Chapter Text
Btw sorry if the batfam act OOC im not really a batman fan hope you enjoy tho!
Rule number one of crime alley.
You do not talk about crime alley.
Rule number two of crime alley.
YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT CRIME ALLEY.
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Peter didn't know where he was nor how he got there all he remembered was smoke. Rubble. The sky caving in.
Before that he remembered mr stark giving him a hug a big one
Tonys arc reactor flickered dimly, the blue light smudged with blood.
"Kid—look at me."
Peter blinked. "Mr stark?"
"We're done. We lost." Tonys voice was low, shaking he hated every word.
"But you're not going down with us."
Peter didnt know what mr stark was talking about
"No—no wait— what are you talking about?"
Peter stumbled forward, trying to grab him.
Dr strange was behind them, hands glowing cape torn.
"There's no time," Strange said, voice tight. "This is the only thread. The only way he lives."
"Live where?" Peter's voice cracked. "You said you had a plan!"
"And this is it," Strange said. "A world where he can disappear. A place full of people that don’t know him, not even spiderman."
Peter's stomach twisted. "What's the catch?"
Strange met his eyes. "Gotham."
Peter didn't know what was "Gotham"
Tony touched Peter's face. His hand was shaking.
"You'll be scared. You'll be pissed. But you'll be alive."
Peter was shaking his head. "No—I'm supposed to fight. I can help—"
"You already did," Tony said.
The light swelled behind him.
"I'm sorry, kid."
Then it all went white.
That's all he remembered before he was in Gotham.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Then peter fell.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
hard.
He hit pavement—wet, cracked, unforgiving. A hiss of pain escaped as he rolled, ribs screaming, shoulder slamming against a dumpster. The air smelled like rain, blood, and something older. Rotting.
His eyes snapped open to a flickering streetlight. A dead alley. Not Queens.
Not home.
Then a flicker of pain in his ribs.
The smell of rotting garbage.
He didn't know where he was all he knew that it was Not Queens. Not even New York.
Peter groaned, the Iron Suit groaning back in response. Hissing. Sparking. It was torn. Burned at the edges. Still stained from everything.
His fingers twitched. The ground felt too real.
Just before—
He remembered the silence.
Not the battle. Not the screaming or the way his body felt like glass cracking from the inside. Just the silence.
Tony—
No, not Tony here. Just him.
Peter had been screaming something when Strange pulled him away. Reaching for someone who wouldn't let go. Or maybe couldn't.
A hug. The kind that said this might be the last one.
Now.
A weight pulled at his shoulder. The backpack. Still there.
Peter sat up slowly, every joint aching like he'd been folded wrong. He unzipped it with shaking hands.
Inside:
A photo. Him and Ned at the science fair. Ned's arm slung around him. Peter smiling like the world hadn't ended yet.
butterfly knife. Lightweight. Natasha's initials carved into the handle. He never asked why she gave it to him.
foil-wrapped sandwich. Probably peanut butter.
a wad of emergency cash.
a folded note. Red ink. All sharp corners.
Peter unfolded the note with trembling fingers
"If you're reading this, kid... then we lost. Which means you've got one job now survive.
Gothams a hellhole. But you're smart. You're good. Try not to get arrested. Or bitten. Or caught monologuing back. I gave you enough to get by. Maybe even enough to figure out who you are without... everything else."
P.S. Don't eat anything sold on the street unless it's wrapped. Seriously. I'm not flying in to cure food poisoning."
Peter stopped reading.
Because his throat was closing.
his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Because this felt like abandonment dressed up as a mission.
He needed to find a way back home. Not just queens. Back to avengers tower. his apartment. Johnny storm. MJ. Ned. the avengers. Aunt may. he needed a way to get out of this—this city, this nightmare, this silence that didn't feel like home.
Peter looked up.
A figure stood in the alleyways mouth. Leather jacket. Helmet the color of dried blood. A gun holstered at his hip like punctuation.
Also holding a bat. Shit.
Not friendly. Not police. Definitely not a tour guide.
