Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter took a deep breath as he faced his greatest enemy in recent times.

Petra Grayson’s long hair — the one he had to deal with. It wasn’t a normal long-hair length, it was the kind that would attract attention wherever he went.

And not just long — curly. Peter didn’t think it was ugly, quite the opposite, it was gorgeous. He just didn’t have the patience to take care of it.

And yet his patience had lasted longer than expected, after half an hour trying out the curly hair routine Karen had recommended.

The boy looked in the mirror, noticing how his wet hair looked more defined than on other days. Still, nothing compared to the curls he had seen in Petra’s photos — always flawless.

“What do you think, Karen?” Peter asked as he put on the gold-rimmed glasses the A.I. had modified to look more like Petra’s.

“We still need progress to make you resemble Miss Grayson more, but this is much better than the first days,” Karen almost sounded cheerful — and she was clearly making an effort to lift the boy’s mood.

Petra looked a lot like him. Curly hair. Big brown eyes. Freckles all over her face. Baby face.

But still, she was very different. Her lips were slightly fuller, and her face rounder and more feminine.

“The Wayne family must be waiting for you for breakfast,” the A.I. pulled him out of his thoughts.

Peter sighed in frustration. Living with the Waynes was annoying, to say the least.
Damian thought he was superior, and when he wasn’t completely ignoring Peter, he was about as pleasant as a horse.

Stephanie was… nice(?) — but Peter had the impression she was probably very nosy, so he decided to stay away from her.

Tim was the typical nerd who stayed up all night studying (Peter assumed) and lived off coffee (of that Peter was certain).

Peter had no comments about Bruce, Jason, or Dick, since he had barely seen them.

Cass was kind and quiet. Unique in her own way. Peter would have said it was a pleasure to know her and be around her… if his spider-sense didn’t go into full panic mode every time he saw her.

Duke wasn’t a bother in any way; he just seemed… distant. There was always something heavy in his gaze whenever he looked at Petra/Peter.

It was as if the spider had summoned a demon when Peter opened the door and came face-to-face with the tall, dark-haired man with honey-colored eyes.

“H-Hi, Petra! Good morning! We’re waiting for you in the kitchen and I… uh… kinda came to wake you up—” Duke spoke nervously until Peter cut him off.

“Good morning, Duke!” Peter greeted him with a practiced smile meant to mirror his sister’s. “I’m just going to grab my phone. You can head down.”

“O-Okay. I’ll be going, then.”

Peter watched him leave, the echo of his footsteps fading down the hall.
Something told him today wouldn’t be like the others.

And before it started, there was something he had to get

Chapter Text

Peter walked down the stairs slowly, without any excitement to see the Waynes.

Peter entered the kitchen, and the mansion’s butler, Alfred, was already waiting.

During his time at the mansion, Peter had realized that Alfred was the pillar of the family. Keeping an eye on everyone and making sure they were all well. The man’s company was welcome to Peter. In the brief conversations they’d had, Alfred was extremely pleasant and warm.

“Good morning, Miss Petra. Breakfast is already served.” Alfred’s tone was as formal as always.

“Good morning, Alfred,” Peter said casually with a half-smile, as he walked toward Petra’s usual seat, beside the short-haired Asian girl who was already seated with perfect posture.

“Good morning, Petra,” they all said in unison, except for Cass, who signed, and Tim, who was in the middle of a long yawn.

“Good morning,” Tim said belatedly in a sleepy voice. His dark circles were as deep as every other day, which only seemed to highlight his crystal-blue eyes even more.

“Good morning, guys,” he replied, earning an indifferent look from Damian.

Peter ate in silence, avoiding paying attention to the siblings’ conversation. The last thing he wanted was to risk blowing his cover by interacting with the Waynes.

-🕷-

Peter had his head resting against the cold car window, watching the city buildings on the way to Gotham Prep. The only sound in the car was the irritating noise of typing.

The boy shook his head and closed his eyes, focusing on the other sounds of the city.

The sound of cars on the highway.

People chatting on the sidewalks.

The subway running beneath them.

The static of a radio. He pushed a little harder until he managed to hear what was being said.

—The Firefly attacks hit three residential buildings in the Bowery. There were many injured but no deaths. Unfortunately, those victims are now homeless and the criminal still hasn’t been found—

Peter stopped listening. Guilt weighed heavy on his chest. A knot formed in his throat. The image of what he’d heard stuck in his mind: families without a home, wounded people devastated, fire consuming lives he could have saved.

He clenched his fists, guilt turning into anger. These people needed help. Gotham didn’t need a boy pretending to be someone else. And there he was, living this mediocre, imposing life. Useless.

“We’re a few meters from the school,” Karen informed him.

Peter opened his eyes and was the first to get out of the car as soon as it stopped, chest still tight. He walked quickly to shake the Waynes off. He wasn’t in the condition to deal with them right now.

His spider-sense tingled.

A hand grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop and turn around.

He froze when he saw Cain staring at him.

“Uh… Do you need something, Cass?” Peter asked, his voice trembling.

First class together. History. Cass signed with a furrowed brow, as if it were obvious. And it was. But not for Peter.

She dragged him by the arm through the hallways, like a mother cat dragging her kittens.

Well… Peter felt too disturbed to do anything about it.

-🕷-

The teacher, Mrs. Mills, filled the board with exercises and ordered them to pair up. Peter had already noticed she wasn’t much of a fan of actually teaching.

Cass wasted no time pushing their desks together with a friendly smile. To Peter, the air felt heavy. He shivered at every little movement of the girl, unaware of his nervousness.

Peter tried to distract his mind by working on a few problems.

The boy had never been so happy to hear the sound of the bell ringing through the school. He stood up quickly—though not as fast as he wanted to; he still had manners and didn’t want to be rude.

“I want the activities done for next class! Don’t forget!” Mrs. Mills shouted.

Peter was about to head to the next room when Cass tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

We can finish the activity. Library. This afternoon.  she signed.

Careful! Careful! Careful!

Peter took a step back. A shiver ran through his whole body. If his spider-sense was warning him, he was going to listen.

“Look… thanks, but that probably wasn’t in your plans. We can do this another day, okay?” He struggled not to stutter and tried to sound as natural as possible.

Cass exhaled slowly and closed her eyes.

Just wanna hang out with you. Its been a while since we did that, she communicated calmly, but insistently.

Another stone of guilt weighed on his heart. Was he the one ruining the relationship between these sisters?

“All right. Right after class?” Peter gave in. He didn’t want to go at all, but maybe this would help the cover and ease some of the guilty.

The Asian girl smiled without showing her teeth, but the joy on her face was clear. She waved enthusiastically as she left.

Maybe he wanted to go a little now.

Chapter Text

First day in Gotham

Peter woke up with his back on a cold and hard floor. Every muscle hurt. His throat dry begging for water. He did not dare to move for long and stunned minutes.

Peter's mind was foggy. Fragments of memories mixing up in his mind. He tried to remember the last moments before ending up in that place.

"Can't you redo the spell? Make everyone forget me?" Asked Peter terrified looking at the edges of his universe breaking through the sky. "That would solve things, right?"

He directed his gaze at Stephen. His eyes teary and desperate to save the people he loved.

"I'm sorry child. That wouldn't be enough," his voice sounded melancholy. "But... No. It's too risky," he murmured.

"I'll do anything!" Peter shouted. "Just... please, save them," his tone was low and pleading.

Stephen considered the request.

"You must trust me," he said making a yellow magic circle.

He didn't remember anything anymore.

Great. It was really what he needed.

Damn sorcerer.

Peter opened his eyes. His vision was blurred. He needed a few seconds of concentration to focus on the ceiling above him. It looked like he was in an old warehouse.

The smell of the place hit him like a punch. The smell of rusty metal and damp moss mixed with the sweet aroma coming... from him?

He rested his arms on the floor and sat with difficulty. He looked around for some belongings.

There was a blue and worn gym bag, even though it seemed to be branded. Peter sighed in relief to see his glasses were also there.

Peter reached out but froze halfway through.

He carefully observed his now thin and delicate hand with long nails perfectly painted a dark blue shade, which stood out against his fair skin. There was also a ring and a bracelet, both golden.

No... What the hell did you do, Strange? Thought analyzing incredulously his whole body.

It was curvy and feminine (???). He was wearing a kind of collant and dirty jeans, full of stains. His chest was bigger than it should be.

Peter groaned, running his hand through his hair, something he always did when nervous, until feeling the strands reach his waist. That worsened his nervousness.

He brought his hand to his ear because it was heavy. He felt at the fingertips a kind of hoop with a large pendant whose shape he could not figure out.

His head was a mess. He couldn't have become a girl... right?

That was impossible.

Peter put on his glasses and turned his attention to the place.

Danger! Danger! Danger!

Peter shivered, standing up quickly and taking a step back. Doing that he almost stepped on another pair of glasses, feminine with golden frames.

"Karen?" He called hesitantly, his voice was hoarse and weak and (again) feminine. The feeling of strangeness flooded him again upon hearing the sound.

"Hello, Peter. How can I help you?" Karen greeted him.

Peter sighed in relief, at least he had Karen by his side.

"Thank God you recognized me—Wait, how did you recognize me?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"I believe the spell done by Stephen Strange altered some configurations of my system." She replied categorically.

Danger! Danger! Danger!

"Okay, this is new. Do you know where I am?" He shivered again. It was better to leave this place as soon as possible.

"I can't connect to any Stark satellite. I can hack others, but it will take some time," Karen informed him.

Peter didn't answer. His heart tight in his chest.

This made no sense. Karen should be able to access Stark satellites anywhere on the planet.

His senses disturbed him again. Wherever he was, it wasn't a good place, and it was better for Peter to leave quickly.

-🕷-

Peter let his spider sense guide him through the cold and dark streets of the city. Cries of despair could be heard in the distance. The gym bag weighing by his side.

The tall buildings seemed to bend over him, needing him even more. The streets exuded hopelessness. Walking slowly along the sidewalks, now and then a scurried past at his feet.

As soon as he left what he discovered to be an old abandoned warehouse, it started raining. A bitter reminder from the universe of how things always went wrong for him.

He entered a small convenience store, the only one that had made his instincts diminish in intensity.

The sound of the door bell echoed behind him, drawing the attention of an old man, already gray-haired, with a cigarette in his mouth and reading some newspaper.

"Don't try any tricks. I have a gun," he threatened in a low and suspicious tone.

"I won't try anything. Is there a bathroom here?" Peter asked in an even lower tone.

"Over there," he pointed with his head to the back of the store, lighting another cigarette.

Peter walked there with tired steps. Shivering slightly as the cold wind of the store hit his wet clothes.

The bathroom was dirty and smelly. He wasn't going to use it, he just needed a place to think.

The reflection in the cracked mirror confirmed his suspicion. He was definitely a girl.

Peter's "eyes" were swollen, as if he had cried for hours. What he supposed was mask making a trail down his cheeks.

