Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gotham was cold.

The type of cold that seeped past Peter's carefully bundled layers of cotton and wool and settled right into his bones. He gathered a few judgemental glances as he rubbed his gloved hands together and blew on them to garner warmth.

He was never a winter person regardless, but ever since the bite his cold resistance had gone way down. A result of overpowered senses.

He also figured that the biting cold was normal in the gloomy city, considering the other Gothamites seemed to be faring perfectly fine in their thin coats and lazily placed scarves. Peter supposed he'd get used to it in time. He'd have to.

He gave the bus driver a quick thanks before stepping off at his stop. His new apartment building was ironically very old, one of the few places he could afford with his limited income that was close enough to Gotham U.

Peter was sure that a name like Crime Alley didn't hint toward a family-friendly quiet neighborhood, but he knew how to mind his business from growing up in Queens. If he kept his head down on his way to and from school everything should be fine. If trouble did arise, there would be no Spider-man to step in. He was done.

Finally hefting his suitcase up the final step of the narrow creaky steps leading to his door, he sighed and dug through his pockets for the key. He paused, squinting at the door before giving it a hard shove. It fell open immediately.

Huh. He'd have to fix that.

Peter was sure that trying to get whatever type of landlord this building had to get repairs done was a lost cause, and had already resigned to do them himself. He had never even met the man, only exchanging money through a (semi-sketchy) rental website before booking his ticket to Gotham.

He looked around the small studio apartment. There was a leftover mattress and shelf in one corner next to a window that only had the view of a brick wall. His small living area was paired with an even smaller kitchen and a paint-chipped door he could only guess led to a bathroom.

Beginning to unpack, he let out a deep sigh. His meager belongings looked incredibly bleak, even compared to the tiny apartment. He had nothing to his name after the spell. Hell, he didn't even have a name, and it'd been incredibly hard to juggle his budget between rebuilding a wardrobe and eating food.

After he put the few items he had away, there was one unmarked box left in the suitcase. The top had been slightly knocked off in the process of moving and he could see a sliver of red and blue. He ignored it.

He shoved the box and empty suitcase under his bed and laid down with a huff. He didn't give himself the chance to think about the situation, choosing to plan instead.

School began in two weeks. He would need to finish the in-person registration, sign off on his scholarships, and definitely get a job. Or two. Or three. Without a certain night-time routine getting in the way he suddenly had a lot of free time on his hands. And it wasn't as if he had any friends. Not now.

He shoved off his last remaining layers and made his way to the shower, suppressing a chill. All of the thermostats were landlord-controlled in this building, and apparently, the man didn't think 30-degree weather warranted a higher level of heat.

The water wasn't any better, barely getting to lukewarm as he briskly wiped himself down and got out. There was a large spider in the corner of the shower.

Peter left it be, in solidarity.

After washing up for the night he quickly bundled himself under two blankets, throwing a few pairs of jeans on top for extra warmth. Even that barely helped, and he drifted off to sleep with teeth chattering, dreaming of faces he wished he could forget.

_____________________________________________________________________

2 years Earlier

When Thanos attacked, Peter thought that dying would be the worst thing that happened to him.

Feeling every cell in his body crumble away was a pain sometimes replicated in his worst nightmares. Even worse was the memory of the others fading away with him and the fact that he, once again, let everyone down.

Let Mr. Stark down.

He supposed now he should just call him Tony, the man was never too big on formalities anyway. Not that there’d be a chance to.

One thing Peter knew is that he’d rather take the pain of dying ten times over than to watch MJ and Neds tear-streaked faces. He’d rather have every atom in his body combust than to say goodbye to them, but nothing ever really goes the way he wants to does it?

“Wha-what does that mean?” There was thick emotion in MJs voice, and Peter realized he’d never seen the girl so close to tears. He never wanted to again.

“You wont remember me, no one will. It’ll stop them from coming through like the last ones, and maybe-” He was cut off by a choked sob from Ned, and his best friend fixed him with an unbelieving glare.

“No way man, there has to be something else, I can’t-” He gestures towards MJ, who had gone suspiciously quiet. “We can’t just lose you, there’s no way.”

Peter didn’t trust himself to speak, fearing what he’d decide if he did. He wanted to reverse the last few days, hell, the last few years even. He wanted to tell Dr. Strange that he’d face any monster from any universe if it meant he could keep the last two people he had left.

He wanted his aunt back.

But he couldn’t. This was his mistake and his responsibility, and no matter how much it hurt, there was no other path to take.

He could see the wheels turning in MJs head, the grief, denial, and acceptance washing over her in waves. She always seemed to know what to do in emergencies, staying calm and calculating. It was part of the reason he fell in love with her.

“I-” Peter was gathering himself to say the words, knowing that he wouldn’t have another chance, but she cut him off with a kiss.

“Don’t.” Her breath ticked his ear from where her face settled into his shoulder, “Not until we see each other again okay?” She leaned back, grabbing his face between her palms, “You find us, and you tell us everything, you hear me?”

He nodded, heart-crushing at the wobble in her voice. Even then, he knew, this would be the last time he ever saw them. Another promise, broken.

He scooped them up into one last hug, it was probably too tight, but neither of them said a word. Swinging away, Peter fixed his gaze solely on Dr. Strange and the darkening sky above him.

There would be no looking back, no going back.

Dr. Strange’s usually stoic face was filled with pity, “I’m so sorry kid, this never should’ve happened.”

Peter didn’t want his sympathy. “Lets get this over with.”

Strange pauses, considering, “What you told them, down there-”

“I know! Okay? I know, but if I told them I was going away for good, they’d never let me.” His body sunk with defeat, suddenly feeling the pain and grief from the last few days wash over him tenfold.

After his counter-parts had escaped through their own portal, Peter had been pulled to the side by the sorcerer, who explained that the safety of this world depended on Peter not being in it.

Somewhere along the way, he’d taken the wrong ‘path’, so the only way to make sure this world’s timeline stayed safe was...to leave it. A parallel place, going somewhere similar, but not the same.

Peter wouldn’t just be erased from their memories but from their world entirely.

“Just, promise me you’ll look after them? Make sure they’re safe.”

The sorcerer agreed quicker than expected, “Of course, least I can do. No harm will come to them.”

Peter blinked away tears, he wouldn’t break down now, he didn’t deserve to. He could still see his friends staring at them from across the pier, he wouldn’t let their last memory of him be a crumbling mess.

He took a deep breath, straightening his spine. Behind his eyelids he could see faces. His aunt, happy and laughing at something Peter had said. Tony fixing him with a look of pride. His parents, blurry and lacking detail, but he knew the memory was happy.

“Do it.”

And his world went crashing down.

Chapter Text

Peter was this close to ripping his hair out.

For a city that constantly had people moving away (or dying under mysterious circumstances), no one seemed to be hiring. He was sure he had sent out at least five hundred applications over the last three days, but still no results.

He was getting desperate, the jobs he applied to had started off fairly normal: Bartender, Factory Worker, Mailman, etc. Now he had delved off into the deep end, applying to whatever was available. “Grave watcher” What'd that even mean?

He sighed, taking another sip of his hot chocolate. Usually in his mission to find free Wi-Fi, he didn't buy anything just to cut down on costs. But today was exceptionally cold, and he felt like it was needed after his troubles.

After planting his butt in the uncomfortable cafe seat for four hours he had yet to find any jobs on his laptop. He was sure the workers had grown tired of him, but they couldn't technically throw him out since he was a paying customer. They could, however, throw him glares as they wiped down every table but his.

The only other person who stayed nearly as long as he had was a guy folded up into another tiny booth. He had shrugged off his wool coat about an hour ago, and Peter could only see some of his face when he occasionally leaned away from his laptop to frown or pinch the bridge of his nose.

Peter didn't know what the guy was going through, but he definitely felt just as frustrated.

He sighed, packing up his things to leave. Each day that passed dimmed his hopes slightly. And the horrible weather didn't help. But there was nowhere for him to go back to, so he persevered.

As he got ready to leave, a conversation in the back room of the cafe caught his attention. Normal humans wouldn't have caught it, but he could clearly hear the conversation of a gruff woman and someone on the phone.

“Why the hell would she even be walking down that alley? She got sticks for brains?” The woman said, words heavy with a Gotham accent.

He could hear the other person on the line explain an injury, and estimated hospital time, but the woman cut them off mid-sentence.

“Ah, ah, I don't care if she got her femur busted or her he-mur, tell Angie when she wakes up there's no job for her here.” She replies before he can hear the end call tone.

