Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Peter gains consciousness, he’s two and a half years old, living on the streets of Crime Alley. It’s a struggle. He’s not completely alone though, he has a mother. 

In his first memory she holds his hand tightly, her hands clammy and her hair in disarray. There’s a bruise on the side of her cheek and she’s looking forward but at the sound of a whimper Peter releases from the cold, she looks down at him. 

Peter is mesmerized by her smile as she leans down to pick him up and then snuggles him. It’s a good memory. The warmth of her cheek against Peter’s still lingers on Peter’s skin.

But his mother is a prostitute and he’s the result of an entanglement between her and one of her customers. He’s alive because Peter was her attempt at a better life as a better person. She tried her best to do good by him, that much Peter can see. But that was before her drug addiction problem arose and they were swiftly kicked out of their dingy and old apartment that they had barely managed to afford. 

She had sobbed the whole night, holding onto Peter and tucking him away under her arms. She hummed a lullaby through her tears, hiccups occasionally interrupting her, but she kept going. To this day, Peter doesn’t know if she did it for him or more for herself. Either way, it was a fond memory to him now.

By the age of seven Peter found himself not only homeless but also an orphan. That would have been his death. He was young, scrawny, and had no idea how to live out in the streets. His mother hadn’t been perfect but at least she’d attempted to protect him from the harshness of the streets of Gotham even if it was near impossible. 

And Peter was a prime target for the evils of Gotham’s streets. He would have likely ended up murdered, raped, sold off for money or even prostituted. Only bad things were in store for him.

But there was a secret about Peter that nobody else knew, and that was the fact that he retained his previous life’s memories. They felt far away, blurry and as if there was a thin film separating them from the current Peter, but they were there. Sometimes it felt like the life of a stranger but there were other times where the emotions from those memories overwhelmed him. There are memories and phrases that stood out to him, some painful and others happy. But Peter cannot remember how he died or the moments leading up to his death. There is no memory, no faint feeling of it. Peter doesn’t even know how old he was.

So Peter stays stuck in a limbo between the person called Peter Parker of the past and the Peter of now. The Peter of now has no last name, just like his current mother had no last name. Her official name was Elizabeth but she had taken to adding Anne to it. Elizabeth Ann, she called herself.

“I’ll control this one thing in my life,” she always murmured to herself.

It was fitting, in a way, that someone like him, an orphan and now street rat, had no way to trace his lineage, his history. Peter frowned down at his wrinkled old shoes. It was sad to think that in both his lives he was an orphan. Even now he’s beginning to forget the image of his mother. Her voice, her scent…They’re all slowly fading from his memories and becoming dull in the process.

Peter tries to grasp at them only for them to scurry away even faster. His frown only deepens in annoyance.

Peter crouches down from atop the rooftop he’s on and leans down to look forward. He’s not worried. He’s not sure why but the spider powers carry through even in this life. Scientifically that makes no sense so Peter suspects the reason he’s here is through some sort of magic. It would also explain why this world is different. There’s no Iron Man, no Captain America or Hulk or anyone else. He’s alone here. 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Peter sighs. He’s annoyed because his child brain powers a lot of his thoughts. He cannot escape the physical shackles that come with a physically underdeveloped brain that makes him act in ways he would never have before. Peter has experienced many things but it’s not very often that he cries.

He’s at the cusp of eight years old, practically an eight year old already but it feels like Peter’s maturity has not grown at all. Maybe the past Peter was just as immature as a young child, he wonders. Either way, Peter pushes all thoughts away. He got distracted again.

There’s a group of bad people below, all transporting human cargo, mostly young children. Peter knows because he noticed the distinct lack of competitors recently but Peter isn’t planning on doing anything. His body is too small and young to be of any help so he’s currently waiting to make sure that the Bats, protectors of Gotham, actually do something. If they don’t know about this place then Peter will be forced to act but he hopes that’s not the case. He doesn’t want to accidentally endanger already scared civilians.

Peter sighs and leans his head down, slouching over as he observes the area boredly. It isn’t until the sound of a grappling hook, unbearable to normal humans but not to Peter, that he squats down and recedes into the darkness.

Red Hood lands on the building adjacent to him and hides. Nightwing and Red Robin swoop down next to him and then take off for different buildings. 

Peter attempts to slow and quiet his breathing. 

I’m a wall.

I’m a wall.

I’m a wall.

Robin swoops down onto the building across from Peter and Peter watches Batman materialize from behind Robin. Peter tilts his head. Did no one else receive the hibbie jibbies from him? Was it just Peter?

Peter shuddered. Big, tall, and buff men were scary.

Peter watched Red Hood and Nightwing enter the building silently, followed by Batman and then, finally, both Robin and Red Robin. It was only once Peter knew they were all inside that he dared to peek over the ledge and down into the building. A few minutes after they were all inside, Peter heard the rapid sound of gunfire. That was likely Red Hood. He was known for his guns after all.

Peter looked up at the sky and then back down at the building. He was curious, extremely curious, but he also didn’t want to draw unwanted attention. He sighed and stomped with his short legs. Cursed his curiosity. This is why the cat died.

Peter lumbered onto the side of the wall and scaled down, making his way to the current shootout building. Now, to see what was all the hype about Gotham’s heroes. The Peter Parker side doubted these heroes and instead preferred the ones from his past. Current Peter, however? Current Peter was just curious and could not mind his own business apparently.

Rolling his eyes at himself, Peter struggled entering the building but finally made it in. He made sure to keep quiet and move as silently as he could, all the while keeping his ears peeled in case he had to run away. 

He still had his spider powers but they were…locked (?), in a way. Basically, if a person grabbed him by the neck then Peter had no super strength to help. Currently, he only has his stickiness and spidey senses. Besides that, there was nothing else.

As Peter approached the sound of gunfire he crouched down and kept his head low. His foot nudged something accidentally and he stilled, screaming at himself for being an idiot. He waited with bated breath in case someone had heard but no one approached. Peter grabbed the metal pipe he had accidentally kicked and stood up.

I mean, Peter thought, it would make sense for everyone to be focused on the obvious intruders and the current gunfight. 

He rounded the corner and immediately cursed himself. Him and his dumb Parker luck, he mused as he proceeded to jump up and hit a man upside the head and watch him crumble.

Peter let out a whoosh of air and wiped his hands clean. He still had it. Peter was already a few feet away and already moving on but then paled and quickly moved back to the man. 

“Are you dead? Please tell me you aren’t dead,” he whispered.

He checked the man’s pulse and confirmed that, yes, the man was breathing.

“Oh thank god.”

Peter breathed out in relief and continued on his way.  This is where the fighting should be happening. Peter inched slowly forward and held on tightly onto his metal pipe. This was his lifeline.

He peaked out into a grand main room filled with boxes and crates. Straight ahead and to the right were what appeared to be the victims. In front of them and getting their butts kicked were the kidnappers. Red Hood appeared to be acting as the distraction while Batman and Nightwing swooped around punching anyone that ignored Red Hood. Robin and Red Robin, Peter noticed, were the ones making sure the victims were getting out safely and unnoticed.

Peter studied the way they moved and fought. Red Hood was brutal, controlled anger fueling and moving him forward. Nightwing was flowy and smooth while Batman was silent but, solid? 

It was pretty obvious that they were used to fighting together by the way they moved around each other perfectly. Peter was reminded of the times before the civil war when he would watch the Avengers’ fights. It struck nostalgia into Peter.

Pretty soon, everyone was beaten out cold and the victims were safely taken outside. Peter heard them call for the police so he took that as his sign to book it out of there. He quickly made his escape and headed towards his small shelter.

He skipped forward, a grin overtaking his face as his excitement refused to leave his system. It was an exciting fight and he had learned a lot by observing. Maybe Peter could even try out some moves.

Peter was so distracted by his thought that he failed to notice the person behind him and the buzzing of his spidey senses. It had become too common in Gotham, after all.

Peter struggled as a cloth was placed over his nose and mouth, gripping onto the hand forcing the cloth onto his face and attempting to remove it by scratching and even biting. He even attempted the crotch attack but that only received him a muffled grunt. Peter wasn’t as immune to drugs anymore and he was fading fast, his consciousness slipping from his fingers.

“Sorry, kid,” said a female voice. “You gotta do what you gotta do to survive.”

That was the last thing Peter heard before he blacked out.

Chapter Text

Peter slammed into the ground as he was thrown, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact and causing him to wince. The woman gave him a nasty look and turned away, closing the cell like door behind her and leaving. Peter was left alone in a dimly lit room with about thirty other children. Some looked worse than others, clearly having been here for some time now, and showed signs of malnutrition.

Peter made his way to a corner, none of the kids around him paying him any mind. They simply stared off into space, their knees huddled close to their chests and their expressions blank. There were some that still cried but others, the ones who were clearly kidnapped first, could not manage to even cry. Their eye appeared dead.

Breathing in deeply, Peter attempts to calm himself. This was fine. He could do this. There was nothing Peter Parker couldn’t do when he put his mind to it.

Peter sustained this line of thinking for about three seconds before he broke.

Who am I kidding, I’m gonna die again. I’m absolutely going to die again. I’m so doomed…

His crouched form blended perfectly into the rest of the miserable children as he clutched at his head.

I won’t even make it past seven, Peter bemoaned. A new record for the Parker family. He sighed. Leave it to Peter to break the Parker death curse record. After lamenting his luck, or lack of it, Peter finally got to work. 

He was in a square room made out of stone and dirt, which meant Peter was likely underground. The room was made crudely, Peter thought to himself, running a hand along the edge of the wall, and definitely not by professionals. The small, loose debris scattered down the ridges of the wall and landed onto the dirt ground. Peter startled back as the almost imperceptible creak of rock grinding on rock flowed into his ears.

Peter ignored his renewed panic and pushed it aside. His second round of panicking could wait until he could afford to panic. Instead, he continued taking stock of his surroundings.

A metal gate allowing visage from both the inside and the outside, and one guard stationed outside, no clear weapon on their body. It looked like they didn’t expect much from children which made sense since the oldest kid stuck in here was most likely nine or ten years old. Peter slumped down.

While he lamented his capture, it only meant that now he could do something to help these kids. Well, that is if he could actually do something.

But there was nothing here and the only things Peter had on him was a small coil of wire. Much more was needed for him to be able to do something so Peter stayed down and observed. 

Scraps of food were given out once a day. That’s how Peter determined four days had passed and it was already taking a heavy toll on Peter’s body. His fast metabolism was really not helping right now.

The same woman who had kidnapped him entered into the small little hallway leading up the cell in which they were all caged.

“The cargo will move tomorrow.” The woman frowned angrily. “The Bats have already shut down two of our missions so this one has to go through or we’re dead. Boss isn’t too pleased now.”

The man nodded in response. “I’ll get them ready for tonight.”

Peter wanted to yell in frustration. He was incapacitated, on the verge of death by hunger, and was about to be sold off too. Peter leaned back against the wall behind him and ignored the constant creaking of the wall, it wouldn’t collapse yet, a more powerful force was needed for that, and stared up at the ceiling, meeting eyes with a small spider.

The spider appeared to stare at him almost questioningly. Peter could feel it attempting to determine whether he was a threat or not. Peter remained still as they observed each other until the spider moved down and toward him cautiously. 

Peter lifted his hand up slightly and the spider climbed on. Peter inspected it. A lycosidae, huh? Commonly known as wolf spiders.

It chirped at Peter and Peter couldn’t help but smile.

“Hello to you, too,” he whispered. 

The spider clambered onto his shoulder and perched there. Peter sighed once again.

“You don’t happen to know how to get out of here?”

The spider response was to simply stare..

“I guessed as much.”

Peter’s head lulled to one side.

“Can you jump,” he asked. 

Peter didn’t expect anything, after all, as far as Peter remembered, he could not communicate with spiders the same way Ant-Man could with insects. But to Peter’s surprise, the spider gave a little jump and then settled down. Peter startled up as he grabbed the spider and gently placed it onto the floor.

“Can you chirp,” he whispered.

Wolf spiders were known to create a sound similar to chirping. If Peter and the spider could communicate then…

The spider chirped and Peter mentally began to somersault.

“Could you chirp at these intervals,” Peter questioned.

To his absolute surprise and joy, it followed the instructions to a T. Peter grinned.

“Can you spread this around and into the city? Get as many spiders to follow along as you can?”

The spider gazed at him for a moment and then crawled away, carefully avoiding any humans. It passed by undetected and successfully escaped. Peter could only watch it disappear and hope.

Bruce Wayne stared at the video currently playing on his tablet.

“This unmissable sound has been reverbating throughout the city for hours now without ceasing. At first, officials thought it was just some random prank from a bored group of people but it was soon found to be the result of thousands upon thousands of spiders. We suspect this to be a natural phenomenon- a once in a lifetime opportunity. This might even be Mother Nature attempting to communicate with us.”

The woman paused.

“Officials have advised to remain calm and leave the spiders alone as they are not harmful…”

Bruce looked up as Tim burst through his office door, looking hurried.

“It’s Morse code,” he said, a frenzied look taking over his face. “It was hard to decipher at first because it wasn’t one that I had heard before but once I did, everything else became obvious.” 

Tim took in a deep breath and straightened himself. Bruce allowed him time to compose himself and explain.

“It’s a street in Crime Alley. The one we suspect might be for child trafficking.”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed. “How sure are you about this?”

Tim’s head tilted. “About ninety-six percent. The clear pattern- the repetition- there’s clearly something more going on here.”

Bruce nodded. “If they’re going to be shipping them off today, then it will likely be at night. Debrief your siblings on the situation and call in all hands on deck.”

“I’ve got eyes on the building,” informed Oracle through the com. “But there don’t appear to be any cameras inside the building.”

“Any other information,” questioned Batman.

Oracle hummed. “Surrounding cameras show five vans entering the building. They aren’t shown leaving so they should still be inside.” Oracle paused as she scoured the rest of the footage. “There should be around twenty-three people inside, not counting the children.”

“Right, cause the number of children is unknown,” commented Red Hood.