Now he could see the earrings he wore, a golden hoop with a stunning sun pendant.

Peter also seemed smaller, about 10 centimeters shorter. That would be a big problem in the future.

The discomfort he felt made him want to tear his skin off. He dug his nails into his palms. Everything had been fine for a few weeks, now... this!?

He didn't want to deal with it.

His body was not his. The reflection staring at him was of a completely different person.

His face was different. His body was different. His voice was different. His hair was different.

Everything was different.

The realization hit him worse than any blow he could have received.

This was not him. It wasn't. It couldn't be real. It couldn't.

The air became difficult to breathe.

It was not enough.

The more he pulled, the more was missing.

Peter hit his back against the door with a loud bang. His breaths getting shorter and shorter.

His vision suddenly blurred, black at the edges, preventing him from focusing on the mirror.

The bathroom seemed to shrink, crushing him.

His heart beating fast inside his ribs, as if it would explode. The sound taking over his ears and overshadowing the rain.

He let himself slide to the dirty floor.

This was not him. It wasn't. He didn't want to believe it was.

A sharp sob escaped him, he hadn't even realized he had started crying.

He grabbed his chest with his trembling hand while crying and hyperventilating even more. Karen began to play a calm melody in his ears, doing what she could to try to calm him.

The tears fell bitterly down his face.

-🕷-

After long minutes, Peter finally managed to regain calm.

"Peter, are you feeling better?" Karen called in a low voice.

Peter nodded. His heartbeat had slowed and his breathing was stable.

"What did you find?" His voice had no emotion.

"Are you sure you're okay? The news I have to give you may be too stressful to handle in your current situation." Karen asked.

Peter knew he wasn't okay. How could he be okay? After everything that happened, the last thing he was was okay. Hurt, melancholy, desolate, anguished, lonely. But okay? No, he was not.

And in the end, what could Peter Parker do now?

"I'm okay, alright?" Peter sighed and ran his hand over his face, realizing his tone was a bit rude. "Sorry, do you at least know where we are?" He spoke softer.

"According to my research, we are in a city called Gotham City. Often called the most dangerous in America."

Gotham? Peter was confused, had never heard of this city before. And he was very good at geography in school. But having such a title, Peter thought he wouldn’t even need to know it.

"I didn't find anything linked to the Avengers. Absolutely nothing. Not Spider-Man, nor any other hero. I also found your new features in the database as a girl named Petra Grayson," Karen paused, as if that would ease the weight of the news.

It didn't ease.

Peter hugged his knees to his chest and lowered his head in resignation.

With this information, the only possibility Peter could think of was that he was in another universe. And in someone else's body.

(He would make a mental note never to resort to spells to solve his problems again.)

Peter was in a spiral of thoughts.

On one hand, maybe he could start over, no one really knew who he was.

On the other, he wanted to go home. He wanted to get back the life he had, for the people he loved.

And on another side, he should assume the identity of Petra.

"What the hell do I do now?" He whimpered to no one, not expecting an answer from Karen.

"I recommend you find a place to stay tonight, having a meal would also be great," Karen replied anyway.

Peter felt his stomach growl loudly immediately.

"You're right, I’ll think about it later," He wiped the tears with his sleeve. If he thought about it longer, he would probably go crazy.

He left the bathroom disheartened, walking to the shelves of the store. The lights flickering slightly above him, probably a wiring problem.

Most of the other items were out of the question, either for lacking enough calories his body needed or needing to be heated.

"There is a fast food a few streets away. It would be more beneficial than any food here," Karen spoke in his ears.

That sometimes scared Peter. It even seemed like she could read minds.

He was about to leave the store quickly, until interrupted by the clerk.

"Hey, the bathroom is for customers only, you’ll have to buy something," he said arrogantly.

Peter shivered as the smell of cigarette reached his nose.

"Hummm," Peter analyzed the shelves near him and grabbed a one-dollar gum.

"Money," the old man requested rudely, not taking his eyes off the newspaper.

Peter emptied his pants pockets, taking out some coins. He hurriedly extended his hand with the money.

The man finally looked at him. He raised his eyebrows, attentive to his body more than necessary. His eyes shone with a predatory gleam.

He removed the cigarette from his mouth, curling his lips into a malicious smile.

Peter squirmed uncomfortably, disliking the gaze he received.

"Are you alone?" The man asked with evident interest in his voice.

A bad feeling ran through Peter. He didn't answer, still holding out his hand, waiting for the money to be received.

"A sweetie like you shouldn’t be alone at this hour. Especially in Gotham," the man grabbed his wrist quickly.

Peter stiffened, his spider sense buzzing on alert, hairs on his neck standing up. He tried to escape the grip, bringing his arm back.

The old man didn't let go, increasing the grip and pulling Peter closer brutally, making the boy hit the counter and bend his body with a loud noise that echoed through the store.

"You should be very careful in this city. But well, you could stay here, I’ll take care of you,swettie" he offered, with a malicious tone that left no room for contradictions.

Peter wanted to vomit. The way the man looked at him, the cigarette aroma, the strong grip on his wrist, all made his stomach contract.

Peter didn't want to let it happen. He was trained for situations like this, but going through it was very different. He was sweating cold, feeling his heart beat fast and the tears again threatening to fall.

Even with difficulty thinking, he gathered strength and punched the old man in the stomach with his free hand, making him release his wrist and stagger back. He also punched the side of his face, taking out his anger on him.

Peter went running away, the situation that had just happened disturbing his head.

Before he could cross the door, a tall black-haired man burst through the door desperately, looking directly at Peter. He was wet, probably walking in the rain.

Peter stepped back instinctively and raised his fist in defense.

His blue eyes were distressed, and the man hesitated before approaching.

"Petra..." He paused, looked at the man bent over the counter and groaning in pain. "Are you hurt? Did someone do something to you?" He asked with a trembling voice, putting both hands on Peter's shoulders.

This person knew Petra. His features were extremely similar, as if they were family. He was too young to be the father. A brother, perhaps?

"Let's go, okay? I’ll take you home." He spoke softly, intertwining his hand with hers.

Peter thought about running away. But the exhaustion (physical, emotional, and mental) spoke louder. Maybe he didn’t need to be alone, at least for now.

He would follow the music as it played. Until he learned to play his own.

---

https://www.tumblr.com/spectravondergeistphantom8?source=share

Chapter Text

Peter had always liked school. He was fascinated by subjects involving science and above average in all the others. He could count on his fingers how many failing grades he had gotten in his entire life.

But Gotham Prep had taken that passion and sliced it into pieces! He had never attended such boring classes. And adding to the fact that he had already seen all the high school content—because he had already graduated, duh—this resulted in a sleepy and bored Peter.

And just thinking about the uniform he was forced to wear, his desire to burn down this school increased. What kind of institution in the 21st century still made girls wear skirts?! Especially in a city this cold, where even a simple breeze could make someone freeze.

Tapping his pen on the desk, he returned to his main dilemma of the day: how he was going to deal with Cass in the afternoon. He wasn’t only referring to how his spider-sense reacted to her, but also to how he was supposed to act as Petra.

She was a blank book. He knew nothing about her. Only redundant things—she was kind, smart, polite, and positive. But that didn’t tell him how she laughed at jokes, or how she made them. Did she even like jokes?

These last weeks pretending to be her had been a challenge.

It was like acting in a play where everyone else had the script except Peter.

It was frustrating. It was confusing.

And Peter wasn’t liking it one bit.

-🕷-

As he put his books in the locker, the dreaded moment approached in the form of a pair of dark eyes watching him attentively.

Are you ready? she signed.

“Oh, yes. Let’s go.” Peter stammered, already feeling his spider-sense nagging at him.

The empty streets of Gotham led the two of them to walk in silence—a silence quite uncomfortable in Peter’s view. Cass, however, seemed either completely unaffected or hiding it very well, her calm steps barely detectable even to his super-hearing. He wondered several times if he should start a conversation, or if an awkward silence was better than an awkward conversation.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the library. Cass entered first, holding the door so Peter could pass.

The natural silence of a library, along with the dim lighting, gave a cozy feeling to anyone who walked in. The smell of old books supported that impression. It seemed like the only warm spot in that cold city.

The librarian behind the counter looked at them with furrowed brows and lips pressed into a thin line, which Peter found strange. Her body tensed up when her gaze met his, then she immediately switched to a friendly posture.

“Hi girls! I wasn’t expecting you here today.” She gave a small wave, her gaze alternating between him and Cass. “How can I help you?” she asked, looking directly at the Asian girl.

The red-haired woman seemed to know them, though Peter had no idea who she was. He squinted to read her nametag: Barbara.

A lightbulb went off. He remembered hearing Tim mention her at breakfast once, as a family friend.

“We just came to study a little,” Peter replied. “Babs,” he added uncertainly.

Yes. Don’t disturb us. Cass, who had seemed to be in a silent staring contest with Barbara, signed firmly.

Peter felt the sudden tension, but decided to stay quiet.

-🕷-

Already seated at the table, with the ticking of an old clock as the background soundtrack- tic, tac, tic, tac-  Cass didn’t seem bothered by silence, calmly working on her exercises. But Peter noticed the glances she threw at him from the corner of her eye.

Peter bounced his leg restlessly, glancing at the clock every minute.

The movement of Cass’s hands caught his attention.

What happened? Her expression was worried.

The question sent a chill down his entire body. His foot stopped trembling instantly, but his heart raced as if to make up for the silence.

Was she starting to suspect something?! Peter’s head twisted into knots.

“What do you mean?” he shot back with another question, confused, eyes wide.

Cass lifted her hands and sighed, then signed again.

You’ve been acting strange lately. She averted her gaze, as if unsure of her own words, her brows knitted together.

“I’m normal,” he retorted defensively, gripping the pencil in his hand tightly.

No. I know you. You’re not normal. She reaffirmed, more frantic.

They stared at each other, the air dense between them while Peter stayed silent. But there was nothing he could say. He wasn’t Petra—of course anyone watching from outside would think “she” was acting weird.

When she realized she wouldn’t get an answer, Cass let her shoulders drop and looked softly at Peter.

I just want to know what’s going on. You can talk to me. She signed gently, a caring offer.

A loud buzz filled Peter’s ears. The pencil cracked in his hand.

His mouth burned as if someone were forcing him to speak. A phrase scraped at his throat, begging to come out.

“Are you going to keep pretending you care?” The words came out like a gunshot—loud and hurtful.

Peter clapped a hand over his mouth in a quick movement. He hadn’t wanted to say that—he didn’t even know why he had. For a brief moment, he had lost control over his own body. All he knew was that his head hurt, like nails being hammered into it.

Cass didn’t move. Her dark eyes widened for a moment. She held her breath—no gasp of shock escaped. Her silence was indecipherable. Was she upset? Angry? Or just as confused as Peter was?

Peter thought about justifying himself or apologizing, but it felt like any word would trigger a bomb.

