Chapter Text
The sky screamed as reality split apart. Jagged cracks spilling light and shadow into the world. At the center of it all, Dr. Strange stood with arms raised, threads of gold and crimson magic straining against the tears, his face carved with exhaustion. Sparks rained down, but the wounds only widened.
The world was collapsing, and it was his fault. If only he had believed Doctor Strange from the start. If only he hadn’t been so naive. If only he could have let the idea of Mister Stark go…
There was only one way to end it, and Peter knew that. They both knew.
“Everyone will forget who Spider-Man is.”
Peter gave him a sad smile, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“I know.”
“Everyone will forget who Peter Parker is,” Dr. Strange’s voice trembled as his eyes shone with unshed tears. “Everyone will forget…you.”
Many would call him emotionless and selfish, but even he understood—standing before him was just a child. A child who had fought monsters and aliens, a child who had cradled his mentor and the life left Tony Stark’s eyes. A child who had already buried innocence in exchange for responsibility, who had carried guilt heavier than any building he ever held back from collapse.
And now, that same child was willing to condemn himself to a complete, crushing loneliness.
Peter glanced at his friends standing in the distance. There was something akin to despair on their faces. His heart broke at the sight. He has lost too much. He couldn't keep putting them in danger. He had no right to. Everyone close to him has died.
Turning back to Dr. Strange, he took a determined step forward, clenching his jaw trying to ignore the sharp pain in his chest.
“I'm ready,” he said, barely above a whisper.
A flash. Then sudden darkness engulfed him, but within those shadows—for the last time—he saw the blue eyes of Doctor Strange with an apology written across his face.
Peter felt himself falling into an abyss, a faint panic creeping in. His chest tightened–where was everyone? One minute they were there, the next they disappeared. In the distance he saw Ned laughing and MJ’s steady gaze…he reached for them, clawing at shadows that slipped through his fingers. Their faces blurred, dissolving when his fingers passed through them as if the world itself was erasing them.
His heart thrashed against his ribs until, for one fleeting moment, a soft memory flickered to life. Aunt May bustling about the kitchen, sliding a plate of toast toward him with that tired, but warm smile. Uncle Ben across the table, newspaper in his hand, grumbling about burnt coffee while sneaking him an encouraging wink. Sunlight had poured through the window that morning.
But even that slipped away, no matter how desperately Peter tried to hold onto that memory. The abyss was merciless, the world around him was empty, until the movement caught his eyes. It was MJ. Her lips parted like she wanted to speak, but couldn’t find the words. Ned, standing beside her, looked heartbroken, but a small smile covered his face as if he tried to say, ‘we will be okay, we are always okay’. And for that second, a fragile spark of hope cut through Peter’s numbness. But then reality sank in.
They wouldn’t remember him.
He closed his eyes, surrendering to the darkness. He forced his heartbeat to slow, and an eerie calmness washed over his thoughts. The last image that flickered through his mind was Aunt May’s lifeless eyes.
Peter hoped he wouldn’t wake up again.
* * *
The night was quiet. Too quiet for Gotham.
It was unnatural for the city. He had even asked Barbara to check if anyone had escaped from Arkham Asylum. But she only confirmed that there were no incidents. No breakouts, no robberies. Not even a single death.
A sense of unease crawled under Jason’s skin, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
I know this feeling, he thought. But it isn’t like before.
His mind flicked back, unbidden, to the coffin, the suffocating dark, the taste of soil in his throat as he clawed his way back into the world that had already moved on without him. He remembered that pain. That terror. But it was real. Every heartbeat felt delayed; the world half a second off. He felt ants marching beneath his flesh, every nerve alive with static unease. His instincts whispering danger even when his eyes found nothing.
This, though…this was different. At least coming back from the dead made sense in its own twisted way. This didn’t.
He exhaled heavily, scanning the streets below with suspicion, mind racing with hundreds of scenarios. Dirt and bloodstains marred the pavement, already an inseparable part of Crime Alley.
