Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter was sore. So incredibly insanely sore. He felt like if he tried to get up, he would get a stitch in his side, a Charlie horse, a migraine, and the hiccups all at once. What the hell was the building he must have been holding up? It must have been a freaking skyscraper with how sore he was. Or maybe he was in a full body arm wrestling contest with several Asgardians? He really wanted to find a nice place to make a web and hunker down for a while. 

Wait. Make a web to hunker down? That… was not a normal human thought. Sure, Peter had experienced a few spidery changes since he was bitten, but nothing like this. Feeling more comfortable on all fours, preferring high places, and getting pissed at the spiders in his apartment (who didn’t even pay him rent) were all normal. Even an average human could relate to most of those. But nesting? No. Never happened before. 

He groaned and opened his eyes, all four of them. Uh oh. What the heck? There was weird overlapping of colors going on, one of normal vision and another of a green-and-purple-washed version. He closed his… inner eyes? Inside eyes? Whatever, Peter closed his human eyes and looked through his others to witness a strange ultraviolet world. 

His hands and arms had a spiderweb of patterns. He had seen pictures of humans under ultraviolet, but he wasn’t exactly the same. He could see the normal dark freckles against a slightly glowing background, but he could also see lines of extra bright glowy-ness. He was pretty sure that MJ said dots and stripes don’t belong together, but the way the ultraviolet lines twisted and connected through the maze of dark spots was mesmerizing. Peter could almost imagine prey being caught by the webs on his arms, struggling to escape before he enveloped it in more webbing and— 

Hold on. Full stop. He opened his human eyes and closed his spider eyes, shaking his head and dropping his arms. There was something seriously wrong now. He had considered eating the stray insect now and again, but never before did he ever imagine and yearn for it. He felt unsettled. Just as he thought that, his spider sense went off. 

It was so much stronger than usual, sending a shiver down his entire spine and raising the air on his arms and legs. He dodged whatever was going to hit him, scrambling away to the edge of the… roof he was on. He hadn’t realized he was on a roof. A few seconds later, someone in a weird suit landed a few feet away from where he was formerly laying. 

Peter felt like this man was going to kill him. He was just about to jump off the building and do whatever he could to escape, but a slight decrease in alarm from the sense had him pause. The man raised his hands pacifyingly. 

“Hey, hey, it’s gonna be alright. Are you okay? Do you need help?”

Peter didn’t answer, trying to figure out what was going on. The man held his hands out further, walking over to him, and his spider sense decreased again. Peter rubbed his face, coming back with some surprising sticky blood. In the moment he was distracted, his spider sense went off the charts. It was like being electrocuted, shots of adrenaline rushing through his blood and invigorating his panic. Before he even registered what the man had done to deserve the alarm bells, Peter was already a rooftop away and still going. 

If he didn’t get away, he was absolutely going to die. No doubt about it. So, he ran and ran, wherever felt like he wasn’t gonna die. He was going way too fast for a human, nearing his top speed, when he finally felt the buzzing stop. Wherever he had gotten himself, it was definitely deserted. The only heartbeats he could hear nearby were small and rapid. Animals. Peter moved further into the abandoned area, staying low to the ground. 

There were plants everywhere. They took over the buildings and street, harboring bugs of all sorts as they did so. The air was fresher than before. It tasted good, but there was one problem with that. Humans can’t taste the air. Peter seemed to be able to taste it with not only his mouth and lips, but his arms and legs too. The residual taste of the roof lingered on his limbs, and he brushed it off as quick as he could. 

Once the nastiness was gone, he went on the hunt for a good place to sleep. Not only had the soreness gotten worse with his desperate sprint, he was dead tired and just needed somewhere to take stock and rest his eyes for a while. There was a wide tree nearby with lots of foliage and twisting branches, so he climbed it and quickly webbed up a hammock to lay in. 

He settled down and looked over himself. He was in his civvies, no wallet in sight. Of course he didn’t have his wallet on him, he had been at home previously! That thought gave him pause, as Peter realized he had remembered something. He had been at home in his apartment, working on a personal prototype spider suit that he would probably never wear. It was supposed to focus on heavy defense, like an exoskeleton, but also be able to fold down enough to easily fit into a backpack. Honestly, Peter had hoped to make the suit transform to be a backpack. 

He slowly drifted off to thoughts of the heavy suit, and dreamed of warm purple light. The moon sank below the horizon, unseen through the heavy clouds hanging over the earth. Hours later, the sun rose and shone its merry light at the smog that covered the ground, giving a rare warm glow to the city below it. 

Peter rose with the sun, stirring in his hammock as he woke. He turned over and fiddled with his web shooter, only to find that it wasn’t there. Instead, his bare wrist had what appeared to be a short, deep scar that ran alongside the tendons. Through an experimental flick of his wrist, a thin strand of webbing shot out from the scar. 

So, not scars. Organic webs. Okay, this was getting into crazy people territory at this point. Not much crazier than two extra eyes, but plenty of people have eye stuff going on. Nobody can spider-shit out their wrists. He slipped out of the hammock, and began taking down the webs. As he bundled the thread silk in his arms, he began to snack on it. Peter paused, though he had been pausing a lot recently. Why the hell was he snacking on his webs? Sure, they had a lot of protein that he shouldn’t waste when he didn’t know when his next meal might be, but he wasn’t actually a spider. Right? 

On second thought, that was a question for another day, when he knew where he was and wasn’t utterly overwhelmed. He needed water, food, and information. Not necessarily in that order, but he needed it all the same. Food was… sort of temporarily handled, with the web-eating. That leaves water and information. Information is in libraries and bookstores, and water is in bathrooms! Both of those could be covered relatively soon. 

How would he get around, though? Free-running was a no for now, since the soreness was still bad, but that only left walking. Eugh, annoying. Walking is totally overrated, swinging is a lot better, but Peter needed to conserve calories. He looked around, stuffing the last of the web into his mouth. Which way to civilization? 

Chapter Text

After escaping the wilderness, which took a few hours, Peter was well on his way to being done with this shit. People had been giving him funny looks, which was probably due to the now-dried blood that was crusted on like vampire tears under his new (currently closed) eyes. Due to the general hostile vibe and extreme spidey-sense that he got from literally everyone, asking directions from randos was a no-go. 

His best bet was entering a corner store and asking for directions there. It’s not too unusual for a tourist to do something like that, right? He didn’t even know what city he was in, much less where anything was. He crossed the road, making sure no speeding cars were gunning it before doing so, and did his best to ignore the constant buzzing at the base of his neck. It was like his spider sense had evolved into super-unreasonable-fear sense. 

From the base level of terror that Peter felt from everyone, he figured that the dude from yesterday was probably just buff. Maybe getting touched or grabbed was equivalent to death for his new and improved spider sense? Not necessarily improved, actually, but enhanced. 

