked up the warm cup with both hands.

     He nodded in agreement, giving the beverage a testy sip. Like he said, warm teas were never really his thing, but this Earl Grey stuff wasn’t so bad. It tasted old, but in a good way. Maybe vintage was a better word.

     Alfred stepped out, leaving the teen alone in the large kitchen. Its tiles were a warm cream color, and the accent wall was charcoal brick masonry, a surprising contrast to the old wooden walls. Various pots, pans, and other handled dishes hung from the ceiling on a rack over the island, and just above that was one of the many overhead lights. They looked like miniature stage lights.

     The appliances were all a sleek black, and had strange brand names that Peter didn’t recognize. He guessed Whirlpool didn’t exist here.

     There was a big window on the far wall, showing a view of the backyard. He recognized the winding path as the one that he had used to find the dumpsters. On the other wall was a breakfast nook that jutted out in a half hexagon, housing a little table with comfortable looking wooden benches to be sat on.

     Knowing this house, Peter could already tell that there were probably two or more dining rooms elsewhere. No rich man hosts parties in his breakfast nook .

     “How are you feeling, Peter?”

     He wanted to be mad at her for asking a question at this time, but then he realized that Alfred probably wasn’t paying attention to Peter at the moment. At least, not entirely. He was supposedly on the phone in the other room.

     “...Strange. I’m trying to figure out what Mr. Pennyworth wants with me.” whispering surely couldn’t hurt.

     “I think he just wants to help you, Peter. You’re an unaccompanied minor who is injured and homeless.”

     “He works for a rich guy, he can’t be that generous.” he grumbled, glaring at the counter and sipping his tea. Tony be damned, the rich were never that easy to understand. There had to be some sort of goal with keeping Peter around.

     “I was created for you by a rich man.”

     “You’re different.”

     “Different how?”

     “You’re from Mr. Stark, I’ve never even seen this Bruce guy.”

     “They sound very similar to me, Peter. Especially based on the information I’ve gathered on the internet.”

     Peter scoffed, downing the rest of the tea and cringing at the way it burned in his throat. He should have let it finish cooling off, but Karen was really starting to frustrate him. The kitchen filled with silence once more.

     Alfred entered a few minutes later, holding a cell phone up to his ear. He glanced over Peter, taking stock of the boy and giving a description.

     “Sixteen year-old white male, dark brown hair with a white streak on the front–” “White streak?” “Yes, Master Bruce. It would do you well to have patience and let me finish my sentences.” Alfred rolled his eyes, and Peter smiled a little bit at the sass. They really did seem like a father and a son.

     “Where did you say you were from, young Peter?”

     “Queens.”

     “From Queens, New York.” “And he was digging through our trash?” “Indeed, Master Bruce.” The silence that followed on the other end of the line told Peter that Bruce Wayne was thinking.

     He was glad for his super hearing. Without it, he wouldn’t have been able to hear the entire conversation happening on the phone.

     “I’ll be home before lunch. For now, set him up a room.” “Of course, Master Bruce.”

     Peter paused, eyes widening a little bit. There was no hiding the fact that he heard Bruce. Alfred hung up the phone, and Peter was fast to start speaking.

     “Did he say to set me up a room?” He asked, a bit nervous. He couldn’t possibly stay here, he already felt like he was intruding after being invited in for tea!

     But if he did stay, he could figure out what that secret room was underneath the manor. It had been nagging at him since he got inside. He wanted to get into that study and find the staircase.

     “If that is alright with you.” Alfred nodded in confirmation to Peter’s nervous question, an air of reassurance wafting off of him. “I promise you that Master Bruce is not as bad as certain news sources have made him out to be.” He smiled gently. “You are from New York, I have no doubt that you’ve heard a lifetime of insults about him.”

     Peter just nodded hesitantly, not seeing a reason to break his interdimensional cover. He could figure out plenty about Bruce from Karen, like a mini crash-course. She would catch him up to speed on anything he would need.

     “Master Damian, Master Tim, and Master Duke are all at school already, meaning that you’ll get to meet them later. For now, how does a shower sound?”

     Peter couldn’t and didn’t try to hide the smile that slipped onto his lips. “..a shower sounds nice, Mr. Pennyworth.” Peter stood up, eager to get the feeling of Gotham’s Harbor off of his skin.

     “I’m sure that I can find something to fit you in Master Tim’s room. Here, I shall lead you to a bathroom.”

     The semi-tour that Peter got for the next ten minutes was overwhelming. Once again, they passed through many rooms on the first floor before arriving at the foyer, where Alfred led him up the grand staircase and down the left hall. Two turns and an archway later, Peter was standing in a large guest bedroom that was probably the size of his living room back with May.

     “There is an en-suite bathroom that you can use. If you leave this door unlocked,” Alfred gestured to the main bedroom’s door. “Then I can leave you fresh clothes on the bed. Does that sound okay?”

     Peter nodded, looking around the bedroom. As much as he wanted to fall into the queen bed and roll up in the soft looking blankets, he felt like he would tarnish the material with his current state. Showering would need to come first.

     He flashed Alfred a smile and two thumbs up. “Sounds great, thank you Mr. Pennyworth.” he beamed, backing into the bathroom and shutting the door carefully, clicking the lock shut.

     Unbeknownst to him, the moment the door shut, Alfred’s gentle smile faltered. He forgot to hide the boots and gloves of his super suit, I’ll need to look into potential amnesia symptoms.

     Peter’s shower was plain and uneventful. He scrubbed his skin until it was pink with a loofah and gel body wash that was stocked bountifully in the shower caddy. He massaged his scalp and hair with both shampoo and conditioner too many times to count, relishing in the feeling of the warm water flowing down his back. The pressure was perfect.

     He would have stayed in there forever, but steam was starting to fill the room. He didn’t want to waste any water either, even if he doubted that a water bill was any problem for billionaire Bruce Wayne. It was the thought that counted, after all.

     He stepped out onto the fuzzy drip mat after twenty-ish minutes, wiggling his toes in contentment. He felt thoroughly clean , and the hot water had let his muscles relax wonderfully.

     Unsure of what to do with his dumpster-clothes, he folded them carefully and left them on the counter. As for the Iron Spider suit, he frowned, more unsure. “..Karen, are you confined to the Iron Spider?”

     “No, Peter. I can use a small sample of the nanobots creating the suit to make something more convenient to wear. Would you like that?”

     Her voice came from a speaker near the neck of the Iron Spider, and he nodded. “Yeah, can you make anything?”

     “Do you have a preference?”

     He hesitated. Did he have a preference? It couldn’t be anything too substantial, since Alfred might notice that he didn’t have it before and assume that he stole it from the house. Then again, he still wanted to be able to hear Karen at all times…

     “...can you make something that looks like a hearing aid?” he asked hesitantly. After a beat of silence, the nanobots that usually make up the mask of the Iron Spider sparked to life, crawling across the toilet seat and connecting together to make a small black and red earpiece that would wrap around his outer ear. When he picked it up and slipped it on, Karen’s voice spoke.

     “Does this work for you, Peter?”

     He wiped the fog from the bathroom mirror, turning his head enough to see the device in his ear. Peter smiled. “Yeah, it looks great, Karen. I can just say I had it in my pocket so that no one would steal it.”

     “That makes sense, good thinking, Peter.”

     He beamed at her praise, eyes flickering down to the rest of his body. He felt.. Different. He could have blamed it on the interdimensional travel, but upon further inspection, he realized that he was different. Was he older? He seemed fundamentally bigger, even if it was just by a miniscule amount.

     The last time Peter measured his height, he was 5’7. Embarrassing for a kid his age, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Now, he stood at nearly six feet, having grown at least four inches. It surprised him. What didn’t surprise him was the fact that most of his wounds were either gone or mostly healed. The large gash in his side was just a mass of puffy pink raw scars, now.

     He met his reflection’s eyes, and like in the library, they were green. That white streak in his hair had just become more prominent since he had washed, and was a snowy white. Its presence made him uncomfortable.

     He forced his eyes to look away and wrapped the towel around his hips. He doubted that Alfred was waiting in the bedroom, but he would still rather not walk out naked in this house he didn’t know.

     Peter stepped out into the bedroom and glanced around. After making sure that it was empty, and using his tingle to check for any cameras, he walked to the bed where a few sets of clothes were.

     The first set was a pajama set with multiple golden W shapes on it. The logo looked vaguely familiar, and he thought that he could recall it from his research on the Justice League. It was long sleeved, with the base clothes being a deep navy blue.

     The next set was a black pair of drawstring sweatpants with a plain white t-shirt and a green zip-up jacket. This one also had a logo on it- but of a circle being sandwiched by two horizontal lines.

     The third and final set of clothes was a pair of blue denim jeans with holes in the knees covered by frayed white threads. Alongside it was a gray t-shirt for a band he had never heard of called Ashes on Sunday. This one got paired with a plain purple pullover sweater.

     Peter mulled the options for much longer than he had to, his hair dripping onto the bedroom’s hardwood floors. The pajamas and sweatpants both seemed extremely comfortable, and he wasn’t sure if he was feeling jeans right now. But then again, he was likely about to meet a very wealthy family, and would want to make a good first impression.

     In the end, his mind won over his heart, and he tugged on the provided black boxers and socks, followed by the jeans, t-shirt, and pullover. Everything was just a bit too small, but he wouldn’t be complaining. This was the cleanest he had felt in days. Being in space in the Iron Spider suit had made him sweat an awful lot.

     Peter went back into the bathroom and grabbed the suit. Then he briefly searched the room to find a decent enough hiding spot for it. He couldn’t just leave it in plain sight- Spider-man didn’t exist here, so he couldn’t use the cosplay excuse that had worked far too many times back home.

     He settled for tucking the Iron Spider underneath the bed, slipping it between the wooden slats that held up the mattress. It took a bit of wiggling and adjusting, but once he was done, no one would be able to see it by looking under the bed unless they looked at the mattress.

     Satisfied, Peter walked out of the bedroom, quietly tugging the door shut. It was at that point that he realized that he didn’t know how to find Alfred. Maybe he was in the kitchen? How was he supposed to get there?

     “Go through the archway at the far end of the hall and make two lefts.”

     Peter sighed in relief through his nose, smiling. Thanks to Karen, he was able to make his way back to the kitchen in just under ten minutes. Even though Karen was giving him directions in his ear, he still needed to seem somewhat lost just in case Alfred found him wandering.

     Speaking of, Alfred was not in the kitchen. Peter frowned, looking around the room. “....Karen, can you scan the house and find him?”

     “One moment.”

     Peter hummed a thanks, leaning against the counter. Being in a room meant for food made his stomach clench uncomfortably- he really should eat something soon. Ever since being bit, his appetite had changed drastically. He ate quite a lot now, and considering he hadn’t eaten since before Titan, Peter was overdue for quite a few meals and snacks.

     “Alfred Pennyworth is located near the dumpsters in the backyard.”

     “Oh.” he said out loud, only momentarily surprised by the answer. Alfred had never finished throwing away the trash. Now Peter felt bad , since he was intruding on this man’s time. This was his job, after all, and he hated to be in the way. “..I’ll just wait here, then.”

     At first, it was easy. Peter kept himself occupied by asking Karen different things about this universe, its customs, and about Bruce Wayne. Every so often, he would ask for Alfred’s location, and upon confirming he was nowhere near the kitchen, he continued his vocal investigation.

     Karen proved to be an extremely valuable resource for him at the moment. Since being connected to the library computer, she had found access to almost every private and non private server in the world. She couldn’t even do that back home, which proved to Peter that this universe was not as technologically advanced as his own. A silent thanks to Mr. Stark was tossed out, and he hoped that somewhere in the multiverse, the man felt his gratitude.

     He learned that Bruce Wayne was not as sleazy as Peter had originally guessed. He had no public relationships, and almost all of his children were adopted orphans. The exceptions to that were Damian Wayne, who was his biological son, and Stephanie Brown, who lived permanently with her mother and visited Bruce occasionally.

     Peter also learned about Batman. The vigilante had been on the scene for quite a few years, and seemed to cycle through sidekicks like they were plastic forks. His current one was a kid who held the Robin title. Batman’s preference for working with literal children was… concerning at best.

     Working with a teen was one thing, but based on the descriptions that Karen gave, this Robin couldn’t be older than eleven, and even that felt like it was pushing it. This was also his fifth robin. The rest either retired or died.

     Hearing about the second Robin’s death saddled Peter with an uncomfortable churn in his chest. Beaten to death and then exploded, and the man who did it was still around. Peter frowned when Karen told him that the Joker was still alive, and had recently broken out of Arkham Asylum.

     Peter hoped that Tony would avenge him if anything ever happened. It’s not like Spider-man was Iron Man’s official sidekick, but there was a similar dynamic happening here. In fact, Peter hoped that Tony was working to avenge his death right now.

     If the multiverse was merciful, it would let Tony get the revenge that he deserves and live a long happy life in the afterglow.

     Everything else that Peter learned from the conversation was basic information about the world and its customs. Superhero identities were kept under a harsh lock and key, villains ran amok almost daily, and the supers tended to keep to themselves unless there was a dire emergency. The Justice League felt more like a club than a team. Meet occasionally, only work together when needed.

     “Alfred Pennyworth is approaching the kitchen. Arrival in ten seconds.”

     Peter frowned, but sat up straight and wiped the expression from his face with his hands. He really needed to change Karen’s alert settings, he needed more time to mentally prepare for this.

     Alfred’s footsteps entered the kitchen ten seconds later, just as Karen predicted, and Peter looked over with an easy smile. “Hey, Mr. Pennyworth.”

     Alfred smiled, looking a bit surprised to see Peter. He glanced over him, appraising the outfit and giving a very subtle nod of approval. Peter wasn’t sure if it was approval to him for his selection, or to himself for providing such a fashionable choice.

     “Young Peter, I hadn’t realized you would be out so fast. My apologies. Was finding the kitchen easy?” he asked, tugging off his white gloves and setting them neatly on the counter so that he could wash his hands.

     Peter shrugged. “I got a little lost, a lot of these hallways look the same.” he replied, glancing at the back of Alfred’s head.

     The butler nodded in understanding, turning off the faucet with his elbow after a moment. “You sound just like the rest of Master Bruce’s children.” he chuckled softly, not seeing the look of panic on Peter’s face at that statement.

     Peter acted like Bruce’s kids, and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing. He didn’t want to get attached to these guys, and he didn’t want them to get attached either.

     “How many kids live here?” Peter asked, evening out his voice as much as he could.

     “Three, though he has seven. I’m sure you know that already, though.” Alfred hummed, opening the fridge and retrieving a few fresh vegetables.

     Peter nodded absently, and after a few seconds, spoke up once more. “......whatcha makin?”

     “I was going to prepare a brunch, I’m sure that you’re hungry.” Alfred replied, rinsing off bell peppers, green onions, and tomatoes in the sink. “Do you like omelets?” Peter could hear the man’s smile.

     “Yeah, omelets are good. But I can't eat them with bacon.”

     “Master Bruce is Jewish, so that should not be an issue.” Alfred assured.

     Peter nodded in understanding, not that Alfred could see. “That’s cool, I didn’t know that.”

     Alfred used the knife and cutting board to slide the chopped bell pepper pieces into a small bowl, then he started on the rest of the produce. “We do have beef sausage that I could mix in if you were wanting meat. Would you like that?”

     “...Yeah, if it’s not too much of a bother.” Getting protein into his system sounded heavenly right about now.

     “Beef sausage omelets it is then, young Peter. How many shall I make you?”

     “How many?”

     “Yes, how many?”

     Peter paused. He needed to say a normal number. No regular teenage boy would eat seven omelets in a day, even if he really wanted seven omelets. Alfred seemed to somehow understand his quiet dilemma, even if it was only slightly.

     “Whatever you don’t finish, I can pack away to be reheated.” He assured, glancing over his shoulder to Peter.

     The teen bit the inside of his cheek, and after a moment, nodded to him. “....uh, maybe seven? Or eight?”

     Alfred paused, obviously not prepared for the answer. He nodded after a moment of collecting himself, making some sort of mental decision. “As you wish, young Peter. It shouldn’t take too long.”

     Peter learned very quickly that Alfred’s cooking was a weapon. His control of flavor, texture, and quality truly made him an asset to the culinary community. All seven omelets were eaten within minutes of being served, and Peter found himself missing their delicious flavor, despite his semi-full stomach.

     Now that Peter had bathed and eaten, he felt very content with himself. He could almost forget about the conversation that had happened earlier between Alfred and Bruce over the phone. He said almost, because the unmistakable sound of the Manor’s front door being open sounded softly in the kitchen.

     Peter felt every muscle in his body tense up, and he crossed his arms uncomfortably in his chair. He was about to meet Bruce Wayne . The teen counted the footsteps until they paused in the threshold of the kitchen a few minutes later. Suddenly, Peter’s tingle spiked frantically, buzzing around the back of his neck and shoulders, making his spine itch. This man was dangerous.

     Alfred turned from the sink where he had been cleaning up and smiled gently at the man a few feet behind Peter. “Ah, welcome home Master Bruce. This is Peter.”

     A large man rounded the island and stood at the end, wearing a black suit pressed to perfection with a forest green tie tucked under the white collar. His hair was oily black, and only had a few stray grays on his hairline. His eyes were a deep blue, but they held a gentleness when they looked over peter.

     Just like Alfred, Bruce was seeing a homeless teen with bruises painting his face. At least now he was clean and clothed.

     “Peter, it’s nice to meet you.” Bruce smiled gently, extending a large hand. Peter shook it hesitantly, feeling suddenly small while sitting at the counter. He wanted to run and hide .

     “You too, Mr. Wayne.” Peter replied quietly. He immediately noticed the way that Bruce assessed Peter with a few once-overs. It was similar to Natasha, or Steve. They were always telling him something or another about knowing your opponent before they knew you.

     “Please, call me Bruce.” When Peter nodded, Bruce continued. “I hear you were knee-deep in my dumpsters when Alfred found you.” he joked, obviously trying to ease the tense teen.

     Peter noticed and forced himself to relax his shoulders, nodding a bit and letting his smile loosen up. “...yeah, I’m sorry about that. I just figured that diving in the richer neighborhoods was safer than the city.. Plus, y’know, a more valuable yield and all.”

     Bruce Wayne nodded, easing himself into a stool. “That makes a lot of sense, great observation, Peter.” he approved, much to Peter’s surprise. He hadn’t expected for this man to be critiquing his dumpster diving tactics. “What’s your last name, kid?”

     “...Parker.” No harm in telling Bruce that. The man wouldn’t find anything if he paid off the police to give him records.

     “Peter Parker, I like that. Where’s your family at, Peter?”

     The teen bit the inside of his cheek, glancing down at the counter when Bruce asked about his family. The air in the kitchen became tense, and for a moment, Peter felt his vision get a little blurry.

     “...not anywhere near here. My uh.. Uncle died a few years ago. I left my aunt to go on a foreign study with my mentor, and my mentor was…” he hesitated, trying to find the right word. “... is out of the country at the moment. I’m not sure where he went.”

     The perfect half-truth.

     Bruce seemed to mull over his answer, brows pinching together slightly. “...I see. Do you have any names we can potentially look up? Or a phone number?”

     Peter sighed through his nose. “...May Parker-Jameson is my aunt. My mentor is Tony Stark.” he knew that both of those would yield no search results. He had already tried and failed.

     “I appreciate your honesty, Peter.” Bruce smiled and reassured. “We’re gonna let you stay here for the time being, okay? We won’t call CPS.”

     Peter frowned. That thought never even crossed his mind- of course someone would try calling CPS on this homeless teen! But not Bruce, apparently.

     “Bruce Wayne has a tendency to take in homeless orphaned teens.”

     Very informative, Karen, Thank you so much. Peter thought sarcastically. He had figured that out after learning more about Bruce’s kids. Peter just… didn’t want to be another one of this man’s charity cases.

     “Thanks, Mr. Wayne.”

     Bruce and Alfred both shared a glance and a smile, and Bruce stood up. “I’m going to finish the rest of my workday from home, Alfred. Peter, if you need me, I’ll be in my study, okay? Though I’m sure that Alfred can help you with anything you may need.”

     “Okay.” Peter nodded, staying in his seat. He tracked the man as he crossed the room to the entry archway.

     “The rest of the kids will be home this afternoon after school. I’ll go ahead and let them know in advance of your unexpected stay, that sound okay to you?” Bruce asked, already pulling his phone out.

     “Sure.” the teen shrugged idly.

     “Thanks, Peter.” Bruce smiled.

Batchat

Bruce ; We’ve got a situation at the Manor, everyone be ready to meet a new face when you get home.

Duke ; oh god don’t tell me you adopted another one

Tim ; Is seven not enough, old man?

Bruce ; I’m serious, boys.

Dick ; What’s their name?? :D 

Bruce ; Peter Parker. I’m going to do some digging. I’d like to have everyone home this weekend so that we can all get a look at him.

Bruce ; That means Jason, too.

Dick Wayne added Jason Todd-Wayne to the Batchat.

Jason Todd-Wayne left the Batchat.

Bruce ; I’ll message him privately.

Dick ; :((( why is he so stubborn

Tim ; Because he’s your brother. B, what’s the situation?

Bruce ; Homeless teen from Queens. Alfred found him digging through the dumpster wearing destroyed clothes and a supersuit. He’s got signs of a Lazarus Pit being used.

Duke ; oh shit

Tim ; White hair, green eyes?

Bruce ; Yes.

Chapter Text

     Peter quickly realized that Bruce Wayne working from home meant that Peter would not be able to find that secret room underneath the Manor, and that thought made him frown. He would need to wait around, but he got the feeling that the billionaire wouldn’t mind that all too much if Peter stayed longer.

     When Alfred proposed showing Peter the room he’ll be staying in, he leapt at the opportunity of some alone time. He let the butler lead him on a semi-familiar route upstairs down two turns and through an archway.

     He was delighted to find out that he would be staying in the same room that he had showered in. This just meant that there would be no need for retrieving his suit since it was already in the room.

     “Are you sure this is a guest room? It’s so big!” Peter proclaimed, throwing his arms up and falling back against the sheets with a snicker.

     Alfred chuckled, standing in the door and folding his hands behind his back. “Yes, Peter, this is a guest room. It is the same size as every other bedroom in the Manor.”

     “ Really? ” he asked, lifting his head to stare with wide eyes. Apparently his expression was something amusing, because Alfred’s chuckling continued for another moment.

     “ Yes , Peter. Each bedroom is the same size. In fact, most of the rooms are about the same size.” Alfred confirmed, stepping into the room and glancing around. “I know it seems bland, but I’m sure that the longer you’re staying with us the more personality it will gain.”

     Peter nodded in agreement, following Alfred’s gaze. Part of him was curious to see the other occupied bedrooms in the Manor- how different were they? Did they have colorfully painted walls, or maybe posters that covered every surface? Did Bruce have the same colored curtains as Peter did?

     Peter frowned for a split second, shaking his head. This wasn’t his room. He was merely borrowing it for however long the Wayne’s decided to keep him around.

     “If you should need anything, young Peter, do not hesitate to come looking for me.” Alfred assured, nodding to the teen before stepping out of the room and gently shutting the door.

     Peter got off of the bed, stretching his arms upwards and smiling when he felt his side getting better. He was sure that by the end of the night the raised pink scars would only be a memory.

     “You’re in a good mood.”

     “Pff, yes Karen, thank you for stating the obvious.” the teen rolled his eyes, smiling a little bit. He approached the window, tugging it open and sticking his head out in the cold Jersey air. It was only early April, pretty soon things would get warmer. For now he would let the cool, natural breeze condition his room.

     “So, what’s the plan now?”

     “Are you asking me what you should do next?”

     “Obviously.” Peter snorted.

     “It seems as if you’ve found a reliable source of food, shelter, water, and financial support. I suggest keeping the Wayne family close, they could be beneficial allies in the long-run.”

     Peter frowned, stepping away from the window and slowly pacing the room to keep his feet moving. That wasn’t the answer that he wanted. He had almost hoped that Karen would tell him to leave.

     But she wanted for him to trust this family, clearly. Karen had never led him astray before, and in every case, her guidance had directed him toward success.

     As he paced, he carefully walked up the wall, making sure to keep his footsteps quiet so as to not alert anyone. He doubted that Alfred or Bruce would hear considering the size of the house. In no time, he was walking loops in the room, going from wall to ceiling to wall to floor in a repetitive cycle.

     “...Do you think there’s any chance of me going home anytime soon?” Peter asked, and despite the hope in his voice, he already knew the answer. “Do a study on this universe’s technology.”

     “I’ve already done one. Would you like to hear what I found?”

     “Please.”

     Peter ended up sitting criss-cross on the ceiling of his room, hands comfortably held underneath his thighs. Sure, the blood rushed to his head, but he could handle it. Altered gravity was something that his spider quirks helped him deal with.

     What Karen had told him was not pleasing. Judging by the technology available in the universe, the odds of him creating his own way home weren’t likely. He would need help from the universe’s heroes.

     The only plan that he could think of to gain the trust of said heroes was to take up the role of Spider-man once more.

     But Peter didn’t feel ready. The thought of donning the suit and swinging through a city made him uncomfortable and nauseous. The last time he was Spider-man, he died in the arms of his mentor.

     Not only that, but he did not feel worthy. Peter had let his people down. If what had happened to him happened to half of the Earth, then the odds of Queens surviving were slim. He had failed to protect them, so who's to say he wouldn’t fail here, too?

     “With great power comes great responsibility.” The advice played in his mind like a mantra between his thoughts. Ben’s voice felt so distant, like it had been left in the other universe.

     Ben would want for him to continue to help people. May would, too. She would be so proud if she saw what good he could accomplish here in Gotham. The crime rates were harsher than he was used to, but his skill set was needed.

     Batman, the Robins, Red Hood, and Nightwing, along with the rest of Gotham’s vigilantes, seemed to be intently focused on the big things. Taking down reputable criminals, busting worldwide drug rings from the harbor, and putting the most dastardly villains into Arkham over and over again.

     Who was looking out for the little guy? There were no friendly neighborhood heroes here. The closest thing seemed to be Nightwing, but he wasn’t even based in Gotham. He only visited on occasion, maybe a few times a month if the city was lucky.

     Peter noticed in his research on the city that Crime Alley was left mostly untouched by Gotham’s bats. The one exception to this was Red Hood, but even he couldn’t be everywhere at once in the cesspool of crime.

     “I need more tech to fix up my suit, got any ideas?”

     “I suggest reaching out to this universe’s current heroes. Specifically, Batman has a large arsenal at his disposal. He is likely being funded by someone who is financially well. If you found yourself in a similar position as himself, then fixing the Iron Spider should come much easier.”

     “Perfect, I just gotta get a sugar daddy.” he rolled his eyes sarcastically, allowing himself to drop from the ceiling. He landed in a handstand with bent elbows, and quickly turned onto his feet.

     “Put it however you want, Peter.”

     He shivered, huffing. “Eugh, thanks for that visual, Karen.” Peter frowned. While the conversation had been extremely useful, it hadn’t provided the answers that he was wanting. Maybe he should be more open minded.

     “Can you tell me where Mr. Pennyworth and Mr. Wayne are?” he asked, approaching his door and opening it carefully to avoid making the old wood creak.

     “Alfred Pennyworth is located in the fourth floor library. Currently he appears to be organizing a shelf of books. Bruce Wayne is located in his first floor study.”

     “Cool. Think I can do some exploring then?”

     “By all means. I’ll guide you to any place of interest.”

     Peter smiled, stepping out of the room. Just as carefully as he had opened the door he closed it, looking around the hall. Karen provided directions, and for the next hour or two, Peter familiarized himself with the second and third floors of Wayne Manor.

     The second floor consisted mostly of bedrooms both occupied and empty. Alfred was right: they were all the exact same size. Some had attached bathrooms, some did not, but they were all similarly stocked with generic hygiene products.

     The first bedroom of interest that Peter came across was at the very end of a long hallway. The stickers on the wood were peeling and turning white from sunlight shining through a large window. Peter smiled as he recognized one being the Batman logo. Cute.

     When he stepped inside he was greeted by more dust than he had been expecting. There was a bed with deep red blankets and deflated white pillows that were coated in a thick layer of aged dust. Posters adorned the walls, and an equally dusty red rug sat underneath Peter’s feet.

     For Bruce to have so many kids, he hadn’t expected to find a practically abandoned bedroom. It felt like a time capsule with a sense of nostalgia hanging in the air.

     Peter kept his snooping to a minimum. He felt like he had stumbled across a sacred place. Disturbing the serene room just felt… wrong .

     Leaving the room and shutting the door quietly behind himself felt like a breath of fresh air.

     The next bedrooms were also decorated, but were much more lived in. One had deep blue sheets wrinkled in a pile at the end of the bed, like someone had gotten up in a rush. It had many acrobatic posters, but much more framed photos than the former.

     Another bedroom was extremely purple. From the walls to the bathroom tiles, Peter could obviously tell what the inhabitant’s favorite color was.

     The rest of the occupied bedrooms were locked much to his dismay. Thankfully, Karen assured him that there was nothing of interest inside any of them. One of them did have lots of weapons though, which was a disturbing thought. Why did Bruce’s kid need that many swords ? Why did they need any swords at all?

     Peter must have lost track of time in his exploration, because by the time he was halfway snooping through a third floor ballroom, he could faintly hear the sound of the front door opening all the way down the stairs.

     As he hesitantly approached the steps to start his descent, a warning went off on the back of his neck. Peter tingle, he thought to confirm his feelings.

     “Three males and one female have just entered the Manor using the front door. One moment.”

     Peter kept his mouth a thin line, stepping down at a leisurely pace to give Karen time to respond before he would face these strangers. Purely based on the time, he made an educated guess at who they all were.

     “Duke Thomas-Wayne, Timothy Drake-Wayne, Cassandra Cain, and Damian Wayne have all returned from school. Alfred Pennyworth is greeting them at the door. Bruce Wayne is preparing to leave his study.”

     “Thanks, Karen.” he whispered softly, returning to a normal pace.

     Meeting four out of seven Wayne children was not something that he felt prepared for. They were all the kids of a billionaire, and they lived lives of luxury. They never had to want or need anything.

     The closer Peter got, the better that he could hear the carrying conversations in the echoing house.

     “Bruce mentioned having a guest?” A deep yet bright male voice asked. Alfred had responded with some sort of confirmation. “Is he wandering around here somewhere?”

     “I’d hope not. I expected for both you and father to keep a better eye on this stranger.” A young voice- Peter guessed Damian- said, sounding rather displeased. “He should not be left to roam freely without the proper supervision. We do not know who he is, or where he came from.”

     “Master Damian, I ask for your patience regarding this one.” Alfred responded with kindness and patience to the rather prickly child. By this point, Peter was starting his final descent to the main entryway. “I’m sure your father informed you of the full situation?”

     “He told us minute details.” Peter could hear Damian’s frustrated frown. “I’d like to speak to this Peter .”

     “Now now..” Alfred eased, followed by silence. A moment later he spoke again. “Lady Cassandra is correct, Master Damian. Young Peter’s situation is fragile at best. We must remain patient and willing to move at his pace.”

     Peter faltered momentarily. How had he not heard Cassandra speak? Clearly Alfred had responded to her. Was his hearing actually messed up? Maybe wearing Karen in his ear was disrupting something.

     “You should have seen him when I found him this morning rummaging through the bins.” Alfred frowned with concern. “Poor boy could barely speak. I’m shocked that he agreed to even come inside.”

     “I wish he hadn’t.” Damian grumbled.

     “Damian Wayne is heading toward the kitchen.”

     Peter let out a quiet sigh of relief through his nose. Purely based on that conversation that he wasn’t supposed to hear, he could tell that the youngest Wayne didn’t want him around. The older boy- either Tim or Duke- seemed curious and excited.

     He couldn’t get a read on Cassandra considering that he hadn’t actually heard the girl talk. He was still confused about that. At least he would (hopefully) be getting answers within the next few minutes.

     Peter stepped out onto the landing of the central grand staircase and hesitated, getting a good look at the three teens in the foyer.

     The first one that he noticed was Cassandra Cain. Her skin was nearly paper white, and her narrow face was framed by layered black hair that dipped just below her chin. She had on black uniform pants and a monochrome Batman hoodie, along with a pair of surprisingly beat-up yellow converse. He had to assume that beneath that hoodie was a school uniform.

     The second was a darker skinned male with a defined jaw and black hair in a burst fade. His school uniform was gray pressed pants and a navy blue sweater overtop a white button down with a blue and yellow striped tie. His clothes were the straightest of all three teens. His shoes, a pair of white forces, were also the cleanest of the three.

     The final boy had fair skin and intense eye bags. His hair was choppy and black, and fell slightly in front of his eyes. He had on the exact same uniform as his brother (?) except much more wrinkled. The teen had on black converse that were somewhere between Cassandra’s and the other boy’s when it came to cleanliness. He was holding a thermos.

     Alfred seemed to notice Peter as soon as he stepped into view, because he turned and faced him with a gentle smile. “Ah, young Peter. Your timing is excellent. Would you like to come and meet three of Master Bruce’s children?”

     When the other heads turned and all attention was on him, he remembered that he was in borrowed clothes in an unfamiliar home with his face littered in (slowly healing) bruises. He felt small , and almost embarrassed at the circumstance.

     Preparing for judgment from who he assumed were rich stereotypes, he nodded and descended the grand staircase to stand with them all in the foyer.

     “Young Peter, this is Master Tim, Master Duke, and Lady Cassandra.” Alfred introduced the three, and Peter committed their names and faces to memory.

     “It’s nice to meet you three.” Peter said, smiling at them with a sense of hesitance. He was already bracing.

     Tim- the boy holding the thermos- stepped forward with a relaxed smile. “It’s nice to meet you too, Peter.” Peter didn’t miss the way that Tim glanced up to his hair, locking onto the white streak for half a second. “Do you know how long you’re staying?”

     “I’m not sure, I guess however long it is until you guys kick me out.” he chuckled a bit awkwardly, shoving his hands deep into the jean pockets. The clothes offered him no comfort.

     Tim snorted and rolled his eyes, shoulders easing up. “Yeah, right. Bruce doesn’t kick people out. You’ll be fine here.”

     Suddenly Cassandra lifted her hands and started making enthusiastic motions, and Peter looked over with surprise. She was speaking sign language! No wonder he hadn’t heard her.

     Unfortunately, Peter did not speak sign.

     Tim seemed to sense the dilemma immediately, and was quick to translate. “She said that she’s happy to have another person around.”

     Cassandra smiled and gave Peter a thumbs up. He returned the favor with a small smile of his own.

     Duke was the next to step forward and grab Peter’s attention. “Peter, right? Where are you from?”

     Figuring they must have clocked his non New Jersey accent he shrugged. “Queens. Guess I ended up on the wrong side of the river at some point.” his smile turned sheepish at the half truth.

     The other teen seemed satisfied with that answer, and his tone turned playful. “Ew, New York? Go home.” he teased.

     “Is everyone else coming home tonight?” Tim asked Alfred, and Peter pretended to not be listening while Duke and himself engaged in playful banter.

     “Master Dick and Lady Stephanie should be arriving just before dinner. Master Jason has not confirmed whether or not he shall be home this week.”

     Peter almost faltered at that. Wasn’t Jason dead? I read an article about him. Peter thought.

     “What grade are you in?” Duke asked. Meanwhile, Cassandra disappeared down the same hallway that Damian had, likely headed to the kitchen as well.

     “I was in eleventh before I crossed over.” The teen said casually, and when Duke moved to follow Cassandra, he did the same.

     Alfred and Tim’s voices both became hushed the moment that the trio stepped out of the foyer, and Peter got an uncomfortable feeling that they were talking about him. Did they not believe his story? He would need to work harder.

     “Hey, are you deaf?” Duke asked, looking at the false hearing aid tucked neatly behind Peter’s ear.

     The teen smiled, feigning embarrassment with a nod. “Partly. My mentor had this made for me when he found out.”

     “He sounds nice.” Duke smiled. “Who was your mentor? Was it a similar situation to me and Bruce?”

     Peter made a so-so motion with his head. “Sorta? I lived with my Aunt at the time, so it’s not like I was taken in from the streets. I had an internship at his company for a while, and we grew pretty close. He sorta funded my schooling and my life for a little bit.”

     Thinking about Tony both hurt Peter’s heart and made it swell with adoration. He really did look up to the man despite all of his misdoings. He had done so much for Peter, and was probably part of the reason that Peter was still alive after the battle on Titan.

     The Iron Spider suit, despite sustaining damage, kept him protected in Gotham’s contaminated waters. Karen had been essential to Peter blending in here.

     Without Tony’s gifts, Peter was sure that he wouldn’t be standing in Wayne Manor.

     “His name’s Tony Stark.” Peter finally answered Duke after returning from his thoughts. “I guess he’s similar to Mr. Wayne? I haven’t interacted with him enough to really tell.”

     Cassandra turned around to walk backwards and started signing again. Peter glanced unsurely to Duke.

     “She says she’s never heard of anyone named Tony Stark.” Duke explained. “I haven’t, either. Is he based in New York?”

     “Partly. I guess you could say he’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time.” Peter worded it as a joke, but it was the only answer he was going to give the two.

     If he could help it, no one here would figure out where he was really from. That felt like too much drama to put on these people.

     His expectations about them had been wrong, and he mentally scolded himself for feeling so biased. Bruce had been helpful and so had Alfred. They didn’t feel like rich stereotypes.

     The trio entered the kitchen to find Damian sitting in the breakfast nook. He had a fancy black pen in his left hand, and papers were spread neatly across the surface. He barely cast them a glance when they came in, but Peter noticed a certain shift in his posture.

     The kid became tenser- more reserved. He was preparing for a fight. Did he think Peter was going to attack him?

     Okay, maybe his expectations hadn’t been entirely wrong. So far, Damian was falling right into the rich kid stereotype.

     “Damian, this is Peter.” Duke said happily while Cassandra started grabbing fruit out of a bowl near the window.

     “I am aware.” Damian replied, not looking at Peter. His frown was deep. “If you plan to have a lively conversation, you should move to a different room. I’m doing homework, and I was here first.”

     Duke snickered, rolling his eyes. “Sure, sure. We won’t be long. You thirsty, Peter?” He asked, pulling a few water bottles out of the fridge.

     “I guess.” he shrugged, staying near the doorway. Damian was obviously getting defensive, maybe even territorial. Entering any further felt like crossing no man’s land.

     “Cool, I’ll grab you some water, then. Ever played Mario Kart?”

     “How are you so good at this???” Duke groaned, falling back against the couch cushions in exasperation as Waluigi crossed into first place once more.

     Peter laughed in victory, setting his controller down in his lap. Currently he was criss-cross on a soft gray rug situated in front of a long green couch in one of the many media rooms that the Manor had. Both Duke and Cassandra sat behind him on the couch with controllers of their own.

     “Dude, gaming is in my blood . I’ve got a friend who taught me all of the shortcuts for the maps.” Peter said smugly, looking up at Duke. “I got better than him and now he won’t play with me.”

     “I can see why.” Duke huffed, glaring at the screen. “I’m usually so good at this, too.”

     Cassandra signed.

     “Yeah, well Dick isn’t home yet. Whenever he’s gone, I’m the best!”

     Peter smiled, glancing between the two as a one-sided banter started up. Cassandra signed at the speed of light and Duke replied in earnest with playfully frustrated words.

     He felt himself having fun. Duke, Cassandra, and Tim had all seemed to welcome him pretty instantly. Peter guessed they got it from their father, considering Bruce was practically the same way when he first met Peter earlier in the day.

     “Alfred Pennyworth will enter the room in approximately one minute.”

     Peter’s smile relaxed. Karen had adjusted her alert settings after earlier. Obviously he didn’t respond to the robotic assistant in his ear, but he did appreciate the warning.

     Just like she had said, Alfred stepped into the room with Tim trailing close behind, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.

     Mildly surprised at the caffeinated drink, Peter hid it by smiling over at the two. “Hi, Mr. Pennyworth.”

     “Please, young Peter. Just call me Alfred.” the man sighed with a light chuckle, not actually upset.

     “I will when you drop the young from my name. I’m sixteen , not a baby.” Peter snickered from his spot on the rug.

     Tim snorted at the interaction, rolling his eyes and shaking his head teasingly. “This battle won’t ever end, y’know. You’re both gonna end up in a stalemate.”

     “Then a stalemate it shall be, Master Tim.” Alfred hummed in amusement, winking slyly. Peter snickered under his breath.

     “Got room for a fourth? We can play until Dick and Steph get here?” Tim suggested, rounding the couch and falling between Duke and Cassandra.

     Cassandra nodded in confirmation with a smile, and Duke sighed dramatically. “I suppose. Only if we team up against Peter, he’s too good at this.”

     “Wh- hey! Don’t team up against me! It’s not my fault that I’m better than you.” Peter complained, turning his attention toward the screen once more.

     The four teens picked their characters (Peter was Waluigi, Duke was Princess Daisy, Tim was Rosalina, and Cassandra was Tanooki Mario) and started another grand prix.

     Alfred stepped out after a few moments of fondly observing the game, listening to their competitive banter and light insults on how terrible of a driver Tim was.

     The four got lost in the game, focusing on winding tracks, floating boxes of loot, and taking as many opportunities as possible to bump Peter off of the map.

     Even with their combined assault on his character, he still managed to beat them for most of the games. At some point, Cassandra had gotten ahead and won, which had the girl rather excited. Peter couldn’t find it in himself to feel butt hurt at that.

     The one thing that Peter made sure was that Duke never got ahead of him. Teaming be damned, Peter would not let himself get beat by the self-proclaimed champion of the house.

     “Wow, playing Mario Kart without me?” An unfamiliar voice asked from the threshold of the room, and Peter almost threw his controller in surprise. He was quick to whip his head around, staring with wide eyes at the new presence.

     “Sorry for not saying anything, you were focused and I didn’t want to interrupt you.” 

     Karen apologized, but it fell on deaf ears.

     “Richard Grayson-Wayne has arrived.”

     Richard- or Dick as his siblings had been calling him- was a tall and muscular man with tan skin and jet black hair that fell in a mullet just past his collarbones. He had on a navy blue button-down with black pressed pants. A utility belt with multiple pouches, a pair of handcuffs, and a holstered pistol sat on his hips. Peter didn’t notice his shoes, and was more hung up on the fact that Dick was a police officer.

     “Hey, Peter. I’m Dick.” he greeted smoothly with a smile, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the frame of the archway. “B told me you were here earlier, so I figured I’d come by for dinner to meet you.”

     Peter swallowed nervously, a sharp tingle running up his spine and neck. Police officers didn’t have the best record in his books.

     “That’s cool. It’s nice to meet you, Dick.” He forced himself to speak, smiling hesitantly. “....Duke says you’re better at Mario Kart than him.”

     “Oh, I am.”

     “You’re cheating.” Dick blanched as Waluigi crossed the finish line once more. “You have to be cheating.”

     “Nope. It’s just math and shortcuts.” Peter snickered, looking over at Dick who had sat next to him on the rug. “You should brush up on your geometry.” he teased.

     “You were working out projectile equations while playing?” Tim asked, sounding skeptical.

     “Yeah, that’s how you can calculate turns, drifts, and bumping.” he replied, looking at Tim with a shrug. “It’s technically also trigonometry, and some physics tossed in there but you get the gist.”

     “Are you some kind of genius?” Tim snorted. “How can you calculate stuff that fast?”

     Peter was not ready to admit to them that web slinging took lots of hasty calculations. He was also not ready for them to find out about the supercomputer in his ear.

     “I’m just good at math.” he shrugged once more. “I could try teaching you if you want, but it’s really just based on how quickly you can memorize and calculate the basics.”

     “Can we stop talking about math?” Duke whined, and Cassandra nodded in agreement with a fake disgusted wince. “This is hurting my brain, and my ego is already hurt enough.”

     Peter, Dick, and Tim all laughed a bit at his dismay, but laid off of the mathematics for the remainder of the play time.

     They didn’t have long left though, because in no time, all of the Wayne kids got a notification and checked their phones. Peter assumed that it was a family group chat, and felt a harsh beat in his chest.

     Getting a phone should be something he does. Part of him wondered if they were just as expensive here as they were back home.

     “Dinner’s ready. Steph’s helping Alfie set the table.” Dick said upon realizing that Peter hadn’t gotten the same memo as them.

     Peter ‘oh’d’ in understanding and stood up, following the group of siblings out of the media room and to the kitchen.

     The first thing that they did in the space was wash their hands, each for a few seconds. Peter was admittedly a bit unfamiliar with the routine- but as to not seem like a poor guest, he followed where they led and was the last to scrub up. He didn’t like the way that his hands felt so dry afterwards.

     They didn’t linger much longer in the kitchen, only staying for everyone to grab a drink. While Tim grabbed more coffee from a pot, and Dick poured himself a glass of juice, Peter settled quietly for water.

     He already felt selfish taking up space in their home, clothes, and lives. The least he could do was not take their drinks.

     Duke led the group across the hall and into a large dining room that Peter hadn’t seen yet. The table was a long piece of dark wood that was polished to perfection. Rows of chairs lined each side, with one on either end of the table as well in the same color of wood. Each seat had a gray cushion centered on the wood.

     Bruce Wayne had already taken his spot at the head of the table. Dick found himself at his father’s left, with Damian sitting across from him on Bruce’s right. Next to Dick, Tim settled in, and next to him, a girl with long blonde hair pinned back into a messy bun was scrolling through her phone. Beside Damian, Cassandra sat quietly with Duke on her other side.

     Peter suddenly felt very out of place. This was very much a family dinner, and he wasn’t sure he should even be there in the first place.

     “Peter, you can have a seat wherever.” Bruce said with a smile. Still feeling unsure, Peter walked to the right of the table and sat next to Duke, pulling the chair close so that he could rest his arms on the table.

     “Stephanie, have you met Peter yet?” Bruce asked, pulling the girl from her phone. She glanced up, pausing when she spotted the new teen.

     Peter offered a small wave and smile. She set her phone down after a second and smiled back.

     “No, I haven’t. It’s nice to meet you Peter.” Her voice was sweet, and purely based on her purple sweater and nail polish, he had an educated guess on which bedroom was her’s.

     “Nice to meet you too, Stephanie.”

     “Quit being formal, Pete.” Tim rolled his eyes playfully. “We aren’t gonna banish you for being casual.”

     Peter just nodded, glancing down at the table. Bruce sighed from his seat, looking at the kids carefully while Alfred brought out different platters of food.

     Peter shouldn’t have been surprised at the quality or amount of food that Alfred had prepared. The omelets earlier had been heavenly, and he was positive that the steaks being brought out would be just as great if not better.

     Once everyone was served, no one hesitated to dig in. Peter ate slowly, watching the table with calculating eyes. They were all relaxed, paying him no wary glances or sideways looks. They were treating him like his presence was normal.

     He felt normal, and he had been here for less than a day.

     “Your heart rate is increasing, Peter. I suggest breathing deeply to mitigate this.”

     He wanted to tell Karen off, but he bit the inside of his cheek. Talking to himself would just weird the family out.

     “You’re feeling unsure because you do not want to intrude on the family. That train of thought is irrational, Peter. They have invited you into their home with open arms.”

     Peter wanted to shout at her, but he did not.

     “Please take a few deep breaths. I’d like for you to try understanding that they are going to help you.”

     Shut up, he thought bitterly. He felt something stinging at his eyes, but he refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he just blinked hard to make the wetness go away.

     “The Wayne family is good, Peter.”

     Stop talking, he mentally pleaded. If only Karen was a mind reader.

     “Pete? You okay?” Tim asked, voice breaking Peter out of his mental dilemma. He looked up from his half eaten plate, only to find eight sets of eyes looking at him with either concern or suspicion.

     Peter swallowed harshly. “..yeah, just overwhelmed.” he replied, for once feeling as honest as he could get with this family. “..this is a lot.”

     Something around the table softened. Cassandra and Dick both shared a glance. Bruce found a deep frown forming on his face, eyes shining with gentle guilt.

     “If you need to step out, then you can, Peter.” The head of the household said in a soft voice. “I can have Alfred take you to get some fresh air?” he offered.

     “No, no I’m okay.” Peter rushed to say, having to swallow down a tightness in his throat. “I’ll be alright. I’m just not..” he struggled to find the right words.

     “..you’re not used to dinners like this.” Tim finished for him, a sense of understanding in his voice. “...c’mon, let’s get some air. I need to stretch my legs anyways.” Tim stood up with a smile, motioning for Peter to follow.

     The teen frowned, but did as instructed and stood up, leaving the dining room with a glance back towards the rest of the family.

     Tim and Peter walked together to the nearest outside door and walked out onto a veined stone porch. The setting sun gave the entire yard a warm vermillion glow, and a gentle breeze pushed Peter’s hair back.

     He quietly admitted in his mind that stepping out was a good idea. He needed this, and was just glad that this family was more insistent than he was stubborn.

     Tim stepped forward and leaned on the railing of the porch, sighing in relief and looking out at the horizon of Gotham. Peter quietly joined him, leaning a few feet away.

     “.....I understand where you’re coming from, Peter.” Tim said softly after a long few minutes of silence.

     Peter didn’t reply, but tilted his head toward Tim to show that he was listening. Tim took this as a chance to continue speaking.

     “Before Bruce adopted me I lived at home in my parent’s house. They weren’t home a lot, and even when they were, eating dinner as a family didn’t… didn’t really happen .” Tim frowned softly, eyes glancing down to the grass.

     “When I first came to the Manor, I got so freaked out about eating with the family that I started sitting alone in the breakfast nook for a while.” Tim recalled, looking over at Peter as he spoke. “...look, what I’m trying to say is that it’s not… it’s not bad that you’re feeling this way. It’s normal for kids like us.”

     We are not the same, Peter thought with a pang of hurt in his heart. I’ve fought aliens, you get to go to school and not worry about your identity getting exposed.

     “But I can promise you that we won’t do anything to upset you. We’re going at your pace, man.”

     Peter bit the inside of his cheek, gathering his thoughts before speaking in a timid tone.

     “....Mr. Wayne said something about letting me stay, but he never mentioned for how long. I don’t want to get in your way.” he admitted softly, shoulders dropping just a bit.

     Tim sighed softly through his nose. “I promise you aren’t in the way. We had fun today, right?”

     “Yeah?”

     “We had fun because we liked having you around. We still do, you’re fun. Plus you seem like you could use the help.” Tim smiled. “We’re more than capable of figuring out how to help you in the way that you need, okay?”

     Peter knew that wasn’t true. He needed help getting home, and despite this family’s money and emotional honesty, he doubted that any of them could assist in cross-dimensional travel.

     But Peter smiled anyway and nodded. Getting home felt farther and farther away, but Tim was partially right. This family was enjoying having him around, and he enjoyed staying with them so far.

     He felt something in his chest akin to that of belonging. He had barely been here a day and he already felt wanted .

     When was the last time he truly felt that? Probably dying in the arms of Tony. The man had wanted Peter to stay alive, but knew that it just couldn’t happen. He held Peter until he became nothing but ash on his clothes.

     And yet here he was. Peter had been blessed with another chance at life in a world where his skills could once again be put to good use. He could help people here, just like he had at home.

     If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it. Peter remembered Tony’s words as vividly as he remembered Uncle Ben’s.

     Tony had always been right about that. Peter didn’t need the fancy suit and tech to be Spider-man. All he needed was a way to help people. It shouldn’t take much more research or planning to figure out how he can swing back into action.

     Peter smiled a bit, looking over to Tim. “...thanks, Tim.”

     Tim smiled in relief at Peter’s acceptance, bobbing his head in a dramatic nod. “ Finally , you’re so indecisive it’s painful. ” he teased, earning a scoff from Peter. “...c’mon, wanna head back inside?”

     “Yeah, I’m still hungry.”

Chapter Text

     Peter Parker knew that the Wayne’s were hospitable, but he hadn’t expected the sheer intensity of it. Ever since going back to dinner after getting fresh air with Tim, they had been extra careful and nice with him.

     Dick had taken his dish to the kitchen after he finished devouring the food Alfred had prepared, even though Peter had assured them that he was fine and could do it himself.

     Stephanie, Cassandra, and Tim all hung out with him after they were all done eating. The four went to the same media room as earlier and continued playing Mario Kart. Peter had a sneaking suspicion that they had stopped trying to beat him. Whether it was out of giving up or pity he couldn’t tell.

     Duke and Alfred entered around eleven, with the Butler whisking everyone away to prepare for bed. While Tim and Cassandra shut their own doors quietly on the bedroom hallway, Duke stopped Peter before he could get his alone time.

     “Can we talk for a sec?” Duke requested with a quiet voice and a small smile. Peter hesitated, his door halfway closed already with Duke standing on the other side. With a slight nod, he let the older teen in.

     “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay after everything that happened earlier.”

     Peter frowned. As friendly as these people were, it was starting to get irritating. “I’m good, Duke.” he replied honestly, sitting down on the bed while the other teen stayed hovering near the door. “You guys don’t gotta worry.”

     “Tell that to Bruce.” Duke rolled his eyes, and his little joke had made them both smile a bit. “..but yeah. Just know if you need something you can come to any of us.”

     “ Any of you?”

     “Well, maybe not Damian- ”

     The two fell into a quiet symphony of giggles behind their hands, sharing a fond smile with each other.

     “Right right.. Just remember that I’m not some baby.” Peter teased. “I’m not made of glass, either.”

     “We know, we know.” Duke raised his hands defensively with an eye roll. “I’ll lay off. But seriously: we’re all just a few doors away if you need anything.”

     “I’ll keep that in mind.” Peter assured. He noticed Duke visibly relax, and he took that as a sign that Duke would actually listen. “I guess you have school tomorrow?”

     “Yeah, but Alfred and Dick will be here. I don’t doubt Bruce will try to work from home, too.”

     Peter sighed quietly through his nose but nodded. The longer Bruce stayed home, the longer it would be until he could investigate whatever was underneath the Manor.

     “Get some sleep, Peter. Alfred will come get you for breakfast.” Duke’s smile shined through his words, and he closed the door with a quiet click on his way out.

     Finally alone, Peter allowed himself to fall back against the bed. The soft cushions, pillows, and blankets greeted him like a familiar hug. He wanted to lay down forever on this mattress of magnificence.

     “You’ve had a busy day, Peter.”

     “No shit..” he mumbled, eyes falling shut. One by one, he felt his muscles unwind into the plush comfort below his body. “...got any updates for me?”

     “Bruce Wayne, Timothy Drake-Wayne, Damian Wayne, and Stephanie Brown have all descended the hidden staircase in the first floor study.”

     Immediately his eyes shot open in surprise. “The room with the signal blockers?”

     “Correct. The rest of the household is settling in as expected.”

     The teen frowned softly. Whatever that room was must have been a massive secret. Did the entire family know about it? Maybe it was only certain members.

     Slowly, Peter sat up. As much as he wanted to continue relishing in the comforts of the bed, his curiosity was itching at his neck. With soft feet he slipped off of the bed and crossed the bedroom, exiting silently into the hallway.

     With Karen’s guidance, a barefoot Peter Parker navigated through the Manor’s halls and staircases like a stalking predator. His footsteps were calculated and precise, and thanks to the supercomputer talking in his ear, he was able to avoid any and all creaky floorboards and stair steps.

     Getting downstairs was the easy part. Gaining access to the underground room would be the real challenge here.

     When Peter entered the first floor study, it was much more normal than he had been expecting. The large wooden desk and tall shelves framed the room with a blanket of dark colors and organized knick knacks.

     An entire shelf had been dedicated to framed photos. Upon closer inspection, Peter easily recognized the various members of the family at various different ages. Despite not actually being related, young Dick and young Jason looked extremely similar. It was hard to tell them apart aside from their different builds. The lack of baby photos of anyone made Peter’s chest lurch uncomfortably. All of these kids came from some sort of bad place that required them to be adopted by a billionaire.

     Peter left the family photos alone in favor of inspecting the back wall. Two bookshelves, identical in build and messiness, stood on either side of an exquisite grandfather clock.

     “Staircase is located behind the clock.”

     “Yeah, I figured that one out…” Peter mumbled, glancing between the clock and the bookshelves. He was assuming that this was some sort of Scooby-Doo style hidden door that was activated by moving a book. “..but which one…” he wondered out loud, scanning the spines and titles.

     Pulling on Bruce’s row of mystery novels did nothing (though he was delighted to discover that Sherlock Holmes existed here, too). The encyclopedias, thesauruses, and atlases were too dusty to have been pulled recently, so he didn’t even bother trying. The various legal dictionaries were of mild interest, but their lack of organization told Peter that they were all read too often to be connected to a lever.

     Despite all of his deductions, Peter resorted to tugging on each book individually. The tedious task took longer than he would have liked to admit, and resulted in failure.

     With a somewhat frustrated frown, Peter wiped his now dusty hand off on the purple sweater and moved back to the clock. He tried feeling along the sides for some sort of button or lever, but found nothing on the old polished wood. It was flush against the back wall, as well, meaning that this staircase was hidden well for a reason.

     In a bout of frustration, Peter pulled away from the antique and kicked at the ground like a stubborn child. It was juvenile, but a good way to quietly let out his feelings during this escapade. Despite the immaturity of the movement, though, it made Peter look down at the floor, where very faint scratch marks had formed in the wood.

     They were curved into an arch that started at the base of the clock and ended somewhere else on the floor. The path of motion was obvious, and after a few quick calculations in his mind, he was able to visualize the full angle of motion as well.

     “...you said that Tim, Mr. Wayne, Damian, and Stephanie went down?” Peter asked, hearing a light tone of confirmation in his ear. “I know you can’t see down there, but what about thermals?”

     There was a brief moment of silence.

     “The four heat signatures are still down there.”

     Peter huffed through his nose. If they were gonna stay down there all night, then there was no possibility he could even look around if he found a way down.

     The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end in time with a faint buzzing up his spine. Momentarily, Peter held his breath, whispering. “Keep me updated on if they move.”

     A second later, the door to the study was pushed open. The figure in the doorway was one of the largest in the house, and the teen was quick to recognize Dick’s surprised eyes looking at him.

     “...Pete, you okay?” Dick asked carefully, keeping his eyes on the boy with a mild flicker of concern. “It’s late, what are you doing down here?”

     “I just thought I heard something, and I got curious.” he replied readily, glancing away from the man with semi-fake embarrassment. It was shitty getting caught.

     Dick’s mouth pressed into a worried frown, and he sighed. “...C’mon, let’s go back up to your room.”

     Peter didn’t argue as the man led him out of the study and back up the stairs, down the long winding hallways and through archways until they stood in front of the room Peter was staying in.

     Your room, he thought. That’s what Dick had called it. Surely it had just been a slip of the tongue, though.

     “Do you need anything? Water, or maybe a snack?” Dick asked, leaning on the doorway while Peter fell back onto his bed, wrinkling the blankets.