Heavy seconds passed until they were interrupted by Barbara’s urgent voice, echoing through the shelves.

“Cass!! I need you in the back! Now!”

The call split the tension in half. But it didn’t dissipate—it still hung there, heavy and unfinished, leaving both Peter and Cass with their own thoughts and doubts.

Cass’s chair screeched against the floor as she stood up straight, already rushing toward the voice.

She stopped abruptly, turning back to Peter.

Stay here. We’re not done yet. She signed sharply, her hands rigid, more of an order than a request.

A shame Peter hated following orders.

Chapter Text

Peter grabbed his things as soon as Cass disappeared between the shelves, hastily scribbling a small note on the table.

He tiptoed to the exit, closing the door carefully so it wouldn’t make a sound. He let out a sigh of relief after hearing the faint click of the door locking behind him, he couldn’t stand being in that place any longer.

From inside the library, he hadn’t noticed how dark it was outside. The typical heavy clouds of Gotham hung above him.

The brief, yet impactful, discussion with Cass was still rattling in his head.

The ideal thing would’ve been to dodge the questions, then pretend nothing happened and hope Cass would forget. But after that line… Peter doubted she would let it slide. At best, he’d have to explain himself, which was already bad—because he didn’t even know why he’d said it.

"Are you going to keep pretending you care?"

The phrase echoed in his mind, and Peter felt the same burning in his throat, his chest tightening with each beat of his heart.

He clenched his fists. He didn’t like the overwhelming wave of emotions that had hit him in that moment.

Peter had expected Cass to be upset. She seemed genuinely concerned, and he had to admit, that response was cruel.

But Peter didn’t really care about her feelings. His priority was his disguise. As much as he hated this whole charade, it was something to hold on to, and he couldn’t afford to lose it.

A bitter taste filled his mouth.

May wouldn’t like seeing him thinking this coldly, this selfishly.

Tears threatened to fall at the mere memory of his aunt, of how disappointed she would be in him. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head violently, forcing it back.

He didn’t need to think about that now. Not now, not ever.

Walking slowly, Peter didn’t head to Wayne Manor. He needed someplace high, where the wind would clear his thoughts.

He walked toward a tall building, five or six stories high, and climbed up the fire escape to the top. He threw his backpack aside.

Peter sat on the ground, slouched, letting the icy Gotham breeze hit his face. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs, then exhaled slowly, relaxing his shoulders, letting his thoughts drift away.

Even before becoming Spider-Man, high places had always been his refuge.

On bad days, he would sit by the apartment window and take in the view of New York City. Cars passing, lights flicking on and off in the neighboring buildings, pedestrians hurrying down the streets, it was his favorite sight.

Once he got his powers, that perception deepened. He didn’t just see the city anymore—he felt it.

Now, as he swung through the skies or perched on some skyscraper, he could hear pigeons flapping their wings above; radios blasting popular songs; fragments of conversations; heartbeats everywhere. Peter even came to think of New York as a living organism.

But Gotham… Gotham was a rotting corpse. The city resembled nothing of chaotic New York. The gothic buildings and looming towers cut across the horizon in a threatening, oppressive way, never giving the same sense of freedom New York’s structures had.

Instead of pleasant sounds, there were gunshots; rats scurrying through the sewers; the flutter of bat wings—sometimes mutant ones, according to a few newspapers he’d read—instead of pigeons.

But the worst part was the screams. Endless, desperate pleas that never stopped, not at any hour of the day. No matter where he was, no matter what time it was, they lingered in the background.

Gotham breathed darkness in every aspect.

Even its smells carried that weight. The faint scent of fresh blood on every corner, mixed with alcohol and drugs, trash, sewage, and other human residues—even vomit, which he figured came from alcohol and drugs.

And… burnt?

He sniffed again, sharpening his senses. It smelled like charred wood and iron.

Peter looked around for fire. His heart skipped a beat when he spotted a gray trail of smoke rising in the distance.

He remembered the radio broadcast from that morning, the news that Firefly still hadn’t been found. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he was attacking somewhere now.

"Karen, is there a fire nearby?" The question was more of a statement, he was sure of it.

"A Firefly attack is happening at a residential building a few blocks away. Nightwing and Spoiler are already there dealing with him. You don’t need to worry," Karen’s voice echoed in his ears.

Peter sighed. She was right. The vigilantes already had it under control. He didn’t need to care.

He didn’t need to care.

He didn’t need to care.

But the hero inside him did care. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to intervene, to save those people, to be Spider-Man again.

No, he scolded himself mentally. The heroes are already on it. You don’t have to get involved.

Buuuuut… just taking a look wouldn’t hurt. He’d just make sure everyone was fine and leave. That was it. Totally.

"If there’s one thing I can’t stop doing… it’s caring," he murmured under his breath.

He swung his backpack onto his shoulders before even finishing the sentence. He rushed down the fire escape, leapt to the ground, and sprinted through the streets, ignoring the strange looks from bystanders. The fire wasn’t far.

He’d make it in time.

He could already see the flames lighting up the street in orange before even reaching the scene. A crowd had gathered around the burning building. Some looked injured, likely just rescued, while others were helping the wounded.

The vigilante in the purple cape had just exited the building, carrying a man on her back. She looked exhausted, her costume torn and covered in soot.

"That was the last one, now we just have to wait for the paramedics," he heard her pant from afar.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

The sound froze time. Someone was still inside the building.

The raging, destructive flames reflected in Peter’s uncertain eyes as he stared at the structure. He stepped forward instinctively but couldn’t take another step. His legs trembled, drained of strength, consumed by anxiety.

Peter remembered all his losses. Of what this relentless desire to save lives had brought him. How it had dragged him to rock bottom.

No, focus Peter. Pull yourself together. There’s a life at stake here. This isn’t the time to get emotional! he reasoned.

The heartbeat was weak, too faint for someone in good condition. Peter thought it might be a child, but whoever it was, they didn’t have much time.

Only he had that information. No one else knew someone was still inside. All they’d find would be remains in the ashes—he shuddered at the thought of that happening, especially with heroes already on-site—unless Peter intervened.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

He scanned the crowd for anyone watching him. When no one was, he finally moved. He shoved his backpack behind a dumpster, praying it wouldn’t get stolen.

The front entrance was no longer an option, the only way in was through the windows. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to climb the burning walls, risking being seen. Instead, he darted up the fire escape.

The iron groaned with each step, the shrill sound almost drowning out the heartbeat. Peter raced upward as fast as he could, heading to the source—on the top floor.

By the time he reached it, his own heartbeat was racing. The smell of heated metal was overwhelming, and the suffocating heat made sweat drip down his skin. He braced himself, hands on his knees, trying to catch enough breath before charging in.

Suddenly, the whole structure shook loose from the wall under his weight.

Startled, Peter clung to the railing, the fire escape creaking and tilting dangerously toward the ground. Nails snapped free and clattered down into the alley. His heart skipped—this was not a good start.

Okay, not too bad, he thought optimistically. I just have to jump inside through the window.

If he didn’t jump soon, the escape would collapse under him. Swallowing hard, he reminded himself, he’d done this countless times. He shouldn’t be panicking now.

With one decisive push, he leapt through the window, landing hard on the floor. The glass had already shattered long ago from the heat, and the shards cut into his skin. Some wounds were shallow, others deeper. He brushed his arms quickly and pushed forward.

There's no turning back now.

The apartment was tiny. The kitchen and living room blended together, with just two doors on Peter’s right. Despite the fire consuming everything, it still bore signs of being a home. Simple furniture radiated warmth. Children’s books were scattered everywhere, though now burnt and lost forever.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

Peter kicked open the first door, the heartbeat growing louder. The room was engulfed in fire, with no windows for the smoke to escape. The door crumbled in his hands, crashing to the ground. The noise made him flinch, but a muffled cry drew his attention.

Through the dense smoke, he spotted a little girl, no more than seven. Curly brown hair tied in two pigtails. Her breathing was ragged, her eyelids heavy, but she clung tightly to a rag doll against her chest.

Peter covered his mouth, coughing violently as the smoke burned his throat and lungs. He wondered how the girl had stayed conscious this long—though she was on the verge of collapsing.

Ignoring this, he crouched in front of her. She stared at him, frightened, like a trapped animal. He inhaled deeply before speaking.

“Hey.” His voice came out rougher than expected. “That’s a really pretty doll you’ve got there. Does she have a name?”

Distraction would help—it’d make it easier to get her out.

The girl hugged the doll tighter, avoiding his eyes.

“Princess…” she whispered timidly.

“That’s a beautiful name. I bet you have a lovely name too. Can I know it?” he asked, inching closer.

“My name is Julia,” she said softly.

“Alright, Julia, I need to get you out of here now, but you have to stay calm—” Peter began, using the same tone he always had with kids as Spider-Man, but she interrupted.

“No! My mom said not to leave. I have to wait for her.” She curled up tighter.

The fire spread further. A wooden beam collapsed nearby, making Julia flinch. Peter had to hurry.

“Your mom sent me to get you! You need to trust me. We have to go now" he lied—at least about the mother part. But the urgency was real. He held out his hand.

Julia glanced between his eyes, the flames, and his outstretched hand. Hesitantly, she took it.

The moment their hands met, Peter’s spider-sense flared.

Above!

He snatched the girl into his arms just before another beam crashed exactly where she’d been.

“You okay?” he asked.

Julia squeezed tighter around his neck, her legs wrapping firmly around his waist. That was answer enough. Peter sprinted back toward the window.

The fire had spread across the living room, leaving little space to pass. He barreled through, shielding the child with his own body.

Reaching the exit, Peter adjusted his grip.

“Hold on tight,” he told her. “And don’t look down.”

He extended his hands first, clinging to the wall like always. His palms seared against the heated surface, but he bit down on his lip, ignoring the pain.

Then he pushed his legs out and began descending swiftly. His movements were fast, precise, efficient. Within moments, they reached the ground.

Relief flooded him when he spotted ambulances down the street. He could drop her off quietly—hopefully, the vigilantes were gone by now. It would be suspicious for a random teenager to appear carrying a child from a fire.

Sneaking around the wreckage, Peter retrieved his backpack with one hand and slipped to an empty ambulance, setting Julia inside.

He knelt so they were eye to eye.

“If anyone asks, you don’t remember me. It’ll be our little secret.” He raised his pinky with a mischievous grin. “Promise?”

Julia hooked her pinky with his, her face lighting up with childlike excitement despite what she’d endured.

“Promise!” she said.

“Good. Now I have to go. Bye-bye!” He waved, standing. She waved back.

That was pretty good, Peter thought. That sense of accomplishment—the warmth starting in his chest and spreading through his body.

“Hey! You there!” a voice shouted, clearly at him.

Shit. Spoke too soon.

A chill shot through Peter’s body—but not his spider-sense.

His spider-sense was a fiery tingle, electrifying every nerve, raising the hairs on his neck.

