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Peter stood on the edge of a ten-story building, toeing slightly over the ledge.
He wishes he could say he climbed it himself, what with his newfound powers from a field trip gone wrong at Lexcorp, but he was too scared and the stairs were right there.
Okay.
Okay.
He’s got powers now, right? This is, like, the training montage in movies? Peter can’t keep turning doorknobs into putty and ripping all his clothes. Though the foster care in Jersey is a bit better thanks to Bruce Wayne, but Peter had no good explanation as to why he was down to three shirts when they were given new (brand new!) clothes not even three months ago. He needs to get his strength under control. And his webs. And all of his senses. Including his extra DLC sense that just screams in the back of his head, constantly.
He could do this. He’s got this in the bag, matter of fact.
“I got this, I got this,” he muttered, bouncing lightly on his feet, trying to psych himself up without psyching himself out. “It’s just a jump. A normal jump. People do jumps all the time—”
He looked down.
There was a long, long drop to the alley below.
“…oooooo wowie that’s a drop,” he said faintly, his stomach fluttering nervously like the traitor it was.
“M-I-A-M-I, running out of time!”
“We gotta go, gotta go, gotta go!”
“We gotta go (I know), we gotta go (I know), we—”
“Holy shit, I know!” Peter said angrily, throwing his phone angrily. He watched it skid across the rooftop, unsure if those were new cracks or if they were already there.
Peter backed away from the ledge, beginning to pace.
There’s loads of superheroes! Their powers probably scared them just as much, right? Like, like… Superman probably got super scared when he went to pull open his bedroom door, and instead he pulled the whole thing off its hinges? Maybe the Flash, like, ran into the wall? Or something… But then they got good at them! So Peter just needs to chillax and have faith in his powers, right?
Peter Parker was bitten by a radioactive spider a week ago. A Bruce Wayne sponsored field trip for the boys home he was put in. No one says it, but it’s where they send the troubled kids who don’t do good in foster homes. He was angry at first, furious and maybe a bit hurt, but Gotham wasn’t too bad… He missed Queens like a fish misses water.
Regardless of Lexcorp definitely not following proper containment protocols, regardless of Peter staying with the group and being on his best behavior cause he didn’t want to be sent away again, he was still bitten.
He could barely do any of his chores, let alone hold a pencil without snapping it… needless to say, he was on very thin ice.
At first, he’d been elated. What teenage boy doesn’t dream of one day getting super powers? Of waking up no longer needing glasses or his inhaler?
It just… seemed like a lot more fun in the movies.
Peter shook out his hands, hopping in place to get his blood flowing. Okay, okay! It’s not even that far of a jump! The vigilantes in Gotham parkoured all the time on the rooftops, and now he’s super powered, so it’s, like, in his blood now!
It’s just a leap of faith, right?
Peter ran full speed towards the ledge, in spite of the anxiety.
Or perhaps, his anxiety was in spite of him, as his feet stuck themselves firmly to the ground with his new found stickiness, leaving Peter careening over the edge in one graceless fall.
“Holy fucking shit—”
Peter’s voice cracked somewhere between terror and betrayal as his body tipped forward, momentum fully committed while his feet remained glued to the roof like they had unionized against him. (Which, well, wasn’t totally wrong. It really weirded Peter out in the beginning, but he literally has a sixth sense that will, like, take control of his body. Crazy shit, man.)
For one horrible, suspended second, he windmilled at the edge.
Then Peter felt someone grab him, hand gripping him firmly as Peter felt his setules stick to every point of contact like a really fucked up koala. (Which, yes, was a crazy wikipedia rabbithole, and he frankly felt a bit bad for the search history left on Blüdhaven’s public library computers.)
“Gotcha! You’re okay, I’ve got you, I promise.” A soothing voice said behind him as he pulled Peter up and back over the edge. He watched the dumpster below him disappear as he was placed far away from the edge firmly.
Peter looked up and felt his face flush.
Because there, standing in a blue and black suit and looking cool as hell, was the Nightwing!
He looked wicked cool, with one hand pressing the comm in his ear and the other on his hip.
“I got him. Thanks for the tip, O’.” Nightwing said cooly into his comm, talking to what must be their guy in the chair! Oh man, Ned would go crazy for this. He’ll have to tell him as soon as he can scrounge up enough for a phone.
With Peter’s newly sensitive ears, he heard “O’s” response clear as day.
“I have the help en route, just keep the kid company till they arrive.” The woman on the other line said, Nightwing hummed in confirmation.
Wait, wait, wait. Help? Who’re they sending to help?
The police help the vigilantes here all the time, are they sending police?
Were they sending police to come get Peter?
That whole exchange took maybe ten seconds, but it was more than enough for Peter’s brain to go into full panic mode.
Nope, absolutely not.
Nothing ever improved with the involvement of law enforcement. Like, ever. Zero good memories. And his uncle was a cop!
That’d be Peter’s cue to get out of dodge.
Peter shot to his feet like he’d just been electrocuted. “—’Kay, love you, bye!” he blurted out the first words that came to mind, already turning on his heel.
He took one step—
—and didn’t make it to step two.
Nightwing’s hand had never left the back of his hoodie, firm but not rough, and suddenly Peter was going nowhere. Legs dangling a couple inches above ground.
Peter, while aptly miffed he just got scruffed like some misbehaving kitten, was also weirdly comforted by it. Probably another one of his weird spider things… Ugh.
“Woah, kiddo, I got some questions before you go running off another building after declarations of affection.” Nightwing said a little amused, but mostly concerned.