“That’s all I’ve got. I’ll keep you updated and informed if anything happens.”

Batman grunted as a thank you and everyone else took that as a signal to get ready.

Peter was gagged and bound within the cell-room that they were all being held in. Two men stood outside.

“I mean, these are children,” one said. He appeared younger. “Are we sure we can do this?”

The other one responded with a sarcastic look. “We’re literally doing something absolutely illegal right now. Of course we technically shouldn’t be doing this.”

Peter wanted to interject in his favor and ask the two to let them all go since they knew this wrong. His gagged mouth wouldn’t allow it though.

“I know.” The younger one sighed. “It’s just…this seems to be too much, no? Something that’s too far- I mean, they’re just children and I have a younger sister and brother at home. Who knows what they’ll go through?”

The older man placed his hand on the younger one’s shoulder. “That’s precisely why you have to do this. This government has made it to where it’s either us or them. Make sure to remember that. It’s them or your siblings.” The man’s grip tightened on the younger man’s shoulder. “You’re working hard to make sure your siblings don’t end up on the streets and are taken advantage of. You’re looking out for your family.”

The older man sighed. “Now stop this nonsense or someone who shouldn’t hear you will and you’ll be a goner. Get your head in the game.”

Peter's eyes found the dirt floor. It wasn’t noble, what the older sibling was doing wasn’t noble, not by any means, he was doing dirty work- firstly work, but to have someone who would prioritize you above anything and anyone else…even if it meant forsaking their morals for you…Peter wished he could have had someone like that.

The sound of gunshots and stomping sounded from above, causing both men to run up and inspect the area.

“Those darned Bats,” yelled the older one as he left.

The children who had previously seemed listless finally regained some energy.

“It’s the Bats,” they questioned, hope in their voices. “It’s Batman?”

The room quickly filled with new vigor as hope swelled within everyone, causing a flurry of movement inside the room. That, combined with the flurried movement from the top and the unstable walls and ceiling of the place, caused the once unstable but stable enough structure to begin its rapid destruction.

Big chunks of dirt fell from the ceiling and the creaking was no longer only audible by Peter’s ears. The previous excitement turned into wails and panicked yells.

Peter attempted to remove his bindings, wriggling about until he managed to do so. He ignored his gagged mouth, instead choosing to free another kid and instructing them to unbind everyone’s hands. Speed was of the essence, especially since Peter had no idea how long it would take between the ceiling caving in on them or them being saved.

Peter took out his copper wire. It had been too thick and unuseable previously which is why he had just stuffed it into his pocket and promptly forgotten about it, but now it came into use. Peter has never been more glad for his forgetful and clumsy nature before. He moved to pick the lock, his movements coming out jerky with adrenaline but he still managed to unlock the gate.

“Everybody out,” he yelled through his gag. Everyone understood what he meant once he swung open the gate.

About everyone had their legs unbound, something Peter had emphasized as important. As long as you could run away then you should be on the safer side. Everyone ran out except for a small boy, five years old at most, who looked too malnourished and weak. His legs, too, were still bound.

Without thinking, Peter rushed for the boy, ignoring the debris that fell on him. A particularly large one hit his shoulder, downing him, but Peter pushed on. Peter Parker was Spider-Man and no second life or whatever would take that away from him.

Peter grunted as he held onto the boy.

Please…please, at least just this once, give me back my strength and speed.

Peter ran with all his strength, feeling his superhuman strength and speed unlock but it was too much for his childish body. He screamed as he landed outside of the now collapsed tunnel and near the other children.

Both of Peter’s legs were broken and his arms were likely fractured. A nasty cut also ran along his leg, having gotten struck by something as he exited the tunnel and a bruise was already forming along his left shoulder.

Peter found it difficult to breathe. The adrenaline was already wearing off. Still he crawled and hid himself along with the other children who were hiding behind giant crates, dragging the small boy with him. Peter wheezed from the strain and effort along with the pain. Some kids helped him once he made it to them, dragging his and the boy’s body.

Peter was so ready to drop dead now. He stared up at the ceiling, splayed out on the dirty floor as the sounds of fighting gradually came to a stop.

Against his better wishes, Peter’s eyes begin to slide close and his senses begin to shut off. The cold feeling of a glove checking for his pulse is the last thing Peter processes before he’s out cold and at the mercy of this bitter, cruel world.

Chapter Text

Peter wakes up to the soft beeping of a machine. He’s disoriented at first and confused so he blinks his eyes rapidly, attempting to get them to focus faster. This only serves to make them blurrier so he rubs at them roughly only to find out that he’s in a hospital, wearing a hospital gown and lying on a hospital bed.

He freezes like a deer in headlights, frozen as he attempts to process everything. All he can think about is “no hospitals, no hospitals, no hospitals” as the possibility of plausible deniability escapes through his fingers and out of his grasp. Peter gets up quickly, his adrenaline overriding the pain that courses through his body at the motion, and lands on his feet, staying upright for a solid second before crumbling onto the ground. 

Peter gasps in pain as his adrenaline does nothing to negate the pain he feels now and slumps down onto the hospital floor as feet thud rapidly in his direction. Peter curses himself and his ancestors except for his parents, Uncle Ben and Aunt May. He’s never met any of his other ancestors anyway.

The door is slammed open to reveal a woman close to her forties. Her eyes blink in shock as she stares at Peter who is lying flat against the floor, groaning in pain. Peter would be clutching himself close but he has a multitude of broken bones if he’s not wrong.

She rushes to Peter, helping him get up as she murmurs to herself, “How on earth did you manage to get up? The pain…”

The woman rests Peter down on the bed gently and Peter is able to read her name tag as he’s lowered down. Mary Smith, it reads. She clicks her tongue as she looks him over.

“We'll have to make sure you didn’t break your bones even more or that nothing shifted, now.”

“How long have I been asleep,” he questions. He hadn’t managed to look at the date so for all Peter knows, it’s been a day or three.

“Two days,” she answers.

Peter thinks about it and deduces that it’s likely the result of his injuries. The very pesky and annoying injuries that are keeping him from his freedom, which is annoying by the way, because the U.S’ whole thing is freedom. As a dutiful American citizen, Peter was very obsessed with his freedom, thank you very much.

After finishing her inspection, the nurse goes to leave. 

“Stay in bed,” she warns sternly. “Everything seems in order and we don’t want that changing, now do we?”

Peter nods his head. “Yes, ma’am.” Then, before he can forget, “When am I to be discharged?”

The nurse turns to look at him fully now, her eyes searching his face. Peter tries his best to look normal and not panic.

“If everything goes well, in about a month or two.”

Peter nods, ever the perfect picture of innocence.

“But that depends on you now, okay? So no more sudden movements.”

Peter nods again, his lips pressed together as he smiles while nodding rapidly. He suppresses a pained moan in the process.

“And then CPS, I’m guessing?”

The woman moves closer this time. “I know CPS is scary, Peter,” she says, taking a glance at his chart. “But it’ll help give you a better life. Living on the streets isn’t good for you, especially considering your age. You’re at your most vulnerable right now.”

Peter smiles in response. “I understand,” he responds.

Once she leaves, Peter’s smile drops. He sighs and leans back against his assigned hospital bed. He understands, naturally, that as an adult she cares for a child like him but CPS in Gotham is quite literally the unsafest place for a kid like him.

Putting aside the normal possible risks like physical, emotional, or sexual abuse, there is also the risk that Peter’s inhuman like characteristics might worsen everything for him. Gotham was known for their fear of people like him and fear bred violence and hatred. People were naturally cautious and wary of the unknown and that which they don’t understand, hence the fear of darkness.

Well, at least the nurse didn’t seem to know Peter was different. That was a plus.

Peter sighs for what feels like the hundredth millionth time and pushes those thoughts away in favor of more pressing matters. Like the sudden appearance of his super strength.

The sudden appearance of his strength meant it was there but dormant. Peter thinks back to when he was first bitten, attempting to connect the dots. He remembers that he had a fever after the bite and then woke up completely fine afterwards, asthma and his athletic abilities all cured. 

Peter hums to himself in thought. It’s possible that the fever acted as a sort of trigger to biologically change his body and now that his current body hadn’t undergone the same process, it now felt the strain that came with the superabilities. In other words, Peter was lifting up a thousand pounds after  not training for it.

Or, since it’s likely that Peter was here through magical means, was the fever and the use of his powers supposed to arrive until he had turned the age of fifteen, the age when he had originally received his powers and altered his biology? But something had gone wrong in the process and he now had his powers at a much younger age?

Or maybe Peter was crazy and he never had a first life and it was all a figment of the imagination of a traumatized two year old. The possibilities were truly endless, really, since Peter didn’t have enough variables to narrow it down to a few possibilities.

What an awful situation, Peter thought to himself. Truly a Parker, one of a kind, situation.

Peter spends his time at the hospital bored out of his mind and receiving help from the nurses when it came to eating. His hands were still in recovery and didn’t appreciate the jostling that came when Peter had rubbed at his eyes. The nurses hadn’t appreciated it either if Peter were being honest.

His injuries, Peter observes, are also beginning to heal faster. Which means Peter is most likely receiving the nutrients that he needs and eating enough for his body to begin functioning properly again.

By the one month mark, Peter decides to leave the hospital. If the hospital staff didn’t know about his powers then they soon would. His injuries are far too healed for a normal human and that could raise questions. Questions Peter didn’t want to answer. Not to mention CPS. There was no way Peter was going with CPS.

So Peter planned his escape for that same night. He looked at the window in his hospital room. That would certainly be the easiest way to get out unnoticed from the inside but not from the outside. He can already imagine his pictures trending on social media. 

Peter gasps, a thought coming to mind. What if he were to accidentally flash them? He groans sadly and covers his face. Knowing his luck, it’s likely. Hospital gowns tend to be a bit revealing. 

Climbing out is not an option then. So Peter waits for the night.

Once night falls, Peter smiles at the nurses and waits for them to do their routine check ups. When Peter is certain they’re gone and down with their job, he grabs his newly washed old clothes that have been sitting on a chair next to his bed and changes. Then, he removes the IV drip attached to his arm. Thankfully, due to his lack of critical injuries, Peter is not hooked up to any other machinery.

He walks out in plain sight, pretending to be a child visiting someone and no one stops him. He makes sure to lower his head when a nurse or doctor passes him by and keeps close to himself.

Peter finally makes it outside, the wind cold with the beginnings of fall and Peter wraps himself tightly in his jacket. It’s when he’s about to cross the street that people come out shouting from the hospital. They look around rapidly and one person spots him, pointing him out to the rest. Once they begin to run towards Peter, he makes a break for it.

Peter frowns as he takes in his surroundings as he runs. Why was he in the upper class part of the city?

Due to his distracted mind, he ends up bumping into two teens. Peter releases a pained groan at the impact, his injuries still not completely healed. He looks up only to be met with a white, black haired, blue eyed teen. Next to him is a black teen with black hair and black eyes.

The blue eyed teen’s eyes widen and the black eyed one murmurs, “Aren’t you supposed to-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as the blue eyed teen elbows him. Black eyed teen coughs awkwardly and the blue eyed one looks back at Peter.

Peter notices the bunch of people currently looking for him catching up, so he grabs the teen closest to him, the blue eyed one, and latches on, giving his best puppy eyes that he’s got.

“Brother,” he calls, ignoring the startled look the teen gets. “I was so scared when I got lost. I thought that was it for me.”

Peter puts on the water works and hugs him, stuffing his face into the middle of the teen’s abdomen and hiding. The teen only awkwardly pats his back.

“I think you’re mistaken,” he begins before Peter pushes him away and brushes away imaginary dirt off of himself. The people after him had moved on already to a new area.

“Thanks,” Peter calls, already moving away and leaving the two teens gawking at him.

Duke and Tim stare after the kid in stunned silence.

Duke tilts his head quizzically. “It was that kid from the other night, right? But the amount of injuries…” He trails off in thought.

Tim hums in thought. “He’s most likely to be a meta. Maybe faster regenerative healing? I’ll have to look into it,” Tim says the last part more so for himself than anyone else.

Peter, having escaped successfully, happily carries on with his day.

Chapter Text

Peter slowly makes his way to the nicer part of the city. His injuries are mostly healed, and yes, his ribs ache once in a while and he walks with a slight limp but he’s fine. He’s better than he’s been in months, actually.

He rounds a corner and approaches a four story building. The building is on the older side and rundown considering it’s on the nicer side of the city but it’s still going strong. Peter drags his hands on the stone bricks as he walks up. 

The first floor of the building acts as a photography club with free lessons on Wednesdays, and while Peter may enjoy the lessons, that’s not the sole reason he attends the classes. The main reason, Peter is embarrassed to say, is the free food they give out. Typically pizzas or sandwiches, sometimes even something special. But even if Peter finds it embarrassing; it’s free food. Why would you say no to free food? When is there ever a time you say no to free food?

Wait. Actually… Peter hums in thought, things like “stranger danger” and “say no to candy” flashing through his thoughts.

“Huh,” he murmurs to himself. “I guess sometimes you do have to say no to free food.” Peter nods to himself. “Or candy,” he adds as an afterthought.

Peter opens the glass doors, reinforced after an incident, and enters. “Hello, Ms. Kennedy,” he greets as he enters.

Ms. Kennedy, a young woman in her mid twenties with black hair and striking blue eyes, glances over at him, turning away from her computer, likely editing pictures.

“Hello, Peter,” she responds. “Food’s in the back, in case you want to get a head start.”

Peter grins at her. “This is why you’re my favorite person in the whole wide world,” he says, spreading his arms wide for emphasis. And it’s true. Peter would have likely died out there without her. She’s helped him out a lot.

Ms. Kennedy laughs. “Is that why you were missing for a month?” She raises an eyebrow and Peter winces.

“I was visiting family,” Peter responds, clearly avoiding looking her in the eye.

Her eyebrow remains raised. “Peter, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you don’t have family. Unless you made some?”

He groans and goes to respond that, while he’s lovable and amazing, no, he has still yet to have a family. Or a group of people he hangs out with. Or learned how to use magic in order to conjure up a family. But an arm slips around his shoulders and a male voice responds for him. 