This was different. A cold shiver, a numb tingling racing from his toes to his head. And his senses… they felt normal. Too normal.

He spun, ducking behind the ambulance. He was screwed, someone had seen him.

But then something strange happened. The paramedic—the one Peter  who had shouted—wasn’t even looking his way. Still confused, Peter decided to listen.

“Hey, little one. Was someone here with you?” the man asked Julia.

She shook her head, though her eyes lingered exactly where Peter stood. Strange, It looked like she couldn’t see him at all.

“Who brought you here then?” the man asked again.

Julia pointed to Spoiler, who was way across the street.

Smart kid. Peter chuckled to himself.

The girl's face twisted into a grimace, coughing heavily afterward. Peter felt uneasy, but now that a doctor was with her, he felt more at ease leaving her.

“This job is driving me crazy,” the man muttered under his breath. Peter wouldn’t have heard it without his sharpened senses.

Peter frowned. Until he looked at his own hands. His breath caught.

He was fucking invisible.

Like—completely transparent. He could see the asphalt right through his skin.

“What the hell…” he stumbled back, bewildered.

"Peter, I can confirm you are invisible right now," Karen stated—the obvious, as usual.

Peter groaned. He hated how painfully obvious she could be, especially at the worst times.

“I know! How do I go back to normal?” he snapped, panicked.

"I don’t have a tested answer, but I believe once you calm down and reach a safe place, you’ll return to your physical state," Karen reasoned.

Peter swallowed hard. He wasn’t ready for more physical changes.

Still, it was best to leave before anyone else noticed.

-🕷-

The Next Night

Peter had been standing atop the tallest building he could find, eyes closed, for a long time. He inhaled one last deep breath. Then he ran, building momentum—and jumped.

Time slowed mid-leap.

He kept his eyes shut as he fell. He saw nothing. He only felt. Relishing in a sensation he hadn’t experienced in so long.

His makeshift uniform dulled the wind against his skin, but he could still feel it ripple through the fabric.

He kept his eyes closed the whole time, embracing the freefall.

He let himself near the ground intentionally. Adrenaline surged through his veins. Each gasp of air filled his lungs with euphoria.

At the last second, he shot a web upward and yanked himself back into the air—higher than usual.

Probably used too much strength now that I’m lighter, Peter thought. Not a problem. I’ll adapt fast.

He kept swinging, web after web, adjusting to his new weight. He was clumsy at first, but still—it felt incredible. Doing something so familiar, so his, after all this time. For once, things made a little of sense again.

This is what he wanted. This is what his soul craved every day.

He remembered May’s words, that once were Ben’s.

"With great power, comes great responsibility."

Being Spider-Man wasn’t just an obligation. It was his purpose.

And one thing Peter Parker knew for sure:

There is no universe where he doesn’t choose to wear the mask.

My tumblr

Chapter Text

Dick Grayson

Ever since Dick started acting as Robin, Bruce had established a strict rule: He would not get involved in any child trafficking cases. And this rule applied to Jason, Tim, Steph, and all the other children.

And when Duke arrived at the mansion, he created another: he shouldn’t get involved in any meta trafficking cases. Duke didn’t care and seemed so scared of the possibility of being kidnapped by one of these networks that if Bruce hadn’t imposed this rule, he would have excluded himself from missions.

They had been investigating a trafficking network for months. After much investigation and many contacts, they had finally discovered the date of an auction. And it was today. Just on Petra’s sixteenth birthday.

Petra didn’t ask for a big party, or even to go out with friends like regular teenagers her age would. She just asked for a family dinner.

"I was thinking of having dinner here at the mansion. I just want to spend time with you guys. And what could be better than a dinner just with us?"

That was all she answered when Dick asked what she wanted, along with those bright eyes that he would give the world just to see filled with joy.

Dick sighed in frustration, his heart weighing tons in his chest.

Petra treasured quality family time like it was gold.

This poisoned Dick inside. Knowing he would never spend enough time with her. He was always too busy with his hero work. There was always a case, a mission, a patrol. That was more important.

Dick shook his head, as if it were possible to throw the thoughts away with the movement. This auction was the only lead they had in months; they couldn’t miss it.

"Dick! We’re leaving, come on!" Tim shouted from the Batcave.

Dick left the locker room, looking around the cave confused. He was sure Duke was there to say goodbye before putting on his suit.

"Where’s Duke?" he asked.

Tim grumbled. "The demon bat argued with him and made him leave the Batcave," he said, teeth clenched, staring at Damian.

"I just said what everyone’s thinking, Drake. You all just don’t want to admit the truth," Damian retorted, his face scowling, arms crossed.

Tim froze at that, but didn’t let it show that he was affected. Cass pretended not to hear, heading to her motorcycle. Steph looked away and put her mask on quickly, but Dick still saw the irritated expression on her face.

"You don’t speak for all of us here, Damian, forgot?" Steph muttered with irritation and exhaustion in her voice. She glared heavily at Damian before going to climb on Cass’ back.

Damian clenched his fists and stomped toward the Batmobile.

"Hypocrites. All of you." Damian huffed loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Dick looked at Jason, trying to understand what was happening. Jason shrugged in response, typical of him. Bruce made a hand gesture that meant "we’ll talk later."

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Better said: He went upstairs to stay with Petra. Now let’s go already." He waved his hand, indicating for them to follow him to the bike.

The tension between them was palpable. The truth was that none of them wanted to go on this mission. But this was a sacrifice that came with the choice of being a hero.

And deep down, it was the right choice. Save many lives or avoid upsetting a teenager by missing her birthday dinner? The answer was painfully obvious, capable of killing Dick inside.

He straightened his posture and relaxed his fists, which he hadn’t realized he had clenched. Everything would be fine. Even if he felt terribly selfish thinking this: Petra would understand, she always did.

-🦇-

5 missed calls.

Petra had called Dick 5 times during the night. One after the other. At 3:36 a.m.

He only noticed when he returned to the locker room to change clothes. The phone had been left on the bench, the screen lighting up the darkness with those notifications that made his stomach drop.

Dick put on his normal clothes as quickly as a speedster would. His hands were sweaty, trembling as he held the phone.

What could Petra want at this hour? Dick thought. She was always very strict about going to bed by midnight at the latest. And why five calls?! Was it really that urgent at this hour?!

Dick passed by the other Bat-family members, quickly going up the stairs to Petra’s room.

His heart seemed to beat faster with every step. With each step, he felt even further from Petra. The corridor seemed to stretch infinitely, making the destination seem as far as possible.

The possibilities multiplied in his head: had she gotten sick? Was she angry with them? — Stop being stupid, Dick, of course she was angry. Maybe she wanted to know why they hadn’t come to the dinner.

Dick’s throat was dry. Whatever the reason, he was worried.

He paused for a moment at the sight of the baby blue "P" hanging on her door. He knocked loudly so she would wake up.

Nothing.

He knocked again, harder.

Nothing.

"Petra!" he called, knocking again.

Nothing.

Tired of waiting, Dick forced the doorknob down. He hoped it would be a failed effort, since her room was always locked. But the door opened with a slight push, revealing a completely ... empty room.

The bed was untouched. It didn’t look like anyone had been near it. Dick’s breath caught. He looked around the room for any sign of her.

But the only trace was a post-it stuck to her dresser mirror.

He ripped the paper off in a quick motion. Reading the message written there:

"I had to leave

I’m sorry

- with all my love, Petra"

But among these phrases, there was a section scribbled over aggressively, almost piercing the paper. Lines drawn over the letters, trying to erase what had already been written. Dick squinted, trying to decipher what was underneath the scribble.

"I promise I’ll be fine. I’ll be back soon"

Dick’s blood froze, leaving his face pale. The ground seemed to collapse beneath him. He seemed to float as he stared at the note. His gaze went over the lines repeatedly, as if the phrases could explain themselves.

Why scribble "I’llbe fine"?She wouldn’t be fine? She wouldn’t come back? The very thought of something bad having happened to her made Dick’s stomach sink.

Cold sweat ran down his forehead. The pain in his chest grew.

Dick took a deep breath. He had to calm down and think clearly. He ran his trembling hand through his hair. He had to alert his brothers. They would help solve this situation.

He ran back to the cave with his heart in his hands. He went straight to the medbay looking for Duke, the last one who had been with her.

The boy was with Tim, bandaging his arm. Dick cleared his throat to get his attention. The yellow-eyed boy looked up at him without much interest.

"Duke, do you know where Petra is?" Dick asked directly.

Duke raised an eyebrow. "She should be in her room, why are you asking?"

"Because she’s not there."

"What?!" Duke yelled, eyes wide, letting go of Tim’s arm.

Bruce approached from behind them like a shadow. Still in his Batman suit, but with the cowl lowered.

There were only four of them in the cave. Damian, Cass, Steph, and Alfred had gone upstairs to eat something. Jason had gone straight home after the mission.

"Explain, Dick," Bruce said sharply.

"I went to see her when I got back. I only found this." Dick held out the post-it to Bruce, but Tim was faster, snatching the paper from Dick like a wild animal.

His mouth moved silently as he read the words quickly. His eyebrows furrowed as soon as he finished reading.

"What the hell did she mean by this?" Tim said, his voice higher than normal.

"Let me see," Duke said, already grabbing the note.

"It’s not just that," Dick showed the phone screen to Bruce, the five missed calls glaring. "Look at this."

Bruce’s expression darkened. A line of concern appeared on his forehead. His jaw tightened.

"Duke, did something happen that we need to know?" Bruce asked categorically, assuming his investigative Batman persona.

Duke bit his lip and turned his head, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

"I kinda—She started—No I mean… Argh!" Duke fumbled with his words. He touched the tip of his nose, his gaze meeting Dick’s for a brief moment before looking away. But it was enough for Dick to see the guilt in his eyes, a weight he had rarely seen on Duke.

"Duke," Tim said to get his attention, his tone sharp.

"She was sad. Like really sad. Cried a lot. But didn’t say anything at all." Duke ran his hand over his face. "She said she was going to sleep. I didn’t think she would leave the house."

The boy didn’t look directly at any of them while speaking. Dick didn’t like it, as what Duke said didn’t seem like the full truth. But they didn’t have time now; the priority was finding Petra and understanding what had happened.

"I’ll check the cameras," Tim stood determined.

"I’ll call the others," Duke said, heading toward the stairs. But Bruce’s firm hand stopped him.

"Not yet. We should wait for more information before considering this an emergency," Bruce argued.

It wasn’t what Bruce said that scared Dick, but the coldness in his voice, the tone that didn’t seem like he was speaking about his own daughter. Bruce had this habit of being rational in tense moments, but the lack of emotion boiled Dick’s blood. He clenched his fists.

"Five consecutive calls at three in the morning and a highly suspicious note. Isn’t that concerning enough?" Dick said through clenched teeth.

