Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cassandra noticed him for the first time outside the studio.

He'd been looking in through the windows longingly, camera around his neck. She would have mistaken him for Tim if not for the fact that this guy didn't look like a stiff breeze would knock him over.

He disappeared into the crowd and just as easily from Cassandra's mind once patrol began.

But then she saw him again.

Taking photos for the flyers advertising their latest performance.

Cass hadn't agreed to the modelling and so she sat out, watching the photographer the entire time.

He knew his stuff, suggesting poses and following them up with examples that hinted at a familiarity with the sport. Cass tilted her head as he adjusted the camera with a micro-movement. He was gentle with the dancers and the equipment, smiling and cracking jokes. Never violating boundaries or making someone do something they weren't comfortable with.

She would have to keep an eye on him.

Peter carved another notch into the dressing room wall. Today marked day 32 in Jersey. Gross.

It wasn't too bad, if you ignored the fact that he was homeless. There was a laundromat a few blocks south of here, the homeless shelters didn't so much as blink at the scrawny twenty-something that couldn't be found outside of lunch, and the gym near Park Row's window-latches needed a repair.

All in all, not too shabby.

Sure, the opera house was cold and drafty, often tempting him into curling into a little cocoon and hibernating through the winter, but he'd live. He hadn't felt his toes in weeks, but Aunt May had had poor circulation too, so there was nothing to worry about! ...Probably.

His suit hung alongside the abandoned costumes in the changing room, out of place next to moth-eaten satin and faded silk. It was still crusted with blood.

He hasn't worn it since he arrived in Gotham.

Peter had certainly scoped out the territory, but the Bats and the Birds seemed to have things covered. That was the first thing he'd learned since arriving in this universe: don't mess with the resident emos.

He turned his head to the side. Over the past few weeks he'd plastered the walls with newspapers to patch up the cracks. Blurry photos of caped vigilantes on nearly every front page. Not even Queens had been this bad! Jameson would have had a field day with these guys. He'd probably call them something like: "A group of Shakespearean bat fanatics is just what this city needs! The GCPD needs to do something about these menaces!" 

Man, he must be going insane if he was reminiscing about JJJ.

Peter swung himself off of his workbench and stretched his toes, feet full of pins and needles. He'd go insane if he sat around here and did nothing. There were renovations to be done, scrap to be collected, tech to be stolen! Get moving, Parker! You have a job to be doing, he reprimanded internally, marching his way through dark corridors. He'd made good progress at clearing away old props, but the halls still smelled of mold and he nearly tripped over something every time he rounded a corner. It was the perfect hide-out for a spider, webs clinging to high ceilings in make-shift hammocks for whenever he couldn't make it to the dressing room he'd called dibs on. He may have taken a few pages out of Kevin McCallister's book and set up a few traps around the building, especially by the front doors. They were mostly harmless. Mostly. The old opera house seemed to have been abandoned years ago, but lacked any graffiti, or any signs of squatters. It was strange for a city with such a high homeless population.

Gotham was a strange city overall. Divided by the three main islands, nothing made sense. The place the locals called 'Crime Alley' was on the east side of the north island, known colloquially as the East End. There was a second east side on the second island, called Upper East Side. And there was no south side or north side. That made no sense! And don't get him started on the class divides; each island had their poorer districts and none of them matched or connected in any way. The north island had the East End, containing the Bowery and infamous Park Row, the middle island had the Narrows and Arkham Asylum, and the south island had the Diamond District and Blackgate Penitentiary. But despite all this, some of the richest people in the city lived in penthouses that looked out over those same districts. Wayne Tower overlooked the Penguin controlled Diamond District, you had to pass through Mercey Island or the Bowery to get onto the north island and Amusement Mile was only a few bus stops away from Park Row. How did that make any sense? Like, he knew that this place was supposedly a haven for artists and the bourgeoisie, but the rich folk here were a completely different breed.

Peter had spent his first days in this universe train hopping around the city, to draw up a map for himself and find a place to stay. He'd lurked in the rafters of a warehouse in Tricorner for a few nights until some goons wearing stupid masks got the place blown up. Thankfully none of his stuff got roasted, but he hadn't stuck around after he heard the first gunshots. He'd tried to stake out the Monarch Theatre in Park Row but the place had a serious clown infestation. He'd ran before any of their bad jokes infected him.