He was gonna die on the first night—Cool. Cool. Cool, Cool, Cool.
Peter froze, his hands half-raised, instinct battling exhaustion.
The guy in the red helmet didnt move, but the air around him felt sharp. Tense. Like the city itself had stopped breathing.
Peter managed a shaky voice. "Hey, I don't want trouble. I'm just... passing through."
"Yeah?" The helmet tilted slightly. "You look like you passed through a war."
Peter swallowed. "New Jersey." Peter was lying. through his teeth.
A beat of silence. Then the bat dropped with a clang, and the guy laughed once—dry and humorless.
"No one comes to this alley from New Jersey."
Peter said nothing.
The guy stepped closer, his boots silent on the cracked pavement.
"You're not a gang kid. You're not a Bat brat. You're not local. And that suit under your hoodie?" He gestured vaguely. "That's not Wayne tech."
Shit—he didn't wear his mask. It was probably in his bag.
Peter didn't move. His whole body buzzed—ready to flee, or fight, or collapse.
The red helmet studied him a moment longer, then turned.
Peter blinked. "That's it?"
"I don't shoot lost strays on the first night," the guy muttered, walking into the mist like he belonged to it. "You'll either be dead or useful by the weekend."
He paused just before disappearing completely.
"You're not gonna last two nights in this city with that look in your eyes."
Then he was gone.
Just the hum of neon. Just the steam rising. Just Peter, alone again.
And Gotham didn't blink.
he needed to find a way out of crime alley—NOW
he'd been walking for a few minutes— maybe an hour he couldn't tell. All he knew was that there were drugs in the gutters and some guy laughing like hell in the dark. He didn't know anything about Gotham. All he knew was that he didn't like it—
not one bit.
He tripped god damn it. Some drugs needles he guessed.
Peter scrambled to his feet, too fast, too clumsy. His knees nearly gave. The streets spun once. Twice.
The air reeked of oil, wet concrete, and old, sour breath.
Peter's heartbeat punched at his ribs.
His hands were still shaking from earlier.
The air felt too thick.
Too slow.
After a few minutes later—hours maybe? he didn't know. he saw a old abandoned apartment
peter climbed Up the fire escape, metal groaning under his weight. One rung nearly gave out beneath his boot. He didn't stop. He didn't think. He just climbed—until the noise of the city softened beneath him.
The rooftop was broken brick and rusted vents. Not high enough to feel safe, but just far enough to breathe.
He dropped his backpack. Sat down. Curled forward like something was pressing on his chest and he couldn't push it off.
Then it broke.
Quiet sobbing. The kind you only do when there's no one left to hear it.
His hands shook as they clutched at his hair. His suit still smelled like ash. His chest still ached with the echo of Tonys last words.
as he checked his webs just to realize his parkerluck™️ strike again it’s half out like 50% not even gotham let’s him drown in self pity.
Peter pulled the sandwich from his pack. Took one bite. Couldn't swallow the rest. It tasted like metal which was weird..he loved peanut butter.
He stared at the note.
The one written in red ink.
Crushed it in his palm.
Then—paused. Smoothed it out again like an apology.
Thats when he felt it.
Not heard—felt. Like the air shifted.
A presence. Watching.
Peter didn't move.
The rooftop air thinned—thick with something he couldn't name. Not quite danger. Not quite safety.
Then a voice cut through the dark.
"You always make this much noise, or is it just tonight?"
Peter froze.
The voice was rough. Casual. Too calm for someone carrying a gun.
He turned.
A figure leaned against a crumbling vent just a few feet away—like he'd been there the whole time. Red helmet. Dark coat. Guns holstered, but not far from reach.
The same guy from the alley
Peter blinked. "How...?"
"Didn't mean to scare you," the guy added, though he clearly didn't mean it.
Peter didn't answer.
"You're not local." Red Hood's tone shifted. Sharper. "That suit under your hoodie? Not Gotham tech. That fall you took earlier? Not from around here."
Peter's fingers curled into the rooftop gravel.
"Just passing through," he said—too fast. Too fake.