“Tsk, now I'm a man short because happy go skippy wanted to go in the narrows.” He could hear the woman grumble as she made her way back to the front. She was a tall woman, easily 6'2, and definitely matched the gruff voice he heard speaking before.

He rushed forward to catch her attention before she left again. For such a big lady she moved pretty quickly. “Excuse me! Ma'am! You're the manager right?”

“I'm the owner.” She fixed him with a flat look, one thin brow raised in suspicion. “We don't do refunds if you're wonderin'.”

“Uhh no, I wanted to know if you were hiring actually? The pay doesn't matter and I'm not picky about hours I just really need a job.” He blurted out in one breath. The woman continued to eye him blankly. “Please.” He added on, hoping that his speech was good enough for her to ignore the fact that he didn't have a resume and was currently wearing sweatpants.

She looked him over from top to bottom, eyes narrowing on his faded Yankees tee and scuffed sneakers. “You got work experience?”

“Yeah I-” Peter started, only to cut himself off in remembrance. The few jobs he did work, including the Stark Internship, didn't exist anymore. He was a blank slate. “Actually no. But I do know how to work an espresso machine. And I'm a quick learner.”

He silently thanked Mr. Stark for having both a horrible sleep schedule and a crippling addiction to caffeine. He had been forced to learn how to work the mans absurdly expensive machine to complete what he called a “mini-mission”. A.K.A. getting Stark a latte before meeting him in the labs to discuss suit revision.

Peter ignored the pang he felt at the memory, bringing himself back to the present where he may-or-may-not become an underpaid barista.

The woman scoffs, “Alright kid, you're in. You start Monday, nine thirty am. You're lucky we just had an opening.” She hands him a card with her name on it and contact info, and he gives her a hastily scribbled-out phone number and email on notebook paper.

“Thank you so much Mrs. ah..” He glances at the card, “Denise. I really appreciate it.” He gives her a smile that's probably way too toothy, but he can't help it. The weight of finding at least one job is off his shoulders.

“T's just Denny, kid. There's not much paperwork since I pay in cash, but read over the recipe manual before Monday. You need to be prepared, because three strikes, you're out.” She made a cutting motion over her throat that Peter hoped meant that he would be fired if he messed up too much and not...Something else.

“Got it, you won't regret hiring me, promise! I'll see you Monday!” He practically bounced out of the door, too high on excitement to mind the biting wind that slapped him in the face on his walk home.

His excitement didn't waver all throughout his trek home, not even when he climbed up the alley fire escape to his apartment and climbed through the window.

Until he had the time to fix the door, he'd just been webbing it closed every day and entering through the window instead. He just hoped petty thieves in the area weren't the athletic type. Not that he had much to steal anyway.

He shoved his backpack off his shoulders and onto the bed, digging a humble meal of canned ravioli from his cabinet to heat up for dinner. He'd completed his first goal of finding a job, maybe his luck in Gotham wouldn't be so bad.

Tim's luck was incredibly, laughably, bad.

He knew he was missing something crucial since this morning, but could not for the life of him figure out what it was. It bothered him to no end.

When he focused on a case, the answer placed just out of reach always managed to place a metaphorical itch in his brain. The only way to scratch it was to find the answer.

After nearly ten years of handling Gotham's rogues, he could get a sense when something big was going to happen. It was usually when things were quiet. Activity in the city was very quiet.

But Tim didn't know who, where, or when.

He had been going over activity from the rogue gallery earlier in a nearby cafe but managed to find concerningly little. At least the espresso was passible, maybe he would return. As far as Tim could see, Penguin was laying low in his club, Scarecrow was nowhere to be found, and the pain-in-his-ass clown was still in Arkham. For now.

It still wasn't too late for the green-haired fiend to plan a breakout and terrorize the city, god knows he'd done it before. But reports and surveillance showed that at least for now he would stay put.

So why did Tim feel so on edge?

The feeling clung to him as he made his way back to the manor and strapped himself into costume. He had already decided to go over his patrol route meticulously, eyeing any potential trouble in the city.

He became even more unsettled as the hours passed and he encountered absolutely nothing. Not even so much as a petty robbery. He tapped his ear, unmuting himself on comms, “Oracle, what's the call rate for tonight?”

Babs replied instantly, constantly watching and cataloging information through about 10 computer screens before her. “Pretty low, I've heard about 25 come to the precinct, but most were false alarms or other miscellaneous issues.” She paused for a moment then continued in the trademark metallic tone of her voice changer, “Nothing in your area though Red Robin.”

He clicks his tongue, swinging through a series of buildings with his grappling hook quickly. “Hmmm thought so, thanks O.” Even as he soared above rooftops the sinking feeling only got worse. Something big was going to happen, and he wasn't going to be prepared for it.

“I know what you're thinking,” Dick started through the comms, “stop thinking it. You're gonna jinx us Burger King.” He said with a certain smugness.

Tim rolled his eyes even though the other man couldn't see him. “You're not funny. And being vigilant is a good thing, stay sharp.” He replied mirthlessly. His brother had been hellbent on calling him by different burger-adjacent restaurants as revenge. It'd been so long now, that Tim forgot what he even did to deserve it.

Not that anyone really ever deserved Dicks torture.

At least the demon brat had been on time-out for the night, something Bruce said about him “over-exerting” himself. He certainly wouldn't be the first to do so, but as the youngest Damien still had special privileges. The little devil certainly would've joined in on the bullying.

The red-clad vigilante stood on the edge of an unoccupied warehouse rolling his neck, letting out a sigh at the series of pops that followed. He'd been stretched too thin lately, and his body definitely felt it. With age, he had gotten better at time managing a multi-million dollar company and nightly crime-fighting, but the effort still took a toll.

He stayed to the building going through a series of stretches. Might as well, since it was nearly 3 a.m. and there was still no activity. He had time to kill.

As if on cue, there was a glint out the corner of his eye as he rose from a downward reach. Maybe Dick had a point about jinxing.

Turning around the narrow corner was an unmarked semi-truck, slowing to a crawl and then stopping at the garage doors of the building adjacent to him. After a moment, three men in smooth plastic masks climbed out the front and the garage doors opened, revealing at least 15 more.

Tim sunk into a crouch, watching them carefully without movement. The last thing he needed was for them to catch sight of him and scatter. Patience was essential.

Nothing happened for a while, the men just talked with each other boisterously laughing about something Tim was sure he didn't want to hear. They took so long that a tingling sensation had started to spread through his thighs. If it weren't for the suspicious as hell masks he might've just left.

Suddenly a new car arrived, so dark and silent he'd barely even noticed it with his vantage point. That car spelled money, no doubt holding the boss for the goons waiting around outside.

Sure enough, all the men talking grew quiet at the cars approach. Most of them retreated closer to the garage doors but two went to the motionless car and opened the door. Instead of a large cocky man in a suit or grotesque villian that Tim had been expecting, a small wiry woman stepped out.

The woman was so thin and unassuming that he was sure a strong gust of wind would be able to knock her over. The navy pantsuit she wore was slightly crumpled. Her bluntly cut auburn hair was pulled back with clips and he could see her push up a pair of large-frame glasses before speaking to one of the men without a mask.

“Enhance sound and visual.” Tim whispered. He could hear the last half of the sentence promptly afterward.

“-ready for shipment. We can go over the details inside.” The woman said, her voice just as demure as her appearance. But there was something deeply off about the way she spoke, purely monotone and detached.

He tapped his comms, ready to inform the others, “I have something on 42nd, suspicious activity and a shipment of some sort. Approximately 21 perps.”

“And I was enjoying such a quiet evening.” He could hear Steph heave a dramatic sigh before continuing, “I'll be there, eta 15 minutes.”

“Me too, I'm a little further out though so maybe 20.” Dick said breathily. Tim could picture him swinging faster than a Batarang to make his way from the other side of the city.

Duke and Cass were out of town on separate business, and Bruce had something to handle off-planet with the League, so Tim would only have the other two for backup. The three of them were more than enough to deal with this.

“Okay,” he said, settling into an even lower position, “I'll update if I see anything. Oracle, you get a run on these plates yet?”

The crackle of a reply came instantaneously, “Nope.” She said, popping the p. “They're fake as can be, I'm running facials now. Already found some misdemeanors and felonies for the goons, but nothing on the boss lady.”

Tim clicked his tongue in thought, if the Oracle couldn't find anything on this woman, she definitely spelled trouble.

The woman in question moved inside with the other men, leaving a few to stand guard outside. Tim debated his next move. He could easily slide by undetected to those trucks and see what was inside, but following the lady to the warehouse would reveal more about their plans. He silently grappled to the roof of the other warehouse, landing on loose gravel.