“As a matter of fact, this little gremlin is my newfound brother.”

Peter is so startled he jolts up and accidentally jabs the person behind him in the stomach. He turns around quickly. Who is this person that has managed to sneak up on him? 

The groaning and scrunched up face of one of the teens had met before greets him. Peter scrunches his face in disbelief.

“Are you stalking me?”

The teen startles. “Okay, I know how this looks, especially with my history,” he pauses at Peter’s incredulous look. “Which you didn’t need to know. Anyway, the point is, no, I am not, in fact, stalking you. I’m just here doing volunteer work.”

The teen straightens himself out while Peter glances Ms. Kennedy in disbelief. She huffs out a laugh.

“Glad you found yourself a brother,” she says. “Now go eat.”

Peter leaves, his eyes narrowed. Sure, the guy’s a teen but teens can be real psychopaths. Peter would know. He was one.

He enters the back rooms and grabs himself a juice box, a slice of pizza and some chips. He sits on a stool, struggling a little, and ends up swinging his legs as he eats. Peter is drinking his apple juice when the stalker enters and sits across Peter. Peter pretends not to see him and turns away, his legs swinging even harder now from annoyance.

The guy only stares at him, his chin leaning on his hand. 

“What’s your name,” he asks.

Peter harrumphs and finally looks at the guy. “Haven’t you heard of stranger danger?”

The guy laughs. “My name is Tim.”

Peter looks at “Tim” over the rim of his juice box. “I didn’t ask,” he says petulantly.

“Please,” the supposed Tim begs. “I’ll give you candy.”

Peter’s mouth literally hangs open as he stares at Tim while Tim simply tilts his head.

“What?”

Instead of running for the hills and leaving, Peter decides to shake his head in disbelief.

“You’re an idiot,” he says.

Tim splutter in the background as Peter grabs a juice box, stabs the straw in, and shuts Tim up with it. 

“Here. Stop flailing and enjoy the juice.”

“How about-“

“Shh shh shh,” Peter shushes. “Enjoy the quiet.”

And so Peter and Tim sit around a small, crowded table in a messy room, drinking apple juice while one sulks and the other enjoys his pizza. The soft shutter of a camera breaking the silence.

Peter looks over to find Ms. Kennedy standing in the doorway, a camera in hand. She grins at them both as Peter certainly does not pout. Tim, however, does pout because Tim is not above pouting. Tim is below pouting. Unlike Peter.

“Come on,” she says. “Classes are starting.”

Peter hopps off his stool, and moves to leave, before pausing. “My name is Peter.”

He doesn’t need to turn around to know Tim is smiling.

Duke stares at Tim, gobsmacked. 

“You seriously offered a child candy in exchange for personal information?” Duke shakes his head about wildly , waving his arms about. “Have you never heard the phrases “don’t accept candy from strangers” or “don’t follow someone to a car to see puppies” ‘cause you’ll definitely get kidnapped or killed?”

Duke turns to look at Steph.  

“Back me up here, Steph. That was being totally weird, right? RIGHT?”

Steph has to nod. “Yeah, Tim, I think you’re a little coo coo in the head.”

She points at her head and swirls it in a circle. 

“And that’s not taking into consideration your stalking tendencies.”

“It was not—,” he begins. 

“Yeah, no, Tim,” interrupts Duke. “I think we need to have an intervention…”

Steph cackles as Tim is forced to sit through three hours of lectures on respecting boundaries and how stalking is bad and inappropriate. 

Chapter Text

If Tim were being honest, he truly hadn’t planned on stalking the kid. Sure, he had been curious, and sure, the kid had plagued his dreams with questions but Tim hadn’t looked into him. Not one bit. Meeting Peter had been purely coincidental. He had been volunteering as a favor to his photography teacher who had threatened to send the email listing the total of Tim’s absences.  

Tim wasn’t a stalker, no matter what everyone else said. In fact, Tim is sure Dick would have been so proud of him, saying something like, “Aww, Tim, you didn’t stalk anyone, huh? Let’s throw you a party,” or something along those lines. Especially since he’d been on a recovery program, three weeks clean so far, the longest he’s ever gone.

Duke definitely wouldn’t be invited to the party though, the traitor , and Steph could attend but she wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the desserts. Jason would be invited, if only for the sole reason that Tim could brag to him about it. And Damian, well, Damian would be there only because he lives in the same house as Tim. 

Tim nods to himself in satisfaction.

“What are you smiling about,” questions Peter, a disgusted look on his face as he looks up from his camera. “Are you being a creep again?”

Tim laughs and snaps a quick picture of Peter, eyebrow raised and his face scrunched up. Peter scowls. 

“You are the weirdest person I’ve ever met.” Peter mumbles the sentence under his breath but does it loud enough to where he knows Tim hears. Tim only smiles.

“Thank you,” he responds. “I do try my best.”

Peter rolls his eyes and squints past Tim. “Is that…”

Tim turns around and searches for the thing that catches Peter’s attention. There’s a clothing store, a restaurant, and an ice cream shop. Peter’s eyes, though, are clearly drawn to the ice cream store.

Peter tugs on Tim’s arm rapidly. “You have money, right? Come on, be a nice person and buy me an ice cream.”

Tim stares at Peter in befuddlement. “I thought I was a creep?”

Peter tears his eyes away from the ice cream store and opens them wide, an innocent look taking over his face. “No? Who said that? I’ll fight them for you right now.”

Tim scoffs in mock offense but relents anyway and buys Peter the ice cream. They sit outside the store, enjoying the dark and cloudy sky.

Peter smiles at Tim and he’s only able to take one lick of his ice cream before he drops it. Tim watches in slow motion as the ice cream slowly descends and Peter begins convulsing, his arms seizing up. Just as Peter’s eyes begin to shut, Tim can see an eerie glow begin to take over them.

Tim makes a split decision to take Peter to the cave instead of the hospital. 

⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳

Peter looks around the white expanse of the area he’s in. There is no light or shadow, nothing to differentiate far from close, nothing to showcase signs of life but Peter knows he’s not alone. 

There’s a presence here staring at him. It speaks to Peter but doesn’t speak. The language is a flow of emotions and colors and nothingness, something the human mind would not be able to understand or comprehend. It’s a language that breaks the bounds of humanity but Peter finds that he can understand everything.

“So that is what ice cream is,” it communicates. “It truly is enjoyable.”

Peter’s head tilts in curiosity. “How would you know? You only took a glimpse from my memories, didn’t you?”

The being does something similar to a hum. “I could feel and taste just as you did, Peter. Your memories are to me as the internet is to you but I am able to perceive taste and feel from the memories you show me.”

Peter gasps in amazement. “What more can you do?”

The being goes to answer but pauses for a short moment. “You mentioned previously that you wished to be informed when we had visitors, did you not?”

Peter’s face scrunches up. “Do we have visitors?”

The thing hums. “You could say as such.”

Peter, the one of now and not the one of old, feels a heavy gaze fall upon him and scrutinize him. He feels every inch of his body be scrutinized and inspected. It goes through everything Peter has to offer and it leaves Peter kneeling and gasping for air once the gaze falls away from him. Peter is left to wonder how the other one, the older-looking one, feels nothing as the same heavy gaze, carrying power and destruction but holding peace within its grasp, turns to him.

“It is about time you take your leave, child,” it says and Peter is kicked out.

The last thing Peter sees is the older-looking Peter smiling at him. “Be safe,” he whispers.

⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳⬳

“We’ve got a pulse!”

The flurry of sounds fades to the background as Peter is lulled down once again.

Peter wakes up once again with a gasp. The groan he proceeds to let out is quickly followed by another one as his whole body begins to ache. His confusion almost keeps him from noticing the number of masked people surrounding him and the controlled voices passing back and forth above his head.

There’s a woman standing above him with black hair, her eyebrows creased as magic inspects his body. Peter doesn’t quite recognize her. 

Another masked face pops up above Peter, staring down at him. “Whoah,” the person says. “Should this kid be looking like a ten year old when just a few hours ago he was, like, six years old?”

If Peter weren’t feeling extremely tired, he would have argued with the blue and black dressed man. In fact, the person was reduced to “I-don’t-recognize-you” status. Even if Peter knew it was Nightwing.

The man gasped. “He’s awake,” he called back over his shoulder, and then, turning back to Peter, “Um, please don’t move, okay? Zatanna is looking you over right now.”

Peter would have replied if it weren’t a waste of air.

The woman, now dubbed Zatanna, gasped and her eyes opened as she stumbled back. “I think,” she began once she got her breath back, “that this is a job for Raven.”

“Raven?”

The man shot Peter a quick smile before moving away with Zatanna. Another man, this time much older and also wearing a mask, filled in the empty spot left behind by the other one.

“I’m Agent A,” he introduced himself. “I will be checking you over, please excuse my movements.”

Agent A quickly got to work as Peter lay in the cot, surrounded by wires and a machine that kept beeping. He sighed and decided to eavesdrop on the pair that had left, no longer tuning them out.

“...his soul, it’s— fractured, broken. It looks like it was ripped apart forcefully but that’s as far as I can tell.” Peter could hear the sound of her hair swishing back and forth, likely due to her head shaking, “You know this is something more along Raven’s line of work.”

The man sighed. “I know, but do you know how hard it is to get ahold of Raven? We don’t even know where she’s at— I mean, she could be three dimensions away for all we know.”

“There’s really no other choice.”

“Alright, we’ll make it work somehow.” There was a small pause. “How mad do you think B-man will be when he gets back?”

“From a scale of one to ten? Probably a seven. A kid’s life was saved, after all.”

Their voices faded back into the background as Peter was left reeling. His soul was ripped apart? How come he didn’t know about this? Why hadn’t he felt anything?

Peter would like to jump off a cliff at this point and time now.

Chapter Text

The man, that Peter definitely doesn’t know is Nightwing, is back and sitting to Peter’s side on a chair. His hair isn’t as perfectly unkempt looking as it typically looks when he’s out and about saving the people of Gotham. It hangs down as the man leans forward, his arms leaning on his knees.

“You’re back to normal,” he notes.

Peter nods. He is, in fact, back to normal. Aching and sore and with a headache to end all headaches, but back to normal nonetheless. 

“How do you feel?” He asks, his tone that of a professional medic speaking with a patient. Even still, Peter detects the slight traces of concern coming from the man. People do tend to feel for children more, after all.

Peter answers honestly. “Sore and aching like I just got run over by a bus.”

The worst part is that Peter does know what that feels like. His past life offers some vague memories of it so Peter guesses it wasn’t that bad. At the very least, he knows it wasn’t what killed him.

Tilting his head, Peter feigns confusion and scrunches up his nose. “Who are you?”

The spluttering that resounds throughout the cave is enough to call the attention of Agent A, who pops his head in to check on the situation. The man who is not Nightwing turns to look at Agent A and then looks back at Peter. He points at Agent A.

 “Who is that?”

Peter follows his finger. 

“Agent A.”

Agent A nods at Peter and then Nightwing, something close to a smile hovering on his lips as he leaves. 

Nightwing is left with his mouth hanging open and then promptly closes it, clearing his throat.

“Sure, know the man quite literally known by no one,” he murmurs to himself. “Anyway, getting back on topic. I’m Nightwing.” He introduces himself and Peter listens. “Based on the information we received, it looks like you were having a seizure, a non epileptic one at that, but we may need further testing just to make sure.”

Peter shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t anything medical related.”

Nightwing’s gaze sharpens. “Do you mind explaining?”

Peter coughs into the crease of his elbow and brushes off the question. The man in front of him may be considered a hero but Peter had never met him before this. It was better to be cautious. Especially if Peter didn’t even know what was going on. Knowledge is power and all that.

“Just a hunch.” He answers.

Nightwing raises an eyebrow. “Does it have something to do with you suddenly growing older?”

Peter frowns. “That’s never happened to me before so I don’t know how that happened.”

“Alright.” Nightwing drew out the word while leaning back in the chair, arms crossed and thinking. “Okay, so, we’ll do some initial cursory tests and scans just to check you’re holding up.”

Nightwing tilted his head sideways, looking at Peter. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Yes. What? Do you think I’m poor? That I’m so poor I’m homeless?”

Ignoring the fact that he was actually poor and basically homeless, Peter argued the opposite. Nightwing raised his arms in defeat.

“Alright alright. I get it.”

Peter huffed and crossed his arms. “Anyway, how did I get here? And where’s Tim?”

“Signal was out patrolling when he ran across your friend carrying you in the street. The scene and your situation didn’t seem like a typical medical emergency but rather something…more, so to speak, so you were taken here.”

“And Tim couldn’t come.” Peter said, finishing the sentence. 

Nightwing nodded. “And Tim couldn’t come,” he affirmed.

Standing up, Nightwing stretched, groaning as his back cracked. 

“Get some rest. Once you wake up we’ll run those tests and then release you.” Nightwing’s hand rested on the wall as he glanced back at Peter. “Are you sure you have a place to stay?”

Peter groaned in response and laid back down, raising the blanket to his chin and curling up. It felt nice even if it was just one of those hospital beds.

“Yes, I do.”

Nightwing sighed and left.

Nightwing, now Dick Grayson, exits the bat cave to find a worried Tim sitting on a couch, slouched and sinking into the cushions. Dick huffs out a laugh. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

Tim shakes his head and waves away Dick’s question. “How is he?”

Dick takes a seat next to Tim. “He’s currently alive and well,” he says. “We’ll be taking some scans and checking up on his body just to make sure he’s fine. Likely some time tomorrow.”

Dick pokes at Tim’s side as Tim sinks further into the couch. “Why didn’t you go down if you were so worried?”

Tim shakes his head again. “That kid’s too smart and suspicious. He’ll definitely catch on to me.”

Dick laughs. “I guess he did seem a bit guarded.”

Tim’s only response is a desolate hum. 

“Go sleep.” Dick stands up yawning and slides his hands across his face. “It’s late and we’re all dead tired.”

Tim dragged his feet even as Dick pushed him along. 