     “No, I’m okay.” he responded with a hum. “Thanks, though.” After a pause and slight contemplation, Peter sat up enough to look at dick, propped up on his elbows. “...what were you doing down there?”

     A little detective work never hurt anyone.

     Dick visibly froze, and like a deer in headlights, he was reeling for some sort of answer. The behavior only made Peter all the more curious.

     “I was getting myself some water and heard some shuffling in the study. Thought I would check it out. I thought maybe one of Damian’s animals got stuck in there again.”

     The answer was less interesting than Peter had expected, but part of it did grasp his attention. “Damian has pets?” he raised his brows in light surprise.’

     Dick smiled. “Oh yeah, he’s got loads. There’s a barn out back for his cow, there’s a cat running around somewhere, two dogs…”

     “Geeze, I didn’t take him for the type.” Peter joked, rolling his eyes and shuffling underneath the blankets.

     “None of us did, but it’s his soft spot.” The man in the doorway smiled, standing to leave. He grabbed the doorknob, closing the door as he said his goodnight.

     When the door clicked shut, and Peter heard Dick walk away, he let out a big breath he had been holding, tension melting from his shoulders.

     “...that was too close, Karen.”

     “My apologies, I hadn’t noticed him approaching.”

     Peter hesitated. “...you didn’t notice him?”

     “No.”

     He frowned, staring up at his ceiling as his brows slowly pinched together. This family just kept getting weirder and weirder.

     “You guys really need to be more careful about coming down here.” The voice of Dick made Damian, Bruce, and Steph turn their heads towards the stairwell leading up to the Manor. The man in question was frowning, hands shoved deep in his pajama pockets as he approached the group standing at the Batcomputer. “I found Pete in the study on my way down here. He said he heard something and wanted to investigate.”

     Tim, still in his own pajamas (which were Superman themed), turned in the desk chair to give Dick a confused look. “His room is on the opposite end of the house, let alone an entirely different floor. How did he hear something?”

     “I dunno, but that’s not the point I’m getting to.” Dick rolled his eyes, then looked at Bruce, who was wearing his Batman suit minus the cowl. “You gotta be more careful. Pete’s not like us, he doesn’t know about us.”

     “You talk like Father was the one making the noise.” Damian, wearing the Robin suit and mask, immediately stepped in, glaring at his older brother. “Do you forget exactly who he is ? My bets are that Peter Parker heard Stephanie or Timothy’s loud mouth.”

     “Hey, don’t drag me into this, you Demon-Spawn.” Steph huffed, pushing blonde hair back out of her face. She hadn’t suited up yet, but was preparing to step away to do just that.

     “Kids.” Bruce spoke, stopping any more accusations or theories from being thrown out. He gave Tim, Steph, and Damian similar looks of stop arguing , effectively silencing them. “Thank you for telling us, Dick. We’ll be more careful.” He nodded to his eldest.

     Dick smiled, walking up the shallow steps and landing on the platform of the Batcomputer. He looked up at the screen when he noticed Tim turn back to the keyboard, fingers flying across the keys.

     “Whatcha up to, Timbers?”

     “Running DNA samples on Peter.” he hummed. “Alfred brought me some. They’re processing in the lab, so while I wait, I’m doing some digging on him.”

     “And?”

     “There aren’t any records for a Peter Parker from Queens, so I extended the search to the rest of the country. A few results, but I don’t think that our Peter is a forty-eight year-old man from Wales with two kids living in Virginia.” Tim rolled his eyes, and Dick snorted.

     “Yeah, that doesn’t sound very accurate. Have you filtered yet?”

     “Yeah, still nothing.”

     “Tim, try looking into a May Jameson-Parker.” Bruce interrupted, and his two sons looked over at his word.

     With a nod, Tim went back to typing. By now, Stephanie had ran off to the changing stalls to get ready. Damian, despite reflecting sheer distaste for the topic, was glancing to the computer screen occasionally from his father’s side.

     After a few moments, an electronic file expanded across the wide screen of the Batcomputer. A picture of a woman with rosy-beige skin and rich brown hair stared back at the group of vigilantes. She had wrinkles from smiling, and a few stray silver hairs were mixed into her locks.

     Along with her photo came a passport, driver’s license, birth certificate, and death certificate.

     “...she died four years ago in New York.” Tim said. A few more presses of a button, and her immediate family members' pictures appeared on the screen. A mother, a father, grandparents, cousins, her own aunts and uncles, and…

     “Benjamin Franklin Parker. Died at the same time as May.” Bruce vocalized, a frown falling across his face. “...Peter never mentioned his parents. Just these two, and his mentor.”

     “Got a name?”

     “Tony Stark.”

     Seconds later, a search was filtered through every American government database that existed. Bruce never failed to be impressed by Tim's abilities.

     “...I’m not seeing anything that immediately stands out.” Tim admitted with some slight frustration. The name was so unique, and only two results had showed up. One of those was for a three-year-old boy, and the other was for someone who recently had their name changed legally.

     “That’s alright. Not every lead will give us an answer.” Bruce assured, noticing Tim’s disheartened expression. “...why don’t you hang back tonight, Tim. You can help us on comms with Oracle while you wait for the lab results.”

     Tim opened his mouth to argue, but the thought of being the first person to get Peter’s results back was too good to miss. This kid had been so strange already that he couldn’t contain his curiosity.

     Satisfied, Bruce turned to Damian, Dick, and Stephanie who had recently come back from the changing stalls. “Dick, are you up for a patrol?”

     The man in question sighed dramatically, leaning his head back. “I guess .” he grumbled, but was unable to cover up the little smile gracing his features. “Give me a few minutes to get ready.”

     While Dick trudged away to get suited up, and Stephanie joined Tim at the computer to ask about the DNA tests, Bruce’s attention was grabbed by Damian.

     “Father, I’d like a word with you.” he demanded, voice tight.

     Bruce frowned, but nodded. The two crossed the Bat Cave, getting far enough away from the others where they could speak quietly to each other in low tones without being overheard.

     “...I do not like Peter Parker.” Damian admitted, glaring at the stone floor below his boots. “There is something wrong with him. He’s not–”

     “Normal?” Bruce finished for his youngest. After a second, Damian gave a tight, affirmative nod. “...I know, Damian. Alfred said that he came here in some sort of super suit.”

     “I am worried that he is not who he says he is. Why didn’t his name come up when Drake searched? Or his mentor’s? What if he has been lying this entire time–”

     “Son,” Bruce cut him off quickly, kneeling down on a knee and resting a heavy hand on his shoulder. The contact made Damian blink harshly, forcing himself to look his father in the eye. “...your concerns are valid. He could be lying to us. But I think I’d rather him lie to us here , where we can keep an eye on him, than let him be somewhere else where we have no control.”

     Damian bit the inside of his cheek. It was a habit that Bruce quickly noticed both Damian and Peter shared. He got the feeling that they were more similar than Damian would want to admit.

     “Alfred is going to make the call to Jason tonight.” That made Damian’s eyes widen a bit. “We’ve got some suspicions about Peter, and he’s going to be able to help us quite a lot if he agrees.”

     “Jason is coming home?” Damian asked, having to mask his obvious hope with a forced scowl. “You think that’s a good idea?”

     “I do.” Bruce confirmed with a nod. “And I think that having Jason around anytime is a good thing. He’s mine, just like you are, Damian.”

     The youngest Wayne son could only nod, glare forming on his face when Dick approached the two, wearing his blue and black suit and domino mask.

     “Alright, B, I’m ready when you guys are.” Dick smiled, cracking his knuckles. He whistled toward the computer, grabbing the attention of Steph, who jogged over to the group after saying goodbye to Tim.

     With his children gathered and all of their gear ready, the patrol group went to their respective modes of transportation, and took off into the night of Gotham.

     “You want me to do what?” Peter asked, eyes widening at Bruce across the counter. The spoon in his own hand, full of milk and cereal, was left hovering close to his mouth as he stared in slight disbelief at him.

     “I’d like for you to register for school, Peter.” Bruce repeated, a careful smile on his face. “You’re still young, and I think it would be good for you to get that opportunity.”

     The teen grew quiet, chewing the inside of his cheek. Bruce wanted him to go to school. That could be potentially great and disastrous at the same time.

     On one hand, if Peter went to school, he could have access to a chemistry lab once more. This would mean he could start making his own web fluid again, and becoming Spider-man would be so much easier.

     On the other hand, if Peter went to school, then Bruce would find out he had no papers. No birth certificate, no family, no proof of citizenship… Bruce would discover that Peter was not supposed to exist.

     And that could be very disastrous.

     “..I’m uh, not so sure, Mr. Wayne.” Peter glanced awkwardly to the side, trying to make up an excuse at the speed of light. Despite his efforts, nothing he could think of made sense.

     “We would take it slow, Peter.” Bruce assured evenly. “You’re supposed to be in the tenth grade, but since the term is ending so soon, we’ll let you choose whether or not you progress to the eleventh.”

     Repeating sophomore year? That sounded horrible.

     “Can you tell me the name of your previous school?” Bruce asked, folding his hands patiently on the countertop in front of himself.

     Peter chewed his cheek once more. Did Midtown exist here? He hadn’t thought that far ahead when he was doing research in the Library.

     “Midtown School of Science and Technology. It’s in New York.” Oh well, he might as well take a shot.

     Surprisingly, Bruce’s eyes held some sort of recognition. “I believe I’ve heard of that one. It requires an entrance exam, yes?”

     Peter nodded, looking down at his cereal bowl. The relief he felt was immense, but he couldn’t outwardly show it.

     “That makes you a very smart kid, Peter.” The man of the house affirmed. “The school that my children attend, Gotham Preparatory School, also requires an entrance exam.” Bruce explained. “I’m sure they aren’t too different from each other.”

     “..would I take the exam now, since the term is ending soon?” Peter asked. “Or would I wait until August?”

     “That would be up to you, Pete.” Bruce smiled. “It all depends on when you feel ready to start.”

     Peter let the thought roll around in his brain. Overall, despite the risks involved, going to school honestly sounded really good right about now. The pros outweighed the cons. Besides, technically Bruce was already hiding Peter from CPS, and he was rich. If Peter didn’t make his own fake records, he was sure that Bruce could have it done.

     “...I don’t uh.. I don’t have any records.” Peter mumbled, stirring his soggy cereal around in the bowl. He wasn’t complaining, though. Soggy frosted flakes were the best.

     Bruce seemed to mull this revelation over for a few moments, brows pinching together as he thought. “...we’ll pull some strings, Peter.”

     Once again, the instant relief was satisfying, but he neglected to show it through his body language. Instead, he mumbled a quiet cool and finished his cereal in silence.

     Bruce left the kitchen shortly after Peter finished eating, promising him that he could have everything sorted out in a few weeks. The teen smiled, waving to Bruce as the man exited the kitchen.

     Alfred was surprisingly not around. After asking Karen, she confirmed that the man was currently cleaning the bedrooms, and was making Stephanie’s bed at the current moment. Bruce had disappeared to the first floor study, which unfortunately meant no snooping there.

     Once again, Peter was left with nothing to do. For a house so big and full of life, it was easy to get bored when the rest of the kids his age were at school.

     “ Boo– ” A sudden shout and hands on his shoulders made Peter yelp, surprising him as his senses took over. In milliseconds he had grabbed the empty cereal bowl and weaponized the porcelain, swinging it back and turning his body in his stool to face the sudden presence that he hadn’t noticed enter the room.

     Dick shouted in surprise, catching Peter’s wrist seconds before the bowl could collide with his head. His eyes were wide, and he stared down at Peter. “Woah– Peter it’s just me–” he tried to quickly ease, a firm grip unwavering on the teen’s wrist.

     Peter sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, eyes flickering across Dick’s face. After a few seconds, he relaxed his shoulders, a feeling of unease washing over him.

     “Shit- sorry– ” he apologized, pulling himself away from Dick, much to the man’s surprise. “I didn’t hear you come in-”

     “No, no it’s okay, Peter-” Dick quickly affirmed, raising his hands up in mock surrender. For some reason, Dick was surprised when Peter pulled away. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you.” he laughed awkwardly.

     Peter allowed the rest of his body to fall out of its alert state, and fully sat back down on the barstool. “..sorry for trying to hit you with a bowl.”

     “Nope. You’re good, kid.” Dick smiled, slowly lowering his hands and dropping them into the pockets of his pajama pants. “You okay after last night? Hear any more suspicious sounds?” Dick teased, changing the subject.

     The shift was welcomed readily by Peter. He sighed, rolling his eyes with a little smile. “..nah. That bed is too comfortable, though. I almost didn’t get up when Alfred came to wake me up.”

     “Pfft– yeah, first night is always the coziest.” Dick agreed, crossing the kitchen and getting his own bowl of cereal ready to eat. “You got a plan yet for today?”

     “No, not really. Everyone else is at school, so I was just going to hang out. Maybe take a few naps.” Peter snickered, shaking his head. He could never get too many naps.

     “Oh, c’mon. Naps are no fun. It’s a nice day, why not go outside?” Dick suggested, sitting one stool away from Peter. “The property is huge. Maybe you could go meet Damian’s cow?”

     “Pfft, I dunno. I think the kid might kill me if I went anywhere near his animals.” Peter joked, resting his head in his hand. “..I could go outside, though. Maybe explore.”

     “That sounds like a good idea. You shouldn’t stay cooped up all day, this place is so dark.” Dick hummed, pulling out his phone.

     Peter stared at the device, envy creeping up his neck. Oh how he missed having one of those, even if the ones in this universe were outdated. “...yeah, tell me about it.”

     After a few minutes, Dick glanced over to Peter from his screen and paused, realization dawned on him. “...you don’t have a phone, do you?”

     “Nope.” The teen confirmed.

     Dick frowned, looking back down at his screen. “..would you want a phone? It would let you easily keep in contact with everyone.” he suggested. “Even while the others are at school, you could still text them?”

     “It might be a while before I can pay for a phone, but eventually getting one would be nice.” Dick opened his mouth to speak, but Peter started again before he could. “And I know you’re gonna say something like Bruce can pay for it , right?”

     Dick shut his mouth.

     “Exactly. I’m not gonna ask Mr. Wayne for a phone, those are expensive. Even if he is a billionaire, I haven’t done anything to warrant getting a phone.” Peter shrugged. “I’ll get one eventually.”

     “...if you say so, Pete.” Dick relented, but still seemed mostly unconvinced. “...but if you ever do wanna ask-”

     “I will, I promise.” Peter snickered, lightly kicking Dick with his foot. “Aren’t you a cop? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?”

     “I took the day off.” Dick shrugged. “New kid in the Manor is a big deal to this family. I’ll drive back to Blüdhaven tonight.”

     “So you’ll be home all day?”

     “Mhm.”

     “...wanna show me around outside?”

     Dick smiled, setting his phone down on the counter and taking a bite of cereal. After chewing, swallowing, and clearing his throat, he responded.

     “Why I’d love to, Pete.”

Batchat

Dick ; Peter is HELLA strong guys

Steph ; oh yeah?

Dick ; Yeah. I just nightwing-gripped his wrist because he swung when I accidentally scared him, and he managed to pull away without even struggling

Steph ; DAM

Bruce ; Language. Dick, where are you two right now?

Dick ; About to head outside, he wants to explore the property

Bruce ; See if you can test any more of his abilities while you two are outside. I’ve got a suspicion that I’d like to see if you can confirm.

Dick ; You’re talkin like Tim but whats up :D ?

Bruce ; Peter could potentially be a meta.

Duke ; guys I’m in class please stop spamming.

Duke ; WHAT.

Duke ; GUYS WHAT.

Duke ; BRUCE DON’T JSUT SAY TH AT THEN NOT RESPOND.

Chapter Text

     “You guys actually have a barn??” Peter exclaimed, eyes wide with both surprise and joy. The large building before him stood sturdy and proud, and definitely smelled like a barn. There was a fenced off yard attached to the back of it, with a chicken coop nearby as well.

     Dick laughed, patting Peter’s shoulder. “Duh. I wasn’t lying to you.” he hummed good-heartedly, and approached the doors. Once he tugged open one of them, the two ventured inside.

     The space was lit with strung up lights on cross beams and support columns that held up both the roof and the second story hayloft. There were many empty stalls, but when Peter walked up to the largest one in the back, he was absolutely delighted to be greeted by a real cow.

     She was white with brown spots in various places, including across her eyes that looked like a mask. Funnily enough, it reminded him of the masks that the heroes in this universe wore.

     “I see that you’ve met Batcow.” Dick smiled, coming to stand next to Peter. The two leaned on the gate of the stall, looking at the cow with mutual feelings of admiration.

     “Batcow?” Peter questioned, watching as the animal lazily lifted her head to look up at the two. She huffed her nose in their direction.

     “Mhm. Damian named her, he’s a big fan of Batman.” Dick responded. Peter thought about that for a moment. Just another thing about the kid that was surprising. First animals, and now he’s a superhero fan?

     “That’s.. Really sweet, actually.” he smiled, resting his head on his arms as he continued to just observe Batcow.

     Dick pulled away after a few moments, looking around the barn with his hands on his hips. “Y’know, Alfred should be around here somewhere.”

     “Alfred? But wasn’t he inside?”

     “Yeah, I’m not talking about that Alfred.” Dick snickered, shaking his head. “I’m talking about the cat.”

     Peter paused, turning and looking at Dick with a raised brow and an amused smile. “...there’s a cat named Alfred?”

     Dick nodded, continuing to scan the barn from his spot. Peter joined him in searching, but instead of staying planted in one place, he started walking around. The teen peeked into the stalls, looked behind bales of hay, and even peeked outside to the fenced in yard.

     “He might be up in the hayloft.” Dick announced when Peter stepped back inside. The man was looking up toward said space, squinting in thought. “I don’t know where they keep the ladder to get up there- the barn was put here after I had moved out already.”

     “...I mean, why don’t we just climb up?” Peter suggested, mimicking Dick’s posture and placing his hands on his hips while he looked for the easiest path up. “It can’t be that hard.”

     “Be my guest, but I don’t wanna get any splinters.” Dick snickered, shaking his head. “I can give you a boost, though?”

     “Nah, I’ve got this.” Peter hummed confidently, walking up to the junction where a column met a gate. Making sure that the gate itself was locked, he climbed on top of the wood and held onto the column.

     Alright, Peter. You can’t make this too obvious. He mentally reminded himself as he started his climb. If he was alone out here, he would have scaled the column in seconds thanks to his spider-abilities.

     Unfortunately, he had an audience. So instead he took his time, finding footholds and handholds to pull himself up with. What should have taken five seconds ended up taking a whole minute, but when he pulled himself up onto the hayloft, he breathed out a sigh of relief.

     “Impressive, Pete!” Dick called from the ground floor, shooting the teen a big smile and two thumbs up. “You’re looking for a black cat that looks like it has socks on.”

     “Got it.” Peter called back, starting to slowly and carefully walk around the second story hayloft. It was much darker up here, but luckily for him, he had a supercomputer in his ear.

     “Hi, Peter. I’m picking up a heat signature asleep to your left.”

     Peter nodded subtly. It was a form of thanks that wouldn’t be questioned by Dick, unlike if Peter had chosen to say thank you.

     The teen moved carefully, feet making no sound. His borrowed shoes were a size too big, but the thick socks that Alfred had provided helped fill the extra space in front of his toes. The shoes themselves were a rusty red pair of converse with sharpie drawings all over the soles and toe.

     Creeping around a large stack of wooden crates, Peter was quietly delighted to find a black and white cat sleeping in the sun rays peeking through a boxy window. He could hear the purring from where he stood.

     “Dick,” he whisper-yelled, walking to the low-fenced edge of the catwalk. “I found Alfred, he’s asleep up here.”

     Dick paused, but then quickly nodded in understanding. “Come down, then. I don’t wanna disturb him.” he suggested, taking a few precautionary steps toward the columns in case Peter fell. “Be careful.”

     “Pfffsh, please. Careful is my middle name.” He rolled his eyes, stepping over the low fence that acted as the railing of the catwalk. First, he lowered into a crouch. Then, once he had his hands confidently gripping the edge of the wood, he hopped and let his legs fall until he was dangling from the edge.

     His converse hit the ground a second later, and he turned to Dick with a smile. “Told you.”

     “Yeah, yeah.” Dick rolled his eyes, reaching over and dusting off Peter’s shoulders. “..hey, what is your middle name, anyways?”

     At first, Peter wanted to immediately lie. Giving them too much information could only lead to disaster. But was his middle name really that detrimental?

     “Benjamin. I was named after my uncle.” He smiled, and Dick gave him one in return. They continued to speak as they exited the barn together.

     “I like that. Mine is Johnathan.” Dick huffed, rolling his eyes as he pushed the barn door shut. “Way common, am I right?”

     “Hey, so is Benjamin. There’s nothing wrong with that, I like your middle name.” Peter complimented, continuing their exploration of the property.

     In the distance, he could see the sloping walls of the property. He had already seen them before, on his first day here. It gave him a sense of just how big the property actually was. He could see the walls on one end, but not the other.

     “Whatever you say.” Dick shrugged, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “...you like running?”

     “You could say that.” Peter hummed, already having a guess as to where this conversation was going.

     “Wanna race?” Dick suggested, stopping in his tracks. Peter joined him, looking out at the distance. The perfectly manicured grass of the Wayne’s expansive back lawn would be an even texture to run on.

     “Sure, but no guarantees that I’ll go easy on you.” Peter joked, earning a snicker from Dick. “Where’s the finish line?”

     “The wall on the other side- three two one GO– ” Dick’s last few words were rushed, and as soon as he got the word “go” out, the man had taken off, sprinting across the yard.

     Peter laughed, caught off guard by his eagerness. He of course did not let that stop him from giving chase, and in no time he was even with the man.

     When Dick glanced over and spotted Peter, the surprised expression on his face was priceless. He almost wished that he had a camera. It made Peter laugh, shaking his head and pushing his calves to go further.

     Gradually, Peter’s steps became greater than Dick’s, and his speed picked up bit by bit until he had passed the man completely. In the distance, the wall that he previously couldn’t see was coming into view.

     He could have sworn that he heard Dick say “Holy shit–” under his breath, and part of Peter got nervous. Maybe he shouldn’t be running as fast as he could. Dick was a trained cop, after all, and was extremely fit.

     But Peter was also not going to give up when victory was in sight.

     The race ended with Peter sliding to a stop, placing his hands on the wall for extra help in stopping fully. He breathed heavily, feeling his heart thumping against his chest in a satisfying overdrive.

     Unlike his previous panics that made his heart beat fast, this kind of speed was welcomed. This kind of rush felt so much better than the rush of panic. This rush was the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

     Dick joined him seconds later, slowing to a jog and standing a few feet to Peter’s right. He too was breathing heavily, and had a stupid big grin on his face.

     “Did you do track or something?? Dude, that was so cool!!” Dick declared, and despite Peter’s humbled glances to the side, he continued. “You’re way fast! I mean- not like, The Flash fast, but you’re fast !” he chuckled, shaking Peter’s shoulders excitedly. 

     “Okay, okay!--” Peter laughed, playfully shoving Dick off. “Lay off! I’m fast, sure.” he shook out his arms, the waves of adrenaline slowly starting to wane off the longer he stood still. “I never did track, no. It’s probably genetic.”

     “Genetic my ass.” Dick huffed playfully. “That’s talent, kid. If you decide to go to Gotham Prep, they’ve got a great track program that you would enjoy.” they started walking back toward the manor as they spoke. “Maybe you could even convince Cass or Tim to join you.”

     “Tim? Running ?” Peter snorted, rolling his eyes at the mental image that came to mind. “Yeah, right. I doubt he can even pick up a textbook without complaining about the weight.” he teased, looking down at the grass as they walked. “He’s all brains.”

     “Don’t let him hear you say that.” Dick hummed. “But you’re kinda right. Tim’s stronger than he lets on, but that’s because he is smarter than he is stronger.” The man paused speaking for a moment as a light lit up behind his eyes. “You and him can be our resident nerds.”

     “I’m sorry, your resident what?” Peter almost stuttered, giving Dick a semi-offended glance.

     “Resident nerds! You and Tim are both smart as hell, so you’re nerds.” Dick grinned, looking proudly forward.

     “You don’t know if I’m smart or not.” Peter pointed out, giving Dick a light shove that made the man slightly stumble. Okay, maybe it wasn’t light.

     Ever since crawling out of the harbor, Peter’s strength output had been thrown way off. It was harder to keep control of it, which didn’t make much sense. Had he gotten stronger? Could crossing universes do that to someone?

     Dick recovered as fast as he had been pushed aside, not mentioning the stumble at all. “I heard you and Bruce talking about your old school. Midtown sounds like a nerd school.”

     “It’s not a nerd school.” Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s a school of science and technology.”

     “So nerd school.”

     “Oh screw off–”

     The two fell into a contained fit of laughter as they walked up the steps of the back door. Maybe it was the leftover adrenaline buzzing through his bones, or maybe it was the laughter, but something made the back of his neck light up.

     Peter tingle, the teen thought abruptly. His laughter faltered, but he recovered before Dick could even think something was wrong.

     Hevery quickly realized why the Peter Tingle had been set off, though. When Dick pulled open the door, and the two started walking toward the kitchen, that feeling of danger, danger, DANGER became more pronounced than it had since Thanos .

     Something in the kitchen was as dangerous as Thanos.

     Something in the kitchen could likely kill Thanos.

     Peter had to swallow his fear. Him and Dick rounded the corner and entered through the archway, where they were greeted by the presence of Alfred and an unfamiliar man.

     He was tall- taller than Bruce. Maybe even more muscular. His hair was short and black, with a stark white chunk of white right on his hairline. His skin, despite being pale and clear, was covered in little knicks, cuts, and scars. They littered his face, his neck, and his arms.

     He had on a black t-shirt and equally dark jeans, alongside scuffed combat boots. A brown leather jacket had been thrown over the back of one of the chairs in the breakfast nook. A red motorcycle helmet sat on the breakfast nook table. Peter had to assume both items belonged to the new man.

     When he turned and faced Peter, the teen held his breath involuntarily. Green eyes met green, and it was like a tidal wave had crashed against a cliff. Within seconds, every feeling of danger completely disappeared from Peter’s body.

     It was uncanny, and left him feeling dizzy. He held strong, however, and studied the man like a book. He was dangerous, and now he’s not. What changed when he saw me?

     “Jason!” Dick greeted with a big smile. He approached the man with open arms for a hug, only to get playfully shoved aside. Jason huffed, rolling his eyes and shooting Dick a seemingly playful glare.

     “Fuck off, Dick-” he grumbled, eyes meeting Peter once more. “...hey. Bruce called, but I couldn’t make it until now.” he paused, watching Peter like a hawk.

     “..yeah, I think they mentioned you.” Peter eventually responded, feeling extremely small standing in the room with him. “I’m–”

     “Peter Parker. I know, they filled me in.” Jason huffed, sitting down at the island counter. He gave off an air of annoyance and hostility, but with the way that Dick was acting, Peter for some reason doubted that Jason would be hurting anyone. At least, right now.

     But he had definitely wanted to. He had been ready to fight Peter until he had seen him for the first time.

     “Oh.” Peter responded quietly. He hesitated, but crossed the room after a moment, pulling a water bottle from the fridge and twisting the cap open. Running around outside paired with this had left his throat dry.

     Alfred glanced between the two, giving Jason a quiet look. I told you, Young Peter is no threat to be concerned about, is what he would have said if Peter was not in the room. Instead, he settled for communicating silently.

     Jason froze under Alfred’s scrutiny, glancing over to Peter. Even with the teen’s back turned, it wasn’t hard to tell just how nervous he was. What am I supposed to do? I can’t make someone NOT scared of me, that’s kind of the opposite of what I do, is what Jason wanted to say.

     Tim was terrified of you once, and now you’re closer than the grass is to the soil. Say something before I do, Alfred’s eyes shifted to Peter once more.

     I don’t even know what I would say anyways, go for it, Jason rolled his eyes, leaning back and crossing his arms and looking away with a frustrated scowl.

     “Peter, have you had a chance to look through Master Bruce’s novel collections yet?” Alfred asked, grabbing Peter’s attention. He looked over, leaning against the door of the fridge.

     “No, not yet,” he hummed, glancing down at the water. “It would be cool, though. Does he have a lot?”

     “Does he?” Jason chimed in sarcastically, sharing a glance with Alfred. “Kid, Bruce has just about every book on the damn face of the Earth.”

     “..oh yeah?” Peter looked over to Jason. “...I bet he doesn’t.”

     The man on the barstool paused, glancing one more time at Alfred. Then, he met Peter once more with a little smirk. “Wanna test that?”

     Something ignited in Peter’s chest at the playful challenge, and he found himself smiling. “...yeah, yeah I do wanna test that.”

     Twenty minutes later, Dick, Jason, and Peter were standing in the largest library of the Manor. Peter was in awe, walking between shelves and running his hands along the spines of books. They were all organized, and most were in impeccable condition. Others looked like they were barely being held together.

     “Name any book, and I bet he has it. Either in here, or in one of the other rooms.” Jason challenged, standing at one of the three wooden tables. The spaces looked like they would be great for studying, and Peter could quite literally imagine Duke, Cass, and Tim sitting around one doing their homework together.

     “ Any book?” Peter hummed, glancing at a complete collection of written word by Tennessee Williams.

     “Any book.” Jason confirmed. “I know these books like the back of my hand. If he has it, I can find it for proof.”

     “We’ll start easy then.” Peter snickered. “To Kill a Mockingbird?”

     “Pfft- c’mon, anything but that. ”

     “Fine, fine… Pride and Prejudice?”

     “Oh, kid. Kid you don’t even know what door you’ve just opened.”

     When Bruce got the text from Tim that the lab results were in, he was in the middle of a meeting. Needless to say, he left early. Because when you’re the owner of an entire company, you can leave whenever you damn well please.

     Did he drive home needlessly fast? Sure. Did he almost forget to turn off the car when he parked? Maybe. But is that really important at the moment?

     Upon entering the Manor, Bruce was greeted by Cassandra, Duke, and Tim all huddled in the foyer looking at Tim’s phone.

     “Tim? Cass? What are you doing?” he asked with some skepticism, taking off his jacket and hanging it in the nearby mud closet.

     “We’re trying to figure out a way to get into the.. Office.” Duke explained, glancing up at Bruce before back down at Tim’s phone. When Bruce stepped closer to get a better look, he saw the feed from the Manor’s security systems displayed on the screen.

     “...and why can’t you just go in like normal?”

     “Because Jason is home, and he and Peter are running around like wild animals looking for books.” Tim grumbled, obviously not too happy with the current situation. “I think they’re playing some game, but they’ve been in and out of the study twice since we’ve come home. We don’t know when they’ll go in again.”

     Bruce processed the information for a few seconds. Jason had come home, and seemingly, was already getting along great with Peter. That was fantastic news! But whatever game they were playing was inconvenient.

     “Have you tried texting Jason and telling him to keep Peter somewhere?”

     “He never responds to me, Cass’ phone is dead, and Duke is pretty sure Jason blocked him.”

     Bruce sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his face. “Right. Of course.” he shut his eyes, internally counting to ten. “...where are they currently?”

     “Third floor library, but they’ve been in there for a while. I think they’re gonna come back down soon.” Tim replied, tilting the screen for Bruce to see better.

     “...You three are trained vigilantes. You can’t just sneak around him?” Bruce asked with  a lowered volume, giving the teens a testy brow raise.

     Duke smiled sheepishly and glanced away. “I mean, yeah , but what if they caught us? Jason is the type to point us out, even if it means risking exposing us.”

     “Duke’s right, Jason’s an asshole.” Tim snorted. “And before you get on me for my language, they just left the library and are headed back downstairs.”

     The minutes felt like they dragged forever as the four waited in tense anticipation for where Jason and Peter would end up next.

     “..is that Dick following them?”

     “Yeah, put your glasses on.” Tim snuffed.

     “Text your brother and tell him to keep them occupied away from the study.” Bruce deadpanned. For his children to be so intelligent, they sometimes lacked critical thinking skills.

     He noticed the way that the three teens immediately froze in place, sharing glances of oh, yeah that’s also an option. Duke hesitantly pulled his phone from his pocket, fingers flying. On the screen, the others watched as Dick pulled out his own phone upon receiving a notification.

     Dick Grayson

Duke ; hey dick can you try holding jay and peter in one room? we need to get into the bc

Dick ; Oh sure :D !! We’re going to the second floor archive rn so have fun !!! :)) 

Duke ; thanks d :) 

     “They’re gonna stay in the archive for as long as Dick can keep them there.” Duke informed everyone else. Almost immediately, Tim was pocketing his phone, and the group was making their way toward the first floor study.

     “You three were really making this much harder on yourselves than necessary.” Bruce hummed, an air of playfulness in his tone.

     “Oh, come off it.” Cass signed with an angry eye roll. “We did what we could.”

     “You could have also asked for Alfred’s help.” The man of the house reminded them, and they silently entered the study. Duke shut the door behind everyone while Bruce turned the hands of the grandfather clock.

     Seconds later, the clock slid. After confirming their identities with their hands on a scanner next to the hidden door, the four descended down into the cave with the clock gliding back into place behind them.

     “Yeah, yeah.” Tim huffed, and once they made it to the bottom of the stairs, he took off toward the Batcomputer.

     Bruce chuckled, watching Duke and Cassandra follow their brother with excitement in their steps. The three teens crowded around the keyboard, and Tim stared at the screen as he typed. By the time Bruce arrived at the computer, Tim was pulling up the results.

     As expected, there were no records anywhere on the globe that had this DNA, which meant that they weren’t any closer to figuring out where Peter really came from. They could, however, see the composition of his DNA.

     “If Peter is a meta, this is how we’ll know.” Tim hummed, putting Peter’s results to one side of the screen, and a control sample on the other side so that they could compare. The differences were immediately evident.

     “...what’s that?” Duke asked, pointing to a large discolored strand. “That’s not normal, right?”

     “That’s not human. ” Bruce remedied, a frown etching onto his features. He was glad that they found Peter quickly. If there was an unaccounted for Meta in Gotham… well he wouldn’t know what to think.

     “What is it then?” Duke rolled his eyes, pressing on. “Is he some kind of alien? Maybe Kryptonian?”

     “No, Kryptonian DNA looks much different than this.” Tim hummed, brows pinching together as he thought.

     “You would know all about Kryptonian DNA being different.”

     “Don’t make fun of your brother for his romantic tastes.” Bruce shot Cassandra a warning glare, and the girl just snickered quietly behind her hands.

     “It’s arachnid.” Tim said after a few more moments, staring up at the screen. “And the discoloration? That’s radiation.”

     “I’m sorry- Radiation?? ” Duke blanched, staring up at the screen once more with wide eyes. “Like, nuclear stuff?”

     “Yeah.” Tim mumbled, staring up at the screen. “...I’m surprised it hasn’t eaten away at his cells from the inside out. Peter shouldn’t be alive right now with how much is in his system.”

     “It’s like he’s a conductor…” Bruce commented quietly. “...is he producing radiation?”

     “No, I think we’d be able to tell.” Tim glanced offhandedly to Duke, then up to his father, then back to the screen. “...look at that.”

     Tim expanded an image on the screen. It was from one of the many high-grade microscopes that they had in the lab. Most of which had the capability to see things the size of cells or smaller. The part that he had expanded upon was the chemical components that weave together the double-helix shape of DNA.

     “...that’s dead matter.”

     “ Was dead matter.” Tim corrected Bruce. “It’s not dead anymore.”

     “So he’s not human.” The voice of Damian Wayne grabbed the attention of everyone, who turned to look at the boy standing across the cave at the bottom of the stairs. He had his arms crossed across his school uniformed torso, and a deep glare in his eyes.

     Bruce steeled himself, standing up a bit straighter. “Not entirely, no.” he pulled away from the group gathered at the Batcomputer, and started approaching his youngest. “Which is why I’m glad he’s here, where we can keep an eye on him.”

     “I told you he was strange.”

     “I know, Damian.”

     “I told you that we shouldn’t trust him. You have a rule against his kind.”

     “There are exceptions, remember? Like your brother, and the Kents when they visit.”

     “Why should he be given an exception when we don’t even know him. ”

     Bruce paused a few yards from Damian, frowning softly. His youngest had always been touchy, especially when it came to inviting new members to the Manor. But this transition with Peter just kept getting worse and worse.

     “I will not sit complacent while a threat is walking free above us.” Damian’s glare hardened, and before anyone could reach him, he was running back up the stairs.

     “ Shit– Damian!!--” Bruce shouted after him, immediately giving chase. Every terrible scenario came to mind: Damian fighting Peter and winning. Even worse, Damian fighting Peter and losing .

     By the time Bruce made it into the study, the door had already been flung open, and he could hear his youngest’s footsteps gradually getting further and further away. “Damian!!--” he shouted, trying to stop the boy with his words.

     Bruce wasn’t sure what he would do if another one of his children ended up hurt.

     “Dude, I think you’re just making this up.” Jason scoffed, flipping through the old-fashioned cardboard catalog kept in the main library with every book that they owned. “There’s no such thing as a book called The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. ”

     “I’m telling you, there is! I’ve read it so many times!” Peter insisted, sitting on the nearest table criss-cross, holding his ankles in his hands. “The author is Kate DiCamillo!”

     “DiCamillo is a science fiction author.” Jason shot the kid a playful glare. “Why would she write a novel about a porcelain rabbit doll?”

     “It’s a story about growth , Jason. About bettering yourself through your experiences with different people. Like I said, the rabbit doll goes from some rich prude to a really sweet guy!!”

     “Mhm, I totally think that you’re telling me the truth–”

     Both boys were cut off by the door to the library being shoved open. Peter smiled. “Dick!! Took you long enough to go piss, did you get lost trying to find your own–” he was cut off by the sight of Damian rounding a bookshelf, dangerous glare trained on Peter.

     The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he held his breath for a moment. “...bathroom.”

     “ You have been lying to us.” Damian declared, taking slow, calculated steps toward Peter. Jason dislodged himself from the outdated organization system, standing up a bit straighter as his brows pinched together with confusion.

     “...Damian, what are you–”

     “Shut up, Todd. This doesn’t concern you. ”

     Jason paused, glare forming on his own features. “Hold on now, kid. What’s happening–”

     “You aren’t human .” Damian seethed through his own gritted teeth, pointing an accusing finger toward Peter. The teen hopped off of the table, moving behind it to put some distance between himself and the surprisingly threatening kid. “There’s something wrong with your DNA.”

     “...I don’t know what you’re talking about, Damian-” Peter tried to argue, but had to jump back on instinct and surprise when the kid lunged over the table. Peter’s eyes widened, and suddenly Karen was beeping in his ear.

     “Without your suit, I can’t do much to assist you other than track your opponent’s moves.”

     But I don’t want to fight this kid–  Peter frantically thought, taking quick steps backwards. Just as he was about to bump into a bookshelf, he turned and pivoted, dodging a surprisingly accurate punch.

     “Damian I don’t–”

     “You’re some spider freak– and we don’t even know where you came from!!--” Damian shouted, making a deadly turn and turning around Peter, aiming for the back.

     It was a great thing that Peter’s senses were so damn refined. If they weren’t, then he would have been on the ground.

     “Dames–” Jason said through gritted teeth, moving to grab his little brother. “Kid, you gotta stop–”

     The doors to the library were thrown open, and Bruce’s frantic and frustrated voice grabbed the attention of everyone except for Damian himself.

     “ Damian Wayne– ” The man yelled, stopping in his tracks as he watched the scene play out before himself.

     Peter moved automatically, like a finely tuned machine. Every dodge, weave, duck, and step was carefully calculated in less than a second in his mind. Turn, duck, turn, two steps, go left, no fuck go right–

     “You don’t belong here!!--” Damian shouted, and suddenly, made a move that even Peter’s senses couldn’t accurately predict in time.

     A well placed kick to the side of the knee sent Peter teetering to his side. He came dreadfully close to crashing into the nearest table. But like instinct, his arms shot up.

     Stupid muscle memory I don’t have my–

     Air rushed past Peter’s ears as he hoisted himself up on something thin, but strong and stringy. He was lifted off of his feet, leaving a startled Damian, a wide eyed Bruce, and a jaw-dropped Jason standing below him.

     Peter’s hands were flat on the ceiling, and he panted, opening up his eyes and looking down at the three. Suspended above them, he noticed the rest of the house slowly gathering at the door, peering inside. Their eyes searched, and when they spotted Peter, hanging from the roof, they all paused.

     Slowly, Peter looked up, freezing when he saw exactly what had pulled him all the way up to the ceiling of the tall library.

     Webs.

Chapter Text

     When Stephanie Brown first met Peter Parker, she did not think much of him. Sure, he had appeared out of nowhere, and was apparently dumpster diving when Alfred found him, but to her, he was like every other member of the family. When the possibility of him being meta was announced to the Batchat, she became much more engaged than she previously had been. This quickly escalated from regular Tuesday for the Wayne family to potential super under the Manor roof.

     And now, coming home after classes at Gotham University, she stumbles upon the entire family peering into one of the many libraries, staring at Peter on the ceiling .

     Huh. This just got about twelve levels deeper.

     Dick Grayson left for five minutes. He just had to use the bathroom, and it seems that his timing was, as usual, was the worst . The first thing that he saw, when rounding the corner to return to the library, was Damian throwing the doors open and barging inside.

     Isn’t he supposed to be in the Batcave?

     Dick reached the doors at the same time as Bruce, who did not even say hello. Instead, he ran in, shouting, with frustration laced in his tone. It caught him off guard at first- who was he mad at???

     “ Damian Wayne– ”

     Well that answered that question. Seconds later, in a blur of moving bodies and thrown punches, Peter fell back. Dick winced, bracing to hear the crash of the lanky teen on the table, and when it never came, he blinked in confusion.

     And suddenly, Peter was on the ceiling.

     “Shit, B–” Tim winced, stumbling after his father with wide eyes. “I’m sorry– someone should have been watching him, but he wandered off when we got home from school so we just assumed–” he tried explaining, but in the end knew that it would not make the situation better.

     Way to go, Tim Drake, overexplaining your actions once more.

     Bruce, despite his age, was miles faster than Tim, meaning that while he and the others got further, Tim only lagged behind. It was as unfortunate as it was handy, because at least he got to better prepare himself for what was waiting in the library.

     Firstly, Jason was doing nothing. Good job, big bro. Real responsible of you. Even worse , Peter was nowhere to be found.

     “Wh- Where is–”

     Tim’s eyes drifted up, and when he saw the teen hanging from the ceiling , palms flat against the surface, he could not stop his jaw from dropping.

     Cass knew that Peter was different. She could tell from the moment that they met. She found it funny how he thought that he was good at hiding it, but the constant flickering of his eyes, and the way he tensed up almost all the time, gave it all away.

     She just wished that he could understand that things would be okay.

     She was not sure what she had been expecting when she reached the library door and peered around Bruce’s side, but seeing Damian and Peter fighting certainly made sense in the grand scheme of things. But was it really a fight if Peter was not punching back?

     His movements were all extremely calculated, though, she could see the gears turning at light speed in his mind. It was as impressive as it was surprising.

     Then, next thing she knew, Peter had shot something out of his wrists, attached it to the ceiling of the room, and hoisted himself up with the strength of an olympic deadlifter. Once again, it was impressive.

     Until she saw the expression of utter panic on his face, and her impressed feelings turned to those of concern.

     Duke should have been expecting this. From the moment Bruce had proposed Peter being meta, he had started picking up on little things. The way Peter walked, the way he looked like he always had something to say… It finally started making sense.

     He really wished that he could trust his gut more, because his gut told him from the moment that he and Peter had met that Peter was different. Different like him.

     Hearing that he had Arachnid DNA had been a shock, but the radioactivity in his cells was even worse.

     It was like his family had said: Peter, realistically, should be dead.

     But here he was, going toe-to-toe with an al Ghul. Damian to be exact. At first, Duke wanted to step in the moment he spotted them fighting. Peter was going to get himself hurt, or worse.

     But he kept dodging, weaving, and ducking. It almost looked like a dance. It confused him more than anything else- Peter had so much experience. He was not just a meta, he was a trained meta.

     A trained meta who went from the floor to the ceiling in less than two seconds.

     Jason was more confused than he had been in a long time. Clearly he was missing some sort of information, especially when Damian started accusing him of being a meta. 

     Maybe he should not leave the family group chat as much as he does.

     “Dames–” he said through gritted teeth, reaching for his brother’s shoulder only to be shoved away. “Kid, you gotta stop–”

     But Damian ignored him, and while the kid advanced with a deadly glint in his eyes, Peter ducked, dodged, weaved, and avoided everything thrown at him.

     Almost everything.

     Damian side stepped and got a lucky strike, and it was from a move that Jason very clearly recognized as being from the League of Assassins. A deadly move.

     Jason moved before he could even think, reaching and grabbing Damian once more. He wanted to shout, but before he could, the sound of fast movement through the air caught his attention.

     He looked up, freezing with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Peter was on the ceiling.

     Damian did not think that he was doing anything wrong. He had a duty to protect his family, and he would let nothing stand in his way. Not Father, not Jason, and certainly not the outsider.

     The outsider was the problem, after all. The outsider was the reason that Damian even felt the need to protect at the moment. He did not belong here .

     Honestly, he was not even sure what he was saying. All that he knew was that he was speaking, Jason was trying to stop him, and Bruce was shouting from the doorway to the Library.

     But Damian ignored them, with his goal hard set in his mind. Peter Parker would no longer be a threat to this family- Damian’s family.

     He stepped forward, and Peter took two steps back. Damian went one direction and Peter went the other. He swung, and Peter ducked with seconds to spare. It would have gone on forever, if not for Damian’s specialized training.

     At least he could thank the League of Assassins for something.

     But no amount of League training could have prepared Damian for Peter flying. Or at least, he thought that he was flying. Upon quick and closer inspection, though, Peter was not flying.

     No, he had created webs from his wrists and pulled himself to the ceiling. And based on Peter’s expression, he was just as startled as Damian was.

     There was a ringing in his ears, a pounding in his chest, and a fuzzy voice in his right ear. Peter’s senses had gone on overdrive, and frankly, he felt like he was dying.

     He had not even lasted a week, and the Wayne’s already knew he was not entirely human. Every possible horrible scenario came to mind- the inevitability of his outcasting hitting him harder than a brick to the chest.

     They’re going to kick me out, Peter’s mind rambled. They’re going to turn me into some freaky government organization. They’re going to have me removed–

     “Peter, your senses are working on overdrive. Would you like for me to advise?”

     Peter’s mouth was dry, he couldn’t answer. He looked up to his hands, which were flat against the ceiling and sticking like his life depended on it- It does depend on it, Damian still hates me.

     He looked down toward the floor of the library, legs dangling with the light fixtures. Peter glanced between the different members of the family, some having filed in, others standing in the doorway in shock.

     There was no way he was coming down. Not yet at least. So, he hoisted himself up, flipping upside down and sitting on the ceiling, tilting his neck and watching the family.

     “....I knew it !!!--” Damian lashed out, shouting expletives in a language that definitely was not English, and made the teen flinch. Peter wished he understood, watching as Dick dragged Damian out of the room by his arms. The door was shut behind them.

     This room had windows, Peter could still get out. He wasn’t entirely trapped. He still had an out.

     “...Peter,” Bruce started evenly, keeping his voice measured. “...I apologize on Damian’s behalf, this is not how he should have approached this.” When Peter didn’t answer, he took it as his cue to continue. “...I understand that you’re probably terrified right now, but let me try to assure you: we aren’t upset.”

     Peter’s neck hairs stood on end at his words. He glanced from Bruce’s stony face to Jason’s slack jaw, which he quickly snapped shut after a few seconds. He nodded in agreement, glancing from the teen on the ceiling to the man of the house.

     “...Yeah, Pete, it’s not.. Well, I mean it is a big deal, but we aren’t gonna hurt you-” Duke stumbled over his words, trying to find the right thing to say. “We had some, uh, suspicions, but this just.. confirms them.”

     They, knew . Peter felt himself pale at Duke’s statement. He had been so careful, and they somehow figured him out before he even had a chance to join the game.

     “...you guys are gonna try sending me off, aren’t you?” Peter asked, a shake in his voice that he failed to control. No matter how hard he tried steeling himself, it didn’t work. So he swallowed his emotions as best as he could.

     “No, Peter.” Bruce replied, taking a small step forward, closer to where Peter was. “We won’t send you away. We already told you that you could stay for as long as you wanted, right?”

     “..yeah, but that was before–”

     “Before this?” Tim cut in, crossing his arms and raising a brow at Peter. “...dude, do you really think we care?”

     “...I read somewhere that Batman has a no metas rule.” Peter replied, pulling thoughts together enough to remember his first night in Gotham. At the library, during all of his research, he had learned as much as he could about the city and its vigilantes.

     The room fell quiet again, and Peter knew that he had struck something. “...he’ll find out about me.”

     “...I don’t think he’ll mind.” Jason spoke up, relaxing himself in hopes that Peter would mimic the posture. Peter didn’t. “..Y’know, the daytime Vigilante, Signal, is a meta.”

     Peter paused once more, brows pinching together. Since when, nothing online said that.

     “It’s not commonly known, but I’ve seen him.” Jason assured, picking up one of the knocked over chairs and sitting in it. “He’s got some freaky ghost powers. It’s pretty cool.” he leaned back, propping his feet up on the table while he looked up at Peter. “...but the spider thing is even cooler. I mean- look at yourself, Peter. You’re on the ceiling. ”

     “..yeah, and I don’t know how I did that.” he huffed, a bit frustrated. “I couldn’t do that before-” he cut himself off, trying to think of the best way to complete his sentence without revealing the other Universe.

     “...I couldn’t do that before today. I’ve used artificial webs for a while.”

     “So you are a vigilante?” Steph cut in, smiling up at him. “That’s so cool, what city were you based in before you came to Gotham?”

     “...Queens.”

     “That’s super cool, you must have been like, undercover or something. There hasn’t been any news about a spider hero.”

     “Only spider villains.” Tim snickered, rolling his eyes.

     Peter wasn’t sure how to respond. They were being extremely calm about this. Well, except for Damian. Inwardly, he wondered where Dick had dragged the kid off to. He hoped that Dick wasn’t being too harsh- Damian was just… scared. He had every right to feel scared.

     “...I’m uh, y’know..” Peter sighed. “..friendly neighborhood Spider-man.” he gave a small, awkward smile, shoulders relaxing at his sides a bit. “...I do little guy stuff.”

     “Little guy stuff?” Jason asked.

     “..yeah, y’know.. Cats in trees, stolen purses, catching the bus for someone…” he shrugged. “..Little guy stuff.”

     “A vigilante for the people.” Bruce smiled softly. “That’s great work, Peter. Though, I’m sure it was stressful working alone at such a young age.”

     “Ehh, I get by.” he shrugged again, smile becoming a bit more real. “At least my grades were still high.”

     “So how’d you become meta?” Tim asked, sitting on the table that Jason had propped his feet up on. By this point, everyone in the family had their necks craned to look at the teen on the ceiling.

     “I was bit by a radioactive spider.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Not very impressive, but within a day, I was stronger, had better senses… y’know, basic stuff.”

     “That is far from basic.” Duke huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m almost jealous.”

     “Don’t be.” Peter hummed. “I heal fast, but that means I have to eat more. I have a hella high metabolism.”

     “No wonder Alfred made you seven omelets.” Bruce huffed out a small laugh. “...Peter, it’s alright that you’re meta, and it’s alright that you’re a vigilante. This city has many of those, y’know.”

     “Yeah, I know.” Peter hummed quietly.

     “Do you think you’ll try picking up your vigilante work again here in Gotham?”

     “...I wanna try. But my, uh, suit is a little messed up. I was hoping to find some sort of sponsor.”

     Tim paused, arching another brow. “Sponsor? What for?”

     “Well, Batman has one, right?” Peter asked, glancing at everyone. “He’s got all this tech, he has to have some sort of person or company funding him.”

     “...I guess so.” Tim mumbled, glancing down. “That definitely makes sense.” he thought for a few seconds. “...y’know, I’m pretty good with tech. Maybe I could take a look at your suit if you still have it?”

     Peter hesitated. “...I wouldn’t wanna rope you guys into it. Vigilante work isn’t really something to play about.”

     Tim deadpanned. “We’re a rich family living in the most crime-ridden city on the planet, Peter. We know .”

     “...right.” he huffed. “....I appreciate the offer, but uh, I’d like to work on it myself. Tony made my suit for me, and I don’t want.. Anything to get messed up.” he completed, and got silence in return.

     That’s right, they didn’t know much about Tony. He had kept any information about the man sealed behind tight lips.

     “...It’s just important that I fix it myself.”

     “That’s alright.” Bruce assured. “Is you being a meta the reason that you don’t have any documents?”

     Peter nodded, following his trail of common sense. “Yeah, I’m not in any systems.”

     “Understood. I’ll have that handled in no time.” Bruce nodded, making a mental note to himself. “...Do you think you could come down now? I’m in no way doubting your… sticky powers, but I’d rather you be on the ground in case you fall.”

     Peter huffed, rolling his eyes with a little smile. “..yeah, I guess.” Slowly, Peter released his hands and legs from the ceiling, falling into a flip and landing on his feet after the short fall.

     Everyone in the room let out various sighs of relief now that he was on two feet once more, and Peter suddenly felt small once more. The ceiling had been safe, but he had no clue where Damian was.

     “...don’t worry about Dames, he’ll get over it.” Jason waved off the unsaid issue, as if reading Peter’s mind. The teen nodded in understanding, sticking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

     “You should go rest, Peter. I’m sure this was exhausting for you.” Bruce suggested, taking Peter’s shoulder and carefully steering him to the doors. When he pushed them open, Alfred was waiting on the other side with a gentle smile.

     “Young Peter, allow me to escort you to your room.”

     The speed at which the family ran to the cave was olympic in measure. When Peter was safely in his room, and Alfred let the family know, they were all rushing to get to the confines of the Batcave.

     “I can’t believe that actually happened–” Tim said with wide eyes, following Cassandra down the steps behind the clock. Stephanie was behind himself.

     “I know !!! It was so cool seeing Peter on the ceiling- do you think he can crawl up walls, too?? He has to, right? Since he’s so sticky?” Stephanie gushed behind Tim, sounding rather excited over this all.

     “Do you think he can control his sticky powers?” Duke asked from up ahead, already stepping down onto the cave floor with Bruce and Jason. Cass, Tim, and Stephanie followed closely after.

     “I’d think so- he hasn’t done anything like that before this.” Tim hummed. “And he said that the webs were new, he couldn’t do that before today.”

     “Do you think he made his own artificial webs?” Duke asked again as the family gathered together.

     “Has to.” Tim confirmed. “I’d love to see his formula.”

     “He wants to pursue vigilante work.” Bruce added, changing topics completely. Though, in his defense, this was the more important discussion to be had. “Tim, I need you to do some research into Spider-man.”

     “Already planned on it.” Tim nodded with a thumbs up. “Surely I can find something about him in a New York paper.”

     “We need to decide whether or not we’ll be… working with him.” Bruce stoned, crossing his arms as his brows pinched. “I don’t want him to get hurt, Gotham’s crime is much different than Queens’.

     “Well, obviously we’re gonna help him out.” Stephanie huffed, rolling her eyes. “I thought that was a given?”

     “We can help him, but do we tell him?” Jason glanced between Stephanie and Bruce. “Like, is he gonna know that Red Hood is also Jason Todd?”

     “No.” Bruce immediately replied, giving Jason a look. “Absolutely not. Not until we figure out who made him.”

     “You heard the guy, it was a radioactive spider, right?” Duke questioned.

     “Who made the spider?” Bruce shot back, raising a brow. When he got no answers, he hummed, sensing that he had won that back and forth. “Exactly my point. Peter was made this way for a reason, and we need to know what that reason is before we can fully trust him.”

     “Woah, hold on now-” Tim glared a bit. “Peter wouldn’t hurt us. I trust him- he’d have done something already.” he crossed his arms. “Plus, you saw how terrified he was. He wasn’t fighting Damian, either, he was dodging.”

     “He was holding back, Tim. We don’t know what his capabilities are.”

     “He was holding back because he didn’t want to hurt Damian- he won’t want to hurt any of us.”

     “But would he hurt a fellow vigilante?”

     “No.”

     Bruce and Tim stared at each other, a silent standoff being initiated by their eye contact. Wars raged in their minds, reflected in the intensity of their stares.

     It was Tim who had to break away first, huffing in frustration. Bruce always won those. “I still trust him.”

     “Trust him as much as you want, Tim, but be careful . He can’t know about all of this.”

     “Not yet.” Jason adjusted Bruce’s words, giving the man a look. “If we find out he’s in the clear, I’m speaking up. The kid deserves to have someone on his side.”

     “Jason,” Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that simple-”

     “Yeah, it is actually. Bruce, I may work with you, but you don’t have control over me.” Jason stated firmly. “I make my own decisions, and it’s been that way since day one. Don’t be surprised if Spider-man starts working with Red Hood more than he works with Batman.”

     “...just be careful , Jaylad.” Bruce urged. “For now, don’t do anything hasty.”

     “Hasty is my middle name.” Jason snorted, rolling his eyes. “I’m satisfied, so I’m headed back upstairs. I’ve gotta put away all of those books we were looking at.”

     As he started toward the stairs, Jason thought, then spoke.

     “Oh, and Tim.” He beckoned, not looking back. “While looking into Spider-man, do me a favor and look up a book called ‘The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane.’”

     “What for?” Tim asked, nose wrinkling in confusion.

     “Just do it.”

     The cave fell silent for a few moments, aside from the bats squeaking and flying overhead. The family all shared glances, listening to Jason’s steps grow fainter as he went up the stairs.

     “...What I’m about to say applies to all of you,” Bruce started, giving all of his kids a testy look. “Peter cannot know your double identities. Is that understood?”

     A chorus of murmured confirmations, and nods from the four teens, satisfied Bruce enough to let his shoulders relax down once more.

     “Good. That’s all. Tim, start on that digging as soon as possible.”

     “Mhm.” Tim rolled his eyes, elbowing Stephanie as he walked past. “C’mon, blondie, I want company while I do this.”

     The two walked to the Batcomputer together, with Tim falling into the seat and Stephanie sitting on the desk. Cassandra, Duke, and Bruce all filed upstairs after a few more moments, going two different ways. The teens toward the library to help Jason, and Bruce toward the kitchen. His mouth was dry from the events of the day, and he could really use a water.

     “Young Peter,” Alfred said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed as the teen tried relaxing under the covers. Despite the deescalation that happened earlier, he was still extremely on edge. His tingle hadn’t stopped tingling. “Do you know who Nightwing is?”

     Peter hesitated. “...I’ve read about him, but I don’t know the guy. I’ve never seen him in person.”

