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Peter found himself in a shabby diner on the outskirts of the Bowery.
He's been in Gotham for about a week, after waking up in a green pit of… something. It's all mostly a blur, no matter how hard he tries to be aware. It all… slipped from his grasp. Something tells him that he should be thankful about it. Maybe he doesn't want to remember.
Earlier in the day, he had found a $100 bill nestled in a wad of clothes. He had originally just intended to take the clothes, but decided against it when he noticed it has a beeping device that set of his spider sense, sewn into the fabric.
The money was free game, and although he downright hated the idea of stealing, he knew that he couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. The clothes were high quality, seems to be 100% cotton or something of the sort. The owner could afford the loss, and Peter couldn't afford to loose the opportunity.
The diner was scrappy. The windows were dirty, with cloudy failed attempts at wiping them clean. The diner is filled with the hot smell of grease, but it was easily overpowered by the smell of bacon and grilled meat. Peter's mouth watered at the combination of smells.
The waitress is kind and has an accent that tells Peter that she's moved to Gotham from somewhere down south. He takes a long gulp of his chocolate milk. It's always been the thing he orders at a place like this. Aunt May would say something about needing the calcium when he was young- or maybe something about him shooting up like a plant.
The milk doesn't have as much chocolate as he would have preferred, but he doesn't complain.
He hears the clicking of her shoes against the ground and turns to see her approach. Two plates are sat on the table and he immediately notes that he did not order bacon. He couldn't afford the 5 dollar up charge. Not if he wanted to make the $100 stretch as long as possible. Which needs to happen, if he's planning to survive Gotham for more than a week.
"Uhm." Peter starts, and she looks at him, as if she already knows what he's going to say, "I didn't-"
"Don't worry about it, sweetheart," Marjorie cuts him off quickly, and he frowns.
"But I can't-"
"On the house, I insist."
Peter's pretty sure that's not a very sound business practice. In fact, back home, Peter once worked as a waiter. Some times his coworker's children would come in and sit- Peter never blamed her. Childcare is expensive, especially in the city. However, the muffins and treats she would save for them always came right out of her paycheck.
Peter had tried to argue it with the boss, once. It only ended with him receiving his first 'strike.'
Peter tried to help whenever he could, anyways. But even he couldn't afford it, too often.
Peter was… starving. He cannot refuse. Besides, it's rude to refuse a gift, isn't it?
"Thank you," he says, and he feels a grin splitting across his face.
"You're welcome. Did you need anything else, sweetie?"
He shakes his head, "No, thank you."
Marjorie gives a nod and twirls around, moving to another table to deal with her other customers.
As soon as she moves away, Peter scrambles to shovel food into his mouth. It's hot and his waffles melt on his tongue. It's probably the best food he's had for a while. Probably even before Thanos.
His stomach complains whenever he finishes his waffles. He's not full. But he's never full, these days. Not since he was bit by that damn spider, and he ended up with the metabolism three times somebody his age.
The spider bite changing him didn't compare to… whatever the green pit did. He was so… agitated. It felt constant. He just bit his tongue and refused to snap at people who didn't deserve it.
Watching.
Peter snaps to attention, looking to the source of where the warning came from. There, in the alleyway on the other side of the street, there is a set of eyes staring back at him. Green and bright. It seems as if they could be glowing, but it must be the a trick of the light.
Peter thinks it may be a cat- he's seen cats with eyes similar before, but quickly disregards that idea. It feels… bigger. The gaze intense. There's power there and Peter squirms under the gaze.
He doesn't quite know what do to when he's trapped underneath that cold, calculating glare. He feels ready to flee. The urge to get away as soon as possible flows through him. Peter stares back.
The green inside him. That… rage- it tells him to stand up. Tells him that he needs to face the rival. He swallows back the anger. He was never one to have anger issues. He doesn't know what happened, doesn't know what his problem is.
Peter looks away from the eyes to glance at the rest of the diner, and when he looks back, they are gone.
Weird.
-
Peter has always found solace on rooftops. Ever since the bite, it's like there is a bone deep desire to be up as high as physically possible. He used to indulge himself more. Whenever he had a free moment, he would be on the roofs. He would take his homework the the very top of his and Aunt May's apartment building. He forced his friends to get used to the heights, for they would too find themselves perched on the sides of buildings alongside him.