He put that theory to the test by ‘accidentally’ bumping into someone, making sure not to use too much force. No feelings of death, but there was a mild warning of an incoming person-shaped threat. It could be that the death sense was only triggered by possible nonconsentual grabbing. The rooftop guy didn’t seem hostile, and it probably looked bad to everyone who didn’t know that he was a mutant to see him on the edge of a roof like that. Probably wanted to get him away from danger. 

As Peter considered the varying possibilities of triggers for his enhanced sense, he scanned the buildings for stores. Most of them were residential, but some were thrift or pawn shops. A laundromat here and there, and before he knew it, he heard a very distant bell chime 11 times. He had been roaming for another hour. It was probably a random grandfather clock in somebody’s home, since he hadn’t seen any churches or bell towers anywhere.

Since it had been quite a while since he had rested his feet, he found a relatively clean spot against a building to sit. It wasn’t like anywhere was clean at all, actually, but it was the thought that counted. He put his face in his hands and groaned, slouching heavily. He stayed in that position for several long seconds before rubbing his face and looking up into the sky. 

It was overcast. He could imagine himself swinging through the buildings of New York, wind buffeting him from every angle and him aligning himself with it to practically fly. New York had a sort of spirit that was entirely different from wherever he was now. This city felt darker, with deeper and wider cracks for the innocent and sadistic alike to fall into. 

What even was this place? It wasn’t immediately recognizable, but on a closer inspection, it was like the harsh, rotting bones of a tragedy-stricken version of his home. He had made it all around New York in his time as a hero, but never had he found such a place as this. It left a bad taste in his mouth, the fact that he had never been able to help here.  

A deep rumble interrupted Peter’s brooding, and he brought his hands down to hug his torso. It would be best to get back up and continue searching for a library, but he was just so damn hungry . Just as he was about to stand up, his spider sense went off. It felt like a 300lbs brick had been thrown directly at his head by several evil assassins, but when he violently flinched away from the sensation, he saw that it was just a sandwich. 

It gently smacked the wall where his face had been previously, and he caught it before it fell to the nasty ground. He looked at where it had come from, and saw some snickering highschoolers with subway in their hands. Unbidden, Peter’s mouth watered. He was way too hungry to give a fuck about petty assholes, but maybe he could teach them a mini lesson?

“Go back to Metropolis, bum! You’re too soft for Gotham if you’re afraid of a fucking sandwich, you’ll die in a day,” The speaker’s posse laughed more, and Peter mentally noted the unfamiliar names before he decided he was probably going to teach them a lesson. Throw a sandwich, and that means no sandwiches at all. 

One of the others chimed in, “I bet he’s not gonna last past sunset. He’s so scrawny, even a rat could eat him alive.”

More laughs, and yeah. Stealing was wrong, but Peter needed food and these guys were assholes. He stands up, taking a step forward and speaking, “Oh come on, do I really look that bad? I haven’t seen a mirror recently, but I can’t be worse than you guys with those costumes you got going on.”

Before any of them have the chance to respond, he takes another step forward and snatches two sandwiches. They exclaimed in anger and surprise at both his words and actions in equal measure, all while Peter’s spider sense was telling him that these people were going to go beyond murder with him. With three subs in his possession, Peter lunges for the fourth and final target before taking off in what would be a dead sprint for a normal human. 

To him it was more like a brisk walk, but it was the fastest he was willing to go in a populated area without a mask. He wasn’t able to shake the teens after a few minutes of running, so he turned into a random alley and jumped up to the farthest handhold a human could realistically get to on the wall to the left. 

Hauling himself up with one hand holding four sandwiches and the other gripping the windowsill, he made sure not to stick to anything while he climbed. Up and up, he quickly monkeyed his way up and onto the roof. Before hopping to another roof, he peaked down at the boys trying to follow him up and stuck his tongue out at them. 

It was just a matter of finding a better place to eat his bounty than this particular roof, and Peter would be home free. If he was right about the new sensitivity of his spider sense, then they were just pissed and would leave after a while. He stuck a sub in each of his front pockets and began running again, this time over rooftop. 

It was surprisingly easy, even with his hands occupied with sandwiches. After another few minutes of running, he decided that the new building he found himself on was satisfactory. Immediately, he fell into a crouch and began devouring the first sub, barely even tasting it with his ravenous destruction of the food item.

The second went slower, and the third slower still. On the last, he was distracted by a spike of fear emanating from the rooftop doorway. An office worker stepped through, lighting a cigarette before looking up and locking eyes with Peter. 

The worker blinked. Peter did not. The worker blinked again. Once more, Peter did not. With a sigh of, “I don’t get paid enough for this bullshit,” the worker dropped the cancer stick and ground it into the rooftop with their shiny black shoe. They stepped back through the door and closed it behind them, leaving Peter on the roof in peace.

Chapter Text

It only hit Peter after eating the sandwiches that he had stolen. This wasn’t shoplifting a bar of chocolate, or accidentally taking something that wasn’t his, but intentional theft. He had taken food right out of some people’s hands. On purpose. 

Peter might have an enhanced metabolism, but he hadn’t ever stolen things to make up for it. He hadn’t even filled himself up with the sandwiches, he still felt the faint claw of hunger that would come back with a vengeance in a few hours. Maybe the guilt would fill his stomach before he stole again. 

He opened his spider eyes, and stared at his hands. The web-like patterns glowed more brightly in the day, and he ran his fingers along them in contemplation. Apart from the obvious differences and new urges, there was something strange going on with him. He could manage his constant hunger normally, but it had gotten too bad too fast for it to be normal. Well, normal for a spider-person. 

There were psychological changes along with the physiological ones. Even if he had been hungry for much longer back home, he didn’t feel like he would steal from anyone. There was something about the fear lingering in his stomach and the back of his neck, and the taste of the air, and maybe even in the shadows themselves that influenced him as well. 

If he stole that easily, could he even be called the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man? What if something went wrong, and he lost control of himself again, but more severely? He was already somewhat violent, all heroes had to be. He could very easily take it too far and… he didn’t want to take that route. 

Right now, Peter was more of a spider than ever. He had never had the opportunity to look closely into his genetics to see what different species of spiders were combined with him, but what if there was a kleptoparasitic spider in there? How could he be sure that simple food theft wouldn’t devolve into cannibalism as it sometimes did with those types of spiders?

The answer was, he couldn’t be sure. As much as it hurt to think, he wasn’t fit to be a hero at the moment. He wouldn’t be, until he got himself under control and learned more about his enhancements. Until then, it was time to actually find a library.

-------------------

It had taken three hours. Three entire hours to both find a store willing to give directions, and to get to the library. It turns out that he had been pretty close to it already, and Peter had searched every street around it except for the one that it was on. Just his luck. 