     “He’s the shadow of Blüdhaven, a neighboring city to Gotham.” Alfred explained, folding his gloved hands neatly in his lap. “Once, he was in Gotham, assisting our local vigilante’s in a rather large stand off against the Joker. I’m sure you’ve heard of him, too.”

     Peter nodded.

     “Well, Nightwing became incredibly injured. It was so bad, in fact, that he had to momentarily retreat to deal with his wounds. But Gotham is certainly not the cleanest, nor is it the friendliest. He was struggling to find a good place to recoup.”

     “Instead of finding an abandoned building, or an empty alleyway, though, he found Jason.”

     Peter paused, letting the thought sink in. He imagined Jason, the beast of muscle, encountering a trained vigilante. Jason could almost be a villain based purely on his looks.

     “And Jason helped Nightwing patch himself up.” Alfred finished.

     “...okay?” Peter hesitated, not quite sure what to take of that short anecdote.

     “...what I’m trying to say, Young Peter, is that this family is not adverse to the ways of vigilante’s and crime fighters.” Alfred stood, dusting off the front of his pants, then pulling the blankets further up over Peter. “We’re well accustomed to their ways. Even moreso, the ways of metas. I wish to assure you that this house is safe . We would do nothing to hinder or hurt you.”

     Peter nodded, feeling exhaustion tackle him once more. Alfred’s voice was just soothing, and the motion of tucking him in was so damn comforting..

     “Get some rest, and I shall wake you for dinner.”

     “Thanks, Mr. Pennyworth.”

     “Of course, Young Peter.”

     “It’s not fair, Grayson–” Damian threw a hard punch, which landed home on his oldest brother’s torso. The man didn’t flinch, but stepped away. He could play human punching bag as long as Damian stayed mad. “All I was doing was–”

     “Protecting us.” Dick finished for the kid, sighing and blocking another hit. “You’ve said that ten times already, Dames.”

     “And you neglect to listen–” Damian scowled, falling away for a few seconds and breathing hard. Frustration, anger, and adrenaline made his muscles pulse in time with his fast heartbeat. “Just like the rest of this damned family–”

     “I am listening, Dames.” the man tried to assure, taking this pause in Damian’s assault to breathe for himself. They had been at it for half an hour already. “I think it’s you who should start listening a bit better.”

     “ What –” Damian scoffed, glare falling onto his face once more as he moved in to continue his attack. Dick fell back into his defensive motion, dodging and blocking the little assassin’s fists and kicks.

     “We get that you want us to be safe-” Dick started, blocking a punch with his forearm and lightly shoving Damian away. “But we’re already safe- you would know that if you would listen to us, and the way we talk about Pete–”

     “Peter Parker is an intruder, Grayson–”

     “He’s not intruding, he was invited to stay-” Dick reminded, side stepping the kid and watching him recover in a roll. The cushioned mats of the Batcave’s gym kept Damian from hurting himself on a fall. Not that he would on a regular floor, the kid was agile as all hell.

     “He’s a threat–”

     “In that case, so is Jason and Duke-” Dick argued.

     “They’re different, they’re family –”

     “Peter’s close enough to family, wouldn’t you say?” Dick questioned, wincing as Damian landed a hard kick to his ribs. He shuffled back, crouching low to recover for a second. “He’s  got a room, he’s been to a dinner- Dad’s getting him registered in school–”

     “He is not a Wayne –”

     “Neither am I.”

     “You’re- you’re different– ”

     “Peter being Meta shouldn’t be an issue, either.” Dick reminded as Damian advanced once more. He grabbed the kid’s arms, turning and holding him hard in place for a moment, despite his thrashing. “You’re friends with Jon, right?”

     “I don’t care that he’s a meta–” Damian spat, yanking away from Dick in a quick motion. He reared around, roundhouse kicking toward the man’s jaw.

     Dick grabbed his ankle inches from his face, frowning. “Then what’s your deal?”

     “My deal is that you are all fine with a dangerous individual coming along!!- He’s in our home, doing God knows what while we’re all at school or work– we don’t know who he’s working for, or who made him–”

     “That’s something we’re looking into, Damian.” Dick assured, lowering Damian’s ankle until the boy was flat on two feet once more. “And I’m sure if you’d like to help, Bruce would let you.”

     Damian huffed, panting breaths out as his heart started to slow down.

     “..but you should apologize to Peter. He’s a nice kid, and you probably scared him shitless.”

     “Good.” Damian rolled his eyes, clenching and unclenching his fists. “...I will not be apologizing.”

     “I think you should consider it, at the very least. It’s not his fault that he’s the way that he is.” Dick reminded, crouching down to get on eye level. Blue met blue, and they looked at each other for a few moments of silence, the world calming down around them.

     “...what happens when we find out who made him?”

     “Well, if they made him for bad reasons, then we fight. That’s what we do, right? Take down the bad, uplift the good?” Dick smiled softly, putting a hand on Damian’s shoulder.

     The kid huffed. “...yes.”

     “...so far, Peter has been good. That means that it’s our job to uplift him. All of us, even you, have a duty to help him grow.”

     “He seems grown enough.” Damian rolled his eyes. “The Lazarus Pit has him as tall as Duke. I bet he wasn’t that tall before.”

     “You’re jealous that a sixteen-year-old is taller than you.” Dick teased, earning another solid punch to his shoulder, which he chuckled off.

     “I’m jealous of nothing that Parker has.” Damian shoved Dick away, turning and storming to the other end of the mat. Dick’s giggles persisted behind him.

     “I dunno, the webs are really damn cool. I bet he can climb on walls, too. How convenient would that be? No more grappling hooks required!”

     “It sounds lazy.”

     “I bet he’s strong, too.”

     “..not as strong as me.”

     “Oh yeah?” Dick grinned. “Get on his good side, and I bet he’d let you test that.”

     Damian huffed. “I have no plans to befriend him. Especially not after today.”

     When Damian turned around, Dick was standing once more, with a determined smirk across his face. His hands were on his hips, and his stance radiated confidence. It made Damian slightly nervous.

     “Then it is not my goal to get you and Peter to be friends. Or at the very least-” he snickered. “You don’t hate him.”

     Damian rolled his eyes once more, falling into a fighting stance again with a hard glare. “Good fucking luck.”

Chapter Text

     Peter had been at the Wayne’s for a week, and the last time that he saw Damian was the same day that, as Tim puts it, Shit Went Down in the library. It’s not like Damian had disappeared, though. Karen assured Peter that he was still in the house, and would leave for school everyday.

     He was just really good at avoiding Peter like the plague.

     In a sense, Peter kind of felt like a plague. Everyone who was close to him got hurt. His parents, Uncle Ben, Tony.. he called it the Parker Curse. Part of him prayed that Tony was still out there somewhere.

     That part of him lost hope with every passing day.

     Despite his dwindling hope in those that he loves (loved? Maybe it was more appropriate to put it in the past tense, now), the teen was able to develop a routine at the Manor.

     With the news of his so-called meta status came a new set of rules. No web-slinging in the house. No startling Peter. No freaking out guests by walking on the walls. It was basic parameters that he was more than happy to abide by. As for the routine, it went as follows.

     Peter would usually wake up a little after eight-thirty. By that time, Alfred would be on his way home from taking Tim, Duke, Damian, and Cass to school. When Alfred arrived, he would make breakfast for Peter, and once he was finished, they would both go about their own business.

     During the day, Peter did a number of things. Ever since the Edward Tulane incident, as he so cleverly put it in his mind, part of his day was almost always spent looking into the differences between his own universe and the one he had woken up in. If he was not doing that, then he was either exploring the Wayne property (he had found himself wandering out to greet Batcow more often than he’d like to admit), or trying to get into that underground room.

     Which was becoming exceptionally harder to do. Bruce had gone back to working in-person the day after the library incident, which meant that the study was open. That did not mean that it made sneaking in any easier, though.

     For one, Alfred was extremely observant, and always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. Everytime Peter got close to the study door, Alfred rounded the corner, offering Peter a snack or asking for his assistance in something. It was convenient, and intentional.

     Dick and Jason had both gone home the day after the fight with Damian, but the former swung by every few days to check up on Peter. In doing this, he had found the teen creeping around the study more than once, and like Alfred, would direct him away in subtle ways.

     Not only was this family hiding this secret room, they were now actively trying to keep him out .

     “Young Peter, might I have a word?”

     Damnit, I was so close– Peter internally complained, passing the Study with a glance to the door and a frown. “Sure, what’s up, Mr. Pennyworth?”

     The butler’s smile softened, as he had yet to get Peter to drop the formalities. The man placed a gentle hand on the teen’s shoulder and led him down the hall and up a set of stairs. They landed together in the hallway of the bedrooms moments later, and walked together down to Peter’s.

     “I cannot help but notice that you are still living off of borrowed clothes from Master Tim and Master Dick.” Alfred said once they had entered Peter’s room. Both of them glanced toward the bare closet across from the bed.

     Peter rolled his eyes, smiling a little bit. “Well, I don’t have a job, Mr. Pennyworth. I can’t buy my own clothes, but I’m really grateful that Tim and Dick have been letting me use theirs.” He tried to make his tone sound as genuine as possible, because he was grateful. Without those two, he would be walking around in dumpster jeans.

     “Yes, those two are rather generous.” Alfred hummed his praising agreement, and crossed the room to Peter’s empty closet. He tugged the door open completely and glanced around at the empty space. “...Peter, how would you feel about having this space filled?”

     Peter paused, processing the words for a few moments. “..you mean like, having my own wardrobe?”

     “Precisely.”

     Peter chewed the inside of his cheek. This felt like a trick question. “...well, I mean, it would be nice. But again, I don’t have a job.”

     “I’m sure that Master Bruce would not mind swiping a few cards of his. Lord knows he has far too many.” Alfred hummed, amusement in his tone.

     “I couldn’t ask him to do that, letting me stay here is already too much.” He chuckled awkwardly, sitting down on his bed and watching Alfred pick at a cobweb in the closet.

     “He would be more than happy to, Young Peter.”

     Peter did not doubt Alfred’s words in the slightest. Bruce had been hospitable, generous, and kind to Peter for his entire stay. Even if he had only been here a week, he felt like he belonged. Part of him absolutely sang at that thought. The other part of him felt like he was being chewed up from the inside out.

     Belonging was dangerous. Peter belonged with his parents, and they were gone. Peter belonged with Uncle Ben, and he was dead. Peter belonged with Tony and the Avengers, and they were…

     Hell, he didn’t even know where they were. Did the others turn to dust like him? Were they gifted a second chance in a brand new universe, too?

     The Parker Curse was the only consistent thing about Peter, and he would be damned if he let it get to this family. They were far too good for that.

     “...I understand your qualms about using Master Bruce’s money, Young Peter.” Alfred said after the teen’s prolonged silence had become too claustrophobic. He pulled Peter from his thoughts, and he looked up to the butler.

     “Despite that, getting your own clothes will make you feel much better. Using hand-me-downs forever won’t always work.” Alfred’s smile was gentle, and promising. Peter found it so easy to trust that smile. “I’m sure that you and the others could make a day out of it, too. Master Duke mentioned wanting to go to the mall, recently.”

     Going shopping for himself was one thing, but going shopping with the others? That felt… so much better . They would all be getting stuff, and Alfred was right, they could make a day out of it. Besides, getting out of this Manor and back into Gotham sounded nice, despite the city’s high crime rates and even higher pollution statistics.

     Peter’s previous worries about using Bruce’s money slowly eased away in his mind, leaving room for the prospect of a fun day out with the other three teens.

     “..I guess that would be fun. If they want to go, I’ll go.” he smiled just a bit, leaning back onto his hands.

     Pleased with Peter’s answer, Alfred’s smile brightened. “Wonderful, I’m sure that you could all go this afternoon. If you would like, you may come with me to pick them up, and I could take you all once they get out of school.”

     “...what about Damian? Don’t you also pick him up?”

     Alfred shook his head. “Not today. He will be spending the afternoon with a friend of his.”

     Peter wanted to make a witty remark about Damian actually having friends, but he bit his cheek to stay quiet. He really shouldn’t antagonize the kid anymore than his mere presence apparently already did.

     “Alright, then sure. If the others are fine with it.” Peter shrugged.

     Alfred nodded. “I shall send them a message, they can look at it during their lunch period.” The butler shut the closet. “Summer is nearly upon us, I’d suggest finding some cooler clothing. We can worry about a winter wardrobe for you once fall hits.”

     The fact that Alfred wanted to get Peter any sort of wardrobe made a pit form in his stomach. The longer he stayed, the more and more that the teen had to face the fact that they wanted for him to stay. It was something that he was slowly becoming more comfortable with. Slowly. Those pits in his stomach, and the clenching in his chest, would never really go away. But they got easier to deal with as the days went by.

     “Sounds good.” Peter smiled at Alfred. “..thank you, Mr. Pennyworth. For everything- I mean, without you finding me I wouldn’t have..”

     “None of that now, Young Peter.” The soothing British voice lulled Peter into a silence. He listened. “I was merely doing the right thing. You were lost, confused, and clearly you needed guidance.”

     “You sure guided me through the door.” Peter snickered quietly, and his little joke even drew a chuckle from the man.

     “I guided you to the Waynes, Young Peter. I get the feeling that you are exactly where you need to be.”

     “Even if I’m.. meta?”

     “ Especially because you are meta, Young Peter. This family has experience with these matters.”

     “...what’s that supposed to mean?” Peter felt out of the loop suddenly. Alfred was being so vague and for what reason? All that the man did in response was smile, with a knowing light behind his eyes. The teen frowned, watching the man exit the bedroom.

     After hearing his footsteps disappear, Karen spoke up in his left ear.

     “Hi, Peter. You seem confused. How can I remedy this?”

     “I don’t think you can, Karen.” He sighed through his nose, falling back against the blankets and staring up at the ceiling. “Not unless you can read minds.”

     “I can basically read yours, does that count?”

     “Ew, don’t remind me.” Peter huffed out a laugh, smiling a little bit. The sense of humor that the AI had never failed to lighten him up a little bit. It reminded him of Tony.

     “I have breaking news from Gotham, would you like it?”

     “Sure.” Peter hummed, holding his hands above his face while he listened to her voice. The little indents in his wrists- the spinnerets - were barely visible. He couldn’t feel them either, no wonder he hadn’t noticed until this point.

     “There has been an attack on one of the bridges leading to the harbor. The Daytime Bat, Signal, has arrived on the scene and is engaged in a fight with someone the news is referring to as a member of the Rogues’ Gallery.”

     “Rogues' Gallery? What is that, the X-Men of this universe?” He joked, aiming his wrists at the ceiling and shooting a testy string of webs. It felt strange, and it took instinct to actually do it. He would need to get used to this.

     “Those are the villains that Batman and his Community have consistently had problems with over the years.”

     “So which villain is this?”

     “A woman referred to as Poison Ivy. I’ve found some information about her, if you would like it.”

     “...sure. Go for it.”

     “Signal, how are you faring?” the hushed voice of Oracle crackled in Duke’s ear, and he gritted his teeth behind his bright yellow helmet. 

     “Just dandy–” He winced, side stepping away from a row of thorned vines that had been sent his direction at an uncanny speed. “I could use some backup, though– or some crowd control!!--” the teen yelped, rolling away from yet another barrage of thorns.

     “I’m trying to patch in to Red Hood, but he’s not responding-”

     “Does he ever??--” Duke winced once more, standing up straight and making a quick advancement toward the red-headed rogue. “Just– if you can’t get him it’s fine, I’ll just be late getting back to school–”

     “..Pamela Isley, huh?” Peter repeated the woman’s real name out loud, trying to recall if he could remember it from his own universe. He could not. “...whose winning?”

     “At the moment, Signal is gaining momentum and an upper hand.”

     “It’s cool that this place has a daytime hero, the city seems like it needs it.” Peter hummed, tapping his fingers against his stomach.

     “When you begin your work again, would you like to do daytime work?”

     That.. was a really good question. Back home, Peter went out as Spider-man whenever he was needed. He didn’t really split it between night and day, mainly because he usually worked alone.

     “...I dunno, I’ll have to think about that one.”

     “Understood.”

     “Sorry for the late appearance–” Red Hood huffed, sliding on his hip as he ducked his head to avoid a barrage of thorny vines that were previously aimed at his head. Knowing Ivy, she would be trying to rip that helmet to shreds. “I was a bit tied up–”

     “ Sure you were–” Signal struggled against a different set of vines, the thorns pressing against his gloved palms harshly. If his uniform weren’t so sturdy, they would have pierced through already. “Just help me finish this, please–”

     “Sure, dandelion–”

     “That is such a poorly timed nickname, Red–”

     “The fight near the harbor has just ended. Pamela Isley has escaped into the sewers, and one of the bridges has sustained significant damage. There’s a poison control team en route.”

     “That’s good, is Signal okay then?” Peter asked, now walking laps around his room, up the walls, and across the ceiling.

     “He has sustained minor injuries. Red Hood arrived on the scene and helped finish the battle. From what I’m seeing, Pamela Isley sustained three gunshot wounds to the abdomen.”

     “Geeze. Who shot her?”

     “Red Hood.”

     Peter paused in his tracks, standing upside down on his ceiling. The nearby window pushed a gentle breeze into the room, ruffling his curtains and hair. An expression of deep thought crossed his face.

     “....cool. I guess he helps out in the daytime and the night, then.” Peter mumbled, slowly moving until he was sitting criss-cross on the ceiling. The t-shirt he had on, which had the Nightwing logo across the chest, hung loosely around his waist, but majorly stayed in place. He loved convenient physics.

     About two and a half hours later, Peter was riding in the backseat of a black GMC Yukon, looking out the window as Alfred expertly navigated the streets of Gotham. It did not take long to get to the school, and once they did, the car joined the line of other parents and caretakers, moving gradually to pick up the students one by one.

     Once the GMC had gotten closer to the front of the line, it was spotted by a familiar group of three teens and one pre-teen, who shouldered their bags and approached. Tim pulled the door open, and held it for the other two to pile in. Damian took the front seat, and was pointedly avoiding looking back at Peter.

     “Hey, Peter!” Duke greeted, sliding into the seat next to the teen in the middle row. Cass and Tim piled into the furthest back bench seat, sliding the door shut behind themselves.

     “Hey, Duke. How was school?” Peter smiled, leaning into the door and resting his head against the cool glass of the window. Karen’s voice sparked to life in his ear.

     “Duke Thomas-Wayne has sustained minor injuries to his palms, forearms, and lower back.”

     Peter paused, glancing down to the boy’s palms quickly. From what he could see, which wasn’t much, they did look a bit scuffed up and raw.

     “..you okay? Your hands look red.” the teen pointed out, voicing his concern. Alfred glanced through the rearview mirror, watching the interaction as he pulled out of the school’s lot.

     Duke hesitated, glancing back to Tim and Cass. Did something happen? Peter worried that he may have gotten into a fight. Were the Wayne kids popular at school, or were they like Peter at Midtown?

     “I’m good. Tim and I were messing around during study hall outside, and I fell.” the darker teen shrugged, folding his hands in a purposeful way that hid his scraped palms. “It’s nothing bad, I already cleaned them.” he assured.

     Despite not feeling assured at all, Peter nodded and dropped the subject, looking out the window.

     “Alfred tell you we’re going to the mall?” Tim leaned forward between Peter and Duke, changing the subject with a smile. 

     Peter’s interest was once again grabbed and he smiled with a nod, glancing over to Tim in his peripheral vision.

     “He’s gonna drop us off, then take Damian home. He’ll come get us before dinner, so we’ve got like.. Two and a half hours.” Tim confirmed, looking up to Alfred, who nodded in agreement as he slowed to a stop at a red light.

     “I hear we’re finally getting you some new clothes.”Duke teased, elbowing Peter in the side. “You can stop wearing the hand-me-downs after today.”

     “What if I like the hand-me-downs?” Peter challenged playfully, giving Duke a testy glare which was returned in earnest with a snicker.

     “Get over it. You can’t live in our clothes forever, you’ll need your own.”

     “Speak for yourself-” Tim huffed, pushing Duke’s head in a brotherly manner. “Peter can take what he wants for all I care.”

     Peter watched the two go back and forth, which, after a few minutes, resulted in Duke leaning over his seat to shove at Tim. The roughhousing shook the GMC, and Alfred ended up reprimanding the two.

     The teen only felt mildly responsible for them getting in trouble, but just before he could apologize, the sound of a quiet snicker from the backseat grabbed his attention. He turned his head and glanced back, pausing when he saw Cassandra covering her grin with her hand.

     The two made eye contact, and Cassandra winked, covering her mouth with a finger in a shushing motion. Peter’s eyes widened, and he turned back around to face the front.

     Okay, so she can talk. That’s cool.

    It was not much longer until Alfred slowed to another stop in a drop-off zone for a large indoor mall. If Peter had to compare it to anything, it would be to an airport. It certainly seemed big enough to be one.

    The teens all piled out, save for Damian, who was still avoiding looking at Peter. When the teen got a glance at the kid, all he could see was a stone cold glare aimed down at his own lap.

     “Thanks, Alfred!” Duke smiled, waving and sliding the door shut. Alfred waved to the group, not pulling off until he saw the four make it inside the mall.

     Peter was immediately hit by a sensory overload. The amount of people inside was jarring, the smells were abundant and potent , and every few seconds, the hairs on the back of his neck would stand on end. It had him sort of frozen in his tracks, trying to process all of the new and sudden information before continuing any further.

     Duke and Tim looked back after a few seconds of walking, pausing when they saw Peter and Cassandra still standing at the doors. They shared a glance before backpedaling to the two.

     “You okay, Peter?” Duke asked, a bit of worry in his tone.

     Peter could only nod, squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds. His senses had never been this sensitive, not even back home. This must be another change, just like his new organic webs.

     “Mhm, there’s just a lot going on.” He said quietly, forcing his eyes open after a second. “I’m good, let’s go.”

     “Are you sure ? We can sit down if you need to.” Tim chimed in, jerking a thumb toward the nearest unoccupied bench. “We’ve got plenty of time-”

     “I said I’m fine , Tim. Let’s just go.” Peter huffed, glaring a bit before quickly wiping it away. He didn’t mean to get frustrated so fast, why did he feel so angry? He blamed it on the mass sensory input he was still getting.

     “..right. Okay, cool.” Tim shrugged, smiling a bit. “Let’s find you some clothes, then.”

     Cassandra stuck to Peter’s side as the group walks, with Tim and Duke leading the two around. They went up the escalators to the second floor first, stopping in various outlet stores and browsing the collection of clothes.

     Peter tried to keep Alfred’s instructions in mind: it was almost summer, meaning he would need warm-weather clothes. Nothing too heavy.

     Duke held up different shirts to Peter’s torso, while Tim walked around trying to find a good pair of walking shoes for him. Cassandra even broke away after two or three stores, leaving the group entirely to go do… whatever it was that she was doing. They didn’t see her for a whole thirty minutes before she came back with an arm full of shopping bags.

     “Pfft- shit, Cass, whose all that for?” Tim snickered, pulling at one of the bags and peeking inside. Peter couldn’t bite his curiosity and followed suit. Inside were neatly folded shirts, shorts, and basics like socks and boxers.

     Cassandra nodded her head at Peter, smiling with a shrug. “.....you guys were going too slow..” She hummed, voice soft. It was much clearer than Peter was expecting though, and it surprised a small smile onto his face.

     “..thanks, Cass.” Peter nodded. “I can carry the bags, you shouldn’t carry everything for me.” He assured, taking some of the metaphorical and literal weight from her shoulder as he slipped the bags onto his own forearm.

     “Peter, do you want any work-out clothes??” Duke called from across the store, poking his head over a rack and smiling at the trio.

     “...I guess??” Peter’s smile became unsure, and a nervous chuckle fell over him. The longer he was in the mall, the easier and easier it became to deal with all of the sensory information being thrown his way. This was good, like exposure therapy.

     Duke nodded and disappeared behind the rack once more. “What’s your favorite color??” he called out again.

     “Red!!” Peter replied with much more confidence. Tim seemed to light up a bit at his response, and Peter could only assume that meant that Tim also liked the color red.

     Ten minutes later, they were checking out of yet another store. Peter tried not to look so uncomfortable every time that Tim swiped the shiny silver metal card.

     “Do you want anything for your room?” Tim asked as they exited the clothing store, looking around at the other second-story shops that were open. “Posters, blankets, tech?”

     “Oh, no, It’s okay.” Peter quickly assured. “I’ll get that stuff eventually, I think Alfred was more worried about the clothes.” he hummed, looking down at his borrowed shoes as he walked. He had been wearing them for a week now, and honestly, was kind of attached. He may have to ask Tim if he could keep them.

     “Nonsense.” Tim huffed. “Who's your favorite superhero? We can get you a poster. It’ll bring some life to your room.”

     “A list of the most popular heroes are as follows: Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, The Flash, Green Lantern, Aquaman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Spoiler, Black Bat, Robin–”

     “Robin.” Peter settled on an answer quickly, not wanting to make his silence suspicious. “Either him or uh.. I don’t know, maybe Batman.”

     Tim nodded, glancing around the nearby stores before dragging the group to a novelty shop. Inside was an entire wall of merchandise for superheroes. Honestly, it felt more like a comic book store.

     Cassandra helped Peter pick out a few posters. They ended up getting one of both Batman and Robin, as well as one of someone called the Martian Manhunter. Peter had never heard of him, but the dorky costume certainly had an appeal to it.

     The rest of the shopping trip went by in a blur. The others got a few things, but it was not hard to miss that the trip had almost entirely centered around Peter. He felt a guilty clench in his stomach, but pushed it aside.

     They were his friends, they were allowed to do nice things for him. Even if those nice things could be potentially financially draining.

     Alfred picked them up around six without any fuss, and they were home by six-thirty. The other three teens helped Peter carry everything into his room, where they sorted all of the clothes into the closet and dresser.

     Already the room felt so much more lived in now that he had clothes of his own. Four pairs of shoes were neatly tucked onto his closet floor- two pairs of sneakers, a pair of dress shoes, and a pair of sandals. Owning more than two pairs of shoes felt absurd, but he didn’t say anything.

     “Where do you want your posters, Pete?” Duke asked, unrolling the two sheets of shiny paper and looking around at all of the empty wall space.

     Peter followed his gaze. “..well, I don’t want to walk on them, so they’d probably be better closer to the corners of the room.”

     The three Wayne children all paused and shared a glance. Right, Peter had powers. It was so easy to forget that when he just acted like a normal teen.

     “Sure.” Duke shrugged, smiling. “Tim, can you go grab the command strips?”

     Minutes later, Peter was crouched on his wall above the poster, holding it in place while Duke stuck the bottom corners to the wall.

     “That is really convenient.” Tim snickered, looking at Peter’s gravity-defying position with blatant curiosity. “And it even works through your clothes and shoes?”

     “Most of the time.” Peter shrugged. “I doubt it would work if I had on anything too thick, like snow boots or something.”

     “What do you do in the winter, then? Y’know, when you do your Spider-man thing?” Duke asked, looking up at the person on the wall after he finished sticking down the poster.

     “Oh, my suit was heated.” Peter snickered. “My mentor did a lot to make sure I was safe when I did my thing.”

     “You mean Tony?” Tim questioned, sitting on Peter’s bed.

     “Yeah, Tony.” Peter felt unafraid to talk about the man now. Of course, he was still particular with how much information he gave away, but that didn’t mean he had to lie as much. “He’s a tech genius, and a really good guy.”

     “He sounds cool.” Duke smiled, stepping back as Peter walked down the wall and back onto the floor. “Reminds me of Lucius Fox.”

     “Who?”

     “He works with Bruce at Wayne Enterprises, but he also has his own company.” Duke explained, and the group herded out of Peter’s room. They made their way toward the kitchen.

     “Or Alfred.” Tim teased. “He helped out Bruce back when he was a kid, after his parents died.” he explained, sticking his hands into his pants pockets.

     Peter nodded in understanding, tucking all of that information away for later. He could always ask Karen about this if he wanted to know more. The perks of having a supercomputer in his ear.

     Dinner was an uneventful affair. The residents of the manor ate in major silence. Occasionally someone would bring up something that happened at school, or on the shopping trip, but otherwise everyone was quiet.

     This did not mean that they were uncomfortable, though. In fact, this dinner felt homey. Even if not all of the Waynes were present, it still felt like a family dinner. Damian finished eating first and left without a passing glance.

     “...is he okay?” Peter asked after he was sure that the kid was far enough away to not hear. “He’s been avoiding me, and I’m starting to think I did something wrong.”

     Bruce paused, looking up from his meal for the first time. He glanced at Peter, then the doorway where Damian just left, and sighed.

     “...Damian is still trying to grapple through his emotions. He’s trying not to take them out on you.” the man explained with carefully chosen words. “After last week, I had to have a talk with him.”

     “You were out of line, Damian.”

     “I was trying to–”

     “I know, but you went about it in the wrong way.”

     “Father–”

     “Damian.”

     “...”

     “What you did was incredibly dangerous, especially knowing what we do about Peter. If you want to protect us, and our identities, then you’ll stop giving him so many obvious clues as to our true nature.”

     “...”

     “Am I understood?”

     “Yes, Father.”

     “Oh.” Peter said in a small voice, looking down at his cleared plate. “...I hope you weren’t too harsh on him, I get it. He was scared.”

     “Scared?” Tim could have laughed. “He’s not scared of anything, he’s a little demon spawn.”

     “Tim, be nice to your brother.” Bruce huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Peter, your empathy is greatly appreciated, but Damian is… different. He doesn’t often listen unless it’s treated like a crime.”

     “But-”

     “Peter.”

     For the first time, Peter felt truly silenced by Bruce. It felt familiar to a time at the beginning of his sophomore year, when Tony took away his new shiny Spider-man suit after he messed up badly.

     But it’s not his fault that he did not know those were government agents. They really should have been wearing badges, or something.

     “...right. Sorry.” Peter huffed, leaning back in his seat.

     Bruce fell silent, looking around the table at the other teens. “...Alfred, you can bring me Peter’s present, now.”

     The teen froze, almost immediately looking up from his plate with wide eyes. “...you didn’t need to get me anything, I mean, going shopping today was–”

     “Fun, right?” Bruce smiled softly. “Relax, you were going to need one of these eventually, anyways. I’m just speeding up the process.”

     Alfred entered the room holding a small white box, and Peter could already tell exactly what it was. That guilty pit bubbled once more in his abdomen. “You really didn’t need to-”

     “I wanted to.”

     Alfred placed the box in front of Peter and cleared his plate, giving the boy a soft pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile before stepping away.

     Tim, Cass, and Duke all sat on the edges of their seats, smiling like idiots. They knew about this from the beginning.

     When Peter opened up the box, he was greeted by a turned off touch-screen phone. It was a deep red color, with cool glass on the front and back. When he powered it on, there was a Robin-themed lock screen.

     “..I may or may not have texted Bruce your favorites.” Duke’s smile widened a bit, and he leaned his head into his hand, elbow on the table. “Y’know, to make it feel more like it’s yours.”

     When Peter was back in his room, he was silent. No talking to Karen, just marveling in the wonder that was this phone. Despite this universe being so many years behind, it felt modern. The sleek build and seamless transitions between screens was uncanny.

     After a few minutes of messing with the settings, creating a password, and checking out the internet (which he had so dearly missed), he finally said a word to his AI companion.

     “...hey, Karen. Can you connect to this thing?”

     “Certainly, Peter.”

     “So, did he like his phone?” Dick’s voice said from the Batcomputer speakers. The Oracle communications channel was opened on one of the screens, showing all of the active users. Currently, it was just Nightwing, Oracle, and Red Robin. Everyone else would be online within the next hour or so.

     “Oh, dude, he was speechless.” Tim snickered, leaning back in the Batcomputer chair. “I think he was worried about the cost of everything, though. Must have come from an unstable home.”

     “Well, his aunt and uncle are both dead, as well as his parents.” Barbara Gordon hummed, swallowing something that she had been snacking on as they spoke and set up the systems for the night. “He probably hasn’t had new tech in a while.”

     “Other than his super suit.” Tim reminded, earning a hum of understanding from Barbara.

     “And you guys still haven’t found it?” Dick asked, the sound of a window sliding open being heard from his end of the line.

     “Nope. Agent A doesn’t want to search his room, saying it’s an invasion of privacy or something.” Tim rolled his eyes. “I’m willing to bet it’s behind the bed frame or something.”

     “Just bribe Black Bat into getti–” Barbara teased, but was quickly cut short by a large lag spike in her own system. It carried over to the Batcomputer, freezing the screens for a few moments.

     “Oracle?-” Tim’s eyes widened a bit. “Oracle, you there?”

     “What? What happened??” Dick asked quickly. He was not in front of a screen, so he hadn’t seen whatever they had.

     “Yeah- yeah I’m here.” Barbara quickly assured, and the sound of her typing frantically could be heard.

     “What was that?” Tim huffed, following her lead and pulling up his own system diagnostics. While his eyes were pulled away from the furthest screen, he had not noticed the new voice channel pop up in the communications tab.

     “I don’t know, that's what I’m trying to find–”

     “Hello, Timothy Drake-Wayne, Barbara Gordon, and Richard Grayson.”

Chapter Text

     "What are you?" Tim asked quietly, staring up at the largest monitor of the Batcomputer. Files were opening themselves, passwords were being entered, and camera feeds were being sorted through at an inhuman speed. Because this was not a human.

     "Artificial Intelligence. I am smarter than the ones you are familiar with, though."

     The teen frowned. He had stopped fighting the apparent cyber attack minutes ago, but he could still hear Barbara typing at the speed of light over the Oracle comms.

     "Your secret room is not named in a very clever way."

     "...what, the Bat Cave? " Tim rolled his eyes, already getting frustrated with the female voice. "There's bats in here, so it makes sense."

     "Batman takes his name literally, I see. I did not consider Bruce Wayne to be the animalistic type."

     Barbara huffed on her end of the line, anger in her tone. "He's not ."

     "Who made you?" Tim spoke immediately after Barbara, wanting to keep this AI on topic. If it was really an artificial intelligence, then going too far away from the important subjects would cause it to drift.

     "Tony Stark."

     "...okay, so you're Peter's?"

     "I figured that much was obvious."

     Tim held back another frustrated sigh. It's attitude was really starting to get to him, and frankly, it was getting close to intolerable. The other vigilante's would be joining the Oracle comms soon, and he wanted to avoid panic from the AI's presence.

     It was already in all of their systems and files, there was no stopping it now. Tim, at this point, was just worried about what its goal was.

     "...okay, do you have a name?" Dick's voice came from the Oracle comms, both cautious and curious. He had mostly been freaked out because his siblings were freaked out, but now that Tim had mostly come to his senses he was feeling a bit better.

     "Peter calls me Karen."

     "Fitting name." Barbara grumbled, her typing slowing to a silent stop. Seems like she had given up as well. Tim could hear her eyes rolling.

     "Okay, Karen." Dick hummed the name a few times. "Karen, Karen Karen..." he was smiling, Tim could tell. "...are you evil?"

     "Far from it. Tony created me to assist Peter in his vigilante work."

     "Friendly Neighborhood Spider-man..." Tim recalled to himself, thinking back to the day that they had discovered Peter was a meta. "That's what he called himself."

     "It is his self-appointed title."

     "And Tony Stark... knew his identity, and made you to help him?" Tim continued.

     "Correct."

     "So Tony Stark knows his identity?"

     "Correct."

     The three Waynes got quiet for a few moments, processing the information that they were given. Peter was smart, sure, but Tim doubted that he could do something like create an AI this advanced. This only furthered proof of Tony's existence.

     "Do you know where Tony is?" Barbara asked, breaking the silence that they had found themselves in. Tim watched as the opening of files stunted for a moment, and the lag could have almost been mistaken for hesitation on Karen's part.

     "That information is classified."

     "Yeah, well so is all of our stuff." Tim retorted. "You seem to be having fun going through it all, despite that fact."

     Another lag spike. Tim was amazed, but he refused to show it. Karen was extremely advanced, and she was right. She was more complicated than any AI he had ever seen before. She acted like a person. She had empathy and thoughts .

     "I'm sorry, Timothy Drake-Wayne. I am merely doing my best to assist Peter by gathering information."

     "What kind of info do you need?" Tim questioned, leaning back in his chair. Since she was being cooperative, his frustration had simmered down into major curiosity.

     "Peter wishes to continue his work in Gotham. I, at first, silently disagreed with the notion. This is not Queens, and he will surely get injured beyond my control."

     There was a pause, and Tim recognized the moment as her thinking.

     "But now that I know he is being housed by the local vigilantes, I have no doubts that he will be fine."

     All at once, every single file, camera, and password was closed, and Tim was greeted by the Batcomputer's home screen wallpaper. The only thing still open, of course, was the Oracle comms, which were pushed off to a side monitor.

     "You can't tell him about us, Karen." Tim said idly, but made sure that there was enough sincerity in his voice for her to understand. "It's too dangerous."

     "I have no plans to tell him of your identities."

     "...don't.. don't fuck up our systems too bad. Please?" Barbara sighed in defeat from her end of the comm line. Tim could imagine her rubbing her eyes under her glasses, likely exhausted from the extremely short confrontation.

     "I have no plans to alter your systems in any way unless you ask for me to."

     "We won't be asking." Barbara assured, a bit of sarcastic venom on her tongue. Dick hummed in slight agreement, but since he had been only listening to the conversation and not watching a screen, he did not seem to understand the things that Karen had done and seen.

     "If we need to contact you again, how can we do that?" Tim asked, glancing to the clock. They were out of time for any more long questions.

     "I will know if you need my assistance, Timothy Drake-Wayne."

     "...just Tim."

     "Of course, Tim."

     Peter Parker woke up with an ache in his chest. It weighed him down like dumbbells through the ribs, and made it hard for him to want to even function . The teen struggled to roll out of bed, and a quick glance to the digital alarm clock told him it was a little after five in the morning. Too early to be up.

     He sighed dramatically, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and sitting up, stuffing his face into his hands to try rubbing some life back to his features. The dim light of early morning was of no comfort.

     Memories of his dream came back to him.

     “Mr Stark, I don’t feel so good–” He pleaded with his mentor, praying for some reprieve from the pain across his body. The first time this happened, it did not hurt nearly as bad. But now it felt like fire was burning through to his bones, which splintered and jutted through his skin at awkward angles.

     He felt like he had been beaten to a pulp, and he had been. Thanos was strong, but Jason was stronger. He had known it since day one. He knew that Jason could kill him.

     Peter did not know why Jason was on Titan, but in the moment, he did not have the energy to consider this delusion.

     When he looked up, he was not greeted by Tony’s sympathetic, fearful eyes looking back down at him. Instead, the face of Bruce Wayne faltered, looking… much more emotional than Tony ever had.

     “....Mr. Wayne?--”

     “You’re alright, Peter.” The man consoled, lowering the aching, dying teen to the ground. The dust below him felt like his own, and the thought made him sick. “You’re going to be just fine, just lay down for a minute.”

     “I-I’m sorry–” Peter gasped out an apology when his bones moved of their own volition, tearing wider injuries through his flesh. Then, he started turning to dust. “I didn’t–”

     “Shh..” Bruce eased, rubbing a hand over Peter’s head, carting his fingers through his hair. The motion was supposed to be comforting, but it felt wrong . Bruce felt wrong .

     This scenario was wrong. First Jason, and now Bruce? They were never on Titan in the first place. Peter’s mind was cruel for putting these images into his mind.

     “...you’re right where you belong, champ.” Bruce assured, and Peter choked on his tears. His vision blurred, his body flared hot, and then everything turned white.

     Now, half awake and feeling unable to sleep, Peter made his way out of his room with heavy steps and a faint buzz in his brain. Nothing felt quite steady enough for him to fully grasp. He dragged his hand along the wall for balance, but it did nothing for the blurriness of his vision and the tears that threatened to fall once more.

     But he refused to get the Wayne’s rug dirty by crying on it. That would just make him a rude guest, even if he could clean it up himself.

     Peter did not know exactly where he was walking to, but in no time, he found himself wandering the hallways of the first floor. With Karen left upstairs on his night stand, he was a little bit lost. Certain paintings, or rooms were familiar, though.

     Like the door of the first floor study that was steadily becoming more clear in his vision. Early morning sun shone through the window at the end of the hall, illuminating the space in an almost pale golden color. No one but Alfred would be awake right now, and getting into that secret room would make a really good distraction…

     He froze as the study door was pushed open from the inside, and watched from his spot as Jason and Dick both emerged from the room, wearing pajamas and looking tired.

     Had they stayed up all night studying or something? Neither of them were in school, but maybe one was taking online courses? Or maybe they were just reading, because Jason was a nerd like that.

     The two adults immediately noticed Peter, gazes locking onto his shaking form. Wait, when did Peter start shaking ? He could not recall.

     “...Pete, bud, what are you doing up?” Dick asked, voice soft and slightly hoarse. He let his shoulders fall comfortably, approaching the boy with calculated steps. Not too fast. Peter appreciated the caution.

     “...I just woke up, and I can’t fall back asleep.” he explained, and despite dancing around the part about his nightmare, he got the feeling that Dick could read him like an open book. There was no need for words with him.

     The man nodded in understanding, noting how… dull Peter’s voice sounded. It was hoarse from crying, and soft like he was afraid of upsetting anyone.

     “That’s alright, Tim gets that way sometimes.” Dick empathized, placing a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder and giving it a careful squeeze. When he got no response, he frowned softly.

     Sleep could wait, this kid needed to get grounded back to reality. So, he started leading Peter away from the study, glancing back at Jason with a raised, expectant brow. Are you gonna help me?

     The way Jason scoffed told Dick what do you take me for, a therapist?

     Dick’s frown deepened, and he glanced between Peter and Jason. I take you for someone who can relate to his problems. Now come on.

     Jason really hated how easy it was to agree with Dick.

     The trio landed in the kitchen, where Dick steered Peter into the breakfast nook with trustworthy hands on his shoulders. Jason, on the other hand, walked sluggishly to the counter. If he would be staying up to help this kid, he would need caffeine in the form of coffee.

     The oldest Wayne son slid into the seat across from Peter, frowning as the kid stared off at the table. His eyes were still glossy from his tears, and his cheeks were wet from crying. Snapping him out of this fully would be hard, and would probably take a while.

     “He’s not responding to physical stimuli.” Dick voiced to Jason, reaching over and taking Peter’s hands into his own. Like he had said, they were limp, with no real response to the contact.

     “So a weighted blanket won’t work.” Jason huffed, listening as the coffee machine rumbled softly to life. “What are you gonna try next? Temperature?”

     “I was thinking sound, but that works too.” Dick rolled his eyes. “Can you grab me an ice cube?”

     Jason sighed dramatically. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into a bed right now and sleep the day away, but Peter’s impromptu awakening had interrupted that plan. He tried not to complain, though. Peter needed this.

     He approached the table with a small cup of ice cubes, setting it down flatly in front of Dick with a soft clink. He got a grateful nod in response, and that was enough for him.

     Dick started carefully, just touching the ice cube to the back of Peter’s hand. The sensation was cold, and the shift from dry to wet would hopefully grab his attention.

     The hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stood at attention, and a buzzing became prominent in his mind, but the pure disorientation he was experiencing had desaturated the alarm sounds.

     When that did not work, Dick instead tried wrapping the ice cube inside of Peter’s palm, closing his fingers shut into a fist to hold it more firmly against his skin.

     The ringing in Peter's ears came to an abrupt halt, and the feeling of cold stinging his palm brought him back to the present. He huffed, prying his hand away from Dick's concealment and dropping the half-melted cube onto the table. His hands dripped, making him uncomfortably numb.

     "Sorry, Pete." Dick smiled apologetically, pulling a paper towel from the roll on the breakfast nook table. "You were drifting pretty far..." he trailed off, talking slower. "....do you want to.. talk about it?"

     The offer was kind. Peter knew that Dick had only good intentions, but the thought of ranting about something that never happened in this universe made his stomach uneasy again.

     "..It'll be fine." The teen reasoned, wiping his hands with the paper towel that Dick had offered. The man sitting across from him frowned, and wanted to push a bit more, but Jason joining the two at the table stopped him.

     "Well, we're all awake. None of us are going back to sleep anytime soon." Jason stated the obvious, the smell of fresh coffee wafting from his mug. One glance told Peter that he drank it with a decent amount of creamer. It sort of smelled like vanilla, too. "So let's do something today."

     "Oh?" Dick smiled, lighting up a bit at Jason's suggestion. "Did you have an idea?"

     "Yeah." Jason smirked. "Field trip to Gotham Library? I want to try finding that book you mentioned." he looked to Peter when he spoke, raising an expectant brow.

     The teen hesitated. Going out again did sound fun, but he got the feeling that this would just result in being coddled. Which was not what he wanted.

     But watching Jason run around aimlessly, searching for The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane , sounded too good to miss.

     An hour later, in the midst of a conversation about musicals, the main lights of the kitchen were flicked on. Jason and Dick both squinted in discomfort, while Peter just sighed and put his head down into his arms to avoid the light.

     Alfred paused, surprised to see the three sitting together. "...young Masters, young Peter." he greeted cooly, approaching the breakfast nook. "Why are you three not in bed?" While his question was mainly aimed at Jason and Dick, he still felt a pang of concern for Peter as well.

     "Jay and I were up reading all night, and Peter found us when he couldn't sleep." Dick explained, rubbing the discomfort from his eyes and smiling at Alfred. "None of us wanted to sleep now, so we've been up for a bit."

     "I see." Alfred hummed, glancing between the three young men. "I say, it has been a while since everyone has gotten together for breakfast. With you three up and about already, perhaps your siblings will be compelled to follow suit."

     A family breakfast sounded intimate, but not nearly as intimate as a family dinner. Peter supposed that he could join them, if they invited him, of course.

     "Good luck getting Tim out of bed, he had quite the night." Jason snorted, rolling his eyes and leaning back. His comment seemed to have earned him an elbow in the ribs by Dick. Peter lifted his head and watched with interested confusion.

     "What was Tim doing all night?" He questioned, glancing between the two men. Both seemed to freeze under his gaze, and shared similar looks of uncertainty.

     "Master Tim has a bad habit of studying all night." Alfred explained before the boys could even try. He passed them both a look that Peter in fact did not miss. "I believe he has a big test today, and was likely cramming for it."

     The explanation made sense, so Peter tried not to dwell too hard on it. Satisfied, Alfred left his spot next to the table and started bustling around the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The presence of Jason, Dick, and Peter had clearly been unexpected, but he was more than happy to have them around as he prepared. He enjoyed the company.

     The rest of the morning went smoothly, and the breakfast was enjoyable. Alfred's cooking always managed to be the highest quality, and Peter swore that the man was secretly a five-star chef. The teens all sat around the table, talking about the events of the day ahead.

     Like Alfred, Dick, and Jason had mentioned, Tim was rather tired. The bags under his eyes seemed darker than usual, and his coffee smelled extra strong. It seemed like he was taking preemptive measures to avoid falling asleep, considering he did have a test today.

     Duke, the only well-rested person at the table, ate the biggest breakfast. He was complaining about some sort of conference with his counselor about college prep that he had to do later in the day. Something about scholarship applications for Gotham University, despite his adopted father being rich beyond belief.

     Cassandra and Peter both shared mutual glances of night terrors. They really did not need to communicate verbally to understand each other. They had some sort of sixth-sense understanding of their problems. The glimmer in her eyes told him that they would both be napping before dinner.

     "Damian, don't forget about that pre-test today." Bruce reminded in a mumble from the head of the table. The young boy on his right seemed to freeze in place, grabbing Peter's attention. "This is to get you into that advanced trigonometry class you wanted, right?"

     "...right." Damian said through gritted teeth, shoving his plate away and standing abruptly. "I seem to have miscalculated my available study time. Come get me when it is time to depart." He left the room with hasty steps, and Peter frowned.

     "...is he okay?" Peter found himself asking that question more and more as he stayed in the Manor. Damian was quite the mystery. A concerning mystery.

     Bruce nodded, sipping his coffee mug and glancing at Peter, then to the doorway where Damian had just left from. His eyes finally landed on his son's half-finished plate. He frowned softly. "...he didn't sleep well last night. He's probably worried about passing."

     Peter nodded quietly in understanding, looking at Damian's plate. "....I'll go talk to him." he's not sure what possessed him, but he stood up and took Damian's plate in hand, exiting the room quickly. Behind him, he could hear Dick and Bruce both making sounds of disagreement.

     He wandered the second floor hallway of bedrooms, mentally reminding himself who stayed where. When he came across Damian's room, he remembered it as the one Karen said had weapons inside. Part of Peter felt alarmed, but he forced it down. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked gently on the wood.

     He could hear shuffling, and a rolling chair sliding across the floor, before the door was pulled open just enough to allow Damian to look through the crack. He glanced around before his eyes landed on Peter, visibly freezing once more.

     The teen offered an awkward smile, and held up the plate. "...you really shouldn't study without some sort of food. It'll make you feel less stressed." he explained his intentions, glancing from Damian to the door. "...can I come in? Maybe I could help you?"

     The kid scoffed, a glare forming in his eyes. "I do not need your help nor your sympathy, Parker." he declared, boring daggers into him.

     "Then at least take your breakfast and finish it." he insisted carefully, holding the plate closer to the door to encourage Damian to take it. "I promise it'll help."

     Damian Wayne's glare never faltered. Briefly, Peter second-guessed his decision to come up to him. Maybe it had been a bad idea, and maybe Damian was just getting madder and madder by the second. Peter's smile faltered, and he took a small step away from the door in defeat.

     "Give me that ." The boy hissed, pushing the door open enough to reach out and snatch the plate from Peter. "Do not come to my room uninvited again." he insisted with a sharp look, stepping back and slamming the door shut.

     Peter stared at the wood in surprise. Slowly, his smile found its way back to his face. An interaction with Damian that did not end in a fight was an improvement in his mind. Happy with himself, he turned to leave without another word.

     Upon returning downstairs, he passed Tim, Cass, and Duke, who all trudged past him to finish getting ready for the day. He shrugged after realizing that they had finished breakfast without him. He tried not to be too offended, he was just a guest, after all.

     "Pete!" Dick called out with a smile when he saw the teen, and Peter returned it in earnest. "You're plate-less, did he throw it at you?" the man teased, raising a brow from his seat at the table.

     "Nope." He hummed, satisfied. "In fact, he took it to finish while he studies." Proud of himself, Peter sat back in his own seat, polishing off his remaining food as quickly as possible.

     "Wow," Jason mused, scrolling through his phone with an amused twinkle in his detached gaze. "he didn't try killing you. Points to Damian." he joked, leaning back in his chair until he was balancing on the two back legs.

     Bruce and Alfred both sighed at the same time, the former standing to take his plate to the kitchen while the latter tipped Jason's chair upright. Jason huffed, rolling his eyes with no real malice.

     "I think he's starting to warm up to me, really." Peter mentioned, following Bruce's lead and standing with his cleared plate and silverware. "He didn't even shout! All he did was slam his door and tell me not to come back uninvited."

     "He won't ever invite you." Dick rolled his eyes playfully. "Love the little guy, but he loves his privacy even more. He barely lets me in, and I'm his favorite!"

     "You and Jason are constantly competing for that spot, Dick." Bruce reminded, exiting the dining room with Peter hot on his tail.

     "Damian's favorites are Dick and Jason?" Peter questioned, a bit surprised. In the grand scheme of things, it did make sense. They were the oldest, and Dick was Bruce's first son. Maybe Damian felt connected to them in that way.

     "If you can say that tolerating them makes them the favorites." Bruce joked, setting his plate and silverware into the sink. Peter followed suit, and watched as Bruce checked his wrist watch. "I've got to get to the office, will you be okay today?" he asked, casting Peter a fond glance.

     "Oh, yeah I'll be good." The teen assured, shoving his hands into his red plaid pajama pants pockets. "Dick and Jason are gonna take me to the public library today." he smiled, and noticed how Bruce relaxed at that.

     "It'll be good the more you get out of the house. We can gradually introduce you to society, like we did with the other kids." He hummed.

     Peter paused, processing Bruce's words. "...what's that supposed to mean?"

     "You're living with me, Peter." The man started to explain, turning to face him with a reassuring smile. "The news is going to catch wind of another orphan in the house eventually, so it's better if we introduce you on our own terms before the media gets the chance to do it before you're ready."

     The teen hesitated, but nodded in some understanding. "...that makes sense, yeah." he mumbled, looking to the side. Holding eye contact was starting to make his neck itch. "...what are we gonna tell the media, then? When you uh.. officially announce it?"

     "Emergency foster placement." Bruce said smoothly, like it was three practiced words. "I had a friend draw up the papers. You're legally under my care, according to the state of New Jersey."

     Peter nodded once more. "Cool. I guess this makes me your foster son?" he joked, but his voice had a twinge of panic in it. Peter did not want to be his foster son. He wanted to be Aunt May's nephew, and Tony's mentee.

     But this circumstance was better than being homeless in Gotham.

     Bruce sighed with a chuckle, shaking his head. "It makes you whatever you want to call yourself, Peter. Don't focus too hard on the labels, that'll just make things messier." he teased. "Have fun at the library today, kiddo."

     As Bruce left, Peter allowed his senses time to settle down. Bruce Wayne's Foster Son echoed in his mind. He could see the headlines now. Peter's name was bound to be everywhere by the time people realized what was happening in the Manor.

     Thank God Peter Parker did not exist in this universe, or that would be a very concerning thing for the hypothetical other him.

     A strong and warm hand patted Peter's shoulder, and he jumped as Dick walked by with a grin. "C'mon, Petey, go get dressed so we can leave." The man left the room, leaving Peter standing alone in the kitchen.

     Once again, Dick had appeared unnoticed by Peter's senses. It made him swallow uncomfortably, but regardless, he followed his direction and went up to his room to shower, change, and get ready for the day.

     An hour later, Peter was slipping Karen into his ear and sliding down the grand staircase banister to get to the foyer, a stupid grin on his face. He had always wanted to do that.

     Dick and Jason met him a few minutes later, each one pulling on jackets over their plain colored t-shirts. They both had on jeans of varying shades of blue, and Jason's had holes ripped into the knees. Jason also had on a cool pair of sunglasses with sharp ends to their triangle lenses. Peter smiled at how nerdy they looked.

     The teen himself had on jeans similar to Dick's, but in a lighter, bleached blue that were cuffed at the ends. His hand-me-down rust converse were tied onto his feet. For his topside, he had put on a plain black t-shirt, with a gray Robin-themed zip-up jacket.

     "Ready to go?" Dick glanced between Peter and Jason, getting nods of approval from them both. Satisfied, he pulled his phone out to shoot Alfred a quick text, reminding him that they would be gone when he came home from dropping the others off at school.

     "Can I drive?" Jason smirked, holding the door for the other two, then joining them as they walked down the steps of Wayne Manor's front porch.

     Dick huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, no . I remember the last time."

     "..what happened last time?" Peter asked with morbid curiosity, looking between the two as they approached Dick's dark gray car. It had a dent in the rear bumper, and the windows were tinted. Part of him wondered why Dick did not just get a new car from Bruce, or at least, get this one repaired.

     "He crashed us into a traffic light pole, knocking the whole thing over and cutting the power for four blocks." Dick explained, emphasizing the misdeeds that Jason had committed.

     Peter gasped dramatically, looking at Jason with mock offense. "How dare you. Was it in Dick's car?"

     " No , it was Bruce's." Dick said, a shit-eating grin on his face as he dug Jason a bigger hole. His brother just shot him a silent glare of betrayal. Peter watched with a grin as he climbed into the back seat, with Dick in the driver's seat and Jason in the front passenger.

     "I still can't believe you crashed it that badly." Dick sighed dramatically, tone playful as he pulled down the long driveway.

     "You're exaggerating the story." Jason insisted, playful frustration shining through his smile. He wanted to be mad, but simply couldn't. "It was fine. "

     "Mhm. Sure, Jay." Dick hummed, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. In the distance, Main Gotham came into view, and Peter felt his heart race.

     Everytime he went into the city, he got more and more familiar with its layout. He committed street names to memory, and noted locations of interest like medical centers, or homeless shelters.

     The entire drive to the public library, Peter kept his gaze out the tinted window, observing the city and its workings.

     It reminded him of New York, and that made him smile.

     Dick parked his car in a public lot about a block away, and the three climbed out. As they walked, Peter noticed small changes in the weather already, as compared to the week before. As the year eased closer to summer, the spring chill turned into a manageable coolness, and he had no doubt it would become sunshine warmth soon after that.

     "...I actually came here before." Peter striked conversation, a little smile on his face. "On my first night in Gotham, I didn't have anywhere to go. The shelters made me nervous."

     Jason hummed in understanding, kicking a small rolling rock as they walked. "I get that. The shelters aren't the friendliest."

     Dick nodded in agreement, frowning slightly. "Did you have to break in?"

     "It was easy to do." Peter shrugged. "Besides, I figured that breaking into a place with Public plastered on the front would be better than some residence."

     "Sound logic." Jason chuckled. "I wonder if Babs caught you on the cameras, then."

     "Whose Babs?" Peter asked, the name sounding vaguely familiar.

     "Barbara Gordon. She is the daughter of the Gotham Police Commissioner."

     "Barbara Gordon."

     Dick and Karen answered at the same time, and the blend of their voices surprised him momentarily.

     "Family friend, then?" Peter assumed after a second.

     Jason and Dick both nodded in confirmation. Peter was satisfied with their answer, and remained comfortably quiet for the rest of the short walk.

     Peter took the steps of the Library two at a time, beating the other two to the doors. He went inside with a grin, and despite this only being his second time in the building, it felt familiar.

     He was thrown back to his first night in Gotham, inside the dark library with nothing. He had tried imagining the place during the day, and it seemed that his guess was pretty damn accurate.

     College students studied quietly at tables, either nose-deep in books or droning at laptops. Men, women, and children alike filtered through the shelves quietly as they searched for specific books.

     That giant dome in the open center of the building let an abundance of golden sunlight into the room. It gave the place a warm and homey glow, just like Peter had imagined.

     He could find himself wanting to come here all the time.

     "You two go look for your mystery book," Dick teased, entering behind Peter with Jason. "I'm gonna go find Barbara."

     Jason tossed Dick a thumbs up, then smirked at Peter. "C'mon, Webs. Let's go find Kate DiCamillo's work."

     "Babs!" Dick smiled, jogging up to the service desk with enthusiasm. The woman behind the counter looked up from her computer, a small smile gracing her features when she saw him.

     "Dick, hey! What are you doing here?" She questioned with a teasingly skeptical eyebrow. "You never read." She joked.

     "I'm not here for me." He rolled his eyes, leaning his elbows on the top of the desk and glancing over to her side. The surface was cluttered. Ever the messy organizer. "Jason and Peter are running around playing their little book game." Despite his eye roll, he sounded extremely comfortable.

     Barbara hummed in acknowledgement. "Sounds about right." Her smile relaxed, and she leaned back in her wheelchair. "Anything new since last night?"