He'd ended up landing on an opera house that boarded Park Row and the Bowery. It looked out of place here; gorgeously intricate but worn with time. The facades and gleaming marble made a stark contrast to the boarded up windows and acid-poked stone of the East Side.

Heh. Stark.

But back to the topic at hand  Gotham was fucking weird. His spider-senses were a constant buzz in the back of his mind and he could taste the toxins in the back of his throat. Almost everyone around here was armed, and if they weren't they were stupid or didn't need a weapon to get the job done.

Like Peter, for example.

He absent-mindedly snatched up a toolkit as he climbed the stairs to the grandiose stage. This world had mutants too, but here they were called 'metas'. Just as much discrimination as back home, but it seemed even the heroes were in on it with Batman's alleged 'no metas in Gotham' rule.

Upon hearing that, Signal and Red Hood had automatically jumped up several places up to the top of his Favourite Alternate Reality Heroes list. It was a very complex system, involving a lot of algorithms. Currently Batman was level with the Green Lantern with the bowl-cut.

Peter gently kicked the side door open, stepping out into the wings. The floor beneath him creaked dangerously, but he didn't fall through. He really needed to do something about that--

Peter's skin prickled, hair standing on end as something whispered against his senses. He looked up.

Someone dressed in all black was perched in one of the ornate private boxes. He could just about make out their silouette, and when he did, his heart went cold.

Dear god. Gotham's vigilantes wore fursuits.

Chapter Text

Cass had found the photographer.

Well, Tim had found him. Technically. But it had been Cass who had found his little hide-away in the opera house, so there.

The photographer hadn't looked like it, but he was a trapper. Cass had carefully stepped over the makeshift alarm system strung to a window as she crawled her way inside. It was a basic set-up: cans rigged to clang and make noise if she tripped on a wire. Even from here, she could just about make out more traps strung between the seats.

It reminded her of something Jason had read to her once, from his rabbit book. 'But first they must catch you, digger, listener, runner, prince with the swift warning.' It was not cowardly to sit and wait for your prey to come to you. She liked these traps. She liked to hunt hunt hunt but making something sounded fun.

Maybe he would teach her?

The photographer stared up at her in abject horror.

Okay, maybe not. That was sad; Cass didn't like scaring new friends. How could she make him not afraid?

Peter Parker was a freelance photographer and part-time streamer. Tim had shown her a video of him jumping across roofs and pointing out good places to take photos. Would he like to join her for a flight?

She dropped from her perch onto a plush seat, dust plooming around her. Peter didn't move as she skipped across the backs of the seats to avoid the traps, only stopping once she reached the stage. There was a drop between the stage and seats; that didn't look very safe. Why was that there?

"Are you... Batgirl?"

Cass perked up. That was one of her hunting names! She straightened from her crouch and Peter flinched but, crucially, didn't move away.

"I am today," she told him, and scrunched her eyes into a smile when Peter tracked the movements. "Are you not always Batgirl?" He asked, hands moving with a fluidity that Cass herself still craved. "Sometimes Black Bat. When Oracle isn't busy."

The photographer's mouth twitched and his shoulders loosened. "Gotham has a lot more supers than Queens, that's for sure. I've never even heard of Oracle."

Cass made a sign that she'd seen The Bat use before. "She-Who-Watches," she explained, something in her satisfied when Peter made an understanding noise. The photographer was smart and a trapper. This one would be one of her people, then. She was collecting lots of people recently!

"She's your guy in the chair..." Peter hummed, tapping his chin in thought. "Was she the one who led you here?" Cass shook her head; this was a solo flight. None of her flock knew she was here: it made her warm to think that they trusted her on solo flights after everything. "Then why are you here?"

Cass paused. How could she explain why she was here without telling Peter how she knew him? "Like your work," she decided to say.

Peter somehow simultaneously lit up and shrunk in on himself, like Damian did when he thought he was being mocked when he was actually being complimented. "M-my work? My photography?" Cass nodded again. "How does a vigilante get interested in some nobody's photography?"

How indeed.

Well, there was nothing else for it.

"Ballet studio. You took pictures. You were nice."

Peter let out a squawk. "You were there!?" He said in a near shriek. Cass' ear twitched under her cowl at the volume.

"Yes. You move like dancer. Trapper. Hunter." She jumped the gap with ease and prowled closer to Peter. He seemed to puff up at the perceived threat, like a scared cat. "Want to play."