He would build webs in his room to hang from.
Aunt May quickly got tired of the webs on the ceiling and he was thus forbidden from his web hammocks. A shame, really. He hasn't slept the same since.
Around two days after the diner incident, which is what he has taken to calling it, he found himself on the roof of some building he didn't think to look twice at. It wasn't the tallest building in the area, but tallest… he got a bad feeling from. But the roof is thankfully empty, and he's alone. A good thing, he thinks he's seen people hanging on the top of this building while passing by a couple of times.
Gotham is so different.
Nothing is same. Not even the things you may think would be similar- seeing as New York and Gotham are both major cities. The people of New York aren't nice. Never have been. They have a rough exterior. Peter is constantly stopping robberies and petty crimes in New York.
He's seen double- no, triple the amount of petty crimes. Quadruple the amount of violent ones. And that's even without actively searching out crime as Spider-Man. Just the amount he's came across acting as a civilian.
Even without considering crime- the way people behave is distinct from people back home. People at home are generally nice, despite the rough exterior. While he's sure Gothamites are lovely, they carry an constant sense of distrust around with them. They are always on edge, hardened by years of fighting to survive. They have vigilantes- but, frankly, the amount of crime in Gotham cannot be fully rectified by simply having a couple vigilantes.
Hell. People in Gotham carry guns. Everywhere. And it's not just once in a dozen. Everybody has one.
They're not all so bad. Not compared to Batman's gallery of villains. Rouges. Whatever you call them. They are… Peter's unsure how to describe them. He's just glad he has not met one face to face.
He's do anything to keep it that way, with how the people of Gotham describe them.
Peter misses home desperately. He misses not having to look over his shoulder every five minutes, because his spider sense is having trouble deciphering what could be a threat and what is a threat.
He misses Aunt May. Mr. Stark. Mostly misses having somewhere safe to return to every night, rather than a rotating cast of rooftops and alleyways. He hasn't yet found somewhere semi-permanent to stay.
Hell, he even misses the smell of New York smog. Gotham's is equally bad, if not worse, but the smell is different. That's what really hurts.
He doesn't think he'll complain about burnt dinners whenever he gets back. Can he even go back?
Peter kicks his feet back and forth where they're dangling off the edge of the building.
His stomach growls with the ache of nothing to satiate it. He should get food soon. It'll have to be in the morning, however. He doesn't think he trusts the streets tonight. It's the reason he scaled to the roof in the first place.
He yawns big. God. He's exhausted. He hasn't even done much today. It's like he tires out quicker lately.
Peter feels something. Somebody.
WATCHING.
Suddenly he's not tired anymore. He's alert. His spider sense points him to a rooftop a couple buildings away, on the other side of the street. Taller. The tallest one in the vicinity. He misses when he was the only one stalking the skies. He can't see much from the distance.
But what he does see, causes his heart to leap into his throat.
Is that?
A sniper?
Somebody's looking down from him through the scope of a sniper rifle.
Peter should maybe be a little more concerned. But in his defense! His spider sense is not warning him of immediate danger. Only of the threat of someone watching. Which. Might be worse, actually.
Peter stands up, walks to the back of the roof. Drops to a smaller roof on the other side so that the eyes cannot see him. Only then is when he picks up the speed.
With a thwip of his web-slingers, Peter swings from alleyways, across streets, over rooftops. He makes his way around the skyline of Gotham. He arcs over a large building. He feels a sharp thrill of excitement pulse through him. He lives for this. Except for maybe the feeling of being chased.
He moves as fast as possible, as efficiently as he can until he no longer feels the tail on him.
It takes a while, and at one point, Peter's pretty sure he almost gets cornered.
His heart speeds with the pace of his steps as he dashes through an alley and cuts a corner. He scales the building and tucks himself inside a busted up window.
He hears the heartbeat of what was chasing him pass by, but it cuts down the wrong street. Peter will not get found tonight.
He'd better stay low. Good thing is…
Peter looks around and decides apartment is not a very good descriptor. Maybe in the past, that's what it once was. But now? It's nothing more than a janky reminder of what it could have been. A busted up room on the top floor of an apartment building.