     Dick hesitated, glancing to his sides to check for anyone listening. "....no, but I've got an idea as to how they communicate."

     Barbara hummed. "Oh yeah?"

     "Hearing aid."

     The woman paused, letting her brain wrap around the information at hand. She knew Peter had a hearing aid, but she never really assumed anything was strange about it.

     "....you think it's fake, then?" She asked quietly.

     Dick nodded. "I think it's just there for show. It's a good disguise, though. Most people wouldn't notice it." He smiled.

     "It's clever." Barbara nodded in agreement. "..do you think she talks to him all the time?"

     Dick shrugged. "I think it's like what she told Tim: that she'll know when he needs assistance."

     Barbara nodded a final time, pushing her glasses up her nose. "That's really handy." She smiled. "...he's a smart kid. I'm glad he wound up with you guys."

     "...did you wanna meet him today?" Dick suggested, smile brightening as they got away from the sensitive topic.

     But Barbara waved her hand with a playful eye roll. "I'm sure I'll see him running around, don't pull him from his fun just to say hi."

     The man raised his hands in surrender, nodding. "Sure, sure. I have zero plans to join them, though. Mind if I hang with you?"

     "I don't mind one bit, Dickie." She chuckled, shaking her head and turning back to her computer screen.

     "Jason," Peter said softly, looking through aisles. The man had disappeared a minute or two ago to look for a novel he had suggested to Peter, but now it seemed that he was really gone. "Are you around here?"

     He frowned as he poked his head into the aisles, walking down a few and peeking between books. He would whisper-yell the man's name every few seconds.

     " Jason, you can't just abandon me-" He joked dramatically. As he rounded the corner though, he collided with someone's back. This caused both Peter and the girl to stumble, her dropping a textbook hard onto the floor.

     "Shit-" Peter's eyes widened. "I'm sorry- I didn't mean to-" his gaze went from the book to the girl, and he froze when he saw her face.

     A brown-eyes glare, and a frustrated huff escaped her lips. Peter stared at the familiar person, and his heart clenched.

     "Cool, yeah, no. I assumed you did that on purpose." MJ said dramatically, leaning down to pick up her book. Despite her hair being darker, and this being New Jersey , it was undoubtedly her.

     Peter was speechless, watching her pick up the book and brush off the cover. It was a calculus textbook, with the spine detaching from the pages.

     "....are you gonna say something?" She questioned, cocking an eyebrow at him.

     Peter fumbled out another apology, and took a few steps back before turning and entering the closest aisle. Memories of Midtown wracked his mind. Memories of his life clawed their way to the front of his mind.

     "-eter, sorry. I went up to the second story." Jason's voice came into earshot, and he stiffened. He whipped his head around, spotting Jason entering the aisle from the other end.

     "Jason-" Peter took a sharp breath, getting to the man's side before Jason could even meet him halfway. "Hey, sorry-" He huffed, holding onto the book shelf and squeezing his eyes shut tight.

     Jason paused, setting the book in hand down before taking Peter's shoulders. "Hey, Pete." He said in a quiet voice, turning the kid to look at him fully. "Take a breath."

     Peter listened and followed his directions to the best of his ability, taking slow, deep breaths to slow the pounding in his chest.

     "...sorry." Peter mumbled after a minute, opening his eyes slowly to look at Jason. "....I panicked."

     "You're fine, don't apologize." Jason assured, then he glanced around the aisle with sharp eyes. "...any reason why?"

     "...I just thought I saw someone I recognized, and it freaked me out." Peter explained vaguely, reaching up and holding Jason's wrists to ground himself. "I haven't seen her in a while, so I panicked."

     " Her ?" Jason paused, a playful grin forming on his face. "Let me guess, an ex-girlfriend?"

     Jason's teasing was meant to be comforting, but it only made the pang in Peter's heart worse. But he hid it with a quiet laugh. "..something like that, yeah. Last time I checked, she lived in New York. Seeing her here just surprised me." He sighed. "...I don't think she recognized me."

     "Probably because of your cool new hair." Jason hummed, releasing Peter and ruffling his hair. "You and I are basically twins now." He joked.

     "Twins? Come on, I look so different-" Peter laughed, the new topic a welcome distraction.

     Despite how easy it was to joke with Jason, the image of Michelle Jones-Watson was burned into his mind.

     He got the feeling he would not be sleeping again tonight.

     "Whatever. C'mon, let's find Dick." Jason suggested, picking up the book and putting it into Peter's hands. "We can also get you a library card while we're here."

     The teen hesitated to talk, walking with Jason. He tried not to let his eyes wander, too afraid of seeing her again. He let his voice lower. "....uh, I don't have an ID, Jason."

     "Nonsense. Bruce got you papers, remember?" Jason said, steering Peter toward a service desk, where Dick was sitting on a stool and talking to a pretty red-head at the computer.

     "Right." Peter mumbled, still overly unsure. Despite that, he allowed his nerves to dissipate as they approached the desk.

     Dick looked up from his phone, smiling when he saw the two. "Hey! Have fun running around?"

     "Yeah, we lost track of time." Jason snickered. Peter paused. How much time had it been?

     "Hi, Peter. You have been at Gotham Public Library for one hour and twenty-eight minutes."

     Damn, time really does fly by when you're having fun.

     "I can see that." Dick teased the two, then looked at the woman. "Babs, this is Peter." He smiled, glancing between the two. When she looked up and spotted Peter, she smiled, pushing her glasses up her nose.

     Peter didn't miss how her gaze flicked from his face, to his hair, to his hearing aid.

     "Peter, this is Barbara Gordon."

     Peter stepped up with a polite smile, setting the book on the desk. "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Gordon-"

     "Ew, formal much?" She joked, rolling her eyes. "Please, just call me Barbara. Or, Babs." She shrugged. " Anything but Ms. Gordon." She shivered dramatically.

     The teen chuckled, finding himself relaxing quite easily in her presence. "Alright, Babs."

     Jason threw his arm over Peter's shoulders, grinning at the two. "Pete wants to check out a book. Think you can hook him up with a card?"

     Barbara rolled her eyes, and sighed dramatically like Dick. "I guess. God, why are you making me do my job , Jason?" She joked, rolling away from the desk for a moment to get to a card printer on the back wall. "Peter, what name do you want printed?"

     "Peter Benjamin Parker, please." He said, tapping his fingers on the desk patiently. Barbara nodded, pressing a few buttons and typing on a small screen.

     Jason gave Peter's shoulders an encouraging squeeze.

     Minutes later, the trio was leaving the library. Dick waved to Barbara, Jason chewed on a fresh piece of gum, and Peter was grinning down at his shiny new Library card with his book under his arm.

     It was a white piece of plastic, with his name printed in bold black. A barcode scanner was on the back, and a picture of Peter grinning was in the upper left corner.

     "This is so cool." He mumbled, causing Jason to snicker in amusement.

     "It's just a library card, Pete." The man teased, elbowing the teen. Peter rolled his eyes, elbowing him right back. He missed the semi-surprised look on Jason's face at the pressure asserted by his elbow.

     "It's my library card." He emphasized, holding it up to the sun.

     "Damn right it is." Dick agreed, smiling fondly at the kid. "Damn right."

     The three rode back to Wayne Manor in silence, and Peter took this as an opportunity to start reading the novel.

     The Sunshine Court was definitely not what Peter had been expecting for Jason to suggest, but he certainly was not complaining now.

     Upon arriving home, Jason admitted that he needed to get back to his apartment. Peter got the feeling that Jason didn't mean to spend the night last night, but something caused him to stick around. Peter refused to acknowledge that he was likely that something.

     While Dick went to find Alfred, Peter fell back into the closest sofa in a media room, sinking into the cushions and looking up at the pages. There really was nothing like a new book.

     Peter was about halfway through it when the other teens got home from school. Cass and Duke gave Peter cheery greetings and went off to do God knows what, and Tim trudged up the stairs to his room for a nap.

     He felt like he was in the same situation, tired and ready to go down for a few hours. But the quiet conversation between Alfred and Damian kept him rooted in place.

     "How did your entrance test go, Master Damian?"

     The silence spoke volumes.

     "...I see. Well then, perhaps tonight you should rest instead of participating in this family's activities."

     Activities?

     "It would be good for you. Clearly you are under much stress at the moment. A break won't hurt one bit, Master Damian."

     There was the sound of shuffling fabric, and Peter assumed it was a hug.

     "Good, now go on. I will retrieve you for dinner."

     Damian shut his bedroom door as quietly as possible, not wanting to possibly alert anyone else in the house. Alfred seeing him upset was bad enough. He refused to let his adoptive siblings see his weakness.

     A sheet of paper was gripped tightly in his hand. He had passed , there was no doubt about that, but the bold 82% sent stabs into his chest.

     He was much better than 82% .

     Damian set the paper on his desk and dropped his bag at his feet, running his hands over his face with a frustrated sigh.

     He was already benched for the night. Alfred wanted him to rest. Damian wanted nothing more than to join his father on Gotham's streets later that evening.

     He decided to compromise by studying instead.

     A soft knock on his door broke him from his intense focus about forty-five minutes into his study session, and a scowl crossed his face. Whoever was interrupting him again would not get away Scot-free.

     When he opened the door to look out, he was surprised to once again see Parker looking down at him. This time, he held a textbook in his arms, and his smile was relaxed.

     "..hey, Damian. Wanna chat for a minute?"

     "...no." he huffed, moving to close the door. He was surprised however when something stopped it from shutting all the way, and looking down, he saw Peter's foot in the frame. "... Parker , get out ."

     "I wanted to see if you would help me with something." The teen’s complete avoidance of Damian's commands only made him even more frustrated.

     "What could I possibly want to help you with?" Damian demanded the answer, glaring up at Peter.

     "Trigonometry."

     The youngest Wayne paused, gears turning in his head. The odds of this being some sort of assassination attempt were low, but not zero.

     But one long look at Peter revealed the honesty that Damian wanted so badly to deny.

     "...I'm not in school right now, but I still think it's important for me to self-educate." Peter explained in Damian's silence. "You're in one of those advanced classes, right?"

     "..I will be in the next school year. I tested in today." Damian explained, a sense of pride in his voice. "...and you obviously want my superior help."

     "Obviously." Peter repeated with a chuckle. "..think you could study with me until dinner?"

     "Tt." Damian sounded, and after a moment, he opened the door all the way, allowing Peter Parker to join him inside.

     Peter and Damian left that bedroom with a quiet understanding. They did not discuss it at the dinner table, and they did not even look at each other, but something in their hearts had grown warmer in their short time studying together.

     Not only had they found common ground, but they had found something that they could not argue about. Math was consistent , and had one way of doing things. They could both agree to that.

     It was… nice.

     Needless to say, Peter would try studying with Damian a lot more.

     As the house settled for the night, and the kids all filtered to their respective rooms, Peter slid into his with a quiet sigh. Tonight, he would not be sleeping. But it was not because of the night terrors, or the MJ scare earlier in the day.

     It was because he had plans.

     Peter Parker got down on his knees and looked under his bed, feeling around on the underside of the bedframe for a few moments before feeling what he was searching for.

     It had been a little over a week, and he was getting tired of waiting for the perfect opportunity that would never come.

     He worked fast, using Karen’s guidance in his ear to direct the nanobots into points of interest. The chest, shoulders, back, and any major arteries were his top priority. In the end, this resulted in him having something more akin to armor than a full supersuit.

     Regardless, it still looked cool. Even better, it still had the spider emblem on the front. A mask had been reproduced by the nanobots, with a slot for Karen’s hearing aid to click into place seamlessly.

     Peter produced solid black work out clothes from his closet, courtesy of his shopping trip with the Wayne teens the previous day. The long sleeve shirt was skin tight, and would allow for flexible movement, while the black pants were slightly looser, and better fitted for durability and sweat absorption.

     He looked through his array of shoes, frowning at any of the provided options. The converse were a definite no, and the exercise shoes made Peter cringe. Nothing seemed right.

     So, he resorted to the ol’ fashioned pair of spider boots that he had stored behind the bed frame. He pulled them over his black underclothes, and then snapped his armor into place. The nanobots shifted and moved across his body, aligning where he had preset them to be.

     When everything fell perfectly into place, Peter felt himself relax. This felt perfect. This was exactly what he needed to be doing.

     Peter stepped into his bathroom, taking a quick look at himself in the mirror. The Spider-Style had definitely changed, but he could not find it in himself to complain. The full Spider Suit was very New York, but the armor was very Gotham.

     It was fitting. A new universe called for new changes, after all.

     Peter opened his cell phone and cycled through a few social media feeds as he paced up his walls and ceiling, taking in as much information as he could. He wanted to at least wait for the local vigilantes to step into the scene before he took off.

     The first Bat-Spotting happened at 11:39. A blurry photo of Batman, Red Robin, and Black Bat had been uploaded to Snap-Map, and Peter smiled.

     The teen stopped pacing right above his window, parallel to the floor. He took a deep, slow breath, evening himself out. One step at a time , he reminded himself as he kneeled down and slid open the window.

     One swing at a time.

Chapter Text

     Once upon a time, Peter Parker was a normal person. He walked everywhere on his own two feet. Confrontations were avoided unless the situation was dire. The biological make-up of his body was normal . Just like him.

     After being bitten by that radioactive spider, and subsequently becoming Spider-man, Peter made himself a check-list. It was a way to keep himself organized, and the rules he made for himself were not that hard to follow.

     The first rule that Peter gave himself was to always do the right thing. If the right thing was not obvious at first glance, then do what feels right. That usually led him in the right direction.

     Gotham was a large city with a population of a little under ten million. Despite the dark skies, darker alleys, and lingering sense of dread, it was not that different from New York. The biggest factor at the moment was that Peter was not sure where he should pick up.

     The right thing was not obvious, so Peter swung through the city using his gut as his guide. The tall spires of skyscrapers and densely packed roads of traffic gave him a familiar landscape.

     If he closed his eyes, held his breath, and ignored the stench of Gotham, he could almost pretend that he was home.

     The teen vigilante landed halfway up the side of a tall skyscraper at around midnight. The wind at that height pushed against his body and forced him to cling to the wall with hand and feet, looking down at the city.

     His heart swelled with excitement. It felt so good to be swinging again.

     Peter breathed slowly for a minute or two, evening himself out on the side of the building. If he was going to make tonight successful, then he needed to make a plan.

     That was rule two, by the way: Make a plan if a plan is needed. Without one, you might as well surrender.

     According to Karen, only three of Gotham’s usual vigilante spread had been spotted so far. That was Batman, Red Robin, and Black Bat. He had first found them on Snap-Map back at the Manor, and about five minutes ago, Karen reported a video of the three jumping onto the Gotham Police Headquarters.

     That was across town. If those three were really the only ones out so far, and they were occupied elsewhere, that meant that Gotham had no one patrolling actively. Peter couldn’t stop his smile. He wouldn’t mind volunteering.

     He pushed off of the glass with his booted feet and released with his gloved hands, arching into a backflip and falling head-first toward the city below.

     As the ground rushed closer, and wind snipped at his sides, he pulled his limbs close into a dive, causing himself to increase rapidly in speed. Seconds later, he threw an arm out, feeling the length of webs leaving his wrist.

     The new, biological webs were stringier and lighter than his artificial ones. They were more flexible, and he could feel the slight pull from under his skin as they shot out. He was still getting used to the feeling, but it was not an unpleasant one. In fact, it felt good .

     They attached to the closest building and pulled taut, dragging Peter in a diametric scoop. His feet barely grazed the tops of the cars stuck in the night traffic. On the ascent of his scoop, he released the line of webs and turned into another flip, whooping loudly to himself.

     He could go like this for hours, really. He was not sure if he could run out of webs, but he really felt ready to test that. It just felt so good to get out , and to do something familiar enough to his own Universe.

     The teen shot another line of webs at a building, and the pattern repeated itself, allowing for him to travel like a bullet across the city. Sure he was having fun, but soon enough he was reminded of exactly why he had come out in the first place.

     A loud scream grabbed his attention, quickly followed by a spike in his heart rate. Peter Tingle , he thought inwardly, whipping his head around and changing course with a hastily thrown line of webs that pulled him into a sharp right turn.

     He soared between two buildings, silently pulling himself onto a dark brick wall and sitting still. He held his breath, listening. Something sinister pounded in his ears, leaving him on edge enough to literally stand on his toes.

     Rule three: follow the sound of danger.

     Ten seconds passed, then twenty. At forty, Peter felt himself fight the urge to sigh. Then, at sixty seconds of waiting, Peter heard it again: this time much closer, and much more frantic.

     He was moving immediately, pulling himself to the top of the building and sprinting across its flat roof, dodging the roof access door and sliding to a stop on the other end, looking down into the alley below.

     A medium-sized woman with pulled back black hair and warm skin was standing on the inside, facing the mouth of the alley with a frightened and angry ferocity on her face. Across from her, a few feet away, was a common mugger. Peter could tell the signs immediately: darkly colored jacket, tattered hat, dirty shoes, and a simple weapon. In this case, the weapon was a long hunting knife about the size of the tall man’s forearm.

     The woman, while seemingly uninjured, was shaking like a leaf. Peter fell into a low crouch, pulling himself as close to the edge of the roof as possible.

     “I already said it once, bitch, I’m not saying it again,” The man spat, taking a sharp step towards her and jutting the blade in her direction. “Drop yer fuckin ’ cash, and you’ll be on your way.”

     “No, I know your type-” she said in a frazzled and angry voice, a slight tremble in her throat. “You don’t care how much I have on me- it’s what you plan to do to me after the fact that you want–”

     “I know his type too!” Spider-man called out, grabbing both of the people’s attention. They both turned their heads to look up at him. At this angle, he was mostly obscured by the deep shadows of the city. “He’s the brutal, masochistic, alpha male who reeks from the lack of deodorant, right?” he mused, tilting his head at the man.

     The woman, at a loss for words, looked between the two with wide eyes. She glanced away from them both, looking for a good chance or way to leave the situation entirely.

     The common mugger noticed her efforts fast though, and jutted toward her once more, stunning her into stillness once more. She was holding back screaming again with a raw throat.

     “Hey, no ignoring me!” Spider-man suddenly stood, shooting a line of web down at the man’s hand. They clung and stuck to his fingers and knife, startling him into taking a few steps back.

     “What the–”

     The vigilante yanked the webs, pulling the man’s hand and the blade up and away, making him stumble on his feet like a marionette doll. Peter snickered, giving him another tug, which pulled him far enough from the woman for her to make an escape.

     She took it without any hesitation or waiting around, and Peter did not blame her. These streets looked scary at night.

     Spider-man stepped down off of the building, falling onto the ground in one smooth motion. He shot and detached the webs from himself, connecting them to the brick wall and leaving the man stuck with them by his hand.

     “What the hell!!--” he struggled against the sticky binds, pulling at them with his non-dominant hand. Unfortunately for him, Peter’s biological webs were much stickier than his artificial ones. That fact only caused the mugger’s free hand to become tangled up as well.

     “Wow, that knife is big. ” Spider-man hummed, standing a few feet away from the man. He blinked behind his mask, staring down the mugger with a certain intensity.

     The man stared back with hatred. “Who are you?!--” he demanded. “You don’t look like one of those damn bats– ”

     “Because I’m not one of those damn bats ,” he mocked, rolling his eyes with a dramatic sigh. He shot out a few more webs, snagging the man’s two feet, backpack strap, and mouth and pinning them all to the wall. He startled and let out a muffled shout of defiance.

     “I’m Spider-man. ” He grinned, and even if the mugger could not see the gesture, he could certainly hear it. Spiderman wore his heart on his sleeve, after all.

     Rule four was to always represent the brand.

     “I know, I know,” he hummed, reaching over and digging through the man’s pockets for a wallet. “You don’t recognize Spider-man, but you will. Eventually.” he shrugged, and sighed in relief when he found it in the man’s back pocket. “ Thank God- I really didn’t wanna turn you around.” He chuckled, flipping through it and finding an ID.

     “Dakota Rivera? That you?” Peter glanced between the grainy photo on the card and the restrained man, noting the similarities. “That’s a cool name, at least. It’d make a good stage name. Have you considered going into show business?” he asked rhetorically, not waiting for some undignified grunt as a response.

     “Karen, go ahead and call the cops to this location.” He hummed, webbing the wallet and ID to the wall next to the man’s head. “Make sure Mr. Rivera gets taken in tonight.”

     “Of course, Peter.”

     Satisfied and grinning, Peter shot a line of webs out, casually pulling himself up to the roof. “Bye, Mr. Rivera! Stop mugging women! Consider becoming a stand-up comedian or something!-”

     As Peter swung away, he could hear the disgruntled grunting from the struggling man. Smiling behind his mask, he landed on a rooftop not that far away. Something in his chest beat like a drum at the feeling of doing good work again.

     “Good job, Peter. The police have been notified of his whereabouts.”

     “Thanks, Karen.” he hummed, glancing around the immediate area for any more obvious signs of trouble. “Any update on the Bats?”

     “Not yet.”

     “Cool. Keep me notified if they start moving.”

     As much as Peter wanted to trust the city's veteran vigilantes, part of him bristled at even the thought. They were very work-alone people, who did not like accepting outside help. Peter’s research had told him that Batman often denied letting outside heroes come in to help, despite working closely with them outside of Gotham. He was a founder of the Justice League, after all.

     This was his turf, and his rules prevailed.

     If Peter wanted a chance to stick around, and actually make a difference, he would need to start things off small. Building a reputation would not happen overnight, but it did not hurt to start. The more citizens that liked Spider-man, the better his chances were with gaining the favor of the Bats.

     Screeching tires from a backroad grabbed Peter’s attention, so he turned and ran in that direction, jumping off of the roof and shooting webs. His swings were long and elegant, like a practiced dancer.

     He did take ballet, after all. He was allowed to flaunt it a little bit.

     Just as Peter was about to cross an empty intersection, his senses flared DANGER , causing him to falter and stick himself to the nearest building. Just as he landed, a bright purple sports car going well above the speed limit coasted past, running the red light.

     Street racers, Spider-man mentally assessed, watching as a similarly bright orange car followed suit a second or two later.

     He did not mind a good race, so he fell into place, swinging behind them quicker than before. When the buildings got too short to swing, he ran across their sides like they were an open field.

     It was easy to envision the expansive lawn of Wayne Manor as he remembered the day that he and Dick had raced from the house to the wall.

     Spider-man picked up speed easily, and even if he was not as fast as those speeding cars, the slowly increasing traffic made them slow down. All in all, Peter was close enough to initiate action two minutes later.

     He would have wanted to get to them quicker. Every second wasted was a second that a traffic accident could occur, and every second wasted was another life put at risk.

     When he was close enough to the two speeding cars, Spider-man took a breath and shot out rapid webs that stuck firmly to the back of the orange car. He ripped himself off of the building, allowing himself to be sling-shotted toward the car, where he landed in a steady crouch on the trunk.

     The orange sports car bobbed due to the sudden weight and force, and Peter noticed the driver frantically looking in his rear-mirrors. It was hard to get a good description of the man due to the intense window tint, but he could at least make out the guys’ build.

     Peter crawled along the top of the car, limbs pressed as flat as possible to avoid the wind force of the still-moving vehicle. When he got to the front a second later, he squinted through the front windshield in disapproval.

     “This is no place to be driving like this!!!--” he shouted over the wind, sticking his knees to the car and leaning over to the driver’s door, knocking on the window.

     Stupidly, the man rolled it down.

     Spider-man’s moves were near instantaneous. Webs shot into the car, pressing down on the emergency break and wrapping around the steering wheel, which he pulled on to navigate the vehicle.

     The orange sports car skidded to a halt, slightly veered onto a sidewalk, with the purple car continuing into the night.

     Spider-man huffed, moving quickly. He jumped up from the car’s roof and latched onto a streetlamp, looking back down at the car and hanging upside down, knees hooked over the light. Webs shot out from his wrists, sealing the tires firmly onto the ground.

     “Stay!!!--” he shouted with a demanding point before turning and pulling himself back into chase.

     Finding the purple car was easy as he followed the chaos it left in its speedy wake. As he went, he already noticed a few minor accidents. A car had been bumped, and while trying to regain control, veered into a traffic light pole. A pair of smartly dressed pedestrians had fallen on the ground when they jumped out of the car’s way.

     “Karen- call–”

     “I have already notified the Gotham Police Department.”

     Peter sighed through his nose, relieved in her abilities. Karen was always good about anticipating his needs- it was her purpose. As an AI, she adapted and learned from him, and overtime, she started predicting his questions before he could even ask.

     It was convenient, really. Peter could not have asked for a better companion in this line of work.

     “Thanks-” he huffed out, tearing through the gradually piling up traffic. He was not quite sure what district of Gotham they were in, but it must have been a higher-class one. The cars got more expensive, and the night pedestrians were dressed nicer here.

     He ignored the gaping shock of pedestrians as he swung past, gaining on the purple car quickly. The more people watched, the more that they would realize he was here to help. Let them stare , he mused internally.

     Finally, Spider-man latched onto the back of the purple sports car. Similarly to before, he pulled himself onto its trunk, hopping over the spoiler and crawling up the top to get to the windshield, where he knocked unenthusiastically.

     “Dude–” he huffed, trying to look as unimpressed as possible. “ No one thinks your overpriced car is cool–” he flipped his body to be standing on the hood, glaring down at the shocked man through the windshield.

     When the man showed no signs of stopping, or listening, Peter rolled his eyes. He gave the passenger-half of the windshield a sudden kick, the boot heel connecting with the glass and shattering a hold on impact.

     The man inside the vehicle startled and turned the wheel, swerving through traffic like a madman. Spider-man acted fast, ducking into the passenger side to regain control.

     His webs connected with the wheel, and as he tugged on it to get it to turn, he once more shot webs at the emergency brake, causing the tires to screech.

     Once the inside was securely dealt with, Peter climbed back out, legs contorting to fit through the shattered glass without tearing his black underclothes. He kind of felt like the girl out of The Ring movie.

     Spider-man launched himself off the hood of the still moving car, flipping through the air. When he was upside down, he reached out and shot webs, which made their target the tires. As they made contact, they tangled up in the mechanics, slowing the car.

     The vigilante landed in a low crouch in the middle of the road, one hand on the ground, the other held up behind himself. The purple sports car, properly webbed up inside and out, skidded to a sudden halt inches from his head.

     “Impressive.” A voice rang out from the sidewalk, causing Peter’s head to snap up. A feeling of immense dread washed over him, as danger signs flashed through his mind. His senses went haywire.

     The man on the sidewalk was large . He had on biker leathers with specially added pouches and compartments, holding what he could only assume were gadgets and weapons. A crimson red hood had been pulled over his equally red helmet, which had glowing white eyes that were permanently narrowed into a glare.

     “Red Hood.”

     Karen’s explanation supplied Spider-man no comfort as he slowly stood up. He had read about this guy. Former villain turned semi-good guy who sometimes worked with the Bats. He had a record of killing without remorse, and doing whatever he wanted to reach his goals.

     This guy was deadly , and he did not just need his senses to tell him that.

     “So, you planning on cleaning all this up, too?” Red Hood asked with a rough voice, hands relaxed in his own pockets. “Because I don’t think the city wants your biohazard webs everywhere.”

     Spider-man hesitated, heart racing in his chest. Then, he glanced at the streaks of web on the road. He could only imagine that there were still webs back with the orange car, too.

     “Yeah, uh. I think they go away on their own, actually?” Spider-man mused, tilting his head toward Red Hood. “When I was messing with them a few days ago, they disintegrated overtime.” he grinned behind his mask, trying to hide the intensity in his chest. “Biodegradable.” he mused with a wiggle of his fingers.

     Red Hood did not look amused, and moved his hands from his pockets to cross his arms. “You got a name?”

     “Spider-man.”

     “ Spider-man?” the man echoed, sounding a bit amused. “Real original, don’t you think?”

     “You’re one to speak, Red Hood.” Spider-man shot back, hands on his hips. He rolled his eyes behind his lenses, even if he knew that the other vigilante could not see the motion. He hoped his body language would put it across anyways. “I almost thought your favorite color was blue.” Spiderman joked.

     “Nah,” Hood hummed. “That’s Nightwing’s thing.” he cleared his throat at the sound of sirens sparking up nearby. “..get outta here, Bug-Boy. I’ll deal with the cops.”

     Peter paused, glancing between Red Hood and the man in the car, who still seemed to be in some state of shock. “....I thought you worked alone?”

     “Just this once, I’ll make an exception.”

     Spider-man bristled, taking a few hesitant steps back. He took these moments to seriously consider the Red Hood’s words. He was offering him an out. It did not take much deliberation for the teen vigilante to turn and run, using his webs to pull himself away into the night.

     The next situation was merely minutes away, and he fell into his work quickly without a second thought.

     “I don’t think he’s a weapon.”

     The statement was cold, clear, and offered no room for argument. Red Hood’s tone was crisp through the Oracle Comms, letting every single vigilante in on his opinion.

     “...explain.” Batman’s recognizable voice followed after a few moments, the word a quiet demand. For once, Red Hood did not argue.

     “He’s been out here doing your job for the last two hours.” Red Hood huffed, the sounds of his motorcycle faintly buzzing in the background. “While you’ve been meeting with Gordon, he’s been chasing street racers and muggers.”

     The silence from Batman made Red Hood’s blood boil. Of course the man did not even have any good explanation. Red Robin, on the other hand, could be heard snickering quietly.

     “Again, I don’t think he’s a weapon.” The lone vigilante hummed, motorcycle skidding to a stop in an alley. He flicked off the headlight and dropped the kickstand, climbing off the black leather seat. “Or if he is, he doesn’t know it.”

     “He needs supervision.” Batman’s voice huffed into the comms. “He could be a sleeper, and anything could trigger him.”

     “Then get one of your Baby Bats to puppy-guard him.” Red Hood’s frustration came through his voice. “He doesn’t need protection. I’ll keep an eye out, but don’t expect me to intervene. The kid’s good.”

     The silence from everyone over the Oracle Comms told Red Hood that the conversation was over, and just to spite them, he deactivated his comm piece in his helmet, relishing in the silence that followed.

     Well, not silence . The city noises of Gotham filled the space that the comms had left behind. He treated them as a familiar white noise, though, not flinching at the screeching of tires or distant popping of guns.

     This was home, after all.

     But not for Peter.

     Red Hood pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned the screen on, frowning at the time displayed. It felt too early to call it a night, but the thought of potentially running into his family while out made his frustration worse.

     He knew what a child soldier looked like. A weapon of evil would not do the things that Peter did. The teen may be dangerous, but so was Damian. The two had a lot in common. Briefly, Jason considered the possibility of Peter being from the League.

     It… was not impossible . He had not heard of any sort of bug-experimentation from his time there, and surely Damian would have mentioned something if he knew, too.

     Even worse, they still had not figured out who Tony Stark was. Jason was starting to think that the name was an alias for someone more dangerous. They knew that the man was supposedly an engineer, and Peter’s former mentor, but he’s not in the country .

     But Peter’s story not adding up, along with his physical attributes being eerily close to Jason’s left little room for the imagination to wander. This was starting to have League of Assassins written all over it.

     Jason Todd internally considered the circumstances, brows pinching together in thought. He hated to agree with Bruce, but Peter being some sort of sleeper agent was definitely possible. The League did not have a history of using sleepers, but nothing was stopping them from trying it out now .

     The man frowned behind his shiny red helmet, turning his phone off and shoving it back into his pocket. He needed to do some digging, but going to the Batcave to use the computer right now would probably make him see green.

     So first, he would blow off some steam. Those traffickers down at the docks surely would not mind the company.

     As the moon dipped dangerously close to the horizon line where the sky met the ground, Peter scaled the wall of Wayne Manor. He avoided the property cameras, swinging around them and peeking around the corners of the old building until he had made it to his own window. Sliding it open, he ducked inside, feet landing silently on the wood floor.

     The teen stood on one foot, tugging off his boots and huffing. He tossed them under the bed, followed by his mask. His false hearing aid, still wedged comfortably in his ear, was also taken off, and thrown half-hazardly onto the bed.

     Pressing the spider emblem over his sternum, he felt the nanotech crawl across his tight black clothes, compressing itself as much as possible into a palm-sized spider-shaped disc, heavy in his hand.

     The convenience made him smile. It would be easy to carry around whenever he left the manor during the day incase of an emergency. The Wayne’s knew who he was, and what he did… surely they would not mind if he ran off occasionally to help out the city.

     For safekeeping, Peter put the disc on his night stand, the cool metal slipping out of his hand. He sighed through his nose, closing his eyes for a few seconds as the adrenaline of the night finally started to die down.

     Going over everything in his mind, Peter made a list of everything that had happened. The first mugging, the street race, meeting Red Hood , the second and third muggings, the kidnapping, and the handful of drug deals: all things that he managed on his own, not a single Bat in sight.

     Of course, they were out. Karen had told him around two a.m. that the Bats left the Police Station to resume their usual nightly activities. She was able to track their locations using something called Satellite-Framing, which had made Peter falter initially.

     She had never used something called Satellite-Framing before, so when he asked her about it, she explained that it was a way to ping off technology on the planet to track people.

     He would have accepted the answer under normal circumstances, but this was Batman that they were talking about. Surely he had some sort of protection over his technology, right? His servers definitely were not public, because he would have had access to them already.

     But he bit his tongue, deciding not to push further. Tony Stark made Karen to help Peter, and that’s what she was doing. Surely she had reasons for potentially lying to him. He hated to think that she would do that, though. It made his heart ache.

     That’s partially why Peter decided to leave the hearing aid on his bed, entering his bathroom to clean up without her in his ear.

     His shower was quick and cold. Peter used it as a chance to wake up more. His eventful night, while tiring, would not stop him from having a productive day. Falling back into the vigilante-civilian back-and-forth routine would be a quick adjustment for him.

     Day naps were about to become his new favorite thing.

     By the time he stepped out of his bathroom, clean and changed into comfortable loungewear, the sun was peeking through his cracked window, following a soft New Jersey breeze that faintly smelled like the polluted ocean.

     Slowly, Peter was becoming accustomed to the smells of Gotham. They were starting to bother him less, and became evidence of his time spent in the city.

     The digital clock in his room told him that it was nearly six in the morning. Taking an early nap sounded nice, but if Peter could help it, he wanted to pretend that he did not go out during the night.

     Sure, the Waynes knew about his life, but he did not want to start the discussion. They would see social media late in the day and realize that he had picked up vigilante-ism again. If they had questions, he would let them ask first.

     So, Peter stretched his arms high over his head, cracked his back, and left the room with soft footsteps on the long rugs in the hallways of the Manor.

     The morning was uneventful. He sat in the kitchen with Alfred as the man prepared breakfast, the two talking about this and that. Alfred had asked about his night, and Peter got the sneaking suspicion that Alfred already knew about Peter’s escape.

     Then again, Peter would not be surprised if Alfred knew everything , like some omnipotent being.

     Peter dodged the question by rambling about a fake dream, one filled with Homecoming dances and bird-themed bad guys.

     The rest of the house woke up as usual. Tim, while tired, lit up upon seeing Peter in the kitchen. The two sat together while his coffee brewed in the pot, talking about Tim’s classes at Gotham Prep. The school did not sound that much different from Midtown, save for it being more than just a Technical school.

     The more that Tim described the place, with the help of Duke when he came into the kitchen, the more that Peter envied them. He missed school.

     Or maybe he just missed the people at school. Seeing MJ at the library nearly sent Peter into a spiral, and had made him realize just how much he missed everyone back at home.

     It also made him remember that those people were likely dead. Dusted, just like he was. Once again, he found himself wondering if anyone else had the same fate as him: thrown into the arms of another universe.

     If that was the case, he hoped that his loved ones had all landed somewhere good. Somewhere that was not Gotham, and somewhere without a Thanos.

     Bruce came into the kitchen with a quiet greeting to everyone, and despite not being a morning person, his gaze sharpened when he spotted Peter. The two held eye contact for a few seconds longer than usual.

     The hair on Peter’s neck stood on end, and an uncomfortable buzzing shot up and down his spine. He could not fight the unwavering feeling of distrust that the man radiated, making the teen’s shoulders tense and head duck down a bit more.

     The man came and left, not taking breakfast or coffee with him. When Peter questioned it, Alfred and Tim explained that he had a busy week ahead of him. There were apparently some big deals being made over the next few days, and the man would be going in early and working later than usual to help his focus.

     The rest of the house followed Bruce’s lead soon enough, the teens and Damian gathering their items and leaving with Alfred for the day.

     Peter found himself alone in the Manor. Dick had gone home to Blüdhaven, and Jason went to his own apartment in Crime Alley at some point, too. With no Karen in his ear, and no person at his side, he took a moment to truly revel in privacy .

     Being alone was a rare commodity, and he would not be taking it for granted. The thoughts of an early nap came back to his mind, and he could not help but smile a bit. Sleeping for a bit would not hurt anyone…

     That’s how Peter found himself in one of the large Ballrooms of Wayne Manor, perched high on the shiny metal chandelier. Using webs to get up had been easy, and the slight sway of the large fixture acted almost like a hammock.

     Peter sat in one of the low scooping bars of the chandelier, leaning back against its core and relaxing against the cool metal. There was a distinct lack of dust, and Peter amused himself by wondering how Alfred managed to dust this high up.

     His ability to stick to surfaces kept him in position, and just for extra security, he used a minimal amount of webs to wrap around his waist and the chandelier’s core, anchoring him in place like a seatbelt.

     Falling asleep came just as easy as it would have if he were in bed.

Chapter Text

     Damian hated to admit it, but having Peter Parker around was…becoming more and more enjoyable. He sneered at his own thoughts, but made no effort to deny them. In fact, it was all that he could think about during the car ride home from school.

     The teen was incredibly smart, both emotionally and logically. He knew just what to say to get on Damian’s last nerve, but also knew how to follow up to save himself from Damian’s wrath. That was how he had weaseled himself into Damian’s room last time to study.

     Not this time , Damian thought, climbing out of the black GMC and briskly ascending the garage steps into the Manor. This time, I will be demanding his presence before he can even think to offer it.

     Satisfied with the plan, he set off to find the lanky teen. While his adopted siblings filed into the Manor’s various rooms to do.. Whatever they had planned, Damian instead went hunting the halls. Every dark corner was glanced over, and every door was pushed open.

     Now Peter may be smart, but Damian surely was smarter. It could not be that hard to find the teen- but alas, the young Wayne had nearly checked every one of his usual spots, only to find nothing. No sign of Peter, not even a stray web.

     Part of him briefly considered just texting Peter to find him, but that would be admitting defeat. Sure, he had the teen’s phone number for security reasons, but he had yet to use it. He certainly did not plan on starting now .

     “Alfred?” Damian hummed, stepping into the kitchen after his lap of the first story had left him empty handed. The older man paused at the counter, having been pulling out fresh fruit and vegetables to start preparing dinner. He raised a pointy, gray eyebrow at Damian’s waiting question. “...have you seen the spider?”

     It seemed to take the man a few seconds to fully process what Damian had asked. He was intentionally looking for Peter, and did not have an ounce of malice in his tone.

     Alfred smiled, ignoring the impatient huff that Damian had released. “...I believe that you’ll find him in the west ballroom, Master Damian.”

     A curt nod was the only form of thanks that Damian offered, intense gaze softening ever so slightly as he looked at the man for a moment longer before turning to continue his pursuit. His quiet steps became impossible to hear the closer he got to his goal, as he regulated his weight distribution. A trick that he had learned in the League, and perfected under his father’s guidance.

     The wide and grand doors to the west ballroom were already open, which played perfectly into Damian’s stealthy approach. There was no need to push the heavy doors open, so he instead stepped inside cautiously, eyes analyzing the large room immediately.

     Afternoon sun bled through the towering windows, mixing with the artificial light of the three chandeliers overhead to give the room a pleasant glow. At this point, the room was empty of any furniture. They had not held an event in the room for quite some time, but he had overheard some plans of another gala taking place  soon.

     Damian internally wondered if Peter would be participating with the rest of the family.

     He froze in his tracks, eyes widening at his own thoughts. Had he seriously just called Peter part of the family? That could not be right. Peter was… he was still a stranger. Just because Damian was starting to tolerate him did not mean that he was willing to consider him family . He was not as foolish as Drake, or Dick.

     He would not open up as easily as they had.

     Damian steeled himself, pushing aside the unwanted thoughts so that he could focus on his goal of locating Peter Parker. With the room so empty, he had assumed that it would be easy. His initial thought was that maybe Peter was by a window, or perhaps even using the wide space to practice with his webs.

     His webs , Damian reminded himself, using the reminder to look up toward the arching ceiling. The arched rafters that supported the vaulted ceiling were similarly clean of dust and cobwebs. Dick must have helped Alfred recently. Or Cassandra.

     His gaze traveled from one end of the room to the other, and if he had not been trained in surveillance, he would have missed the gentle tilt of the largest, central chandelier. Something was weighing it down on one side, turning it ever so slightly lopsided.

     Upon closer inspection, it was not some mystery weight. Instead, a vaguely Peter-shaped figure could be made out among the expensive crystal and glass pieces. Damian held his breath, eyes widening as realization dawned upon him.

     He had once heard stories of Dick doing something similar at Peter’s age: sleeping in chandeliers was apparently a Wayne family rite of passage that he had yet to accomplish.

     The youngest Wayne bit the inside of his cheek. Quit calling him family, he’s done nothing to earn the title.

     Damian crossed the ballroom until he was standing just out from underneath the chandelier, neck craned to look up at Peter. From this angle, he could better see the teen’s peaceful face. He really was asleep up there.

     He supposed it could be somewhat comfortable. The slight swaying of the chandelier reminded Damian of the hammock that Stephanie had put in one of the media rooms (that he absolutely had not used. Not at all.) The only thing about sleeping up there that Damian might not like would be all of the light. It was a miracle that Peter found any sort of rest up there.

     Damian frowned, realizing he now had to get Peter down . At first, he found himself concerned for the safety of the chandelier. If Peter fell, or got too startled, there was a small possibility that he would take the expensive light fixture with him . The thought only made his frown deepen.

     So he tried something more subtle than just shouting. First, he cleared his throat, eyeing the elevated teen for some sort of reaction. When nothing happened after a few seconds, he did it again, but much louder and much more impatiently.

     Again, nothing. The gentle rise and fall of Peter’s chest stayed at a consistent tempo, revealing no disturbance, despite Damian’s presence.

     Damian sighed heavily through his nose. Throwing an object was not an option if he wanted to get out of this with the chandelier fully intact.

     “...Parker.” he said, voice projected and temper short. He made sure that his annoyance got through in his tone, hoping that the frustration would cause Peter to wake up with a bit more urgency. It, of course, did nothing more than make him stir.

     “ Parker!!! ” He finally shouted, on his last nerve and running out of patience. He wanted to study, but was it really worth it if it meant going through all this trouble?

     Peter jostled, waking up suddenly with a startled yelp and a sharp movement that made the chandelier’s gentle sway turn into a full rocking motion. Damian watched as the boy fumbled with the delicate crystal surrounding him, slipped, and tipped over the side of the metal support he had been reclining on.

     Damian internally fought himself to ignore the feeling of dread when Peter Parker fell. He refused to even think about why he would have that reaction.

     Peter did fall, but not for long. His arms had shot out on instinct, and two thin lines of webs made their mark on the ceiling above, causing Peter to stop short and hang a few feet below the chandelier, still a good eleven-or-so feet above the floor.

     The youngest Wayne scoffed and crossed his arms, staring impatiently at the boy now hanging from the ceiling. When Peter slowly turned to face Damian, his eyes were wide from being suddenly woken up.

     “... well? ” Damian hissed, glaring at the teen. “Don’t just hang there like an idiot-” he took a few steps back to allow Peter to drop to the floor at a safe distance. “And don’t leave your webs up there. Alfred won’t tolerate it, remember?”

     Without waiting for a real response from Peter, he continued to speak, leaving the dangling teen with a slack jaw in continued surprise.

     “You will meet me in my room the moment you finish cleaning up the mess that you obviously could not resist making.” Damian sneered, giving Peter a look of disapproval. “We will continue to study. I refuse to have an illiterate living in the Manor, Parker.”

     With that, he turned on his heels and left the room, a satisfied feeling in his chest.

     Peter was at a loss for words, watching the youngest Wayne son exit the ballroom. After he was sure that he heard the footsteps truly disappear down the hallway, he lowered himself gently to the ground, tugging on the lines of web to detach them from the ceiling.

     He looked up, squinting at the ceiling to make sure that he had gotten everything. Damian was right, after all. Alfred would probably make Peter go up to clean it later, anyways. He might as well grab it all now.

     But, upon seeing that it was… mostly clean, with only a few remnants of the sticky webs, he figured that it would be fine. After all, his webs did disintegrate over time. He had tested it in his room before going out as Spider-man. It took a few hours, depending on the amount, but they did go away on their own.

     Peter wondered why he was only able to make his own webs now after traveling universes as he exited the room. Perhaps it had something to do with dormant genes that were reawakened upon the trip? It was a valid theory, and one that Peter would be looking into further.

     He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought, letting his hands fall into his sweatpants pockets while he walked toward the second story bedrooms. Looking into a theory as grand as that would be hard without a lab, and he doubted that Gotham Prep could give him the tools he would need.

     Peter paused just outside of Damian’s door, releasing the inside of his cheek from his teeth. An iron taste reached his tongue, and his heart stuttered. Was he bleeding ? He had never chewed his cheek so bad as to make it bleed before.

     He immediately side tracked from his original plan, and found the nearest bathroom. Sliding inside on sock-covered feet, Peter pulled the door shut behind himself and leaned over the small marble sink counter to gaze into the mirror.

     Unsettling green eyes gazed back, and he tried to ignore them in favor of checking on his mouth. Opening his jaw, he was surprised to not only see blood pooling from inside of his cheek, but also the source of the injury.

     His teeth were sharp . Not all of them, of course. But there were three in a row on either side of his top jaw that were noticeably sharper than they should be. They lined up near perfectly with the small puncture marks in his flesh, and he winced.

     Now was as good a time as ever to start breaking that habit, especially since this was just another physical change. Peter was getting tired of discovering new things about his body- it felt like a second puberty, but more dangerous.

     Yeah, he really wanted to look into that dormant gene theory now.

     As satisfied as he could be with discovering the source of blood, Peter took a few deep breaths, gripping the marble counter under his tight fingers. He took the next few moments to calm down the panic that had started creeping up his spine.

     He was fine, he was not really injured , and this would heal . Breaking his chewing habit would be good for him, anyways.

     So he steeled his nerves, forced a smile, and exited the bathroom, navigating back a few feet down the hall to land at Damian’s door once more.

     He raised his fist, but before he could knock, the door was already being pulled open by an impatiently waiting Damian on the other side. Peter dropped his shoulders, glancing behind Damian and around what he could see of the room, in case anything had changed. “Sorry for taking so long, I got distracted.” he hummed, stepping inside when Damian pulled the door open further as a silent invitation.

     The room seemed just as it had last time: dull gray and green decor, limited posters, and multiple mounted weapons across the walls. Peter simply passed the kid off for a collector with a rich father who was willing to indulge the hobby.

     Though, the missing twin katanas sent a pang of concern through Peter. Were there unaccounted for weapons just laying around somewhere? Surely that was not safe.

     “Trigonometry.” Damian declared to the quiet room, grabbing Peter’s attention. “I trust that you have taken this course already, yes?” the young boy raised a brow, waiting for his answer.

     “..uh- yeah. That’s why I came up last time to study with you.” Peter acknowledged and nodded, feeling suddenly small. Being around Damian, while getting easier, still made the teen put up his guards. He did not want to risk getting attacked again for something he could not control.

     Damian nodded, understanding Peter’s words. He approached the single bookshelf in the bedroom, brushing his fingers over various, thickly-spined texts, before pulling out a heavy math textbook. It was listed to be at a college level.

     The two sat down at a semi-comfortable distance on Damian’s comfortable, red-rugged floor to look through the practice lessons and problems together.

     Peter knew that Damian was advanced, but some of the equations in the book should have flown right over the kid’s head. However, Peter continued to be proven wrong the longer that they sat together, both working out the same equations and comparing their answers on pieces of notebook paper that Damian had provided.

     The only problem here was that Damian had Peter doing math with a pen . His teachers back at Midtown would be severely disappointed.

     In light of that small issue, Peter managed to power through. The two youths did not exchange many words, only going back and forth with their answers and checking each other’s work. Occasionally, one would ask the other about a method used, but otherwise, they were silent.

     And slowly, that silence became more comfortable. Peter could not help the feeling that this interaction they held was natural, and good. It was progress .

     “...hey, I had a question,” Peter started, and Damian huffed in response, urging him to speak. “Not about trig.” That made Damian paused, slowly glancing up from his own paper to eye Peter skeptically.

     Peter smiled gently. “Dick mentioned something about you having dogs, and I was just wondering where they were? I haven’t seen any running around, and there aren’t any bowls anywhere.”

     Damian stared at Peter for a long few seconds, setting his jaw to avoid a biting insult toward the teen. He once again huffed through his nose, turning back to the equation at hand. “Titus and Ace are currently being cared for by a close friend of mine out of state.”

     “Oh yeah? I’m sorry to hear that, I’m sure you miss them.”

     “My emotional attachment to my pets is none of your concern.”

     “I’ve never had a pet.” Peter admitted, and the room grew quiet after that sentiment. The statement hovered around the room, making the air thicken with tensity. Peter frowned, worried that starting a conversation had been the wrong decision.

     But then Damian spoke up, passing his scratch paper to Peter for evaluation. “They are hard work, but I am more than capable of caring for my own animals. Your skills are surely adequate. Should you want a pet of your own, do not bother looking to gain the affections of one of mine.” The youngest Wayne shot Peter a testy glare. “Simply ask my Father for your own.”

     Peter took a slow breath, calming his rapid-firing nerves. This was fine, he could work with this. He looked down at Damian’s paper, following his route of problem-solving easily. It was the standard method.

     “....well, you know a lot about animals, right?” Peter asked, not looking up from the paper. He could feel Damian’s stare burning into the side of his head. “What would you suggest for a first-time pet owner?”

     The room grew quiet once more. Peter pretended to continue checking the math problem, just to give Damian more time to answer. When the seconds stretched into minutes, however, he became anxious once more. He again worried that he had made the wrong decision.

     “Bearded dragon.” Damian replied in the stark silence, startling Peter out of the self-depreciating haze he had fallen into. Hesitantly, the teen glanced over to Damian.

     The kid’s features had softened considerably as he looked down at the textbook, avoiding looking at Peter. “...a bearded dragon would be good. They’re small, and low maintenance. You’re supposedly responsible, so should you want a pet, consider one of those.”

     Peter could not stop the smile creeping its way onto his face. His shoulders dropped, and he let out a breath he was unaware that he was holding. He passed back Damian’s scratch paper with a nod, confirming his correct answers. “Thanks, Damian.”

     Dinner was a quiet affair. Now that Jason and Dick had returned to their respective apartments, and Stephanie had not visited in a while, the only remaining members of the house were the permanent residents of the Manor. And Peter.

     Though, it was getting easier to join in on these family meals. Peter was becoming more and more comfortable as the days passed.

     Alfred served the meals to the small gathering with a gentle smile on his face, placing plates of homemade burgers that smelled wonderfully of white cheddar and caramelized toppings. When Peter gave him a glance and grin of thanks, the older man merely nodded with a slight sigh.

     The family indulged with light conversation. Peter mainly engaged with Tim and Duke, asking them both about the types of courses that Gotham Prep offered. He tried to stay as focused on them as possible as they all ate, avoiding the intense eyes of the man at the head of the table.

     "Oh-" Tim cut off their conversation, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he grinned. "Bruce, tell Peter the thing."

     The teen felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge when Bruce's gaze shifted to him. Hesitantly, he turned and gave the man a smile, curious. He refused to make eye contact.

     Bruce Wayne seemed to hesitate as well, before shifting his posture with a quiet sigh. He became more open, letting his shoulders sink and his face soften.

     "We'll be holding an event here at the Manor." Bruce explained, smiling just a bit. "We'll properly introduce you as a resident of the Manor then."

     "We're trying to beat the press," Tim elaborated, sipping his drink that, once again, smelled suspiciously of coffee. "Since you've been going out more and more. Someone snapped a picture of you, Dick, and Jason at the library the other day. I found it on twitter."

     Peter let himself process the information given, slowly nodding after a few seconds. The introduction of Peter as a Wayne Foster Son was something that he had been waiting for, figuring it was the next step in his integration. Bruce was the most famous man in New Jersey, after all. It only made sense.

     "...okay, so I guess I'll be attending?" He looked at Bruce, finally meeting his eyes with genuine questions. "Do I need to prepare a speech or something? I uh, haven't been to a press event in a while, but I know a thing or two."

     Bruce seemed surprised at Peter's immediate understanding, and glanced at Tim with slightly wider eyes than usual. "..no, there won't be any formal announcements from you. Unless, of course, you wanted to speak. I originally planned to introduce you myself." he admitted.

     "You've done press events before?" Tim questioned with a raised brow, pulling out his phone almost immediately. Peter assumed he was looking up these events.

     "...technically?" Peter winced, not liking the answer he was being pressured to provide. Obviously he had participated in press events before, but that was with Tony back in his own universe. These events and speeches likely never happened here. "Tony would take me with him sometimes."

     Tim frowned as he scrolled through the internet, and Peter only wished he had brought Karen with him to dinner. Then maybe she could help him answer without sounding so suspicious.

     Bruce nodded, mulling over Peter's words for a few moments.

     "...can I say something?" Tim spoke up after a minute or two, turning his phone off with a small glare at the table. Peter's heart stuttered in his chest. Had he found something?

     When no one at the table said anything, and all heads turned to focus on Tim, he took that as his sign to continue. "I don't like Tony Stark."

     It felt like glass shattered in Peter's mind. "....what?"

     "I don't like him." Tim repeated with a shrug, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "From what you've told us, he doesn't sound like the best guy. Rich, from New York, and lets a teenager run around in a Spider suit to play superheroes?" Peter did not miss the look that Tim and Bruce exchanged. He swallowed nervously, listening to Tim continue on.

     "I get that you can take care of yourself, I don't doubt that. Your powers are impressive, Peter. You're probably a great superhero, but for an adult that you trust to let you blindly throw yourself into danger?" Tim's eyes met Peter's. "That's irresponsible. He doesn't seem like the type to have your best interests in mind."

     The distinct sound of a foot kicking someone's shin from under the table rang out, but no one flinched or said anything to acknowledge it.

     Peter could not stop the buzzing going up and down his spine, and he set his jaw tight as he tried to think of the politest way to respond to Tim.

     "...that's really shitty, Tim." Peter spoke in a quiet voice, afraid that raising it any further would result in letting his frustration slip. " Really shitty. You've never even met the guy, and you talk like you know him personally."

     "Do you ?" Tim pressed. "You said he cares about you, but where is he? Out of the country? What kind of mentor lets their student run around homeless in Gotham--"

     Peter stood fast, his chair sliding back on the hardwood floor and leaving scuff marks. His hand slammed down on either side of his plate before he could even think to control himself, a wicked green crawling into his vision.

     "It's not his fault that I'm here!!!-" he shouted, ignoring any former restraint that he had been using. "So stop suggesting that he's such a bad person!!!"

     The room fell silent. No one moved from their chairs. The hustle and bustle from Alfred in the nearby kitchen had ceased. Green clawed at his vision and made his eyes itch.

     Peter took a harsh breath, pulling away from the table and storming out of the dining room, a small portion of his dinner still left on his plate.

     He needed Karen, and he needed to get some air . He was not sure what this green was, but it was making his head ache and his hands clench into tight fists.

     Cassandra Cain slowly rose from her seat, carefully picking up her own plate, then rounded the table to grab Peter's.

     "...Cassandra," Bruce warned quietly, watching the girl. "Give him a minute. I don't need another fight happening that involves him."

     ".....he's hungry." She responded quietly, looking down at his own unfinished plate. "........he needs to eat."

     The head of the Wayne house sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. When he opened his eyes again, Cassandra and the two dishes were gone. He knew that convincing her would be pointless. He just hoped that she would be smart enough to treat Peter with caution.

     Duke hesitantly stood up, peering across the table at where Peter previously sat, a small frown forming on his face as his brows creased together. "....uh, Bruce?" he said quietly, glancing over at the man. When he knew he had his attention, he continued. "...he broke the table."

     "....what?"

     Upon closer inspection, the deep gouges in the wood became blatantly obvious. They looked like cracks in the wood that splintered and ended in uneven spots. It took no genius to figure that Peter's fingers had carved lines into the wood when he pulled away from the table just minutes before.

     Peter broke the table with his bare hands.

     "Karen," Peter huffed, talking to the AI as he slipped the hearing aid into place. "We're going early tonight."

     "Your heart rate has elevated dangerously, Peter. I suggest sitting down for a few minutes to breathe."

     "Not happening." he said through gritted teeth, tugging off his sweatpants and eagerly replacing them with the black workout pants he wore underneath the Spider Armor. "I'll breathe when I get away from this fucking Manor."

     "This Manor is the safest place in Gotham, Peter. I suggest sitting down-"

     "I'm not sitting down, Karen!!" he shouted, uncaring if anyone heard. He could just pass it off as talking to himself. They thought Tony was a bad person, they might as well think that Peter was crazy, too. He stalked through the room, pulling off his t-shirt and replacing it with the black long-sleeve one. When her voice silenced in his air, he knew that he had gotten his point across.

     A knock on his door pulled him momentarily from his anger, and he groaned in frustration, shoving his face into his hands for a few moments, tightly pressing his palms against his eyes until the green in his vision was replaced by yellow spots.

     He turned to the door, approaching and pulling it open with a glare at the ready. The girl on the other side paused, black eyes meeting his green ones with gentle caution. Peter froze, staring down at her. The tightness in his brows slowly released, and the tension in his shoulders dropped.

     He had no reason to be mad at Cassandra. Reminding himself of that fact made the green at the edges of his sight retract a bit.

     ".........food." She said softly, holding out his plate. By now, the remaining piece of the burger had gone cold, waiting alone on the plate.

     He looked down at the offered meal with a hesitation that seemed to keep coming back. ".....I'm not hungry, Cass." he settled slightly, grip loosening up on the doorknob.

     Cassandra took a good look at Peter's changed clothes and rolled her eyes. ".....eat. Then patrol." She demanded softly, pressing the plate further until it was against Peter's chest. "......energy."

     The teen boy frowned, hands coming up to take the plate from her. Satisfied, she carefully side-stepped around him and into his bedroom, taking a quiet seat on his perfectly made bed. Alfred must have come in and cleaned earlier in the day while he had been napping.

     It was hard to remember that the Waynes knew of his vigilante status, and were okay with it. They treated him like it was a normal hobby. Then again, Damian did collect deadly weapons. Still, their casual treatment of him going on patrol almost made him falter.