Peter blinked, caught off guard. His hands twitched, no longer as fast as his mouth. "Play? You want to play a ...game?" Cass nodded eagerly. "Camera hunt," she told him. "Catch with camera. Find. Seek. Play." Jason had told her that Tim used to play it before he was part of the flock. It sounded fun, and she already knew Peter could hunt. Maybe not as well as her, but it would still be fun. "You want to play hide and seek with me? In the opera house?" He hedged, shoulders straightening out. Cass made a considering noise in the back of her throat like The Bat did when he was thinking hard about something. "Outside?" She asked instead. "No traps."

The photographer chuckled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, that would probably be for the best. Let me go grab my camera."

Peter was panting, chest desperately heaving in air, when the game finally drew to an end. He'd been lucky to avoid Gotham's infamous downpour the past few weeks, but the rain was back with a vengeance.

He and Batgirl huddled together atop a gargoyle, sheltered from the rain. They sat hunched over the camera, heads pressed together as they examined the pictures. Most were blurry, only catching her leg or cape as she moved from hiding place to hiding place, but Peter could be proud of the few he had managed to get. Batgirl blending in with a grotesque, Batgirl mid jump over a rooftop with her cape flared artistically behind her, Batgirl staring up at him from her perch on a streetlight below.

He hadn't had the chance to just run like this in so long. Even when he was streaming to earn a pittance, he more often than not ended up getting chased by some rogue or vigilante. Gotham was distinctly enjoyable to race across, even without his suit, though he did want to swing across the city's skyline at some point. Jumping from ledge to ledge, roof to roof, there was nothing like it. Some nights it felt as though the city itself was alive: fire escapes closer than he'd first calculated, pigeons that didn't scatter when he accidentally skidded too close (although that might just have been the pigeons exerting dominance the way pigeons were known to do back in New York; it wouldn't surprise him if New Jersey pigeons were another kind of crazy), intricate facades that never let his feet slip no matter the weather. Nights like this almost made him believe the rumours he'd caught wind of in the Bowery...

Batgirl poked the side of his face with a clawed finger to get his attention, and pointed to an arch above them. From where he was sitting it looked just big enough for them to sit comfortably. With a shrug, he followed the vigilante's lead and scaled up the wall after her. He knew she had noticed his unnatural ability to cling to any surface they had decided to climb, but Batgirl's priorities clearly lay elsewhere. Batgirl disappeared into the alcove only to pop her masked head back out and reach her hands down. Peter grabbed them with a smile and let her pull him up.

Oh wow.

What he'd thought was the spire of one of Old Gotham's many weird buildings was actually a hidden dead-drop. Boxes and fancy metal briefcases lined the walls, first-aid kits laid strewn about and Peter could make out a few old blood spatters on the floor.

There was even a conspiracy board on the far wall!

"You guys have hide-outs all over the city like this?" Peter asked, looking up to admire the delicately crafted church bell hanging above it all. Did Gotham just put bells on all their buildings? This was maybe the seventh one he'd come across so far.

Batgirl clicked her fingers, the sound muffled by her gloves but still loud enough for Peter to pick up, and beckoned him over to a box. Peter dutifully trotted over as she used a claw to cut through the tape and pull out a handful of protein bars. He took one gratefully, tearing it open with his teeth and biting into it. Batgirl made a snickering noise and raised her mask over her mouth, biting a piece off her own bar just as enthusiastically as him. The two of them sat together on the floor, letting the rain on the roof drown out the silence. It was surprisingly comfortable, considering he was sitting across from a stranger. They had just spent the night playing a game like children. Peter hadn't gotten the chance to be a child in so long, even before he got his powers.

He got the feeling it was the same for Batgirl.

"Tonight was fun," he said, once his stomach was full, the box was empty and his hands were free. Wrappers were scattered across the ground around them both and just the sight of it made him smile. Proof of their (hopeful) friendship. Batgirl nodded, mouth unmoving but he could tell she was smiling under there all the same. "Fun," she agreed. "Play again soon?" Peter laughed at her eager posture. There was no way Batgirl was older than him, not with her childish delight and wonder at playing hide and seek around her home city. "Sure. Same place?"

"Stage. Your home?"

"I guess. For now, anyway. I mean, I have nowhere else to go, so," Peter shrugged nonchalantly. He'd slept in worse places. At least the opera house had insulation.

"I can help," Batgirl insisted.

Then, in one fluid motion, she tugged her cowl off her head.