Bruce sighed, not wanting Dick to freak out. "I’m just saying we can’t dismiss the possibility that it’s nothing—"

"Nothing?!" Dick shouted. How could he say it was nothing when everything pointed to something bad having happened?

"Teenagers do this, Dick. They leave home upset without telling anyone. You’ve done it many times yourself, I’ve lost count," Bruce reasoned.

"But Petra doesn’t do this. Never has," Dick countered.

"That’s why there’s a first time for everything," Bruce said firmly, not backing down.

They stared at each other, eyes sharp. The tension was palpable. Only to be cut by Duke like a blade. He was no longer beside them but stood with Tim in front of the Batcomputer.

"You can stop being idiots and come see this," his tone was low and irritated, almost growling.

Dick practically materialized beside them, looking at the Batcomputer screen. Bruce appeared right after.

"You better see for yourselves," Tim said cautiously.

The images showed Petra running hurriedly through the mansion grounds. Running not only fast, but as if her life depended on it. She went from the mansion door to the gate in seconds.

Dick narrowed his eyes. Why was she in such a hurry?

She stopped in front of the iron gate, seeming hesitant. And against what everyone thought she would do—she didn’t open the gate—Petra simply jumped over it! She climbed the iron bars and leaped to the other side, landing face down on the ground. She got up looking dizzy but immediately ran off.

Dick was shocked. His jaw literally dropped, forming an "O".

"And you think this is strange? Look at this," Tim pointed to the screen as the camera angle changed.

Now the view was further down the street. Dick expected the footage to show Petra still running. But somehow, it was even more concerning. The camera showed nothing. Dick leaned closer as if that would make her appear.

"She seems to evaporate! I’ve already checked the cameras around the area. She only appears on the mansion cameras. Only there," Tim said in disbelief.

Dick wanted to argue with Bruce and rub it in that it was nothing, but the hollow pain in his heart was stronger. Because that was the final verdict, like a hammer in a courtroom. Petra had disappeared.

-🦇-

The whole family spent the entire day searching for her tirelessly. Checking every corner of cold Gotham.

Dick didn’t care if it rained almost all day. He kept going relentlessly, hunting for his sister like a predator. Cass didn’t fall behind. She was just as fierce as Dick, determined to bring her sister home as quickly as possible.

Night came with no sign of Petra. His heart was tight, almost like a physical pain. The guilt weighed on his chest. He didn’t want to imagine what could have happened to her. But still, the worst possible scenarios ran through his mind.

They all reunited in the cave at night to review what they had found. Which was … nothing. Dick was frustrated, but it was expected. They had no leads, no footage, no idea where she could have gone.

The silence was deafening. No one spoke, each lost in their own thoughts.

"I found it," Barbara informed, as surprised and relieved as everyone in the room, the sound of her keyboard echoing through the speakers. "I’m sending the location."

"I’m on my way," Dick said, running to the car.

The first thing he saw through the convenience store windows as he arrived was her. Not a second passed before he burst through the door. His stomach churned seeing her state.

Uneven breathing. Soaked clothes. Hair disheveled. Makeup smudged all over her face.

Dick expected her to throw herself into his arms, crying and apologizing for running away.

But he received eyes filled with fear directed at him. She stepped back a few steps, as if she had just seen the scariest thing. She raised trembling fists toward Dick. Not just a defensive gesture, but of a survivor. Whatever had happened affected her.

The cold wind of the store hit their wet clothes, sending a shiver down his body.

"Petra…" Dick began, but a groan of pain caught his attention from an old man leaning over the counter. The scene being painted wasn’t pretty.

He placed both hands firmly on her shoulders. "Are you hurt? Did someone do something to you?" he asked, voice trembling.

Petra didn’t respond. Her eyes had no recognition, making Dick’s heart twist into a knot.

"Let’s go, okay? I’ll take you home," he spoke softly. Using a tone he usually used with victims, and had wished all his life never to use with Petra.

Dick intertwined his hand with hers. She didn’t resist, but didn’t hold back. The older one guided her to the car with caution and care.

Petra seemed like a ghost, with no reaction. Dick felt as if he were carrying something weightless, as light as a feather. Just following wherever he led her.

Dick placed her in the passenger seat and got in the driver’s side. He didn’t start the car immediately. He kept staring at Petra with worry, hoping she would say something.

"Nothing to say?" Dick asked without harshness, just carefully. Desperate to know what had happened.

"What should I say?" Petra answered without taking her eyes off the car window. Dick couldn’t help but feel relieved to finally hear her voice, though her tone seemed … lost. Everything about her seemed lost, actually.

"Where were you?"

Petra didn’t look again. Dick grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to face him, even as she kept her head turned aside.

"Petra, look at me," he begged, voice breaking. He just needed to see her eyes.

They finally came face to face. Dick observed Petra’s clouded pupils, even her iris seemed to lose color. The pain in Dick’s heart felt physical, as if someone were crushing it and making it bleed.

Dick hugged her gently, wrapping his protective arms around her shoulders. She didn’t return it, but Dick didn’t care. All that mattered was that she was safe.

He pulled away just a little, running his thumb over the streaks left by long-dried tears, trying to wipe her face.

Finally, he let go of the reluctant embrace. Petra seemed calmer, just a little, almost imperceptible. That made Dick feel more at ease.

Dick started the car. They would be fine. Things were going to get back to normal. He hoped.

Back to today

After apprehending Firefly, Dick returned alone to the fire scene. He found it strange, as Cass had been with him during the fight. Usually, she would check on the injured whenever such attacks occurred, but that night she went straight back to the cave.

It took Dick years to understand Cass. Even today, it was a challenge to figure her out. But it was in these small changes in habits that he realized something was happening. Dick thought it might have been because of Petra’s birthday. He would talk to Cass later.

"Hey, Spoiler," Dick called.

Her posture was tense. Dick feared something bad had happened.

"Hi!" Steph’s voice tried to sound calm. "So… um… I—"

"If something happened, you have to tell me," he said.

"Look," her shoulders fell. "There was kind of a child on the second floor. And I didn’t know."

Dick’s heart sank, already imagining what had happened.

"Spoiler… Did—"

"No!" Spoiler was quick to interrupt him. "She’s fine. What I mean is… it’s complicated."

"Just tell me, Spoiler."

"It wasn’t me who saved the girl," she blurted.

Dick frowned. That didn’t make sense.

"I want a full report on everything that happened," he demanded firmly.

"The girl’s name is Julia. She inhaled a lot of smoke, but is already receiving oxygen. Her mother arrived a few minutes ago. The problem is she seemed to be alone in the ambulance; the paramedics said no one was with her," Steph explained, stumbling over her words.

"Any chance she went down alone?" Dick speculated.

"The fire escape broke before she could go down, and the entrance had long been taken by flames," she argued.

"Didn’t she say anything?" Dick asked. Children weren’t very good at lying.

"She keeps saying I saved her, but it wasn’t me," Dick clearly heard the weight in Steph’s words. The guilt of not saving someone, even though she was fine now.

Dick felt bad for his sister, but the priority now was figuring out what had happened.

He raised his hand to the communicator to speak to Barbara. He told her what had happened.

"So, you can work your magic with the computer and check the cameras?" Dick tried to make a joke to ease the tension. All of them were natural detectives. The same assumption—which wasn’t good at all—was definitely running through their minds.

"Of course, wonder boy, that’s my job," Barbara replied.

Dick heard Babs’ fingers flying over the keys at a rapid pace.

"Nightwing, we have a problem," Barbara spoke apprehensively in his earpiece.

Dick remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"The security camera footage was deleted. I can’t access it at all. It stops before the stairs collapsed and only resumes after the girl is already in the ambulance," Barbara said, her voice uncertain, as if she didn’t understand it either.

Dick and Steph exchanged glances. This was strange. Too strange.

The following night, after the patrol

Jason was the last to arrive, while all the other Bat-family members were already gathered in the cave. Except for Duke, who was in pajamas; the others were still in their suits.

The tension in the room was the same as always. For Bruce to call a meeting and gather all of Gotham’s vigilantes—including Jason—they knew something bad, or at least alarming, must have happened. But this had become so routine that they didn’t even bother worrying before receiving the news.

Bruce hovered in front of the Batcomputer, drawing everyone’s attention and interrupting the conversation between Cass and Steph.

"Oracle, show the images," Bruce commanded.

The images drew a shocked gasp from Steph and managed to chase away the sleepiness from poor Duke.

The first photo was the most blurry and shaky. A slender figure, in blue and red, swung from the buildings with a kind of white rope. But instead of holding a grappling hook, the figure only had the white cord in hand.

The second image was clearer. It was still impossible to tell if it was a boy or a girl, but it was definitely a teenager. Maybe even younger than Tim and the others. They were balanced expertly on top of a pole. A spider was drawn on their back and on the front of the hoodie.

"Is this what I think it is?" Steph asked.

"This… definitely wasn’t what I expected for today," Duke commented, representing all of them.

"A new vigilante. Interesting. As long as they don’t put themselves in danger," Dick said, genuinely concerned for this possible new hero’s well-being.

Jason scoffed.

"Obviously they’re in danger. Patrolling in Gotham is just asking for trouble."

"I have one more thing," Barbara informed, typing rapidly and opening a video on the screen.

The recording was a direct continuation of the previous footage, only from another angle. The new vigilante jumped from the pole, landing in front of a robbery. Two men were stealing from a woman. But the hero was faster, stopping the thieves against the wall with webs (?) and agile—Dick dared say experienced—movements.

"A meta?" Cass finally spoke.

"Not necessarily. Just because they’re a spider-themed furry doesn’t mean they have spider powers. Look at Bruce; he doesn’t have bat powers," Steph joked with a little laugh.

"I agree," Tim laughed. "But seriously, whatever these ‘webs’ are," he made quotation marks with his hands, "they could be technology, not necessarily natural."

Bruce cleared his throat, silencing everyone.

"Meta or not, they could still be a threat. Be careful. Don’t patrol alone. Stay alert. Any information obtained must be passed on to me," Bruce said, looking at each of them with intensity. "Understood?"

Chapter Text

Peter had been Spider-Man for a month now. And he still couldn’t believe how good it felt. The burning exhaustion in his muscles, the bruises, the cuts and scrapes. People might think he was insane — and he was going a little crazy, but that’s beside the point — for liking those sensations, but they were so familiar. It was something he had grown so used to that it felt like home.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was still in New York. In a cramped apartment, with Aunt May asleep in the room next door. The thought made his heart warm and ache with homesickness at the same time.

The spider was relaxing on Petra’s huge bed after an intense patrol. Not only had he stopped a robbery, but he had also been chased by Gotham’s vigilantes. He sighed, sinking deeper into the sheets, remembering the night.

'Peter was running at full speed over the rooftops of Gotham. Alternating between sprinting across buildings and swinging through the air with his webs, intent on losing Nightwing. The classic cloudy sky was the backdrop for the chase.