“You’re staying over?” Tim questioned, glancing back to look at Dick.

Dick hummed in affirmation. “I came over in a hurry, stayed longer than expected, and now ’m tired.”

Tim winced. “Sorry.”

Dick smiled and ruffled Tim’s hair as they walked up the stairs. “Don’t worry about it Timbo.”

Peter stares at the multiple scans being processed along with the little brush that was used to get a sample of his cells. It was called a cytology test or something like that and taken “just in case” it provided some answers as to what was going on with Peter.

Nightwing moves over to Peter and flashes him a smile. He removes his gloves and throws them away.

“So, anywhere you need to be dropped off? Someone we need to contact for you?”

Peter shakes his head and jumps off the hospital bed. “Nope.” Peter pauses and tilts his head in thought. “Actually, the guy that was with me before. Tim.”

Nightwing raises an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“Can you contact him and tell him I’m okay? I don’t know how to contact him.”

Nightwing nods slowly. “About that, we managed to reach him earlier today. Said we could drop you off in the city where he’ll meet you. Are you okay with that?”

Peter nods his head rapidly. Nightwing still shoots Peter some worried glances every once in a while as he moves about clearing the area but doesn’t insist on Peter providing proof of a good home. Peter is glad for that.

A piece of cloth is soon wrapped over Peter’s eyes and he’s guided out by the elbow. He suspects that he’s spun around and guided around in circles on purpose for precaution. Peter doesn’t know he’s out of whatever dark place he was in until he can feel the warmth of the sun touching his skin. Even through the cloth; bits of orange and yellow manage to wedge themselves through.

He’s promptly inserted into a car where he’s still not allowed to take off the blindfold until much later in the ride. When Peter is allowed to take off the blindfold, he takes it off to the sight of a very fancy car’s interior. There’s a small glass panel that separates Peter from the driver that is tinted very darkly. The surrounding windows, too, are extremely dark.

The care ride is silent and Peter worries that maybe the “heroes”of Gotham are actually illegal organ harvesters or maybe even child kidnappers. His worries are quickly dispelled when the city comes into view and he’s promptly dropped off. He stands there confused. How would they contact him for more information? But his worries are quickly forgotten when he spots Tim standing on the opposite street. Tim spots him too and hurries over to Peter, almost getting run over in the process. 

Peter winces as the car driver speeds off cursing and honking. When Tim stands in front of Peter, Peter grabs Tim’s arm and stares up and straight into his eyes. 

“Tim,” Peter says in mock worry and wonder. “How have you survived this long? Do you have no self preservation instincts?”

“Wha—?” Tim splutters and waves his arms. “I’ll have you know, I’ve survived seventeen years already.”

Peter squints his eyes in suspiciousness. “Then why would you just hand me over to a group of unknown people? Have you never heard of stranger danger? Don’t trust strangers? Be wary of people who cosplay as furries and swing around the city in very tight clothing?”

Tim opens and closes his mouth, his eye wide and his expression a series of emotions.

“Did you— you just— compare the bats to furry cosplayers?”

Peter simply sent Tim an unamused look and ignored his own dark past.

“Anyway, I’m hungry,” said Peter. “Let’s go buy some food.”

And he dragged Tim in the direction of a restaurant.

Duke and Steph stared at Tim in utter shock while on Tim’s right side was a maniacally laughing Dick with his arm wrapped around an indifferent Damian. 

“Dang.” Steph whistled. “He really dissed us with that one.”

Tim waved his arms about. “We do not cosplay as furries!”

Duke uncrossed his arms and tilted his head. “I mean, Bruce does have his bat thing going for him.”

Steph burst into laughter as Tim went on a long rant about the difference between Bruce’s suit and a bat costume for furries.

“Bats are furry” was Damian’s only input.

Chapter Text

“The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout~ Down came the rain, and washed the spider out~” Peter jumped onto the railing of the harbor, arms out and spread as he balanced, not that it was needed. His balancing technique was impeccable, but it was still fun to spread out his arms. The night breeze felt comforting. “Out came the sun, and dried up all the rain, and the itsy bitsy spider went up the spout again-”

Peter paused, his head cocked, eyes wandering, searching. There, movement to his left, about three pairs of feet thudding against the ground. They were a few feet away but approaching him at a somewhat steady pace, two of them dragging their feet. The other one was most likely leading, then, going by the swift and light movement. Peter jumped down and moved behind some cargo, hidden but still able to see.

It was dark, about midnight, so their presence in the docking area was suspicious. But not Peter’s presence, of course. Peter was good. 

Two men and a woman appeared, the two men carrying something heavy between themselves. 

“Hurry up,” the woman whispered. “We’re on a tight schedule.” A frown marred her face as she approached the railing. “This day has already been enough of a bust.”

One man responded with a grunt, simply continuing to carry the heavy object between himself and the other man. Said other man shot her an angry look.

“I’m not even part of the disposal team. This is all your fault to begin with anyway.”

The woman whipped around, face twisted into an angry snarl. “I was doing my job.”

“Your job requires you to keep them alive as long as possible,” he growled. “Now we’re out here dumping a kid’s body into the harbor because you pushed it too far.”

Peter stifles a gasp. Kid? A kid’s body? 

“I thought I could get results-”

“Is this about those two you let escape a few years ago? Let it go, Lea. They’ll get rid of you if you continue this. The AAM is not to be messed with, you know this.”

‘Lea’ shook her head, face straightening out into a crafted neutral expression. “Whatever, just dump the body into the water. Not like anyone will care.”

“Finally,” the other man seemed to grumble.

Lea shot him a dirty look but ignored him otherwise. 

“You made sure no one will recognize the kid?”

“Yeah. I made sure to dump the body in acid. He was a street kid anyway so it doesn’t matter much. No one ever looks for those.”

The two men grunted as they hefted the body up and threw it over the railing. It was only for a moment but it was enough time for Peter to see the disfigured face of a kid not much older than him, eyes wide with peeling skin bubbling at the surface. 

…thump thump…

Mind going blank, Peter ran.

…thump thump…

 He ran away as far as he could, gasping for breath, hearing his heart thud against his chest.

…thump thump thump…

A constant thud thud thud reverberating throughout his system. The sight of the kid’s face, so disfigured, so scared, haunted Peter.

…ThUmP tHuMp tHuMP…

 Even in death, the poor boy had been stripped of his dignity and robbed of peace. Peter sobbed into his arms. 

…THUMP THUMP THUMP…

How could he forget how lucky he was?

Gagging, Peter threw up. 

Peter’s mind wandered off constantly. It was by no means Ms. Kennedy’s fault, her classes were always fun and entertaining but Peter could just not focus. 

And It’s not that he wasn't trying either. 

He took a picture on autopilot, and inspected it with zero interest. The lighting was okay, not perfect but not awful; perfect mediocrity. His gaze bore into it and Peter snapped back into focus as soon as the edges of the photo began to blur and mix into each other. Peter rubbed at his eyes.

Snap out of it, Peter scolded himself. Now is not the time. Now is not the time. Focus.

Just for good measure, Peter slapped himself in the cheek. The sound ended up being somewhat loud and crisp, drawing the attention of Ms. Kennedy, who turned around to glance at Peter, paused, and simply raised an eyebrow before turning back to her work, already used to Peter’s behavior. And Tim, whose head whipped around so fast that Peter was afraid his neck would snap off. Tim, too, raised an eyebrow but also decided to meddle.

“So,” Tim drew out the word, leaning his head close to inspect Peter. Tim’s actions seemed silly and his tone certainly sounded silly but even so, Peter still shifted back and looked away.

Keep your secrets close. Guard them and hide them behind closed doors and away from prying eyes.

Peter smacked Tim’s face away, laughing softly as Tim rubbed at his cheek. 

“Rude,” Tim mumbled, a pout taking over his face but his face then took on a more serious look. “Are you okay?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m fine; nothing to worry about.”

“Uh huh.” Tim looked unimpressed, both eyebrows now raised for emphasis.

“Really, I’m fine.” Peter faked a yawn. “Just…sleepy. I couldn’t sleep well last night,” he added.

And Peter had been pretending at first but now that he said it, he had noticed his eyes were drooping more often than normal. Even now, his head began to sag down, gravity becoming too much of a force for Peter to withstand, as his eyes faught to close. 

Tim tapped Peter’s head. “You sure you’re okay?”

Peter hummed. “Positive,” he said, shaking his head to wake himself up.

The dubiousness in Tim’s eyes didn’t clear up but it appeared that he decided not to push because he didn’t bother Peter again. But that didn’t mean Tim blurred into the background and his presence wasn’t felt again. No, by no means did that occurr. Instead, Tim’s probing eyes lingered on Peter and didn’t move away. 

Times like these reminded Peter to be wary and left him on edge. Tim was silly, acted cute and goofy but there was always a sharpness to his eyes, to the way he moved— it was too fluid— too perfect and at times too perfectly imperfect that it left Peter thinking. Had Peter been any other person he’s sure he wouldn’t have picked up on it. Tim was good, after all, and for as much as he stared, Tim was still amazing at hiding it. Not from Peter though, his powers giving him an unpredictable edge. 

And that’s without mentioning the small amounts of minutes or hours in which there would be just enough night time or insomnia that someone would take take pity on Peter and teach him a few things. 

“Remember, Peter,” Mr. Stark said, eyes boring into Peter. “We make the suit. The suit does not make us.”

Natasha, silent as always, stood off the corner and nodded, her cool eyes looking at Peter.

“Your training and your knowledge are what make you in battle. But most of all, experience is invaluable, and you have that. Use it. Weaponize it. Knowledge is power.”

She nodded her head to the hallway and Peter followed, a bit intimidated. 

“Your opponent's body language…”

Peter focused once again, his vision having gone blurry at the memories of the past. It was a good thing he focused, however, because the photography class had ended and Ms. Kennedy was beckoning Peter over. 

Peter scurried to her, waving goodbye to Tim, who waved back, eyes still curious and hiding a depth Peter could not decipher, but Peter left Tim to his thoughts and approached Ms. Kennedy, who had her hands on her hips, an exasperated look on her face.

“Now, I don’t know why you wanted two extra large pizzas with extra cheese and bacon ,” she began, eyes squinted and staring at Peter in question. “But I ordered them for you. Take them as payment for the odd jobs you do for me.”

Ms. Kennedy finally cracked a smile and rubbed his hair. Peter huffed, frowning— and not pouting, Peter didn’t pout— and looked up at her. “I should still do something—”

“Nuh uh uh.” She shook her head. “This is payment for helping out.” Ms. Kennedy bent down and took Peter by the shoulders, face going soft. “You deserve it, kiddo.”

Peter looked away. “Thank you for the food,” he murmured, taking the boxes into his arms and turning away.

“Make sure stay safe,” Ms. Kennedy called to Peter’s retreating back. “The sun’s setting…”

Peter smiled and waved in acknowledgment, glancing down at the pizza boxes in his hands.

This food was important…

Chapter Text

The sound of screaming and anger and fear bounced off the walls as Peter rounded a corner, clutching the pizzas close to him. And while it sounded awful, no one ever actually wanted a silent Crime Alley. There is nothing scarier than a power that is capable of causing chaos in a stably chaotic place, because then that means that the part of Gotham that had quite literally seen the worst of humanity had still decided that something was still too much for it. So as much as people hated the sounds, it still brought forth a sense of relief. Like a sign that says “just a normal Tuesday.”

Peter takes a left, and pauses, breathing in deeply before taking a step and jumping into the lion’s den. He’s revealed to three boys and two girls, all looking to be around seventeen. To be honest Peter has no idea. He’s never been a good judge of age. They all look too old or too young. In fact, Peter’s pretty sure he thought and eight year old kid was a four year old.

The teenagers, or not teenagers, Peter really has no idea anymore, stand in a half circle around a trash bin, always maintaining their eyes on Peter and standing guard. 

There are other kids standing around the periphery of Peter’s sight but they don’t engage him. These five are the older of the street kids and stand as a kind of pillar in the balance of power between the top three gangs of children. You can’t always survive alone so that’s where the gangs come in, all having a different ideology, ideals, and thoughts behind their actions.

Peter clears his throat.

A girl, the shortest of them all, turns to Peter. She has a hoodie covering most of her face but she still attempts at a piercing look. If Peter is being honest, he would have laughed. She’s drowning in a hoodie and her height takes away from the serious image she wants to portray, so much so that she ends up looking like a cat.

“What is it you wish for, child?” She questions while holding up a crudely taped flashlight with a green piece of translucent paper at the top. Her face ends up shrouded in green. Peter guesses it’s for mystery.

A boy appears to have enough of her shenanigans as he smacks her in the head. “Quit your weirdness,” he mutters. “This is why no one ever takes you seriously. It has nothing to do with your height.”

The girl gasps, reeling her head back as if she just got smacked with fifty tons of bricks and has been forced to kiss said bricks.

“My height— mph! MPH MpH!”

She never gets to finish her sentence as the other girl in the group smacks a hand over her mouth and silences her. “I’m sorry about, Aden,” she says, a tight lipped smile over her face. “She’s been reading too many fantasy books.”

“Aden” appears to give up then and there and slumps. “No one’s any fun here,” she mutters once she’s released, though she doesn’t appear to turn over a new leaf.

“I am Aden, child of house—” Aden notices the other girl's eyes flash and the boy move as if to smack her again so she finishes her sentence in a rush. “No one’s house actually. I’m an orphan. That’s Eda over there, Nico is the dude who BEAT ME UP,” she raises her voice and glares at Nico who shrugs in response and simply says “you asked for it” in response. “And the quiet one is Leo. Say hi Leo.”

Leo nods at Peter and Peter freezes for a moment before responding with one of those awkward acknowledgement smiles. Smoooth Peter. Real smooth.

Aden grins, all teeth and no more shenanigans present. Her demeanor from before appeared nothing like the one she presented now.

“So? Why’d you come?”

The illusion quickly breaks when she jumps back and grins again, now friendly, and whoops. 

“Take that suckers!”

Peter follows the lead of everyone else and ignores her, throwing her a wary look.