Thunder rumbled in the sky, followed by a sudden downpour.
It was nearly four in the morning, and that was the last straw for Jason to call it a night. Leaping onto another rooftop and descending down the fire escape, Jason made his way toward his motorcycle, which he had left near an abandoned apartment building nearby. He was considering heading back to the manor if only for Alfred’s breakfast, and maybe annoy his brothers a bit, when a loud crash echoed nearby.
Jason froze instantly, holding his breath as his hand moved to the gun on his hip. The rain had intensified, drowning out any possible sounds. And for a moment, he thought he had imagined it. The Lazarus Pit had its side effects—paranoia being one of them.
But just as he was about to move on, a faint whimper could barely be heard over the rain. Without hesitation, Jason followed the noise, turning down into a grimy alley lined with overflowing dumpsters. Even through his mask’s filter, he could smell the stench. It’s nothing if not the usual for Gotham’s Crime Alley.
Then a faint scraping reached his ears, a desperate shuffle that didn’t belong to the rats or the papers blown by the wind. Jason’s instincts were screaming at him, and he moved silently, avoiding the rain puddles, towards the dumpster at the end of the alley where the sounds came from.
But his eyes widened in shock the moment he saw what had disturbed the silence.
Or rather, who.
Inside one of the dumpsters was a human.
A child.
A child no older than twelve.
Halfway out of the dumpster, the child’s limbs trembled, his hands fumbled for purchase on the edge, fingers scraping against rusted metal. A crimson haze curled around his hands. Jason blinked and it was gone. The boy was shivering violently, with every breath visible in the cold early morning air. Curly strands of hair clung to his forehead, his wide, frightened eyes locking onto Jason’s. But beneath the fear, Jason saw something deeper.
Loss. Hopelessness.
Blood was splattered across the boy’s face, his lip split open. As Jason’s eyes took in his wrecked appearance he saw even more blood staining his shirt. And judging by the way each breath seemed to wrack his small frame, Jason was sure his ribs had taken a beating too.
And for a moment, the ever present green clouded his vision. Rage burned through him like wildfire. It took every ounce of self-control not to grab his gun and hunt down whoever had done this.
The kid never looked away.
He watched Jason in silence, his entire body tense with distrust. Only when Jason managed to steady himself did he realize that the boy was still frozen halfway out of the dumpster. Slowly, Jason let go of his weapon and took a cautious step forward.
The boy flinched, instinctively scrambled back into the dumpster and shrank back into a corner against the cold metal wall.
Jason froze.
“I don't think that's a very comfortable place.” Raising both hands in a placating gesture. “I just want to help you get out of there,” he tried to reassure the kid.
But the only response Jason received was a distrustful, sullen glare.
Alright. Different approach then.
“I'm Red Hood. I protect kids—I never hurt them.”
Everyone in Gotham knew who Red Hood was. Even though he didn’t kill anymore, he had a reputation for being...creative when it came to dealing with those who harmed children. Despite Bruce’s attempts to convince him to do otherwise. But the boy’s face showed no recognition. If anything, he only tensed up further—if that was at all possible.
Jason frowned. This was getting more complicated by the second.
“You can talk, right?”
Despite trying to keep his voice gentle, with the voice modulator it came out harsher than intended even to his own ears. Jason reached up to switch the modulator, but before he could, a quiet, raspy voice answered.
“I can.”
Right away Jason saw it. The kid was desperate to not show any weakness: the slight sway, the way the kid clutched his ribs, the way he clenched his jaw to stifle another whimper.
He needed medical attention. And fast.
“Alright. Good. Great,” Jason nodded, keeping his gaze locked on the boy. He reached up and switched his voice modulator, cutting the harsh edge to something calmer. The kid flinched at his movement, but stayed still, watching Jason like a hawk. “You need to go to the clinic—"
“No.”
Fear flashed in the kid’s eyes. His expression made it clear he wouldn’t accept help willingly.
Jason exhaled sharply.
“Kid, you're barely staying conscious. It's either a hospital or a free clinic, but I’m not letting you walk away like this.”