A quick search around him revealed several skylights. He picked one, popping the latch and sliding in quickly. “I'm going inside the warehouse now to gather more intel.”

A tutting noise could be heard through his earpiece, “Nuh-uh, stay put until we get there. I'm 16 minutes out now.” Dick's tone left no room for protest, so Tim simply ignored him. He could hear a soft crackle on the comms, and a check confirmed that the connection had weakened since stepping inside the building. There was some kind of signal blocker disrupting his comms.

That didn't matter, because he could feel it, this had something to do with that inkling he had earlier. He was not going to let the opportunity to gather intel pass.

His footsteps were silent along the wood of the rafters, each step bringing him closer to the voices below.

“So you can see here, we got a good space set up, my guys always get it done you's can be sure of that.” An obnoxiously loud and raspy voice said. “We'll have them arrive by Monday, bright 'n early, don't you worry your little head about it Dr.”

Tim stepped closer towards a gap in the wood below, where he could attach the voice to the second man who stepped towards the car outside. A short pudgy man with a head as round and heavy looking as a bowling ball.

He thought about what the man had addressed her as. It seems that the city might have another depraved medical associate on their hands. He repressed a shudder at the thought. Quinn was bad enough, and she was reformed.

The woman hummed in approval, “I'll hold you to that.” She said in the same whispered tone, “I need to be sure none of the product will be damaged, can you and your... associates be sure of that?” Even without a change in her tone, it was obvious she meant to be demeaning.

Time couldn't see her from where he stood, but he could see the other man bristle at the comment. “Like I said lady, we'll be the best ones for the job.”

“Dr.” She replied stiffly.

“What?” He barked, scratching at one ear with a pudgy pinkie finger.

“Only address me as Dr. Thorn, not lady, or missy.” Her voice still hadn't changed, even with her annoyance, but each word was punctuated with a faint clicking noise. It took Tim a few times to realize she was clicking a pen.

The man seemed to weigh his options, before shrugging, “Alright Dr. Thorn, I'm guessing as we're done going over everything you'll be heading home?” A snarky grin grew across his face, “I'm sure your little test tubes and such miss you.” He finished with faux concern.

The pen clicked once, twice, before she spoke again, “Alright, we'll call it here. But for your men's sake, there better not be a crack in those vials. You wouldn't want to inhale that.” He heard the click-clack of her heels as she walked back towards the garage.

Tim didn't dare speak from his location, but he knew his mask was cataloging the information he heard for a case file. The Dr. mentioned vials, which likely meant some type of liquid or gaseous material. It didn't seem coincidental that a new harmful substance came up right when Scarecrow fell off the radar.

They were leaving, and backup still wasn't here. Tim was running out of time, and he couldn't let them slip away with whatever was in that truck. He'd be able to track them down later, but who knows what destruction they could cause in the meantime. They needed to be stopped here.

He jumped down to a lower piece of the ceiling, still shrouded in shadow. He was about to throw down a smoke bomb when there was a sudden beeping noise. He paused at the same time as the doctor, waiting for whatever that beeping announced.

“Hmm, it seems that there's a pest that needs to be rid of before I go.” She said, walking back towards the center of the room.

Tim's spine went rigid when the beeping got faster the closer she got to him. Standing directly under where he stood, she looked up, glasses causing a harsh glare to block her eyes. “Hello, Red Robin.”

The smoke bomb didn't seem to deter her one bit, but it did disorient the other goons as he jumped down, springing into action.

He got lost in the quick thinking of combat, flipping and knocking the men around him unconscious with his bo staff. He could hear gunshots whizzing around him, but none of the men seemed to get good enough visuals on him. He had tried to get sight on the Dr., but her small frame had slipped away from him like a ghost.

Tim swings in an arc, bringing down the staff on an unsuspecting goon who was frantically trying to reload his gun. Flipping backward, he rocketed into another large man who seemed to be confident enough to fight him without a weapon at all. He slumped to the ground after taking Tim's boots straight to the face.

Ten down, three to go.

But there was still no sight of the Dr.

A gunshot grazed off his side, bouncing off the bulletproof material onto the warehouse walls. He tracked the shot back to the bowling ball head from before, who had immediately turned tail and ran for the doors after shooting.

Tim gave chase, turning on his heel towards the man. He ran so quickly it was easy to miss a small sphere rolling his way until it bounced against his foot. His body tensed, raising the staff to knock the ball away, but it was too late.

The ball exploded, releasing a light violet-colored gas that spread like a wildfire, consuming Tim's body completely. He held his breath, waving away the fumes as he stepped back. It made no difference, as he'd already taken a small intake of breath in surprise, and could feel the drug taking place in his body.

His limbs suddenly felt like led, and he dropped the staff with a clang. He quickly lost the ability to stand, crumpling down to his knees, then flopping onto his side. It was like he had completely lost control over his body, but when he tried, he found that he could still speak.

“What did you do to me?” He spat out. The drug's effect had worked its way down to his toes now, he was fully immobile and at their mercy. Think Tim, think. You're not dying here.

“Just a stationary gas, fully harmless after a few hours don't worry. I would be more worried about what happened now if I were you.” Dr. Thorn said, pushing up her glasses and clicking the pen he'd heard clutched in her right hand.

“There's others on the way, by all means, do your worst.” Tim said, voice modulator making his clipped words sound even more menacing.

“But they're not here now are they pig?” Bowling ball said walking back in from where he had ran away. “The high and mighty Robin weak and helpless on the floor!” He barked out a laugh and the few other goons not currently on the ground joined in, albeit nervously.

“It's Red Robin, not that I would expect you to know your colors.” Tim replied with a smirk. He couldn't let even a bit of his worry shine though, if he had to be antagonistic to overcompensate, so be it.

“You little shit, I'm gonna wipe that smile right off your little face-” The man reached over one of his men's bodies, grabbing a shotgun and firing into Tim's side.

Pain exploded in his side, and he fought back a grimace. Even with his bulletproof garb, a shotgun shell at close range did serious damage. Tim wouldn't be surprised if the night ended with him and a couple of bruised ribs.

“Control yourself, we're not killing him.” Came the Dr.'s calm reprimand. “In fact, we need to leave, the full force of Batman is not something we are prepared for right now.”

“To hell we are! I'm taking my chance to get rid of this weasel!” Bowling ball raised the gun again, this time to his face.

Tim stared down the barrel, non-flinching. He didn't know why the Dr. was intent on keeping him alive, but he'd use it for now.

“We, are leaving. That is final.” Came the Dr.'s solid response. She seemed to know that Bowling Ball needed her a lot more than she needed him, because she walked back towards her car without a backward glance.

Sure enough, Bowling Ball lowered the rifle, but not without complaint “Bossy bitch, thinks she knows every damn thing...” Tim could hear other words grumbled under the mans breath before he was out of earshot.

“Oh,” She said, turning around right as she got to the car door, “a parting gift.” She dug what looked like a miniature grenade out of her pocket rolling it on the ground towards him.

The last thing he saw was a cloud of grey smoke inching towards him, before his head hit the concrete and the world went black.

Chapter Text

Tim opened his eyes, immediately letting out a pained groan.

Not because of the pain, he was used to that. He could manage the throbbing in his side and the fact that his eyes felt like they were made of sandpaper. Pain came with the costume.

What he dreaded, however, was the surefire lecture he would get from nearly everyone in the house. Tim messed up, and no one was going to let him forget it for a long time.

He fluttered his eyes closed and considered pretending to still be unconscious when he heard typing to his left. He didn't have to turn his head to know who it was.

Tim fiddled with the infirmary blanket underneath him, considering the best way to smooth over the lecture to come. “Did you find out the properties?”

Bruce didn't so much as flinch while he read over a report, no doubt concerning whatever was in Tims bloodstream. He continued reading in silence for what felt like an eternity, never once looking in his direction.

Oh gee, the silent treatment.

“Look, I get it, I should've waited. But they were going to get away and,” He paused to hack out a cough, “now at least we have an idea of what they're using?” The last part came out more questioning than Tim intended.

All he got in return was another stretch of silence. Bruce was tinkering around in the medicine cabinet now.

“You're not going to say anything? Really?” Tim was getting annoyed now. He knew never to expect much from the old man, but being flat-out ignored was a new low.

A bottle of pain reliever was placed down at his bedside, along with some lozenges. “I don't think you want me to say anything, you already know how this happened.” Bruce's tone was flat, bordering on indifferent. Tim knew better.