Peter had become much faster and more agile since he arrived in this universe. He sliced through the air like butter. The boy was far ahead of Nightwing — but the bird-themed vigilante didn’t seem ready to give up. Peter could hear his heartbeat and his footsteps across the rooftops, telling him he was still being followed.

This was getting boring. Not tiring — Peter could go for hours without breaking a sweat — he just didn’t want to. He became Spider-Man again to save people, not to play cat and mouse.

And it wasn’t the first time Peter had been chased by one of the bats. He had tried talking to them but quickly learned they didn’t listen much. Now, the boy spent his nights dividing time between fighting crime and fooling vigilantes.

Peter stopped on a rooftop — this hunt was ending tonight. He turned toward the direction Nightwing was coming from, waiting.

He arrived moments later, landing in front of the spider, only slightly out of breath. Peter was impressed, he wouldn’t lie. Considering that an ordinary guy — well, not that ordinary, since Nightwing was anything but normal, lets say without powers — had just kept up with him.

“Wow, I’m impressed,” Peter said sarcastically. “Thought you’d give up after the first block.”

His voice sounded masculine. A spark of belonging ignited inside him. Peter had built a voice modulator after his first night as Spider-Man — using parts from an old radio. It wasn’t professional. Static hissed at the end of each sentence, and the tone was clearly robotic. And it wasn’t exactly like his old voice.

But it was good enough for him. Anything that didn’t sound soft and feminine was good enough.

“What can I say? Persistence is one of my heroic qualities,” Nightwing said with a shrug.

“So chasing people is heroic now?” Peter asked, crossing his arms.

Nightwing scratched the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say chasing. More like harmless investigation.”

“You’ve been following me for half an hour,” Peter shot back.

“I wouldn’t be following you if you hadn’t run off first,” the older vigilante argued.

Peter growled in frustration. “Whatever. Just stop it and leave me alone.”

The spider turned around, irritated, ready to leave.

“Hey, wait! I just want to talk!” Nightwing reached for his shoulder, but Peter moved faster, stepping aside as if the touch would burn.

“Be. Quick.” His reply was cold, the metallic voice from the modulator echoing slightly. He tilted his head to the side to look at him. The city lights reflected on the white lenses of his mask.

“This job is dangerous, kid. More than you think, I can promise you that. And I guarantee you’ll get hurt. Go home. The streets aren’t a place for you.”

Nightwing’s tone was that of someone experienced, a soldier who had seen war. And Peter didn’t doubt he was one — he could recognize someone with the same kind of pain. But Nightwing didn’t seem to have that same ability.

“I’m not going home, and I don’t need your concern,” Peter snapped immediately.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, kid. But it’s not worth risking yourself for nothing — especially alone.”

“I do this to save people, same as you. And don’t you dare think you know anything about me. I know exactly what I’m doing and I know the risks better than anyone. And by the way, I’m perfectly fine on my own. So, want a tip? Stay out of my way.”

The words came out sharp, full of venom. Peter hoped the message was clear but left before seeing Nightwing’s reaction. He jumped off the building, shooting a web into the air.

Nightwing didn’t follow him.'

The memory soured Peter’s mood. Though sleep was already calling him, and he let it take him into the warm darkness of unconsciousness.

-🕷-

Peter woke reluctantly. The last thing he wanted was to go to school. He didn’t even bother fixing his hair (like every morning), leaving it wild and messy. Tying it up every night and swinging through the air didn’t help its appearance.

He spent his usual five minutes staring at the uniform skirt, wondering if he could rip it, burn it, and throw it into hell. The anxiety and discomfort grew in the pit of his stomach. But he put it on anyway.

Peter didn’t pay attention to anything that day. He slept through most of the classes and did a few extremely complex — and completely unnecessary — calculations just to pass the time.

The smell of food reached his nose a few minutes before the bell rang. Gotham Prep’s cuisine was worthy of a fancy restaurant — mini mushroom risottos, pasta with pesto sauce, and other expensive dishes Peter couldn’t even name, all free for students. He didn’t see the need for such luxury at a school; it was just rich-people vanity. But he wasn’t going to complain, the food was heavenly.

The delicious aroma made his stomach growl involuntarily. He grabbed a tray and joined the line, putting a little of everything that smelled good on his plate.

Once satisfied, Peter walked to a table, one far from the others, in a corner of the cafeteria. He sat alone and ate quietly, savoring every bite.

There was no one to sit with him. No one talked to him except the Waynes. No one texted him or asked to work together on school projects. He guessed a girl like Petra would’ve been surrounded by friends and boys. He wasn’t sure why he thought that, but let’s be honest, she was beautiful (no matter how much Peter hated this body, that was undeniable), she was smart, and most importantly: rich and technically famous.

Actually, not technically — Petra was famous. Come on, she was the daughter of Gotham’s richest and most public figure. Peter assumed people would at least try to get close to take advantage of her wealth. Petra had everything to be the cliché rich, naïve girl everyone used or the mean popular girl from movies — and with her distant family, the whole script was ready.

Peter chuckled at his own joke.

Then, suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Being watched.

The laugh died halfway, and Peter looked up, scanning the room for whoever was watching him.

His eyes met Duke’s, narrowed, brow furrowed. The golden-eyed boy stared at Peter intensely, like he was trying to solve a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. But the second he noticed Peter looking back, he quickly looked away, pretending nothing had happened.

Peter’s vision blurred for a moment. A sharp pain struck his head, as if someone had hit him, forcing him to press a hand against his temple.

He frowned. But ignored it. Like most things that had been happening lately.

-🕷-

Finally, the best and most anticipated part of the day had come: patrol time!

Peter put on his suit, made from Petra’s wardrobe. It took him a while to find something he liked, since most of it consisted of dresses and impractical feminine clothes. But with a bit of improvisation, he managed to create the perfect outfit.

He wore a navy-blue hoodie, at least two or three sizes too big. Peter loved it the moment he tried it on — mainly because it was loose enough not to show any curves and long enough to cover his butt.

Together with the mask and the voice modulator, there was no way anyone could tell he wasn’t a guy.

He also wore leggings in a more saturated shade of blue. Unfortunately, they clung too well to his thighs, but they were the best option for leaping around the city (and the colors matched, of course).

Using fabric paints he’d found along with sewing supplies in Petra’s room — that girl had a lot of stuff — he painted black web patterns on the mask and gloves and drew a red spider symbol on the hoodie’s front and back.

The red mask covered only his face instead of his entire head, since his hair wouldn’t fit inside. So, Peter used the hoodie to hide his curls.

He tied his hair in a messy, loose bun (give him credit, it wasn’t as easy as it looks) and pulled up the hood. He couldn't forget to tie the laces of his red All Stars before heading toward the city.

As he swung through the buildings, Peter couldn’t help but admire the bright moon overhead. Big and imposing in the sky, shining alongside the stars across Gotham.

He landed on a rooftop to take in the view. He hadn’t seen the moon once since arriving here. The sight filled his chest with a good feeling, something told him tonight would be... different.

“Hey, Karen? What’s on the schedule for tonight?” he asked, eager for the patrol.

Before he could get an answer, screams echoed in the distance, followed by a loud crash. He didn’t think twice before heading toward the sound.

The commotion came from a giant lizard rampaging through the street. Killer Croc, Peter recognized immediately. The criminal was attacking people without a specific target, hurling cars around hoping to hit someone.

Peter hadn’t fought any of Gotham’s big villains directly yet. Sure, he had taken down plenty of henchmen, since saving civilians was always his top priority, but he usually left the major threats to the bats. It had also been a while since he’d faced someone with physical power close to his own — though he suspected the crocodile was much stronger.

The villain prepared to throw a car at a group of young people cornered against a wall. Their faces were frozen in fear and horror, one boy stepping forward to shield the others.

The car flew through the air, and Peter shot webs, catching it midflight and redirecting it to a spot clear of pedestrians.

“Hey! Trying to get the attention of a vigilante? ’Cause I think you just did,” Peter called out, teasing.

Killer Croc turned toward him, eyes sharp, and roared in fury. He grabbed another car and hurled it at Peter. But the spider was faster, dodging each projectile.

“Throwing things at people is how you deal with your issues?” Peter leaped aside from another attack. “Ever tried therapy?”

Between a trash can and a motorcycle thrown at him, Peter saw the chance to web one of the crocodile’s arms.

Good job, Parker. Still got it, he thought to himself.

Killer Croc didn’t like that — he charged forward with brute force. His footsteps made the ground shake, his heavy tail dragging behind him.

The villain swung a fist at the spot Peter had just vacated, shattering the asphalt beneath. Pebbles scattered through the air.

Peter was getting winded, but he wasn’t backing down now. He aimed his right arm, ready to web Croc’s face, targeting those reptilian eyes.

He didn’t even register the movement before Croc grabbed his extended arm and lifted him up to face level.

Panic surged through Peter. His heart pounded wildly as the scaly monster held him like a rag doll.

He writhed in the crushing grip, desperate to break free. His feet didn’t touch the ground, and his kicks barely reached Croc. He punched the creature’s slick arm with all his strength — nothing.

Killer Croc squeezed tighter, and Peter heard the sickening crack of bone. A scream tore from his throat.

The crocodile didn’t stop.

“A bug like you should learn who not to mess with,” he growled, his voice rough and monstrous. The stench of sewage and decay hit Peter’s nose, a warning of what was coming.

Croc opened his mouth wide, revealing all his teeth, tongue, and throat, and lunged at Peter.

Adrenaline finally kicked his brain into motion. Peter fired a web straight into the villain’s open maw.

Croc dropped him instantly, clutching at his mouth, dazed.

Peter hit the asphalt hard, landing on his injured arm, sending waves of agony through his body. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright, fighting through the pain.

He fired webs wildly, without much thought, his only goal was to wrap the crocodile up in layers of sticky silk.

The webs clung to Croc’s scaly skin, binding arms and legs. The monster roared, the sound echoing through the street, and tore through the webbing with brute strength, strands hanging from his limbs.

He charged again. Peter saw no choice but to leap atop a nearby lamppost.

“Coward! Come down and fight like a man!” Croc roared.

You want me down? Fine. Peter thought.

He launched himself off the post, flipping midair, and kicked Croc square in the jaw. A hollow crack echoed from the hit. The reptile staggered backward.

Peter seized the chance — jumped onto a car and delivered one final punch with all his strength. The blow landed perfectly, sending the villain crashing to the ground, unconscious. The asphalt splintered beneath him.

Peter shot a few more webs over the reptile, just to be sure.

“I’m alerting the authorities,” Karen informed him.

He should leave before the bats, the police, or anyone else arrived.

He fired a web upward with his good arm, swinging away only with it. Pain shot through his right one, every movement sending sharp shocks. As the adrenaline wore off, his muscles screamed in protest.