He’d dealt with stubborn kids before. Even most adults in Crime Alley, or anywhere in Gotham, really, were distrustful of help being offered. Dick alone has been a handful. Jason had to threaten him to keep him in bed whenever he was hurt or sick.
But when the boy’s gaze flickered down the alley, scanning for escape routes, something twisted in Jason’s chest.
Kids shouldn’t fear adults.
Kids shouldn’t run from help.
Kids shouldn’t be left alone.
What the hell had happened to him?
A gang? Human trafficking?
The worst possibilities flooded Jason’s mind. And in moments like this, he wished Dick were here. Or even Bruce. As much as Jason wanted to hate him, he knew he could trust Bruce with his life. They were both too stubborn and it was their strength and weakness at the same time.
“It's none of your business, Mr. Red Hood,” the boy snarled through gritted teeth. Jason was momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in emotion even if he had expected that. A cornered animal was always ready to lash out. To bite a hand that offers help.
“I’m afraid it is. You’re in my territory, so, you are my responsibility.”
“Then I’ll just leave your territory,” the kid said as if it were the most obvious solution to the problem.
Jason just exhaled heavily.
* * *
Peter felt the unbearable exhaustion and pain radiating through his entire body. The last thing he remembered was falling. And then waking up in this dumpster. Before he could even process how or why, a tall figure in a red helmet appeared before him. Danger clung to him like a second skin. Peter’s spider-sense prickled—the man in front of him could hurt him. If he wanted to.
For now… he didn’t.
But Peter couldn’t trust a stranger. He had made that mistake before. More than once. And his own naivety had cost him everything. He had nothing left to lose.
Except maybe his life.
But was that even worth anything anymore?
“What's your name, kid?” Red Hood finally asked, breaking the long silence.
Peter clenched his jaw. The guy clearly wasn’t planning to leave him alone, which was beyond irritating. He wasn’t a child. Not anymore.
But… if the man didn’t recognize him, then Dr. Strange’s spell must have worked.
Peter glanced down at his clothes, relief washing over him when he realized there was no visible sign of his Spider-Man suit, only dirty gloves with tiny cuts poking from the sleeves, as a baggy shirt and pants hung loosely on his frame. Weird. He could have sworn this shirt was supposed to fit.
Realizing he had yet to answer, Peter lifted his chin and hesitantly muttered.
“Ben.”
Something told him the man in the red helmet didn’t believe him.
“Ben…” he repeats.“You got a last name, Ben?”
He definitely didn’t believe him.
“Yeah, I do.”
Peter must be in worse shape than he thought, considering he was mouthing off to a guy who looked like he could snap his neck with one hand. In his defence, he had no idea what the hell was going on.
Who even was this Red Hood guy? Peter had never heard of him before, but the man spoke like he was supposed to know. There was something in the way he moved, the steady intensity of his gaze, that made Peter’s stomach twist. Not to mention, that helmet wasn’t helping. The more he looked at it, the more unsettled he felt. His eyes darted instinctively to the nearest escape routes—the alleys, the rooftops, anything he could use—but nothing felt safe.
Red Hood let out another one of those heavy, this-kid-is-giving-me-a-headache sighs. Peter tensed instinctively, his fingers gripping the edge of the dumpster, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
“Look, kid, I’m not gonna hurt you, alright? I promise.” Red Hood looks like he takes the smallest step forward. “No cops. No hospitals. I swear. But your injuries are too serious to just leave alone.”
Peter narrowed his eyes. His enhanced hearing honed in on the man’s heartbeat, searching for the telltale stutter of a lie.
Nothing.
His spider-sense remained silent.
Either Red Hood was telling the truth… or he was really good at lying. And Peter wasn’t about to stick around to find out.
No more trust.
To no one.
Let him be alone.
It didn’t matter.
His hands were already stained too deeply in blood.