Peter doesn't know why it was abandoned. There are tons of abandoned apartments in Gotham. He's pretty sure he read something in a paper about 300 homes lost? Something about "Scarecrows Toxin."
Whatever that means.
-
Peter's pretty sure he's going to find out what it means.
He wakes up to the sound of boots hitting the ground. He doesn't… know why his spider sense didn't warn him sooner. Peter stares down from his web on the ceiling. There's a man. Wearing a recognizable red helmet and a worn leather jacket. Peter peeks through the webbing. Maybe, if he stays still, the man won't look up.
"Oh, where did you go?"
The voice sounds… worried. If Peter was deluded enough to convince himself that may be true. The guy has been stalking him! For goodness sake. Peter gulps. A quick blade of fear slices him in the heart. He's scared, yes. But, also, the rage is back with a vengeance. There is somebody in his territory.
This, both the spider and the green can agree upon.
Peter stays silent, no matter how much he itches to hiss out a warning. He want's the man to back off. No. That would be a… bad idea.
The man doesn't notice him yet.
"Kid- you don't want to be in here, c'mon." Actually. Peter does, thank you very much. If he stays quiet enough maybe he'll think Peter's already long gone.
Peter has never had the best luck.
"Buddy, I know you're in here, just come out."
The man moves through the apartment, like he's the master of hide and seek. He checks under the kitchen table, behind a musty couch. The man opens a cabinet in the old kitchen and the hinges squeal.
Peter snorts out a laugh, did this guy seriously think Peter is dumb enough-
The man's head snaps up at him. Peter ducks behind the webs. Aw, fuck.
The man visibly relaxes, which is strange because People usually freak out when they see a giant web with a person in it. Peter knows. He's seen it.
"There you are, kid. What're you doin' up there?"
Peter stays quiet, glancing around for an escape. The man. No.
The Red Hood is basically blocking the way he came in. Peter will have to go around him. He doesn't really care how. He just needs out. His spider sense is ringing to him in warning like a siren on the street. The Red Hood is dangerous. Extremely so.
Peter's read about the duffel bag. The body count. The Red Hood is a killer. And Peter is right in his line of sight. He's sat right in his scope.
"Can you come down from there?"
Peter shakes his head on instinct. No, he will not come down.
The Red Hood sighs, all exasperated like.
"Buddy, these apartments are heavily contaminated."
Peter… does not care. Like. The amount he cares is so minuscule it may actually be smaller than an atom.
"No."
"Kid."
"I'm good."
"Can you like, go away?"
"Just as soon as I know you're out of the building." Liar.
Peter gives him a look. Is this guy serious? His spider sense tells him that, indeed, the Red Hood is serious.
Peter sighs. Alright. Lets do this.
He grips the side of the web, getting a somewhat stable position for what he knows needs to be done. He sneaks his wrist over the side of the web and before the Red Hood can notice anything is suspicious, shoots a web at the man's boots. Actually. He shoots a barrage of webs. Enough to make sure the man stays. Then, he shoots webs at the man's wrist, which is just close enough to his waist that he can bind one of his arms back as well.
It leaves him with only a couple more webs, which should be fine, since he knows he can effectively escape once the man is stuck down. Sometimes, even the hulk couldn't shake his webs. Peter feels safer immediately, his spider sense quieting.
"Kid, no."
"Yes."
"Buddy-" But it's too late, Peter's already getting down from his webs. He creeps towards the man, getting maybe a little too close. He does a little loop around the Hood and the helmet turns to look at him as he does. He's not so threatening once he can't move to hurt him. Peter should probably take advantage and ask why he's being followed- but… The webs will start to loose their strength just thirty minutes after being applied.
Even though they only fully dissolve after two hours- Peter has no doubt that the man can escape once they begin to loosen. Peter huffs a satisfied breath through his nose, walking away.
"Bye! Have a fun two hours!" He says, chipper, and dives out of the window.
"Hey-" Nope! Peter's already gone!
-
Peter is thrown. He’s so- God. He’s scared.
The Red Hood. Originally he had his helmet, but it had somehow been ditched. Left behind was another mask of some sort- but the left eye. Oh. God.
The mask was cracked, and green was radiating from the man’s eye.