"Uh-huh." Red Hood didn't look convinced. "From where? Blüdhaven? Star City? Fawcett?"
Peter didn't answer.
The helmet tilted slightly. "You lie like a kid. You cry like one too."
Peter looked away, jaw tight.
A long silence. Wind between buildings.
Then, just before slipping back into shadow,
And then he was gone.
Peter sat frozen. His heartbeat thudding against cracked ribs and broken silence.
Somewhere, far below, Gotham breathed.
And Peter was still trying to remember how.
———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Bat chat
3:33AM
JT: just met a kid in Crime Alley.
Not from here.
Wrecked suit, bruised to hell, clearly hiding something.
Said he's "just passing through."
he might be a villains goon or smth
Batdad: Keep eyes on him. Report back if he moves.
Dih: "Just passing through"??
Buddy, this is Gotham, not Six Flags.
Steph🎶 :
hold on HOLD ON.
new meta? how sad was he?
Important for data collection.
JT:
Sad.
Like Disney orphan meets car crash.
...brown eyes. Hoodie over a suit.
Definitely not a local.
Little timmy tim tim:
wait. not the same kid you spotted on the alley like an hour ago???
JT:
Same one.
Then saw him on a rooftop.
Was crying into a peanut butter sandwich.
Damien😈🔥:
What kind of weakling cries on a rooftop and carries subpar snacks???
Cass:
You cried during "Paddington 2."
Damian😈🔥:
IT WAS A BEAR. A NOBLE BEAR.
Dih:
Okay but serious Q
Jason meta or not?
JT:
Unknown. Suit techs not Gotham-standard.
it Had Stark Industries on, but...burned out.
Might've fallen from orbit for all I know.
Steph🎶:
He's an alien. He's from another DIMENSION.
I'm calling it now. Portal boy.
Batdad:
Focus.
If he's meta, we need surveillance.
If he's armed, we disarm.
If he's lost—
Little timmy tim tim:
We adopt. Obviously.
Batdad:
No.
Dih:
Too late. Might meet him tmr.
Damien😈🔥:
Why.
Dih:
If were stalking the kid at least we know the kids name.
Steph🎶:
If he's a hero and not a villain he should join the Team.
I love him already.
Duke🌛:
Did he have powers?
Or just that "I've seen war and cried in the rain" look?
JT:
Mostly trauma.
Possibly flight. Tech suit was busted to hell.
Backpack full of weird stuff. Looked personal. Not tactical.
Cass:
He's running from something. Or someone.
little timmy Tim Tim:
Maybe he's a defector.
Or witness protection.
Or a multiversal refugee with daddy issues.
Steph🎶:
Let's be honest that covers 80% of us.
Batdad:
Jason observe, do not engage further.
We wait.
JT:
He's on the rooftop above 42nd and Locke.
Crying himself to sleep.
Didn't even flinch when I vanished.
Definitely not gonna make it to sunrise.
Dih:
should we help?
Cass:
Let him rest first.
Damien😈🔥:
I still vote we interrogate him.
In the name of Gotham. And justice.
Steph🎶:
Damian you are one existential crisis away from crying into a sandwich yourself.
Damien😈🔥:
I WOULD CHOOSE A BAGEL. WITH DIGNITY.
Duke🌛:
I'm gonna swing by the building, scope from a distance.
If he moves, I'll ping.
Little timmy tim tim:
Jason, did you scan him? Facial ID?
JT:
Didn't register in any Gotham system.
Too clean. Too...unplugged.
Almost like he doesn't exist here.
Steph🎶:
I'm still going with dimension drop.
Batdad:
Enough.
No interference unless provoked.
JT:
Gothams gonna eat this kid alive.
Or turn him into one of us.
Maybe both.
Damien😈🔥:
He shall either perish or be forged in Gotham flame.
So say I.
Little timmy tim tim:
Bro??
Dih:
Okay but if the kid turns out to be a villain what do we do?
Steph🎶:
he doesnt seem like a villain, from what ive heared from jason.
Cass:
Lets not stalk the boy.
we dont know who he works for.
Batdad :
We wait.