     "...Tim's an asshole." Peter grumbled, lowering himself onto his floor to finish his food. He got the feeling that, no matter how much he claimed to not be hungry, Cass would insist he eat before he left for the night. "What gives him the right to talk about people like that?"

     Cass hummed quietly from his bed, taking a bite of her own remaining burger and thinking. Peter did not expect an answer, but then again, he had not expected her at all. She continued to surprise him.

     "......you." she smiled sadly, tilting her head in his direction to look at him fondly. ".....Tim's concerned. Your safety..."

     "I'm plenty safe." he argued quietly, polishing off his meal with one final bite of the burger, chewing and swallowing before continuing. "I've got my powers, and I've got my experience. The suit is just a bonus."

     "Your safety is disregarded by Stark." Cass clarified once Peter had stopped arguing his point. When he opened his mouth to retort, she held up a hand quick, effectively silencing him. "......he helped, but not enough."

     Peter was left with nothing to say, awkwardly letting his gaze drift away from Cassandra and back down to his plate. They were all wrong, but he had no way to prove it to them without revealing his multiversal status.

     So he tried his best to push down his frustration. "....you guys can have all the opinions you want, but I know the truth."

     "Then tell us." she practically whispered, a curious gleam in her eyes. She was willing to listen.

     Peter stood carefully, crossing the room to set the empty plate on his desk. He frowned, squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds. "....I can't , Cass. I'm sorry." He refused to look back at her for a long few moments, instead focusing on the sight of Gotham in the distance out his window.

     By the time he turned around, the quiet girl had left the room.

     Barbara Gordon had just logged onto her computer for the night to start preparing for the patrols, only to be immediately joined by another voice in the Oracle comms.

     "Good evening, Barbara Gordon."

     It took everything in Barbara to not break her mouse under the tight grip of her hand. Karen had been only a bother since they learned of her existence, chiming into the Oracle comms to bother the Bats and ask seemingly pointless questions.

     And the worst part? Barbara had yet to figure out Karen’s systems. They were more advanced than anything she had ever seen before, and she was dying to pick them apart to see how the AI really functioned, down to a level of ones and zeroes.

     “Hi, Karen.” The red-head sighed, pushing her glasses up her nose as she spoke into the microphone of her gaming headset. Practical and convenient for vigilante work. Plus, Stephanie had once said it made her look cool. “Why aren’t you with Spider-man?”

     “I am. I can talk in more than one place, Barbara Gordon.”

     “I thought I told you to cut the full name stuff? It’s creepy, and we aren’t supposed to use real names over the Oracle systems.”

     “My mistake, Oracle.”

     Karen’s quickness to correct herself made Barbara blink down at her screen. The AI, while usually inconvenient, was at the very least respectful. Sure, sometimes her tone was amused in the most inappropriate situations, but she left no room for argument when it came to respect.

     You give, you get. Barbara tucked that mentality away, figuring she would have to use it whenever the AI decided to listen in.

     “Is Spider-man going out again tonight?” Barbara asked, forcing her tone to be casual as she started loading up the various security cameras around Gotham.

     “Yes, despite my advising against it. He is not in the correct state of mind.”

     “What’s that supposed to mean?” Babs snorted, rolling her eyes. “Was there an argument at the Manor, or something?”

     “I am unsure. Spider-man has neglected to wear me for a majority of the day. I am unaware of the events that took place, but his elevated heart rate and rising temper are only cause for concern.”

     The woman hummed in understanding, glancing quickly at the time. It was just after eight p.m. The Bats would not realistically be out for another hour or two. Jason was a different story, though. His schedule was unpredictable, so he could appear at any moment. She had yet to learn a schedule from Peter, but considering he had only been out for one night so far, she lacked the data required.

     “....are you able to show me Spider-man’s vitals?” Barbara asked, curious as to the extent of Karen’s abilities. “It could be useful in case he gets into trouble, especially since it’s clear that something happened today.”

     The silence from Karen warned Barbara that she had maybe made a mistake, but there was no way that she planned on apologizing. Asking questions should never be something to be sorry about.

     After five minutes of silence between the two, Barbara dropped the hope from her mind and returned her focus to pulling together mission goals for the night. Red Robin and Spoiler would be running recon on a recent Riddler sighting. Batman and Robin would run their usual patrol route a few times, making laps around the city and hovering over crime hot-spots for longer. Black Bat’s goal for the night would be to tail Spider-man.

     When Barbara heard about the car chase that Spider-man had stopped, and Red Hood’s interference on the tail end, she could have thrown something out of frustration.

     Sure, she had asked someone to tail Peter, but for Jason to be so ready to volunteer, and then interfere with the event… It frustrated Barbara to no end. 

     Barbara blinked away the memory, pausing when a new window opened on one of her many monitors. It was a simple black and red box with a few lines and medical statistics that changed every few seconds displayed.

     A smile slowly fell onto her face. Peter’s vitals. So she is cooperating.

     “...Thanks, Karen.” Barbara hummed. “...I’ll let you see everyone elses when they all come online later.”

     “The sentiment is appreciated, though unnecessary. I trust that you can regulate your vigilante’s vitals.”

     That almost felt like a compliment, and Barbara could not help the swell of pride in her chest. It had been some form of acknowledgement toward her hard work behind the scenes for the Bats, and it came from something so sophisticated.

     “Cool, the offer still stands, though.” She assured. “Does Spider-man have a plan for tonight?”

     “Not that I know of. I have encouraged him to begin building a patrol routine, though. I have looked through your own patrol routines as logged in the Batcomputer and will be advising him to avoid your routes. This will maximize overall ground covered for everyone.”

     Barbara blinked. “....that’s pretty smart.” she nodded slowly. “Don’t let him stray too far, though. If something happens, surely you’d like for someone to be close enough to help.”

     “I have accounted for this already.”

     “Cool.” That seemed to be Barbara’s favorite word for the night. It felt like the only appropriate way to respond to Karen. She was cool. Frustrating, but cool, just like the rest of the Bats.

     That thought made Barbara roll her eyes, unable to help the smile on her face. Peter and Karen were fitting right in, even if Peter did not realize it.

     Yet, at least.

     She got the feeling that the Wayne Family Secret would not be a secret for much longer.

     After ten minutes of shared silence between the two, Barbara pulled up her digital map of Gotham. Over the course of the night, the trackers that the Bats and Birds used would appear on the screen, allowing Barbara to effectively navigate them through the city and toward anything urgent.

     She was surprised to see a symbol already on the screen, though. It was not one that she recognized, either. Each member of the vigilante family had a specific color and symbol to differentiate their tracker from everyone elses.

     For example, Stephanie’s tracker would display as a purple blinking dot on the screen. Damian’s would be a small green star, and Tim’s would be a slightly larger, red star. Whenever Dick was in town, his tracker displayed as a blue blinking dot, alongside Jason’s red blinking dot. Cassandra’s tracker would show up as a small yellow star, and Duke’s as a blinking yellow dot. Bruce himself had a tracker that was quite literally the bat symbol.

     But this tracker symbol was an upside down red triangle with a yellow outline. It moved quickly throughout Gotham, but did not stick to main roads. It went on top of buildings, almost as if going straight through them.

     Or swinging over them.

     “...is that Spider-man?”

     “I told you that I have accounted for him moving. Should anything happen to him, you will have his location to send recovery.”

     That feeling of pride engulfed Barbara’s chest once more, and her smile relaxed. Okay, maybe Karen was not all that bad . She was certainly easier to work with now. Barbara thought a bit about that give respect, get respect mentality that the AI seemingly worked with.

     Whoever Tony Stark really was, he had created the pinnacle of artificial intelligence. She was really looking forward to eventually meeting the guy, regardless of if he was a villain or not.

     Barbara cracked her knuckles and traced Karen’s signal, humming to herself as she did so. Now that she was able to ping directly onto Karen’s core signal, that being Peter’s hearing aid, she was able to track every trace of the AI on the planet.

     On a separate window, a list of various coordinates popped up in red writing. Upon converting the coordinates to a digital map, small red dots appeared, showing every major trace of Karen’s AI.

     There was the quickly moving dot, which was obviously Peter. Two dots sat still in the Manor, and she had to assume that was Peter’s cellphone and the Batcomputer. A dot sat alone in Barbara’s apartment complex, showing that Karen had made herself right at home amongst Barbara’s technology.

     But that was not what really caught her attention, no. Those were all normal places for Karen to be pinging to. The unusual one was a small red dot just off the coast of Gotham’s Harbor, fully surrounded by the murky water.

     Part of Karen had been abandoned in the harbor.

Chapter Text

     It had been three days since the argument, and Peter had not spoken a word to Tim. The two passed each other in the Manor often, giving each other side glances and expectant glares. Peter expected an apology, and Tim expected an explanation.

     They were both constantly let down by the other.

     Their days were spent toeing around each other, carefully directing knowing gazes and unspoken belittlement toward each other. Internally, Peter would have been ashamed of the way he was thinking about his friend. But Tim had crossed a line, and it was now up to the other teen to make amends.

     The one good thing about the situation, at least, was that Tim did not pester Peter about him going out at night.

     The other members of the family however, did not hold back their concerns.

     It all started with Cassandra and Duke waiting for him in his room one night when he returned from his patrol. They were both worried, having apparently been up studying. They claimed they had gotten news about a shooting and, knowing Peter was out, decided to wait in his room for his return.

     Then it was Dick, texting Peter after dinner one night, asking if he would be going out. When Peter said yes, Dick had tried talking him out of it, claiming that tensions were too high between certain crime lords at the moment (the names The Riddler, and Black Mask were cemented in his mind after the text conversation.

     After Dick, it was the most surprising one of all. Damian had come to Peter as the teen was getting ready to leave, suited up in the Spider Armor with his mask off. The youngest Wayne showed obvious distaste for Peter leaving, but made no verbal comment telling him to stay home.

     That was yesterday night. Of course, Peter brushed off their warnings, knowing that he could take care of himself just fine. Especially with the help of Karen.

     "Hi, Peter. There has been a reported burglary three streets over."

     "Thanks, Karen-" Spider-Man nodded sharply, changing his trajectory of his swinging to turn around a tight corner. Wind rushed past him, and his high speeds made the city lights become a blur. This was something that he was used to. He did not really need to see to swing- he just needed his spider senses to work.

     And those always worked.

     A tingle shot up his spine, followed by a harsh buzzing on his front. Spider-man ducked into a roll just in time to avoid a bullet whizzing past. He came out of the somersault and landed crouched on top of a light pole.

     The shooter, a man dressed in all black with ratty blonde hair, continued to unload multiple rounds in Spider-man's direction. His agility was quicker than a bullet, though, as he turned, dropped, ducked, and jumped out of the way of the gunfire. A quick and closer glance toward the suspect showed a black duffel bag slung across his back, stuffed full of something .

     Spider-man shot webs toward the man, and the sticky substance latched onto his gun, clogging the barrel with deadly accuracy.

     Startled, the man tried tearing the webs off. He soon realized though that it would not work, and instead turned to make his escape, dropping the weapon and running down the sidewalk.

     "Lost your motivation already?" The vigilante called after him, giving chase fast. He swung while attached to the buildings, ignoring the surprised faces of other civilians on the street below. "I don't really feel like playing tag, man!!-"

     Needless to say, the burglar was webbed up in less than five minutes, hanging upside down by his ankles from a flickering light post. Like he had the last few nights, Spider-man grabbed his wallet, pinned up his ID to the post, and left him for the police to find. Karen had already notified the police department.

     Now , Peter found himself sitting alone on the top of the Drake Industries downtown building. The tall spire was for sale, in light of the semi-recent deaths of Jack and Janet Drake. Peter internally recounted that those were Tim's biological parents, and the reason that he even lived with Bruce Wayne in the first place.

     Thinking about Tim made his previously airy mood sour, and he glared down at the city lights below. He wanted to stop thinking about Tim.

     So he instead thought about Tony.

     Having Karen helped. The familiar presence that was created by Tony offered him the most support that he could need. Her, and the Nanotech Suit, were the only remnants of Peter’s mentor.

     Former mentor. He had to remind himself that he would never see Tony again. It was not okay, but it was getting easier to think about. At least that ache in his chest was not nearly as strong as it used to be. Being Spider-man again helped ease that pain.

     So he stopped. Instead, he stood, turned, and fell backwards off of the spire. The rush of Gotham became his focus once more, and a perfectly timed line of webs swung him in a long swoop into the main city once more.

     With the assistance of Karen, Spider-man landed safely across the city in the heart of Crime Alley. Glass crunched under his boots as he walked on a low roof, peering over the edge to observe the alley below. A small group of men in tattered clothes were stood around a barrel fire, mumbling quietly to each other and chuckling occasionally.

     One of them had on an extremely tattered and ratty baseball cap that said United States Air Force across the front.

     Having gone unnoticed, Peter quietly stepped away and out of sight. He crossed the roof to get some distance from the men below, and spoke quietly to Karen.

     "Navigate me to the nearest open convenience store." He requested quietly.

     Fifteen minutes later, Spider-man was back on the original roof, looking down at the men- five total- from above.

     Once again, he went unnoticed. It was only when he shifted the plastic bags in his hands that one of them heard and looked up.

     Spider-man's heart ached when he saw a look of fear cross the man's face. So he took a quiet and deep breath, before making sure that his emotions were obvious through his voice.

     If they couldn't see his friendly smile, he was making damn sure that they heard it.

     "Hey, sorry for intruding on your space." He started, loud enough for the rest to look up at attention. When they all were looking, he made his movements slow and more obvious, allowing them to anticipate where he would go.

     Spider-man dropped down into the alley, landing with bended knees a yard or two away from the group. Almost immediately, the ones closest shied away, going around the barrel fire to face him together. They refused to turn their backs on the vigilante.

     "I just noticed you guys while running my route and figured I could help out." Spider-man quickly explained, holding up the various plastic bags.

     The man wearing the Air Force hat squinted skeptically at Spider-man, the silver-grey mustache on his upper lip moving as he spoke. "..who are you? You ain't no Bat, and you ain't no Hood. "

     The vigilante nodded in confirmation. "Mind if I join you by the fire? I can explain over snacks." He hummed with a carefully joyful persuasion.

     The Veteran- the man that Peter mentally deemed the leader- thought the offer over, hazel-brown eyes moving from Peter's disguised face to the bags in hand. Spider-man spoke up and said, "I got you guys water bottles too. Oh- and socks. And if you guys need anything else, I can always go back."

     That seemed to be the nail in the coffin, and the group offered him over with some leftover hesitance.

     Spider-man joined them with the comfort of an old friend, dragging an overturned paint bucket over to sit on while he dug through the plastic bags. "I really wasn't sure if you would need certain things, but if I missed something crucial I'll go back." He reassured the earlier sentiment, and passed the bags around.

     Each man ended up with one, and they all started looking carefully at the items provided. Protein bars, bottles of water, miniature first-aid kits, packs of socks, boxes of matches, and reusable ponchos were all inside the makeshift supply bags.

     "...you didn't answer my question." The Veteran reiterated, looking across the fire to the vigilante once more. This time, he had a careful smile on his face, revealing yellowed teeth.

     It was the most genuine smile Peter had seen since the fight with Tim.

     "I'm Spider-man." He answered after a second. "Relatively new to the city, but I'm slowly starting to learn how it works." He shrugged casually, the nanotech shifting comfortably on his shoulders.

     The Veteran eyed his armor curiously, but said nothing about it. “...huh, another damn vigilante then..” he mumbled under his breath with a small eye roll. “And from New York , too…”

     “Hey, I can’t control where I was born.” Spider-man joked, internally noting that they had caught his slight accent. He would need to modify his voice modulator to make that harder to pick up on. “I got displaced, anyways. I can’t go home.”

     “On the run?” Another man, a bit larger than the others with matted black hair, spoke up, his gray eyes meeting Spider-man’s mask.

     “..no, not really.” Spider-man shrugged, looking down at the fire. “..there’s nothing over there for me. Not anymore.” he sighed through his nose. “ Here , though, I can do some good again.”

     The Veteran and the other men nodded quietly. They may not fully understand, but they would politely empathize. After all, Spider-man had provided them with meals and supplies for the next week or so.

     “...if you guys need anything, and I’m in the area, just let me know, okay?” Spider-man said at last, looking up from the fire and at the men. “I’ve been in your position before, I get it.”

     The Veteran huffed, shaking his head. “...too many homeless youth here. Worry about them, not us.”

     The vigilante nodded in understanding, turning once more to the fire and relaxing for a few moments. “I’ll add this street to my patrols, then.”

     “I’ve logged the new route, Peter.”

     He gave no audible response, and instead hoped that Karen would understand his gratefulness. He did not want to use the technology in front of the men and have it come across as bragging.

     By the end of the small rest, Peter had learned a bit about the men. All five were veterans from the United States Air Force, all active in the Middle East at some point in the early 2000’s. The man in the hat- named Webster Pickley- lost his job in the service after an injury that left him unable to run for longer than twenty seconds without his lungs threatening to burst. When he returned to the states, his wife left him and he was officially homeless. Had been for the last dozen or so years.

     Spider-man promised to swing by every few days to check on Webster and the other men, having Karen make a note of it when he swung away to join the fray of Gotham’s night crime once more.

     Meeting the group of men had been nice. It offered a small escape from his thoughts, and a small insight on the homeless population in Gotham. There were far too many, it seemed. It made him think of New York.

     Looking into alleys, Spider-man started noticing more things. Fliers for missing people, both young and old, lined the brick walls. Murals were weathered and eroding. People slept behind dumpsters, on piles of garbage bags, under cardboard awnings, and inside torn tarps set up as tents.

     There were too many people, and not nearly enough housing or help in this city. As much as it pained him to leave his home, he was once again glad that he ended up somewhere that needed his help.

     Peter tried having faith in Gotham’s vigilante group. Batman worked hard, and his sidekicks seemed to work harder, but how could less than ten people handle all of this? The real answer was that they could not . And with Batman not allowing Metas, it made getting help from the outside heroes harder.

     Well, Batman certainly could not stop Spider-man from helping. He lived in Gotham now. There would be no kicking him out of his new home.

     At one a.m Spider-man landed on the roof of the Gotham Museum of Art. The concrete building had a very Guggenheim feel to it, with a geometrical outside done in clean white stone and concrete. The tall hanging banners in front of some of the windows displayed the current exhibits being shown: something about Caravaggio and Georgia O’Keeffe .

     Peter briefly recognized those names from Damian’s bookshelf. Slightly surprised, he quickly connected the dots. Damian Wayne had books about art.

     Damian Wayne liked art.

     Peter smiled under the mask, mentally pocketing that information for later. Maybe he could ask Damian to bring him to the museum during the daytime. Or even better- he could see if the kid did anything like draw or paint. That was something that they could do together.

     Spider-man was pulled from his daydreams (nightdreams? It was just past one a.m.) by the sound of boots softly landing on the roof nearby, and a grappling hook retracting into its barrel.

     He turned his head, expecting to once again meet Red Hood, or maybe another Bat. He was quietly surprised to see the youngest of Gotham’s knights standing a few yards away.

     Robin was short, with a gray and red uniform that almost resembled something medieval. The term Gotham’s Knights was starting to make more sense. His arms were crossed, and a glare was set in his white-out eyes, directed at the other vigilante. Spider-man sat up a bit straighter.

     “...can I help you?” he asked hesitantly, turning his body to face Robin. He had heard of the kid’s reputation: bossy, angry, and quick. He had the mouth of a sailor and the strength of his father.

     “You should not be here.” Robin said in a strikingly familiar voice. If Spider-man had not been looking, he could have easily mistaken him for Damian . But that was silly, Damian was not Robin . All young kids sounded similar, anyways.

     That thought cemented itself into his mind and made him swallow uncomfortably. He continued, despite the sudden pang in his chest. “...what, on top of the Art Museum? I thought this was a public establishment.” he joked, covering the slight shake in his voice.

     Was Damian Robin?

     “You know very well that I do not mean the Art Museum .” the young vigilante stated firmly, already fed up with Spider-man’s immature nature. These two were going to mix as well as oil and water. “You should not be in Gotham , Spider-man.”

     “I haven’t told you my name yet.” Spider-man said quietly, standing up. “Guess you’ve heard of me then, huh?”

     “In passing. Nothing good.” Robin hummed. “You need to leave , before you become too involved in something that does not concern you.”

     Spider-man nodded dramatically, bringing a hand up to his chin and stroking thoughtfully. Dramatically . “Hmm, yes, I understand. I should stop doing my job … because my job does not concern me.”

     “I have no time for your childish games, Spider–” Robin suddenly moved, light on his feet and dancing a circle around Spider-man, who struggled to turn and keep up. The two moved in tandem, like two north ends of a magnet that repelled each other. “I ask once – then I make you leave– ”

     “Yeah, no– ” Spider-man dodged a sudden kick, jumping up to avoid the sweeping leg. “I don’t take orders from babbling babies–” he snorted, landing and rolling to his left, pushing further toward the center of the roof to subtly divert them away from the edge.

     Sure, he trusted that Robin could fight, but he did not want the damn kid to accidentally step wrong and fall off of the building. “Where’s your boss at, anyways?? Minors have a curfew in this city!!-”

     “Batman is dealing with other business– he entrusted your removal to me– ”

     “My removal ? What, am I being trespassed or something?” Spider-man teased, suddenly shooting a thick rope of webs toward Robin. The young vigilante dodged by inches, side-stepping expertly. The webs attached to the roof, and Spider-man quickly released them, not wanting to be tethered in the middle of a fight. “I didn’t know I could be trespassed from the city I’m a resident of– ”

     “Then don’t leave , you bumbling idiot– ” Robin spat, making fast moves toward Spider-man with a dangerous glint in his mask. “Just stop– before you make enemies that you can no longer eliminate–”

     “Like you?” Spider-man challenged, crouching down and moving fast, avoiding a tackle, which Robin recovered from in a quick roll. “What, you gonna try killing me?”

     “If harming you makes you quit , then I feel no shame in taking those extreme measures–” Robin confirmed, suddenly pulling a shiny black object from his belt. Batarang , Spider-man clocked immediately, standing fast and widening his stance.

     “Sorry, I don’t hit kids,” Spider-man huffed, taking light-footed steps back. “ Even if they’re murderous little brats–”

     Robin quit retorting back with words, and instead threw the weapon in a low curve, the sharp edges glistening in the low light of Gotham’s night. Spider-man leaned back, knees bending as his torso nearly became parallel with the roof. The batarang flew by at a deadly speed, going through air where his stomach would have been.

     This kid isn’t aiming to hurt me– Spider-man stood fast, mind racing as his tingle went off over and over again, infecting his mind and spine with uncomfortable shivers. He’s trying to kill me–

     “Okay- Robin- ” Spider-man started, taking fast steps back as the batarang arched like a boomerang and landed back in the younger vigilante’s gloved hand. “Let’s talk about this, man–”

     “There is nothing to discuss–” Robin growled, advancing forward. For every two steps that Spider-man took, Robin took three, gaining distance fast. He spun in a hard turn, suddenly throwing three more of the sharp weapons in Spider-man’s direction.

     Jump , Peter’s mind screamed as he leapt up, shooting out webs to stop the flying weapon before it could slice into his ankles. The webs caught onto the tool, throwing it off course and sticking it hard to the roof nearby.

     Duck , his instincts demanded. His head fell low and forward, his body naturally folding into a roll. The distinct sound of another batarang passing overhead cut through the air. He barely managed to miss it by centimeters . He managed to stand just in time to turn and spin around the final batarang.

     Turn–

     Turn.

     Why could Spider-man not turn?

     Something warm blossomed on his side. His spine lit on fire with danger danger DANGER DANGER WARNING as that warm spot got larger.

     When Spider-man looked down, he was greeted by a large tear in the side of his black shirt, and a deep and jagged cut across his side. It was right on the spot that his armor did not cover. A spot that he had never injured before. The cut itself went about half an inch deep, and thick rivulets of blood poured freely from the new injury.

     “....oh.” Spider-man said quietly, unable to hide the unpleasant shake in his voice.

     Robin was supposed to be a good guy. He worked with Batman, the protector of Gotham. Did.. did they really think that Spider-man was that bad? So bad that they would try to kill him?

     Spider-man looked over to Robin, ignoring how that warmth from the blood was quickly turning into spikes of pain in his side. He needed to get somewhere safe- he needed to get home–

     The sight of Wayne Manor came to mind in half a second.

     Spider-man moved fast, suddenly breaking into a sprint. He broke past Robin, shoving the eerily still kid to the side. To ensure that he would not be followed, Spider-man shot out long and thick lines of web, which connected to both Robin and the roof.

     Even if the young vigilante had gone surprisingly quiet, frozen in place, Peter refused to risk being followed.

     Two seconds later, he was swinging away, one hand held tightly to his side, and the other clutching the lines of webs like they were life lines.

     Getting back into the manor was as easy as it had been previous nights. All he did was climb up the wall to his bedroom window, where he fell onto the floor with a shaky and sudden exhale.

     Green creeped at the edges of his vision, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, begging internally for it to go away.

     His mask was too hot on his face, and it was restricting his breathing. Peter knew this, but he could not bring himself to tear it off. Karen must have noticed something wrong with his vitals, though, because within seconds, the nanotech was retreating off of his face.

     “Karen-” Peter had to force himself to speak quietly. “I need a first aid kit-”

     “Hi, Peter. The closest first aid kit is located underneath your bathroom sink. However, I strongly suggest getting help from one of the Waynes.”

     “None of them are up right now.” Peter knew that was a lie. Earlier in the day, he had overheard Tim talking about cramming all night for one of his classes. “None that want to talk to me.”

     “Alfred Pennyworth is awake on the seventh floor.”

     “..he…he is..?”

     “Yes.”

     Peter peeled his eyes open and searched the room for his digital clock. Green eyes met the red display of numbers: 1:49 A.M.

     He hated to end his patrol so early, but the green tint on the world growing stronger by the second made him glad that he came home. The boy, still on the ground, compelled his body to move.

     Carefully, Peter managed to get on his feet, swaying slightly. The cold breeze of New Jersey’s night came through the window, sending a shiver up his spine. He sighed uncomfortably, covering the large wound on his side with his hand. Getting blood on the floors of the manor would be a pain to clean later.

     The teen was going slow, stopping every few seconds to try controlling the green in his vision and the pounding in his chest. He really felt like he should get that checked out. Maybe another side effect of multiverse travel was revealing itself.

     He only managed to get halfway up the stairs to the fourth floor before strong hands and a carefully stern voice was talking in his ear.

     “Up now, my boy. The stairs are no place to succumb to an injury.” Alfred’s cool and calm voice sprung Peter from his green haze, and he looked up with wide, bloodshot eyes. The older mans’ gaze met his, and immediately acted as an anchor.

     Peter held onto Alfred with tight gloved hands as he was brought back to his feet, and walked into the closest bathroom, located on the third floor. It looked identical to every other bathroom in the house: a shower and bathtub, a sink, a counter, a toilet, and a small linen closet of towels.

     The teen was sat carefully in the bathtub, back leaned against one of the sides. The cool feeling of the ceramic through his black underclothes was extremely grounding, and made that green ever so slightly weaker.

     Alfred moved hastily and carefully, pulling the thick first aid kit out from underneath the sink and popping it open on the counter. He retrieved gauze, alcohol, a curved needle, surgical thread, and gloves; all of which were in sterile packages.

     “May I ask who did this to you, Young Peter?” Alfred asked with a careful voice, pulling the white stretchy gloves before approaching with the other tools, which he set on the closed toilet lid.

     Peter hummed uncomfortably, shifting to allow Alfred better access to the injury, which had slowed down in its pouring of blood. He had his healing factor to thank for that. Bleeding out was extremely unlikely for someone like him.

     “I assume that it was one of Gotham’s usuals, correct?” Alfred’s gentle tone coaxed Peter into a more comfortable headspace and sitting position. He pressed gauze firmly against the teen’s deep injury, and he barely flinched at the uncomfortable pressing.

     “...Robin.” Peter said after a moment, noticing the man pause. “...he, uh, threw a batarang at me. Quite a few actually.” He chuckled, but quickly stopped when it made the stabbing pain on his side worse. “...this came from the one that I didn’t dodge in time.”

     Alfred’s mouth pressed into a tight line. “...well, I’d certainly hope that Batman does something about this. Gotham’s Knights do not kill , and this was an intentional blow to maim.”

     “Yeah, it scared me a bit.” Peter sighed through his nose, holding his breath momentarily when Alfred poured alcohol over the deep gash. “...he said something about uh, wanting to remove me.”

     “I see.” Alfred hummed in response, watching the wound carefully as he cleaned the edges, gradually getting deeper into the red and irritated skin of Peter’s side. “...this is already healing under my hands, do you have some sort of ability?”

     “Yeah, healing factor.” Peter explained vaguely. “I’m really not sure how it works, and I have a killer headache right now so..”

     “Say no more, then.” The older man assured the teen softly. “Your healing factor is working wonders at the moment, as far as I can tell.” he smiled, hoping to lighten the mood just a bit. For Peter’s sake.

     “....hey, Alfred?” Peter spoke up after a long moment of silence. By now, the man had started sewing the skin back together with practiced motions. The teen looked down at the streaky red that had gathered on the wall of the bathtub. “How do you… know how to do this? The sewing?”

     “I was in the military, my boy.” Alfred chuckled, a proud smile forming on his face as he pulled Peter’s side closely together. “It was a long time ago, but I have maintained my training throughout the years. The skills have not gone to waste.”

     “You sew people up often?” Peter joked.

     “More often than you’d think, dear boy.”

     The teen fell quiet, brows pinching together as he tried computing that answer. Alfred used his first aid skills often? Did the Waynes get hurt that much? Maybe Damian, with all of those sharp objects in his room. Or even Dick- but he was a Government Employee, so he would have pretty good insurance to take him to a hospital.

     “....do you know if Damian ever.. Sneaks out? At night?” Peter asked hesitantly, voice suddenly small. The slight echo of the bathroom made his statement seem far too loud.

     The older man seemed to process his question, snipping the surgical thread after he tied the loops tight. One glance to Peter’s side showed a perfect stitch job. “...I found him once, but he was only going out to the barn. It was when Batcow was first brought to the property.”

     Despite sensing a topic change, Peter played along. He felt too mentally exhausted to fight the change, anyways. “...I guess he was worried about her?”

     “Indeed. She came from a farm that was not following protocols regarding animal safety. She is a rescue.”

     “He really cares about her.”

     “Master Damian cares about quite a lot of surprising things, Young Peter.” Alfred said with a fond tone, standing up straight. He turned to dispose of the tools that he had used. “You, for example.”

     Peter paused mid-standing, gears turning in his mind. “....I mean, I’d hope so.” he settled, though even he was not entirely convinced by his own words. “I care about him, so I’d like to think it’s mutual.”

     “Master Damian is an emotional boy, Young Peter.” Alfred said, helping the teen stand all the way with a careful arm wrapped firmly around his middle. “As much as he may try to hide his true feelings, he wears his heart on his sleeve. You must simply know where to look.”

     Peter Parker smiled just a bit, nodding. He sort of figured that about Damian, but to have it confirmed out loud by the wisest member of the Wayne family made him feel infinitely better. He even let his shoulders relax.

     “..now, as for patrol ,” Alfred’s voice suddenly gained a stern inflection, making Peter’s chest clench. “There shall be none of that for the time being. Until I can confirm that this side of yours is fully healed , you are grounded from duty.”

     “I–” Peter huffed, immediately moving to argue the notion. “ Grounded? Alfred, seriously? I’m not- I’m nearly seventeen, I don’t need to be grounded–”

     “Exactly.” Alfred said firmly, cutting the teen off as they walked down the hall toward the stairs. “You are sixteen , Young Peter. You have no business jumping on rooftops while your side is still vulnerable.”

     Peter opened his mouth to protest, but knowing it would fall upon deaf ears, he shut his jaw tightly with a frown. The last time he had been grounded, Tony had taken his suit from him. At least this time, no one would be taking anything.

     Well, maybe Peter lost some dignity, but that was light work in his field.

     “Do not worry, dear boy. Once your side is fully healed, you’ll be back in the city.” Alfred assured, helping him down the stairs slowly. “With better underclothes. Perhaps kevlar?”

     “Kevlar’s pretty expensive, Alfred.” Peter laughed quietly under his breath. “I’ll just be more careful next time an eight year old tries stabbing me.”

     “I get the feeling that the… eight year old will be much more careful next time.”

     “Karen,” Peter said quietly, sitting on the edge of his bed. He had changed out of the Spider Armor and black clothes, throwing the latter into the garbage in his bathroom. The torn shirt would serve him no purpose, and Peter did not feel like scrubbing the blood from the pants. Even if they showed no stain, he would still feel gross wearing them. “I need you to tell me everything that you know about the Waynes.”

     “Hi, Peter. I have told you everything that I know about the Wayne family.”

     Peter frowned, taking a slow breath to ease himself. That green had long since gone, but he did not want to risk letting it creep back in. “...I know you’re lying. Tell me everything you know.”

     “That information is classified, Peter.”

     Sudden rage flared in his chest, and he gripped the sheets below him tightly. “ Karen , you’re supposed to help me. How are you supposed to do that if you don’t tell me what you know?”

     “Peter, I was designed to help you in the ways that Tony Stark saw fit. Withholding information that would be detrimental to you is part of my protocol.”

     “Tony isn’t here, Karen.” Peter said through gritted teeth. He could feel the sheets tear under his fingers. “So cut the shit. I want to know , because clearly you’re hiding something from me.”

     “I cannot do that, Peter. I apologize.”

     The teen stood from the bed, glaring at the digital clock across the room on the desk. 3:18 A.M. glared right back, an angry red meeting his even angrier green. He reached up as he spoke, hurt shaking his voice. “ Fine- fine then. Don’t tell me anything. Clearly you aren’t working right.”

     He pulled the hearing aid from his ear and tossed it into the air, shooting a quick web that caught the device and pinned it to the wall above the desk. “I don’t need you if you’re just gonna lie to me.”

     Karen could not talk back, not this time. If she did, Peter did not hear. Good , he thought to himself, holding a firm glare to the hearing aid. I don’t need to hear that voice constantly, anyways.

     Peter went to sleep that night in full silence, his right ear feeling uncomfortably empty with the lack of the device. Still, he forced himself to find rest without its familiar feeling.

     “Alfred told us what happened.” Duke’s voice met Peter’s ears the moment he hit the kitchen, and the teen yawned in response. This only caused Duke’s brows to pinch together in concern. “Are you okay? Like, mentally?”

     “Yeah, I’ll be good.” Peter nodded in confirmation, crossing to the coffee machine and starting it up. Having memorized which cabinet the mugs are in, he shot a line of webs out without looking. They attached to the cabinet door, which he then tugged open. Peter used more webs to grab a mug, the ceramic soaring across the kitchen and landing in his palm. “Just sore now.”

     “That’s not what I asked, Peter.” The older teen pressed carefully, crossing his arms across his chest. His spot at the table in the breakfast nook had a plate of four microwaved pop tarts and a half full glass of milk. “I asked if you were okay mentally . Not physically.”

     Peter hesitated to answer, and instead, decided to focus on the coffee that was slowly brewing. His silence spoke volumes to Duke.

     “...look, if you need to talk about it with me, you can.” He offered carefully, watching Peter move around the counter to gather sugar and creamer for his drink. “I don’t mind listening.”

     “I don’t want you guys to get involved.” Peter said quietly, clearing his throat. He stared holes into the coffee pot. “...besides, what happened last night has nothing to do with you guys. It’s fine–”

     Peter’s senses suddenly went on overload as fast footsteps approached the kitchen. His spine lit on fire, the wound on his side spiked uncomfortably, and his eyes widened a bit as he turned quickly to face the door.

     The figure of Tim came into view, with frantic blue eyes and tangled hair from a restless night. “Peter-” he paused, nearly slipping on the tile of the kitchen floor in his socks. “Dude- Alfred just told me- are you– ”

     “Breathe, Tim–” Duke huffed, rolling his eyes sarcastically.

     “Are you okay??- How bad is it–”

     “I’m fine .” Peter said, letting his gaze fall into a glare that silenced the other two teens in the room. Duke turned his eyes to Peter, watching carefully, while Tim closed his slack jaw. “Not like I haven’t gotten hurt before.”

     “...well, yeah, but Alfred said this was-”

     “Bad?” Peter raised a brow, grabbing his now finished coffee from the machine. He turned back to the counter to add the creamer and sugar, ignoring the rush of alarm still coursing up and down his spine. “...yeah, it is. But i’ve had worse.”

     “...that doesn’t make it right.” Tim said quietly, letting his shoulders drop. He stared at Peter with a pained look. Obviously their previous argument had been long forgotten by the Wayne son.

     “Yeah, it doesn’t.” Peter hummed, a bored expression on his face. He sipped the hot drink, not allowing it to cool. Duke cringed at the action. “I get hurt a lot, but it isn’t exactly Tony’s fault like you claim. You’re awfully quick to shift blame onto him when your own vigilante can barely keep his own sidekicks contained.”

     The expression on Tim’s face morphed from concern to hurt confusion. “..Peter, that’s irrelevant to the situation-”

     “Don’t call him irrelevant.” Peter stated firmly, glaring at Tim once more. “He’s more than you’ll ever know.”

     “Well, what if I want to know.” Tim shot back. “Peter, I don’t wanna argue again. I just wish you’d tell us something –”

     “Why? You’d only keep insulting him, which is really hypocritical , by the way. Batman lets a toddler run around at night, how’s that so different to me and Tony?”

     “..Batman has issues that are apparently being addressed.” Duke cut in gently, hoping to ease the tension. “Some gossip sources say he’s getting therapy.”

     “Good. He needs a shit ton , and his Robins need it, too.” Peter huffed, carrying his mug to the breakfast nook and sitting across from Duke. “He seems rich enough to afford it.” the younger teen grumbled, rolling his eyes and giving his coffee another sip.

     The kitchen fell into a stale and awkward silence. Tim gathered his senses and went to the counter to get his own coffee, eyeing the webs still hanging from the cabinet door with an annoyed glint in his eyes. Duke kept glancing between the two teens, before eventually settling for staring at his phone feed. Anything was better than eyeing Peter and Tim.

     “......do you think your side is good enough to go out today?” Duke asked hesitantly, glancing over his phone to lock eyes with Peter, whose eyes had turned a bit skeptical. “Bruce scheduled a fitting appointment for this morning. Y’know, for the Gala in a few days?”

     Peter’s mind ran a loop for a moment, remembering the conversation about the press event. Peter Parker would be publicly announced as Bruce Wayne’s new foster son. Peter Parker would be Bruce Wayne’s new son.

     “...yeah.” Peter said quietly, looking down at his coffee cup. “...yeah, I’ll be good to go out.”

     Duke nodded shortly, hesitantly glancing down to his phone once more. The kitchen fell back into that uncomfortable silence that made the air feel far too thick in the room. It was like there simply was not enough to go around.

     When Peter stood to go back to his room, Tim spoke up from the counter, voice hesitant and quiet. “....B said the appointment was at nine-thirty, so.. Be uh, ready to go then.”

     Peter Parker only nodded shortly, giving Duke and Tim one final glance before exiting the kitchen. Typically, at a time like this, Karen would be talking his ear off about the whereabouts of the rest of the family.

     Maybe Cassandra was awake in her room, getting ready for the day. Or perhaps Damian was walking out of a bathroom somewhere.

     But the silence in his ear was both relaxing and unnerving. There was a loss of familiarity that left him buzzing almost nervously.

     He made his way back upstairs to his room and eyed the spider-shaped disc on the nightstand. The armor had been fantastic at first, providing him protection and a recognizable theme for the citizens of Gotham to understand.

     But it clearly had flaws. Peter had not prepared for the type of crime that Gotham provided. His own universe provided large threats that were prone to throwing, punching, and beating people to a pulp. This universe had sharp villains, who moved fast and with deadly intent.

     Peter would need to make some adjustments to his armor.

     The teen pushed away the thoughts and went to his closet, digging around for clothes for the day. He would need something easy to get in and out of, considering this was a fitting appointment. This would also likely be at a more upscale establishment, so ripped jeans were a no…

     In the end, Peter grabbed a long-sleeved red sweater with a black tank top underneath. For his lower half, he pulled out a pair of dark brown corduroys that cuffed at the ankles, which would allow him to slip on his converse later.

     First, he took a quick shower. The water was set to cold, waking him up fully, but doing nothing to ease that nervous buzz in his spine.

     When he stepped out, dried off, and got dressed, his eyes wandered across the room to the hearing aid plastered to his wall above the desk. It was exactly where he had left it. Alfred must not have been in the room since his argument with Karen. He really needed to take the device down before the man came in to clean.

     But he just could not bring himself to move her.

     Instead, he chucked on his converse and hopped on one foot out the bedroom door, tying his laces on his lifted foot. Peter finished with a heavy sigh and shook his still damp hair, flinging little drops of water onto the hallway rug.

     Water was better than blood, at least. Peter had been rather proud of himself when he avoided soiling any rugs in his bloody stumble that previous night.

     He pulled his phone out of his corduroy pocket, seeing that the time was just past 8:50. They would likely be leaving the manor within the next twenty minutes, depending on where the fitting place was.

     Still, Peter made his way back downstairs, navigating into a media room closer to the front of the house. It would make it easier to leave when the time eventually came. But for the moment, he settled for falling back against a too comfortable couch, head hitting the cushions with a satisfied sigh.

     He really did not mean to take a ten minute power nap, but he blinked, and suddenly someone was gently shaking him awake.

     He cracked his heavy eyelids open, pausing when he noticed the kind gaze of Cassandra looking down at him.

     “....up?” She asked quietly with a gentle smile. Peter could not help but smile back, nodding and sitting up with a huff.

     “Sorry, didn’t mean to doze…” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Are we leaving now?” Cassandra nodded, helping Peter stand up with a careful hand.

     Half an hour later, Peter was stepping out of a sleek black sports car, followed by Cassandra, Duke, and Tim. Alfred rounded from the driver's side, and Bruce emerged from the passenger seat, looking at the kids with a careful eye.

     No one had spoken on the car ride over, and Peter did not plan to start now. He was still rather fed up with the way this family was acting, and felt entitled to his own silence. If they wanted to speak, then they would need to start with genuine apologies.

     The shop they were at was definitely upscale, with colorful suits in the windows and fancy dresses hung behind them. The mannequins were of all sorts of body types, and Peter internally appreciated the offered diversity.

     Inside, the lighting was warm and almost reminded Peter of a dimmer sun. It felt very natural, which he supposed was a good thing. Having natural lighting was key to getting custom clothes.

     He sort of tuned out the conversation that Bruce had with the shop tender, glancing over to Duke and Tim, who were scrolling on their phones and waiting for the appointment to begin. Cassandra was engaged in a sign language conversation with Alfred.

     Peter frowned. Karen could have likely translated for him. Maybe it was a bad thing, not bringing her with him..

     He pushed the thought away fast. He was content with his decision, and certainly would not be backing out of it now. He did not need her, since all she wanted to do was lie to him.

     When Bruce and the shop tender stopped talking, and the shop tender walked into the back, Peter finally spoke up.

     “..hey, Bruce?”

     He got a quiet hum in response, the man glancing back to meet him with an open gaze. Peter relaxed somewhat; at least the man of the family did not seem so upset with him.

     “Are the others getting stuff done today, too?” the teen asked curiously, looking back at the other kids once more. Everyone was here except for Damian, who, for some reason, was grounded.

     Peter could not figure out why, and he was not sure he wanted to. Not after last night.

     Bruce paused, but nodded, a relaxed smile coming onto his face. “Yes, both Tim and Duke are being refitted as well.” the man confirmed, turning to face Peter. “I figured we would get it all done today, for pick up tomorrow.”

     Peter nodded in understanding, intending to be quiet once more. But Bruce had other plans.

     With a lowered voice and a gentleness in his tone, he spoke once more. “...are you alright? After I was made aware of last night I was.. Shocked, to say the least.”

     If Peter had to go through this I’m Fine routine one more time, he might use it as an excuse to turn to a life of evil. This was the perfect villain origin story, after all.

     That amusing thought was enough to get Peter to smile with a quiet laugh under his breath, rolling his eyes. “ Yes , Bruce. I’m alright. Alfred patched me up, and I heal quicker than most people.” he confirmed, placing his hands into the pockets of his pants. “No need to worry.”

     “Let me worry anyways.” Bruce sighed, glancing down to Peter’s side. “I care about your wellbeing, Peter. So forgive me if I pry into your nightlife and its consequences.”

     “...yeah, okay. But only if you start believing me when I say I’m alright.” Peter mused quietly, giving Bruce a fond glance. He had really started warming up to the man, and was glad that any sort of animosity that had been generated was starting to die down.

     Bruce frowned, but sighed with a small nod. “Alright, but you promise to come to us if you need help. We.. we can help you, Peter. Even if you don’t think so.”

     “Mhm, whatever you say, Brucie.” Peter chuckled, shaking his head and elbowing the man. Then, he lowered his voice into a whisper. “At least keep the crime-fighting to the professionals like me and Batman, though, okay?” he winked teasingly.

     It was a joke, of course, one that made Bruce’s smile widen into a pure laugh. It was a sound that grabbed the attention of the other Waynes, who looked over with blissful confusion and a curiosity.

     “Hey, I wanna laugh, too!-” Duke chimed in with a playful glare and a laugh, looping an arm around Tim and dragging him over to join. Cassandra just glanced over, a smaller smile forming on her face.

     “Nope. Absolutely not, the joke is just for me and B.” Peter glared back with a grin, leaning against Bruce dramatically with an elbow on the man’s side to prop himself up on. “ You don’t get to hear it now.”

     “Now, now.. No scrapping in the tailors.” Bruce warned teasingly, glancing down at the boys, familial gaze lingering on Peter for longer than the other two.

     “I dunno, we might have to scrap.” Duke shrugged, releasing Tim and immediately elbowing him. “Right, Timber?” he smirked.

     “...right.” Tim sighed, trying to stop the smile slowly forming on his face. It was still noticed, though, because it got a snicker out of Duke.

     Peter hesitantly allowed himself to fall into the banter. “I dunno man, I think I’d win.” the teen hummed, glancing down at the floor. “Y’know, considering my hobbies.” he glanced at the two with a confident smirk.

     Tim paused, but then rolled his eyes with an obviously playful scoff. “Psh– that doesn’t mean anything. I could still beat you.”

     “Oh yeah? Prove it-”

     “ Not in the tailor shop.” Bruce said firmly, grabbing their attention. The three boys looked up at the man with slowly forming smiles and held back laughs. After a few seconds of firmly looking at the three, a small smile broke onto his face. “...scrapping is for the backyard, chums.”

     “ You owe me a fight then.” Peter said teasingly, pointing an accusing finger at Tim. It was a friendly challenge, but also a serious offer. If Tim could fight, maybe fighting would be good for them. They could let all of that anger out.

     It did not sound that bad in theory.

     Tim stared at Peter’s finger for a few moments, before huffing and playfully pushing Peter’s hand aside, grinning confidently. “Sure, Webs. I’ll give you a fight, but not today.”

     “I’m holding you to that.”

     By the end of the appointment, which lasted just over an hour, Peter walked out with a smile on his face and three friends at his side. The purchase of two suits had been confirmed with the swipe of one of Bruce’s many cards.

     Peter had tried on many, but in the end, had settled for a black pinstriped one and a dark red suit set that came with a vest to wear over a button down. Both were great in quality, and honestly, Peter was excited to own something so expensive. He was excited to wear one of them to the Gala in a few days.

     Peter was excited to be included with the Waynes and their goings.

     He could have even said that he was excited to be part of the family.

     On the car ride back to the manor, Peter’s mind filled with multiple different thoughts related to the events of the day. But the forefront of his mind was filled with all sorts of imagined scenarios. Call him cheesy, but it felt nice to imagine a life with the Waynes.

     Did it still hurt when he thought about the people he was leaving behind? Absolutely. Peter knew that the feeling would never fully go away. But overtime, it had eased itself into a dull throb in the array of other things that Peter started feeling.

     He felt happiness around the other teens, a sense of brotherhood with Dick and Jason, and a growing feeling of fondness for the younger Damian. He was feeling more comfortable around Bruce, and nothing could stop him from enjoying being around Alfred.

     He enjoyed being with the Waynes, and he was starting to understand that there was nothing wrong with that.

     When the car arrived home, and Peter stepped out onto the Wayne driveway, he internally referred to it as his driveway.

     This was his home, with his friends who were starting to feel more like family. And that was okay.

     Damian had a horrible feeling in his gut. It made him want to throw up, but he was far too prideful for that. Instead, he sat in his bed, with his knees pulled up to his chest, and his hard stare pointed at the wall across the room.

     His mind kept repeating the event over and over again. The memory was so vivid: the rooftop, the sky, the spider, the injury .

     God, the injury.

     Damian was almost glad that he had not been able to see Peter’s face at the time. He was not sure he would have held his composure. If he had to watch the teen’s face while almost subjecting him to certain death?

     Damian would have never forgiven himself. He still had not.

     So instead, he sat alone in his room, watching the hours tick by and and marinating in his own hatred. This time, instead of directing that hatred toward the undeserving Peter, it was pointed toward himself.

     A knock on the door broke Damian from his near-meditative state, and he glanced over to his electric clock. 4:03 P.M. On a normal night, he would be leaving for Patrol in a few hours. He would be doing homework, or studying with Peter.

     He pulled himself from his bed and crossed the room, tugging the door open with a well timed scowl and glare. Whoever had come to insult him more for his behavior would not avoid his own pent up emotions.

     His eyes traveled up brown corduroy legs, and across a red sweater, before landing on the face of Peter Parker.

     Damian once again wanted to throw up.

     “...you okay, Damian?” Peter asked hesitantly, subtly shifting on his feet. Damian did not miss how the teen stuck one foot out, placing it against the door frame to prevent Damian from closing the door. “No one’s really told me what happened yet.”

     “I’m grounded.” he replied flatly. “Therefore, I’m not supposed to be talking to you. So if you do not mind removing your foot-”

     “Nah.” Peter cut him off, shrugging. “Look, it’s.. I don’t really care if you’re grounded or not.” he smiled a little bit. “ I still need to study, and you have all the textbooks.”

     Damian’s frown deepened. “...I won’t allow you to borrow my materials.”

     “Good, I won’t borrow them, then. I’ll just use them in your room. ” Peter raised his brows with a knowing grin.

     The youngest Wayne stared at the teen in disbelief. If you knew what I did to you, you’d be running right now.

     “...so, can I come in?”

     Damian could do nothing but open the door enough for Peter to step inside.

     The teen crossed the space, familiar with the motions. He made it to the shelf, eyeing the books curiously as he tugged the trigonometry textbook from its spot. “So, same thing as usual? I’m good with this, unless there was another subject you were interested in studying.”

     “What else would there be?” Damian grumbled, letting the door fall gently shut behind him. He followed Peter’s trail and joined him at the bookshelf, glancing across the different textbooks he owned. Histories all across the world, different artistic periods, specialized sciences… he had it all. He wondered how much of this Peter also enjoyed.

     “I dunno, maybe something else you enjoy? Surely math isn’t your only hobby.” he teased, tapping his fingers gently on the hardcover of the trigonometry textbook. “..you’ve got a lot of art books, so I guess you like that?”

     “I dabble.” Damian hummed, reaching up and retrieving his own book. “...do you enjoy art?”

     “I don’t know much about it.” Peter shrugged honestly, glancing over to the textbook and watching Damian flip through the pages slowly. The different pieces depicted were from various cultures, and Peter could only assume it was some sort of art history book. “Why don’t you teach me?” he smiled.

     Damian could not smile back. Instead, he pressed his lips into a tight line, trying to form the right words. Peter was witty, but Damian was smart. Surely he could use something other than his violence from the previous night to keep Peter away from Gotham.

     “....I will tutor you in art history, if ,” he started, plucking the math book from Peter’s hands and placing it back on the shelf. “You do me a favor.”

     Damian noticed Peter visibly pause, before turning to face the boy fully. “..sure, okay. What’s the favor?”

     “Be more careful.”

     “...what?”

     “Alfred told us. All of us, about what happened.” Damian said through gritted teeth, avoiding looking directly at Peter’s face. “...you got injured, and none of us could prevent it. If you had only been more careful , then you would not have ended up with that hole in your side.”

     His own words made him want to vomit. That uncomfortable feeling kept settling in his unsettled stomach. He could only hope that over time it would go away.

     “...Dami.” Peter sighed, walking to sit on the boy’s bed. Damian followed. “I’m as careful as I can be, but doing what I do..” Peter tried to find the right words. “...there’s always a risk.”

     “Then why take it?” Damian asked, joining him on the bed and setting the book between them, flipping through the pages to find a place to start. It also offered him a great excuse to not look at Peter directly.

     “...because I can help people. It’s what I do, and it’s what I love.” Peter’s voice was quiet, honest, and real . He was in this for all of the same reasons as everyone else. He wanted to help, and how could Damian fault him for that?

     “....I won’t tell you not to go.” Damian mumbled, pausing on a page depicting The Calling of Saint Matthew , painted by Caravaggio. The young Wayne could recognize the piece immediately, but Peter had to squint at the words to gather identifiers. “It would be unfair for me to force you to stop.”

     “You couldn’t force me.” Peter teased, earning a warning glare from Damian, who continued to speak.

     “I will, however, strongly encourage you to listen to your head. You’ve got abilities people can only dream of, and you’re right: they’re helpful.” It could have been a compliment. In fact, it probably was a compliment.

     “...just do not let that desire and ability to help prevent you from honoring yourself.” he finished quietly, looking up to Peter with a sincere look. The teen’s eyes met his, and for a long few moments, they both just stared. Both were searching for something that the other could not give.

     But Peter relented. “....alright, whatever you say, Damian.” he smiled softly, shaking his head and looking down at the book, breaking their connection. “I trust you.”

     For the first time in hours, that uneasiness in Damian’s stomach settled long enough for him to enjoy Peter’s presence.

Chapter Text

     It had been one week since Peter had gotten injured on that patrol, and quite a lot had happened in the manor since then. Firstly, Damian was still grounded. The more that Peter tried to think about why, the more his mind drifted to unpleasant scenarios and answers that he continued to downright reject.

     There’s no way that Damian is Robin, anyways. He wouldn’t do that, and Bruce wouldn’t let him.

     Surely.

     …but what if.

     On the opposite end of the spectrum, Tim had opened back up and apologized for insulting Tony. Of course, it was a quiet apology, saved just for the two of them. Tim had apparently waited up all night for Peter to wander out of his room, meeting him in the bedroom hallway, where they quickly moved to a nearby common room to talk.

     The night meeting had been oddly comforting. Tim apologized, Peter accepted it, and they even hugged . It only lasted for a few seconds, but to Peter, it lasted a century. It had been one of the nicest hugs he’d had in a long time. Tim was great at giving physical comfort, it seemed.

     But on top of all of this? Peter was still grounded , which meant no Spider-man .

     He protested the motion just about every day. Whenever he and Alfred were in the same room together, Peter had made it a point to emphasize just how good he was feeling. He would talk about how his healing factor was kicked into overdrive, and how he already felt ready to spring back into action.

     Peter was stubborn, but Alfred was even more so. No matter how hard Peter tried making the man understand that he was fine now , the butler had refused to lift the ban. He even went as far as to confiscate the Spider Armor when he caught Peter trying to sneak out on night two!

     Of course, it was swiftly returned the next morning, served with a stern lecture from Alfred about respecting his elders.

     Peter had plenty of respect for Alfred: what he lacked was respect for his decisions.

     The more time he spent in the manor, though, the more that he learned that Alfred’s word was law . Knowing that he was fighting a losing battle, Peter relented shortly after the lecture. Even with his suit returned, he dared not risk sneaking out again.

     But, with both Peter and Damian grounded, it left them both plenty of time to fill with each other’s presence.

     “I don’t get it.” Peter huffed loudly, squinting down at the large art textbook. Damian had surprisingly been open to exploring other study subjects, and he obviously let him lead the way. The kid seemed to like having control, and Peter felt no obligation to deny him any. Besides, they were using his books in his room.

     “What can you not grasp?” Damian asked casually, green gaze flicking between Peter’s frustrated expression and the book between them on the bed. If you had told Damian that he and Peter would be sitting in the comfort of each other in mere weeks, he would have laughed smugly in your face.

     But now Damian could only smile softly as he taught Peter everything he wished to share.

     Peter propped his head up on his hand, continuing to look down at the page. “How is this art? ”

     Damian followed the older teen’s gaze back down to the page where an image of Monticello was printed in bold colors. Underneath the image were large blocks of text describing the Virginian estate, its origins, and its architectural style.

     ”...well,” Damian hummed, adjusting the book so that it was pointed more toward Peter, gesturing for the teen to start reading. “Monticello is a piece of architecture, yes? Therefore, it required prolonged thought and design to bring it to completion.”

     “And it was designed by Thomas Jefferson?”

     “Yes.”

     “But I thought he was a President.”

     Damian sighed heavily through his nose, feeling himself teeter on the edge of frustration. “Thomas Jefferson was more than just the third President, Parker. He was an architect, congressman, and foreign minister in France.”

     “Ew, who would willingly go to France? ”

     Before Damian could bring himself to start another lecture on the importance of foreign countries and their exports, he noticed a hint of a tease in Peter’s voice. It dawned on him very quickly that Peter was only joking, and that there was no real need for an instructive interjection at the time.

     Still, the thought of educating Peter, and proving his own intellectual superiority, was a satisfying one.

     “...a neanderthal.” Damian settled for the simple two words as his answer, holding back a small smirk as he looked back down to the textbook once more. He turned the page to a diagram of Monticello, preparing to continue explaining the artistic influences, when he was suddenly bombarded by Peter’s very amused voice.

     “ Dami- ” he started with a barely contained snicker, “Was that a joke? ” he covered his mouth with his hand, joy evident on his features and in his voice.

     “... what , do you believe me to be incapable of basic humor?” Damian scoffed, leaning back and away from the book to give Peter a certain look, with raised brows and a light frown. “You forget the imbeciles that I live with.”

     The way that Peter so openly allowed himself to laugh after Damian’s remarks made something in the youngest Wayne’s chest settle. Like that constantly raging storm inside of him had finally found a moment of reprieve. The joy that Peter radiated was infectious , and part of Damian knew that he did not want a cure. So he instead let the small smile grow on his own face.

     “Don’t be so amused , Parker. You will soon learn that my humor is superior to my siblings in every way.” he hummed, rather satisfied with himself. He crossed his arms over his chest.

     “S-Sure–” Peter’s laugh devolved into snickers behind his hand once more, leaning back on the bed and turning his face away from Damian to hide the pure glee on his face. “Whatever you say, dude.”