Peter was exhausted. All he wanted was to crash into bed and sleep. He’d have to come up with a decent excuse for this broken arm — bruises he could hide from the Waynes, but a fracture was too much. If his healing factor worked properly, the bone would mend in a week or two.

As he swung, a deafening buzz filled his ears out of nowhere. The same pounding headache from lunch slammed into his skull. He didn’t know what it was. What was happening.

He kept going. But the pain was relentless. His breathing grew shallow and uneven. Each swing took less strength than the last. He began hearing faint whispers, carried by the wind, coming from nowhere.

“Let me free.”

“Get me out.”

Sharp claws began scratching frantically at his chest from the inside.

Peter couldn’t take it anymore. He landed on a mid-height building. All his senses were overloaded. The ringing in his ears grew louder, drowning out everything else.

“Let me out.”

“LET ME OUT!”

The voice grew louder. Peter stumbled backward, overwhelmed, until he felt the edge of the rooftop beneath his heels.

The pain in his chest intensified. It felt like his skin was being torn apart — like something inside was trying to escape.

His spider-sense was useless, screaming warnings of both the height and the danger within. Overstimulated and panicking, Peter could barely think.

Danger! High! Danger! Inside!

A scream — sharp, full of pain, agony, and sorrow — echoed in his ears. And he fell backward.

It was like someone flipped a switch. All energy drained from his body. He didn’t even think to shoot a web.

The fall felt like slow motion. Silence settled over everything. He only felt the air rushing past him and the starry sky growing farther away.

The spider hit the ground with a dull thud. His mind was too clouded to move.

Peter’s vision was blurry; he could barely see anything.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glowing blue figure, shimmering under the moonlight. Its silhouette was humanoid. And strangely familiar.

Its steps were silent as it approached — not making a sound. Like a ghost.

“Who are you?” Peter asked weakly, his voice barely a whisper.

The figure kept staring at him, studying him.

The voice that came was low, yet full of anger — and very familiar. 

“I’m the owner of this body.”

Chapter Text

While we watched the struggles of the young Peter Parker in this new universe, the princess of Gotham was surrounded by pain and agony, begging for salvation.

In a place where no one could hear her screams.

Trapped in the hardest tower to escape: her own body and mind.

Will she ever be able to escape?

Petra Grayson

Petra never thought this would happen.

Never thought she would be where she was.

Never thought her whole life would be taken of her hands.

And in the blink of an eye, she was no longer at rock bottom.

She was below it.

In the first few minutes, she could only think of one thing:

Did I die?

Petra felt like she was in limbo.

She couldn’t feel her body. Not a single muscle. It was inexplicable. She couldn’t feel the fabric of her clothes. The curls on her head. Or even her breathing.

The worst part: Petra could hear. Heartbeats. The light breathing of someone, as if they were asleep. And the all too familiar sound of Gotham, gunshots and screams in the wind — which somehow managed to sound even more chaotic and sharp.

But she couldn’t see.

Is that what death is like? she thought to herself.

It didn’t make sense. Petra had never died before, but she had a faint (read: very strong) certainty that it shouldn’t be like this.

Anyone in her situation would’ve lost it by now. But she decided to wait.

For what, you might ask.

Well, maybe for some divine explanation from the heavens, maybe they’d just forgotten to take her soul or something.

It was hard for Petra to accept that she had died.

It was devastating. But she was not ready.

Petra kept waiting — patiently, too patiently for the situation she was in. Until the minutes turned into hours — at least she hoped they were only hours, because she had long lost track of time — and patience turned into agony.

The anguish of being so powerless enveloped Petra. Everything was so wrong and she couldn’t do anything! This didn’t seem like a spiritual problem, but Petra just didn’t want to believe this was the end.

She wanted to cry.

Suddenly, like a light at the end of the tunnel, Petra opened her eyes.

But it wasn’t really her. It felt like another force had done it. Someone else.

It was as if a window had been opened to the outside world. She saw her body move, speak, walk — and Petra even heard another person’s voice in her ear.

For a moment, her mind stopped working.

She watched her body wander aimlessly through streets she had never seen before. In the rain, and she didn’t feel cold. Not the drops on her skin. Not the wind brushing against her wet clothes.

Petra also saw “her” have a breakdown. It was an ugly cry, with shaking and sharp sobs. A mirror of what she was feeling, though they weren’t her tears.

When Dick arrived, Petra imagined her salvation had come, like a prince on a white horse. She wanted to run to him, hug him, cry on his shoulder, and beg him to take her home. But her body didn’t respond, doing the opposite instead. Stepping backward.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” she screamed in anguish inside her own mind.

No sound came out.

“Please, Dick... help me,” Petra whimpered in despair.

Her brother didn’t hear her.

No one heard her.

The realization hit harder than the idea of death itself.

Petra was trapped. In her own body.

Unable to move.

Unable to speak.

She had a mouth, but she couldn’t scream.

A dark knot formed in her throat. And it didn’t fade for days to come.

She tried desperately to ask her brothers for help every day.

Eventually, she gave up.

The days were dark and morbid. The same faces that couldn’t see her existence, that couldn’t hear her pleas. She had no voice, no speech, no power of choice.

At night, when her body slept, Petra saw herself living memories. That weren’t hers.

Most of them portrayed a brown-haired woman. She’d find her, most of the time, happily cooking in a small kitchen, or chatting about silly things with Petra. She seemed like a mother her mom always caring and worried about “Petra,” even though the girl believed all that affection wasn’t meant for her. It never was.

Some were of an arrogant but affectionate man. Always tinkering with extremely advanced technology — Petra had never seen tech like that, not even in her few visits to Wayne Industries. Their conversations were about things she was nowhere near understanding. In these memories, Petra felt warmth in her chest, a sense of belonging, of being seen for what she knew how to do — and the man was proud of that.

And the rest had as their main attraction a girl — who strangely reminded her of someone — with not-so-tidy curls falling over her shoulders. Though she looked disheveled, she was incredibly attractive, or at least Petra felt so. Accompanying her, a nerdy Asian boy.

Counting how many nightmares she’d had, Petra could say sixteen days had passed since she’d been trapped.

Petra felt like she was watching a movie — with no control over the protagonist.

But here’s the thing...

She was the protagonist.

She should be making the decisions.

She should have control over things.

After all, it was her life.

Not whoever was in her place.

The melancholy in her heart didn’t take long to mix with injustice and her craving for control, turning into hatred.

For everything and everyone.

But mostly...

...for whoever had possession of her body now.

Petra called them “ possessor .” It was better than not having a name to think of in her head. And well, that’s what they were. Someone who had taken her life as their own.

And to make it worse, they weren’t even doing it right. What they were actually doing was ruining the image she had worked so hard to build.

Everything Petra had taken years to construct, brick by brick, now seemed to crumble in the wind.

Every morning she woke up early to fill her face with makeup and make her hair look as perfect as possible. Every smile against her will. Every rehearsed laugh made to seem real.

All in vain. 

All in vain because that little piece of crap who had possessed her body only knew how to cry, complain, and run to some “Karen” whenever a problem came up!

Oh right, there was also Karen. Petra had no idea where this woman’s voice came from, what she was, or anything about her. The possessor was always asking her questions, and the woman would answer in their ear.

The questions the possessor asked were idiotic, always about things everyone should already know.

“Karen, can you explain vigilantes in Gotham to me?” they asked without enthusiasm.

The woman began reciting an encyclopedia of things Petra — and half the world — already knew. The possessor didn’t interrupt, listening attentively until reaching a specific part.

“...Vigilantes like Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, and Robin are active members of the Justice League and—” she was interrupted.

“What is the Justice League?” they asked, confused. Like, actually confused. As if “Justice League” was something that didn’t exist.

They are dumb or something? Petra thought to herself. Maybe they’re from prehistory or something.

Petra thought a lot about who the possessor was. And one of her guesses was that they were a ghost.

She knew, crazy, but just the fact that she was trapped in her own body was crazy enough to make that possible. And it’s not like Petra didn’t believe in ghosts.

Well, Petra imagined that as soon as she died, the possessor (who would be a spirit) had entered her dead body. And by doing so, had prevented her soul from moving on to the other side.

That theory opened up several questions in Petra’s mind.

Who was this person in life?

Why me?

Of all the people who die every minute, did it really have to be me?

A tiny bit of fear lingered in her mind. What if she was thinking about it the wrong way? What if Petra was actually getting further and further from the answer?

Petra didn’t know anything for sure. But it was good to have something to hold on to. To pretend it was true.

The only thing she thought might be close to the truth was that the possessor was a boy.

Over time, Petra noticed a pattern. Both the woman in their ear and the people in their dreams always said “ Peter .”

And since she was seeing the possessor hate her body, it made sense.

And the possessor didn’t seem to understand how a woman’s body worked. Constantly asking Karen basic questions or seeming startled by the reflection in the mirror, as if it showed a lie.

He would hyperventilate whenever he needed to undress. Petra had seen him cry several times while showering — when he even bothered to.

Petra tried to feel pity. She swears she tried. But she couldn’t. The burning stone of anger in her chest wouldn’t allow her to feel any other emotion, especially toward the possessor.

She wanted him to suffer. To pay for what he had done to her.

In the end, she didn’t care about that ghost. Above all, Petra wanted to regain control.

Her only hope came on an ordinary day.

Karen had suggested that the possessor finish doing the hair to better disguise himself as Petra.

Her mood — which already barely existed — soured considerably. She didn’t like people touching her hair.

Don’t use that one! Petra tried to warn, but it didn’t work. Again.

Among all the wonderful, expensive creams she owned, the possessor used a terrible hair cream — it was so old that it was probably expired from how long it had been sitting there.

That’s what irritated Petra the most. How he tried to pretend to be her. To steal her life. And he didn’t even do it right. His smile wasn’t as bright. He didn’t wear makeup. His posture was too sloppy. His hair was so messy it could easily be mistaken for a lion’s mane.

She hoped her family wouldn’t notice, or that they’d attribute her strange behavior to being angry with them — oh, she was boiling with anger, though.

Seriously, showing up for her birthday was the only thing she’d asked for in years. Was it too much to ask that they be there?

Maybe she would’ve tried to understand their side under other circumstances — as she always did. But her mind was too clouded to be understanding or coherent.

When Cass called “her” to study in the library, Petra wanted to refuse just to get back at her. She knew very well she’d do anything to hang out with her sister again, and under other circumstances, she would’ve been jumping for joy at the invitation.

Her possessor seemed to agree with her, refusing the offer.

But Cass seemed to want to play dirty.

Just wanna hang out with you. It’s been a while since we did that. She communicated calmly but insistently.

Now that I’m trapped with no control over my actions you want to hang out? First of all, we never did because of you and—

“Okay. After class?” the possessor gave in.

Wait, you said yes?! Dude, I thought we were agreeing with each other and then you go and pull this crap! Argh! Petra screamed furiously at the possessor, even if it was in vain.

She wished she could simply not be there.

Of all her siblings, Cass was the one she was most upset with. And she didn’t need to elaborate.