“I heard you had information.”

“What kind of information,” the Nico dude asked. 

“About the child trafficking that’s been happening and an organization called…the AAM.”

The group shares a glance. “That’s a bit— hmmmm,” Eda hums to herself in thought. She glances at the pizza boxes Peter’s clutching. “Three boxes, that’s your payment?”

“And three canned cokes,” Peter says, taking out said cokes.

Eda squints her eyes in thoughts. When she can’t come to a conclusion then all five teens gather together and begin discussing.

“Alright,” Aden claps her hands, being the first one to turn back to Peter. “This is what your food buys you.”

Leo steps forward slightly. So he must be the one with the information, thinks Peter. “The AAM…is an organization that’s been operating for some time now. An exact date is unknown but it’s believed to have popped up around fifteen to twenty years ago.”

“The older ones talk about it,” added Aden, popping into Leo’s personal space. “How kids disappeared off the streets never to be seen again.”

Leo pushed her head away in annoyance. “As for the child trafficking and their connection,” Leo tilts his head and Peter waits. This could be vital information. “They’re the highest sponsors of the child traffickers. In fact, you could even say child trafficking pays a lot in Gotham because of them.”

Eda nodded her head. “They do the most business with child traffickers.”

Nico hummed. “But that wasn’t always the case. Apparently, they used to just take kids directly off the streets but then they got worried about everything being traced back to them.” Nico grinned darkly at Peter. “And since they only operated in Crime Alley then no one noticed. Or no one cared, you could say. Well, except those affected by it.”

Peter frowned in thought. “Do you know why they’re doing what they do?”

They stared at Peter a few seconds before Nico spoke. “You know those people with powers? The metahumans?” 

Peter almost flinched. It was impossible, Peter had always been careful, but he still couldn’t help the panic that set in. The thoughts of “maybe they know” and “they must have discovered me” always plaguing Peter’s mind. But Peter managed to stop himself and nodded in response.

“Apparently they’re researching that. That’s all we can tell you.” Nico shrugged.

Aden approached Peter, a skip to her step. “I’ll be taking that.” She sing-songed, stretching her words.

She clutched the pizza boxes in her hands, head tilted as she leaned down and whispered, “Between you and me? I heard some kids escaped from that organization a few years ago. A boy and a girl. It’s unconfirmed though. Unreliable information.” She shrugged. “But can you imagine what one could do with an army of superpowered people?” Aden winked. “I would take over the world.

“Don’t mess with the wrong people, kid,” she called back at Peter, back already turned as she walked away and into a flurry of “what did you do” and “what did you say” and “what have you done this time” as she responded with a “nothing.”

All Peter heard was her groan of frustration as she yelled, “I don’t know, leave me alone” in mock frustration.

A figure watched from above, standing in the shadows as day became night and Crime Alley awoke from its slumber. A hand slowly unclenched as a controlled fury made it through into words. 

“AAM, huh?” It was nothing but a soft murmur but even so, it carried a weight unknown to many.

Peter moved along, none the wiser of the figure watching him leave. A lot of the information wasn’t necessarily new but it was more than Peter had previously known. It was a good thing the group of five accepted payment corresponding to what a person held most valuable. As a street kid, Peter’s was food and clothes. 

Climbing over a fence and hopping into an opened window, Peter enters an empty little warehouse. It’s too run down to be used as an evil hideout but still good enough to hike up in. On second thought, a dubious glance was shot up at a creaky roof. Well, maybe just for a bit longer, Peter thinks to himself, eyeing the structure. It could only hold on for so long. 

There was…, “a notebook,” Peter continues aloud, looking for something while on his knees, “somewhere…around here…”

“Aha.” Peter grins triumphantly, holding an old worn out notebook in his hands. There’s a pencil he doesn’t remember sticking in there but honestly, he’s so forgetful sometimes that Peter’s given up on himself.

Child trafficking, the AAM, two possible escapees, and human experiments. Peter stares down at the list. He writes down ‘metahumans’ too. Even as Peter stares, there is only one thing that comes to mind. The AAM wants superpowered people. 

Peter hums. But why? Do they take metahumans to experiment on them? Or do they take normal humans to change them? Or could they be looking for a specific cap or trigger to the metahumans gene?

The man from before had mentioned something about two people escaping from the woman… Then were the rumours true? 

Peter flumped down, exasperated. Just how far did this all go? Did the AAM have backing? Sponsors? Did they deal with the big hitters of Gotham? With the elites of Gotham? 

He rubbed at his eyes, tiredness clawing at his brain. “Why am I so small brain,” he questioned in a murmur, a hand over his eyes, and voice slightly muffled as sleep overtook Peter.

Meanwhile in another part of the city, Dick stepped into the batcave, freezing in place at the sight of Batman, Bruce Wayne, hunched over, viewing the reports over the past few days. 

Dick felt like a teenager who had been caught with his pants down in front of a whole crowd. For what reasons the pants were down he truly does not know. Bruce doesn’t look up for a few seconds more before turning to look at Dick. 

“You allowed access to the cave to a child?”

And really, Dick can tell he’s being judged, so he does the best thing he can think of. 

“He called you a furry.” He blurts out.

“And I agree with him.” Damian materializes out of nowhere, nodding his head very seriously.

“…What?”

Honestly, Dick will come to be proud of this moment, seeing Bruce Wayne, the Batman, unchanging, grounded and strong, that Batman staring at Dick as if they, Dick Grayson and Damian Al Ghul-Wayne, have grown a second head. Amazing times they live in, huh?

Chapter Text

Dick cleared his throat while Bruce sat facing the computer, most likely catching up on whatever had occurred over the past few days. Damian had, after inputting his two cents, left as quickly as he had popped up. 

“The kid was with Tim when he had what looked to be a seizure. Based on what Tim observed, the situation wasn’t rooted in a medical emergency but instead something other. His eyes were flashing and his heart stopped but it looked like the “seizure” wasn’t anything truly medical related. Especially considering the fact he appeared to rapidly age before regressing back.”

Dick tilted his head in thought, frowning. “To be honest, besides the age thing, everything else was quite reminiscent of when the human body is forced to endure too much power.” Dick shook his head, sighing. “I’ve seen too many people being overtaken by their power. His was very reminiscent to it.”

Bruce finished his inspection before turning, his chair swiveling around. “What were your next course of actions?”

“I took some tissue samples which were then sent to Star Labs for examination. We’re currently waiting on the results.”

“And you have a way to contact him?”

“Tim regularly meets up with him,” Dick replied. “Something to do with photography and volunteering.”

Bruce displayed no outward tell of surprise but Dick could see just as clearly the way he was caught by surprise. There was something about the way he appeared to pause and take in the information.

“Tim,” Bruce questioned, a simple eyebrow raised. “Tim doesn’t typically hang out with children.”

Dick shrugged. “He’s been quite fascinated by the kid.”

A grunt was Bruce’s only response. “Anything fascinating to Tim is something we have to be prepared for.”

A small huff of laughter escaped Dick. “He really does always get into messes.”

The sound of clacking on the keyboard did not let up even as Bruce glanced at Dick and then returned back to the Batcomputer.

“He reminds me of someone,” he muttered. 

To which Dick rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t that bad,” he huffed. “I actually think I did pretty good.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “No, you were quite the troublemaker.”

Dick huffed out a laugh and a lull of silence followed soon after, the soft clicking of keys on a keyboard and the occasional sound from the bats the only thing that permeated throughout the cave. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence though. Quite the opposite actually.

Dick took a seat and decided to speak. “Are you mad,” he questioned after some hesitation. “About the kid?”

Silence followed his question. 

“I’m not mad,” Bruce finally said, turning away from the computer.

Narrowed eyes looked over Bruce. He wasn’t wearing the bat suit, instead choosing to wear “casual wear” so Bruce’s face was on full display, and Dick disagreed.

“No, you’re angry,” affirmed Dick.

A sigh followed his statement and Bruce appeared to slump in defeat. Well, as much as The Batman could anyway.

“I’m not mad,” Bruce reinstated. “Simply,” here, he paused in thought before continuing. “Simply frustrated,” he continued.

An ugly feeling rose within Dick and forced its way to his gut where it proceeded to pool. Had he been a teenager like before, always so angry and on the verge of exploding, Dick would have lashed out. With the mentality to hurt before they hurt and injure before they injure. Instead, he tamped down the feelings and voiced his thoughts. Everyone has a reason for the way they act and feel, he reminded himself, even if that reason may be ‘because I felt like it.’ 

“Because you don’t trust me?”

He attempted to stop the hurt he felt but it seeped out anyway.

“No, I always trust you.” The response was immediate and with no hesitation. It made Dick…feel something. “My… only desire is for you and your siblings to be safe.”

Bruce was clearly struggling as he spoke but he soldiered on. It was something they had all been working on, Bruce especially and he’d come a long way. Of course, he wasn’t like the man Dick had first met and while he did at times miss the man that once was, Dick was also mature enough to recognize that that man had been scarred and hurt repeatedly by the claws of the very city he loved, and that the one who now stood in front of Dick was just as worthy of love and care.

“My anger,” Bruce continued, words stilted and awkward, “stems from my inability to completely protect those I care for and my lack of control of what may put you all in harm's way.”

Dick smiled, verging on a grin. “Thank you for being honest with me. I care about you, too.”

A roll of the eyes is what would have greeted Dick if he weren’t speaking with Bruce. Luckily for Dick, he was, in fact, speaking to Bruce. 

The rapid thudding of footsteps echoed throughout the cave as Tim rushed down the stairs. Dick swiveled around to stare, an eyebrow lifted in question. Tim responded with a look of exasperation. 

“Did you not get the message?” 

The look he proceeded to shoot Dick was one that clearly screamed ‘this guy is an idiot’ as he shook his head while also shooting Bruce a look that said ‘am I right or am I right.’

Tim basically shoved Bruce away from the computer and began searching for some files. Bruce simply let Tim act as he wanted and allowed for himself to be manhandled away, instead choosing to observe as Tim worked at what he wanted.

“Star Labs sent back what they found,” Tim said, eyes not moving away from the computer. “They should be calling soon.”

Softer and more subdued steps followed down the stairs, Damian and Steph making their way down. Dick was only able to glance at them as his “work” phone rang and he was stuck fumbling for it.

“Hello,” he answered in question.

A friendly but professional tone greeted him in reply. “Hello. We’ve sent the results of what you sent us. I’m assuming you’re looking at it now as we speak?”

Dick glanced at Tim who sent him a thumbs up. Damian glanced over the files quickly, a curious glint in his eyes but deciding not to mess with anything, he turned away from the screen. He quickly became distracted by Steph. Dick rolled his eyes and instead approached Tim and Bruce who were both looking over everything.

“Yes, I have everything in front of me right now.”

“Then, as you can see, we tested the blood samples and it doesn’t look like he has a mutation for seizures or the like. More tests would be needed for a more accurate reading, as you may have guessed.” Dick hummed in acknowledgment. “But otherwise, on that front, he appears healthy. His cells and blood, on the other hand…” The voice trailed off.

“I’ll be honest with you right now. That kid should be dead.” Tim’s head snapped over to Dick, the previous hushed whispers and silly shenanigans ending immediately as everyone became alert. Bruce especially became tense, strings pulled taught, but nothing could match Tim’s look. There was a fear there that Dick hadn’t seen in a long time. Not since one of them almost died.

“His cells appear to constantly be exploding and replicating themselves.” The voice sounded astonished. “By all means, his body should have given up a long time ago.”

A weighted silence. “And yet he lives…,” breathed Dick.

“And yet he lives,” affirmed the person. “The reason as to why wasn’t really identifiable but there was a suspicious thing.”

“What is it,” Dick questioned, a bit impatient as Tim peered at the phone in his hands as if it held the answers to the universe.

“There are signs…of drugs and chemicals in his DNA.” There was a pause followed by the sound of shuffling paper. “It appears fused to his DNA and being honest? It is very reminiscent of experimentation.”

The air in the room quickly turned heavy, a gloomy feeling overtaking the room. Tim’s previous tense posture seemed to wind up even more and the look he always got when a particularly tough challenge had been presented to him began twinkling through. There was a determination to him now.

“That’s all we could find,” the person ended. “For more thorough information we’d need to run a multitude of tests and examinations.”

Dick nodded his head even if the woman on the other side of the phone couldn’t see him. “Of course. Thank you for the information.”

He hung up the phone, sighing.

“We really need to find Raven,” Tim said, voice grave. Then to himself in a quieter tone, head already far away. “Dead…a long time ago?” Tim turned away, already stuck in his mind. “…constantly exploding and dying cells…while regenerating at the same time?”

Dick shook his head and excused himself, quickly making his way to his room. He knelt down at his closet door, quickly shuffling boxes and clothes away in search of one inconspicuous box. It was simple, with enough detail to not stand out from over simplicity but lacking just enough to not stand out in a fancy measure. 

He paused, the box staring at Dick in the face. This moment felt…monumental. Inconceivable. It had been so long and yet… And yet Dick found himself here again, long after things had occurred and he hadn’t even spoken to her in so long… Not since the team had decided to part ways. Dick would be lying if he said nervousness wasn’t coursing and thrumming right underneath his skin.

Dick’s fingers were gentle as they grazed the outside of the box, a hint of melancholy entering his gaze. Breathing in deeply, Dick felt as if he were opening Pandora’s box as his hands approached the lid and opened to reveal a black and yellow communicator. He almost felt like shutting it and throwing it into the back of his closet again. 

Dick inhaled and clicked it on, testing it out and only becoming slightly surprised as it lit up with ease. Dick huffed out a slight puff of laughter, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The Teen Titans… it had been such a long time now. Raven would definitely be annoyed, well, that is if she was on earth to receive the call.

A soft click emitted from the device, followed shortly after by soft beeping. Dick felt as if he were holding a grenade in his hand.