“You're in time-out, house arrest until you're healed. A month minimum.”

Tim's stomach plummeted, “You can't- wha- no. That's too long, I have responsibilities! You expect me to stay in this house for a month? That's insane!” And he was almost twenty one for God's sake, what'd Bruce mean by “time-out”?

Bruce arched an eyebrow slightly, and he let out an amused huff “The responsibilities I gave you? You'll be fine.”

“I'll be good to go after a week, you know me, and you can't judge me when you never take time off.” Tim was practically pleading now, he knew that any period cooped up without the option to leave would drive him nuts. Especially with a case on the horizon.

“Do you want two months?” Bruce's flat stare was unrelenting, but the other man was equally as stubborn.

“Two weeks, and I get to leave the manor at least.” He bargained.

“Three weeks and we have a deal.”

“Deal.” Tim agrees, faltering when he sees Bruce's faint smirk. “Wait...”

The older man schooled his expression into indifference once more, gathering the form from the computer desk and starting towards the door. “Glad we agree then, I would say no detective work either but that might actually kill you. Just know that Alfred’s going to put you on decaf.” He says, before closing the door behind him.

Tim's been played. Bruce never expected him to rest for more than three weeks.

Still, even with the punishment he received, it went relatively well, who he really had to worry about were Alfred and Dick. Even worse if they teamed up on him. He repressed a shiver at the thought.

Tim groaned again looking over at the clock, maybe he could sneak out before they made their way there. Who was he kidding, they'd just ambush him upstairs. Might as well stay here and play sleep.

He rolled back over intending to do just that, only to have his heart nearly jump out his chest. “Motherfuc- Damien! What'd I say about that?”

“It isn't my fault you remain unaware of your surroundings.” Came his brothers deadpan response.

“What do you want?” Tim ran a hand over his face, wondering how he blighted the universe to deserve Damien and Bruce's presence right after each other.

“I simply wanted to observe the result of stupidity.” The boy remained there, and Tim assumed it could only be to bully him more.

“Really?”

“You're right, perhaps idiocy is a better word.” He was on a roll now.

“Don't you have homework to do? People to maim?” Before he could even finish, he could hear another headache coming through the door.

“Timmy! I hope you're alive! Because if you are I'm going to kill you!” Dicks voice reverberated off the walls and immediately caused a ringing in Tim's ears.

“And then I'll bring you back with the pools so he can kill you again.” Steph added, walking in behind him to flounce herself down in a chair.

“What were you thinking? Did I or did I not say wait for backup?” Dick parked his feet on Tims right, folding his arms over his chest with a frown.

“I had to.” He muttered in response, throwing an arm over his face to block the overhead lights. It offered some reprieve, but did little for his migrane.

Dick let out a guffaw, “Oh I'm sorry! You had to! That makes everything better! You could've died Tim, or worse.”

Tim lowers his arm to shoot him a look “Worse?”

Dick only glares in return, “You know exactly what I mean by that. What if it was fear toxin? Or they took you?”

“Well, Bruce already put me on lockdown, so there's no reason for you to be so mad.” Tim knew that Dick had every reason to be mad, but he'd never admit it.

The other man ran a hand through thick locks of wavy hair, letting out a sigh, “I'm not mad, just disappointed.”

There was a pause before both Tim and Stephanie started cackling.

“I don't know why you're laughing I'm very serious right now.” Even as he said it, Dicks hardened expression had started to ease.

The laughing started to delve more into coughing territory and Tim scooted into a sitting position, leaning over to pop one of the lozenges in his mouth.

Something in the gas had made his throat impossibly dry and itchy, a feeling that only got worse with talking.

Dick gave him a knowing nod, “We looked at it already, it's nothing like the toxin, closer to Halothane actually.” He pulled another stray chair to where he was standing and settled into it. “We're still running tests to see what it is entirely.”

The lozenge rolled over his tongue, the honey flavor soothing the itch slightly. “There were two, one incapacitated me entirely save for my head, and the other knocked me out. That one was grey.”

Steph let out a considering noise, “So the first one was colorless?”

He nodded in response, “Didn't have a smell either. Both of them had no smell.”

Dick cocked his head to the side, seemingly forgetting his lecture in favor of working to solve the case, “I'll look into anesthetic mixtures circulating the city, it won't be pretty, but I'm sure the type of drug that can stop someone's movement instantly is in high demand.” He grimaced as if the implication itself pained him. Tim supposed it does.

Steph let out another noise, rising to brush nonexistent dust off her pants. “I'll check in with Cass and see if she heard anything.”

The other men nodded morosely. They know what she means is that she'll check around in the city's brothels to make sure none of the women they watch over have already experienced the drug.

“And I'll-” Tim started, only to be cut off by Dick's scolding.

“You won't be doing anything, except for sleeping and trying to heal that side. Especially today.” His voice had lost all the previous humor, leveling Tim with a stare that could melt iron.

“Okay, okay fine. Just for now.” He settled back into the bed, eyes already becoming weighted.

“You better. I told Alfred to let me know if you cheat.” Dick rises as well, not without giving Tim an awkwardly placed hug.

“Get-get off me.” He grumbled shoving the man away.

“Alright, I'll leave you alone now, sleep tight Timmy-Tam!” He moves quickly towards the door, and Tim almost reminds him to take Damien too, but a quick scan of the room proves the little ghost had already slipped away somewhere in the past twenty minutes.

Tim settled himself into the thick blankets, quickly falling into a dreamless sleep.

Monday came faster than Peter had anticipated.

He was prepared. Or, as prepared as he could be. Throughout the weekend he had drilled the coffee and tea recipes from the manual into his memory and he knew them by heart come time for work.

It wasn't the recipes he was worried about.

What concerned him the most was the idea of having a job. Outside of odd jobs like delivering newspapers he'd never really had an actual job. He wanted to pull his weight of course, but Aunt May always told him to just focus on school. And when she found out about Spiderman...

So outside of the Stark internship (which was very outside the realm of a regular internship), he had no job experience.

And as much as Peter hated to admit, he kind of forgot how to talk to people. The last few months since the spell had severely limited his human interaction. Hopefully, he would adapt quickly.

That morning he had practiced in his grimy bathroom mirror while getting dressed. The fake smile he saw reflected there caused him to look away and finish getting ready in silence.

He finally arrived at the cafe after braving icy winds slapping at his face. He had to use a bit of his grip strength just so he didn't slide backward slightly on the icy sidewalk.

“You're late.” Denis-Denny, didn't even look at him as she unlocked the front door and ushered him inside.

Peter paused, startled “I uh, I'm on time?” He looked at the clock on the far wall just to make sure, but he had arrived exactly when she told him to.

“Ever heard on time means ten minutes early kid?” She shot back.

“Uh, no?” In truth, he was sure Mr. Stark had said something similar before, but the man had what seemed like an infinite number of proverbs in his lexicon, Peter didn't bother memorizing all of them.

Maybe he should have.

“Put your stuff back there in a locker and come back up here.” She says, before busying herself with something on the register.

Peter shuffles quickly to the back room and stuffs his jacket in. Hanging on the hook is an old apron, the cafes logo stitched on the right side. He slipped it over his head, it smelled slightly of cigarette smoke and espresso.

He made his way back up to the front to have a small object thrown at him. He looks down at the nametag questioningly, the name “Perry” is scrawled over it in Sharpie. Maybe it's best to not correct her.

“You read the manual?” She all but barks out at him, turning to the machines behind the counter.

He moves to stand next to her, “Yeah, I have all the recipes and stuff memorized so you don't have to worry!”

“Good. Keep the back counter clean. I don't care how busy it is, you keep it clean.” She moves along the machines, gesturing to the weathered towels hanging under them.

“We make drinks the way they are, if someone asks for a change they can damn well go somewhere else.” They had made their way around the small workspace and arrived back at the registers. “You ring them up like this.”

It was thirty more minutes of Denny rushing through instructions and various warnings before Peter was allowed to handle a customer. He had requested to practice making a drink prior to opening, but Denny didn't want to “waste product”.

Regardless, the first purchase went without a hitch, and with an approving grunt from his boss Peter was left to his own devices. It was kind of awkward getting used to handling customers rough greetings, and he'd burned himself at least three times, but in no time he had devised a rhythm of sorts.

Halfway through his shift, he looks up from wiping down the counters at the sound of the door chimes. “Hi, welcome!” As usual, the customer looked slightly taken aback at his cheeriness, but the man shook it off and made his way to the counter.

“Hello, I'll order in a moment.” The man politely replied, voice with a slight rasp to it. He wore sunglasses and a hoodie, layered with a cool coat.