To make up for the insane amount of time he had spent searching, the universe saw fit to gift him ten bucks by blowing the bill into his face with a freak gust of wind. It hadn’t even set off his spider sense, which was worrying to think about with its sensitivity as of late. There was something off about the money, though. Some small detail that was wrong.

He shook his head and tucked the money into his pocket anyway, knowing that he would probably need it. He climbed up the steps to the library, resisting a wince as his sore legs complained all the way up. As he reached the top, the doors opened and someone exited, not bothering to hold it for him. This place, Gotham he supposed, was harsh. 

In his experience so far, it was as if someone had heard all the horror stories of New York and turned them into reality. Peter entered the building and went up to the desk, greeting the woman behind it as he did so. She had red hair, but wasn’t a redhead if that made sense. It was like the red manic panic he had experimented with in middle school. 

She also had the same feeling of death that the vigilante had. Strange.

He asked about using the computers, and whether he could get on without having a library card. She told him he could, and let him know that web and search history are all recorded for safety and liability. Guests were limited to an hour on the computer before having to take a 30 minute break, while people with library cards could spend up to three hours before having to take a break. 

He thanked her for the information and made his way to the old looking computers, sitting down in what was possibly the worst public chair he had ever subjected himself to. They all had the faint stench of blood and sweat, and were severely faded to the point that the pattern on the seat part was unrecognizable. With a grimace, he trudged on, despite tasting the chair on his legs.

First up on his plate, Gotham. He vaguely recognized the name. Maybe an old nickname for some part of New York, or a name that got replaced with something different? A simple google search would tell him, but strangely enough, the google on the computer was missing an ‘o’. Peter ignored it, thinking it to be some strange glitch, and he looked up the name. 

What he saw made his jaw drop. 

Links upon links regarding a whole city he had never heard of before. There were articles on the crime rate, local vigilantes, the celebrities, and even the villains. There was a wiki page on the city itself, which included all of the above and then some. An entire section of it was dedicated to safety, and how not to die in a villain attack.

In a second, everything clicked. The small things that were off, the big things that were wrong and unfamiliar, it all made sense now. Peter was in an alternate universe. His mind exploded with possibilities, racing through theories and calculations of how the hell he had ended up here without knowing or remembering how. 

Had it been magic, or science, or both in conjunction? Why didn’t he remember how he got to Gotham? Was it concussive memory loss or magic? Many more questions were created by the singular answer he had uncovered, and an ominous feeling settled in his gut. 

Opening a new tab, he slowly typed in his hero name. Nothing popped up except weird AI images. Ironman had much the same results, though with random cast iron statuettes instead. In one last attempt at finding something, anything familiar, he looked up SHIELD. 

Nothing. 

He abruptly stood, pushing in his chair and swiftly walking to the bathroom he had seen earlier. His throat felt tight, and his eyes already burned with tears that threatened to fall. It was public, but fortunately there wasn't anyone there. 

The first thing he did was turn on the sink and splash his face with water. That was supposed to help, right? Instead of doing what he wanted, the ice cold liquid made the tears break the damn. It wasn’t his water. 

Peter’s breath shuddered and he coughed on a bit of saliva before he washed his hands. The first real action he had taken in an entire new universe was stealing, and his hands were dirty from that. They were dirty. 

He washed his hands again, scrubbing soap into them desperately, as if he were trying to wash away the act. There was something wrong with his skin. It was too hard to be normal, like a partial exoskeleton. Nothing had gone unchanged, had it? His body, his mind, his spirit, all violated.

For the first time since arriving in Gotham, Peter looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was longer than he remembered, being just about long enough to tie up into a tiny ponytail. His eyes were a deep brown, all four of them.

He splashed his face again, rubbing at his new eyes. Dried blood loosened and came off with the wetting, leaving behind flecks of rusty brown clinging to the side of the sink. Everything felt raw, and he could still taste the chair and table on his arms and legs. He grabbed a few paper towels and wetted them.

The brown paper towels weren’t much better than printer paper in soaking up the water, but they definitely tasted better than the chair. First Peter’s legs, then his arms, and finally his face again. He still didn’t feel clean, and he could identify every single movement of his shirt and shorts.

Every single heartbeat, breath, footstep, and passing word were all audible, even within the bathroom. He clamped his hands over his ears and fought not to clench his teeth too hard. He knew from experience that he could shatter them, and they were a bitch and a half to grow back. He could still feel the noise on his skin, but it wasn’t as bad. 

His mouth twisted into an unpleasant shape, face scrunching as he tried to hold in a sob and keep quiet. This was still a library after all, he needed to be respectful. There wasn’t anyone here who knew him— no personal or even professional connections. All of his identification was either fake or a copy here. He was a ghost. 

The bathroom was too bright, too white, too green, too dark. The overlapping images were overwhelming, and Peter couldn’t keep himself from coughing out a rough sob. He let himself lean against the wall and slide down it, careful not to touch his bare skin to any surface. Everything tasted disgusting, and he wished that everyone would just stop existing. Everything would be so much easier to process with fewer heartbeats and grating voices needling their way under his skin.

He felt guilty, wishing for the peace he needed. It was like he was turning himself into a villain, and he worried that he would lose his mind in this darker version of his home like the extensive list of terrorist-like villains that called it home. He shrank further into himself, clenching all his eyes shut and dry heaving. He was glad that his stomach was empty enough that he wasn't going to throw up, but he knew that he would need food again soon.

This day couldn’t get any worse.

Chapter Text

Peter was tired. He wanted to stay and sit in the bathroom until he had to leave, but he couldn’t. He may not have anywhere to go, but he had stuff to do. Stuff like finding a job that didn’t need any ID, finding someone to forge an ID ( after getting the job, so he could get money to pay for it), and finding out more about this world. 

His tears and the water he had splashed all over him had almost entirely dried by the time he calmed enough to get up and leave, but he felt drained. It was a mental struggle to stand up and look in the mirror, and it was another to not have tears well up again. He really needed a nap. 

His human eyes were puffy and red, while the new ones on his temples stared into themselves dully. With a sniffle, he rubbed them and turned away from the mirror. It wasn’t the act of theft itself that bothered him, he didn’t care about stealing from corporations or villains, it was the fact that he had stolen from normal civilians. Sure, they were assholes, but he was supposed to help civilians. If he couldn’t control his impulses when he was a little hungry, then how could he be sure that he wouldn’t snap at a villain? Spider-Man doesn’t hurt more than necessary. 

Spider-Man doesn’t kill. 