     “I am one of the most emotionally intact members of this family, don’t you know this?” Sure, Damian’s tone had slipped into one that was light hearted, but he truly did believe his own words. Despite his years in the League, having the influence of his mother, and later the Wayne family, had really helped improve his emotional maturity. Or at least, it was continuing to help his emotional maturity. Damian made plenty of mistakes.

     The sudden memory of his first meeting with Peter came to the forefront of his mind, blurring the sight of the bemused Peter before him.

     The look of panic.

     The commotion in the library.

     The fear .

     Damian felt something shift in his gut as he was internally reminded of his own emotional failures. It had seemed that so far, every notable experience with Peter had involved Damian attempting to attack him.

     One of those attempts had been successful, and he regretted it everyday for the past week. Maybe though, he could atone for that abuse. Perhaps Peter would be forgiving.

     “...Peter.”

     The teen on the bed paused, breath faltering for just a moment. Damian had just called him Peter . Not Parker, or some demeaning insult. He had called him Peter .

     He turned his head to look at Damian, letting his joyous smile fall into a look of hesitant confusion, grin becoming much softer. “..uh… yeah?”

     Damian turned to fully face Peter, face stony. His brows had been pushed together, and his mouth had been pressed into a thin-lined frown. Honestly, he looked like he was thinking really hard . Then, he took a breath through his nose, letting his eyes shift up to meet Peter’s.

     Green looked into green.

     “....allow me to finish my statements entirely before you decide to comment. I would like to get this over with in one go to avoid any misspoken words or second guesses.” Damian’s request sounded more like a demand, but regardless, Peter nodded. The young Wayne took another deep breath before speaking in a tone that was… much softer and much more sincere than Peter had been preparing for.

     “I am asking for your forgiveness. I have mistreated you over the course of the last few weeks in ways that are indisputably disgusting.” The raw power of the statement made something in Peter’s chest soften, and his mind became fuzzy. “I was afraid of the impact that you would have on my family, and it frightened me enough to attempt to hurt you. Looking back at my actions, I can only dread what would have happened if I had hurt you-”

     Damian seemed to suddenly pause, like a memory had hit him like a freight train. Peter knew better than to interrupt him, and instead waited patiently for the boy to start talking once more.

     “... you scared me. You were something new, and upon hearing of your less than human nature, I was even more worried about the things that you could do. I.. I see now that I was mistaken. So, again,” the boy finally allowed his eyes to meet Peter’s again. “I’m sorry .”

     For a long few seconds, Peter Parker could only stare at Damian with a painfully neutral expression. While on the outside he seemed uncaring toward the words, he was internally picking apart every piece of the apology. Those seconds felt like they lasted hours, and Damian almost felt himself break out into a nervous sweat under Peter’s gaze.

     But then those unnaturally green eyes softened, and a little smile found its way onto the New Yorker’s face. The mere sight of it made Damian’s heart and mind fuzzy with relief.

     “...yeah, I forgive you.” The words were simple, sweet, and sincere. Peter’s gaze grew fond, and a suddenly teasing sheen fell over his face. “Just don’t call me Peter again, I almost thought I was in trouble or something-” he joked, letting a chuckle fall on the tail end of his words.

     Damian sighed silently in relief, shoulders relaxing. That had been likely the hardest apology he had ever given, but it went without a hitch. A small smile climbed its way onto his face. “Sure, Parker . Whatever you say.”

     “Now c’mon, show me more buildings.” Peter hummed as he shifted their attention back to the textbook before them. It was a welcome change of topic. “Do any other Presidents have artistic houses? ” he teased, skimming over the pages as Damian turned them.

     Had they both taken the change of topic as soon as it became available? Sure. Did that mean that they felt any less comfortable? Absolutely not. In fact, Peter would go so far as to say that he felt more comfortable now. The apology had really cleared the air in the room, and Peter was able to put Damian’s past hostility behind them both.

     Besides, he understood now. Damian had changed his opinions on Peter, anyway. He would not attack him anymore.

     The study session that continued really felt like their best one yet. When it was just before dinner, Peter left Damian’s room with a newfound sense of companionship and a new knowledge set about random buildings throughout art history.

     Night fell upon Wayne Manor quicker than Peter had expected. After having spent so long that afternoon with Damian, he really had let the day escape him. Dinner was normal, only with the unexpected presence of Dick, who came in at the last minute still in his officer uniform.

     He joined the family for their meal, complaining about the rough shift he had endured for the past eleven hours. The man said something about how nothing could beat Alfred’s cooking, and Peter silently agreed.

     Dick was caught up on the most recent events of the family over shakshuka and a glass of wine (under the premise that he would stay the night at the manor.) Upon hearing about Peter being grounded from patrol, the officer could only tease him with a wide grin and witty remarks about ‘Leaving the crime fighting to the police.’

     Apparently, Dick had already known about Damian being grounded. Peter was not that surprised. Surely they had some sort of family group chat. Internally, he wondered if the Waynes talked about him in that theoretical group chat.

     He was not sure whether to be honored or upset at the thought.

     Regardless, dinner came and went. Dick and Bruce left the table to go down to the garage, Dick mentioning something about his car sounding a little funny on the drive over. While the adults went to play mechanic, Tim, Duke, and Cassandra all looked to Peter with expectant gazes.

     “So? Mario Kart?” Duke proposed with a devious grin. He had been practicing, after all, and had fully planned to beat Peter tonight.

     Peter hesitated, glancing from the small trio of teens to the even smaller figure of Damian, who was in the attached kitchen helping Alfred clean up.

     “...maybe tomorrow night. I was gonna ask Damian to help me decide which suit to wear at the gala.” Peter smiled apologetically. Cassandra and Tim both stared at him with looks of surprise and slow understanding.

     “..okay, yeah. But we can’t play tomorrow night, remember? That’s the Gala.” Tim rolled his eyes, smiling a bit. “Don’t tell me you forgot when your press reveal is.”

     “I didn’t!-” Peter scoffed, glaring playfully at Tim. “You know what I meant, dummy.”

     “Mhm, sure . Have fun with the demon, Pete.” Tim chuckled, looping his arms around Duke and Cassandra and steering them toward a media room down the hall. As mildly upset as they were that Peter was not joining them, they made no verbal mention of it. Besides, Duke would just treat this as even more time to perfect his strategies that he would eventually use to challenge Peter.

     As the last remaining person in the dining room, Peter made himself scarce by migrating to the kitchen, falling quickly into the assembly line of helping wash the dishes. While Alfred and Damian scrubbed at the plates with sponges and sudsy water, Peter was more than happy to take them and dry them with the hand towel.

     The Waynes absolutely owned an electric dishwasher, but like Peter, they seemed to enjoy doing it the old fashioned way.

     Alfred must have noticed the shift in Damian and Peter’s bond, because he only gave the two small knowing glances every so often, a fond smile on his face. Seeing the two getting along and spending time together so willingly made something in Alfred’s mind ease.

     For the first time in quite a few days, Wayne Manor was fully at peace.

     “Hey, Dami?” Peter hummed, not looking up from the large dinner plate he was wiping down. Damian only gave a quiet noise of acknowledgement, prompting him to continue speaking. “Could you help me pick out which suit to wear tomorrow? I’ve got two, but I can’t decide.”

     “...I see you have noticed my superior sense of fashion.” Damian stated with pride, standing up just a bit straighter at the implied praise. “If you insist.”

     “Why don’t you boys run along, then?” Alfred insisted, gently pulling a fork from Damian’s sudsy hands. “I can handle the rest of the dishes. If you let me know which suit that you wish to wear before tonight ends, then I can have it steamed for you early tomorrow.”

     Peter smiled, carefully setting down the plate and rag on the counter next to the drying rack. He nodded, stepping away from the counter. “Sounds good to me. Thanks, Mr. Pennyw- Alfred.” he corrected himself fast, an embarrassed sheen covering his face.

     The two boys left the kitchen side by side, Peter quietly explaining the two suits to Damian as they made their way to his room.

     One of the good things about being grounded from patrol was that Peter really started to make himself comfortable in the manor. His room had a few more posters scattered on his walls, though there were still distinctly empty paths that he tended to pace on when thinking. His sheets were slightly bunched up from hastily making his bed that morning, and a pillow had fallen onto the floor at some point earlier in the day.

     Damian had not been in Peter’s room much, and took a short moment to assess the place while Peter approached the closet for his suits. “...you pace your walls?”

     “And ceiling.” Peter corrected, a smile on his voice as he pushed clothes on hangers aside. “Who needs a treadmill when I’ve got a big room like this?”

     “ Big? ” Damian rolled his eyes with a scoff. “There are certainly bigger rooms on this estate, Parker.”

     “Well, obviously. But I don’t wanna pace somewhere like the ballroom-” Peter rolled his eyes, pulling two dry cleaners bags on hangers out of his closet. He moved to throw them onto his bed. “I might leave footprints. At least in here, there’s no chance of a visitor seeing them.”

     “Tt.” Damian made a noncommittal noise, following Peter’s lead and approaching the bed. The teen unzipped the two dry cleaner bags, revealing two unworn suit sets waiting inside.

     Damian eyed the two sets carefully, taking in their form and color while imagining them on Peter.

     “...well, you want to make a good first impression.” Damian spoke carefully, reaching down to feel the material of the individual suits. The red one was more like silk, while the black pinstriped one had to be closer to cotton. “You also want to be memorable . My suit for my press reveal was green.”

     “Bold, Dami.” Peter teased. “So I should go with red, then?”

     “You see red suits all the time, Parker. Just because it is not a neutral color, does not mean that it is not common.” Damian rolled his eyes. “What color undershirts do you own?”

     “White and black.” Peter comfortably crossed his arms. “Do you think it matters which one I wear?”

     “Obviously.” Damian scoffed. “I thought that Stark was a businessman, surely he educated you on proper formal wear etiquette?” The boy’s question, while sounding insulting, was more genuine than anything Tim had said about Tony. Peter felt a pang in his chest, but also felt no reason to bite back at Damian. The kid was not trying to be mean.

     “...no, actually. He helped me get ready for events, but he never really taught me.” Peter explained, looking down at the red suit with pinched brows. Tony probably owned seven in that exact shade of red, and dozens more in varying others.

     Damian fell silent for a few moments, before releasing a quiet sigh through his nose. “....go grab your black button down. Make sure you also put on a black tank top underneath it.” The boy’s commands were clear and firm, and he started pulling the black pinstriped suit out of its bag. Just when Peter assumed that Damian had made his choice, the boy then turned to the bag with the red suit and retrieved just the vest.

     Without saying a word, Peter turned and went back to his closet, grabbing the instructed items. When he returned to Damian, the boy thrust the selected clothes into his arms. “Go put that on. I’ll procure you a tie.”

     Peter followed Damian’s instructions, a giddy feeling in his chest as he entered his bathroom and closed the door to change. If their earlier conversation was no reminder of how much they had both improved, then this exact moment certainly was. Damian cared about Peter enough to help him look good for tomorrow.

     As Peter shucked off his comfortable clothes and pulled on the suit, he was reminded of just how custom that it was. The vest fit him snugly, and the black jacket overtop rested exactly where it should on his shoulders. The pants stopped just around his ankles, and were not too tight on his upper legs like he had feared.

     When Peter looked at himself in the mirror, he was pleasantly surprised. The black button down offered a contrasting background to the red vest, which was then tamed down by the equally black suit jacket. Whether he left it buttoned or unbuttoned, the red vest offered a fashionable contrast to the rest of the dark outfit.

     Personally, he would not have thought to mix the pieces from the different suit sets. Maybe Damian had been on to something about having the best fashion sense. He could not help but think about what Tony would say.

     ‘You look good, kid.’ Would probably be his start, appraising Peter with a sharp eye and a painfully neutral expression. ‘You feel good?’ He would ask, a hint of genuine concern in his voice. Tony knew that press events were not something that Peter typically enjoyed. ‘Just stick by me,’ Tony would say, finally allowing himself to smile at Peter. ‘I’ve got you.’

     Peter’s chest swelled with fondness and pride. Tony would be so proud right now. Just that realization alone was enough to make Peter’s confidence skyrocket.

     When he stepped out of the bathroom, he was greeted by Damian and Alfred who were waiting patiently. They had both been standing near his desk, and turned to face him when he stepped out. Peter stilled himself while the two rakes over his form, smiles growing on their faces. Proud smiles.

     “...why, young Peter, you look wonderful.” Alfred complimented softly, a tenseness in his shoulders dropping. “I assume that Master Damian helped you decide what to wear?”

     Both Peter and Damian nodded, giving each other a familiar look and small smile. “Yeah, Damian’s great. His fashion sense is impeccable, man.”

     “He always has been the best dressed of the children, save for Master Tim, of course.” Alfred hummed in agreement, crossing the room to brush off Peter’s shoulders and straighten his lapels. There was a parental fondness in his actions.

     “Psh- do not compare my superiority to Drake of all people. My personal opinion is that Stephanie is next in line for the title of most fashionable .” Damian rolled his eyes, following Alfred’s lead. He held an undone tie, which was a slightly brighter red than the vest. It would stand out nicely against the suit.

     “Shall I help you put on the tie, young Peter?” Alfred suggested, holding out a hand for Damian to pass the garment. However, the older man was pleasantly surprised to watch Damian climb up and stand on the bed, now taller than Peter.

     “I’ve got it, Alfred. Thank you.” Damian mused, popping Peter’s collar and looping the fabric around his neck.

     Weeks ago, Peter would have been all nerves over this interaction. Damian being so close to his neck, and so able to strangle him, was a thought that would have frightened him. But now? After all of the study sessions, artistic conversations, and apologies? Peter could not feel more comfortable than he currently did in Damian’s presence, under his careful hands.

     In seconds, a perfectly executed cape knot was pressed comfortably against Peter’s neck. Damian pressed the collar back into place, eyes never wandering to Peter’s face. Once he was done, and had smoothed out the teen’s upper torso, he stepped back and hopped off of the bed.

     Both Peter and Damian decided not to comment on Alfred’s expression of subtle yet pure joy and relief.

     “Now: is this what you wish to wear at the Gala tomorrow evening, young Peter?” Alfred asked, and for a moment, Peter felt like he was on an episode of Say Yes to the Dress . The thought made him huff out a laugh, smiling and nodding all the while.

     “Yeah, this is great. Thanks for the help, Dami.” Peter praised, holding out his palm. Much to his surprise, Damian understood immediately and went in for the high five. The gesture of solidarity ricocheted into Peter’s bones and settled like a beast finally at rest.

     “Since tomorrow is settled, I believe that I should talk to you about tonight , my boy.” Alfred hummed, grabbing Peter’s attention once more. Confusion crossed the teen’s face.

     “..tonight? What’s tonight?” he asked, wracking his brain for something he may have forgotten.

     Alfred hummed, walking back over to the desk, where he reached to the wall and carefully pulled Peter’s hearing aid free from the webs that had been holding it there for the last week. Something in Peter’s stomach flipped uncomfortably.

     “You are no longer grounded from patrol, young Peter.” Alfred stated, taking care to pick any extra web residue off of the device. “On the condition that you wear your hearing aid again.”

     Peter paused, staring at Alfred and the device in his hands. His mind darkened. Did… did Alfred know about Karen? Surely not.

     Alfred took Peter’s silence as his que to continue. “I know I cannot keep you home forever, despite how much I may attempt to do just that. You’ve healed in a record amount of time, and in spite of my own anxieties, I know that I cannot hold you here forever.” He cleared his throat. “...however, it would pain me to know that you are out there fighting crime when you are not at your full capacity.”

     He held out the hearing aid, and Peter took it with a hesitant hand. “I know that your sixth sense is useful, but clearly it cannot compensate for everything .” Alfred’s reference to Peter’s fight with Robin made both of the kids in the room frown, uncomfortable from the memory. “So for the comfort of this old man, would you wear it when you go out tonight?”

     Alfred’s request was simple and sweet, and obviously one that Peter would abide by. He slipped the hearing aid into his ear, smiling faintly when it fit like a glove. The nanobots shifted ever so slightly, filling the space that they had previously been taken from.

     “...yeah, I’ll wear it.” Peter confirmed with a nod and a small smile. “Thank you, Alfred.”

     “Thank you , young Peter.”

     The teen was then given a set of black stretchy work-out clothes to replace his old ones that had gotten torn during the fight with Robin. After changing out of his suit and into the underclothes, he gave Alfred the formal garments. It as then that both of them left Peter in his solitude, gently shutting his door behind themselves.

     Ten minutes later, Spider-man was swinging into Gotham, a smile on his face and the wind against his body. He had dreaded the week prior, but being able to get back into the city was something that he was extremely happy about.

     Especially since he had made a plan.

     “Hi, Peter. Care to share your thoughts with me? I would like for tonight to be successful.”

     Peter huffed out a small laugh, landing himself on top of an apartment building on the outskirts of downtown Gotham. “Sure, Karen.” he hesitated. “..It’s nice hearing your voice again. Sorry for getting mad.”

     “Your emotions are warranted, as are my actions. There is no need for me to hold a grudge, Peter.”

     “Sure, whatever.” he hummed. “You can make up for lying to me by helping me out tonight.”

     “Of course. What is the plan?”

     Firstly, Spider-man made a stop at a convenience store. There, he pulled together the small amount of cash he had found while helping Alfred clean the manor, and used it to purchase bags of supplies similar to those from last week.

     Within half an hour, Spider-man had made it to crime alley and tracked down Webster and his buddies. They were in a different alley tonight, but had a similar set up of a barrel fire and makeshift stools. The vigilante crawled down the wall nearby, whistling to get their attention.

     “Hey, Webster!” The smile was evident in his voice. “Sorry for not coming back sooner, I got grounded.” he shrugged, landing on the alley ground.

     The men around the fire shared skeptical glances that were brushed aside by Webster, who had on his usual veteran’s hat. The older man smiled when he spotted Spider-man, waving him over to join them once more.

     Just like last time, Spider-man pulled up his own makeshift stool and passed around the bags. Inside were protein bars, water bottles, snacks, and other survival gear that he could afford on his tight cash budget. Internally, Peter reminded himself to ask Bruce for some sort of vigilante allowance. It would make caring for these guys so much easier.

     “Good to see you, Spider-man.” Webster chuckled, something gravelly in his throat. “Got a little worried after you left that first night.” He admitted, looking to the fire.

     “Psh, don’t worry about me, man. I’m good.” he pushed as much sincerity into his voice as possible, opening his posture and relaxing his shoulders. “Just helping out where I can.”

     “..y’know, all sortsa’ people promise to help us out. Not many follow through.” The veteran admitted, gaze becoming solemn as he watched the flames.

     “...yeah, well I’m not just any sortsa’ person.” Spider-man teased, making sure to exaggerate a stereotypical New Jersey accent. He got a testy glare from Webster in response. “I’m the friendly neighborhood Spider-man, Webster. Helping people like you is my job.”

     The second part of Spider-man’s plan involved the most normal part of being a vigilante: patrolling. After he departed from Webster and the others, he fell into his previously established route. He swung past alleys, peeking inside before moving on. He listened for any alarming sounds, and watched from rooftops as people walked below on the sidewalk.

     It really did not take long for Spider-man to hear what he wanted, but it was from the little robot in his ear instead of Gotham’s nightlife.

     “Hi, Peter. Per your request, I am notifying you that Wayne Manor is sufficiently asleep. Alfred Pennyworth, Duke Thomas-Wayne, and Damian Wayne are the only three in the above-ground floors.”

     “When did everyone else go downstairs?” Spider-man asked quietly, standing on top of a power pole and observing a nearby park. It was blessedly empty, but the shady parked car with movement inside was setting off his spidey senses.

     “Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Timothy Drake, and Richard Grayson all went into the underground shortly after you departed for Gotham.”

     “And are they still down there?”

     “No.”

     Spider-man paused, becoming still as a statue as he both processed Karen’s words and watched another car pull into the park, parking next to the first one. It flicked its headlights off the moment it was still.

     “Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Spoiler, Red Robin, and Orphan are all active tonight in Gotham. All have been spotted.”

     “Got any locations?” Peter hummed.

     “None that interfere with your plan. Though, if you wish to return to the manor unseen, you will need to leave immediately. Spoiler was reported nearby assisting the police in a crime scene investigation, and I assume will be closing in on your location shortly.”

     That was all the motivation that Spider-man needed to fall into the shadows of Gotham. Instead of swinging out and proud like he was used to, he kept himself confined to the darkest alleys and unsafest back roads. Avoiding the Bats was something that he had anticipated right from the start, and having Karen to assist him only made it easier.

     He hopped from one fire escape to another, ducking into a quiet corner when Spoiler soared overhead on a zipline. He stayed put until she had her back turned, then made his silent escape toward the rich side of Gotham.

     Spider-man, of course, continued to do his job on his way there. He hastily webbed up a burglar for the cops to find, rescued a cat out of a tree, and helped a few street kids get a quick meal for the night. He even promised to come back in a few nights to check on them.

     This friendly neighborhood gig was really turning into a friendly city gig, but how could he complain? He was helping people, and that was all that he ever wanted to do.

     When Spider-man eventually hopped the tall fence to Wayne manor, he asked for a quick status update from Karen.

     “Hi, Peter. Both Alfred Pennyworth and Duke Thomas-Wayne are still asleep. Damian Wayne is awake in the fourth floor library.”

     Peter would have faltered, but he had no time to waste. That secret room was empty, the house was mostly at rest, and he had an itching feeling about what he was really going to find down there.

     So he snuck in through his bedroom window, sliding it shut and silently exiting his bedroom. Even though Damian was on a completely different floor, Peter made sure to stick to dark walls and the ceiling while he traveled around the manor, making his way down a side staircase to the first floor.

     The study loomed ahead of him, and he took a small breath before shooting out webs from above, tugging the door carefully open and climbing inside. He detached the webs from the wood on his way, and pulled it shut as quietly as possible. When the door clicked, Peter lowered himself to the floor.

     “Alright, Karen. Help me get into this place.” Peter asked quietly, making the nanobot mask disappear so that he could have better visibility while he worked. “How does the clock move? I don’t wanna force it.”

     “Turn the hands of the clock to 10:48.”

     Under Karen’s directions, Peter used careful and precise hands to move the thin hands of the clock. Honestly, he was more worried about breaking the hands than getting caught. They were so thin and frail, Peter was amazed that this family had not broken them yet.

     When he finally pushed the minute hand into its exact place, he took a small step back. After a moment of nothing, the teen frowned. Just as he opened his mouth to ask Karen another question though…

     The looming antique slid, its base tracking that exact same path that Peter had noticed all those weeks ago. Peter’s heart stuttered in his chest, and his green eyes widened upon spotting the door behind the clock.

     Next to the locked entryway, right on the wall, was a futuristic scanner. It was similar to something he had seen Tony make before in the tower. Peter recognized it immediately as some sort of identity or DNA scanner- maybe both.

     He frowned at the realization that maybe he could not get in. The Waynes would not have uploaded his DNA to their secret security, especially with how persistent they had been about keeping him out of the presumed basement.

     This kind of high tech security though made him oddly reminiscent. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and he tried not to dwell on the emptiness in his chest.

     “...alright, Karen. Let’s see if Stark Tech really is better than Wayne Tech, yeah?”

     “Robin? Is everything alright?” Tim’s voice came over the phone call, and it sounded like he was standing right next to Damian. The youngest Wayne stood at the end of a hall on the first floor, staring down toward the door to the study. He held his breath, almost not wanting to speak. “Robin? You there, kid?”

     “....Spider-man is about to know.” He said quietly, voice barely a whisper into his cell phone speaker. His eyes never left that damn door. “...get home. I doubt that AI will keep him out if he figures out the clock.”

     “Shit, okay-” the sound of a sudden change in direction could be heard. “I could have sworn– ” Tim cursed under his breath, and then Damian could hear him speaking into his Oracle comm. “I thought you said that Spoiler was near him–”

     “She was near him, his signal is still picking up at her location–”

     “Could it be some kind of fluke? Ask Karen–”

     “Spoiler, do you have your cell on you?”

     All was quiet for a few moments.

     “...God fucking damnit– Karen pinged to Spoiler’s phone instead of Spider-man, he’s not even on my map anymore–”

     “He’s here.” Damian said again, trying to reiterate the situation to Tim. “He’s here, and I’m not stopping him. Not this time.”

     “What??-” Tim nearly choked on the other end of the call, and Damian could just hear the teen’s eyes widen. “Robin, you need to help us stop him–”

     “I refused to get involved.” Damian said firmly, voice raising ever so slightly. He had to force himself to get quiet for a few seconds after the fact, just to ensure that Peter had not heard him. “.... I refuse to hurt him again. ”

     Peter did not need to confirm his identity to get into the hidden door. After a minute of Karen doing her thing and commenting on how subpar the security was, the door slid open, revealing a long, skinny staircase that went down .

     He did not hesitate to start descending, going quickly while analyzing the walls around him. They were smooth, and made of the same metal as the doors. Peter’s first assumption was that he was descending into some sort of lab, and he had a suspicion on just what the lab was for.

     He had formed the theory that the Waynes had something to do with Gotham’s Knights ever since he did his research on the vigilantes. Someone had to be funding them- that was his assumption. Hell, Peter had the same thoughts when he was first debating getting back into vigilante work.

     “I can’t believe that Bruce Wayne is Batman’s sponsor–” Peter huffed, glaring down at the steps as he went. The descent felt like it was taking ages. “Why didn’t he offer to sponsor me? He knows I’m Spider-man–”

     “Alfred Pennyworth is awake and moving about the first floor alongside Damian Wayne.”

     “I’m already in , Karen, they can’t stop me anymore.” He whispered, determination settling itself on his face. The teen continued his descent, the boots of the spider armor making no noise on the stairs.

     When the teen stepped out at the base of the stairwell, he was shocked at the sheer size of the space. When Karen had described it as large all those weeks ago.. He did not think she meant this large.

     It was a cave, with metal walkways on multiple different levels hanging out of the walls. Cabinets and display cases lined most of them, showing off different vigilante suits, weapons, awards, and other various novelties. The giant penny and the tyrannosaurus rex had Peter slack jawed as he stepped further into the space, spinning in a slow circle to take in his surroundings.

     Overhead, the distinct sounds of bats shuffling along the cave roof could be heard. Looking up only confirmed the presence of the wild animals, all flying high above or resting upside-down on jagged stone perches.

     The cave was also lined with various bits of technology. In his first once-over, Peter managed to spot dozens of machines that he was just itching to take apart. He had not built something in ages, and some of them looked like they could provide a real challenge.

     But the most notable thing in the cave was the computer . It had too many monitors to count, all in various shapes and sizes. The desk and keyboard were both large and modified, and when Peter got closer, he could see different buttons, levers, and switches that were obviously added and have their own custom functions. 

     He slowly ascended the small set of stairs to get to the computer, running his hand lightly along the keyboard. When his eyes traveled up to the monitors, he spotted numerous things of interest. There was a map of Gotham, with all sorts of blinking dots and lights on it. Next to that window was another one, showing different lines on a communication frequency. The label at the top said Oracle Comms in bold purple letters.

     On another monitor, Peter also noted a list of the various colorful shapes from the map. Next to each marker was a set of vitals, displaying things like heart rate, blood oxygen level, and hydration level. He went down the list quickly, pausing when he came across the final marker on the list.

     It was an upside down red triangle with a bold yellow outline, and when he glanced over to the map across the screens, it was not currently displayed. Still, there were vitals coming through. He noted this immediately as unusual, because the other markers not currently on the map were not sending in vitals.

     After a moment of thought, Peter’s heart sank.

     “...Karen, is that one me?”

     “Yes.”

     “..Is.. Is this what you were hiding from me?” he asked, chest uneasy. He held onto the desk in fear of becoming unsteady on his own feet as realization pressed hard onto his lungs.

     “Yes.”

     Peter’s previous theory was erased from his mind. Bruce Wayne was not just funding Batman, or Nightwing, or the other various vigilantes in the area. He was–

     Peter was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of a revving engine. He turned fast with wide eyes, staring down the platform toward a lower one that had a wide tunnel attached to it. A long black sports car with custom rims and spoilers skidded to a halt. Seconds later, it was followed by two motorcycles, one blue and one red.

     Nightwing and Red Hood stared up at Peter, all three of them frozen in place. None of them wanted to make the first move, mostly in fear of making each other run.

     Peter’s sixth sense shot waves of panic panic danger danger DANGER up and down his spine, and after a few seconds, his body forced him to move. Just a small step back, silent in the cave that had grown deathly still.

     The Waynes are the vigilantes.

     “...Pete.” Nightwing- no, Dick - said carefully, slowly getting off of his motorcycle and pushing down the kickstand. His voice was gentle yet firm, encouraging Peter to listen. “...let us explain, bud–”

     “She knew.” Peter cut him off, pain on his tongue. Not physical pain, but emotional pain. It sounded like betrayal. “...Karen, you knew .” he whispered.

     “I did.”

     “Why didn’t you tell me –”

     “For your own safety. I made the decision that it would be better for you if you found out on your own, Peter. You are a brilliant young man, I knew you would find out eventually.”

     Peter snapped his jaw shut, taking two more steps back when he noticed both Red Hood and Nightwing– Jason and Dick– starting to slowly approach the platform with their hands half raised in a placating manner. They were trying to show that they were not threats.

     The teen thought back to when he first met Jason. He had known the man was dangerous from day one. Jason was just as dangerous, if not more so , than Thanos . And Thanos had killed Peter.

     Robin tried.

     Damian .

     The realization that Damian had almost killed Peter hit him like a freight train. He had been working so hard to prove to Damian that he was a good person- to prove that he was not a threat to this family. He thought that his efforts had been working. Did the study sessions mean nothing ?

     Damian had been grounded for attempting to kill Peter. Robin had attempted to kill Spider-man. The teen was not sure which sentence made it worse, because they equally made him feel terrible.

     The excitement of finally being around heroes again- of not being alone in this- was quickly diminished. They had tried to kill him.

     Peter wanted to cry. He bit the inside of his cheek, barely noticing when his new sharp teeth quickly drew blood from the flesh.

     “...this could have been perfect,” Peter said quietly, glancing between Dick and Jason. His voice was filled with hurt . He tried not to let that green creeping into his vision completely overwhelm him. “..working with a team again.”

     “...you can , Peter.” Dick said softly, taking slow steps up the stairs to join him on the platform with the computer. He had a small smile on his face, albeit a nervous one. Despite how calm he was keeping himself, Peter could tell that he was ready to give chase if the teen ran.

     Peter had to steel his nerves. “...I’m so confused, Dick.” he did a terrible job of hiding the shake in his voice. “..you guys care about me during the day, but the moment I go out as Spider-man, Damian– ”

     “Made a mistake.” Bruce’s unmistakable voice rang out in the cave as the man climbed out of his car, the Batman cowl covering his face and hiding his outward emotions. In spite of that, he was pushing sincerity into his voice. “He acted without asking me, and did something terrible to you.”

     “..I-I thought he cared about me.”

     “He does.” The man confirmed, approaching the platform and standing at the bottom of the stairs with Jason. “He struggles to express himself, Peter. That’s something I know you noticed about him.”

     Peter nodded quietly, afraid that if he spoke, his despair would be too obvious.

     “...allow me to apologize, Peter.” Bruce tugged off the Batman cowl, blue eyes meeting green. “Hiding this from you was a hasty decision, and I should have known it would not last long.”

     “...you guys were afraid of me, weren’t you?”

     “...in our defense, we.. we still don’t really know where you came from, Peter.” Dick said softly. When Peter looked at the man, he could just tell that Dick was resisting the urge to pull him into a hug. Peter was glad that he was at least resisting. Peter did not want a hug.

     He wanted to go Home.

     “..I.. I can’t tell you guys. Can you please just trust me when I tell you that it’s safer that way?” Peter said, dropping eye contact and glaring at the floor of the cave. “..I get it- you’re vigilantes, whatever. But this- this is so much more than you guys are prepared to deal with.”

     “You don’t know that.” Bruce pried carefully, slowly making his way up the steps. Peter turned to look at the car again when he heard two more doors click open. Out stepped Spoiler and Red Robin, both of which quickly unmasked themselves to look up at Peter with looks of regret.

     Tim and Stephanie.

     “...I do.” Peter mumbled, taking another small step back when Bruce joined him on the platform. Dick moved on instinct, going to grab Peter, before stopping himself halfway there with an outstretched arm that made the teen flinch.

     A headache was starting to wrack his mind. He had thought that he was ready to discover the Waynes secret, truly. He thought that he had prepared himself enough.

     But this was… it was what he had expected, but the emotions that it came with were so much more overwhelming than he had prepared to handle. It certainly did not help that his vision was starting to turn green, either.

     “....Damian’s Robin, I assume Cass is Orphan..” Peter said out loud, glancing at the vigilantes in the room as he made an internal list. “..and Oracle…? That’s someone, right?”

     “Remember Babs?” Jason asked from the bottom of the stairs, looking the most relaxed of anyone in the room. He had a small smile on his face. “She runs the tech for us, alongside Tim sometimes.”

     Peter nodded, recalling the red haired woman from the library. She had seemed close to the Wayne family, or at least acted like it. Picturing her as their woman in the chair was amusing in the moment.

     “...Peter,” Bruce started softly, opening his posture. “...I understand that you can’t tell us everything. Do you think, though, that if we asked you questions, you could at least try?” His request was simple. “Anything that you can’t answer, you don’t have to. But I’m sure you have questions for us , and we.. Well, we have questions for you, too.”

     Peter thought for a long few seconds about Bruce’s request, avoiding eye contact and looking down at the floor of the platform. He could always just refuse to answer anything he did not want to. This could be okay, as long as they did not get too pushy.

     “..I guess.” he mumbled, chest aching.

     Twenty minutes later, Peter was sitting on a training mat with a steaming mug of coffee in his gloved hands. Tim, Stephanie, Bruce, Jason, and Dick were also seated around him, the entire group making a sort of circle shape. It reminded Peter of a kindergarten share circle, and the thought was enough to get a small smile on his face, despite his emotional exhaustion.

     “We’ve called down Damian as well, Peter.” Bruce informed as he took his seat, sighing into the criss-crossed position. “He’s entitled to be here for this conversation.”

     “..what about Cass?” He questioned, ignoring how the thought of Damian made his nerves spike. He did not want to confront Damian.

     He wanted to go Home.

     “She’s still in the city.” Tim explained, holding his own mug of coffee. “We can’t exactly leave Gotham entirely unwatched. She volunteered to stay out for us.”

     Peter frowned. He would much prefer having her here, considering she was one of the only ones who had not been rude or hostile toward him at any point in time. But then the thought of Duke came to mind. “...hey, does Duke know about all of this?”

     “Oh, yeah.” Dick smiled with a little chuckle, sitting criss-cross on Peter’s left. “He’s Signal, though. He works during the day.”

     The teen was once again reminded of a memory- this time in the car with Duke and the other teens going to the mall. Duke had been minorly injured, and blamed it on a fall at Gotham Prep. Peter should have known better.

     Peter nodded idly, looking down at his mug. He was tempted to chug it all, just to have a distraction from his nerves and constantly fluctuating sixth sense. His Peter Tingle had been going crazy this entire time, which only made that pit in his stomach worse. The Waynes were still on edge, worried that Peter would do… something . He guessed that they expected him to either run or fight.

     Their nerves were absolutely warranted, though. Peter did want to run, and had to will his legs to stay put.

     He wanted to go Home.

     Damian entered the cave five minutes later, dressed in batman pajamas and frowning softly. He did not look upset, though. It was more like regret. Peter had a feeling that he knew exactly what the kid was upset over. When Damian joined them in the circle, sitting next to his father, Bruce finally started what Peter classified as the interrogation .

     “What can you tell us about Tony Stark, Peter?”

     Nothing , Peter wanted to say. He so desperately wanted to keep everything about Tony to himself, but he knew deep down that they would not accept that answer.

     “...he’s not in the country right now. I’m actually.. Not entirely sure where he is. We got separated on a mission together, with a few other superheroes that we know.” he explained carefully. “...it’s all classified, I can’t exactly give big details.”

     “And he was your mentor?”

     “Yeah.” Peter swallowed. “...he was great.”

     Bruce seemed to process that for a few seconds. In his silence, Tim spoke up. “Did Tony make your suit?”

     “Yeah, this one at least. I’ve had a few.” he explained, sipping his coffee when he paused. “It got a bit torn up when I first got to Gotham, so I had to make some changes. I prioritized covering the important areas.”

     “The areas that get most of the blunt force.” Jason hummed, staring at the different parts of the spider armor. “...yeah, you won’t get thrown around much in Gotham. People are more prone to stabbing or shooting.” he rolled his eyes, a teasing smile on his face.

     Peter resisted glancing at Damian. “Yeah, I know. I’ve gotta make a few more changes to it.”

     Bruce took his turn to speak again. “Do you have any insight on why your name wouldn’t exist in any government databases?” he asked, voice a bit more stern. This was a question he clearly really wanted the answer to.

     “..I don’t, no.” Peter shook his head, avoiding eye contact. Bruce’s blue gaze narrowed ever so slightly. “....I don’t know much about why that would be, seriously.” he tried reaffirming his words, forcing a bit more confidence into his voice. Lying was never his strong suit.

     “What about your latest changes?” Dick asked, leaning forward to look Peter in the eye. “Like your new webs?”

     “I don’t know why those exist, either.” Peter shook his head once more. “..my teeth got sharper, too. I noticed that last week.”

     Dick nodded slowly, glancing over to his father. Bruce Wayne stared at Peter with an unreadable expression, his emotions unclear. The teen stared back, anxiety evident under his forced confidence.

     “...alright, Peter. What about for us? Any questions?” he finally relented, gaze softening on the teen.

     Peter hesitated, glancing around the circle. He had so many questions, honestly. Deep down though, he knew that they would be particular with what they decided to answer. How could he blame them? Now that he had calmed down more, he realized that lying would become a crucial part of Peter’s relationship with this family.

     “...why’d you try hurting me?” Peter asked quietly, directing his gaze to Damian. The boy did not look up from the floor, but he did speak.

     “....I was attempting to stop you from working. I was worried for your safety in Gotham, considering you are unfamiliar with the city and its functions.”

     Peter frowned, a bit of frustration bubbling in his chest. “So you fought me?”

     “It was the wrong decision, clearly.” Damian mumbled.

     “ Clearly. ” Peter huffed, glaring down at the floor himself. The silence that followed the question spoke volumes, and made the air thick with tension. After a few seconds, Peter stood up. His sudden movement surprised the Waynes enough to prompt some of them to their feet, worried about what Peter’s next move would be.

     “I need air.” The teen grumbled, stepping away from the circle and off of the training mat. “Karen, turn off my tracking. I know you’ve been sharing it with them.”

     “Yes, Peter.”

     As he walked away, he ignored the sounds of protest coming from the family, who was quickly scrambling to stand and follow him. Dick jogged ahead, putting a worried hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Pete, c’mon- we at least need to know where you’re going-”

     Peter shrugged him off with a well timed glare, stepping away hastily. “No, you don’t. You aren’t entitled to that.”

     “Pete-”

     “ Stop , Dick-” the teen huffed, glancing at the computer as he passed it. The map no longer displayed his triangle marker, and he took that as enough confirmation that Karen had actually listened to him. “God, you act like you’re my damn brother or something, lay off– ”

     “Parker, hold on.” Damian said, speeding up to join the two. He did not flinch when Peter redirected his glare to him, instead holding his ground. “How will we know that you’re safe?”

     “That’s not something you seemed concerned about before.” Peter held his glare, effectively silencing Damian. “...I’ll be fine. I just need air, I’ll be back before sunrise.”

     The teen turned to leave, heading toward the stairs that led into the upper manor. “Don’t follow me.” he stated quietly, but the sound carried through the cave and to every member of the family.

     And just like that, Peter left.

     The next morning, the Waynes decided to give Peter as much space as he needed. Obviously the teen had felt hurt, and betrayed by the things that he discovered. They really could not blame him, so they gave him time.

     The manor was busy with preparation for the Gala. Hired workers filtered in and out, setting up tables for food, cleaning the ballrooms from top to bottom under Alfred’s guidance, and roping off certain areas of the manor for guests to avoid.

     Gradually, the entire Wayne family had made their way to the manor. Jason came from his apartment in Crime Alley, Stephanie arrived to get ready with Cass, and Barbara wheeled her way into one of the ballrooms to assist in directing the hired workers.

     Peter’s bedroom stayed untouched. Tim passed the door many times, giving it worried glances. Occasionally, he would stop entirely, ready to knock and offer an apology. For everything . But he listened to Bruce’s directions, and left Peter alone.

     After hearing about the catastrophe that was the previous night, Duke was furious. He downright yelled at Bruce, upset at how he had handled everything. Duke wished that they would have woken him up, positive that the entire situation could have gone so much better if he were there. He had to be stopped by Dick numerous times from going to Peter.

     Cassandra was in a similar boat. Despite volunteering to stay out, she regretted it enough for a pit to form in her stomach. Like Tim, she passed the bedroom door often, looking at it with longing and regret. It took everything in her not to give in to her emotions and go to the teen, wanting to give him comfort and familiarity in this troubling time. But she knew better, so she left him be.

     Alfred was the only one to completely ignore Bruce. Once he had ensured that the caterers were preparing as they should, he made a quick escape to the second story bedroom hallway, exaggerating his footsteps for the enhanced teen to hear him approaching. When he got to the door, he knocked, spoke his presence, then opened the door.

     He had been prepared to find an emotionally distraught Peter- a young boy in need of a strong rock to rest on and a comforting voice. He was ready to help him in any way he needed. He was ready to be there, just like he had been for every other Wayne.

     Alfred had not prepared to find the bedroom empty, save for the spider armor laid out on the bed next to Peter's gala suit.

     “One ticket to New York.” A tired voice requested, with a gray jacket hood pulled over his brown hair. His green gaze was tilted down to the ticket counter at the bus yard.

     “Round trip?” The bored woman at the desk asked, not even looking at Peter as she typed on the computer, preparing to print him his receipt and ticket.

     The teen shook his head, glancing down at the crushed hearing aid in his right hand. It had been broken into far too many pieces, and he felt an overwhelming wave of dread wash over him. He wanted to regret breaking the device, but he knew it was the only way to ensure he would not be tracked.

     I can’t make them trust me, not without telling them too much.

     The woman did not question him, instead taking his cash and handing over both a receipt and a ticket. Within ten minutes, an exhausted and borderline manic Peter was boarding a travel bus.

     When the vehicle pulled out of the bus yard, packed with travelers, it left behind a broken red hearing aid on the sidewalk.

Chapter Text

     There is a common misconception that Gotham, New Jersey is relatively close to New York City. In the grand scheme of things, sure . The drive is not so bad. But for an emotionally drained teenager running on no sleep and an unsettling green influence?

     Two hours felt like it had lasted two weeks. The crying twin toddlers overwhelmed his sixth sense, and the smartly dressed man arguing on the phone two rows ahead did nothing for the headache that grew worse by the minute.

     Honestly, if hell were real? This is what Peter imagined it to be: a stuffy bus that would never make its final stop.

     Peter stepped off of the bus at eleven a.m. with a crick in his neck that only made his buzzing discomfort worse. The feelings of dread, frustration, and anxiety wracked his body, bouncing up and down his spine and infecting his mind with dangerous thoughts.

     He shuffled through the crowd on the busy sidewalk. Today was a Thursday, so still part of the work week- but that meant nothing for the foot traffic of New York City.

     The deep breaths that Peter took had helped a little bit , the air in the city being more familiar than Gotham’s haze had ever felt. If Peter closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the city, he could almost convince himself that he was Home.

     But then his chest would lurch, and he would be painfully reminded of how wrong that thought was.

     Peter really had not set a big goal in New York. Really, in the moment, he had wanted to escape Gotham and the Waynes. Their hospitality had been suffocating, and their overbearing promises of comfort and safety had simply been manipulation.

     They lied to him, just like Karen had.

     Thinking of the AI made something else in Peter’s chest ache, but not in the same way that thinking about the Waynes did. Karen was his : created by Tony for him and him only. She was supposed to help Peter- to protect him and make sure that he was safe. But she had purposely gone behind his back, withholding important information from him.

     She even shared his information with the Waynes. There was no telling how much she had revealed to the family without Peter knowing. The thought made something fierce turn in his gut that moved in tandem with the green in the corners of his vision.

     Peter glanced at street signs as he walked, crossing intersections and letting his legs lead him without a single thought. Deep down, Peter knew that this was not his New York, but it was so similar that instincts had naturally taken control.

     The teen felt an uncomfortable familiarity as he walked down the busy sidewalks, eyeing the pre-lunch traffic on the streets. It was too familiar at first, but he had forced himself to shake that feeling and press on.

     Peter had no real destination in mind, so the fact that his body had kicked in to take over for his mind was something of a comfort. Maybe thinking less would help.

     So he muted his mind to the best of his capabilities, shoving any unsettling thoughts into a dark corner in the back of his brain.

     Just one hour , he mentally pleaded. One hour of rest, I can’t take much more. He prayed that his overactive mind would comply.

     He had been glad, at the very least, that he had abandoned his cell phone at the Manor alongside the Spider Armor. He knew that destroying the hearing aid could not destroy Karen , but would simply eliminate her way of tracking him. Losing any other technology that she had attached herself to rendered him completely off-the-grid. 

     It also rendered him alone, but he tried not to think about that. He considered that one of those dark unsettling thoughts to be shoved aside for later.

     The teen mumbled apologies under his breath as he coasted around other foot commuters, accidentally bumping one woman while ducking around another, raising a hand in an apologetic manner to placate her before she could even get angry. He knew how to deal with New Yorkers, and he knew how to navigate the city.

     Even if that street was named something different, or the traffic lights were a different shape than he was used to. Had that building gotten taller? Where did that building go?

     The longer Peter looked, the more he realized all of the small differences. The sidewalk tiles were slightly larger than he was used to, but the sewer grates were a different color. There was never a bank on that corner, and that alleyway was supposed to be blocked off. It was a hotspot for petty theft.

     But Peter was not Spider-man right now, he was just Peter . So he ignored that sinking feeling when he noticed the shadowy figures, and moved on, just like every other person on the sidewalk. It almost made him feel normal, but he knew he could not pretend like this forever.

     Tony would be so ashamed of him.

     He was thrown back to a time a year or two ago, during his freshman year of High School. A conversation happened on top of a roof, with Peter arguing at a flying machine. But then, the machine opened, and the one man that Peter looked up to stepped out with a glower and a piercing glare.

     Then Peter had his suit taken away, and once again, he was not Spider-man. The scenario then was obviously different from the current moment, but the small similarities made him shiver in discomfort.

     But then, he was pushing a door open and stepping into a building with big glass windows, a slowly spinning ceiling fan that was on its last life, and a delicious smelling spread of various sandwich toppings.

     The harsh change of sensory information from going inside almost startled Peter, but he steeled himself and forced a neutral expression onto his face.

     There was a line, which some part of him had expected. Delmar’s Deli would be popular in any universe, and Peter firmly believed that. The place had quality food, and little to no wait time after all, which was a blessing in a place as busy as New York.

     After three minutes, the teen stepped up to the counter, glancing over to the menu briefly out of habit. He was painfully surprised to discover that it had a different format. Despite his mental anguish, he kept himself painfully neutral.

     After all, this was his first time here.

     He looked to Delmar, the familiar face of the dominican man staring back with a similarly neutral expression. They were strangers, so there was no need for the friendly smiles that Peter longed to exchange.

     “I’ll get a number five.” Peter repeated his order for the first time in two years. Back home, since he had been such a regular, Delmar and the other employees of the Deli had memorized his specific requests. Saying them outloud now made him feel picky. “And if it’s not too much trouble, could you maybe add pickles? And uh, squish the bread in the panini press so it’s flat?”

     Delmar blinked slowly, and as the seconds passed, Peter felt sweat drip down his neck. For once, he started blaming his instincts: maybe coming here was a bad idea.

     “Number five already comes with pickles, kid. You want extra?” There was no room for banter, no empathy, and no familiarity. The Deli Owner offered only the patience and gratitude that he gave every other customer.

     Peter’s heart faltered, but he nodded. Delmar rang him up, looking pointedly down at the register.

     “...y’know,” Peter cleared his throat, speaking again. There was something slightly desperate that he could not shake from his tone. “I once had a friend tell me that these were the best sandwiches in Queens.”

     “Lots of people say that about lots of different places, don’t flatter me, kid.” Delmar grumbled. Purely based on his expression, Peter could tell that the man was tired. Maybe the Delmar in this universe was not as energetic as the man he was used to. Just another reminder that this was not his home.

     The teen took his sandwich two minutes later in silence, leaving the shop. Stepping back out onto the street almost overwhelmed his senses once more, but he did his best to push the bad feeling and green away while he inspected the sandwich to see what he had actually just bought with the last of his cash.

     It, of course, was different from what he had been expecting. So Peter was lowered into eating a sandwich that he did not enjoy, walking down the sidewalk with his eyes pointed down. That had not even been the worst thing to come out of that interaction.

     The worst part of that entire stop was the fact that Delmar’s cat Murphy was not even there. It was a different cat, with short white fur and green eyes, named Murray. Even noticing the cat as he walked out made something in his chest die. Maybe it was his hope.

     Once again, Peter’s legs worked on their own and walked him from street to street, his instincts leading him down vividly familiar paths and turns.

     His heart nearly leapt from his chest when he passed Midtown. The thought of going back to his old school, with his old friends, made him want to cry all over again. He missed them so bad- Ned and MJ had been his anchors.

     And they were here . Well, MJ was, at least. As he passed the school’s stairs, he noticed a flier pinned to the wall. In big bold letters, it said something about the Academic Decathlon team fundraising to go to D.C. for nationals. On the paper, a cartoon image of a tiger beating up a nightingale was pasted toward the bottom.

     That was Gotham Prep’s mascot.

     Peter’s heart sank as realization hit him.

     MJ had been in Gotham for an AcaDeca meet, and that’s why she had been in the library that day.

     Peter promptly found the closest garbage can and released his early lunch, hunched over with his hands gripping the edges. So much for trying to enjoy that sandwich, even if it had not been what he wanted. Now it had joined the rest of New York’s trash.

     When he finally managed to pull himself from the garbage can, he glanced toward where people were walking on the sidewalk. No one had even batted an eye, instead just giving a wide berth around him. People dressed in smart suits did not want to catch whatever illness he apparently had.

     Honestly, Peter did not blame them. Guilt and grief were both deadly diseases.

     So he swallowed the remaining bile and his pride, wiped his mouth on his gray jacket sleeve, and continued down the sidewalk.

     The rest of the mid-morning and early afternoon went by in a quick haze. He wanted to believe that he somehow ended up in Central Park at some point, laying in the grass and watching the sky. It was probably an attempt to ground himself, but being surrounded by so much green had just made him sick to his stomach again.

     Currently, the score between his mind and his body was two to nothing, and unfortunately two garbage cans had been caught in the crossfire. He internally apologized to the sanitary workers who would have to change those bags.

     But then he blinked, and the soft grass of Central was no longer below him. Instead, he was walking again to a place he could not pinpoint. By now, it was just before six p.m. New York’s nightlife would come to life soon, which would make walking harder to do. Navigating busy sidewalks was a talent that Peter had practiced, not perfected. He much preferred to swing overhead.

     But Peter was not Spider-man- not right now. Right now, he was a lonely teen who was on the verge of tears and hungry. His quick metabolism did not enjoy vomiting twice earlier, especially since he had made no effort to replenish the empty space in his stomach.

     He just… could not bring himself to. Not like he could buy anything, either. He had spent the last of his cash on that sandwich at Delmar’s, and that had been quite the mistake.

     When Peter blinked again, the world became fuzzy once more, pulling him into an overstimulated buzz that nearly had him tripping over his own feet. In an attempt to hold himself together, the boy stumbled into the nearest alley, bracing himself against the brick wall and breathing like he could not get enough air.

     Calm down, Peter– he tried desperately to remind himself. Calm down– you can’t get anything useful done like this–

     But try as he may, he simply could not convince his nerves and his sixth sense to relax. Soon enough, Peter had fallen onto his knees, forearms braced against the brick wall as fat tears streamed down his face, head hung low. There was no telling just how long he stayed in that position, crying for what seemed like an eternity.

     All that he knew was that when he finally lifted his heavy head to look up toward the sky, he was greeted by the stars. His heart skipped a few beats in his chest, and through blurry eyes, he could only stare.

     Gotham did not have many stars. The fog and haze that hovered around the city tended to block out all light that was not artificial, and even then- the city was still the darkest he had ever seen.

     Darker than Titan.

     Looking up at the sky felt like seeing an old friend. Stars were consistent: they existed in every universe. At least, Peter hoped that they did.

     Within seconds, he had risen to his feet and shot webs towards the roof, pulling himself up until he could stand on the higher point. His neck was craned upward.

     Oh, how he missed those stars.

     “.....hi.” he whispered into the cold night air of New York, his voice getting lost in the soft wind. “...it’s me again.”

     If the stars could talk, Peter could only imagine them greeting him like an old friend. They would say his name with joy and relief, pulling him into a warm hug blanketed by clouds. The stars would never betray him.

     The stars did not respond.

     Green invaded the corners of his eyes, and Peter lost track of how many times that had happened over the last few hours. The gaps in his memory and the fuzzy feeling that had overtaken his body certainly did not help him number the appearances, either.

     “...at least you’re still here.” he felt his knees lock uncomfortably, but made no move to adjust his stance. Why should he be comfortable? “You wouldn’t abandon me.”

     The stars did not respond.

     “...I bet you were even there in Gotham, too.” Peter smiled tiredly, throat and eyes dry. He could not possibly cry or sob any more. “...there were just clouds in the way, huh?”

     The stars did not respond.

     The teen did not notice when exactly he blacked out. All he knew was that one minute he was basking in the comfort of knowing that the stars still existed, and the next he was waking up at sunrise, collapsed on that same roof.

     The Gala went on without Peter. It was uneventful. The Wayne family made face, smiled for photos, and chatted with socialites about the state of New Jersey’s economy. No one seemed to notice their tense shoulders, or their eagerness to check their phones every few minutes. No one bothered to ask where Barbara had gone off to an hour after the event had started.

     It had made her escape to the Batcave much easier: she had much better things to do than pretend to care about the opinions of Gotham’s elite.

     The woman stared blankly at the Batcomputer, glasses sliding down her nose ever so slightly. The screen before her was unfamiliar, with an unrecognizable logo and a loading bar that was on ninety-nine percent.

     Stark Industries reflected onto her glasses in blocky blue letters, with a geometrical circle incorporated into the design. Obviously this was the work of Tony Stark, but for that man to not even exist, it made this hard to believe.

     Three seconds of silence later, the bar filled to one hundred percent, and the window abruptly closed. She stared at the screensaver of the Batcomputer. If she had been speaking before, she would be at a loss for words.

     Just before her hands could meet the large keyboard, a familiar voice projected itself from the monitor speakers.

     “Hello, Barbara Gordon.”

     “..Karen-” she nearly choked, sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth. “Karen, okay- do you know where Peter is-” Her fingers flew across the keyboard in half a second, pulling up maps, trackers, and security cameras as fast as the systems would go.

     All traces of Karen’s signal displayed on the map of Gotham: at the manor, at Barbara’s apartment, in the harbor. She would have been concerned about that last one, if not for having noticed it a week earlier. She was certain that was not Peter, and investigating it further would have to be saved for another time.

     “I am unaware of his exact location. He destroyed the hearing aid when he boarded the bus for New York City.”

     Barbara nearly faltered, but did not allow the sudden information to throw her off. “New York? Did he seriously go all the way to New York ?”

     “That is what I assume, yes.”

     “Why didn’t he take you?”

     “Likely so that you would not track him. Peter does not want to be found.”

     “Bullshit.” She gritted her teeth. “He’s mad that you worked with us, isn’t he? You lied to him.”

     “For his own good.”

     “ For his own good– ” She repeated, almost in disbelief. Better yet, Barbara was appalled by Karen. “He’s supposed to be able to trust you, Karen. I don’t know where the hell you two came from, but I know enough to figure that you’re the only thing he has.”

     “Do you regret tracking Peter?”

     The lack of emotion in Karen unsettled Barbara, reminding the woman subtly that she was just an AI. There was no real emotion there, just preprogrammed code that had developed overtime to suit the needs of its user.

     “...no, I don’t.” Barbara answered quietly but honestly. She would have ended up tracking the kid one way or another, that was not something that she was ashamed to admit. Still, that did not change the fact of Karen’s blatant betrayal of the teen. “...but you letting me so willingly is worse than anything that I could do to that boy.”

     “I beg to differ.” The red haired woman could have almost mistaken that tone for sass . “Your treatment of Peter could also be considered betrayal. We are in the same boat, Barbara Gordon. It is up to you to decide whether or not you will accept my help in finding him again.”

     Barbara let that simmer in her mind, leaning back in her wheelchair and frowning softly. “...wouldn’t it be the other way around?” she asked carefully. “... you need us to find Peter. You’re just an AI, you can’t physically get him yourself.”

     Karen’s silence spoke volumes, and Barbara knew in that moment that she had trapped her in a corner.

     “...look, Karen.” The woman softened her voice into something on the sympathetic side, eyeing the computer screen in front of her. “...we have a common goal, right? We both want Peter safe and home. That’s all you ever wanted, right?”

     “Correct.”

     “Then let’s help each other , yeah?” She allowed herself to smile ever so slightly, but was unsure if she was trying to convince Karen or herself. “I can’t find him without you, and you can’t do anything to bring him home without me.” Barbara let a beat of silence pass. “...I know that we messed up, but you did too. It needs to be a joint effort in bringing him back.”

     There was another silence that overtook the cave. For those long seconds, it even seemed like the bats overhead had quieted down, eager to hear how the AI would respond to this offer. Barbara herself felt like she was on the edge of her seat, but held her posture relaxed and open.

     “I see that we both have actions to atone for. Working together is the most efficient use of time and resources.”

     For the first time in hours, Barbara’s smile turned real. She sighed quietly through her nose in relief and returned to typing. “Sounds great to me, Karen. Now, care to explain what that loading bar was?”

     Peter’s second day in New York went by much like the first one. He let his instincts guide him through the city, which almost always resulted in a heavy reminder that he was not home. He was in a messed up New York that only made the pit in his chest worse and worse.

     If going to Delmar’s had been a mistake, then going anywhere else had to have been some sort of punishment. Sick, twisted punishments set up by the multiverse simply to toy with him.

     A sun bleached green and pink shop sign hung overhead, and Peter held his breath as he stepped inside. Despite his heart trying to claw its way out of his chest, begging to leave, he ignored the pleas. He gave in to his own dark thoughts.

     The cozy pastry shop was empty of customers, save for the boy sitting at the counter playing a quiet mobile game on his phone. His head was down, and his short, dark hair fell just above his ears. He did not turn to look as Peter approached the counter, looking over the menu.