Peter couldn't help but think how the man looked like a stereotypical detective in a movie. Even in the way he acted, smoothly taking in all the occupants of the cafe. It didn't help that he was also very attractive, easily on-par with a celebrity.

“Can I get a large house blend latte with 4 extra shots?” He paused, contemplating, “make that five actually.” He said with a smile.

Peters head whipped up from the register screen, eyebrows disappearing under his hair, “Um, I don't think I can.” He counts mentally and wondered if the man was insane or just didn't consider the amount. “That's like nine shots of espresso.”

The man shrugged, “You can charge however much extra I don't care.”

Peter blinked, “I'm not concerned about the price, I was talking about your health.”

There was silence for a moment, before the man started laughing. It's a bright sound that makes Peters cheeks redden slightly. “Oh! Don't worry about that, I've had and done worse.” His laughing delved into a hacking cough, which frankly didn’t help his case.

After a beat, Peter caved, ringing up the latte in all its horror. He paused for a moment, “Do you want me to switch the sugar for honey? It might help soothe your throat a bit.”

The man looked slightly startled at the question, having been typing on his phone previously. “That would be great actually, thank you...” He glanced at the name tag, “Perry.”

Peter waved him off and loaded two espresso pucks in neighboring machines, “No prob, and that's not my name.”

The other man raised a brow, clearly confused at the last statement, but Peter was already busying himself with fixing the order. He put in seven shots, the man wouldn't know.

In less than five minutes, there was a ready latte on the counter. The man retrieved, it smiling again, “Thanks not-Perry, you're a lifesaver.” He raises the lid to his lips but pauses to read the words on the side.

Peter busies himself with cleaning the machines to avoid the mans gaze. Writing 'Get better soon :)' on the side of the cup seemed like a nice gesture, but he wasn't expecting the man to notice it until he left the building. Now he just had to anxiously pad around his workspace to look busy until the guy left.

He fixes Peter with an unreadable glance and takes a sip, “Well if you keep making it like this I'll be good in no time.”

Before Peter could squeak out a response, the man was gone, chimes above the door signaling his departure.

He couldn't decide if he wanted the man to be a regular, or never see him again.

Chapter Text

He became a regular.

It had been two weeks, and the oddly dressed man showed up consistently for Peters shifts, always in the same hour window. Sometimes he would order a drink and leave immediately, like the first day. Other times he would find a corner to type away at his laptop.

He still hadn't learned the mans name, but consistently wrote little messages or doodles on his cups. It didn't mean anything of course, he just didn't want to disappoint a customer. And if the smile on the mans face every time he looked at Peters messages made his stomach do a little flip, no one had to know.

“Your heart is going to give out one of these days.” Peter said in lieu of a greeting as the man made his way to the front.

The man grinned, flashing a set of brilliantly white teeth, “Don't start getting judgy on me now, you're my best dealer!” He clasped his hands in a faux pleading gesture.

Peter rolled his eyes playfully, sliding the cup over the counter. He had estimated the mans arrival and had finished the drink right before the door chimed.

He looked down at the cup, raising a brow, “Am I that predictable, not-Perry?”

Peter shrugged, “I don't know, are you?” He paused, “And my name is Peter.”

The man takes a sip, eyes raking over Peters nametag, “So what, you were just trying to be inconspicuous?”

“No, my manager she,” He waves a hand towards the backroom, “ I don't think she knows my name. Even now.”

He raised both brows, “Huh. That's not good employee management.”

Peter waved again, “Oh I don't mind, she's not too mean. By the way, you never told me yours.” He looked at the man expectantly.

“My what?”

“Your... Name?”

The man looked downright dumbfounded, blinking at Peter. “You don't know?”

Peter squinted at him, maybe the man was a celebrity of some sort? He rolled through his internal Rolodex of faces he knew in his New York but ultimately came up blank. “Should I?”

“I, well,” The man stammered, clearly not accustomed to the encounter he found himself in, “I probably shouldn't assume you did, that would be-” He took in a deep breath, “My name's Tim.”

Now it was Peters turn to raise a brow, wondering silently why it was so much fuss just for him to say his name was Tim.

“Nice to formally meet you Tim. I'm assuming you're a native here?” He busied himself with wiping the counters again to avoid the sharp gaze of the other man.

The man-Tim, was still fixing him with a weird look, but answered nonetheless, “Yeah, pretty much. I'm assuming you're not?”

“Nope,” Peter says, popping the p. “Moved from New York recently.”

Tim seems even more shocked than before, leaning on the counter closer to Peters space, “What? Why?”

Peter flinched back on instinct, covering the action by reaching down to refill the napkins and straws next to him, “Everyone seems to wonder that. I don't know, just needed a change.” The last part sounds more somber than intended.

Tim seemed to notice somehow, making his voice softer, “Well, you're here now.” His eyes take on a newfound uncertainty, “And if you ever want a guide around town, I'd be happy to show you some spots.”

Peters head popped up, “Really? You'd do that?” He hadn't had much time to explore the city, and didn't want to risk wandering into the most dangerous bits by accident.

Having someone from the city to guide him would be amazing.

“Of course,” He grabs a napkin and a pen from his jacket pocket, scribbling down something. “feel free to call or text anytime.” He hands Peter the napkin with a smile.

He takes it, folding it neatly and sliding the paper into his top pocket. “I'll do that.”

Tim left soon after, saying something about a meeting, but it didn't matter. Peter was still smiling like a fool at the man's scrawling script flowing across the cheap napkin.

Hours after the encounter, on the walk home, he found himself smiling again at the memory. Peter expected many things coming to Gotham, crime, general hostility, a distraction from New York, what he didn’t expect was to make a friend.

At least, that’s what he figured Tim wanted to be, giving him a number to call, but maybe the man was just being nice? The uncertainty weighed in his stomach like lead. The more he thought about it, the less it made sense that someone like Tim would want to be friends with him.

He didn’t know the man well, but he was clearly of some importance. The way he would mutter about meetings and business plans was a clear indicator of that. Not to mention the sunglasses he wore that were worth more than Peters yearly salary.

Maybe Tim just felt pity at him. Maybe the number wasn’t even real.

‘As if you deserve to have a new friend’

Peter flinched at the voice, turning towards the glass window of the shop next to him. Hazy in the dirty reflection was Ned, fixing him with a look of venom he’d never seen on his friends face.

‘You couldn’t even keep us safe, what makes you think you can disappoint someone else?’

“Shut up.” The murmur was quiet, and the sounds of other people drowned it out completely, but the voice of Ned still spoke in his mind, startlingly clear.

‘You never learn, do you?’ The voice was even harsher now, grating in his ears ‘Gonna destroy this world now? Might as well, there’s no one to-’

“Shut up!” Peter couldn’t stop himself from shouting, and suddenly there was a wide berth around him on the sidewalk. No one made eye contact, but he could see the looks shot his way.

Wary. Afraid. They had a good reason to be.

The voice had stopped, and the rest of the walk home was only filled with the sounds of the city around him. Peter didn’t smile for the rest of the day.

“Tell me you did not use the ol’ I’ll show you around the city sometime.” Steph was lazily draped over a chair in the corner, somehow drinking a milkshake upside down while also laughing at his demise.

“I know I shouldn’t have told you anything, why do I always make this mistake?” Tim ran a hand over his face wearily. Something had taken over him earlier, some kind of demon or ghost had possessed him to give Perr- No, give Peter his number.

At the time, he had gazed into the mans chocolatey brown eyes, and thought it was the best idea in the world. It wasn’t until the caffeine high had worn off that he started to reconsider the act.

What if Peter thought he was hitting on him? Was Tim hitting on him? He thought back to the way the other mans hair curled above his brow, or the blinding smile he would give Tim whenever the chimes sounded above the door. Just the memory of him gave Tims stomach a little flip.

Yep, definitely possessed. He should call Constantine, the man would probably do a quick exorcism for a pack of cigs and a twenty. Clearly, Tim had lost his mind.

“I’m sure he’s not even gonna call, who’d call a weird customer anyway?” Yeah, he thought, to Peter he was nothing more than a latte addicted regular. There was no way he would take him up on the offer.

A scoff sounded off from where Cass was trying, and failing, to pretend she wasn’t listening.

“He’d call if you were Tim Drake Wayne millionaire executive extraordinaire,” Steph gasped dramatically, “Oh wait! You are!”

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t ever call me that again. And I told you, he doesn’t know who I am, it was weird.”