Maybe he was just thinking too much? People make mistakes in order to learn. He could learn from his mistake, and reign himself in before he got carried away again. Yup. There is no reason to freak out any further. Taking a deep breath and straightening his back, Peter left the way-too-clean bathroom in unfortunate favor of returning to the nasty chair and old computer. He wished he had jeans instead of shorts

Sighing heavily, he sat in the chair. He made sure that not even an inch of skin was in contact with the cloth of the seat. That meant he sat so far forward he probably looked absolutely ridiculous. No one had messed with the computer as far as he could tell, and the search for SHIELD was still up. He closed it. He couldn’t dwell on his feelings about all this, or he would definitely break down again. 

Running his hand through his hair, he stared hard at the Gotham wikipedia page. The history of the city was bloody and violent, and the villains were even worse. Murderers, every single one of them. A doctor who would vivisect patients, several people who would play games with hostages lives on the line, and cannibals with skin conditions. 

All the villains were part of something called the rogue gallery. A gallery, as if each villain was a work of art upon a wall, set out to be admired. It bothered him. Peter continued to read about the city, heavy frown on his face. There was a team of vigilantes that worked at night, though a single one worked during the day. That… definitely wasn’t enough. 

The extensive list of bad guys often escaped the local insane asylum, wreaking havoc and murdering tens of people with every plot or scheme. The vigilantes didn’t seem to care too much about property damage either, often leaving behind gouges in the walls from their… batarangs. And swords. And the singular one that wielded a gun, who wasn’t technically part of the vigilante crew. Many, many broken windows from surprise entrances. 

The expenses of a lot of repairs were referred to Bruce Wayne, the local ditzy billionaire. There was a connection there, so similar to Ironman and Tony’s connection before he revealed himself as Ironman. The swarm of kids that Wayne had adopted compared to the number of vigilantes matched up as well. 

Rich guys have weird hobbies, don’t they? Peter couldn’t confirm it until he met both personas, but it was a solid idea. He wondered if Bruce Wayne was as nerdy as Tony, or if he was as dark as the city. He clicked on Batman’s link, hoping to see a good picture or two, but was sorely disappointed by what was there. A few blurry pictures of an angry looking black blur, one picture of an actual bat, and a drawing of compiled descriptions of his costume. 

It looked like a vampire. 

Just as he was about to go back and start looking into Metropolis, which was a pretty weird name for what was probably a city, he heard a strange click. He paused, tilting his head and concentrating a little. It had come from outside the library, not too far though, and had accompanied a small spike in his spider sense. Then, absolute terror encompassed him. Every muscle tensed, and he stood up violently. The chair fell over, thudding into the ground from the force. 

His spider sense was telling him to run. Run out of the building, out of the city, across half the planet to get away from the threat. It was so much worse than the vigilante or those pissed off teens. It felt like he was going to burn in the most agonizing way, and that half the city would burn with him. He heard another click, and adrenaline pumped through his veins instead of blood. 

“ Run!! ” Peter’s desperate shout alerted everyone who had been staring at him and more, and a few seconds later, a fiery explosion shook the building. 

It had come from the front, leaving the back and side entrances free. Several people screamed, and everyone began to scramble to the back. Another explosion, and the back was gone too. Fire began to creep along the carpet, threatening to singe anyone who fumbled close enough. Peter could hear gleeful, maniacal laughter from outside, and the same person raving about burning the whole city down. 

He wanted to go and drive the villain away, to detain him and make sure that he was put away, but that was something for Spider-Man. Right now, he could only be Peter. 

“You, with the blue shirt— call the fire department,” Peter pointed at someone who looked like a deer in headlights, then turned to more panicking people. 

“Everyone, get yourself together! You and you,” he gestured to a person in a black hoodie and another in a gray shirt, “Get people out the emergency exits. Hoodie, you’re in charge of the one on the left, and T-shirt is in charge of the other. Got it?” 

They both nodded shakily, and Peter nodded back. “I’m going to the front, don’t hold up for me. Go!” 

Without waiting for an answer, he shot off like a bullet. He had seen a kids room earlier, from which he could hear the screams and little heartbeats of children. These ones were reassuring rather than grating, telling him that they weren’t dead. Yet. 

The dry heat sucked moisture from his skin and the air from his lungs, but he pressed on. The door to the kids room was blocked by fire which was definitely too hot for Peter, not to mention the children within. He spotted a fire extinguisher behind the front desk, so he hopped over the obstacle and grabbed it. The fire alarm finally went off when he did that, but the sprinklers didn’t go yet. 

He sprayed the foam onto the door frame and floor, smothering the majority of fire before opening the door with a bang. A few more kids screamed, all cowering in the corner as fire licked the wall that connected to outside. No windows, no extinguisher. 

A worried looking woman stepped forward, about to say something, but Peter cut her off, “Everyone out, get to the side exits.” 

She nodded firmly, herding the terrified kids through the door as Peter continued to spray the fire with foam. There were more heartbeats in what he assumed was a break room or copy room, but the door to it was right next to the entrance that had been set ablaze. 

Smoke was filling the building, making it even harder to breathe. Peter had to make a decision. Leave the people in the last room, or go through the fire to get them. It was fairly obvious to him what he had to do.

Chapter Text

Fire was hot. That tended to be an indisputable fact, and was no less true at the current moment than it was usually. Peter was charging through said fire, metaphorical guns ablazing. 

He crashed through the door, met with more fire and three weak heartbeats. It hadn’t been long at all since the bombs had gone off, but the destruction was notable. The lightbulbs had shattered, and the sprinklers still hadn’t gone off. 

The nice red haired woman was unconscious, sitting in a wheelchair that Peter knew was going to be too bulky to bring along. He scanned for the other two people, and saw a man and another woman slumped over a table, scattered cards smoldering around them on the ground. He was able to get the redhead onto his back, and grabbed the two in what was probably an insanely uncomfortable position under each arm. 

 He was burned, but he didn’t want to burn the people in his care. It would be too hot to get back through the door, and the window facing the front showed that the fire villain was still there. That left a wall, which would reveal him as… actually, why did he care about being known as a mutant, especially since he didn’t have anyone to protect anymore? Wayne would take care of any property damage, too, and screw billionaires. 

Cursing his own stupidity, Peter kicked at the wall facing to the side. It had appeared to be in need of two or three solid impacts at the normal level he brought himself down to, but apparently not. It flew away from him in a single kick, leaving behind dust and rubble. He didn’t allow himself time to be surprised, he just rushed through the hole and hopped through it, forgetting the height of the first level compared to the street level. He was sure that one of the man’s ribs had broken from the awkward hold and impact, and he winced sympathetically. 

Still, the arsonist was too close. He had to get further away, get the three librarians out of harms way. No more heartbeats were in the building, so either Hoodie and T-shirt got everyone out, or… Peter didn’t want to think about the other possibility. 