     It was exactly the same as he remembered, which only made him feel worse somehow.

     MJ glanced up from the three compartment sink behind the counter, fully pausing when she locked eyes with the teen boy waiting to order. Weeks ago, in Gotham Public Library, she had no clue who this kid was.

     To be fair, she still had no clue. At least this time, though, she could recognize a face. This face belonged to the boy who bumped into her.

     “...welcome to Peter Pan Donuts and Pastries.” She hummed, boredom radiating from her voice. “What can I get for you?”

     Peter’s heart begged to leave. The green in his vision demanded that he stay. His mind stayed silent.

     “...just a coffee.” he replied quietly, afraid that if he spoke too loud, his emotions would release like a dam.

     “Ew, okay.” she rolled her eyes. Peter knew that MJ hated black coffee. “What’s the name for the order?”

     “...Peter.”

     Three seconds later, Peter had dropped the five dollar bill he had found outside onto the counter, telling the girl quietly to keep the change. He sat down three seats away from the other teen at the bar, looking down at his hands while he waited for his coffee.

     Something dangerous buzzed in his mind; dangerous and green . It made him want to rush into the bathroom to vomit again, despite knowing that his stomach was empty. It made him want to sob violently, despite the fact that his body was steadily becoming dehydrated.

     And yet, he still chose to come get a coffee instead of finding a water bottle at a corner store.

     He was startled out of his thoughts by a paper cup being placed in front of him, the name Peter in bold black sharpie ink across the side. MJ squinted at him when she pulled her hand away.

     “...you’re a student at Gotham Prep, right? Why are you in New York?” she asked, standing in front of him as she spoke from the other side of the counter.

     If Peter had to have a genuine conversation with this MJ, he may end up sobbing again.

     “..yeah, I’m registered.” he hummed, finding it impossible to look her in the face. Instead, he looked down at the coffee cup, gaze tracing her handwriting over and over again. “...and you’re a Midtown student. That’s why you were in Gotham.”

     “Thought it was obvious.” she rolled her eyes.

     “You’re from Gotham?” The boy three seats down spoke, sounding surprised. When Peter turned his head he was greeted by Ned Leeds, who was looking at him with skeptical curiosity. When Peter did not immediately respond, the teen elaborated. “I mean, you don’t have a Jersey accent.”

     Peter swallowed rising bile. “I’m uh.. I’m from Queens, actually. I’m here visiting, since, uh, it’s been a while.” he had to keep a steady control of his voice. Green clawed at his eyes, making them itch.

     MJ huffed. “Why would anyone willingly move to Gotham. Even in the two days I was there, it seemed like a shit hole.”

     “Yeah, it is.” Peter agreed without hesitation, looking back down at his coffee. He had to resist the urge to flinch when Ned moved from his seat to one closer, officially joining the conversation. “...I don’t know why I moved, either. I miss New York too much.”

     “Then it’s a good thing you’re visiting.” Ned hummed, smile obvious. “I’m Ned, that’s MJ.”

     “Don’t tell him my name–” MJ hissed, glaring at Ned and gesturing at Peter with a firm hand.

     “What?? It’s not hurting anyone.” Ned snorted, rolling his eyes.

     It’s hurting me, Peter thought weakly.

     “..I’m Peter.” he forced a smile, despite not looking up. “Peter Parker.”

     “Okay, that’s a good name.” Ned nodded, turning his smile to MJ. “You said your last name is Park–?”

     Before Ned could even finish his question, Peter was on his feet, coffee in hand, and walking out the door, a rushed apology forming under his breath. He nearly tripped out the door, squeezed the coffee cup impossibly hard in his one handed grip.

     He ignored the sounds of confusion from behind him, and turned sharply to keep walking. Fuck instinct, he thought, green suffocating his vision. I need to get out of here.

     Peter neglected to even glance down at the cup, barely even feeling when the boiling hot liquid started to leak from where his fingers poked into the cup. They had formed into sharp, claw-like figures, spilling the scorching coffee onto both his hand and the ground.

     “I’m sorry-” Tim took a sharp breath, looking up at the Batcomputer’s many monitors with wide eyes. “You’re telling me that Karen has been downloading her software into the Batcomputer for how many days? ”

     “Weeks.” Barbara corrected, sipping a mug of lukewarm coffee. It had gone forgotten for about forty minutes while she worked alongside the AI, only being reminded of it when Tim entered with his own drink. "She's been doing this since she connected to Peter's phone. It's just been running in the background."

     So what if Babs had not slept in almost twenty-seven hours? This was child's play compared to her old sleep schedule when she was Batgirl.

     “Whatever-” Tim huffed, sitting down in the Batcomputer chair and pulling himself up to the large desk. “So her systems are all dependent on the Batcomputer now?”

     “Correct, Tim Drake-Wayne.”

     “So we have access to all of your files?” Tim mused, an interesting thought in light of the terrible circumstances they were in.

     “Incorrect. Certain information is under protocolled protection, as per Tony Stark’s programming.”

     “As far as I’m concerned, Tony Stark isn’t here.” the teen boy rolled his eyes, leaning back in the chair. “What’s so important that you gotta hide it from us, anyways?”

     “Information that is sensitive to Peter.”

     “She already betrayed him once, Tim.” Barbara quietly reminded him. “Don’t push her to give us any sort of access, I already tried.”

     Tim nodded slowly, turning his attention back to the screens. Maps of New York City were displayed, alongside various security cameras showing busy streets in the aforementioned city. There was even a list of names next to ticket numbers, all associated with the bus line that Peter had used to leave.

     “...okay, how close are we?” He asked in a quieter voice, fiddling with the leather jacket around his torso. It was too big for him, and smelled like cheap cologne and hay. Studs lined the shoulders, along with a bisexual pride flag stitched into one arm.

     Barbara knew the jacket belonged to Tim’s boyfriend, and easily connected two and two to figure out that it was being used as a grounding device. Tim was much more anxious than he was showing. She was at least glad that the teen was able to get some sort of comfort at the moment.

     “...we’re getting there.” She answered, not wanting to dampen his mood even more with a specific answer. The woman wished that she had more to give, but the search so far had been less than perfect. “Karen’s looking into places that Peter used to frequent when he lived in New York.”

     “I’m opening security footage, Barbara Gordon.”

     Karen’s sudden voice made Tim jump, and he looked up at the screens once more with wide eyes. He could almost forget she was even there when she got quiet, and it somewhat unsettled him.

     Like she had said though, a new window opened on the largest monitor, allowing both Tim and Barbara to watch. It was security footage from some sort of pastry shop, with cozy string lights and a bored looking high schooler behind the counter.

     Unmistakably, Peter ordered a coffee then sat down. Tim and Barbara held their breath upon realizing who they were looking at. A conversation ensued that they could not hear, since the security camera had been video only. Less than five minutes later, their target was leaving in a rush.

     Karen paused the footage once another teenage girl stepped into the pastry shop a minute or two after Peter had left, letting Barbara and Tim dwell.

     “...so he’s fine, right? He didn’t look injured.” Tim said after a moment, ignoring the shake in his voice.

     “..he looked scared.” Barbara said quietly. “...he might not be physically injured, but something’s wrong. We can’t leave him out there.”

     “Obviously.” Tim huffed, brows pinching together as he glared over to Barbara. “That was never an option in the first place, Babs.”

     “I know that, Tim.” she glared back, before it quickly softened into a sigh. “..sorry for insinuating otherwise, I’m just stressed.”

     Tim hesitated. “....me too. Can we just focus on bringing him home?”

     “Yeah, sorry.”

     New York’s lunch rush came and went, and Peter wandered around with a fiendish ache in his stomach. He would have looked for food hours ago if not for that consistent buzz in his spine and the sickening green in his vision.

     His mind was silent, and the green demanded that he atone for what he had done.

     What did I do? He asked internally, searching for the reason why he deserved such a terrible fate. He did not wish hunger on anyone . Having experienced it from such a young age, he knew just how cruel it could be. His quick metabolism only made the pain worse.

     The green merely laughed at his question, so Peter did not ask again.

     By three p.m. Peter had found his way into a residential block of Queens. Here the sidewalks were not nearly as busy, but that really was not saying much. It was still New York City, after all. After three turns and crossing a street, familiar concrete steps were under his borrowed rust-colored converse, and he was pushing a creaky wooden door open.

     The first floor of the building was dusty and dark. No lights were on, and it took Peter an embarrassing amount of time to realize that the place was completely unoccupied. He blamed his lack of critical thinking skills on his empty stomach.

     The elevators, of course, failed to work. There must not have been power in the building. So Peter resorted to the staircase located down the hall, taking his time on the creaking floorboards. He was afraid that if he stepped too fast, his foot would go straight through the wood.

     There was a reason that the building was unoccupied. As he made his way up the flights of stairs, Peter wondered if a better descriptor would be abandoned . Potted plants were dead at the end of each floor, and many of the hallway windows had broken glass, or boards covering them.

     The air was thick with dust that made it hard to breathe. It reminded Peter of Titan and death.

     The seventh floor reeked of mold and weed, and stepping into the hallway from the staircase made him want to vomit yet again. The smell was bad, but the feeling of dread in his chest was even worse. It nauseated him.

     But the green provoked him into moving forward.

     He approached the apartment door, and used a shaky hand to test the knob. It was locked, but with a quick jolt of his super powered wrist, the lock snapped under his grip. He carefully pushed it open, ignoring the internal thought that he was breaking and entering.

     No one had lived here in years, clearly. The furniture was covered in thin white sheets, covered in their own layers of dust. There was still a kettle on the stove. A box of familiar tea bags sat nearby on the counter, open and ready for use.

     A framed photo of Aunt May and Uncle Ben assaulted his vision, hung up on the wall of the small kitchenette. The thick sheen of dust slightly smudged their big smiles, but it was unmistakably them .

     Seeing them made him ache, even if it was just in a photo.

     A short wander of the familiar apartment made a headache grow stronger and stronger in his mind. He swiped a careful finger across the dust books abandoned on their shelves, eyes searching near frantically for a familiar title.

     But just like Jason had discovered: The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane did not exist. Instead, in its rightful spot on the family bookshelf, was a copy of Julius Caesar .

     Peter hated reading that book his freshman year. He hated reading it so much that he had kicked it under his bed to be forgotten with time after he had written his essay on it. His analysis had been fine, and he made a ninety-four. The good grade did not sway his opinion of the book.

     Neither did this moment. In fact, he almost felt offended by its presence. It was taking up space that it did not belong in. Despite his frustration with the book, deep down he understood that he had done the exact same thing.

     He had taken up space that he did not belong in.

     And no, he did not mean his room at Wayne Manor. He did not mean his spot at the dinner table with the family. He did not even mean his friendships with the family.

     He meant his presence in the universe.

     He did not belong there.

     In a sudden fit of hot green anger, Peter ripped Julius Caesar from the shelf, fingers breaking pits into the cover as he threw it across the room. The book made a dull thud on the wall, followed by another when it hit the floor a second later. Its pages laid open toward the ceiling. Peter’s heart faltered.

     Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look:

     He thinks too much: such men are dangerous

     The teen glared down at the offending words, a bubbling anger forming in his mind. A certain amount of time passed- Peter truly could not tell how long- but when he blinked and was able to clear his vision, the book had been torn into shreds.

     Peter left through the broken window, hands gripping the frame. Glass dug into his palms, but he paid the dripping blood no mind. One second later, he was shooting out webs and pulling himself through the air, across the city, and under the stars.

     “There–” Damian said frantically, reaching out suddenly to pause the security footage. “Right there–” he pointed up at the screen, nearly shaking.

     Pictured was a security camera from a random New York roof. It had been a long shot, considering they lost Peter about an hour after seeing him leave that pastry shop. Jason, who had been at the Manor ever since everyone realized Peter had ran, was the first to volunteer in finding him.

     “He’s in New York, that’s all the info I need.” Jason argued, glaring at Bruce. The older man barely reacted to his son’s obvious frustration and anger. “I can have him home quicker than any of you can–”

     “Jason, I’m not sending you to New York City alone.” Bruce said gently.

     “I’m not asking you to send me, Bruce.” he said through gritted teeth. The man jabbed a finger into his father’s chest, forcing him to take a steadying step back. “I’m telling you that I’m going after him.”

     Bruce’s silence encouraged Jason to continue speaking.

     “...He’s got something going on in that head of his, B. If it has anything to do with Lazarus Pits like we suspect, I’m the only one who can help him without getting hurt.”

     The argument ended there, and within ten minutes, Red Hood was riding to New York on his kitted out motorcycle.

     Now, about several hours later, almost every single Wayne was staring up at the Batcomputer with held breath and shaky hands. Jason’s tracking marker was displayed on a map of New York, letting the family watch as their brother and son searched the city.

     They also watched the security cameras that Barbara and Karen had pulled, eyes traveling to where Damian had pointed.

     A figure swinging through the city, covered by the night. His stature and posture were familiar, and made the Waynes' hearts leap. Peter .

     “Red Hood-” Barbara said into the Oracle Comms, grabbing the attention of the man. “Target’s moving down Park Avenue in Manhattan.”

     “The fuck is he doing in Manhattan- ” Jason growled through the speakers. “I thought he was from Queens, what could he need from Manhattan–”

     “Avengers Tower.”

     The cave fell silent. Damian stared up at the screen, searching for some trace of the AI. “...what?” he said quietly. He felt Stephanie grab his shoulder gently, intending to comfort him. Nearby, Tim, Cass, and Duke stared at the screen with held breath. Bruce stood to the side, eyes locked onto Jason’s tracking marker.

     “The Target is heading toward 200 Park Avenue. He knows the address as Avengers Tower.”

     “Oracle, route me.” Jason demanded immediately. The family could hear as his bike wheels screeched to a halt, and his marker turned down a new road. “ Now .”

     Barbara started typing without argument, loading up the fastest route to the given address. They would have to trust Karen on this one.

     Peter was cold. The gray jacket offered little warmth, having been torn up through his hasty apartment escapes and his multiple stumbles. A hole had been ripped through one of the elbows when he botched a landing, the concrete of a roof scraping his skin and causing him to bleed. He paid the small wound no mind. He did not mind either way if it healed or not.

     Peter was hungry. The sandwich and ruined coffee had done nothing for his stomach. He had lost count of how often he had thrown up over the last forty-eight hours. He could feel his insides cramping and aching the longer he went without a real meal. Even water would have been great at the moment. But he ignored how painful every step was. He got himself into this situation, there was no need to be regretful now.

     Peter was tired. He had not slept more than two hours, and even then it had been involuntary. He kept collapsing , the weight of his actions and his thoughts pushing him to the brink of darkness numerous times. He would wake up in strange alley ways, or blink and suddenly be somewhere new. He was delirious, and he wanted nothing more than to just… lay down . Maybe he could lay down forever.

     The teen looked up at the sky, gaze making contact with the stars from his spot on top of a yellow crane. They shined against the light pollution of New York, breaking through the eerie haze and glowing down on him. It was comforting, and it was safe.

     “...me again.” Peter whispered, not recognizing his own voice. It was scratchy and hoarse from sobbing so much. Being dehydrated made it worse. “...I messed up bad.”

     The stars did not respond.

     “...I tried to fight a big alien guy, even when Tony told me to stay on Earth. It got me killed.” he felt his voice break painfully in his throat. “...it got so many people killed.”

     The stars did not respond.

     “...and now I’m alone again. By my own doing.” he cracked a pathetic smile, wanting to laugh at his own self depreciation. “...I never listen, do I?”

     The stars did not respond.

     “...I’m just.. I’m just gonna lay down for a few minutes, okay?” he felt tears prick at his eyes, but was unable to see them due to the sheer amount of green that overwhelmed his vision. “...just let me sleep for a bit. I’ll get up eventually.”

     Do you promise to get up again? The stars asked gently.

     Peter did not respond.

     Jason did not even park his bike before scrambling off of it, the vehicle falling onto its side a few feet away from where he stood. He stared up at the fenced off construction zone, cursing under his breath. There were stray metal poles, panes of glass, rusty nails, and bent metal strips just about everywhere within the fences.

     He wasted no time to climb up and hop over, black boots landing heavily on the dirty ground. He navigated the place fast, one hand on his gun, the other held out at his side for stability. “Oracle, are we sure he’s here? ” he whispered into his comms. “It’s a construction zone, not a tower.”

     “I am positive that he is here. I suggest using the heat signature mode on your helmet. I shall activate it for you.”

     Jason flinched when his vision turned from fuzzy green night vision to bright blue heat vision, showing him any heavy signatures of heat that were highlighted in red. It was freaky how Karen could just do that , and the thought of her now being part of his helmet made something in him uncomfortable.

     But he pushed it aside: he had better things to worry about.

     Quick glances around revealed nothing. Even when his eyes trailed up, there was nothing big or substantial enough to be a person. As the minutes ticked by, Jason got more and more anxious. What if the teen had left already? Where could he go next?

     It was only when Jason looked up up that he paused. His chest lurched. He felt part of his heart break.

     It took him ten minutes to climb up the crane, wary of where he stepped and how much he jostled the machine. He was afraid - there were so many ways that this could go wrong. If he shook the supports too much, Peter could fall–

     Jason had to pause, steeling his nerves with his head pressed against the side of the crane. He took deep breaths, eyes squeezed shut. He just needed patience. That virtue would be the thing to bring Peter home, he was sure of it.

     Patience and hope.

     Peter was woken from his fuzzy sleep by something holding his arm. Confused, he squinted up, but was only able to see the stars. They shined down on him, and Peter smiled. He could look at those stars forever.

     “Come on, Pete.” The stars ushered urgently. Peter became confused. Why did the stars sound scared? “Come on-” Whatever had been holding his arm tugged him gently to sit up, while something else braced his back. It felt like a hand.

     “.....What..?” he mumbled, blinking rapidly to try and shake the green from his eyes. It clouded everything, making it impossible to truly see what was around him. Why was the wind so loud?

     “Deep breaths, Pete.” the stars mumbled encouragingly, as the hand left his back, It was replaced by an arm wrapping around his middle, pulling him back firmly against something warm. It made him melt, eyes falling shut once more. “I’ve got you.”

     “...Thanks..” the teen mumbled, lulling on the edge of consciousness once more.

     “Everytime.” the stars whispered, pulling Peter until he was tucked into the warm embrace of the star. “I will get you every time, I promise.”

     Peter did not respond.

     “You’re worth it, Pete. You’re worth every second.” The stars promised.

     “Target secured.” Jason’s voice shuddered through the Oracle Comms, making the cave fall still once more. “I’m turning off comms until I get home.”

     Barbara’s eyes widened. “J– Red Hood, hold on–”

     “I’ll be fine. ”

     Red Hood disconnected from the Oracle Comms without another word, leaving an exhausted family in empty silence.

Chapter Text

     Jason’s mind was working faster than his motorcycle, going through every possible question. Where did things go wrong? What had made Peter so upset in New York? Why was he on top of  a crane ?

     The likely answer to that last question left a bitter taste in his mouth and an unsightly green in his vision. Thankfully though, a green that he had learned to temper long ago. Peter, unfortunately, did not seem to have that luxury yet.

     Jason intended to change that.

     The two hour ride back to Jersey was blessedly quiet, with only the humming of the engine below them. The stars overhead gradually got dimmer and dimmer the closer that they got to Gotham, a sight that made Jason frown. He always enjoyed the stars, and seeing how his city drastically dulled them with pollution and artificial light made him simmer.

     But he stayed quiet and calm, despite that growing frustration, all for the boy held close to his front.

     Peter had fallen back asleep mere seconds after Jason had gotten a hold of him on top of that crane, and had stayed unconscious since. Now, nearly two hours later, he was still. Jason kept one arm wrapped closely around Peter, keeping him secured in place while his other hand steered the bike.

     Turning off his comms had obviously upset quite a few Waynes, if the buzzing from his phone in his pocket was anything to go by. They were either calling him, or consistently spamming his text inbox. Either way, his hands were occupied. Even if they were not, he probably would not have answered anyways. He needed to focus on what was really important in the moment.

     Said important thing shifted for the first time, and Jason felt his entire body go still. He listened intently, straining over the volume of the bike, for any sort of sound from Peter.

     When nothing came, he slowly let himself relax. Honestly, he was not sure what would be worse; Peter waking up and panicking, or Peter staying asleep the entire time. One of them would be a sign of an overactive sixth sense, and the other would show that his sixth sense was not working.

     Jason mentally prepared himself for the worst as Gotham came into view. Within minutes, he was speeding through side streets and cutting over sidewalks, tires leaving skid marks as he expertly drifted over the pavement. Peter stirred once more, and the older man had to force his body not to react, wanting to keep the kid as peaceful and comfortable as possible.

     But even he knew that riding on a motorcycle while mostly unconscious was not a very fun experience. He could blame Dick for that one.

     The manor is out of the question, he internally told himself, not bothering to stop at a red light and instead blazing through, a loud rev filling the nearby alleyways. My apartment, too. They’ll come looking for him there.

     Jason was no fool. In fact, he regarded himself as one of the smarter members of the family, right behind Tim, Bruce, and Damian (though he’d never admit it). He knew that returning Peter to the open arms of the family immediately would be too much. The kid would only panic again.

     For a moment, Jason scolded himself. Peter was no kid , he was sixteen . If Jason had been in a better spot at his age, he likely would have been offended at being called a kid too. He made an internal note to stop calling him as such.

     He quickly returned his mind back to the matter at hand as he glared daggers through his helmet as he made a sharp left, instinctively pulling Peter closer to his chest to prevent him from moving in the new angle.

     A safe house, maybe? But which one?

     Jason wracked his mind, going over his mental map of every locked-down location in the city. A few options were immediately favorable, being far away from the manor, but not the farthest. If he went all the way away, then they would get found much quicker. The Bats were smart, and he needed to think like them to best avoid them.

     Twelve minutes later, Jason’s bike came to a slow, resting halt in an alley, tucked on the side of a large dumpster for extra cover. He threw down the kickstand with his boot and wrapped his second arm around Peter. The two sat for a long few seconds, Jason letting the unconscious boy adjust to the feeling of not moving. Jostling Peter around too much would only hurt them both in the long term.

     So, after he was sure that Peter was comfortable enough to not wake up, he slowly lifted himself off of the bike, carefully slinging one leg over its body to stand upright. All the while, he held Peter in a front-sided backpack carry, hands under his legs to support the sleeping teen. Naturally, Peter’s head had fallen into Jason’s shoulder, tilted down. The slow rise and fall of his torso became much more obvious now that they were not on the bike, and noticing it eased Jason’s mind considerably.

     He’s not dead, he reminded himself. You got to him, he’s fine. He’s just asleep. Still, Jason had to resist every urge to shake the kid awake and barrage him with hundreds of questions. That was the difference between him and his family; he could control himself in a time as crucial as this.

     Which is why he was determined to keep Peter away for as long as possible. Turning off his comm had been a bold decision, since it had also effectively turned off his tracker. But Jason had been quick, giving his family no time to object before he virtually cut them off.

     Now all he had to do was wait them out while letting Peter heal, however long it would take.

     Jason carried Peter into a first floor stairwell, having unlocked the door with a heavy silver key. Despite not seeming very secure, the mechanism had been made by Tim. Every few hours, the lock would automatically be replaced with another one, all in a mechanical rotation inside of the actual door itself. This led to constantly changing security that was easy enough for the Waynes to maneuver. They just had to know what key to use at what time.

     The man shut the door quietly with his foot once inside, making sure that it had locked behind himself before starting to ascend the stairs.

     On the outside, the entire building looked like a condemned apartment building, with metal plates over windows and No Trespassing signs on every wall. They had even messed with some internal city records (thank you Barbara Gordon) and got the plot of land officially condemned. It was scheduled to be torn down, but she would just keep pushing back the date every few months.

     Inside, the walls were a plain light gray, and the floors were a darker concrete with a lackluster finish on top. It offered a level surface without being overly expensive to maintain.

     The last time Jason had been to this specific safe house was years ago, before him and the Waynes had truly made up. He avoided them like the plague, but no one could hide from the joined forces of Barbara and Tim for long. When the new replacement had found him, months after his visit to Titans Tower, Jason had expected a fight. A rematch.

     Instead, Tim had insulted his lackluster security and replaced the locks overnight, leaving a keyring on the counter alongside a handwritten note inviting him to dinner the next night. Jason learned two things that day.

     One, was that Tim had terrible handwriting. The chicken scratch made Jason squint in disappointment, just staring at the note for a long few minutes in steaming silence.

     Two, was that Tim… was trying. Honestly, the kid was trying harder than Bruce ever had, he had to at least give him that. So, Jason had steeled his nerves, and made a mental decision.

     He did not go to dinner, but instead appeared an hour later to get leftovers from Alfred, who had already been waiting with the food packed away into tupperware containers. Jason considered that a win.

     The man carefully shifted Peter in his hold as he made it to the fourth and highest floor in the building, opening a loose door with his hip and lifting Peter inside. With the lights off, he would not have been able to see much without his helmet. He was just glad that he had decided to keep it on.

     The couch across the small living room space was old and tearing at the cloth seams, a stand-offish orange color. It had not been Jason’s first choice, but when you’re a vigilante working on a tight budget, it’s hard to shop for furniture. The unsightly (yet comfortable) couch had been paired with a second-hand rug that clashed horribly with the rest of the room. An unplugged television sat on a small wooden table against the wall, with an old Playstation off to the side.

     Jason knew that in the next room over, what was supposed to be a bedroom had been converted into an armory at his own hands. Pegboards and racks lined the walls, all holding various weapons, tools, and armor pieces that he would trade in and out occasionally. He liked to keep his items on a rotation between his safe houses. It was time consuming, but worth it in his eyes.

     Other than those two rooms, the final areas were the open kitchenette with gunmetal gray appliances that he had rarely used, and a bathroom small enough for him to touch both walls with bent elbows. At least it came equipped with a shower, sink, medicine cabinet mirror, and toilet. Running water was crucial in his line of work.

     As Jason stepped fully into the space, and used one hand to flick on a nearby lamp, he made a mental plan of how to handle everything.

     Okay, he needs to eat. I doubt this place has groceries, so that’ll have to be put off for now. At the very least, I can get him cleaned up and changed.

     Jason held his breath, looking down at Peter. His helmet hid the grief in his eyes.

     …Sorry ki- Peter. Gotta wake you up now.

     “...alright, Peter. Up you get.” Jason said quietly, sitting the teen down on the couch. Releasing him left an empty feeling in his arms, but he refused to acknowledge it. The man pulled off his helmet, followed by his domino mask that he always wore underneath. Black and white hair soaked in sweat came out at an odd angle, something that Dick probably would have commented on if he were here.

     Something Peter would comment on if he were coherent.

     “C’mon, webs. No more nap time.” he huffed, shaking the kid carefully by both shoulders. His gloved grip was firm and controlled, not jostling him too much in fear of frightening him. “I really don’t feel like bathing you–”

     A hard fist suddenly connecting with his jaw, sent Jason stumbling back in surprise, releasing Peter with wide eyes and outstretched arms to steady his balance. He immediately locked eyes with the awake teen, green meeting vibrant green. An ache made itself present where he had been punched, but he clamped his mouth shut, avoiding making an outward show of the discomfort. Why?

     Because Peter looked terrified. So much for keeping the guy calm.

     “...Pete.” Jason said in an even voice, ignoring the way his jaw strained when he spoke. That was more than a regular punch, he was sure of it. “...breathe. You aren’t in New York, and you aren’t in the manor. No one knows you’re here but me.”

     Peter stared like a deer in headlights. He was pressed as far into the couch as possible, putting distance between them both. The bags under his eyes looked more intense in the warm light of the lamp across the room, and something in Jason’s heart wept.

     “...I couldn’t leave you out there, Peter.” Jason said softly. “...not like this.” He let the room fall into tense silence, observing the teen like he was something to be careful of. If Peter lashed out again, there was no telling what kind of strength he would be using.

     Jason had no clue how strong this guy really was. All he knew was that he could immobilize one of Dick’s arms, and apparently, could punch Jason hard enough to leave a genuine pain in his jaw.

     Peter swallowed hard enough for Jason to see. “....where are we..?” he sounded afraid to ask, like a child who just knew they were in trouble.

     But Peter was not in trouble, and at that moment, Jason knew that he needed to change his approach. After years of checking in on the crime alley strays and talking down panicking kids in crime scenes, he prayed that his experience would be enough.

     “...we’re in one of my safe houses.” he said softly and honestly, lowering himself until he was crouched down on the drab rug. Now, Peter was above him. Mentally Jason noted that this should give Peter a sense of more control over the situation. “In Lower Gotham. I can show you on a map if you’d like?” he offered openly.

     After a second or two, Peter’s right hand reached up to feel his ear. Jason noticed the exact moment that Peter realized he did not have his hearing aid- Karen- because Peter visibly relaxed. He must still really be mad at her, and Jason did not blame him.

     When the teen nodded slowly, Jason rose back to his full height, holding out a gloved hand for Peter to take. With much hesitance, the teen relented and took his help, standing on two unsteady legs. Both men ignored the quiet rumble from Peter’s stomach, but Jason could not deny holding his arms out when Peter swayed a bit too much.

     “Easy, now-” he urged gently, helping the teen stand steadily before slowly releasing him. “..my map is in the other room. Do you want me to go get it, or do you wanna walk with me to see it?”

     Peter’s lips pressed together, and a subtle movement told Jason that he was biting the inside of his cheek. It was something that he had noticed a few weeks ago, and he could only hope that he was not drawing blood.

     “...we can walk to go see it.” Peter said, voice hoarse. Jason hesitated. Food might not have been available at the moment, but water definitely was.

     Idiot, Jason scolded internally. “Alright. Let’s get you a drink first though, yeah?” he suggested, smiling just a bit as he walked around both Peter and the couch to get to the kitchenette. “I’ll get us something to eat here in a bit. Sound good?”

     Jason did not hear Peter nod, nor did he hear Peter following him, but when he turned around the teen was standing at the two-person island counter. His gaze was turned toward the counter, where his fingers tapped softly against the cold surface. Something in Jason’s chest clenched at the sight. He looks so tired.

     Minutes later, the two were entering the armory, both holding a glass of cold filtered tap water. Jason was not foolish enough to give Peter raw Gotham water.

     They approached a workbench, where Jason pushed aside whatever stray tools and parts that had been left out, giving them both space to set down their glasses. Then, he flipped on a work light, pointing it from the bench to the wall right behind it where a large map was pinned to the wall.

     “We’re here.” Jason pointed to a red X, side-eyeing Peter as the teen’s eyes wandered the map. They lingered on the library and the manor, before drifting down to where Jason pointed. “And obviously everyone else is at the Manor, over in Bristol.” he explained, before pausing. “...well, Dick is probably gonna go home to Blüdhaven soon, and Stephanie to her apartment- which is over here.”

     Peter’s eyes followed wherever Jason’s finger pointed. Briefly, the older man was taken back to one of his first full days with Peter. The day that he caught him and Dick leaving the Batcave, but had been too disassociated to do anything about it.

     The day that they had gotten Peter his very own library card. Jason would never forget the look of pure joy on his face. Now, Peter looked numb, just like he had that same morning before Jason and Dick managed to lift his mood.

     Jason was no Dick Grayson, but he would try his damndest to get Peter back to his usual happy self.

     “....and we’re staying here?” Peter asked, voice sounding slightly better now that he had hydrated some. There was almost a sense of urgency in his voice.

     Jason wanted nothing more than to smother him with enough warm blankets to make all the anguish go away. He’d have to throw some in the dryer.

     “Yeah, we’re staying right here until you’re ready.” Jason once again smiled softly, leaning against the workbench and crossing his arms as he looked at Peter.

     “..Until I’m ready for what?”

     “To go back to the manor.”

     There was a silence that made Jason seriously consider wrapping the kid up in another embrace.

     “...And you can take as much time as you need, Peter.” The man pushed as much sincerity into his voice as possible, giving him one of those softer looks reserved for crime alley strays and Alfred. “We’ll stay for however many days, or weeks, or even months that you need. I get it, I really do.”

     Jason was not sure when it happened, but one moment he was standing two feet away from Peter, and the next? The teen had locked his arms around Jason’s middle, face smothered by his strong shoulder as a sob wracked his body.

     The man had suddenly become an anchor, body moving into overdrive as he wrapped strong arms around the teen, holding him tight and close. One hand pressed against the back of Peter’s head, applying a firm pressure that kept them both comfortably locked in place. Jason was the strong rock that the trembling Peter desperately needed in those few moments.

     Minutes later, when Jason felt Peter’s trembling ease and his tight hold slacken, he pulled away to look down at him with a reassuring smile. “...it’ll be just fine, Pete. I promise.”

     Peter could only nod, unable to make eye contact with him. Jason did not force it, instead gently pried the two apart enough to walk back into the main room. They left their half drank glasses of water abandoned on the workbench, work light still shining brightly on the map of Gotham.

     “I’ve got some civilian clothes you can change into. Do you think you can shower?” Jason suggested, gesturing to the bathroom with one hand, the other held gentle on Peter’s shoulder. “It’ll make you feel better to get clean after the last few days.”

     The reminder that Peter had been alone for two days once again made Jason’s chest hurt. Two days without any help.

     Much to Jason’s immediate relief, Peter agreed and went to the bathroom, shutting the door slowly behind himself. Jason reminded him not to lock it so that he could leave a change of clothes on the sink. The man waited until he heard running water to spring into action.

     First, he procured a set of comfortable clothes slightly too big for Peter and left them on the sink, otherwise leaving Peter to his own. After ensuring that the teen had something clean to change into, he took the liberty of changing his own clothes. As much as he loved the Red Hood Regalia, it was far from suitable for the type of help that Peter would need.

     Jason fell back against the couch, ignoring the sound of a seam being pulled and instead grabbing his phone from his pajama pants pocket. He stared at the black screen with a frown and a skeptical squint, before hesitantly powering the device back on.

     Unlike his siblings, he had made sure that his phone had no tracker. Jason could only be found by Oracle if he wanted to be found.

     The moment that the phone connected to service, it was bombarded by buzzing from dozens of texts and even more missed phone calls from just about every member of the family. He even saw a few missed calls from Damian , which had made him double take in surprise.

     He had no intention of calling everyone back, and he certainly did not plan to rejoin that stupid group chat (I mean seriously, who named it the Batchat ??). Instead, he scrolled through the messages, looking for the first name that would be good enough to get the message out to everyone else.

     He paused when Cass crossed his screen, and he scrolled back up. The girl had only sent three messages, the least out of everyone that had his number. With hesitation, Jason opened them.

     Cass, Jason

Cass ; hi jason, i don’t remember if you have my number saved or not. it’s cassandra.

Cass ; everyone’s really worried about peter, but i’m sure you’re taking care of him. if he wants his phone, or anything from the manor, just let me know and i can bring it to a location of your choosing.

Cass ; i’ll even leave my phone at home, and come in normal clothes. that way no one can follow me. thanks, jay.

     Jason’s finger hovered over the keyboard for a long few seconds as he contemplated what he would even say. She had shown some trust in him, saying how she was sure that he was taking care of Peter. He liked to at least hope that he was trying hard enough, even if they had only been at the safe house for half an hour.

     Cass, Jason

Jason ; Hey, Cass. Yeah, I have your number saved.

Jason ; Think you can get a message out to everyone else? I don’t wanna respond to all the spamming that they’ve done.

Cass ; sure i can, is peter okay?

Jason ; As good as he can be at the moment. He’s showering right now, I’m trying to work out the food situation.

Cass ; i’m telling alfred.

Jason ; Shit, no.

Jason ; Wait.

Jason ; Cass hold on.

     Jason winced as the text chat was suddenly replaced by an incoming caller screen. The contact name Gramps was displayed below a picture of both Alfred and himself- many years ago, before his revival and before his death. Seeing the familiar image made his chest flutter with fondness.

     And of course, no one could say no to Alfred.

     “...hey, Alf.” Jason said quietly, holding the cell phone up to his ear. He was just sure that even through the phone, the older man could hear Jason’s regret.

     “Master Jason,” the familiar and calming voice came through, almost immediately easing some of Jason’s anxieties. Not all of them, but enough for his shoulders to relax. “I am glad to hear that both you and young Peter are well.”

     “Yeah, we’re doing alright.” He hummed, staring blankly across the room as he spoke. Some people, like Dick, tended to pace when on a phone call. Jason was the exact opposite; preferring to be stagnant. “He’s cleaning up in the bathroom.”

     “I assume that you’ve provided him with a fresh change of clothes.”

     “What do you take me for, a street rat?” Jason teased through the phone, smiling slightly. There was a short silence that followed his other joke.

     “...I’ve missed you too, Master Jason. It is good to know that both you and young Peter are safe.” The man cleared his throat before Jason could speak again. “Now, regarding your meals over the next few days…”

     Peter’s bare feet met the cold tile floor of the bathroom, sending a shiver up his spine. Honestly, he had wanted to stay under that warm stream of water forever. Its temperature was extremely comforting, and getting clean felt fantastic. He scrubbed until he was red and raw and could scrub no more.

     Even more comforting though, was knowing that he stepped out smelling like Jason. The man had been the closest thing to a lifeline that he had. Jason came for him in New York. Jason brought him to a safe place in Gotham, away from the rest of the Waynes. Jason didn’t panic when Peter punched him out of fear.

     Jason was safe.

     Peter ran a heavy hand over his face before pushing his damp hair off of his forehead and back, clearing it from his face entirely. The feeling of it sticking to his skin was more than uncomfortable. With a light shiver, Peter crossed the very small space to the sink, where he reached over and wiped the condensation off of the mirror to see himself.

     He looked as tired as he felt- maybe worse, actually. Those bags under his eyes looked intense , but that could also be attributed to the amount of crying he had been doing. By no means did he look skinny , upon looking at his body, but there was a certain pain in his stomach that reminded him that he had not substantially eaten in two-ish days. Then, he was reminded of all the vomiting he had done, and he felt sick all over again.

     Not sick enough to vomit again, though. He had done plenty of that. In fact, Peter never wanted to feel sick like that again. Taking that shower seemed to have enlightened him as to just how bad things had been.

     His instincts had led him throughout a New York City that was not his own, making him relive his normal life in a way that was so wrong . He never wanted to go through that again. Some part of Peter never wanted to go to that New York again.

     He was sure that the Waynes would not mind that at all. In fact, he would not be surprised if they tried keeping him at the manor permanently. That thought was just as terrifying as walking around New York had been.

     Peter inspected the inside of his mouth to inspect his teeth, tugging at the corners of his mouth to look at the fangs that had, by now, fully developed. There were three on each side, all around the same length. Somehow could still close his mouth comfortably, and the thought that his bottom teeth had changed as well made his stomach turn.

     Then he met his own gaze in the mirror, green staring into unfamiliar green. Something had happened to him to make his eyes change, and that same something was toiling with his emotions. It was making him sensitive, and angry. It was making him go through things to hurt himself, both emotionally and physically. It was unnatural.

     Peter steeled himself, hands falling from his mouth and landing on the soft pile of clothes on the lip of the sink. When he looked down, he froze almost entirely, brain computing what he was looking at.

     Soft pink pajama pants, patterned with hello kitty designs, were unevenly folded on top of a large white t-shirt and a package of unopened boxers. The teen’s heart tried to leap from his chest.

     Thirty seconds later, he took a deep breath and opened the door of the bathroom. Steam followed him out as he stepped on the hardwood floor, eyes glancing around the space in search of Jason.

     Instead of on that god awful couch like he had been expecting, the man was standing in the kitchenette, peering into the empty fridge with a frown and his phone pressed to his ear. Peter bristled- had Jason called someone? Were they coming to take him back to the manor already?

     Just as he felt panic bubbling under the surface, the sensitivity in his ears picked up the voice on the other end of the line.

     “-hicken carbonara will last you if you keep it refrigerated, alongside most of the other meals I’m planning to prepare. For now, I will have Lady Cassandra obtain a suitable fast food meal.” Peter could quite literally hear the disgust in Alfred’s voice at that last sentence.

     But knowing that it was Alfred on the other end of the line and not Bruce made Peter feel exponentially better. Alfred would never do him wrong.

     By the little bit of the conversation that he had walked in on, he figured that Jason was in cahoots with Alfred (and Cassandra?) about getting food to the safe house. Of all the Waynes to want to help, he trusted those two the most. He was glad that they were the ones getting involved.

     Jason must have noticed the steam rolling from the bathroom, because he turned to look at Peter with a little smile. The teen smiled back, and let his eyes drift when he realized that Jason had changed clothes.

     His heart stuttered upon seeing a matching pair of hello kitty pajama pants on the man. Briefly, he was taken back to just after he had lost his Stark Tech suit, after the Ferry Incident. He had to walk home in his pajamas, full of shame and guilt.

     But now? He felt nothing but comfort.

     “Thanks, Alfred. I’ll text you, okay?” Jason hummed, ending the conversation quietly. After Peter heard Alfred bid his farewell, the man hung up the phone and dropped it into his pocket.

     “He’s bringing food?” Peter asked, wanting to clarify what he had heard. When Jason nodded, Peter’s smile and posture relaxed, hands falling into his pockets. Showering had made him feel much better.

     “Technically Cass is bringing food; she’s gonna meet me somewhere else. If you want anything else from the manor I can ask her to bring it, too.” Jason offered, closing the fridge and leaning back against it. He must have noticed Peter’s uplifted mood, and in turn, was being a little less careful. Peter appreciated it.

     “..maybe my phone would be good..?” The teen asked hesitantly, curling in on himself just a bit. “..I mean- y’know. I still wanna talk to like, Tim and Cass, and Duke- I-I just don’t think I could handle in person right now but texting– ”

     “You don’t gotta explain it, Pete.” Jason cut off carefully, smiling reassuringly. “Sure, I’ll ask her to bring it. I’ll just have to get the tracker out.”

     Peter was reminded of the breach of privacy, and it made his stomach flip. That was the entire reason that he had left- they had broken his trust. He really could not fault them for hiding being vigilantes, but they used his ignorance as a tool against him. They used Karen against him.

     “...Works for me.” he hummed, glancing down at the floor. He shifted from being flat-footed to lifted onto the balls of his feet; a habit when he felt restless. He was not really sure why he felt restless, considering how exhausted he really felt.

     Jason softened, standing upright and passing Peter to get to the couch. “Here, let’s get this situated for you.” he huffed, unlatching something underneath the cushions before tossing them aside and to the floor. Then, he took small steps back while unfolding the fold-out mattress. It would be barely big enough to hold Peter.

     But he could care less- he couldn’t wait to sleep on a mattress again. 

     By the time Peter woke up again, which was around six in the morning, a familiar cell phone was seen resting on the counter. The teen was pulled from his drowsy state almost immediately after realizing that his phone was there, and he was fast to stumble to his feet, dragging down two blankets with him. Ignoring the mess he had just made, he shot out webs fast, which attached to the device that he yanked back toward him.

     His frenzy resulted in a phone secured in his hand and a mess on the floor that he ignored in favor of checking the device. All of the teen’s worries that it may have died or been broken somehow were wiped away when he hit the power button, and the screen lit up to reveal full battery .

     They had charged his phone for him before returning it. There were only six unread messages, likely because they had noticed his abandoned phone at the same time they noticed he was gone.

     Still, the thought that they took care of the device in his absence made him at least smile.

     Peter, Jason

Jason ; I went out to grab us some extra stuff, and to keep Dick from getting too nosy. I’ll be back before eight.

     Peter, Cass

Cass ; goodmorning, peter. i’m glad that you’re okay, we all are. jason promised he’d take care of you, and i trust him.

Cass ; you should, too.

Cass ; trust him, i mean. you should trust jason, he’s good for you.

     Peter, Tim

Tim ; I really hope you’re okay man.

     Peter, Bruce

Bruce ; Peter, I’m sorry for any sort of miscommunication that occurred. We’d love to have you back home whenever you’re ready.

     Peter stared down at the four different chat rooms, a multitude of different emotions swelling in various parts of his mind and chest. He was relieved that no one seemed mad. He was angry that Bruce thought a one sentence apology would be enough. He was hesitant to accept Tim’s sympathy. He was happy to be staying with Jason, especially since Cass trusted him.

     Overall, he was just overwhelmed. Peter closed out the messaging app and instead clicked on the internet. It was there that he was immediately hit by articles describing one of Gotham’s fearsome vigilantes running off to New York for the night. It made his chest tighten in anxiety.

     Jason had driven all the way to New York just to get Peter. All at once, the teen once again felt like such a waste of space. Why did he need someone to come save him? That was supposed to be his job.

     Peter sniffled, refusing to let the tears fall. It did not matter if he was alone or not, he should not have wanted to cry over something such as this. It was close to embarrassing, and he could only be glad that he was alone at the safe house.

     The teen turned off the phone screen, not bothering to type up a response to anyone. That would require thinking a little too hard about the Waynes and their secret, which would probably make Peter even more upset than he already was. So in place of thinking about them, he looked around the apartment.

     Early morning rays peeked through slivers in the covered windows, giving evidence to a cloudless day in Gotham. Peter could only be relieved that he would not have to go out- that felt like far too much at the moment. 

     Pulling himself to stand up straight, the teen slowly walked around the apartment-esque space, taking in each room with calculating eyes. The kitchenette and living space were both bare, but upon inspecting the fridge, he was pleasantly surprised to find it stocked with tupperware containers of food. All of it was labeled with sticky notes, telling what the dish was and when it had been made. The handwriting was immediately familiar as Alfred’s. Peter sighed through his nose, allowing a small smile.

     He closed the fridge and trudged through the short hallway, stepping into what was supposed to be the bedroom. He immediately recognized it as the armory from last night, and spotted the map of Gotham on the wall. The work light was still aimed at it. Hesitantly, Peter approached and shut it off. Mentally, he worried about the power bill.

     Gazing at the weapons, armor, and various other devices that lined the walls gave Peter a sense of familiarity. Not only did it remind him of Avengers Tower, but it also reminded him just how well-equipped the Waynes were. He recognized grappling hooks, batarangs, and utility belts all displayed in various places. Peter allowed himself to run his hand over a few, the cold steel of the batarangs leaving an uncomfortable pit in his gut.

     He did not linger long in the armory.

     After the entire space had been explored, Peter fell back onto the pull-out couch with a dramatic huff. He was still extremely exhausted from his little New York venture, and his body was begging for more rest. Who was he to deny it? The teen was out like a light in minutes.

     When Jason entered the safe house with shopping bags hooked on his arms, he had been expecting to find Peter still asleep. When he heard no movement from the room, he presumed himself to be correct, and kept his mouth quiet. His footfalls became as silent as possible, the only noise coming from the shifting plastic bags, which he set on the counter.

     But then he noticed Peter’s phone had been moved. He paused, staring at where he had left it on the counter. A small frown fell onto his face as he glanced up, green eyes searching the main rooms of the apartment.

     Peter was not on the couch. Jason felt his heart fall into his stomach. Almost immediately, every possible worst-case-scenario came to mind. He ran off again. He’s terrified, so he’s hiding. He got hurt somewhere that I can’t find him.

     “Peter?” Jason called out, swallowing the panic that threatened to seep into his tone. “You in here, dude?” Completely forgetting about keeping quiet, he navigated the apartment, looking into every room.

     “ God damnit– ” He hissed through gritted teeth, realizing Peter was not in either of the other rooms. “Peter!-”

     A sudden thud from the living room broke him from his panic, immediately replacing it with caution. His shoulders tensed, and he was fast to grab the gun hidden in his waistband. Jason took a deep breath, slowly peeking his head around the door of the armory to look down the hall and into the main room. Upon not seeing anything of immediate alarm, he quietly slipped down the hall, finger hovering close over the trigger.

     The man rounded the corner as carefully as possible, eyes scanning the room. But it was no intruder waiting for him, and it certainly was not one of his family members. Instead, Peter was laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a confused and tired glare.

     The relief that washed over Jason should not have been as intense as it felt.

     “ Peter, ” he sighed in relief, shaking his head and clicking the safety on the firearm. The teen looked over with wide eyes, surprised at Jason’s sudden presence. “You scared the fuck outta me- where were you hiding?” He asked, pocketing the weapon and crossing the room, holding out a hand to help Peter sit up. His heart warmed when the teen accepted without any hesitation.

     “...the uh,” Peter cleared his throat, glancing between Jason and the ceiling. “..the ceiling. Apparently.”

     Jason pinched his brows together in confusion before slowly letting his gaze travel up to the ceiling. He was surprised into silence when he spotted the hammock hanging from his ceiling, having been pulled taut enough to look more like…

     “...a giant spider web.” Jason mumbled, staring for a few more seconds before looking at Peter once more, who had now stood fully. Peter’s earlier tone came back to Jason, and he frowned. “...wait- what do you mean apparently ?” He raised a brow skeptically.

     “I don’t- I didn’t–” Peter immediately became defensive, looking between the giant web and Jason with wide, awake eyes. “I fell asleep on the couch but I woke up on the ceiling , I don’t know–” he huffed, taking a small step back and crossing his arms. “I’ll clean it if you want-”

     “Hey, hey-” Jason cut him off, looking and sounding just as surprised as Peter probably felt. “Breathe, Pete. It’s fine, I’m not mad at you for sleeping on my ceiling.” he huffed a small laugh, giving a reassuring smile. “I’m just confused as to how you got up there.”

     “..yeah, me too.” Peter grumbled, glaring down at his wrists. Jason could just barely see the little mark on each side; the spinnerets that Peter’s webs came from. They just looked like freckles from this distance. “...I seriously don’t know, Jay. I guess I webbed in my sleep.”

     “Ew, don’t say it like that.” Jason teased, turning and walking to the counter with an eye roll. “Sounds gross.”

     “Oh, I’m sorry- ” Peter scoffed, unable to stop the playful smile from forming on his face. “Would you rather me say that I excreted from my wrists?” he joked.

     Jason fake gagged, shuddering for extra dramatics. “Just stop talking, spider-boy.”

     “Spider-man.” Peter corrected.

     “Spider-man.” Jason nodded in agreement, pulling paper plates and utensils from the plastic bags, alongside a box of tea bags. It was a generic Earl Gray, but Jason had hoped it would be close enough to the stuff that Alfred made. His plan to slowly acclimate Peter to life with the Waynes again had officially begun.

     Just like the first time, it started with cups of tea.

     “Does Spider-man want a cup of tea?” Jason suggested, carefully pushing aside the other bags to start getting a kettle ready. “Because I do, but I don’t wanna make a whole bunch just for myself.” The man passed Peter a gentle glance, and a few seconds later, the teen nodded.

     The rest of the day moved fast. Peter had moved in and out of a dissociative state the entire time. It was stressful, but made easier by Jason’s presence. Everytime the teen drifted a bit too far into his thoughts and out of this world, he was reeled back in by a comforting hand or a witty joke.

     The spider web hammock stayed in place. When Peter asked if Jason wanted him to clean it, the man had only shrugged, saying something about how it did not bother him. “Shit, if you wanna sleep up there, go for it. Just don’t fall out again.” Despite his teasing tone, he had been completely sincere. It made Peter smile, a well of happiness starting to form in his chest.

     It would be a long time before that happiness would outweigh the green, but it was a gentle start that Peter silently accepted.

     "I think I wanna try patrolling again."

     Jason paused, taken back by Peter's very sudden and unexpected remark. He had only been in Jason's care for about two days and he already wanted to get back into vigilante work? It sounded like bad news.

     "...the last time you patrolled, you ran off, Pete." Jason reminded carefully, looking down at the toaster on the counter. He had been waiting for their dinner waffles to pop when Peter surprised him. "Which, I get. But it was dangerous as hell, and I don't wanna put you in that situation- or headspace - again." He declared, using the same tone he would use on the Crime Alley kids when he needed to be taken seriously.

     "It's not patrolling that set me off, Jason." Peter argued with a little glare. "It was all the secrets." There was a short pause. "...besides, I don't wanna patrol alone. I was gonna suggest going with you ."

     For the second time in five minutes, Jason was caught off-guard by Peter. Not only did he want to patrol, but he wanted to patrol with Jason. The man felt something akin to pride swell in his chest; I could be the first one to patrol with Peter.

     Still, the cons outweighed the pros to Jason. "We'd have to call the Manor." He hummed, moving to grab some paper plates from the cupboard. "Get your suit and boots." He hoped that the thought of contacting the rest of the family would throw Peter off.

     "Sounds good to me." The teen smiled a bit, drumming his fingers on the small island counter. "Can you call them sooner rather than later? I'm getting restless in this safehouse." Despite the joking in his tone, Jason could tell that Peter was sincere.

     Fine, if that would not stop Peter, then he would pull out the big guns.

     " You gotta call the Manor, Pete." Jason declared, the waffles popping up just as he finished his sentence, like a microphone drop after some insane revelation. " I'm sure as hell not asking someone for your shit." He rolled his eyes.

     Peter was quiet for a few moments, and Jason internally relaxed. He honestly did not hate the idea of Peter jumping back into being Spider-man, but it felt too soon. They just got him back, and he had not even spoken to Bruce. The thought of them encountering each other while on patrol, and potentially making things worse , just would not shake itself from his mind.

     "...alright. I'll text someone after we eat then." Even if he had gotten quieter, there was still a certainty in his voice that made Jason bristle a bit. The older man looked over his shoulder to the teen, plating the two waffles as he stared skeptically. When Peter looked back at him, and confident green met green, Jason knew that his mind had already been made up.

     How could he fault him for that? Jason set the requirement, and if Peter was willing to meet it, he would not deny him.

     So, he sighed a bit, shaking his head with the smallest of smiles. "Perfect. Let me know what they say and who's bringing your shit." He delivered the two paper plates to the island counter, hooking his pinky around the handle for the syrup on his way. "If you get it tonight, you're more than welcome to come with me."

     Peter spent the entire time that they were eating trying to mentally decide who to text. He weighed the pros and cons of each family member as he chewed, brows pinched together.

     Dick was briefly considered. Even if he did not live in the Manor, he would probably be more than happy to go get Peter's suit. Still, he got the feeling that encountering Dick would result in him getting dragged back to the Manor sooner than he wanted.

     Stephanie was crossed off of the list for the same reasons. As nice as she was, and as helpful as she would be, there was no telling how insistent she would be in him going home. Besides, he really was not close with her like with the others.

     Tim was not someone that Peter wanted to talk to at the moment. As much as they had both tried to push their ill will away, there was still some unsettled green resentment that became obvious whenever Peter thought about the other teen. Seeing him in person could easily end in a fight.

     Peter refused to even consider asking Alfred, even if he was the most obviously trustworthy option. He would feel bad pulling him from the Manor for too long, despite how reliable he would be. The man had already been such a blessing, preparing meals and sending them all over a few days ago. They were high protein too, and would give Peter a big caloric intake. His enhanced metabolism would forever be grateful for Alfred's cooking, and Peter could not wait to thank him in person, even if it would have to wait.

     Damian briefly appeared in Peter's mind. He was taken back to his study sessions, teaching the kid advanced mathematical formulas while learning all about historic art pieces and culturally important symbols. He missed hanging out with Damian. The two were constantly learning from each other.

     Damian's image was replaced by Robin, and a nasty green left Peter feeling a bit nauseous. He had to sip his water to steady both his body and mind.

     He was not an option.

     The mental image of his attacker was wiped away by two smiling faces: Duke and Cass. The spunky and quiet duo had proved over and over again to be trustworthy and genuinely good. Neither had tried hurting him, and Duke technically only lied to Peter once after that Poison Ivy attack. That already gave them both bonus points in his mind. Cass was also the one to deliver both Peter's phone and Alfred's meals.

     Mentally, Peter was preparing his text before he had even finished eating. He had not even stopped to consider asking Bruce; he was never an option. For a short time, Peter could almost forget that the man even existed, and he liked it that way.

     Peter, Cass, Duke

Peter ; Hi guys, can I ask a favor?

Cass ; hiiii peter, what’s up?

Duke ; PETER HI

Duke ; DUDE

Duke ; YEAH WHATS GOOD DUDE

Duke ; hi

Peter ; I kind of need my spider suit

Peter ; Jason said he’d let me patrol if I could get it, but I don’t really wanna go back to the manor just yet

Duke ; ohhhhh

Duke ; yeah makes sense

Cass ; we can bring it! Did you have a location in mind?

     Peter hesitated, tapping his finger against the side of the phone while he thought. By now, him and Jason were both sat on the couch, some trash TV playing in the background while they both mindlessly used their phones. He bit the inside of his cheek.

     “...do you care if Cass and Duke come by? To drop off my suit?” He asked, broaching the topic out of nowhere. It was like ripping a band-aid.

     Jason paused his scrolling, glancing over to Peter in surprise. Clearly, he had not actually expected for Peter to follow through. He also had not been expecting for Peter to want someone to come over, just to drop off his stuff.

     “....nah, I don’t care. Just make sure they aren’t followed.” He huffed. “It would be a pain in the ass to move all that food Alfred made.”

     Peter nodded in agreement, a fuzzy feeling in his chest. Having Jason’s support felt incredible, and only motivated him further.

     Peter, Cass, Duke

Peter ; Jason said you can bring it by the safe house. Lemme get the address for you

Peter ; Just make sure no one follows you, we really don’t wanna move

Duke ; got it chief

Cass ; bet

Chapter Text

     The sound of footsteps filling the stairwell outside of the safe house apartment made the hair on Jason’s neck stand on end, a wave of nerves washing over his body and making him suddenly alert. No alarms had gone off, meaning that they had a key. Realistically, he knew who it was, but that did not stop his heart from racing.

     Peter sat up, looking over the back of the couch with a nervous swallow. He must have heard, too.

     Two minutes later, the door knob jiggled, and the door was carefully pushed open. The familiar black-haired girl was followed inside by the taller boy, who both immediately looked around. Upon spotting Peter, both of them visibly relaxed, smiling big.

     “Peter! Hey, dude!” Duke said cheerfully, adjusting the backpack across his shoulder. He had on black sweatpants, clean white sneakers, and a Signal themed hoodie. Peter could not help but smile back; of course Duke wore his own merchandise.

     “Hey, Duke.” The teen greeted, hopping over the back of the couch and landing barefooted on the floor. “Thanks for bringing my stuff, I was starting to get restless in here.”

     It felt like all of Peter’s anxieties had gone away. No longer was he worried about interacting with Duke, or even Cass. He was just happy to see them again, and that revelation fueled the warmth in his chest. He was happy to see them.

     “Anytime.” Duke hummed, setting the backpack on the ground and pulling out the metal, spider-shaped disc. The Waynes must have fiddled with his Spider Armor while he was gone, especially considering they figured out how to compact it. “Just be careful tonight, okay? No more running off.”

     Peter rolled his eyes, walking over and taking the disc from Duke. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” he got quiet for a moment, looking down at the disc while Duke pulled the boots from the backpack. “...which, I’m sorry about. By the way.”