Duke chose that moment to waltz into the reading room, juggling in his hands a notebook, laptop, two phones, and a steaming cup of tea. “Who doesn’t know what now?”

“Nothin-”

“Timbo has a crush on a cute barista and gave him his number, but apparently the guy has no idea who he is.” Steph was all too excited to relay the news to Duke, who unfortunately, obtained a newfound gleam in his eye.

“Oh?” He plopped down on the couch across from them, his initial plans forgotten. “Tell more.”

“Okay first off, it is not a crush, he’s just new to the city and I’m helping him out.” Another scoff from the corner of the room, “Second, I never said he was cute. You’re adding things.”

The blonde raised a brow, taking a loud slurp from her shake before responding, “Oh please, I can at least give you credit for your taste in dating. I mean, you dated me after all so you must only like cute people.”

Tim threw a pillow at her, ignoring the squawk of her complaining about the spilled milkshake.

Duke grimaced, “I thought we agreed to pretend that didn’t happen. Also, how do you know he was telling the truth? Literally everyone knows who we are.”

Everyone sighed at the last sentence, and Duke was quick to continue, “Yeah, yeah, I know. But you know I’m right. There wasn’t a time I can remember after associating with this family that someone didn’t recognize us-” He shifts his glance, “Okay, maybe you Cass, but the rest of us? Not a chance.”

“I know, but trust me. He was dead serious, and I would’ve been able to tell if he was lying.” He pinched his nose between his fingers, thinking back to Peters wide-eyed gaze, there wasn’t a lick of recognition in his eyes.

Steph, after seemingly collecting herself and her drink, settled back into a relaxed position on her chair. She made a hum of consideration, then shrugged, “Maybe his memory got wiped.”

Tim could feel a migrane start to form. “Why,” he started slowly, “is that the conclusion you come to?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Duke chimed in.

“Or, and consider this, maybe he just doesn’t keep up with the news.”

Steph raised a brow, “Or social media.”

“Or billboards.” Duke added.

‘Or magazines.’ Cass signed.

Tim huffed in frustration, fighting down the need to make an excuse for why Peter doesn’t recognize him. Anything he says about the man could be used as ammunition to prove his “crush”, so the best option would be to leave. “I can’t stand any of you by the way.”

Gathering his stuff to leave, he ignored Steph shouting out a “Love you too!” and Duke giving him a Korean finger heart. The only recognition he got from Cass was a knowing smile.

Tim seriously considered that exorcism.

Chapter Text

The next few days passed in a haze, and Peter let himself get lost in the cycle of wake up, work, shower, go to sleep, repeat.

Tim didn’t show up again, and Peter shoved down his feeling of disappointment at the fact he was right. The man had clearly thought about the exchange they had and was avoiding Peter at all costs. It was for the best.

The small grating voice crawled in his ears again, ‘You won’t let it happen again, no one here can know who you really are.’

It had happened a lot in the past few weeks, in silent moments. He had this little voice offering, frankly unwanted, advice. No matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to shake it.

Peter climbed wearily into his studio window, shutting it quickly behind him in an effort to keep out the chill. It was a lost cause, but shoving more of his unworn clothes up to the holes around the window frame helped slightly.

He sighed, glancing around at his meager possessions. When he first woke up from the spell two years ago, he was back in his apartment in Queens. For one wonderful moment, he thought that it had all been a dream, and that Aunt May would come around the corner, enveloping him in the tight hugs he was used to.

But the apartment was empty, save for all of Peters things. He felt a slight bit of gratitude towards Dr. Strange, he at least left Peter with something to start over with.

He quickly went to sorting out everything. Like

had seen before, all of his belongings were there, but the rest of the home was suspiciously vacant.

A quick peek in the fridge confirmed his belief that no one had lived in this apartment for a long, long time.

In another stroke of ironic luck, no one was interested in living there either. Apparently, in this world, the place took on a much higher price tag, and no one was really willing to pay quadruple digits for this part of Queens. It looked like the owner didn’t get that memo, as they kept the water running in preparation of a new tenant.

He became a bit of a recluse for months, only leaving for food and daily necessities before scurrying back to his empty bedroom.

At first he felt nothing at all, an empty void where he was sure emotions were supposed to be. He avoided every thought about what happened. It was better to pretend.

One day, it came crashing down.

He was sorting through his things again, calculating on a notebook how much money he had left before he had to worry about getting more food, when a slip of paper fell out of the pages.

He reached towards it, fingers shaking, and when he turned it over there was the unmistakable scrawl of MJs handwriting.

‘Hey loser,

You left this behind in calculus, didn’t your aunt teach you to keep up with things? For someone with so much ‘sense’ you’re really forgetful. I guess I’ll just have to just keep picking up behind you huh?’

A wet drop hit the paper, swirling the portion of ink, and Peter shoved away the paper like it had burned him.

It was like a dam had broken, and Peter couldn’t stop the deep sobs that wracked through his body. He couldn’t bring himself to stop crying well into the night.

It had finally settled into him, they were gone. And he would never see them again.

The months that followed only got worse, and it seemed like he found a reminder of his past life everywhere he went. It turns out, this New York had a lot in common with the old one. Too much in common.

With each restaurant or street corner he recognized, he’d lost a bit more of his mind. Peter had to get out of here.

That’s how he found himself in a public library, looking up nearby cities with the lowest cost of living on a dusty computer. A few caught his eye, but one stood out from the others.

Gotham city simultaneously had the lowest cost of living and the highest costs for insurance. More reading unveiled the reason for the too-good-to-be-true price tag. The city was riddled with crime.

A ridiculous amount of crime.

Peter almost wrote it off for that reason. He didn’t want to move to a place where he’d be tempted to save people, but further investigation showed that a bat-themed group of heroes already had that covered.

He packed quickly, finding a place in one of the more liveable parts of Gotham with the college fund he’d been saving up from his internship money. Stark had insisted on paying him, even though the internship wasn’t very legitimate. He had muttered something about ‘child labor’, and Peter was grateful for it.

Altogether, it was a little under seven thousand, which seemed like a lot, but wouldn’t stretch very far without a job. He’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

Now, as he stood in the middle of his creaky studio apartment, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret the decision. He left New York to escape his ghosts, and maybe some had followed him along, but it was still better than the suffocation of all he knew before.

He sighed, shuffling over to the bathroom to take a quick shower before bed. He let out another sigh, this time in contentment, as the warm water washed over his achy shoulders. Never in a million years would Peter have thought working as a barista would leave him as sore as patrolling, but Denny was a hard driver.

A series of pops sounded from his spine as he stretched. Maybe Peter was just out of shape.

“Hi Wallace.” He shot a glance up at the spider who’d made a home in the corner of his bathroom. Somehow, the insect didn’t mind the steam or general dampness, and continued to spin his webs happily.

Or at least, Peter assumed he was happy. Despite the jokes the other Avengers would shoot his way, Spider-Man couldn’t actually speak to spiders. It was one of the things he remembers dramatically complaining about when he found out Ant-man could speak with his insect friends.

Nope, don’t think about them right now.

“Are you happy? I hope you are.” He looked up at the spider again, which had stopped in its web-spinning ministrations at the sound of Peters voice. “That’d make one of us at least.”

Maybe he was losing his mind faster than he thought.

The next morning started slow, as they usually did, but Peter felt an unfamiliar pringle in his skin. It was like he could sense it, an incoming storm. It filled him with dread.

Whatever attack happened on the city now, he wanted no part in it.

The Bat-clan had that covered, and they were way more prepared for it than he was. Spider-Man would only get in the way.

His walk to the cafe was quieter than normal. Even the streets normally filled with peddlers and pedestrians alike were bare. He didn’t have a tv, or internet, so he’d just have to wait and find out what was going on.

The trip to the cafe was record-setting short, as he’d unconsciously broken into a sprint to escape the tense silence. Upon arriving, the dread only deepened.

Denny was outside, nailing boards to cover the glass windows. On the door he could see a large sign that read, ‘closed until further notice’

The woman wasn’t easy to startle, but she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of Peter. “Fucking-What in bejezus are you doing here kid? Almost got a nail to the face.”

He flinched back, shrugging his shoulders in apology, “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” His eyes flicked over to the box of nails by her feet. “Did something happen?”

She looked at him like he’d suddenly grown another head. “If I wasn’t sure you were crazy before...”

He blinked at her blankly.

She let out a gruff noise, placing the tools in her hands carefully on the sidewalk. “Listen, you didn’t get a clue when even the snow sniffers weren’t on the corner?”