With a sharp inhale, Peter launched himself out of the dumpster, agony slicing through his ribs. Red Hood reacted instantly, closing the distance between them the second Peter’s feet hit the pavement. But Peter was quicker. More agile. He knew he wouldn’t win in a one-on-one fight. That wasn’t the end goal.
He just needed to run.
Instead of retreating, Peter darted toward Red Hood, getting dangerously close, just to drop low and slip easily past him.
Suspiciously easy.
Red Hood didn’t even try to catch him. He just…froze. But Peter didn’t stick around to question it.
“Wait! Damn i—hold on!”
The voice rang out behind him, but he didn’t stop.
Didn’t look back.
Didn’t hesitate.
Pain burned through him with every step, but he couldn’t slow down.
No one can know who Peter Parker is.
No one.
* * *
The moment ‘Ben’ got close enough, Jason froze. He took in the kid’s face and really looked at it.
No. No, this wasn’t possible. It had to be a coincidence. But were there ever coincidences like that in their line of work? Jason didn’t believe in that.
Then…what the hell was this?
The kid blurred past him, running with such speed as if Death itself was chasing him.
“Stop! Damn i—hold on!” Jason’s urgent voice cut through the silent alley, but he had hesitated even if it was for a split second, and the kid managed to disappear.
He lunged forward, like a predator ready for a hunt, following his instincts. There weren’t many places for the kid to hide in the tight alleyways, and Jason moved with precision, scanning every shadow. Without hesitation, he vaulted onto a nearby rooftop, landing silently. From above, he could see the streets laid out like a map.
His eyes narrowed as he tracked the even the faintest of out by the city’s early morning hum.
Where are you, kid? he thought, landing on the roof of another building and desperately repeating his search for the small slippery figure. All it did was make him frustrated.
But after some time, he realized he had lost the kid.
“Fuck.”
Pulling out his phone, Jason dialed Dick’s number as he jumped down and stalked back towards his bike, irritation prickling beneath his skin. A familiar groggy voice picked up after a few rings.
“Wha~?” his voice was muffled as if his mouth was pressed into a pillow.
Right. Dick wasn’t patrolling tonight. He probably fell asleep watching some classic movie with the demon brat.
But this? This couldn’t wait.
Jason swung one leg over his bike, the leather seat creaking softly beneath him as he sat down. One gloved hand gripped the handlebar, knuckles tight, the other holding the phone to his ear. Jason didn’t answer right away, still grappling with what he had just seen. How was he supposed to drop this bombshell on his brother when he could not believe it himself?
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Dick picked up on the tension; he was more awake and alert. “Where are you? I’ll come—"
“I’m fine.”
The words came out clipped, forced, as Jason tried to get a grip on his spiraling thoughts. If he wasn’t losing his mind…if he wasn’t hallucinating…then he needed to talk about this now.
“Okay, glad to hear that,” Dick sighed in relief. It was silent on the other side of the call, before his tone shifted to confusion. “You’re still on patrol? It’s almost five in the morning.”
Jason exhaled.
“Yeah…I…”
How the hell was he supposed to say this?
He swallowed thickly.
“Dick, I met a kid."
A pause.
“A kid?”
Jason clenched his jaw.
“A hurt kid.”
And with every word, his heart rose to his throat.
“Did you take them to Leslie?” This wasn’t Dick asking; it was Nightwing. Focused and serious. Jason would never admit it aloud, but at that moment he was glad to have an older brother.
“No, he…” Jason took a steadying breath, “he ran.”
“Hmm…”
If Dick had been here with him, he would probably have pulled Jason into one of his unbearable octopus-like hugs. Despite Jason telling him to constantly knock it off.
“Dick…”
Right. He needed to focus.
“Little Wing?” Dick’s tone lost the harshness to it, as if sensing that Jason was teetering on the edge. He could always tell when Jason needed the grounding. He always knew. Could feel it from a mile away.
“Dick, I think…I think you have a son.”
One sentence. One broken, impossible truth shattered both brothers in the same breath. Because that meant they had not protected the one who was supposed to be their family.
Jason wanted to believe it all was a terrible dream.