Hundreds of miles away, Raven looked up from her book, a raised eyebrow being shot at her closet. Even after years, it didn’t take her long to realize what the noise was and what device brought on. She sighed softly. She hadn’t used that thing in years…

Raven moved closer, leaning back on her legs as she knelt, uncovering her communicator from deep within her closet and wiping it clean. Head tilted, she hummed. How lucky. Had they called much earlier, Raven wouldn’t have been here at the time of the call, busy in another dimension. People really ought to explore the libraries of different worlds— dimensions if they could, but worlds worked just fine.

Her eyes flashed with recognition. “Robin…,” she murmured, her fingertips swiping over the screen, a hint of something in her eyes.

How peculiar. After years of no contact the weight at the back of her mind now stood at the forefront when before it had been forgotten, pushed back. Now, it stood front and clear. That connection…

Raven chuckled, ceasing the beeping and allowing the connection.

Chapter Text

Raven cocked her head to the side, eyes wandering over the restaurant before her. It certainly wasn’t a place she would have ever visited. The restaurant itself didn’t appear particularly dilapidated or sketchy, it just wasn’t her style, but Raven would admit she found it humorous. Batburger… Such a peculiar name. 

A puff of laughter escaped her as she opened the door and walked in rubbing her arms. It wasn’t cold yet but the beginnings of winter were making themselves known, the leaves on the trees already slightly tinged in pale reds and yellows.

She ordered a milkshake and sat at a table in the corner, people browsing as she waited. It didn’t take long before her view was blocked and Raven was forced to look up, hair parting and moving to the side as she tilted her head up. 

“Raven.” There was a grin on his face as he pulled a chair out and sat diagonal to her. 

The grin startled Raven slightly. It wasn’t the grin necessarily— no, Robin smiled and grinned often enough, it was more the fact of how Robin now carried himself. More confident, more…happy. Less tense and wary. A bit carefree. It was a sight to see.

Raven blinked and nodded. “I go by Rachel now,” she murmured, taking a sip of her milkshake. “Well, when I’m on earth, but Raven is alright too.”

Dick smiled, taking note of her black hair and the added color to her pallor. “What would you prefer?”

Raven quirked an eyebrow. Ever the carrying one. “Raven is fine.”

Dick nodded. “Sorry for calling you out of the blue,” he said, rubbing his neck in apology. “But it was a bit of an emergency.”

The slurping of Raven’s milkshake was the only response for the first few seconds as she finished up her drink. Glancing at Dick, she allowed herself to laugh, feeling his emotion. “There is no need to feel nervous, Dick.”

She stood to throw away her trash, leaving behind the laughter of Dick Grayson.

“You emphasized that last part a bit too much, Raven,” he called out, following after her, amusement clear in his voice.

And if they skirted around certain subjects as they walked out, then neither of them acknowledged it.

Peter circled a building, keeping a good distance away, just enough to not be noticed but still close enough to see anything peculiar. Not that there was much to see anyway. The building was worn down and empty looking, appearing on the verge of collapse. In fact, Peter’s pretty sure he looks ridiculous right now, staring suspiciously and warily at a building that looks like it would collapse if the wind were any stronger.

He hums, rubbing his chin in thought, settling into a crouch behind a dumpster and staring at the building. Peter wasn’t much of a detective, at least he didn’t think he was, but he enjoyed feeling a bit like Sherlock Holmes and playing at the character. Plus, Peter vaguely remembers watching through a window as someone watched a show about Sherlock Holmes, with the actor vaguely resembling Dr. Strange. Peter had been thrown for a bit of a loop there. 

Was Dr. Strange an actor in this universe? Peter sighed, his head shaking. “Ahh, the mysteries of the world,” he whispered.

“What mysteries?” 

A voice came from behind Peter and Peter startled, quite literally jumping into the air slightly as he turned, heart beating out of his chest and eyes narrowed. He moved back rapidly, feeling as if he weren’t moving fast enough. 

How did this man sneak up on him? Peter should have heard his approach or Peter’s spider senses should have tingled. 

Peter maintained his eyes on the man, head tilted and eyes still narrowed, suspicion clear in his eyes. The man smiled at Peter, eyes warm. Peter didn’t like that look in his eyes. It was…unsettling and weird for Peter. And it confused him even more.

“Who are you?”

The distance between the two wasn’t much, only being around two feet apart. Not enough, Peter thought, subtly glancing around. Suspicious man near the building Peter suspected of being a hideout for child experimentation? Yeah, no.

The dumpster acted as a bit of an obstacle to the man if he attempted to reach Peter, and the alleyway was a bit narrow. Not many places to run to.

Something shifted in the man’s gaze, becoming distant, fuzzy, and his smile disappeared. The eyes, which had once held warmth, sombered and all of a sudden the man appeared older, no longer somewhere around his mid to late twenties. A hand drew into a fist before relaxing, the man’s gaze focusing again, appearing more tired and worn. He shot Peter a pained smile before sighing.

“You know? Sometimes even I don’t know who I am any more,” he murmured, turning away from Peter. 

His eyes turned back to Peter. “You shouldn’t be here, Peter.”

Peter startled, eyes darting around as he stumbled backwards, shock flaring and short circuiting his system, his eyes finally settling upon the man again once he reared in his emotions.

“Who are you?” Peter questioned again, harsher this time. “And how do you know who I am?”

The man stepped closer, hand raised, and Peter flinched back. The man’s hand stopped, hovering slightly before falling limp at the man’s side. 

“Who I am isn’t important, Peter. Just…just remember, these are people you don’t want to cross. It’s best to ignore anything you may have seen.”

This man knew what Peter was here for? How? Did they have surveillance on him? But how did they find out?

Peter glared at the man, staying silent. They stood at a standstill, the two staring at each other before the sound of footsteps could be heard. The man glanced behind Peter and bolted, running away into the maze of alleyways. Peter ran after him, the soft thud of another pair of feet echoing after him.

“Peter,” Tim’s voice sounded from behind. Even through their hurried running, Tim’s voice was clear as day. “Who are we running after?”

Peter shook his head, skidding to halt and hopping over a fence, Tim right behind him. Peter glanced at him in surprise. Tim was…surprisingly fit and capable. 

“I don’t know. Evil scientist maybe?”

Peter simply heard a whispered, “Evil scientist? Why are there so many of those?”

The man rushed forward, speeding up and entering a building. Peter was only able to see a camouflaged door on the verge of closing. He grabbed onto it, using a bit of his enhanced speed, muscles aching and throbbing in pain in way of protest. “Peter, wait,” Tim yelled, but Peter hurled the door open, throwing himself inside with Tim following shortly after him. The door slammed shut, just barely allowing Tim in unharmed.

The man turned to look at Peter and Tim, eyes wide and darting around, a startled and nervous look taking over his expression. He appeared torn.

They were in a dark tunnel of sorts, another much more reinforced door to the right. The dim lighting made the man’s eyebags much more prominent. The creaking of another door drew everyone’s attention and three pairs of eyes moved to the opening door, watching as it slowly opened. A woman stepped out, the same woman Peter had seen throw out children’s corpses like it was nothing.

She startled, staring at the three people before a vicious and ugly smile twisted over her lips. For a second, Peter was reminded of the Joker.

“Richard,” she said, voice too sweet for the look she currently sported. “You’ve finally given in, huh? Finally contributing to the project? Given up on escaping? I sure hope we don’t have to use the electric chair again.” Her tone of voice told Peter she would be more than happy to use the electric chair again.

The woman smiled, Lea was it? Peter kinda remembered that as her name. Wasn’t too sure if he was correct though. She was an older woman, probably nearing or pushing her 40’s or 50’s. Peter’s not a good judge of age, now that he thinks about it.

Peter glances at the man from the corner of his. The man was an unwilling participant? This thought, however, is dashed as the man snaps out his stupor, his head shaking as he says, “Ye—yes.” A pause, then another “yes” as if convincing himself. Or maybe more like, the man sees no way out of this? Going by his clenched fist, that appears to be the case.

Tim shifts behind Peter and Peter feels like Tim’s cataloging everything: their surroundings, the conversation, maybe even when someone blinks or breathes. Tim was a stalker, confirmed. At least, Peter’s pretty sure.

Lea nods towards Peter and Tim. “Start tying those two up, would you? Don’t want them escaping now do we?”

There was a glint in her eyes that made it seem like she knew exactly what she was doing. As if she knew this whole scenario had been something the man— Richard— had miscalculated on. And now she was forcing Richard to choose. Give up his ruse or actually tie up Tim and Peter. Richard chose to tie up Tim and Peter, approaching them both from behind, taking out some sort of handcuffs. 

“Don’t fight it for right now,” Richard whispered, voice low. It was shaking slightly, and it was only then that Peter noticed the tremors in the Man’s hands too and his too tense muscles. The man was strung taught as if anything was close to setting him off. Peter almost felt like he was the one that was going to tie up “Richard.”

Richard took in a shaky breath. “I’ll find a way to get you out of here.”

They were moved swiftly through a multitude of corridors, the woman acting as a guide while the man acted as a guard, walking at the back. Peter squinted his eyes at the man— Richard— Peter had to remind himself. The man’s name is Richard. But no matter how many times Peter glanced back or squinted at the man, no new memories surfaced to the top. Petr kept drawing a blank. He didn’t know this man. At least, he didn’t think he did but this man obviously knew him. So how?

Peter grunted, slamming into the ground as he was pushed forward and caught off guard. Tim attempted to catch him, but tied as he was, Tim couldn’t offer much help except stick a leg out and even then, all that would accomplish is an unofficial kick by Tim to Peter’s gut. Peter groaned, more annoyed than anything and glanced up, glaring at the woman for having pushed him. The woman frowned in return, irritation quickly gathering in her eyes and Peter received a slap to the face. A gasp echoed around the little prison room which was surprisingly well built, with signs of long term use and years of establishment.

Peter glanced at Richard before rolling his eyes at the woman.

“You know, it’s not my first time getting slapped by some random person I just met. You’re gonna have to try harder if you wanna be memorable.” Peter sent her cheeky grin.

Lea frowned even harder, her irritation turning to anger. “You better learn your place quickly, kid, or what? Did your mother not teach you not to mess with authority?”

Peter arched an eyebrow. “Nope, guess she didn't. Too busy having tea time with God and gossiping about you.”

“Peter…”

Tim’s whispered admonishment of angering their captors was ignored by Peter. Lea cocked an eyebrow at Peter, inspecting him.

“Your mother’s name?”

“Ms. Lea,” Richard cut in. “You had that meeting with the head researcher. Remember? He was already angry; it would be best if he weren’t kept waiting. You know how he gets.”

Lea frowned, annoyed at having been interrupted but at Richard’s insistence she left, giving the two one last glance.

Tim turned to Peter, a deadpan look on his face. “Did you have to antagonize the person in charge of our possible demise?” 

Peter smiled. “I don’t know, did I?”

Tim groaned, running his cuffed hands over his face, and muttering to himself. “Now I know how Dick feels… Oh, gosh, does this mean I have to apologize?”

Peter raised a judging eyebrow at Tim but otherwise left him to his devices.

The next time the two were visited, the handcuffs came off and food was placed in front of them. Neither of the previous two kidnappers from before appeared in front of Tim or Peter again, but they were expecting as much. The two had appeared somewhat higher in the hierarchy of this gloomy and dingy place.

To pass the boredom, Peter had taken to inspecting the room, pretending like he couldn’t hear or see Tim fiddling with some weird device. He was being very secretive about it so Peter dicded to throw Tim a bone. 

The room wasn’t particularly big but nor was it very small either. It looked well used and based on the quality of the materials…If Peter had to guess, he’d say this ragtag team of scientists had been operating for quite a few years. Probably longer than Peter’s been alive. Maybe even longer than Tim’s been alive.

Peter picked at his nails, an annoying habit he’d developed as of late. He only ever did it when he got too bored or anxious. Peter was probably suffering from both.

Tim’s hand gently touched Peter's, causing Peter to look up from his nails. “You shouldn’t cause an open wound,” Tim said, frowning. “We don’t know what things they’re experimenting with here. You could get contaminated.”

A whoosh of air escaped Peter as he sat back, back leaning against the wall. “Ok,” he said grumpily, like a child listening to his pestering older sibling.

He’s not sure how much time passed, maybe days, before the sound of keys jingling drew his attention, rousing him from a light sleep. Peter stood, something about this particular visit feeling…different. The door opened and Lea presented herself before Tim and Peter, back straight and a strange glint in her eye. For some reason, she appeared especially crazed today. Like the cheshire cat that had gotten the mouse. Peter looked at her dubiously.

Lea smiled. “Please, follow me.”

She made it seem like a request but the two guards behind herself made it obvious that neither Tim nor Peter had much of a choice in the matter. Peter could feel the tension radiating off of Tim in waves, the tension increasing as a guard approached. It was then that Peter remembered that Tim was taking the situation surprisingly well for not being a street kid. Huh.

The handcuffs were placed back in them and then they were herded away after the woman. Peter noticed the other man—- Richard, wasn’t there. Peter wondered where the man was. They came to a stop in front of two metal doors appearing reinforced, where the woman, Lea, proceeded to insert a keycard into a keypad. The doors automatically opened to a room with a large desk at the center, a large computer monitor in the middle. Surrounding it were a multitude of smaller monitors with different devices attached to it and what appeared like some of those medical fridges from the hospital. 

There was a one way mirror too with an entrance to the left. Peter tensed and the guard, feeling his resistance, pulled harder on Peter. Should he struggle now? Or wait? But then what about Tim?

Peter glanced at Tim who was following along quietly, glancing around at everything. Lea snapped her fingers and grinned, fluttering over the entrance of the one way mirror, forcing everyone to follow after her.

“Place them all in a chair,” she said, voice now clearly displaying her exhilaration. There was excitement clear in her voice now.

Peter and Tim were forced into a chair and strapped down, both struggling against their restraints and testing them. Peter frowned. If forced to, Peter could escape. Maybe.

There were three chairs in the room in total with Peter occupying one and Tim occupying the other one. Peter looked up, watching as Lea turned the last chair around. This time, Peter actually startled, surprised to see the Richard man in the chair, hair frazzled and face gaunt. Going by the sharp intake of breath Tim took, Peter’s pretty sure Tim was taken for surprise too.