Peter felt a slight tick of irritation at her avoidance. People of this city really didn’t like to explain things did they? He gestured exasperatedly around him. “I knew something was happening, I just don’t know what.”

Denny seemed to find some sympathy for him, because she finally goes into explaining why everyone suddenly went into lockdown. “There’s been a breakout at Blackgate, all the baddies are out. Normally it wouldn’t be any hullabaloo, but the clown bastard got out too. News is sayin there’s gonna be something tonight, so we all gotta hunker down for now.”

The entire city is on lockdown because of a... Clown?

Peters face apparently showed his confusion because Denny continued explaining.

“Last time him and his paint posse wreaked havoc, set bombs in the square. A lot of people lost someone that day. So no one wants to take any chances here.”

Her voice held a tone that suggested she also lost someone that day, so Peter didn’t press further. Instead, he gestured towards the cafe doors.

“So, how long are we closed for?” He tried to shove down the panic in his voice as he waited for an answer. Searching weeks for a job only for said job to be shut down was just the kind of luck Peter had.

“Ideally? Only a few days, god knows any more than that would be a dent on the books. Either way, you’re not goin in today, so get home Perry.”

His lips twitched at the name, and Peter could only murmur a goodbye before he was off again in the direction of his apartment. It was seven o’clock now, and Peters stomach was just starting to ruble with the rise of the sun.

Usually around this time he would sneak something from the cafe kitchen, but that was no longer an option. Just like Denny, he assumed the other stores would also be shutting down in preparation of the clown, so the only option now would be the minimal snacks he had stored in his place.

His stomach did a flip at the thought of more cold ravioli. It was going to be a long day.

Tim hated when he was right.

Especially when he’s proven right after something happens.

It was sudden, as these things usually are, and he had just gotten off patrol in the early hours of morning.

The trip had been uneventful. Ever since their stint with Dr. Thorn and the band of idiots, there’d been no new leads on the mystery gas. A fact that left most of them on a knifes edge.

Detectives at heart, all of them hated when something went unanswered, but for Tim, this was personal.

They had gotten the drop on him, and it wouldn’t happen again.

So even as he tugged the rest of his suit straps off and shook out weary joints, sleep was the last thing on his mind.

He was planning to investigate more pharmaceutical locations in the city over a bowl of cereal when he was intercepted by Bruce.

He was in full suit-up, despite not being scheduled to patrol until later that night. That alone made Tim anxious.

“There you are, there was a breakout. Get something to eat and then suit up.” The man was already disappearing down the hall before Tim could squeak out a response.

What was wrong with the communication in this family?

Tim let out an indignant noise, following Bruce back down to the cave. Upon entering the cavern, he could see Dick enter from the other side, already dressed for action.

“I thought I told you to eat something, then come down.” Bruce didn’t turn as he spoke, fingers flying over his keyboard as he searched for something of value.

“Yeah, we’ll you also mentioned something a lot more serious so excuse me for getting distracted.”

As childish as it felt, Tim couldn’t help rolling his eyes. He really was expected to eat right now?

Dick muttered something under his breath, but the other man tuned it out in favor of scanning the screens of the cave for information.

With each word he read, the cacophony of noise rose in his skull. It was the same feeling he had after lying frozen on the warehouse floor.

I knew it, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it, I-

He blocked out the sound, zoning in on one message. It’s from the police scanners, the scared-shitless officer quickly informing the others about a sighting of the Joker.

He mentioned a street, 67th. The street Peter works on.

He’d thought about the brunette a lot in the past few days, more than he should’ve. After their last meeting he had been avoiding the shop because of his own embarrassment.

Tim should’ve at least made a quick visit, he realized with a pang of guilt. To the other man it must’ve seemed like he’d done a complete 180.

But then again, Peter had never called, so maybe attachment wasn’t as mutual as he thought.

He shook the thoughts away, physically shimmying his shoulders as if that would rid his brain of Peter manually. Ignoring the funny look Dick gave him, he retreated back to the other end of the room to get dressed.

Bruce’s voice was steady as he began organizing, “Red Robin, I want you on watch out. Stay at this area on 70th and do not intervene. Nightwing, you’re with me, we’ll get closer to the street, see if they left any tracks.”

Tim wanted to argue, but one glance from the both of them and he knew it would be no use. He was lucky they were letting him that close at all given what happened last time.

Maybe from his area he could see how the cafe was doing.

“Alright, fine.” He paused for a moment, adjusting his staff where it was strapped across his back. When it was apparent that was all the instruction he’d get for now, he left.

Swinging over the city felt like jaywalking through a funeral. It was silent, save for the occasional police siren or train rattle, like all of Gotham was holding its breath.

He swung faster, ignoring the sting of cold air hitting his face.

Soon enough, he was perched on the roof of a building on 69th. It wasn’t exactly where Bruce told him to be, but close enough that the old man wouldn’t have a fit.

On the way there, he’d passed the cafe, unsurprised to see it boarded down. It looked like a preventative measure so no one would even think about breaking the windows. Smart choice.

Hopefully that meant Peter would be out of harms way for no-What the fuck?

The man in question was sitting on a nearby roof, planted (much too close) to the edge. He hadn’t noticed Tim, and was gazing out across the city, legs swinging casually.

As he bent down Tim noticed he was eating what looked like… a can of ravioli?

His brain short circuited, and before he could consider the consequences, his grapple hook was swinging him over to Peters side.

The man must’ve heard the whirr of the grappling hook, because he jumped to a stand right before Tim’s boots hit the ground.

Tim raised his hands in a placating gesture, the distance between Peters shoes and the building ledge not going unnoticed by him.

“Hey, no, relax. I’m not going to hurt you. Just wanted to make sure you were,” He paused, not really knowing what he wanted to make sure of. The choice to speak to Peter was purely instinctual. “Safe.”

About ten different emotions flicked over the brunettes face, but oddly enough the most prominent seemed to be annoyance.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.” He stepped back again towards the ledge.

Tim had to force himself to stay back, in fear of crowding the other man’s space and making him retreat some more. One more step and Peter would be over open air.

“Wouldn’t rule that out quite yet, there’s some dangerous people milling around. You should be inside.”

The other man blinked, “I’ve been told.” He continued to stare at him, like the vigilante would disappear if he glared long enough.

Tim was confused at the hostility. Usually, the people of Gotham met him with two emotions: Fear, or hope. The only people pissed off at him tended to be rogues, so why was Peter so guarded?

Did they have an interaction before that he didn’t remember? Or did Peter just not like the bats in general?

“Okay, I’m happy you were informed of the situation, but you really should be heading home. Or at least, away from the ledge?”

Peter looked down quizzically, as if he suddenly realized where he was standing. Even more interesting was the quirk of his lip as he replied, “Not that far of a drop.”

Much to Tim’s relief, he did step away from the ledge. He kept his distance however, leaving about five feet of space between them.

“Really I’m fine, so you can go handle…” his eyes scanned Tims suit from top to bottom “whatever it is you do.”

Tim was almost a bit miffed at the judgy tone, but it was at that moment a voice spoke over his comms, distracting him from any witty retort he might’ve had.

“We have something,” Batman’s gravely voice flooded his earpiece, “Everyone regroup to discuss.”

He turned away from Peter, pressing a finger to his ear before responding . It was unnecessary of course, he only did it to signal that he was speaking to someone else. “Be there in a minute.”

He turned back towards Peter, an apology ready on his tongue, but the roof was empty. He rushed to the edge, considering maybe the man had fallen off without him looking, but instead of a bloody mess he found… Nothing.

There was no hint of Peter there, or on any neighboring roofs. He had disappeared into thin air. With Tim’s training, it should’ve been impossible to sneak away from him, much less so on a five story building.

“Oracle? Did you-”

“Yeah, I did. I tried to pull up nearby cams but they’re a no-go. I didn’t see him leave either.”

It seemed like Tim had two cases to focus on now.

Chapter Text

No birthdate.

No last name.

No address or family to speak of.

Peter was a ghost, and Tim was quite frankly tired of dealing with the dead.

After his little meeting with Pete, he immediately ran a quick search on the mini database of his watch. It wasn’t supposed to bring up much, just some general information for Tim to start with before he got to his computer back home, but he wasn’t expecting to find nothing at all.

Nada, zilch.

The pringle started up again under his skin.

“Red! Where are you?” Stephanie’s voice could be heard over the crackle of the comms, knocking him from the focus of his discovery.

“I already said I was on the way, calm yourself.”

“Yeah, I can see that, Sherlock. What I was implying is that you should hurry the hell up.”

There was an underlying tension in her voice that stopped him from arguing. Whatever Bruce and Dick found on that street couldn’t have been good.