There’s blood. So much blood. And the alley, it smells like death.
There had been a group of men, trying to get something from him. Money- Peter thinks, but it's kind of hard to remember with the smell of gore surrounding him. The men are gone now. Not gone. But. He doesn't think they are breathing.
God. He had tried so hard to avoid this. He's been ditching tails left and right, avoiding anything that his spider sense pings as even somewhat similar to the Red Hood. It's been a month. But somebody had to try something, and now Peter's out of webs.
He hears ringing in his ears from echoing gunshots.
Peter swallows hard on his fear. Pushes himself up from where he was on the ground. He can’t afford to be knocked down. He needs- to do something to get away!
He hates the green in the man's eyes. He's grown to hate this shade of green as of late. It signifies something, but not anything Peter fully understands.
“Kid.” Peter’s spider screams in retaliation. It doesn’t like this man, for some reason. In the same way it hates Peter’s new green eyes. In the same way he feels two sides of himself warring each other.
The green hum in his skull truly disagrees. It wants. It wants, more and more. It wants this guy. Wants him to fight. Wants pain and blood and-
Peter doesn’t speak. He shakes his head forcefully. No.
Whatever the man wants- he wants no part in it.
“Kiddo.” Peter feels the ground shake as another step is taken towards him.
He doesn’t want to know what happens when the rest of the distance is crossed. He evaluates.
The man is about four feet away, and his gloved hands are held up in a mock sort of surrender.
Peter frantically glances around. Theres a dumpster. Three walls of brick surrounding him, and the man covering the exit of the alleyway. He's fine. He just has to make it to one of the walls. No matter how much bigger the threat is, he cannot climb like Peter can. It's an easy out. He doesn't look away from the man for longer than a second.
But Peter feels frozen in place. He feels trapped. He can't move- he's pinned under a bright green eye.
Peter's seen the article about the duffle bag. Peter's read about the body count. The Red hood is a killer, and Peter's right in his sight. Peter was sitting in the crosshair of his scope.
“Buddy, hey.” The man is still speaking, but it’s really hard to actually focus on the words when fear is wrapped around his throat.
“It’s okay, kid. Look. I’ve just gotta make sure you’re not hurt, alright?”
Uh. No, thank you. Peter is good! All good here. There is no need for that.
Peter's fine. He glances to the right, looking to the wall, then back a the threat.
There’s a vibration on the floor that sends warning signals from his toes to his finger tips. His spider sense is able to predict, of course. But he also needs to be quick enough to move away from what it’s warning him about.
And he always is. He’s always faster.
Even when he sparred with Natasha. He was always faster.
But somehow, when he goes to leap to the wall- a motion he has done (hundreds) of times. His ankle is caught by a firm hand, pulling him back down and into strong arms.
He struggles, obviously! Why wouldn’t he?! But he can’t get a good grip, his arms are being held tight against his own chest, and the only free appendages are his legs. Which doesn’t help much when the guy is a giant, and his feet aren’t touching the floor at all when he’s being held.
“Let me go!”
“Shh, it’s okay.”
“No, what the hell, man! Let go!”
“It’s alright. I know you’re scared. Shh.”
Peter’s not scared! He’s pissed!
He can hear the pop of a cap- one that makes him struggle twice as hard. Peter’s seen some of the vigilantes gear. Including their needles. He knows that pop. He’s heard that pop when Nightwing had to give a Fear Toxin antidote to a toddler.
He manages to break an arm free and struggle enough to get his let foot to touch the floor. He moves- and is cut off by a needle in his neck.
His internal spider screams like he’s been mortally wounded.
Peter screams in unison. Terror thrills down his body. and his spider hates this so much. He can't fully create the thought to pinpoint what he's so upset about. He feels like a baby screaming as the one indication that something is wrong.
He’s twisted around, and suddenly his face is in the man’s neck. He wraps his legs around the Hoods torso. He doesn’t really have to, the Hood picked him up like he weighed nothing.
“Let go!”
“Hm. You’re alright. Just relax, bud.” Oh god. Peter does start to relax. Against his will, the world starts to blend together.
“Help.” He says, and it isn’t a scream or call. It’s just stilted word that he can barely manage. He needs help. That much is clear. He’s so scared. And his body is falling limp against his will.