“Ahh,” Lea said, almost sighing in contentment. “I think we finally found her, don’t you think, Richard?”

Richard glared, looking braver than he did in the small dark corridor in the beginning even as his eyes were bloodshot, face filled with sweat.

Lea turned to Peter, stalking closer to him and taking his face in her hands. She turned it this way and that way, looking over all his features.

“Yes,” she whispered. “We’ve found her.”

Peter frowned at her confused.

Richard coughed and spit out a glob of blood. “You’ve found nothing” he appeared to be wheezing. “She’s dead. You failed. She escaped forever and you’ll never find her.”

Lea’s face hardened. “Shut up,” she yelled, face twisting into something ugly. 

She stalked towards Richard, grabbed his face and squeezed it as hard as she could in her hands. 

“If it weren’t for you— you and your annoying little girlfriend of a whore— I wouldn’t be in this forsaken awful city.”

Lea turned away from Richard, waving her hand flippantly like she wasn’t so mad anymore. 

“You managed to escape once,” she said, taking Peter by surprise. This man was one of the two to escape? “But then you just had to come back. What? Did you think I would just let you escape from my grasp?”

She released a calming breath. “Well, your honorable sacrifice that day might have allowed her and your child to escape, but I’ve finally found her.” Lea turned to Peter and Peter stared back in shock, staring at the Lea woman. Peter could feel Tim’s eyes boring into his face.

Richard glared. “What makes you think he’s ours? That he’s hers? You don’t know.”

Lea's face twisted into a nasty smirk. “Oh but I do, Richard. Did you think I never kept tabs on you? I knew what you were up to, knew how you kept tabs on a bunch of different kids. Just had to find the right one and, voila!” Lea spread out her hands. “But I didn’t even have to try that hard. You brought him right to me. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“And now you get to watch as I torture your precious child. As I torture her.” Lea tilted her head, finger tapping against her cheek lightly, staring at Tim. “And you…”

Tim glared at her. “Wouldn’t you like to torture some rich billionaire’s kid?”

Lea ignores Tim’s provocation and continues her train of thought. “You look…like the type to suffer more from the watching of a loved one’s torture rather than your own. A spectator you are then.” 

She clapped her hands, humming happily. Peter stared at her in shock. His mother—- wasn’t he the product between her and a client? What—-?

“Alright, Matty, start it up.”

Peter had no more thoughts to process as they were all scattered, electricity coursing through his body, his vision going white. 

“Endure, Peter.” That voice, both a voice and yet not with an otherworldly feeling, echoed and thudded against his skull. Peter almost wanted to tell it to shut up but it helped ground him. All the up until he blacked out.

When Peter woke up again, he was sore, his limbs feeling like puddy and mush. He groaned, almost not noticing Tim’s frantic checking of Peter’s body and his wellbeing.

“M’fine…,” Peter murmured, his arm waving about with no control. Peter stared at it.

Tim frowned. “I don’t think you’re ‘fine.’”

Peter turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and groaning. “Everything hurts.”

Tim ran his hand through Peter’s hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Peter hummed. “Tis’ not your fault.”

“No, I should’ve—-,” Tim breathed out roughly. “ I should’ve done something…”

Peter frowned, reminded of his mother but the thought of his possible father…that was too much to process so Peter pushed it away and stuffed it deep down in a secret part of his brain and threw away the key into the ocean. For now.

The following days carried much of the same schedule, everyday weakening Peter more. Peter’s “father” looked even worse. He looked as if he was being beaten and starved unlike Peter, who was at least still being fed. He tended to throw up whatever food he ate though.

One day, when things were taken too far and Peter felt like this was it for him, a bright flash of light engulfed the room, blinding everyone and Peter was no longer in the room. Well, his body still was but his consciousness? That was somewhere and nowhere at the same time. That’s what Peter thought.

Peter was back with the otherworldly being, whose presence felt…comforting. There was a softness to the being as it wrapped Peter up, though Peter could see nothing, he could feel it around him.

“You are breaking, Peter,” it said in that way it always did. It felt weird, hearing but not hearing and understanding anyway. “You are barely being kept together, if this continues, you will fall apart.”

“I’ve mended you but seeing as you are incomplete…you will break at this point.”

Peter frowned. “What do you mean I’m incomplete?”

He more felt the shake of head rather than see it but Peter knows his question was rejected. 

“Survive.”

When the bright flash of light cleared and the other three people in the room regained their vision, they all turned to look at Peter, who was slowly gaining back his pallor though by much. Lea attempted to reach Peter but was stopped, unable to get closer to him past a certain distance. Rather than her typical annoyance however, there was a glint of fascination in her eyes. Richard’s, on the other hand, were wide with horror.

Lea tilted her head, head tilted and finger tapping on her cheek. 

“You stole that one prototype of the experiment when you broke back into the lab, correct, Richard?”

Richard gasps, head swiveling to Lea. Tim too glances sharply at her.

“Let’s see…,” Lea hums. “He should have been around one to two years…so maybe we should have been using toddlers instead of older children?”

Lea turns to look at them, that crazed look in her eyes a thousand times more prominent. 

“The very first success. A prized experiment…”

———————

When Peter awakens again, Tim is with him, hand holding his chin, thinking. They’re in a different room now though.

Tim turns to look at Peter, frowning. “Do you remember taking anything when you were younger,” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. “Anything…unconventional? Maybe even dangerous?”

Peter shakes his shoulders, stretching as he sits up and checks his body, finding himself feeling much better than he had before. Definitely not at a hundred percent but also definitely not at ten percent anymore.

He starts going through his catalog of memories, thinking about his childhood but comes up short.

“No—,” he begins to say but pauses. “Well,” Peter hesitates. “My mom said I almost died as, like, a baby. Somewhere around one or two or three or something. And things were…different back then. I had a high fever and it wasn’t going down and she had no way to get me to the doctor. There wasn’t any help, not in Gotham city at least. But there was this experimental drug, meant to heal and make you stronger. She was desperate and went for it. I was going to die anyway if she did nothing.” Peter frowned. “She regretted it. Always did. The only reason I know is because she always talked in her sleep or when she got…in one of her episodes. Why?”

Tim frowned and sighed. “You’re way more connected to this organization than we both previously thought.”

Peter’s frown deepened and he opened his mouth to speak but alarms began blaring. Peter’s hands shot to his ears, groaning in pain, quickly becoming incapacitated. He already wasn’t at one hundred percent and now this. Did the universe hate him or something?

The sound of the door unlocking had both Peter and Tim looking over, both pausing for a moment as Richard appeared, face and clothes covered in blood. 

“Quickly,” he rushed. “We don’t have much time.”

The whole place shook as an explosion went off. Richard stumbled and almost fell but righted himself. Tim hesitated slightly but followed after Richard and Peter did too. They didn’t have much of a choice either way.

Peter follows after the two silently before his need for answers got the better of him. 

“How…are you here? What happened between you and my mom?”

Richard paused, hand pressing against the wall and curling into a fist before relaxing and continuing to lead the way.

“Your mother…was the love of my life.”

“Then what—”

“But we both made dumb decisions.” He continued. “You were dying and there was nothing we could do. We had just escaped the organization after all. Didn’t want to continue living life as test subjects. And then she got pregnant.” Richard breathed shakily. “Dang were we scared but we loved just as much— no, our love for you was bigger than our fear of being parents. We’d never had some, you know? Parents, I mean.”

“But you got sick and we didn’t know what else to do but the drug the organization was making…there was a chance…and so we took it. You were only two and we didn’t want to lose you.” Richard rounded the corner. “But the second time, we were found. So I let myself be captured, became a diversion so that you and Anne could escape…such good that made.” Richard mocked himself.

Another explosion shook the building and Richard came to a sudden stop. Peter halted as well, almost bumping into him and as well as Tim. Staring straight at Richard was the barrel of a gun. Red Hood.

“He’s one of the good guys,” Peter moved forward slowly, vouching for Richard.

Red cocked his head, looking from Peter to Richard and finally to Tim. There was something there and Red Hood lowered his gun. Richard let out a breath.

“This is perfect,” Richard said, a smile on his face. Peter squinted at it.

Richard knelt, grabbing something from his pocket and taking it out. It was an electronic device, pretty small, a bit bulkier and bigger than a flash drive.

“Here, I need you to take this with you.” He handed the device to Peter.

Red Hood glanced down at the device, inspecting it. Tim also took a look at it. Richard stood.

“This place is falling apart so I need you to go save the few children still here.” Richard grabbed a keycard from his pocket. “Here. Use this and be careful. The area with the kids is older and less stable.”

Peter grabbed Richard’s coat, holding onto it.

“And you?”

Richard smiled, patting Peter’s hand. 

“I need to access the main computer system. That way I’ll be able to send any files directly to that device you have right there.” Richard glanced at Red Hood and then at Tim. “Contact the bats with the information you get, okay, Peter?”

“I’ll come with you,” Peter said.

Richard shook his head. “No, not enough time. The kids take priority so do that first.”

Richard handed Tim a tablet, the tablet showing the directions to the kids. Tim began to move, Red Hood following after Tim and giving Richard a nod. Peter glanced at Richard before following after the other two.

Richard smiled and breathed out a sigh of relief. Then his face hardened and his heart became resolute. He had to get those files. He hurried along, purposefully choosing routes Richard remembers as less crowded and making his way. 

He arrives at the control center, the area empty as employees struggle to maintain order. The large room feels even larger and empty. Richard quickly connects the second device and begins the transporting of the files. It takes a while for it to load, Richard staring at the very slow progress bar. He curses. There isn’t enough time. He’s already lucky enough he’s still in the system.

Richard logs into the main system swiping across the screen and searching for…ah, right there. He clicks on the button, inputting Lea’s security code and shutting down exits, only allowing for the one near the kid’s prison to stay open. Richard breathes in and out anxiety, pooling in his gut. He looks down at his stomach, pulling up the shirt and wincing at the stab wound. That’s not healing any time soon. He pushes his shirt back down, cracks his neck and logs into the security system and manually detonates the explosives farthest away from the group of three and the kids.

It’s too late when Richard realizes the barrel of a gun is pointed at his head. He wants to curse himself for being careless but his mind is already feeling fuzzy. He raises his hands, turning around to find Lea. Richard curses.

“Didn’t think you’d gotten rid of me, did you?”

Richard smiles. “One can only hope.”

Lea glances at the monitors, face growing angry.

“You,” she screams. “You can’t get rid of my life’s work. I’ll end you! I’ll finally end you— you!”

Richard lunges for the gun, moving from the side and tackling Lea. They scuffle for the gun, Lea pulling the trigger. Richard grunts, muffling a yell from the pain, powers through the pain and the instinct to let go and flinch back, and yanks the gun away from Lea’s grip. He turns the gun on Lea and doesn’t hesitate, pulling the trigger. It’s a straight shot through the head. She’s dead almost instantly.

All Richard can do is stare in stunned silence as the woman who basically ruined his life and that of his wife’s and son’s is now laying there on the floor, dead. He can’t believe it— it doesn’t feel real, it was too quick— too easy, but oh is it real. 

The pain is immense. Richard gasps from the pain and pulls himself up, backing away from the body as if afraid it’ll suddenly get up and attack him. He wheezes, sits at the main console again, and moves to contact the three through the tablet he’d given Tim. The call connects just as the bar reaches ninety five percent. Richard sighs in relief. Okay, he can deal with a ninety five percent.

“Do you have all the kids out,” Richard questions in lieu of greeting.

Tim’s face pops up, staring somewhere into the distance, confirming. He nods and turns back to Richard.

“This is our last round. We should be done here soon.”

Richard nods, slumping back in relief. “Okay,” he whispers. “…okay.”

He starts typing rapidly in the main console, finding the main system of the security. The beep of the files downloading confirms their successful transfer.

Peter’s face takes over the screen, his young face frowning and staring at Richard in concern. 

Richard grins, well, as best as he can. “Hello, buddy.”

Peter continues frowning. “What are you still doing over there?”

“Just—- you know, making sure everything is in order.”

Pete stares quizzically. “I’ll go over there, I can help you. I’m good with technology.”

Richard shakes his head. “You can’t,” he says softly.

Peter feels something twist in his gut. This nagging feeling of wrongness. “What,” he whispers.

“It was failure after failure, you know,” Richard, Peter’s dad, says, speaking matter of factly. “So the organization got reduced to this small one here in Gotham.” Richard breathes out, voice quivering. “So if I can get rid of it here now…no one will bother you, Peter. No one will know you as the only success to come out of this. You’ll be free.”

Peter shakes his head. “No. NO. I don’t care about that, I don’t—- I don’t, please. Please I just got you…”

Peter looks around, feels trapped in this too small a space. Everything is closing in on him. Not again.

“I’m coming over,” Peter says, voice resolute.

Richard releases a soft laugh. “You can’t, Peter,” he says, voice filled with humor even through this all. “This whole thing will explode in five minutes, you need to get out. Tim, Red hood, please take Peter with you.” Richard directs his last sentence more so to Tim.

Richard gives one last watery breath before sighing and swallowing hard. “You know, Peter, you and your mom always make me braver than I ever think I’m capable of.” He smiles. “I love you, Peter. I am and will always be proud of you.”

The screen goes black and the alarms throughout the building return back at full force. Peter doesn’t feel himself scream, simply knows his throat is raw and he’s attempting to make his way further into the building but he can’t. He can’t because Tim and Red hood stand in his way, grabbing at him and pulling him back even as Peter kicks and screams.

He still tries to get past them but just as he’s dashing forward, Red hood snags him, gripping him tight, throwing him over his shoulder and running out with Tim at the lead. Peter pounds on Red Hood's back, tries to hurt and escape, rationally knows what he’s doing is dumb— idiotic, but that’s his dad.

“Please,” Peter sobs, his child brain completely overriding any sense of old. Doesn’t care that he appears like a snot nose brat. “Not again, not again,” he repeats. “I just got him, please, I can’t lose him.”