He moved as quickly as he could without jostling the people in his grasp more than necessary, searching for the group that had gone out the side that he was on. It was pretty easy to spot them, which was probably bad considering that the villain may be looking for more people to burn, or possibly a hostage. He crossed the street and went over to them, carefully lowering the three victims to the ground before breaking out into a coughing fit. 

His lungs burned and his throat was sore from the smoke. Peter leaned heavily on a hand he set on a wall by the escapees, and T-shirt came up to him. 

“Dude, that was like… crazy. You’re not from Gotham, are you. No one here is that kind of crazy except for the bats.” 

It was more of a statement than a question. Peter tried to respond, holding up a finger while he caught his breath. 

“Did-“ he coughed, “Did blue shirt guy call the fire department? And you got everybody out?” 

“I got everybody out on my side, and Devon called for firemen. I dunno about Josh with the other side, but the kids you got out went with him,” he said, setting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. His skin was raw and burnt there, from where he had rammed open the flaming door.

Peter nodded, fighting not to flinch at the spike of doom from his spider sense, “The guy’s rib broke when I jumped from the hole in the wall, make sure he stays down when he wakes up. I’m checking on the other side.” 

“Bro, no!” T-shirt cried out in horror, “Firefly is still in the front, and there’s more fire in the back. You’re not going around, and you’re sure as hell not going through the flaming library, man.” 

“You must have seen me kick that hole in the wall, right? I’m not normal, I’ll be fine.” 

Before Peter was able to slip away, T-shirt tightened his grip. 

“You might be a meta, but that doesn’t mean that you’re immune to being torched to ash. You’re already burnt, and I’m not letting a random kid walk straight back into danger,” T-shirt said firmly, unyielding.

“But-” Peter tried to protest.

“No buts, dude. The firemen and batmen are gonna be here soon, and you’re staying with me until you aren’t gunning to get yourself killed.”

T-shirt had a point. Not with Peter gunning to get himself to get killed, but that it was out of his hands. He could hear the same number of breaths as there were people in the library, split between the two sides, so he was assured that everyone was alive, if not necessarily well. 

“Fine,” Peter assented, “I’ll stay here, but you need to make sure the people I got out are okay.”

Without warning, he fell into a crouch. His complaining muscles sighed in partial relief, and he himself was almost glad that he didn’t need to do anything else. His body tasted like smoke, and his shoes were partially melted. How the hell did that happen? Peter watched T-shirt (he needed to learn that guy’s name) check over the unconscious people, and the other folk mingle awkwardly. 

Peter let his head drop, and closed his eyes to concentrate. Some sirens sounded pretty close, but he couldn’t hear anyone approaching over roof or on foot. There was the sound of a car going way too fast in his direction, but there wasn’t any guarantee that it was someone from Batman’s posse. It sounded different from a normal car, with what was closer to a plane engine inside it rather than something normal. 

Listening to the vague chattering within his ear-shot, he took several consecutive deep breaths. It took a lot of concentration, but he was able to build a blurry mental map, tracking the weird vehicle. It was a lot closer than before, halving the distance and cutting through paths that had barely any right to exist according to the echoes that bounced to and fro. Much faster than it should have, it arrived. 

He coughed again, mucus flying into his elbow (ew, he could taste it) and hair raising from the presence of whoever was in the car. Two people got out and dashed towards… What was his name again? Something to do with fire and bugs, so Peter dubbed him Centiskorch. He itched at his spinnerets, wishing he could help the heroes as they attempted to subdue the manic villain. Shit help was worse than no help, though, so he left it.

Chapter Text

Centiskorch was taken down pretty soon after the bats arrived, and Peter pondered over some sort of poetic justice there. Bats eat bugs, after all, and that had to mean something. He hoped that bats didn’t eat spiders, or would at least spare him if they ever decided to go on said poetic bug-eating spree. 

The firefighters killed the fire on both sides of the building, probably damaging just as many books as the fire had. The library likely had a digital archive of the books they carried, but the nerd in him cringed painfully at the wanton destruction of knowledge. Soon after he began lamenting at his general misfortune, he felt more than heard one of the bats approaching. 

Now, Peter really didn’t want to seem complicit in this act of terror, but he also really wanted to run away. The difference between ‘really’ and ‘really’ seems to be negligible at a surface level, but such a difference is quite large once you have to choose between the two. Ignoring the part of his brain that was geared towards logic, he listened to the ‘oh god, you need to run so fast and so far right now’ part of his brain. This would likely prove to be detrimental later, but that was a problem for future-Peter. 

Current-Peter was booking it down the street in what he hoped was the vague direction of the plant area. 

——————

To say that Peter was lost would be a slight understatement. To say that he was lost as shit would be much closer to the truth. Everything was the uncanny valley version of familiar, the sun was setting fast, and his only option was to look around for some place to hang for the night. The only problem with that is all the gangy-looking people glaring out at him from alleys. 

He could possibly go the route of asking directions from a store, but he knew how well that went last time. The only answer to his situation was obviously breaking and entering. He would make sure that the building was abandoned, as many seemed to be in this part of the city, and only stay for the night. If he needed to squat somewhere for a decently long time, he would need to scope it out for a while before settling down. A month max, or a week minimum. 

As he was lost in thought, which was an absolutely terrible thing to be lost in at the moment, Peter’s spider sense spiked. It was warning him of an incoming violent punch to his upper back, to which he flinched before a hand missing it’s pinky finger landed firmly on his burnt shoulder. He froze, as is protocol with such things whilst pretending to be a normal human. (Had he just recently decided to not care about being known as a mutant? Yes. Is he going to continue hiding the fact that he is a mutant? Also yes. Or at least partly, since he wasn’t sure how well he could control his newfound strength after the wall fell in a single strike.)

“Where’s a kid like you going at this time? You seem a little lost,” A low voice said behind Peter. Despite the rather neutral word choice, Peter had the feeling that this guy had less than kind intentions in mind.

“I am a little lost, sir. I was looking for the library, so I could go tomorrow, but I seem to have gotten a bit turned around.” Peters voice was stiff, almost robotic as he forced down the verbal jab he nearly hurled at the man. His grip tightened, and a very slight twinge could be felt where he was holding onto Peter. The action likely would have been a lot more painful for a normal person, similar to a crab claw clamping on. Or maybe a lizard biting them? Peter couldn’t quite remember what hurt other people and what didn’t. 

The man chuckled slightly and completely ignored what Peter said, “A Metropolis kid, hm? You won’t make it very long in Crime Alley without a bit of protection. My boys and I can help you with that, if you help us with some things as well. You scratch our back, we’ll scratch yours and all that jazz.”

Suddenly, Peter would really rather be anywhere else. He couldn’t fight back since his strength seemed to be better (or worse, depending on your perspective) than back home, and he didn’t need protection at all. He remembered the tenner in his pocket, and cringed at the hypothetical meal he would be losing once he brought into existence the shitty plan he had just made up. 