He held his tongue, whipping through the streets fast enough to tear his arm off with a wrong turn. He couldn’t help but think this was only the beginning.

Flying into the cave was a dive into chaos.

“We have to do something now, there’s no time for this!” Dick was pacing back and forth, waving a sheet of paper wildly.

“I am telling you, it is a trap. T.R.A.P.” Shouted Stephanie from across the cavern. “It’s obviously a distraction from what that bitch is really gonna do!”

“Language, please.” Bruce had removed only his cowl, leaning back against the computer station with his nose pinched between his fingers.

Tim ignored them for the time being, walking over to where Duke was watching from afar. “What’s going on?”

“We just received visual from the breakout, turns out they used the same gas they threw at you on the guards.” He passed a piece of paper over to Tim, eyes still fixed forward to where the others were shouting.

“Every guard was rendered immobile, it was a massacre.”

Tim sucked in a breath through his teeth. He remembered very well the feeling of being stuck in his own body, the terror of not being able to defend himself.

“That, is what they found on the street corner.” Duke added, gesturing to the paper he’d handed over.

Tim looked down to the page, on the front was a photo of a note. The words were sloppy and written in a dark crimson, nearly illegible. Even with the mess, he could make out the words, ‘Tick, tock.’

“So there’s a time limit?” Tim looks back up at Duke, eyebrows furrowed. It definitely wouldn’t be the first time the clown set a time limit to stop his antics.

“Not just that, we think he has hostages. Reports of college students going missing from the nearby campus started about thirty minutes ago.” He heaved a sigh, the news only seeming to wear the man down. “Like, they disappeared into thin air. Cass is already on it to see if we can find traces of the gas.”

Tim took in the information, eyes scanning over Duke. The normally energetic glint in his eyes was gone, leaving behind dark circles and a dull pallor. “When’s the last time you slept Duke?”

The other man arched his brow, “If you think you, of all people, should be asking me that question, you’d be sadly mistaken.”

“Okay fair enough.” He surveyed the room again noting that the argument between Steph and Dick had simmered down to slightly agitated conversation.

“For the record, I would just like to announce that I was right.” Damien was perched atop a shelf, god knows why, and had the nerve to look haughty about the situation.

Steph shot him a look, “Right about what?”

“The Joker. After Timothy’s embarrassing defeat in the warehouse,” Damien started, non-flinching when the aforementioned man threw a book at him. “I deducted that it was a larger scheme and that Dr. Thorn would likely be introducing a bigger threat into play.”

“Keep one eye open while you sleep.” Tim pointed a finger at him threateningly.

“I’m only being truthful.” The little demon blinked innocently. He looked more like a gargoyle from where he was leaning down, half bathed in shadow.

“Be as it may, Joker has partnered with a threat known to have biochemical weapons. We know his alliances don’t usually last long, but anything they decide for now could be catastrophic.” Bruce’s voice reverberated throughout the cavern, commanding attention.

A beep sounded on the computer behind him, and he looked down at his watch to read the message. “That’s Cassandra. Like we thought, the traces of gas were on campus,” another series of beeps, “she’s coming back now.”

“Exactly, catastrophic,” Dick chooses the moment of silence to chime in again, waving his arms around to accentuate each word “We need to do something now, before it gets worse.”

“And what do you suggest that might be, when we have no leads and any action could make this worse?” Steph shrugged, sarcasm practically dripping from her, “Oh wait! You don’t have any ideas!”

“I have two, but you’re not gonna like who they are.”

Dick had settled into a slouch against the wall, posture deceptively relaxed.

“Who? Not what?” Tim asked. He hoped he was wrong about what the man would say next.

“We’re gonna need all the man power we can get, and Hood knows these areas-”

There were a series of sighs and curses around the room.

“Don’t invoke his name.” Bruce didn’t even sound mad, just exasperated with the suggestion. But Tim didn’t miss how there was a newfound tension in his shoulders.

Dick continued on like the interruption never happened, “he knows these areas, and the people in them on a much more personal level. If there’s a mystery drug roaming around his streets, or some new activity, he would probably know something.”

Know something we don’t, Tim filled in the blanks. He also couldn’t help but notice the way Dick addressed him, Hood. Not Jason. Strictly professional.

“You said two ideas, what’s the other one.”

Dicks eyes flicked over to Tim, and he could swear there was more than an ounce of mischief in them. “You tell me Timbo, who do we know that specializes in biochemical warfare on a daily basis?”

“Oh god no.”

“Oh god yes.”

There was a thick silence in the room, as everyone seemed to await the final gavel.

Tim watched as Bruce seemed to estimate every possible reaction from their choice. The only hint of his unease was a small tick in his dark brow.

“It’s our best option for now, we’ll leave in ten.”

Duke heaved a deep sigh, “I’ll go get the hazmat masks.”

Peter was somehow always surprised when his luck got worse.

Meeting one of the vigilantes of Gotham was not in his bingo card for the day. Or any day, for that matter. In his brief stint of research on the bats, he’d assumed that they didn’t really deal with the public.

Batman himself didn’t seem like a very social person, so Peter thought they were the kind of heroes that handled their criminals without any public interaction.

He realized this morning that was a very wrong assumption when every hair on his body stood on end, knocking him from the stupor of his thoughts.

The approach was quick, and nearly silent. Something else to raise Peters alarm bells.

Apparently his displeasure was evident, with the way the masked man was trying to calm him.

“Hey, no, relax. I’m not going to hurt you. Just wanted to make sure you were, “ He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

“Safe.” Is what he finally settled on. Through the slight twitch of his head Peter could tell the man was giving him a once over.

He had a nice voice, Peter thought. Steady and smooth, although obviously modulated to some extent. It had a slight familiarity to it that he couldn’t pinpoint. In all, the man carried a self assurance that could easily help someone feel safe.

With a pang, Peter recognized the irony. Was this how people felt when Spider-Man spoke to them?

Would there be a Peter shaped hole in his New York? Would the people there somehow miss the help he provided, even though they had no recollection of him?

The thought made him nearly sick to his stomach.

There’d never be any way to know for sure, but Dr. Strange assured him that leaving would be the best for the city (and that world) altogether. All he had was trust in the man’s words.

He silenced his rambling thoughts, tuning back in to the present where the masked vigilante was still trying to convince him to go home.

He wanted to argue that he was more safe on that rooftop than at home, where he’d be confined to both his tiny apartment and cluttered mind.

When the other man finally directed his searching gaze elsewhere, Peter was able to slink away to the side of the building and scuttle down the side.

He imagined the scene was not unlike a horror movie, but luckily there was no one else around to see it. With the way Gotham citizens were, he’s not even sure if they’d be startled.

He made his way through the neighboring buildings easily, even without web fluid it was still little issue.

The path home was direct enough, and he cut down some side alleyways to save time. He still wasn’t looking forward to spending the next few hours in the damp, cold apartment, but it was preferable over meeting one of the bats again.

Seeing them on paper was one thing, but meeting one face to face gave him thoughts he’d rather not have.

A reminder of everything he was, and everything he failed at.

Lost in his thoughts, he failed to see the van at the end of the alley he cut through.

“Hey!” Someone called out from his right.

His spider-sense lit up like a wildfire. Before he could respond a small cylindrical object was lobbed at his head.

Upon impact it released a grey gas, enveloping him completely.

Again, he thought mirthlessly, my luck got worse again.

“’I should really win an award for this.” He mumbled before the world went black.

Ropes, rubbing against his back. The faint sound of other heartbeats around him. Most of them subdued to a slow beat, but a few frantic.

He opened his eyes, squinting at the light.

“The hell? Shorties awake.”

The voices were loud and grating, they hurt his ears.

“What are you waiting for then? Hit ‘em with the damn gas!”

He really wished they would all be quiet.

More fumes, this time released just under his nose, and Peter faded out of consciousness again.

He flinched awake, to the smell of metal, smoke, and blood. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, and the pounding of blood vessels in his head prevented him from opening his eyes.

“Mmrgh… hmmmgh. Ow.” A slight twist of his arms proved they were still tied, this time somehow even tighter.

He could still hear the other heartbeats around him, and managed to slump his body in a position closer to sitting before someone took notice.

“The fuck? That shit defective or something?”

A rustle of clothes, seemingly looking for something.

“Here, go gas him again.”

“Why’re you makin me do it? You go gas him.”

“You’re closer.”

A deep sigh, and something clanks against the concrete below him.

“There, problem solved.”

The last thing he heard was a shrill scream in the distance.