Peter clutches at Red Hood's jacket, his wailing pleas being drowned out by the wailing of the alarms.

They’re only about fifteen to twenty feet away from the building when it explodes. Red Hood falls to the ground, protecting Peter and taking the brunt of the heat wave. All Peter can do is wail for the parent he didn’t get to know but died to protect him anyway.

Chapter Text

Nothing but rubble and debris surround Peter. He stares at the wreckage, eyes stuck on the flames raging before him. No one could have survived that. It would be impossible— and even if they had, they wouldn’t be able to make it out of the raging flames flaring up and licking at the sky, attempting to become the sun in its absence. The weight of it— and the force of it. It would be impossible. 

There are tears on his cheeks, Peter realizes, and the raging fire is quickly drying them out. He feels the heat lapping at his skin and it’s too much. It hurts. It’s painful— with his throat sore and screaming from agony and the smoke stinging at his eyes– but Peter can do nothing but freeze in place. He wants to stand— he’ll crawl if he has to— but his legs are weak and unwilling to freaking move. Why won’t they move? Peter attempts anyway, tries dragging his legs under him and stumbling up and forward, quickly collapsing on his knees. Why? Listen, freaking listen. They throb, and Peter attempts to stand up again, walking in the direction of that inferno because he has to. His father— his dad’s in there— and Peter’s a hero and heroes save people. What kind of hero would Peter be if he couldn’t even save his dad? 

So he tries again, stumbling forward, but he collapses again, his limbs failing and unwilling to do as they’re told. A sob escapes him, fury in his blood and irritation in his tears because his dumb (dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb—) body won’t move and it won’t function like he tells it to and so now Peter crawls forward, uncaring of the heated ground or the debris digging into his skin and spilling his blood (Peter’s blood should be the only one spilling, he should have died; it should’ve been Peter, it should’ve been Peter’s skin melting, his eyeballs popping out of their sockets and his being turning to ash— it should’ve been me It Should’vE bEeNmE It shOuld’ve bEen ME—), then suddenly there are arms wrapped around him and they pull him back and away— and no. No. Peter’s not supposed to move away, he’s supposed to move closer. He’s supposed to save his Dad. His dad. So Peter tries telling them that but his throat hurts and they don’t freaking listen. Why don’t they listen? Why? His Dad’s right there— within those flames but Peter knows if he can just—

Peter wails, voice hauntingly broken in a way that lets everyone and everything know there is no cardiologist good enough to fix Peter’s heart. He keens, a high pitched thing that sounds more animal than human, and screams in between gasps, fingers digging into the ground and bleeding as he attempts to claw forward— but the arms won’t let go, uncaring of the ways Peter thrashes. 

No matter how much he punches and kicks, they still don’t let up. It’s only after what feels like an eternity that Peter feels something stab into his arm and his consciousness begins to trail off, fight it as he might, that not for the first time, Peter curses his new reality, because that shouldn’t work. That shouldn’t work…

This was going to be one traumatic mess for the kid, Jason thinks to himself, a frown marring his face as gazes down at the kid in his arms. Even through his suit, Jason could feel what must have been an uncomfortable warmth that stuck to the kid’s skin. His temperature was worrisomely high but it should be nothing the hospital wouldn’t be able to help with. Such physical responses in victims tended to be normal after a highly stressful event. Jason would think this more than likely counted as one huge freaking stressful experience. If it didn’t count, then Jason hadn’t died.

Tim approaches from the side, a few scrapes and bruises visible on his arms. A small, nasty, gash bled from his temple. Tim didn’t seem to mind, or notice it, and kept on marching toward Jason. 

“How is he?”

Tim nods down at the kid and Jason shakes his head. 

“Probably not good. Might need one hell of a therapist when he wakes up.” Jason shakes his head, eyes landing in the kid in his arms again. “That is, if he doesn't run away from the situation like the rest of us.”

Tim glances over at Dick, who had arrived pretty quickly and was now organizing the rescued children away from the raging inferno while they waited for first responders to arrive. Children couldn’t just be left alone in the middle of a dilapidated street that was more fire than not.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think he’ll have much of a choice.” Tim sighed. “Physically, though?” He clarified.

Jason goes to answer but the sound of wheezing breathing draws both his and Tim’s attention, both pairs of eyes snapping to the source.

There is a brief pause, Tim and Jason alike processing the sweat coated, convulsing child currently taking residence in Jason’s arms, groaning.

“…oh shi—”

The cave is a flurry of movement, practiced but hurried movements making room for the child currently—possibly (possibly)— dying. 

A heavy silence settles into the floor, creeping up and into the walls and anything else it could touch, broken only by the soft whirrings of machines working to maintain alive one small child. Surprisingly Batman is missing. One would think that a child in danger would get his senses tingling, some ancient instinct calling him back to the cave. But he’s gone, likely aiding in the efforts to scavenge any and all data there could be gleaned from the inferno Tim and Jason had just left behind.

Tim stands at the back, watching as Alfred works to— fix or— mend but…his face, the way his eyes pinch and his eyebrows furrow…Peter’s not making it. It’s a feeling, something like tar, as dark and viscous as it, curling in the Pit of Tim’s stomach. The edge of corner, sharp and jabbing, grounds Tim as he bumps into it, not having noticed he was backing away. Running away, maybe. Avoiding the emotions of the scene before him.

“It’s not working,” Alfred murmurs, a small hushed admittance of resignation bleeding through and into his voice. “He won’t make it.”

“No,” Tim says. His voice is far and even though Tim hears himself, it also feels like he doesn’t. Tim thinks he’s underwater, far beneath the surface and drowning. He almost wishes he were.

Lives have been lost before. He’s dealt with casualties, it’s impossible not to when you’re in this line of work but— it’s not typically someone he’s grown to care about so personally. 

Tim’s eyes snap up, looking for Dick. “Raven. Where’s Raven?”

Dick appears to wilt, eyes softening and Tim hates that look. As if Tim were a child that needs coddling and a soft explanation of heaven and how people go there when they die.

“…Tim—”

“—No.” Tim shakes his head, arms waving at Peter. “This— it has to be mental. Zatanna said something about his soul last time.”

Dick pauses, stares at Tim, knows what too much hope can mean, and wonders if this will become one of those situations that follows a person for the rest of their lives. Even so, he nods and hurries away, calling for Raven. It doesn’t take long for Raven to arrive, appearing in a mass of black nothingness and taking one look at Peter before nodding her head.

She sighs, one tired hand coming to rest on Peter’s head. “Yes," she murmurs, more so speaking to herself than the others. “I’ll have to enter his head space,” she finishes, looking up at the people around her.

Peter sniffles, wiping at his nose. The tears blur his vision but even through his bleariness, Peter can still tell he’s not somewhere familiar to himself, the place an endless blackness that pulses with colors every once in a while, even so he continues to cry and wail. Why should it matter? Why should anything matter? Peter’s already died once— twice, however many times that he’s died, why should he even bother living now? When nothing matters and life is meaningless?

“I’m scared.” The thought echoes and reverberates throughout. “I want to go home.”

“…I’m tired…”

“…I should just die…”

Off to the side, a presence pulses, offering no comments or thoughts to Peter, but simply remaining a soft constant. It’s almost comforting. It’s the thing from before, something that Peter is sure knows him but not something Peter recognizes. With a last sniffle and one last rough swipe at his eyes, Peter turns. He doesn’t look at anything in particular because really, even though the presence is there, Peter can see nothing. All that surrounds Peter is a vast emptiness.

“What are you,” he whispers. “Why…why are we here?”

The presence says nothing and Peter sits, waiting. It feels like an eternity and yet like no time when the presence “speaks.” 

“You are dying, Peter.” A pause, then. “That is why we are here.”

“But why me?” Peter scrubs at his eyes roughly and picks at himself, wishing he could draw blood. Much to his annoyance– and fury, a quick flash that ices his veins– Peter bleeds nothing. Maybe it was just further proof of his inhumanity or his unworthiness of living. “Why?”

A beat of silence follows. 

“…What, truly, do you ask, Peter? Why I am with you? Why you live, even now? Or why…all the people you most care about seem to leave you?”

Peter's leg twitches, feeling transparent, and he glares. “I died. I don’t remember how but I know I died. Why am I here? —With you?” Softer and to himself, “…I shouldn’t have ever…I always…curse…people…”

“I cannot answer that,” the being says, colors fluctuating. “To answer that is to open Pandora’s box, I believe you earthlings say.”

A grimace follows Peter and he sighs. “So? I’m dying. What does it matter?”

At least now, Peter knows the being isn’t likely to be from earth. What sort of person refers to their fellow plebeian earthling people as that? An earthling.

The being does not give a direct response, instead choosing to maneuver around it. “You carry memories you never should have had in your possession. I can take them away,” says the being. “So that you may live.”

“No,” voice firm, a hint of an edge appearing. “I don’t want to forget.”

Peter’s expression softens, grief overtaking the hard edges. The colors fluctuate again and a feeling, too fast and hard to read, pulses. 

“Then you will die. Again.”

Peter makes no noise as he walks, approaching the presence. “What does that have to do with anything? Why does that matter?”

“It doesn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.” Peter’s eyes narrow.

Peter goes ignored, the being’s attention placed elsewhere for a moment.

“Peter,” the being says. “Someone is attempting to access your subconscious; a girl.” If the presence had a head, it would definitely be tilting it. “A friend of…your friend Tim.”

Peter frowns. “Tim? –Is she dangerous? Will it cause harm? If she does or doesn’t enter, I mean?”

A small silence ensues, the presence appearing to investigate and processing over a multitude of thoughts. 

“Should you accept her presence in your headspace, there should be no harm. There might be small painful consequences should you forcibly reject her presence, but nothing that cannot be ‘walked off.’”

“…Let her in, then.”

The whole place trembles and shimmers and then Peter finds himself away from the vast whiteness of nothing and instead in a vast blackness with hundreds and hundreds of interconnected webs. Peter’s eyes trail after the strings, following them until they disappear into other strings and separate, until those disappear into others and deviate, too. It almost appears like a galaxy.

A woman stands a few feet away from Peter, a small frown marring her face. She looks up and heads straight for Peter.

“Are you…Peter?” 

Peter stares. “Um, yeah,” he says, voice softer than it would normally be. The emotions, the pain— everything that had been pushed back began to trickle out again, finding holes in the hasty dam Peter had built. Seeing another human, another person— drags Peter’s mind back to reality. His dad is dead, his dad is dead and it’s all Peter’s fault. It should’ve been him, it should’ve beenhim, itshould’vebeenhim.Peter’s a murderer.

“Nice to meet you Peter. Although, this would have been better under different circumstances.” A small smile graces her features. “My name is Raven.”

Raven is not a woman who smiles often, or one that comforts people often, Peter feels, because the smile that she sends Peter is a little awkward around the edges and maybe she looks slightly uncomfortable, but Peter is grateful regardless, because she means it. Peter knows her smile is as real as anyone else’s no matter how awkward. And Peter understands, he really does, because he’s sure that most people don't meet for the first time inside a literal mind.

Her expression quickly shifts and Peter knows it to be the one used for civilians that should be in shock and possibly panicking. Her tone is one of professional detachment that seeks out answers with understanding, but with a practiced quickness that reads of urgency in high stress situations. Which, Peter guesses, is his situation considering he’s dying, but he’s a little less understanding of said expression. Peter’s a hero too, he doesn’t need the sympathy– nor the pity, but then again she doesn’t know Peter’s not just a normal civilian. But also she hasn’t told Peter he’s dying, so maybe she’s just attempting to keep him calm.

“Your soul’s unstable, Peter.” Her gaze bores into Peter as she says the next part. “And…you’re about one piece out of about a trillion different pieces. Your soul, that is.”

She gazes about warily after she informs Peter, almost as if preparing herself for an attack. Peter freezes. Souls are real? I mean, Peter should have expected it, there’s a woman in his literal subconscious for crying out loud, but still. And then, one in a trillion? “Wha– what do you mean?”

Raven maintains her wariness but answers Peter. “Your soul– it’s almost as if it’s been shattered– or ripped apart forcibly.” Her eyes settle on Peter, her gaze shifting from the endless vastness of the webs surrounding them. “It’s not something that should have been possible. You should’ve died the moment it happened so it’s both surprising and unsurprising that it’s happening now.” Raven’s gaze carries a heavy weight to it. “You’re dying, Peter,” she says, voice gentle, a rough softness that hopes to calm him down with it. But Peter is calm, he’s already died before– it’s just, his soul? Ripped apart? 

The presence flares and their surroundings explode into a cacophony of colors and feelings that Peter is unable to process as a gasp is forced from him, knees weak as he is forced to kneel. Raven, standing next to him, gasps and clutches at her head as she is, too, forced to her knees.

“I knew there was bound to be a reaction,” she gasped out. 

Staggering to her feet, Raven held her hands out in front of herself and Peter. “Were you the cause of his fractured soul?”

“Peter,” the being said. “This does you no good.”

Raven’s eyes flick from Peter and then to where the being’s presence can be most felt. “What is it saying, Peter?”

Peter turns to her, surprise coloring his eyes. “You don’t know? Can you not understand it?”

A shake of the head is Raven’s response. Peter frowns. “It’s saying no bueno.”

“I feel its signature in the cracks of your soul, Peter. Whatever that thing is, it’s what ripped apart your soul.”

Peter feels like his gut has been punched. The being hadn’t been…evil. It had appeared to care for him, it offered a bit of comfort and even though some of its questions had been a bit cruel, Peter had felt it ultimately meant no harm. Like a therapist that knew some wounds needed to be opened to heal better. Like rebreaking a badly healed bone to help it heal correctly. This, though, pointed at the thing being the cause of his situation.

“You…” Peter couldn’t even speak, the outrage overwhelming his senses.

Silence engulfed them, surrounding and covering them in a blanket. A very heavy and rock-like blanket. Then a feeling that appeared almost like resignation followed soon after and swallowed them, settling in like a blanket.

“If you insist on this, then it would be wise to understand yourself first. Find the Mother Web and you shall have the answers you have been seeking.”