“Could I give you ten bucks and ask you to let me go for now? Maybe point me to where I want to- to...” Peter trailed off with a stutter, taken aback at the force being applied to his shoulder. It was definitely enough to injure a human, but he didn’t feel up for acting to be in pain. Too tiring for not enough of a payout. 

“Kid, I missed the part where I asked for permission. This isn’t your prissy little city, where anyone can be talked down with a pat on the back. I said you won’t make it long without protection.” 

This guy was kind of a try-hard, wasn’t he? Threatening teens because he didn’t get his way, how embarrassing. When Peter felt danger coming from the man and a hand harshly slapped the side of his head, he realized he had said that out loud. Damn, now he had a headache. The hand was supposed to land right on his ear and fuck up his eardrum, but he had ducked a little so he wouldn’t have to go through a week of constant tinnitus whilst it healed. 

The man leaned closer to Peter, so he could feel his breath on the back of his ear, “Next time, I’ll hit harder.”

Peter scowled. Spider-man didn’t kill, but oh boy was Peter getting close. Though, maybe… Perhaps this was an opportunity. If this man-- who was really pissing him off-- was willing to coerce Peter into whatever he was doing in return for ‘protection’, then there would probably be other teens or younger kids somewhere in the same situation. 

He took a moment to gather up his thoughts before forcing himself into a defeated posture. It was unnatural to him, especially when he was so flighty and fighty, but he had to freeze and friend for the time being. While it wasn’t his style, being more of a ‘charge right in and fuck shit up’ kind of guy, nothing really had been his style since he arrived in Gotham. 

It was hard to get his voice the right amount of shaky without a laugh coming out, but he managed the first try. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll t-take it. Your offer, that is.”

Peter almost slipped out a laugh at ‘take’, but fortunately hadn’t. The man thankfully bought it, and pushed Peter into the alley he had been passing before being grabbed. The four buff guys waiting there had varying levels of frowns on their faces, and the one with the biggest frown spoke up. 

“Boss, you know Red Hood doesn’t let kids be tangled up in this shit. He’ll kill us when he finds out-“ 

“ If he finds out, Turkey,” The supposed boss interrupted Turkey, the strangely named (or nicknamed) gang member, “I’m way smarter than that idiot, and he’s getting soft anyway.”

During the interaction, Peter heard the very quiet click, zip, thud of a pretty advanced grappling hook, and fabric snapping at the wind as someone swung nearby. The much louder thud of boots on the ground behind him and the man confirmed that there was absolutely a vigilante right there. Their heartbeat was surprisingly well muffled, he could barely hear it despite the proximity. That was a good idea for Peter’s next suit, who knew what kind of senses the local villains had. 

“Who’s an idiot? Certainly not me. You should know better than this Hawk, especially after my warning.” 

The boss, Hawk (what’s with all the bird names?), twitched. Peter could sense a hand shaped threat moving to touch another, leaving his shoulder alone, and he immediately understood that the missing pinky was the warning. He took the opportunity to jump away from Hawk, and also Red Hood. Just like every other vigilante, not-so-little red riding hood exuded a much higher base terror level than civilians. Despite the adrenaline once more running through him, Peter was able to stay in place. 

There was something strange about the vigilante. He was somehow… low priority to his spidey sense. If the connection that spider sense had with Venom could be compared to siblings, then this connection was like a cousin. Peter slowly edged away, keeping tabs on everyone and ignoring his rapidly beating heart. Red Hood also seemed to be keeping tabs as he threatened Hawk, not visibly looking around but producing a small spike of fear every now and then.

Peter kept backing away until he was in contact with a wall, and slid along it until he no longer had any eyes on him. Waiting a few seconds for the vigilante to glance his way again, he skittered up the wall and out of sight the moment he looked away. Spider sense may be acting weird around this guy, but Peter still needed to calm the hell down from all the bullshit. Once above it all, navigating was much easier and he made his way back to the plant place, which was closer than he thought. He had been walking in the exact opposite direction, but whatever. 

He made it there in one piece and returned to the place he had hung the previous night, stringing up another hammock and letting himself collapse into it. It was a long ass day that had taken up all the fucks he had spare, and he had barely anything to show for it except a bit of knowledge, a few burns, and some people after him. 

This damn situation couldn’t get much worse.

Chapter Text

Waking up was a slow affair. Birds twittered in the branches above Peter, entirely at ease and cheery. A sweet flowery scent drifted through the air, gently urging him to rise and meet the sun. He didn’t want to, though— he wanted to return to his dreams, where he was camping in a national park back home. Ah, home. The thought of it was almost enough to get him to open his eyes, something in the back of his mind telling him that something wasn’t quite right. 

As he was thinking of rolling over, he felt something brush his lids. It tickled, and he went to wipe whatever it was off his face. Instead of doing what he wanted, Peter’s hand collided with something. It felt like a plant, which was odd since he was in his apartment. Or… was he? 

His eyes shot open, and he was face to face with a woman who looked to be green and somewhat made of plants. Peter let out a shout— absolutely not a shriek, thank you very much— and jumped out of his hammock, tearing it and falling all the way to the ground. He hadn’t realized how damn high he had nested last night, but managed to twist and land on all fours. The events of the past day and a half rushed back to him in that moment, but that still didn’t chase away the drowsiness. 

He stared at the woman, bewildered and mesmerized. Her skin had intricate glowing patterns, like vines that traced her veins and crawled around her arms and over her face. Overall, the vines of glowyness had the pattern that Peter supposed a flower would have. She didn’t set off his spider sense either, which meant that she wasn’t dangerous to him at all or had somehow gotten around it without realizing. Her odd eyes stared into his four curiously. 

“What is a little insect doing in my forest?” 

It took Peter a few moments to really comprehend the question, sleep addled as he was. Instead of answering it however, he decided the best course of action was correcting her. 

“Arachnid. I’m an arachnid.” He blinked owlishly at her while she laughed. What was her deal? 

“Well, arachnid, what are you doing here? Don’t you have better places to be?” 

“Nope, nowhere better to be. Nowhere in this world, at least.” 

After blurting out the most damning thing he probably could, the plant lady— Poison Ivy, his mind unhelpfully supplied— merely laughed again. She thought for a few moments, connecting dots that may or may not actually be there. 

“An alien child with nowhere to go. How sad,” she put a hand over her mouth plants lifting her to the ground from the tree, “I would prefer that humans stay out of my garden, but seeing as you aren’t one, you may stay. Should harm come to my plants due to you, however…” Peter’s hair rose, and he felt chills from his sense. He got the point. 

“Of course not, ma’am. Tu casa es mi casa, I think.” 