“Well—” Peter laughed nervously, clearing his throat. “You know how it is. With teenagers. Uh. Parkour?” Nightwing set Peter down, but still totally hovering. God, Peter hopes he doesn’t act like that towards every adolescent he feels obligated towards…
Which, rude! Peter is, like, super strong now. He could just walk away. Wouldn’t even break a sweat, as a matter of fact (probably). But Nightwing is so cool…
Oh, and their no metas rule. Though, by technical and scientific standards, Peter is not a meta, more like genetically altered. (He thinks it’s called a Mutate?) Though Peter didn’t expect anyone to see a metaphobic asshat stop discriminating just because he wasn’t born with the powers they hated the existence of, regardless of their origins.
Gosh, he’s getting lost in thought, whoops.
“—not an excuse to try jumping between two buildings!” Nightwing stressed, though Peter missed most of his lecture.
“But you guys do it…” Peter muttered, but Nightwing somehow heard him. What, does he have mom hearing or something?
Nightwing sighed. “We are trained and have grappling hooks to catch us if we fall.” the ‘and you don’t’ went unsaid. Which he kind of did! Sometimes webs came out of his wrists. He still wasn’t totally sure how to, like, control it a hundred percent, but he has caught himself with it before! Not that he’d say any of that to Nightwing. He feels like he’s being scolded by those mushy guys in the Big Brother program for “difficult foster kids”.
“You could’ve been seriously injured or even killed, do you understand?”
“Well—” Peter started, fully intending to dig his grave another six feet with words alone, was reminded of the threats of pigs. Uh, cough, police, Peter means.
“Yeah, yeah, okay! Now I gotta go or I’m actually gonna jump, dude." Was threatening to jump off a building again smart? Probably not. But this is actually the third time, not the second. Technically. He tried jumping off of a shed before… Apparently a five foot drop wasn’t enough to activate his weird sixth sense with sick ass webs. He ate shit in front of a cute girl though, so that was pretty humbling. Moral of Peter’s rambling, he would probably be fine, and he’d honestly rather fall from this far up than get driven back to the boys home so they can wake everyone up and get yelled at.
Nightwing had a visible “ohhh” moment, tapping back into his comm.
“Call off the escorts, I can take the kid home.”
“You sure? The paramedics are pretty close.” Said the lady in Nightwing’s ear.
Paramedics?
Oh, shit, did Nightwing think he was some sort of jumping risk? Well, it’s nice he called paramedics first. Though, paramedics dealing with a minor jumping from the top of a building would have led to a call to the cops anyway.
But now his threat to jump (away, not off) felt a little silly…
Peter crossed his arms, pouting mildly. Ugh, what an embarrassing way to meet one of your favorite heroes. (Flash is obviously his number one, though Blue Beetle has been up there recently. Y’know, a bit of a onesided kindred spirit, and all.)
“So, got a name that isn’t “hey get away from that ledge!” or what?” Nightswing says humorously, somehow hitting the perfect balance between funny and disappointment of said actions. Truly, a feat of duality.
“Uh, Peter? I guess?”
“What do you mean “I guess”? Is that not your name?”
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know, it feels like a lame name all of a sudden to say to, well, The Nightwing, y’know?”
Well, what would he know about lame names?
“What’s wrong with the name Peter?” He tilted his head questionably. It felt a bit silly to be talking with The Nightwing about such a random topic, but it’s like if Avril Lavine struck up a conversation about the Irish Potato Famine. Your only choice is to honestly lock the fuck in.
Peter pursed his lips.
It’s a stupid reason, something lonely immature children would make fun of, but it bugged him regardless.
He shrugged, trying to play it off. “‘S just kids being mean. Not quite vigilante worthy.”
Nightwing paused for a moment, which confused Peter. He kind of just… studied Peter for a moment, with a calm, impassive face. Peter shifted awkwardly.
“It's our duty to help the little guys, even if it’s “just” kids being mean.” Nightwing
Peter was practically vibrating. He seriously just gets cooler and cooler! It was a very serious, kind of sweet, reply to some grade schoolers insults, but Peter appreciated it nonetheless.
“They call me ‘Penis Parker’.” He delivered with a somber tone, somehow managing to not crack up laughing in the middle of it.
It was either the delivery or the nickname, but Nightwing accidentally let a snort slip out. (Peter chooses to believe his delivery was funny, and not the fact Penis Parker is haunting his narrative more than his dead aunt.)
“Sorry, sorry! It just… reminded me of something.” Nightwing apologized.
“Yes, I would imagine so. It evokes quite the phallus imagery.” Peter deadpanned, tempted to stick out his tongue but deciding he’s better than that.
“No, seriously! I used to get called similar names. Middle school was rough.” Nightwing tried to soothe, but Peter wasn’t buying it.
He raised an incredulous eyebrow. “You’re telling me you got called Penis Parker when you were in middle school?” Peter said in a disbelieving tone, maybe even offended Nightwing thought he was that dumb.
“Well, not uh— that, but a similar variation. Loads of weenie words to pick from. Practically a bible of them.”
“Dictionary.”
“What?”
“Don’t you mean there’s practically a dictionary of them? Or, well,” A smile only befitting of a teenage boy about to make a dick joke spread across Peter’s face. “a Dick-tionary would be even better.”
Nightwing stared, perhaps affronted his talents were being shown up by a scruffy teen with an attitude issue and a penchant for saying ‘love you’ before fleeing.
“Weenie Bible.” Nightwing said again, completely serious.
And just like that, Peter knew why Nightwing was his unequivocal favorite hero. (In Gotham, c’mon guys, The Flash still exists!)
M-I-A-M-I from Vivo started playing again faintly in the background, his Frankensteined monster of a phone putting it’s all into embarrassing Peter. (Technically, this would make Peter Frankenstein, and his phone the monster, because Frankenstein is the doctor. He just wanted to make everyone aware of that fact.)
Peter sighed like a disappointed father.