Chapter Text
The world came back in flashes.
A drip.
A hum.
A ceiling fan slicing dim yellow light in slow circles above his head.
Then Peter bolts up.
his head is in pain.
God, pain.
Peter's body felt like someone had pulled out his bones and put them back in wrong. His head throbbed—deep and splitting, every pulse echoing behind his eyes. His nose was bleeding again. He tried to move, but a weight pushed gently against his shoulder.
"Don't."
Nightwing's voice. Low. Calm. The kind of calm that only came after too many close calls.
Peter blinked hard. The blur in front of him sharpened into Nightwing's face—mask still on, jaw set, hair messy from a long night. There were bags under his eyes.
"You're in Blüdhaven," Nightwing said. "My base."
Peter croaked, voice raw. "That supposed to make me feel safe or like I owe rent?"
A faint smirk twitched across Nightwing's mouth. "You're alive. Let's start there."
Peter tried to sit up again. His ribs protested. "I—Joker—is he—?"
"Locked down," Nightwing said. "Batman's interrogating him. Don't worry."
"I wasn't worried about him,"
Peter said, half-whisper. "I was worried about... me."
The silence stretched. Only the hum of a space heater filled the room—weak warmth against the bitter cold seeping through the concrete.
Outside, it was early morning. Gotham winter—gray light, biting frost, the kind of quiet that sounded like mourning.
And peter was still in mourning.
Nightwing leaned against the table beside the cot. He crossed his arms.
"You don't have to keep lying, you know," he said.
Peter blinked. "...What?"
Nightwing met his eyes. "Your not Milo Grayson."
Peter's blood ran cold.
"How—"
Nightwing raised a hand. "Tim's been connecting the dots for weeks. You weren't exactly subtle."
Peter's heart hammered. "Does Batman know?"
"Not yet," Nightwing said. "We wanted to talk to you first."
Peter looked away, throat tight. "Then talk."
Nightwing sighed. "We saw the livestream, Peter. We saw everything."
The words hit like ice. Peter's breath caught. His hands twitched against the blanket.
He felt like a kid again
"You shouldn't have been out there alone," Nightwing said. "You're still a kid."
"I'm Spider-Man," Peter snapped.
"I know" Nightwing said softly. “But youre still a person.”
"yeah well im not like a normal person or whatever you guys think—im more powerful." Peter said as he looked at nightwing straight in the eye.
The heater clicked off. The silence after was deafening.
He swallowed hard. "You don't get it. If I don't keep moving—if I stop for even a second—they come back. The dreams. The voices."
Nightwing's expression softened.
Peter kept going, voice breaking.
"I see them every night. I see the tower burning. I hear them screaming. And I wake up and I'm still here—but they're not. And every time I save someone in Gotham, it's like maybe I can earn staying alive one more day."
Nightwing didn't interrupt.
Peter's voice dropped to a whisper. "But I'm tired. So tired."
The door creaked open.
Tim stepped in—hoodie, dark circles, a thermos in one hand and worry in the other. Duke followed, quieter but just as watchful.
"You're awake," Tim said, exhaling. "Finally."
Peter gave him a weak glare. "You knew?"
Tim shrugged. "You were bleeding out in Nightwing's arms, dude. Secrets didn't seem like the priority."
Duke set down a tray of soup, gauze, water. "You should eat. You look like a ghost."
Peter stared at the tray. He didn't move.
Tim's tone softened. "You scared the hell out of us, not only us the city"
"Sorry," Peter muttered. "Didn't know my near-death experiences had a fan club."
Duke raised a brow. "They do now. Membership's three people and a really pissed-off redhood."
Peter snorted once, weakly—then winced as it tugged on his ribs.
Hours passed like that. Quiet. The three of them around the space heater, Gotham snow tapping against the window.
Peter eventually drank the soup, more to shut them up than anything else. His hands shook too much to hold the spoon steady. Tim pretended not to notice.
When the worst of the shaking stopped, Peter looked up.
"Why didn't you turn me in?"
Tim frowned. "To who? Batman? He'd lock you in the Cave for observation."
Duke nodded. "You don't need containment. You need rest."
"I don't rest," Peter said quietly. "Rest gets people killed."
Nightwing finally spoke again. "No, Running yourself into the ground gets people killed."
Peter looked down, silent.
Later, when the others had gone upstairs, Peter sat by the heater alone. His mask lay folded beside him, still torn where Joker's taser had burned through.
Outside, snow fell.
His breath fogged in the cold air.
he felt—empty like there was nothing in his body.