It seemed that she had accepted his agreement, as she mysteriously disappeared into the brush. It was then that Peter realized that he had never heard her heartbeat. 

————————

Unlike the day previous, Peter was able to get to where he needed within a reasonable amount of time. He had found a cool grocery store called D-E-W that was vaguely familiar, and went in because he was incredibly hungry once again. It had a very wide variety of foods from a very wide variety of places and cultures, which was pretty impressive, but he needed lots of calories with minimum cost. 

First thing, a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread. $3.39 together, so he got a thing of celery for $2.04. That was protein, grains, and his veggies, and all that should be enough to feed him for now. He cringed and grabbed a reusable red bag with D-E-W emblazoned on it, which was $1.56 and brought up the bill to a crisp $6.99. It was unnecessary at the moment, but it would be useful in the future when he wanted to carry things. 

There was no self checkout, so he went through a checkout line and smiled politely at the androgynous cashier. They asked Peter whether or not he would like to round up the remaining cent to donate to charity, and he agreed. There wasn’t much you could do with a single penny, after all, and he thanked the cashier before leaving the store. He would need to find a place to safely eat, and he thought he knew just the place. 

Once a sufficient distance from the store, he clambered up the side of a building (without sticking to it, mind you, since if he could be enhanced then he could be dehanced as well and he needed to be self reliant) and looked around. It was so much easier to navigate on rooftops, he didn’t know why no one ever did it aside from heroes. He supposed that stamina and jump length might be an issue, but that wasn’t much of an excuse. Shaking himself out of his musings, he went the way that he thought the office building from yesterday was. It seemed pretty good, aside from people on smoke breaks coming up there, but it was too early to smoke. He thinks. He doesn’t know the acceptable hours to smoke at work, but the afternoon and evening seemed reasonable. 

It was pretty easy to get back to the building, and after crouching and taking out his food, Peter began heaping the peanut butter on the bread with the celery. He ate it slice by slice, stuffing an peanut butter lathered piece of bread into his mouth every time he finished spreading it. The process was over rather quickly, though not as quickly as he would prefer. Peanut butter might be tasty every now and then, but eating the majority of a jar with an entire loaf of bread was a bit overboard. 

All that was left after several minutes was the celery and roughly a quarter of the peanut butter. Peter didn’t really enjoy eating celery, what with the irritating strings, but it was an okayish vegetable to travel with. Useful as a spoon, too. He forced down the rest of the peanut butter and every bit of celery, and as he was starting on the very last stick of celery, the roof access door opened. 

It was someone new, not the person from the day previous. They locked eyes with Peter and froze, pack of cigarettes in hand. He didn’t stop chowing down on the celery, instead opting to have another staring contest with the poor schmuck who was smoking this early. 

“Well damn, I guess Jaden wasn’t bullshitting me. You… alright there, kiddo?” 

Not quite knowing what to do, Peter crunched and stared. The worker stared back. Similarly to the previous day, they blinked and Peter did not. The process repeated as he finished the vegetable and slowly put the empty bread bag and peanut butter jar in the D-E-W bag, and the two continued staring at each other while he crept backwards on all fours. 

Somehow he managed not to blink during his daring escape, slowly retreating over the edge of the building as the person wore an expression of disbelief, confusion, and wariness. 

—————

Wandering the streets of Gotham, Peter found himself drawn back to the library. As suspected, it was closed for repairs, cones and barriers set up to prevent civilians from entering. He frowned when he saw the wall he had busted down— he had done more damage than he had initially thought. Fractures webbed out from the hole, and a small amount of rebar was twisted and mangled more than reasonable. 

He felt bad. He wanted to help fix it, somehow, but he had a hunch that no one would appreciate a strong ass web patching up the hole they were trying to repair. There weren’t any construction workers around, which was probably expected seeing as a day's notice is definitely not long enough to get a crew together. Peter walked around outside the barriers, almost deciding to lean on a pole before thinking better of it and standing on his own to stare at the damage. 

Even though the situation was desperate, he could have found a less destructive way out, right? He had dropped the fire extinguisher before running in, but he could have kept it on himself in order to make a way out. His arms had been full though, so that wasn’t a good option. The table had been rather wide, so perhaps he could have dragged everyone out on that while spraying in front of him? That way, he wouldn’t have broken that man’s rib. 

While he was analyzing the options he had during the fire, hoping to do better in the future, someone came up beside him. They were very suspicious, especially since they were accompanied by an intense feeling of dread from his sense. Peter tensed up, preparing to run but being too mentally drained to do so right away. 

“Pretty bad, huh? They say there was a meta when the library was attacked, and they did that.” 

Ah, shit. 

“Yeah,” Peter answered noncommittally, hoping they would just leave him alone. If people were already looking for him, like the vigilantes he had continued running from, then they may be onto him. He wasn’t sure why he cared that much about being caught, but no one wants to be caught by an unknown. Who knows what they’ll do to you; at least with cops there is a general idea of what they might do, depending on the area. Vigilantes are a mixed bag, always unpredictable. 

The newcomer, a guy, was silent for a moment too long before talking again, “Even though he broke the wall, he saved some people. That’s pretty cool. I bet the cops want a statement though, especially because the witnesses claim that he knew something was going to happen before it happened.” 

This person, who was probably (almost definitely) a vigilante was subtly telling Peter that he knew who he was. The evidence was probably made stronger by the burns that he had forgotten about on his shirt. 

“Maybe the-“ Peter remembered the term they used was meta instead of mutant, “-meta has super good hearing. Or an overactive sp- danger sense that told him the entire city was going to blow up.” 

Maybe it was stupid to say something so revealing to a person who set off his spidey sense so badly, but he felt an ever so slight distinction between the danger of the guy next to him and the guy who tried to coerce him, now that he had the time to pay attention. The vigilante was more… geometric? Not exactly, more even. Stable, calm. If Hawk had been an irregular pentagon, then the man next to him was a triangular prism. And civilians were like, bouba shapes. 

“Maybe,” the vigilante-in-civvies assented, “But it’s strange that the meta ran away once Red Robin got close.” 

Peter frowned. Yeah, they were definitely suspicious of him and his motivations. It made sense, since half their villains seemed to be enhanced, but it still hurt. 

“Maybe the overactive danger sense was convinced that every little movement of a strong person was an attack on his life, and that coming from a normally reliable ability is absolutely terrifying. Especially in a place where he knows no one.” His voice was a bit strained as he went against his first instinct to hide all information and get away, but as much as he didn’t want it, Peter would need help to get home. The vigilante team was well funded, he needed funds. 