“Shhh, It’s alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you now.”
“Nonono,” he cries, eyes drooping. “Lemme go.”
There’s a rumbling hum from the chest, “I’ve got you, kid. You’re mine, promise.” That's the opposite of what he wants. He wants to be let go- doesn't want to be here. All he can smell is the blood and gore around him.
And the world bleeds together fully, his body buzzing into nothing. Sleep comes for him like a fright train and it’s uncomfortable as all hell.
But somehow, he can catch the small, distant words:
“Red Hood. Whatcha got over there?”
And the detached response, “Baby.”
.. ”What?”
Everything goes black.
-
Peter wakes up and his spider sense is immediately blaring. Danger- he's not safe! No matter how soft the blankets are, or how warm the bed is. He can smell something cooking on the air, and his mouth waters despite himself.
He pushes it away- he's not sticking around. There's ropes tying his hands together. Peter tilts his head, looking down at them. They cannot possibly be too tight for him to get out, right? The knot is… expertly tied. But it seems to be simple rope. Not any sort of anti-enhanced technology.
Unfortunately, it takes multiple minutes of precious time for him to slip the restraints. He ends up having to break it using his strength, rather than somehow untying it. He yanks his wrists apart, tugging his lower lip into his teeth. Ow.
He does break it… eventually. There are red rug burns on his arms, and they sting in the cold air of the air conditioning.
There's multiple windows in the room, but when he gets out of the bed to observe them he notices they're bolted down. No dice.
There's a buzzing energy about the place, Peter was able to feel it on the man in the hood, but he feels it tenfold here. It's uncomfortable, and Peter feels like he's intruding somewhere he shouldn't be.
He does recognize that something inside him feels at home here, recognizes that there's something here… that green inside him lights up in recognition with every breath he takes.
He hates it however. His spider sense- the thing he's lived with for longer- is ringing in anticipation. This place is dangerous- the man he can hear in the other room, even more so.
He thinks that maybe if he were an animal, a lion or cat that has intrinsic territories- this is what that would feel like. Intruding in another's space. Running into the lions den.
Except. He was dragged here. So maybe the metaphor doesn't make too much sense.
He pries at the bolts on the windows, yanking with all his might. One of them flies off, but there's four more on this window. A thrill of warning shoots down his spine and he heard a heavy footstep. Then two, then three- and the door is opening. No time to deal with opening the window.
Peter slams his fist into the glass, feeling shards of glass break the skin of his knuckles. He doesn't regret the bite of pain, not when he's vaulting out of the window, and he can taste the freedom on his tongue. He holds out his wrist to shoot webs- aiming to swing far, far away.
Peter forgets that he ran out of webs until it is far, far too late, and he's plummeting to the ground of the alleyway. He lands on his feet, but only barely. And not quick enough to get a head start. He hears a heavy thump behind him and he recognizes that the man jumped down after him. Which.
Peter's able to jump from tall heights. He's Spider-Man, of course he can. But this guy- no matter how many guns he has, he shouldn't have the ability to just land like that. Hell. Most people Peter knew wouldn't dare jump from a window. He thinks even Tony's still scared of heights when he's not in the suit.
So Peter freaks the hell out, pushing his legs to move as quickly as possible and get the hell away as fast as he can. But the guy is double his size, and he's almost as quick. Peter doesn't get about ten feet before he's being pulled up off the ground, thrown over the man's shoulder.
"Shh. I've got you, bud." Obviously that's the issue here!
"Let go of me!" Peter snaps, and sinks his teeth deep in the man's shoulder. The guy doesn't even flinch! Which is fine- his venom should work soon. He has a paralytic venom, he's only had to use it once or twice. Hates doing it, in fact. But Peter refuses to end up back in the lion's den.
"There, there, kiddo. You're gonna be alright." Peter hisses at him, digging his teeth in deeper and pushing as much venom as he can into the skin.
It isn't until they're back inside the building, that Peter realizes that the venom isn't doing anything. Peter fights, then. He kicks at the man's knees, trying to get him to stumble. To let go. Anything. Peter wishes he was in his bed right now. Wishes that he didn't have to fight so hard all the time. He was tired.