In the library, Petra listened intently to the ticking of the clock, counting the seconds until they could leave.

The library was quiet and still. Few people around.

Cass caught the possessor’s attention with a hand movement.

“What happened?” the girl asked, concern stamped on her face.

Petra knew that expression. Cass’s eyebrows would furrow so lightly that it took Petra years of knowing her to even notice it. Her eyes just a bit wider, as if that helped her see people. She was clearly worried. Or suspicious.

Could it be… she finally noticed? That the person in front of her wasn’t her sister but an impostor?

“What do you mean?” her body asked, voice trembling. Maybe thinking the same thing as Petra.

You’ve been acting weird lately, Cass signed. She looked away as if unsure of what she was saying.

Who cares if she’s not sure? She noticed. She noticed. She noticed. She noticed.

“I’m normal,” the possessor retorted, and Petra could hear the slight tremor in their voice.

No. I know you. You’re not like this, Cass reaffirmed.

She kept staring, but the possessor didn’t respond. The air between them grew noticeably tense.

And for the first time in many days, Petra felt hope. It was like a beam of light in the middle of darkness. The reassurance that the sun always returns after the storm.

Her sister noticed. Of course she would. Cass always noticed. Petra had been so foolish to feel so hopeless. Her siblings would find a way.

I just want to know what’s going on. You can talk to me. Cass communicated softly. A kind offer.

Petra waited for her to say more, but the girl seemed to drop the subject.

Wait, that’s it? Petra thought.

The clouds seemed to come back and block out the sun.

You’re not going to insist?

Petra’s blood felt like it was boiling. Whatever lucidity she’d had left vanished in that instant.

Why give me hope if you’re not going to do anything?

Why pretend you care?

She always did that. Always. Always. Always.

And I always believe it.

I hate it. I hate how she keeps pretending to care.

“You’re just going to keep pretending you care?” she blurted out, venom dripping from her harsh and cruel tone.

All of Petra’s thoughts stopped. In that moment, she could feel again. Feel the air filling her lungs completely. Feel her heart pounding fast, pumping blood through her veins. Feel the fabric of the uniform against her skin. She felt alive.

Sensations so common that everyone takes them for granted — but for Petra, it was her entire world finally making sense again.

All of Petra’s thoughts froze.

Did I speak? she thought in shock.

If she had control of her body, she probably would’ve fainted upon realizing this.

A different kind of hope ignited in her chest. Like a wildfire — brutal and overwhelming.

Petra had spent so many days trapped. So many days wondering if she’d ever return home. So much time questioning if she’d spend the rest of her days there, just watching her life crumble before her eyes. So much time wondering if someone would save her.

After today, it was clear: no one was going to save her except herself.

If there was a crack, she was going to use it.

She was going to escape.

-🩵-

It had already been a month and Petra still hadn’t escaped. Funny, right?

No. She didn’t think so.

It was with sorrow in her heart that she considered she might have only imagine what had happended. As much as her soul longed for freedom in every possible way, it way clear that what had happended in the library was nothing more than an ilussion created by her mind alredy lacking lucidity.

No. Be positive. Have hope or you will never reach anything. Petra forced her thoughts to stay optimistic. Come on,Petra. Focus on other things.

In today’s dream, Petra was swinging through buildings from what she imagined to be New York, comparing them to the photos she had seen of the city. The feeling of flying through the wind in dreams and in real life was very different.

In real life, it was terrifying. Just seeing her body swinging through the air, supported only by a thin line made of school chemical products (a questionable choice of material if she could give her opinion), without being able to do anything about it, was… critical.

Petra’s life was hanging by a thread — literally — every night.

But in dreams everything was safer. More because if she fell, she wouldn’t die, than for any other reason.

The buildings she flew over were prettier, the streets more alive, and the city sounds had more joy than Gotham ever had.

Petra felt relaxed, as she hadn’t felt in a long time; it almost felt like she was floating on clouds. And she kind of was, flying over modern and bright buildings.

The feeling of freedom she felt motivated her even more to escape that prison.

She had started entering those dreams as Spider-Man from the day her possessor decided to put on a mask and play vigilante.

And gods, Petra was completely FREAKING OUT about it. She wanted to punch, hit, and shake whoever that possessor was to see if they gained some sense.

They didn’t seem to have any idea how dangerous it was to do that in Gotham — or anywhere! — but Gotham?! This city is like the crime capital! The most dangerous in America! Everyone’s afraid of this place!

You find every kind of criminal: pickpockets, bank robbers, abusers, gangs, mafias and even metas rebel here!

And we haven’t even talked about the villains! The supervillains! Because none of them could be just incompetent. They all had to have henchmen, money as fuck, and a diploma!

Seriously, this guy had to be joking! He’d be dead in the blink of an eye — and he’d take Petra with him!

And there was still Karen. At first, Petra thought she would be the voice of reason, someone who wouldn’t let the possessor do stupidly dumb things with her body. But noooooo, she and the possessor were two peas in a pod! Karen only encouraged Spider-Man recklessly.

My God, Petra didn’t even want to think about the spider powers. Honestly, that was the last straw. That would bring so many problems: Petra was now a meta, and technically also a vigilante, her family couldn’t find out, she had to hide, the—

AHHHHHHHHHHHH! Petra screamed internally in frustration.

Today. It ends today. I’m going to get out of here and put my life back on track, Petra thought determinedly, courage filling her chest like a storm.

As soon as her eyes opened, Petra didn’t stop for an instant from trying to break the barrier that trapped her. It was like a magical layer that wouldn’t let her move, no matter how tirelessly she tried.

When lunchtime came, Petra was already exhausted. Her mind was drained from so much effort.

She had interfered in the possessor’s actions a few times after the fight with Cass.

Those were emotional moments, when the pain and feelings didn’t fit inside her chest and overflowed into the physical world.

Other times, when her body was too tired from patrol, Petra could also move a little, no matter how small the actions were — a simple movement of a finger or a word that slipped from her lips.

It was little, but it was something.

Just not enough. It was never enough.

The possessor suddenly looked around, searching for something Petra didn’t know.

Their eyes met her brother’s, Duke. The same comforting honey-colored eyes Petra loved.

Duke! Petra screamed, hitting the magical barrier around her, even knowing it wouldn’t help.

That made the possessor tremble and groan softly in pain, putting a hand to his temple. If Petra could, she would’ve raised an eyebrow and given a small smile.

Don’t get her wrong — those little pains were a sign that she had some chance to escape and do something for herself. (Also, she liked seeing him suffer, just a little.)

Later at night, during patrol — Petra admired the moon alongside the possessor, standing on top of a building. It was rare for the moon to shine so beautifully and enchantingly as it did tonight.

Petra, in all her years living in Gotham, had already accepted that the moon — considered by science just a natural satellite of Earth and revered in so many cultures — was a sign. Whether good or bad.

Regardless of its purpose, it was the universe’s way of saying that day would be remarkable.

And Petra gladly accepted that message.

Still gazing at the moon in the sky, while the possessor asked Karen a question she didn’t listen to, the sound of screams echoed in the distance, catching their attention.

It didn’t take long before they were in the air again. How Petra hated that. But she couldn’t deny it was fast, they arrived at the scene in seconds.

Soon they found the giant lizard, Killer Croc, destroying the city and scaring civilians.

Petra wasn’t impressed, that was typical in Gotham. But being there, seeing it up close, feeling all the adrenaline of the moment — and her body rushing toward probable/maybe/possible death — made fear take over her mind.

The fight was quick, but no less distressing for Petra. It was exhausting, the way she felt in every battle she didn’t want to be in.

They were back in the air again as soon as Karen called the authorities.

Petra wanted to pretend. Pretend it was like in the dream world. That she felt the same freedom.

But there was no freedom of any kind.

Much less like the one she felt as Spider-Man.

Sadness tried to take over her. But if anyone was going to take control of anything, it would be her.

I’m going to put an end to this.

This was her chance. Her body was exhausted from the fight, and the act of swinging with only one arm while the other was shattered and throbbing with pain brought the perfect vulnerability for her to attack.

Petra began to act, punching whatever held her inside her body.

It seemed to work. She listened with satisfaction to the possessor’s breathing grow faster and heavier.

“I want to be free,” Petra said with conviction.

“I want get out,” she affirmed with even more certainty.

She used her nails to tear at whatever was in front of her desperately, gradually increasing the strength she used. All in search of an exit.

Spider-Man’s swings became slower and weaker, as fragile as glass. If he took any longer to shoot a web, they’d probably fall.

The possessor landed on a not-so-tall building with difficulty. His feet hit the roof with a heavy thud, like a dead weight.

“Let me out.”

“Let me out!”

Petra’s nails caught on something that made a sharp sound. Hope shone in her eyes.

She brought the backs of her hands together and grabbed the sides of that something. Her nerves screamed, it was as if the touch set her skin on fire. She ignored the pain as if it were just a mild annoyance.

She pulled her arms apart, forcing an opening. She threw her body forward quickly, taking advantage of the gap.

The pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life.

It was as if her soul were being shredded, torn apart. She could compare it to the feeling of salt in a wound — only much worse.

But she kept going. She kept forcing herself out, amid the pain and agony. Because this would end her suffering. If only she could escape.

In one last effort, Petra couldn’t help but scream. A shrill scream that expressed everything she felt. All her wretched feelings turned into sound. A scream that truly echoed — that could be heard.

Petra fell to the ground without a sound.

She stayed there. In the same place. Just breathing.

Inhaling. And exhaling.

And Petra smiled. Smiled for real.

Happiness didn’t fit inside her chest. She had escaped. It didn’t seem real that it had actually happened.

Her happiness was abruptly interrupted by a mysterious supernatural force pulling her downward.

What the hell? was the only thing she had time to think during the fall.

It was quick but incredibly disorienting.

Petra hit the ground again in silence. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

She got to her knees, dazed. Rubbed her nose with her hand. It was incredible how she always had to fall face-first to the ground.

The bright color of her skin caught her attention. It was a shade of blue.

Soft, calm, and slightly faded.

She placed both hands within her field of vision. Besides being clearly blue and glowing, they seemed… translucent.

Her mind had no time to process before a weak, raspy voice asked:

“Who are you?” The sound was no more than a whisper in the wind. And terribly familiar.

A stolen voice. One that shouldn’t belong to anyone but her.

She turned to face the source of the voice.

A body lay on the ground.

The features of her face shaped themselves as fury flooded her mind before the person in front of her. The possessor.

Her jaw locked, the line of her jaw becoming sharp. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she narrowed her eyes like sharp blades.

Her eyes shone with a light reflected from hatred.

Pure hatred, embodied by someone who had had her life stolen. Someone deprived of following her own destiny.

But Petra was ready to take it back — to whom it should never have stopped belonging.

Who am I? the girl repeated the question in her head as she approached the still figure on the ground.

“ I am the owner of this body.”