     Cass pulled her hands from his jean pockets, hesitating and glancing at Duke, before starting to sign. Peter watched blankly, hoping that his confusion was evident on his face as he glanced between his two friends.

     Duke watched carefully, and once she had finished, he smiled a bit. “..she said she forgives you, but that if you do it again, she’s handcuffing you two together.” The teen snickered, followed by a quiet giggle from Cassandra. Peter couldn’t help but join them, also amused by her baseless threat.

     “...my aunt used to say that an apology was never really complete without a hug.” Peter hummed. “She said it’s like stamping a letter, or tying off thread when you sew–”

     He jumped when he was suddenly pulled in by Cassandra, who wrapped her arms tight around his middle. She pressed her face into his collarbone, eyes squeezed shut. Peter hesitantly lowered his arms around her, relaxing in the embrace and holding her close. For a few seconds, it was just him and Cassandra. It stayed that way until he opened his eyes and spotted Duke, who had just been smiling at the two. Peter rolled his eyes, lifting one arm to shoot webs, which attached to the front of Duke’s hoodie. He used the line to quickly pull him over, dragging him into the hug.

     Peter ignored the sound of Jason shifting on the couch, which was followed by the sound of the man texting someone. He probably took a photo, and Peter would definitely be getting that sent to him later.

     But right now he was just happy to be held by his friends.

     After a minute or two, the trio pulled apart, all smiles and warm fuzzy feelings. Peter took the boots from off the floor, since Duke had dropped them when he was dragged into the embrace. “Thanks again for the delivery, guys.” He restated his gratitude.

     “Once again, anytime.” Duke chuckled, shaking his head. He glanced at Cassandra, then back at Peter, with his smile a bit smaller. “...Tim wants to know when you’re thinking about coming home.”

     Peter hesitated, processing the question. Tim wanted to know when Peter was coming back to the manor. 

     “...I’m not sure yet.” he answered quietly and honestly, looking down at the metal disc in his hand. “I’m still.. Trying to process some stuff.”

     “...do you want to come home?” Duke asked carefully.

     Peter’s eyes widened in surprise, immediately defensive. “Wh- of course I want to, Duke- what kind of question is that??” he looked between the two teens, who stared back with worried looks. “I just- I’m still working through a lot. You guys get it, right?”

     Cassandra nodded quietly, giving him a comforting smile. Duke followed her lead. “Of course we get it, Peter.” he sighed. “We’re just.. Y’know, worried.”

     “...I don’t know when I’ll be home, but you’re more than welcome to text me.” Peter assured. “And if Jason says it’s fine, maybe you could patrol with us at some point.”

     The teen girl’s eyes brightened and she nodded, obviously enthusiastic about that suggestion. Duke rolled his eyes playfully, following it up with a dramatic sigh. “No fair, I only do day patrols.”

     “Hey, Spider-man can work during the day, too.” Peter smiled. “That’s what I did before I came to Gotham.”

     “I’m gonna hold you to that, then.” Duke teased, picking up his backpack once more. He turned to the door, smiling past Peter to Jason. The two brothers exchanged a subtle nod.

     “Thanks for the drop off, Duke. Cass.” The oldest Wayne sibling hummed, leaning over the couch to watch the trio. “I’ll see you both.”

     After goodbyes were done being exchanged, Cass and Duke left without a fuss. Peter was a bit surprised- he would have expected for them to want to stay longer. Hell, he had almost expected one of them to try convincing him back to the Manor.

     But they had expressed empathy, saying that they understood. They were giving him the space that he needed, and he could not be more grateful.

     Peter looked down at the disc in his hand and the boots on the floor, before turning to Jason with a smile. There was a particular shine in his eyes; one that Jason recognized immediately. It was green, but it was also excited .

     “...So, patrol?”

     Peter had never felt more alive. The humid night air of New Jersey’s summer left nothing to be wanted as he swung through the dark city. His modified Spider Armor still fit him fantastically, thanks to the nanotech. The Waynes had not tried to do anything with the armor since he left, which he was appreciative of. He had almost expected for Tim or Bruce to try dissecting it. The teen was glad to be wrong.

     As Spider-man traversed the buildings above, a motorcycle stuck close on the roads below. The blur of black, red, and brown kept an even pace with the swinging vigilante and they traveled as a unit.

     After being absent from vigilante work for a few days, Spider-man had worried that the people of Gotham would forget about him. He knew that his time in the city had already been short, and he had yet to make a real reputation for himself. But the bigger picture was not his concern. Instead, Peter mentally worried that the people he had connected with no longer liked him. People like Webster.

     He was worried that they would think he forgot them.

     “Can you hear me, Spider-man?” Jason’s voice rang through his ear. The comm piece had been provided by the man- a small black bud in his ear. It was different from wearing the hearing aid, which used to feel much more secure. If not for his mask, Peter would have been worried about this falling out.

     “Loud and clear, Red Hood.” Spider-man hummed, pulling himself into a flip as he released his hold on a line of webs. “Any big plans tonight?”

     “I’ve got a case I’ve been working on, something to do with the inner workings of Crime Alley’s drug rings. Wanna help?”

     “I’d be delighted.” He did not mean to sound so giddy, considering the sensitive subject matter. Who could blame him, though? Getting back out into the city just felt good , even if he was infiltrating drug rings with Jason Todd. “Pass the details.”

     Spider-man swung overhead and listened as Red Hood drove below and explained. A well known turf lord in Crime Alley, called Black Mask, had been working overtime for the past few weeks on something extremely secretive. All of the goons and workers that Jason had managed to intercept knew nothing, other than the fact that something was happening.

     Red Hood had managed to keep as close an eye as possible on all of Black Mask’s recent shipments, while stopping a few. There had been no obvious clues or leads as to what had been going on, but the vigilante had quite a few guesses.

     “I was speaking to some of those Alley kids the other day- before you left. They were freaking the hell out over having their shit stolen by some shady guys in suits.” Red Hood explained, making a right turn onto an empty road with flickering street lights.

     Spider-man listened, recalculating his trajectory in less than a second to follow the bike riding vigilante. “Are shady suit guys commonly associated with Black Mask?”

     “Yeah, that’s kind of his whole thing.” Red Hood snorted, and Peter’s heart swelled. He was glad that he could make Jason laugh. “The problem with all this, though-” he cleared his throat, getting serious again. “Is that those suit guys are only giving the kids their stuff back in return for jobs .”

     Spider-man blanked for a moment, processing. The obvious explanation was that the kids were being manipulated into doing Black Mask’s dirty work in return for their stolen goods. There was no need for the teen to ask Red Hood for any sort of confirmation.

     He huffed, suddenly not feeling very amused anymore. “...Alright. What’s the move tonight, then?”

     “With some help, I found out where they’re storing all the shit belonging to the kids.” Red Hood hummed, slowing down considerably. Spider-man compensated for this decrease in speed by running across the sides of the buildings instead of swinging. This allowed for him to keep a near even pace with the slowing bike below. “Tonight, you and I are gonna kick some ass.”

     Spider-man can confidently say that he had never helped to take down a drug ring before. The closest thing he had done was probably taking down the Vulture and his illegal weapons business. Surely they were not all that different.

     “We’ll also talk about those emotions of yours.”

     Peter short-circuited so bad that he almost stumbled off of the wall he had been running across. He inhaled sharply, holding his breath as he jumped across the space from one building to the next. He should have been expecting this conversation, but it still made him lurch with anxiety.

     Red Hood was silent for a few seconds, and Peter was grateful for the reprieve that allowed him to breathe. The quiet stretched on for as long as Jason allowed it, obviously letting the teen prepare for this hard talk ahead of them.

     “...Yeah, I don’t-” Spider-man inhaled sharply again, not daring to look down at the moving bike below. “I don’t know what’s up with me.” His voice was tense, and he sounded unsure of himself. But really, he was unsure of everything that surrounded his emotions. “I didn’t used to be this- this-”

     “Green?” Red Hood cut off carefully. It was a strange way to describe how Peter was feeling, but it was painfully accurate. The hellish color always seemed to be there in the corners of his vision. “...Yeah, me too.”

     Spider-man’s mind blanked as he made another leap across building walls. “....I’m sorry- what? I don’t think I-”

     “I get it, Webs.” Red Hood said, and the teen could just hear the eye roll. “You and I are similar in a lot of ways. I wish we weren’t, because we’re similar in terrible ways, but we are. There’s no taking it back, either.”

     “Taking back what?” Peter felt breathless, and a soft ringing had started in his ears. He knew the answer before Jason even said it, the man’s voice crisp and precise in his ear.

     “Death.”

     The teenage vigilante once again fell silent, the weight of Red Hood’s words settling into his body like an unwelcome guest. Like the painfully familiar green, the words invaded his mind with uncomfortable realities and overwhelming dread.

     The two stayed quiet the rest of the way to their destination.

     Red Hood parked his bike in a dark alleyway, hiding the vehicle behind piles of black garbage bags. He looked up to Spider-man, who had been crouched above on the short roof, with a small nod. The younger vigilante joined him, jumping down to his side.

     The man spoke quietly as they walked. “Your emotional and physical changes are likely being caused by something called a Lazarus Pit.” He started the explanation as clear as possible, and the teen listened like he needed the answers to survive. “It’s a.. Well, it’s a pool that can bring back the dead.”

     “Like Lazarus.” Spider-man mumbled, getting a short nod from Red Hood in response. “...You think a Lazarus Pit is what revived me?” He asked for clarification.

     “It’s what revived me.” Red Hood hummed carefully, leaning against a brick wall a few feet away from a heavy metal door. When Spider-man glanced around the area they had gone to, he recognized the building as condemned. The fire escapes above made it look like some sort of short apartment building, only being four stories tall.

     “I’m not gonna go into details,” Red Hood huffed, pulling a gun off of his belt and checking the magazine, ensuring that it was loaded to his liking. “But I have died before. I know you have, too. If the emotions weren’t the give-away, it was your eyes and hair.”

     Peter thought back to when he first noticed those changes- back during his first hours in Gotham. The white streak in his hair had made him sigh in exhaustion at first, but now it had become a regular sight. He was no longer surprised to see it in the mirror, alongside his newly green eyes.

     “...Lazarus Pits change more than your looks, though. Have you seen it?” The man asked as he approached the door slowly.

     Peter swallowed behind his mask, not sure if he wanted to ask for clarification or not. He gave in after a second though, following the older man close behind. “.....Seen..?”

     “The Green.” He responded, suddenly kicking in the door. The solid metal collapsed under the force of his combat boot, and Spider-man was pleasantly surprised to feel that warning shiver go down his spine. His sixth sense was once again warning him that Red Hood- Jason - was dangerous.

     Spider-man followed Red Hood inside without question, pulling himself up onto the low ceiling the moment he could. Despite the building being condemned, he immediately noticed that the air conditioning was still running. Someone was paying for the utilities- likely someone who worked for the city.

     “Yeah, I’ve seen it-” The young vigilante huffed, crawling above Red Hood. They both moved quickly through the hallway, with the man on the floor peering into the rooms while the teen above disabled security cameras. “But is right now really the best time to be having a therapy session for me–”

     “I was gonna explain this shit to you tonight even if we didn’t go out on patrol-” Red Hood snorted, clearing another room with a quick glance. “So really, it’s your own fault that we’re doing this here .”

     “How comforting.” Spider-man said dryly, obviously not amused or looking forward to the rest of the conversation. “So what- the Green is what’s making me so emotional?”

     “I’m sure you were already emotional, Webs.” The man joked, getting to a stairwell. While Red Hood made his way up the flights to the second floor on foot, Spider-man climbed between the railings to get up quicker, using his webs to aid in his ascent. “But yeah, it’s making you more emotionally sensitive. I’m assuming that you used to not get overwhelmed as easily as you do now?”

     “Kinda.” Spider-man shrugged, kicking open the second floor’s entrance door and attaching himself to the wall, crouched and staring sideways down the dark corridor. “These guys can afford air conditioning and security cameras but not lights?” He joked.

     Red Hood hummed. “Quit trying to change the subject.” The man chastised playfully, starting down one direction. Spider-man followed without question. Like the first floor, the pair cleared rooms and took out security cameras. “Your mind has been altered permanently, Webs. There isn’t really a cure for Pit Madness.”

     “Pit Madness ?” Spider-man huffed, a bit offended. He was not mad , or insane . He was just more sensitive. “That’s a cheerful term, who made it up?”

     “Dunno. I was taught about it by some old fucker in the Himilayas.” The eye roll was once again audible, and Peter smiled a bit under his mask. “But that’s what it’s called by anyone who knows about it, so get used to it.”

     “Sure, sure. So-” Spider-man pulled himself quickly down the hall like a slingshot using his webs, crushing a camera under his boot at the other end. “If there’s no cure, then what am I supposed to do about it?”

     “Well, you’ve got a few options.” The man sounded teasingly enthusiastic. “You could pussy out, quit being a vigilante. Stress tends to make it worse, so staying in this line of work is only gonna make everything harder.”

     “Pff-” Spider-man snickered. “Good luck getting me to stop, Red Hood. I’m only getting started!”

     “That’s what I thought you’d say.” The man huffed out a laugh, meeting Spider-man at the end of the hall after quickly clearing the final room. The duo turned and continued the routine in the next corridor. “So your other option–”

     “Pills?” Spider-man joked, feigning enthusiasm.

     “Is to embrace it.” Red Hood did not miss a beat, even with Spider-man’s interruption. “You can do what I did, and learn to use the Green to your advantage.”

     “..Lemme get this straight-” Spider-man huffed, dropping down from the ceiling in front of Red Hood, stopping the man in his tracks. He had his hands on his hips, a skeptical glare, and an obvious frown in his voice. “You want me to use something that stresses me out and makes me run away to another state , to my advantage ?” He clarified, emphasizing how crazy it sounded.

     “Exactly.” Red Hood snickered, patting Spider-man’s shoulder and slipping past him. “I do it, and I turned out great.”

     “You’re the only one in the family who uses guns, and you actually kill people.” Spider-man deadpanned, but turned and followed him after a second of being dazed by how crazy everything still sounded.

     “ Now you’re getting it, Webs.” The man had a smile in his voice, one that only confused Peter further. They stopped when they got to the stairwell once more, where Red Hood turned to face Spider-man. “Things are hard for you because you’re fighting the Pit with all of your energy. It’s wearing you thin.”

     “Well, yeah.” Spider-man shrugged. “I don’t wanna give into it.”

     “Why not?”

     “Because it’s not right.”

     Red Hood paused for a few seconds, letting the words fill the corridor behind them. “...And what makes it not right?”

     “...Morals?” Spider-man said, once again sounding unsure.

     “So, by that logic, you’re saying that I don’t have morals.”

     The alarms in Peter’s mind immediately went off, and he raised his hands in defense. “Wh- no, I didn’t mean it like that –”

     “Spidey-” Red Hood snickered, shaking his head and crossing his arms. “ Relax, dude. I know what you meant.”

     The teen sighed in relief, letting his shoulders drop. “...You’re such an asshole, Red.”

     “Mhm. That’s my job as a certified older brother.” He chuckled, turning and entering the stairwell to go up to the third floor. His words had once again made Spider-man short-circuit. Did… did he mean it in a general sense, or was he calling himself Peter’s older brother? Either way, it made the teen’s chest grow fond as he moved to follow him up once more.

     “...So, what you’re telling me is that I need to… relax?”

     “Kinda.” Red Hood said, busting down the door and entering the third floor hallways. Upon seeing no immediate signs of life or criminal activity, he cursed under his breath. “ Of course these bastards are on the top floor… ”

     Spider-man stayed silent for a bit, waiting for more elaboration as they began clearing the third floor.

     “...You gotta learn to bargain with it, but not in a literal sense.” Red Hood was quick to clarify, not wanting the teen to take his metaphor entirely seriously. “Give in a little bit, and it’ll lay off.”

     “...The last time I gave into it, I ended up on top of a crane, Red Hood.” Spider-man sighed, not looking forward to listening to the green again.

     “No, you ended up on top of a crane because you’ve been fighting it for so long.” Red Hood tried explaining, even if he knew that it did not make much sense. “From the beginning of your second life, the green has been there; even if you haven’t noticed it.”

     “Okay? And?”

     “From the beginning, it’s been wanting you to give in. Let loose, and stop pulling your punches.”

     Spider-man frowned. “...But it hasn’t been here the entire time. It’s only become a recent thing.”

     “...Tell me about that first day you spent with Dick.”

     The teen paused into silence as he took out two more security cameras. He mentally noted that both of them were different from the ones on the lower floors. He realized quickly that the previous cameras had been decoys, and that these were the real ones.

     “...Well, we hung out at the Manor. We ran around outside a bit, and then you came home, so we came back inside to see you.” He huffed. “I don’t understand how this is relevant.”

     “When you ran, did you hold back? Did you keep yourself slow?”

     “...Kind of. At first, at least. I uh, kinda let loose the more I trusted him. But he’s easy to trust.” Spider-man smiled a bit, thinking back to that day. Things were so much easier then.

     “You let loose . You allowed yourself to express your immense power, Webs.” Red Hood explained. “You didn’t fight it, so it stayed calm. But then …”

     “...I started doing vigilante work again.” The teen said quietly, realization dawned on him. “....But- Red Hood, I have to fight it if I’m Spider-man. I don’t wanna hurt people-”

     “Batman hurts people everyday, so do I. Do you think that makes us bad people?”

     “B is questionable.” Spider-man frowned, pettiness settling into his tone. “....But no. You aren’t bad people.”

     “Even if I’ve killed?”

     “Yeah, even if you’ve killed.”

     The fourth floor of the building was different from the first three. Firstly, it actually had lights . The hallways were illuminated with corporate LEDs that made everything too artificially bright. The vigilantes could more clearly see the peeling yellow wallpaper and the concrete gray floors.

     Secondly, the doors were all metal. Previously, every room that Red Hood had looked into had a wooden door, usually off of its hinges or bearing large holes. Now, they were all shiny, and locked tight.

     Finally, there was an overwhelming smell of rot . It made Spider-man wrinkle his nose in disgust, and even Red Hood made a low comment about breathing through his mouth. The two did not need to exchange a glance to know that they would find everything here.

     Mentally Spider-man braced for a fight. His brain worked a mile a minute, estimating the size of the rooms and hallways to later work out mid-battle trajectories. His pre-fight assessments had been crucial in the past, and he would be damned if he stopped doing them now. Usually, he would have Karen in his ear to aid him. Not this time.

     “I don’t want you pulling punches, Peter.” Red Hood said, only loud enough to be picked up by the comm microphone. The use of his actual name made the teen bristle, looking down at Red Hood from above with obvious uncertainty. He was met by the stony assurance of Red Hood’s helmet. “I mean it. Let loose, dude. You’ll understand what I mean.”

     Despite the moral dilemma, and his own personal qualms, Peter nodded quietly. Satisfied with his compliance, Red Hood waved him down off the ceiling, and the two advanced on foot.

     For the first few minutes, the duo were silently searching rooms. Red Hood provided a short description of the things they were needing, and the people they would likely encounter, all so Spider-man was not completely blind. The teen appreciated the transparency from the older vigilante.

     When the first few rooms were empty apartments, holding nothing of importance, Red Hood made a low noise of discontent. Wordlessly, the two moved on to the next corridor. When it was revealed as empty, it only ticked Red Hood off further.

     Spider-man, noticing the annoyance, decided to take the lead. “Relax, Red Hood. If the building is empty, then we can track them using their shipments, right? Isn’t that what you did before?” He hummed, peeking into a small studio apartment that still had a wooden bed frame inside, which was withering with age. “Besides, everyone makes mistakes. Maybe you tracked them wrong?”

     “ Red Robin , doesn’t make mistakes. He found this place for me.” Red Hood admitted with a huff, carefully pushing past Peter to retake the lead. Spider-man stared at Red Hood’s back with surprise. Of course, he had known Jason had help from one of the Bats, but he had not expected it to be Tim .

     It made sense. There was no denying how smart that the teen was. He’s pretty sure he once read online that Batman called Red Robin the world’s greatest detective.

     “...So maybe they’re not home.” Spider-man said, matching his pace with Red Hood’s once more as they explored. “Makes our job easier, right?”

     “They wouldn’t leave everything unattended.” Red Hood huffed.

     “Lunch break, then?-”

     Their banter was suddenly cut off by gunfire and flying bullets, and Spider-man’s sixth sense took over. His body moved on its own, first side stepping and ducking backwards to avoid the flying metal that had been aimed at his neck. He twisted and turned around the ammunition, falling into a roll that ended with his feet flat against the wall, which he used to quickly pull and crawl up.

     In the haze of it all, he had shot out a line of webs that connected to Red Hood’s jacket and yanked . The man was pulled back suddenly, stumbling on his own feet in surprise at Spider-man’s display of raw strength. Within seconds, the two were rounding a corner together, narrowly avoiding the spray.

     “I’m gonna assume that that’s from those goons–” Spider-man huffed, back pressed against the wall. The sound of shouting and footsteps joined the continued gunfire, and he knew that they had to move. Red Hood had the same revelation, grabbing the younger vigilante’s wrist and pulling them both out of their stupor.

     The pair ran down the hallway, and Red Hood pulled them both into the first room on their left. The empty apartment was dark, and it took Peter a second or two to adjust to the new lighting. When he did though, he very quickly realized that the room was not empty.

     The floor was lined with suitcases, leaving only a thin walkway for someone to navigate the room. Each suitcase was filled with meticulously wrapped… things. It took no genius to figure that they were packages of drugs. Based on the shape and size, he had to guess something powdered.

     “ Cocaine. ” he whispered, looking down at the sheer amount. And this was only one room- how many more on the fourth floor were filled up like this? Was this what the kids were being blackmailed for?

     “Yeah, and a shit ton of it.” Red Hood glared around the room, having activated the night vision on his helmet. “...Oracle, call the cops. I’m sending you the address via cell.” Red Hood huffed, quickly pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and texting the information.

     Spider-man bristled, that danger sense going off once more. “Red Hood, get down!!-” he shouted, using his webs to once again yank the man out of the way. Just in time, too. As Red Hood collided with Spider-man in a pile of limbs and shouting, gunfire filled the space that he had just been standing.

     “Shit- Red-” Spider-man coughed, untangling himself as fast as possible from their pile on the floor. After being freed, he pulled himself up onto the ceiling, crouching upside down and looking down to the vigilante. “You okay??-”

     “Just peachy–” He could hear the glare in Jason’s voice, and promptly decided to shut up. “C’mon, Webs. No more running. It’s now or never.”

     For a few short moments, Spider-man shut his eyes tight. He felt himself breathe, relishing in the slow rise and fall of his chest. In reality, he only stayed like that for less than a second, but it felt like centuries.

     When his eyes opened, he sprung into action in a rush of Green. The hellish color filled his vision as he moved at insane speeds, crawling along the ceiling, flipping around, and dropping down on top of a man wearing a heavy black suit.

     The impact told Spider-man that the man had on some sort of body armor underneath his clothes, but that information was pocketed while he wrapped his legs around the man’s neck. Now, in the position of riding his shoulders, he threw his body weight back as hard as possible. The man let out a startled yelp as he was pulled backwards to the ground. Spider-man released his leg-hold as he fell into a half back handspring to stick his landing.

     A few feet away, Red Hood had ambushed two goons at once, holding one in a one-armed headlock and shooting an unnecessary amount of bullets at the other. One faced the impact of flying ammunition while the other lost air rapidly, trying to fight back in a panic. But Red Hood was strong .

     Courtesy of the Pit, Spider-man thought as he disarmed two men still standing in the doorway by webbing up their guns’ barrels. Confused by the sudden lack of gunfire, the two suited figures abandoned the guns in favor of pulling knives from hidden compartments in their jackets.

     Spider-man approached at breakneck speed, vaulting off of the walls in a zig-zagging pattern. It shook the goons enough to make their accuracy falter, which was his exact intention. When he got close enough, the two started stabbing and slicing, but were too frazzled by the young vigilante’s sporadic movements to land a good blow.

     Using the momentum and height he gained, Spider-man came down on the first suited figure with bent knees that collided with his shoulders, forcing the man to fall down. He rolled over his head once he made impact with the floor, using that moment to also shoot webs onto the fallen man’s chest. They connected firmly, and once Spider-man had rolled into his crouch, he pulled .

     The man was lifted off of the floor in a short arch, and the momentum of Spider-man’s acrobatics caused him to fly through the air over the vigilante's head. He screamed with panic as he collided with the other suited figure. The entire maneuver lasted less than six seconds, and once the goons had collided and fallen, Spider-man finished the confrontation by webbing them both to the ground in a tangled pile of limbs.

     The alarms rang in his ears and spine as his sixth sense alerted him of more danger, and the young vigilante fell back into the fray as more suited goons appeared in the doorway.

     When Robin went on patrol, he went alone. Despite Batman’s orders to stay put in the Manor for the night, the young boy found himself defying him. The little act of rebellion came with reason, of course. He had been intending on listening to his father, but then he got a text.

     Damian, Jason

Jason ; Feel like apologizing to Peter?

Jason ; Address Attached

Jason ; Don’t get followed.

     Who was Damian to pass up an opportunity like this? A quick trip down to the Batcomputer, while narrowly avoiding being caught by Alfred, showed the map of the city. Red Hood’s tracker was online, and in the exact location that Jason had texted him. This was no trick, or prank. This was a real, honest chance.

     Robin was out of the Batcave in minutes, riding a motorcycle that definitely belonged to Spoiler. If it’s purple color was not the dead give away, it was the fake license plate that literally said SP01L3R. He cared not for his mode of transportation, though. He had a destination, and planned to be there in record time.

     When Robin arrived at the building fifteen minutes later (after running every red light and nearly hitting a fire hydrant) , he was surprised to find the door already busted in. Stepping inside revealed the sounds of gunfire coming from the floors above, and he did not hesitate to find the stairwell and run up. He went until the gunfire was as clear as day, which landed him on the topmost floor.

     Upon stepping into the hallway, birdarangs nestled comfortably between his gloved fingers, he was immediately made aware of the chaos that had ensued. Gunfire mixed with the sound of screams of terror, as people shouted and cursed.

     “What the fuck is that thing??-” An unknown voice shouted, obviously fearful. He was, however, cut off by a gruesome crunch that reverberated in the halls, mixing with his blood curdling scream. Robin followed the noise, rounding a corner.

     Bullet holes lined the walls. Above, a light flickered, glass shattered from a stray bullet. Halfway down the hall, a door opened into a dark room. Someone inside screamed, and within seconds, a suited person tried running out of the room. He only made it two steps out before a line of spider webs attached to his back, dragging him back in. The look of fear in his eyes would have been enough to shake anyone else in Robin’s family. Not him.

     He approached the room, stepping over shards of glass, bullet shells, pools of blood, and abandoned weapons covered in webs. Robin took two breaths, steadying himself out. He shifted the sharp weapons in his hands before ducking into the room, leaning against the short entrance hall’s wall as he looked around. The darkvision in his mask activated automatically, mixing with the light of the hallway and giving him a clear view of the carnage before himself.

     At least ten people were laid out in various spots in the room, folded over suitcases or leaned against the walls that were peeling with age. All of them had some sort of webbing on them, trapping them in place or preventing them from using their mouths. One man even had his hands webbed to the wall above his head, looking close to some sort of medieval prisoner in that position.

     Packages of white powder, previously in the suitcases, were now strewn about the floor in chaos. The powder, which Damian could only assume was a drug, had been partially destroyed in some cases. There was still plenty to be used as evidence and taken by the police, but the damaged packages were concerning in the immediate moment. It was like someone had unintentionally torn into them in the chaos of the fight, which seems to have just ended.

     The sole object of Robin’s focus though, was Spider-man.

     The teenage vigilante stood in the center of the room, back to back with Red Hood, with his hands raised. It was like he was ready to shoot out more webs, or even swing on someone, even if all of the criminals had already been disabled and disarmed. There was something about his stance, and the tensity in his shoulders, that was familiar to Damian. It reminded him of Jason, who was right behind the teen in a similar position.

     They both breathed heavy breaths, finding their own centers in the afterglow of the battle. This Spider-man looked nothing like the one that he had previously observed. This Spider-man was not gentle, or excited, or carefree.

     This Spider-man was deadly.

     “...Robin.” Red Hood’s smirk bled into his voice, and the man looked over to face the younger vigilante. He dropped his own hands, which each held a pistol, and huffed out a chuckle. “Took you long enough. I was hoping you’d help finish the fight, but I guess we didn’t need the backup after all.” The man shrugged.

     When Spider-man turned to look at Robin, that tensity did not leave his shoulders. He did not relax like Red Hood had. There was no fondness in his posture, and it was like he was looking at another enemy.

     But then Spider-man blinked, and came back to the present.

     That overwhelming Green had pulled back from Peter’s vision. In the haze of the fight, he could recall essentially everything having a green filter in his vision. It had taken over, he had given in. Looking around, with only his eyes, he assessed the damage that he had caused.

     Packages of cocaine had been torn in the frenzy, either by himself or by those that tried to run. People were unconscious, webbed to the floor and walls. Each of them had some sort of major injury- a broken jaw, a dislocated shoulder, or a necklace of webbing that restricted their airflow enough to keep them dizzy and incoherent. He did that.

     And it felt good. He tried not to dwell on what that meant for his future battles.

     “...Spider-man.” Robin said calmly, greeting the teen. Despite the forced calmness, there was still a tremble in the back of his throat. He had no clue what was going on in Peter’s mind, let alone how he was feeling emotionally. He was prepared to treat this entire encounter with utmost care.

     The teen stared at Robin for an impossible amount of time. It did not take long for the air to grow thick with awkward tension once more.

     But then he reached up and pulled off his mask. The familiar green eyes of Peter connected with Robin’s domino mask, and it was like he was an entirely different person. Spider-man was tense, cautious, and deadly. But Peter was longing, nervous, and relieved. Relieved to see Damian.

     The young boy followed suit, tugging off the domino mask. His lips pressed into a tight line as he forced himself to stay quiet, afraid of ruining this. He would hate for Peter to run again; he would never forgive himself.

     But Peter did not run. Instead, he took one step, and then another, until he was only three feet from Damian. He looked down at the boy who looked right back up at him. Damian hesitated, and then opened his mouth to speak. He was unsure of what he would even say- an apology, or perhaps even another greeting. But he had no chance to even start , because within a second he was wrapped in the tight arms of Peter Parker.

     Damian could not resist melting in his arms, inhaling sharply to prevent himself from holding his breath in shock. He clung onto Peter just as tightly, green gloves digging into the Spider Armor’s golden spine like it was a lifeline.

     “ I’m so sorry, Peter– ” Damian said in a shaky mumble, face burning an imprint into the collarbone and shoulder of the other vigilante’s costume. “ I’m so sorry– ”

     “I-I’m sorry too, Damian- I shouldn’t have ran–” Peter stuttered, lowering down onto his knees until both him and the boy were on the ground, still clinging to each other. “I was just- I was so overwhelmed , a-and I felt like I had no choice–”

     “Shut up, none of this is your fault–” Damian demanded, an intensity rising in his voice. He pulled back to glare at Peter, green eyes locking onto green “We handled everything so poorly , and the moment we knew that you were a vigilante, we should have said something–” The boy sniffled, blinking away tears. “I wanted to tell you-”

     “I know you did, Dami. I know.” Peter reassured quietly, pressing a firm hand into the boy’s back to hold him in place. “I forgive you, I promise. For all of it.”

     The noise that Damian made in response to that made Peter’s heart falter. He pulled back a bit more to look the boy in the face, throwing on one of his award-winning Spider-man smiles. “...Just.. Y’know, don’t throw sharp things at me anymore. That’s how you can atone, or whatever.”

     Damian stared at Peter with tight lips and a small glare, before pulling him back in and continuing the embrace. The teen had never known Damian to be so clingy, and he was pleasantly surprised. This must mean that the boy really was sorry, and really was serious.

     “ Come home. ”

     If not for his enhanced hearing, Peter might not have heard it. The statement had him at a loss for words, staring at the empty doorway behind Damian and out into the lit hallway. He… really wanted for Peter to come back to the Manor.

     The earlier conversation with Duke came to mind. He wanted Peter to come back, too. So did Cass, if that hug had meant anything special.

     Jason’s words also crossed his mind. “We’re staying here until you’re ready to go back to the Manor.”

     Peter swallowed uncertainly, but did not allow his hold on the younger boy to falter. Questions and probabilities cranked through his mind, which worked like a factory. Every possible outcome presented itself. The more he thought, the more he figured that going back would be a terrible idea.

     But Duke and Cass had not been mad. Damian was not mad. Jason was not mad.

     As for the unaccounted family members, he doubted that Dick would be mad. He’d probably be one of the most relieved ones to have Peter in the safety of the Manor once more. He was an older brother type, always worrying about those around him. Now he understood where Jason got all of those brotherly urges from. He had a good role model in Dick.

     Stephanie would probably be delighted to have Peter back at the Manor, not that she even lived there permanently. She would celebrate his return with a visit of her own, where they’d play Mario Kart until their thumbs no longer functioned. She’d make a silly comment about how it’s been ages since they’ve seen each other, voice laced with fondness and worry.

     Tim would greet Peter with anxiety and relief upon seeing him return in one piece. The teen was always one to worry, and Peter had no doubt that the boy had been tremendous in the efforts to find him. Regardless of their past transgressions, Tim cared about Peter.

     Alfred would bombard Peter with food, careful questions, and an appraising eye that would search for any injuries he had sustained. Of course, there would be none. Jason had already taken care of as much as he could, and with Peter’s healing factor, there was barely a bruise left on his skin. Still, the old man would worry over Peter like a mother hen, wrapping his ribs in unneeded bandages and giving him plenty of warm drinks to nurse his throat. He would give Peter the fondest of smiles and the quietest of words, maybe even quieter than Cass. His appreciation of his presence would be obvious in how doting he would be.

     And Bruce…

     Bruce would apologize. In his own, weird, emotionally absent way, he would apologize. The man would not leave any stone unturned, probably one to overanalyze something as simple as an I’m Sorry. But he would apologize. That was something that Peter was certain about.

     Why am I even afraid to go home?

     Home?

     Is that what I’m calling the Manor now?

     Peter tightened his grip on Damian, who tightened his own in earnest. He cast a glance back at Jason, who had taken off both his helmet and the domino mask that he wore underneath. Calm Green met Calm Green, and he did not need a verbal confirmation of the decision to be made.

     “...Yeah, okay.” Peter said with a weak smile and a crack in his voice. The tears were starting to catch up to him. He cleared his throat, but it did no good in masking the emotion in his voice. The relief . “...Take me home, Damian.”

     The ride back to Wayne Manor was quiet. Robin and Red Hood rode on their respective motorcycles, one in front of the other as they ran redlights and skidded around corners. They disobeyed traffic laws like it was a birthright- and as a Wayne child, it kind of was.

     Overhead, Spider-man swung freely through the city, following the duo as they neared the bridge to Bristol. He did flips in the air, ran across windows, and lept from building to building in order to keep pace. He never lost sight of the two, but even if he had, he had no worries that they would slow down to allow him to catch up.

     When they got to the short bridge leading to the richer part of Gotham, Spider-man dropped down from the large metal supports. He landed on the back of Red Hood’s motorcycle, but the sudden added weight did nothing for the expert driver’s balance and control. Spider-man attached himself to the bike using his sticky tendency, and tried to calm his racing heart for the rest of the ride.

     The short two minutes that it took to get from the bridge to the back of the Wayne property, Peter tried not to fall into his head, He knew that was a dangerous place, infested with a Green that he had only just learned to appease. He feared that falling back in would only aggravate the Pit Madness once more.

     So instead of falling into his emotions, he fell into his memories of home. He thought of the kitchen that always smelled so delicious, as the person inside was a master at their craft. He thought of the green grass outside, that had been perfect to run around on. He thought about the room with the old gaming console, booted up and ready to play with his friends.

     The images of the Manor comforted his heart in a way that he thought they never could. He was eager to get back into its dark yet comforting walls.

     When the bikes descended the hidden ramp into the underground tunnel that led to the Batcave, Peter’s previous anxieties were replaced by giddy excitement. He did not even wait for Jason to fully park the bike before climbing off. He ran up to the Batcomputer like it was the most natural thing in the world, looking up at the map of Gotham.

     Three trackers were still in the city- and he quickly guessed that they belonged to Batman (Bruce) , Black Bat (Cassandra) , and Nightwing (Dick) .

     “Can we call them home?” Peter asked, looking back down to Jason and Damian as they dismounted their bikes and once again peeled off their masks. The youngest Wayne frowned, not too keen on the idea. Jason seemed to share the sentiment.

     “Gotham needs Batman, just give him another few hours. Cass will come home on her own time.” Jason explained, joining Peter at the computer. He looked up at the screen with a smug smirk. “And Dick will go back to Bl üdhaven. He’ll figure it out and be pissed .”

     Peter deadpanned, rolling his eyes after another second. He couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face. “Of course you find that funny.”

     “Don’t worry, he’ll flock home soon enough when he figures out that you’re here.” Jason hummed, sticking his hands in his pockets with a relaxed smirk as he watched the trackers travel across the map.

     The teen stared at Jason for a few moments before sighing with a little smile, leaving the platform to join Damian near the staircase up. “You’re a lot like him, y’know.”

     “Like who?” Jason asked, still watching the trackers.

     Peter’s smile widened as he looked back at Jason over his shoulder, watching the man for a few moments before responding. “Your brother.” With that, Peter took Damian’s hand, and allowed the youngest Wayne son to lead him up into the main house. The pair left a frozen Jason in the cave, who was letting Peter’s words envelop him like a warm hug that melted his heart.

     Alfred Pennyworth was stirred from his rest at two in the morning by a quiet knocking on his door. The man lifted from his bed, frowning. This was odd behavior coming from the residents of the Manor. Usually, if someone needed something after patrol, they would wake him up without a knock or hesitation.

     The man exercised a bit of caution as he approached his door, rubbing his eyes before pulling it open. He was surprised to look down and see Damian Wayne, still in his Robin outfit. That was.. Immediately concerning, considering Bruce had directed the boy not to go out.

     “...Master Damian. May I ask why you’re in your uniform and not in bed?” He raised a pointed brow, the smell of teenage spirit and rebellion thick in the hallway.

     Damian’s smile only seemed to grow into a smirk as he placed his hands on his hips. “I’ve returned with precious cargo. Jason and I would like for you to examine it, please.”

     “...Precious cargo.” Alfred repeated carefully, hoping to put across just how senseless the boy was sounding. “Master Damian, have you hit your head? What precious cargo are you referring to?”

     “It’s in the kitchen. Jason’s in the process of making it an omelet, I think.”

     The butler paused as Damian turned and walked down the hall toward the stairs, radiating pride and smugness. It took a few moments for the older man’s still waking brain to fully compute the young Master’s words. However, once he had, he was hastily leaving his room to join Damian downstairs, the door still left ajar, as he had been too rushed to fully close it.

     The trip downstairs felt like it lasted a millenia, as anticipation caused sweat to form on his brow. If Damian was referring to who he thought he was referring to, then Alfred may just have to consider persuading Bruce into getting that tarantula the boy had always wanted. When he got to the first floor, he stood a few feet away from the kitchen’s entrance, listening in on the conversation being had.

     “Did you butter the pan?”

     “Shit, you’re supposed to do that?”

     “Wh- of course you’re supposed to butter it, you idiot–”

     The laughter that mixed with the two voices simultaneously made Alfred’s heart swell and pinch. He carefully stepped toward and through the threshold, swallowing his doubts as he glanced around the space.

     Standing at the stove, Jason Todd hastily moved a stainless steel skillet from a lit burner to an empty one, removing it from the heat. The smell of eggs both sizzling and burning filled the room. He looked a bit nervous, obviously a bit shabby in the means of preparing breakfast foods.

     Nearby, Damian was reading out of one of Alfred’s many cook books. This one was an older one, and the boy was glaring at the pages as he berated Jason for starting without him. Apparently, they had wanted to cook together, but the older Wayne son was too eager to start.

     In the breakfast nook, settled into a corner and typing on his red cell phone, was a lanky boy with semi-curly brown hair that housed a white streak near his hairline. His big green eyes looked tired, but content, as he looked down at the screen. A little smile was displayed on his face. The Spider Armor had conformed comfortably to his figure, allowing him to fold into the corner of the bench seat and the wall.

     “...Peter.” He said breathlessly, staring at the teen, who looked up when his name was said. He paused upon spotting Alfred, eyes widening just a bit. The two stared for a long few seconds while the two Wayne sons continued to bicker, before Peter launched himself out of the booth and at Alfred, who did not hesitate to envelope him in the grandest of hugs.

     “By God,” Alfred sighed, taking in the feeling of holding the teen so close. Peter stuck to the man like glue, arms around his shoulders tight. “You’re really home.”

     Peter sniffled, and Alfred could feel his smile. “Yeah, I’m home.”

     “Master Peter,” Alfred fretted quietly, pulling away to look at the teen’s face. “Please, allow me to check you for any injuries. I have no doubt in Master Jason’s care, but it would ease my heart to know for myself.”

     The teen smiled, nodding in compliance. “..Sounds good to me, Alf.” He paused, hesitating, before his smile became sheepish. “... Master Peter..?”

     “Why, of course. The Manor is your home , making you one of the many Young Masters.” Alfred sighed with a chuckle, ushering the boy to sit at the kitchen island. He chose to ignore the continuous smell of burning eggs coming from the stove, where Damian and Jason continued to bicker loudly. “I should have used the title for you much sooner, really.”

     Peter snickered, shaking his head and hopping up to sit on the island counter. “..Whatever you say, Alfred.” He hummed, content. “...I am really hungry, though, so let’s make this quick.” He joked, winking at the older man, who just chuckled in response.

     “Of course, Master Peter.”

Chapter Text

     Insomnia is something that Tim Drake had always been familiar with. He could recall nights from his childhood, alone in that big empty house, restlessly staring at the ceiling for hours on end. Sleep never came easy to him. Maybe it was his anxieties of his mother and father never returning from their endlessly long trips out of the country. Perhaps even, it was the stress of knowing he was not and would never be enough for them.

     Nowadays, he worried about other things when sleep evaded him. Instead of his former parents, he would worry about his new family. The new family that cared, so he had obviously cared, too. He worried about Bruce, and if the man was putting too much on his own shoulders. He worried about Dick, and about that persistent smile. He worried about Jason, and just how much more the man would take before inevitably leaving again. He worried about Alfred, who put in so much effort for this family. He worried about Cassandra, and if he was doing enough to keep her loved and welcomed. He worried about Stephanie, and about what would happen if her father ever returned. He worried about Duke, and if being the primary daytime defender at such a young age was causing too much stress. He worried about Barbara, and how she really felt about having Batgirl taken from her all those years ago.

     He even worried about Peter.

     All of the unanswered questions left a pit of nausea in his stomach. It had him tossing and turning, mentally pleading for sleep to take him so that he would not have to face the world anymore. How could he face the world when he had been so cruel?

     His accusations against Tony Stark were never baseless, but now he could see just how senseless that they were. Not only had he driven a rift between himself and Peter, but between the family and Peter. Of course he blamed himself for his running.

     And when Jason found him on top of that crane? Tim thought that his heart may have stopped. 

     So on nights like this, where visions of Peter, the Joker, and his Parents infested the corners of his dark room, he did anything to distract himself.

     Escaping his suffocatingly dark bedroom had been the first step. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, sock-covered feet hitting the ground silently. He stood, swiped his cellphone and thermos of cold coffee off of the night stand, and left the bedroom, leaving his door slightly ajar. Anyone who would walk by would know that he was somewhere else.

     Jason had said that he was taking Peter home, but he never specified which home. He was not stupid; he knew Jason would not bring him to the Manor. Not yet, at least. Peter was far too fragile at the moment to be put back in the very place he had run from.

     Despite knowing that the teen would be safe with Jason, part of him still held an intense worry. It made his heart clench and his eyes water. He wanted to make sure that Peter was okay. He wanted to be there for him. He wanted to help.

     That’s all he had ever wanted to do, really. Help.

     The teen’s feet moved on their own, directing him down stairs and halls and through hidden doors until he was entering the Batcave. A quick glance around told him that the space was empty. Looking up to the Batcomputer’s biggest monitor revealed that Bruce, Stephanie, Dick, and Damian were all out. Barbara was safe and sound in her own apartment, while everyone else’s trackers sat stagnant on top of Wayne Manor.

     Jason’s tracker was absent. He must have turned it off to avoid being followed. As smart as the decision was, considering the goal was to not overwhelm Peter, Tim still felt bitter. How could he help if he could not even get to Peter?

     Tim sank into the rolling chair at the Batcomputer’s long desk, letting his head fall into his hands. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to stop them from watering anymore. Crying would do him no good.

     The morning that they discovered Peter had left, the entire family had been a wreck. Jason, Duke, and Damian wanted to go out and search immediately. Cass and Steph had worried endlessly, but the blonde had also been worried about the events of the day. They were supposed to introduce Peter to Gotham- he was supposed to publicly join the family. There were hundreds of guests and dozens of reporters all coming to the Manor that same day, what were they supposed to do?

     Jason and Dick were able to get out of Gala duty in favor of investigating Peter’s disappearance. Cass, even after being instructed to stay at the Manor, went with the brothers anyway. Stephanie and Duke made pleasant appearances and conversation for as long as possible during the event, but eventually excused themselves to go to bed . Tim knew better; he knew that they left to go search with the others.

     Tim and Damian were left to make face for the sake of the Wayne family name under their father’s watchful gaze. Too many children of his missing from the Gala meant that the two remaining had to be on their best behavior.

     The hours were hell. The family searched with a fervor Tim had grown too familiar with over the years. With the revelation of Karen downloading itself to the Batcomputer’s systems, and the even more horrifying reality that Peter had left her, finding him only became more urgent.

     Despite his intense worry, and his desire to help, he felt useless. Tim Drake felt like he had no solid way to fully assist in the rescue. When they spotted Peter swinging through New York like a madman, and Jason volunteered immediately to retrieve him, no one could find the words to offer help. It was a mission that Jason conducted alone, and it had gone successfully.

     Peter was still gone though; at least, gone from the protective blanket that the Manor offered. He was somewhere with Jason, and he was there for the foreseeable future. That’s what Cassandra had said when Tim asked.

     Tim broke down, but it was only one of many breakdowns that had happened during the last few days.

     So, in his eagerness to help, but his lack of context or understanding of the full situation, Tim looked for something that would make him useful. That was all that he could do.

     The crushed hearing aid sat alone on a nearby workbench, situated closer to the technical side of the Cave. There were machines, trinkets, and other various devices all lined up on shelves and racks. The hearing aid found itself front and center, abandoned when it held no use in finding Peter.

     Tim sat up slowly in the rolling chair, rising to his feet a moment later and approaching the table. He looked down at the hearing aid, which had been crushed into uneven pieces with strange edges that made no structural sense.

     His hands had found a screwdriver before his mind had even fully been made up. The exhausted teen got to work with the intention of not stopping until someone made him. When Peter came home, whenever that may be- he would come home to an apology made of words and metal.

     Bruce was tired.

     Well, that was the understatement of the century. Sure, he was tired, but to a much more extreme level than most people would be able to function with. He had not slept since Peter left. His days were devoted to stalling the press after the Gala, and his nights to searching for his missing boy.

     His son.

     Once upon a time, Bruce told himself not to get attached. He told himself that taking in one more was a bad idea- it would only result in pain and heartache. The man had tried so desperately to trust himself, too. He tried so hard to keep at a safe distance.

     But Peter Parker, despite his strange behavior and shady secrets, fit right in with his children. He fit right into Bruce’s life . How could he have turned him away? All that he could have thought to do was keep Peter safe.

     And look where that landed them both. Bruce? Sleep deprived. Peter? Somewhere with Jason.

     At least being with Jason meant that Peter was safe. That was a blessing that Bruce was certain to not underestimate. He trusted his second oldest, and he knew that Jason would keep Peter secure and safe. Maybe even comfortable, considering the blossoming friendship between the two. The brotherhood .

     His patrol was going fine. Sure, he was definitely lacking sleep and focus, but the opportunity to track down and punch some low-level Riddler Worshippers alongside Nightwing and Black Bat was a welcome distraction from all of the issues happening within his family.

     When he got the beep in his ear signaling that someone had entered the cave, he thought nothing of it. Alfred could be cleaning, or maybe Tim or Damian woke up to get some extra work done. He had instructed them both to stay home- they needed rest. They were too stressed for their age, and the night off would be good for them.

     So he let the reminder that someone was in the Cave melt into the back of his mind.

     The warehouse that Batman, Black Bat, and Nightwing had found themselves in was unassuming. It was dusty, abandoned, and stacked with crates upon crates of nothing. Each box had been sprayed on the side with a purple or green question mark; an obvious sign of the Riddler’s presence.

     The case had been simple: locate the Riddler, return him to Arkham, punch some goons in the process. It was a plan put into words by Nightwing, which had made Black Bat giggle, and the tenseness in Batman’s shoulders unwind just a bit. The laid-back attitude of the Boy Wonder never failed to soothe him.

     However, it was only after a second, then third, then fourth beep went off in his ear did Bruce hesitate. He did a mental roll call of people who had access to the cave.

     Dick and Cassandra? Both at his sides. Duke? Asleep. Damian and Tim? Also asleep, he hoped. Alfred? Either cleaning or in bed. Stephanie? At her mother’s apartment. Barbara? At her own apartment.

     Jason and Peter? Unaccounted for. But even the unlikely possibility of it being them made Bruce’s stomach tighten. Had they come home? If they did, they chose now on purpose, knowing that he would be gone.

     How could he blame them, after everything he had done?

     Peter decided that omelets were best enjoyed under two conditions. The first was that they were made by someone else, preferably a friend or roommate. Someone who you trust and see often. Someone who knows just how many to make, even with your enhanced metabolism and strange topping requests.

     The second condition was that they were made with laughter. A little bit of sibling bickering never hurt, either. The quiet confrontation between Jason and Damian made Peter feel light, like observing them was a gift from the heavens themselves.

     He felt at Home.

     Alfred stepped in eventually, with a pinch to his brows that just screamed I’m not awake enough for this . With the help of the wiser adult, there was a large stack of omelets delivered to the breakfast nook in no time.

     Of course, it was hastily devoured by the three Wayne children. Peter consumed the majority, since he was still recovering from his impromptu trip of enlightenment. Jason and Damian had no complaints though, and were content to let the teen get his fill.

     “...Hey, I didn’t see Tim’s tracker on the screen downstairs. Is he home?” Peter looked up from his plate, swallowing down the remainder of the omelet in his mouth as he glanced between the brothers.

     Jason and Damian shared a glance, the younger of the two seeming to steel his nerves. “..Drake is in his room. He retired shortly before I went into the cave earlier.” Damian cleared his throat. “When I was preparing to find you and Jason.”

     Peter nodded, and set his fork down as he stood in one fluid motion. “That dude isn’t sleeping, let’s be serious. Does he know I’m home?” He tilted his head back, shutting his eyes for the following few seconds and relishing in the stretch of his neck.

     Jason was the one to respond with a huff and an amused chuckle. “By now? Absolutely. He’s got the security systems rigged to his phone. He probably got hella pings when we entered the cave.”

     Alfred hummed, approaching the table and gathering Peter’s finished dishware. “I recommend approaching with caution. Tim has been rather distraught.”

     “Me too.” Peter huffed, glancing down at the floor when he stopped stretching. “...It’ll be fine. We just.. We gotta talk. If I’m coming back for good-” Damian dropped his fork. “ Which I am– ” Peter’s clarification pulled a quiet sigh of relief from the boy. “I have some things I need to clear up with him.”

     “Makes sense.” Jason shrugged. “Don’t fight. Duke cherishes his beauty sleep.” He huffed out another chuckle, shaking his head as he stood to help Alfred clean up. “Dames, wanna help us while Peter goes and settles some emotional debts?”

     “I’d rather assist him.” Damian grumbled, glancing between Peter and Jason as he slid off of the bench seat. “...I do not trust Drake to not have a spiteful reaction to your return.”

     “I do.” Peter assured, giving Damian a small head tilt and a small but confident smile. “Relax, Dami. He’s sleep deprived, he can’t punch me that hard when he’s like this.”

     “You underestimate him.” Damian sighed heavily, but relented and joined Alfred and Jason in cleaning up the kitchen area. They had made quite the mess when trying to prepare the omelets before Alfred’s interference. “...Fine. But if he does anything stupid, I’m cutting his spine out.”

     “Sounds good to me, we can hang it up in my room as a trophy.” Peter said with a sarcastic smile, shaking his head and exiting the space.

     When Peter Parker had first arrived at Wayne Manor, he had found navigating the place a challenge. At least with Karen in his ear, he had a layout and GPS at his disposal. Thankfully though, the identical hallways had become second nature, even in his absence. It did not take long to land in front of the closed bedroom door.

     Peter took a quiet and deep breath, staring at the wood. He was almost waiting for something to happen: he had no doubts that Tim knew he was there. He had not silenced his footsteps, and if the teen did have access to the security systems, then the camera in the hallway would clearly picture him standing there. The standoff did not last long though, because he knocked after a few seconds.

     There was no noise from inside of the bedroom. Peter considered that Tim may be faking sleep to avoid this confrontation. The thought made him frown just a bit. Would this be a hard conversation? Absolutely. Was it needed, though? Of course. 

     “...Tim, I know you’re up.” Peter said quietly, glancing down the hall. He did not want to accidentally wake up Duke by being too loud. “Can we just… talk? Please?” He asked, lowering his voice ever so slightly. It made him sound more vulnerable and empathetic, and usually worked when talking to kids as Spider-man.

     The silence that followed spoke volumes. Peter could taste the thickness in the air, even being outside of the room. There was an unignorable buzz of tension in the air.

     “...Tim.” He tried again, knocking once more. “I wanna come home, but I can’t do that without clearing things up between us.” His voice stayed soft, and the genuine hush to his voice was Peter’s last attempt. “...I can’t live in a place where there’s no closure. You get that, right..?”

     Peter was not sure when Tim decided to open the door, or when Tim had climbed out of his bed, but about two minutes after Peter stopped talking, the door opened. Peter looked up from his Spider-man boots, gaze locking onto Tim.

     The teen looked rough . His hair was a greasy mess, and the bags under his eyes were deeper than the last time Peter had seen them. He had on nondescript black pajama pants, a wrinkled white t-shirt, and a studded black leather jacket covered in patches and loose threads. It was truly a sight to behold- Peter had always known Tim to at least somewhat care about his appearance. Of course, it being early in the morning could be a playing factor in Tim’s messy look.

     He could not judge the other teen. Tim looked about as rough as Peter had felt less than twenty-four hours ago. Hell, he still did not feel 100 percent. Regardless, he had come up here for a reason, and that reason was not to analyze Tim’s choice of pajamas.

     “...Can I come in? I don’t wanna wake anyone up.” Now that the door was open, and there were no more barriers, Peter resigned his voice to just above a whisper. No point in projecting when Tim was standing right in front of him now.

     It took a few seconds, but the Wayne nodded and opened the door more, stepping aside while Peter carefully stepped inside. He did not miss the way Tim glanced over the Spider Armor, or just over himself in general. The look was appraising and critical, looking for injuries or abnormalities.

     The moment Tim clicked the door shut, Peter grabbed him by the forearm and pulled him into a tight hug. The motion startled Tim, who was immediately stunned out of his exhausted stupor and into an anxious state of awareness.

     Peter did not relent, arms wrapped tightly around the other teen, and face deep in his shoulder. “....I missed you.” He managed to mumble into the leather that smelled suspiciously of hay.

     One second turned into two, and two into ten as Tim started trembling, before he raised his arms to wrap them around Peter’s middle. “...Yeah..” He mumbled in response, voice a bit watery. “...I’m a dumbass.”

     “We both are.” Peter huffed, squeezing Tim before slowly pulling away, giving the teen time to adjust before taking a small step back for distance. When he could see Tim’s face again, he was unsurprised to see watering eyes. “...But we’ll deal with it, right?”

     “...Yeah.” Tim huffed, bringing a hand up to wipe his eyes as a stupid smile fell on his face. “...We’ll deal with it. I’m… I’m glad that you’re home, Pete.”

     “Me too, Tim.” He smiled, relaxing infinitely when Tim did as well. Peter gravitated to the messy bed, which was proof that Tim had been laying down, and sat on the edge in a  criss-cross position. “I missed this big ass house. Jason’s pull-out couch was hurting my back.” He joked.

     “Which safe house were you at?” Tim asked, following Peter and sitting across from him, grabbing a pillow to rest in his lap and hold on to. “Barbara tried checking the cameras in them all.”

     “I don’t know, honestly. I didn’t recognize the address, or the neighborhood.” Peter shrugged, looking down at the deep red comforter. “Might be one he keeps to himself. Everyone needs alone time sometimes, right?”

     “In this family?” Tim huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, that would make sense.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his face and cringing when he felt how greasy it was. “...You’re.. Okay, right?” He asked hesitantly, blue eyes meeting Peter’s green ones. “After everything?”

     The teen hesitated to answer, glancing between Tim’s eyes and the comforter. “...As good as I can be at the moment. I’m sure it’ll hit me again later, but for now I’m good.”

     The honesty and melancholy made something in Tim’s chest clench.

     “...I know that you left for… a lot of reasons,” He huffed, glaring off to the side. “But I wanna apologize. I did and said a lot that I shouldn’t have; about you, and about Tony.”

     “Yeah, you did.” Peter agreed with a hum, watching as the teen across from him started to anxiously fidget with the pillow. Something festered in his chest at the reminder of Tim’s previous insinuations.

     “And I’m sure that a lot of what I said influenced your decision.” Tim continued.

     “It did.”

     “And I’m sorry.”

     “Okay.”

     “I’m gonna make it up to you, Pete. I swear.”

     “I believe you.”

     Tim looked up from the pillow, meeting his eyes once more. He had been expecting to find anger, annoyance, or even hatred in that green gaze. He had seen it before from Peter. Instead, he was greeted by a soft glare, and a challenge to stick to his words. Be genuine , that glare said. You swore it, so do it. Make it up to me.

     Tim swallowed, looking away and over to his desk. “...I uh, I can start with Karen.”

     The way Peter froze told Tim that this could be another mistake, but he committed to his words by standing up and crossing the room to his desk.

     “We found the broken hearing aid, and uh, we brought it home. I think Bruce wanted to try extracting information from it, but before we could even think of doing that, Karen had uploaded herself to the Batcomputer.” Tim explained, speaking fast in hopes that Peter would not interrupt him.

     “She helped us find you. She, uh, used cameras and information about places you used to go to, or people you might try to visit.” Tim explained, pulling open the wide desk drawer and grabbing a small red object. “And I figured, well, when you came back, you’d want to have her back.” He cleared his throat, looking down at the fixed hearing aid in his hand before turning to look at Peter. The expression on the teen’s face could only be described as dumbfounded.