The guy kept a tight grip on him. Didn't stumble and didn't even flinch.
Peter wasn't able to get enough wiggle room to throw a half decent punch. Dread floated in his belly as they crossed the threshold back into the man's main area. His apartment? Peter will go with that. Now that he's getting a good look at it, it's just an apartment. A somewhat fancy one at that. It's put together and clean. Peter can see a well stocked bookshelf off in a corner.
"I'm making chicken Alfredo."
Peter doesn't reply. Doesn't deign to give his kidnapper a response.
"Is that fine with you?"
Peter turns his head away from the man.
Theres a capped needle on the coffee table. Peter swallows around nothing.
He likes chicken Alfredo. And it smells good, so far. Like even the sauce is homecooked. Peter's mouth waters and his stomach growls loudly. The Red Hood unfortunately takes that as a signal to continue.
"I'm going to take that as a yes, then."
A knock echoes through the air. It has a sort of rhythm to it, that Peter thinks probably means something.
Peter didn't know it until now, but the man- could growl. And growl he did. Peter thinks that he could make a good knock off wolf. It rumbled through the air, and Peter could hear the person at the door's heartbeat skip a beat. But Peter doesn't care. He just feels nervous. Theres a threat nearby. The green inside whispers that his protector will take care of it. Peter shakes his head to clear that thought. The person outside could be his escape. The one who brought him here is the threat.
Peter's pushed back into the couch, and the man wraps a blanket around him, immobilizing him until he can unwrap it. Jason creeps towards the door, and he looks almost like a cat stalking prey. Peter feels a little queasy.
He hears the jingling of keys, then the door is being pushed open.
The intruder is immediately slammed into the ground and he can hear the wheeze of the person's lungs. The man is on top of them, and Peter struggles with the blanket around him until his arms are free.
"Jason, woah. It's just me, Little Wing." Oh. They know each other.
The Red Hood- Jason- growls again. Peter's not close enough to see it, but he can feel through his spider sense Jason's energy shifting rapidly from threatening to recognition- eventually landing on the latter.
"Dickhead." He says, and he sounds a little relieved. Which Peter thinks is weird, since he's insulting the guy as he does it.
"Hey, Little Wing. I was just coming to check in on you."
Peter can feel the beats of hesitation.
"Are you going to let me up?"
Jason huffs something or another and they're both of the ground a couple of moments later, "I'm makin' dinner, Dickiebird. Want a bowl?" The air is still tense, but it's a little looser. Theres familiarity here.
"Of course." Peter watches the two of them hug for a moment, and then there are blue eyes on him.
"And who is this?"
The growl returns full force, "Mine!" The tension in the air snaps and the green inside Peter whines as if it's been devastatingly wounded. Peter's head hurts, as if his eyeballs are going to pop out of his head, and Peter's never had a migraine before but it really hurts.
Peter makes a noise, he doesn't think he's ever made one like it before, but it's high pitched and probably embarrassing. He doesn't care, not at all, because Jason's whipping his head around to glance at him. The eye contact doesn't last but a second and Jason's leaping at the intruder.
Peter thinks they fight. Really it's all a blur, but he's pretty sure he sees sparks of electricity and multiple thrown punches. He hears shouting and growling, and the hiss of something mechanical.
Peter's head hurts. His spider sense is so quiet and the green is so loud. It's not calling for violence. It's screaming for safety. He doesn't know what to do- doesn't know what he can do.
Eventually the commotion stops and Peter can smell blood. Not like in the alleyway. More like somebody had a bloody nose. Peter peers over at Jason, and he's carrying the other man much like a rag doll. He seems satisfied, like a cat who just got the cream.
The newcomer is dropped onto the couch. Peter looks at him. He's unconscious, but he doesn't look that injured. The blood is coming from Jason, who has blood leaking from his nose. "You alright, pipsqueak?" Peter glances down at the intruder. He's got bound wrists, just like Peter once had, and his ankles are tied together as well. The new person can't hurt him, Jason dealt with it.
Peter nods, he's okay. He is a little confused, because… wasn't he just angry at Jason? His wrists burn with the reminder. But… he's so hungry. He cannot get out without at least one meal. Right?
He'll leave tomorrow.