When the vigilante opened their mouth to speak, Peter was overwhelmed with an intense spasm-like spike of his spider sense. It came from all around him, the molecules, atoms, the universe itself. For a split second, he could taste colors and smell sound. It hurt badly, sharp twists in his soul attempting to rend it into pieces for no apparent reason, and beginning to succeed when suddenly it stopped entirely. His legs gave out as he fell to the ground with a gasp and a groan, clutching his chest painfully. 

He felt just as sore as he did when he got to this dimension, and now he knew why he had been sore in the first place. Scrambling up, he ran once more. He didn’t even know why he was running this time— to get away from the fear, the pain, the possibility that he was mutating again?

Peter had glitched, and he had no way home in sight.

Chapter Text

There was something strange going on. Approximately 32 hours ago, a very large spike in gamma radiation had been detected from a building that was well known as a hideout for the Mad Hatter. Soon after, Nightwing discovered an injured meta teen atop the very same building, whom he had reported looked absolutely terrified at the sight of him. The meta had also seemed to sense that Nightwing was around, moving away from where he would appear a few seconds before he actually did.

Nightwing attempted to calm the meta, which appeared to have worked slightly at first, before he tried to reach out and the meta bolted. Nightwing had estimated a speed nearing 200mph, from zero to top speed in less than five seconds. So, a speedster with possible precognition or enhanced hearing. 

There were no reports of the meta for the rest of the night, but the fact that there was a scared, injured, and unpredictable new player in the field worried Bruce. No matter how much it tugged at his heartstrings, this teen was dangerous. 

The day after had a notable event, Firefly attacking the library. The meta had been present and the cameras showed them stiffening up and tilting their head, then shouting for everyone to run only seconds before a bomb had gone off to announce Firefly’s arrival. A point in favor of enhanced hearing, though not ruling out a limited form of precognition. 

Instead of running, as the night before would suggest, the meta took charge of the situation and had gone in to save the children and employees. And Barbara, who was recovering and cursing any god she could think of for having to get a new wheelchair. The meta had even kicked down a wall in order to help them escape, showing an incredible amount of strength that couldn’t normally come from such a thin teen. Despite the meta’s heroic actions, Bruce knew that the worst rogues could spawn from the most well intentioned of people. 

He needed to find the kid and where he came from. 

He pulled up several security tapes, zooming in on the meta’s face. It was innocent and rather forgettable, though his eyes looked tormented, nothing like the eyes of the child he should have been. There was a notable scar over each temple, angling slightly down on the inner corners. Right where Dick had said the meta was injured. The earlier tapes showed them crusted with blood, but the newer ones displayed them clean. Deep, bloody cuts that healed overnight into similarly deep scars pointed to enhanced healing. 

The location and depth seemed incredibly intentional, being perfect mirror images of each other as well. Somebody wanted to teach that child a lesson, or they were experimenting on him. Neither of those possibilities bode well for anyone, especially since that meant the meta was possibly unstable. Bruce frowned deeply and studied the videos for more clues, quickly finding two more similarly deep and symmetrical scars on the wrists. They were raindrop shaped, and appeared to come from something piercing through his wrists. 

Whatever had happened to that poor boy must have been terrible. Bruce went to edit his case file when a notification popped up on his phone, lighting up the screen and causing him to look over at it. 

Tim

new meta by library, engaging. Cams L1-4 sect A

Eyes widening, he quickly brought up the cameras that Tim had provided before replying. 

Bruce

Do not engage.

Possibly unstable with super speed and strength.

I repeat, do not engage.

Of course, Tim ignored Bruce telling him not to engage and did the exact opposite. Bruce messaged the group chat and alerted everyone to Tim’s actions, having his children rush over in case backup was required. The chat was flooded with worried and annoyed bats and birds, but Bruce ignored the notifications and watched the cameras with trepidation. 

Tim strolled up to a stiff, anxious looking kid with a red D-E-W bag, who had only begun being stiff and anxious after the first step that Tim had taken towards him. For some reason, he didn’t run, which allowed Tim to strike up a conversation. Of course, there wasn’t any audio to hear, but Bruce could read lips just fine and had full confidence that his son was recording on some device or another. 

The meta boy spoke vaguely, but in a way that let Tim know that he knew that Tim knew he was the meta they were speaking of, while also confirming an ability (or two) and attempting to clear suspicion. When Tim began replying, however, something strange happened. 

For less than a second, maybe even half a second, the meta spasmed violently. Unnaturally. It was like reality had distorted around him, reducing his body to polygons that flickered in and out of existence. Some clumps of pixels froze while others became offset, and the whole ordeal was presumably rather painful based on the kid collapsing to the ground afterward. 

Bruce typed that he may be an android or advanced hologram, and again the meta ran. 

It was difficult to keep track of the boy, and he even lost them eventually, but he put their face into his recognition software so he would be able to somewhat track them. He wrote a detailed description in the meantime, simultaneously scolding Tim and typing his theories onto the computer. 

He would get to the bottom of this.

——————

Peter was never going to think that things couldn’t get worse ever again. He was on a time limit now, and that was so much worse. His teeth ached and his skin felt even stiffer than before, more comparable to leather than anything else. 

He needed a plan. Rich people had lots of money, right? Peter needed to find out where Wayne got his. Actually, trying to get money and buying things would take too long— it would be the same impact to steal exactly what he would need. If he was lucky, there would be some people researching dimensional travel, like back home with Tony. If not, he would have to work off his own knowledge. 

Stealing from billionaires was perfectly acceptable, since there was always some unscrupulous way that they had gained at least a portion of it. It was only a matter of time before he was dismantled , and he would rather avoid such a fate. 

If he remembered correctly, then glitches were the energy of this universe clashing with the energy from his own, forcing it apart and trying to dissipate it. His cells’ energy was being forcibly exchanged for the type from this universe, and it wasn’t being exactly gentle about it. He needed to figure out a way to either get home, prevent the exchange, or make the exchange more gentle. Based on the amount of time that had passed between first arriving and his first glitch, he likely had another week before he died. He couldn’t be sure until his next glitch, however. 

Speed walking down the sidewalk, Peter tried to remember where else he could research things. Phones were alright for research, but they had passwords and he didn’t want to steal one from a civilian. There had to be another library somewhere in the city, but he had neither the time nor patience to search. Schools have computers, so do hospitals and hotels. Banks have computers, but the security was probably too high. 

What else? The places he had thought of had too many people around— too many possible witnesses. What else? He could barely think, so many heartbeats that were all so damn loud in his ears. Why are so many people out and about? Don’t people have work to do, or something? Hold on— work. Office work. Office buildings have lots of computers, and he knew just where one was. 

The best course of action for a hastily prepared plan was to do it very quickly and in very short order. That night, he would look into the floor plan and departments of Wayne’s business in order to begin on his quest to continue not-dying. 

First he needed a disguise. It wouldn’t do any good to be recognized, after all.